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streetlvght · 5 hours ago

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keep me. bang chan (18+)

There’s uncertainty in his voice. A crack, an opening he was supposed to keep closed. He wants this, too. You know it. Anything you could give, he wants it. And he will take it.

PAIRING. bang chan / f! reader GENRE. smut, angst, break up fic WORD COUNT. 8.8k WARNINGS. 18+ mdni — explicit content, very emotional sex, light d/s dynamics, fingering, oral sex (m! receiving), a little face fucking, unprotected sex (it’s a long established relationship), a little bit of manhandling, use of petnames (baby, love), dirty talk & praise (good girl), shower sex, color system, subtly toxic relationship

NOTES. i’m very excited to share this with you all, it’s the first i’ve written after a very long time ♡ writing this was an emotional rollercoaster lol let me know if i missed any tags or warnings! happy reading ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

READ ON AO3. / MASTERLIST.

It’s three knocks on your door that finally sink the heartbreak into the pit of your stomach.

Only Chan would do that—knock on your door softly, wait for you to let him in despite being told that the door is unlocked. Despite you leaving it unlocked for him, every time.

I’m free today, he had written in the text. Can I call you? But you had invited him to your apartment instead, and you shouldn’t even have to ask him to come over. Wednesdays were always for you and him.

Silly, you don’t even have to ask, you had told him, a half-empty laugh following after.

You had heard the sound of his breathing for a moment, and with the silence just a hitch away becoming too uncomfortable, too tense, he had said on the other side of the line, right. I know that.

“It’s me,” he knocks on the other side of the door twice more. “Can I come in?”

You stare at the coat hanging on one of the hooks by the door for a moment, feeling a sigh in your chest. You try to hold it in, reaching for the knob instead.

“Of course it’s you,” you tease when the door opens. “Of course you can.”

Chan seems worn out and tired, but he offers you a smile anyway. It’s warm and familiar and… and something else you recognize but can’t begin to think about. He holds his hand up by your ear and tucks your hair behind it.

“Hi,” he breathes.

You nuzzle into his hand, subconsciously stepping forward, further, responding in the same manner, “Hi. I’m cooking dinner for us.”

It’s so easy to fall into step with him. He finds his way into the middle of your apartment, immediately setting down everything in his hands down the old coffee table. You glance at the paper bag (“That’s just some leftover snacks, if you want it!” he says without you needing to ask), crumpled at the top where Chan had held it, his phone beside it. His small pouch rests at the corner of your small couch.

(He sets them down gently, carefully, methodically, in the same way he set down his heart, some years ago, in the middle of the street after a few drinks at a small, snobbish club. I love you. You held onto his arm, seeking warmth. I love you.)

“It smells good,” he sniffs exaggeratedly, walking towards the stove. “What are you cooking?” he asks as he lifts the glass lid, steam wafting through the air and the aroma of the food becoming stronger.

“Just some veggie soup. The temperature’s starting to drop, don’t you think?” you tell him, chuckling to yourself a little. “Are you hungry? It’ll be ready in around ten minutes. Could you wait a little longer? I have some snacks in the fridge, if you want.”

His lips break into a grin, and you think it’s beginning to form a small laugh on his tongue. You rambled again, and years ago you would’ve been embarrassed, covering your mouth in shame. I love the way you talk, he had told you. You don’t have to hold anything back. I hope you can be comfortable with me.

“It’s fine,” he shakes his head, cheeky and teasing. You sigh jokingly, and he puts the lid back onto the pot before turning back to you. “I’m actually less hungry and more—icky? I need to wash up, I mean. S’been a long day.”

“By all means,” you nod, gesturing to the bathroom. It says a lot more than, yes, you can do that. It also says, your clothes have been in the same place they’ve always been. Your toothbrush, the soap you specifically use because your skin is a lot more sensitive than mine, your towels, everything… they’re still here. “Food’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”

Chan scratches the back of his head, looking down at his feet before he looks back at you, sheepish. He takes a few steps towards you until his hands could reach your shoulders—he does just that, rubbing his thumbs on the exposed skin of your collarbone before tilting his head.

“Help me wash up?”

Your face immediately burns up, lips tensing at the suggestion. He knows you weren’t one to like showering together; it’s cramped, a waste of water, and overall impractical. You’d sometimes join him, sure, but majority of the time you’d politely decline. Chan respects that. He always does.

There’s something about this suggestion now. Something different, something… greedy. A plead, almost. You think he starts to breathe a little heavier with each passing second of your silence, and his hooded eyes wait for the answer on your face.

You think you need this, too.

You nod at him, quickly closing in the gap and placing a small, brief kiss on his lips. He immediately gets his arms around you, but before he could make anything out of it, you pull away. You don’t know if he realizes it but you feel the way his lips chase yours when you move back. Your chest swells at your realization.

“Ten minutes, Chan,” you tease, placing another kiss on his cheek. “Don’t wanna burn the apartment down.”

“I don’t like the veggies too cooked, though,” he clicks his tongue. “Here.”

He suddenly squats down, pulling you by the back of your thighs before carrying you in his arms. A small squeal leaves you before you could even process a reaction, and you had immediately grabbed onto his shoulders in fear of falling. He buries his nose into the skin of your neck and places his warm lips on it.

“Bang Chan! What the hell,” you scold him, hitting his shoulder with furrowed brows. “Impatient.”

Wriggling your way out of his hold proves no use. He holds onto you so firmly that you could only wrap your arms and legs around him tighter. You slap his back weakly, still startled from him carrying you without warning. He laughs onto your skin and you feel its tickle down your spine, flinching slightly with a laugh of your own. You feel his arms pull you tighter.

“We can do all that we need to do later,” he mumbles. “It can wait.”

There it is again. You hear it. A plead, but only subtle. Smooth in his voice, soft and supple. Like the thumbs that rub the skin on the sides of your thighs. He hikes you higher up his torso, and another breath leaves at the sudden little movement. You’re so tempted to give in.

“No. We eat first, then we wash up,” you insist, words leaving no room for argument. You hear a soft whine so you steady yourself with one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek. “Okay?”

He presses his lips on yours in response, deep and heavy. Its plushness move against yours, and suddenly you’re down in your worn out barstool, back in the kitchen. The metal of the old seat creaks and Chan pulls away from you, breathless.

“Stay there, I’ll take care of this,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know,” Chan starts, as if you just know. “Cooking for me. You didn’t have to.”

He doesn’t turn to you when he says it. The clicks of the stove struggling to reignite its flames resound and deep within your chest you think also hear the same. Click click click. He grabs the wooden spoon just beside the sink and he stirs the soup, lifting it up once just to let the liquid dribble back down into the pot. You rest your cheek against your hand, elbow propped on the countertop.

You stare at his back and wonder how much of its dips and curves you’ve already memorized—how much of it you need to get to know more, the way they move and twitch and tremble under your touch. Beneath his black, slightly tight-fitting shirt, his shoulders visibly loosen up. He grabs two bowls from the cabinets above him and carefully spooned a hearty amount of soup into each.

It doesn’t take long before he sets up your dinner and finds himself on the stool beside yours. Neither of you say a word, tension still warm in the air, comforting—but toeing the line of awkward. The skin of his thigh brushes against yours sometimes, and you’re almost tempted to ask if it’s intentional. If he means it.

Contrary to his earlier impatience, Chan takes his time eating. He smiles when he catches you looking, and you laugh when he hums in satisfaction of a pleasant, albeit simple, dinner. The anticipation is prickling the skin on your shoulders, but you can’t seem to say a word. Chan finishes with a kiss on your cheek and a quiet mumble of another ‘thank you’ before he gathers the dishes to clean up.

It’s awful, thinking about this. You have no any idea what’s on his mind right now, and you’re so close to breaking. This won’t do. You have to say something, or he has to say something. What was that all about earlier? What happened? Is he mad? Is he disappointed? What should you—

“Baby,” he calls gently, snapping you out of it—whatever it was. A detachment from the moment, from reality? A fear, maybe. Overthinking.

You barely realize that he’s in front of you again, standing between your knees, dishes forgotten in the sink. He brings a hand to your head and rubs a finger between your brows.

“I can almost hear you thinking,” he clicks his tongue. Then he presses a firm kiss on where his touch lingered. “I’m sorry. We’re fine. You can get in the shower and I’ll be with you in a second, hm?”

No words come out of your mouth. You shudder at the implication, at the tone of his want.

Maybe you’re thinking too much about this. Maybe it’s just another Wednesday of yours, just another time he’s here. A sharing of each other’s company in the quiet routine you’ve fallen into, built over the years. So you nod at him before padding over to your bathroom.

One by one, you strip off your clothes. It doesn’t take long; you’re in the your most comfortable, anyway, since your plans were to just stay home. You never needed to impress Chan either. Whenever your fingers brush against your skin, a shiver crawls beneath your bones. There is warmth pooling in your chest—a desire that would burn you if it boils over.

But something feels… different. Like it’s all building to something neither of you is ready to name. The shower opens with a stutter and it’s hot the moment it touches your skin. You don’t mind, though—but Chan will, and you know that. You twist the tap ever so slightly, knowing exactly where it should turn for it to be warm enough to his liking. The temperature should calm you, but it doesn’t.

The way the water thrums against your skin, the tiled floor, the glass door… it’s all too much. It irks you—feeling every drop, reminded of his touch: gentle, deliberate, lingering. Then, you hear your blood pulsating in your ears. You tilt your head back, letting the water cascade over your face. It should calm you, but it doesn’t.

The door creaks open and you feel a slight breeze of chill from behind you, like a wind passing, carrying with it an odd mix of anticipation and vulnerability. It’s not like Chan is trying to be quiet. He knows you’d expect him. He asked for you to be there. There’s a moment of stillness, save for the water pattering around you. Then, the faint rustling of clothes, a slow whistle of fabric sliding down the floor. Your pulse quickens.

It doesn’t take long before you feel him behind you, close enough to stir the air around but not yet touching you. You don’t turn to look at him—your breath catches as if doing so would make the moment too real, too raw, like everything would cease to exist with one wrong move. But you feel him. His warmth is unmistakable, radiating through the steam, undeniable and grounding, a stark contrast to the chill that had briefly brushed your spine. It couldn’t be anything or anyone else. It’s him, always him, cutting through the steam like sunlight through fog.

And maybe that’s how his presence has always been, how he really is: sun, sunlight, sunshine. A warmth you can’t help but lean into, even when it burns.

Chan is the first to break the silence. “Hi,” he simply says before he kisses the skin where your neck and shoulder meet. His hands soon follow, soothing the soreness of your muscles with a gentle massage. You whimper quietly.

“Hi,” you manage to respond moments after.

Chan rests his forehead on the back of your head, stopping you from turning around when you made that first little step. He pulls you closer to his body, your back flush against his chest and you feel it heave in along with his breathing. With every exhale through his nose the air grows heavier.

“Don’t,” he breathes. “Stay there. I’ll wash you.”

“I want to see you, though,” you try to complain, but the words fall weak on your tongue. “Chan?”

“Later.”

You feel him stretch his arm to the side, and your peripheral catches his hand reaching for the bottle of liquid on the small shelf mounted in the corner of the shower, just a bit of an arm away from your head. You lean innocently onto him but his breath hitches, taking you a bit by surprise.

As if that would stop you.

You continue to rub your behind onto him under the guise of needing warmth and seeking softness, and his breathing falters with each minute. He rubs his hands together, soapy and slippery, before rubbing it all along your body in seemingly random but nonetheless tender patterns. He starts with your arms, then he moves to your shoulders, your back, your legs, from back to front—leaning forward to reach further, then to your waist. His hand inches to your center, where you need it most, and you could almost feel the tease in his touch. He reaches for another pump of soap before he brushes his fingers onto the skin of your abdomen. It twitches with the gasp you couldn’t catch before it’s out of your mouth, and you suddenly jolt your hips back towards his, a movement you couldn’t control.

And Chan whimpers. It’s low and hushed, almost too quiet if his lips weren’t all up in your ear. The moment halts and the warmth that pooled in your chest moves down and you like it. So you do it again, pressing back into his body further. And again, wiggling until his cock catches against your lower back. And again, feeling him holding himself back.

Then he grips your arms to steady you. That doesn’t stop his hardness from pushing against the dip of your lower spine. Then you whimper. He still keeps you turned away from him.

“Stop moving,” he grits. “You’re so needy, aren’t you?”

You don’t even try to deny that. How could you, when he moves his right forearm to wrap around your chest, his left hand just below your abdomen. Close, but not enough. He toys with the skin that it frustrates you. It’s so close. You try to stand on your tiptoes, moving yourself closer to where you need his hand to be but he holds you with his arm firmly enough to keep you in place. His hand leaves your abdomen to catch the water from the shower, washing off the soap.

“I said,” he whispers into your ear, tone rough, “stop moving.”

Then he finally, finally touches you. His finger trace your slit lightly, the stroke almost too subtle to feel. Your legs immediately draw close together, and Chan supports you when you almost lose balance. He sighs in your ear, a short, small laugh following the prod of his finger into your core.

In a desperate attempt to stop his teasing, you could only cry out his name. “Chan,” your voice shakes, and you hold onto the arm around your chest in attempt to ground yourself, to keep yourself together. “Please.”

“Just a little more, my love,” he starts, still moving a single finger—God fucking damn it, only a single one—up and down your folds. “And I’ll give you what you want.”

Your chest quivers with deep, uneven breaths. You hold out as best as you can, keeping your desire from bursting and it burns you. Please. There is only a word in your head, clouded and hazy. Like a mantra, a chant. Please. Please.

“So good,” Chan praises, and you swear you could hear the smile in his voice which only sharpens the greed clawing at your core. Desperate to feel more, to take more.

But between you and him, it’s not your job to take more. That’s Chan’s. That’s him, since the beginning.

So he takes.

He pushes a finger into you and right then and there you feel that you could just give everything you could ever offer for his taking. It feels as if he belongs there, as if you are shaped for nothing but his touch. He pulls his finger out a bit before pushing it back deeper, into a place you’ve never reached for the past month on your own, or the past year, or ever.

Chan finds a steady pace, slow and deliberate strokes exploring your wetness. Still only a single finger, and you are so tempted to curse him out, to demand more—but you know how patience drives pleasure. There is no choice but to wait. He recognizes it and he whispers another praise in your ear, “You are doing so good, baby.”

