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usedpidemo · 11 months ago

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Plaid (Newjeans Hanni)

Hanni Pham is just about the perfect student: consistently top of the class, perennial dean’s lister, well liked among her teachers and peers, an active participant for every co-curricular and extracurricular activity, and overall just a good person to be around.

And you? You’re the exact opposite. Slow, lazy, constantly in self-isolation—always cutting classes whenever you can, struggling with just about everything. You’re surprised you’re still even attending this university as is, despite the countless talks with your professors.

Which is why when she greets you a good morning as soon as you run into each other in the hallway, the books you’ve been carrying crumble like Jenga blocks.

She immediately jumps into action, picking up your dropped books in record fashion to hand them back to you. The cute, irresistible smile etched on her lips is icing on the cake.

“Here you go!”

Admittedly, you feel some type of way about Hanni. It’s conflicting, constantly changing. A little bit of jealousy because she’s the student you wished you were, but also a bit of allure because of how surprisingly attractive she is. You’ve never felt any kind of attraction towards anyone in college besides her. And she turns out to be an exchange student, and you’ve never seen anyone with the combination of cuteness and beauty before she came along.

You take a moment to look into her eyes. Those gentle, warm irises perfectly capture the kindness emanating from her—God, why is she so damn irresistible. It isn’t that you’ve been giving her the cold shoulder, but you’re merely apathetic and neutral with her. Outside of the same brief rote exchanges—good morning, what’s your lunch, what are you doing after class later—you and Hanni have been, for the most part, worlds apart.

The universe is doing its part to bring you two together, because you can feel it. Tension so thin, you can cut it with a knife.

She never lets up.

She wants to know you.

“I-uh, thanks,” you say, suddenly averting her gaze to your locker instead as you snatch your books back, then in the other direction. Anywhere but her eyes.

Fuck. She keeps staring, leaning her head forward with a lively smile, her hands behind her back, waiting for you to continue. She talks with childlike passion and energy, “We have an exam in accounting later, did you study for it?”

“N-no,” you say, almost stuttering through the simplest of responses, as though your tongue is wrapped up in itself. It should be embarrassing for you to act this awkwardly in front of a sweet girl like Hanni. Mentally punching yourself to be better. It never happens. “Not exactly, I kinda forgot.”

More like you willingly neglected your studies for a nightlong gaming session. It’s an addiction.

Her eyes widen with amusement, as if she sees through the lie. Does she? You don’t know. Maybe she does. There’s so many layers to her that you never bothered to uncover. That’s the price for your negligence and decision to be a lone-wolf.

Hanni reaches her hand into the pocket of her dress shirt and presents a folded up sheet of paper. “Then this with you. Just make sure to hide it underneath the test paper, got it?”

From bewilderment to amazement—your face goes through every emotion, unsure of what would perfectly suit the situation. She doesn’t know you well enough to casually entrust you with a cheat sheet, yet she’s perfectly fine handing it to you over her presumed friends, which includes members of the student council.

Initially, you hesitate, but she’s steadfast in her position, as if you receiving this paper is doing her a favor. You ultimately fold and accept it from her. She grins as you tuck the sheet away in your coat.

“See you later!” she says, before walking past you to her next class. You slowly turn around, watch her leave and rejoin with her friends, one of whom is the student council head. Alone with nothing but your thoughts, you put the strange encounter aside and get moving again.

—————

The next time you see Hanni again is during world history class, right before lunch. Your rather senile professor, who doesn’t give a shit that half the class is either fast asleep, on the verge of, or doing everything else apart from listening to his monotonous lecture, drones on about Napoleon’s European conquest for the second week in a row. Even the patient student that you are, you’ve grown tiresome of it, especially with the dreadful pacing. You’re way behind schedule. At the very least, he seems to be paid well, so there’s a little silver lining.

Looking at her, you wonder if the gods were in a good mood on the day they made her. She’s as enthusiastic about the topic as if it's her first time hearing it. Listening to every single word intently, taking down notes furiously, taking pictures of the presentation even though she has it projected on her laptop because why the fuck not—she was born to be the teacher’s pet. Compare that to half of the class: even the supposed top student in the class is barely struggling to stay awake, clinging to the edges of her seat out of fear she could collapse from sheer boredom. It’s a miracle, really, that there’s at least one student showing this much interest.

The notion creeps up in your mind: Hanni’s right over there, without a care except for the lecture at hand. Your phone rests on the edge of your chair. Her smile, her shine—you want to keep more than just a mental image of her. Something to actively remind you that someone like her exists. It’s creepy, but it doesn’t matter when no one’s looking, especially not her. Only you.

Little by little your hand crawls toward the phone. Then the moral compass inside you resists. You don’t know this girl—not in the slightest. Just because of a simple kind act doesn’t mean you’re completely smitten over her. Most importantly, you remember one important point about Hanni: she’s not from here. She’s an exchange student with a one year contract set to expire in—wait for it—two weeks. The semester ends before then, and it’s reasonable to assume she’ll be gone from your life just as quickly as she entered it once the page turns.

Right as the inner conflict inside your head reaches a fever pitch, the bell rings. On one side, you’re celebrating this moral victory; on the other, you’re punching a mental wall for not pulling the trigger. Before the professor even realizes the alarm already sounded off, all the students have filed out of the room in quick succession.

You briefly consider searching for Hanni in the sea of students making their way around the halls, but seeing that she’s disappeared into the crowd, you decide to let her go. Perhaps the logical side of your brain might be telling you the truth: that she will be a mere afterthought to you after today.

But then there’s the unshakeable, unceasing part of you that refuses to give in. Even as you eat lunch at the corner of the cafeteria, you’re still trying to single out Hanni to no avail. A hopeless situation gradually growing worse with each passing hour.

A not so subtle tap on your shoulder. Look to your side and there’s your angel, appearing at your hour of need. Hanni.

“Hey! Still have the cheat sheet I gave you earlier?” she asks. A few meters behind her is the student council president, Minji, and her secretary, Danielle, engaged in their own conversation, presumably accompanying their friend.

You scramble to find the folded piece of paper somewhere in your bag, forgetting that you’ve tucked the sheet away deep in your coat. Panicked, you jump from your seat to search within your clothes, still unable to detect its tiny presence hiding in your jacket. “Shit—”

“I can give you another copy if you lost it—”

“I’m sure it’s in here somewhere!” you interject, tonally desperate, repeatedly swiping your fingers on the same pockets with no success.

Eventually, you frisk the deepest pockets of your coat, feeling something rough on the edge of your fingertips. Reeling it out, you present a folded piece of paper in front of her. It should be a small win, but it’s an embarrassing loss, especially right in front of Hanni.

“Good to know you still have it!” she says, grinning from ear to ear. You’re certain she was trying to suppress her chuckle the entire time, and based on her toothy smile, it’s not very difficult to jump to that conclusion. “Even if you didn’t lose it, I still would have given you another copy if you wanted it.”

“Hanni.” You turn to face her, a complete juxtaposition from her jolly, outgoing personality. Your expression looks stern in searching for answers. “Why are you like this? We barely know each other.”

Surprised by your sudden change in attitude, she takes a step back, pausing to contemplate her answer. Her usually bright demeanor gradually changes to reflect yours. Her smile remains, except it's hiding a little gloom, a little concern. “I just wanted to be kind to you. I saw you were struggling in some of the classes we shared and thought you needed some help. It’s only right to do the right thing, you know?”

In that moment, you regret showing a bit of attitude. Hand to your chest, as guilt occupies your heart and mind. “Oh.” You pause, stare back into those wanting eyes. “I-I guess you were really being kind to me, huh?”

“I don’t make fake answer sheets, let alone give them to people I dislike.” She leans forward, causing you to stagger back, bumping your thighs against the cafeteria stool. “And I like you.”

Your mouth gradually opens, trying to figure out what to say, how to react. Only air and silent noises come out. You genuinely have no idea how to respond to this sudden revelation. It’s not like you’re a popular name among the student body, let alone the ladies; if anything, you were mostly a ghost, only coming into light when needed—and in most cases, when the professors would ask you questions about the topic at hand.

Blinking rapidly, you needed to do a double take. “Say that again?”

“I like you.” She repeats it for you. Twice. With increasing emphasis on those three words to drive the statement home. “I. Like. You.”

Let that sink in. You still don’t know what to say. “I—”

“We can talk about this later in the afternoon. Meet me at Room 204, okay? I’m in a rush and I just wanted to briefly check on you.” You watch her tone revert back to its beaming, bubbly self with each sentence. Before you even have an opportunity to say anything back, she rejoins her friends and walks away again, waving at you while shouting, “Remember what I told you about the cheat sheet!”

—————

Aside from accounting, where you followed Hanni’s advice down to the letter, the rest of the afternoon kept your thoughts mostly preoccupied with Hanni’s departing words. The two classes you shared with her during that period were opportunities to stare at her, watch her from a distance. Three simple words, and yet there’s layers upon layers to uncover. What did she mean when she said them? You barely interacted for most of the semester, yet she still considers you likable. During those long, painful hours of waiting, your curiosity and anticipation slowly built up.

And then, the bell rings at the top of the seventeenth hour. Time to find out.

While students file out in every direction, celebrating their regained freedom, you make your way through Room 204. Peeking from the outside, you see no one inside, not even Hanni. It looks about the same as when you left it—messy. You’re anxious, hesitant, cautious. There’s a part of you that believes she’s merely playing you in front of her friends, and that she might stand you up as a joke. And you have no reason to believe she genuinely likes you, apart from that one simple act of kindness from earlier.

For the next few minutes, in those crucial moments of waiting, all your thoughts and presumptions begin waging war inside your head. You have one foot on the door, with the other looking to go home. It’s not the first time you’ve been stood up; you can write an entire thesis report going over each terrible experience and the feeling of bitterness and pining that followed. At the very least, should push come to shove, this wouldn’t be the worst of them—not even bottom five.

So you pace back and forth in front of the designated room, look at your phone, followed by your watch. Again and again. Minutes, stretching to hours, into days, into a slow eternity. You’re starting to lose hope.

Which is why when she comes across you in the hallway, you feel like a kid finding love for the first time all over again. You’re not even trying to hide your excitement. The stunned and relieved expression etched on your lips, the growing shade of red across your face, the hitch in your arms as they reach out to her because you couldn’t believe she would follow through on her word—

And when she flashes her toothy smile, her mouth speaking words you end up missing—you just want to take her by the hand and run away with her.

She ends up calling your name. Twice, thrice, a dozen times—you’re not exactly sure, but you can definitely lose yourself to the sight of Hanni’s presence over and over. With a hand held on the door, she’s telling you to join her inside, saying she has something important to share with you. At least that’s the very gist of it.

At her request, you leave your bag on one of the vacant seats; you end up sharing the same chair. The tension is palpable. Hanni paces back and forth in front of the desk, quietly ruminating, hiding her concerned look away from your eyes. A wakeup call for you that this is a serious matter. You have a lot of unanswered questions, but seeing the gravity of the moment, you conclude that it’s better to keep them to yourself a little while longer—at least once all the heavy air has been cleared. You stand there awkwardly, waiting for her to make the first move.

“I just want to say,” she suddenly says, still turned away from you, long streaks of dark hair covering her eyes. What they can’t hide is the frown on her lips. “I’m going to miss this place. All the profs, all the activities, but most importantly, all the people. Including you.”

“Me?” You’re not surprised at that statement; you’ve assumed she wasn’t going to be here for the long haul, considering she’s an exchange student. What does confuse you, is how she specifically singled you out from everyone else. You barely know each other. At best, you only teamed up for two group projects, which she mostly did the carrying for. For you, the bar has been set very, very low. “How come me?”

Hanni finally faces you, using everything in her willpower not to cry. Her usually lively eyes twinkle with tears waiting to be shed, but she refuses. Not even the warmest of her smiles can hide the somber and pained expression she has looking at you. “Most of the boys here are��excuse my language—a bunch of fucking jackasses and perverts.”

Not exactly wrong; if you weren’t part of an athletics club or hanging out at bars after class, you were likely to be one of their victims. You know this because you are numb to their asshole behavior. The girls would usually retreat in a subtle manner once they knew their presence, which wasn’t difficult to pinpoint.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “You’re right. I hate their guts too—”

“But you’ve been kind to me from the moment I introduced myself, you know?” Hanni begins to walk toward you, rendering you even more frozen in place. “Even our brief good mornings meant quite a lot. It made me feel welcome.”

You didn’t really think much of it, unaware that it would have this profound of an impact in someone else’s life. And why would you—it’s a habit you’ve been taught since when you were seven. For a moment, you’d think she was being very melodramatic, as if she were practicing theater.

“And—” she pauses, takes a deep breath, “Let’s be honest; I know you like me too.”

When she drops those final words, your eyes pop. Wide. Enough to stretch through your forehead and fly up. It leaves you completely paralyzed. A whole truth bomb dropped just like that. She cusps your hands with hers; you freely allow her. Whether it's from utter shock or the desire to hold her like this for so long, you don’t know, but you definitely want to let this moment linger.

