Skz X Reader - Blog Posts

THANK YOU ALL FOR VOTING! As promised, here are the results of what I’ll be posting for my Halloween Event based on this poll! Thank you for all the help!

CHOOSE WHAT YOU WANT TO READ!

HEY GUYS! I’m thinking of doing some kind of event for October since I really want to try my hand at writing horror stories, some of them might contain some smut but it probably won’t be the main focus of the stories.

My question is, which groups would you guys like to see me write for? I’ll let the poll go on for a week, and then I’ll post the results for what I’ll be writing for soon after!

Want to see more than just one group? Want to see a specific member? Have any good ideas you’d like to share? Let me know in the comments!

PLEASE REBLOG TO SPREAD THE WORD!

can i please have channie taking care of reader during her period? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Hey lovely! It took me a little bit longer than I expected BUT I hope I delivered! Thank you so much for the request! ── ( 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 )

📺 SAFE HAVEN 📺

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ) 1.6k

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!

*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 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ 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!

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.

Hihihihi!! Hru!

I was wondering if you could write a stray kids x 9th member!reader where their a a maknae and their family lives far away so chans kinda a father figure for them? Like he looks after her and helps her fall asleep when they’re struggling, and maybe in skz vlogs or codes fans can see how much of a father figure he is to them. Its okay if you can’t ilyy bye❤️❤️

ꖛ ꙳꯬ 🦋 how he cares 𓂅 ໋⋅

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‧₊° pairing. chan x female reader ( platonically ! )

‧₊° content warnings. not proofread.

‧₊° rating. everyone

‧₊° summary. an episode of 2 kids’ show reveals just how deep your friendship with chan runs.

2 Kids’ Show has come to mean a lot for STAY, a fact that warmed your heart as you glanced around the set which was definitely an upgrade to the old yellow room with the blue couch, although the latter was a symbol of simpler times in a lot of ways. Still, the dingy feeling of a garage being occupied by a band was an aesthetic you hadn’t realized you’d appreciate this much.

Minho was already sitting on his assigned velvety green chair, a small stack of talking-point cards with the freshly designed logo of the show printed on the back in his hands as he waited for his cue to begin. Chan stood by your side, chatting lightly with his hairstylist as she ensured that his hair was perfect. You were already set and ready to begin, no trace of the tingling anxiety that usually plagued you before interviews and you knew it was because the only people you’d have to interact with were the very same people you spoke to daily — this was a relief to you these days.

“Okay!” The manager announced with a sharp clap of his hands in order to attract everyone’s attention. All of the staff quickly made their ways to their needed positions and the hairstylist Chan had been speaking to left him be. “Ready? Scene!”

“Where two kids share their secret stories and music, this is 2 Kids’ Show,” announced Minho, pausing for a moment for a light applause — to which you and Chan obliged albeit belatedly to tease your friend. Minho’s eyes playfully narrowed in your and Chan’s direction, though he quickly moved on with a smile. “I am 2 Kids’ Show’s handsome MC, Lee Know.”

You cupped your hands around your mouth to cheer exaggeratedly, overcompensating for the lack of an enthusiastic applause just a moment prior. Minho winced away from you even with the distance between the two of you. “You were scolding Hyunjin and Jeongin before, you don’t have any grounds to complain saying I don’t cheer now!”

“I do have a complaint actually, you’re being too loud! It hurts my ears!” Minho rolled his eyes playfully before glancing back at the cards in his hands with an amused smile. “Anyway, as you can see, today we have a special pair with us — Stray Kids’ wolf and bumblebee duo that STAY have always loved. To me, they’re a good representation of an endearing friendship, our oldest and youngest members — Chan and Y/N!”

Chan pressed a hand on your lower back to urge you forward, and you let yourself be guided by him with a practiced bright grin as you waved at your group member. You end up seated in between the two men, quickly grabbing one of the cushions of the couch and placing it on your lap out of habit. Chan followed suit, but only so he could fiddle with the fuzz.

“It’s so strange seeing you as our MC,” you commented lightly.

“Is it? Good or bad?”

You shrug innocently. “I guess we’re going to have to wait and see!”

“Careful,” Minho teased with an exaggerated ominous grin. “I’m the one leading this interview.”

Chan chuckled beside you, though he remained quiet otherwise.

“Okay! Chan and Y/N how have you two been lately?”

You glance over at Chan, unsure of whether he should begin speaking of you, but he made the choice for you as he absentmindedly nodded at you whilst keeping his eyes glued on the pillow. With an understanding nod, you clear your throat and turn to face Minho. Chan has been a bit on the quieter side, evidently exhausted by the grueling hours of work and the pressure of the recent comeback almost weighing him down slightly — although he would never admit it. “I’ve been pretty good, actually. Yesterday was my day off, so I was able to tend to my plants at home.”

“Oh, how are they?”

A frown tugged at yourself, pushing your lower lip into a frown. “Titi, my tradescantia died, which was really sad since it’d managed to live so long. They’re really difficult to keep alive since they require a lot of water, and I’ve heard how often they tend to die so I was very proud of myself when I managed to keep it for a bit despite our busy schedule.”

“Oh, Titi died?” Chan questioned, highly surprised by this new piece of information. It wasn’t uncommon for you to call or text him whenever one of your plants died since you had a deep love for them and always took their ends straight to your heart — it was a failure you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive, and it always made you work harder with the next plant. Not to say that you didn’t have a green thumb, your experience caring for them since childhood was more than enough proof of your abilities, but death comes to all and yet it hurts nevertheless. Titi in particular had been struggling for quite a bit despite your constant attempts to make things better for her, and by the time you found her completely lifeless in your pot, you were painfully aware of Chan being asleep after spending all night awake.

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a slightly guilty smile. “It was quite tragic, actually. But my gardenia flowers have just started blooming a few days ago, and I’m really excited to see them in their prime. It’s also nerve-wracking because they’re also said to be extremely difficult to maintain and I really don’t want to deal with another Titi. Since I don’t have an actual garden in a subtropical country, I had to invest in a container so I can control the temperature. They’re actually said to thrive really well with moderate warmth that is somewhere between 18°C and 21°C and their soil must be kept consistently moist at all times and also —”

Minho splayed his hands in front of himself to signal for you to stop, and so you snapped your mouth shut as a slight tinge of color rose to your cheeks. “You know we love you, and I will ask you about this after the interview. But we should probably move on with the questions.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Chan chuckled a bit, reaching out to rub your back in small circles to soothe you like he always did. Minho, catching the kind gesture, grinned brightly and pointed at Chan’s hand that stopped immediately when caught.

“That’s actually one of the things we wanted to talk about here,” Minho announced with a slight glint of mischief. “I think it’ll be okay if I jump a few questions now that we’re on the topic and then circle back to the others, right?”

The three of you glanced at your manager and director, both of whom nodded and motioned for Minho to continue. Chan drew his hand back, focusing on the pillow once more.

“Right, so I think we’re all guilty of watching some of the videos that STAYs make online. I for one find them to be very entertaining, but I also noticed that there’s a greater amount of content made of you two — a lot of people really admire your friendship, so how’s that looking so far?”

This time, you nudged Chan’s knee with your own. He glanced up and cleared his own throat. “I love watching those videos, honestly. I think it’s really interesting to see how many STAYs can appreciate it. I know Y/N and I have been through a lot together and it really makes me appreciate her even more these days.”

“Channie,” you teased. “You make it sound like we’re dating.”

“I was just about to say! Right?” Minho burst out, chuckling as Chan rolled his eyes. It’s a joke as old as time, really, and it couldn’t be further from the truth — no matter how many fans believe it to be true. You didn’t blame those who viewed you and Chan as something more than friends, however, because everyone is entitled to their own opinions when it really comes down to it, and it’s a consequence of being an idol that you needed to embrace regardless of how frustrating it could be at times. All that being said, you and the boys have found a way to bring humor into the whole thing, which oftentimes makes it easier to deal with.

As Chan reached across from your body to swat at Minho with his pillow, you couldn’t help but giggle. “Anyway,” he continued as he sent his friend a pointed look. “I just think that after being friends for so long, it’s natural for us to become as close as we are. Besides, Y/N always needs me, which makes me very happy.”

His words seemed to warm every cell in your body, these thoughts of his were not new to you since it was something that he frequently mentioned during those late nights spent either working or having a drink together. It was the mere thought of you making him feel as wanted as you knew he deserved to feel that made you content, it was the least you could do for him when he sacrificed so much for everyone in the group on a daily basis.

“I think we’ve earned the right to be this close.” Minho cocked his head to the side, silently urging you to elaborate on your comment. “I mean, I’m not born or raised in Korea like most of the other members are, and the only ones who could really understand what it meant to be homesick were him and Felix. Oftentimes, I would find myself in bed just wide awake because I couldn’t help but obsess over my troubles. Every time my mind was just spinning like that, I knew I could count on Chan, to calm me down.

It’s especially sweet, too, because we all know Chan is a bit of a workaholic, but whenever someone needs him he just…stops and turns all of his focus on us and it made me feel very seen. He listens, and offers his own insights and is just like the big brother I always need around. Usually those nights end with us in the living room, and I’ll fall asleep to the sounds of his keyboards click-clacking as he continues working. Chan just has that soothing aura that helps so much.”

Chan could only watch as you spoke about him, those mini stars that only seemed to appear when watching his members. You held his gaze for only a moment, hoping he could feel the sincerity oozing from your expression.

“I think it’s safe to say that STAYs really do see that.” Minho was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, lips curled up into a soft lopsided smile as he watched the interaction between the two. All of the members shared their own special friendships with you that you adored and appreciated with every fiber of your being, but the fact that Chan was your platonic soulmate was an undeniable fact. “The fact that Y/N is our maknae also probably plays a part in this friendship. Chan, has there ever been a time in which Y/N felt like she was older?”

After a moment of careful consideration, Chan responded with: “I think Y/N can be very nurturing when she wants to be. She’s always making sure that I’ve drank enough water and she often brings me meals when she can because I do spend an awful lot of time working. But other than that, she’s still very much a big baby — OW!”

Your hand stung slightly from when you smacked his arm, guilt seeped into your smile since you hadn’t meant for it to hurt that much. Nevertheless, you stood your ground.

“Would a big baby be that strong?”

Minho chuckled at the scene. “I think you’re proving him right, though.”

“I’ll hit you too, you know.’

“Okay, okay, let us move on from this before you start getting all violent.” Although he was partly teasing, Minho was not a stranger to your slaps that always hit harder than you’d mean to, as though you were a large puppy that didn’t know its strength. “Y/N, has Chan ever felt like he was younger?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even think about it,” Chan chortled.

“Don’t have to,” you said with a wicked grin curling up your lips. “He’s a big baby when he doesn’t get any attention and also when he’s sick.”

At this, Minho burst out laughing. “No, you’re right. She’s right.”

It was now Chan’s turn to let his hand fly and make contact with your arm, though his slap was significantly lighter than yours. You still pretended to be distressed due to the pain, clutching the area that he touched and twisting your face in mock suffering.

The questions on Minho’s talking-point cards continued rolling off of his tongue as the interview carried on. It was a time that, had the goal truly been to cover every single aspect of yours and Chan’s relationship, it’d never end. He was the kind of guy you trusted with everything, and you knew he felt the same way towards you. Bang Chan was your best friend, the brother you always needed, and your guide when in the darkness. By the time the cameras stopped rolling almost immediately after your collaborative singing in the end, the promise of buying lunch was on the tip of your tongue as you jogged to catch with his wider footsteps.

word count: 2.2k 🦋 posted: 01 • 03 • 2024

💬 a note from green;

First of all, Happy New Years! Hope it’s 2024 is being kind to everyone thus far.

Secondly, thank you for the request my dear Anonnie! I really hope this is good, I’ve never written anything about a ninth member, much less in a platonic way so I struggled slightly on how to do it. I’m gonna be very honest right now and say that I am not a platonic anything haha, my girlfriend (who found my account recently) will tell you that much. We did a lot of “platonic” shit before we finally admitted that we were, in fact, not being platonic at all. So, yeah. I do love a challenge so I really appreciate it!

Finally, I’m finally feeling better! All I have is a mild cough, nothing too bad compared to what I was dealing before so be ready for more posts!

⨳ kofi ⨳

( 🏷️ ) taglist: @grandpafelixx , @agi-ppangx

hi green, how are you doing ?? i hope everything’s alright<33

i hope you dont mind but i wanted to request something again >< i was wondering if you could write a smut with chan, but focus more on the aftercare ??

lets say he had a stressful week and during sex he decided to reselase his anger and stress on the reader, but they had a hard week themselves and just couldnt take it, so they decided to use their safeword and channie would be all like oh ?? and maybe the reader would even cry a little and be apologetic, because “i’m so sorry, i know you had a hard time, i just can’t do it today” saying that while clinging to him and seeking comfort >:((

and then chan would focus on making them feel safe, he would clean the up and reassure them that if completely fine and he's proud of them and just the whole aftercare part ><

if its too much then its completely fine !! please dont feel pressured to write it if its not your cup of tea<33

anyway, please take care !!😽

use of the safe word.

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pairing: chan x female reader

content warnings: hurt/comfort, rough and overwhelming sex, crying, bloody lip, aftercare, not proofread

rating: 18+

summary: 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.

His fingers found their way to your throat while he groaned in your ear, squeezing in a way you usually adored as Chan thrusted in and out of you at a brutal pace. He was completely lost in his own world, moaning about how tight you felt around him and how he’d been thinking about having you like this all day after the stress he’s had to deal with over the course of several days. It was difficult to breathe for you, though, all of your senses seemingly going haywire as you attempted to ground yourself by gripping the sheets below you and trying to focus on his babbles of pleasure. However, instead of enjoying this moment with your lover like you normally would, your mind was a storm of frustration and stress that only increased with Chan’s speed.

It was too much for you — everything about this was overwhelming, including the guilt that followed your distressed thoughts. Chan had arrived home and immediately pulled you in for a rough kiss, and you had followed along because you were well aware of how rough it’s been for him recently and you figured you’d let him release it all on you before talking. Although nothing could’ve prepared you for the complete disconnect that plagued you — you didn’t feel seen or loved, he barely managed to remember some of the things he knew you liked while he chased his own orgasm. It wasn’t to say that he was doing it purposely, you knew that Chan loved you to insanity because this was strange for him.

Unwanted tears rolled down your cheeks, and you bit your lip harshly so as to not let him know of your state since his face was buried into the nape of your neck. His breath felt hot on your skin, and sharp pangs of pain shot up your body with each time Chan bottomed out. Your eyes were squeezed shut so as to prevent any more tears from spilling, and a whimper escaped your lips as your teeth broke skin.

Too much. Too much. I don’t like this!

Chan’s movements became slightly more erratic, which signifies that he was close to achieving his orgasm. But the room was spinning and you didn’t think you could take this roughness any longer.

“Channie, stop, stop, red light!”

All movements halted, dizzying you slightly. Chan pulled back immediately as his grip on your throat loosened and his eyes scanned your face with concern. The sobs were pushing their way out of you and the tears rolled down your cheeks freely and stained the pillow below your head. “I’m so sorry, Channie!”

“Oh— Wait, no, no don’t apologize,” Chan quickly responded, slowly pulling out of you so as to not overwhelm you further. His brows were furrowed, catching sight of your bloody bottom lip and your anguished expression. “What happened baby? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you continued to cry, your entire body shaking violently as you reached for your boyfriend. “I know you’ve been having a hard time, I just can’t take it today.”

He wrapped his muscled arms around your trembling body, kissing the top of your head as the beat of his heart seemed to ground you despite how erratic it was, bringing you back to reality. It was clear that he was still confused, and you were grateful that he wasn’t pushing for an explanation right away. Instead he shifted slightly so that he could place his calloused hand on your chest, applying a bit of pressure while inhaling and exhaling deeply. You followed his breathing pattern, slowly noticing that he’d pulled you into his lap at some point, cradling your body as though it was made of porcelain.

When your cries had slowed to a near stop, he moved his gaze onto your face — guilty eyes searching for any remaining distress. His thumb caressed your cheeks, drying your tears in the process as he attempted a soft smile.

“Baby?”

A shaky breath made its way past your lips, eyes glued to the crumpled sheets while you twiddle your thumbs in your lap. “I’m sorry.”

“No, angel, don’t apologize.” Chan spoke softly, yet his tone was stern. “Please don’t apologize, I’m proud of you for stopping me, okay?”

You could only nod meekly.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Nothing was said, but the shame arose in the form of choked sobs and Chan pulled you back onto his chest while rocking from side to side. His fingers carded through your hair gently as he hummed a nearly inaudible tune to calm you. This time, you were able to pull yourself quicker.

“I’m going to get you some water, okay?” He didn’t wait for a response before he was lifting you up slightly and laying you on his side of your shared bed. The sound of his speedy footsteps that made their way to the kitchen were the only thing heard aside from your own ragged breathing.

You sat up when he returned with a cold glass of water in one hand and what looked like a warm, wet towel in the other. He handed you the water first, watching you intently as you hissed a bit as soon as your cut lip made contact with the coldness of your drink. You downed your drink in one go, your throat screeching in relief from how dry it had been until a moment ago.

“I’m going to clean you up a little bit, and then you should pee.”

His rough hands touched your shoulder lightly, nudging you so that you would lay back and spread your lips. The jolt that occurred as soon as you felt the warmth of the towel touch your core had your ears turning red in shame, you knew he wouldn’t purposely hurt you so there was no reason to act like this. You didn’t miss the hurt that flashed across his face.

As you peed, Chan was quietly filling up the bathtub and adding a lavender scented bath bomb to soothe your anxiety. You watched him work from the toilet in silence, lips set into a deep frown.

“It’s done baby,” Chan announced, turning to face you with a benign smile. “We should take care of your lip first though.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled again as you pulled your knees up to your chest. “I haven’t done anything but add to your stress, and it shouldn’t have been like this. I could’ve lasted until you–”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Y/N.” Chan sounded so grave you couldn’t help but inhale sharply, eyes widening slightly. “Please don’t ever do that, we have a safe word for a reason. Always, always use it whenever you’re not having a good time. There’s really no hard feelings for me, what’s important for me is that you’re okay and that I don’t end up hurting you.”

You sniffed, bracing yourself as he neared you with a small cloth that had been dipped in antiseptics that made you hiss at the burn as soon as he dabbed it to your wound. He gently blew on your lip as an effort to lessen the pain.

“You’re so sweet to me.”

Chan pressed his lips against your forehead, lingering for a moment as if to make you feel his love through the simple action – and you did. A small smile made its way onto your face at last as his hands guided you to the bathtub, helping you get in before he knelt beside you.

The warmth of the deliciously scented water instantly relaxed your sore muscles, you sighed in relief. The light swishing sound of the water following your movements seemed to add to your newfound serenity, your eyes falling closed for only a second before the sense of something being missing began gnawing at your mind. You turned to find Chan sitting on the bathroom floor, eyes sparkling as he watched you while resting his chin on the edge of the bathtub. The corners of your mouth quirked up slightly at the sight, heart soaring.

“Join me.”

He shook his head, returning your smile.

“Channie,” you pouted. “You don’t have to feel guilty about what happened, I promised.”

He shook his head again, his smile remaining as he blinked rapidly as if to keep unshed tears at bay.

“Baby, please don’t feel guilty…you didn’t know.”

“No,” his voice cracked a bit. “I should’ve known, you bit your lip so hard you started bleeding. You were crying, you weren’t even able to tell me what happened. I should’ve noticed.”

Your hand touched the side of his face, droplets of water rolling down his smooth skin. “I should have told you I wasn’t okay as soon as I realized, baby. But we can still relax together, please, join me.”

Chan seemed hesitant for a few beats before sighing. He was already naked, so all he needed to do was take his place behind you. It was a tight fit, but you liked this kind of closeness as his arms wrapped themselves tightly around your torso and he rested his chin on your shoulder. Neither of you speak for a bit, basking in the tranquility of it all.

