sundries

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/37553032.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/F, M/M, F/M, Multi
Fandom: Stray Kids (Band)
Relationship: Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin, Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin/Yang
Jeongin | I.N, Hwang Hyunjin/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Han Jisung | Han/Lee
Felix, Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Yang
Jeongin | I.N, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know/Yang Jeongin |
I.N, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Lee Minho |
Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin, Hwang
Hyunjin/Lee Minho | Lee Know/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Bang Chan/Lee
Felix (Stray Kids), Han Jisung | Han/Kim Seungmin, Hwang
Hyunjin/Seo Changbin, Kim Seungmin/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han
Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Kim
Seungmin, Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-03-06 Completed: 2023-09-12 Words: 48,825
Chapters: 48/48

sundries
by hyunnies

Summary

Drabbles and short fics cross-posted from Twitter. Individual ratings & tags in chapter
notes.

Notes

See the end of the work for notes

 seungjin, mature, interrupted masturbation
Chapter Notes

seungmin/hyunjin, mature, hyunjin walks in on seungmin getting off.

Hyunjin is bored.

He was supposed to hang out with Jeongin, but he bailed out like a fucking wanker. Something
about ‘feeling off’ and ‘coming down with a cold.’ So now instead of drinking peach bubble tea
and laughing till his cheeks hurt, he’s playing Subway Surfers on his phone. Alone. In his
bedroom. He spent ten minutes doing his hair and fifteen picking the right shirt, so at least he looks
hot while crashing his delinquent avatar into an oncoming train. All dressed up with nowhere to go
like a breathing idiom.

Later, Hyunjin might regret the decision he’s about to make, but right now he doesn’t think twice
about it. It’s a decision he makes frequently, and he only rarely regrets it. Today, however, will be
different. He doesn’t know that yet, though, so he easily decides to go annoy Seungmin.

They live together, hence the frequency of the decision. They don’t live together in the way
established couples live together, like his parents or whatever. They just share a flat because it’s
more economical that way, and Hyunjin probably would go insane if he lived alone. So much time
to kill. So much boredom.

Like right now!

He breezes out his room and down the hallway. Without knocking, he pushes open the door to
Seungmin’s room, and then immediately freezes where he’s stood because—

Oh.

Oh, fucking hell.

Seungmin is—

Well, to be blunt, Seungmin literally has his hand down his pants. He’s half lying on the bed with
the duvet bunched up around his feet— cheeks flushed cherry blossom pink, the thin fabric of his
worn tee pulled between his teeth to muffle his sounds.

Hyunjin wants to die.

This is where the regret sets in.

Seungmin is the hottest man alive, and this is a sight Hyunjin was tremendously unprepared for.
His hair’s all fluffy and his eyes go so wide and sparkly when he meets Hyunjin’s gaze. The flush
in his cheeks turns cerise. Probably he wasn’t exactly prepared for this either.

‘O-oh, God.’ He spits out his T-shirt and pulls his hand away from his dick. The elastic band of his
underwear snaps against his skin as he brings up his hands to hide his face.
Hyunjin swallows the fat ball of spit in his throat. He should, probably, leave. That would be the
polite thing to do. Lingering here is creepy, but—Seungmin is so pretty. His feet feel glued to the
floor, and he is, embarrassingly, half hard.

‘Are you going to stand there all day?’ A crack fissions his voice, all breathless and rasped, and if
Hyunjin wasn’t already reeling, he fucking would be now.

Fucking Jeongin. This is all his fault.

‘Um.’ He licks out at his lips and tries to tear his eyes away from Seungmin’s lower body. His dick
trapped and hard in his grey boxer briefs, the wet stain of pre-cum; his tee riding up and exposing
the flat plane of his stomach, the thin sheen of sweat and the trail of hair disappearing into his
underwear.

‘Hyunjin,’ Seungmin says. He pulls his legs to his chest and rolls on to his side. ‘This is so
embarrassing.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Hyunjin finally manages to look somewhere else. His eyes settle on Seungmin’s
head—the halo of messy hair, the cute blush, his eyes squeezed shut. ‘I’m so sorry. You’re, um—
you’re busy. I can see that.’

‘Quite.’

‘Right.’

‘Please kill me.’

‘No.’ He licks his lips again and exhales a shaky breath. His fists clench but keep trembling.
Everything is trembling. Everything is so much and fire licks through his body. He’s probably as
scarlet as Seungmin. It’s embarrassing that he’s hard. Luckily, Seungmin is so busy avoiding
looking at Hyunjin that he probably won’t notice that.

‘I thought you weren’t home,’ he says a beat later, all muffled and whiny. This whiny voice will
haunt Hyunjin’s wet dreams for weeks. This entire scenario, actually, will keep him fucking
preoccupied for the foreseeable future. He won’t be bored again for quite some time.

As long as he remembers to lock his bloody door.

Unlike others.

‘Jeongin cancelled,’ he finally says.

‘Remind me to strangle him next time I see him.’

‘Right.’ Hyunjin breathes out a soft, shaky laugh. ‘I’ll, uh—right. I’ll leave you to it.’

He sounds like a moron.

‘Thanks,’ Seungmin squeaks. ‘Please, forget this ever happened.’

‘Sure,’ Hyunjin lies. ‘I’ll, uh, do that. Totally. Bye.’

He backs out of Seungmin’s room and closes the door soundlessly. Shoving his knuckles between
his teeth, he bites down hard and screams internally for a solid half minute, then darts back to his
own room and almost falls on his ass in his hurry to get out of his jeans.
 seungjin, explicit, maid rp
Chapter Notes

seungmin/hyunjin, explicit, maid rp with mean hyunjin.

The ostrich feather duster sweeps along the edge of the bookshelf, then slips from Seungmin’s
hand and falls to the ground. There’s a soft thud as the wooden handle hits the floorboard, like a
warped echo of the choked-off gasp tearing itself from Seungmin’s lips, bitten a spit-shiny
carnelian.

His knees buckle and a book gets knocked over when he grasps the shelf, knuckles turning the
same cottony white as the lace-hemmed apron of his maid uniform. The dress itself is a sky blue
with puffy sleeves and a line of red embroidery near the hem, which falls right above his thigh-
high stockings.

‘Watch it,’ Hyunjin says.

‘S-sorry,’ Seungmin manages, his voice all droopy with spit. He heaves in a breath and flexes his
fingers, then straightens the line of books.

When he bends over to pick up the dropped duster, Hyunjin fucks with the pink slider on his
phone. Seungmin’s knees give out again and the golden bell on his collar tinkles—a whiny, whiny
moan rippling between them as the buzz of the vibrator intensifies and Seungmin falls to his knees.

‘Hyun—’ Seungmin gasps, fingers grasping the fabric of his maid dress.

‘I said—’ Hyunjin intones, kindly fiddling with the settings of the vibrator to let Seungmin catch
his breath. ‘—watch it. What’re you lying on the ground for?’

Desire zings up his spine as Seungmin twists his neck and looks at him with wide eyes. Splotches
of raspberry pink highlight his sharp cheekbones; his teeth dig into his bottom lip as he whimpers.
The sight is so lovely. So, so lovely.

‘You—’ he begins, grabbing the duster tightly. He casts his eyes down when he gets back up from
the floor, touches his palm to the wall to steady himself. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t pay you to lie on the floor.’

‘I know.’ Seungmin licks his lips and gulps in a mouthful of air. ‘I didn’t mean to fall over. I’m
sorry.’

Hyunjin cocks his eyebrow and waves at the bookshelf. ‘Get on with it.’

‘Of course.’ The bell peals again as his head jerks up and down. He swipes the duster along the
next shelf. Hyunjin tugs his own lip between his teeth to tame the satisfied smile that takes shape
when he turns up the vibrations once more and Seungmin whimpers—this throaty, desperate
sound. So fucking needy.

Hyunjin almost takes pity on him and tells him to drop the duster and come slide into his lap like a
good pet.

But only almost.

He toys with the slider again, forcing the vibrator to whirr at its highest setting. The blush in
Seungmin’s cheeks turns darker and he pants.

‘Oh, God—’ he gasps, eyes slipped shut. His lids twitch as he gulps in short, tight breaths of air.
‘Oh God, oh God, oh G—’

This time, the duster doesn’t drop to the floor—Seungmin is grasping it too tightly. His legs shake
and finally fully buckle, Seungmin once again falling to the floor in a heap of cotton. The sound of
the bell reverberates between him.

‘You’re drooling,’ Hyunjin says blandly.

Seungmin only moans again, all sandpaper, as drool slicks from his open mouth to the wooden
floor.

‘You’re making a mess,’ Hyunjin says. ‘I pay you to fucking clean.’

‘Ssshh,’ Seungmin slurs. His tongue lolls out and he manages to turn his head and catch Hyunjin’s
eyes. His hips buck, and he keeps whining, whining, whining, till Hyunjin makes the vibrator buzz
at a kinder pace.

‘Oh God,’ Seungmin moans again. He wipes the back of his hand across his wet mouth and leaves
a smear of drool that glitters in the sunlight. ‘I—’ Another heaved inbreath, then a slow exhalation
as his eyelashes flutter. ‘I can—can make it up to you. I’ll clean it. And I can—’ He eyes Hyunjin’s
crotch and looks back at his face. Wide-eyed, a heady obsidian. He licks his lips again and repeats,
‘I can—I’ll be good.’

‘You’ll be good?’

‘I’ll be good.’

Hyunjin fucks with the settings till Seungmin’s eyes roll back and he’s gasping for breath.
‘Please,’ he slurs, ‘oh God, please, I—’
 seungjin x jeongin, explicit, making out + fingering
Chapter Notes

seungmin/hyunjin/jeongin, explicit, making out + fingering.

Everything’s all hazy. He’s in Seungmin’s lap, he thinks, but isn’t really sure—it could be
Hyunjin’s. He knows he was in Hyunjin’s lap earlier. Someone is behind him, chest flush with his
back so he’s sandwiched, their legs tangled together.

There’s a fuzzy memory of being handled, of sliding from one lap to another, but it slips loose and
flutters away. Soft little whines swirl and he thinks he must be the one exhaling them, although
that’s something else he isn’t sure about. His blood has purified into sticky-thick honey that winds
through his veins, slow and slower, as teeth tug on his bottom lip, a slick tongue licks into his open
mouth, wet lips ghost up his jawline, long fingers tangle in his loose curls.

‘Hyung,’ he mumbles. A tremor crawls up his spine and leaves him trembling, a full-body spasm
that sparks a soft laugh against his mouth. He recognises the laugh as Seungmin’s, so the mouth on
his neck must be Hyunjin’s.

His lashes flutter and glitter sparkles everywhere. His eyes slip shut again, heavy—his body’s so
loose and pliant, another wet whine tumbling from his bitten lips.

‘What’s that, baby?’ Seungmin murmurs, slotting their mouths together once more. Jeongin is too
dazed to kiss him back properly; his hips jerk forward and he keeps twitching, twitching, till he
hears Hyunjin’s dark voice noting, ‘he’s such a doll.’

Jeongin’s body spasms again and his eyes roll back.

‘So lovely,’ Hyunjin goes on, and his voice is like syrup undercut with acid rain. Heat flares in
Jeongin’s belly and his skin feels so hot, too hot, hips jerking in Seungmin’s lap again and again.

‘Mm-hmm,’ Seungmin hums, still busy flicking his tongue against Jeongin’s. His warm hands slip
beneath Jeongin’s soft tee. There’s another shudder when he feels the touch to his lower belly, the
fingertips teasing at the elastic band of his underwear, short nails grazing tender skin.