“I-I—”

You can feel her hot breath against yours, her face inching closer, your bodies almost entangling into something passionate and warm. There’s nothing stopping you both from finally bridging the gap that’s been separating you for the longest time. Hanni, the charming, popular girl that everyone either wants to be friends with or to be her, seemingly knows you like a book read from left to right. More importantly, she likes you. Tells it straight to your face.

Her arms snake around your neck, leaving you even more suffocated. No longer in her grasp, you find your hands pressed around tiny, fit waist. Her glinting eyes encourage you to let those innermost desires run wild. The suppressed thoughts you’ve been hiding slowly pull you under their influence. You shouldn’t be doing this, yet they’re right there: those sweet, puckery, inviting lips, waiting to be marked, yours and yours alone.

Instead, you end up in a tight embrace. It’s not as romantic as you envisioned. If anything, it’s bittersweet. Deep down, this is her way of saying goodbye, and you’re only realizing what this is really all about. An opportunity to bid farewell on amicable terms. It’s almost cruel that your first substantial interaction outside of school-related activities has to be like this.

You hold on to her tighter. She does the same. You’re unwilling to let go. She doesn’t want to, either.

Resting her head on your shoulder, Hanni whispers in your ear the most calming and soothing tone, “I’m going to miss you.”

You don’t believe you’ve earned the right to say those words back. So the only thing you can do is hold on to her the best you can—for dear life.

Outside, the setting sun is gradually fading away, and so does the natural light it brings. You can stay here, from dusk to dawn, comfortable in this position if she wants to.

She opens her mouth again, and she continues to hum and speak melodies in your ear. “I have one thing I want to do before saying goodbye. Can you help me?”

Without an ounce of hesitation, you nod, saying, “Anything for you.”

Hanni breaks the bear hug then leads you along with her to the desk. With the other hand, she lifts it back to her waist, placing herself in a new and unexpected position: her back arched against the table, with one knee bent beside yours. Her eyes glinting with utter desire, she couldn’t be any more obvious.

Before the realization fully dawns on you, she does the unthinkable.

A simple irresistible kiss, pulling you down by the collar of your coat. Next thing you know, you have Hanni’s back crooked further against the edge of the desk, your lip-lock turning more and more passionate. Nothing overly dramatic and sentimental—only passionate love making.

She wants it. Deep down, you want it too.

“I can’t—” you mutter, drawing your breath, pulling your lips away. But not your hands. It’s in Hanni’s custody now. Your coat halfway down your arms, she sneakily tosses it aside. “Not here.”

Surprised by your sudden change of heart, she leans forward, her fingers now pulling at the hem of your sleeves. “What’s wrong?”

“I mean—look around, Hanni. We’re in a goddamn classroom.”

If only you could throw your arms around in protest to prove a point, but even that wouldn’t save you now.

“This is what I wanted from the start.” Hanni pulls you back in, her eyes hypnotic and irresistible, shining like gold. “You wanted this, too. Don’t play.”

“Hanni—”

She stops you right in your tracks with an impulsive peck on the lips. Curling them through the kiss to form a smile, she murmurs, “Don’t think, just do.”

And you do just that. Kiss her, make out with her as if your life depended on it.

Hanni’s lips taste like they’re meant for you. Sweet like honey. Divine. Heavenly. If it were possible, you’d want to choke on your own breath holding onto them for dear life. Not to mention the hums coming out of her mouth, those subdued mewls that she releases whenever you bite on her bottom lip—you can’t help but sink back in whenever you consider the thought of letting go.

There’s no reason not to; you have this pretty little thing, Hanni Pham, all to yourself. Even your body knows how rare of an opportunity this is. With one hand quietly slipping between her pencil skirt, you navigate your way to the depths of her heat without breaking the kiss. In a flash, she throws her head back, snapping her mouth wide at the new sensation. All that cool, calm expression, gone in an instant.

“Fuck—”

“God, Hanni. You’re so wet.”

She grabs your wrist—that mischievous hand newly buried in her pussy—and urges you further, “Keep doing that. That felt so good.”

And God, does everything about finger fucking her feel incredible. The satisfying squelch of her cunt as your digits press against her warmth, the continuous twisting of her features as she crumbles from the pleasure, leaving her neck exposed for your lips to newly conquer, adding to the overwhelming sensations coursing all over Hanni’s body. Seeing her, this usually larger than life figure, fall under your spell pushes you even further.

Like Hanni, you’re still young; there’s only pleasure and the thrill of moving too fast and reckless. One day you’ll end up regretting this, ruminating over memories that could ultimately end you before you even started, but you’d rather take this memento than leave with nothing at all.

You’re both already past the point of no return. Hanni’s underwear hangs casually between her ankles while they’re wrapped around your waist, her neck filled with bite marks and deep shades of red that no piece of fabric can hide. Her dress shirt is partially unbuttoned, revealing a white camisole desperately seeking to be removed, and if that wasn’t enough, she’s made the crucial decision not to wear a bra today.

Fuck, that bulging ache in your pants is so agitating—both physically and mentally.

“Wait,” you say, suddenly turning around and locking the door quickly, letting her panties fall freely to the floor. It proves to be a little struggle when you unknowingly use your slick-coated hand over your dry one.

“Should have done that first,” she playfully chides, chuckling at you.

Returning to her with your drenched fingers pointed in the direction of her pussy, you respond, “Should have chosen anywhere but the classroom.”

“You’re saying you’d rather do this during our Christmas party?” Hanni lifts an eyebrow, taunting.

“Only if they allowed it.”

“And all those cheat sheets I handed you, all that for nothing?”

“Shut up. Didn’t need them, anyway.”

Hanni can’t help but burst into boisterous laughter. There’s no use locking that door now.

Even with the little time spent together, there’s clearly magic between you, the signs of what should have been a beautiful relationship. If only you both knew that. But now’s not the time to go over what ifs—only what’s next.

She stops you right as you ready yourself, grabbing the top button of your shirt. Using only her expressive eyes for approval, you steadily watch on till they’re completely undone. You’re left with the job of removing your undershirt and helping her toss your clothes aside. On the other hand, you’re in no rush to undress her completely; she’s a perfect mess as is with her unbuttoned uniform, her panties somewhere between your feet, and her taut nipples poking through the fabric.

And Hanni wants it that way. You’ve barely entertained the idea of running your fingers through her skirt when she interrupts your train of thought.

“You haven’t done it yet,” she says looking at your greedy, grubby hands, directing them with hers underneath her garment. “Make me cum. Please.”

As if you had any other intention. Maybe with something better, but that’s usually saved later—and for good reason.

You’re trying so hard not to curse through gritted teeth. Fuck. This. Damned. Skirt. Admittedly, it’s cute and perfectly suits Hanni; it adds to the appeal of seeing this usually meek, well behaved student asking for something more than naughty—it’s downright criminal—but you need to see what makes her really tick. Hanni’s clicking her tongue, growing more frustrated by the second than you are, anxiously waiting for you to come through. Carefully, you push a finger into her, then another, moving in delicate and systemic motion.

Then, it all clicks in perfect harmony:

She releases this pent-up moan from the depths of her chest, as though it were a heave of relief. The initial plunge from earlier makes plunging between her slick folds so much easier. You take a moment to let the satisfying sound sink in: the wet slop of her cunt as it reflexes against your fingers, unable to keep yourself from moaning with delight before you slowly draw back, then in again.

From there, everything takes care of itself.

Hanni dissolves into a whimpering mess, under the hypnotic spell of your fingers fucking her pussy in tempered, intricate strokes, effortlessly and handily. Body shaking, desk quivering under the pressure of her weight, her hands struggling to find reprieve from the overwhelming sensations thundering all over her. She can barely breathe, let alone find the words to speak. Only quick curses. Each and every word so gratifying to hear.

“Fuck—fuck—its—its—so—good—more—”

You don’t give her any breathing room. In the brief moments when you lax, with your fingers either motionless deep within her cunt or pull back, leaving marks on her inner thighs with her own slick, you’re all over her, gently fondling her and kissing her. Half her uniform’s sleeve has fallen down her shoulder, giving you more of her body for you to claim as your own. With every little touch and thing you do, you continue to set her nerves ablaze with nothing to quench her lust.

It’s no wonder she’s such a teacher’s pet; she loves to follow along without any resistance or objection. A fact proven when you lift her undershirt to expose her taut nipples, and your free hand impulsively takes them. You give her left tit a twist, and from her needy lips comes a sharp whine.

“Do it again,” she says, panting, nodding her head wildly, visibly overwhelmed. She doesn’t know what hit her, but it feels fucking amazing.

Of course, you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity, even if she hadn’t asked. Hanni’s body, all yours for the taking. Not everyone can say they fucked the top girl in the class in the classroom of all places.

And you let your body do all the talking. No amount of words nor their depth can adequately describe the sensation of tasting and feeling her figure. First your free fingers, then your tongue—they make their mark on her chest while your other digits crawl to a lazy pace inside her cunt. Not that she minds—she’s too engrossed in the blissful sensation to remotely care. Her hands find their way around your neck and back, scratching and digging away at your skin in an attempt to pull you even closer.

It aches—but not as much as the ache in Hanni’s core. As you inch her closer to climax, you can feel her tremble, propping her head on your shoulder now as her outlet, whimpering, crying, mewling. “Almost—” she mumbles, before she’s caught up again in the sea of her own pleasure. Knowing this, the rest of your body moves like it’s second nature. Faster and deeper, you continue your endless assault on her body, until—

Suddenly, Hanni freezes up, moans over your ear as a moment of silent calm follows. In the succeeding moments, you both remain clung together as her orgasm hits. And by god, it hits her like lightning. Sharp and brutal. Fingers stuck deep in her core as she gushes, quivers all over them. It lingers, leaves you both incapacitated.

Minutes that could easily stretch into hours, stuck on a desk, basking in the afterglow of unadulterated bliss. Eventually, she lifts up her head and lets out a deep breath of relief. Her hands remain entangled with your hair as she pulls herself back. A scope down gives you a short but telling extent of the damage: copious amounts of slick dripping on the edge of the table, down to the floor. You’re a little terrified of what your fingers will look like.

Through half-lidded eyes, Hanni flashes you a smile as she slowly realizes the mess she has become. Cheeks flustered with embarrassment, she quickly pushes down her undershirt, but they can’t hide her nipples’ rigidness. You’re both grinning at each other like mischievous pranksters. Something tells you that despite everything, it’s not enough. The fire in her eyes and the confidence in her laugh says it all: she’s looking for more trouble, and one way or another, you’re gonna be her accomplice.

Before you can even utter a word, you both hear a knock on the door. Through the casted silhouette, you recognize that it’s a janitor. Spent energy be damned, you’re brought back to reality. You quickly turn to Hanni in a state of alarm, “Shit. I told you not told to do this in the classroom—”

Reaching out her hand, she replies, “It’s gonna be fine! Give me my bag and I’ll get us out of this.”

You immediately rush Hanni her bag, and while you hastily put yourself back in one piece, she grabs a pack of tissues to clear all evidence of your little escapade. In no time, you’ve somehow returned the place in nearly the same position you found it. Only one difference: her panties are left on the floor, and she hasn’t bothered to pick them up.

“Wait, your underwear—” you tell her as you pick them off the floor. She’s already on the edge of the classroom, opening up one of the windows to escape. It’s not a suicide jump; only someone with brittle bones could possibly break their legs doing the drop, and there’s really no other choice: run away with her or find yourself at the dean’s office on your first day back after the holidays.

“Keep it if you want.” Hanni shoots you a playful wink and a cheeky grin as she lifts one leg over the open window. “We don’t have much time, so unless you wanna explain yourself to the profs—”

“I’m already in trouble regardless,” you reply as you join her on the way out. You didn’t need to think about what to do. “Got eight missed phone calls from my fam. I’m fucked regardless. Might as well make the most of our time while we’re here.”

—————

A/N: Happy new year! I never thought I’d write something for NewJeans, but never say never. Hanni was easily the scene stealer for me at the Asia Artist Awards, she and the other members constantly waved at us from beginning to end, and they were killer performers! I can see why she’s so adored; she’s both talented and adorable. It’s been difficult getting back into writing after one month away, so this definitely is a feel-out attempt, but I hope it’s still good anyway. Here’s to the coming year and hopefully more to come. Thanks for reading!

P.S. I sincerely want to take this moment to apologize for my slow production. As previously mentioned, I got hit with a severe case of the flu, which kept me down for almost two weeks. Since recovering, I’ve been experiencing weird cases of brain fog, where sometimes my mind ‘isn’t there’ and it feels like my body’s been moving on autopilot. I’ve been getting healthier since then, but the so-called absentmindedness still remains. I’ve tried writing a few times since then, and it honestly feels like I’ve forgotten how to write. Hell, this fic was supposed to be out on Christmas day and I’ve struggled to put it together! It’s been very rough. I don’t wanna make promises because I’ll just end up breaking them, so I’ll just say that I’m trying my damned hardest to get back to that level I had been moving before my momentum stalled. I always want to deliver the best possible fic for you to enjoy. Thank you so much for being patient with me as always <3

#smut #kpop smut #newjeans #hanni

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capslocked · 1 year ago

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DIPLOMACY

male reader x kim minju

7k words

For those not paying attention - of which there seems to be an increasing number - it’s not that she doesn’t have the pedigree. But just shy of getting into that storied history or into the nitty-gritty of her curriculum vitae, the only thing that really matters is:

"This all seems a little beneath me."