“I’m sorry.”

Not a word needed to be said, so you lifted his hand and kissed it once, twice, three times until he chuckled lightly. He pressed his own lips on your shoulder, and you felt a few tears grace the skin near his lips, so you reached up to his hair and scratched his head as a form of comfort.

“I knew that you were frustrated, stressed and all of that when you brought me to our room and I really thought I would be fine,” you finally explained, Chan had yet to remove his lips from you as he listened. “But I guess I didn’t take into consideration the shitty week I’ve been having too and it was just– a lot of it was just the new boss that arrived last Monday micromanaging every single breath I took, my workload was humongous compared to what I used to have before. He was so condescending, too, just doubting everything I said and asking my male coworkers to double check all the information I provided. I didn’t have a good time. And then we were having sex, and we barely exchanged a few words to each other before that, and it was just very overwhelming. I should’ve said something, so part of it was on me. I will make sure to be better next time, be more vocal about my needs and such.”

Chan lifted his head from your shoulder, cupping his hands to spill some of it onto your hair, massaging your scalp. “I’m sorry your new boss has been such an uptight dick all week…and I’m sorry I was so rough with you– especially without at least talking with you for a bit before, I’ll be sure to check in on you more often when we make love, especially if negative emotions are affecting either of us.”

“I really appreciate you, Channie.” You take his hands in yours, massaging them lightly and playing with his pretty fingers absentmindedly. “What about you, baby, what had you so worked up when you got here?”

Chan’s voice was soothing as he talked, the vibrations of his voice could be felt on his chest and it served as some kind of comforting sensation as you pressed yourself even more to him and closed your eyes.

word count: 1.9k 🛁 posted: 12 • 17 • 2023

💬 a note from green;

Thank you so much for this request, Merin. This was such an unexpectedly healing experience for me, and I thank you for it. You’ve only made two requests, but I can tell you that I’ve grown to love when you do since you always ask for such touching topics that aren’t mentioned or discussed enough. So please, request however many times as you’d like!

I hope you’re doing well, and I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

( 🏷️ ) taglist: @grandpafelixx , @agi-ppangx

hi it’s green again 😙

i’ve been thinking a lot about han and his line on the volcano song: “yeah you can hurt me, i don’t care / yeah you can burn me / yeah you can hurt me, i don’t care / yeah you can burn me / unlike those who run away from you, i’ll embrace you”

i just think it’s so raw and so so beautiful, but i have no idea what to write with it. try as i might, i can’t come up with a solid idea right now. so i was hoping you could? i loved what you wrote for my last request, so i thought of you ❤️

Bittersweet

Pairing: Bestfriend!Han Jisung x gn!reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of getting burned and stabbed (figuratively)

Words: 601

Summary: Jisung could never shake his crush on you, even when you were younger. His feelings grew with each passing second. But, as they say, love is painful.

A/n: This ignited something within me, because I immediately knew I wanted to do a forbidden love type of thing, and I wrote this all in one sitting. Uhh, hope you like it! Thank you for being so amazing, green!

Volcanos are one of life's most dangerous beauties. They erupt glowing orange lava that you could stare out for hours, but get too close and you'll get burned. The best you can do is watch from a safe distance. It's a bittersweet experience, really. You get to witness something so beautiful, and while that may he enough for some people, it's not enough for others.

That was the one word that always popped into Jisung's head when he was with you: volcano. You are the most beautiful person he's ever known, and he always feels warm around you... but he knows he can't get too close. You're his best friend, you have been for years, but he can't get too close. Not when he knows what would happen.

You're not his- this is something he had to come to terms with years ago when you got together with your current boyfriend. No matter how much he wishes he could have you for himself, finally be able to bask in your warmth without worrying about the consequences... he can't.

So he has to force himself to be content with just being your best friend. Someone you have and love, but not in the way he wants. He can't touch you or hold you in ways that he dreams of, and while that crushes his heart, he knows it's for the best.

Seeing you smile when you talk about your boyfriend is such a bittersweet experience. He gets to witness your beautiful smile, but he knows he's not the cause of it. He knows that someone else, someone who gets to kiss you and hold you the way he's only ever dreamed, loves you and has you forever.

The worst part is, you're right there. You're so close yet so far, and it breaks him into pieces. He gets to be near you, and talk with you until the sun goes up, but he doesn't get to truly show you how much you mean to him. How much he thinks about you every day and every night of his life... because you're not his.

_________________________________

"Hannie, look what my boyfriend got for me! He remembered that I was looking at this sketchbook when we went to the mall, so he got it for me. Isn't that so sweet? He also got me a new pack of markers to go along with it," you spoke with a wide grin on your face, which made Jisung smile in return, even though he had to bite his tongue.

Every time you spoke about him, gushed about him, he felt like he was being stabbed in the heart. Each new gift he got you was like a twist of the knife, and he felt himself bleed out. You gave him life, with your warm smile and beautiful eyes, but you also killed him, slowly.

"That's thoughtful of him," he spoke softly, his eyes scanning over your features like he has thousands of times. Despite the fact that he has every little detail of you memorized, he still takes his time to make sure your face was tattooed into his brain. As if he was nervous you would slip away from him at any moment.

So yeah, you hurt him every time you talked about your boyfriend, but you also cured him like no other medicine could when you smiled or laughed. He knew he couldn't have you in the way he wishes he did, but he was okay with that. Because like a volcano erupting beautiful lava, he had to watch from afar.

Or he would be burned.

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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TEWWWWWW GOOD...... CHEMISTRY WAS THERE HHHRYEHR

CAM.

CHAPTER II

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. (23,4k words)

Author's note: Forgot to mention this was a late bday fic for Hyunjin. Hope you enjoy it and pls leave a feedback ♡

The past week has been a blur of paint-stained hands and sleepless nights. Hyunjin barely has time to think about anything else, buried in preparations for his school's upcoming exhibition. His apartment is a mess—canvases stacked against the walls, discarded sketches littering the floor, and his camera resting untouched on his desk. For once, his world isn’t revolving around late-night shoots and Lustre content. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

His brush glides across the canvas, layering deep strokes of blue over the rough outline of a figure. He’s been obsessed with movement lately, trying to capture fleeting emotions in abstract shapes and colors. His professors say his work has soul—that it feels raw, intimate. But he wonders if they’d still say the same if they knew where his inspiration truly came from.

Hyunjin sighs and sets his brush down, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. His eyes wander around his cluttered space, landing on an unfinished canvas propped up against the wall.

Your painting.

It’s a portrait, though he never intended it to be one. It started as a simple study—your figure bathed in warm light, the way your eyes softened when you were deep in thought. But then he kept coming back to it, adding layer after layer, unable to stop himself from trying to capture the quiet allure that had him tangled in knots.

Now, it’s only half-done. The outline of your face remains, delicate but unrefined. Your lips are sketched in, parted just slightly, as if caught mid-breath. Hyunjin swallows, gripping the brush tighter. He should be working on his exhibition piece, but his fingers itch to reach for this one instead.

It’s been days since he last saw you, yet here you are, lingering in the space between his thoughts.

-

The next day bleeds into the afternoon before Hyunjin even stirs awake. The weight of exhaustion still lingers in his limbs, his body aching from hours spent hunched over canvases and standing in front of easels. He barely remembers crashing onto his bed sometime in the early morning, the remnants of dried paint still on his fingers.

A sharp knock at the door pulls him from the haze of sleep. Hyunjin groans, pushing himself up with effort. The room is dim, sunlight seeping through the closed blinds, casting soft shadows over his cluttered space. Another knock follows, more insistent this time.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffles to the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before swinging it open. You're standing there, a warm smile curving your lips. The sight of you in the soft glow of the afternoon sun makes him blink twice, as if he isn’t sure whether he’s still dreaming.

“Wow, you look awful,” you tease, eyes flicking over his disheveled hair and the oversized shirt hanging off his frame. Before he can respond, you lift the paper bag in your hand. “Brought food. And coffee. Thought you might need it.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, words catching in his throat. He wasn't expecting you—not today, not like this. But the scent of coffee and something delicious wafts toward him, grounding him in the moment. “…You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Are you gonna let me in, or should I just eat this myself?”

The two of you sitting cross legged on his worn-out couch with take-out containers in hands. Hyunjin eats in slow bites, his body still shaking off the remnants of sleep. Next to him, you sit with your coffee in hand, fingers curled around the cup as you sip at it leisurely. He doesn’t think much of it at first—just you, keeping him company like you have before. But after a while, he notices it. The way your gaze lingers on him, thoughtful, as if you’re weighing something in your mind. You barely touch your food, just sipping at your coffee, lost in thought.

Hyunjin stops chewing, setting his chopsticks down. His brows furrow slightly as he studies you. “Do you have something to say to me?” he asks, tilting his head.

You blink, as if caught off guard, and glance down at your coffee. “No, not really,” you answer quickly, but there’s something in your tone—hesitation, uncertainty.

He doesn’t buy it. He puts down his chopsticks and looks at you. “Come on,” he presses gently. “You obviously have something to say. Just say it.”

You hesitate again, biting your lip as you lower your cup. For a moment, you seem to debate whether to speak at all. He watches you closely, his heart picking up its pace as you finally part your lips to speak.

“I was going to wait until after the exhibition to ask you this,” you begin, your fingers nervously tracing the rim of your coffee cup. “But… the thought of waiting has been making me uneasy.”

He stays quiet, letting you gather your words, his anticipation growing.

You take a deep breath and meet his gaze. “Now that you’ve paid off your debt… I was wondering if you still want to work with me. You know, help me with my content.”

Hyunjin gets a little taken aback. He expected something different, something more final—but this? He studies your face, the way your expression tightens with genuine worry, as if you’re afraid of what he might say. Instead of answering right away, he asks, “Why are you so worried that I’d stop?”

Your lips press together before you sigh. “Because it’s hard to find someone I can trust to do this with.” Your voice is softer now, more vulnerable. “And I trust you, Hyunjin.”

A strange fluttering feeling stirs in his chest at those words. Trust. You trust him.

You continue before he can respond, your words spilling faster as if you’re scared of what his answer might be. “I mean, obviously, you don’t have to say yes just because I asked, and if you want, we can negotiate the numbers—”

Hyunjin chuckles, shaking his head as he leans back against his chair. “Hey, slow down,” he says, amusement laced in his tone.

You shut your mouth quickly, looking embarrassed, aware that you were a second away from rambling on and on. Then, without hesitation, he gives you his answer. “Yes. I’ll continue working with you.”

The tension in your shoulders melts instantly. A smile blooms across your face, bright and relieved, and Hyunjin can’t help but stare for a moment, thinking to himself how effortlessly you light up a room.

The mood in the room shifts into something lighter, something comfortable after that talk. He sees that you can finally pick up your chopsticks and start eating, the sound of utensils clinking against the takeout containers filling the space between easy conversation.

“You really need to eat more proper meals,” you chide playfully as you watch him practically inhale the food.

He chuckles between bites. “I do eat properly,” he argues, though the evidence says otherwise.

Once the food is finished, Hyunjin gathers the trash and tosses it away, wiping his hands on a napkin. Meanwhile, you stand and wander around the room, eyes roaming over the canvases scattered throughout his workspace. Some lean against the walls, others rest on the floor, each one carrying a story in its strokes.

“These are for the exhibition?” you ask, tilting your head at one particular piece.

He nods, stepping beside you. “Yeah, I’m almost done with them. Just a few more details here and there.”

You take your time admiring each one, letting your fingers hover just above the dried paint as if you could feel the emotion embedded in them. Then, your gaze lands on a canvas tucked away in the corner, covered by a white cloth. Your curiosity sparks instantly. “What about that one?”

Hyunjin stiffens. His reaction is subtle, but you catch it.

“It’s nothing,” he says too quickly, stepping forward as if to block your view. “Just a failed one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A failed one?”

“Yeah,” he lies smoothly, though his voice is just a little too even. “Didn’t turn out the way I wanted, so I scrapped it.”

You don’t push, but you do glance at the covered painting again, wondering what could possibly be underneath. Unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin swallows hard, keeping his expression neutral as he prays you don’t try to unveil it. Because hidden beneath that cloth is something he isn’t ready for you to see.

He shifts his focus back to you, watching your gaze lingers on the paintings, your fingers tracing the air just above the dried brushstrokes. The way you look at them—at his work—makes something warm settle in his chest.

“So,” he starts, hands tucking into the pockets of his sweatpants, “are you going to come to the exhibition?”

You turn to him, a playful glint in your eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hyunjin scoffs, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “So that’s a yes?”

You nod and with a soft smile, you say, “I’d be more than happy to come.”

Somehow, in the pause that follows, your eyes find his, and for a moment, neither of you look away. There’s something lingering in the air between you, something unspoken. Hyunjin wonders if you feel it too.

Then, after what feels like a beat too long, you break into a smile and glance toward the door. “I should probably go so you can work on your paintings.”

He barely manages to hide his disappointment. He wants you to stay. He likes having you here, in his space, talking to him like this. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he nods, forcing himself to play it cool. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll see you later.”

You give him one last smile before heading for the door, and when it finally clicks shut behind you, Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his hair. The room feels quieter now, a little emptier and he hates how much he wishes you had stayed.

-

As you step into your apartment, the air-conditioning greets your skin, a cool relief after your morning run. You set your phone down on the counter, make yourself a smoothie, and settle into your usual spot by the window. The city hums faintly outside, but inside, it’s quiet—just the way you like it in the mornings.

You take a sip of your smoothie and open Lustre, scrolling through notifications. A few messages from subscribers—some predictable, explicit ones—but one stands out.

mag.shawn

The profile picture is simple: a bunch of purple tulips. No face, no suggestive username. Curiosity piqued, you tap on the message.

"The more I see your pictures, the more convinced I am that you're not just beautiful from the outside, but on the inside too. I hope you have a lovely day, beautiful."

You take another second to reread the words. You’re used to messages from men, but they usually come with crude compliments, detailed fantasies, or straight-up requests. This, however, is just… sweet. A small smile tugs at your lips. You type a reply.

"Thank you, that’s really sweet of you. I hope you have a lovely day too."

After sending it, you lean back, taking another sip of your smoothie. It’s such a small thing—a simple message—but somehow, it lifts your mood. As you're about to have a sip of your smoothie, another notification comes and catches your eye.

Felix [Lustre]: Hey, do you want to meet up today?

Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitating. You knew this was coming—he had already reached out about a collaboration and texted you a few times talking about it—but something about it makes you pause. Maybe it's the uncertainty of working with someone new, or maybe it's the fact that Hyunjin's face flashed in your mind the second you read Felix’s message. You chew on your lip, tapping your nails against the glass of your smoothie. What should you say? Your screen stays lit, Felix’s message waiting for an answer.

-

You pull your car out of the parking lot, the engine humming softly as you ease onto the road. Just as you’re about to turn the corner, you spot Hyunjin walking along the sidewalk, hands shoved into his pockets, his hair is tied into a loose ponytail, his bag slung over his shoulder.

You slow down, rolling down the passenger-side window. “Hyunjin!” He looks up, surprised. “Need a lift?”

He stops on his track and then slightly bends down to look at you as he kindly refuses your offer. “It’s fine, I can take the bus.”

“At least let me drop you off at the bus stop.” You insist, offering him a look that says you won’t take no for an answer.

With a sigh, he caves in, pulling the door open and settling into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

As you start driving, you glance at him. “So, where are you going?”

He nods, gazing out the window. “I’m heading to school to help set up the exhibition.”

You hum in response, but before you can say anything else, he shifts slightly in his seat and looks at you, noticing the way you're dressed. “How about you?”

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel for a second. You don’t know why you hesitate, but you do. Then, after a pause, you ask, “Do you remember Felix?”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “The creator who wants to collab with you?”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’m meeting him today.”

His gaze flickers to you before returning to the road ahead. “Does that means you’re doing the collab?”

Another hesitation. You wonder if it's a good idea to share when nothing is decided yet. Then, you exhale. “I’m still considering. I just want to meet him first, get to know him a little before deciding.”

He nods, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. As you focus on the road ahead, you don’t know why, but you feel like you told him something you shouldn't have shared.

When you finally pull up at the bus stop, Hyunjin unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door. Before stepping out, he turns to you with a small, polite smile. “Thanks for the ride.”

You nod, watching as he shuts the door behind him. As you drive away, you steal one last glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of him standing there, hands back in his pockets, staring off at nothing in particular.

-

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods lingering in the air as you step inside the café. You scan the room, searching for him, and it doesn’t take long before your eyes land on the person you're looking for.

Felix. He’s already there, sitting by the window with a cup of coffee in hand. The afternoon sun casts a glow over him, highlighting the soft waves of his long, bleached blonde hair. You knew he was good-looking from his pictures, but in person, he’s even more striking—sharp jawline, deep brown eyes, freckles dusted his cheeks and a natural pout to his lips. You get it now. You understand why he’s one of the most popular creators on Lustre.

But when he looks up and spots you, a smile breaks across his face—warm, inviting, nothing like the sultry, smoldering persona he portrays online. “Hey, glad you made it,” he greets, standing up to shake your hand. His voice is deep, laced with a natural rasp that takes you by surprise.

You nod, shaking his hand. “I hope I didn't make you wait too long.”

“Nah. Not at all,” he grins before gesturing to the seat across from him. “Please, have a seat. I already ordered for you—hope you don’t mind. I just figured a vanilla latte suits you.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by how effortlessly charming he is—not in an overbearing way, but in a way that makes you feel at ease. Sitting down, you take a glance at the drink he ordered for you, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s actually my go-to order.”

Felix chuckles, resting his chin on his palm. “Lucky guess. Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.”

The conversation flows easily between you and Felix as you sip on your coffee, talking about Lustre, content creation, and the experiences that come with it. He’s easy to talk to—engaging, charming without trying too hard, and surprisingly down-to-earth despite his popularity.

Eventually, curiosity gets the best of you, and you tilt your head slightly. “May I ask why you suddenly want to do a collab with me?”

Felix hums, stirring the remnants of his coffee with his straw. “Honestly? I’ve never done a collab before. I always worked solo, but then I saw the one you did with Sienna.” He leans back against his chair, a small grin tugging at his lips. “And I just thought… that looks fun.”

A smile tugging at your lips, slightly flustered. “Fun?”

He nods. “Yeah. The way you two work together, the chemistry—it felt natural, not forced. And I could tell you put a lot of effort into it, not just in front of the camera, but in the way everything was presented. It wasn’t just content; it was… artistic.”

His words catch you off guard, and you find yourself lowering your gaze, a hint of warmth creeping up your neck. Still, another question lingers in your mind. You glance at him again, hesitating only for a second before asking, “But why me? There are so many other creators on Lustre—some even more popular than I am. Why choose me?”

He doesn’t hesitate for a second to answer. “Because I like you.”

Your breath catches slightly, eyes widening at his direct answer. He seems to realize the weight of his words, quickly raising his hands with a sheepish chuckle. “I mean, I like your content—your artistry, your aesthetic. It’s different from the rest.”

But then, after a short pause, he tilts his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “Though… yeah, I guess I also just like you. You’re beautiful—it’s impossible not to like you.”

You feel your heart skip, caught between surprise and something else you can’t quite place. And from the way Felix watches you, as if amused by your reaction, you know he notices it too. As if you weren't flustered enough, he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table as he watches you with quiet curiosity. “So, what do you think? About collabing with me?”

You let out a small breath, fingers idly tracing the rim of your coffee cup as you think of how to answer. Before you can, Felix speaks again.

“I honestly think this would work,” he says, his voice light but certain. “One, because I like your style—it’s different, and I think our aesthetics could blend well. Two, because I know how to bring out the best in my content partners.” He pauses for a second, a smirk playing on his lips. “And three… because I can already tell you and I have chemistry.”

His confidence is disarming, and you can’t help but smile at his words. He says it so naturally, like it’s a fact rather than a guess.