You feel another finger teasing your sensitive bud, and not long after there are two fingers parting your slick folds with practiced ease. Your knees buckle in surrender to the pleasure. It feels so hot, as if each movement fans the flames in your core and with every touch Chan leaves trails of pleasure. You’re almost gasping, like you’re running out of breath.

It’s not your job to take more, but this is something only Chan could give. He is giving it to you right now. What else are you supposed to do but take it?

You move your hand from his forearm around your chest to the nape of his neck clumsily. He shifts slightly, letting go of your torso and gripping your thigh to hold it up and oh. Your grasp falters and his fingers remain relentless in giving you the rhythm your body demanded. He curls them inside you and you almost choke.

Despite still having your back flushed to his chest, you crane your neck to at least feel his lips against your cheeks. Soft moans are hovering at the edge of your month, cries on the verge of slipping out. You struggle to find your voice, lost among the steam, but you try nonetheless.

“Chan–ah,” your voice wavers with a moan. “Please, Chan… I– kiss. Please, kiss.”

You feels Chan’s body tremble behind you, hips bucking that his cock brushes against the curve of your ass. You whimper, and you let it out freely this time.

“Fuck, you’re so…” Chan falters, fingers erratic in your heat. “How sweet you sound, begging like that.” He presses himself against your back, again and again, a desperate attempt to chase his own pleasure too. His breath is hot against your skin, hovering your jaw. The water from the shower doing nothing to regulate the temperature of your body. “I just can’t get enough of you.”

Then he kisses you. It’s a little awkward, with your lips not fully slotting or fitting, your necks turned as much as you comfortably can but none of that matters. It’s all teeth and spit and some water gets into your mouth and none of that matters. He kisses you and he curls his fingers in you and you’re almost at your limit. A moan vibrates in your chest, wanton and needy, then Chan pulls away to let you breathe. As if that helps, as if his lips and tongue moving to your jaw doesn’t leave you breathless and writhing in want.

He pulls your thigh closer to him, opening you up further. A guttural sound leaves you and you would be embarrassed at how dirty it sounds but you’re reaching the highest peak of your desire—the roar of the flames in your core now at its full.

“Chan,” you cry out. “Chan, I’m near—ah… please. I’m cumming, please.”

The air is filled with steam and the sound of water, his skin on your skin, his fingers not stopping. Your hips buck against his hand and it drives deeper. He holds it there and you tremble in his arms. You whimper, again and again and again.

“Good,” he coaxes. “You’re almost there, my love. Come on.”

His voice is heavy and rough. He licks the shell of your ear and it sends you over to the edge. His fingers twist inside you and he just takes, drinking up your cries with his lips just hovering yours.

There is a gradual, methodic way in which he slows his fingers, letting you ride out your high until your lungs find a steadier pace, each breath more controlled. He kisses the top of your head before he gently holds your chin—with the very same hand he used to bring you pleasure—turning your face to his.

How filthy, him rubbing your slickness on you. So filthy, and it’s arousing you. It’s surprising because you just got fingered out of your damn mind and you still want more. You’re still willing to give more.

Chan captures your lips in a soft kiss, biting your lower lip lightly before he pulls away just enough to speak, “You did so well.”

He reaches upward to cup water in his hands, using it to wash your chin and your neck. Then again to wash your abdomen and center. You gasp at the touch, and he whispers an apology immediately.

“I know, I’m sorry. Sensitive, hm? Let me just wash you, okay?”

You nod at him, closing your eyes and choosing to rest your forehead on his shoulder as he rubs you clean. When he finishes with a soft pat to your thigh, your eyes open only to be greeted by the sight of his cock, rock hard and almost flushed red. God. Fuck. You pull back, searching his face for something—anything, whatever it is, and he just offers you a lopsided smile.

“Hmm?” he hums in question, curious about the way your brows furrow. “What is it?”

“You,” you simply say. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” He brushes it off like it’s nothing. He has given you pleasure and he has taken your pleasure. You want to do the same to him. He shakes his head, “I swear. It’s fine.”

But he doesn’t stop you when you go down on your knees, facing his cock with a hunger you couldn’t fathom. He caresses your hair, whatever he could reach, but he doesn’t even pull you away. “You don’t have to. We can take this to bed,” he still says.

There’s uncertainty in his voice. A crack, an opening he doesn’t intend. He wants this, too. You know it. Anything you could give, he wants it.

“But I want to.”

And he will take it.

He places a finger under your chin to guide you and raise your head, looking you in the eye. You could almost see yourself in the depths of his gaze, a reflection of something shameless, almost jarring. You couldn’t believe you’re liking this—let alone getting intoxicated in arousal for this. It’s like something changed in him in a blink.

“You do?” Chan laughs, almost mockingly. A shiver runs across the expanse of your shoulders, the sound sending another spark of heat through you. Deeper this time, scorching. “You want my cock that badly, huh? Suck me off ‘til your lips grow tired?”

His finger moves, grazing your skin until it reaches your ear. He tucks your wet hair behind it, just like he did by the apartment door when he arrived earlier. His gaze holds you captive, and that feeling of being exposed, vulnerable, it surges again.

Your breath catches as you nod, unable to form any word. He’s always had that effect on you—making you forget your own control, like you’re just a thing for him to take. In the absence of words, you hold his length with a hand and he inhales sharply at your touch. It doesn’t take much to arouse him; with a few nimble strokes his shaft gets hard again. Perhaps even more so.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, firm but gentle, and pulls you closer.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and the praise, laced with an almost indistinguishable amount of contempt, has you reeling. You lick a bit along his tip, testing the waters. His fingers weave through your hair with a slow sigh. “Show me how much you really want it. Give it to me.”

You press a kiss to the side of his cock, soft at first, as if tasting the moment before plunging in. His body shudders. The saltiness lingers on your tongue as you part your lips wider, slowly taking him into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word barely audible, more an exhale than speech. His hand slightly tightens in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself. You hollow your cheeks, sliding further forward, and the groan that rumbles in his chest sends a thrill through you.

The weight of him is heavy on your tongue, and you let yourself sink into a languid pace, drawing him in, inch by inch, savoring the way his body reacts. His hips jerk, just a little, involuntarily, and you can’t help the slight moan that leaves your throat. The sound and vibration seem to undo him.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” Chan grunts, his voice rough around the edges, raw with need. His hand cups the back of your head, guiding you—not forcing, but encouraging—as you take him deeper, working with a mix of tongue, lips, and a shit ton of spit.

Water slides down your cheeks and occasionally finds its way to your mouth. Not that you care. You glance up, catching his gaze. A carnal glint is in his stare, and he smiles. Fuck. The sight of him nearly takes your breath away. His jaw falls slack, his lips part, and his eyes lock on you—heavy-lidded and burning with something primal.

The tension in his thighs grow as you continue, a gradual acceleration in the way you take him in. The soft, wet sounds fill the air, almost louder than the water hitting the walls and floors, mingling with his labored breaths and low groans. His thumb brushes your cheek, a fleeting touch that feels oddly tender amidst the heat.

“Just like that,” Chan murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t stop. You’re—perfect.”

You give an experimental hum, letting it thrum in your mouth. Chan whimpers and it’s an absolutely beautiful thing to hear. You hum again, louder this time. Your chest heaves at the limited breathing but Chan is slowly losing his sense of control and it rouses you. There is another pool of warmth in your core, and you’re trying your best to rub your thighs together in your position, hoping to relieve a little bit of your need.

“You’re killing me,” Chan laughs to himself, head thrown back, words thorny with lust. His hands move to your shoulders, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth. “I won’t last if you keep going like that.” His voice cracks, betraying the thin line of self-control he’s holding onto.

You pull back slightly, just enough to take a breath, and your lips glisten with the evidence of his pleasure. A mischievous smile tugs at your lips and you glance up again, locking eyes with him. The hunger and greed in his gaze sends your mind into a frenzy of heat, something deep and wild, as though you’re caught in the storm of his desire.

“Do you want me to stop then?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, teasing in its softness. There is a scratch in your words.

His lips curl into a grin, but it’s strained, the desperation clear in the way his eyes darken. “Hell no,” he clicks his tongue. “Just–don’t stop. You’re so fucking good at this, baby. You know what to do, right?”

There is no need for words. You nod at him, eager and wanting.

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Good.” His hand finds its way back to your hair, pulling just enough to keep you in place. His cock lingers on your lips, and you open your mouth wide, waiting for him to push it in. “Hold on tight.”

He waits for you to gain a steady grip on the back of his thighs before he thrusts forward. The tension in his body snaps as you give and give and give. The taste of him, the sound of his labored breaths, the way he tenses under your touch—your lips, your tongue, the wetness in your slit. You give and give and give and he takes and takes and takes.

Just like he did earlier, when he indulged you. Your pleasure laid out, vulnerable and he just takes. Or the past 3 years, with your heart out in the open, unguarded and he just takes.

It all becomes a blur, this moment. He fucks your face so lewdly, desperate to reach his own high. One hand of yours moves downward, to your own clit. You rub in frantic patterns, aroused out of your damn mind.

His movements begin to stutter, thrusts sloppier. You hum in pleasure, of yours and of his, as your fingers move faster on your wet skin. Chan doesn’t even try to stop the filthy sounds rolling off his tongue and you’re sure he is nearing his limit.

He thrusts a few more times before he pushes in deep—reaching farther than he ever had for the past ten minutes of his cock being in your mouth. His tip brushes against the back of your throat and he stays there for a moment. You couldn’t help the obscene moan and Chan’s whole body shudders. His cock throbs in your mouth before he pulls you away, letting his cum release all over your chest.

Your mouth remains open, breathless and trembling. The moment falls heavy between you, and Chan takes a second before he brushes his fingers through your hair and guides you to stand up. He doesn’t say a word, immediately beginning to wash his cum on you. He grabs another pump of soap, letting it bubble in his hands before cleaning you with it.

“Chan,” you begin, the silence getting to you.

“Hm?” he hums simply. He doesn’t stop his hands, but he raises his head to look at you, pupils still blown wide. His breathing is slowly coming down. He offers you a gentle smile before leaning forward to kiss your cheek. “You did so well. I’m sorry if I went a bit rough.”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around his waist in an almost embrace. “It’s okay,” you assure him. “I like it.”

“You like it?”

His hands stop and his attention is now fully on you. He raises an eyebrow at your statement, confused. You feel a bit of shame but you continue. “I like it when you… when you just—take.”

Chan stays silent. He doesn’t react, or say a word. It’s hard to read his expression when it’s almost blank, and he continues washing your body until he just says, “Get on the bed and wait for me. Don’t bother putting anything on.”

Then it dawns on you. Whatever you just told him was dangerous. You’re not quite sure how, and to what extent, but something weighs on your chest when he turns the shower off and waits for you to step out. You don’t even need to be told twice.

You take your time drying yourself off with your towel, lingering for a minute on your slit. Still fucking wet. Heat creeps up your face at the realization and you immediately throw the towel into the basket of dirty clothes. There are extra towels, fortunately, stashed inside the small cabinet by your bathroom sink. You hang it up the shower door for Chan to use, not needing to inform him because you know he knows.

Stepping out of the bathroom bare naked lets you feel the temperature change in full. You realize how warm it was when you were in the bathroom with Chan. You shiver, feeling cold—the loss of a warm body, a presence, the slow decrease of arousal.

You walk your way to your bedroom, making sure to keep your feet light. The shower opens and you hear the water pattering again, then suddenly your arousal comes back in full force. Your bed is cool and unmade and you have half the mind to start toying with your pussy again, to feel at least half of what Chan had made you feel with his fingers. But that’s not what you were told to do.

The sound of the shower persists, steady and hushed, a stark contrast to the chaos in your chest. You spend the next minutes staring at the ceiling, waiting. It feels excruciatingly slow. Time doesn’t feel real, when the bathroom is right next door and you still hear Chan in there. You bite your lip, trying to focus on anything but the ache between your legs or the growing weight in your chest. It feels like he’s taking forever, like the space between you is widening with every drop of water hitting the floor.

Your mind betrays you, replaying the way his hands had felt on you, the way his voice dipped when he whispered praises in your ear. You wonder if he’s thinking about this. Thinking about you. You wonder if he regrets it. Or worse—if he doesn’t.

You close your eyes, willing the thoughts to stop, but they only grow louder. What does this mean? What are you supposed to feel? The heat of desire clashes violently with the icy grip of doubt, and suddenly you’re not sure which will win.

When the water finally stops, you sit up abruptly, heart pounding as if you’ve been caught doing something wrong. The sound of the door creaking open makes you swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. You hear his footsteps, soft but deliberate, and then he’s there, standing by the doorway of your bedroom.

Chan doesn’t say anything first, just looks at you, his gaze unreadable. He’s towel-drying his hair, the damp strands sticking to his forehead, droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw. You can’t look away, even though every part of you feels like you should.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” he says finally, his voice low and teasing, but there’s something in it—something wavering, like he’s waiting for you to tip the balance, unsure if he should pull back or push further.

You manage a weak laugh, though it feels hollow. “Not exactly.”

He steps closer, the tension in the room thickening with every movement. “You okay?” he asks, his tone softer now, almost gentle.

The question lingers in the air and for a moment, you think about lying, about brushing it off like you always do. About giving what he wants to take. But the words are stuck in your throat, you feel. You lean back on the pillows, enough to be comfortable but not fully lying down.

“I don’t know,” you admit, palms up on your thighs. The answer comes out frail and delicate.

Something shifts in his expression—concern, maybe, or guilt. He sets the towel aside, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and sits beside you on the bed. His hand hovers for a moment before he places it on your knee, his touch warm and grounding.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and you hate how earnest he sounds, how much you want to believe that he cares.

You don’t doubt that he cares a little bit. Not as much as you do about him, though. Not as much as he thinks he does, nor as much as he did before, in the middle of the street. I love you, he said then.

“This isn’t going to change anything, is it?”

Such weight hanging heavy in the air feels suffocating. It feels like you have to grasp for air. For a moment, he looks like he might say something, but he closes his mouth, jaw tightening, and you choke.

It’s unbelievable, really. After all that, he just kisses you. His lips are on yours without warning and you melt into his arms. The kiss is careful at first, tentative, like he’s trying to find the words he can’t say in the press of his lips. But it’s not enough—not for you, not for what’s bubbling up inside you. Your hands grip his shoulders, turning your torso to him for a more comfortable position. You pull him closer, as if proximity could mend this. His hands move up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t even realized were falling.

