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staytheword · 2 years ago

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thanks for the memories (lmly, part one)

thanks for the memories — part one of leave me loving you [→ part two] [series masterlist] [general masterlist]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!! if you interact with my writing please have a profile picture and short bio indicating your age. it helps me make sure you are not a bot!!

• han jisung x female reader, all other stray kids members are featured. other idols are mentioned briefly (ateez's wooyoung, itzy's yuna).

• non idol au, rock band au. drinking, partying, explicit language, explicit smut. oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, protected sex. (let me know if missed any warnings)

• word count: 11.6k

There’s only one person there, sitting on the edge of the stage, swinging his legs and looking around. For a second you think your eyes must be deceiving you, but it’s him. Han Jisung.

• permanent taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan ; @lotus-dly ; @cb97percent ; @j-0ne25 ; @hwan-g ; @jhopesucker ; @tanyas97 ; @raspbinniecreme ; @septicrebel ; @imtoooyoungforthisshit

• story taglist: @mintquokka ; @is2cb97 ; @dirah-h ; @bokk-minnie ; @allypasta ; @strawberriesandknives ; @drhsthl ; @hyunjins-red-lights ; @thesunsfullmoon (hope I didn't forget anyone, sorry if I did I have an awful memory!)

• author’s note: hello ♡!! here is part one of the series! thank you so much for all the support you've given me, it's really heartwarming :') I really really hope you'll enjoy this (can you tell I'm incredibly nervous haha?)! the first part is a bit longer than expected because I wanted to divide it differently but thought it didn't work as well.... ahh. anyway. well. if you can please let me know what you thought ♡ lots of love!

The Jack of Trades is packed tonight, exactly the way you like it. It smells like smoke and booze, colored by neon lights and light projectors. The floor is sticky under the soles of your combat boots, and you have to zig zag through the crowd to make it to the bar.

Tonight is one for the books.

The Trades is hosting the concert of a band who’s visiting your city on their tour. It’s a big deal. The band in question, Side Effects, got featured on Spotify and are really popular on social media. You don’t know them very well - you’ve only heard snippets of one of their songs - but judging from the amount of people squeezed in the Trades tonight, you’re representing a minority.

Leaning against the bar, you catch Yuna’s gaze and raise two fingers. She gives you a nod, her long hair falling in elegant waves on her shoulders. You always order the same thing, anyway, so she doesn’t have to ask. A minute later she hands you two bottles of your favorite beer, which will go straight to your tab, and you give her a thumbs up of encouragement in return.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen the place so packed. You don’t think you ever have. It’s usually busy on Fridays, but never like this. You feel a rush of pride because the Trades is your favorite place on this godforsaken planet and you know how hard Changbin worked to get it back on its feet after the last owner deserted.

Speaking about your best friend, he’s where you usually find him, near the mixing console where Jeongin is sitting, focused, his headphones placed on his bleached hair. Changbin is frowning at his phone, clearly busy with final preparations. It’s an important night for him. He lets out a relieved sigh when you hand him his beer.

“Finally,” he lets out, immediately taking a long sip.

You raise an eyebrow at him, smirking. “You’re welcome, Bin.”

He drinks for a few more seconds before answering you - his beer is already half empty.

“Can you see this?” he laughs in disbelief. “The place is fucking packed.”

“You did it, Bin,” you say, lifting your bottle to clink it against his. “You sold out the Trades.”

He grins and cheers to your words before emptying the rest of his beer. When he’s done, he releases a content sigh and you take the empty bottle from his hands.

“I feel better now. I was getting a little stressed,” he chuckles.

“Is everything ready?”

He nods. “Yup. We should be able to start on time,” he says, checking his phone again. “Oh, fuck, no, why is Hyun texting me…” You let your gaze wander around the room as Changbin starts to type frenetically on the phone. It’s hard to believe that only two years ago, this place was nothing. Changbin bought the place as it was falling to ruins. You still remember the first time he showed it to you, making a big show out of it. He put a blindfold around your eyes and everything - and when you saw the dusty floor, the bare walls and the half collapsed stage, you thought your best friend had gone crazy.

But Changbin had a vision. He wanted to create a place where there would always be live music, where people could come to dance to a band they liked just as much as grab a beer and listen to whoever was playing. You could see it in his eyes as he explained it to you.

It took months just to undo the damage made by the past owners - the plumbing needed to be replaced, there was mold in the walls of the bathroom, and things you preferred to forget in the dressing rooms. Luckily, Changbin was one stubborn guy, and he pushed through at the times you would have easily given up. You did your best to be there for him.

The months after that had been easier - choosing the color of the paint, the best material for the floor of the stage, the placement of the bar and tables. Changbin already had a name in mind, and you worked for weeks on a design for its logo. When Changbin gave his approval, he ordered a neon light in the shape of your logo, which now hung on the brick wall behind the stage.

Since its opening, the Trades has seen its fair share of rising artists, of questionable singers and chaotic musicians. A few concerts sold well, and the place became a success. Now there are so many proposals Changbin actually has to choose who will play on the nights the Trades is open.

Tonight, the place is sold out for a band that you’ve actually heard on the radio. Hyunjin, who works backstage, has a friend who has a friend - Side Effect’s guitarist. They were looking for a venue and the Trades ended up being mentioned in a conversation. When Hyunjin told Changbin, you were sure he was going to go into cardiac arrest. It cost him a small fortune to pay the band and promote the concert, but seeing tonight’s crowd, it was definitely worth the investment.

“He said three, Hyun - not, not two, three - I SAID THREE - HYUN?!”

You turn to Changbin, eyebrow raised, and he sighs deeply, holding the bridge of his nose. His outburst has also gotten the attention of Jeongin, who has turned his chair towards him and pulled down his headphones.

“We really need to get a better network for his place,” Changbin mutters. He nods at Jeongin. “Everything ready?”

Jeongin nods. He doesn’t talk a lot but has an impressive work ethic. He’s also the best - the best - poker player you’ve met.

“Y/N,” Changbin pleads, “can you please find Hyun and tell him three changes, not two. I need to stay here.”

You nod and head outside the booth. Although you’re always here, you don’t officially work for the Trades - but you don’t mind helping. The place is your baby a little bit, too. You’ve been here since the start, helped with the renovations, and you’ve barely missed a concert.

Holding on to your beer, you slip through the crowd towards the door leading backstage, Wooyoung letting you in with a sharp nod. You know the place so well you have no difficulty finding your way in the dark. You find Hyunjin standing behind the black curtains around the stage, hiding him from sight. He’s dressed all in black as usual, and blends with the shadows so well sometimes the only thing giving him away is the piercing on his eyebrow.

“Did he say two or three?” he asks you.

“Three,” you confirm.

“Three,” Hyunjin repeats under his breath, turning to finish preparing his things. “Why not two like everyone else? Why does it have to be three?”

You smile to yourself at his muttering, and hand him your beer.

“Take a sip, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.”

He drinks as you peak around the curtain to see the stage. You love seeing it from this angle when it’s all ready to go, its floor covered in cords and various equipment. Side Effects has four members, each with their own microphone, and the drum kit is huge.

You turn back towards Hyunjin who has a finger against his earpiece and hands you back the beer. You understand the signal - the show is about to start. The Trades goes dark and you hear the crowd scream in excitment. You turn on your heels to leave, as you don’t want to be in the way, but as you’re about to head back, you’re blocked by a few people passing in front of you.

You can barely see them in the darkness, only a few lights giving a hint of their faces, but you can easily guess from their outfits and general energy that they’re the band.

The first has short, ruffled dark hair and wears a tank top that barely covers his wide shoulders. He does not see you, clearly in his own mindspace. The second is slightly shorter, with shoulder-length black hair that is half tied behind his head. His eyes are wide and shine in the darkness. He notices you staring and nods at you quickly, munching nervously on his lower lip.

The third barely glances at you. He wears a leather jacket and his hair covers his eyes. The last is smiling, visibly excited, and gives you a wink as he walks by - but he does it so quickly you can’t get a good look at him.

Each of them gives a different energy, none of which feels similar to what you would expect in a popular rock band, and just for that, you are intrigued. The crowd is going wild, a few people screaming at the top of their lungs, pushing towards the stage. The overall atmosphere is electric, tense like the few seconds before a raging thunderstorm.

You decide to stay for a song, making yourself small backstage. The first notes of an electric guitar rips through the Trades, soon followed by a rhythmic beat on the drums. When the voices join the melody, you find yourself moving, tapping your feet on the floor. The song is catchy, reminding you of the music you listened to when you were a teenager - in a good way - and their voices blend in perfect harmony.

Tank top guy, who you understand is the main singer and guitarist, stands at the center of the stage, belting a high note in the microphone. To his right, the other guitarist smiles widely at the crowd, no longer looking nervous - and to the left, perfectly sporting the bad boy look with his leather jacket, the bassist does not even smirk.

But really, it’s him you can’t look away from. Sitting at the drums, on the edge of his stool, slamming his sticks like a man possessed. He’s fast and aggressive, his face quickly dripping in sweat, his tongue slightly sticking out from between his teeth. In your entire life, you’ve never seen anyone play the drums like that. He’s probably barely visible behind the other members and the array of drums and cymbals in front of him, and yet he shines so bright you can’t take your eyes off him.

You stand there as if struck by lightning for the rest of the song, and then for about half of the second.

Who is that guy?

You see the appeal of Side Effects. Four handsome guys with an insane amount of charisma bombarding really good music like they were born for it - of course they would be popular. Around you, the audience is dancing and singing, clearly having fun. You feel proud for the Trades, and a little embarrassed that you didn’t give this band much attention before. They are good.

You clap when the second song ends, listening attentively as they introduce themselves. The singer and leader is Chris. The other guitarist is Felix. At the bass is Minho, and behind the drums sits Jisung.

You can’t help it - you stare at him. Jisung. He’s fidgeting like a child as Chris interacts with the crowd, happiness overflowing his eyes. He plays with his drumsticks like they’re the extensions of his fingers, which you don’t doubt is true. As Felix says something about an upcoming EP, Jisung leans down to drink some water, and as he looks up, your eyes meet.

He doesn’t react, and for a second you think he can’t actually see you in the dark - but then, he smiles.

A heart-wrenching, life-altering smile.

You can almost feel your legs wobble, but really, you are too shocked to move. You just stare back like an idiot until he looks away.

How can a guy be so goddamn magnetic?

The next song starts and you try to catch your breath. It’s hard to do so as he plays right next to you, the muscles of his arms tensed, his entire body jolting as he pounces on the drums. He’s still smiling, but he’s focused. You breathe out slowly.

When you think you can stare at him in peace, he turns his head for a second and winks at you.

It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You take a step backwards, clearing your throat, and look around nervously. That’s when you see Hyunjin, who is smirking at you. You give him a glare and he playfully winks at you.

You make sure to give his arm a good slap before you head back towards the booth to go back with Changbin, your legs a little shaky.

You’ll watch the concert from a distance.

People often talk about the calm before the storm, but you prefer the one that comes afterwards. The latent electricity, the echoes of screams. You stand in the middle of the Trades, your ears ringing in the eerie silence. The entire audience has left, the stage is empty.

You stand among the staff, your shot glass lifted as Changbin ends his speech. He has a proud grin illuminating his face, his eyes shining like stars - you cheer with the others to the night’s success, clink your glass against Hyunjin’s and drink. People disperse to finish cleaning up or to get home, but you linger next to Changbin. You throw your arm around his waist as he finishes talking with Wooyoung, and once the bouncer tells you both goodnight, you pull Changbin into a hug.

“Congratulations, Mr. Seo,” you tell him. “I’m proud of you.”

He hugs you back, chuckling, his breath making your hair dance. In the way his body leans against yours, you can feel how both happy and exhausted he is.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he breathes.

You shake your head, leaning back, gently tapping his cheek with your palm.

“Of course you couldn’t.”

He pulls his tongue at you as someone calls his name. You both turn towards the voice. A young guy with dark hair is smiling at Changbin, walking towards you. Wearing a pair of jeans, a white button-up and a relaxed tie, he looks both casual and fancy. Behind him are four people you immediately recognize.

Side Effects.

You try not to stare, stepping away from Changbin.

The main singer, Chris, looks completely spaced out although he’s smiling politely. Felix looks like he’s still on his adrenaline high, bouncing slightly, looking around in curiosity. The bassist, Minho, remains impassive, but he perhaps looks a little bored. The drummer, Jisung - will you ever be able to forget that name? - is on his phone and does not see either of you.

“Mr. Kim,” Changbin says, extending his hand. “I thought you would’ve left by now.”

“Not without saying thanks,” he replies, shaking Changbin’s hand. You conclude he’s the band’s manager. “Call me Seungmin, yeah?”

He looks at the main singer and nudges him with his elbow.

“Right,” Chris smiles. “Thanks for having us. We had a good time.”

“Yeah, it’s a really cool place you got,” Felix, agrees.

They all give smiles and thanks, shaking Changbin’s hand. Your best friend’s grin cannot leave his face. You stand a little behind him, observing the exchange. It’s hard not to gawk. They’re still wearing their stage outfits, and although they look different without the spotlights, you can still feel their energy.

“We’re having a little after-party,” Seungmin explains. “Wanted to extend an invitation.” He glances at you. “You and your staff, of course. Anyone who wants to join.”

“Ooh,” Changbin chuckles. “Hell, why not.”

Seungmin nods. “I’ll text the address then. See you in a bit.”

As they walk away, you exchange a long look with Changbin. You wait until they’re out of sight to gasp loudly, holding on to each other like you’re going to fall on your knees.

“Did they just -” Changbin exclaims. “Did we just get invited to an afterparty?”

“I think we did,” you whisper frenetically. “I think we fucking did.”

“Holy shit!”

This is the first time anything like that has ever happened - usually, if there are after parties, they take place inside the Trades, and it’s with bands or musicians that aren’t very well known. Those who are, even just a little, often leave as soon as their performance is over.

“You know what that means, right,” Changbin giggles. “Not only did they stick around, but they took the time to thank us, and then invite us? What the fuck!”

You laugh hysterically, throwing your arms around Changbin’s neck. You take the time to scream and dance for a minute or two, but then there’s stuff to do. You help your friend settle a few things, leaving the rest in Yuna’s safe hands, who’s not in the mood to party and has worked at the Trades since its opening.

There’s five of you going to the party, so you split two taxis and get to the address Seungmin texted Changbin. It’s already really late when you get there, but you don’t care. This sort of thing never happens and you are going to enjoy it. Besides, if it allows you to steal a few more looks at that hot drummer, you won’t complain.

The place, which you guess is the house the band rented for their time in town, is huge and already filled with people. Nobody asks who you are, and you just join the party like you were there from the start. Changbin is able to find Seungmin, who guides you to the kitchen where there’s a scandalous amount of beer available. You grab a bottle and cheer with your friend.

It’s going to be a good night.

You’re going to lose the game, that much you know - but you’re not going down without a fight. If only your eyes weren’t burning from the exhaustion and the booze, you might’ve stood a chance. But then again, your opponent is good.

Minho has brushed his hair away from his face. His eyes drill into yours, and while they are beautiful, they are, right now, your worst enemies.

You squint as the people around you hold their breath - and after a few more seconds, you can’t take it.

You blink.

The small audience lets out an audible sigh. Minho gives you a smirk.

“Well played.”

You wave your hand, rubbing your teary eyes. You’re not proud, but you can admit defeat, so you nod at him and he pats your shoulder. You'll get him another time. Or not.

It’s incredibly late and horribly early. You’ve been drinking - not too much, but a fair amount. The party is slowly calming down. There’s still music playing, but it’s faint. People are no longer dancing and drinking but rather lounging and chatting. A few are laying on the floor or on the couches, asleep. Someone is snoring nearby. A lot of people have left. Most, in fact. But not you.

You’re still here and you’ve just had a staring contest with Lee Minho - which you’ve lost. You shake your head, letting it fall against Changbin's shoulder. He is half asleep, barely able to keep his eyes open, his head secured against a fluffy cushion. In a minute or two you’ll lose him, but that’s fine - you plan on just curling up next to him and sleeping too.

