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downforseochangbin · 8 days ago

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The College Blonde

Synopsis:

After getting stuck trying make your assignment deadline, you find your life taking a quick turn for the pleasurable when you meet a stunning blonde who seems to be just the thing you needed to reignite your creativity.

Pairing: Dom!Femreader x Sub!Felix

Genre: corn w/o plot, smut

Word count: 3.2k

College AU. Corn without plot. Lust at first sight. Strangers to lovers. Jeongin makes a cameo in the beginning as MC's best friend. Pleasure-dom reader. Submissive Felix. Mommy kink (Felix calls reader "mommy" once). Slight dacryphilia. Light orgasm denial. Reader uses nicknames like "good boy, kitten". Body worship. Blowjob (Male receiving). Corruption kink. Y/N POV.

A/n: This is my first time writing a fic so be as brutal as you wish. Also, I'm not a native english speaker and I spell like a rake so grammatical errors and spelling errors are bound to be found. You have been warned. Enjoy!

Explicit content, adult themes, suitable for 18+ only.

This is an original work. Do not repost, re-upload or otherwise redistribute.

"Thank you for cheering me up today. I honestly don't know what I would do without you."

You took an elongated sip from your americano, sighing in delight as you felt the icy liquid pass your tongue, temporarily relieving you from the blistering summer heat.

"You didn't leave me much of a choice now, did you?" Jeongin said as a playfull smirk creeped up the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, Yeah?" You looked up with a raised eyebrow, taking a small break from the date with your iced americano.

"We both know you could never say 'no' to me." You flickered your eyebrows in a playfull display of challange, a satisfactory smile taking form on your plump lips.

Sighing in defeat, Jeongin leaned back into the soft leather cushions of the Cafe chair. Followed by a soft chuckle as he said,

"Yeah well, you got me there I guess. So how's the paper coming along?" Concern in his voice apparent, albeit unessesary.

You knew he was referring to this semesters paper. And even though it started off as a fun and easy assignment, you had now hit the dreaded fictional wall. Apparently any topic could get you feeling bored and filled with anxiety, given lack of creativity.

A small bump in the road, you were sure. The typical cycle of the creative progress. For inspiration surely is lucrative albeit a fleeting thing, and you suppose you would have to simply wait, until creativity decided to grace your mind with its presence once again.

Insert Jeongin and your eager request to meet him for coffee. You were best friends and had been since the second week of college. You had been late, as you usually were, running across campus with hurried steps in futile hopes of getting to the lecture hall before your professor.

That same morning, however, your sleep ridden brain failed to remember how to tie your shoelaces. Instead opting for the much faster approach of simply tucking said laces into the sides, between your shoe and your feet. Resulting in the typical sitcom fall-over-your-own-feet plot, successfully yeeting your body towards the ground at a horrifying speed.

Standing just a few feet away observing the borderline comical fall, Jeongin hurried over to you and asked if you were okay.

A quick visit to the nurses office, thanks to repeatedly insisting on Jeongin's part, you found yourself earning a sprained wrist along with your first college friend.

"Y/N?" Jeongin asked with slite concern.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, I must've spaced out for a second. What was the question again?" You asked as you shook your head, slowly blinking your eyes, trying to snap back to reality.

"You seem stressed, are you okay?" He said as he leaned forward, taking your hands in his own.

"Nah, it's not as bad as it might appear. I think I just need to blow off some steam, you know?" You gave his hands a reassuring squeeze, thankful for his genuine concern.

"Some steam, ey?" Mischievous smile returning to his lips along with a playful eyebrow raise.

"Oh come on, you know what I mean. I just need to have a night out with friends or something." You said, shaking off Jeongin's suggestive sarcasm.

Although you would have lied if you would had said that the thought of a steamy night with a stranger did not intrigue you.

To be completely honest with yourself, the thought alone made you clench around nothing. But where would you even find someone? On campus? Not a fucking chance.

***

With a huge smile on your lips, you waved goodbye to your friend, feeling somewhat relieved for the first time in a hot minute.

You took a deep breath, letting the sent of greenery and sunshine envelope your senses. You could feel your muscles slowly relaxing as you stretched your body, arms high above your head.

With a newly given optimism and drive, courtesy of your bff, you decided to take the opportunity to go to the campus library, in hopes of finding some additional inspiration for your paper.

Walking with slow, unhurried steps you went through the campus park, taking in the scenery around you, coming to a stop before the fountain placed in the center of the grounds.

You had always liked this fountain and the majestic water display it provided.

Taking a few minutes to admire the way the water elegantly sprayed from the unpolished steel structure. Your mood brightened by the way the droplets formed an array of colors in the sunlight, gleefully watching as they bounced playfully against the wet surface and reconnected with the marbled pool at the base.

Indeed, the soothing sound of water hitting the wet surface, was you favorite. Surely nothing could be more relaxing than this.

Closing your eyes, you let the world disappear into the background as time seemingly came to a halt around you.

Ah, piece of mind...

You exhaled a deep breath with feeling of an oncoming gentle, warm summer breeze.

The presence of another soul beside you, made you quickly snap back to reality however, effectively bursting the ethereal bubble you created with a loud 'pop'.

A hint of annoyance crossed your features, as you slowly cracked an eye open to see the person responsible.

Your annoyance, was quickly replaced by sheer astonishment followed by a hushed gasp as your eyes took in the creature standing beside you. If you did not know any better, you would have sworn you were looking at an angel. He was long, muscular in built with broad shoulders and long, blond traces elegantly falling along his sharp jawline. Beautiful, wooden eyes and a galaxy of freckles displayed across rose tinted cheeks. He was starring ahead, at the fountain no doubt, seemingly oblivious to your less than stellar reaction to his visuals.

You forced yourself out of your trance. Feeling somewhat embarrassed by your blatant display of lack of self-control. You absent-mindedly looked at your watch trying to, unsuccessfully, appear unaffected by the stunning stranger.

"Shit!"

Your sudden exclamation startles the poor boy beside you, making his eyes follow you in confused horror as you took off sprinting towards the library, remembering your upcoming assignment deadline.

***

Time sure flies fast when you are looking at a whole God damn meal. Unfortunately time moves slower than a fucking snail when you are doing an assignment you do not have even the 10th of as much of an interest doing.

With the deadline for your paper being only a couple of weeks away, you felt the pressure of adulthood on you. With a sigh, you closed yet another book you found failed to provide you with the information you needed. Pushing back your chair, you got up to start umpteenth round of ramaging the many sections of the library.

You walked torwards the deepest end of the library, the part reserved for professors who once or twice a year came to refresh their memory of some long forgotten trivia or, the occasional horny campus couple looking to spice up their sexual endeavors. You suppose it was the perfect place for privacy, given the lack of sunlight as well as the lack of efficient lighting of space. Leaving visitors with less than pleasant experience, at least if you were actually looking for something.

You went from hardback to hardback, squinting your eyes trying decipher the titles, looking for that one book Jeongin said "will definitely help you".

Trolleys with books crammed the isle, no doubt to the fault of the newly appointed campus librarian who always seemed to be more interested in hitting on whatever cute girl walked past, instead of actually doing his job. You made a mental note to remind him of his duties at a later time.