‘Please,’ he says, or maybe he just thinks it—the last hours have taught him how easily dreams
blur into reality, and vice versa. You think of them as separate spheres, but they fold in on each
other. The world becomes an origami crane, so delicate and intricately creased.

Is this really happening? He is feverish, sizzling, overwhelmed—everything is shadowy and

strange. Warped. Almost psychedelic. Maybe he’d see odd colours if he could manage to open his
eyes, but he can’t—he can only slur out another whimper against Seungmin’s wet mouth. Maybe he
should be more embarrassed about this loose-limbed softness, all the needy sounds he’s making,
but he isn’t. He floats in a shimmery bubble, a thin film of imaginary soapy water encasing him
and them and this timeless moment.

‘D’you feel how hard Seungminnie is?’ Hyunjin asks, mouth gliding along Jeongin’s skin. ‘You
got him so hard, baby.’
‘Hhh,’ Jeongin gasps. His pelvis rocks and he feels himself twitch in his boxer briefs, slow beads of
pre-cum staining the fabric.

‘You feel it, right?’ Hyunjin continues. His hands touch the small of Jeongin’s back, smoothing
outwards to grab his waist. They’re so big, his hands, squeezing down, and Jeongin feels so
—small.

‘Hyung,’ he gasps again. He has forgotten what it means to be lonely. He has been diluted into
something crystalline, something raw and pure. He can’t remember how to string words into
sentences, but it doesn’t really matter. Hyunjin is talking enough for all three of them.

‘You want to feel him inside you?’ That sticky drip of masculinity, his voice saturated with it.
Harsh and raw, and Jeongin rocks forward again, digs his nails into Seungmin’s bicep, and garbles
out another deeply pathetic sound.

‘I can tell you want to get fucked,’ Hyunjin says. He licks up Jeongin’s neck and scrapes his teeth
against his skin. ‘You need it. I get like that, too. Get all buzzy with need. With Seungminnie—ah,
I could fuck myself on his cock all day. He stretches me out so well, fills me up, makes me feel so
—’ He teases his fingertips down Jeongin’s spine. ‘Aw, baby, you’re trembling. All shaky. You
need it that bad, huh?’

Jeongin can’t talk. His head tilts back and he whimpers; Seungmin’s hands smoothe up his chest.
Between two nimble fingers, he pinches a nipple and twists till Jeongin’s whole body jerks.

‘You wanna fuck him, Seungminnie?’ Hyunjin asks conversationally, then tightens his fist in
Jeongin’s hair. His head twists enough that Hyunjin can lock their lips together in a slanted kiss.

Jeongin feels his tongue in his mouth and moans again when he hears Seungmin’s murmured
affirmative.

‘Hyungie, I—’ Another shiver, another little whimper like that of a prey animal, a trapped bunny
twitching with need.

‘It’s okay,’ Hyunjin promises, hand sliding over Jeongin’s hip bone and down to cup his cock. He
palms it and smiles against Jeongin’s skin when Jeongin cries out. ‘It’s okay. I know what you
need, baby.’ Another smudged kiss, hand kneading his trapped dick. ‘Want to get fucked from
behind? It feels nice that way. It feels really fucking good, sweetheart.’ His tongue licks down
Jeongin’s jawline and below his breath he continues, ‘you think you can take Seungminnie’s cock?
I told you already—he’s big. I go so fucking stupid for him. Drool all over myself and can’t shut
up about how full I feel. You want that too, don’t you?’

It’s all—too much. Hyunjin’s words, and the way he’s palming Jeongin’s cock while Seungmin
trails hot kisses along his jawline and down his neck, slotting his mouth next to his Adam’s apple
to suck a bruise there.

‘It might hurt a little,’ Hyunjin murmurs. ‘In the beginning. Just till you get used to it. Stretched
open like that—it’s a lot. You’ll be sore tomorrow. I love that—I love when I feel it the day after,
how well I got fucked. You’ll take it like a good boy, won’t you? You’ll be such a good boy for
us.’

‘I—’ Jeongin licks at his lips desperately. His throat feels so dry and yet spit clogs in the back of
his mouth. He swallows and swallows, but still drool slicks down his chin. ‘I—Hyung. I—’

‘You gotta say it,’ Hyunjin says. He presses down harder on Jeongin’s cock, then runs his hand
down his inner thigh. ‘Doesn’t he, Seungminnie? He has to say it.’

‘He has to say it,’ Seungmin agrees. His mouth fans hot air against Jeongin’s neck, his tongue
playing at the tender love bite.

‘I want it,’ Jeongin slurs. It’s barely coherent—so slick with drool, all choked. So dizzy. God, he’s
so dizzy. ‘I wan’ it. I wanna—it hurts. ‘m so hard. It hurts. I can take it. I can, I can, Hyung, I can
take it.’

‘Aw.’ Hyunjin ruffles his hair. ‘Sweetheart. All you had to do was ask.’

With their help, he manages to shimmy out of his denim cut-offs. A trembled breath of anticipation
before stripping off his underwear—needy, anxious, gnawing at his lip and squeezing his eyes shut
because what if, what if, what if—

But they’re kind, of course, and handles him so easily. Slipping him back into his lap, Seungmin
kisses him again while Hyunjin’s hand snakes down his chest, curls around the base of his cock,
gives an upwards stroke. ‘You’ll let me finger you, dollface?’ he murmurs into his ear, and Jeongin
can only gasp. His hips jerk forward, sensitive and twitchy where Hyunjin is touching him.

‘Come on,’ Hyunjin says, ‘use your words, baby.’

‘Y-yes,’ Jeongin mumbles. ‘Please, Hyung.’

‘Good boy.’

Seungmin kisses him again, and reality fully collapses. His heart bounces into his throat and blocks
his windpipe—but then you don’t need to breathe when you’re trapped in a dream, do you? He
sighs into Seungmin’s mouth and tenses up when he feels Hyunjin ghost cold, lube-slick fingertips
around his asshole. He didn’t even hear him click open the lube—so lost in the dreamy kissing,
hazy from bubbly desire.

‘Seungminnie, you gotta keep kissing him,’ Hyunjin notes, letting go of Jeongin’s dick to grab his
ass, squeezing down. ‘And baby, you’ll relax for me like a good boy, won’t you?’

‘Please. Please, Hyung. ‘m relaxed.’

‘All right, baby,’ Hyunjin returns, amusement in his voice, lips ghosting a kiss to Jeongin’s
scapula.

He sucks in a breath when Hyunjin slides a finger into him. ‘Ah,’ he exhales, hands grabbing hold
of Seungmin’s arms again. His head tilts back and his mouth stays open; Seungmin trails a lazy
fingertip up the slope of his jaw and curls his hand in his hair, tugging him down for another kiss.

‘Keep kissing me, baby,’ he murmurs, and this trembling dizziness keeps cycloning over him. ‘Jus’
let Hyunjin fuck you open on his fingers so I can give you my cock later. Don’t you want that?’ He
flattens his palm against Jeongin’s belly and asks, ‘right here, baby. You want to feel me in here?’

‘Hyung,’ Jeongin gasps, jerking in his lap. His back arches when Hyunjin keeps fucking that one
finger in and out of him, the nasty squelch of lube making him shiver with embarrassment. He adds
another finger and slots his free hand over Jeongin’s hip bone. ‘You do this a lot when you’re
alone, baby?’

‘Hyung—’ As if it’s the only word he still remembers. Shyness shimmers in his chest and he ducks
his head. When Seungmin taps below his chin to make him look him in the eyes, he whines.

‘Hyunjin asked you a question, baby.’

‘I, I—’ He licks his lips. Flushed all over, he feels so hot. Scorched dumb.

‘What do you think about when you finger yourself?’ Hyunjin asks. He smudges another open-
mouthed kiss to Jeongin’s shoulder blade and twists his wrist, fucks his long fingers so deep inside
Jeongin that he jolts from it. All his thoughts are disconnected—just a jumble of glittery, pliant
need that he can’t string into coherent sentences.

‘Come on, baby,’ Seungmin prompts when Jeongin still hasn’t managed to swallow the spit in his
mouth and figure out a way to talk. ‘Answer Hyunjinnie.’

‘Is this what you think about, sweetheart?’ Hyunjin pulls away his hand and adds more lube, then
fucks three fingers into Jeongin’s asshole. ‘Maybe you want me to fuck your mouth while
Seungmin takes you from behind, huh? Since you don’t seem to have a lot to say anyway, we
might as well use your mouth for something better.’

‘Ah-ahh—’ he gasps, so full it’s overwhelming. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and he licks out
at his lips, over and over. He keeps whining. ‘Ah, ah, ah, Hyung, Hyung, ‘m so—s’full, s’full—’

‘Aw,’ Hyunjin coos, massaging tiny circles with his fingers. He grabs Jeongin’s dick again and
polishes his palm over the head. Slicking pre-cum down the length, he murmurs, ‘look at you,
baby. You’re so wet for us. You’re not gonna answer me, huh? Come on, doll. Tell Hyung how
often you fuck yourself. Tell us what you think about.’

‘You—’ The word finally dislodges itself from his larynx and spills out in a choked-off gasp. ‘You,
you, Hyung, and—an’ an’ an’ I—I—jus’ sometimes, not—not every day, only—only sometimes
every day—’

‘You do think about us, huh?’ Hyunjin teases, and once again Jeongin feels Seungmin’s hot mouth
trail down the column of his throat, feels him kiss another lilac bruise above his clavicle. ‘But
you’re still so tight on Hyung’s fingers, baby, and you’re telling me you fuck yourself every day,
huh? You hear that, Seungminnie?’

Seungmin hums against Jeongin’s collarbone and Hyunjin continues, ‘he’s going to be so fuckin’
tight on your cock, Seungmin. You excited to fuck him?’

‘Yeah.’ He flattens his tongue against Jeongin’s tender skin. ‘Yeah, of course I’m excited. You
think he’s ready?’

‘I’m going to add another finger,’ Hyunjin says, and does—the air is knocked out of Jeongin’s
chest and his dick twitches, pre-cum beading at the head, because—because—because he’s so full
and it’s almost too much, but then Seungmin’s hand curls at his nape, and Hyunjin soothes his
thumb along the jut of his hip bone and tells him, ‘breathe for me, baby. There you go. Good boy.
Fuck, you’re really so tight—’

And Jeongin doesn’t have to think. Need whirrs through him and leaves him quivering. He feels
like his whole body is being deconstructed—taken apart, tiny bit after tiny bit, and he doesn’t have
to think and he doesn’t have to worry because Hyunjin and Seungmin will piece him back together.
They’ll take such good care of him. Soon, they’ll fill him up where he feels so empty. They’ll keep
kissing him till he’s breathless and tell him what a good boy he is, and he doesn’t have to
remember all the nights he felt so sad and lonely because loneliness doesn’t exist anymore. It has
dissolved, just like everything else except the dripping desire, and this tender, sticky-sweet
affection.

He feels so safe here.

 seungjin, mature, making out
Chapter Notes

seungmin/hyunjin, mature, making out.

An old Fleetwood Mac record spins on the turntable, the glittery tunes washing over Hyunjin’s
body. His head tilts back and his lashes flutter as Seungmin’s mouth plays at the jut of his
mandible, tongue flicking out to lick down his throat.