Still, you take a moment before answering, meeting his gaze. “I only collaborate with people I trust.”

He studies you for a moment, then nods in understanding, his expression softening. “I get that,” he says. “Trust is important in this line of work. I’d probably be the same way if I were you.”

You expect him to push further, but instead, he leans back, completely relaxed. “I just hope you’re not completely closed off to the idea.” His eyes meet yours again, sincere and patient. “Take as much time as you need. And when you’re ready, give me a call.”

The weight in his words lingers between you, an unspoken promise that he won’t rush you into anything and for some reason, that makes it harder to look away.

Being a gentleman that he is, Felix insists on walking you toward your car, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his steps unhurried like he has all the time in the world. The late afternoon sun casts a soft glow on his blond hair, making him look even more ethereal than he already does.

When you reach your car, he turns to you with an easy smile. “I really hope we get to do this collab,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You raise a brow at him, smirking. “No pressure, huh?”

He chuckles, tilting his head slightly. “None at all. Just putting it out there.”

There’s something about the way he looks at you—warm, expectant, and just a little mischievous—that makes your chest feel light. You unlock your car, and before you can reach for the door, Felix beats you to it, pulling it open like a perfect gentleman. “Here,” he gestures, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Allow me.”

You laugh softly but step inside, settling into the driver’s seat. As you adjust your grip on the wheel, Felix leans down, resting his arm on the top of your car, his gaze meeting yours through the open window. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced by something more serious—more intense.

“Whether there'll be a collab or not, please give me a call.” His voice is deeper and lower now, smoother, and for a brief second, it feels like he’s asking for something much more than just a call.

Your fingers tighten on the steering wheel as your heart does a tiny, unexpected flip. And then, just like that, he steps back, flashing you one last, heart-melting smile.

You drive away, glancing once in the rearview mirror to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you leave. By the time you turn the corner, you realize that you’re smiling too.

-

The gallery is alive with murmurs of appreciation, soft footsteps against polished floors, and the occasional clinking of glasses from the refreshment table. Hyunjin should be basking in the compliments, engaging in conversations with professors and fellow artists, but his mind is elsewhere. He glances toward the entrance again, pretending to survey the crowd, but really, he’s just looking for you.

The anticipation coils tight in his chest. He’s not even sure why. Maybe because you promised you’d come. Maybe because you looked at him that way—the way that made him feel like he was someone worth looking at. He shifts his weight, nodding along to a professor’s comment about his brushwork, but his thoughts are elsewhere. You’ll come. You said you would.

Hyunjin excuses himself, turning around on his feet and about to check his phone when he hears your voice.

"Hey."

He turns to the side, and there you are, standing by the entrance, holding a bouquet of flowers. His breath catches for a second—maybe from surprise, maybe from something else—but he quickly recovers, walking toward you.

"You're here," he says, relief evident in his voice.

You flash him a grin and hold out the bouquet. "These are from Sienna. She wanted to congratulate you but couldn’t make it."

Still smiling, he gestures toward the gallery. "Come on, let me give you the grand tour."

As the two of you walk through the exhibition, Hyunjin explains his paintings to you, his voice softer than usual. He doesn’t even realize how closely you’re listening, how intently you’re watching him as he talks. But when he finally meets your gaze, something about the way you’re looking at him makes his heart race.

Just as Hyunjin is about to say something else, a voice cuts in.

"Hyunjin, I didn't know you have a girlfriend."

Hyunjin turns to see Edgar approaching, one of his classmates and a fellow artist in the exhibition. Edgar's gaze flickers between the two of you, curiosity evident in his expression.

"This is not my—" Hyunjin clears his throat and then gestures toward you. "She’s my neighbor and a... friend of mine."

You briefly glance at Hyunjin before offer a polite smile and extend your hand at Edgar. "Nice to meet you."

Edgar takes your hand with an easy grin. "Nice to meet you too. You a fan of Hyunjin’s work?"

You glance at Hyunjin playfully before nodding. "Yeah, you could say that."

Before Edgar can respond, Hyunjin hears his name being called from across the room. His professor waves him over, motioning for him to come quickly. He exhales sharply, hating the timing.

"I have to take care of something," he tells you, regret in his tone. He looks at Edgar. "Hey, can you take over for me? Show her the rest of the exhibition?"

Edgar nods easily. "Yeah, with pleasure."

He looks at you one last time with a gentle smile on his face. "I’ll be back soon, okay?"

You nod with a reassuring smile. "Go, do your thing. I’ll be fine."

Still, as he walks away, Hyunjin can't shake the feeling of guilt for leaving you behind.

His professor had kept him occupied longer than expected, and now that he’s free, his first instinct is to find you. He immediately scans the room, searching for you amidst the crowd.

When his eyes land on you, he stops in his tracks. You’re still with Edgar, standing near one of the paintings, laughing at something he just said. There’s an easygoing warmth in your expression, the kind that makes it obvious you’re enjoying the conversation. Edgar, on the other hand, is leaning slightly toward you, a smug grin on his face like he’s proud of making you laugh.

Hyunjin doesn’t know why it bothers him, but it does. It’s not like you’re his. He has no right to feel like this. And yet, the longer he watches, the stronger the irrational urge becomes—to interrupt, to pull you away, to remind you that you came here for him, not Edgar. Before he can talk himself out of it, he makes his way over.

“Hey,” he says, slipping into the conversation as casually as he can manage. His eyes flicker between you and Edgar, but his focus lingers on you. “Having fun?”

You turn to him with a bright smile. “Yeah, Edgar’s been telling me all kinds of stories about you.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at Edgar, who only smirks in response. “Oh yeah?” Hyunjin crosses his arms. “What exactly have you been saying?”

Edgar chuckles. “Just a few fun facts.” He glances at you with a teasing look. “Your friend here thinks you’re impressive.”

Hyunjin feels his heartbeat pick up at that, but he masks it with a scoff. “Yeah, well, I hope you weren’t exaggerating.”

Edgar waves him off and then turns to you with a grin. "So, what do you say? A drink after this? A little celebration for Hyunjin’s big night?"

You blink in surprise, then glance at Hyunjin, who suddenly looks like he wasn’t expecting this either. A smirk tugs at your lips as you tease, “Oh? Hyunjin never mentioned anything about drinks.”

Edgar crosses his arms together and chuckles. “That’s because I just came up with it. But come on, it’ll be fun.”

You shake your head, smiling politely. "I appreciate the invite, but I think I’ll have to pass this time."

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, but you notice the way his posture subtly shifts, like he’s relieved. Taking the opportunity, you turn to him. “Speaking of leaving, I should probably get going.”

His expression falters slightly, just for a second, but he quickly recovers. “Oh… already?”

You nod, offering him a warm smile. “Yeah, but congratulations again. The exhibition is amazing, and I’m really proud of you.”

Something flickers in Hyunjin’s eyes at your words, but before he can say anything, you take a small step back. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He nods, and just as you turn to leave, Edgar playfully nudges Hyunjin. “Damn, man. You didn’t even try to convince her to stay.”

Hyunjin ignores him, watching as you disappear into the crowd. And as much as he wishes you had stayed just a little longer, he holds on to your words—letting them replay in his head, over and over again.

-

You take a sip of your iced coffee as you scroll through your Lustre notifications. Most of them are the usual—likes, tips, and messages ranging from sweet to outright explicit but one message catches your attention. The one user with the purple tulips picture on his profile. You open it, your curiosity piqued.

mag.shawn: “I really liked your new photos. The silk dress suits you beautifully, but what suits you best is the smile on your face.”

You pause for a moment, rereading the message. It’s simple, kind, and—like before—different from the usual messages you receive. There’s something almost personal about it, like he actually sees you beyond just the photos. You type out a quick reply.

"Thank you! That’s really sweet of you to say. I’m glad you liked the photos. Hope you’re having a good day, sweet baby!"

Hearing the knocking on your door, you set your phone down and walk to the door to open it. You don't have to check to know that it's Hyunjin. You step aside to let him into your apartment, he walks in without hesitation, setting his bag down near the couch.

“Want to have a drink first?” you offer because he seems like he's just ran from his art school in a rush.

He uses the hair tie he carries around in his wrist to tie his hair into a low ponytail. “Maybe later. We have a lot to do now.”

The two of you don’t waste time, moving around in quiet understanding as you begin rearranging one of the spare rooms to turn it into a proper photo studio. You adjust the lighting, shift furniture, and clear out unnecessary clutter while Hyunjin sets up his camera equipment, occasionally checking the angles and backdrop.

The silence is comfortable, but after a while, you feel the weight of something unsaid pressing on your chest. You take a deep breath and break it.

“Hey…” You glance at Hyunjin, who is adjusting his camera settings. He hums in response, looking up.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay long at your exhibition,” you say softly, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

He straightens up and calmly responds. “It’s alright.” But then, after a beat, he tilts his head and asks, “Why, though?”

You hesitate, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s just… safer that way,” you finally say, your voice quieter. “I don’t want to risk getting recognized by people.” You lower your gaze, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Hyunjin frowns slightly. “Embarrass me how?”

You let out a small, breathy chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “For being... with me. For being associated with what I do.”

He shakes his head, almost scoffing. “I don’t care about all that stuff.”

“Yeah,” You lift your gaze to him and, without thinking, murmur, “But other people do.”

Hyunjin falls silent at that. His expression shifts—like he wants to argue, to tell you that it doesn’t matter what others think. But deep down, you both know that’s not entirely true.

The room stays quiet for a moment before you clear your throat, forcing a smile. “Anyway, I'll get the cake.”

He watches you as you get up from the floor and walk out of the room but the weight of your words lingers between you both.

The concept for today is simple—just you against the clean, white backdrop, playing with food as a prop. The first choice is a small, frosted cake, one that you picked up specifically for this shoot. You sit on the floor with the cake in front of you, dressed in a soft, pastel-colored outfit that contrasts nicely against the backdrop.

Hyunjin lifts his camera, adjusting the focus. “Are you ready?”

You give him a thumbs-up. “I'm ready.”

The second he aims the camera at you, you dip a finger into the frosting, bringing it to your lips with a playful smirk. The camera clicks. You swipe a bit of frosting onto your cheek, pouting dramatically, and Hyunjin chuckles before snapping another shot.

"Try smearing some on your lips,” he suggests, his voice more focused now.

You do as he says, dabbing frosting on your bottom lip before licking it off slowly. The camera clicks again.

“Perfect,” he mutters while keeping his focus on getting good shots.

The shoot continues like this—innocent yet teasing, fun but undeniably intimate. You pretend to feed an imaginary person, tilt your head back with a bite of cake on your tongue, even press a bit of frosting onto your collarbone. Each time, Hyunjin captures the moment with an artist’s precision, his eyes trained on you through the lens.

But at some point, you glance up at him, and for the briefest moment, your eyes meet—not through the camera, but directly. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something that makes your stomach flutter. You quickly look away, dipping your fingers back into the frosting, pretending you didn’t notice the way Hyunjin swallowed hard before lifting the camera again.

As the shoot winds down, you stretch your arms above your head and let out a content sigh. “That was fun,” you say, glancing at the mess you made. There’s frosting smeared on your fingers, your face, on your chest and you’re sure there’s some in your hair too.

He lowers his camera and looks at you, his lips pressing together as if he’s holding back a smile. “Yeah, fun for you,” he mutters. “I have to clean all this up.”

You grin, swiping a bit more frosting onto your cheek just to be annoying. “Well, you’re the photographer. That’s part of your job, isn’t it?”

Hyunjin sighs, shaking his head, but he grabs a cloth and steps closer. “You’re impossible.”

The warmth of his fingers ghosts over your skin as he wipes the icing from your cheek first, his touch careful and lingering longer than necessary. You stay still, watching him through your lashes as he works his way down—your jaw, the curve of your neck, the dip of your collarbone. His movements are slow, deliberate, and you can’t help but tease him.

“You sure this isn’t part of your job description too?” you murmur, tilting your head slightly.

He briefly stops moving, his eyes flicking to yours. There’s something in his gaze—something warm, something restrained. But then he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he moves to clean the frosting from your hair. “And you have to pay me extra for it.”

You laugh softly, letting him continue. But there’s no denying the shift in the air, the tension settling between you both as his fingers linger just a little too long. Even after he wipes most of the frosting with wet wipes, you feel the remnants of sugar still clinging to your skin. "I need a shower," you announce, already heading toward the bathroom. "Order dinner while I'm in there. Get whatever you want."

Hyunjin, now cleaning the mess on the floor, nods absentmindedly. "Got it."

The sound of running water fills the bathroom as you step inside, letting the warmth wash away the sticky remnants of the shoot. The sweet scent of frosting lingers on your skin, but soon it’s replaced by the familiar comfort of your body wash. You’re halfway through rinsing your hair when you faintly hear Hyunjin’s voice outside the door.

"Hey—what do you want to drink?"

You blink through the water running down your face, unable to make out his words clearly. "What?"

"I said—" His voice comes again, a little louder this time, but still muffled by the sound of the shower.

Sighing, you shake your head. "Just come inside, I can't hear you!"

There’s a pause. A long one. Then, the door creaks open hesitantly. "I'm—uh—I'm coming in," He mumbles, clearly uncomfortable.

You smirk to yourself, picturing the way he must be avoiding looking anywhere but straight ahead. "Relax, it's not like you haven't seen me naked before."

He scoffs but doesn't comment. "I was asking what you want to drink," he says stiffly, keeping his gaze locked on the tiled floor as he stands awkwardly by the sink.

Still grinning to yourself, you peek your head out from behind the shower curtain, water dripping down your face. "Just get me iced tea or something," you say casually.

He glances at you for only a second—before his eyes go wide, and he quickly looks away, his ears turning pink. "Okay—iced tea. Got it."

Before you can tease him further, he spins on his heel and nearly stumbles out of the bathroom, shutting the door a little too quickly behind him. Laughing to yourself, you shake your head and return to your shower, amused at how flustered he still gets around you.

-

Steam clings to your skin as you step out of the bathroom, your hair damp and dripping onto the collar of your bathrobe. The scent of warm food fills your apartment, making your stomach growl. You pad barefoot toward the kitchen, finding Hyunjin setting out containers of takeout, his sleeves pushed up as he arranges everything neatly. Without hesitation, you reach over and snatch a crispy fry from the plate.

"Hey!" He glares at you, swatting at your hand too late. "At least get dressed first!"

You grin as you pop the fry into your mouth. "Why? Does it bother you?" you tease, clutching your robe loosely around you.

He huffs, narrowing his eyes. "No. It’s just basic hygiene. Also, your hair is dripping everywhere."

You glance down, noticing a few stray droplets landing on the table. Shrugging, you steal another fry. "Guess I'll have to eat fast before I make a mess, then."

He groans, grabbing a napkin and pressing it into your hand. "Go. Dry off, get dressed, and then you can eat like a normal person."

You roll your eyes but turn on your heel, waving a hand as you walk away. "Ugh, okay, fine. But don't eat all the fries before I get back."

The two of you sit across from each other at the small dining table, the scent of fried food and warm rice filling the space between you. With your hair still wrapped in towel, you twirl your chopsticks absentmindedly, picking at your food while Hyunjin quietly eats. The atmosphere is comfortable, a peaceful kind of quiet settling between you both—until he suddenly speaks up.

"So…" He pauses, looking down at his plate before glancing up at you. "How did your meeting with Felix go?"

You stop mid-bite, not expecting him to bring it up. "It went fine," you answer, chewing slowly.

He nods, as if contemplating your answer, before continuing, "And what do you think of the guy?"

You shrug, poking at a piece of chicken. "He's nice."

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to say more. When you don’t, he asks, "So, have you decided? Are you going to collab with him?"

You let out a small sigh, setting your chopsticks down. "I don’t know. I mean, he’s great—charming, professional, all that. But…" You hesitate, searching for the right words. "I’m not fully sure about it yet."

He stays quiet, nodding slowly but a while later, his gaze flickers to you. "Why not?"

You purse your lips, unsure of how to explain it. "I guess… I just don’t jump into things like this. I like to trust the person I work with, and trust takes time, you know?"

He hums in response, stabbing a piece of food with his chopsticks. "Yeah. Makes sense."

As you and Hyunjin clean up after dinner, the rhythmic clinking of dishes and running water fills the room. You pass him a plate to dry, your fingers brushing for a fleeting second before you turn back to the sink. You thought that Hyunjin has dropped the conversation until, out of nowhere, he speaks up. "If you're still considering," he starts, voice casual but careful, "then maybe you should do a test shoot with him."

You glance at him, surprised. "A test shoot?"

Hyunjin nods, keeping his eyes on the dish he’s drying. "Yeah. Just to see if you really have the chemistry. That way, you don’t have to commit right away, and it’ll help you decide."

You lean against the counter, thinking. "I never thought about that…"

"It makes sense, right?" He finally looks at you, his expression neutral, but there’s something in his eyes—something unreadable. "If it works, great. If not, then you won’t waste your time."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, mulling over his words. He has a point. And yet, something about him bringing it up makes you hesitate. "You think I should do it?"

He nonchalantly shrugs. "It’s just a suggestion."

You study him for a moment, trying to gauge what he's really thinking. But his face gives nothing away. Instead of pressing, you nod slowly, wiping your damp hands on a dish towel. "Maybe I will."

The night continues with the two of you settling onto the couch with cans of drinks in hands, checking the result of today's photoshoot. Your laptop balanced between you, the soft glow of the screen lights up your faces as you scroll through the photos. Some shots capture the playful chaos—the smears of icing on your skin, the mischievous glint in your eyes—while others are more poised, effortlessly seductive in a way that even surprises you.

"You did a great job," you say, nudging Hyunjin lightly with your elbow. "They all look amazing."

He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze fixed on the screen. "You made it easy."

A pleased smile tugs at your lips, and as you keep scrolling, a random thought pops into your head. "The cake was delicious by the way. Should stick to that bakery shop." You glance at him. "Which reminds me—what kind do you want for your birthday?"

He freezes for half a second before slowly turning his head to look at you, eyes narrowing. "How do you know when my birthday is?"

You grin sheepishly, caught red-handed. "Uh… I may have accidentally found out when I was at your apartment. Your mail was just sitting there, and I—"

"You went through my mail?" He squints at you, but there’s no real anger in his voice.

"Not on purpose!" you defend yourself, hands up in surrender. "It was just there, and I happened to see it. That’s how I know your birthday is next Friday."

He leans back against the couch, his legs parting apart. "Well, don’t get any ideas. There will be no cake."

You nod dramatically, pressing your lips together in mock seriousness. "No cake. Got it."

But then he narrows his eyes at you again, like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head. "And no gift either."

You gasp and then frown. "No gift? At all?"

"None," he confirms.

You pout, crossing your arms. "How come you don't want anything for your birthday?"

"Because I just don’t," he replies simply, as if that’s enough explanation. "And before you ask, no party either. No surprises, no celebrations, nothing."

You lean back against the couch, tilting your head as you study Hyunjin’s expression. He’s still watching the laptop screen, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or hesitation.

With a playful smirk, you decide to test him. "Okay, no cake, no gift, no party," you repeat. "But what if…" You pause, letting the anticipation build before continuing, "what if I was the gift?"

Hyunjin’s entire body stiffens. His eyes widen slightly, and he finally looks at you, clearly caught off guard. "Huh? What?"

You bite back a laugh at how flustered he looks, his ears already turning red. "I mean, if you won’t accept a present, maybe I could be the present," you tease, tilting your head. "Would you accept that?"

Hyunjin blinks rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to come up with a logical response, but failing miserably.

You scoot a little closer, watching his reaction with amusement. "What’s wrong? You look nervous."

"I’m not," he mutters, but his voice betrays him.

You chuckle. "You’re totally flustered right now."

"I—" Hyunjin abruptly stands up from the couch, nearly knocking over the laptop in his rush. "It’s, uh—getting late. I should go."

You laugh, watching as he practically scrambles to gather his things. "So that’s a no on accepting me as your gift?"