He guides you to sit on his lap, and you feel his hardness on your bum again. You swallow a sob back and Chan pulls away in surprise.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss but keeping his forehead pressed to yours. His voice is shaky, not like the teasing confidence from before. “Talk to me. Please.”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper. “Not without…” Your voice trails off, but he seems to understand.

He presses, though. “Without what?” His tone is urgent yet gentle, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Without losing you.”

Your body betrays you as you feel the heat back in your abdomen. It’s a filthy mix of hunger and misery. It boils down into something you’re all too familiar with: desperation. You roll your hips onto him and he whines. You harshly wipe away your tears with the back of your hands before pushing Chan’s chest down onto the bed. He seems taken aback, hesitant with the way he pulls his hands away. You had to grab it yourself, place it on your hips for him to hold onto.

“Make me feel good, Chan,” you plead. Another roll of your hips has you keening, his tip catching just by your entrance. “Please. Take me. Take everything that I am, I will give it to you.”

His eyes meet yours, searching, as if he’s trying to commit every detail to memory. You lean forward to let your hands touch his back, taking your time to go over every dip and curve. Then he nods, his hands moving to slide under your thighs and pulling you closer before flipping you over. He lays you down on the bed, and his gaze roams every bit of your face before he dips to kiss you again, until there is no more space left between you.

What follows isn’t rushed or frantic. It’s deliberate, every touch, every kiss, every movement laden with meaning. It’s like he’s trying to piece together what’s been fractured, even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. A hand slips between your bodies until it reaches your pussy once again. He feels your slick, not needing to prod as much as he did earlier.

Then he leans away, stroking his cock a few times, his head thrown back with the contact. It doesn’t take long before he lines it up on your entrance, and he moves down, almost putting his whole weight on you.

It’s raw, it’s tender, it’s everything you’ve been longing for and everything you know will never last. Not anymore. Funny it took you three long years to feel this. Funny it would the first and last you’ll ever get this from him.

There is no resistance when he thrusts inside you, deep and slow and whole. He stays put for a minute before you tap his back, letting him know you want him to move—you need him to move. He doesn’t deny you of that, so he pulls back until only the tip lingers inside you before pushing in again heavily.

A visceral sound leaves your lips as your jaw slackens. Chan continues his pace, growing faster with each passing minute and he keeps whimpering in your ear that it sends your mind into haywire. You’re not quite sure how to handle the crashing wave of lust your body is being washed over so the best you could do is hold onto him, fingers gripping the flesh of his back tight enough to feel hot. He moans louder.

Whether it takes thirteen minutes or three years doesn’t matter. It all comes down to the warm tears you feel on your jaw, and you’re not even sure if it’s still yours or if it’s already his. Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, pulling him back to your lips. This time, the kiss isn’t soft or tentative—it’s consuming. It’s every unsaid word, every broken promise, every ounce of love that lingers between you.

He withdraws, lips finding your ear instead before placing a chaste kiss on it. You’re sure now, his tears dropping onto your skin, burning and heavy. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. It comes quickly. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. He whispers it in your ear, like a prayer. What you once had with him felt sacred, untouchable, and yet here you are, unraveling it thread by thread. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.

A long, drawn out cry sounds in your ear as Chan comes undone. You feel every bit of him inside you, and you body twitches as you finish with him. You hear a choked out sob from the man on top of you, and your chest tightens impossibly. You don’t know what to do with your hands. Not now, not before, and never after he leaves.

He stays inside you, cock tucked in your warmth, twitching a little. His cries continue for an amount of time you can’t even comprehend. Your eyes have long dried out now, but the space between your neck and shoulder remains wet with his tears. Your hands try to comfort him by rubbing his back, drawing circles in patterns you hope he recognizes. Soon, he turns quiet.

You feel his chest heave with yours. He stays on stop of you, putting his full weight but careful not to suffocate you. As if this whole thing wasn’t suffocating enough. It takes a moment for him to calm down completely, then he pulls out. He falls back away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed by your legs for a moment before you see him visibly relax.

He stands up to walk outside of the room. You don’t even dare to ask, to look at him and follow his movements. Chan comes back before you could even piece back your head with a towel in his hands. The bed dips where he sits before he leans forward to wipe the slick moisture on your folds. You hiss at the contact, realizing that the fabric is damp. He shushes you gently, continuing his ministrations with utmost care.

When he seems satisfied, he sets the towel away in the same place he did with his earlier. Silence lingers and you almost wish you were still in the shower, where at least the sound of water would fill in the empty air.

Chan returns to the bed, but he remains seated, his back facing you. It feels like a wall—strong, unyielding, and unreachable. You think it’s ridiculous now, realizing that there is a wall. There has always been a wall, hasn’t it? There is no way to climb it, to move past it. Invisible that it might as well not exist, yet it stands, separating you. You bury yourself under the blankets, the chill in the room seeping into your bones. You feel so small and cold and fragile. You could only stare at the ceiling, his presence beside you frustratingly overwhelming, yet so distant.

You’ve grown so accustomed to seeing his back facing you. You’re always behind him, following him along, wherever he goes and whatever he does. Always in front of you, always leading, but never turning to face you unless he’s searching for reassurance. You realize now how much you’ve relied on those fleeting glances back. They were your only proof that he still cared, still saw you. He looks back to take and you give. Sometimes you wonder which part of you is yours anymore.

“I can’t give you what you want,” he says, very quietly, like almost to himself in realization.

You almost don’t realize he said something. You heard every word, but your mind refuses to process it until a second later. And when it did, the room stills.

His words hang dull in the air, filling the room with a bittersweet ache. It’s like every sweet moment this room witnessed for the past three years disappears and there is only grief and misery in it. You want to reach for him, to cross the divide and tell him something—anything. But his back remains turned, and all you can do is fixate on the outline of his shoulders, tense and unmoving.

You mustered a small, mocking laugh. It’s weaker than you intended, but you’re in utter disbelief regardless. “You just fucked me on this very bed, Chan. I came twice today. Is that the only thing you came here for? A quick fuck?”

There is no use in making sharp remarks, but there is nothing else you could say. You’re grasping at straws and you know that.

“No, I…” Chan starts, then he sighs. He roughly ruffles his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry.”

Then it goes quiet yet again. Your mind is scrambling for words, but then, after a minute, you could only really ask, “Do you mean it? Is that what you really want?”

“No,” he answers almost immediately, shoulders heaving. Then he slackens again, almost like he’s curling into his own body, making himself small. “I don’t know what I would do if I look back and you’re not there.”

His voice is withdrawn, as if he’s confessing something he hadn’t admitted even to himself.

“Then why?”

“You’re always behind me,” he continues, words strained. “You’ve always been the one thing I could count on.” There’s a pause, and it feels like the weight of the moment is crushing him. “But what if you’re gone one day? What if I look back and you’re not there anymore?”

His admission stings in a way you weren’t prepared for. The vulnerability in his tone should comfort you, but instead, it exposes a deep-rooted wound. He only looks back to make sure you’re still following, doesn’t he? Never to meet you halfway, never to let you stand beside him.

And as fucked up as it seems, you’re willing to let that be until you can no longer understand what distance means. You’re willing to do all that, over and over again, just so he could stay.

He takes and takes and takes. And you give.

“Then why are you pushing me away?” You couldn’t help the bite in your words, angry and confused. “If you’re so scared, why leave?”

You want to scream. You want to clench your fists and punch a wall and hurt. Yourself, him. But it doesn’t come. The exhaustion overcomes you, and an ache in your chest swells. You wonder if it’s already too late.

“Because you’re like this!” he raises his voice, now matching your exasperation. “I’m giving you a chance to save yourself from me and you’re not taking it!”

Chan’s words hit like a slap, sharp and final. Your chest tightens in a mix of emotions you’re far too dizzy to comprehend. Hatred? Grief? Love? It’s all warring within you. You sit up, the blanket sliding off your shoulders and exposing your vulnerability as much as his words have exposed his.

“Save myself?” you scoff, incredulous. “I think I am way beyond saving, Chan.”

He stiffens. You don’t even give him a chance to respond before you continue, “And what about you?” you ask, your voice trembling. “When do you save yourself, Chan? When do you stop running from everything? From me?”

His hands curl into fists at his sides. “I’m not running,” he mutters, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than you.

“You’ve been running this entire time,” you counter, voice threatening to rise again. “From us. From what this could be. Three years. And now you want me to be the one to end it? To carry that burden so you don’t have to?”

His head drops, shoulders sagging under the weight of your words. For a moment, the silence between you stretches unbearably, like the final frayed thread of something you both know is about to snap.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispers, hoarse. “I thought… I thought letting you go would hurt less than holding on and breaking you completely.”

You let out a bitter laugh, louder this time. You meant for him to hear the distaste in it. Tears sting your eyes. “You don’t get to decide that for me, Chan. You don’t get to decide how much I’m willing to give.”

His head lifts slightly, and for the first time he turns to face you. His eyes are glassy, full of a pain you’ve rarely seen him allow himself to show. It breaks something inside you, seeing him like this. It breaks you even further, realizing he turns just like he always did: to see if you were still behind him, following.

“Then what do you want me to do?” His voice cracks when he asks.

You pause, your heart hammering. What do you want? The truth is, you don’t know anymore. You want him, but not like this—not as someone who sees you as a safety net, as a fallback. You know that now, regretting the thought of tolerating his bullshit just to keep him with you.

“I want you to want me the way I want you,” you say finally, voice soft but steady. Resolute. “Not as someone to hold you up when you’re falling. Not as someone to look back on when you’re scared. I want to stand beside you, Chan. I want to move forward with you, not be left behind.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, and your resolve almost falters when a tear slips down his cheek. “I don’t know if I can give you that,” he admits.

The words shatter the last bit of hope you were clinging to. You nod slowly, the realization settling over you like a cold, heavy blanket.

“Then maybe you’re right,” you say quietly. “Maybe I do need to save myself.”

And this time, you turn your back on him. You shift in your bed, lying on your side and staring at the clock by your bedside table. It’s hard, trying to pretend your legs aren’t shaking under the covers, trying to hide the quiver of your lips. Chan doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out to you, and that, more than anything, feels like the final nail in the coffin.

You pause, thinking of any words to say. For finality, for an end. All you could muster is, “I hope one day you stop running, Chan.”

If he leaves later that night, you don’t even know. It’s not like you could feel past the weight of the whole ordeal to even feel anything else.

That’s for you to find out tomorrow.

#OOOOOOOOOUUUHHHHH #i love the angst of a breakup fic >:] makes me feel evil #gonna eat this breakfast lunch and dinner styles rq #in the book pile

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streetlvght · 2 months ago

Text

kissed by a rose

pairing: drag queen!seo changbin x afab!reader

warnings: crossdressing, angst, discussions of sexuality, coming out, and politics, changbin & reader’s sexualities are not labeled but neither are straight, changbin uses she/her pronouns in drag!!!, kissing, finger sucking, clit play, fingering (f!rec), grinding/unpenatrative sex, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, light feminization, blowjob, exhibitionism

w/c: 17k

a/n: this is my own treat to myself for finishing kinktober and an ode to queer culture and art that i love and admire so much! i have so much to say yet so little words to describe how bleak things have felt since last tuesday, so this is how i’m coping. i put so much of my heart into this, so i hope you enjoy! reblogs and comments are always appreciated :)

the first time you see her, her hair is long and curled. poppy pink waves cascade like water down her back to taper off at a corseted waist. you can’t see the corset through her tiny little nightgown, but you know she’s wearing one - her shoulders too wide and bodice too thick for her waist to be that cinched.

her cute little nightie is as pink as her hair, something flowy and ruffled at the sleeves and skirt. her tan legs are hugged by white, fishnet tights, and you couldn’t walk in her shoes if you tried, let alone perform in them. delicate ankles rest under the thin straps of her — at least — five inch platform heels. her painted toes peek out from underneath pink, feather-covered vamps.

you’re standing on the wooden bench of the corner booth in your local bar to see over the crowd. it’s stuffed to the gills, locals and college students alike pour through the double-doors and into the street to see the local college pride club’s annual drag show. you’re lucky you and your friends got here early enough to get a spot as good as you did.

even in her pumps, she’s shorter than the other girls performing throughout the gig, and you know you’d be pouting the whole night if you weren’t able to see her as well as you can now. she’s had you hooked since your eyes landed on her.

she starts out on the stage. you’re too enraptured by her presence to hear the host call her name at all, eyes locked on what you can only describe as a princess. the floor of the bar is dark, lights solely focused on the small stage towards the back. a britney number starts. or madonna, maybe even gaga, but that’s not what you are paying attention to. all wherewithal flies out the door when she steps down from the stage and makes her way through the crowd. she’s the perfect performer, never missing a lyric in her lip sync even while interacting happily with the bar patrons. she lets them touch her, stick dollar bills in the holes in her tights or in her bra. your hands begin to sweat the closer she flurries to your booth, and you reach shakily into the pocket of your jean skirt, praying to any higher power that your grip won’t slip on your steadily recording phone.

a kick of her smooth leg has her dancing in front of your booth, overlined pink lips dramatically mouthing the words of whatever song that plays over the booming speakers, sharply lined eyes so beautifully expressive. you do almost drop your phone when she looks from each of your friends to you, long lashes fluttering as she blinks demurely at the flash of your camera.

she pouts sweetly, eyebrows pulled up as she points a manicured finger to your opposite hand, the hand with your money in it. you look down and back up to her, and her pout turns into a bright smile when you give her a goofy, bobble headed nod. she takes the bill from your hand and pops it in front of her face to check the amount, never missing a word of her lip sync. her pretty lips quirk at the corners, a sweet, downwards smile. she looks into your camera again as she folds the bill and puts it in the bralette cup of her slip. she wiggles her shoulders at you, her breasts, and leaves you with a cute pucker of her bright, pink lips.

and just like that, she’s gone, bounding away with a whip of her curled hair and a twirl of her chiffon skirt to interact with other patrons for the rest of the song.

your best friend turns to you with bulging eyes and a wide open smile, but it turns right into a cackle at the look on your face.

“oh god, i just watched you fall in love with a drag queen in like, real time. oh my god!”

the longer the show goes on, the more accurate you feel your best friend to be. the other performances from the other wonderful queens don’t hold a candle to the pretty pink one, and you’re constantly standing on your tiptoes and craning your neck to try and catch sight of her again. you find that she’s just as captivating while talking and answering questions on stage with the other queens after several performances, but what really does you in is something else entirely.

it’s her laugh. there’s something so distinctly familiar about it, but you can’t recall exactly what it could be. so silly, so bright and goofy and loud that it makes the microphone shrill when she brings it to her mouth. it just makes her laugh harder, even when the tall, slender queen next to her slaps her on the shoulder.