Time has suspended itself. Orange soda fizzes in his veins, along with something else, something
just as cloying. It clamps down and his skin tingles where Seungmin kisses him, the wet, warm
touch of his mouth so addictive. Hyunjin tangles his fingers through his hair and tugs to slot their
mouths together again, slanted, sloppy, and he can almost taste that sugary sparkle—goosebumps
everywhere, and a needy moan slipping from one mouth to another, the slick glide of their tongues.

Seungmin’s hands stealing down his back and beneath his T-shirt; Hyunjin grinding in his lap and
sighing out a bunch of words he forgets as soon as he says them; his back arching when Seungmin
touches his ass; Seungmin’s choked-off whine sparked by Hyunjin’s teeth catching his bottom lip.

He cups Seungmin’s nape and sighs into his mouth. The languid kiss blooms desperate, open-
mouthed and hazy. Strings of spit leash them together—from the tip of Hyunjin’s tongue to
Seungmin’s swollen, cerise lip. His lashes twitch again, and another soft moan bleeds from his
mouth when he sucks on his tongue.

Bathed in the August sunlight, Seungmin is lovelier than ever. He exhales a gruff noise and
squeezes Hyunjin’s ass again—Hyunjin curls into him, fingernails clawing red streaks up his back.
A delicious sting that makes Seungmin hiss. His eyes roll back and Hyunjin cants their lips
together once more, moaning into his mouth when Seungmin pinches his right nipple.

‘This is nice,’ he murmurs, nosing up Hyunjin’s jawline. Below his ear, he smears a slick kiss that
stirs up a shiver behind Hyunjin’s ribs.

‘Mmm,’ he agrees. He touches Seungmin’s chest and teases his nipples between his fingertips. He
gives a slow roll of his hips and drops his voice. ‘Yeah. This is nice.’

Seungmin’s hand slips underneath the velvet fabric of Hyunjin’s shorts. Two fingertips ghost
where he’d love to be touched right now, filled properly—Hyunjin’s back arches and his pelvis
jumps, pre-cum dewing his underwear.

‘Tease,’ he says, tongue flicking at Seungmin’s lip. He trails sloppy kisses towards his ears and
asks, ‘wanna finger me?’

‘Patience.’

‘Right.’ Hyunjin’s lips dance into a teasing smirk as he gives another tug on Seungmin’s earlobe.
He grinds his hips and exhales a laugh when Seungmin twitches. ‘I can feel how hard you are, you
know.’

‘I know,’ he insists.
‘I can be patient,’ Hyunjin tells him. He kisses him again. Each beat of his heart reverberates in his
chest, the slow thuds echoing against his eggshell ribcage. ‘I just wonder—can you? Later, when
I’ve got your cock inside me, and I’m riding you just the way you like—and I’m telling you all
about how full I feel, and how it’s almost too much for me to take, and how I want you to fuck me
full of your cum till I’m fucking leaking—’ He fans an exhalation against the column of
Seungmin’s throat and smiles at the way he whimpers. ‘I’m gonna tell you not to come yet. If I tell
you to be a good fucking boy and be patient for me—can you do that? Can you be patient,
Seungminnie?’

‘Hyunjin.’ A gasp—it thrills in Hyunjin’s belly and sparks lazy flames. ‘Hyunjinnie. Who’s a tease
now?’

Hyunjin smiles against his skin and presses another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. He swivels
his hips and tugs on Seungmin’s hair. ‘You started,’ he tells him. ‘And now—I’m not gonna let
you finger me yet. Let’s kiss a little more first. Let’s practise patience, baby.’

‘Hyunjin.’ He shivers and his hands squeeze Hyunjin’s ass tightly. ‘You’re—mean.’

‘I’m being patient,’ Hyunjin says, and slots their lips together once more. He licks into Seungmin’s
mouth and draws another whiny sound from him, so addictive. So sweet. Like orange soda, like
spun sugar, like the glimmer of a song that makes him feel lovesick and a little nostalgic. Makes
him feel—yeah, he wants to be with Seungmin everywhere. Everywhere, everywhere.

Everywhere.
 fem hyunin, explicit, mommy kink
Chapter Notes

sex swapped hyunjin/jeongin, explicit, mommy kink & denial.

Hyunjin crooks her long fingers and Jeongah’s back arches off the bed as a slick gasp is knocked
from the back of her throat. Hyunjin rubs against her G-spot, and she sucks in a punchy breath, a
glimmery string of drool slicking down her chin. Her wire frame glasses slant askew, which is
probably why she wanted to take them off beforehand, but Hyunjin insisted she keep them on.
They’re cute. She’s cute.

‘Fff-fuck,’ she spits, chest heaving so her tits jiggle in the scalloped cups of her plunge bra, the
same baby pink as her flushed cheeks. Her nipples poke through the sheer tulle, so Hyunjin reaches
up her free hand to pinch one and dryly says, ‘watch your language, love.’

Stifling another whine, Jeongah stuffs her knuckles in her mouth and bites down, hips jerking off
the bed to fuck back on Hyunjin’s fingers. Hyunjin swipes her thumb across her clit and teases a
slow circle so Jeongah twitches and breathes out another drool-slick whimper.

Her pussy clenches down on Hyunjin’s fingers. ‘Aw,’ she notes, and pulls her hand away sharply.

There’s a slow beat where nothing happens—then the change registers and Jeongah cries out
indignantly, her body jerking. Bathed in the afternoon sunlight that bleeds through the white
curtains, her soft skin gleams—the rosy lingerie only further highlighting the flush blooming
across her chest.

Their eyes meet and Hyunjin coos at her, lips twitching into a smile that exudes faux sympathy.
‘Did you think I’d let you come?’

‘I—’ She swallows hard and her swollen lips crescent into a pout. ‘You’re mean.’

She scrapes her fingernails down Jeongah’s inner thigh, then stuffs two fingers between her lips;
Jeongah’s pink tongue immediately swirls around the digits and her eyelashes flutter, drool
bubbling at the corner of her mouth.

‘You think this is mean?’ Hyunjin’s eyebrow arches and her lips twitch again as she withdraws her
fingers from Jeongah’s mouth and wipes them against her heaving chest. The smear of spit
shimmers in the light, as glittery as Jeongah’s darling eyes. ‘I’ll show you fucking mean, baby
girl.’

Jeongah’s bottom lip wobbles as a soft, pathetic whimper slips out. Hyunjin runs her hand down
her thigh and snaps the ribbed top of her knee sock against her skin. Jeongah shivers again and
kicks out her leg. She licks at her lips and her eyelashes flutter shut. ‘Mommy,’ she mumbles,
throwing her arm across her face to hide the way her cheeks bloom from dusty rose to fuchsia.

‘How badly do you want to come?’ Hyunjin taps her fingertips against Jeongah’s neatly trimmed
pussy and slides her thumb down the slit. Spreading the lips, she bends over and flicks the tip of
her tongue against her clit.
Jeongah’s hips jump. Her voice is muted and sweetly pathetic when she says, ‘really bad.’

‘Really bad, huh?’ Hyunjin teases her tongue down her wet cunt, and back up to fit her clit between
her lips. She sucks gently so Jeongah twitches, then kisses down her labia and moans against her
skin. ‘So, on a scale from one to ten, that’d be—?’

‘Ten,’ Jeongah says immediately. She blinks her long lashes and catches Hyunjin’s eyes, fingers
clenching down on the floral bedsheet. ‘Please, Mommy. Don’t be mean. Please let me come.’

‘I see,’ Hyunjin returns. She lets her eyes slip shut and kisses Jeongah’s clit again; her tongue flicks
between her labia in sharp, tiny licks, before pushing inside her. Jeongah arches and presses her
pelvis up against Hyunjin’s face, but she grabs her hip bone and holds her down. ‘Ten, huh? That’s
a lovely number. Let’s say I edge you ten times, and then we’ll see whether I think you deserve to
come.’

‘NO!’ Her legs kick out and her mouth falls open. ‘No, no. Mommy, don’t be mean—’

‘Shh,’ Hyunjin shushes. She massages her thumb around Jeongah’s pussy and dips it into her hole
while twirling her tongue around her clit again. ‘You want to come, don’t you?’

Her nose twitches as she sniffles. She pulls her wobbly bottom lip between her teeth and nods her
head. ‘I wanna come. So much.’

‘You know it’ll feel so much better if I edge you first.’ She entwines their fingers and hovers her
mouth right above Jeongah’s pussy, fanning a wet breath against the flushed skin. Such a lovely
pink. Like candyfloss, and just as sweet. She flattens her tongue against her and gives a slow,
deliberate lick—it’s mostly teasing, really, but Jeongah’s so easily worked up, and already trembly.
‘It’s only ten,’ she muses, nosing down the slit and tonguing where she’s dripping. She moans
against her cunt and Jeongah throws her head back again, fingers tangling in Hyunjin’s tied-up hair.

‘What if—’ Her words blur into a high whine as Hyunjin fucks her on her tongue. Her chest heaves
again and she gasps, ‘what if I come?’

Hyunjin pulls back and kisses her inner thigh. ‘Well, you wouldn’t,’ she says. ‘Not without
permission. Would you?’

‘Mommy,’ she begs, ‘what if—on accident—what if I can’t—’

‘If you can’t control it?’ Hyunjin swirls her tongue around her clit again. ‘If you’re too needy to
hold it in like a good girl would?’

Jeongah’s cheeks burn and she gnaws on her lip, body twitching and twitching. Shaky little
princess.

‘Be a good girl,’ Hyunjin says. ‘And you won’t have to find out.’

A throaty whimper skips out and her eyes roll back. ‘Oh God. Okay. I’m good. I’m a good girl,
Mommy.’

‘You are,’ Hyunjin agrees, kissing her hip bone gently. ‘You’re such a good girl, sweetheart.’
 jilix, explicit, blowjob
Chapter Notes

jisung/felix, explicit, blowjob & shy jisung.

Chiffony spit wreathes between their lips when Felix pulls away to kiss down the slope of Jisung’s
jaw. ‘D’you wanna—’ he mumbles, nuzzling against his neck. He slips his hand underneath his tee
and teases his fingertips against Jisung’s flat belly, smiling into his skin as he shivers.

Jisung’s fingers tangle in his hair and he asks, ‘wanna what?’

Felix pulls back, and really is about to say something, but then gets distracted by Jisung’s pretty
face—his eyes so blown, as sparkly and sable as the surface of an enchanted pond which Felix
wouldn’t mind drowning in. He leans down to kiss him again.

When he comes back up for air, the sun has slipped halfway beneath the horizon and streaked the
sky mulberry. It’s the last stretch of summer, that final, shaky exhalation before autumn dawns.
Soon enough the leaves will turn brown and drift to the ground, and Felix will feel homesick and
nostalgic again like every late September.

It feels like they’ve been dancing around this thing forever. All summer, really—what with that
road trip down south, just the two of them, Jisung’s left hand curled around the steering wheel and
Felix’s feet propped up on the dashboard, sharing bags of chips and laughing and everything
feeling so bloody soft, and yet they didn’t kiss even once that whole long, languid weekend. Even
if Felix wanted to, and called Jisung cute a couple of times, let his eyes linger on his lips—but the
first kiss only came later. A few weeks ago, apple cider sparkling in his veins, a sparrow in his
chest.

And finally—fucking finally—straddling Jisung’s thighs and slotting their mouths together and
smiling, smiling, smiling so much it hurt his goddamn cheeks when he felt how Jisung trembled,
his shaky hands on Felix’s waist, all those soft, sweet sounds when he called him pretty.