Without much attention spared to the snug space that surrounded you, you found yourself coming to a sudden halt as your face connected with something halfway through the giant bookshelf.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you" You said reflexively as you lifted your gaze to meet the person in front of you.

"No worries, mate" the deep voiced, blonde stranger replied, flashing an innocent smile that might as well have blinded you.

You instantly recognized him, and of course anyone would. The beauty of this man was unforgettable, to say the least. You were a bit taken aback by his deep voice, the depth of it unexpected, given his angelic face.

You gave a polite nodd his way and he smiled as he returend to reading the book in his hands.

Not wanting to disturb his reading session, you quietly moved to get past him, to continue your search. The small passageway and seemingly endlessly littered books and trolleys making your efforts damn near impossible.

"I'm sorry to bother you again, but I really need to get to the other side" you flashed an apologetic smile while pointing past the blonde with your finger as if the reason for you needing to get past him was not blithely clear already.

He followed the gesture of your hand, and quickly answered.

"Oh, Yeah. Of course, go ahead. Miss...?"

"Y/N." You quickly finished his sentence. "And you are..?"

"I'm Felix, nice to meet you Y/N." he smiled as he turned, pressing his body as tightly as he could against one of the bookshelves, signaling with his hands for you to go past him.

"Thank you." You said gratefully, adding a small head-bow. As you took a step closer, you angled your body face-to-face with his, thinking it to be the lesser of two evils.

Your bodies painfully flushed together as you tried to wiggle your way past him and the unfortunately placed trolly, that for whatever reason seemed to be welded to the floor. His hands moved to hold the sides of your t-shirt in an attempt to help stabilize your steps.

His cologne engulfed your senses with the close proximity, making you clench around nothing as you could feel wetness starting to form between your legs as your body unconsciously moved an inch closer to the man infront of you.

You dared a glace at him, pleasantly surprised at the sight you were met with.

Felix's cheeks had flushed a pink hue, eyes closed in an apparent attempt at self-restraint, lower lip caught between his teeth.

Cute...

Your body moved as if on que, your mind not even registering your movements before your hands made contact with the flushed blonde before you, tracing feather light, experimental touches across the sides of his torso, gliding up to settle on the pecks of his chest. His grip on your shirt tightend as a barely audible whimper escaped his lips.

The delighted smirk on your face met by his surprised one. Seemingly unable to register the sound that had previously escaped him.

"I- I'm Sorry..." he cleared his throat, embarrassed eyes turning away as his small voice trailed off mid-sentence.

Perfect...

A wicked smile on your lips, you leaned into his ear and whispered,

"That's one hell of a delicious sound you got there, Kitten" you leaned back to look at him as his eyes snapped back to meet yours, unsure if he had heard you right.

Your lustful eyes made him swallow thickly. You felt his cock twitch against your core and the color of his cheeks turned from pink to a deep crimson, spreading all the way to his ears. You licked your lips. His breath hitching in anticipation as you moved to close the distance between you.

You raised your hands to cup his burning cheeks, trapping him in a passionate kiss, taking away whatever little resolve he had as he melted into your touch.

One hand taking a firm grip of the roots of his hair, gently pulling him back, deepening the kiss, the other tracing down his chest, past his chiseled abs, stopping at the apparent bulge to stroke some much needed relief over his strained core. The sound of wet kisses and whimpers filling the tight space between bookshelves.

You broke the kiss to give room for a much needed oxygen boost. Your lungs desperately deprived of air, and by the looks of it, you were not the only one. Felix was panting helplessly, pleading eyes begging you not to stop.

"Tell me what you want" voice hushed and sultry, devilish eyes meeting his hooded ones. Felix broke eye contact, seemingly embarrassed of the thought of voicing his desires. You pressed you chest to his, warm breath making him shutter as it fanned over the shell of his ear.

"Use you words Kitten, and I'll make you feel real good, yeah?"

Moving slowly downward, you let your tongue taste his neck before leaving a trail of wet kisses along his collarbone.

You unbuttoned his pants, letting your hand slip inside the leathery material. Teasingly stroking his length as you coaxed the boy to speak.

"I want to... ah... t-touch you." he finally mustered between staggered breaths. His husky, submissive tone sent a shot of electricity straight to your core, making your cunt throb.

"If you want to touch me, you'll have to earn it, Kitten." Crouching down to your knees, you placed your hands on the back of his thighs. Stroking reassuring circles with your thumbs before teasing digits followed the outline of his clothed muscles, stopping by the hem of his pants.

You swiftly removed the piece of clothing, freeing his cock with a slight bounce and left the fabric to pool around his ankles.

His breath clung to his lugns, turning into a relieved moan of as he felt you wrap your hand around his base, gently gripping him. His muscles tensed beneath your hand as you applied a bit more pressure. You kept eye contact with him as you reached out to taste his twitching cock. Going base to tip in one painfully slow drag with your hot, wet tongue, you eventually shut your eyes. A satisfied hum escaped your throat as the salty precum connected with your taste buds.

As you opened your eyes to reap the fruits of your labor, you felt his member twitch expectantly in your hands as your eyes met. Hooded eyes filled with lustful anticipation, his body trembled with your every touch in the most delicious display of sinful submission.

Oh, what a delectable scene to behold.

You moved to grip the hem of his shirt pulling it upwards, exposing his sculpture abs with it. You took your time admiring the way his honey glossed skin prickled as you applied feather light kisses to them. He really must have been hand crafted by Venus herself. His waist was slim, shoulder wide. He was not just pretty, he was gorgeous. You had to mentally slap yourself to keep yourself focused.

"Here Kitten, be a good boy and hold this in your mouth for me." Felix wasted no time following your command, his hand trembled as he reached to take the fabric out of your way.

"Words Kitten..." you commanded, voice low and hushed.

"Y-yes, Mommy" he breathlessly stiffled out as he placed the fabric between his teeth.

The sudden impromptu nickname surprised you.

It was an unexpected answer to say the least, albeit not entirely unwelcomed. You would not have guessed he had it in him based your first impression of him, but then again, you would not have guessed him to be this submissive either, so you supposed you should not been so taken aback by it. You should never judge a book by its cover after all.

You scuffed. A subtle pleased smirk gracing your features before responding to his enthusiasm with a faint,

"Good boy."

You wrapped your plump lips around his length, slowly lowering yourself over him, swirling your tongue around the tip as you went down.

You moved your hand to cup his balls, gently playing with them before you started to apply gentle pressure, stroking the underside of his length.

"I-I can't... ah... so.. so good!" Subtle beeds of pleasure starting to form at the corners of his eyes.

Felix leaned his head back against the heavy bookshelf as his hands gently fell to the top of your head, his fingers intertwining with the strands of your hair. He offered no pressure, no aim to guide your movements. His shaky hands only set out to find a place of rest in a desperate attempt to ground himself. His hips squirmed helplessly with the building pleasure of the tortuous assault of your mouth to his core.

You let his cock fall out of your mouth with a noticeable 'pop' and Felix looked like he was ready to do the same. His hands were trembling as he desperately tried to hold on to what little sanity he had left.