He shoots you a glare, but it’s weak at best, his face still slightly pink. "Goodnight."

With that, he heads straight for the door, leaving you grinning to yourself as you hear it click shut behind him.

-

You sit in your parked car, drumming your fingers lightly on the steering wheel as you wait for Hyunjin to be done with his class. With nothing else to do, you pull out your phone and open Lustre, skimming through notifications until a new message catches your eye.

mag.shawn: "I’m a little nervous today. I’m meeting someone, and I don’t know how it’ll go. But anyway, I just wanted to say I hope you’re having a lovely day."

You smile softly, touched by his honesty. Without thinking too much, you type out a response.

"I’m sure it’ll go well! Just be yourself, and everything will fall into place. Wishing you the best of luck, and hope you have a lovely day too!"

Just as you send the message, a sudden knock on your window makes you jump. You turn to see Edgar grinning at you through the glass. With a sigh, you roll down the window. "Please don't sneak up on people like that."

Edgar chuckles, resting his arms on the top of your car door. "Sorry, couldn't help myself." He tilts his head. "Waiting for Hyunjin?"

"Yeah," you reply, glancing past him as if you might spot Hyunjin approaching.

"Perfect timing, then," Edgar says, leaning in slightly. "Did you know it's his birthday this Friday?"

You nod. "I do, actually."

His eyebrows raise in mild surprise. "Oh? He told you?"

"Not exactly," you admit. "I found out by accident."

Edgar laughs. "Figures. He’s not the type to bring it up." Then, as if suddenly remembering, he adds, "A few of us are taking him out for drinks that night. Just something chill, nothing crazy. You should come."

You blink at the unexpected invitation. "I—"

"It’s at The Blue Moon, around nine," he continues, not giving you a chance to refuse. "No pressure, but I think he’d be happy if you showed up."

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. "I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try."

"That’s good enough for me," Edgar says, pushing away from your car just as you spot Hyunjin walking toward you.

Edgar gives you one last wink before stepping away, leaving you with a strange feeling as Hyunjin approaches and slides into the passenger seat.

Hyunjin glances toward Edgar, then at you. "What did he want?"

You start the engine, glancing at him with a small smile. "Nothing much."

Hyunjin tosses his backpack to the backseat of the car before putting the safety belt on. “So, where are we meeting him?”

You turn the car engine on and it roars to life. “It’s at this hotel not far from here,” you answer, showing him the route on the GPS.

-

The elevator dings as you and Hyunjin step into the dimly lit hallway of the hotel, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. Room 716—you stop in front of the door and knock twice.

Within seconds, the door swings open, revealing Felix on the other side. His warm smile is the first thing you notice, followed by the familiar brightness in his honey-brown eyes. His long bleached-blond hair is tied back loosely, a few strands framing his sharp yet inviting features.

"Hey, you made it," he greets, pulling you into a brief but firm hug that smells like vanilla and something subtly musky.

"Of course," you reply, pulling back with a small smile. You turn slightly to gesture to Hyunjin. "And this is Hyunjin—my photographer. He’s the man behind all those amazing photos."

Felix’s eyes flicker to Hyunjin, and he extends a hand. "Nice to finally meet you. Your work is incredible."

Hyunjin shakes his hand but remains quiet, only offering a polite nod. You can tell he’s reserved, but you’re not sure if it’s because he’s just naturally like that or because of the situation.

You clear your throat and turn back to Felix. "So, I just want to make it clear—this is a test shoot. Just to see how well we work together, how the chemistry flows. No pressure."

Felix’s lips curve into a confident smile, his gaze holding yours as he playfully responds, "Oh, I don't feel pressured at all."

His words hang in the air for a second longer than necessary, and you glance at Hyunjin, who remains expressionless, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. Something about this moment makes your stomach flutter—but whether it’s excitement or nerves, you can’t quite tell.

The soft click of Hyunjin’s camera echoes through the hotel room as you and Felix stand near the edge of the bed, facing each other under the warm glow of the studio light he set up.

Felix shifts beside you, then pauses, tilting his head. “Is it okay if I touch you?” His voice is gentle, respectful, his dark eyes searching yours for permission.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

With that, Felix lifts his hand, fingertips grazing your wrist before sliding up to your elbow, guiding you subtly closer. The two of you hold the pose, looking into each other’s eyes and he looks at you in a way that makes you feel nervous that you can’t help the way your lips twitch, and after a few seconds, you burst into laughter, flustered.

“Sorry, sorry!” you gasp, covering your mouth as you glance at Hyunjin, who lowers his camera slightly, his expression unreadable.

Felix chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re cute when you get flustered.”

The photoshoot continues, Felix adjusting his stance, letting his touches remain light and respectful—a hand on your waist, fingers grazing your jaw as if to brush imaginary strands of hair away. Hyunjin keeps clicking, staying quiet as he captures each moment.

Between shots, Felix leans in, his voice just above a whisper. “You have the prettiest smile,” he murmurs.

You blush, biting your lip as you try to hold your pose.

Another click of the camera. “Your skin is so soft.”

You giggle, shaking your head slightly as the warmth in your cheeks deepens. Felix just grins, enjoying your reaction. The camera keeps clicking, capturing every moment—but you can’t help but wonder what’s going through Hyunjin’s mind right now.

“That’s enough for now,” Hyunjin suddenly announces, lowering the camera from his face. His voice is steady, but something in his chest feels tight, like he’s been holding his breath for too long.

You turn to look at him, blinking as if pulled from a daze, while Felix exhales a soft hum, tilting his head in thought.

“Actually,” Felix says, still holding onto your waist, “Can we try one more thing?”

Before you can ask, Felix glances down at you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “How about a kiss?”

-

The camera in his hands acts as a barrier, separating him from the scene unfolding in front of him. But it doesn't stop him from seeing everything—the way Felix holds you so effortlessly, the way you laugh when Felix murmurs something in your ear, the way your body relaxes against his touch.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why he’s noticing these things. He shouldn’t be. But as he adjusts the focus, framing the next shot, he can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t belong here—like he’s intruding on something intimate, something that doesn’t need a spectator.

It’s ridiculous. He’s here for work. Nothing else. Still, he feels like a third wheel.

Felix and you—you make sense together. Felix is confident, charming, a natural in front of the camera. He knows how to play up the chemistry, how to draw reactions from you that look effortlessly beautiful through the lens.

Hyunjin, on the other hand—he’s just behind the camera. A quiet observer.

And when Felix suddenly suggests a kiss, the thought cements itself deep in his stomach.

Hyunjin stills and you freeze, eyes widening as you pull back slightly. “What?”

“A kiss,” Felix repeats, like he’s merely suggesting a new camera angle. “Just a light one. I think it would look great in the photos. Plus—” he smirks now, “—it's how we know for sure if we have that chemistry.”

Hyunjin swallows hard, fingers twitching over the shutter button on the camera. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much—the way Felix is looking at you, the casual way he suggests kissing you, as if it’s nothing more than another pose to try.

You, on the other hand, look completely flustered. “I—” You glance at Hyunjin for a fraction of a second before looking back at Felix, hesitating.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just waits. And after a moment of silence, you crack a sheepish laugh and nod.

You and Felix are now sitting on the end of the bed and Hyunjin presses record. The camera’s screen frames the moment perfectly—too perfectly. Felix starts slow, his fingers tucking every stray strand of hair away from your face with a tenderness that makes Hyunjin’s stomach knot. Then, Felix’s hands cradle your jaw, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones.

“You’re comfortable, right?” Felix murmurs, his voice so soft that the mic barely picks it up. He doesn’t move forward just yet, just holds you like he has all the time in the world. “You can stop me whenever, yeah?”

You nod, swallowing.

Felix smiles—gentle, reassuring. “You have such beautiful eyes.” Then, he tilts forward—but not toward your lips. Instead, he kisses the corner of your eye.

Hyunjin remains calm but his grip tightens on the camera. The way you suck in a sharp breath, your lashes fluttering at the unexpected touch—it’s too much to watch through the lens. But before you can react, Felix does it again, placing a kiss on the other eye.

The moment is intimate, more than Hyunjin expected. And yet, his hands don’t lower the camera. And then—before you can process it—Felix finally presses his lips to your slightly parted mouth. It’s gentle at first. Barely there. Just the soft press of his lips against yours, his hands steady on your face as if holding something delicate. Hyunjin feels something crawl up his throat as he keeps his hands steady.

Felix pulls back, searching your gaze. “Can I continue?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted. And then—you nod.

Hyunjin swears he sees the exact moment Felix’s expression changes—from gentle to something else entirely. Because this time, when Felix kisses you again, it’s deeper. More insistent. He watches—forced to watch—as the kiss grows, slow and unhurried, but still more intense with every second.

Felix tilts his head, his fingers slipping down to your neck, pressing you closer. Your hands finally move, fingers clutching at his sleeves.

Hyunjin doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the burning in his chest forces him to exhale and for the first time since picking up a camera, he wishes he wasn’t here. He clears his throat. Loud enough. Sharp enough. Enough to cut through whatever moment was unfolding between you and Felix.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice flat, carefully void of emotion. He lowers the camera, stopping the recording. “I got what we needed.”

But Felix—he doesn’t let go. Instead, he keeps his hands steady on you, his thumbs absently brushing the skin of your jaw. His gaze lingers on your lips, like he’s not ready to pull away just yet. Then, finally, a slow grin spreads across his face.

“You’re a good kisser,” he muses, his voice low, filled with something teasing but also… something else.

It takes you a second to react, like you’re only just registering what happened. Your eyes widen and warmth spreads across your face.

Felix chuckles at your flustered expression, his hands finally releasing you. “You okay?” he asks, amusement lacing his tone.

Despite still dazed, still feeling the ghost of his lips on yours, you nod. You scoot to the edge of the bed, walking toward Hyunjin.

“Can I take a quick look on the photos?”

The three of you sit together on the sofa, scrolling through the shots and the video, the room quiet except for the occasional click of Hyunjin’s camera as he reviews the footage.

Felix leans in slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours. Then, softly, just for you to hear, he mutters, “Told you. We have chemistry.”

You glance at him, catching the smirk playing on his lips. It’s confident—almost knowing. You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head, but you don’t deny it.

Felix leans back, stretching. “So, how about I treat you both dinner? My way of saying thanks.”

You smile but shake your head. “I appreciate it, but we should get going.”

Felix pouts dramatically. “Not even a quick bite?”

“I’ll take a rain check,” you say. “Besides, you have another shoot, right?”

Felix sighs, pretending to be put out, but there’s an amused glint in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Work never stops.”

You stand, and Felix follows suit. Before you leave, he pulls you into a quick, warm hug, his arms squeezing lightly around your shoulders.

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” he murmurs.

You smile. “I’ll think about it.”

Felix tugs at your elbow and says, “Any kind of call.”

You smile as you step back, and as you turn toward the door, Hyunjin—who had remained noticeably quiet—only gives Felix a brief, wordless nod before heading out.

During the car ride home, Hyunjin keeps his eyes on the road ahead, but his mind is elsewhere. He glances at you briefly before saying, “I have to admit, I was a little surprised you turned down the dinner.”

You smirk, keeping your eyes on the road. “Oh? Are you disappointed?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “No. Just… surprised.”

“Well, if you want, I can buy you dinner instead,” you offer, sparing him a quick glance. “But I can’t tonight. I have somewhere to be.”

That piques his curiosity. He tilts his head slightly. “Where?”

You only smile mysteriously. “That’s a secret.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at you, watching as you pull up in front of the apartment building. Before he can ask again, you unlock the doors, silently telling him to get out. He hesitates for a second, still wondering where you’re going, but he knows you won’t tell him even if he asks. With a sigh, he steps out of the car and carries his backpack in hand.

“See you later,” you playfully say to him just before he shuts the car door

As you drive away, Hyunjin stands there, hands in his pockets, watching your car disappear down the street and he can’t help but wonder.

-

Hyunjin has never liked celebrating his birthday. It’s not that he hates it—it’s just another day to him, one that he doesn’t see the need to make a big deal out of. Growing up, birthdays were quiet affairs, just a simple meal with his family, sometimes a cake if his mom had the time. Now that he’s older, he prefers to let the day pass without much attention. No parties, no gifts, no unnecessary fuss.

So when his class ends and he slings his bag over his shoulder, he’s already planning a quiet evening—maybe sketching, maybe watching something mindless until he falls asleep.

But as soon as he turns the corner, Edgar is waiting for him, grinning like he’s up to something. “There you are! Come on, we’re heading out.”

Hyunjin tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack. “Heading where?”

Before he can take a step back, Edgar throws an arm around his shoulders, steering him toward the exit. Two more of their friends appear, flanking him on either side like bodyguards.

“The bar, of course!” one of them chimes in.

Hyunjin groans, knowing well what Edgar planned for him. “I didn’t say I was going—”

“Too bad,” Edgar cuts him off. “We’re celebrating your birthday, and you don’t get a say in it.”

Hyunjin sighs, already regretting not taking a different route out of the building. “You guys planned this?”

“Obviously,” Edgar says, rolling his eyes. “Did you really think we’d let your birthday pass without doing anything?”

That’s exactly what Hyunjin had hoped for. But seeing the determined looks on his friends’ faces, he knows there’s no escaping this. “Fine,” he mutters. “One drink.”

Edgar smirks. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.”

With that, they drag him out of the building, and Hyunjin resigns himself to the fact that his quiet night is officially ruined.

-

The second you step into the bar, you weave through the crowd, scanning the room until your eyes land on Hyunjin. He’s standing by the bar, drinks in both hands, his expression neutral as he waits for the bartender to return with the rest of the order.

A smile tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Without a second thought, you close the distance between you and, just as he turns slightly, you throw your arms around him from behind. “Got you!”

Hyunjin tenses for half a second, startled, and nearly spills the drinks in his hands. You hear a sharp inhale, a quiet grunt of protest, but before he can say anything, you take full advantage of the fact that his hands are full. Leaning in, you press a quick, sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Happy birthday!” You cheerfully whisper into his ear and you can feel his whole body stiffens in reaction.

You pull back just enough to look at him, grinning as you meet his eyes. He stares at you, his lips slightly parted, clearly caught off guard. The dim lighting of the bar does nothing to hide the way his ears redden.

Hyunjin shifts the drinks in his hands and glances at you, still looking slightly flustered from the surprise hug and kiss. “Why are you here?” he asks, his tone more curious than accusatory.

Before you can answer, he exhales sharply and mutters, “Wait. Let me guess—Edgar?”

You grin and nod, confirming his guess. Right on cue, Edgar appears beside the two of you, a wide smile on his face as he claps Hyunjin on the back before turning his attention to you. “You made it! I knew you wouldn’t miss it.”

You chuckle. “I wouldn't miss a little fun.”

“Now, what are you drinking?” Edgar gestures towards the bar. “First round’s on me.”

Before you can reply, you shoot Hyunjin a playful look. “See? Edgar’s offering me a drink. Meanwhile, the birthday boy didn’t even ask.”

Hyunjin scoffs, rolling his eyes as he finally sets the drinks down on the table nearby. “You showed unannounced and ambushed me. You barely gave me a chance.”

You scoff and dramatically roll your eyes at Hyunjin. “Excuses.”

Edgar laughs. “Alright, alright, let me get you something. What’s your poison?”

The bar is alive with laughter and clinking glasses, everyone in high spirits as they celebrate Hyunjin’s birthday. The moment someone starts singing the birthday song, the rest of the group drunkenly joins in, their voices off-key and words slurred from all the alcohol.

Hyunjin groans, lifting a hand. “God! Please, shut up already.” His protest only makes them sing louder, and you laugh as you watch him shake his head in defeat.

Once the song ends with a chaotic cheer, the night continues with games, and somehow, you and Hyunjin end up locked in an intense match of darts. The two of you stand side by side, taking turns as the others watch and place bets on who will win.

“You’re going down,” you tease, lining up your shot before releasing the dart. It lands close to the bullseye, and you turn to Hyunjin with a smug smile.

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, picking up his dart. “We’ll see about that.”

He lines up his shot, eyes locked on the dartboard with unwavering focus. His fingers grip the dart, his stance firm as he calculates the perfect angle.

Smirking to yourself, you step closer, just enough to lean in near his ear. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you blow a soft puff of air against his skin.

Hyunjin instantly flinches, his body jerking as a shudder runs through him. “What the—?!” His grip on the dart slips, and it flies off-course, landing embarrassingly far from the bullseye.

You burst into laughter, covering your mouth as you watch him slowly turn to glare at you.

“That was sabotage,” he mutters, jaw tightening as he runs a hand through his hair.

Before he can even think about payback, your phone buzzes in your pocket, pulling your attention away. You look at it to check caller ID. “I need to take this,” you say, stepping back.

Hyunjin watches you go, still looking slightly flustered, a dart in hand, but his eyes linger on you for a moment before he finally turns back to the game.

-

Stepping out of the bar, you take a deep breath of the cool night air. The muffled sounds of laughter and music fade as you slip into the quieter back alley, away from the chaos inside. You glance at your phone screen before swiping to answer.

"Finally," Felix sighs dramatically on the other end. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

You smirk, leaning against the brick wall. "And what if I was?"

"Then I'd have no choice but to call you every hour until you gave in," he teases, his voice warm and playful.

You roll your eyes. "You sound desperate."

"Of course, I’m desperate," he admits easily. "You still haven’t called me back. A lesser man would take the hint, but not me."

"You’re persistent," you muse.

"And charming," he adds smoothly. "And funny. And—"

"Annoying?" you finish for him.

Felix gasps in mock offense. "I was going to say irresistible, but sure, let’s go with annoying."

You chuckle. "Did you even call to talk about the collab at all?"

Felix hums. "Nope. I called because I wanted to."

Your stomach flutters slightly at his honesty, but you keep your voice light. "How bold of you."

"Always." He pauses, then asks, "So, when can I see you again?"

"As a good girl, I have to refuse the first time," you say teasingly. "You have to ask me again in two days."

Felix groans. "Two days? That’s cruel."

"You’ll live," you reply with a smirk.

"Fine," he grumbles. "But can I at least call you tomorrow?"

You pretend to consider. "You can… but I can’t promise you that I’ll pick it up."

Felix lets out a dramatic sigh. "Playing hard to get. I see how it is."

You grin. "Goodnight, Felix."

"Sweet dreams, beautiful," he replies smoothly before the call ends.

Your heart is still racing as you turn back toward the bar’s entrance, shaking off the uneasy feeling that Felix’s call had left behind.

Just as you’re about to step inside, you nearly bump into Edgar. The smell of alcohol clings to him, and his smile is loose, his movements sluggish. "There you are," he says, his voice slightly slurred. "I was looking for you."

You force a small smile. "I just stepped out to take a phone call." You move to walk past him, but before you can, he grabs your wrist.

"Stay with me for a bit," he says.

Your shoulders stiffen. He’s drunk—you can see it in his unfocused eyes. Keeping your distance, you shake your head. "I'd better go back inside."

Edgar frowns. "Hey, come on, just stay with me for a minute."

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to play it off. "I don’t want to make Hyunjin waits."

But then, before you can step back, Edgar’s grip tightens, and he pulls you closer. You freeze. "Edgar, please let go," you say firmly, trying to pull away.

Instead, he pulls you in even tighter, his face dangerously close to yours. "Come on, why are you so shy?" he chuckles.

You twist in his grip, but he only holds you tighter. Your stomach churns with unease. "You’re drunk," you tell him, keeping your voice as calm as possible. "Please, let me go."

Edgar only smirks. "Just one kiss."

You shove him—hard. He stumbles back, his back hitting the stacked crates of empty beer bottles. For a second, you think it’s over, but then he looks at you, his expression darkening. "How much?"

Your brows knotted. "What?"

Edgar tilts his head. "How much should I pay you for a kiss?"

Disgust and disbelief surge through you. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He scoffs. "Don’t play dumb. I know who you are." His voice drops lower, more sinister. "So how much to fuck you?"