“someone’s giggle box must be turned over~” the tall queen chuckles. miss honey. you’d recognize her anywhere. that sleek, long hair and those mile-long legs are undeniable. she’s a legend in the local drag community. “changmi~ sweetheart, baby, wifey. i’m losing hearing in my right ear.”

what a beautiful name for such a beautiful queen.

changmi. changmi changmi changmi. bright, bold, and beautiful changmi. poised and lovely, and so personable too. changmi.

you see her again that night right before you leave, and she’s just as stunning as ever. she’s still in her pink get-up, her hair and makeup still perfectly set even after several performances under the harsh lighting of the stage. changmi’s elbows rest against the bar as she speaks to the bartender and sips on something lime green and glittery. your friends flock around you like a gaggle of geese, giggling and nudging and pointing their fingers at the pretty queen at the bar. you’re praying for the ground to swallow you whole when changmi turns to your group and flips her hair over one broad shoulder, beckoning you all with her hand afterwards and pitching her voice like she’s known you all for years and waiting for a group hug. you can’t pass that up for the world, no matter how embarrassed you are, and you don’t even mind when changmi’s drink sloshes over the rim of her glass and onto the back of your shirt. the heat of her arm around your back is certainly more important.

your friends launch right into giving her their compliments. so many people are talking at once that you can hardly keep up, but changmi takes it all in stride, nodding her head and smiling big and holding hands with your friends when necessary. it isn’t until your friends begin pouting about your uber arriving soon that changmi turns to you.

“i think i’ve heard from all of these cuties but you.” your heart almost triples in size when her gaze focuses on you, when she directs her smile to you. “what did you think of my gig?”

“you’re so fucking pretty!” is what you blurt instead, and all of your tipsy friends shriek again. maybe they’re not the only tipsy ones after all. maybe if you had a few less drinks you’d realize just how familiar her voice is. “like, you’re perfect! you’re the prettiest one here.”

changmi scuffs the front of her pump on the floor shyly and takes another sip of her sparkly drink before she cocks her head. “but miss honey is here. how can i be the prettiest when she’s here?” she’s teasing, you can tell by the cute little smirk adorning her plump lips.

“oh, i’d- i mean, she’s pretty, but i think you’re prettier. you’re just- like, wow!”

her hair tickles your arm when she throws her head back to laugh. you eye the pretty, pink wispies and find yourself smiling too. her laugh is infectious. your moment is interrupted by the start of a new song over the speakers as another queen clacks onto the stage. changmi turns her head to see who’s performing before she squeezes your arm. her hand is surprisingly calloused, a little rough against your skin but still sweetly warm.

“flattery will get you everywhere, but you’ll have to take me on a date first if you want me to put out~” she hums with a smile. “ah, and thank you for the big tip, baby doll! i love big, juicy tips!” with a wink and a twirl of her skirt she’s gone again, slipping through the packed crowd to watch the other queen.

when you get home that night, you don’t even bother taking your makeup off before you crawl into bed and focus on your phone. you sound insane in the background of most of your videos, shrill shrieks and lyrics sung off key. it’s nearly as bad as you sound at concerts or festivals, but you don’t care about that. all you care about is the shaky, four minute and forty-seven second video of changmi’s main performance that now sits in your favorites folder. you lose count of how many times you replay the video in its entirety, thumb repeatedly rolling back the footage of your interaction with her and pausing on her puckered lips.

you can still feel the warmth of her hand on your arm underneath the covers, as sure as a brand.

it isn’t until you do a deep dive on changmi the next day that it clicks why she’s so familiar.

changmi’s instagram is a mess. it’s so endearing that you can’t help but giggle as you scroll through her public account, passing by pictures of half eaten korean dishes, deep blue skies, and birthday shoutouts to her close friends.

her drag pictures are mesmerizing. some are professionally taken at her gigs, some are cute selfies with what seems to be her signature peace sign. you find yourself saving several of changmi’s posts to come back and gawk over again and again. she’s so broad in the shoulders, her biceps must be the size of your head, but her drag is delicate. it’s all spun-sugar and glitter, full of pastels and soft fabrics. even her over-the-top makeup is somewhat daintier than you’re used to from other queens in the local scene.

her pictures out of drag, though, nearly send you reeling.

you swipe through so many gym pictures that you can almost taste protein powder through your phone screen. sometimes it’s a real turn off, honestly, most times it’s a real turn off. male posturing can be so off putting, but this. this has knocked you off your feet. changmi’s never shirtless in her gym pictures, but you can still see the thick outline of defined pecs through her tight dri-fit shirts. the bulge of her flexing arms has you gulping the longer you stare. her cute cheeks always seem to be pink with exertion, her curly hair spikes at the ends with sweat.

you know that face.

that face used to sit next to you in math class, it used to shoot basketball badly with you in gym.

you haven’t seen changbin seo in years. he’s bulked up more than you could have ever imagined since you both graduated high school and is still as handsome as ever. changbin was always handsome, but he’s grown into himself. he exudes confidence, self-assuredness. he’s still short, still has that fluffy hair and the scar on his chin.

but now he wears tiny dresses on the weekends, he wears long, beautiful wigs and does his makeup better than you ever could. he dances in heels you would bust your ass in. he gets booked for brunches and bachelorette parties and pride parades.

you didn’t run in the same circle back then, but changbin was always friendly to you. to everyone, really. it makes sense that he’s still so loved, that he could create a persona that brings joy and love and light to so many communities that need it.

you’re not really expecting him to follow you back, for changmi to follow you back, but not too long after you click that little blue button on her profile, a notification pops up on your phone.

kissedbychangmi followed you back!

another one follows in quick succession.

kissedbychangmi liked your post.

you don’t even remember posting pictures last night. a lot of the night is still a blur, but swiping through your own pictures makes you smile. you had so much fun with your friends - the group pics are cute, the candid ones are even cuter. the last one in the set almost makes you smack yourself on the forehead, but you can’t help but sputter out an embarrassed laugh. it’s a blurry selfie of you, with your tongue sticking out the side of your mouth. changmi is in the background in the middle of a death drop.

kissedbychangmi commented: tag meee!! ><

your heart beats a little faster at the comment, and you feel a bit ridiculous because of it. get it together! get a grip! you’re not the same person you were in high school; you’re not the same person who flushed hot under any ounce of earnest attention from changbin or who loitered pathetically by your locker to see him grab his books on the way to class.

you do tap the three little dots in the corner of your post though, thumb moving down towards the icon in the bottom left corner to type in her username and tag her in the picture.

changbin’s never been on your instagram before, even if this isn’t necessarily changbin. you can’t help but feel a little proud.

your high school self would be ecstatic.

the next time you see her, you’re on your own. still in the same corner booth, but on your own. you couldn’t stay away if you tried. she had hopped on instagram live earlier while she did her makeup and got ready, so you already know what her makeup looks like before she steps out on stage.

her outfit, though… that’s another story.

your reaction to it must be like something out of an old cartoon - eyes bulging out of your skull, tongue lolling out of your mouth, hearts floating around your head and all.

she comes out on stage wrapped in a fuzzy pink towel. she could have stayed in that for all you care; her smooth, nylon covered legs are a sight for sore eyes on their own, her massive arms an added plus.

you’ve only seen one of her gigs in person. you’ve watched enough reels on her instagram to know that most of them are filled with songs from early two thousands pop queens. her performances are fun and upbeat. you had no clue that changmi could be this… sensual.

she’s a tease, thick fingers fussing daintily with the knot of the towel before she smirks and pulls them away again. she lifts them in the air instead, framing her face cutely before finally lifting them above her head to twirl her hands around each other. the curtain bangs of the blonde and pink wig she wears frame her cheeks with pretty, curly ringlets. the ponytail behind her head is short but big, teased and bouffanted high like something from the sixties.

you swear your heart stops beating in your chest when changmi finally drops the towel. the roar of the crowd in the bar is so loud that you can’t hear the music over the speakers anymore, but changmi doesn’t miss a beat, smiling through her lyrics while teasingly acting like she’s going to toss the towel to someone. she’s wearing one of her signature pink slips again, but this one is sheer. it’s baby pink and sheer, with white lace accents adorning the chest and skirt hem. there’s a bow right on the lace on the middle of her chest.

what gets to you the most though is the fact that her nightie is slit right up the middle, the cut ending right where the lace at her chest starts, leaving so much beautiful, tan skin on display. changmi isn’t wearing a breastplate like she usually is, but her already thick pecs are contoured to give the illusion of voluptuous breasts. through the sheer fabric, you can see the brown peaks of her puffy nipples. she’s wearing a pair of skimpy, frilly panties underneath the slip too, not quite a thong, but they don’t cover her cheeks all the way. you’re seeing more of changmi — of changbin — than you ever have before. she’s corseted right above the panties. it’s small, white, and lacy, cinching her waist to give her more of an hourglass figure but still showing enough skin of her midsection to have your mouth watering.

changmi bends at the hip, pigeon toeing in her pretty pink heels at the edge of the stage so she can grab tips from frantically waving hands. she spends a long time up there swiveling her hips to the music and mouthing the lyrics before deciding to walk the floor. she sits on the edge and holds out her hand, legs crossed and toes pointed, just waiting for someone to help her down.

it’s so cute, such a little tease. someone from the crowd rushes to the stage to lend their hands to help her down, but all she gives are the dainty tips of her little, thick fingers. she slips gracefully down the edge of the stage and bites the nail of her thumb with a smirk when the skirt of her tiny gown hitches above her panties, showing the fat of her ass and her perfectly padded hips.

you scramble to take your phone out then. you wanted to watch her performance without the lens of your camera in the way. you wanted to see it with your own eyes, but you can’t miss another second, you want to remember this, you want a record of it. unlike the first night you saw her, she waltzes around the opposite side of the bar first. her ponytail bounces when she blows kisses and flaunts herself around to different patrons.

time stands still when changmi turns your way. you can tell she recognizes you right away because the smile on her face shines brighter, burns hotter. you’re not the only one on the left side of the room, not even close, but she hones in on you, slowly dancing her way to you until she’s kicking her foot up on the booth bench between your legs. changmi looks right into your camera, mouths her lyrics and tosses her ponytail like she’s performing just for you.

her plump lips form a pout, and her drawn brows pinch at the corners. changmi lifts her hand and places the tip of her index finger on her chin, cocking her head in question. you blink wildly at her until you realize what it is she wants, something you can’t believe you forgot, so you’re scrambling once more to pull a crisply folded bill out of your pocket. your bank account grumbles, but it’s the least she deserves. the only difference between now and the first night is that changmi doesn’t reach for the fifty dollar bill herself, just lowers her leg and cocks her hip, lifting the side of her slip up for you.

when you hesitate, changmi snaps the elastic band of her panties in encouragement. you reach for her then, sliding the bill under the elastic of her lace panties. her skin radiates warmth. the flutter of her nightie brings a sweet, clean waft of scent with it.

she’s beautiful from the stage but even more beautiful up close. you can really see her now, see the blush-pink heart on the tip of her round, contoured nose, the white glitter shadow underneath her almond shaped eyes, the pink on top. you’re too busy being mesmerized by her features that you don’t notice her reaching for your phone. it isn’t until it’s out of your hand that you realize changmi’s taken it, lip syncing straight to your camera and filming herself from all different angles. the nail in your coffin is when she cups one of her pecs, smiling teasingly and licking her teeth as she pulls the lace down, down, down to show her puffy little nipple. the lace snaps back up to cover her again when she pulls her fingers away, and she hands your phone back to you with a hysteric giggle that you somehow know is just for you. she leaves you like nothing happened, flurries her way back to the stage to finish her number like she didn’t knock your jaw straight to the floor.

changmi’s been on instagram live for the past thirty minutes getting ready for her gig tonight. she’s fun to watch, but you can put her on as background noise too while you’re piddling around the house watering your plants, washing the dishes. she’s sitting at a vanity doing her makeup, looking as goofy as ever with her curly, black hair pinned back from her face. a makeup smudged headband secures it extra tight. she’s shirtless, leaving her broad shoulders and relaxed pecs out for you to ogle like a degenerate freak. she’s already corseted, and the slight pudge of tanned skin above the corset makes your mouth water when she leans towards the camera.

you can tell by the constant bickering and giggling going on that she’s not alone. miss honey is there with her, the cackle gives it away even before you see her face, sitting beside her at the vanity doing her own makeup.

changmi goes back and forth between using the vanity mirror and her phone camera to apply her makeup. she really does look silly, but it’s endearing, and the process of changbin transforming into changmi is so exciting to watch. it’s beautiful. they both are.

she’s trying her best to answer questions and talk to miss honey all while dabbing on her foundation and setting underneath her eyes.

“‘how long have you been doing drag?’” she reads from the comments. “hmm, since…” it takes her several minutes to answer. she’s so focused on lining her waterline in stark white that she forgets to speak at all. you vaguely remember changbin being unable to multitask back in highschool, and it looks like nothing has changed even years later. miss honey giggles beside her.

“since when, wifey?”

“oh! wait- what was the question? sorry, ah… since i was eighteen? but badly. and in secret.” it makes you frown, pausing your tidying of the bathroom sink. you knew changbin at eighteen. there’s nothing you can do about it now; you just hope it wasn’t a lonely secret to keep. “i remember a few weeks after my eighteenth birthday, crystal taught me how to walk in kitten heels in her basement.” she says it with a quiet laugh, like it’s a fond memory.

“kitten heels! kitten heels?! you needed help in kitten heels?!” miss honey wails. she pops her head in the corner of changmi’s screen and looks just as ridiculous. her lips are the color of her foundation, and her contour isn’t blended. a hello kitty hair band holds her hair from her face.

“yah! don’t you dare disrespect my kitten heels! it was harder than it looked, okay?! i almost broke my ankles and mama’s.”

it sends miss honey into a round of hysterics, and changmi starts giggling too.

miss honey leans closer to changmi’s phone to read through the comments while changmi blends the finishing touches on her eyes. they’re pink and glittery and outlined sharply by thick, dove white, the white outlined and winged in a bubblegum pink liner.

“oh, here’s a good one! ‘do you sew your own clothes?’”

changmi nods her head, but it once again takes her a bit to answer. she’s too busy blowing on her lash glue and setting the long lashes in place, two in her crease and one below her waterline. miss honey’s smile grows wider and wider the longer she takes to answer.