"No cumming now, Kitten. You're going to be a good boy for me, aren't you?" Your hands continued to teasingly stroke his cock as you spoke, making it difficult for the poor boy to form a coherent answer.

"I-... ah.. I can't..." gentle tears blurred his vision. He could feel the unsought of his release creeping menacingly close, as he struggled to get away from your touch, not wanting the pleasure to end.

You quickly released your grip of him and watched him whimper as the sudden inaction chased his high away. His chest heaved with want, its color matching the flush of his pretty star sprinkled cheeks as he tried break through the fog of unadulterated bliss.

"P-please.." Felix managed to let out between sobs, voice small and pleading. Bringing your tongue back to the tip of his cock, you teased him with small, wet Kitten licks before taking the length of him into your mouth. You bobbed your head in a hurried fashion, feeling his soft head bouncing off the back of your throat.

Felix moaned loudly at the sudden intrusion, making the shirt fall from his mouth. He quickly replaced it with his fist in a desperate, albeit futile, attempt to hold back screams while the other griped his shirt anew, unable to handle the pleasure your mouth conditioned him with.

His beautiful moans and hitched breaths spurring you on as you quickened your ministries. You could feel the wetness dripping from your neglected sex, unable to deny the effects his pleas had on you.

"Cum for me Kitten" you said breathlessly, before returning to suck on his length with newly found determination.

That was seemingly all the permission Felix needed, making his walls of fragile attempt to restrain come crashing down before your very eyes. Cumming with the most deliciously sinful broken moans you had ever heard.

His orgasm sent electricity flowing through every nerve, muscles flexing and relaxing by their own accord as pearls of sweat dripped from his temples, down to his chiseled pecks. White flashes of hot bliss washing over him in waves. Cock twitching violently, coating your mouth with stripes of warm, delectable release.

You sucked him through his high, making sure to milk every last drop of his essence before swallowing, unwilling to let any of his delicious nectar go to waste.

You stood from your kneeling position, legs a tad shaky from the tiring position and carpeted concrete. You used your thumb to wipe the corner of your mouth, before licking it clean.

Felix looked at your suggestive move, lingering chock and exhaustion from his intensive release, apparent on his stunning features.

He looked like he was going to cum again, cock unrelentingly hard, twitching as a result of your blatant display of insatiable lust.

"Thanks for the meal, Kitten." You winked before leaving to get your things.

What the fuck did I just do?

***

Thank you so much for reading my fic. Please let me know if you enjoyed it by reblogging and liking my post. Be sure to let me know if you'd like a part two.

Stay dark my friends.

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downforseochangbin · 21 days ago

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Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭𝙭𝙞. 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙬𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙞 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」「Act 1」「© October 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

Han Jisung— rapper, charmer, ringleader of the clowns. He dons many titles, and loves them all equally.

“Why didn’t you just tell him?”

His head is in his hands, his phone on the table. “I don’t know, dude. I clammed up. Shit.”

You’d laugh if it wasn’t so painful.

“You realise you’ve just made this a whole thing, right?” you sigh.

“Yeah.”

“When it didn’t need to be.”

“I know.”

“It’s not like we’re fucking on the cake display.”

Jisung snorts. “You wish.”

“I think too highly of carbs to do that.” You sip the froth from your cappuccino, the mug warm in your hands. “Seriously, though. We’re only hanging out. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

He sighs, scratches under his beanie where dark strands peek. Perpetually possessing a healthy glow, simply being around him is enough to lift spirits. No wonder Minho does so at every opportunity.

He pouts into his strawberry Frappuccino.

“Do you feel like we are?” you ask.

“No, man. Come on. I love that we’re friends now. I just— Don’t you feel kind of bad for Minho?”

“In what way?”

“In the way that we’re, like, hanging out behind his back.”

“Behind his back?”

Jisung grimaces. “Without him, I guess.”

You set your beverage down, fold your arms. “I never asked you to keep this a secret.”

“I know—”

“I’ve never stopped you from inviting him, either.”

“Right.” He rubs his right eye. “But wouldn’t inviting him be, like...”

“Awkward? Probably, yeah. He and I have stopped fucking, but you two continue to. Of course, it’ll be awkward. We’ll get over it. I told you, I'm happy for you.”

Jisung quirks a brow. “I don’t know about that.”

“About what?”

“Him and me. Fucking. Continuing to.”

“... You’re not?”

“We get close, but no. Not since you two broke up.”

“Well, I mean; that’s fine, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s fine.”

“Changbin and I haven’t really had sex either. It’s not the end of the world.”

Jisung shrugs, lips wrapped around his straw. He talks around it. “I’m not suggesting it is.” He swallows. “I just feel like there’s more going on with him than he’ll admit to. Dude’s so stuck in his head all the time. It worries me.”

“I... hadn’t noticed.”

“No, well; you guys aren’t as close you used to be. Figures.”

Sickness stirs. You swallow it down.

“What do you think is wrong with him?” you ask, because Jisung seems to know better than you.

“If I had to guess, he misses you.”

“We see each other every day.”

Jisung glares at you.

“He’s the one that ended things, Ji. As much as it hurt at the time, he was right to do so. I’d never have spent the last few weeks focusing on myself otherwise, and I'm a better person for it.”

“If you say so,” he sighs, swirling his straw through pink cream.

“Besides, I don’t see why his missing me should have any effect on his relationship with you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You’ve never missed someone so much it takes you away from everything else?” he says. “You and Bin hyung aren’t fucking either, remember.”

“That’s got nothing to do with Minho.”

“Right. Whatever.”

“I used my pain to my advantage,” you urge. “Let it lead me into changing things.”

“Good for you. Maybe Minho can’t do that. People handle grief in different ways. And that’s what this is, by the way— he’s grieving.”

You slide your hands around your cappuccino, bring it close.

“You should talk to him,” Jisung says quietly.

“And say what?”

“Tell him that we’re hanging out, for a start. Put his mind at ease.”

You roll your eyes. Not worth pointing out Jisung’s role in setting it off-kilter in the first place.

“Tell him you still have feelings for him, too.”

“He knows that, Ji.”

“A little reassurance never hurt,” he says.

You sip froth from your coffee. “Fine. But—”

“Excuse me?”

A voice to the right draws yours and Jisung’s attention: two teen girls huddle closely, phones clutched in their hands, all aflutter. They inch towards the table, wide eyed stares fixed to Jisung.

“You— You’re Han Jisung, right?” One of them says. “J One?”

Jisung nods, bows in his chair, adjusts his beanie. “Yeah.”

The girls squeal, drawing dubious glances from customers. Jisung shrinks into himself.

“Oh my god!” The other exclaims. “Oh my god, oh my god! We’re huge fans. We love you so much!”

“Ah, thank you.”

“Can we, like, get a picture with you?” They’re shuffling closer, now too close to be comfortable.

Jisung falters, panic paling him. “Oh, I— I’m sorry, I can’t—”

“Just one picture!” The girls raise their phones and turn, frame a selfie, and unable to bear it any longer, you rise and quickly pose in front of Jisung, a victory ‘V’ held up in frame.