Your body goes rigid, the word alone making your skin crawl. "You're disgusting."

Before you can move, Edgar lunges toward you. Your back slams against the brick wall as he pins you there, his hands gripping your arms. Panic flares in your chest. You struggle, trying to push him off, but he’s stronger than you expected. "Get off me!"

And then, suddenly—The back door flies open with a loud bang.

"Get the fuck off her!"

Hyunjin’s voice is sharp, furious. He’s standing in the doorway, his whole body tense, his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes burn with anger as he takes in the scene before him—Edgar pinning you against the wall, your expression twisted in fear.

Edgar only scoffs, barely glancing at Hyunjin. "Relax, man—"

Before he can finish, Hyunjin strides forward and roughly grabs him by the shoulders, yanking him away from you and shoving him backward. Edgar stumbles, cursing.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate—he turns to you, his expression shifting. He reaches out, his hand grasping yours, pulling you up and steadying you. His touch is gentle despite the rage in his eyes.

Then Edgar laughs, low and taunting. "Why are you friends with a whore like her?"

The words hit like a slap and it makes something in Hyunjin snaps. He lunges at Edgar, landing a hard punch straight to his face. Edgar barely has time to process it before Hyunjin punches him again—once, twice. Edgar collapses onto the ground, but Hyunjin doesn’t stop. He gets down, grabbing Edgar by the collar, and raises his fist again.

"Hyunjin!" you cry, rushing forward.

Hyunjin is still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements. His fists remain clenched, his knuckles already turning red from the force of his punches. Edgar groans on the ground, a hand pressed to his bleeding nose, but Hyunjin doesn’t seem satisfied yet. His body is still tense, ready to throw another punch.

Without thinking, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, holding him back. "Hyunjin," you plead, your voice quiet but urgent. "Please stop."

His whole body is trembling, heat radiating off him, but at your touch, his breathing hitches. He doesn’t move right away, as if still caught in the grip of his anger.

You tighten your hold, pressing your cheek against his back. "Let’s just go," you murmur.

Hyunjin’s fists slowly loosen. His breath is still uneven, but the tension in his body begins to ease. For a moment, neither of you move. The only sound is Edgar’s groaning and the distant noise of the bar inside. Then, finally, Hyunjin lets out a slow, shaky breath and nods.

You release him, stepping back just enough to see his face. His jaw is tight, his eyes still burning with anger, but he’s calming down. He turns away from Edgar without another glance. You take his hand—gently, reassuringly—and lead him away.

-

Hyunjin sits on the couch, his hand resting in yours as you carefully dab at his bruised knuckles with a damp cloth. His skin is raw, swollen, and angry-looking, but he barely flinches. Instead, he watches you. The way your brows knit together in concentration, the way your lips press into a tight line, the way your hands—gentle yet firm—move with such care.

“You shouldn’t have fought him,” you murmur, your voice laced with both scolding and concern. “What if you seriously hurt your hand? What if you couldn’t paint anymore?”

Hyunjin has been trying to hold himself together, trying to push down the emotions still swirling inside him, but hearing you go on and on about him—worrying about him instead of yourself—something inside him snaps.

"Why do you keep worrying about me?" he suddenly bursts out, his voice sharp. “You should worry about yourself!”

He immediately regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. He watches as your lips part slightly, your breath hitching, and then—your eyes get red. His heart clenches.

Shit.

He inhales, forcing himself to calm down before his voice softens. "Are you okay?"

Your gaze wavers as you stare at him. For a second, it seems like you’re trying to hold it together, but then, barely above a whisper, you shake your head. "Honestly, no," you admit as tears spill from your eyes, "I'm not okay."

He reaches for you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist—instead, you bury yourself against him, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break. He holds you tight. "It’s okay," he murmurs. "I’ve got you."

The two of you stay like that with Hyunjin holding you close as if he tries to absorb part of you sadness. He doesn’t let go even as your sobs quiet, even as your breathing evens out, he keeps holding you, his arms wrapped securely around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip. His hand moves gently over your hair, smoothing it down, while his other rubs slow circles against your back. He doesn’t say anything—he just lets you cry, lets you release everything you’ve been holding in.

Minutes pass like this, the silence filled only by your uneven breaths. Then, finally, you stir against him. You pull back just enough to look at him, your face still wet with tears, eyes glassy and tired. Hyunjin meets your gaze, his heart aching at the vulnerability written all over your face.

"Can you stay with me tonight?" you ask, your voice small, fragile.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate as he nods. "Of course," he says softly.

Your lips tremble, but you manage a tiny, grateful smile.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "Come on," he murmurs, guiding you gently toward your bedroom. "Let’s get you to bed."

You and Hyunjin lie side by side on your bed, neither of you saying anything at first. Just breathing, just existing in the same space. Then, after a while, you break the silence.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He turns his head slightly, though he can barely make out your face in the dim light. "For what?"

"For… causing what happened."

At that, Hyunjin tenses. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, all you can hear is the faint hum of the city outside. Then, finally, he exhales.

"Why are you apologizing for getting assaulted?" His voice is quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it, like he’s trying to hold back his frustration. "That wasn’t your fault."

You don’t say anything, just stare up at the ceiling.

"If anything, what happened only showed me what kind of person Edgar really is," he continues. "And I don’t want to be friends with someone like that."

Silence settles between you again. Then, after a long pause, you shift closer to him. He feels the mattress dip under your weight, feels the warmth of your body inching toward him. When he looks over, he catches the faint gleam of your eyes in the dark, watching him.

Then, softly, you whisper his name. "Hyunjin."

He hums in acknowledgment. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," you say, your voice barely more than a breath.

Hyunjin swallows. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods, even though you probably can’t see it. Another stretch of silence follows, before you whisper again, "Goodnight."

He watches as your breathing evens out, your body relaxing as sleep slowly takes over. He tells himself he’ll leave once you’re asleep. He should go. He should get up, go back to his own apartment, and try to put everything that happened tonight behind him. But he doesn’t move. He stays.

-

Hyunjin wakes up to the unfamiliar weight of a blanket draped over him and the soft glow of morning light kissing his skin. His mind is slow to catch up, disoriented by the unfamiliar scent of the sheets and the way the bed feels different from his own. Then it hits him—he’s in your apartment. His eyes snap open fully, and he turns his head toward the space beside him, only to find it empty. The warmth lingering on the sheets tells him you must have been there not too long ago.

Hyunjin sits up, running a hand through his messy hair as he blinks away the remnants of sleep. His body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the events of last night. Still, he forces himself to get up, his movements sluggish as he fumbles out of bed.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. He steps out of your bedroom, his bare feet padding against the floor as he looks around. His gaze sweeps over the small living space, searching for you. For a second, a strange unease creeps up his spine—until he finally spots you.

You’re perched on the window sill, one knee pulled up to your chest, a steaming mug of coffee resting in your hands. You look lost in thought, your gaze fixed outside, watching the world slowly wake up.

He lingers in the doorway, unsure if he should say something or if he should just leave quietly. But then, as if sensing his presence, you slowly turn your head to the side.

Your eyes meet his, and then, just like that, you smile—soft and warm, like the morning itself. "Good morning," you greet, your voice still laced with sleep.

Hyunjin debating whether he should stay or make up an excuse to leave. But before he can make a decision, you tilt your head toward the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, taking another sip of your coffee.

He shakes his head almost immediately. “I should probably go—”

Before he can finish, you slide off the window sill, setting your mug down on the counter. “At least have some breakfast first.”

Hyunjin hesitates. He’s not really in the mood to eat, but before he can refuse, you’re already walking toward him, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder as you steer him toward the dining table.

“Sit,” you say, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He exhales through his nose but doesn’t fight it, dropping himself onto the chair. His fingers drum idly against the tabletop as he watches you move around the kitchen.

A few moments later, you place a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “Here. This should help wake you up.”

He glances at you, then at the cup. He hesitates for a second before finally wrapping his fingers around it, letting the warmth seep into his palms. He takes a slow sip, the bitterness grounding him a little.

You smile in satisfaction. “Good. Now sit tight while I make breakfast.”

Hyunjin hadn’t planned to stay, but now, with a warm meal in front of him and the air feeling oddly peaceful, he finds himself grateful that you insisted. As he takes the last bite of his toast, he feels your gaze on him. He glances up and catches you staring, your expression unreadable. His brow lifts slightly.

“What?” he asks, setting his fork down.

You hesitate, like you’re debating something internally, before finally reaching for something on the chair next to you. Hyunjin watches as you pick up a small, neatly wrapped package and place it on the table between you. His eyes flicker to the gift, then back to you.

“I didn’t get the chance to give this to you last night,” you explain, sliding it toward him.

“You got me a gift?” His voice comes out more hesitant than he intended.

Before he can say anything else, you quickly add, “I didn’t spend much money on it or anything. I made it myself.”

That catches his attention. His fingers twitch against his coffee cup as he stares at the package. He hesitates to reach for it, unsure if he deserves something so thoughtful. Seeing his reluctance, you gently nudge it closer. “Go on. Open it.”

He swallows, then carefully picks it up and begins unwrapping it. His fingers move slowly, peeling back the wrapping until he uncovers a leather-bound case. He unfolds it, his curiosity piqued when he sees the compartments inside. It takes him a moment to process—until realization dawns on him. It’s a paintbrush case. He runs his fingers over the stitching, taking in the effort that went into it.

Before he can say anything, you quickly interject, “I know it’s not perfect—”

“I like it,” He cuts you off, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His eyes meet yours, sincere and unguarded. “Thank you.”

Hyunjin barely has any words left to say after that. He just sits there, running his fingers over the smooth leather of the paintbrush case, admiring the craftsmanship and the effort you put into it. Every stitch, every fold—it’s clear that you made this with him in mind. He doesn’t know how to express what he’s feeling, so instead, he keeps his gaze on the gift, hoping you understand his silence for what it is: gratitude.

A smile slowly blooms on your face at his words, and something warm unfurls in his chest at the sight. Then, you break the quiet, your voice gentle but casual. “And don’t forget that we have that shoot tomorrow.”

He looks up at you, your expression easy and composed, as if nothing had happened the night before. His brows furrow slightly. “Shouldn’t you be… slowing down and maybe take a break?”

You shake your head and absentmindedly stabbing pieces of scrambled egg with your fork. “Nah. Making content takes my mind off things.”

Hyunjin watches you for a moment, studying the way you say it so lightly, like you’re brushing everything off as if last night didn’t shake you to your core. He wants to say something—maybe push you to take a break, to take care of yourself—but he can tell you don’t want to talk about it. He still doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but if this is what you want, he won’t argue. So instead, he just nods. “Alright.”

-

The air still humming with the energy of the shoot as you lie on your stomach on the thin mattress, your bare legs lazily swinging behind you as you scroll through Lustre notifications. The sheets beneath you are slightly rumpled from all the movement earlier.

Hyunjin is across the room, busy checking the result of the shoot. You let yourself get lost in your notifications, tapping through comments and messages until one catches your eye.

mag.shawn: I really liked your new set. You look beautiful as always. But I think what I love the most is your smile. Whenever I see it, it makes me wish for you to always be happy. That way, I get to see you smile every day.

There's something about his message feels different from the usual compliments you receive—more genuine, maybe. Less about desire and more about… you.

You: That’s really sweet. Thank you for your message. I appreciate it.

You hit send and glance up, only to find Hyunjin standing by the tripod, watching you with an unreadable expression. You don’t know how long he’s been looking.

“What?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand.

He shakes his head, turning away to grab his jacket. “Nothing.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, tilting your head at him, “Dinner?”

“Sure, I'll order,” he calmly responds, taking his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and begins tapping on it.

“And how about we watch a movie after?” you ask out of a whim.

Hyunjin looks up from his phone to look at you and casually says, “Sure.”

The soft glow of the living room lamps mixes with the flickering light from the movie playing on the screen, creating a cozy atmosphere. Hyunjin sits on the sofa, his plate resting on his lap as he absentmindedly takes small bites of his cake. His plan had been simple—stay a little longer to keep you company, maybe distract you for a while. But somewhere between the hearty dinner, and now, sitting here in the warmth of your apartment with you beside him, he realizes something he hadn’t expected. He’s enjoying himself.

It’s not just the food or the movie, though both are nice. It’s the easy, unspoken comfort of the moment. The way you’re curled up next to him, completely immersed in the film, your spoon slowly scraping against the plate as you savor each bite. The occasional hum of satisfaction you make. The way he feels… at ease. He had meant to leave. He always does after the shoots. But now, he isn’t in a hurry.

You suddenly nudge him with your elbow, breaking him out of his thoughts. “It's good, right?” you motion toward his plate.

He glances down at the half-eaten slice of cake before looking back at you. A small smirk tugs at his lips. “Yeah. It’s good.”

Then your phone rings, shattering the comfortable silence. You don’t hesitate to pick it up, casually bringing it to your ear as if you’ve been expecting the call. At first, he doesn’t think much of it, keeping his focus on the movie, but then he can't help but catches glimpses of the conversation.

Your voice, soft and teasing, the slight lilt in your tone as you speak. A light chuckle here, a playful hum there. It doesn’t take much for him to piece together the kind of conversation you’re having.

He doesn’t want to care. He really doesn’t. So he keeps his eyes on the screen. By the time you finally hang up and set your phone aside, he barely lasts a second before blurting out, “Who was that?”

You glance at him, completely unbothered. “Felix.”

He keeps his expression neutral as he asks, “What did he want?”

“He asked if I’ve decided about the collab yet,” you say, stretching your arms above your head before settling back against the pillows.

Hyunjin hesitates before asking, “And… do you want to do it?”

“I think it’s a good opportunity to start something new.”

He frowns. “After what happened?”

You sigh, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. “I know,” you meekly admit.

“Then do you have to do it?”

“Not necessarily,” you say, meeting his gaze. “But I can’t just keep doing the same content and expect a different result.”

He exhales through his nose, still uneasy. “Do you trust him enough to do this with him?”

A small smile plays on your lips as you tilt your head. “The only man I trust to do this with is you.”

And then, before he can even process that, you add, “But since you obviously don’t want to, that means I don't exactly have any options.”

“Let’s do it.” The words slip out of him before he can stop them.

You freeze for a second. “What?”

He swallows, his grip tightening around his plate. “Do it with me.”

You stare at him for a second before laughing, shaking your head as if he just told the funniest joke. "Yeah, right," you scoff, waving a hand dismissively.

But Hyunjin doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even crack a smile. His expression remains serious, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your laughter waver. “I mean it,” he says, setting his plate down. “I want to do it.”

You arch a brow, still unconvinced. “You? Hyunjin, are you actually serious?”

“Yes,” he insists. “If you want, we can do it now.”

That only makes you laugh harder. “Oh my God, stop,” you say, pressing a hand against your forehead. “This is funny, okay, you've got me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of offense crossing his features. His brows pull together as he watches you laugh at him. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you chuckle, wiping at your eyes. “You saying all that with a straight face.”

He exhales sharply. “I don’t see what’s so funny about it.”

You sigh, finally regaining your composure, and shake your head with a small smile. “Even if you want to do it, we can’t just jump into it immediately.”

“Why not?” he challenges, tilting his head.

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbow on your knee. “Because,” you say, meeting his gaze, “there’s something else you have to do first.”

-

You remember, almost absentmindedly, that your friend’s wedding is this weekend. The realization comes as you sip your morning coffee, scrolling through your phone. A few mutual friends have posted about their excitement—outfit choices, travel plans, well wishes.

That’s when you glance toward the kitchen counter and spot the wedding invitation, half-buried beneath a pile of unopened mail. You set your mug down and pick it up, running your fingers over the elegant gold lettering. The date is clear. It’s happening in just a few days.

But instead of excitement, a heavy feeling settles in your chest. The memory of their engagement party resurfaces, uninvited. The way the night had ended for you. The way you had driven home with a lump in your throat, gripping the wheel too tightly. The way you had collapsed onto your bed, drowning in emotions you couldn’t quite name. You exhale sharply and set the invitation down. You already know your answer. You’re not going.

Turning away, you head toward your closet, pulling out the dress you had bought specifically for the occasion. It’s still in its garment bag, tags still attached—a waste, really. You take it out, letting the fabric slip between your fingers, admiring it for a moment before shaking your head. There’s no point in keeping it now.

Grabbing your phone, you check the return policy. Still eligible. Good. You drape the dress over your arm, grab your keys, and head for the door.

The store is far from crowded when you arrive. You step inside, the dress slung over your shoulder, and make your way straight to the customer service counter. A staff member greets you with a polite smile, and you return it as you place the garment bag onto the counter. “I’d like to return this,” you say, unzipping the bag to reveal the dress inside.

She nods and begins the process, asking for your receipt. As you dig through your bag, you hear footsteps approaching the counter beside you. Then, a familiar voice. “Uh—same here, actually.”

You freeze for a second before turning your head to the side. And there he is—Felix, standing next to you, looking just as surprised to see you. He’s holding a neatly folded tie, still in its box. His brows raise. “What are you doing here?”

You gesture toward the dress on the counter. “Returning this. You?”

A small laugh escapes him. “Returning this,” he says, lifting the tie slightly.

Before you can say anything else, the staff member turns her attention back to you. “May I know what’s the reason for the return?”

You hesitate, not exactly in the mood to explain the real reason behind it. Instead, you go for the easy answer. “I... don’t really like the cut.”

The staff nods, then looks at Felix. “And how about you?”

Felix grins, eyes glinting with mischief as he shrugs. “Yeah, same. Don’t really like the cut.”

It takes a second for the words to settle in before you both burst into laughter. The staff watches, clearly amused but keeping professional as she processes the returns. You shake your head, still chuckling, as Felix leans slightly against the counter. “Guess we both had second thoughts,” he muses, still grinning.

You and Felix found a cozy café not far from the store, the two of you sit by the window, your drinks in hand, watching people pass by outside.

Felix stirs his iced coffee lazily, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “You know,” he starts, “I’ve been holding myself back from calling you again.”

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your drink. “Oh? Now I can't help but think that maybe returning your tie was just an excuse to see me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Damn, you caught me.” Then, with a small sigh, he leans back in his chair, fingers tapping against the side of his cup. “But for real, my mom’s been pushing me to go to these job interviews. That’s actually why she got me the tie.”

You tilt your head. “Job interviews? For what?”

“Office jobs. Boring ones,” he says, rolling his eyes. “The kind where you sit at a desk all day and pretend to care about spreadsheets and meetings.” He takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. “I know she means well, but it’s just not for me.”

You nod in understanding. “So, you didn’t even go?”

“Nah,” he admits, grinning unapologetically before adorablg scrunches his nose. “I told her I’d think about it, but I don’t really want to. I like what I do. I don’t care what people think about it. It makes me money, I enjoy it, and that’s enough for me.”

Hearing that, you feel a flicker of understanding settle in your chest. You know exactly what he means. “Yeah,” you murmur, tapping your fingers against your cup. “I get that.”

Felix props his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you. "And how about you? Why’d you really return the dress?" he asks casually before taking another sip of his coffee.

You shrug, keeping your tone light. "Didn’t like the color."

He hums, unconvinced. "All colors suit you. Please find a better answer. "

You roll your eyes at him but let out a small laugh. He sees right through you. There’s no point in dodging the question, so you sigh, setting your cup down. "Fine," you admit. "It’s for a wedding this weekend… my friend's wedding."

Felix nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

"I was supposed to go," you say, fingers tracing the rim of your cup. "But I think I'd better not."

His expression shifts slightly, more attentive now. "Why?"

You exhale, looking out the café window for a moment. "I went to their engagement part and it wasn’t exactly a fun experience for me," you say with a wry smile. "People whispering, looking at me like I don’t belong there, some even making comments loud enough for me to hear. I just…" You shake your head. "I don’t want to deal with that again. I don’t want to cause any inconvenience at their wedding."