“my wife is being a bully,” changmi mumbles. “yes, i sew my own clothes!”

“…did you sew that?”

miss honey’s eyes cut to the side. whatever she’s looking at is out of frame, but you reckon it’s changmi’s outfit for the night. changmi looks up and rubs her lips together slowly and scratches at the back of her head.

“…um. no…?”

miss honey cackles so loudly that you have to turn the volume down a little bit. changmi isn’t much better, hollering her complaints through her own infectious laughter. they’re so funny together that you can’t help but laugh with them, just as entertained by them as you would be a reality television show.

“i’m kidding, i’m just kidding! it’s really cute, you’re going to look great! your big man-shoulders are going to look sexy in that halter top, baby!”

“man-shoulders?!” changmi hollers. she stands up from her chair so fast that it screeches on the floor. she backs up so that you can see more of her body on the screen, turns until she’s looking over one shoulder demurely and right into the camera. “why, i‘m just a dainty little lady.”

it doesn’t do much to lessen the breadth of her wide shoulders and she knows it, finally breaking the façade and flexing into the camera. her biceps bulge when she flexes, and she turns around to show off her muscular back too.

changbin was muscular in high school even though his stature was smaller, more lithe. his muscles were more corded, you could tell when he wore cut off shirts to gym class or helped your math teacher move desks. now though, it’s obvious how much work he’s put into his body. he must be so disciplined in his everyday life, eating well and working out to keep his physique in check. you place your chin in your palm and practically swoon while standing at your sink.

every time you look at changbin — at changmi — you fall harder. you’d do anything to get to know each other better, positively sure your lives changed after highschool. you’ve both grown and matured. you might not have run in the same crowd back then, but it would still be nice to catch up. maybe you can run in the same crowd now. it’s hard to make friends when you’re an adult, but sometimes putting yourself out there can be worth it.

“stop making me laugh! it’s making me hungry,” changmi whines. “an uncrustable sounds so good right now…”

you’re out of your bathroom before you know it, slipping on your ugg slippers and grabbing your keys to run by the nearest store before you have to get ready for tonight.

changmi’s performance is mesmerizing as always, but you’re learning that that’s typical of her.

and miss honey was right. she does look great, and her wide shoulders do look sexy in her halter top. it’s something you’ve never seen her in before. the halter top is pink and covered in rhinestones. it’s cropped too, high enough to show off the underside of her padded breasts. beaded stars dangle from the ruffled hem of the top too, reflecting brightly off the lights of the stage and dancing whenever she moves even the slightest bit. her pants are pink too of course, high waisted and spandex, flowing into wide bell bottoms at the ends. changmi’s hips are padded and her pants are cinching her at the waist. she’s so fucking curvy, and her little legs look so cute and tiny in those pants. the only reason they don’t brush the ground when she moves is because of her shoes, a pretty ballet wrap heel that must tie at her knees.

the wig she’s wearing matches her outfit to a tee. it’s something like a shag mullet, poofy and curly and choppy all around her head and tapering off as it goes down her back. her petal pink hair is speckled with black pieces all over, giving her an edgier look than you’re used to seeing from her.

she’s so beautiful it hurts.

changmi’s on stage with miss honey and a few other queens you recognize but don’t remember the names of. she’s answering questions when asked and engaging with the queens and the crowd, but you can tell she’s a little more distracted than usual.

she’s distracted because she’s looking at you.

she has been since earlier. since she sat on your lap during her performance and pet your hair gently before she left. you always try to get to the bar early enough to sit in the corner booth as you usually do, and it looks like it’s working to your advantage because her eyes fall to your booth every time she performs.

changmi is bold. her confidence during all of her gigs gives that away, even with that coy little attitude she portrays so well. but now, when she’s doing nothing but sitting on a stool on stage, she exudes self-assurance. not in a gross way, just in the way she handles herself. she looks into your eyes from across the room without breaking eye contact, smirks in sweet satisfaction whenever you’re the one that has to break it because it’s too much to handle.

the second time she winks at you has you reaching into your purse for a tissue. it’s making you fucking sweat, her attention is, and you pull out the tissue to dab underneath your eyes, at your burning cheeks. it’s then that you see what else you’ve got in your purse. how could you have forgotten?! your heart pounds a little quicker when you reach into your bag again to pull out the two clear packets of round, soft uncrustables.

changmi’s still watching you, and you purse your lips to hide your smile when you hear her gasp over the microphone.

“no you did not!” she hollers. the mic shrills, and miss honey covers her ears with a dramatized wince. “is that what i think it is? oh my god, please come here, come here!”

oh god, you weren’t expecting to be called up to the stage, but you’re learning that you’d do most anything for changmi, so you get up from your booth and cross the floor, walk your way in front of the standing crowd to park yourself right at the stage. changmi scuttles her way to the edge and drops down to her knees to reach you better.

“you said you wanted these earlier?” you tell her. she leans down further to hear better just as you stand on your tip-toes. her hair tickles the skin of your bare arms. “i- i didn’t know what kind you like best, so i got both.”

strawberry and grape.

two packs, ten — nine now — fluffy sandwiches in each. at least now you’ve got something waiting for you when you get snacky at home.

“oh my fucking god! you’re so sweet, i could kiss you. i really could! can i give you a kiss?” she laughs, but her eyes are taking in your expression like she means it.

you throw her words back at her from the first night you met. “does kissing count as ‘putting out’ before the first date?”

she laughs again, squinting her eyes a little like she doesn’t remember what you’re talking about but still waits for your answer.

“i’d love to borrow a kiss,” your words are quiet, just for her. changmi smiles softly and leans forward. she doesn’t kiss you on the lips, no. instead, her plump little lips land on the apple of your heated cheek. the roar of the crowd, the hooting and hollering of the queens behind changmi all fades into white noise in your ears.

you’re so focused on her that you can hear the gentle smack of her lips when she pulls away from you and leans back onto her heels. she’s smiling big, eyes wide with joy as she takes the sandwiches from your hands.

“i’m gonna tear these up after the gig, you have no idea.”

you and changmi both jolt when miss honey scoffs dramatically into the mic, crossing her leg over one knee and flipping her sleek ponytail over her shoulder.

“does marriage mean nothing anymore?! my wife just cheated on me for a fucking uncrustable!”

it isn’t until you’re home again and getting ready for bed that you notice the pink kiss mark on your cheek.

you only hesitate a second before bringing your phone up to take a selfie, messing with your hair and angling your phone just right to make sure you can see the stain of changmi’s lips. it’s a cute picture, cute enough to open up a new message on instagram, cute enough to type in kissedbychangmi in the search bar, and cute enough to send it straight to her with no text.

you haven’t even wiped the kiss off of your face and taken your makeup off by the time a new notification pops up on your locked screen.

kissedbychangmi sent a photo.

the first thing you do is laugh. you can’t help it, she’s silly. her wig is off, and her dark, pinned-back hair is flattened under a wig cap. she still has her makeup on too, but it looks a little cakey in the orange lighting of the back room of the bar. she looks real, human. her eyes are happy, but you can’t see her smile. all because she holds a half eaten strawberry uncrustable in front of her lips, shaped like a crescent where she’s bitten off more of the middle.

kissedbychangmi

thank you for the snacks!!

changmi gobbled them all up ><

god, she’s so fucking cute it’s unreal! is this really the same girl who winked at you all night and asked to give you a kiss in front of a crowd of people? it feels like a fever dream. even more so because you know it’s changbin behind the screen.

your thumbs are hovering over the keys when she sends another response.

kissedbychangmi

would you maybe like to go to lunch with me one day next week?

i really can’t believe we ran into each other this way after all this time!

i’m a little embarrassed.. you must have been so surprised

if anyone should be embarrassed it should be you, gawking at and thirsting over her while she’s just doing her job, while she’s just doing something she loves with people she loves.

you

i’d love to go to lunch w you!!

i was actually going to ask you soon too lmao it’ll be so nice to catch up

and do nottt be embarrassed!!! i was surprised, but like a good surprised you know?

kissedbychangmi

yayyy~

i’m about to drive home.. i can text you when i get settled and we can plan then?

you

talk to you soon 😝

it’s not awkward at all.

changbin greets you with a warm smile and an even warmer hug. the weather is nice enough that the two of you decide to sit outside to have your lunch, and he even pulls your chair out for you when you reach the quaint little table in front of the restaurant window. there’s a slight breeze underneath the awning; changbin’s curls flutter lightly against his lensless glasses and your fingers itch to brush them back.

you’re so used to seeing his features contoured sharply now, his lips overdrawn and his hair long, but today, changbin looks soft. relaxed. there’s not a trace of makeup on his handsome face.

the food is delicious, but the company you keep is even better. you talk for so long that your waitress has stopped coming back to check on you, settling instead on leaving the bill on the edge of the table and moving on to other patrons around you and inside. it feels like you talk about everything under the sun. you have to start out somewhere - it’s great to see you, what have you been up to since graduation, and do you still talk to so-and-so turns into deeper, more personal topics the longer you sit together. changbin talks with his hands. his pupils shake when he talks about something that means a lot to him. he has so many different types of laughs that you can’t keep count of them all.

“i came out on accident,” he answers when you ask. “no, really! i wasn’t ready, but i guess i felt like i didn’t have much of a choice? my sister walked in on me trying on one of her skirts after school, and everything just kind of… happened at once.”

you can’t imagine how that must have felt. the ground falling from underneath his feet, the ice cold dread seeping into his skin and down deep to his bones. he must have been so scared.

“did she- did she react okay? i mean, you guys were so close, weren’t you?”

“she was fine!” he nods. “we sat on the edge of her bed and i cried because i didn’t want her to be mad at me. i mean, finding out your brother isn’t straight and wants to wear dresses all in the same day is probably a lot to take in at once.” it makes you snort, and changbin giggles too, but his eyes are misty. “she told me it would never change anything, though. that i’m still her baby brother even if i wear a skirt and kiss boys every now and then. i think that changed my life, you know? she’s really a badass.”

“her brother’s pretty badass too,” you smile, and changbin makes an airy little noise before leaning back in his chair to blink rapidly at the sky. “i came out to my mom on the way home from school one day because i felt guilty not telling her who i had a crush on. you know what i mean? i tell her everything, so it felt, like… wrong. i told her i had a crush on this girl in one of my classes and then sat in silence just waiting for her to kick me out of the car.”

changbin nods his head. his brows are furrowed. “did she?”

“nah, she pretty much told me the same thing. i’m her baby and she loves me no matter what. god, changbin, we got really lucky, didn’t we?”

it’s something you think about a lot, how different things could have been if your mother wasn’t your mother. if changbin’s sister wasn’t his sister. how different things are in the world for so many people like you. how people have to fight to exist without persecution, how they have to keep silent for their safety and security when all they want is to speak their truth and live honestly.

“that’s why drag is so special to me,” he confirms. not everyone’s experience with coming out is a positive one. “it’s why drag is so important in general. the world needs queer art. queer joy! if we can help someone live in it just for one night, that means everything to me.”

changmi is a beacon of light. you think of her bright smile on stage, the way she interacts with the crowd who comes to watch her perform. everyone is there for a common reason, existing in solidarity and community.

“it helps you too though, doesn’t it?”

changbin sits back in his chair. you can tell he’s thinking hard by the way his eyes roam around, gathering the words in his head that he wants to say.

“of course it does, it’s given me so much of myself. changmi, my drag name. do you know what that word means?” you shake your head. you’ve been curious if it had a meaning to it, or if it was just derived from his real name. “it means rose in korean. i feel like… that expresses who i am, in a way. changbin can be soft and sharp. changbin has thorns, but he’s sweet too. the thorns are mostly for show, people just don’t always stay to find out.”

his cheeks are flushed pink, sweetly shy as he opens himself up to you in a way he never has before. he’s bearing his soul, you can tell, and all you want to do is keep it safe.

you understand what he means. despite how nice he was to everyone in high school, you heard constant whispers in the hallways. his eyes made him look intimidating, his voice was loud and raspy. now, the muscles on his body leave people assuming he has a certain attitude or mindset.

but instead, his smile remains warm, his calloused hands only touch things gently. his laugh never fails to make you smile. the drag he wears could give you cavities if you were to sink your teeth into it.

“i think those people are missing out on something really wonderful.” you reach across the table and tap your fingers softly against his knuckles. changbin turns his hand so that his palm is facing upwards, and his fingers squeeze around yours when you place your hand in his.

you’re not afraid of changbin’s thorns because you have thorns of your own. a way of protection, a sign of sacrifice, a ferocity within the tenderness of your beating heart.

you’re more alike than you could have ever imagined.

“i can’t stop touching them?” you pose it like a question, but there’s no question about it.

you’re swiveling around in the chair at changbin’s sewing station, surrounded by mannequin torsos and styrofoam heads. he’d invited you over to his place earlier to spend some time together before his gig later on, and you’re watching him brush out a wig now. you’ve seen him get ready before on instagram live, he’s even called you a few times before just to chitchat, but it’s even better when he’s doing it right in front of you, when you can see the entire process and talk to him during it.

“what, my tits?” changbin laughs, eyes snapping from his wig over to you at his sewing station. he shakes his head fondly when he sees the constant prodding of your fingers against one of his silicone breast forms.

he has several, of all different shapes and sizes because they all make him feel pretty and because certain ones go better with certain outfits. a full coverage breastplate that he can put on like a shirt, adhesive forms that stick right to his pecs, and even forms with clear straps that he can wear like a bra. they feel different based on the material they’re made of, and you immediately gravitated towards the squishiest pair.

“they’re so soft,” you marvel. “can you wear these ones tonight?”

changbin already encouraged you to pick his outfit and wig for tonight, so you’re hoping his tits count too.

he beckons you over with a nod of his head and takes the jiggly forms from your hands. changbin moves to stand in front of his full body mirror and removes the paper from the back of the first form, sticking the adhesive right over one of his pecs. he repeats the same process with the other form; changbin’s eyes are wide in concentration, and his bottom lip sticks out cutely as he focuses on sticking them evenly on his chest. he turns to you when he’s satisfied, smiling goofily when he begins to lift up on the balls of his feet and back down to make the forms bounce. they look real, they really do. they match his skin color almost to a tee. if he were to blend the edges with foundation, you doubt you’d be able to tell the difference at all. you’re standing in front of him before you know it, eyes locked on his chest. the forms are so realistic that they have light blue veins in the mold, a smattering of light freckles. the nipples are the same color as changbin’s real ones, dark brown with a furled little areola.