“What the hell?!” One girl complains, whirling around. “Do you mind—”

“Do you mind?” you hiss. “I believe he just told you that he can’t give you a picture.”

“We were just—”

“Just disrespecting the man’s boundaries? Just fishing for your five minutes of fame?”

The girls glower, their mouths opening and shutting like floundering fish.

“Let him drink his coffee in peace,” you say acerbically.

“Come on.” One girl grabs the other’s arm. “Let’s go.” She turns to Jisung, bows low. “Sorry.”

With that, they scarper from the café, eyes of curious customers following them. A smartly dressed barista approaches, asks if everything is okay. You reassure them it is. When you sit back down, Jisung is staring.

“What?” you deadpan.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“That’s the strangest ‘thank you’ I've ever heard.”

He snorts, colour returning to him. He takes one long sip of his Frappuccino, hurriedly pulls his jacket back on. He smacks his lips and gestures to the door. “Come on.”

“We’re leaving? But I haven’t finished my—”

He’s already getting up, weaving through the café and breezing out.

“Hey! Wait for me!”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

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downforseochangbin · 21 days ago

Text

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭𝙭. 𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」「Act 1」「© October 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

“I’ll get you back, bestie. Count on it.”

But, like... when?

A fortnight on from the declaration and the discomfort of separation is so settled under Minho’s skin he’s tempted to carve it out. He doesn’t want to get used to what is gradually becoming routine; her frequent shifts at the coffee shop align perfectly with his own professional obligations and so their days are spent busy and apart, their evenings rarely under the same roof— she has engagements, she says, and fuck if he knows what those are. All he knows is that she glows when she returns, and it makes him feel less than worthless.

The most obvious conclusion he finds himself hopping to: she’s fucking someone else. Someone removed from the dramatics of ‘3racha x everyone’, and honestly, how can he blame her for that? Regardless, he backs himself. Feels her affection in the fleeting looks and passing touches. Clutches at the affirmation like it’s damn life support.

He pours himself into dancing, as a man so in need of distraction is wont to do. He hangs out with Jisung where their schedules align, finds peace and an unfettered joy there for as long as they’re together. Jisung is sunlight incarnate. So giving it makes Minho’s body ache. There’s nothing the rapper wouldn’t do for him, and he knows it well, but it doesn’t seem to stop hesitation staying his hand when intimacy becomes the moment. Jisung is patient, understanding. Knows that it’s not his fault that his sexual appetite has plummeted, but rather the blame of the heartache he suffers, so dense and dark as to eclipse any thoughts of wrapping himself around another. The irony of it all isn’t lost on Minho; he ended things with her in hopes it would grant them both romantic freedom, yet in her absence he feels ever more imprisoned by the obligations he sets upon himself— how can he indulge with Jisung in good conscience when he feels so fucking incomplete? He also hoped that removing sex from the table would encourage her to open up to him about what it is she keeps to herself. No such luck, it seems.

He loses himself to these thoughts in moments of isolation. Fearful of them he does his utmost to ensure he’s not left alone for long. Surrounds himself with clients, with strangers in the depths of neon bars, with Jisung wherever possible, with things he knows he loves, even if he never quite feels it in the moment.

Tidying the studio following a particularly hard lesson—the inclusion of children is a challenging adjustment to his client base, but the parents with bottomless wallets make it lucrative—he mentally plans the next; a budding dance troupe preparing for a competition, always so fiery and full of ambition. He wonders how far over they’ll run this time. The two-hour slot is never enough. Doesn’t think he’ll mind it today. Taking things just like this—a day, an hour, a minute at a time—helps keep him grounded. If he thinks too much of what awaits him when he gets home, he’ll ruin much more than the lessons.

With a half hour before the troupe arrive, Minho takes his chances on his boyfriend. Nothing is quite as effective a salve to nerves as the rapper’s honeyed voice. He retrieves his phone from the sound system desk, dials the contact, perches on the corner sofa. Takes a few rings longer than usual for him to answer.

“What’s up, man?”

“Hey.” Minho grins. “Just thought I'd call.”

“Oh, yeah? So sweet. Always thinking about me.”

Minho’s about to gush, when in the background he hears clinking crockery, quiet chatter, the rush of a coffee steamer.

“I thought you were recording today?” Minho says.

“Yeah. We are. I just dipped for a bit. Caffeine calls, you know how it is.”

“Do I ever. You by yourself?”

“Oh, uh...”

He hesitates.

“Jisung?”

“I’m just with a friend.”

“Okay? Who?”

“Hey, uh, my order’s about to come out. I’ll call you later?”

“Jisung—”

“Bye, baby.”

Like that the call ends, the dull dial tone sounding off in Minho’s ear. His stomach rolls over uncomfortably, tightening, pulling. It’s unlike Jisung to be secretive. So unlike him to be so bothered. He’s not the jealous type, as recent endeavours with his ex have demonstrated, but courtesy of the same timeline of events, has discovered that he most definitely is the suspicious type. And now he has reason to be. Impulsively, he calls Jisung back twice straight away. The first call rings off. The second clicks straight through to voicemail. A wave of unease sends Minho to his feet, to pacing, where he spends the next fifteen minutes until the dance troupe arrive. They’re loud and raring to go. Minho’s head throbs.

“What’s up, man!?” One of them hollers, all smiles and lovely energy. Nothing in their world is going tits up, clearly.

“Let’s get started,” Minho grumbles. “We cannot run over today.”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

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downforseochangbin · 2 months ago

Text

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭𝙞𝙭. 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」「Act 1」「© September 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

“Why hate me so instantly?”

He draws tense.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he mutters.

“I know that. I don’t think I'd even said hello before you decided I was enemy number one.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “There’s no easy way to explain it. I don’t know if I even can.”

“Try.”

“Alright.” He thumbs his empty glass, hand trembling. “When... I was a trainee, I had a girlfriend.”

He stands and rounds the bar, rapping his knuckles over the surface. Understandable that he should require the forty percent proof of courage.

“We dated for two years, and she was my first everything.” He picks up the same bottle, this time foregoing the glass to swig straight from the neck. “I planned my entire future around her. Debuting took a backseat; shit, everything did. I was so in love, I just... I don’t know. I made her the centre of my world.” He drinks again. “To cut a long story short, things changed.”

“It ended?”

Chan laughs. “No. No, it didn’t end. I didn’t get that kind of closure. She debuted in a girl group, and it was like I never existed at all. Like I was a—” He swallows, veins in his neck straining. “A fucking stranger. I was cut off, ignored. Ghosted, I guess they’d call it now. We didn’t have that word back then. Things came to a head when I tried the only thing I could think of and went to her dressing room after her show. I asked her why.”

“...And?”

“And, I’m still none the wiser.”

He drinks again, lips moist. You reach for the bottle and he passes it, a sip of your own steeling what nerves are wavering with his tale.

“She was so...” He falters. “She just screamed and shoved me like an animal. Hit me. Accused me of assault. Tried to press charges. Branded me a sasaeng.”

Oh.

Oh, God.

“I lost everything. My career, my home, my reputation, my mind. There was no sense to any of it, no heart in her. That girl; she wasn’t Jia. I still don’t believe it was her.”