Felix frowns as he absentmindedly stirring his iced coffee with the straw. "Inconvenience?"

You nod, finger fiddling with the handle of your coffee mug. "It’s their special day. The last thing they need is people gossiping about me in the background."

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, leaning back in his chair. "That’s bullshit," he says, blunt as ever. "If your friend invited you, it means they want you there. You shouldn’t have to miss out on something just because some people don’t know how to mind their own business."

A part of you knows he’s right, but another part still hesitates. You give him a small smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "It’s easier this way."

Felix studies you for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. "Easier, maybe. But is it what you really want?"

Hearing no answers from you, he leans forward, resting his arms on the table, his warm brown eyes locked onto yours with an almost mischievous glint. "I think you should go," he says firmly. "Screw those people. It’s your friend’s wedding, not theirs."

You exhale, shaking your head. "Felix—"

"I’m serious," he cuts in. "And if you don’t want to go alone, then I’ll go with you."

That makes you pause and then snort in disbelief. "You’d do that?"

"Of course. I’ll be your date. Your supporter. Your personal hype man. Whatever you need." He gestures at himself dramatically. "I’ll make sure no one says a damn thing to you. And if they do, I’ll just blind them with my dazzling presence."

You let out a soft laugh, but something about the way he’s looking at you—so eager to help, so understanding—makes your chest feel warm. Felix is just that kind of person. Confident, carefree, and unapologetic about who he is. And that confidence? It’s infectious.

You find yourself nodding before you even realize it. "Okay," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I’ll take you as my date."

Felix beams at that until you add, "But," you tilt your head playfully, "I get to pick the tie."

His grin only widens. "Fine. But in that case, I get to help you pick the dress."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Deal."

He raises his coffee cup. "To proving people wrong and looking damn good while doing it."

You clink your cup against his with a quiet chuckle, a strange but pleasant feeling settling in your chest. Maybe this wedding won’t be so bad after all.

-

Lately, there’s been one message you always expect—one you’ve started looking forward to more than you’d admit. You take a slow sip of your smoothie, the cool sweetness spreading across your tongue as you scroll through your Lustre notifications. And, as expected, there it is.

mag.shawn: I can’t wait for your new post. But what I look forward to the most is seeing your beautiful face—it always brightens up my days.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you read it. You type out a quick reply, letting the warmth of his words settle over you.

You: That’s so sweet of you to say. I’ll do my best to keep brightening your days then ❤️

Just as you’re about to take another sip of your smoothie, a sudden knock echoes through your apartment. You stare at the door for a second longer before unlocking it and pulling it open.

Hyunjin stands there, his long dark hair slightly disheveled as if he had run his fingers through it too many times. One hand grips the strap of his bag, the other tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. His gaze flickers to yours, then away, before he clears his throat. "Hey," he says. "Can I come in?"

You don’t say anything, just step aside and open the door wider. He takes it as an invitation and walks in, dropping his bag near the couch. Without a word, you walk to the fridge, grab a can of drink, and hand it to him. He takes it with a quiet thanks, cracking it open but not taking a sip yet. Instead, he glances at you, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face.

"Can I use your laptop?" he asks. "I need to check something."

You raise a brow but nod, grabbing your laptop from the coffee table and passing it to him. As he opens it and starts typing, you settle beside him on the couch, bringing your smoothie to your lips.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are the soft clicks of the keyboard and the occasional sip of your drink. You don’t press him for details, simply letting him do whatever he needs to do. Then, after a few minutes, he exhales through his nose and turns the screen toward you.

You glance at him before looking down at the laptop. The moment your eyes land on the screen, your breath catches. Displayed in clear text is the result of his STIs test. Negative.

The confirmation settles something deep in your chest. You had asked him to do this before the two of you could make content together, and now here it is—the proof that he actually went through with it. Your gaze lifts back to his, and for the first time since he arrived, Hyunjin looks directly at you. His expression is unreadable, but his fingers drum against the side of the can in his hand, a telltale sign of his nerves.

“Well?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Well,” you echo, taking another sip of your smoothie, swallowing slowly before answering.

A while later, you set your smoothie down on the table, eyes still locked on Hyunjin as you tilt your head slightly. "I just have to ask you one more time. Are you sure you really want to do this?"

"Yeah," he answers without a beat.

His answer is immediate, but you don’t let it slide that easily. You lean back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other as you study him. "You know there’s no turning back once you do, right?"

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You keep saying that like I haven’t already thought about it."

"Have you, though?" You arch a brow, unconvinced. "Because I’m not just talking about the content itself. I’m talking about everything that comes with it. The comments, the assumptions people will make about you, the way this could change things—"

"I don’t really care." His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. A certainty that makes your stomach twist.

You watch him for a moment, searching for any hint of doubt in his expression, but there’s none. He holds your gaze, unwavering, and it’s only then that you realize—he’s already made up his mind. Still, you hesitate. "...Why?"

Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his hair before leaning back against the couch. "Because I want to help you." He pauses, looking away for a second before glancing back at you. "And maybe I just want to do it with you."

That last part makes your heart skip a beat, but you push past it, keeping your voice light. "You say that like you don’t have better options."

Hyunjin scoffs as he rubs his lower lip with his finger. "You say that like I care about other options."

You stare at him, lips pressing together. He stares back, waiting. Then, finally, you sigh and shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips. "Okay, let's do it then."

-

At this point, Hyunjin treats your apartment like his own, he moves around with practiced ease, pulling the sheer curtains open just enough to let the afternoon light spill into the room. The soft glow is exactly what he wants for today’s shoot—natural, warm, and intimate. He glances over his setup, adjusting the white cloth draped over the couch, smoothing out any wrinkles. The space is nearly ready.

The sound of your footsteps draws his attention, and when he looks up, you’re walking toward him with two cans of drinks in hand. Your hair is slightly tousled, and there’s a relaxed air about you as you offer him one of the cans.

Hyunjin steps forward, wiping his hands on his jeans before taking the drink from you. His fingers brush against yours for a split second, and he wonders if you notice. "Perfect timing," he murmurs, bringing the can to his lips for a quick sip. The warmth seeps into his fingers, and he exhales softly. "Thanks."

You nod, taking a sip of your own before glancing around the setup. "So... everything ready?"

"Almost," he says, rolling his shoulders. "I want to play with the light a little, see how it looks on camera." He steps back, scanning the room, his mind already piecing together the angles and shots. The sunlight highlights the shapes of the couch, creating soft shadows. It’s exactly what he envisioned.

You lower your can of drink and glance at Hyunjin, who is still surveying the setup with a focused look on his face. “So, what’s the plan for today?” you ask, shifting your weight onto one leg.

He turns to you, his dark eyes settling on yours. “I want to use the light as much as possible. It’ll create a really soft effect, like…” He gestures vaguely with his free hand, trying to find the right words. “Like something dreamlike, almost natural. I’ll direct you, but I also want you to move how you feel comfortable.”

You hum, tilting your head as you process his vision. “So, more candid, less posed?”

He nods, sipping his coffee. “Exactly.”

You shift closer, peering at him over the rim of your cup. “And… Do I have your consent for the part after?”

Hyunjin blinks, then a slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “You have my consent,” he says smoothly, his voice steady, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—anticipation, maybe.

You let out a short laugh, arching a brow as you tease him, “You sound so eager for today’s shoot.”

He rolls his eyes, but the way his fingers tap against his can of drink betrays him. “I’m just committed to making this look good,” he says, feigning nonchalance.

You grin, stepping past him toward the couch. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

Hyunjin adjusts the camera in his hands, his fingers instinctively finding the right settings as he looks through the lens. The natural light floods the room, casting soft shadows across your skin. You’re draped across the couch in nothing but a loose white sweater and matching underwear, your body relaxed, effortlessly beautiful.

He’s done this before—countless times now—but there’s something about this moment that makes him pause. Maybe it’s the way the light caresses the curves of your body, or how the sweater slips just enough off your shoulder to reveal more of your skin. Or maybe it’s just you. No matter how many times he’s taken your pictures, Hyunjin realizes he never gets tired of looking at you. Admiring you.

You shift slightly, pulling one knee up and resting your head against the back of the couch. The motion is so natural, so effortlessly alluring, that Hyunjin forgets to press the shutter button for a second. When he finally does, he exhales a quiet breath.

"You’re staring," you tease, your voice light but knowing.

He lowers the camera slightly, meeting your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, but also something else—something softer. He swallows, rolling his shoulders like he can shake off whatever this feeling is. "Why? Are you shy now?" he teases, bringing the camera up again.

Done taking your pictures, Hyunjin moves around the room for the second time to set the cameras to their tripods at different angles, making sure everything is set up just right. He’s meticulous about it, double-checking each frame, making small tweaks to the lighting. When he’s finally satisfied, he steps away and joins you on the couch.

As soon as he sits down next to you, you turn to him, your gaze soft but playful. Without a word, you reach up and tug the hair tie from his dark locks, setting them free. His long hair falls around his face, a few strands brushing against his cheek.

You hum in approval, lifting your hand to run your fingers through his hair, smoothing it back before letting it slip through your fingers. There’s something intimate in the way you touch him, something gentle that makes his breath catch for just a second. A smile tugs at your lips as you look at him. “Are you ready?”

Hyunjin swallows, his dark eyes locked onto yours. He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you for a moment before exhaling through his nose, a small, knowing smile appearing on his lips.

"Yeah," he finally says, his voice lower than before.

You lift your hand and rest it on Hyunjin’s stomach, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his breath beneath your fingertips. His muscles tense for just a second before he consciously relaxes, his dark eyes still locked onto yours, watching, waiting.

Slowly, you lean in, closing the small space between you until your lips are just beside his ear. You can feel the warmth of his skin, hear the soft hitch in his breath. "Get comfortable," you murmur, your voice soft yet firm, your lips nearly brushing against the shell of his ear. "And follow my lead."

Hyunjin exhales, a quiet, shuddering breath. His hands press into the couch beside him, fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to touch you. His jaw clenches for a moment before he gives you a small, almost amused smile. "Alright," he breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper.

You move with unhurried confidence, shifting onto his lap and settling yourself comfortably as you straddle him. His hands instinctively find purchase on your hips, but he doesn’t grip—just rests them there, warm and solid. Your hands trail down his chest, fingers grazing over the fabric of his shirt. You take your time, carefully unbuttoning each button one by one, your touch light and deliberate. He doesn’t rush you—he simply watches, his lips parting slightly when you finally part the fabric open and slip the shirt off his shoulders, exposing the lean definition of his torso.

Laying your palm flat against his chest, you let your fingertips trace over his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the subtle twitch of his muscles under your touch. Hyunjin exhales sharply, his breath hitching just slightly, and you feel him shiver beneath your fingertips. His hands on your hips flex subtly, his gaze flickering between your face and the way your hands explore his skin. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, voice lower than before when he finally speaks.

“You’re really taking your time with this,” he murmurs, a teasing edge to his tone, but there’s something else underneath.

You simply smile, letting your fingers trace a slow, featherlight path over his collarbone. “Of course,” you say softly. “What’s the rush?”

You tilt your head, watching the way his gaze lingers on your face before dropping lower, his hands still resting on your hips as if he's trying to ground himself. Then, with a soft smile, you murmur, "Aren't you going to help me too?"

His hands tightening slightly before he reaches for the hem of your sweater. His fingers brush against your skin as he gathers the fabric, and he hesitates just for a moment, his dark eyes flickering up to yours as if silently asking for permission one last time.

You give him a small nod, and with that, he slowly lifts the sweater up, savoring the moment as he peels the soft fabric from your skin. His touch is gentle, careful, as he pulls it over your head and lets it slip from his fingers, tossing it aside.

Now bare before him, you feel the cool air graze your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating between you. Hyunjin’s eyes trace over you, his gaze slow and reverent, like he's taking in a painting he's never seen before, committing every detail to memory. His breath is unsteady when he finally meets your gaze again. His hands remain on your waist, but this time, they grip just a little tighter, like he's afraid to move too fast.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The only sound is the soft hum of the camera in the background, recording every fleeting touch, every unspoken exchange.

You take Hyunjin’s hands in yours, guiding them up your body, over the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, and then higher, letting him feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. His hands are warm, his touch hesitant but eager, and you can feel the way his fingers tremble slightly as you place them exactly where you want them, cupping the underside of your breasts. Then, slowly, you let go.

His hands remain where you left them for a moment, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the expanse of skin beneath his palms. When he finally moves, it's deliberate—his hands tracing over you, reveling in the way you feel. He drags his fingertips lightly over your skin, tracing lines only he can see, and the way he does it, so careful, so in awe, makes your breath shallow.

You rest your arms on his shoulders, letting your fingers trail along the nape of his neck, playing with the strands of his dark hair. Hyunjin tilts his head back slightly, his long hair falling away from his face as he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable at first, but then—he smiles. Not a smirk, not a teasing grin, but something softer, something real.

His eyes drink you in, as if seeing you this close, this bare, makes you even more breathtaking to him. And for a moment, he just lets himself admire you, his hands still exploring, mapping out every curve, every line, like he’s afraid he’ll forget how you feel beneath him.

He continues his exploration. His fingers trail up from your shoulders, over the curve of your neck, his touch featherlight. He maps out your skin with delicate strokes, tracing along the slope of your throat, the line of your jaw. His fingertips glide over your cheekbone, then dip lower, ghosting over the bridge of your nose before finally brushing against your lips.

Then, gently, he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smoothing it away from your face. But instead of letting go, he keeps his hand there, holding your hair in place as his thumb idly caresses the side of your neck.

You watch him closely, your own hands moving to explore him in return. Your fingers drift up, brushing through his soft dark hair before trailing down to his face. You trace the arch of his brow, the sharp yet delicate bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheekbone. Then, without thinking, your thumb sweeps across his lips.

His lips are soft beneath your touch, plush and warm, and they part just slightly as your thumb glides over them. You meet his gaze, your own fingers lingering against his mouth as you softly ask, “Do you want to kiss?”

Without answering, Hyunjin leans in, his dark eyes locked onto yours, but just as his lips are about to brush against yours, you pull back ever so slightly. A teasing smile tugs at the corner of your lips as he instinctively follows, chasing after the kiss you’ve withheld. He exhales sharply through his nose, catching on to your game. His head falls back against the couch, and he lets out a dramatic sigh, his bottom lip jutting out in a soft pout. His hands rest on your waist, fingers idly pressing into your skin as he looks up at you with mock betrayal.

Despite his sulking, you giggle. There’s something so endearing about seeing Hyunjin—usually confident, effortlessly charming—reduced to a pouting mess just because of you.

Still smiling, you cup his jaw, your thumbs tracing the shape of his cheekbones. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he holds himself still, waiting. Then, slowly, you lean in and press your lips to his.

Hyunjin kisses you back like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s thought about it more than he’d ever admit. His lips move against yours, soft at first but it doesn’t take long before his desire seeps through. He sucks on your lower lip, teasingly slow, before tugging it between his teeth, just enough to make you shiver. Despite the bite, you sigh into his mouth, the sensation sending warmth through your body.

Hyunjin swallows the sound, his grip on you firm but never forceful. His lips move against yours with a growing hunger, hungry for the taste of you. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His warmth engulfs you, and the way he holds you—tight yet careful—makes your heart pound just as much as his kisses do. His lips move against yours with more urgency now, deepening the kiss, his breath mixing with yours. Then, without warning, he drags his lips away, trailing a path down your jaw to your neck. The first press of his mouth against your skin is soft, almost teasing, but then he sucks lightly on the spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch.

A gasp escapes you as he continues, alternating between kisses and gentle bites, marking you in ways that feel both dangerous and thrilling. His hands explore your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine, skimming over your sides, pressing into the small of your back. His touch is everywhere—palms smoothing over your bare skin, thumbs brushing over sensitive spots, sending shivers coursing through you.

The room feels smaller, hotter, as the two of you stay tangled together, lips and hands lost in each other. Hyunjin has his hands splayed across your back as his lips continue their path down your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver through you as he lingers just above your collarbone. You shift slightly in his lap, adjusting your position, but the movement draws a quiet, unbidden sound from deep within him.

Your hands tangle in his dark hair, threading through the soft strands as he buries his face against you while you decide to continue to tease him, rubbing yourself against his growing erection. His lips brush lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin. The warmth of his mouth makes you exhale shakily, your fingers instinctively gripping his shoulders. As you continue slowly grinding on him, the friction between you both grows, drawing an almost involuntary reaction from him. His breath hitches, his fingers flex against your sides, and when you roll your hips just a little more, a quiet curse slips past his lips.

Hyunjin's hands slide down, gripping you gently but firmly, guiding you as though he wants you closer—if that were even possible. His lips part against your skin, and you feel the soft pull of his mouth, a teasing scrape of his teeth that has you gasping.

For a moment, the two of you simply move together, unhurried yet undeniably in sync. It’s intoxicating—the way he holds you, the way his body reacts to yours, the way the warmth between you seems to build with each slow grind against his swollen bulge.

You kiss him again, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss that deepens with every second. Hyunjin responds just as eagerly, his hands roaming your body, his grip tightening when you roll your hips against him again. His breath stutters when you pull away, but before he can protest, you tilt your head and press your lips to his jawline, then lower—to the sensitive spot beneath his ear, to the column of his throat where you can feel his pulse quicken.

His fingers dig into your flesh as you trail your lips down his neck, your mouth leaving a warm path over his collarbone, his chest. His skin is hot beneath your lips, his breath uneven as you continue your slow descent. You can feel the way his body tenses, anticipating your next move. And then you shift, slipping off his lap with deliberate slowness, your hands skimming down his sides as you lower yourself to the floor. Standing in front of him, you press your palms to his thighs, feeling the subtle tremor in his muscles before you gently part his legs, making space for yourself between them.

Hyunjin looks down at you, his dark eyes clouded with something heavy and overpowering, his lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something—but he doesn’t. Instead, he swallows hard, watching you intently as you kneel between his legs, your hands still resting on his thighs. A quiet beat passes between you, charged with tension. Then, you lift your gaze to meet his, your fingers trailing slowly along the denim of his jeans.

"Still comfortable?" you ask, your voice light, teasing.

Hyunjin exhales a soft, breathy laugh, though his voice is rough when he responds. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Very."

Your fingers begin to move, tracing the waistband of his jeans before dipping lower. Hyunjin's breath hitches as you work the button open, then the zipper, the sound cutting through the silence in the room. His hands, which had been resting on his thighs, twitch—like he wants to touch you, to stop you, or maybe to urge you on. But he doesn’t move. He just watches, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly, his lips slightly parted as if he’s forgotten how to breathe.

You take your time, easing the fabric down just enough, and when you finally free his member out of its confine, his head falls back against the couch, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. "Are we good?" you ask softly, fingers teasing, barely touching his erection.

Hyunjin exhales a shuddery breath, his lips curving into a crooked, breathless smile. "Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough.

For a moment, you do nothing—just let your fingers ghost along his hardening length, featherlight, teasing. You hear the sharp inhale he takes, see the way his stomach tenses as you rub your thumb around the crest of his cock. He’s beautiful like this—vulnerable in a way that makes warmth curl in your stomach, his dark hair tousled, his lips red and kiss-swollen.

"You're so hard, so big..." you sigh, slightly tightening your fingers around him.

You glance up at him through your lashes, meeting his gaze as you begin giving his cock slow, deliberate strokes. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, filled with something heady and unspoken. You take your time, watching him, waiting until he meets your gaze before lowering yourself, you press a kiss to his hip, then another, trailing lower, savoring the way his body reacts to your touch. He lets out a quiet groan when your lips finally brush over the tip of his cock.

The first sound he makes when you take his cock into your mouth is something between a sigh and a moan, his head tipping back against the couch. His hand finds your hair, not pushing, just resting, as if he needs something to hold onto. You hollow out your cheeks and give him a good suck before slowly pulling away. You quickly replace your mouth with your hand to keep the stimulation going.