It’s another day of this. Of you, of her, of trying to gather the mien of someone who isn’t utterly disarmed by Minju’s usual, beautiful, challenging self. Which, let’s be honest, is always an uphill battle.

Minju nearly pouts, flipping through a copy of the dossier idly from the other side of the desk in a gesture that reads both bored and dismissive and every little thing it needs to annoy you.

"Look," you offer up, graciously diplomatic all things considered, "it's about finding the right springboard, to something else more… substantial."

"Or to something else, you know, beneath me." Her red lips turn down ever so slightly. She doesn't seem so interested in playing ball on this one. And, for you, amounts to something of a huge problem.

See, Minju doesn't quite understand how the working world really, actually works. That the carrot that's dangled in front of her is your carrot just as much as it is hers - that you stand to lose out just as badly. That it's both of your asses on the line if things fall apart and Minju's shortsighted insistence to only work those certain roles befitting a name like hers puts that all at risk.

"Maybe you can tell me something,” you start, coming across more curt than you possibly intended - but not by much, “how many of your former cohorts have had their career aspirations line up with reality, Miss Kim?"

“I’m picky, not naive,” she sighs, not missing a beat, and you watch her dark hair cascade gently down her shoulder when she reaches a hand back to unfix her loose ponytail from its hair clip.

“You might see how I can get the two confused.”

“Then spare me the lecture,” says Minju.

Though she says nothing else, an unspoken you already get paid too much for that hangs in the air.

The tricky part is that no matter what else Minju does, her contract has some non-negotiable clauses to them that no talent has before, or will likely get afterwards. Things that cannot be broken. Like the requirement of her making x number of media appearances, and she gets to approve all of them.

Or that her agent's take home comes from a fixed fifteen percent of her gross earnings, with further incentives when her roles hit specific milestones. But with her refusing projects like the ones in the dossier before you, it leaves you in the unenviable position of losing out on your guaranteed fixed income or trying to convince your diva talent to do what it is she ought to be doing.

The truth is that there’s quite a long list of things no one has had the guts to say ‘no’ to yet.

And, well, it's rather simple and obvious when you look at her:

Minju is that particular blend of A-lister gorgeous. The special look that’s all kinds of mesmerizing and magnetizing, in full bloom - that makes you feel like you're suffocating in beauty. Like if she said come here, you would go; the type where a single look is all it takes and then - just like that - she's got your number forever.

Because everything about her is tailored - from her clothes to her perfect porcelain features. And they made her that way for a purpose: to sell records. (Which, that's exactly what they did.) You can hardly blame the people in power over there, wanting what's best, in a position where everyone would kill for a taste, or even just a glimmer of possibility.

"I don't suppose the part of the governor’s neglected wife is capturing your imagination.” You push the dossier closer, and she doesn’t so much as look at it. “It’s this year’s big budget political thriller, a shoo-in for awards.”

“You mean the one who ends up in a lot of very steamy shots on the apartment’s rooftop pool. Maybe I’m mistaken, but you can’t really unshow your tits.”

"This isn't about being above, Miss Kim, it's about being well regarded; it’s about proving you’re easy to work with,” you argue. “We could-"

"Find a better use of my time?" she cuts in, closing the dossier shut. There's a long moment in which she's looking you over, her gaze sizing up every little inch.

"Your big break won't happen just because you ask for it." You grimace a bit, hating to tell it like it is, but not really wanting to just coddle her either. "But listen - we work together, one project at a time - we can build up to it."

Minju crosses her arms with a loud hmph. "And what are you going to do if I decide not to accept these projects?"

There’s enough edge in her voice that it gives you pause.

"If," she says again pointedly, a teasing little grin tugging at her lips.

So - actually, another thing: when you start digging into the details, there’s more problems than just what can be seen at the surface. Which perhaps it’s too reductive, but essentially everything between you and the talent sitting on the other side of your desk is not quite so straightforward. It was never about Minju doing the best she could for either of your careers; it was about Minju making sure her needs were taken care of, no matter what.

Months ago, thanks in part to the way Minju filled out this tiny black excuse of a cocktail dress, and as a compromise of sorts, there’s an uncharacteristic mistake you ended up making. Or two or maybe a couple.

Because there’d been the perfect backdrop - an end of year party, beautiful dresses and suits, lots and lots of champagne, the kind of jovial mood that inspired one drink too many - and then you and her, taking off down one of the hallways, towards the exit.

Of course, you ended up exactly where neither of you should have ever been - where the snow was falling gracefully and melting into the pavement, behind a private accessway at the back of the venue, somewhere dark and dingy and dripping with a smell reminiscent of garbage; somewhere your hands had gripped firm fistfuls of Minju’s waist before you shoved her up against the back of the building.

In short:

You remember how she gasped when her palms hit the brickwork, how you figured you may as well give her everything she wants.

(So what, it was one time, you hear yourself explaining, mildly repentant, and to say that it’s complicated the matter is a massive fucking understatement.)

In the interest of full disclosure, you tell her, “what exactly did you have in mind?”

"That maybe," she hums, tongue flicking out over her lips before she purses them thoughtfully. "You should persuade me a little better."

"And let’s suppose, I don’t do any of that," you persist.

"It'd be a shame, wouldn't it, having such a promising future cut short so early? If word got out. From such a respectable agency too, of all places. Couldn't live with yourself," Minju remarks, leaning forward on her elbows until her eyes are level with your own. “Come to think of it, it’s the kind of thing that could totally, like, end your career.”

But as she sits there, arching that perfect brow again, you don't feel so good about the whole thing. You take another look at her - which, your mistakes start there, if nowhere else - at the girl that is somehow not the airheaded starlet she’s supposed to be. No, she’s calculating. A rarity, though you do know the type: here’s a girl who just happened to take her brains for granted in the years she was pampered by the industry - the same one that fattened on her only to later spit her out. And that thought, the look of cold intellect in her eyes and the slight upward curl at the corner of her mouth, has you frozen just a bit stiff.

She takes a key card from her clutch, and throws it onto the desk in front of you.

“Minju,” you caution, and there’s a taste of danger on each syllable of her name - more of a warning for yourself than you can conceive of it ever being for her.

"I'm only suggesting" - she’s watching you nearly fucking choke, amused - "what's best."

And when the lines get muddied between the two of you, that's exactly the issue. What's best. As though this was always Minju's aim. Maybe you've read it wrong, maybe you've gotten too lost in your own delusions, maybe - maybe, it doesn’t matter -

"For work," she adds, at which point her knee bumps yours playfully beneath the desk, leaving the suggestion open, and the implication unmistakable. "Whatever's required."

Here, you should definitely tell Minju no. Say no. Say: you're a professional, and getting involved with her, romantically, officially, personally - whatever - would lead to nothing but disaster. That’d be the responsible thing probably. It’d be generous to say you end up getting even halfway there:

"There's rules against this, you know."

Minju tips her head. “Why ever would there be rules in place against doing your job?”

She thinks that if she feigns being clueless, you'll bite, which -

“Against me folding you over this desk and fucking you until your forget your name.”

"My apologies," she practically coos, knowing that she’s not only made progress, but that she’s wrapping you around her finger. She is a bright girl after all. “You might see how I can get the two confused.”

At that, you figure, the only real move, to be perfectly blunt, is to play Minju at her own game -

To convince her to bend, just a little. To persuade her. So you lean closer, you start to promise, with your face just next to hers:

"You want me to show you how I might handle an uncooperative talent? Would that do it for you, huh?"

And now if that isn’t enough to earn you a whole look, one that’s equally a challenge and a triumph; you watch as she bites the inside of her cheek, not that she can help the smirk creeping across her pretty mouth, a grin full of want and need and all those dangerous, thrilling thoughts that're probably too predictable given your unique sliver of history you’ve already carved out.

She arches that perfect brow of hers once more, toying with the corner of her lip between her teeth.

You navigate around your desk to hand her your pen, with instructions that are perfectly clear: "then for once in your life, be useful, and sign on the fucking dotted line."

And her whole act falls apart just like that.

She’s humming almost pleasantly to herself as you settle in flush behind her, sinking into you just a little when your hand arrives at her waist, another carding through her hair. “Here,” you point out, watching her name materialize in ink on the document - pressing your lips to the nape of her neck each time she finishes penning out an exaggerated curl of a u.

“And here.”

“And here."

She signs again - and again - and that merits a reward; she’s good when she wants to be. Persuasive when she needs to be.

You can hear her murmur your name when your mouth slips just beneath her jaw, when you mark your next path across the bare skin of her shoulder and when she gets started on the last page of the documents, it happens just like this -

The pen drops from her fingers at some point, tumbling onto the desktop with a clack that might as well be a round leaving the chamber of a starting pistol. The office door isn't even locked and you have half a mind to check on the blinds, but the idea of some desperate executive running face first into this scene - where you’re smoothing your hands down the fabric of Minju’s top, down the rise of her jeans, fiddling slowly with the button at her waist - it holds an unfortunate sort of appeal; those blinds, they're mostly closed anyway. And at this hour of the afternoon, well - maybe it’s a little more clear why Minju asked to reschedule this meeting in the first place.

At first, it’s just a few of your fingers dipping under the waistband of her pants, following the curve of her hip, her thigh, then inward, and when you reach down to find her already burning up in anticipation, she inhales sharp, a noise that makes you groan in turn, low, right into the hollow behind her ear. Minju, to her credit, is absolutely willing, so very helpful and - as you pinch the soft, tender skin at her hip, she's saying something but you haven't quite paid it a moment's mind.

Her head turns, eyes looking up at you ever-so-slightly-more-vulnerable than their usual mischief and calculation, and there’s a hint of a demand dancing on her tongue, ready and waiting; she moves her leg upwards just a few inches, settling to rest her knee on top of the tabletop, a calculated little pose, angling her hips so you can sink your hand lower, closer, press your fingers into the lace over her hot cunt even deeper.

Here you figure you're probably ruining the fabric, drenching it in her own slick as you work two, then three fingertips in tight circles. You’ll ruin it, and you’ll ruin more - ruin everything and take what you're owed. As her breath hitches again, in some way that makes your senses come to life: you can feel her skin become taut and tense, gooseflesh rising when your hand untangles from her hair and slides up under her shirt, can hear the steady rush of blood in your ears, her pulse quickening, the heart in her chest beating rapid -

(She can pretend all she wants that this was an attempt at extortion. She can pretend she’s not an easy read; that she doesn’t like being easy for you, when she’s hot and whimpering and aching so wet, creaming on your fingers when you haven’t even gotten her pants off.)

- as if every part of her wasn't made for this, as you lay out your first real proposal:

“Do you remember what I asked you? The first time, right after you signed on, when you were so good for me up against the bricks in the alley?”

Minju chokes out an affirmative when you toy with her pussy where she’s craving the shape of anything, but, boy, are the rough pads of your fingers more than up to the task.

"I remember you almost couldn't answer, you didn't dare want to admit that it's what you needed - isn't that right?"

She moans with a voice thick as honey when a couple more fingers brush up against her wet lips and fuck, she does look breathtakingly good; she's exquisite, she's irresistible - the image of a living wet dream.

"Say it, baby," you croon, her voice beginning to melt a bit at the edges, her own heat burning her resolve up from the bottom up as you tug sharply at a string on her lace.

Minju sighs. Arches into your touch.

Because you’re settling into this torturous pattern, where you draw inwards, closer, so close to the little bundle of nerves, her cunt flexing and rippling hungrily when your fingers flick once or twice around it, only for her to wince just slightly as your fingers trace down towards her entrance to start all over again -

Minju steels herself, drawing in a heavy breath past her teeth. “You asked how rough you could be.”

There's something so painfully wicked, how her voice falters there - but then your own voice is rasping right back in a similar caliber of depravity.

“Hm. That’s pretty close to how I remember it.” After all, you are always taking care of Minju - her concerns, her contracts, her needs. So if she was interested, why the fuck would you hold back on providing exactly what she wants. “But help me out, what did you tell me?”

Another twist - another catch. Another push - another pull. She's going to break so sweetly if you're patient - and, ahh, patience - she's shuddering underneath your touch, squirming against you so nicely that you've already gotten away with a bit too much, this much, these fingers and you and Minju's breathy gasps.

"M-that you could be. That you could-" she stutters, all as you feel her folds start to swell, then quiver, as your thumb drags painfully over her clit again -

And in that moment Minju starts to consider if this were a good idea or not, but her back is already arching against your chest. She's gripping your arm to get you right where she wants you, and the reality of this hits her - a rush of cold clarity through her head just as everything else threatens to spiral into something else, something frantic, something hot and animal and making the muscles at her core begin to clench up.

But you just ease out of her completely, a whine coming out from the back of Minju's throat - her thighs parting further in desperation.

And oh, the disappointment, the sound, it’s incredible - a high pitch - almost a sob -

You slide your other hand in her hair to make sure she's got an earful of your words:

"What was it you said, hm?" you whisper, nipping at the skin on her neck, the side of her jaw - she's shuddering with it when your mouth lingers so close -

“As rough as you fucking want.”