“You should try to.”

Chan quirks a brow.

“When people show you a side of themselves you don’t like, it’s not for you to try and warp that into something you can understand.” You take another swig. “I had to learn that too.”

“So I just make peace with the fact that she was probably always a monster? That she never loved me as much as I loved her? That the two years we spent together were for nothing?”

“I don’t have all the answers, Chan. I just know that in convincing yourself she wasn’t herself then, you’re clinging to something you probably never had. You remember her as your ‘first everything’— she was also the first person to traumatise you so badly, you’re still broken up about it. So much so that it’s affecting the way you live.”

Chan blinks, head hung low.

“You called me a sasaeng.”

He nods.

“Projecting?”

“Christ. I don’t think I can face the idea that your being a fan was enough to trigger me like that. Out of nowhere.”

“Can’t have been out of nowhere.” You slide the bottle back; he catches it against his palm. “I think you felt threatened.”

He says nothing, face sombre.

“We met under conditions your boyfriends negotiated, but I don’t think you were ever really prepared for it. I wasn’t either, in a way.”

His brows knit.

“You panicked when the time came and lashed out at me—a stranger, a fan—the way someone you loved once lashed out at you. Your unhealed trauma made me the homewrecker trying to take what was yours. Made me the enemy. Made me the sasaeng.”

“Wow,” Chan mumbles. “What am I paying Doctor Kindelle for again?”

“I just call it as I see it.”

“Wish you saw it weeks ago.”

“Mhm. Me too.”

“I’ve been carrying this rage around for so long,” he says, turning the liquor bottle over. “It’s a wonder Changbin and Jisung still put up with me.”

“They love you.”

Chan scoffs.

“You don’t believe it?” you ask.

“It’s hard to when all they seem to want are other people.”

Guilt wrenches your chest, bitterness on your tongue.

“You don’t have to feel bad about it,” he says, taking a generous swig of liquor. “I know you and Bin are good together.”

You fidget on the stool. “I— I don’t know if I'd go that far.”

“Fine; the sex then. He’s happier than I’ve seen him in a while. You must be doing something right.”

Something. Sure.

“It reminds me of when we first started dating,” he sighs. “Back then, nothing else mattered so long as we were together. We were so happy.” He swigs again. “Then other things did start mattering. We got older, our lives changed. I fought it so hard. I’m clinging to it; all the memories, waiting for things to go back to how they were, but I know they won’t. They can’t. I hear the things they say to me— that they’re suffocating, they need more than what our bubble can give them or it’ll be the end of us. I know that.” His voice breaks. “Just because I know it doesn’t mean it’s easy to accept. I’m doing my best. Trying to give them what they need without losing my mind again.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of us are playing with a full deck, Chan. I’m certainly not.”

“Seriously. They drive me crazy. But I truly would rather share them than lose them altogether. Losing them… it’s not an option.”

“I know.”

“Does Minho get you like this? Have you questioning everything?”

You laugh weakly. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Chan falters. “Really?”

“We split.”

“What? Why?”

You shrug softly. “It’s not anyone’s fault. It just is.”

Chan straightens, expression unreadable as he rounds the bar. Footsteps echo—one, two, three, four—they number past transgressions and sink to the still pool of water that lives under the flaming bridge. He opens his arms and takes you in them; between your legs he stands and close to his chest you are drawn, the stool creaking beneath you. It’s not familiar, but neither does it scare you. A new brand of comfort, brought by a soul as damaged as yours.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispers. “Somehow, it’ll all be okay.”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

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downforseochangbin · 2 months ago

Text

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭𝙫𝙞𝙞𝙞. 𝙬𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙮 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚, 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 ‘𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮’

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」「Act 1」「© August 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

This is the right place. Chan’s pin says so.

You’re at a brick building, its metal shutters drawn. A marked lack of life and general gloom sits over it. An unlit neon sign hangs sadly. Wild flora has made itself a lush home on the moist brick. The alley stretches far from the street, tenebrous and oppressive; what little natural light is here claws through the criss-cross of overhanging fire escapes, casts the cobbles in disconcerting patterns. Warm though it is, you shiver.

As per Chan’s request, you text him. Silent moments pass in which you consider leaving; this may turn out to be a waste of time. When the shutter door gives way and rises, you step away. A few feet from the ground and Chan ducks under it, his red hair stark against the colourless building. When he's pushed the shutter the rest of the way, he turns to you and nods.

“Come in.”

“Where are we?”

He scratches his nape. “Our hideout.”

He disappears inside, and left little choice, you descend the entrance staircase. Looks like it was carpeted once. Only scraps cling to the wood. Lit by suspended, naked bulbs that flicker haphazardly, it’s hardly the most inviting. At the foot hangs a heavy velvet curtain, tattered and worn; Chan holds it aside for you.

“What is this place?”

“The guy we bought it from said it used to be a sex club back in the day. Like, before it was abandoned. Either way, now it’s ours. Our hideout. Like I said.”

Wow.

A space large enough to accommodate a crowd is furnished with fabric sofas and bean bags, cushions and rugs over the speckled, polished floor. Electric heaters, standing fans, a coat rack and wooden units of shelving; a mishmash of homely comforts. Lighting rigs run the ceiling with spotlights long since dead; strings of fairy lights are wound around the metal. A vast stage dominates the room, with seven elevated lanes and podiums with high poles which themselves have been strung with faux flora, decorated with ribbons of variegated pink and purple. Central to the stage is a massive television, one hundred inches across and slightly curved, flanked by tall speakers.

“A hideout, huh?”

Chan rounds the rear bar—a relic from the sex club days no doubt salvaged—and rifles through the liquor bottles.

“You want a drink?”

“No.”

He turns to you briefly. “Do you mind?”

You shake your head, settle on one of the velveted stools. There are more fake flowers in glasses along the length of the polished bar; roses, daises, sunflowers. You pluck the nearest one, thumbing the bendy, plastic petals.

“Those are Jisung’s doing,” he says, pouring himself something. Can’t quite make it out with his back to you. “He says they brighten the place up. I think he does that well enough on his own.”

You agree. Chan finishes whatever he’s making and turns with two drinks; pale amber swilling in short crystal glasses.

“I said I didn’t want a—”

“Both for me,” he says, rounds the bar. He takes the stool beside yours; not too close, but not so far as to feel removed from whatever this is going to be. He takes a sip from the closest glass, lips curling back over his teeth. You don’t know what to say. Why should you be the one to talk first? He called you here, this was his—

“I’m sorry.”

He stares into his glass.

“I want to preface with that.”

You swallow, heart in your throat.

“The way I treated you, the things I said to you. What I... called you. I’m sorry for all of it.”

“Minho told you to apologise?”

“No. I mean; yes. But that’s not why I'm doing this.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

He drinks again.

“Because I saw you at Doctor Kindelle’s. I saw you in that waiting room, and to put it plainly, I was ashamed.” He hangs his head. “I don’t know why, but seeing you in a place I've always associated with... I don’t know. I guess, recovery? It was like seeing you for the first time. Like I'd forgotten that other people have feelings and troubles and I just—” He falters, drinks. When he speaks again, his voice is thick. “Everything I'd ever said to you, all that hatred; it felt so empty. I thought that maybe I was the reason you were in that seat. Maybe I was the one that had driven you there. I was so... fucking ashamed.”