“they’re nicer than mine!” you say, pushing your fingers against the fatty sides to see them jiggle again.

changbin’s brows furrow and he shakes his head firmly. his curls would be bouncing if he didn’t have his hair pinned back. “no they’re not.”

oh.

“changbin seo.” he blinks wildly. “how would you know? have you been looking at my boobs?”

it’s cute how quickly his ears color, cute how he starts scrambling over himself while you’re just trying to hold in your laughter.

“no! no, i mean- i’m just saying. if i were to see them, i’m sure they’d be perfect, because you’re p- ah, please! don’t laugh at me! hey, why are you laughing?!”

his arms wrap around your waist when you lean into him to stifle your laughter against his neck. changbin is so easy to tease. he’s cute when he whines, when his voice raises in volume to try and get his point across. everything about him is so endearing.

changbin is warm. he runs hot, but he’s even warmer because you’ve got him blushing petal pink. his skin is so soft underneath your own, plush and honey-toned and decadent, like he’d melt in your mouth like a marshmallow if you were to bite into him.

“they are pretty nice,” you say. your voice is soft, quiet. changbin leans back a hair and you watch his eyes slip to your lips. “if you wanna see ‘em, all you have to do is ask.”

you feel him shiver, and that cute downwards smile pops up on his precious face.

“are you flirting with me?”

there’s no point in lying. honestly, you thought he knew how gone you were for him by now. you were a ticking time bomb, only able to hide the yearning that must cloud your eyes and hold your tongue so much. it’s hard not to look at him, not to want to bask in his presence, and it only worsens as time goes by. the more time you spend together, the more you want him. the more you hear his voice, the more you want to hear it for the rest of your life. the more he touches you, the more your body, mind, and soul long for it.

you’ve locked your heart away for so long that it’s dusty. the only way to keep yourself safe is to keep it hidden and sealed tight, but changbin holds the key. you placed the key in his hands the moment you found each other again, even if he doesn’t know it.

“yes. yes, changbin, i’m flirting with you.”

he nods then, squeezes your hip gently with a calloused hand.

“okay,” he whispers. “okay, good.”

you’re excited to see changmi. you’re always excited to see her, but she’s wearing what you picked out for her this time, so it feels different. you didn’t even bother making your way to your usual booth, walking your way to the stage and standing right off to the side of it because you want to watch her perform up close and personal.

you’d left changbin’s house with a kiss to his soft cheek, just giving back the one you borrowed from him weeks back.

he doesn’t know you’ll be matching with him, doesn’t know that you overturned your entire closet when you got home just to find your black leather skirt and the black, plunge neck rose-printed crop top with the hopes that he’d see it and smile. and with the hopes that he’ll think you look hot, because you feel it. you feel good, you feel confident. the compliments you’ve gotten on the floor of the bar have only helped you fly closer to cloud nine, only a hop and a skip away from it now. but there’s only one person who can get you there.

you enjoy the other queens’ performances, cheering and tipping along with the crowd, but it feels like your heart plummets to your feet when the host finally calls for your best girl.

the lights strobe, a britney number starts, and you’re almost bouncing on your heels.

when she comes out on stage, she’s not wearing what you picked out for her. the only thing of yours she’s wearing is the wig, but that’s it. she looks pretty, god, she looks fucking gorgeous, but there’s a hot curl of disappointment in your gut.

changmi’s wearing a spandex dress, it’s black and long sleeved and the pleated skirt of it hits the meat of her fishnet covered thighs. it looks a little frumpy in some places - like it doesn’t fit her quite right, but you’re too mesmerized by the whipping of her hair and the strong movements of her arms that your thoughts fly out the window soon enough.

you’re already waving your hands at her, dollar bills held firmly between your fingers. but it isn’t until the chorus that you open your mouth to scream with everyone else.

changmi’s hands reach behind her to yank at the skirt of the dress, and the dress pops open from the back. you’re completely baffled, though you should know by now that changmi always has a few tricks up her sleeve, a shrill scream pulling from your lungs when she tosses the dress behind her and whips her hair again, beautiful, curvy bodice clothed in the outfit you picked for her.

her long sleeved shirt is tight, black, and sheer, but it’s blanketed by a dainty, silver harness top. ruby red jewels dangle from the chains like little pomegranate seeds. they call to you, pull you in, urge you to bite. her wig drips red as well. it’s long, black, sleek like water, two curling horns rising from the sides of her head. blood red seeds dangle from the horns like she’s royalty. the jewels dance with her when she moves, and her little black skirt twirls with her too. black fishnet clad legs lead to the most beautiful heels you’ve ever seen. they’re inky as well, with a thick, clear heel. the inside is filled with rose petals, and a bright, red rose sits atop of the vamp.

changmi’s makeup fits her black and red theme too, lipstick a dark red that ombres into a black overdraw. her waterline shaded in white as always but lined by a bright red. the point of her wing is as dark as night, and it’s paired with the new addition of black and red freckles smattering her cheekbones.

you’ve never seen her in something dark like this, neither have the other patrons if their reactions are anything to go by. her aesthetic is made of cotton candy pink, but this fits her just as well, just like you knew it would. it’s edgy, it’s full of sharp thorns, and no one is afraid of her here.

you’re brought back into yourself when changmi drops to her knees and arches her back, palms flat on the wood as she crawls forward to the edge of the stage to take tips. she prowls, a muscled jungle cat, rolls onto her back when she’s done and arches again until she kicks her legs in the air to clack her heels together. you can see the outline of her breast forms, the chocolatey circles of her nipples through the mesh and harness when she switches back to her knees to whip her hair.

changmi eases back onto her heels and spreads her knees wide. the roar of the crowd only grows louder when she brings a hand down to fan her crotch, a satisfied smirk adorning her face when she finally makes eye contact with you. her skirt’s ridden up so you see the black lace panties she wears underneath her fishnets. it’s smooth, there’s no bulge, soft cock tucked back and completely hidden. you know that most drag queens tuck for their performances and to further the illusion, but the thought of changbin tucking nearly has your brain bluescreening.

she kicks one leg out and spins on her heel until she’s kneeling in front of you mouthing the lyrics, ducking her head to look you in the eyes. they slip down to your chest, the plunge of your shirt and back up to your face like she just couldn’t help it.

“oh my fucking god!” you yell, smile overtaking your face until her own is mirroring yours. you know she heard you over the music. “you’re fucking insane, oh my god!”

you reach out for her with a bill in your hand, but she doesn’t take it. changmi tucks the bill back in your fist and squeezes your hand in hers, instead bringing your knuckles to her mouth for a kiss.

another kiss from a rose.

her hair is stuck in her lipstick, strands caught wildly over the horns of her wig and tangled in the jewels, and she’s never been more beautiful.

“will you come to a brunch gig with me?” changbin asks. his voice is tinny over the crackling speaker of your phone. “saturday at ten thirty. they gave me a plus one! would you want to come? like, as a date… with me? we can do something after too! not just- ahh… not just the brunch.”

you can tell he’s nervous. the end of his sentence trails off into an embarrassed, airy laugh, and you have to bite your lip to hide your smile.

“i would love to go on a date with you, changbin. what should i wear?”

“oh? oh! wow, okay. ah, i’m going winter-y. i’m thinking maybe a coat reveal into a bodysuit… my coat is red, maybe we could match?”

“oh, yes! i like that! i’m sure i have some red lying around somewhere.”

you hate talking on the phone. you’d rather text, can’t usually be bothered to pick up the phone unless it’s your mom calling, but changbin is changing your mind. you could listen to him talk for hours, just interjecting with a hum every now and then so he’ll know you’re listening to him. you always hang onto every word changbin says; the gritty timbre of his voice has easily become your favorite sound over the past several months. so you start looking around for what to wear so you have an excuse to stay on the phone with him for longer. changbin, would red tights be cute? oh! i do have a jumpsuit that might work instead. what are you doing right now? how much red are we talking? have you eaten dinner yet? how are you doing your hair?

are you thinking of me the way i’m thinking of you? do you want me as badly as i want you?

the rest of the week passes in a blur. it’s the slowest week of your life, all too excited for your date on saturday that the weekdays decide to make you wait on it.

you do end up going with the red jumpsuit. it’s red and white gingham, and your white, heeled boots click on the hardwood floor of the open restaurant as you wait for changbin to start performing. for changmi to start.

changbin drove you here. you met up at his house and he walked out of his front door in full drag at nine thirty in the morning, minus the platform boots he held in his hands and a suitcase wheeled behind him. black slides took their place while he drove, and his hive styled hair brushed against the roof of his car. you laughed all the way there, changbin’s suitcase of extra clothes sitting underneath your feet, and your hands entwined over the center console.

the restaurant is packed. every table in the building is full, and there’s even people standing against the walls. you recognize several people from the bar and chit chat with them for a little while as speakers are set up and food is brought out, but you make your way back to your reserved table to wait. your table is closest to where changmi is waiting too, probably spending the last few minutes before ten thirty stretching and doing a few breathing exercises to calm her jitters. you can see one white platform boot peeking out from around the corner where she stands, and you giggle, taking your phone out and starting a video, zooming in on her tapping foot to send her or post on your instagram later.

her gig today is a little different than they usually are at her regular bar. you’ve never been to a drag brunch before, but you’re excited. it seems to be a little more laid back during the day. the atmosphere is great, the daiquiri you’re sipping on is great, you know changmi will be great.

she’s so fucking cute when she walks around the corner after her music starts. she’s met with boisterous cheers and rowdy clapping, and you might just be the loudest one there.

her red coat reaches to her knees. fur lines the sleeves and the collar of it, and a thick belt keeps it pulled together in the middle. she’s wearing white, lace gloves and a huge pair of white earmuffs to match. you don’t think you’ve ever seen her in a fully blonde wig either, but it goes perfectly with her outfit. it’s platinum blonde and hive shaped, with messy, curly ringlets framing her face to make her look even softer than she already is.

you’re waiting with bated breath for her reveal, so invested in changmi twinkling her fingers to greet people while she lip syncs and teasingly sitting beside someone in their booth that your food must be going cold in front of you.

her reveal is just as breathtaking as you knew it would be. the chorus crescendos and changmi twirls in place, taking the coat off as she does. the restaurant erupts into cheers as changmi now stands before them in a corseted bodysuit, something pastel green and bedazzled bright. it has a pretty, heart shaped neckline that dips low to show her cleavage. her thighs are hugged by lacy white garters that are held in place by twin straps. she looks as delicate as ever, as expensive as ever. you had no clue this is what she was wearing under her coat.

you’re so focused on your girl that it takes a moment to notice the hammering of little footsteps on the hardwood floor, running full speed to the middle of the restaurant where changmi performs the last bit of her first song. it’s a little girl, and she pauses right in front of changmi, looking up at her in wonder. you’re sitting up in your seat when she speaks up.

“tinker bell…”

her eyes are wide, her jaw is dropped. she’s cutely snaggle-toothed and wearing a shirt with olaf the snowman on it. out of the corner of your eyes you can see a woman hurry to get up from her table, but it doesn’t take changmi long to react.

she bends down until she’s resting on one knee and boops the little girl lightly on the nose with one lace covered finger.

you’ve never seen her falter during a lip sync, even when she’s being prodded and pulled in all different directions at bars that are slam full of people, her mouth never stops moving. but it does this time, pulling into a small smile instead while ariana grande croons in the background.

“hello,” she greets. “what’s your name?”

“maggie,” the little girl says, still staring at changmi with sparkle filled eyes.

“would you like to dance with me, maggie?”

maggie nods her head excitedly, and changmi looks in the direction where the little girl’s mother sits for her permission. when she’s granted permission with waving hands and a fond grin, changmi lifts her into her arms and props her on her hip. the little girl squeals as she’s twirled around high off the floor and whirled around the room. changmi puts her down eventually to hold her hands so they can really dance together, spinning in happy circles and laughing together. it’s a beautiful sight, like nothing you’ve ever seen before, and you pull out your phone to record it for changbin to see later. it brings a tear to your eye, a smile to your face seeing changmi so happy… seeing changbin so happy. this joy belongs to him.

“mommy, auntie, come dance!” maggie shouts, reaching a little hand towards her family while the other holds firmly to changmi. they smile but shake their heads until her shouting becomes more insistent, both women finally standing from the table and making their way to the middle, awkwardly tapping their feet and moving their arms until maggie starts jumping with joy.

“come dance!” changmi beckons, looking around to all the patrons in the restaurant. “everyone’s invited to our dance party!”

before you know it, you can hardly see changmi at all, she’s swallowed by a crowd of people dancing all around her, waving their hands in the air or holding onto each other. an older man tangoes with his wife, two younger women are singing to each other and jumping with their hands entwined, a mother bends down to twirl her son under her arm. you’re still recording when changmi bursts through the crowd and scurries to you. she’s breathing heavily, her blush-covered cheeks are pink with exertion, but she’s smiling as bright as the sun. she holds her hand out to you, and you end the video right there.

“may i have this dance?” she pants, and you take her hand with a grin of your own.

she leads you to the middle where you’re welcomed happily, dancing with your favorite person and strangers you’ve never met, strangers you’ll never see again. it’s the most freeing moment of your life, you think, sharing something so special like this with likeminded people and basking in what can only be described as jubilation.

brunch is over at eleven thirty, and changmi leaves the restaurant with a parting ment of encouragement, thanking everyone for coming out and supporting her and the local restaurant hosting.

“we’re here,” she says. “we’ve been here, and we will be here. we’re not going anywhere. they can’t take moments like this away from us even if they try.”

changbin is contemplative when he walks out of the employee bathroom after eating brunch with you. he’s completely out of drag now, suitcase packed to the brim with his wig, coat, bodysuit, and other accessories. he’s so handsome, hair tucked back into a cap and gray sweatshirt tight over his pecs. he cleaned off his makeup as best he could, but there’s still hints of liner in his waterline. he speaks to the owner of the restaurant again before leaving, raving about their food and promising to be back, whether it’s for a gig or just to eat something good.

his hand is warm when you grab it. changbin shoulders the door open for you even though he’s the one carrying a suitcase, and he opens the passenger side door for you before throwing his suitcase in the backseat and rounding the car himself. he leans his head back against the headrest as he starts the car. his head lolls to the side so he can look at you, and he smiles when he sees you’re already looking at him.