God, the little things that her voice does to you. “Exactly, sweetheart.”

And how's that boundary supposed to hold up and remain uncrossed then, really, if you just give her whatever the fuck she asks for - especially if you have your mouth working it's way around her pulse-point, toying with her as she starts to tense and soften all at once.

In fact, Minju can only stutter out an okay or two as you grind forward, the hard suggestion of your cock nestling up against her rear, just shy of the perfect spot between her legs, and even with still a few layers of clothes between you, the feeling - fuck, the friction, the sight - it’s enough to get you grinning.

Enough to form this near-half-coherent thought: that it’s what's always had you on edge with this girl. She is absolutely every bit your type. Everything about her, right down to the way that she was put together.

All her hard edges and soft curves that should've never really been yours to covet and now, somehow, have become exactly that. Oh, she's the kind of temptation that's better suited for the life of glitz and glamor and the time it requires for indulging in it. You never thought that you would actually ever get here, even as the years have begun to stack up and time starts to grind everything in the back of your head and turn it all over into something like resentment.

If only Minju weren't so good at making you a sucker for those pouty lips and big doe eyes.

Particularly when she's turned around - face to face now - she's the epitome of gorgeous, equal parts aphrodite and adonis; a fucking knockout, her body sculpted and lithe and athletic. Those lines curving out and away like they might tell time, like her thighs could count the minutes and seconds until she's straddling you in your lap with her ankles locked in at the small of your back and you're rutting up into her without reservation, without doubt.

(So what, really, is your goddamned excuse? Your pride? The nature of the beast in you that demands that you must have some degree of control over yourself? The power that your position, here, now, provides? But you can hardly be blamed, even when it's wrong and filthy and so fucking good.)

"You’re stalling." Minju’s leaning back against the desk, tilting her chin up, blinking lazily, and there’s a bit of bite in her voice again.

It takes a minute for it to dawn on you that it must be intentional, trying to get a further rise out of you, the same way your hands have risen up to trace the dips and elevations of her spine, her every vertebra, your fingertips mapping the hollows and rounds of her back. To learn the geography of her shoulders and where, and when, and how to get her breath catching in her lungs, each labored intake of air a little harsher, hastier, hotter than the last.

"You know," you start, spreading your palm across a soft plane of denim, fingers pulling onto the cheek of her ass, dragging her even tighter against you, "I always figured your reputation was a little overdramatized. Most everyone's bound to have a story or two."

She laughs, full of mirth. When the mood strikes, she's the picture of perfection, and she knows it. "Well? Were you disappointed?"

As she coils an arm around your waist to slide your shirt free from the confines of your pants, and as a deft hand slips its way in, you stop asking yourself about right or wrong, good or bad, or about the kisses that land playfully at the corner of your mouth - until you hold her tight and seize her lips, hard, like you mean it - it isn't long before she's fumbling and scrambling with the zipper at your waist.

"That depends," you’re pulling yourself away long enough to say.

"I think I know the answer."

And by the way she shivers a little when you shove up the bottom of her top, the way she's melting into your mouth and demanding more and more and more, Minju does. You think she probably has since the first night that your threads got all tangled up. Especially when she slides off her top - her bra - her jeans - leaving them in a pile that lasts barely a second where it started once you sweep everything off of your desk in one broad, efficient gesture -

There's a thud when a pair of binders and a couple of books hit the floor. Someone exclaiming in recognition, the muffled noise drifting through the office door, and, oh, this would probably be the best moment to remember how painfully thin the walls are; you consider whether to walk over and lock the office door, and when Minju’s fingers run up your sides, you decide you won’t.

Too little too late, you figure.

And before you can take a second to give it the more congruent thought it deserves, Minju opens her mouth: "which, in your professional opinion," a hum and a slur as her nails find their way to your collar, "is well, that the thing I should take," she gets out, unbuttoning you at the cuffs, loosening the last of your shirt, "really," her hands palming over the fabric on either side of the lapels, working their way downwards, "how - how do you think this goes?"

“Oh, Minju.” She’s all but begging you to fuck her and still has the wherewithal to be asking for terms.

Like her fingers aren’t completely down your pants, locking around your hard cock - pumping you with soft, lazy strokes - not too different from how you have her chewing on her lip every time your fingers circle over the entrance to her cunt, tenting the last of her lace all slow and careful.

It’s driving her crazy. She just bites into the edge of her thumb in response.

"Fine. Alright. Let me explain it clearly." You dip a finger into her cunt; the whimper is short-lived when she tightens around you and it hits home, the pressure so delicious that she can barely stutter to keep up.

“A negotiation, of sorts-”

“Yeah, sure, we can call it that.”

The mental picture you have of your length outlined against Minju's tiny fist - as she works it into her hand, steady - it's all almost more than you can possibly bear: the way her long legs stretch out so pretty in front of you, the way her wrist twists with each pass and every bump at the veins of her forearm that is such a damn perfect shade of porcelain white in the dim glow of the desk lamp.

This girl with her pert pink mouth and those lips, the ones that aren't quite touching yours but rather smirking the whole time. (If only you were to make her scream loud enough, because you know she could be so much prettier.)

The thought flits through your brain, unbidden and treacherous -

"Think, fuck - think of this, as a one-way track into your career. Think of me, a guiding hand - if you want to. The key to all this," you continue, spacing the words carefully so you don't falter under the pace Minju is picking up, "is that you're going to need to be compliant. Easy."

"Mm. And in exchange?" she bites, choking down an embarrassing moan.

"Here's the basics." And there, there's no fucking reason for you not to dip the tips of your fingers right on downwards, tap into her soft heat until her hips are arching away from the flat of the desk, searching for more. “Whenever you need me to take care of you, I’m there, however you need it: on my fingers, my tongue, my cock - I’ll make you fucking cum over and over.”

"That sounds," she gasps, losing track of the end of her sentence, rolling herself along the pads of your fingers, taking them deeper into her, "very-very-oh fuck-”

Her grip around your cock releases, arms throwing themselves around your shoulders, holding on tight as she starts to trust you implicitly - to give her exactly what she wants, what she needs - and give herself over to you, to your fingers, circling and circling and circling.

“See, tomorrow,” you start, “there’s an audition,” and when you pull your finger out of her cunt, Minju lets out this sound that’s between a whimper and a whine. Her pretty mouth has dropped open, like she's all out of words, lost somewhere, chasing this. Getting dire.

“It’s this teen soap; they need someone young, someone pretty, do you think you can do that for me?”

She doesn’t answer so much as grab and tug and pull you even closer as the heel of your hand pushes and presses over her clit, just about enough force behind it that, eventually, you begin to feel a certain rigidity through her limbs, how the lines of her face and her faultless features grow more and more focused, fixed and concentrated; her voice reduced to the high-pitched huffs and half-formed syllables of pure and utter desperation.

I can, I can - she’s murmuring - please, yes, I will - putting herself right into your capable hands.

When you feel Minju tightening, flexing around nothing, then seizing and shivering, her pussy throbbing hot and wet and clenching around your finger as it again works deeper inside her, an anguished groan finds its way out from her throat.

And from yours, well -

"Show up," you command, giving her another knuckle, curling it just right - watching as her expression contorts and twists up for all her worth. "Make a good impression. Don't make me fucking beg. Show up, Unreserved. Understood?"

And if her body wasn't making her pleas utterly transparent, she's screaming in agreement. It takes you barely a couple seconds, working up inside her cunt until she's all full-body, fully, blissfully spent. She starts to nod, needy, eyes screwing shut.

“And let’s say, something else pops up. A little racy, a little more gravure, just the right amount scandalous, I need you to keep an open mind.”

When it sinks in what you've said, Minju gives this wail, low and perfect - her cunt throbbing over the pulse at your palm - inches away from cumming and shaking and creaming on your hand. You could ask for anything, you think, and she’d give it to you -

“My PR team,” she gasps out, the consonants of her words fraying at the seams, “it’s up to my PR team.”

“Minju,” you say, priming a loaded question and a half. “Do you trust me?”

She nods, expression readable and open like a book. It starts to set in just about then, how you’re going to fucking ruin this girl.

Your breath runs hot, right against her temple, and you whisper the slightest affirmation, “good girl, I’ll take care of it.”

Because to be fair, you’ve not made it this long in your career without learning how to pull a string - how you might pull up on the sensitive skin straddling Minju’s clit and get her reeling; her pussy flutters in the tight, wet heat, muscles clamping, demanding as you work yourself in deeper and then, when the timing's right, pull out to slide a second finger past the slip of lace she has covering her cunt.

She's this tight, dripping, overwhelming fit - even more than you have yet to discover, to tease and then take, the heel of your wrist landing on her clit in a heavy pattern, circles - circles - circles -

- so you figure: fuck the PR team.

If only they knew how well and thorough you were going to fuck the rules right out of Minju.

That you were going to remind her who's the one in the driver’s seat of her life, of her career, that you would make sure she stays in her lane - the proper lane - that this, you think to yourself, might become a recurring sort of negotiation, the kind she's so shockingly eager to accept.

You'd be doing her a favor, fucking a couple good lines into her head, into her skin, into her cunt.

And soon, before long -

She's gritting her teeth around the shape of your name and giving one last heave against the hard wood of the desk underneath her. It's almost beautiful to watch how Minju crumbles into herself; the way she grinds back onto the digits in her cunt. How you’re dragging her underwear down her thigh, pulling your cock into your fist and twisting her leg around your waist until finally, you press yourself right up against the heat radiating from her cunt.

“I’m going to take good care of you, Minju, don’t worry, I’ll fuck this pussy of yours just right. I'm going to make you shake and cum all over me.”

“Please.” Fuck, she looks at you sincerely - no games, no bullshit - pupils so very blown out with want, with need. You watch her adorable mouth uptick into this faint lazy smile as she tilts her head into your collarbone, lips parting slightly to remind you: “as rough as you fucking want-”

And you sink right in.

It’s all skin-on-skin as Minju practically collapses in your arms; pushing deep past her soaking entrance - your hips slotting together just so, cock engulfed by her tight heat. Minju fucking wails when you drag back from her cunt, slow - so, so agonizingly slow.

You let her recover just a bit, watching her breathing quicken and shallow.

And the word on her lips becomes something reverent, the most indecent prayer, pleading please, please, please let me have it, please fuck me with your cock-

You brace yourself, thrusting back in, and she doesn't wince this time, holding fast to you like you aren’t the one fucking her open and taking her apart.

“God, I - look, this perfect little fucking cunt, look at how you’re stretching around me, Minju,” you’re telling her - promising her really - all of which doesn't count for shit when, once, and then again, and a couple more times after that, your hips meet hers and she starts to break just so slightly around you. “I can’t believe - it’s like you were fucking made for my cock, baby, you’re taking me so fucking well.”

"Now, show me why - why the fuck everyone wants you - wants you to be their-" she's trying, in a fashion all to her credit and her fault. She should probably care more about that raw, unhinged noise you’re making right into the crook of her neck when you bury yourself deeper into her pussy. But in the next moment, with another wild crash of your hips, the tables start to turn.

Slowly at first, and then all at once.

Because the sound you’re ripping from her chest when you start fucking her - truly fucking her - becomes far, far filthier than anything you've ever heard a girl like her make. All of it coaxed out from you working the edge of her pussy open, stretching her, hitting each and every sensitive spot inside her.

Minju tips her head back to stare at the popcorn ceiling and fluorescent lights, brow creasing in the middle, mouth gaping open. You find you might have missed something, when she moves to hold you down, hold you in place with an insistent leg, the back of her heel digging into your ass. As though there were somewhere you might possibly want to go.

It all comes down to something she's murmuring, quietly, harboring this smug lilt like you aren’t fucking her raw and senseless: how maybe the key to unlocking the rest of her potential isn’t all that dissimilar, not as off-brand as you may have been initially worried about. And the notion that both of you might actually be profiting off of this - how it shouldn’t sound as incredible as it does - is doing absolutely fucking nothing to slow the brutal pace you fall into.

"Fuck, just like that," and she's smiling, grinning really, nails biting into your nape - your name and curses and a fuck you or two falling out of her mouth as you pound each short breath right out of her chest.

"The only talent I'm gonna need to show," she manages, dizzy, and with one arm hooking around your waist, she pulls the two of you close, right up against each other. The sound your skin makes, clapping against hers - her cunt tight, pulsing, quivering around you - "is my, my, my-"

Your thumb should have never left her clit, you realize, pressing down on where your cock is disappearing between her legs, pushing up against that bundle of nerves that can get her screaming. That’s how you’ll punctuate your end of the bargain, how you’ll make her cum and cum and cum -

"-talent for being such a-"

There's something ungovernable in you, something fumbling, as you find yourself drawn to her lips like a magnet - claiming them in a kiss that has you both growling with all the intensity you can muster, groaning as her jaw goes slack, surrendering to the fucking. To this hard, solid snap of your hips, a raw fuck forward that pushes Minju against the edge of the tabletop.

It doesn’t matter what she had wanted to say, though it must be evident how easy she can wind you up, and you do your best not to be too gentle. Pushing into her so rough that her breasts, oh-so-delicate, bounce up and down along her chest, nipples tight and rosy, begging to be tasted and played with.