“There are many reasons I'm going to therapy, Chan.”

“And you don't have to tell me. I— I’m not asking you to. I just want you to know that... for whatever part I played in putting you there, if any, I'm sorry.”

He drinks again. Finishes the glass. With so sallow a complexion the colour begins to return to him in the liquor’s embrace; his tired eyes are sunken and bloodshot, his hands at a perpetual tremble.

“This is hard for you, isn’t it?”

Chan hums. “Pride is a bitch.”

“But you’re trying. That counts for something.”

“Does it?”

“I accept your apology, Chan.”

And the man finally looks at you. Tired. Glad. You smile, and Chan squeezes his eyes shut, tears rolling free to be promptly swept by his sleeve. Your stomach rolls over.

Fuck it.

You reach for the second glass and knock it back with a grimace. Tastes like paint stripper and apples, but the burn soothes the emotion. Chan watches quietly.

“I’m glad this is what you wanted to say.”

“Thought I was looking for another fight?” he scoffs softly.

“A little.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to be on the receiving end of that wicked right hook again.”

“God. I’m sorry. I’ve never done that before.”

“I deserved it.”

“Still—”

“Still; I deserved it.”

Unable to too much contest, you let out a sigh.

“Can I ask you something?” you ask.

Chan nods.

“Why?”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

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downforseochangbin · 2 months ago

Text

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭𝙫𝙞𝙞. 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙥𝙤𝙚𝙩𝙧𝙮

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

「Contents List」「Act 1」「© August 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」

How is one supposed to feel after their first therapy session?

A question you should have posed to your new therapist, perhaps, but in keeping with her advice— “sit with your feelings, try to understand them”—you take to the window seat of a quiet coffee shop nearby the clinic. Can’t quite face going home just yet.

Predominantly, there is relief. Doctor Kindelle— ‘can’t spell Kindelle without kind!’, a cheery poster on her wall had declared—was as attentive as her hourly rate suggested she ought to be, gently prompting when you faltered, which when discussing the extreme range of your sexual and emotional proclivities happened more than once. Credit to her; she didn’t so much as flinch. Not even when you tried to explain how the knowledge of your friends all over each other sparked in you something so visceral and hedonistic it threatened all your relationships and your ability to function like an adult. To even put it into words, despite your practice with Jisung, was the strongest test of fortitude you’d ever taken.

So gross. “Let’s not use words like that. We are primal beings at our core, all of us.”

So shameful. “This is a safe space. You’re safe here.”

So regressive. “Regression is part of acceptance. To grow, we must regress. It empowers us.”

Work on self-acceptance, she’d said. Self-love. Don’t punish yourself when your thoughts wander. Just examine them— as though they are but passing clouds through your calm, pellucid sky. What brought them on? What are you feeling right now? If you’re feeling bad, what can you do to feel better about their presence? Understand why you feel the things you do instead of battling them only to violently cave when your control slips, for none of us are built to withstand such constant and exhausting wars. You'll be happier for it, apparently. To be mindful is to be present; to be present is to be far from anxious thoughts of the future that not one of us can control.

“It’ll be a long road. We’ll walk it together.”

You send Jisung a quick text:

<< first session done. she was great. thank you again. i owe you so much x

In the next moment, your phone rings. Certain of the caller and so not bothering to check the ID, you answer immediately:

“Hey. You were so right, Ji. I really needed that. Thank you.”

Silence.

“Hello? Jisung? You there?”

“It’s me.”

Your heart lurches as though thrown through a speeding vehicle’s windshield.

“Chan...?”

“Yeah. Hi.” He clears his throat. “Is this a good time? I figured you’d be done at the clinic by now...”

“Y—Yeah. Yes. I just left.”

“Cool.”

Silence creeps in, your mind begins to race. Your last conversation with him so far from cordial, so much so it escalated to the physical, you can’t fathom the reason for his contacting you beyond wanting a second round, and in your current state, you’d rather not. Something about throwing hands after a therapy session feels counterproductive.

“Was there something you needed?”

“I, uh... wondered if you could make some time to meet with me.”

“Why?”

“I... have some things to say to you.”

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say, Chan.”

There’s a huff of exasperation. “Right. Touché.”

But it’s not half as vindicating to give him a spoonful of his own medicine as it should be.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says. “I know that. I also know I’m very lucky you didn’t immediately hang up on me.”

“Chan—”

“Please meet with me. An hour is all I need. Just... give me one hour, and after that you’ll never have to hear from or see me again. I promise.”

Your stomach twists on his insistence. You’d rather shit in your hands and applaud his confidence than spend any time alone with him. Minho would certainly warn you off it, plucking the red flags from the ground to make pom-poms and cheer dance out the letters ‘f’ ‘u’ ‘c’ ‘k’ ‘n’ ‘o’. And he wouldn’t be wrong for it. To be fooled once, and so on. You wonder what Jisung would say— if he’d encourage this. If Changbin would.

Regardless; you know a desperate man when you hear one, and Chan’s desperation is the most intriguing thing you’ve encountered in a while.

Sorry, Doc.

“Fine. Where?”

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

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downforseochangbin · 2 months ago

Text

Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭𝙫𝙞. 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙, 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

Drugs don’t hold a candle to the efficacy of adrenaline.

The aftermath of a gig is more intense a high than anything else Chan has tried; and there’s not much he hasn’t. His breathing spikes like an asthma sufferer and his heart pounds, and if he pushes himself beyond that, to just where the pain lives, his skin will start to shimmer and his vision will white and he’ll lose sensation in his legs. It’s nice for a while. Nice until it’s not.

“Drink?” Changbin asks, rifling through the assortment of liquor provided by the venue, bottles and cans of beer and mixed spirits.

Chan rakes a hand through his wet hair. “Yeah.”

Jisung tears off his red flannel and bounces around the room, full of the chaotic zest that Chan has relied on more than once to bring 3racha to where they are now. As good as he is at the music, he’s never been the biggest showman, and that’s half the deal. Jisung’s honey skin is slick and his body tense. He glows with life; a bulb too fat with electricity, fit to burst at any second. Any other night, Chan would be content to just watch him as he comes down from the buzz of performing, observing with quiet and unashamed delight all the delicious muscle he’ll mark when they get home. Tonight, he can’t seem to muster the want. He discards his blazer, lets his skin breathe through the heat, and sits on the loveseat. Tries to just be. When Changbin hands him a beer, he cracks it and sips slowly, the cold hops on his tongue a pleasant grounder.

He peers at Changbin. “Not drinking?”

“You know I don’t, man.”

“Right. Sorry.” He takes a swig of beer. Doesn’t know why he forgot. “You’d probably be okay with one though. It’s been a long time.”

Changbin shrugs. “I don't miss it. Why risk it?”

Chan supposes that’s fair. It’s not for him to try and sway; especially not a man so convicted as Changbin. He envies him in that respect. Imagine being so aware of your self-destructive habits, you put steps in place to stop it. Couldn’t be him.