Except, as you’re about to do exactly that, you spot Han Jisung.

You haven’t seen him much during the night. Not long after you arrived, you saw him flirt with a girl and he disappeared afterwards - you can guess the rest. Not very surprising coming from a member of a rock band. Of course he would have groupies. He was handsome, talented, charismatic. A flirt, too, apparently. Not like you cared, and certainly not like you expected him to remember the wink he gave you - if it had even been intentional. At this point, you’re convinced he didn’t even see you, that you were just a faceless shadow observing him from backstage.

So much for the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

But he’s there now, walking towards the kitchen, wearing distressed jeans and a white t-shirt. His hair is all over the place, his steps a little uneven. You stare at him as he crosses the room - he’ll never see you, anyway.

Changbin's chest is rising and falling regularly now, and you glance at him to confirm he’s fallen asleep. You smile tenderly, pat his cheek, and decide to head to the bathroom before you also get some rest. You head to the hallway, stepping over a few bodies, smiling at Jeongin who’s still playing DJ although the music is at such a low volume you can barely hear it. You ruffle his hair as you pass him.

You step out of the bathroom, thinking to yourself you should get a glass of water, and look up. A few steps away, leaning against the wall, is Han Jisung.

He looks up at you and smiles, his hands in his pockets, his eyeliner a little smudged.

“There you are.”

You’re too surprised to say anything at first, and he chuckles.

“What, you think I forgot about you?”

You blink, trying to gather your thoughts. “Excuse me?”

He smiles, tilting his head a little. “It’s you. You were backstage earlier.”

“How do you know that? It was dark.”

“Not that dark.”

You chuckle, maybe a little nervously. You’re a bit too drunk and tired for this conversation. He just looks at you in response, and you know it deep inside your heart. This guy is dangerous. Dangerously attractive, no doubt. But also just dangerous - the kind to consume your heart in a single bite and not leave a crumb. Exactly what you should avoid.

You cross your arms, looking back at him. “If you knew I was here, why didn’t you come earlier?”

He shrugs. “I thought you’d look for me.”

“There were like a hundred people here,” you sigh. “And when I saw you, you looked a little busy.”

He laughs, shaking his head. His smile - fuck, that smile. Wide and bright and heart-shaped. Fuck.

“Oh, that,” he says. “Yeah. She was all over me, what kind of gentleman would I be to refuse?”

You snort. “For some reason I can’t buy into the whole gentleman thing.”

“I’m hurt.”

“Do I need to remind you you’re a rockstar?”

“Hm. I would have just said musician or “some guy in a band”, but I’ll take rockstar.”

You stare at each other, and you can’t explain it, but you both burst out laughing. Surely, it’s the booze. It has nothing to do with the electricity between you, like you’ve known each other for years, like this is far from being your first ever conversation. What the hell is this?

Is this what people mean when they talk about instant connection? All you’ve known is friendship and trust built by experience and bonding. Not that it’s a bad thing - on the opposite - but this is new for you.

You cover your face with your hands, shaking your head, and Jisung approaches you slowly, his eyes filled with sparks.

“I love your laugh.”

“Oh, come on,” you sigh, rolling your eyes.

You turn to lean against the wall, placing your hands behind your back, and he follows your move, barricading you between the wall and him. He smirks.

“You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that, rockstar,” you smile at him. “I just know guys like you. Flirts. Fuck boys.”

“Aoutch.”

“Like you don’t know it.”

He doesn’t refute it, his eyes lingering on your face, your nose, your lips, your body. Most of all, your lips. You’re tired and drunk and he smells good - it would be easy to reach out, but you won’t let yourself do it. You want to see what he will do.

And just like that, like he’s reading your mind, he leans in. Your breath hitches but you put a finger against his chest.

“Hm. Haven’t you had enough for one night?” you tell him mischievously.

He groans, and he’s so close to you his breath caresses your lips.

“It’s you I wanted from the start.”

It’s a terribly attractive thing to say, and you try really hard to ignore the fact that you’re turned on. You attempt to focus on little things to take your mind off his smell and his warmth - the fact that your mouth is dry, that a strand of your hair is tickling your ear, that your feet feel heavy in your boots after an entire day in them.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” you whisper.

“All the more reason,” he grins.

He reaches to put said strand of hair behind your ear, removing your itch, and it makes you almost dizzy - so much that you barely see him as he leans towards you again. Your finger, still pointed at his chest, pathetically bends, and your hand ends up sprawled against his shirt. His breath smells like apple flavored liquor. He kisses you.

You know you’re just some random girl for him, one he’ll probably never know the name of, one of many he’ll have made out with on his tour. You know you’re just that, and you should have enough self-respect to push him away and not become yet another groupie on his fuck shelf, but he kisses so well you forget all of that.

Or, well.

You know it, but you choose to forget it.

Han Jisung’s lips taste like chaos. He kisses the exact opposite way he plays the drums, languidly, longingly, almost carefully - he is patient and delicate, yet it is clear he knows what he wants. You wrap your arms around him, and he pushes you against the wall, kissing you deeper.

His hands are in your hair and he slides his tongue against yours, and you moan at the feeling of it, and in this instant you would let him do whatever he likes to you.

You said it.

Dangerous.

You are vaguely aware someone approaches you and stops next to you, but Jisung is still kissing you like it’ll never happen again - and it never will - so you don’t really pay attention to it. It is only when Jisung lips leave yours that you touch back with reality, realizing the voice has been calling his name repeatedly.

“What is it, man?” Jisung asks, his voice low and annoyed.

You’re still hidden in his arms, feeling drunker than you’ve ever been. You can barely open your eyes.

“Sorry,” the voice says. It’s Chris. “But we need to go, like, now. Felix isn’t feeling good.”

You glance at Jisung to see his face has changed. He looks tense, almost sad. It’s a surprising sight and it stirs something inside of you.

Jisung gives Chris a nod. “I’ll be there in a second.”

Chris leaves, and Jisung turns back to you.

“Sorry, baby. Gotta go.”

He gently lifts your chin with his fingers and gives you a last gentle kiss. Your legs can barely keep you up.

Just like that, he walks away and disappears. You know it’s the last you’ll see of him tonight - and probably ever. You’re not sure how you feel about that, but there’s nothing you can do.

You trace your lips with your own tongue.

Apples.

You drag your feet back to Changbin, who is still asleep, and you sit beside him. Feeling disoriented, like your whole life has been taken apart and built back sideways, you wrap yourself around him, close your eyes, and let sleep steal you away.

The barista slides the two full cardboard trays of coffee on the counter and you thank him with a smile. It’s heavy and impractical, but luckily you only have to go next door.

As much as you love the Trades during the night, when it’s packed and loud and stifling, you adore it during the day. If the weather is nice, like today, the doors remain open to let the fresh air in, and there’s a spot at the booths, where you usually sit, that catches the light just right. You head there first, leaving your bags and your own coffee, and then you make a round around the place to give the other cups to the people you meet.

Jeongin is making repairs on his sound console and he accepts the coffee with a nod. Andy, the janitor, takes the next one, and soon you’re left with just one. You head upstairs to Changbin's office, and seeing that the door is closed, you knock. It’s the code everyone knows - an open door means you can go in. A closed one means knocking.

You wait for a few seconds, and when the door opens, Changbin only lets his head through - you see there’s someone in there with him. Soft brown hair and a black coat. Could be anyone. You just hand him his coffee, and he thanks you with a smile. You’re curious to know who he’s meeting, but you’ll just ask later.

That’s the beauty of your friendship with Changbin. There’s absolutely nothing complicated about it. Since day one, you have been completely open with each other about everything, so ambiguity has never been an issue. Nothing ever lingers - you just talk about it. Good things, bad things, uncertain things.

It’s an affectionate friendship, but it’s also a brutal one. You both have strong personalities, and everyone expects you to clash, and you do. But you do it in a way that is so open and true it never results in actual conflict.

Changbin keeps you steady, Changbin knows you, and Changbin learns with you. To be human, to do better - but also to accept you’ll always have your flaws.

Whistling a Side Effects song - it’s been stuck in your head - you head back to your usual booth and sit down. You take off your jacket, open your laptop and plug in your headphones.

It’s difficult for you to find places where you manage to be productive when working. Your own apartment is often too warm; cafés are a nightmare; but the Trades, however, is perfect. There’s just an energy that gets your creative juices going, and you’ve been enjoying it as much as you can.

You take a long sip of coffee and get to work.

About twenty minutes later, you see Changbin crossing the room towards the main entrance with someone - the person he was in a meeting with, obviously. You recognize Seungmin, Side Effects’ manager. They seem to be on friendly terms, so you’re wondering why they met. You can’t resist the temptation to take off your headphones to try and listen, but they’re too far away.

It’s been two days since the party and you can’t think about much else, although you keep telling yourself it’s pathetic. Still, you’re intrigued. You thought the band would’ve left town by now. Clearly, they haven’t.

Changbin appears a minute later, sitting down on the booth in front of you with a smirk you can only describe as ecstatic. You raise an eyebrow.

“Tell me you still have the file for your poster,” he tells you.

“Always,” you frown. “Why?”

He scrunches his nose and leans towards you.

“Because you’ll have to add something to it. Encore.”

“Wha - WHAT? WHEN?!”

“In two days.”

“TWO DAYS?”

Changbin explains that the band’s next scheduled performances have been canceled due to a flood in the venue. Since their tour would only resume a few days later, they had some free time ahead and decided to stay in town.

They offered to perform another time at the Trades because they loved the place, and Changbin certainly wasn’t going to refuse. A last-minute show on a Wednesday would be a challenge to organize, but it could be done. It would be done.

Giving Changbin a tight hug with a squeal of excitement, you immediately get to work on the design of the poster announcing the new date. The rush of adrenaline is inducing a rush of inspiration, and you have it wrapped up in a few hours.

Once you’ve sent the file to the printer, you lean back against the booth and realize you’re hungry. You remember you still have leftovers in your fridge, so you decide to head home. You throw your bag around your shoulder but leave your headphones around your neck for when you’re outside. It’s quiet in the Trades, but you glance around the room to see if anyone is there so you can say goodbye.

There’s only one person there, sitting on the edge of the stage, swinging his legs and looking around. For a second you think your eyes must be deceiving you, but it’s him. Han Jisung.

He’s wearing grey jeans covered in patches of different patterns. His oversized red and black striped sweater is torn here and there, his dark hair in disarray. To complete his look, he wears a thin leather choker around his neck and a variety of bracelets on his wrists, and his nails are painted pitch black.

Whatever he might say, he does look like a rockstar.

You don’t know if you know him well enough to just approach him like that, but you figure that his tongue being in your mouth less than forty hours ago must count for something, so you take a few tentative steps towards the stage.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

He turns his head in mild curiosity, and once he sees you, grins widely.

“I was hoping to find you here,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Sure you were.”

“Sorry. It was too easy,” Jisung chuckles.

“Seriously, why are you here?”

He shrugs, the heels of his leather boots hitting the stage as he keeps swaying his legs.

“I was really bored, so I took a walk. Ended up here, and the doors were wide open,” he explains.

He looks up to the ceiling, a strand of hair brushing his forehead and falling in front of his right eye.

“I love to see venues when they’re empty. They’re this special feeling about them.”

“I know what you mean,” you agree with a smile. “It’s calm, but there’s still… this lingering tension.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Jisung nods, looking back at you, eyeing you up and down.

You feel a little casual compared to him in your baggy jeans and crewneck, your hair tied behind your hair with a claw clip, not wearing any makeup. You must look like a different person from the other night, but Jisung does not make you feel self-conscious. He looks at you exactly the same, with an intrigued gleam and a charming smile.

“Where are you heading?” he asks.

“Home,” you reply. “To eat.”

“Ooh,” he chants, jumping down from the stage. “I’m in.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“I kinda feel like a cheeseburger, though,” he states, walking towards you with purpose. He stops in front of you. “I’m paying.”

You open your mouth to argue with him, but then you realize you don’t want to. Free food and pretty entertaining company? Why not. You nod.

“Lead the way,” he says with a grin.

In a couple of steps you’re standing outside under a timid sun. You point to the left, and Jisung follows you.

“So what do you do here, exactly?” he asks, nodding towards the Trades.

“Nothing,” you say. “I don’t work there, not really.”

He frowns. “So why are you -”

“Changbin is my oldest friend. I helped him put the place together, and it’s kind of just… where I hang out. I designed the logo, though.”

“You did that?” Jisung wonders, pointing to the sign.

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” he whistles. “Looks really cool.”

You thank him with a smile. Although you’re always hard on yourself when it comes to work, you are proud of what you did for the Trades. Not that you would have accepted anything less than perfection, anyway.

“I did the posters for your show, too,” you add.

Jisung gives you a smile that you would call impressed, and you feel a tang of pride in your heart.

“So you’re a graphic designer?”

“Yup.”

“Cool. Tell me about it.”

You have no idea why he’s interested, but you indulge him, telling him more about your work as you head towards the closest diner. It’s not a fancy place, far from it, but they do have the best cheeseburgers in the neighborhood, in your opinion. Jisung doesn’t look like the fancy type, anyway. As you watch and listen to him, you feel like he’s more the type of person that can adapt to every environment they’re in.

Being constantly on the road as he is, you guess it must be a good quality to possess. Has he always been like that, though? Or is it something he picked up along the way to make it easier?

Something about him just tickles your curiosity.

You sit down on a booth of worn black leather and the waitress brings you the menu. Jisung doesn’t look at it - just at you.

“Were you born here?”

“Yes.”

“You never left?”

“Nope.”

“Not even for traveling?”

“Just once. Went to London.”

“For what?”

“Fun.”

“Hm.”

“Are we done with the interrogation?”

To your surprise, Jisung lets out a loud laugh, sliding his hand through his hair.

“Sorry. I meet so many people, and I rarely have the chance to get to know them. This is new.”

“So I’m the first human being apart from your band and management you are able to have a conversation with in what, weeks?”

“Months.”

“No pressure, then.”

His smile stays on his face, large and luminous. You kind of like it. The waitress comes back to take your order, and you ask for two cheeseburgers, two sodas, and a large plate of fries to share.

Jisung keeps asking you questions. You tell him about how you met Changbin - kindergarten - what was the best concert of your life - not his - and what your favorite font is - depends on the day.

You get your food not long after, and as you pick up your burger, you decide to turn the table on him a little. Only fair, right?

“So you’ve been bored and wandering around. What about the rest of the band?” you ask as he takes a bit of his burger. “What have they been doing?”

“Sleeping,” Jisung answers with his mouth full. He swallows. “Fuck, this is a good burger.”

“Must be grateful for the rest,” you say.

Jisung shakes his head. “Not all of them. Minho can’t stay still to save his life. He’s climbing up the walls already.”

You laugh in disbelief. “Really? He looks so… calm.”

“He’s so weird,” Jisung laughs.

You hear the tenderness in his voice, and you catch a glimpse of the bond that must be linking them. You felt it, even when they were on stage. They were more than a band - they were brothers.

“And the other two?” you ask, simply out of curiosity.

“Chris is fine. He doesn’t say it but he’s glad to be able to stay in. Work on music. Watch movies.”

Jisung’s eyes darken.

“Felix… sleeps. A lot.”

You can hear something there, but you don’t want to ask. It’s none of your business, after all. Still, Jisung explains.

“He’s been through shit recently. So it’s good he can sleep.”

You smile softly. “You’re really close, right? The four of you.”

“Yeah,” Jisung nods. “With Seungmin, too.”

The softness on his face is new, but it does not last too long. Quickly, his smirk comes back, his eyes full of mischief.

“You like video games?”

You expect Jisung to bring you back to the house where the party took place, but instead he walks you to an apartment building. He explains that the house would’ve been too expensive for a longer stay - it’s not like they were millionaires - so they found this place on Airbnb for cheap. It’s smaller, but more than big enough for the four of them. The rest of the crew shared another place a few blocks over.

“The four of us lived in a shoebox for the longest time while we were in our garage phase,” Jisung says as he closes the door behind you. “So this is luxurious.”