You’re pressing your mouth on hers hard, fucking her harder - fingers digging into the flesh around her thighs and leaving marks and memories, all these reminders you’ll be sure to come back to.

But the fact is that this is your girl in so many ways: needy and a dream in all her curves, and how her waist rocks back, her body fitting so perfectly against yours - you're hooked on all of it. On her - she is temptation made real, in blood and bone and soft, supple skin, so exquisitely touchable, just like the sound that she makes, high and tittering when your thumb starts to work her clit over; each swirl and figure eight sending a jolt through her nerves and straight back into your own spine. It's difficult - hard to focus, you find - when all her exposed skin has these drops of sweat standing in saltwater relief, how it rolls down the plane of her chest and disappears where her waist flares wide.

Minju turns her cheek, mouthing falling open, and asks with a certain helpless pleading, “yes, can you-”

she sighs,

“right there,”

she hiccups,

“please, again,”

she begs,

“again, harder, i’m so close-”

Not before long, the desk is scraping loudly across the carpet, moving right into the next office over, all from where you have your hand trapping her voice back in her throat, palm over where she’s practically sobbing for you to let her cum.

From where you’ve got her locked in tight, lifting her up into your arms, into some perverse, unspoken promise to carry her the rest of the way. To do with her whatever you want.

"I'm going to show you," you're gritting out, "exactly how a professional handles their star, the girl at the center of it all, their top draw - and it's so easy, isn't it? This is - fuck, sweetheart - you're nothing more than a - just a desperate little cockslut who's aching to cum, and it's good - oh so, fucking-"

When that next shiver courses down the length of her perfect form, it's entirely because of you, when her legs are still locked and clamped over you like this, as she sputters and babbles, totally cock-addled and barely managing a coherent thought. “Please, sir, please, fuck-”

And then a keening, sounding low, lost.

“Sir. Please, sir, please just - I just wanna-" Her lips are shaping all these words that never quite materialize - because her cunt is slick, the whole of it hotter and softer than anything else in this goddamn room. Maybe anything else in this whole building. Or in the entire world. It makes her whimper and ache, her voice rising and rising, belting out, need it, need it, please let me cum -

Which -

Minju, oh god, Minju cums, and you are fucked sideways to hell and beyond when her whole body convulses, shakes, every single part of her contracting, contracting - all at once - the way her hands claw desperately onto the blades of your shoulders as the room gets taken up with the scent of her; the sounds she's making are fucked and filthy. She starts to become undone as you double your pace, aiming true - thrusting, pounding, nailing Minju right into the finish.

“Minju, sweetheart, I’m going to cum in you,” you tell her, and it’s not even a question, or a concern. You’re dictating, not negotiating when you say it to her again, when you tell her you’re going to fill her perfect pussy so full with your cum, she'll be hung up on it for weeks.

One long, stretched out moan is all it could ever take; a split second, where everything runs blindingly hot, and you bury yourself as deep into her pussy as you possibly can.

Cumming so much, spilling out deep inside - this heavy flood of cum that pools warmly at the back of her cunt and fills every corner of Minju - she whines and sobs and tells you it's too much, please, all this hot and thick white cum pumping right into her -

As you throb into her, she's having a hard time saying anything beyond your name, actually, because if anyone can, if anyone would, if Minju can trust anyone and anything in this world more, it would be you.

Her chest shudders and shudders, and she kisses you in a vain effort to quiet her own body, to quiet yours. She has all this faith she's pouring right down your throat as you rock the last of your orgasm into her twitching heat, spilling and spilling and spilling, not caring about the wetness leaking onto the carpet. Not bothering to mask the obscene slickness, how everything gets completely fucking sopping between the two of you.

When she's practically drooling over you, eyelids growing heavy and fluttering, Minju sags heavily into the bend of your arms. In that shallow heaving and gasping for air that bathes the both of you - blissed the hell out, a lazy tangle of limbs - and without warning she turns to speak into your neck, her breath cooling, like a whisper of a dream:

“Okay, and already… I guess this isn’t entirely-”

“Completely terrible,” you offer after you swallow the dryness in your mouth.

Minju smiles into your shoulder. “And sir, in the spirit of honesty and transparency, I think I - I think I really did want - this - you - the entire thing…”

You stop her there, right in the middle of that particular train wreck. A drop in your voice, and the message is clear, when your mouth works its way to hers.

(No more of her talking like that.

Besides, she looks even better on your lips like this, and fuck, doesn’t Minju taste like you will have to remember, like a little bit like desperation, but only in the way that it has you both completely hopeless, hanging on to every whimper as your cock slides lazily about her well-fucked pussy, a bit deeper, a bit further.)

Like there is something far beyond professionalism guiding the hand with which you hold her hip and let her ass spill through the gaps of your fingers.

It’s all mixed up, how in this exact moment you figure this is a terrible, terrible idea, the worst kind of agreement, this pact - because no one could look at you, could look at either of you and have any doubts in mind now. But you can see it, how you’ll both wear this little agreement like the most beautiful stain in your histories. Even though it might, conceivably, cost one or both of you dearly at some point in time.

And yet, still.

"Will you - can I - can you..."

She's clinging onto you with all her remaining energy, like she wants to see it through.

But her eyes - the poor thing - her expression is melting into this haze, her face contorted in something like pain and something else entirely: a different kind of satisfied glimmer. It's almost unreadable how that sharp mouth softens at the edges as her cunt gives this small flutter over the head of your cock, as you pump her so full, threatening to overflow.

And in your ear, you catch this little whisper. It says, “please, let me show you,” she's practically purring, “let me, let me - I'm gonna clean you up now, lick my cum right off you.”

It's true. Minju can act and perform and pose and make faces, for a shit ton of people - but she’ll play-act any facade you might ask her to, and she'll do it for you - because, this time around, all you ask her is this:

To be yours.

To be a good girl for you, an obedient little thing, in your private audience, away from the cameras and the lights, away from everyone.

When her knees hit the carpet, she is perfectly between your legs, palms on your hips and fingers splaying out against you.

And when she tries her damnedest like this, no one should bother ever pretending to think differently - least of all, you - and certainly, not while your cock is hardening again in the wet heat of her mouth, under the curl of her tongue, the gentle touches of her fingers -

How can anyone ever bring themselves to tell her that she isn't completely, indisputably the greatest.

(The very, fucking best.

And in every other way: the woman of your dreams. A woman, you realize, you ought to endeavor to keep, in all manners, and forever.

Minju, who could probably do anything, and you, who just might be able to give it to her.)

#minju smut #izone smut #kpop smut #male reader #kpop fanfic #male reader smut #izone minju smut

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phantoms-world-and-more · 2 years ago

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Danny and his english class go feral

So danny and all of his English class are going to gothem as a graduateing feild trip

By this point in time everyone knows danny is phantom, danny knowes everyone knows, all of amity knowes

But because of the way the government reacted to the ghosts, ignoring the problem and just sending in people who want to commit genocide.. they've made the decision they dont need the government

At this point, danny English class is very protective of eachother

Dash and the a-listers apologised

Once Wes was proven right, he was told of what would happen to danny should outsiders find out about him and apologised

Mikey and the neards have gotten more confident dew to the a-listers and in return thwy help dash and kwan with their grades

The point is, their ALL protective, and because danny is the most protective of all once he heard they were going to gothem he handed out fenton brand wepons like candy

They were all enjoying it so far, it was getting annoying whenever dash or kwan had to knock out a few petty criminals but its going fine...

Until the riddler and penguin decided to make a hostages situation out of them

When batman arrived to a hostage situation he was expecting crying and scared kids, especially after learning they were teenagers from out of town...

What he walked in on was this

Paulina and star making matching scratching posts out of a pair of goons

Wes was full body slamming people left, right and center, your in his way your getting knocked over

Sam was following wes and after he knocked them over she used the fenton-anti-asshole-tazer on them

Tucker was sitting on a chandler and making sure all the coms were disconnected...and recording everything

Mickey ran up to dash yelled "FOOTBALL ME" and dash picked him up like a foorball, threw him several feet in the air where he proceeded to tackel and claw penguin

Danny was fist fighting the riddler while distroying him with banter

Mr.Lancer had a fuckin fenton-lighsaber and was changing from obi-wan canoby and darth vader impressions

Batman went out side for a good 30 minutes trying to processes what he just saw, unfortunately leaving the goons the riddler and penguin to the mercy of feral, overprotective angry amity parkers

When batman walked in later Tucker yelled "THE CONTROLL ISSUE FURRIE IS HERE"

After he yelled that everyone froze

Danny was choking out the riddler

Mickey was holding the fenton-ecto gun at penguin

Dash was mid punch

Kwan was using fenton-sneakers to walk on the roof and was stringing up goons

Stat was using the fenton-lipsick gun to blast people

Paulina was using the fenton-glitter nunchucks with star as backup

Wes was putting a goon in a headlock

Sam was using fenton-thorn gloves to distroy all wepons the goons were using

And Mr.lancer was mid darth vader impersonation

And they all stopped their feralness to stare at him, it went from chaos to silence

Even the goon, riddler and penguin were silent waiting to see WTF was about to happen

And batman had a feeling life was about to get more complicated

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louisferrignojr · 23 days ago

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ok me and @half-oz-eddie have been talking about bucktommy actors au and it goes like this

evan buckley, who sort of accidentally gets into modelling/acting after he moves to LA. he gets discovered and cast into a sexy perfume ad and then another sexy music video and he rolls with it because why not, it's easy money and LA is expensive, and he starts getting small roles here and there and eventually lands himself a recurring role as a firefighter on a network procedural (because we love being meta). it's fairly successful and long running, and he's gone from being a recurring character to one of the mains, and he loves his job, he loves the show (almost as much as his sister does) (almost as much as his actual-firefighter brother-in-law hates it)

tommy kinard, former child star who was shoved into the world of Hollywood at the age of 8 and starred in a couple of blockbusters in the early 90s that everyone has seen, who was outed in his twenties and disappeared from the public for like, a decade, and now gets to pick and choose what roles he'll take on, so when he's asked if he wants a small recurring role on his favourite guilty-pleasure show he jumps at the opportunity (and then he finds out he's been cast as the LI for the hunkiest guy on the show? this is his lucky day)

this is buck's first role where he has to kiss a man and he's like whatever it's not a big deal, i'm an ally. he meets tommy and they get along so welllll. buck trying to find every opportunity to hang out with tommy, invites him to go hiking and asks him to read lines together, and tommy is no A-lister but he still has some name recognition and he totally uses it to get them a table at the restaurant with a 6-month waitlist.

and let's say it's a slow burn arc on the show, so they've been filming a few episodes by the time they get to The Kiss. and of course they have to shoot that like 12 times. and buck goes home at the end of the day and he's had a long day he's so tired he just wants to shower and sleep but he lays in bed like. i should text tommy. and then tommy calls him and they're talking and joking and laughing. and they hang up and buck still can't sleep and he's like. what is this weird feeling.

until one day they're hanging out at tommy's house and buck is doing that thing where he's flirting without knowing he's flirting and tommy thinks fuck it and kisses him and buck gets this stupid smile on his face because holy shit everything makes sense now.

#bucktommy #bucktommy au #my writing #or close enough #maybe one day I'll write the full fic but today is not that day #tomorrow's not looking good either #fic ideas #bucktommy actors au

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spookysteddie · 10 months ago

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Text Me The Details

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!fem!reader

18+ MINORSDNI

cw: gossip magazines, reader being horny on a live stream, cocky!Eddie, drinking, drugs mention

a/n: I kinda want this to be a series? So expect a part two at some point. But yeah this isn't an original idea so, credit to literally everyone who's done this before me. I gave reader a last name because if I have to write y/l/n one more time I'll sob. ANYWAY I hope you all enjoy and let me know if you like this!

WC: 1.2k

...

You are never drinking again. Ever.

Your management would agree after what happened last night. You didn’t mean to spill the secret you’d been keeping. It wasn’t even that big of a deal, however, you had an image to keep up. The party girl, the kind one, the one with lots of friends, the girl who had good grades in college, the one who always donated most of her fortune to various organizations.

Now, every tabloid was writing articles about your celebrity crush.

Party girl and influencer drunkenly admits she’d love to sleep with lead singer of Corroded Coffin Eddie Munson. Sources have said they’ve been together for a while but decided to keep it under wraps.

The dating portion of that article wasn’t true and you silently vow to figure out who the fuck these ‘sources’ were. However, you admitting to wanting to fuck Eddie… did happen. You have no one to blame but yourself.

Now, there are three reasons why you’re so stressed about this. First, even though you party all the time, you were good. You know, like only went out on the weekends, did every single assignment, tutored people on the side, was probably the most unproblematic influencer out there. Second, the last thing you wanted was Eddie Munsons attention. You had this thing where you didn’t want the people you were fans of to perceive you.

Theoretically you knew they did, most of them followed you on social media. But there was a difference between being a fan of someone, and them semi-knowing you vs your actual crush who you own a poster or two of? That makes you want to throw up and pass out at the same time.