‘D’you wanna—’ Felix tries again, something fluttery behind his ribs. Maybe the sparrow built a
nest there. He catches Jisung’s eyes, all wrecked, and he flits a kiss to his pink cheek.

‘Um.’ Jisung’s tongue darts out, followed by a soft sigh. His fingers twitch in the cotton fabric of
Felix’s tee.

‘I can suck you off,’ Felix suggests. His hips give a tiny jerk in Jisung’s lap and he swipes his
thumb across his cheek. ‘I mean, if you wanna.’

‘You’d—’ Another breath stumbles from his kiss-swollen lips and his cheeks bloom a brighter
shade of pink, his tongue licking out again. Usually so bouncy, full of energy, now he seems—shy.
Stuttery. His eyes drop from Felix’s face and he flexes his fingers.

‘I’d like to,’ Felix says, ghosting his mouth up Jisung’s jawline. He catches his earlobe between his
teeth and tugs gently, then breathes out a sigh. ‘I’d love to, actually. I’ve been thinking about it.’

‘Oh.’ His fingers clench down on Felix’s waist, which is a sensation not at all unwanted. ‘Oh, you
—um. You have?’

‘Duh.’ Felix hides his smile in the crook of Jisung’s neck and blots another wet kiss there. Feeling
a little nervous, he asks, ‘have—you?’

‘Yeah,’ he breathes out, the word underpinned by a whine.

Felix locks their mouths together in another sloppy kiss. His dick jerks in his underwear and his
hips snap forward again, getting needy, wanting what he’s been wanting forever. How long has he
liked Jisung in that way? It hasn’t just been this summer, really, it’s been longer—it was there
during spring, too, as physical as the fresh buds and the smell of rain and grass and hope, and Felix
hoped, but he wasn’t brave enough to act.

Now, though—he’s brave enough. Jisung’s endearing shyness emboldens him. ‘I’ve thought about
it so much,’ he murmurs against Jisung’s mouth. ‘I wanna make you feel good.’

‘Hhh.’ This throaty gasp, and his eyes fluttering shut, his fingers squeezing down on Felix’s waist.
‘I haven’t really—’ He wets his lips again and avoids Felix’s eyes. ‘Uh, been with—a lot of
people.’

‘No?’ He swivels his hips again and lands another kiss to his cheek. ‘Even though you’re so
pretty?’

Jisung twitches again, his teeth worrying at his lip. ‘You’re the pretty one. I’m just—I dunno.
Some guy.’

‘Some guy about to get his dick sucked.’

He rolls his eyes. Felix giggles and smudges another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then nimbly
slides off his lap and onto the floor between Jisung’s spread legs. His hands curl into tight fists and
he’s looking at Felix in a way that makes him feel insanely desirable, all wide-eyed and open-
mouthed and still licking out his tongue, all breathless, like maybe he’s unsure if this is really
happening or he’s dreaming it all up.

Felix’s mouth slopes into a grin and he blows him a kiss. He teases his fingers up his crotch and
nimbly unzips his jeans. ‘Lift your hips,’ he tells him, and Jisung obeys with a choked-off whine.
Felix pulls his trousers and boxer briefs down his thighs, and swallows hard when Jisung’s cock
bobs against his belly, smearing pre-cum against his T-shirt.

‘Oh.’ He wraps his hand around the base and gives a slow, steady stroke upwards, palming the
head before jerking back down. He parts his lips and leans down to give a soft kitten-lick where
pre-cum beads. His tongue swirls at the cockhead, then trails down the length.

‘Fuck,’ Jisung groans. He’s all twitchy already, exhaling tight breaths of air. ‘Oh, you—’

‘Mmm,’ Felix mumbles, lapping at the tip again while jerking his hand. He flutters open his eyes
to catch Jisung’s gaze—then hollows his cheeks and takes him properly in his mouth. He bobs his
head and hums when Jisung curses once more and slides his fingers through Felix’s hair.

He pulls off to zigzag the tip of his tongue down his dick, palming his balls with his free hand. His
eyes slip shut and he moans against Jisung’s cock. He trails soft, wet kisses along a vein and fits
him between his lips again, sliding the slick girth along his wet tongue till it nudges the back of his
throat.

‘Oh shit, oh shit—’

Felix hums and blinks up at Jisung. He catches his eyes again and moans around the cock in his
mouth, slurping as he bobs his head. He licks and licks at the head, hand jerking faster, and rasps,
‘you feel really good.’

‘You—’ Jisung gasps, fingers tightening in Felix’s hair. ‘I—I feel really good. You’re really good.’

‘Thank you,’ Felix beams. He rubs his thumb along the slit of Jisung’s cock, then pops it between
his lips and licks it clean. With a smile, he tongues at his cockhead again and lets his own hips
jerk, his dick twitching where it’s trapped. ‘I wanna make you come like this. I thought about that,
too.’

‘Fff,’ Jisung slurs. ‘You—did?’

‘Mm,’ he hums, then moans as he tongues at Jisung’s balls. ‘Mm, of course. Didn’t you? Didn’t
you imagine—ah, me with your cum on my face? All messy. Pretty for you.’

Jisung jolts and fists Felix’s hair tighter. ‘I—you—’

‘You did, didn’t you?’ Felix flashes an innocent smile and wraps his swollen lips around his dick
again, hollowing his cheeks.

‘I did,’ Jisung admits. ‘Oh, fuck. Yeah. So many times, I—’

 hyunin, explicit, omorashi & daddy kink
Chapter Notes

hyunjin/jeongin, explicit, omorashi + daddy kink. vague age play hints, too.

‘I, I, I—’ His body’s tight, tight, tight, all tensed up and needy—fingers clenched in the soft fabric
of Hyunjin’s white tee, thighs trembling, these hot sparks of pain swirling in his tummy, making
his mind spin and slip, spit pooling in the back of his mouth. ‘It hurts, it hurts, I need to—’

‘What do you need, baby?’ Hyunjin asks, all honeyed consideration, this sickly-sweet tone that
makes Jeongin feel even needier. Makes him feel so fucking small and pathetic, because Hyunjin’s
being kind. He’s being lovely, his voice pitched low and tender, his warm hand smoothing gently
across the small of Jeongin’s back.

‘I need—’ Tears fog his vision. He must look all—God, he must look so wrecked. All glassy-eyed
with splotchy cheeks, his bitten lip caught between his teeth as his hips snap forward again, his
trapped dick grinding against Hyunjin’s thigh. ‘It hurts, Daddy, my—my tummy hurts, I have to, I
have to—’

He can’t say it.

Timidity licks through him and heats his face. He hasn’t been allowed to go to the bathroom all
day, and he feels like he’s going to burst. His belly is bloated from all the water Hyunjin has made
him drink, his fingers trembly, everything trembly, everything so, so much—it’s painful. He has to
go so bad and he has to ask, but the words just—they’re right in his throat, but it’s so embarrassing.
He can’t get them out. He’s needy-dumb, he’s loose-limbed, he’s too small and eager and, and, and
—

‘You’re babbling,’ Hyunjin says. ‘You’ll have to use your big boy words if you want Daddy to
understand, sweetheart.’

His pelvis rocks forward again, and this pathetic little animal sound slurs from his mouth. ‘Daddy,’
he gasps, grinding and grinding, trying not to think about his tummy and the pain and how
embarrassing it would be if he lost control. He can’t lose control. His heart jerks into his throat and
flutters there, trapped like a firecrest in a chimney, and his stomach convulses again. His dick
twitches and there’s a spark of intense trepidation, so stark his whole body goes rigid because—no.
No, no. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t—

‘I—’ It’s all spit-slick and stupid. He licks his lips over and over and tries to suck in deep gulps of
air, because he’s panting. Tight breaths. Punchy. Tight with need—everything is laced with
desperation. He can’t even think any more, because he has to go so bad. ‘Daddy, I have to pee, I
have to pee, I have to—’

‘Aw,’ Hyunjin coos. He swipes his thumb across Jeongin’s reddened cheek and offers a kind smile
before touching his other hand to Jeongin’s belly. He doesn’t press down, but Jeongin still tenses
up. It feels like—his blood congeals, his heart stops beating, air stills in his larynx.

He can’t have an accident. He’s too big to have an accident.

Embarrassment sizzles through him and leaves him aching. Desperate for more. Everything is
glitter, everything is haze, gleam, blur, everything is—Hyunjin’s lovely smile, now striated with
something taunting. His dark, beautiful eyes. His fingertips tap Jeongin’s belly. Feather-light. No
pressure at all. And still—he gasps and lurches in Hyunjin’s lap, tightening all his muscles,
anxious—

‘Daddy, can I—can I go, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—please, lemme go—’

‘Who’s stopping you?’ Hyunjin asks. Syrupy. Jeongin whimpers again and jolts in his lap, because
—no. No, no. Not here.

‘The bathroom—’ he begs. His knuckles have gone white from clenching Hyunjin’s shirt so tightly,
and he keeps grinding against his thigh, because he’s so hard, he’s so needy, he wants to come and
his tummy hurts and he has to go, he has to go so much, he’s so scared he won’t be able to hold it
in, but the pain blurs with the pleasure, the drippy anticipation of it, all slick and needy and hot,
hot, hot, his dick twitching and twitching. ‘The bathroom, Daddy, I need the ba—’

‘I don’t think you’ll make it,’ Hyunjin says indifferently. ‘You look pretty desperate, baby boy.
Are you sure you want to leave Daddy’s lap?’

‘Hhhngff.’ He jerks again. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t, it’s too—

It’s too much, it’s too close, it’s too—

‘Daddy—’
 solo jeongin (implied hyunin), explicit, a/b/o
Chapter Notes

jeongin, explicit, human jeongin masturbates thinking about alpha hyunjin.

When Jeongin’s eyes slide shut with a twitch of his spindly lashes, images of Hyunjin sparkle at the
back of his lids and a soft, broken whine skates from his bitten lips.

Hyunjin is so unearthly handsome, and Jeongin is hopelessly into him. With his dark, piercing eyes
and silken hair always tied up with a lace ribbon, everything about him feels marble-carved, glitter-
soaked, some shiny dream come alive. If he weren’t already desperately out of Jeongin’s league,
there’s the fact that he’s an alpha, which makes the whole thing even more improbable.

Jeongin is disappointingly ordinary. Secretly, he indulges in thrilling dreams in which he’s an

omega, in which he’s Hyunjin’s omega, in which Hyunjin hauls him onto his cock and fucks him
stupid and knots him till he’s swollen and sore and, and, and—

And kisses him and calls him his pretty, pretty boy, all mine, mine, mine—

All that sappy, possessive stuff. Jeongin wants it all. It’s just a dream, but—right now, alone, with a
fluffy towel laid out on his bed, lube squelching loudly as he pumps four long fingers in and out of
his asshole—right now, with his eyes closed, with his tongue lolling out and spit gauzing to the
off-white pillowcase, he can pretend it’s real. He can pretend it’s Hyunjin’s fingers, Hyunjin
fucking him open and praising him for taking it so well, the praise undercut with a thread of
humiliation, casual comments about how he’s so greedy, how he’s leaking so much slick, asking if
he’s in fucking heat or what, this desperate to get his sloppy asshole fucked full.

Jeongin hisses and slurs out, ‘yes, yes, yes, please—’ as he fucks himself back on his fingers.
There’s a specific kind of shame at play. It’s sharp, acerbic—his skin prickles over when he thinks
about how Hyunjin would never want him back, would never like him like that, since Jeongin isn’t
even a real omega. He’s just a stupid human boy with a big crush on his gorgeous and charming
friend.