He doesn’t bother to give you a tour, but you don’t care. Leaving your bag in the hallway, you follow him to the kitchen.

“That was a long-ass walk you took.”

Minho is glaring at Jisung, wearing two oven mitts and a neon pink bucket hat. The kitchen smells delicious, and you glance at the oven to try and see what is cooking in there.

“Found a stray cat,” Jisung says, waving at you.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Cute of you to act like it wasn’t you that was lost.”

“I wasn’t lost. Just bored.”

Minho stares at you - or, well, you think he is. His eyes are completely hidden under his hat and his hair. He raises an oven mitt towards you, and you have to guess he’s pointing.

“Staring contest girl.”

“Not the worst nickname I’ve heard,” you pout.

“What was?” Jisung asks.

“You’ll never know.”

Minho chuckles.

“Made some meat pies if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks, bro.”

You frown as he grabs a plate to get a slice.

“But you just ate -”

You stop and shrug. One thing you’ll never judge or pretend to understand is how a person’s stomach works.

Minho and Jisung start whispering between themselves, and it seems like you hear Felix’s name, so you give them some space. In the meanwhile, you wander around the apartment, check out the hallway leading to the bedrooms, and then enter the living room. It’s a cozy space with a large sectional and a huge TV. You glance around for a good thirty seconds before you notice there’s someone sitting in a window nook. He hasn’t seen you, his eyes focused on his computer. Piled up on his head is a beanie, a pair of headphones and a hoodie. Chris. Jisung’s description was accurate.

“Don’t mind him,” Jisung tells you as he reappears next to you. “When he’s like that he’s not conscious of the outside world. You could be walking around naked he wouldn’t notice.”

“Sounds like a theory you’ve tested before.”

“Oh, yeah.”

You both plop down on the couch, laughing, and Jisung turns on the console. He hands you a controller and you start to play Crash Bandicoot, not really talking. You enjoy taking your mind off things, not really thinking about the situation you are in. Why are you here, after all? There’s no clear reason apart from the fact that you like Jisung. But you aren’t the type to question things too much - most of the time you prefer to just follow the path life takes you on.

For now it’s taken you here.

You spend the next few hours playing and eating snacks. At some point, Felix emerges from his room and sits on an armchair, dizzily staring at the screen. He looks exhausted, snuggled in a hoodie that is way too big for him, black hair curling around his ears.

When your eyes get tired Minho takes your place, playing a few games with Jisung as you text with Changbin. He reminds you you’re supposed to go to a birthday party that night, and you let out an irritated sigh.

“Fuck me,” you hiss through your teeth, resisting the urge to throw your phone across the room.

“Sure,” Jisung grins at you.

When you glare back, he chuckles.

“What’s up?”

“I have to go to this thing tonight. Birthday party.”

“Hm. Sounds fun.”

“Really not. The girl is a nightmare but she can’t, for the life of her, understand we’re not friends anymore, and that Bin will never be interested in her pathetic ass. All she does is show off how much money she has.”

“Wow,” Minho laughs. “Now I kinda want to meet her.”

“Good idea,” Jisung nods. “We’re not doing anything tonight, anyway, and I don’t know for you guys, but I don’t want to spend my entire night shut up in here. Let’s go.”

You shake your head.

“No way.”

“Think about it, Y/N,” Minho says, placing his elbows on his thighs. “Bringing us as guests would shut her right up.

“And I need to get really drunk,” Felix states, all of a sudden.

It’s the first words he’s spoken since he got out of his room, and while you look at him in surprise, the other two seem used to it.

“Then let’s do it,” Jisung claims, clapping his hands.

“I have to go home and change, though. If I show up like that she’ll start a rumor I’m homeless or something,” you sigh.

Jisung waves his hand. “That’s fine. I’ll come with you and help you choose a killer outfit. You guys meet us there, yeah?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get Chris when he emerges from the deep,” Minho nods.

Jisung takes your hand and lifts you off the couch. He guides you back to the hallway and slides on his boots.

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say. “We can meet there.”

“I wanna see your place,” Jisung simply responds.

Maybe you should be freaked out or annoyed at the game he’s playing. You know he’s just trying to get to know you, that you’re an adventure for him, but it also feels like he wants to assimilate as much as he possibly can before time runs out. It’s cute, but it’s also unnerving. What will he do with all this knowledge of you, once he leaves? Will he forget? Will you become a fond memory, or one that will fade away over time?

You shouldn’t indulge him, because you’ll probably end up getting hurt. But at the same time, it’s stimulating for you, too. Letting someone in. Letting him see who you are, every part of you, knowing it’s temporary. Then he can walk away, carrying pieces of you. There’s a beauty to that you can’t yet grasp.

When you arrive at your place, you let him walk around to look at what he wants, heading for your room. It’s not a big apartment, nor is it in perfect shape, but you made it yours. You and Changbin took the lease most particularly for the bathroom, which is more spacious than any you’ve seen in the city. In exchange, both of your bedrooms are kind of tiny, but it’s not like you have people over very often. If you do, it’s agreed you’ll find another place to stay for the night.

You remove your clothes of the day, changing your underwear and slipping on a short leather skirt. You’re zipping it up when the door of your room opens on Jisung, who strolls in like he lives there.

“What the fuck?” you let out, covering your chest - you’re only wearing a bra.

“You told me to make myself at home,” Jisung smirks, sitting down on your bed, sliding his hand on your comforter.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Come on,” he says. “You’re almost dressed already. Love the skirt. Is this the shirt you’re planning on wearing?”

He lifts the piece of clothing, a black tank top that laces on the front, and hands it to you. You snag it from his hand, slipping it on swiftly. He eyes you up and down.

“What about accessories?”

He stands up, walking to your dresser, and opens your jewelry box. You stare at him, absolutely mind blown at his behavior.

“Oh. Love that. That’s hot,” he says, handing you a lace choker you haven’t worn in ages.

“Having fun playing dress-up, are we?” you laugh.

He winks at you, and proceeds to choose the rest of your outfit. Cherry earrings, silver rings, and loose hair. Once he’s done, he twirls you around, biting his lip.

“Perfect,” he says, slipping a hand on your waist to pull you close. “Thoroughly fuckable, if I might say so.”

“Thanks?” you answer with a giggle.

“Y/N,” he breathes, taking a step towards you. “C’m’here.”

Before you can answer anything, he plunges his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your smell, and places a kiss there that sends shivers all over your body. You close your eyes.

“Jisung…”

“It’s not the outfit,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve thought about fucking you all day.”

You do your best not to let out a moan right there, instead biting your lip hard as he keeps kissing your neck.

“Jisung,” you breathe. “I just got dressed.”

“I don’t want you to undress.”

You frown as he pushes you towards the bed. You lay down, eyes on him. Outside the blue is fading to black, enveloping the room in a heavy purple, and there’s something earnest and intimate about it. You’ve been on edge ever since that kiss he gave you - and you’ve so desperately wanted to know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been interrupted.

You have somewhere to be, but you don’t care. Jisung is at your apartment and visibly also wants to pick up things where you left them off. You are not going to waste the opportunity.

Jisung’s hands spread your legs, his lips leaving a trail of wet kisses on your thighs.

“Just want to get a taste,” he mutters.

Your breath hitches as he pushes up your skirt, lips brushing your skin. He makes his way between your legs, finally setting his mouth on your underwear. At this point you are writhing around him, desperate for a direct touch.

“Getting wet for me so fast,” he breathes. “How can I resist you?”

“No one talked of resisting,” you answer in a sigh.

He chuckles. “Fair point. Can I?”

You nod, and he draws your underwear aside, leaving you exposed to his eyes. You spread some more for him, pulling up your skirt, and he does not waste another second. His lips embrace your wetness, his tongue swirling around your clit. You let out a shaky sigh, your fingers reaching for his hair. Your thoughts wander, far away from your reach, as you just enjoy Jisung’s caresses.

He hums against you as you roll your hips against his mouth. It’s working wonders for you, your pleasure building quickly.

“That’s good, baby,” he breathes. “Make yourself come in my mouth.”

You’re hot, your body tense, Jisung making out with your cunt. His tongue makes a quick work of it, and you come not long after. You shiver delightfully, and it takes you a while to come down. As you do, Jisung gently replaces your underwear where it was, contemplating the drenched fabric with a satisfied smile.

“Now you can walk around all evening in your soaked underwear, courtesy of me, and I’ll have your taste on my tongue,” he says in a low voice, his smirk all the right kinds of dirty.

You’re still riding the high of your orgasm, so you don’t really find the right words. You just smile at him.

“You’re fucking insane.”

“Just trying to enjoy the time I have.”

The taxi drops you off in front of your friend’s house. Jisung hands him a few bills and comes to stand next to you, admiring the place.

It’s huge, outrageously so, the typical rich person’s, and you absolutely hate it. From the judgemental look on Jisung’s face, so does he.

You put a hand on his shoulder. “You asked for it.”

Felix, Chris and Minho are already inside, according to Jisung’s phone, and it takes you a while to find them - the house is packed and loud.

“Have you seen Changbin?” you ask them, but they shake their heads.

You check your phone - no news from your friend. He’s probably running late or has a last minute hold up. You decide to stick around anyway. You’re dressed up, you’re here, and you have company.

You get drinks and sit between Jisung and Chris. You talk a lot to the latter, who, now that he doesn’t have his head in his computer, proves to be really fun company. You discuss productivity and creative slumps, interrupted here and there by the occasional fan asking for an autograph or a picture. Jisung is busy playing cards with Minho, his hand on your thigh. Felix is flirting with a few people, drinking fast, his smile widening with every second.

When your friend comes into your field of vision, and eyes you with annoyed envy, you are so happy you could sing. You wish her a happy birthday, the band too, and for once she has absolutely nothing to say.

“Changbin didn’t come?” she asks as a last resort.

“Sorry, he couldn’t make it,” you reply with a fake pout, trying to hold back your laughter.

When she leaves, dumbfounded and annoyed, you laugh hysterically with Jisung for so long you have tears streaming down your cheeks and your sides hurt.

As the night advances, Jisung’s hand rides higher and higher on your thigh. His eyes get glassy with the alcohol, as do yours - in fact, everyone gets pretty wasted. Chris and Minho share a joint, keeping an eye on Felix. Despite the chaotic ambiance around you, you five stay pretty calm, chilling on the couch you claimed, talking or playing silly games.

A few other people join you for a classic game of never have I ever - except you’re all too drunk already to play with drinks, so you agree on changing the rules. If you have, you kiss the person to your right.

“Never have I ever been naked in public,” Felix proposes.

His eyes are lit up like fireworks, and he stares at Chris, who shakes his head.

“Oh my gosh…”

“You HAVE to, Chris!” Felix cackles. “We all saw you!”

“What’s the story?” you ask, laughing.

“Nothing interesting. You don’t want to know,” Chris sighs.

“I do!” you retort.

“A simple story, really,” Minho explains, twirling a joint between his fingers. “He went to take a shower at the camping site we were staying at, and I stole his clothes.”

You all burst out laughing, and Felix claps his hands.

“C’mon, now. Kisses. On the mouth.”

Felix receives a kiss from the girl next to him, which surprises him - and Chris turns to you.

“It’s the game, right?" he laughs. "Sorry, Ji.”

“No harm, man.”

“You’re okay with it, right?” Chris asks you.

You nod, amused. Chis leans in, a smirk on his face, and slides his fingers in your hair. His lips are plump, kissing you gently, and you feel yourself melt a little. You almost don’t want to stop, your hand falling against his chest. The booze makes your tongue act on its own, dancing with his, and Chris indulges. It takes a minute before you lean back, falling back on the couch.

“Fuck, damn,” you laugh. Your cheeks are red. “You’re a good kisser.”

“So are you,” Chris smiles.

“That was hot,” Jisung lets out with a solemn nod.

You hide your face in his neck, giggling like a teenager, and the game continues. At the next question, Minho kisses the guy next to him, and you appreciate the sight a little too much. Your senses are getting tangled - between the booze, the weed, Jisung’s warm fingers around your thigh, Chris’ tongue and the sight of so many people making out, you’re officially horny.

It doesn’t help that you still feel your wet underwear against your cunt, reminding you of the joys of Jisung’s tongue.

You bite your lip, waiting for the right moment. Finally, a girl asks never have I ever stolen a car, and nobody moves - except you. You fall against Jisung, pulling him into a needy kiss. The people around you start yelling and laughing.

“What the fuck!”

“STOP MAKING OUT, WE NEED THE STORY,” Felix screams.

“I don’t think we’ll get the story tonight, bro,” Chris tells him with a chuckle.

He’s right, because you’re lost in your kiss, Jisung’s hands all over you. You don’t even care that there’s dozens of people around. You devour his lips, get drunker on his taste. You want him, you need him - and he kisses you deep and passionately. One of his hands grip your ass and you moan softly.

“I think we’ve lost them,” Minho says.

“Hey,” Chris says in your ear. “Get a fucking room.”

A giggle escapes your mouth and Jisung pulls away from you. His lips are already swollen, and the sight is so attractive you have no idea how your legs are able to hold your weight as he pulls you on your feet.

“Have a good time,” Felix sings as you walk away.

You wave at them, letting Jisung guide you through a house neither of you really know. You stumble through the crowd, stopping to kiss sometimes, and you can’t wait to be alone. It’s proving to be complicated, though, because every door you come across is either locked or already has people busy behind it. You scoff and snicker until you find a door that has a piece of paper taped on it.

PRIVATE DO NOT ENTER

You exchange a knowing look with Jisung. No words needed. He turns the handle and you see stairs leading down. You close the door behind you, lock it, stumbling down the stairs to the basement.

When you get there, you gasp.

It’s a beautiful room, with thick, fancy carpets and the biggest TV you’ve ever seen. There’s a bar in the corner, and on a wall, a collection of guitars. You stare in awe at everything, Jisung standing behind you, kissing your neck.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

For a second you forget all about Jisung, running towards the guitar displayed on the far right. It’s the same, you realize. The exact same model.

“That’s a rare one,” Jisung says, sliding next to you. “Worth a fortune.”

“My mom had one,” you tell him with a smile. “She found it at a flea market. Guy had no idea what he had. She paid 11 dollars for it.”

Jisung smiles even more widely. “It was meant to be.”

“Yeah.”

You smile fondly at the memory. It soothes you, envelops you. You forget where you are, for a second, although your entire body is drunk on Jisung.

“You play?” he asks you, his eyes not leaving yours, his hand putting a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“A little,” you admit.

“Then let’s hear it.”

“No, Ji, you can’t touch -”

You might not know him that well, but one thing you are learning about Jisung is that he does not care. So it’s without hesitation that he grabs the guitar from the display and hands it to you. You laugh, carefully taking it.

You sit down on the floor, the guitar in your arms, and you gently brush the strings. Jisung sits in front of you, leaning against the back of a couch.

Before you know it, you’re playing a melody you know like the back of your hand. With your eyes closed, and just the sound of music to guide you, it all feels like a dream. The basement, the party, even Jisung, it all fades - you’re alone with the guitar for a few seconds.

When you open your eyes again, at the end of the song, Jisung is staring at you with wide eyes and a parted mouth.

“A little?” he repeats.

You laugh. “Ok. More than a little.”

“You didn’t tell me you’re a musical genius.”

“I’m not.”

He lifts an index. “I’ve heard a lot of people play the guitar. I’m not just saying this. I think I’m lowkey in love with you, now.”

You smile at him, at his dark hair and his round eyes, at the line of eyeliner under them, at the choker around his neck, at the red and black sweater you were gripping desperately minutes ago.

“Same to you,” you admit.

He grins and crawls over to give you a kiss. The guitar falls beside you, immediately forgotten. Jisung hums against your lips.

“I want to fuck you,” he tells you in a hoarse voice.

“Yes please,” you answer, and he laughs.

You remove his sweater and let your fingers wander around his chest, touching his skin. It feels warm. Still kissing you, he unlaces your top, cupping your breasts. He teases your sensitive nipples, drawing a soft cry from your lips. You arch your back, thrusting your hips against his. You can feel his hard cock under his jeans, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around the bulge to stroke him. Jisung grunts in your mouth, and suddenly bites your lower lip.