But, finally, the third reason this stressed you out was because Eddie and his crew were not good. You know like, partied every single day, smoked a lot of weed and snorted coke off of his groupies and fans. It was all over the tabloids and the band has even posted about it a time or two. You didn’t do that. And if the tabloids caught you doing that, you’d lose everything you worked towards.

“So this is how we’re going to fix it,” Case, your manager, says from where she’s standing next to the fireplace in your apartment. “You’re gonna go back on live and say it was an accident.”

You look up from the article you were reading, eyes finding his. “That is the worst idea ever. I was tipsy not black out drunk. No one will ever believe that was an accident.” You huff, locking your phone, “and I have tickets to their show next week.”

You loved your team, but sometimes they made the most insane comments on how to fix the unfixable.

You stand, pacing the room, “he isn’t one to read gossip magazines. And-and I’m not on the same level as his band. They’re A listers and I’m C list at best.”

Your manager and publicist look like fish after what you said. Anna, your publicist speaks first, “I swear to god if you ever say that again I am uppin your therapy appointments. You hear me?”

You huff, sitting back down on the couch, “I’m not kidding though. I’m not giving up this ticket. It’s one of the few things I’m looking forward to.”

Case answers after rubbing her temples, “you better pray this blows over without him seeing it. You may party but his partying is a whole other level.”

…

The call came two days later, an unknown number popping up on your phone.

You knew, you knew before you even accepted the call who’d be on the other end of the line.

It felt like it started in slow motion, first came the gossip mags with the original story. Then came Eddie following you on instagram. He’d like a few photos and stories you put up. Then came his interview. The interview where he said, “of course I know who she is. I’m flattered really. I hear she’s a sweet girl.”

Now, your phone is buzzing in your hand and you can’t bring yourself to answer the phone.

“Yes just a fucking person. Just like you’re a person. Answer the phone.” You look down at the phone and are thankful it’s just you in your house. You tap the answer button, a fake smile on your face, as you put the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” you use your best interview voice, the one Anna has drilled into you.

You can hear him breathe in before letting it out, long and slow, it’s clear he took a drag of his cigarette. Is he nervous too? There’s no way. Eddie always seemed to be this cool and calm guy, never afraid of anything or anyone. He gets into more fights in a week than you have in your entire 25 years of existence.

“Good afternoon, Miss Asher.” You can hear the grin in his voice and it sends a shiver down your spine, your heart pounding in your chest. “It’s Eddie.”

He didn’t have to introduce himself to you, you’d be able to pick out his voice in a crowded room. But only because you’ve listened to his music so often… only reason.

“Oh! Hi! I’m s-surprised to hear from you.” You cringe at the stutter that came out of you. You had more than enough practice dealing with any situation thrown at you. From the funny to the uncomfortable to the scary. You were trained for this and you were fucking it up. “How can I help you?”

“The band and I will be in town next friday, we’re playing a show.” You know where this is going and it makes your heart beat faster, so fast you’re scared it’ll burst. “I was wonderin’ if you were goin’?”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“I am, actually. Me and a few of my friends actually.” You rub your hands down your sweatpants, nerves making them sweat.

“Oh! Well that is fantastic,” his tone is chipper as hell and you know he’s high. On what, you have no idea. “I was thinkin’ that maybe ya friends and you’d wanna join us backstage. VIP area for the show? What cha think?”

All of sudden you forget how the english language works, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. This is what you’ve been wanting for so long. Well, in your dreams of course. But looking at it from a business perspective, it could bring his fans to your page and your fans to his page. It was kind of a win win. Well, win win lose because then Corroded coffin knows who the actual fuck you are and you arent just some fan. And that, terrified you,

“Heeeeeeello? Are you there?”

His voice breaks through your clogged mind, forcing you to respond.

“Hi, sorry. I’m here! I um I got distracted. But, yeah that sounds great, actually. We-we’d love that.”

“Good! I will have my people call your people, yeah?”

“O-or you can just send me the information,” you say it before thinking and now you really want to punch yourself.

He chuckles to himself, “okay, sweetheart, I’ll text you the information. See you next friday.”

He hangs up before you can say another fucking stupid thing. You press the phone into your hands, foot bouncing on the floor with nerves. You can think of seven different ways that conversation could’ve (and should’ve) happened. One of which was with your entire team, another being with your friends, another being with your parents. Not alone to make a fool out of yourself. Your management team was really going to kill you.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fic #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!Eddie x fem!reader #Rockstar!Eddie x influencer!reader

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01zfan · 8 months ago

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don’t waste it pt. 2 | l. sh

idol!sohee x idol!reader | 8.6k words

contains: semi public, love confessions, oral (f. receiving), pda, making out

don’t waste it: one | two

“sohee…fuck…you gotta leave.”

you and sohee both knew it was time to go. if you had half a mind you would’ve looked above the door frame to see the time. every minute that ticked by was a minute closer to when sohee was supposed to be onstage. he had an award to present in fifteen minutes and you had to be in your seat in ten. you imagined your members looking around the seating area for you, too shy to ask staff if they’ve seen you around. they were good idols but they were unbelievably meek like most girls your age were. they didn’t have to be bold—that was your job as the leader. you had responsibilities but instead you were leaning against a table while your friend ate you out.

using the word friend seemed to extremely undermine what sohee was to you. the lack of contact over the years of training and promoting made the title friend seem presumptuous. but the complexity and shared history was too much to describe him as a stranger. to call sohee anything with benefit attached was also a stretch, because it didn’t seem to benefit anyone to have you two ran around like classless z-listers while your managers searched high and low for you.

“you’re gonna be late.” you whispered.

sohee couldn’t be bothered, busy laving his tongue with you like he had all the time in the world. it’s not like he could’ve moved if he wanted to, your heels digging in his back kept him in place. he only hummed and lifted your ass, making you fully sit on the table to give him more access to blow cold air on your core. you shivered from the sensation, fighting everything in you not grab his hair. you had to respect the meticulously placed pins that kept his locks in place. if you messed it up he wouldn’t have enough time to fix it. you refused to have sohee looking like a fool on national television.

sohee’s hands on the top of your thighs had to apply force to separate them so he could raise his head. sohee looked up at you from your heat, the bottom of his face glossy.

“let me go and i’ll go.” sohee said simply.

sohee’s personality had changed from the last time you saw him. he was more confident in himself, nothing like the shy boy you had trained with. you don’t know what made him this way, maybe being in a successful boy group and constantly being praised for his vocal ability had that effect on him.

you’re sure you had your own personality change, something that came with being the leader and unofficial face of the group. you were the first one announced, your long awaited debut and depart from a renowned company to a smaller one became the talk of the town. you had articles and blog posts dropping about you daily, ranging from praise for not giving up on your dreams to skeptics debating your skills.

being virtually a nobody to a trending topic wasn’t the only turn your life had taken. you went from seeing everyone as competition to being responsible of six girls and occasionally writing songs for them. you were lucky it paid off well, a song you had written about wasting something precious did exceptionally well. it was an overnight success, becoming popular domestically and abroad. many people related it to someone in their life that they loved—but that was neither here nor there. when asked about it on variety shows you were able to relate the song to giving up fried foods.

it was that song that led you here in the first place. because of one single your group was a top contender for multiple awards that night. you remember feeling joy for your group, your girls were finally going to get the recognition they deserved. the joy and butterflies you felt died and rested like a stone in your stomach when you saw that sohee was the hosts for the show. the corpses of the butterflies turned to maggots the closer the award show got and you thought your anxiety would eat you alive. your recent confidence boost from being received well by the public abandoned you when you thought about seeing sohee again.

at the red carpet you saw sohee for the first time in years. you had to seem unbothered, having to stand next to him while he announced your group. you had to introduce yourself and bow to sohee like you didn’t know him and had to pretend like you had forgotten you were trainees together. he shook your hand and bowed to you on camera, congratulating you on making your debut and your success. it felt so odd hearing sohee talk to you as a senior, or him talking to you at all. you never considered you would ever be in the position of having to meet your old love affair again, much less on live television as it was broadcasted to anyone who would watch.

after your group exited from the red carpet you had to blow off steam. you let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding as knots formed in your stomach. you used the excuse of having to go to the bathroom as you split from the group. before you could hear confirmation you started walking the opposite way from your group and manager.

you felt dizzy roaming the halls like a ghost, weaving through the maze of dressing rooms bowing to everyone you passed by. you had to put on a smile each time you passed by someone trying hard to pretend like you weren’t on the verge of passing out. when you finally found an empty room you ran into it, ignoring the sign that read it was for hosts only.

the sterile white of the room made you feel like you were in a hospital, making you freak out even more. you were lucky to have a moment alone, a second to breathe away from everyone. the last thing you needed was for your group to see their fearless leader fighting off a panic attack by taking heavy breaths. you looked towards the wall as you tried to bring yourself back to earth. you couldn’t be bothered to look at the rest of the room to see if it was truly open. you were just hoping whoever was supposed to be in the room was away doing their job. you could see how hectic it was earlier. trash from food containers and used makeup wipes littered the tables and some made even made it to the floor.

as you scanned the chaos in the room you saw sohee was relaxed, feet propped up on the end of the couch as he looked at his phone.

you stood there in silence until he noticed you, shooting up from his seat so fast his clips almost fell from his hair.

”what are you doing here?” sohee asked.

he stood up from his seat on the couch to come to you. how lucky were you to be in this situation—nearing a panic attack while the reason for said panic attack looked right at you. when you were silent sohee gently grabbed you by the arm and pulled you fully into the dressing room, closing the door behind you.

“is everything alright?” sohee asked.

sohee knew you had to be half out of your mind to come and see him in a place where you could easily be found. but when you had that far off look in your eye and didn’t say a word his mood shifted. instead of demanding an answer he reached towards you timidly. you felt like a trapped animal while sohee reached to you, the instinct to leap away from him creeped up your back. but you stood there with wide eyes as you let his warm hands clasp around your cold fingers. his steadiness made the tremor go down, and the overall trembling in your chest began to slowly subside.

sohee guided you down on the armrest of the couch while you did everything in your power to steady your heart rate and breathing. sohee tried but failed to be of any help. he rubbed your cold arms and hands. it was still timid, like sohee was waiting for you to tell him to get away. it only made everything worse, having him so close to you. you saw your reflection in his eyes wide eyes, and your shared history showed like a movie in his blown out pupils. when he squatted next to you and put a hesitant hand on your thigh you don’t know why you reached for it so quickly.

sohee’s hands were rougher than before, but they still held yours the same. he mirrored the grip of your hand without a second thought, rubbing your back with the other. you did your breathing exercises, trying not to look too hard at sohee as he told you everything was going to be okay.

when you finally calmed down it was like the veil was lifted. you suddenly realized where you were, who you were, and what you were doing. you stood up from the couch so quickly that your vision spotted, ripping yourself from sohee’s hands. you composed yourself quickly, going into the mirror to fix strands of hair that were out of place. sohee kept a careful eye on you, still squatting next to the couch as you fixed your appearance. in the mirrors reflection you looked at sohee.

“you shouldn’t sit like that. you’ll wrinkle your pants.” you said to the mirror.

sohee stood up from his position and walked over to you. the pensive look in his eyes had subsided, replaced with annoyance as he walked over to you. sohee didn’t stop until he stood directly behind you, putting arms on either side of you to cage you between him and the table’s edge. sohee kept eye contact with you in the mirror as he stood behind you.

“are you alright?” he asked.

sohee slowly brought his chin down to rest on your shoulder as he asked his question. you imagined the trouble you’d be in if someone came in. you imagined your manager doing a headcount and realizing you were unaccounted for. sohee turned his gaze from the mirror to look at you. you continued to look in the mirror, but you could feel sohee’s eyes scan the parts of your face he could see. your manager was going to be so mad at you.

“you should go find your manager.” you said.

“being the leader has made you bossy.” sohee said.

he said the words into your hair, before making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror. you turned around to face him. his eyes remained calm, a playful glint that almost made you idignant.

“and being one of the youngest has made you careless.” you retort.

you don’t push back against sohee, staying in the place between him and the table. your eyes are wide from bewilderment nonetheless, amazed that sohee is trying to make a move on you in such a place. but he’s warm against your body, and his lips are so close to the places you’ve missed him the most. you try to think about all the consequences when sohee gets so close you can smell him.

“do you know what will happen if we get caught?” you ask.

sohee leans his body towards yours to push you against the table even more. his eyes fixate on your collarbone, then at all the spots your dress has left exposed. you let him eat you alive while you stand there trying to be reasonable.

“your dress is really pretty by the way.” sohee says.

he places a gentle kiss on your collarbone before moving to your neck. you both know he’s still hesitant, but when you react by putting his hand on the small of his back and pulling him closer he places another kiss. this kiss is wet and confident and your hand grips the fabric of his white button up. you can feel sohee smile as he presses a kiss to your neck.

you weren’t the same meek trainee that barely passed monthly evaluations anymore. you were the leader of the group that occupied the top of several charts because of songs you wrote. you were confident and had an aura that lured in the general public and a personality that was praised by fans. the persona your team carefully crafted came to you like second nature, so much to the point that it had become a part of who you were. but when you stood in front of sohee, when you felt his teeth press into your skin, you felt like you were the same vulnerable girl you were all those years ago. it was almost as scary as it was comforting, being able to be yourself when all you seemed to do these days was put on a show. but when sohee’s mouth tried to reach for yours you put a single finger on his lips to hold him back.