He pulls out his fingers and fumbles for the lube bottle, presses it against his clenching asshole and
squirts more directly into himself. The artificially sweet peach scent of it floods the room and he
sucks in a deep, deep breath, and lets the glimmer of fantasy engulf him—nasty wet, like he’s
really an omega leaking slick, clenching and desperate for an alpha to come pin him down and stuff
him full.

His hands tremble as he drizzles lube over the head of a knotted dildo, slicks it up with a tight fist
and toys it around his wet, greedy hole. His belly flips with anticipation, this hot, eager
desperation. ‘Please,’ he gasps, thighs shaking. He fucks it inside himself and shudders, feeling
stretched-out and so full it toes the line of too much, which is just what he fucking needs—
anchored by the physicality, pushed to his limits, there’s no space for the self-doubt and shame. He
pulls the dildo halfway out and forcefully thrusts it back inside, asshole clenching down on the
fake cock.

Drool-slick moans bleed into the creased pillowcase. Loud, nasty squelches as lube slicks down
the back of his thighs and drips onto the towel. His left hand clenches the bed sheet and his dick
twitches, beads of pre-cum pooling at the head.

‘Alpha,’ he whimpers, the knot of the toy rubbing against his sore rim. Saliva bubbles down his
chin and he brings his hand to his mouth, swirls his tongue around his fingers and whines again.
‘Alpha, alpha, I’m so—s’full, I—’

The small of his back tingles where Hyunjin touched him earlier while they were standing in the
queue at the bubble tea shop. It’s been hours, but he can still feel the ghost of his warm hand, can
still hear the tinkle of his laugh and see the bold smile he flashed him after looking him over.
Shivers spark up his spine and he pulls out the dildo, teases the head of the toy around his gaping
asshole and babbles out another plea. He fucks it back inside, hard, another nasty wet sound of the
lube, his asshole spasming to suck it further inside, so greedy and desperate. Sweat shines across
his forehead and he feels hot, hot, hot, burning up with need and desire and mortification at
wanting something so much, this much, wanting to be a heat-crazed, mindless omega.

In his mind, Hyunjin drawls, ‘you’re so fucking sloppy, baby. You’re fucking—leaking for me.
Want my knot that bad, huh? You need it, do you?’

‘Please,’ Jeongin begs. He arches his back and starts to force the fat knot into his ass—his heart
jerks into his throat and he can’t breathe—everything is fluttery, all glitter and sparkle and pure
white stars—it’s overwhelming, he’s trembling, every part of his body twitching. Twitching and
twitching. So fucking needy.

‘Gonna fill you up, baby,’ Hyunjin murmurs in the fantasy, and Jeongin grinds back on the fake
cock, the knot forced half inside now. He’s so full. He’s so full—his dick jumps and he gasps
again. Still, he wants more. Always more and more. ‘Gonna breed you so full—you’ll be leaking
my cum, baby; you’ll be too fucked-out to clench down and keep it inside. You’re a sweet little
cream puff for your alpha, aren’t you?’

Jeongin shudders again and chokes on his own spit, gagging as he begs. Begs for more, begs
Hyunjin—begs his alpha—to fuck him full of cum, to knot him, to make him come till he can’t
think any more, till he’s shaky and loose-limbed and so, so pliant.

In the dream, Hyunjin calls him a good omega, and Jeongin’s chest sings with bliss.
 hyunin, mature, teacher/parent
Chapter Notes

jeongin/hyunjin, mature, primary school teacher jeongin x single dad hyunjin.

Jeongin’s brain is short-circuiting. That’s the only word for it—there’s crackling, a fizz and a spark
and a loud, loud pop, and then brilliant, deafening silence as the world collapses and heat floods his
cheeks and his throat desiccates. Oh. Oh God, no. No, no. Why is this happening to him?

Jeongin has never much enjoyed parent-teacher conferences. They’re the one thing about his job
which he could easily do without. Right now—well, right now, that bland dislike boils into an
active aversion.

‘Good afternoon,’ Hyunjin says, and Jeongin knows his name is Hyunjin because he has seen this
man before, and not in his role as Eunji’s father. He did not know that this man was Eunji’s father
until this very moment, or he probably would not have had sex with him a few months ago. It was a
drunken hook-up in a club bathroom, and they didn’t exchange numbers, because otherwise
Jeongin definitely would’ve caved and texted him that same night, something desperate-sounding
and embarrassing, because by God, it was the best dick he’d ever had. He spent weeks
daydreaming about it, wanting a repeat, but without a phone number—well, he had to make peace
with the fact that he would probably never meet Hyunjin again.

He moved on. Whatever. It was chill.

Until now.

‘Good afternoon,’ Jeongin manages, and his voice only squeaks a tiny bit. He shakes Hyunjin’s
outstretched hand and clears his throat, then ushers him into the classroom. They sit down and
Jeongin fidgets with his papers, skimming the report cards just to avoid eye contact. ‘Mr Hwang,
right, you’re here for Eunji.’ At the last parent-teacher conference, Eunji’s mother had been
present. Jeongin really had no idea that this would happen, could happen. It’s not something he’d
ever considered. Accidentally fucking the parent of one of his students? Outlandish. Ridiculous.

His life is a bloody joke, but he isn’t laughing.

‘Call me Hyunjin,’ he says, and his voice is warm and kind and imbued with a smile that sends a
shiver up Jeongin’s spine, the whole fucking way to his nape.

Jeongin chances a glance at him, and immediately regrets it. God. That night is coming back in
flashes, and he’s finding it a little hard to catch his breath. His cheeks still feel hot, too hot, and his
eyelashes twitch, trying to focus, trying to snap out of the reverie, because this is not about that,
and probably Hyunjin doesn’t even remember him. Don’t make it fucking weird. It doesn’t have to
be weird.

‘Hyunjin,’ he says, ‘right. Well, Eunji is wonderful. You don’t need me telling you that.’

‘She gets that from her dad,’ Hyunjin says with a cocky smile that shouldn’t be so fucking
charming. Jeongin fights the awful urge to get up to lock the door and beg Hyunjin to bend him
over the fucking desk. That would be wildly inappropriate, and he’d probably lose his job, and—

Jeongin flushes and stutters out a breath. ‘Right, uh, I’m sure her results speak for themselves, but
beyond that, she’s a delight to have in class. She’s very active, eager to learn, always raising her
hand—’ He’s rambling because of the nerves. He clenches his fingers and takes a steadying breath.
This is so awful. God, if he’d known—

But he didn’t know. He had no idea.

God, why did he have sex in a bathroom? That’s, like, so unhygienic anyway. Ew. He is never
drinking again. He is never hooking up with a stranger, even if it turns out to be the best sex of his
life, and just imagine how good it would be if they’d been in an actual bed with a whole night
ahead of them, hours and hours of having his body turned to honey, needy and pliant and dazed
from it.

No, no. Stop thinking about that. Stop thinking at all.

Hyunjin smiles at him again. There’s this edge to it, this teasing quality, and a flash of his white
teeth. He catches Jeongin’s eyes and cocks his right brow.

Okay, so he definitely has not forgotten either. That’s—well, that’s fine. That’s totally fucking fine
and great and doesn’t make this the most excruciating parent-teacher conference that Jeongin has
ever had the absolute misfortune of having to conduct. You could fry a goddamn egg on his cheeks
right now, they’re burning so hot. Air trembles from his lips again and he looks back at his papers,
fidgets with them, embarrassed about everything.

‘Um.’ He swallows again. ‘Right, right, Eunji—she’s slightly stronger in maths, but she’s still
above average when it comes to reading and spelling. Do you read with her at home?’

‘Yes,’ Hyunjin says. His eyes are still on Jeongin’s, so insistent and intense.

‘That’s good,’ Jeongin says. He’s ready to pass out. He glances at the clock above the door. ‘You
should keep doing that.’ Just eight more minutes. He can do it. He has to.

Would it be weird to ask for his number? It would. Right? It’d be weird. Is he and Eunji’s mum
still together? He looks down at Hyunjin’s hands. Oh, God, they’re so big, and he shudders at the
thought of those long fingers inside him, fucking him open, slick and dripping with lube and—

Snap out of it.

He’s not wearing a wedding band. That’s good, right? It means Jeongin didn’t hook up with a
married man, which would’ve made this already terrible situation four hundred times worse.
Imagine that. Good morning, Eunji, so I’m the reason your parents are probably getting a divorce
now! Can you read page 47 aloud for us?

Anyway. Asking for his number—yeah, it’d be weird. Move on. By God, stop being a fucking
weirdo. Just tell him his kid is great and then say goodbye and never think about him again. This is
what you get for getting drunk and sucking dick in the grossest place in the world. You asked for
this. You literally fucking asked for this, okay? It’s your own fault, Jeongin.

It’s your own fault for being so goddamn stupid.

‘When you read with her, and there’s a word she doesn’t know,’ he begins, trying hard to ignore
the way his voice still shakes, ‘do you tell her immediately, or do you let her try to figure it out for
herself at first?’
 seungin, explicit, free use seungmin
Chapter Notes

jeongin/seungmin, explicit, needy jeongin and free use seungmin. minho cameo.

Need thrums through him. Incessant. He gets like this all the time, so worked-up and high-strung
and all fucking loose from it, jittery, stupid, and it is—it is so embarrassing. Maybe it’s stress or
maybe it’s hormones, but just the lightest touch will spark shivers up his arms, will incite that
slick, snaking heat in his belly. Just a look and he’s already gagging for it.

But Seungmin—he said it was okay. He said he could come any time, and just take what he
needed. He wouldn’t mind. Jeongin wouldn’t even have to ask, he could just—he could just, just,
just. He’s hot from it, just thinking about it, flushed all over, which is something else that’s
embarrassing.

This traitorous body—hard and hot and red all the time, even if he’s trying to concentrate,
especially when he’s trying to concentrate.

He’s been grinding into a pillow for the last ten minutes, but it’s not enough. Half dizzy. Dumb for
it.

He shoves the duvet aside and rolls out of bed, knees bumping into each other and bare feet hitting
the wooden floor.

Maybe Seungmin is asleep. Jeongin should be asleep too, but he isn’t, because he’s embarrassingly
horny despite already jerking off in the shower earlier, knuckles shoved between his teeth and legs
buckling and trying to be quiet, so quiet nobody would hear.

Seungmin is probably asleep. But he said—he said any time. And Jeongin has never taken him up
on the offer, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was always too shy. It would be
embarrassing.

But right now he really wants to sleep. His brain is all mushy, but his body—his body is keyed-up,
still awake, too awake and tense with desire for him to pass out. And he wants to pass out. He
wants to come one final time and then pass out.

He knocks, three quick, quiet taps of his curled fist against the door. Hyunjin wouldn’t have
knocked. He would’ve just gone in, but Jeongin doesn’t have Hyunjin’s bravado.

‘Mm-hm?’ a voice calls, thick in that special midnight way, and deep, like probably he wasn’t fully
asleep yet, but also wasn’t too far-off.

‘Can I come in?’ Jeongin shifts his weight to his other foot and fidgets with the hem of his tee.