You jump in your surprise, letting out a moan.

“Keep moaning for me, baby,” he whispers, gliding his teeth across your lips. “You sound so hot.”

“Fuck, Ji. I’ve been dreaming about that cock.”

You unbuckle his belt and take him out of his boxers. He’s hard, and you lift your hand to your mouth, slowly licking your palm. You keep your eyes on him while you do it, and he stares back at you, mouth parted, taking in the sight. Then, you start to stroke him, coating his length with your spit.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you,” Jisung growls.

He roughly takes your hand away, enclosing his fingers around your wrist, and pins it against the carpet. He lays you down as you bite your lip in amusement, glancing at his erection - and you can almost see him pulsating. He doesn’t let go of your arm, pushes up your skirt and pulls down your panties at the same time, and slides his fingers against your pussy.

You shudder as he chuckles.

“You’re still so fucking wet, baby.”

“It was all the kissing,” you admit with a smile.

You kiss his jawline, his neck, his ear, as he keeps rubbing his fingers against your wetness. You’re clenching around nothing, your hips moving in search of pressure - but Jisung keeps his caresses light.

“Chris got you good, didn’t he?”

“He did,” you breathe, although you can barely find the words.

“Got me, too, to see you make out,” he replies, keeping his voice low. “Maybe one day I can watch you fuck.”

As he says the words, he inserts two fingers inside of you, and you let out a choked whimper.

“Fuck, Ji, don’t say shit like that,” you cry out.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you want to?”

“Right now, I just want you,” you say, and you mean it.

He smiles against your lips as you kiss him. You sit up slightly, and he liberates you, taking his fingers out of you. He slides them into his mouth, cleaning them.

“The taste was almost gone,” he explains, and you smile.

You give yourself a boost to turn him around so you can straddle him. You place yourself so your folds grind against his cock, swaying your hips slowly. He lets out a deep breath, and you throw your head back. Your hands sprawl on his chest as you keep moving, and you know you’re making a mess, smearing your wetness on his skin, but you don’t care.

“Fuck, yes, baby,” he moans.

You glance at him with a smile.

“You like that?”

“I do. Are you coming?”

“I’m close.”

“Then stop. I want you to come around my dick.”

Not that you could refuse him. He takes out a condom from his back pocket - you don’t question why he would have that ready - and hands it to you. You get him ready, your fingers trembling slightly.

“Going to pound that pussy so good,” Jisung whispers to you, placing your hair behind your ears, cupping your cheek.

You rub his length against you to lubricate, and then slowly ease him in. A curse escapes your lips, and Jisung secures his hands on your hips. You accelerate gradually, and soon you are fucking him, your capacity to think escaping you. He helps you by bucking his hips, deepening the thrusts.

One of his hands travels across your stomach, squeezes your breast.

“So pretty,” he moans.

“You’re so fucking deep inside me,” you breathe out.

“C’m’here, baby,” he grunts, pulling you towards him, so you lean against his chest.

He places your arm behind your back, pinning you in place, and your knees fall on either side of him. Then, he starts hammering into you. The way he holds you, you can barely move, and the sensation is so intense it instantly makes you see stars.

“Holy shit, Ji,” you whimper. “I’m coming…”

“Come, pretty thing,” he whispers in your ear.

You come undone around him, shaking violently as he keeps you in place. Your moans echo through the basement, and maybe you’re being too loud, but you don’t care. You’re pretty sure no one can hear you above the deafening music from upstairs, anyway. Jisung continues to thrust into you, placing a few languid kisses on your neck until you’ve come down. Only then does he slow down.

“How was that, baby?” he asks, still rolling his hips.

“So fucking good.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he smiles. “Stand up for me.”

You nod and manage to push yourself on your wobbly legs. You lean against the couch, and a part of you just wants to lay down on it. But Jisung has another idea. He stands up as well, pulling you in his arms.

“Sit here,” he says, and pats the back of the couch.

He pushes the hair away from your face, kissing you deeply, his cock brushing your pussy. He’s still so hard - you know he’s not done with you. You settle on the top of the couch, spreading your legs. Jisung takes his pulsating cock and guides it inside of you again, keeping your legs apart.

You’re already getting too used to having him there, because your body hums in approval, and your pleasure immediately starts building back up. It feels like he’s filling every inch of you, his breath heavy on your neck, thrusting into you in deep, languorous moves.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” you mutter.

“It’s because you take me so well, baby,” he grins. “But I like your compliments.”

You bite your lip. “Praise kink?”

“Y’know it.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing his earlobes, licking his neck. You start to suck at the skin there, intent on leaving a trace, and he growls.

“You’re look so fucking sexy right now, Ji,” you breathe in his ear. “I love your cock. I love how you fuck me with it. You’re so beautiful and you made me come so hard.”

You feel him twitch inside of you, and you can’t help but smile. You hum, planting a few kisses along his jawline.

“Is there anything you can’t do, Ji?” you breathe, although he starts thrusting into you so hard you have a hard time aligning your words. “Such a good kisser, and you… You fuck so well… And the way you play…”

He moans, slamming into you. The sound of your voice, of his breathing, of his skin slapping against yours becomes a blissful symphony.

“When I saw you playing the drums… Fuck, I just fell in love with you,” you say.

You don’t know how you’re still talking because he’s moving faster and faster, bringing you to the edge again.

“Your fingers around the sticks… The way you hit the drums… So fast and brutal…”

“Fuck, baby…” he whimpers.

“You’re magic, Ji,” you cry out. “Everything that you are is magic.”

He moves his head to capture your lips again, and you moan in his mouth. Your kisses are feverish, disorderly.

“I’m coming again,” you moan.

“Don’t hold it back, baby, fuck, keep clenching like that,” he says.

You’re seconds away from coming when he does, and the feeling of his cock bursting into you is almost too much to handle. Your orgasm reverberates in your entire body, his too - and after a few seconds of delightful chaos you breathe out against each other, panting.

When you’re able, you open your eyes. His remain closed, and you admire the sweat on his skin, the slightly smudged makeup. You must look as much of a mess as he is.

You place a chaste kiss on his lower lip, and he opens his eyes to smile at you.

“I don’t want to move,” he says.

“Me neither,” you admit.

“Let’s just stay like that for a few more seconds.”

You nod, your head falling on his shoulder. After a minute, however, your legs start to waver, and you reluctantly move away from each other. Luckily there’s a bathroom in the basement, so you go together to clean up. He helps you lace your top back on and you insist on putting back his belt yourself.

He strokes your hair. Kisses you on the temple. Keeps your hand in his as you walk back upstairs.

You feel dizzy. You feel good.

This is dangerous.

Jisung will be leaving soon.

He’ll forget you and you’ll have to do the same.

All in good time.

Felix has fallen asleep on Chris’ shoulder, who is texting on his phone. Minho is playing a card game with the guy from earlier - when you approach them, he gives you a nod.

“You two look fucked out.”

“Let’s go home,” Jisung says, ruffling Minho’s hair.

You watch as the two boys walk away, their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. Although you’re exhausted your smile doesn’t leave you, and you help Chris wake Felix. The guitarist groans but still follows you, and you steal a bowl of chips on your way out so you can eat them in the taxi.

You get to the band’s rental and everyone heads for their bedrooms - you leave the empty bowl on the kitchen counter, following Jisung to his bed. You both fall against the mattress, entangling your limbs together, and you sleep.

Thank you for reading! I really hope you liked it, please let me know if you did. See you soon for part two!

#han smut #han x reader #han x you #han x y/n #han jisung smut #han jisung x y/n #han jisung x reader #han jisung x you #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #stray kids smut #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you

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staytheword · 2 years ago

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snakeskin

snakeskin — part one of the smell of roses [ ← prologue → part two (tba) ] [ series masterlist ] [ playlist ] [ general masterlist ]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors do NOT interact!! no real people are represented.

• lee know x female reader / changbin x female reader / lee know x female reader x changbin (NOT a love triangle), all other stray kids members are featured but not main characters. this specific chapter is lee know x reader focused.

• non idol au, bikers au, rivals to lovers au, small town au. inspired by sons of anarchy. (not beta-read so I apologize)

• word count: 15.1k (15,118) (sorry)

• warnings: mentions of all sorts of illegality; money laundering, drugs and weapons dealing. corruption and blackmail. a lot of drinking (often excessive). a lot of swearing and insulting. drug consumption (weed only). anger management problems. mental health issues (people are not quite sane). mentions of scars. mention of violence (stabbing). mention of pyromania. threatening with a weapon (knife). blood, wounds, stitching. mention of murder.

smut. dom minho. unprotected sex (stay safe people), semi-public groping, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (f and m both receive and give), deepthroating, choking, hair pulling, use of the words “good girl”, creampie, a little bit of a degradation kink.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he whispers. You find yourself nodding.

• taglist: @upallnight-s ; @ughbehavior ; @changbinluvr ; @valreadsfics ; @ppiri-bahng ; @mchslut ; you? (let me know if I forgot you)

“I get what you’re saying, Y/N, but there’s just nothing I can do.”

You groan at Jeongin and he smiles apologetically. You’re sitting on a bench near the police station, where you’ve asked him to meet you. You brought coffee. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst – caffeine is definitely not a good idea, but you’ve been so on edge for the past twenty-four hours you can’t sleep. You figure at some point your body is just going to crash, so you keep pushing it.

You needed to find some reassurance, to explore your options, so you asked Jeongin if there was anything he, or the police, could do about the Vices. You didn’t want him to chase them out of the town, just to find a loophole so you, your father and the shop could be left alone.

Jeongin shrugs. “Don’t worry too much about it. It won’t change anything for you, I’m even sure you’ll end up forgetting about it.”

“That’s cute. As if I could,” you sigh. “It changes everything for me, Jeongin. Everything.”

He pats your shoulder gently. “Just keep your head down, it’ll be fine. You’ve made it this far without pissing them off, which knowing you is a gooddamn miracle.”

You sigh. “But what if I want to choke him with my two hands?” you cry out. “Will you cover for me?”

“You know I would, Trouble,” Jeongin answers with a chuckle. “But I don’t think you’d last long after that. Changbin would be out for your blood.”

You stare blankly at your friend. “Who the hell is Changbin?”

“His Vice.”

“You – what – how did – hold up. Are you on a first name basis with them?”

Jeongin shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. “Some of them. Changbin is helping me fix my Chevy. He’s good with cars and they have really good contacts to get rare parts.”

“Jeongin…” you sigh. “You’re supposed to be a police officer.”

“I am,” he retorts. “I gave a parking ticket the other day.”

You shake your head in exasperation, but there is a slight smile on your lips. You talk for a while – he’s recently adopted a puppy – but you let him go back to work, or to whatever the police do in Temperance.

You stop for groceries on the way home. Maybe cooking will help you calm down. It’s not that you’re scared of retribution, but it feels like you’re being watched. Like something – or someone – could jump at your throat at any second to teach you a lesson. Like you’ve just tempted the devil a little too much and he’s waiting for the right moment to get back at you and drag you to hell.

As you’re contemplating either staying locked up at home or making sure you’re in a public place all night, waiting to cross a street, a motorcycle stops in front of you. He lifts up the visor of his helmet – Lee Minho.

“Ah. Wondered where you were.”

You stare at him, both fed up and defensive. “What?”

“The flower shop was awfully quiet without you to throw insults at my face,” he chuckles. He’s balancing on both legs, seemingly as much at ease on his bike as he is breathing. He’s wearing short sleeves today, and you spy a few small tattoos.

“Someone’s got to do it,” you spit back. “I’ll gladly volunteer.”

“Should we make it a daily appointment, then? Just to keep me on my toes.”

“You really are –” You stop because you suddenly realize what he has said. “Wait, you’ve been to the shop?”

“Your father was ready to conclude our conversation. Went smoothly without you screaming bloody murder.”

You don’t know if you should feel angry or betrayed – both emotions come so strongly at once you’re left in shock. Your father went behind your back.

The arrangement is made.

It’s over.

You feel strangely empty.

“Don’t look so defeated,” Minho tells you. “I’m not going to be in your hair.”

“You’re just going to take my money every month, huh?” You squint your eyes at him. “What are you going to do with it? Buy yourself a new shotgun? Burn it for fun?”

“Hm. I never thought of that,” he answers, leaning against his bike. “Thanks for the idea. Keep it coming.”

“I swear, you fucking dick, I’m this fucking close to getting myself a baseball bat and trashing your bike when you’re sleeping,” you hiss without thinking.

To your surprise – well, maybe you shouldn’t be surprised, the guy is clearly unstable – Minho bursts out laughing. “Just my bike, really? Why not bash my brains in?”

“Don’t fucking tempt me.”

“Such a foul mouth.”

He says it almost tenderly, and you frown at him. What the hell is his problem? Is he getting turned on by your threats? You wouldn’t put it past him.

You don’t know how that makes you feel.

You suddenly become aware of his thighs, pressed against the motorcycle seat. Of his hands, safely tucked in leather gloves. Of the curve of his lips as he traces them with his tongue.

“Since you didn’t want to give me your name, I asked around,” he tells you in a lower voice. “Ji had quite a few stories to tell.”

You clench your fists.

“He did tell me your name, but I think I prefer what they called you in high school. Trouble, right?”

He takes the time to articulate the world, his tongue lingering against the back of his teeth, his face showing absolute content. You try really hard not to spit in his face or slap him – you’re only able to restrain yourself because a part of you is worried he would like it.

“Love the nickname. You’d fit right in with us.”

“I’d rather choke on razor blades,” you laugh bitterly.

“Mmm,” he says. “Remove the razor blades and it can be done.”

You stare at him, absolutely dumbfounded. The guts on this guy. You guess he is not the president of a motorcycle club for nothing, but still. This is a lot.

“See you soon, Trouble.”

He puts his visor down and drives away, and you realize you’ve been holding onto your grocery bags so tight your hands are white and painful. You put them on the ground for a few seconds, sighing deeply, wondering if maybe you should’ve listened to your friends and be a little less stupid.

Only when you find yourself engulfed in the darkness of your room do you realize that you did it. You did it. You ruined someone’s night – and not just anybody’s. Minho’s. An ecstatic laugh escapes your lips and echoes in your cold bedroom.

You’re in the middle of doing paperwork for the shop when your phone rings. It’s Hyunjin, so you answer quickly. You’re alone in the Rose Garden today because your father had a medical appointment, and maybe it’s better this way. You’re having a little trouble forgiving him for going behind your back – luckily, he’s your father and he knows you better than anyone. He knows the best thing to do, if he wants to avoid another fight, is to give you space and time.

You’d rather have a fight, but that’s just you.

“Hey Hyun,” you smile, putting the call on speaker.

There’s no one in the shop, and since it’s still early in the morning, the chances of a client walking in are slim. People usually come around during their lunch, or after work to grab their orders or to buy a spontaneous bouquet for their loved ones. You’ve heard it all, you’ve seen it all. Please forgive me. I don’t want to break up. I’m sorry. Get some rest. Heal soon. Congratulations. I love you.

“Y/N,” Hyunjin says, his velvet voice tingling your ears even through the phone. “Are you coming to the pub tonight?”

You frown. “I don’t know. Probably. It’s Tuesday.”

You always go to Rossi’s on Tuesdays because the shop is closed on Wednesdays. It’s a ritual that you break only for emergencies or special occasions.

“Hm. That’s what I thought. Well, maybe don’t come tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Believe me, you don’t want to be there.”

“Why not?” you repeat, sincerely intrigued.

“They’re all going to be there,” Hyunjin mutters. He explains that his boss suddenly called earlier, asking all available employees to come into work that night. The Vices had decided to host a party at Rossi’s and there would be a lot of people there. “So yeah, maybe stay away?”

You roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Who the hell do they think they care? If you’re gonna host a goddamn party at least call in advance. Pretentious pricks.”

Hyunjin ignores you. “So you’re not coming, right? Please tell me you’re staying home.”

“Fuck no, Hyun,” you spit, and you hear him sigh deeply. “You bet your cute ass I’m going to be there.”