“You okay?” Changbin then asks.

“I will be.”

Changbin nods. “Gig was good though, right?”

“Yeah. Always is.”

Changbin grins, brilliant white and endlessly charming, and bends to grasp Chan’s chin, tilting him into a soft kiss that’s as brief as it is tender. Can’t risk too much in public. Even after so long. For the second it lasts, things feel normal. Better.

“Hey,” Jisung hops over, his big eyes wired with sparks. “Minho hyung will be here soon.”

Except tonight isn’t normal. It’s everything Chan’s been dreading since its inception. His gut plummets. He supposes now is about the right time. He grabs his blazer, fishes the joint from the inside pocket, still beautifully intact. Changbin watches him light up, disapproval darkening his handsome features.

“I’m going to change,” he says, and stalks off.

Chan knows he hates it. Kind of doesn’t care. Not right now, anyway. He’s compromised for them. Has to have something of his own to keep him contained, and all things considered, a single innocent joint isn’t a big ask. Not as big as theirs was. He floats to distant pastures as he breathes it all in, the smoke filling his lungs and high carrying him so far from the dressing room and the imminent testing of his relationship he gives no legitimate fucks when Minho and his friend do eventually arrive. He hears introductions being made, hears the wanting in his boyfriend’s voices that’s so sticky and desperate he almost laughs out loud. Maybe he’ll throw up first. He could at least blame the weed for that.

“It’s nice to meet you both.”

That was a female voice.

Jisung calls her ‘babe’. Changbin asks if she enjoyed the show. Chan smokes, swigs beer. Is six feet under and wrapped in cotton.

“Very much. You guys are incredible. Hearing your music in person is so much more powerful than I expected. I mean; it’s powerful anyway, of course, I just mean that—”

“You know us?”

“Know you? I love you guys. I’m a huge fan.”

A huge fan.

A fucking fan.

Chan’s stomach twists. His veins ice up and his skin pricks with dread and not even the cotton wool can warm him. He’s stone-cold sober. He’s nineteen again. He’s staring down a corridor of harsh fluorescence and from beyond the door at the end, hears the screams that took everything from him—

“You never said she was a fan, man.”

“You never asked.”

Sasaeng.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

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downforseochangbin · 2 months ago

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Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh

𝙡𝙭𝙫. 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙚𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙨𝙚

! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !

Summer 2023

“This place is such a dive, man.”

Chan suppresses a laugh. And Changbin calls him a diva.

“You’re the one always saying a gig is a gig, hyung,” Jisung sighs, smearing black glitter liner over his lids through the vanity mirror. “When did you get so picky?”

“I’m not picky,” Changbin huffs, pacing the dressing room. “Guess I’m just used to bigger and better setups. You know how it is.”

“And he says the fame hasn’t gone to his head.”

“What? Shut up.”

Jisung glances at Chan. “Hyung?”

Chan shrugs— gently so as not to mess rolling his perfect joint. “You’re being a bit precious.”

“It’s not a good look on you, man,” the younger adds.

“Oh, so it’s gang up on Bin hour, huh? Noted.”

“Do you want to do this gig or not?”

“Yes, that wasn’t what I—”

“Then stop bitching in my fucking kitchen,” Jisung snaps.

Chan smirks with a laugh, finishes his roll and tucks the lovely little package into his inner blazer pocket for later. Changbin’s not wrong, is the thing. Sinner’s is a million miles from the venues they’ve sold out. About as much of a downgrade as one could imagine. But isn’t it good to bring it back to the roots now and again? Something about staying humble and all that? He thinks so.

“What the hell are you smiling about?” Changbin peers over Jisung’s shoulder.

“Minho hyung just texted me.”

Changbin doubles back, near breaking his neck in the movement. “No shit. What did he say?”

“Just that he’s looking forward to tonight.”

“He’s coming to the gig?” Chan asks.

“I invited him. And his hot roommate.”

Chan swallows. “Cool.”

Jisung swivels in his seat, toned planes of his bare back twisting. “You’re still okay with it, right?”

“I suggested it, didn’t I?” Chan replies over his chest clenching.

He’s doing this for them. Has to. He’ll lose them if he doesn’t. Doesn’t matter if it makes him want to run face-first into the nearest sharp object or peel his skin off with a rusty utensil or dive into a vat of acid. Not even he can deny that resentment is sprouting where once adoration bloomed, and in the name of staying together they must momentarily part.

Apparently.

Jisung purses his glossed lips. “Hyung—”

“Minho is a good guy. He’s discreet, professional. If you have to do this I'd much rather it be with someone who has our reputation in mind,” Chan says.

“And his roommate?” Changbin asks.

“Minho doesn’t associate with clowns. Any close friend of his can be trusted, too.”

“I’m just saying though, if you’ve changed your mind—”

“I haven’t changed my fucking mind, Sung. Stop asking before I do.”

Changbin’s pats Jisung’s shoulder. “We appreciate you meeting us halfway on this, hyung,” he says. “And I know you said you won’t, but if you, like, do end up wanting to be involved with someone else, you have our blessing.”

Chan nods. He might fucking throw up. The idea of even touching someone that isn’t one of them just— No. He can’t. Wishes they couldn’t either, but it’s selfish to wish for such a thing, and Chan’s not supposed to be selfish. He’s supposed to be better. Supposed to smile and wave while his boyfriends cheat on him in front of his face only it’s not cheating because he’s blessed it so they call it something else— they call it ‘ethnical non-monogamy' or ‘opening things’ or ‘branching out’ and just like that the guilt is gone and they can fuck to their hearts’ content and skip into the sunset with their new beaus and empty balls and a lighter heart, laughing all the while. Like everything's not fucked. Like Chan will ever feel adequate again. Like he’ll ever be able to look at them without wondering if he’s enough.

Whatever.

Done with the conversation and the spiral of anxiety, he sprawls over the cheap loveseat, pulls his snapback low. He tunes out the chatter of his boyfriends, focuses on the impending performance. Thinks about how good he’ll feel on stage, performing to swathes of people that actually do love him. What they see of him, anyway. Even if he loses all else, he’ll always have the adoring fans.

Beyond that, he can’t think too hard. Doesn’t want to.

He just wants to get through this without losing himself.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

< 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 | 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 >

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downforseochangbin · 3 months ago

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❝𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥.❞

↳ Chapter XXII of Sanguis Limerence™. See Chapter I for story description.

↳ Female reader x Bang Chan, female reader x Lee Know

↳ 5.5k

! Strong language, vampire skz au, supernatural au, love triangle au, polyamory, slow burn, horror, violence and gore, explicit sexual content, angst and tension, strong fear and threat, scenes of confinement and torture, continued interrogation, adult themes throughout !

The taste of metal was the first thing you awoke to.

A tangy, iron pinch on the surface of your tongue that could only be indicative of one thing.

The sound of dripping water teased at your surroundings, of a gusting breeze flowing through an open space. A shiver claimed you, nipping at your bare legs and shoulders as the shorts and tank top you wore did little to shield you from the cold that swept this place.