‘Yeah,’ Seungmin calls, so Jeongin pushes open the door and steps inside. There’s a thin sliver
where the curtain doesn’t cover the window properly so his skin glows, bathed in the silvery light
of the Pisces moon. ‘Jeongin,’ he says, some strange, private, indecipherable smile playing on his
lips, and lies down again.
‘Hyung,’ Jeongin exhales. The door clicks shut behind him and he shuffles to the bed, knees
touching the mattress. He sucks in a wet breath and touches the top of Seungmin’s back, fingertips
pressing down. ‘Can I—’

‘You don’t have to ask,’ Seungmin says into the crook of his elbow, already lifting his hips off the
bed so Jeongin can push down his loose shorts.

‘I, I—’ Jeongin hesitates, but then—he is so worked-up, and he wants to feel him so bad, and his
thumb circles Seungmin’s asshole. It dips inside easily, and he realises—oh, Seungmin is still wet.
Someone else fucked him earlier, and came inside, and he’s still all sloppy and loose, and
—‘Hyung,’ he says again, fidgeting with the waistband of his joggers, positioning his body just
right, pushing at Seungmin’s supple thigh to spread his legs wider apart. ‘D’you need—d’you need
lube?’

‘It’s okay,’ Seungmin says, hips wriggling. His asshole clenches like an invitation, but he breathes
out a quiet yawn. ‘Jus—jus’ put it inside. ‘m okay.’

He’s too needy to tease, and that’s not what this is about anyway. He spits in his palm and jerks
down the length of his flushed, hard cock, then pushes it inside Seungmin. ‘Hhhh.’ The whimper is
all animal, and his hips jerk, rutting into Seungmin’s tight hole.

His hand curls around Seungmin’s nape, pushes his head into the pillow as he thrusts into him. It’s
sloppy and uncoordinated—he isn’t trying to make Seungmin feel good, he’s just trying to make
himself come. ‘Oh shit, oh shit—’ The words keel into a reedy whine. Even without lube, it’s not
actually that dry—Seungmin still so slick, still wet from earlier, which is so—overwhelming. Hot,
hot, hot. He whines again. ‘Hyung, Hyung, I—’

‘Please.’ Seungmin’s voice is still so dark; all gravel road and dirt in your lungs. ‘Oh—oh, Innie,
inside, inside—’

He wonders if he begged like this earlier, too. ‘You’re gonna be so—so wet.’ Another wheezy
inhalation, hips jerking, dick twitching as it drags inside Seungmin.

‘I know,’ Seungmin mumbles, a blush in his voice. ‘I know.’

He doesn’t ask if he’s sore, if he feels himself drip sometimes, and how that makes him feel. If it
makes him want it even more, if he ever gets as wound-up as Jeongin does, all trembly with this
monumental need he can’t ever sate. Does it help him feel sated, being free to use? Maybe he
should ask. Maybe he could settle into a similar arrangement where nobody ever has to ask, where
they can just come take him whenever the desire arises.

‘Please, please, please—’ All choked-off and suddenly so loud, all these whiny sounds bubbling
out of his mouth, but he can’t keep quiet any more. His hip bones dig into Seungmin’s ass and
there’s that repeated, loud slap as skin hits skin, and the other unmistakeable sounds of sex.

And then there’s the sound of the door pushed open with a bang, and Jeongin’s head snaps up and
his eyes go wide as he sees Minho in the doorframe. ‘Some of us are trying to sleep,’ he says, eyes
so dark and taunting, lingering on Jeongin’s warm face and dropping to where his cock is nestled
inside Seungmin’s asshole.

‘Hyung,’ Jeongin gasps. Embarrassed heat washes over him, along with the tight rigidity of an
orgasm—his body locks up and his dick throbs, sluicing sticky cum deep inside Seungmin.

Minho breathes out a mean laugh. ‘Are you serious?’ His brow arches, and Jeongin feels so
trembly. Glitter strings through his veins and he rocks forward slightly, a trembled whimper of
oversensitivity.

‘Like fucking rabbits, the two of you,’ Minho mocks. ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?’

‘Hyung,’ Jeongin whimpers, lashes fluttering. ‘Hyung, Hyung—’

 jisung & minho & jeongin, mature, never have i ever
Chapter Notes

jisung, minho, & jeongin play never have i ever. mostly implied minho/jeongin, but
could easily be ot3. mature.

cw alcohol

Jisung isn’t exactly drunk when he suggests it, but he’s definitely not sober either. Somewhere in
that hazy sphere of tipsiness—his eyes sparkle and his cheeks are flushed from rum and coke, but
his voice is somehow still strong and smooth. He says, lightly, ‘we should play Never Have I
Ever,’ and Jeongin wishes he’d never been born or, alternatively, had been born elsewhere,
preferably on a deserted island and raised by wolves.

‘No,’ he says, eyes flicking down to his own drink.

‘Why not?’ Jisung presses. ‘You scared?’

‘I’m not scared,’ Jeongin insists, even though he’s a little scared. He takes a small sip of his drink.

‘So you’ll play?’

‘Fine,’ Jeongin says. ‘Whatever. Let’s play.’ He steals a glance at Minho, who looks carelessly
unaffected, watching the exchange with his lips pulled into a small, amused smile.

‘Great,’ Jisung says. ‘You want to start?’

‘No.’

‘Minho-hyung,’ Jisung says, ‘why don’t you start?’

‘Mm-hm.’ He runs a dry fingertip around the rim of his glass. His eyes flit from Jisung to Jeongin
and back to his glass. ‘Never have I ever—got road head?’

‘That’s ‘cause you can’t even fucking drive, asshole,’ Jisung complains, chugging down his drink.

‘This was your idea,’ Minho says, eyebrow twitching, with that irritating smirk that makes
something hot and needy burn in Jeongin’s belly.

‘Well, it’s my turn then,’ Jisung says. He grabs the open bottle of Captain Morgan and splashes
more into his glass, filling up with Diet Coke. ‘Never have I ever got off thinking about a friend.’

Jeongin’s fingers squeeze around his glass remembering how just last night he pushed three lube-
sticky fingers inside himself thinking about the way Minho looked at him earlier. So, so
embarrassing.

‘I don’t fucking believe that,’ Minho insists, but he’s bringing up his own glass for a sip.

Jeongin closes his eyes and takes a sip, too. He doesn’t want to know whom Minho thinks about
when he gets off, mostly because it probably (definitely) isn’t Jeongin, and that concrete
knowledge would hurt, as if this whole thing doesn’t already hurt enough as it is.

‘Oh?’ Jisung teases. ‘Jeonginnie, who have you been thinking ‘bout?’

‘Not you,’ Jeongin says. ‘And I agree with Minho-hyung. You should be drinking too.’

Jisung rolls his eyes. ‘Whatever,’ he says, and takes another sip. ‘Happy?’

‘No,’ Jeongin says.

‘Well, it’s your turn, baby,’ Jisung says, like an asshole.

‘Don’t call me baby,’ Jeongin returns flatly.

‘No? You really not thinking about me, huh?’

‘In your wet dreams.’

‘Oh, for sure.’ He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip and leaves it shiny and redder than ever.
His eyes dart to Minho and his lips twitch into a half smile as he looks back to catch Jeongin’s eyes
again. ‘Maybe you’ve been thinking about Minho-hyung, huh?’

Warmth creeps up his neck and he swallows hard. ‘Obviously not,’ he lies. ‘Never have I ever—
uh.’ All the thoughts he has are embarrassing. He’s never even kissed anyone, which is, of course,
intensely humiliating, but, you know, whatever. He is logically aware that it doesn’t indicate his
worth as a person, but emotionally it very much feels like it does. Like, is he really that
undesirable? ‘Uh,’ he says again. ‘Never have I ever sucked dick.’

Minho and Jisung both tilt back their glasses. Jeongin chances another glance at Minho, and finds
his dark eyes already trained on him. ‘You’re not lying?’

‘Why the fuck would I lie?’ Jeongin snaps. ‘If I were lying, I’d be like—man, I give head like a
god. Why would I lie and make myself seem like a total loser?’

Jisung snorts. ‘Fair point.’

‘You just need a little practice,’ Minho muses. He runs his thumb across his lip to swipe up a drop
of his drink, then musses his hand through his hair.

Jeongin thinks he’s never been this red in his life. ‘Uh, yeah. Right. Whatever. Your turn, Hyung.’

‘I’ll help you practice, baby,’ Jisung says with an annoying cock of his eyebrow. ‘Any time.’

‘Yeah, no thanks.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jisung says, ‘you already got your eyes on someone else, huh?’

Jeongin clears his throat and looks away from Minho. ‘No. Maybe I’m just not into dick.’

Minho breathes out a startled laugh, head tilting back. ‘Oh, that’s cute.’ Still smiling like some
kind of fallen, venereal angel, he catches Jeongin’s eyes. ‘I love that. Maybe you’re not into dick.’
He shakes his head, breathing out another amused giggle.

‘Shut up,’ Jeongin says. ‘I thought we were playing this stupid game.’

‘Okay, okay,’ Minho acquiesces, but his gaze is still burning through Jeongin’s flushed skin. ‘Let’s
play.’
 minsung, teen, seven minutes in heaven
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung, teen, seven minutes in heaven.

‘Um.’ Minho clears his throat and heaves in a deep breath, but it doesn’t kill the feeling of ants
scurrying through his blood. It’s been approximately twenty seconds since Seungmin slammed the
door shut on them, effectively locking Jisung and Minho in this too-small broom closet.

For the record, neither of them asked to be in here.

They’re way too old for these kinds of party games. They aren’t fucking teenagers any more.

‘So, this is awkward,’ Minho finally breaks the silence properly, and there’s an embarrassing crack
in his voice. He scratches his fingernails up his forearms, but he still feels itchy and overwhelmed.

It’s not that he’s claustrophobic. It’s just—

Jisung is kind of awfully close right now. His knee digs into Minho’s thigh, their arms brush, and
Minho is still thinking about that thick choker looped around Jisung’s neck, which he hasn’t been
able to tear his eyes away from all night. He’s thinking about his stupid, pretty eyes and stupid,
tiny waist and everything about Jisung is so, so stupid. All of it. Minho doesn’t want to be trapped
in a broom closet with him, especially not for seven minutes.

‘A little,’ Jisung admits. He shifts. ‘So how should we pass the time?’

‘By plotting our revenge. I’m thinking I’ll rip every third seam of Seungmin’s T-shirts and add
bleach to Hyunjin’s conditioner.’

Jisung laughs. ‘That’s harsh, Minho-hyung.’

‘I’m harsh.’

‘Not really,’ Jisung says below his breath. ‘You jus’ act like it.’

Minho swallows. He leans back against the closet wall and closes his eyes—it’s not like he can
really see anything in here anyway. Nerves prickle his skin, either sparked by the darkness, or the
confined space, or just Jisung’s proximity. ‘Fuck off.’

‘I can’t, really,’ Jisung says. ‘I think they blocked the door. Probably with a chair or something.’

‘Assholes.’

‘You know, they probably think we’re making out in here.’

Heat flares up the back of his neck and he curls his hands into fists. He rubs his thumb across a
bruised knuckle. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ Jisung echoes. Minho hears him lick his lips. ‘I mean, why else would they do this?’
‘‘Cause they’re assholes.’ His eyelashes flutter open, but he can’t see a damn thing. Jisung shifts so
his thigh pushes against Minho’s; his body goes rigid for a second, but he forces himself to relax.
He exhales a slow, steady breath. ‘How long d’you think it’s been?’

‘Dunno,’ Jisung says. ‘A minute or two, I guess?’

‘So five minutes to go.’ Minho closes his eyes again. ‘Give or take.’

‘Aw, Hyung,’ Jisung sighs, ‘am I really that awful to be alone with?’