“Y/N,” he warns you, but it’s your time to ignore him.

“Thanks for letting me know,” you smile maniacally.

“That’s not why I called you –”

“I’ll see you tonight!”

You hang up after he tells you goodbye in a wary voice and your mind immediately enters brainstorming mode. How could you entirely ruin their little party? You’re just one person, and according to Hyunjin, there’s going to be a lot of them – but that does not scare you. They do not scare you.

Not even that fucker Lee Minho.

Maybe you should actually bring a bat and swing it in front of his face to see if he’d still be laughing.

You usually go to Rossi’s dressed in your casual clothes, whether it be overalls or a sundress. You have absolutely no consistency in your personal style but you don’t care. It allows you to have a variety of outfits in your closet – and one of them is perfect for tonight.

Leather skirt. Black top. Combat boots.

You’re going to make them think you’re one of them. You’re going to be a fucking tease and mess with their heads. You want to make them angry. You want to push their buttons. You want to see how far they’ll go. You don’t care anymore.

They’ve already taken what was most precious to you.

In comparison, giving them blue balls is really not that bad of a punishment. But it’s a start.

You get to Rossi’s around ten, wearing your smokey eyes and perfume as weapons. The pub is already packed, the music louder than usual. There are a scandalous number of bikes parked in front of it, and you clench your teeth. A few people are hanging outside, smoking, chatting. Two are already making out like their life depends on it.

You step inside – it’s about ten degrees hotter than outside and you take a deep breath. There are a lot of people there. You spot Hyunjin behind the bar, working as fast as he can, not looking like he’s having much fun. Claire, another barmaid, has a nervous smile on her lips. You don’t want to give them more work, but you need at least one drink if you’re going to make it through the night.

It's a miracle you find an empty seat at the bar, but you do. You hate your skirt, it’s way too short and tight, but you have to endure it. If you just manage to ruin the night of one of them, you’ll be happy.

“Can I just get a pint?” you ask Claire, who gives you a more genuine smile and pours you a pale ale, your usual.

You take a few big gulps, spinning on the stool to take a look around. There are so many of those leather cuts it’s ridiculous. Most people are from around town – you even see Jeongin and a few other cops playing pool with Vices – and a lot of girls wearing revealing outfits like you, although they’re not doing it with the same purpose as you. From their giggling and wiggling, they just want to fuck a biker – and the latter are ready to indulge. Jisung already has his nose against a blonde girl’s neck.

You get lost in your thoughts and get startled when Hyunjin leans towards you across the counter, his eyes dark.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

You giggle innocently. “What do you mean? I’m not wearing anything special.”

“Fuck’s sake, Y/N, I’ve never seen anyone that likes to stir shit as much as you.”

You wink at him, and he walks away – it’s not like he has time to give you a lecture, anyway. He just makes sure to glare at you once more, mouthing a go home although you’re sure he knows you’re going to ignore him.

You take your time deciding on a target – you had planned on starting with Jisung since you know him, but he’s already busy. Maybe Chris? He has a girlfriend, but won’t that make it even better for your objective? He’s over there, with his bright orange hair, and looks bored out of his mind. You’ll entertain him, you chuckle. You decide to at least finish your first pint before you go on the offense, but before you can, you feel someone slide in the space between your stool and the next.

“Interesting. I would’ve bet you were a red ale girl,” he smirks.

It's Lee Minho, of course.

“What makes you think that?” you ask, giving him your best smug smile.

“Red’s my color,” he states, arching an eyebrow.

You do the same. “Says the guy always wearing black.”

He doesn’t answer, just looks at you, eyeing you up and down. You don’t mind – you even return the favor. Tonight, he’s wearing a simple t-shirt under his cut, and his jeans are torn at the knees. There’s a chain around his wrist, another around his neck. His silver hair falls on his forehead, hiding his scar a little.

“Did you dress up for me, doll?”

You shrug. “For anyone who bothers to look.”

“Hm,” he shakes his head. “Looking for a fuck?”

“Why, are you interested?”

He barks out a laugh, his eyes shining. “And I thought you didn’t want to play.”

Raising his arm, he snaps his fingers and Claire immediately rushes to him. You wonder if they were given directions to give him priority. The president.

“Get us a few shots of whiskey, will you?” he asks, not looking away from you. You hold up his stare, making sure to stay entirely unfazed. Which you definitely are.

“So, what is this party for, exactly?”

“Just us celebrating the fact that we now own every square feet of this town,” he replies in a low voice. “Thanks to your father. I should’ve invited him as guest of honor. How rude of me.”

Your façade breaks and you clench your fists. “You fucking dick,” you hiss. “I swear, I…”

He shakes his head, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Now, now, doll. Not that I don’t like hearing filthy words coming out of your cute mouth, but how about we hold off the insults tonight? I’m trying to unwind.”

You want to slap him so bad your hand twitches – but Claire chooses this moment to come back with a small tray filled with six shots of whiskey.

You stare at it. “Is this just for the two of us?”

“It’s a party, remember, Trouble?”

His use of your old nickname irritates you – and yet it doesn’t. You decide not to pick up on it and you grab the first shot. What the hell. It might make your night’s mission easier if you think about it. You take the first and the second shot in a row. Minho does the same, leaning closer to you when he’s done.

He hands you the last shot, clinking it against his. “To my new favorite girl.”

You down the shot and stand up. The space between you was already small, and your body slides against his as you stretch your legs. He lets you do it, not moving an inch. You let a smile linger on your lips and stare at his. You drag your finger against his mouth, where a drop of whiskey lingers. Then, you pop your finger in your mouth to lick it clean.

“Thanks for the shots,” you tell him in a whisper before you walk away. You head for your intended target. A part of you expects Minho to grab your arm or your wrist to get the last word, but he doesn’t. He just lets you go.

The music is loud, electric guitars and heavy drums dulling your senses alongside the whiskey. A few people playing darts suddenly erupt in loud laughter. It’s easy to spot the orange hair, so you follow it through the crowd, stumbling a little – all that booze is hitting you pretty hard. A few seconds later, you’ve lost orange boy.

“Where the fuck is –” You’re not watching where you’re going. Your foot butts against something and you lose your balance, the rest of your beer dangerously tilting in your glass. You expect to hit the ground any second, but something holds you up. Someone.

You look up to see Vice staring at you. He pulls on your arm, putting you back straight on both your feet.

“Thanks,” you say in a small voice.

He’s staring at you, looking slightly pissed off, as he usually does. You remember what you’ve heard – anger management issues. A good mechanic. Very protective of his president. Hm. Maybe he could be your next target. Although you’re not sure if it’s a good idea to push the buttons off a guy who once almost beat someone to death.

“Don’t drink if you can’t handle it,” he tells you, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him speak. He has a grainy voice, full of spite, but it’s also strangely endearing. His lips are a soft pink, plump and cute. You’re a little drunk so you openly stare at them. Maybe you have a problem, too.

“What if I was just trying to get your attention?” you answer with a smile.

His eyes squint slightly. “That’d be stupid,” he replies. “You could’ve just fallen on your face.”

“But I didn’t,” you say. “Your big strong arms caught me.”

To emphasize your point, you slide your hand on his bicep. There’s a tattoo there – the club’s logo. You feel its edges under your fingertips. He tenses, taking a step back.

“Go away,” he sighs.

You pout. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to dance. Or teach me how to play pool, maybe? I can pretend I don’t know how to hold the cue.”

He shakes his head. “Whatever you’re trying to do, it’s not going to work. You’re not one of those biker chicks,” he says with disdain, nodding his head towards a bunch of giggling girls.

“You know nothing about me, Changbin.”

He blinks at you in surprise, and his face immediately darkens.

“If you keep messing with me, you’re not gonna like what you find,” he threatens, his voice nearly reduced to a growl.

“Oh, but I do.” You put a finger against his chest. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you and I want to find out which ones are true.”

He sighs. “Why don’t go and find someone who’s in the mood to flirt with you? You’re really wasting your time with me.”

You’re seconds away from screaming in frustration. The guy is a brick wall. Nothing is getting through. You give up – you let down your arms and give him an annoyed look.

“Fuck you,” you snarl – and that’s when he almost breaks into a smile.

“That’s more like it. Now, go away.”

You oblige him once more, heading through the crowd to find someone else to annoy. You look back after a couple of steps, strangely hoping to find him looking at you, but his back is to you. A very nice-looking back, at that. What a shame it’s ruined by that stupid angelic devil stitched on the leather.

You end up standing rather pathetically in some corner, having no fun at all. You were so sure your plan was perfect, but clearly you were wrong. You feel bitter and annoyed – and you feel desperately lonely. It’s the feeling you hate the most in the entire world, and when it creeps up on you, you usually chase it down with any kind of rush or stupid decision. It does not help when you’ve been drinking, which you have.

Fuck the Vices.

You have half a mind to start grabbing bottles and glasses and smash them on the floor. What if you grabbed someone’s hair and punched them on the nose? What if you screamed at the top of your lungs? But you care about Rossi’s too much to really make a scene, so you just storm out. Once you’re outside, you take out a joint with shaking heads, trying to light it as you walk, but it’s too windy and your lighter just doesn’t want to work. You groan in frustration, clutching the joint in your fist, officially ruining it.

Great.

Your life is in ruins.

You don’t have anyone.

And all you see are those fucking bikes.

What if you just gave them a kick? You could watch them fall like dominos and laugh your ass off.

“Here.”

You jump at the sudden sound of Jisung’s voice next to you. He’s so silent. So creepy. But he’s handing you a lit joint.

“Just giving back what I owe,” he says.

You don’t even care. You take the hit, but it doesn’t calm you down. It only seems to make your rage rise in your throat, and you’re on the verge of tears. You’re so angry. So disappointed. Your father had promised.

It’ll never be theirs, he had said. I promised your mother and I promise you now. The Rose Garden will never belong to them.

“Y/N.” Jisung’s hand is on your shoulder. You’re not sure what he wants to tell you, but you don’t really care. You just need to exorcise the loneliness out of your chest – so you grab his collar and pull him into a desperate kiss. His lips are soft and taste like cherries, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, his tongue seeking yours. Your hand slides in his soft hair, and you just want to forget everything.

Jisung bites your lip a little too hard and you moan in his mouth. He pushes you against the brick wall of the pub, his fingers sliding down your body to squeeze your skin. His hand is lifting your skirt and he kisses you hard.

You wanted Hyunjin to be your first everything – but it ended up being Jisung. He’s a heavenly good kisser and your first time wasn’t even that bad, considering you were both inexperienced and high on weed. It’s been a long time since then, but his taste is still familiar. You wonder if he still has a soft spot for putting his fingers so deep in your mouth you gagged.

You’re too drunk to care that you’re making out with a Vice, and as you want to ask Jisung to go somewhere more private, he suddenly disappears from around you.

You blink, your eyes adjusting back to your environment.

“Get back inside, Ji,” Minho growls, holding his friend by the collar. He throws him in the direction of the pub entrance, visibly annoyed.

Jisung gives you an apologetic smile. Your mind is completely blank.

“For someone who hates the Vices so much, you sure didn’t seem to mind tongue fucking one.”

You stare at Lee Minho, pissed at having been interrupted, at not having achieved what you wanted from tonight, at everything.

“What’s wrong with you?” you groan.

“I don’t like it when people touch what’s mine. And I specifically told Jisung to keep his hands from you.”

It takes you a second too long to register what Minho has just said.

“Excuse me?” you yell at him. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Minho lifts his chin, arrogance seeping off of him.

“What is yours?” You repeat, laughing hysterically. “This is not a movie, you’re not the master of the fucking universe. Jesus Christ, dude, you need a reality check.”

“No, Trouble. You do.”

His voice suddenly hits differently. It stops you from spitting venom at his face, because he actually looks mad. A strange light has sparked in his eyes, and you step back against the brick wall, your hands holding your body up.

“I do own this town, and you owe some fucking respect,” he tells you, pinning you there without even touching you. “I only let you run your mouth because there’s nothing you can actually do against me, and it’s amusing to see you think you can.” He smirks at you, but there is no amusement there – just malice. “However, I have my fucking limits and you’re very nearly hitting that nail on the head.”

It’s out of your control – you open your mouth to retaliate. Minho’s eyes spark like lightning and his hand slaps against your mouth. His fingers are sprawled over your face, pushing just enough to hold it there without hurting you.

“You’re really asking for it, huh?” he mutters. In the darkness, with his eyes lighted up, he looks insane. You’re scared but you also don’t care about what happens to you. It’s making you reckless. It’s making him reckless, too.

Except he has a knife and you don’t.

Except he pulls said knife and rests it against your neck.

It feels cold against your skin.

“What if I just opened your throat, doll? What would happen?” He laughs. “No one could do a damn thing to stop me. And I could just carry on living as I already do. And you’d just be dead.”

He’s not just bringing you down – he’s shoving you six feet under with a fucking shovel, savagely hitting you on the head with it. Your eyes are filled with tears, and you’re pretty sure that the second he removes his hand, you’ll fall on the ground with a whimper.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he whispers.

You find yourself nodding.

“Good girl.”

He puts his knife back in his pocket and then removes his hand. Your legs wobble but he holds you up, helping you back on your feet.

“Now, let’s get you home,” he says more softly, petting your hair like a child. “Call her a taxi, will you, Vice?”

You just notice that Changbin is standing a few feet away, watching the scene. You expect him to look as he usually does – both disinterested and irritated. However, there is something different in his eyes this time. It might be because you’re drunk and scared, but you could swear he seems worried. If it’s for you or Minho, you have no idea.

He nods at the words and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Meanwhile, Minho turns to you.

“Get some rest, Trouble. You’ll need it.”

You have no idea what that means but you can’t find the strength to ask. You watch him walk away, and you can’t stand still anymore so you sit on the sidewalk to wait for the taxi. Changbin stays with you, standing in silence behind you.

When the taxi gets there, he helps you up and gives your address to the driver – how and why he is in possession of that information is beyond what you can comprehend. You decide to just close your eyes and sleep until you get home.

That day, you and your father are working in silence. You’re cleaning and he’s preparing an order in the back. You wouldn’t say you’re back on good terms, but time has passed, and you’ve managed, not to forgive him, but to understand. He had no choice. You’d been the childish one, thinking the Rose Garden could be safe, that you could hold it back from Vices’ hands. It would’ve happened eventually. At least, now, you have time to get used to it before you take over the shop. Not that you’ll make their lives easier – you have already planned on handing them their precious bribes in very small bills.

Not that it didn’t make you angry – but you figure your anger was better directed at the bikers than at your father, who just tried to make ends meet, who just tried to keep you safe. He’d made his promise to you – but you couldn’t imagine how it felt for him to break it in spite of himself.

You place fresh hyacinths in the display, twirling them so they look their best, inhaling their scent. It’s one of your favorite things about the Rose Garden – how heavenly everything smells. You just have to close your eyes, let the scents fill your lungs, and you feel more at peace.

The bell at the door rings and you turn to smile at the client. “Good morning, how–” You stop, because it’s Lee Minho standing there. Your smile fades, but his doesn’t.

“How pleasant. Good morning.”

What is it about him that precipitates such a strong urge for cold blooded violence?

Tsk.

Everything.

Your father appears from the workshop. “What can I do for you today, sir?” He politely asks. “Let me help you.”

“No, Dad,” you protest. “I’ll take care of him.” You turn to Minho with your utmost polite smile, and he smirks in amusement.

“Delightful,” he simply says.

“Y/N…” Your father mutters.

“It’s fine, Dad. Really,” you make sure to give him a sincere smile, and he sighs, going back to the workshop.

You turn to Minho. “What do you want?”

“Flowers,” he says simply. “Why else would I be here?”

You scoff. “I can think of a few reasons.”

“It’s true,” he says, taking a few steps inside the store to look around. He glances at the orchids, the jasmines. The magnolias grab his attention. “It’s my grandmother’s birthday tomorrow. I’d like to get her a bouquet.”

You can’t hold back the look of surprise on your face. One second, he’s putting a knife to your throat, the next he wants to buy flowers. Minho chuckles softly.