A gradual ache throbbed at your temples as you roused, through the back of your head as your eyes cracked open, your lips running painfully dry of any moisture to wet them. You swallowed thickly, grimacing as you attempted to bring your hands to your head and soothe it.

Yet you couldn’t.

Indeed, there wasn’t one of your extremities that you could move of your own will, as you absorbed your situation with building dread and trepidation.

As far as you could tell in your hazed sense of mind, you were chained to a chair. Thick restraints around your wrists and ankles, each of those bound to the arms and legs of it respectively.

You tugged uselessly, acting on simple instinct to confirm the state of confinement, to free yourself if possible. Though it achieved nothing in particular, only resulting in the sharp scrape of metal on itself.

A cough rose in your throat as you looked around, and you recognised the place to be the same long abandoned warehouse you’d passed through on your way here. The building that led to the concealed back entrance of WAHVA.

You were alone save for the nondescript sounds of rodents scuttling around in the walls and darker corners, yet an empty wooden chair had been placed in front of you. That only gave rise to panic. Clearly your captor was somewhere nearby, out of sight, for your current situation and physical state suggested that someone had taken the liberty of roughing you up before tying you down.

You soon came to identify the taste that plagued your mouth as blood, albeit stale, a subsequent sting piercing your lip as you flicked your tongue over the clean split in it. You safely assumed that whatever punch you’d taken also contributed to the aching in your head, and you began to wonder just how long you’d been detained like this.

You remembered the two suited escorts dragging you from the interrogation room, away from Sifer. You remembered the forceful nature of their holds, how you’d struggled and thrashed in an effort to get them to let you go, even if you’d known you had nowhere to escape to.

You couldn’t recall how you’d ended up here, however, yet you could guess well enough that somewhere between leaving the interrogation room and being brought to this place, they’d ran through their ream of patience with you.

Understandable, you supposed. No less painful though.

“Hello?!” You called, remiss to stay in this place any longer than you had to.

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downforseochangbin · 3 months ago

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❝𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲.❞

↳ Chapter XXI of Sanguis Limerence™. See Chapter I for story description.

↳ Female reader x Bang Chan, female reader x Lee Know

↳ 4.3k

! Strong language, vampire skz au, supernatural au, love triangle au, polyamory, slow burn, horror, violence and gore, explicit sexual content, angst and tension, an interrogation, fear and threat, adult themes throughout !

“We need you to come with us.”

Your throat ran dry with the sudden appearance of Sifer and his goons. A palpable creeping of ice cold panic, entirely inexplicable and yet present all the same.

It would have been foolish, you supposed, to believe WAHVA would leave you alone after the mission they’d sent you on. It was clearly of more import than they’d ever let on, evidently so much weightier than just a contact mission. Chan himself had alluded to such.

It would have been even more foolish to imagine you stood a chance of getting away from your visitors, despite the fact that there was nothing outwardly indicating that you should, other than the sinking of your gut. The sense of self-preservation that was screaming at you to run, as far as you could go.

“What for?” You asked, needing further clarification, even if only to buy time. Minho was sure to turn up at any moment with the encroaching night, and he would certainly know what to do.

“The Company demands your presence,” Sifer explained, shoving his hands to his pockets. “After the failure of your mission we require a more… in-depth report than the one you gave.”

You could admit to the text you sent in your daze of depression being lacklustre if you were to look at it objectively, but it was also the usual way you reported these things. Your first failure, perhaps, but still the outlined procedure.

You didn’t think pointing that out would be of any use right now.

“So I’ll just give it here,” you shrugged, knowing you were pushing your luck. “I don’t need to be at headquarters to tell you what went down. It was just as I reported. The family doesn’t want anything to do with-”

“I’m afraid that won’t do, Miss. L/N. I imagine you’re aware that this mission was of high importance to the Company, and subsequently, my orders are to bring you in. With your cooperation, or not.”

You shot him a look of disbelief, hardly believing that this was the same person who handed down your objectives from WAHVA at all. Even with his usual stoic nature, he had his brief moments of sympathy, much like he had before he sent you on this very job.

“Really?” You choked, shaking your head. “What are you gonna do, tie me up and haul me out of here?”

The two suited men behind him tensed up with your suggestion, one of them appearing to crack his neck, much to your horror.

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downforseochangbin · 3 months ago

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❝𝐖𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐬.❞

↳ Chapter XX of Sanguis Limerence™. See Chapter I for story description.

↳ Female reader x Bang Chan, female reader x Lee Know

↳ 5.1k

! Strong language, vampire skz au, supernatural au, love triangle au, polyamory, slow burn, horror, violence and gore, explicit sexual content, angst and tension, shower sex, provocation, vampiric behaviour, blood as an aphrodisiac, adult themes throughout !

The days that passed after your sinful encounter with Minho were perhaps the most indulgent of your short life so far.

The most wanton and exhausting, you’d been drowned in a veritable haze of lust and pleasure, only coming ashore to allow yourself the basic human necessities that would keep you functioning long enough to willingly drown again.

Minho was ungodly. Aside from his obvious aversion to anything holy in the basic sense, it was rife in both his manner and character, the things he did and exposed you to.

If you’d ever harboured any doubt as to your feelings towards him, the last few days had provided all the confirmation you could ever hope to need.

The brightly lit days were slept away, as your routine naturally became his. You’d forgotten the sensation of sunlight to skin, of the sky’s colour when it was anything other than black or clouded. He stole opportunities wherever he could to get away from the vampire estate, the roar of his motorbike pulling up outside your building often being the thing that roused you from your daytime slumber. You’d made a habit of leaving your bedside window open, the part of you that wanted to be accosted by him when you least expected it shining through.

And that had happened several times already.

Yet as dark as the nights were, as starless and dull as they could be, Minho ensured they were plentiful in more ways than one.

His sexual appetite was ferocious, more than enough to keep you sated and then some. His affections were saccharine sweet, you considered yourself privileged beyond belief that you were privy to them, even if you did feel it was sometimes undeserved.

He filled your heart to bursting, putting you together before he tore you apart, and it was almost enough to rid you of every stress and conceivable worry, for as long as he was around.

For the time would always come where you’d inevitably part in anticipation of his presence being missed by his brothers, and even if it was only until the next setting of the sun, you’d be left alone with your thoughts.

With the clamouring of voices that told you what you were doing was wrong. That you were, as much as Minho had convinced you otherwise, enacting a form of betrayal to your supposed love for Chan, and you had no doubt he’d see it that way too.

You’d slip it into conversation where you could, doing your best to remain nonchalant when you asked Minho how Chan was, what he was doing, if he asked about you. Yet Minho knew, much as he always did, that your interest went far beyond anything platonic. You’d told him so yourself, that your affections for his brother were still as strong and present as they’d ever been.

Minho remained tolerant, indulging in your questions and giving the answers he thought you wanted to hear, yet that almost made things worse. You wanted him to be honest, to tell you if Chan was angry with your arrangement, if he even knew what the two of you were doing, which you hoped he did despite your reservations. For he deserved better than being lied to. He deserved better than this.

The simple truth of it, was that you missed him. You missed all of them, their ways and their smiles, even the decrepit mansion itself. And that was without the looming threat of Dion and WAHVA hanging above your heads.

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