“let’s just drive,” he suggests. “ride around for a bit, talk. maybe get some milkshakes?”

you’re sure at this point you’d almost agree to anything he were to suggest. but a drive sounds nice, talking with him sounds even better, and milkshakes are always a plus.

you stop by the local sonic before changbin really starts driving, strawberry and banana pudding milkshakes sitting in his cup holders.

changbin is easy to talk to. you’ve known that since high school but truly learned the extent of it when you started getting to know each other all those months ago. he has strong principles, an excellent head on his shoulders and a kind heart to match. you love listening to his voice, but you’re happy just watching him too, just existing in a shared space together. you watch him for so long that your breathing syncs with his, chests rising and falling at the same time.

“what are you looking at?” changbin chuckles. his lips are downturned in a smile, and his fingers fiddle with yours on the center console.

“you.”

that’s it. what else is there to say? the whole world, the keeper of my heart, the song of my soul and love of my life? too soon, too much. even if you know it to be true. you don’t want to scare him away.

“ah, let me find somewhere to park. i want to look at you too.”

you giggle then, finally turning away from him but squeezing his thick fingers in yours. he has a while to go, you think, a clear strip of road is all you see ahead. the further you get from the city, the more trees you see, more fields of grass with cows and horses and goats.

the houses you come across are sparse, but the signs in their yards are not.

blue and red pickets, flags waving from the rooftops. big white letters promising a greatness that you stopped believing ever existed in the first place.

you ignore it as best you can, even though the sight of them always makes your lips curl in disgust and anger fester in your gut. changbin does too. he holds your hand softly, but you can see his other hand tighten on the wheel. the last straw for both of you is when you pull up behind a souped up truck at a red light, back window and tailgate plastered in what can only be described as right wing propaganda.

“what fucking bullshit!” you bite, just as changbin throws his hand in the air.

it must be the longest running red light in the country. your eyes are forced to roam from sticker to sticker, shaking your head and clenching your jaw at each one.

whoever’s in the truck doesn’t pay you any mind, leaving you and changbin in the dust the second the light turns green, tail pipe blaring and engine burning oil as they speed away. changbin takes the next turn and pulls you into the parking lot of a movie theater. he parks a ways away from the other cars, still double checking that the doors are locked and the windows are all the way up.

the silence doesn’t last for long because you break it. you have to talk about it, you have to get it off your chest before bitterness eats you from the inside out.

“i’m just so fucking angry!” changbin doesn’t startle even though you’re already raising your voice, all he does is unbuckle his seatbelt, shift his seat back, and turn fully to you so he can listen. “i’m just so fucking angry! and tired! it’s your neighbors. it’s people you walk by in the grocery store, people you pass on the streets. it’s your coworkers, friends you thought you knew, your own fucking family. changbin, it’s all around us! at- at work, i have to fucking interact with people without knowing if they think i should have bodily autonomy or not! this is- god, this is so fucked! and how- how can i sit there and enjoy christmas dinner when i know my grandma would hate me if i brought a girl home to meet the rest of the family?! i’m so fucking pissed off, changbin, and i’m so scared.”

your voice comes out ragged and choked, and changbin reaches for your hand again with both of his. he kisses your knuckles repeatedly, rubs them against his lips and uncurls your fingers to kiss your palm.

“i’m scared too,” changbin whispers. you trace your fingers against his full cheek while his fingers hold your wrist. “that little girl earlier, maggie. did you see how happy she was?” he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “no one is born with hate in their heart. it’s learned, it’s taught. whether it’s at school or at home… i- we can’t stop that, and it kills me. i’m so scared that this part of me will be persecuted somehow.” changbin’s voice is wet, his chin quivers. “being gay isn’t a crime! drag isn’t a crime, i can’t- i don’t want them to take her away from me. she- she makes me strong.”

your heart cracks open right here, in the parking lot of some rundown movie theater in the front seat of changbin’s car. you ache for him, you ache for yourself. for people you know and people you don’t.

changbin goes to scrub angrily at his eyes, but you beat him to it, brushing his falling tears away with gentle fingers.

“oh, baby,” you coo. “angel boy, listen to me. she’s strong because you’re strong. you made her, she’s part of you. changmi is strong, but only because changbin makes her that way.”

he curls pitifully into the center console and you hold him while he cries. his cap falls off his head and straight to the floorboard at your feet. his shoulders shake, his throat rattles with his cries. his fingers are curled tightly in the fabric of your jumpsuit. you rest your head on his trembling shoulders and cry with him, disappointed by something so much bigger than the both of you that you hardly know the words to say.

changbin tries to sit up when his crying peters out into wet sniffles, but you hold him against you for a little bit longer, just not ready to let him go yet. when you finally let him up, he covers his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt to hide.

“can’t i see you? please?” you beg. your nose is stuffy from crying too.

he drops his arm when you ask, fingers fiddling with the hem of his tear-stained sleeve. you reach forward to smooth out his flat hair, cup his cheeks. his eyelashes have formed into points due to his tears, and his cheeks are pink and wet, hot to the touch. his round little nose is even pinker.

“i’m ugly when i cry,” he mumbles.

“you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever known,” you tell him instead, ducking your head so that you can look him in the eye even when he tries to shy away. he leans into your touch though, noses at your palm wetly and kisses it again. changbin doesn’t say anything to that, almost like he’s taking in the words you said and soaking them in.

his eyes are so beautiful when they land on yours. they’re red-rimmed and glossy, but they’re still the warmest color you know. hot chocolate on a cold winter night, coffee to pull you out of bed in the morning, the comfort and safety of a childhood teddy bear. changbin’s gaze softens as he takes in your face. it feels like he’s looking right through you, looking past the darkest, thorniest parts of you and still finding beauty where you never could. his hands cup your wrists, thumbs rubbing the skin tenderly.

your breath catches in your throat when he leans toward you. changbin doesn’t kiss you, but he’s close enough that he could. his round nose nudges against yours instead, nuzzling the tip of it while you both breathe shakily in the silence of his idling car. he’s so close that you can feel his breath fanning warmly against your lips.

“i just wanted to look at you,” he whispers. his thumbs wrap around yours. he eases your hands from his face but keeps your hands between your bodies, entwines them right between the shared beat of your hearts. “but it’s not enough. i can’t go another day without kissing you.”

it happens all at once. you both lean forward, two minds and hearts aligned. it’s not a frantic mesh of lips like you’d envisioned before, there’s no fireworks like you hear of in the movies or read in your books. it just feels right, that’s all. it seeps into your bones and coats even the smallest crevices of your soul.

changbin’s lips are warm. they’re cracked on the bottom but still slick from his tears. he tastes like salt and strawberries and a hint of his makeup remover, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world. it’s the softest kiss you’ve ever had. a light peck, another, another, until he’s breathing you in and moving to cup the nape of your neck. he presses forward harder, kisses you deeper, opens his mouth until your bottom lip is caught between the plumpness of his two. you’re finding that your lips fit together perfectly, moving in time with each other, a beautiful, languid mesh. changbin is the one to angle his head first, open his mouth wider, and a soft noise bubbles from the back of your throat when his tongue laps at your lower lip. you open for him with no hesitation, wanting him to take from you. changbin’s soft mouth is wet and warm and oh, so inviting. it’s small, but there’s so much to learn, so much to taste. your tongues are slick when they curl together, spit taking the place of salt on your lips.

the air between you is humid. every gasp, every shuddering breath, every heady noise is shared between your lips. your hands are threading through the hair on the back of his head when he pulls away from you with a wet smack. you whine, tugging him back because you’re greedy, because you can’t get enough now that you’ve had him, and he pecks your swollen lips to satisfy the hunger, pecks them again, once more for good measure.

the sight of him makes your cunt clench and your stomach swoop. changbin’s lips are swollen and pink, so beautifully slick from your shared kisses. his hair is messy on his head and his ears are rosy red.

he smooths your hair back with the hand that was cupping your nape, presses his thumb to the give of your bottom lip. his eyes droop when you suck it into your mouth. you can’t help it, the greed overtakes every bit of your senses. your eyes flutter as your tongue laps at the pad of his thumb, bobbing your head lightly to entice him even further. you’re reeling; it looks like he wants to eat you alive. changbin slips his thumb further in your mouth before pulling it out and wiping the spit across your swollen lips.

“not here,” he grits. changbin cups your jaw, makes your swimmy eyes focus on him. “it isn’t supposed to happen like this. not here. will you come home with me?”

you’d go anywhere in the world with him, so you lean across the console to kiss him again.

“how is it supposed to happen?” you whisper against his open mouth. you feel his breath, kiss his bottom lip slowly.

changbin closes his eyes and presses his forehead to yours.

“in a bed,” he answers right away. “i- i lay you down in bed and kiss you until we’re both breathless. run my hands all over your body. baby… sweetheart, i can’t. if i keep talking i’ll do it right here.”

you’d let him. let him take your clothes off in the backseat of his sleek, black car and sit you on his cock. you’d bounce in his lap until the windows fogged up, until your sweat stuck you together, until your head bumped the ceiling and he pulled you down to kiss you messy with a hand on the back of your head for safety. you’d let him take you right here, but you want him to get you in bed too. you want to smell his sheets, surround yourself with changbin’s scent and his pillows and the four walls of his room.

“take me home then.” it’s so hard to pull away from him, but you put your seatbelt back on because you’re good and hold your hand out for changbin to take when he’s done doing the same thing. “show me the rest there.”

despite your teasing on the way back to his house, changbin drives the speed limit the entire way. the more you play with his fingers, the more he white knuckles the steering wheel with his other hand.

he kisses the breath from your lungs when he opens your car door, presses you against the black exterior and squeezes your hips before grabbing your hand and pulling you with him to the door. he doesn’t even bother grabbing his suitcase from the backseat, or the empty milkshake cups, all too focused on getting you inside and fulfilling his promise.

changbin takes the clothes from your body first. he unbuttons the front of your jumpsuit and slips the sleeves from your shoulders, kissing everywhere the fabric previously kept hidden from him.

“can i see them?” he asks. his eyes bore into yours even though you can tell he wants to look south. “you told me once that all i had to do was ask.”

your nipples harden merely at his words, so you nod your head and arch your back towards him in answer. his eyes roam slowly down to your chest, he takes you in with sparkling eyes and a slack mouth before kissing both of your peaked nipples.

you can tell he’s trying not to get ahead of himself now that your breasts are bare before him, but you’re both growing more and more desperate to feel each other’s skin and be close. you arch harder into him when he pushes the jumpsuit past your hips and holds you steady so you can step out of it. your sensitive nipples rub against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt. you want it off, you want him naked and panting and hard.

he shrugs the sweatshirt from his shoulders when you start tugging on it, clearly just as eager to feel your skin against his.

the press of your naked chests together snatches the air right from your lungs. he’s so warm, his skin so plush and soft that it makes you whine. you don’t know where to put your hands, whether to grip his broad shoulders or rake your nails down his muscular back.

only when you’re down to your panties and changbin is left in his boxers does he lay you down amongst his pillows. he does exactly what he told you he would, kissing you so thoroughly that it makes your head spin. he’s halfway on top of you, one strong arm snaked underneath your neck to hold you and elbow propped on the mattress. his free hand roams your body, caresses your hair and your face, easing down to cup your breast and play with a hardening nipple. changbin’s calloused hand feels so good when it lowers to grip your thigh. it’s thrown over his hip, and he splays his hand across the skin to feel as much as he can.

his tongue is fucking silk, but you knew that already. all you can do is give yourself to him wholly, opening your mouth for him to lick into like he’s starved. changbin makes the most mouth-watering noises when you tug on his hair to pull him closer. you feel cradled, you feel spoiled and cared for with changbin’s hands touching you so sweetly and his mouth molding so perfectly into yours.

you shiver when his hand snakes from your thigh to between your legs. he doesn’t touch you there, just ghosts his fingers along the elastic of your panties.

changbin doesn’t bother pulling away from your lips when he opens his mouth, speaking right against your tongue and swollen lips. “can i touch you right here?”

you shiver again, and the arm trapped underneath your neck pulls you tighter to his warm body. if you were to focus hard enough, you’d be able to feel his heart hammering against his chest.

“you can touch me anywhere,” you breathe. your legs spread on their own accord, rolling more onto your back and throwing one over his thighs for better access.

he kisses you again, leans further over your body so that all you feel is his warmth. changbin’s fingers touch you over your panties, and he kisses the whimper from your lips. your eyes are already closed, but they squeeze shut even tighter, your brows furrow. he doesn’t pull away, molds his open lips against yours and licks inside your wanting mouth. his tongue whips messily against yours, the wet noise of it makes your clit throb under his delicate attention. your panties are soaking under his fingers, the slide of the cotton easing the wetter you become.

your leg twitches when he presses harder on your clit, two thick fingers rubbing earnestly against the little, swollen button. an airy noise creeps from your mouth into his, and he answers you with his own. changbin only pulls away to kiss your cheek, his lips are so wet that you feel spit stick to your skin. he makes his way to your ear to tug the lobe into his warm mouth.

he listens to you moan freely now, lets you push your thigh down against his for leverage so you can grind up into his dexterous fingers. changbin pants hotly against your cheek, his round nose smushed against your skin.

“i want to fuck you so badly,” he grits. “i’m so excited to have you that way, sweetheart.” it’s intense, so honest. pulled right from your own thoughts. “i think about it all the time. even- even when i’m on stage, you-” he cuts off his own sentence with a delirious laugh against your cheek. “you make it so hard to stay tucked.”

you think about it now, changbin backstage before a gig and worked up, having to adjust his tucked cock between his legs all because he had you on his mind.

that’s when you cry out, arching your back and throwing your head back, reaching your hand frantically for changbin’s. you take his fingers in yours and slip them under the elastic of your panties so he can feel you bare and wet, silky and warm. changbin moans then and goes right back to work, dipping his fingers into the give of your hole to gather more wetness on his fingers to rub your clit with.

“you have such a wet pussy…” he sighs. a little love struck, he’s moony and dazed over it.