With your lips wet from saliva, you ask, "Does it feel good?"

"Yeah," he breathlessly answer before letting out a shaky exhale.

You lick your lips before taking him in again, little by little until half of his length disappeared into you. Then, you beging moving, moving your mouth to testing, to tease while watching the way his stomach tenses and his lips part with every careful motion.

"Fuck..." he breathes out, voice wrecked.

His breaths grow uneven, his grip tightening slightly, and when you flick your gaze upward, the sight of him—eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted, completely undone—sends a wave of satisfaction through you.

You hum against him, reveling in the way he shudders beneath you, completely at your mercy. You give him a second to gather some senses and using your hand to pump his cock.

"Don't tell me you're going to come just from this," you tease, dragging your lips down the underside of his length before putting him into your mouth again.

Hyunjin’s breath stutters, his fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your slow, teasing pace. His body is completely at your mercy, and he knows it—you can feel it in the way he trembles beneath you, in the soft, choked sounds that slip past his parted lips. His other hand moves to the back of the couch, gripping it like he needs to anchor himself, his head tilting back as he exhales a shaky breath. "You're—" He cuts himself off with a groan, his body tensing for a moment before melting back into the cushions.

You glance up at him through your lashes, taking in the way his chest rises and falls with each unsteady breath, the way his brows knit together as he fights for control. There's something intoxicating about watching him like this, unraveling under your touch, his usual confidence slipping away little by little.

"What do you think? Am I doing good?" Your lips graze the tip of his cock as you speak.

"You're too good at this," he finally manages to answer, his voice breathless, rough.

You smile, dragging your hands up his thighs as you pull back just enough to whisper, "Just let it go when you feel like it. Swallowing is not a big deal to me "

His eyes snap open, dark and hazy as he looks down at you. There's a pause, his lips parting slightly, and for a moment, you think he might actually hesitate. But then his fingers tighten in your hair, his gaze burning into yours as he rasps, "I–I can't do that."

A thrill rushes through you at his words, at the sheer need in his voice. You hum in satisfaction, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against his hip before resuming your pace, taking your time, savoring every reaction he gives you.

Hyunjin curses under his breath, his hand slipping from your hair to cradle the side of your face instead, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His gaze never wavers, never strays from you, even as his breaths turn ragged, even as his body tenses beneath your touch.

"I'm about to come" he murmurs, his voice strained, almost desperate.

You glance up at him again, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile before pushing him just a little further, just enough to make him lose himself completely.

And when he does—when his body stiffens and his lips part in a silent gasp, his head tipping back as pleasure overtakes him—you know you've won.

You feel his release floods your tongue, hot and distinctly salty, filling your mouth. Then, silence. The only sounds left in the room are your steady breathing and his own ragged exhales.

When he finally dares to look at you, his eyes widen in horror as he sees you sticking your tongue out just enough to show him the white sheen of his seed before you swallow it all down your throat.

The sight stirs something deep within him that he reaches for you and roughly presses a kiss on your lips, his tongue pries open your mouth until you let him taste the remnants of himself on your tongue. Once he pulled away from the kiss, reality dawns on him. His flushed face deepens in color, and he quickly brings a hand to his face, covering his eyes as if that would make the situation disappear.

“Oh my God—” he mutters, voice filled with mortification as he sees a drop of his release landed on your chin. “I— I didn’t mean to—”

You blink at him before breaking into a soft laugh, reaching for a tissue nearby. “Hey, it’s fine.”

But he groans, shaking his head, clearly struggling with embarrassment. “No, it’s not! That was— I should have warned you—”

You smile, dabbing at your skin, before tilting your head at him. “You were a little too lost in the moment. I get it.”

Hyunjin groans again, this time burying his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this…”

Shifting closer, you gently pull his hands away from his face, meeting his flustered gaze with warmth. “Relax. It’s not a big deal.”

He exhales slowly, still clearly embarrassed, but your reassurance eases him slightly. He watches as you clean up without a hint of discomfort, and for some reason, that makes his heart squeeze a little.

You nudge his knee playfully. “If anything, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You simply grin, standing up and holding your hand out at him. “Come on, let's shower before you start overthinking this to death.”

With a sigh, he follows, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what just happened—but there’s something else in his eyes too. A flicker of something deeper, something more than just physical attraction. And as he watches you head toward the bathroom, he realizes just how dangerous it is to let himself feel that way.

-

It's a successful first shoot with Hyunjin.

Even though he handled the camera like a pro, guiding you through poses and capturing you in the most flattering ways, the moment things shifted—when you turned the tables on him—he completely fell apart. And now, despite how smooth he usually tries to be, he can't stop being embarrassed about how he lost control, especially about how he came in your mouth and your face.

You think about it as warm water cascades down your body, the memory playing in your mind like a highlight reel. The way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled against your skin, and especially the way his face turned crimson afterward, looking utterly wrecked yet so, so cute. You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

Hyunjin—always composed, always confident—reduced to a flustered mess because of you. You’ll never let him live this down.

After finishing your shower, you throw on something comfortable and head out to the dining area, where Hyunjin is already setting the table. His hair escaping the loose ponytail, and he's deliberately avoiding your gaze, focusing too hard on arranging the plates.

You slide into your seat, watching him for a moment before smirking. "You know… technically, I already had an appetizer before dinner."

He freezes mid-motion, his shoulders tensing. He slowly looks up, eyes wary. "Huh?"

You take a sip of your drink, feigning innocence. "I mean, I had a little taste of you before we sat down to eat."

His entire face turns red. He immediately drops his chopsticks, groaning as he buries his face in his hands. "Oh my God."

You burst into laughter, unable to help yourself. "Why are you acting so shy now? You weren’t shy earlier."

Hyunjin peeks at you between his fingers, shooting you a look of pure suffering. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," you tease, grinning. "If anything, you loved it."

He groans again, leaning back in his chair dramatically. "You're not going to let me live this down, aren’t you?"

Despite himself, Hyunjin breaks into a helpless smile, shaking his head. As you both settle into comfortable conversation, the teasing lingers in the air—a reminder of just how much the dynamic between you is shifting, whether either of you is ready to admit it or not.

As you finish cleaning up after dinner, you grab an envelope from the counter and hand it to Hyunjin. "Your pay for this month," you say with a smile.

Hyunjin takes it, grinning as he flips it between his fingers. "Ah, my hard-earned money," he jokes, tucking it into his pocket. Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he leans forward slightly. "Since I’m less broke now, how about I treat you to a movie tomorrow? There’s this screening I wanted to check out."

You chuckle at his enthusiasm but shake your head. "I’d love to, but I already have plans for tomorrow."

He tilts his head, curious. "Oh? Where are you going?"

You set your chopsticks down, wiping your lips before answering, "I'm going to my friend’s wedding."

His expression shifts slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Is it the one friend you were avoiding back at the restaurant?"

You nod. "Yep. That one."

He blinks, clearly surprised. "I thought you weren’t going."

You shrug. "At first, yeah. But then I thought… why not?"

Hyunjin nods slowly, as if processing your words. But you don’t miss the way his shoulders drop slightly, or how he suddenly seems more focused on the remaining food in his bowl. He’s disappointed. You don’t point it out, but you notice it.

"Sounds fun," he says, his voice light, but there’s something subdued in it.

You watch him for a moment, then smirk. "You sound like you’re sulking."

He scoffs, sitting up straighter. "Me? Sulking? Never."

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "You’re literally stabbing your rice right now."

He looks down at his bowl, realizing how aggressively he’s been poking at the food. Clearing his throat, he sets his chopsticks down and leans back in his chair. "I just think my plans sounded cooler, that’s all."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I’ll make it up to you, okay?"

Hyunjin pouts slightly, but the teasing glint in his eyes gives him away. "You better," he mutters, stealing one of your dumplings as revenge.

-

The morning sun shines through the high windows of the apartment building as Hyunjin walks back from the farmer's market, a bag of fresh produce in one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other. The scent of them—sweet and delicate—lingers in the air, and he glances down at them, suddenly second-guessing himself.

Was this a bad idea?

He doesn’t know what compelled him to pick them up. Maybe it was the way they reminded him of you. Maybe it was just a habit—bringing home something nice, something that adds a little warmth to a space. Either way, he now stands in front of your door, unsure if you've already left for the wedding. A part of him hopes you have, just so he doesn’t have to go through the embarrassment of handing you flowers like some lovestruck fool.

Before he can turn around and retreat to his apartment, the door swings open. You're standing there, already dressed for the wedding, a bright smile greeting him.

"Oh, morning, Hyunjin!" you say, sounding rushed yet cheerful as you step aside to let him in.

He planned to just hand you the flowers and go. But now, with the door wide open and you ushering him in without a second thought, he finds himself stepping inside, still holding the bouquet a little awkwardly.

You move back toward your vanity, where your makeup is halfway done, brushes and compacts scattered across the table. "Sorry, I’m running a little late," you say, adjusting your earrings in the mirror. "What’s up?"

Clearing his throat, Hyunjin lifts the flowers. "I, uh… brought these for you."

You turn, eyes widening in surprise before a teasing smile tugs at your lips. "Flowers? For me? What’s the occasion?"

He shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. "No occasion. Just thought you’d like them."

You take them from his hands, inhaling their fresh scent before flashing him a soft, genuine smile. "They're beautiful. Thank you, Hyunjin."

Seeing you flustered for once makes him feel a little less embarrassed. "I'll put them in a vase for you," he offers, not wanting to stand there while you get ready.

"That’d be great," you say, turning back to the mirror to finish up.

As Hyunjin moves around your kitchen, filling a vase with water, he sneaks glances at you. The way you carefully apply the last touches to your hair, the way the dress hugs your figure just right—it all captivates him. Then, you turn around, smiling brightly at him.

"How do I look?" you ask.

Hyunjin quickly averts his gaze, setting the vase down on the counter as if that requires all his attention. He swallows. "You look… beautiful."

Your smile softens. "Thank you."

Before the moment lingers too long, your phone rings, breaking the air of quiet admiration. You pick it up quickly, saying, "Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute," before ending the call.

Hyunjin assumes someone is picking you up and he also takes that as his cue to leave.

As you both step out of your apartment, he lingers for a moment before saying, "Have fun at the wedding."

You flash him one last grateful smile. "I will. Thanks again for the flowers, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin steps into his apartment, closing the door behind him with a quiet sigh. He toes off his shoes and runs a hand through his hair, shaking off the lingering feeling of something he can't quite name.

But as he walks toward the window, curiosity tugs at him. He tells himself he's only looking to see what kind of car picks you up—maybe a fancy one, maybe not. But when he spots the vehicle pulling up in front of the building, what catches his attention isn't the car at all.

It's the person stepping out of it. Felix.

Hyunjin hadn’t expected that. You’re going to the wedding with Felix?

The thought alone stirs something uneasy inside him, but he pushes it aside, watching as you step out of the building. He tells himself that’s the end of it, that he should look away, go about his day. But then—

You walk straight into Felix’s arms, slipping into his embrace like it’s second nature. Despite the tightening feeling in his chest, Hyunjin watches as Felix leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek before opening the passenger door for you. You slip inside easily, smiling up at him before he shuts the door and rounds the car to the driver’s side.

Hyunjin lets out a sharp breath, rubbing his hand over his face as if to wipe away the thoughts creeping into his mind. What was he even expecting?

A part of him wants to shake it off, to go about his day like this means nothing. But another part of him—one he’s not quite ready to acknowledge—already knows that today, for the first time, he’s feeling something he shouldn’t.

Jealousy.

He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head at himself. Then, without another glance at the window, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving the room in silence.

-

✨ Chapter III of Cam is available on my Patreon page ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @drhsthl @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanniebunch @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo @inlovewithstraykids @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @angstraykids @lenfilms @inniesfanblog @multi-fandommaniac @tirena1 @nightmarenyxx @nebugalaxy @akindaflora @jinniejjam @iknow-uknow-leeknow

yes i like kpop while being a mentally dead bitch what do u care

𖥻 my darling

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; bangchan

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: chan enjoys some time with his family

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: none besides very cute chan

Chan was walking up and down the practice room with his son in his arms who was sobbing his little heart out. Jun was 8 months old and such a sweet boy but sometimes he got a little bit fussy when his mother wasn’t there. Chan bounced the little boy slightly while kissing his son’s head whispering sweet nothings in his ear. You asked chan to take care of Jun for today so you could go out with your daughter and chan obviously agreed. He knew how hard it was for you to mostly take care of your son and Daughter and chan. He appreciated how you would make him dinner when he worked longer and always put a cute note beside the dish.

Chan heard the door open and Felix walks in holding some strawberries in a tiny bowl. Jun turns his head to Felix looking at the bowl with his big brown eyes. Jun was basically a copy of his father from the tiny curls on his head to the soft freckles on his cheeks he even has a similar lip shape, Although chan insisted that Jun has your nose. “Thank you Felix” chan said softly sitting down on the sofa with Jun in his lap his tiny body resting against his chest. Jun recently found his new love for strawberries so as soon as he saw the red fruit in the bowl his tears stop and he makes grabby hands to his uncle.

Felix smiled down at the tiny boy. While Chan holds his son to make sure he doesn’t accidentally hurt himself, Felix held out a tiny peace of strawberry. Jun stared at it before slowly grabbing the fruit in his little fist, he opened his tiny mouth and shoves the fruit in giggling when he tasted the sweet flavour. Chan smiles down at his son as Jun moves his arms around wildly. “Is it tasty baby?” Chan ask in a high pitched voice making Jun squeal his tears now long forgotten. Felix hands Jun another strawberry but instead of eating it himself like the last one Jun holds up the fruit to chan looking at his father with wide eyes. Chan’s heart melted “is that for me junieee” he said in a shocked voice. Jun shoves the peace of strawberry against his father’s mouth to signal him to eat it. Chan smiles and takes the peace of fruit nibbling on his son’s fingers to tease him.

Jun whines at his father’s teasing and makes grabby hands to his uncle, Felix waisted no time and took the little boy in his arms and hands him the bowl with strawberries. Chan smiles at the cute interaction between his best friend and son, he thinks it’s cute the way his son holds Felix finger in his tiny fist while shovelling tiny cut strawberry in his mouth. The door opens and chan watches as you and your daughter walk in the room his daughter quickly making her way over and cuddling in his chest “Daddy we went shopping and mommy got me new hair clips look” Mira points at the butterfly hair clips that sit in her braids. Chan smiles and kisses her cheek “you look beautiful Mimi” he tucks a curl behind her ear and kisses her forehead.

Jun had lost interest in his half empty bowl and was now completely engrossed in the sight of his Mother as he stares at you. You lean down and take Jun in your arms pressing kisses all over his cheeks. Jun was giggling loudly his tiny hands on your cheeks. Chan was staring at you in complete awe as Mira sat beside Felix and telling him about her new hair butterfly clips. Felix praising her and telling her how pretty she looks. Chan stands up and walks to you putting his arms around you and your son. You could see that Jun was getting sleepy so you patted his tiny back while humming lowly. Chan presses a loving kiss on your lips.

You let yourself get distracted by your husband’s lips until you heard your daughter scream “ewww daddy and mommy are kissing…no kissing you’re only allowed to kiss me” she said proudly pointing at herself. You and chan laughed. Chan kneels down and opens his arms for his daughter who didn’t waist a second to rub in her father arms snuggling into his comforting warmth she knew so well. “Let’s get home baby I think someone is tired” you said kissing Jun’s cheek. Jun nuzzles is head further in the comfort of his mother. Chan agrees and after saying good bye to Felix you both went home.

When chan opens the door to your home carefully pushing it open with his foot his sleeping daughter in his arms while you carried Jun. While you went to change your son into his clothes being careful to not wake him up chan did the same to mira carefully putting her in her bear pj’s, before putting her in her bed making sure to cover her in her favourite blanket. Chan turns on her night light that was shaped like a moon before slowly leaving her room. He doesn’t fully close the door in case she has a nightmare. When Chan walks into the kitchen he sees you standing in front of the Stove cooking dinner for you and him, he couldn’t help but smile even if you weren’t wearing any makeup and your hair tied in a messy bun wearing only his oversized sweater you where still the most beautiful woman in the world to him. So he slowly moves towards you and puts his strong arms around your waist nuzzling his face in your neck enjoying your natural scent. You hum and turn your face to press a kiss on his nose making him laugh shyly. Chan loves your affection because you don’t need to talk much and understand each other without much words. “Go sit down Darling dinner is almost done you need to eat” you said softly nudging him towards the table.

Chan complies easily and sits down his eyes following your every move in case you needed his help. You walk over to the large table and put down a bowl noodles in front of him and some chopsticks beside it. Chan smiles at you and leans over to press a sweet kiss on your lips as a thank you. Suddenly chan hears his son’s soft whines for attention so he quickly gets up and walks over to where Jun had previously been sleeping, he carefully picks him up and holds him secure to his chest before making his way back to you. You’re looking at Chan with so much admiration while holding your arms out to take your son from him “give him to me Darling you should eat” you said while taking your son carefully from him. Jun quickly calming down when he notices his mother holding him, you take the pacifier from the table and offer it to your son. Jun quickly starts to slowly suck on the pacifier while his tiny hands are busy playing with the material of the sweater you’re wearing.

Chan watches as you entertain your son while eating his dinner with a smile on his pretty lips.

Here is some Lino angst/hurt for you <3

𖥻 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦

✿ ┊ 𝙎𝙋𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂-𝙁𝘼𝙇𝙇𝙎 ; Lee Know

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 :: you find yourself missing your boyfriend

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 :: angsty and emotional and short

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨 :: got a bit emotional while writing this don’t mind my sappy self pls

— 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙖🌷

sitting on a bench at night watching the moon and the stars and the way the water reflects them. it was calming listening to the faint sounds of the waves making you smile how you desperately wish he was there with you holding you and listening to his voice again. you find yourself missing his voice whenever he was away longing to hear it again. seven hours time difference sucks whenever it’s late for you it’s only midday for him but you forget all your worries each time when he wakes up and texts you or on your daily calls where you would talk about random things or just watch him do his things. you loved watching him the way he seemed to get lost when he watches tv. you find yourself missing his voice on the days he couldn’t call sometimes it takes you hours to fall asleep without the comfort of knowing that even if there is a ocean separating you that is still somehow there comforting you with his presence. oh how you wish he could visit you again and feel his arms around you and his soft lips on yours. but for now you need to live with video calls and the hope that you will see him again.

𖥻 sick baby

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; Lee Know

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: you’re sick and your lovely boyfriend takes care of you

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: sick reader, no proofreading :)

You’ve been sick since 2 days your fever won’t go down all you’ve been doing is laying in bed with multiple blankets and tea on your nightstand. You didn’t even text your boyfriend much because you’re asleep most of the thing which worried him which is why you suddenly woke up when you heard your front door open and slow footsteps coming towards your bedroom your fuzzy mind still wondering who it could be. Your blanket wrapped tightly around your shivering body when you heard the sweet voice of your boyfriend “why did you not tell me your sick baby?” he asked after sitting down on your bed right beside your shivering frame his arms pulling you closer to his warm body, you nuzzled your face in the familiar feeling of his body trying to seek more of his warmth before answering him “didn’t wanna worry you” you mumbled against his hoodie he just hums before getting up. You whine at the loss of his warmth which made Minho smile softly at you “where are you going” you pout trying to look angry but Minho only pats the top of your head “gonna make you some food you need to eat”.

Minho walked into your kitchen and started making you some soup while you waited patiently still snuggled up in your blankets, you didn’t notice that you fell asleep again until you heard Minho call out your name. He was carrying a bowl of soup and a cup of tea on a tray, you slowly sat up dragging your blankets with you. Minho puts the tray on your lap after making sure you’re comfortable. Minho sat down beside you softly rubbing your back as you ate talking to you in soft and low voice while telling you about his day while you just listened to him chuckling in between when he told you about the funny things that happened at dance practice. When you’re done you put the tray on your nightstand when you turn back Minho was already waiting for you to snuggle up in his arms again.