Minho sucks in a breath when their wrists brush. It’s not that Jisung is awful to be around, it’s just
that Minho has too many thoughts, and none of them are helpful right now. If Jisung keeps shifting
around and knocking their limbs together, Minho is going to get hard, and it will be the most
embarrassing thing in the world. ‘It’s not you,’ he finally says. There’s a dull knock when the back
of his head tilts against the wall.

‘You claustrophobic or something?’

‘Something like that.’

‘You never told me.’

I also didn’t tell you I can’t stop thinking about your stupid lips. ‘Are you?’

‘Claustrophobic?’ Jisung asks. ‘Nah, not really. I don’t mind being here with you.’

Minho swallows again. ‘You don’t?’

‘Of course not.’

Minho exhales. ‘So you don’t wanna lace Changbin’s protein powder with crushed-up laxatives?’

Again, Jisung snorts, and the sound of it pulls Minho’s lips into a smile. ‘How the fuck do you
even come up with these things?’

‘I was blessed with a creative mind.’

‘Yeah, I bet you were.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh—’ He shifts, again, and frankly Minho doesn’t think so much squirming around is necessary
at all, nor helpful to their situation. He’s four seconds from just pinning Jisung to the wall and
telling him to be fucking still.

But that would only make everything more awkward. ‘Four minutes,’ he says instead, since Jisung
apparently isn’t going to explain what he meant.

‘Four minutes,’ Jisung says, and Minho feels his knuckles brush his elbow. Can he fucking quit
moving around? Does he have to make it harder for Minho? In a voice barely above a whisper, he
says, ‘lotsa things could happen in four minutes.’

Minho has felt lightheaded this entire time, but now he genuinely thinks he might pass out. He’ll
blame claustrophobia if anyone asks. ‘Like what?’

‘Oh, you know.’ His hand touches Minho’s chest. ‘Aren’t you the one blessed with a creative
mind?’

‘Not feeling so creative right now.’

‘You’re not?’ Jisung’s hand snakes downwards and rests just above Minho’s navel. ‘It’s lucky
you’re not alone then. I mean, I could help you out. Spark that creativity of yours.’

This cannot be fucking real. He sucks in a tight breath. ‘Jisung, what’re you do—’

‘We’ve still got three minutes,’ he says. ‘Bet I can make you come that fast.’
 minchan, general, littlespace
Chapter Notes

minho/chan, general, little chan.

It’s like this sometimes—the world turns fuzzy and his brain feels like play dough and his focus
gets shifty, thoughts capering. Control is difficult to relinquish, because it feels undeserved, and he
should be responsible, should be doing things, and thinking, and working, but sometimes—
sometimes, the body calls the shots. The body turns docile and refuses control. The nagging guilt
bleeds away and this—this regression, if that’s what you want to call it, licks at him like an
insistent puppy, and he is powerless to do anything but submit and turn small.

When he turned twenty, he shoved his bunny plushie underneath the bed because he really wasn’t
supposed to need him any more, he shouldn’t have needed him for years, but he couldn’t fall asleep
that night, all keyed-up with anxiety, and he rolled on to the floor and reached beneath the bed and
cried into his soft fur and apologised for being so mean, abandoning him like that, because it
must’ve been so dark and scary underneath the bed.

He is still ashamed sometimes, but less so than he used to be. He spent forever trying to kill this
part of himself, and when that failed, he resolved that at least it would have to remain hidden for
the rest of his life. It wasn’t something he thought he could share with anyone, ever, because they
would probably be unsettled and freaked out, and would laugh at him, and is there anything more
humiliating than being laughed at? Especially about something like this. Something which isn’t
even a choice, and feels so out of his control—it just happens.

If he had the choice, he wouldn’t be like this.

But then—there was Minho, with his warm smile and knuckles bruised from boxing and the way
he always ruffled Chan’s hair. And it was friendship and then it was something a little different and
Chan was fucking terrified, but wanted more all the same. He laced their fingers together and
cooked for him and took such tender care of him, so it was impossibly easy to melt. As ice is wont
to do when exposed to the sun.

And then they were at a funfair and Minho won him a plushie and Chan named it Virginia Woof
and Minho thought it was hysterical and ridiculous. The sound of his laugh strung pink fairy lights
around Chan’s heart and he felt a little bit like he was dying, but in a good way. Do you get that?
How something can be so beautiful it hurts? It sets off a real, physical ache. A kind of pain that
makes you feel safe, strangely enough, and Chan suddenly felt safe, and he could trust him, and
then—then it wasn’t so hard any more. He stole Minho’s oversized T-shirt and it smelled like his
cologne and washing powder and Minho called him cute and kissed his forehead and ruffled his
hair. He cut an apple into thin slices and brought him a juice box.

By now, the shame is so fleeting it barely registers. Minho has never laughed at him for clutching
one of his plushies when he feels overwhelmed. He has only hugged him, and kissed the top of his
head, and called him a darling boy, and it’s so—

Lovely.
Tongue poking out, he diligently colours in the fox with a reddish-brown crayon. Virginia Woof is
perched on the desk next to his bunny, both of them helping decide which colours to use. Next to
his colouring book, there’s a plastic cup with orange juice—the pricy, organic kind, because Minho
is fancy like that—and a plastic plate with cut-up strawberries and Jammie Dodgers crumbs.

‘How’re you doing, baby?’ Minho asks, suddenly there, warm hand on Chan’s back. ‘Oh, that
looks lovely. You drew that all by yourself?’

Chan looks up at him, and his lashes blink slowly. ‘No, Bunny helped. And Virginia Woof.’

‘They did, did they?’ Smiling fondly, he steals a strawberry and pops it between his lips. ‘That’s
nice of them.’

‘Of course,’ Chan insists. ‘We’re best friends. And you? You are—you’re okay, too?’

‘Of course I am, little one.’ He turns his forearm and looks down at his leather wristwatch, clueless
to how his words make Chan feel so glowy and safe and small. Small, small, small. Or maybe he
isn’t clueless. Maybe he knows just what to say, because he always manages to say it. ‘I might get
started on dinner soon, actually. But you just stay here, okay? Be a good boy and finish this
drawing for me.’

‘Okay,’ Chan says. ‘But you—you have to promise you’ll be safe in the kitchen. And maybe you
should bring a plushie. To take care of you? Because—there are knives. And they’re scary.’

‘I’ll be so careful,’ Minho promises, messing a hand through Chan’s hair. ‘I promise. That’s why
you stay here, right? ‘Cause you’re little and I’m big.’

‘I’m little,’ Chan mumbles, all flushed, teeth snagging on his bottom lip. ‘You’re big.’

‘That’s right.’ He leans down to press a soft kiss to the crown of his head and gives his shoulder a
squeeze. ‘And eat your berries, baby. Or else you won’t get any biscuits next time.’

Chan’s eyes widen and he immediately shoves a strawberry wedge into his mouth. ‘That would
jus’ be mean. You wouldn’t be so mean.’

He kisses him again and there is no shame. Relinquishing control like this is so easy when there’s
someone there to care for you.
 minhyang, explicit, somno
Chapter Notes

minho/jeongin, explicit, somno.

A steady hand on the jut of his hip bone and Jeongin’s sleep-slack body easily glides on to the side.
Through the flimsy curtains, the creamlike moon makes his skin glow silver, as if there’s star-shine
strung through his veins. His lashes flutter, and he sighs out a yawn, tongue swiping out at his lips
and a murmured syllable—Minho stills his hand and holds his breath.

Time turns into taffy and stretches thin; a beat, the length of either a brief moment or an eternity,
and Jeongin’s chest expands as he inhales, then falls again slowly.

He’s fast asleep, but Minho is wide, wide awake. He runs his hand down the curve of his ass and
teases a fingertip around the base of the plug lodged in his hole. Grabbing hold of it, he pulls gently
—he has to be so slow and gentle lest Jeongin wakes up.

Another sleepy whine as Minho pulls the plug out—half mesmerised by that reflexive clench of his
asshole, he snags his bottom lip between his lips.

Jeongin is shiny with lube. Passed out like this, Minho could do anything he wanted to him—
power thrills through him, and there is something quite addictive about it. It’s peach-sweet and
soaked with dizzying sunshine, heady and slick and frothing in his chest.

Of course, Jeongin wants this—why do you think he went to sleep prepped and plugged and
naked? It was his idea in the first place, and wasn’t he so endearing bringing it up months ago, all
shy-faced and trembly, all pink-cheeked, wide-eyed, star-shining wonder boy? His voice cracking
as cleanly as a radial bone, a timid murmur of Hyung, Hyung, d’you think, I mean—

Admitting he wanted Minho to touch him when he was unconscious, wanted to wake up sore and
sloppy and confused, wanted to feel that tender ache between his legs and try to sift through his
sleep-addled brain in search of a memory only to come up empty-handed. Wanted it, wanted it—so
much that he ached from the want.

And who was Minho to turn him down, his darling boy, this sweet thing with a smile crafted from
liquid honey and milk bread? How could he ever say no to him?

He jerks his hand down his hard cock, smearing the dewy drops of pre-cum down the length. He
shifts, adjusts himself to align their bodies—one hand on the pillow next to Jeongin’s head, the
other guiding himself till his cockhead nudges Jeongin’s sleep-pliant asshole. A slow dancer’s roll
of his hips, a warbled noise in his chest that wants out, but he squeezes his eyes shut tight and stays
quiet—quiet, quiet, or Jeongin will wake up.

He did wake up once, at least sort of, and Minho shushed him, told him, ‘it’s just a dream, baby, go
back to sleep,’ and he sighed and shifted and Minho came so fast and hard that stars speckled the
backs of his eyelids.

Fuck, he wants to groan, grabbing Jeongin’s hip as he moves his pelvis, all that tight heat around
his cock, a sharp huff slipping from his mouth. He licks his lips and fucks forward again, slow and
deep. Like this, at night, he doesn’t think about Jeongin’s pleasure, because Jeongin isn’t awake to
feel it.

A snap of his hips, fucking deep, going still when Jeongin shifts and mumbles something
unintelligible, something that might be the word please or might just be imagination.

It’s the psychology more than the physicality. He wouldn’t usually come so fast, but like this—
Jeongin slack and pliant and unaware, it incites a disorienting power. Jeongin relinquishing control
so fully—a bunny asking for a snare, and it’s not supposed to be like that, but it is, and Minho is
drunk on it.

Another few thrusts into him and his balls go tight, air shaky behind his ribs, and his cock twitches,
spills cum deep inside his sleeping boyfriend.

‘Hhhng—’ A slurred dream-sound from Jeongin’s cherry lips as Minho shifts and his softening
cock slips out of him. Sticky cum bubbling at his rim, and he’ll be so messy in the morning.

‘Shh, shh,’ he murmurs, hand smoothing across his forehead. ‘Shh, baby, I’ve got you. ‘s okay.’
He settles down next to him and wraps an arm around him, pulls him close to his chest and presses
a kiss to his forehead. ‘I've got you, sweetheart. It’s just a dream. It’s all okay.’

‘Mmm.’ He shifts again, nuzzles closer, and Minho feels a little dizzy as sleep starts to tug at him,
pulls him down under that lilac soporific wave. His fingers flutter and trace a spiralling pattern
around Jeongin’s forearm, and maybe he’ll dream of bunnies, maybe he’ll dream of sunny smiles,
maybe he’ll dream of the two of them with their hands interlaced, cross-legged on a gingham
blanket, sharing tipsy, raspberry-flavoured kisses.
 m/f seungjin, explicit, pussy eating
Chapter Notes

sex swapped seungmin/male hyunjin, explicit, pussy eating.