“you’re insane if you think i’m letting you ruin my makeup.” you said.

you had to hide your disappointment of not being able to kiss sohee by rolling your eyes. you don’t know how someone could be so careless, but at the same time you wanted nothing more than to make out with sohee like you were teenagers again. you should’ve pushed him off of you a long time ago to make your way to your seat. you should yell at him for putting you in such a position, you had more to lose now than ever. but the way sohee smiled against your finger made you lose all your nerve. his hand on the table moved to your hips and you tensed from feeling him. his fingers were gentle on your hips, but then he pressed so hard it began wrinkling your dress. you quickly smacked sohee’s hand away and he laughed at you.

“i just want to help you.” sohee fake pouts.

your hand goes to his bottom lip that juts out and you hold it in between your fingers. when you press harshly he doesn’t recoil, only continues to look at you as you add more pressure. your other hand goes to sohee’s and he holds it instantly.

“who says i need help?” you ask, still holding his lip.

you find it ridiculous to try to hide your emotions from sohee. even if you two weren’t always involved romantically, you trained together in close quarters. you danced together and ate together, went on trips and practice together. you two spent innocent unsupervised time together in between the kisses and the sneaking around. sohee knew what made you anxious and what your order was at the local fast food chain by heart—of course he knew you needed help.

“i know you, even if i haven’t seen you in so long.” sohee says.

words to combat his assumption fall flat. you don’t see a point in pretending anymore. you let go of his bottom lip and let your hand go to his cheek. if you get caught doing whatever sohee has in mind for you, you tell yourself it won’t be that big of a deal. you two were in the fifth generation of many groups before you, there’s no way it would be the first time someone was caught fooling around in a dressing room. you and sohee had also never been caught all the times before, and sohee had a look in his eyes that made you give in. so you detached your hand from sohees’ and started bunching your dress up delicately to not wrinkle the fabric too bad. his eyes started widening as he looked down at your newly exposed thighs.

“you have to be quick.” you said.

you thought you made yourself clear when you told sohee he had to be quick. when you first became the leader of your group the ability to tell people what to do felt awkward. commands came out quiet and like a suggestion more than an order. but the girls in your group respect you for some reason so they would listen after you told them once. your members spoiled you in that aspect; you had completely forgotten that rebels like sohee existed. which is why you were here now, gripping his shoulder to push him more into your heat. you were sure your manager was about to put a missing person’s out on you and sohee’s manager was going to kick in the door soon.

sohee had you on top of the table now, your back pressed against the glass of the mirror and your legs rested over his shoulders. you pressed your body against the cold glass while you haphazardly tried to grab something to steady yourself. you could feel the makeup brushes and wrappers that were on the table press against your skin. your dress had fallen from your hands at some point and the bottom of it partially covered sohee’s face as he continued make out with your folds. although he had energy like a bunny, he couldn’t stop his jaw from getting exhausted due to the exertion. it had been awhile since he’s done this too, his mouth was out of practice. sohee was just lucky that the innate part of him that knew how to please you was still there. sohee pulled away from you to see the death grip you had on the edgetable while your chest heaved. sohee started using his pointer finger and thumb to lightly pinch your clit, the same way you pinched his lip.

your eyes that were focusing on a ceiling light dropped down to see why sohee had stopped eating you out. you locked eyes with him, seeing how wide his eyes had gotten while he started to rub circles on your clit. he wasted no time putting two of his fingers inside of you too, going at a pace so fast it made everything on the table shake.

“just cum for me. so i don’t miss giving you your award.” sohee said.

his mouth went to your thigh, pressing his teeth against your supple skin while he sucked. you couldn’t stop your hand that went to his hair, grabbing the strands on top while you swiveled your hips against his fingers. he pulled out a finger to really feel you seize around his digit. you had to bite your lip to muffle the sound of your whines and sohee’s name falling from your lips. you knew your teeth would be stained and your lip combo was ruined, but that was better than having your cries be heard. sohee watched you with a slightly open mouth, mouthing the words caught in your throat. he continued to finger you through your orgasm, his finger coming out of you wet and glossy.

you still sat on the edge of the table as you caught your breath. your senses came back to you slowly. the feeling of your sweaty body in the tight dress made you uncomfortable, and you could feel your ruined underwear be moved back into place by sohee. he still was kneeled between your legs when he put your panties back on you, sucking on the same finger that was inside of you. you put on your best disgusted face while using two fingers to push on his forehead. sohee got the hint and moved from between your legs.

you got down from the table refusing his hand, doing your best to smooth out any wrinkles in your dress. sohee’s attempts at making himself look presentable failed. the hair on the crown of his head awkwardly sat up, some makeup on the bottom of his face was gone and his cheeks were flushed and rosy. you hoped that he would be able to get quick corrections from a stylist before making it onstage. you also suddenly hoped that you could talk to sohee about what had just happened, but you didn’t have time to worry about him. you had to be in a chair in two minutes. so while sohee was preoccupied fixing his hair clips and dusting off pants you were already out the door of the dressing room, picking up the end of your dress so you could jog to where you were supposed to be.

you were lucky you had found your manager just in time. by the look on her face you could tell she wanted to grab you by the ear and tell you off, but she didn’t have the time. instead she hurried you to your seat beside your members. you were apologizing profusely for being late when the show began again, suddenly silenced by the uproar of applause. you didn’t have a moment to adjust before going into professional mode, crossing your legs and clapping just like the cue sheets said.

it was hard to focus on the award show when your mind kept going back to where you were not even twenty minutes earlier. you could still feel the wet imprint of sohee’s lips on your thigh and you had to adjust yourself in your seat when you remembered sohee’s tongue deep inside of you. you kept going back to the sight of sohee’s head underneath your pushed up dress and the way you clutched the fabric helplessly in your hands. the quick flash of your group on the big screen and the venue erupting in cheers couldn’t even pull you from your trance. you saw sohee come onstage with another idol you debuted close in time to. at some point you had to actually start taking the time to learn the names of your colleagues.

you could hear a group of fans behind you make a collective cooing sound. you looked to the screen to see sohee smiling innocently at the camera. you could see some of his hair sticking up at the crown of his head. the sight broke you from your reverie and a small smile came across your face. you had to hide the smile quickly, lowering your head and masking it with a cough. when you looked down you could still make out small wrinkles from your dress where you were holding it with a death grip. both of you could your wrinkled garments and sohee could fix his untucked shirt but he couldn’t fix his hair that you messed up in the heat of the moment. you were wondering if there was still the taste of you on his tongue when you saw your group stand up and more cheering filled the room.

you looked up from your lap to see one of your members shoot you a quick look of confusion. your hesitation caused your group to hesitate too. they almost sat back down seeing you still seated, blindly following your lead like acolytes.your eyes quickly scanned the area around you as you stood up to join them. you were so busy that you missed your group had been announced to win record of the year. you wanted to yell at yourself for being so out of it. with all eyes on you all it took was one mistake for the public opinion to completely shift on you. you prayed you were able to play it off well with a shocked face and stiff body before finally standing up.

as your group headed for the main stage you saw yourself getting closer and closer to sohee. you were leading the pack, if you didn’t stop now you would inevitably have to take the award from him and another interaction between you and him would be broadcasted for the world to see. not talking to him almost made you have a panic attack after the red carpet, but after what happened in the dressing room if you got too close to sohee you might pass out. so you suddenly stopped at the very end, letting your confused members fill in the gap between you and the presenters. the youngest of your group ended up having to awkwardly take the award from sohee, something you’re sure you would get an earful of later. but it didn’t matter because you were able to compose yourself enough to do the groups introduction and seamlessly go through your heavily scripted acceptance speech.

when your group was done with the speech you felt the knots forming in your stomach again. you clear your throat and move your hand forward to let your members pass in front of you. they all go first and you could trail behind them, trying to make it seem like it was a calculated plan for you to stop so suddenly. you were clumsy bowing to every group you passed by, adrenaline from being onstage almost making you tip over your heels. you were incredibly grateful to make it back to your seats, waiting for the next part of the show to start.

“is everything okay?” your youngest member asked you.

her eyes were wide with worry as her gaze drifted to your clenched fists at your sides. you noticed then you were failing at your job as a nonchalant leader. two of your members were sharing a blanket to cover their over exposed legs and two others had resorted to using pillows. your body felt like it was on fire with embarrassment as you scanned the area around you for spare covering or a manager.

“let me get you guys some blankets.” you said standing up from your seat.

you saw a stacked pile of blankets neatly folded at a table in front of you. in any other case you would’ve asked a manager, but no one was around to help you. you prepared your soft and gentle voice to kindly ask whatever boy group was sitting at the table if they could spare the blankets for your girls.

just as you were approaching the table, sohee was doing the same. he kept his eyes locked on you, wondering what you were doing walking down the steps towards his group. his members saw him first, clapping their hands and giving him a thumbs up for presenting well. when they saw that sohee was looking past them, they all turned around to see what he was staring at.

before you could tap the shoulder of one of the men, suddenly six pairs of eyes were staring at you. yours went wide as an effect, suddenly overwhelmed by the amount of attenton. you felt like you should’ve known sohee’s members from the back of their heads to prepare yourself for the situation. you had even trained with some of them, spent the same amount of time with them as you did with sohee.

you believed you could’ve survived the moment before you saw the seventh pair of eyes looking at you. if you had come to your senses a minute earlier you could’ve asked for the blankets before sohee got back from presenting his award. but now where you were, standing next to the table while sohee stood on the other side, staring at him for a little bit too long. you imagined his members were staring at you too, wondering why you came to their table during a break in the show.

“sorry to bother you guys,” you politely pointed towards the folded blankets in the center of their table while still looking at sohee. “can i take these? for my group.” you said.

almost instantly they nodded, all of them reaching for the middle of their table. sohee was just a second faster than the rest of them like he already knew what you needed. with the stack of blankets in his hand he walked over to you casually. you did your best to ignore the way his members were looking at him approach you. their heads followed sohee’s every step, until he set the blankets in your outstretched hands.

“here you go.” sohee said.

sohee was lucky that his body blocked the view of his hand sliding between two blankets from his members. he was also lucky that your face showed shock only for a second before bowing and leaving.

you said a thank you before turning tail and heading back up the stairs to your members. you handed out the blankets with a smile on your face, hesitating between the second and third blanket to grab a neatly folded piece of paper in your hand. your members didn’t notice, too happy that their attentive leader got them what they needed.

you slid your note underneath your leg, keeping the folded piece of paper crushed between you and your seat. you were staring daggers to the back of sohee’s head the rest of the award show, trying to figure out why he would do something so risky. you wonder what the paper says. does he think you have the power to sneak away from your dorm and fuck him in a practice room like old times? you shake your head and try to enjoy the rest of the show. your group went on to win two more awards that night. one of your members cried and you wiped her tears while holding back ones of your own. you gave a heartfelt speech about how grateful you were for the people surrounding you. the crowd gave you a standing ovation and you shook your head, bowing deeply before leaving the stage.

when the awards are over your manager led your group to your dressing room. if she was frustrated with you for being absent it doesn’t show, she’s all smiles and giggles as she takes pictures of your group holding the trophies.

cameras are in your face when you get into the dressing room, filming behind the scenes content. some of your members cry and others take the time to sincerely thank fans for getting them this award. you stand in the corner of the room away from the prying cameras, opening the piece of paper that was held in your sweating hands.

i’ll be at our spot in the park.

you looked around quickly before tearing the piece of paper and throwing away the paper. you hid it underneath layers of garbage and smiled when the camera came to you. you had a little bit of a bigger smile when you thanked your fans and members for the awards, talking to the camera in your face with gratitude.

on the way back to the dorms your group was beaming with excitement from the award. you all ran your fingers over the engravings a thousand times, not believing it’s real. you and your girls talked about how much fun you were going to have in the future, and how this was only the beginning.

when your team’s car parked in the empty lot your manager gave your team a talk. she made sure to stress how much attention was going to be on your group now. your manager told your team how important it was to not be reckless, how curfew at the dorms would be enforced even harder. you looked to your members for their reactions—they all nodded understanding the stakes. you nodded too, acting like you weren’t going to be sneaking off as soon as you were left alone.

your manager also emphasized how important it was to strike while the iron was hot. your team was excited to hear that preparation for your comeback was starting tomorrow, a mere week after your promotions wrapped up. your team was happy but you had a sinking feeling in your stomach at the thought of trying to make a song that was even remotely as popular as your previous one. you knew you were the only one thinking such negative things in the car. maybe that’s why you were the leader, because of your habit of looking to the future. you still felt the prickle of excitement in the back of your mind. you were lucky to be at a place in your life where comebacks were consistent and you were a part of an award winning group. you were also seeing the love of your life tonight. there was no reason to be sad. so you nodded to everything your manager said, taking the time to thank her and your security guard for being with you guys since the beginning. your team followed your lead, thank you’s filling the company car.

you trailed behind your team as they were getting out of the car. before you could leave and be one step closer to seeing sohee your manager put a hand on your arm to stop you.