When you’re wrapped up in his arms again beneath your blanket to keep the heat inside your head on Minho’s chest listening to the steady beating of his heart while one of his hand plays with your hair as the other rubs your back in slow circles you feel him press a soft kiss on your head before falling asleep. The next morning you felt better thanks to your lovely boyfriend.

@gimmeurtmi here you go bub 🫶🏻

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.

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?”

Thank you for almost 500 likes 😭💕

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.

𖥻 my darling

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; bangchan

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: chan enjoys some time with his family

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: none besides very cute chan

Chan was walking up and down the practice room with his son in his arms who was sobbing his little heart out. Jun was 8 months old and such a sweet boy but sometimes he got a little bit fussy when his mother wasn’t there. Chan bounced the little boy slightly while kissing his son’s head whispering sweet nothings in his ear. You asked chan to take care of Jun for today so you could go out with your daughter and chan obviously agreed. He knew how hard it was for you to mostly take care of your son and Daughter and chan. He appreciated how you would make him dinner when he worked longer and always put a cute note beside the dish.

Chan heard the door open and Felix walks in holding some strawberries in a tiny bowl. Jun turns his head to Felix looking at the bowl with his big brown eyes. Jun was basically a copy of his father from the tiny curls on his head to the soft freckles on his cheeks he even has a similar lip shape, Although chan insisted that Jun has your nose. “Thank you Felix” chan said softly sitting down on the sofa with Jun in his lap his tiny body resting against his chest. Jun recently found his new love for strawberries so as soon as he saw the red fruit in the bowl his tears stop and he makes grabby hands to his uncle.

Felix smiled down at the tiny boy. While Chan holds his son to make sure he doesn’t accidentally hurt himself, Felix held out a tiny peace of strawberry. Jun stared at it before slowly grabbing the fruit in his little fist, he opened his tiny mouth and shoves the fruit in giggling when he tasted the sweet flavour. Chan smiles down at his son as Jun moves his arms around wildly. “Is it tasty baby?” Chan ask in a high pitched voice making Jun squeal his tears now long forgotten. Felix hands Jun another strawberry but instead of eating it himself like the last one Jun holds up the fruit to chan looking at his father with wide eyes. Chan’s heart melted “is that for me junieee” he said in a shocked voice. Jun shoves the peace of strawberry against his father’s mouth to signal him to eat it. Chan smiles and takes the peace of fruit nibbling on his son’s fingers to tease him.

Jun whines at his father’s teasing and makes grabby hands to his uncle, Felix waisted no time and took the little boy in his arms and hands him the bowl with strawberries. Chan smiles at the cute interaction between his best friend and son, he thinks it’s cute the way his son holds Felix finger in his tiny fist while shovelling tiny cut strawberry in his mouth. The door opens and chan watches as you and your daughter walk in the room his daughter quickly making her way over and cuddling in his chest “Daddy we went shopping and mommy got me new hair clips look” Mira points at the butterfly hair clips that sit in her braids. Chan smiles and kisses her cheek “you look beautiful Mimi” he tucks a curl behind her ear and kisses her forehead.

Jun had lost interest in his half empty bowl and was now completely engrossed in the sight of his Mother as he stares at you. You lean down and take Jun in your arms pressing kisses all over his cheeks. Jun was giggling loudly his tiny hands on your cheeks. Chan was staring at you in complete awe as Mira sat beside Felix and telling him about her new hair butterfly clips. Felix praising her and telling her how pretty she looks. Chan stands up and walks to you putting his arms around you and your son. You could see that Jun was getting sleepy so you patted his tiny back while humming lowly. Chan presses a loving kiss on your lips.

You let yourself get distracted by your husband’s lips until you heard your daughter scream “ewww daddy and mommy are kissing…no kissing you’re only allowed to kiss me” she said proudly pointing at herself. You and chan laughed. Chan kneels down and opens his arms for his daughter who didn’t waist a second to rub in her father arms snuggling into his comforting warmth she knew so well. “Let’s get home baby I think someone is tired” you said kissing Jun’s cheek. Jun nuzzles is head further in the comfort of his mother. Chan agrees and after saying good bye to Felix you both went home.

When chan opens the door to your home carefully pushing it open with his foot his sleeping daughter in his arms while you carried Jun. While you went to change your son into his clothes being careful to not wake him up chan did the same to mira carefully putting her in her bear pj’s, before putting her in her bed making sure to cover her in her favourite blanket. Chan turns on her night light that was shaped like a moon before slowly leaving her room. He doesn’t fully close the door in case she has a nightmare. When Chan walks into the kitchen he sees you standing in front of the Stove cooking dinner for you and him, he couldn’t help but smile even if you weren’t wearing any makeup and your hair tied in a messy bun wearing only his oversized sweater you where still the most beautiful woman in the world to him. So he slowly moves towards you and puts his strong arms around your waist nuzzling his face in your neck enjoying your natural scent. You hum and turn your face to press a kiss on his nose making him laugh shyly. Chan loves your affection because you don’t need to talk much and understand each other without much words. “Go sit down Darling dinner is almost done you need to eat” you said softly nudging him towards the table.

Chan complies easily and sits down his eyes following your every move in case you needed his help. You walk over to the large table and put down a bowl noodles in front of him and some chopsticks beside it. Chan smiles at you and leans over to press a sweet kiss on your lips as a thank you. Suddenly chan hears his son’s soft whines for attention so he quickly gets up and walks over to where Jun had previously been sleeping, he carefully picks him up and holds him secure to his chest before making his way back to you. You’re looking at Chan with so much admiration while holding your arms out to take your son from him “give him to me Darling you should eat” you said while taking your son carefully from him. Jun quickly calming down when he notices his mother holding him, you take the pacifier from the table and offer it to your son. Jun quickly starts to slowly suck on the pacifier while his tiny hands are busy playing with the material of the sweater you’re wearing.

Chan watches as you entertain your son while eating his dinner with a smile on his pretty lips.

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.

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 💐

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 Wake Up

♡┊ 𝐂𝐇𝐐𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ; Bangchan

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 :: you don’t want to get up but your boyfriend tries to convince you :)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 :: smut 18+, switch!chan, switch!reader, eating out, slight dirty talk

Chan woke up much sooner than is girlfriend even on his day by off so he decided on making her a nice breakfast in bed. Chan nuzzles his face in your neck, breathing in her comforting scent enjoying a few more seconds of the combined warmth of you and the blanket you both share. Slowly getting up from the bed Chan made sure you were still asleep after putting on some shorts and making his way to the kitchen. He looked around in the kitchen thinking about what to make for breakfast when he decided on simple sandwiches and a coffee, so chan walks over to the coffee machine and turns it on taking out your favourite Cat shaped cup. While Chan waits for the cup to be filled with your favourite coffee he starts making the sandwiches and deciding to cut up some fruit for you to just to make sure you are enough.

After taking out a plate and putting everything on it he took the coffee mug in his free hand and starts making his way back towards your shared bedroom. You were still asleep but now sleep you decided it was too warm for a blacked and kicked it off you and instead snuggled chan’s pillow. Chan smiled seeing you cuddling with his pillow, he puts your breakfast down on your bedside table and hovers above you. Chan started to press little kisses all over your face but after he realised that this was not enough to wake you up chan puts his warm hands on your hips turning you in your back moving his fingers to rub comforting circles on your hip “baby wake up made you breakfast” chan whispers in your ear. You whine out his name and blindly put your arms around him, putting one of your hands in Chan soft curls.

Chan lets out a pleasant hum at the feeling of you nails scratching his head, moving his head slightly down to your neck. What started as sweet innocent kisses are now deep passionate kisses on your lips as you shortly pull away from Chan looking at him with a soft smile “if I keep refusing to get up does that mean you will keep kissing me?” that made chan laugh as an answer he just teasingly kissed the sweet spot on your neck that always made you whine out his name. Chan thought you sounded so pretty whining for him to touch you more. Lucky for him you slept in only a shirt of his and a pair of panties so when you easily let him pull up your shirt as his soft lips tail over your chest down to your tummy. Your hand was still in chan’s hair but now pulling at it not hard enough to hurt but enough to show him how much you enjoy his touch.

Chan looks up at you once he reaches your panties and looks at you with his pretty eyes that always made you fall in love with him all over again “do you want me to continue you my love?” Chan asked softly pressing teasing kisses on your thighs. You knew if you would say no he would immediately stop but you really didn’t want him to stop touching you, he always makes sure you feel amazing and make you see stars. You nod “words baby girl need to hear you say it” chan whispers while still kissing your soft thighs. “Yes Channie need you” you whine feeling chan smile against your thigh, he hooks his fingers on the sides of your panties and pulls them down slowly always watching you in case you want him to stop…

That’s how you ended up moaning Chan’s name loudly, hand tugging on his soft curls. Every movement of his tongue inside you has you seeing stars as you eyes roll back when chan gives your clit a harsh suck slowly detaching from your core instead pushing two of his fingers inside you. You couldn’t think straight anymore…anything that wasn’t Chan or his fingers moving inside you, hitting your sweet spot every time. “Are you going to cum for me my pretty girl? Make a mess for me?” Chan asked in a low voice making you shiver. His fingers never stopping their movement inside you. You could feel the coil inside your tummy tighten and by the way Chan feels you tighten your sweet walls around his fingers he knew you were going to cum.

The only sounds that came out of your mouth were moans and whines of his name. Chan started to suck dark marks on your thighs again making your head spin he slowly moves his kisses up towards your cunt again and without a warning replacing his fingers with his tongue. The sudden feeling of his tongue inside you again you came screaming his name. Your eyes were shut tight and your mouth hangs open letting out high pitched moans of Chan’s name. When he stops his movement of his mouth and slowly starts to press kisses all over your thighs and your tummy humming at the pleasing taste of your high in his mouth. Chan can’t deny that seeing you cum and hearing you pretty sounds made his dick throb in need he would be lying.

When your breathing calms down enough to open your eyes again you look at Chan smiling at him. You suddenly push Chan down on his back, a smirk on your lips. Chan wasn’t expecting you to regain your energy that fast. You sat down on his lap and moved your hips, your cunt moving over his hard dick making chan throw his head back. Speeding up your movement against him, leaning down enough for your lips to be beside his ear you whisper “Want me to help you with that Channie?”

And who would chan be to turn down getting to fuck your sweet cunt?

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 :: @ddyskz @comet-falls @kaciidubs

EXCUSE ME WHAT ABOUT MY SANITY ITS EARLY IN THE MORNING AND THIS IS THE FIRST THING I SEE… let’s pretend like I’m not already DELULU for chan and Minho but then you put them in a fic together and my brain goes mush 😔 it was amazing anyway 💕

Just Business.

PAIRINGS: Bang Chan x fem!Reader ft. Lee Minho

GENRE: Mature (Smut, 18+)

CONTAINS: Sugar daddy!Chan, Rich Businessman!Minho, Sugar baby!Reader, alcohol consumption (but no one gets drunk), smoking, huge age gap between the reader and MinChan is implied, Chan is married (?) but is in the middle of a divorce settlement if that makes sense so idk if i should label this as an infedelity, and lastly Chan is referred as Chris here.

WORD COUNT: 1.788k

SYNOPSIS: When he tells you that he needs you with him during his business deals, it only means one thing: You're there to make sure they actually take the deal and bite the bait, and what better way to do that than to put your pretty cunt into good use?

smut under the cut!

SMUT WARNINGS: porn w specks of plot lmao, free use, dom/sub dynamics, chan is referred to as 'daddy' while minho is 'sir', nicknames (babygirl, doll, pretty), car sex, slight objectification (in the context within sex only!!), fingering (f. recieving), piv, implied anal, unprotected sex, implied creampies, cuckolding (Chan just watches tbh), no direct degradation but reader is referred to as cumdump

Flick

The stench of salty smoke fills the backseat of your sugar daddy's expensive car as he takes a drag from his cig, his plush lips wrapped around the neatly rolled tobacco while his arm is coiled around your waist as he hands his lighter to another man seated on your other side, one whom you've never met before. But with the way he's dressed with the same high quality, expensive suit as him, you think that he's probably one of Chris' newest business partners.

Sharp, cat-like eyes unbashfully take in your figure while he lights his own cigarette, deft fingers flicking the lighter ablaze until smoke appears and leaves his own perfectly sculptured lips. Minho was his name, based on the phone call Chris took an hour before, and from what you can recall, he's here to make a hefty deal.

"Need you there with me, baby girl. Will you help Daddy out? I'll buy you that bag you wanted the other day as a reward. What do you say?"

Of course, who wouldn't turn down such an offer? That bag matches the heels he got you last week!

When he tells you that he needs you with him during his business deals, it only means one thing: You're there to make sure they actually take the deal and bite the bait, and what better way to do that than to put your pretty cunt into good use?

"Care for a whiskey?" You hear Chris' gruff voice ask as he pours some into his glass before he leans over to run some on Minho's, before taking a swig. The arm that was once wrapped around your waist now moves to lay across your lap, his fingers latching onto your left outer thigh, slightly gripping onto the supple flesh that had the hem of your skirt riding up.

"Remember, doll. No panties."

For easy access, he says. He's a busy man, he wouldn't wanna spend precious seconds just to remove a skimpy pair of underwear, one he'd definitely rip off you (that comes with a promise that he'd buy you five more as a replacement).

The cold rings on his fingers against your heated skin send goosebumps all over your body, momentarily distracting you from the boredom that's slowly setting in, and you figured that it would kill you first even before the secondhand smoke does. The amount of times you nearly yawned has reached three already and you weren't too sure if you'll still be able to stop the fourth one.

"Is our conversation boring you a bit too much, pretty thing?" You hear the rich businessman on your left ask you with a teasing voice, making your cheeks heat up from the sudden embarrassment you feel for being called out, but to your luck, Minho doesn't seem to be anywhere near offended. If anything, he seems amused by you.

You only shook your head, flashing him a shy smile before snuggling closer to Chris whose fingertips are already toying with the hem of your skirt. "Don't be rude, Pretty. Use your words and apologize," he urges, giving your leg a firm squeeze, making you quietly whine.

"'m sorry, Minho—"

"Sir." The man quickly corrects.

"Sir. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come across as rude."

Minho hums before putting the end of his cig between his lips, his eyes never leaving yours even when he leans forward just to blow the smoke towards your face, and you don't know if it was the close proximity between the two of you, the smoke, or the smell of his expensive cologne was the reason why your head seems to start spinning.

Or maybe it was the way he still hasn't stopped eyeing you like you're his prey that's just waiting to be devoured.

But then he smiles. The corners of his mouth tugged into a satisfied grin at the same time Chris maneuvered your body, moving you in a way where your head now rests on his lap and your hips tilted in a way it exposes your bare cunt to Minho.

"You trained her well," he says, his tone nonchalant as he examines your pliant figure while Chris puts a hand on your head while unbuttons and unzips his slack, pulling out his flaccid cock from his boxers. "She was easy to train, is all," he replies simply, and for a moment, he sounded smug. "Warm me up won't you, sweetheart?"

He guides his length towards your mouth and on instinct you open up and take him whole, letting his soft cock sit on your tongue, warming him up like he asked you too while you rest your head against his stomach.

“You’ll be a good doll for me, right? You’ll let my men have a taste of you?”

You don’t remember exactly when this whole thing started— letting the older man bring you to his ‘business meetings’ as some kind of honey trap to secure a deal, that is— but you do remember how he got you a Miata after the first one, and then paying the rest of your semester in full on the second.

His ‘meetings’ usually start just like this, his knobby fingers working you open while he casually discusses with his business partner whatever the fuck business people usually talk about, you honestly don’t really know nor care enough to even listen, as if he doesn’t have his dick in your mouth and his digits in your wet pussy. 

One finger turns to two, then two turns into three, until you’re cumming with your moans muffled around his semi-hard cock, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your walls clamp his fingers, your juices leaking from your hole down to the expensive leather. 

 “I’m not entirely sure if I should accept your offer, Bang.” Minho sighs out as he puts his cigarette out on the ashtray before he pours himself a drink. With that, Chris pulls his fingers out with an embarrassingly wet squelch. “Come on, Lee. It’s a good offer, if you’d ask me,” he then replaces his cock with the same fingers that was inside your cunt, stuffing them down your throat until you gag, wriggling it around just to make sure it gets clean. 

“Perhaps you should clear your mind a bit before you make a final decision, hm?” As Chris pulls his digits out of your mouth, he shifts your body so that your knees are planted on the cushioned seats, your ass perked up and your back arched, and your pussy lips spread with your perfectly manicured nails holding it open as you present your hole to Minho, hoping he’d get the message.

You hear the man huff out a breath as if he’s deep in thought, and you could imagine his beautifully sculpted face observing the way your pussy gapes and clenches around nothing, just waiting to be filled. 

“Maybe if your pretty toy rides me good enough, then I’ll consider.”

That’s how you find yourself bouncing on his cock, reverse cowgirl style, with your skirt bunched up around your waist and your feet planted on either side of his legs just so his cock can go deeper, your sweet little moans loud enough for Chris’ guards posted outside to hear all thanks to the car windows slightly cracked up just enough to air out the smoke.

“You should wife her up, Bang— God— this pussy would be the death of me,” Minho lands a smack on your ass at that while his other hand stays clutching at your skirt by the band and the hem, keeping it up so that he can watch the way it just jiggles every time it smacks against him, holding back a groan by putting his bottom lip between his teeth the moment he feels you clench around his cock at the impact. 

“Ah, can’t do that just yet. I’m still settling the divorce with the missus,” Chris simply muses as he watches you ride his business partner’s dick like a bitch in heat, swirling the drink on his hand. “Better settle it quick,” Minho grunts in reply before pulling your hips down flush against his just so he could shove his cock as deep as he could and letting you stay there just so he could savor the feeling of your warm walls wrapped around him. “Or else I might as well just steal your pretty little cumdump for good.” 

Chris scoffs at that. “If she lets you, you mean.” 

“If you don’t stay on your toes, maybe she would. Won’t you, doll?” Minho pulls you against his chest, his warm breath now fanning against your neck, making you whine as your hands clutch against his forearm that’s currently wrapped around the front of your shoulders, keeping you still while his free hand toys with your clit. “You’d look so pretty being my young trophy wife. I’d show you off to everyone and keep you all to myself. How does that sound, hm?” 

You feel Chris’ burning gaze on you, his chin resting on the palm of his hand while he watches. So you open your bleary eyes to look at him, and you see how he cocks one brow up, as if he’s waiting for you to respond. 

“‘m s-sorry, sir—” you gasp out, “O-only da-daddy’s— ah! I’m only daddy’s girl!”

You swore you could feel Minho’s lips form into a pout, humming out in disappointment. “Ah, that’s too bad…” When he pinches your clit, you swore you saw stars, your jaw falling open with a silent scream as you throw your head back in pleasure, almost going crossed-eyed. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I won’t steal you from your daddy anymore. I was only teasing.” 

Then he starts thrusting from below you, the pleasure it brought distracting you from witnessing the way he looks at Chris, his cat eyes crinkling in mischief and delight at the sight of him fuming to which he almost laughs if it wasn’t for your pussy tightening around him when you suddenly cum unannounced which nearly caught him off guard. 

As you twitch and spasm above him, he huffs out an amused chuckle, his fingers slowly rubbing against your clit to help you ride out your orgasm, silently admiring how pretty you look with your tear-streaked face. 

“Looks like I’ll be accepting your offer after all, Bang.” He says, shifting on his seat a bit before he fully turns his head to look at him. “That is if I could get to cum in both of her holes. How does that sound? Do we have a deal?” 

You mewl at the thought, and there’s a smile now gracing Chan’s face.

“Deal.”

TAGLIST: @leyknowsbin, @goblinracha, @ch4nb4ng , @iadorethemskz , @abcdefgiwsmcty , @operation-steal-chans-laptop , @biribarabiribbaem , @chrisbahng