“y- you made it that way.” you don’t have much room to move your arm since you’re pressed so close to changbin’s thick body, but you reach down to skirt your fingers against the front of his boxers. his cock is hard, and it throbs when you wrap your hand around the girth over his boxers. “fuck, fuck, made me so wet.”

his thick fingers dip down to your hole again and he pauses, tilting his head to look into your eyes in question. you nod frantically and lift your pelvis to tempt his digits inside so that he can get you ready for him. you won’t need much, your pussy is hungry for him, sucking his fingers right in when he presses inside. he dips in lightly at first, only going deeper when you start whimpering through every shaky breath. he loves the way your hips kick, the way your toes press against his ankle when you lift your hips in search of his touch. changbin lifts up on his elbow to watch your face just as he crooks his fingers. your eyes cross, your mouth drops open, and changbin sees it all. it embarrasses you, you’ve never been watched as intently as you are now; it makes your face heat up and and your eyes fight to close because he’s seeing so much. but most of all, you like it. you want to be watched, want to be seen and enjoyed to the fullest as long as it’s by him.

you know what he’s reaching for, and he finds it easily. changbin leans in to kiss you gently as your thighs quake and quake, a slow press of lips that you break away from too quickly because you just can’t shut up, you can’t stop whining and moaning and wriggling in his arms because he makes you feel too good.

your body curls further into him when he makes you cum. his arm wraps around you tighter, moving from your neck down to your back to hold you steady while he pistons his fingers. you’re drooling against his chest, the only reason your legs stay moderately open is because you throw your knee over his hip. his movement is more cramped this way, but he takes it in stride, keeps his palm flat to your clit and massages his fingers on that special spot until you’re squealing and jolting against him.

changbin keeps his fingers snugly inside until you’re done throbbing around him. he’s gentle when he pulls out, rubs his two sticky fingers lightly over your hole to feel the gape of it, and his cock kicks in your slack grip. you can feel his smile against your temple when he brushes over your sensitive clit, his breathy laugh when your legs clamp shut.

changbin starts shimmying to help you tug off his boxers. you’d giggle back at him if you weren’t so honed in on getting his cock out. you wrap yourself around him tighter when he kicks his boxers off, wrapping your arms around his neck and your leg higher around his waist so the warmth between your legs can rub against his cock. changbin hisses then, cups your ass in his rough hand and grinds forward. the leaking tip of his cock bumps your sticky clit repeatedly. you’re sensitive, but the good kind of sensitive. if he keeps rubbing you there you’ll cum again.

“ah, they’re… kissing,” he breathes. his cock does kiss your clit, gets it wetter with his precum and makes you feel like you’re tingling all over. but you want it to kiss you inside instead, want him as deep as he’ll go.

it almost kills you to roll away from him, but changbin doesn’t let you go far. you roll onto your back and pull him with you. he’s so strong and so densely packed with muscle that the only reason you get him moving is because he follows you without hesitation.

“inside me. inside me, baby, please, i wanna get fucked,” you beg, and changbin groans, nodding his head. you caress the sides of his face, rub his shoulders, scratch his back.

changbin reaches for his nightstand but you shake your head. he looks at you with wide open eyes.

“are you sure? i’m clean, i promise, but are you sure?”

you want to feel him. you want his cum spilling inside of you where it belongs with no barrier in between.

“me too. i am too, i trust you. please? do you want it like that too?”

he holds himself on his elbows above you. one of his thumbs brushes your cheek, caresses your hair. “i want everything you’re willing to give me, sweetheart.”

it’s like time stands still as you feel changbin’s knuckles bump your belly. he’s reaching for his cock, grips it in a rough fist and jacks it to spread his precum. you’d love to watch, love to see him pleasure himself and make himself cum, but it’ll have to wait until another time. he presses his fat tip against your hole and your legs spread themselves so wide that the inside of your thighs burn.

“let me in, sweetheart,” changbin breathes. he kisses your forehead, your nose, the pucker of your lips where they wait for him. “just let me in, show me how perfect you are. changbin will take care of the rest.”

your body listens to him because of course it does. your core relaxes, your weight sags into the mattress so changbin can have you the way he wants to. his forehead presses to yours just as his thick head pops inside. your mouths drop open at the same time, just breathing heavily in each other’s space. changbin’s eyes are hooded, hooded and intense, and yours can barely stay open.

the first thrust he gives you has your eyes closing on their own. your lashes flutter when she sheaths himself fully inside, so obsessively addicted to the stretch of his thick cock already that your nails claw themselves into his shoulders to pull him even closer.

“oh, fuck,” he whimpers. you’ve never heard him sound like this. “this perfect pussy…”

you’ve never had sex like this before. never in your life have you felt so viscerally connected to someone. you’d crawl under his skin if you could, snuggle beneath his organs because you just can’t get close enough no matter how much you pull and tug and arch. changbin’s arm snakes under your neck again, and the other cups your head. your legs are wrapped so tightly around his waist that you don’t know how he has room to thrust at all, but nothing on heaven or earth could pull you away from him. you wrap your own arm around his shoulders, clutch the small of his back with the opposite hand.

you move with the force of his thrusts, body rocking as he rolls his hips to fuck you as deep as he can. you don’t go far because of the grip you have on each other though. it’s sweltering, you’re nearly sticking together. you’ve never felt better.

“i feel so good!” you cry. “you- you f- fuck, feel so good in me! it’s never felt like this. baby, baby-baby, nobody’s ever- no one else…” you can’t even string together a full sentence, brain fucked right to sleep.

“for me either,” he grunts anyway, like he understands you despite it. no one understands you better. “it’s never fucking felt like this. you’re so good for me, so beautiful. i’m the luckiest man alive.”

changbin’s voice bounces as he fucks you, his hips picking up momentum and force and rutting you into the bed like he can’t help it. a part of you feels like it’s untethering when he pulls away, when he presses his palms to the bed on either side of your shoulders and snaps his hips so good that the sound of it is nearly deafening. you can’t focus on the loss for too long because changbin is too beautiful above you. his eyes are closed, so you get lost in taking him in. changbin’s cheeks are sweetly pink, his ears and neck match. sweat drips from his hairline and rolls down his face until it drips onto your bouncing tits, his plump bottom lip is caught between pearly teeth, his pecs bounce deliciously as his thighs smack against the backs of yours. changbin is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, he’s the best you’ve ever had.

“fuck me, fuck me, fuck me- please don’t ever stop fucking me!” you cry. you hold his hips, nails biting the squishy skin there. “changbin, s-shit, ‘m cumming, b-baby, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“please,” changbin begs. his eyes snap open just to flutter again when sweat drips into his lashes, but he shakes his head like a dog and doubles down. “please, let me get you there, sweetheart. let me make you cum. god, i love the way you say my name.”

so you say it again and again and again, and even more after that. his hand dips between your sweaty bodies to rub at your clit. the look of pure concentration on his face nearly makes you cum on its own, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes locked on your pleasure stricken face. his thrusts stay steady and deep, fat cock carving your insides just on the right side of rough.

your chin quivers and your head thrashes on the pillow. you’re restless with your need to cum, legs squeezing him tight and arms running over every inch of his skin you can reach.

“i know, i know. i’ve got you. please cum for me, i’m right here.” he’s right here. he’s looking at you like you hung the stars in his sky. “listen to your body and cum, i’m gonna take you there.”

of course you cum right then. you listen to your body because your body listens to changbin, cumming on his cock when he tells you to. you wail when you do, so loud that you cover the sound of changbin’s near-growl and the wet smack of heated skin. you throb through your orgasm and clutch him tightly, inside and out.

“you too, please? please, inside me! cum inside me, changbin. changbin, bin. please. fucking- please!”

he plasters himself to your front and ruts into your pliant body until he’s cumming with a high-pitched, shaky whimper. it’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard, already so addicted to the way he sounds, the way he fucks you. now that you’ve had it, you can never go without it, all too spoiled rotten.

his arms quiver beside your head, and he rolls until you’re both laying on your sides again. you can feel him spilling out of you, oozing messily down your thighs and onto his messy bed.

“give me a second to get up. i can’t feel my legs,” he says, and you giggle.

you’re content to lay there for hours and watch each other with drooping, sleepy eyes.

“oh my god,” you laugh. you poke the scar on his chin when he hums in confusion. “you really kept your word.”

“i always keep my word. but what? what did i say?”

you’re honestly surprised you remember it at all, so much of that night is a blur in your head. but you remember so much when it comes to changbin.

“that night we met again. the first time i saw you performing in the bar, you told me that you wouldn’t put out until after a date. you really meant that shit, huh?”

changbin giggles out a silly, high-pitched laugh, tucking his face into your heaving breasts and kissing the damp skin there.

“hi, ladies!” you grin, sticking your head through one of the back rooms to see miss honey and changmi all dolled up.

miss honey is grabbing changmi by the shoulders to try and keep her calm, but all changmi does is wiggle her shoulders and kick her legs goofily until the other queen gives up. changmi moonwalks in her heels, pops her breastplate until her boobs are jiggling ridiculously.

“oh thank god! please! please, take my wife off my hands! maybe you can do something with her because i sure can’t!”

changmi is hyper. she always gets hyper when she’s nervous, and tonight is a big night for the two queens before you.

a christmas gig, one at a theater in a bigger city a few hours away from yours. it’s the biggest gig changmi has ever done, a venue with a whopping five hundred seats, with concessions and merch stands in the lobby.

in the year since you’ve been together, changmi has only grown in popularity. she’s not as well-known as the ru girls, or even as some of the girls from bigger cities in the state, but it’s only a matter of time now. she continues walking the golden road to stardom, but she’s taken you with her, strolling hand in hand on your journey there. changbin’s sister is manning changmi’s merch booth, already sold out of the handmade friendship bracelet sets and working on selling out the autographed portrait prints.

changmi rushes to you when you open the door wider, red pumps scuttling on the floor happily until she reaches you and pulls you into a jittery hug.

she’s so fucking pretty.

you picked out the wig she’s wearing, platinum blonde and pulled up in a tall, messy bun. sparkly tinsel holds the bun together, a glittery ornament and a bright red bow are wrapped up in it too. her blonde bangs cover her eyebrows and the corner pieces frame her face nicely. her makeup makes her look like the prettiest strawberry you’ve ever seen, green on her inner corners and lids and white shaded on and under her waterline as usual. her blush is red, and her freckles are as white as snow. her sweet, plump lips are colored ruby too.

the coat she’ll go on stage in is knee length, red, and pleather, but that’s resting on the back of the vanity chair she’s left behind. you see her reveal outfit now, silk and short and rose red. the sleeves are long and flowy. the collar, sleeve ends, and the hem of her skirt are all ruffled with beautiful red lace. the dress is already lightly cinched in the middle, but she’s wearing her corset underneath anyway. her socks are white and lace, ruffled cutely at the top, and her pumps match the color of her dress.

“mm, hi pretty girl,” you hum, looking her up and down. “are you my christmas present this year?”

changmi purrs like a cat. she’s about to answer you when miss honey gags from her station, blending the lace-front of her long, black wig.

“stop distracting me! i’m not done getting ready, please go suck her dick in the bathroom or something,” she whines.

changmi doesn’t wait another second before she lightly shoulders past you and grabs onto your hand, heels clacking on the creaky wooden floor angrily as she rushes to the nearest bathroom in the hallway.

she pushes the door open and checks each of the stalls before walking backwards into one with a smirk. it’s not long before the look on your face matches hers, and you lock the stall behind you and drop to your knees. you’re wearing long pants and the floor is clean enough, but your focus hones in on the desperate girl before you.

“oh, fuck, my-” changmi stomps her foot and her bun swishes against the wall of the stall. “there’s really no attractive way to do this… can you lift my skirt up?”

you do as she asks, corseted belly and waist coming into view when you lift the skirt up high. changmi tugs her nude nylons down to her thighs, and the little panties she wears get stuck on top of them when she drops them too.

where her cock would usually stand proud, it’s taped between her legs, leaving her smooth like a barbie. you can see the cut of the tape strip holding her back, and changmi reaches down to pull at the corner of it. her knees widen awkwardly when she reaches between her legs, and she pulls from the back after loosening the front. her cock snaps to attention like a weapon, throbbing and hard.

“you must have needed me really bad, huh?” you smile, leaving one hand bunching her skirt up and bringing the other down to stroke her fat cock.

changmi bunches the tape up and throws it haphazardly into the trash can by the toilet before bringing her hands to your hair. she doesn’t tug, doesn’t grip your roots, just cards her thick fingers through it gently.

“fuck, you have no idea. i’m so worked up, i’m so- i’m so hard, gonna cum so fast. i feel like there are ants in my legs.”

the first touch of your lips to her leaky tip has her knees wobbling. she tastes good, smells clean, and you breathe in deeply through your nose while you open your mouth to suck her inside. you look up at her through your lashes and see her already looking at you.

she has to perform soon, so you pull out all the stops.

changmi’s cock is so fat that she stretches your mouth to its limits, pulling at the thin sides and drying your lips when you suck. she likes when you lap your tongue at the base while you’ve got her down your throat, so you do, nose pressed right under the band of her corset and tongue wagging messily. a light squeeze to her balls has her lifting onto her tiptoes. you follow her, rising on your knees as tall as you can until she slowly lowers herself again. her heavy balls are tender and sensitive, and if you circle your fingers under them and tug them up, the tip of your tongue can brush against them too.

“there, right there. i’m cumming, holy s-s-shit, eat it up, sweetheart, yeah, just like that…”

she cums in your mouth, shoots pearly ropes right down your throat and into your belly. you lick your lips and she licks hers in response, pretty eyes drooping when she watches you kiss the tip of her cock again before unrolling the toilet paper and wiping her cock down and helping her pull up her panties and nylons.

changmi’s bambi legs lead you back to her dressing room where miss honey sits on her phone.

“are you calm now?” she asks.

“i have to tuck again,” changmi answers.

miss honey cackles and you wink at her. you unlock your own phone to check the time.

“hey, i’m gonna go sit baby.”

changmi stops unrolling her medical tape and scurries over to you once more. “you’re gonna watch me, right?”

you wouldn’t miss it for the world. she’s a star, the brightest in the galaxy. your very own north star, the one you always look to. she’s all you see anyway.

“of course, my love.” the corner seat of the first row in the middle section has your name on it.

“i’ll look for you,” she smiles.

changmi places a kiss to your cheek before you shut the door, a bright red kiss mark decorates your burning cheek. you wear it proudly, lucky to have her in a way no one else can.

the skin of your cheek tingles sweetly, like you can still feel her lips pressed there even after you take your seat.

you’ve been kissed by a rose.

#i have had the most hellish week and reading this actually made me cry #ems as always #your writing launched me to space and back #but this one hit especially hard #i picked up every single thing you put down and i can’t put into words how thankful i am that you do what you do #i’ve been thinking about changmi since i read this before work and now after work #changmi is so so wonderful and i cannot put into words how much i can tell she’s a labour of love #somehow managed to feel like the only person in the room when I read this #and i will be reading it for the forceeable future (like all your pics)#treasure trove

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