“What, did you think I don’t have a grandmother?”

“No, I just – Nevermind.”

You shake your hair out of your face and take a deep breath.

“You have any idea what kind of flowers you want?”

He shrugs. “I’m open to suggestions.”

For a second, you decide to forget who he is – this is business, and you’re a professional. Besides, he hasn’t been awful just yet, and if you can make some money off of him for once, you’ll take the opportunity.

“Alright. Let me see.” You look around the shop, biting your lip, before you gesture towards a display. “I love those. They’re call snapdragons, so you might think they’d look rough, but they’re very delicate. Beautiful to start a bouquet. However, if you want to go towards a cold palette, the Lackspur is…”

“My grandmother loves red,” Minho clarifies. “As I do.”

You ignore his last comment and continue with your recommendations. You read his face, his nods and his frowns, and start to build the bouquet in your head. Finally, you show him the shop’s specialty, your wall of roses.

You keep roses of all colors and sizes. Pink and magenta and cream and dark red. They cover an entire wall of the shop, bright and blooming.

It was your mother’s idea. She dreamed of having an entire rose garden, but since she couldn’t, she made herself a wall instead.

“Hm,” Minho ponders. It almost seems like his eyes pass over each and every flower in front of him. After a few seconds, he turns to you. “Make something. I trust you.”

“You sure?” you ask.

“Always,” he nods. “Deliver it to the clubhouse tomorrow, I’ll pay then.”

You hesitate. “The clubhouse?”

“You know where it is, right?”

“Yes, but –”

He claps his hands. “Then it’s done.”

Before you can protest any further, he’s gone, and the shop is silent again. You stare at the door, hesitating between panic and anger.

Your father comes back to check on you. “Everything all right? What did he want?”

“He… ordered something.”

Your dad raises his eyebrows. “He did?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

He gives you a long look, but you just smile. You’re definitely not going to let your father take care of this – especially since you’ll have to deliver it. Well. You could call the teenager that usually takes care of that, but a part of you is really curious to go to that clubhouse and see what it looks like from the inside. Besides, you have a feeling Minho wouldn’t like it if you sent someone else to deliver his precious bouquet.

You sigh. What a pretentious prick.

You could make sure to make the ugliest flower bouquet anyone’s ever seen, but you really don’t see the point of hurting his grandmother’s feelings. For all you know she’s a sweet lady, and you’re not a monster.

The next day, you carefully put together the bouquet with the flowers you selected. It has a soft pink palette, sprinkled with white and lavender. You add delicate leaves and lacy white ribbon to hold it together.

The easy part is over.

It’s a warm and sunny day. You walk towards the Vices’ clubhouse, your chest tight and your cheeks red. You’re wearing a simple t-shirt and a long skirt. The hand that is carefully holding the bouquet is sweating so you change it regularly – maybe you should’ve taken a taxi and added it to the price. Too late now.

The Vices’ clubhouse looks like an ordinary building from the outside – you’d even dare to say it’s ugly. It adjoins a garage where you can see a few people working. Someone is washing their bike outside; another is sipping on a beer. You approach cautiously, feeling entirely and completely out of place.

“Excuse me?” you ask the first you reach.

It’s Chris, his scar bright white under the sun. He gives you a confused look, holding a sponge dripping with water and soap. He’s wearing a sleeveless top under his leather vest, sweat covering his skin, and you tell yourself he’d probably be less hot if he took off his cut, but apparently that’s not a thing the Vices do. You’ve never seen one of them without it.

“I’m supposed to deliver this,” you tell him, pointing to the bouquet.

He stands up, throwing his sponge in the bucket next to him. You slightly step back so you’re not splashed with water. Rude.

“Follow me,” he says, visibly annoyed to be interrupted.

You don’t care – in fact, it pleases you. You haven’t had the chance to bother him the other night. You openly stare as you follow him, because he might be a Vice, he’s far from being bad-looking and his arms are the stuff of dreams. In fact, most Vices are attractive – you wonder if it’s a part of their selection criteria. Not just bikers – sexy ones. You smirk to yourself.

He guides you inside the garage. A car is jacked high up, and you spy Changbin working from under it. He’s wearing one of those jumpsuits for mechanics, but he’s removed the top and tied at the hips, probably because his goddamn leather vest did not fit above it. He’s sweating too – and you notice he has a bruise around his neck and a bandage on his left cheek. He glares at you as you pass by him, and you can only look away.

Chris opens the door for you, and you step inside the main building. It’s spacious and comfortable – there’s a few tables, a foosball table, plenty of couches. The walls are dark wood, covered in signs and posters. Music plays at a reasonable volume. There’s a bar, and many doors which seemingly lead to other rooms. You look around you. You’re not sure what you expected. Neon lights, half-naked girls, people snorting coke?

This is… nice.

You shake away the thought.

“Where’s he?” Chris asks the guy behind the bar. The latter is cleaning glasses – and points to one of the doors, which reads Infirmary.

Chris does not waste any time and knocks on the door. A beautiful young woman you don’t know, with long red hair, opens the door. Behind her, you see a figure sitting on a hospital bed.

“Your flowers are here, boss,” Chris says. You hear the mocking tone in his voice, and you give him a glare. He ignores you, of course, and then leaves you standing there.

“Come in, Trouble,” Minho says. “I’m just wrapping up here.”

You exchange a look with the young woman, but she doesn’t say anything – she only closes the door behind you when you come in.

“Don’t just stand there, let me see.”

You circle the bed, almost feeling shy, until you’re almost facing Minho. He’s healthy enough to smile at you, but he’s definitely banged up. One of his lips is split, he has the hint of a black eye, and his sleeve is rolled up, letting you see a very big and very deep cut on his arm, which the woman is in the middle of stitching.

“Aw,” he says. “Is that worry I see in your eyes?”

You look back at him. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Just business.”

A part of you wants to insist, but it’s just curiosity, so you let it go. Minho has moved on anyway, eyeing the bouquet in your hands.

“Looks perfect,” he says. “You put a lot of care into it,” he adds with a smile.

You pinch your lips and you simply tell him the price.

“Of course, doll,” he tells you. “Once Cherry is done, I’m all yours.”

You roll your eyes but don’t answer anything. You wish you could just shove the bouquet in his hands and run away, but you’re definitely not leaving without his money.

Instead you stay there, letting out a long sigh.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how my day is going?” Minho tells you, his face not showing in the slightest that he’s being stitched up. The young woman, Cherry, is focused on the wound, her fingers stained with dark blood.

“No,” you retort simply.

“I’ll tell you anyway,” he sighs. “It’s been absolute shit, to tell you the truth. Don’t you just hate it when people don’t listen?”

“Depends who’s talking.”

A smile forms on his face, and he’s about to answer when his body suddenly jolts. He winces in his pain, closing his eyes. Cherry has stopped moving.

“Almost done,” she says softly. Almost tenderly, it seems. You stare at her. Her doe eyes, her shining hair. She looks like a princess.

Minho keeps his eyes closed for another few seconds, and then slowly opens them. You wish you could smile at his pain. But you can’t.

It hasn’t even crossed your mind to do so.

Oddly, you feel something else entirely.

“Could please wait for me outside, doll?” he says in a calm voice, and you find yourself both nodding and obeying.

You lean against the wall although the couches look insanely comfortable, ignoring the curious looks from the guy at the bar. Why couldn’t you be happy about Minho’s pain? You hate the guy and everything he represents. But then again, you have a heart. Him? Still up for debate.

You think about getting out your phone to scroll to keep your mind occupied, but a minute later Minho is leaving the infirmary, a bandage around his arm. He smirks at you.

“Follow me.”

You hate how arrogant he is about it, but you stick close to him as he walks. You reach a door at the end of a small corridor – he opens it, and you realize it’s his office. Once again, it surprises you how modest it looks. No fancy decoration or even a sexy calendar. There are a few pictures lined up on the right wall, and the logo of the Vices is spray painted on the left. Minho circles the wide wooden desk and lets himself down on the rolling chair.

“Sit down, doll,” he tells you.

He takes out his keys and proceeds to unlock something under his desk – a safe, probably. It’s silent in the room, almost too much, and you realize you’re holding your breath. It feels strange to be here, like you’re somewhere you shouldn’t, like going backstage after you’ve only been watching from afar. You sit down silently, carefully setting the bouquet on the desk.

“Is she your girlfriend?” you ask.

“Who?” he asks.

“The nurse. Cherry.”

Minho snickers. “Oh, no. She’s my step sister.”

You nod. You don’t know anything about Minho’s family history. You assume he must be the previous President’s son to have inherited the position, but you don’t even know about that. Asking would make him think you’re interested, and you don’t want that, so you keep your mouth shut.

“Here,” he slams the safe door closed and hands you a pile of cash.

You raise an eyebrow. “I said it was fifty-six, not five hundred.”

“It’s not five hundred,” he retorts. “It’s fifty-six and a bonus. You walked all the way here, no? I’m a generous tipper.”

You squint your eyes at him, suspicious, but he just waits for you to take the money. After a few seconds you do, and you count the bills. As you do, your jaw unclenches, and you stare at him with wide eyes.

“That’s way too much.”

“Think of it as a gift.”

“Are you trying to bribe me or something? Isn’t it supposed to be other way around?”

He shrugs. “Fine. Don’t think of it as a gift. See it as an investment. Renovate the shop a little. Get more flowers. I don’t care.”

You sigh deeply – but you don’t want to argue. If he wants to give you his money, fine. You’ll take it. You gladly will.

“Fine,” you say, putting away the money in your bag.

There is nothing else to say, nothing else to do. Still, you do not move and neither does he. After a few seconds, he chuckles. “Is there something you want to say?”

You debate whether to say what’s on your mind, sliding your tongue across your teeth. He watches you in the meanwhile, looking both amused and profoundly tired.

“Do you like what you do?” you finally ask.

“Excuse me?”

“Blackmail people. Getting in fights. Selling drugs and guns.”

Minho pouts. “If I say yes, will you say I’m an asshole?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

He’s messing with you – you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. You really should just leave, or you’ll end up doing something you’ll regret. Seungmin’s voice is in your head, telling you to tread carefully. To keep them away from you. To protect yourself. But you’re here. Literally, in the belly of the beast.

Might as well try to do some damage.

“What you have to understand, Trouble, is that most of it is business. We don’t use the drugs and the guns, we sell them.”

“That’s still enabling.”

“Someone has to do it. At least the club does it properly and safely.”

You scoff, pointing at his bandaged arm. “You call that safely?”

“That was a little misunderstanding. It happens in any business.”

“I have a business too and when I mess up an order, people don’t carve my skin with a knife.”

“Who said I messed up?” He smiles. “Because I don’t.”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

Minho blinks – for once, you feel like you’ve truly taken him by surprise. His eyes go wide, curved like a wave. You notice, just now, how beautiful they are.

“People keep saying I should be careful around you,” you explain. “That I could end up getting hurt.”

“Do you think I would?” Minho asks, his voice a little deeper.

You shrug. “You pulled a knife on me, the other night.”

“That was play,” he says with a smile – but it’s joyless. “I wouldn’t really hurt you.”

“What about those who did this to you?” you ask. “To your Vice? I saw him, he’s banged up too.”

“Oh, those fuckers are six feet under.”

Something tightens in your stomach. You feel cold. Minho smiles maniacally.

“But they asked for it. You don’t mess with the club without paying for it.”

It is true, then. The Vices are killers. And if you push them enough, you could contribute to their body count. The thought sends a shudder down your spine, even in spite of what Minho said. He wouldn’t hurt you. You want to believe him.

You don’t.

But you do.

“Are you scared?” he asks you. He places his elbows on the desk, his fingers holding his face. “I like it better when you’re angry. But I can work with scared.”

You stand up suddenly, turning to leave, muttering that you need to go – but Minho is fast. He’s on his feet in a second, grabbing your wrist roughly, pulling you to him. Your body hits his, and you can smell him. Cologne. Gasoline. Blood.

“They were right, you know,” Minho whispers. He details your face, holding you so tight it almost hurts. You want to look away, but you can’t – his stare nails you in his eyes. “You should’ve been careful.”

“I have to…”

He ignores you, and instead leans down. His lips brush against your cheek. “It’s too late now. You’ve awoken the wolf. And now he’s going to eat you whole.”

Your lips are trembling. “If you don’t let me go, I –”

“What, doll? You’re going to scream? Call the police? No one is coming to help you. You’ve dug your own grave.”

“Minho, please –”

Something cold passes in the room.

His grip tightens and he draws back to drill his eyes into yours. They are dark, his jaw clenched. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

You’re speechless. Minho laughs in disbelief.

“You think we’re first names basis, doll? Tsk. No, no, no. It’s President or Sir to you. Show some fucking respect.”

You’ll let him bleed you out before you call him either of those things, but you feel like you’re stepping on very thin ice and you’re panicking. Because he is right – no one will help you. No one can.

You take a breath. “Sir,” you say, the world cutting your lips like a razor blade. “Can I please leave?”

To your despair, Minho chuckles in delight. He slides his nose against your neck, near your ear, and inhales slowly. “That fucking smell of yours,” he whispers. “Roses. Sweet, sweet roses.”

His body is so close to yours. How he can be so cold and so warm at the same time, you have no idea. When he speaks, his breath makes your skin tingle. His mouth traces your jawline, and his teeth pick at your skin. “You know,” he breathes. “All of this would just be much easier if you let me fuck you senseless right here, right now.”

You can’t move.

You can’t speak.

“But what fun would that be, right, Trouble?” he withdraws to look at you. His other hand comes to trace the outline of your lips. “Let’s play a little more. I’ll keep imagining those sweet lips around my dick and you can think about it filling you up like I know you want to.”

He guides your hand towards his crotch, placing your fingers around his arousal. He’s only semi-hard, but you feel it. Your throat is dry, and you can barely find it in yourself to breathe.

“Let me hear a yes, sir, doll.”

You’re so dizzy you feel like you’re going to be sick. You unclench your painful jaw to let out a pathetic whimper. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

He moves your hand, pats your hair, and places a kiss on your head. His grip relaxes slowly, and eventually, he lets you go.

You don’t move a single inch. You would be lying if you said that his little game is doing nothing to you – but you’d also never admit it. You can’t show any unnecessary weakness to him. You just need to get out of his grip, walk away, and then stay the fuck out of his way for the rest of your life. You don’t care anymore, you’ll bend your head, you’ll be polite.

You just don’t want to die.

“Since I know how much it cost you to call me that, I’ll let you go for today.” His eyes are black like a demon’s. “Listen to your friends, Trouble, and tread carefully. I like to play, but I also like to break the rules.”

You get home shortly after, and you violently take off all your clothes – they smell like the clubhouse, like him. You slip into bed naked, your body throbbing, your head about to burst. You grit your teeth, but all you can do is slip a few fingers in between your legs and think about Lee Minho.

“He said what?!”

It’s an extremely bad idea to tell anyone about your last conversation with Minho, but you had to get it out of your system. It’s haunting your every thought, your every step. You have no idea what to make of it.

So you told Seo-ah, Hyunjin’s girlfriend.

You don’t know each other that well, but you’ve had long conversation about sex before – in extremely intimate details – so you feel safe to talk about that with her. You invited her to your place for a few drinks before she gets Hyunjin from Rossi’s – you didn’t really want anyone to overhear your conversation. When you’re done retelling your exchange with the president of the Vices, Seo-ah stares at you, eyes wide.

“That’s… that’s…”

“Fucked up?”

“Hot.”

You shake your head. “Excuse me, what?”

She giggles nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean, yeah, it’s fucked up. But it’s kind of hot, right? It’s like roleplay.”

“Except it’s not,” you retort. “He’s the actual leader of an actual biker club and could actually slit my throat open without an ounce of hesitation.”

“Doesn’t that make it more exciting?” she argues. “I mean, didn’t you tell me you like dirty talk?”

You hesitate. “I mean, yeah, but… Like, when it’s not real. That was something else entirely.”

“Okay. Here’s a question. Did it turn you on?”