“stay behind for a moment,” your manager looked at your group. “she’ll meet you guys inside.” your manager said.

your second oldest member closed the door and they followed her lead to the door.

you settled in the seat, nervous for what your manager might say to you. your manager looked to your security guard in the front seat before looking back to you. she puts a hand on your knee and your hand on top of it squeezing.

“congratulations. they wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” your manager says.

you nod your head, trying to figure out where this conversation was going.

“but,” she sighs. “you’re distracted.”

you visibly tense underneath your manager’s hand. she pulls away and reaches to the cup holder to grab her phone. it is awkward and too quiet as your manager unlocks her phone, showing you some webpage.

it takes a while for you to read the title and to recognize that it’s a blogpost. nonetheless it’s about you, looking dazed during the whole award show. low quality photos show you distracted as your members uncomfortably shift in their seats from lack of coverage, you getting up from your seat late after your win is announced, and a picture of you looking at sohee’s table. your face heats up and you put your head in your hands shamefully. you think about high definition fansite photos that could be circulated, showing you distracted in the highest quality possible.

“what are they saying?” you groan.

“run of the mill stuff. the fans are downvoting hate.” your manager said

you let out another groan and your manager’s hand returns to your knee. she shakes it to bring your head out of your hands. you look at her and she’s sympathetic. you hope she feels for your situation, being so young while having so much attention on you.

“don’t think too much about it. i just want you to be aware.” your manager says.

you rub your eyes before putting your hands back down. you nod your head and your manager gives you a small smile. you smile back, trying to show her that you are very grateful for her. she has been with your group since the beginning, the one that advocated for you to become the leader of your group. she was your fan before you knew you were worthy of praise.

“try to relax tonight, alright? you deserve it.” your manager says.

she opens the automatic door for you and you climb out, waving them off as they leave your driveway. once the car is gone you make your way to the entrance of the dorm.

when you round the corner of your building you see your group, hiding to not be seen by your manager. they surprise you, causing you to jump back a little and grab your chest. they apologize and ask you what your manager said. you lie to them of course, they don’t have phones to see the blogposts. you just tell your group that your manager wanted to thank you for leading the group, which wasn’t completely false. your group agreed with your manager’s words, thanking you endlessly for being their fearless leader.

you didn’t feel like their leader when the lights finally turned off and everyone finally went to bed. your group was awake long after they should’ve been, taking pictures with your trophy on a shitty digital camera and talking about the future. you had to force them to go to bed, telling everyone they would regret it in the morning. you put your members to bed like you were their mother, patting their heads and telling them how happy you were to be in a group with them. when they were asleep you abandoned all sense of responsibility, getting ready in the dark to make the trek to see your old flame.

you were extremely lucky it was cold outside. it gave you a reason to bundle up in layer after layer, covering all proof of who you were. a long black coat hid your body and baggy pants and an oversized sweater hid your frame. a scarf his your neck and a hat helped you hide your eyes. by the time you put on your face mask you looked completely undetectable, just another person walking around the park to see someone you probably shouldn’t be seeing. your body was hot from the layers and the shame as you tip toed through your dorm, sneaking past your sleeping members to walk to the door. you had a moment where you believed you might’ve been caught, seeing one of the more restless girls move around underneath the sheets. but she settled back in and started snoring, and you thanked the gods for keeping her asleep.

once you made it outside you started thinking of excuses. in the off chance you were caught, you would be able to lie and say you needed to go on a quick walk to clear your head. it’s the least you deserved, after the stressful promotion period you had as a leader. you were lucky that the park sohee was talking about was so close to your building, just ten minutes if you walked briskly. the cold kept you moving a little faster, you knew you’d be there in no time. you thought about when you first moved into your dorm and you would jog past the place you were nervously walking to now. you would pass by the stone stairs that led to the gazebo and look up, memories of being there rushing through your mind. if you ran by it fast enough, you could see you and sohee there, kissing while you two watched the sunset.

you wondered sometimes if you’d ever have that life again. being a trainee was hell, but you were technically still free then. you could’ve walked out at anytime and lived a normal life. if someone saw you kissing a boy they would just keep walking by. but now, as you got closer and closer to the spot you thought about your life now. if you left the company and terminated your contract you wondered if you would still be a celebrity. would you still have to worry about the lack of privacy or the chance that someone could be lurking in the shadows, snapping pictures of you living life. you imagined blogposts of blurry photos taken at night of you and sohee. it would be a trending topic, and you could potentially put your members and your livelihood at risk. the fear made you slow down, almost paralyzed you. the soles of your shoes felt like they were glued to the paved path you walked on and it felt like the breeze was trying to push you back home. it wasn’t too late to turn around, sohee would be hurt but he would be okay. it was better being embroiled in a dating scandal.

you got ready to turn on your heels when you heard his voice. it was quiet and unsure, like there would be other people walking around the park this late at night.

“is that you?” sohee called.

you still debated on walking away. but when he called your name again, a little more desperate than the first time you looked up at him.

sohee’s fashion mirrored yours, clad in black with a hat and mask to hide all of him. you wonder how he got here. his apartment was further away, atleast over the bridge. did he have a phone now to call a taxi? did he walk here like you did? did he ask a manager to drive him here? you tried thinking about everything except for the risky situation you were in as sohee got closer and closer to you. eveything was telling you to run, follow the streetlights until you got back to your dorm. sohee’s steps were slow, each one loud as his foot made contact with the gravel path. he approached you like a wild animal, scared you would jump and run away.

when sohee was directly in front of you he lowered his mask. you gasped and looked around, reaching for the mask to bring it back up on his face. his hand went to your wrist, rubbing the little amount of skin you had exposed.

“no one is around. i checked already.” sohee said.

you let sohee’s hand move from your wrist further up, until his hand wraps around your bicep inside your jacket. his touch is warmer than the million layers you wear. you’re so caught up in how he massages your skin you let him bring you closer and closer, until your chests touch. sohee wraps his arm around you and you can’t stop yourself from relaxing against his chest. he rubs your back gently, and you feel like you are being taken care of since you became the leader of your group. the tenderness almost brings you to tears, somehow this is harder to do than fool around in an empty dressing room.

“congratulations. on your award.” sohee says.

you scoff and go further into sohee. his hand has reached further up into your jacket, resting on your bare shoulder.

“i’m not an idol right now.” you say.

you try to sound mad but you’re so quiet your voice is almost drowned out by the buzzing street lamps and the chirping cicadas. sohee hears you perfectly, tucking your head underneath his chin and nodding.

“i understand.” sohee says.

you two stay like that for awhile, hugging underneath the lights on a gravel path. you are passed by a couple and a runner who couldn’t care less. it’s comforting to see people uninterested in what you have to do. it’s almost like you are a trainee with sohee again, doing what you two please.

anytime a breeze comes by you go further into sohee’s chest, taking in a fresh whiff of him. he smells the same as he did when you were trainees, the fresh detergent mixing with something else. it was nothing you could ever pinpoint, and sohee withheld the fragrance he wore like his life depended on it. whatever it was—whether it was just him or a perfume—he was intoxicating nonetheless.

when another person passes by sohee pushes you away gently by your shoulders. he goes to your hand, gripping it so tight it’s almost painful.

“do you remember when we first came here?” sohee asked.

you only nodded your head. you couldn’t stop remembering even if you wanted to. each step you took to the spot you were reminded of walking down the paths in the summertime with sohee by your side, taking both of your hands into his. you looked up from underneath the brim of your hat to look at him. sohee’s hands were rocking yours back and forth as he rocked on his heels. you could feel that sohee’s nervousness manifested in a different way than yours.

you continue to look at eachother in silence, listening to the cicadas and the occasional sound of someone making their way down the gravel path. each time you hear the grinding sound of a shoe making contact with the rocks you snap your head in that direction. when you turn your head again, sohee lets go of your hands to rest on your face.

“it’s just me and you.” sohee says.

it’s not a command, he says it light and in a comforting way. he does it to try and quell your nervousness, so you nod to make him feel better. you still feel the creeping feeling behind you, like someone is hiding in the tree line next to the gazebo. you try to focus on sohee’s warm hands and your hands that rest on his waist. you focus on his lips, and think about if they still taste like you.

“do you want to talk about what happened earlier today?” sohee asked.

you nod again.

“i know it was irresponsible. and i’m sorry.” sohee says.

you shake your head and grip sohee’s hands tighter.

“it was both of us.” you start moving sohee’s hands back and forth as the rest of your thought rests on the tip of your tongue. “we just have to be more careful in the future.” you say.

sohee tilts his head as he listens to what you say.

“future?” sohee asks.

his words lift at the end in confusion when you nod your head.

“you’re my comfort and i don’t want to lose you.” you blink slowly, trying to will away the tears. “i’m willing to make it work if you want to, too.” you say.

sohee slowly lets go of your hand and puts his hands on your shoulders. you let him lightly apply force, pushing you back until you lean against the wall. you stay there completely still, scared that if you move you’ll have to say goodbye. you both find your own way to avoid the inevitable. sohee messes with the sleeve of your jacket while you try and grab his hand. you both take the time to look into eachothers eyes, trying to find the answer there. sohee looks comforting underneath the streetlight as he comes closer to your face. it reminded you of the times when you were free to act the way all people your age did. you remember being in this exact same position with sohee, waiting for him to kiss you after a long day of shameless flirting. in any other instance you would’ve been heartbroken at the thought of this being your last time together. but he looked like your future underneath the flickering lights and the way he held your hand made you believe he was here to stay.

it takes you by surprise when you start to reveal more of yourself to sohee. it starts you reveal more of yourself to sohee, taking off your hat and fully taking off your mask to stuff it into the pocket of your jacket. sohee smiles even bigger than he was before. you feel so comfortable that you would’ve shed all your layers even in the brisk cold. but you decided to show sohee how comforted you were by bringing him in for a kiss.

you thought that you were pent up but it was nothing compared to the way sohee kissed you back. instantly he responded to your kiss, pushing into your lips. his face went to your hands but then found their way to the hood of your jacket. sohee was in a hurry, his hands trying to find a way to your burning bare skin so he could touch it. while one hand brought you in closer by the hood of your jacket the other hand slipped into your jacket until his hand found the back of your neck. while sohee’s hands guided your lips against his your hands started digging into his hips.

sohee didn’t know whether it was because he was extremely eager or if he got so dizzy from kissing you that he lost his footing. it wasn’t bad, just a step forward into your while you let his tongue graze your teeth. the step caused you to lose your balance but sohee quickly caught you, moving you against the wall to cage you in. you felt even more secured in this spot, your mind running rampant. you thought you didn’t care if someone was watching, as long as you were able to keep kissing sohee. so you let him pin you against the wall while he wedged his legs between yours. you had to practice self control to not put your body weight on his thigh and let him kiss you until you became a mess. you just let his leg stay there and you let your legs clench around his.

he tilted his head and you responded by tilting yours so sohee could take your bottom lip into his mouth. he sucked on the skin harshly, letting his teeth lightly press into your pout. you opened your eyes for a moment to see his closed in bliss. while he sucked on your lip you let yourself catch your breath. your sweaty chest heaved underneath the confines of your clothes, suddenly too hot even in the frigid temperature. your hands found a way underneath sohee’s layers of clothes as you gripped his waist. you were moaning pitifully now, and you let your weight rest on sohee’s thigh wedged between your knee. sohee lowered his head with your body, not breaking contact with your lips for a second.

when sohee detached from your lips he continued to kiss you with vigor. it was the same way he kissed your folds in the empty dressing room while your career was waiting for you in your seat. you wished that doing something wrong didn’t feel so good as sohee moaned into your mouth. you let out whimpers of your own and sharp intakes of air filled the space between you as you desperately tried to catch your breath. sohee’s hand on the back of your neck was only there for comfort as you got back into the groove of kissing him. you took control for a moment, letting a hand come up to grab a handful of his hair. you tugged at the roots only once, and sohee’s hands moved to your cheeks to show you how intense everything felt. his thumbs pressed into the apples of your cheeks as the cicadas and sounds of your lips making contact filled the night air. his hands couldn’t stop roaming, going from your face to finally pulling you in by the small of your back. you leaned back away from the wall from the support and sohee leaned over you to not break contact. each kiss lit something inside of you and felt brand new—you wish you could kiss sohee underneath the buzzing streetlamp forever.

when sohee finally pulls away you can’t bring yourself to let go of him. both of you are dumbstruck, wide-eyed with your mouths agape. your lips are both swollen and glossy from spit as you catch your breaths. you can see sohee’s tongue in his mouth poke out to wet his lips and you only start breathing harder. puffs of white vaporized air fills the night as you huff out uneven breaths. you and sohee end up leaned against the wall side by side. you are looking up to the streetlamp and the moon when sohee reaches over to grab your hand. you look to sohee, vaporized breath dissipating in between the two of you.

“this means you’re my girlfriend again, right?” sohee says in between breaths of air.

you still have a dumbfounded look on your face as you nod looking at him. you didn’t have the words for it now, but you knew sohee would be yours forever. you two would make it through the time apart and hectic schedules as idols. even if it you both went through your own trials and tests of strength you remained steadfast, refusing to waste it any longer.

#01zfan: sohee #seriez: dont waste it #sohee smut #riize smut

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