You look at her, debating what to say. You could lie – but you don’t particularly want to. It’s not like the exchange got you excited to the point where you would’ve fucked him on the spot, but your legs were very wobbly all the way home. And it does occupy your thoughts. A lot.

“Think of it as an experience,” she says. “Don’t overthink it. The guy’s horny for you and he’s like, insanely hot. You’re going to have dirty, nasty, hot sex and you’re both gonna move on.”

You sigh.

“It’s just sex, Y/N. It doesn’t have to be anything else. You’re not agreeing to marry him.”

Your conversation stays on your mind. Could you actually have sex with Minho? Maybe you could. But could you get the fact that he’s the head of the Vices out of your mind? Would you respect yourself afterwards, after spending so much time hating them? Having sex with the club’s president doesn’t exactly rhyme with denunciation. You’d be a hypocrite to say a word against them afterwards.

No, you tell yourself. You’ll stick to your principles. Even if it means he’ll make your life hell for a while. You’re pretty sure he’s the type to lose interest after a while – you just have to make it there.

It feels like a very long way.

Your coffee tastes terrible, but you don’t care – you desperately need it. You suggested to Seungmin you get a cup before heading to work, and as you sit down in the coffee shop, he gives you a sad smile.

“I’m sorry about the shop, Y/N.”

“It’s fine, Min.”

“But it’s not, is it?”

His voice is so soft and yet so full of rage, the contrast is striking. You glance at him, feeling your own heart tighten in your chest. Could you tell your friend about what you’ve been doing? How you’ve been taunting them? How you’ve been playing like you have an inexistent upper hand?

It hit you this morning when you opened your eyes.

You are nothing.

And you’ve been so invested, recently, in trying to go after the Vices, you haven’t realized it’s been taking pieces of you.

And those you don’t have that many left.

“No,” you whisper. “But there’s nothing we can do.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

He has a smile tugging the corners of his lips, and you nudge him affectionately.

“Maybe I’m losing my fighting spirit,” you sigh, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Will it be a blue moon tonight?” he retorts. “But stranger things have happened.”

You chuckle softly. Seungmin always had this calm presence that allowed you to heal – you still remember those days after your mother passed. He hadn’t done or said anything special, but he had been there. Silent, familiar, reassuring you that not everything had fallen apart. It was a strange relationship between you two – never particularly close, and yet closer than most.

“They’re not what I thought,” you quietly admit to him.

“Hm?”

“The Vices. They’re… different.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to join them,” Seungmin jokes.

You roll your eyes. “I just mean they’re not as, like, mean as I imagined them to be. Not that they’re nice, but…”

You sigh.

Clearly, you have no idea what to think of them anymore, and it’s useless to try and articulate it to Seungmin. He gives you a curious look but doesn’t insist.

“You’ve been around them too much,” he finally states.

“You’re probably right. But isn’t it weird, though? Like, take Jisung. We’ve known him as long as we’ve known each other, and he’s one of them, right? I thought it was because he went insane or something –”

“Hasn’t he?”

“Well, maybe a little. But I mean, like, he’s still the same. Really, he still is.”

Seungmin takes the time to think about what you’ve said, twirling his cup of coffee in between his fingers.

“Maybe. But they’re still criminals, Y/N. They like to scare people and take advantage of them. That’s something I can look away from.”

You sigh again, sliding a hand through your hair. “You’re right. I’m just confused, I guess.”

You take a long sip of coffee before you smile at Seungmin. “You want to watch a movie tonight? It’s been a while since we did that.”

He agrees, and you make quick plans before you start heading to work.

You’re not going to let the Vices play with your head.

You’re not.

The next morning, you’re brushing your teeth when your phone pings.

Unknown Number Tonight 10 Clubhouse

Four words. They send a chill down your spine.

You Who is this??

Unknown Number Don’t play dumb, Trouble.

You How did you get this number??????

Unknown Number Be ready at 10 I have a surprise for you I’ll send someone to drive you.

You groan in frustration, slamming your phone on your bathroom counter. Who the hell does he think he is? Maybe you have plans. Maybe you don’t want to see his face. The clubhouse. What makes him think you’d want to go back there?

You grab your phone again and start sending an avalanche of texts. I’m busy. Leave me alone. Delete my number. What do you mean a surprise??? What are you planning?? Why would I come? HEY! Answer me. Hey assface. EXPLAIN. I HATE YOU.

Of course, he no longer answers. Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head and your stomach curls into a tight knot. What are you supposed to do? Actually go? A part of you is definitely curious, and unfortunately, your curiosity often borderlines on the morbid and is thus extremely dangerous. But you could also make sure you’re not anywhere near home at ten and ghost him. I’ll send someone, he said. Pretentious fucker.

The day passes excruciatingly slowly, and you cannot make up your mind about what to do. Minho’s words haunt you at every step, and at times, it’s like you can still feel his breath against your skin. You get home around seven, eat a little bit, and then open your closet. Not going would be too easy, right? Fine. You’ll go.

You won’t dress up for him, though, so you grab oversized ripped jeans and an old sweater. You leave your hair down and don’t touch your makeup. You definitely do not put any effort in your underwear. Despite your conversation with Seo-ah, you’re set on not giving Minho what he wants.

If he was anyone else, you would definitely fuck him. You’d let him manhandle you a little, whisper the nastiest things in your ear, and relieve all the pressure that has been building inside of you the past few weeks. But Minho is a Vice. Worse – he’s their president. He’s made of cruelty and arrogance, a jerk with a superiority complex, and if you let him fuck you, you’d just be proving him right. You wouldn’t have any self-respect for yourself.

You repeat the words like a mantra. Maybe you’ll end up believing them.

The anticipation is making you anxious, so you allow yourself a couple of hits. You don’t smoke a lot, but just enough for your muscles to relax and for your mind to be ready for battle.

You step outside a little bit before ten, looking around you shamefully, as if to make sure nobody sees you. You almost pull your hoodie above your head to hide your face, but when you start seriously considering it, you hear a dreadful noise that sends a shiver down your spine.

The engine of a bike.

Of course. How dumb are you? How stupid were you to think Lee Minho, president of the Vices Motorcycle Club, would actually send a car to drive you to his clubhouse?

As the light of the bike approaches you, you turn on your heels. You still have time to run inside and pretend you’re not there – but the bike approaches too quickly and breaks in front of you.

The person sitting on it reaches behind him and hands you a helmet without a word. It’s dark, so he’s not wearing his visor, and he’s staring at you with his usual slightly angry face.

“Sit,” Changbin says when you don’t move.

“No,” you manage to utter, shaking your head.

He closes his eyes and takes a sharp inhale. “Don’t test my patience. Sit down.”

You glare at him, fuming, but you know he’s right. You really shouldn’t test his patience, so you take the helmet and place it on your head. As you pass your leg around the bike, you feel your body shaking.

“Get a hold of something,” he says as he makes the engine roar.

You don’t have time to decide what because he accelerates and you feel your body sway – so you grab the first thing you can, which is him. He doesn’t protest or even tense, so you hold on tighter as his bike gains speed. His leather vest is cold against you, but he’s wearing a hoodie underneath and his body emanates warmth. You try not to lean against him too much, but the movements of the bike stop you from keeping your distance. Soon you are clenching his clothes and regretting all your life decisions.

He drives both carefully and extremely fast. Your heart is pounding inside your chest and when he stops at a red light, you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You sigh, and you feel his head lean towards you.

“Are you alright?”

You can only nod.

“Hold tight.”

The engine is loud and hot under your bodies. The sound vibrates inside you, but you don’t hate the way the wind slides on your face. The lights blind you, and Changbin is a welcome stability in front of you. Your blood is boiling but you can’t bring yourself to be angry – the mix of adrenaline and weed makes you dizzy.

Damn you and everything you are, Lee Minho.

You get to the clubhouse a couple of minutes later. It looks nothing like the other day. Fairy lights illuminate the parking lot, and there’s a lot of people there. Some stand, others are settled in fold-out chairs, and a huge white background has been put up in front of the garage doors. People are drinking, eating, and laughing. The atmosphere is calm and light.

You disembark from the bike, leaning against Changbin’s shoulders for support, and stare with wide eyes at the set-up.

“What’s going on?” you ask, both to yourself and him.

He removes his helmet and ruffles his hair. “It’s movie night. Didn’t he tell you?”

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t answer, and instead keep looking around. Someone is cooking barbecue, and the smell makes your stomach rumble. You can’t believe what you’re seeing – and you’re so fascinated you don’t even pick up on Changbin staring at you with a smirk on his face.

This is nothing like you expected a Vices party to be like. There are even children around, chasing each other and eating candy. You stand there, a little confused, when someone puts an arm around your shoulders. You recognize the smell instantly.

“Good of you to show up, Trouble,” Minho sneers in your ear. “I was wondering if you would.”

You can’t even find an insult to spit at him.

He smirks. “Thanks for getting her here, Vice.”

Changbin only shrugs and walks away.

“You want a drink, Trouble? Movie’s about to start.”

He guides you towards a spot near the screen – someone’s put mattresses on the ground, so you sit there. Minho hands you a beer and popcorn and settles a blanket on your knees. He sits down next to you, putting his arm back around your shoulders.

“What is it, hm? Nothing to say?” he eventually mutters in your ear. “Were you expecting something else?”

You glance at him. “Well. Yeah. You’re a biker gang, I didn’t expect popcorn and blankets. Do you also host birthday parties for kids?”

He laughs. “Sometimes. We have a few sides to ourselves, Trouble. People have families. If you want to see a real party, I’ll invite you to one. But I can’t promise you’ll walk from it with your sanity intact.”

“It’s never been intact, Minho.”

The words escape your mouth before you can hold them back, and you’re scared, for a second, he’ll snap like last time. But he just chuckles and brings you closer to him. The breeze is cold, and he’s warm, so you let him.

“I hope you like horror movies,” he whispers, and his voice sends shivers down your body.

It’s an old horror movie, a cult classic that isn’t at all scary but always fun to watch. You find yourself forgetting where you are, who you are with – you drink your beer and eat the snacks, and you lean against Minho at times. He just watches with you, laughs with you, and his fingers, sometimes, stroke your arm.

You forget the cuts, the bikes, everything. You’re just having a good time.

Once the movie is over, you step inside to go to the bathroom – on your way out, you open the wrong door and end up inside the garage. It smells like gasoline and leather, as one would expect. It’s clean and tidy. There’s a motorcycle, seemingly in repair, next to you. You look at it, intrigued. You’d never seen the appeal of bikes and having ridden one has not particularly changed your mind – but even you, who has no knowledge of mechanics or even an appreciation of vehicles of any kind, have to admit this particular one looks good.

It looks vintage, although it might not be, and you walk around it with curiosity. Although it’s clearly missing a few parts, you can see it’s well taken care of.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

You jump, turning to see Changbin behind you. He’s just stepped inside the garage – either he followed you or just found you there.

“Sorry,” you say. “I opened the wrong door.”

“You should go back outside.”

“Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the bike. Your instinct is telling you it is, perhaps because of the frequent glances he gives it.

Changbin does not answer – he just squints his eyes at you suspiciously. You roll your eyes.

“I’m just curious. I’m not going to steal it.”

It takes a few more seconds before he answers. “It was my dad’s. He was driving it when he died.”

You look back at the bike with a shiver. “And you’re repairing it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Well… it’s the bike that killed your dad.”

Changbin scoffs in derision. “The bike didn’t kill him. It’s the asshole with the pick-up truck who thought it’d be funny to see what would happen if he drove it off the road.”

You stare at Changbin, heart sinking. He said it so directly, his voice stable, that he almost seems heartless. But it also clearly isn’t.

“Oh,” is all you manage to say.

Changbin takes a step towards you, inspecting you. You recall the feel of him against you, earlier. It didn’t feel bad. It really didn’t.

“If you’re going to say you’re sorry, don’t,” he tells you, his voice low and measured. “I already put the motherfucker in a hospital bed. He’s never going to drive again. Actually, he’s not going to do much with the rest of his life.”

His words send shivers down your spine, and you can’t look away. Changbin is close to you. You want to take a step back, but the bike is right there, and you’re pretty sure he would mind if you touched it.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” he suddenly asks. “From what I gathered before, you hate us.”

“I… I just…”

“Minho’s president, so he does what he wants,” Changbin states. “But I’m Vice, so it’s my job to look out for the club. And if you’re going to be a problem, I need to do something about it.”

You try to gulp, but your throat is dry. “I don’t –”

“Am I going to have to deal with you?” Changbin asks, leaning towards you. His dark eyes drill into yours. His face gives nothing, and your heart is beating hard in your chest. You have no idea if you are terrified or aroused.

“I –”

“There you are.”

The new voice startles you, and you turn your head to see Minho standing next to the door. If he has just come in or if he’s been standing there for a few minutes, you have no idea. You blink, your breath hitching in your throat. You half expect Minho to get angry at Changbin like he has with Jisung the other night, but he just smirks at you.

“Your surprise is ready.”

You glance at Changbin again, who has only slightly stepped back. He’s still staring at you, eyebrow arched. There’s a tattoo on his hand, tracing the curve of skin between his index and his thumb. It reads I See You.

You wish you could just disappear into the floor, but instead you follow Minho back outside. He seems completely unbothered at the position in which he found you and Changbin, taking your hand and leading you towards the back of the clubhouse, where there’s only a wide, empty field. For a second, you are scared he’s taking you there to murder you, but you see a few silhouettes further away.

You hear a laugh pierce the quiet night – Felix’s.

“Kid’s always way too excited for this kind of shit,” Minho laughs. “I swear he’s not right in the head.”

He gives you a glance.

“But then again, none of us are, right?”

You shake your head. “What’s going on?”

Minho stops, his hand leaving yours – but he just throws his arm around your waist to hold you close. You’re still high, definitely a little drunk, and you’ve strangely gotten used to his touch and proximity.

“We normally keep this for special occasions. But since it’s a beautiful night and you’re here, I thought, why not indulge the Prospect a little?”

“What do you…”

You stop when you hear a loud popping noise, and your mind goes blank when you see an actual firework blow up in the night sky.

A few follow and they’re neither big nor beautiful, but it’s still something. You stare in wide eyes, your smile inevitable and instant. You love fireworks. And those are just for you.

Felix’s laugh is almost louder than the sound of the fireworks going off, and you can smell the burn, and you laugh against Minho, your head falling against his shoulder. Felix and a few others – you’re pretty sure Jisung is over there, too, and you could swear you hear Jeongin’s voice – play for a while before the sky goes back to black again.

“Did you like your surprise?” Minho asks after a while.

You part your lips to answer, but then you stop. You have a more urgent question to ask. You step aside and turn to look at him. His silver hair is ruffled, his eyes deep and direct. You let out a sigh.

“What are you trying to do, exactly?”

“Make you smile,” he answers frankly without a hint of hesitation.

“Why?” you ask, frowning. “I’m nobody.”

He lets out a short sigh. “It’s not that deep, Trouble. Maybe I’m just trying to get in your pants.”

“If it was that, you wouldn’t have said ‘maybe’.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and you know you have a point. Despite yourself, your lips curve in a smile.

“Seriously, Minho, though, why are you doing this? It’s not that I have anything you want. I don’t have money, or any sort of power over anything, I just… I just sell flowers.”

“You don’t have something I want,” he agrees. “You are what I want.”

You gape at him, unsure of what to say. All you want is to ask why. The question is on the edge of your lips, but it would feel like revealing a part of yourself to him you’re not sure you want to share. You’re pretty sure he’s aware of it, anyway. The guy knows everything. You just prefer to show another side of you. The one that talks back, that is spiteful, that is full of anger, of fire to burn. A side people have only dismissed or tried to diminish.

But Minho, he likes it.

“What makes you think a movie and a few lights in the sky are going to seduce me?” you tell him, reaching for all the smugness you have.

“Hm,” he pouts. “Fair point. I thought the manhandling and dirty talk would do the trick the other day, but turns out you’re not as easy as you seem.”

You push your tongue against your cheek, biting down a curse. “So you said to yourself, hm, I’m going to try and be a nice guy, see what she thinks?”

“Did it work?”

“You’re such a fucking dick.”

“Oh. I see we’re back to the insults,” he chuckles. “I gotta say I like that better.”

“Of course you do.”

He takes a step towards you. Even in the darkness, you can see how eyes shine. He’s like a predator, lurking in the woods, ready to jump at your throat. Except you’re not going to be a defenseless prey – you’ll play with him too.

“I dare you to say you weren’t soaking wet leaving my office the other day.”

You do not waver. “Says the guy who was rock hard at the single thought of me.”

It’s your turn to take a step towards him. You lift your chin, your eyes wandering around his face. The air smells like popcorn and ashes.

“Did you jerk yourself off afterwards?” you tell him in a whisper. “Did you think about bending me over your desk and fucking me?”

He closes his eyes like he’s concentrating hard on something. It makes you chuckle.

“What did you want me to call you, again? Sir?”

He’s so quick you don’t have time to move – he roughly grabs your chin between his fingers, immobilizing you. His eyes have gotten darker. “Don’t think for one second I’m not enjoying this,” he says in a low voice. “You can pretend all you want, Trouble, but I know that pussy is going to be mine to ravage soon.”

You feel something tangle inside of you – and you smile. “Are you going to keep talking or are you going to do something about it? This is getting old.”

He brings your face closer to his, so close your lips are brushing. His breath mingles with yours and it makes you feel dizzy. “Sorry, doll. I fucking love foreplay.”

You wriggle a little to get out of his grip, but he holds on tight.

“You talk a lot of smack but I know what will make you shut up,” he breathes in your mouth. “How about I fuck you senseless right here, in the middle of this field, where everyone can hear you scream my name? Or, let’s see… Since you mentioned the desk, I’m going to consider it. I should also mention I’ve thought about eating you out in the middle of your shop.” He tilts your head to the side, letting his breath tickle the thin skin of your neck. “I know exactly what I’m going to do to you,” he whispers, his tongue tracing a line alongside your neck, stopping at your earlobe. “And I’m going to take my sweet time doing it.”

You feel your legs wobble, and suddenly you realize what is happening and you give him a hard shove. He stumbles backwards, a proud smile on his lips.

You take a second to breathe out, but your mind has gone completely blank. You’re angry and you’re horny – which is not a good combination.

“Take me home,” you manage to articulate.

“Are you –”

“Take me home,” you hiss.

He looks at you for a second, and then two. Your face is flushed and you’re panting, but you don’t care. You’re not letting this happen. You’re not letting him win. You’re not betraying your principles, you’re not betraying Seugnmin, you’re not betraying yourself.

“Whatever you say, doll.”

You can sense he’s annoyed, but you don’t blame him. You’re pissed and frustrated too. You don’t let him touch you again and he doesn’t try – instead, he yells Felix’s name. The latter, who had still been playing with the fireworks across the field, arrives running. His long hair is tied behind his head today.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Will you please call a taxi for the lady and pay it in advance? Make sure she gets home.” Minho says in his best neutral voice, although you feel the annoyed undertone.

Felix seems to sense it too because he nods fervently. “Right away,” he adds, but Minho has walked away before he could hear the end.

Felix gives you a smile, leading you to the front of the clubhouse. There’s almost nobody there anymore, just a few people. As you wait for the taxi with Felix, he plays with his lighter, trying to make conversation, but you’re just not in the mood. It’s not his fault, you know that, but at this instant you can’t stand the sight of leather.

Minho’s words haunt you. His breath against yours.

His skin.

His eyes.

Something clicks inside of you.

Or rather, something breaks.

Fuck it, you think.

Fuck your principles.

There is clearly chemistry between you.

Seo-ah’s voice echoes in your head.

It’s just sex.

“Cancel the taxi,” you tell Felix, turning on your heels.

He just looks at you go, and you stroll through the parking lot, and then the clubhouse, and although you hear someone trying to stop you, you don’t. You walk straight to Minho’s office, open the door and step inside.

He’s sitting at his desk, eyes closed, and sighs when he sees you. “What?”

He’s pissed at you, and it’s the last straw.

You close the door behind you, and then go around his desk. Something flashes in his eyes, but he lets you come. You clash against him, straddling his body, your lips collapsing on his. The contact steals your breath, because his lips are soft, and you decide to let yourself unravel.

He immediately responds, hungrily kissing you back, like it’s something he’s missed for too long. He stands up, carrying your body with his, and sits you down on his desk. His hands are everywhere, his arms holding you up, and you kiss him back feverishly, feeling as though you are entirely made of fire.

He has a hand sprawled behind your head, and suddenly his fingers get a grip around your hair, and he pulls your head backwards. You hiss at the faint pain and the sudden absence of his lips on yours. You grab the edges of the desk to balance yourself.

He is smiling like a madman.

“Couldn’t resist it, huh, doll?”

“Shut up,” you snarl.

“I don’t think so,” he slurs. “Not my style.”

You reach for his lips, but he pulls on your hair again, and you moan.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes lingering on you. “And all mine.”

“Minho…”

He breathes in sharply, pulling on your hair. You hiss.

“What did I say about calling me that?”

You squint your eyes. “I don’t fucking care what you said.”

He chuckles, leaning to kiss your neck. It sends shivers throughout your whole body, and your hands reach for him, to touch him, to touch him anywhere. His teeth scratch your skin, his tongue drawing masterpieces. When he comes back to your lips, he just grazes them with his teeth.

“Such a foul mouth on such a gorgeous face,” he sighs. “You smell heavenly, doll, have I ever told you that? I can’t wait to get a taste of you…”

You want to answer, but his teeth sink into your lips, drawing a moan from you. You shudder, your fingers sinking into his back, your nails scratching the fabric of his leather cut.

“Careful with that,” he says, as he moves to your ear, his breath warm against it.

You chuckle. “I would have imagined you wouldn’t mind a scratch or two.”

He sucks in your earlobe, and you let out another moan, rubbing your hips against his. You can feel his arousal against you, your own making you go crazy, and the fact that you are both so horny just makes it worse.

He leans back to look at you. “It’s a precious possession. Every self respecting Vice takes care of his cut. Are you going to make trouble even now?”

You smirk, your nails digging deeper into the leather - now you are sure to leave a mark, and the thought delights you. “Fuck yes.”

You take advantage of the fact that he’s distracted to grab his neck and pull him towards you, devouring his lips. You’re hungry for them, your teeth biting into them, and Minho grunts, his hands going down your body, feeling its every curve. He removes your sweater and your t-shirt, tracing the outline of your bra. Your hands keep reaching for him, because you want to remove his clothes too, but he grows annoyed. He roughly guides your arms behind your back, pinning them there.

“Don’t make me tie you up,” he growls.

You breathe heavily as he unclasps your bra, then throws it somewhere in the room, his fingers immediately going back to your breasts, feeling them in his hand.

“Hmm,” he whispers. “Pretty.”

He lowers his head, his tongue circling your nipples, teasing them. It’s your turn to grab his silver hair between your fingers, closing your eyes to briefly enjoy the sensation.

With his hand sprawled on your chest, he lays you down on the desk. His fingers expertly undo the button of your jeans and soon you’re naked in front of him. He slides a hand over you, from your neck down to between your legs. You keep looking at him as he discovers your body.

That’s when he sees the tattoo. It’s not very big, but it’s there, just below your hips, on the right side. The simplest rose, with sharp thorns. He briefly grazes the ink with his fingertips, his mouth open, his tongue resting against his bottom lip. You take in the sight, and you try to be patient although you are aching for his touch.

“We’re going to talk about this later,” he says.

Finally he lets out a deep breath, and you let out a whimper as he comes into contact with your wetness.

“I knew it,” he says. “Fucking soaked for me.”

You want to say something but his hand cups you and you inhale sharply. “Fuck.”

“All swollen and waiting,” he says, slapping it gently.

Your body trembles.

“Let’s see how ready you are.”

He inserts two fingers inside of you and groans. You are slowly but surely losing your mind.

“A little tight. But don’t worry, doll,” he breathes as he adds another finger. “I’m going to stretch you good.”

You don’t care what he says – you rise from your position and kiss him. Your whisper is hoarse. “I hope you fucking ruin me.”

You know he’d keep fingering you, but you’re impatient you push him off of you, shoving him against the wall behind his desk. Your hands grip his leather cut to remove it and you have to let out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, eyebrow raised. He looks delightful with his hair all messed up and his lips already red and raw from your kisses.

“You always have this fucking thing on,” you say mischievously. “So much I wondered if you kept it during sex.”

His smile is one the biggest you’ve ever seen. “I can leave it on if you want.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

You claim his lips again, removing his clothing in a hurry to reveal his chest. You let your hands travel over it, your mouth curved in a smile against his kisses. “Pretty,” you tell him with a hint of arrogance, referring to his earlier comment.

“Fucking brat,” he laughs.

His jeans and boxers are next, and he’s sincerely beautiful. You look at him, cheeks red, your body flaming with desire, and you slowly wrap your hand around his length. He pants, twitching against your touch. He’s hard and ready, but you go slow.

“Remind me again of what you said the other day,” you tell him softly.

“Hm? I say a lot of things.”

“Something about my lips… and about your dick…”

He smirks. You love the way his scar moves when he does. “Seems like you remember it well enough.”

“Tell me anyway,” you whisper in his ear.

His whole body tenses. “Put those pretty lips around my dick, doll.”

You smile and you go on your knees before you look back up at him.

He strokes your hair tenderly. “Now that’s quite a sight. Take it, doll. Show me what else that mouth of yours can do.”

You do. Your tongue circles him before you bring him into the warmth of your mouth. He breathes deeply as you bob your head in slow motions, taking him deeper each time until you gag. His grip on your hair tightens, but you step back. You take him in your hand, slapping him against your tongue.

“How am I doing, then?” you ask him mischievously.

“Not too bad, doll,” he smirks. “But I know you can do better.”

You chuckle despite yourself and take him again. As you accelerate your movement, his hips start to buckle, and soon he is fucking your mouth. He goes deep and fast, and you have to gasp for air – but he slaps himself against your cheek and goes back in the second you catch your breath.

You close your eyes to focus on your breathing, but his other hand grabs your chin.

“You open your eyes and you look at me,” he growls, and you obey. He towers above you, his face twisted in pleasure, his eyes dark and wild. You can’t help it – he looks so sexy, your fingers slip between your legs and you release a little pressure there.

Minho laughs maniacally. “So fucking horny for me. Is your little pussy in need of attention, doll?”

You nod, so he removes himself from your mouth and pulls you to your feet. He wraps his hand around your throat and spins you around so you’re pinned against the wall, facing him.

“I’m surprised. You’re being such a good girl for me.”

You glare at him. “I have no interest in being good.”

“Then should I treat you like a bad one?”

“Sounds better to me.”

He gives a slap between your legs, and you jolt.

“I don’t care what you want,” Minho sneers, circling his fingers on a particularly sensitive spot. His hand squeezes your throat a little. “I’m going to treat you like a fucking queen.”

It’s his turn to go on his knees, and you bask in the sight as he buries his face between your legs. At first, he just breathes against you, kissing the inside of your thighs. He takes the time to lick your tattoo, kissing it softly, and then his mouth comes into contact with you. You let out a loud gasp.

“Fuck, yes, just like that.”

He plays with you, putting pressure just to let it go as you tense, moving his tongue in all the right ways – and then in all the wrong ways. You writhe against him, pulling his hair, cursing him, but it just makes him laugh. His tongue is heavy and controlled, and soon you can’t take it anymore. You’re sensitive and on edge, so you pull on his hair so hard he hisses.

“Stop doing that,” he sneers.

You glare at him. “Make me.”

He’s back on his feet in an instant, kissing you hard, and you taste yourself on his lips. He grabs both of your arms and pins them behind your back like before, spinning you and trapping you. Your cheek is against the wall, his body against yours. He smells so good it’s intoxicating.

“So impatient,” he says. “I told you I liked foreplay.” He delicately takes a strand of your hair and pushes it out of your face. “But since you’re so desperate to have my dick inside you, I’ll oblige.”

You moan as he enters you – slowly at first, and then all at once. He still holds you by the arms, so you can’t really move. You can only breathe out as he settles inside you.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you laugh. “

“Fucking divine,” he snarls. “Let me hear you, Trouble.”

He starts to fuck you feverishly, pushing his hips against your ass. He’s relentless, not giving you a second to breathe. You moan, your eyes shut tight, and an orgasm catches you off guard. He lets go of your arms as your legs shake, gripping your hips so hard you’re sure it’ll leave a mark – but you’re too much on adrenaline to care.

“You’re making such a mess over my dick, doll,” he groans, slowing down his thrusts as you recuperate from your orgasm.

Your legs are barely holding you up, and your focus is blurry, but you smile at him.

“Why are you moving so slow?” you tease him. “Afraid you’ll blow too early?”

He grips you tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, and you hiss in pain. “Cute,” he says. “But I’m not nearly done with you.”

He starts moving faster, but he’s still taking his time, making sure he goes all the way inside of you before he leans back. You close your eyes, hazy on the feeling. His fingers caress you, and you let out a rasp curse – so he shoves them in your mouth, holding your mouth open as he fucks you.

As he accelerates, you moan, your tongue slipping out of your mouth to lick his fingers. He groans, shaking his head, and then puts his hand back around your throat. You nod, as if to tell him he can squeeze tighter - and he does. The lack of air makes your head spin, but it’s a heavenly feeling.

When he releases you, you gasp. “Fuck,” you mutter. “Fuck.”

“Tell me about it, doll. Let me hear that sweet voice.”

“You’re fucking me so good. I love the feeling of you deep inside me.”

He grabs the back of your neck and moves you around, shoving you against the desk. You’re still bent over, and he’s still inside you, but the new angle allows him to go deeper, and you gasp at the feeling of it.

“Holy fuck, don’t stop.”

“Clench for me, doll. Come again. I know you will. Make me feel it.”

You can’t even hold it - you come again, your body on fire, and Minho quickly follows. He shoves deeper and empties himself inside of you. His grunts are music to your ears, and you revel in the sound. Once he stops moving, you are both panting, sweaty and sensitive, but relaxed.

Thoroughly and efficiently fucked out.

He pulls out a few seconds later, dripping down your legs, and you slowly unfold your body. It’s already aching, and you know it’ll be sore tomorrow, but you don’t care. This is out of your system, and you’ll be able to move on with your life.

Minho will forget about you, and you’ll barely think about him.

As it should be.

He smirks at you, pulling you in for a last kiss. The room smells of sweat and sex and Minho tastes like you.

“See, Trouble? Wasn’t so bad, fucking me.”

“That’s not how I would describe it,” you tell him, grabbing your t-shirt and hoodie to put them back on. He starts to dress, too.

“How, then?”

“Fucking divine.”

Minho barks out a laugh, staring at you as you slip on your jeans and shove your bra in your bag. You’re about to do the same with your underwear, but he grabs your wrist.

“Oh, no, doll. I’m keeping that.”

You don’t really care, so you simply shrug. He delicately folds the panties and puts them in his desk drawer.

“How sweet,” you taunt him. “How many of those do you have in there?”

“With yours, one.”

You pout at his sudden honesty and lack of arrogance, and he chuckles. “Don’t read too much into it. I’m not an old lady kind of guy.”

You sneer. “I wasn’t going to.”

Once you’re both dressed, he nods at the door. “Shall I drive you home, then?”

“If his majesty isn’t too busy.”

“I need to get home anyway.”

You give him a glance as you start walking to the parking lot – the clubhouse is empty.

“You don’t… live here?”

He shakes his head. “I have a room here, but I prefer to sleep at home if I can. Cozier.”

“So you have a house or something?”

“With a few of the guys, yeah.”

There it is again – your fucking curiosity. You try hard to swallow it, but it’s out of your control tonight, and clearly it shows on your face, because Minho chuckles.

“I’ll show it to you if you want, doll. My bed is very squeaky, but the sound is endearing. I’d love for you to hear it from up close.”

You let out a long sigh, but there’s a smile on your face.

Why the fuck not.

There it is. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first part of this story. Please let me know if you did through a comment or a reblog, it would mean a lot! Take care and see you soon for part two. ♡

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