He helped her choose her outfit earlier, and maybe he shouldn’t have voted for this baby blue
sundress, the smocked bodice snug around her slender torso and a slit in the skirt teasing flashes of
her thighs with every movement. Yeah, maybe he should’ve voted for something else because the
tickets to the gallery were pricy, but he couldn’t focus on any of the artworks, could only look at
her long legs, her slim waist, her curtain of thick, mahogany hair pinned back with hair clips the
same colour as the dress.

That sly smile, the sparkle in her eyes, like she knew what he was thinking, and she didn’t mind—
invited it, even, something crafty beneath that glitter-sweet veneer, something arch, something—

Right, so it was hard to resist the urge to simply pull her into the restroom right there, but if she
were going to tease, he could tease right back. A warm hand skimming down her back, steering her
from one framed painting to the next; a flick of his tongue across his lips; eyes trained on her, a hot,
trailing gaze sparking an endearing flush to bloom up her cheeks, breath catching in her throat
behind that thin, black choker.

He didn’t fuck her in the hallway when they finally came home, so how’s that for patience, huh?
He must’ve earned some kind of bloody Boy Scout merit badge for waiting till they actually made
it to bed.

He didn’t have the patience to let her undress, though—only pulled off her flimsy panties and
pushed her dress out of the way, then skimmed his thumb around her neatly trimmed pubic mound.
Slick, wet whines, asking him not to tease, but she’d been teasing all goddamn day, so he told her
to be patient, told her to be a good girl, took his time ghosting his fingers up her cunt and kissing
her inner thighs, getting her all nice and wet and needy.

‘O-oppa,’ she gasps, shooting glimmer through his veins as he flattens his tongue against her
pussy, bumps his nose into her clit.

Yeah, okay, fuck being patient.

With two fingers, he spreads her labia and licks up her pussy. He moans against her, tongue zig-
zagging and flicking at her clit, gliding downwards again to fuck inside her.

‘O-o-oooh, God—’

‘Mmm—’ It’s difficult to talk when eating pussy, which is fortunate, because Hyunjin otherwise
never shuts the fuck up. He presses a chaste kiss to her cunt, teasing the tip of his tongue between
her lips, then pulls his face away and plays two long fingers down her slit. ‘God, I love this fucking
pussy—’ Pushing one finger inside her, he fits her clit between his lips and sucks gently.

‘Oppa,’ she says again, pelvis lifting off the bed. He pins her down by the hip and slides in a
second finger, curling them and rubbing small circles inside her. ‘I’m so—I feel so—’
‘I’ve got you, baby,’ he murmurs, fingerfucking her slowly, licking his tongue down her cunt.
‘Shit, you hear how wet you are?’

And she really is—this loud squelching when he snaps his wrist, fucks her cunt on his fingers,
dripping for him. So cute. Pretty girl.

‘Hhh—’ Flushed cerise, she throws her arm across her face and mumbles into her skin. ‘N-no, ‘s
embarrassing—’

He touches his palm against her vulva, circles it, parts her pussy lips with his thumb and index
finger and digs his tongue inside her—slow, deliberate licks, thumb rubbing her clit.

Her hips buck off the bed again, grinding against his face. ‘Oppa, Oppa, oh, oh—’

‘Yeah, baby,’ he groans, a little heady now, addicted to the taste of her, and those sweet, darling
sounds she makes. He shoves two fingers between his lips, swirls his tongue with a harsh moan,
and fucks them into her again—tight, tiny circles, nosing up her cunt as he fingers her. ‘Tell me
who this pretty little pussy belongs to, princess.’

‘Oppa,’ she gasps, the sound high in her throat, her breathing trembly and desperate, her thighs
clenched around his head. ‘Oppa, I—you—’

‘Tha’s right, baby girl,’ he groans, her pussy so tight and satiny on his fingers. ‘You gonna come
on Oppa’s tongue like a good girl?’

‘O-oh, I, I, I—’

He picks up the pace of his hand. There’s a strain in his wrist, a budding soreness, but Mama didn’t
raise a fucking quitter—he groans into her pussy and sucks her clit between his lips, fingers
working into her wet, wet hole. Drippy doll.

‘I, I, I—’ she whines again, voice broken now, so needy for him, grinding against his face and her
thighs clamp up and she doesn’t say anything, clenching down on his fingers, and he fingerfucks
her through it, that first, overwhelming orgasm, keeps tonguing at her clit even as she begins to
whimper again, these wet little whines of, ‘no, no, ‘m—‘m sensitive, I, I—’

‘I’m not done yet,’ he murmurs. ‘I could eat you out all fuckin’ night, princess.’

‘Hhh—’

He eases up—kissing her innominate bone and ghosting his thumb down her pussy, he lets her
catch her breath. ‘You look so good in this dress. Christ. And you’ve been teasing all day.’

‘Have not,’ she mumbles, squirming. Her ankle flexes; a twitch in her fingers.

He catches her eyes. ‘Yes, you have.’

She’s so adorable when she blushes, when she casts her eyes down, when she snags her lip
between her teeth. ‘You should—‘m okay. Again. So, um. If you wanna.’

His eyebrow quirks and he bites the inside of his cheek to tame the smile. ‘If I wanna what?’

‘Hhh,’ she mumbles, lifting her hips again. ‘You said—you said you could do it all night. Go on,
then. Make me come again, or whatever. If you can.’

‘If I can?’ he insists, landing his flat palm against her shimmery cunt with a loud smack. ‘Don’t be
a brat now.’

‘Hhhngf—’ she hisses, eyes rolling back. ‘Please. Please, Hyunjin-oppa—’

 hyunseungin, explicit, pet play
Chapter Summary

hyunjin/seungmin/jeongin, explicit, pet play. feel very free to read this as part of my
puppy chronicles verse!

The rules are simply, really. If Jeongin wants to come later, he has to make Seungmin come now
using only his mouth. However, Seungmin doesn’t have permission to come, so if he does, he’ll
get punished.

Perhaps it’s a little cruel to pit them against each other like this, but there’s something delicious and
lovely about how desperate they get. Seungmin’s fingers curling in the sheets, his chin slick and
shiny with drool, a choked-off litany of please, please, please as his body squirms, his eyes slipped
shut, his cheeks bloomed such a darling fuchsia. Jeongin’s head bobbing, the wet, strangled sounds
as he fits Seungmin’s dick down his throat, swirls his pink tongue around the drippy cockhead.

Hyunjin runs a lazy hand through Seungmin’s sweat-matted hair and asks, ‘are you getting close,
Puppy?’

‘Hhhhh—’ His hips jump again and his knuckles blanch when they clench tighter. ‘Hyung—
Hyung—’

‘How about you, dollface?’ He shifts around, grabs a fistful of Jeongin’s hair and pushes him
further down on Seungmin’s cock—a startled sound, all smothered, eyes going wide and sparkly
with tears when Hyunjin cruelly pinches his nose shut. He waits a long beat before taunting, ‘need
to breathe?’

Jeongin’s eyes roll back and he moans around Seungmin’s dick.

‘All right—’ Hyunjin lets go of him and Jeongin pulls back. With spit looping between his swollen
lips and Seungmin’s twitching dick, he gasps for breath, coughs wetly, wipes the back of his hand
across his shiny mouth.

Seungmin heaves in another breath and some of the tension seeps from his fingers.

‘Aw,’ Hyunjin coos, flicking a nail against the slit of Seungmin’s cock. ‘Look at that, sweetheart.
You’re twitching. Are you going to come in Jeonginnie’s mouth?’

‘Nnno—’ He shakes his head for emphasis, jerky and desperate, blown eyes searching for
Hyunjin’s gaze. ‘No, no—no, ‘m not, ‘m not—’

‘Because you remember what happens if you come, don’t you?’

‘I, I—’ He throws his head back and chokes on a whimper when Jeongin licks at his dick again,
kittenish flicks of his little pink tongue right where Seungmin is so sensitive. ‘I—if I—’

‘What happens if you come, Puppy?’

‘Hyung—Hyung won’t—’ Another gasp, shellacked with spit and something guttural. ‘Hyung
won’t lemme come for—f-for a week.’

‘That’s right, love.’ He smoothes a hand through his hair again, shoves two fingers between his
lips and pushes down on his tongue till he gags. ‘Good boys don’t come without permission, do
they?’

‘No, no, n-no,’ Seungmin babbles over the sound of Jeongin sucking dick. ‘No, no, but—but—but
Puppy, Jeonginnie, he—’

‘Right,’ Hyunjin says, ‘what’s with our sweet Jeonginnie, hm?’ He rubs his thumb at Seungmin’s
cockhead, then touches the inside of Jeongin’s mouth—he whimpers, keeps licking out as his
eyelashes flutter. ‘You want to make Seungminnie come, don’t you, Pup?’

‘Y-yes,’ he rasps.

‘And why is that, baby? You think he doesn’t deserve to come for a week? You want to see Puppy
punished?’

‘No, no,’ Jeongin insists, head shaking, eyes all blown with confusion. ‘No, no, I don’t—Puppy—
he—I just—’

‘You just?’

‘I wanna come,’ he whimpers, hips grinding forward as he wraps his plush lips around Seungmin’s
dick again, slots him down till he’s bulging in his throat.

‘And you’re only allowed to come today if Seungmin comes first, isn’t that right?’

He nods, swallowing around the dick in his mouth. A splintered moan, soft and eager, pelvis
jerking again.

‘I suppose I’m not really playing fair,’ Hyunjin muses, flicking at the base of Seungmin’s dick. He
digs his nail into the soft skin at the crease of his thigh and drags his finger towards his innominate
bone. ‘I think we should set a timer. I’ll give you five more minutes, baby boy. How’s that
sound?’

‘Hhhh—’ Jeongin cries, redoubling his efforts.

Seungmin spasms, belly convulsing, twines of saliva dribbling from his wide-open mouth.

‘What do you say, Seungminnie?’ He leans close and smears a kiss on the apple of his pink cheek.
Below his breath, voice dark with arousal, he asks him, ‘are you going to come without
permission? Are you going to be a bad dog?’

‘Hhhhngff—’
 hyunseungin, explicit, sexting
Chapter Notes

jeongin/hyunjin/seungmin, explicit, jeongin sends them nudes to get their attention.

In the roughly two decades he’s been alive, Jeongin has made a lot of questionable decisions. He
ate a lot of sand as a kid, and there was that time he crawled on to the roof of his middle school
because he couldn’t say no to a dare, then realised he’s intensely afraid of heights and thus
consequently got stuck up there, and wouldn’t come down until four (yes, you read that right, four)
teachers went up to help him down.

Sometimes he feels like his life is just one long inventory of Things He Probably Should Not Have
Done.

As you can probably guess, he is about to make another equivocal decision. He has been thinking it
over for a while. It’s borderline sexual harassment, probably, which is just one of the many reasons
he shouldn’t do it.

This is the situation: he took some really cute photos of himself naked, and he’s considering
sending them to two of his friends because he has a stupidly big crush on them, and has had so for
a while, but he’s pretty sure they don’t like him back because, you see, they are already dating, and
both ridiculously attractive, cool, smart, clever, funny, handsome, and over all just desperately out
of Jeongin’s league. How’s that for a run-on sentence, huh?

Anyway.

He has come to the tentative conclusion that maybe they’d want to fuck him if they were to see his
ass. More specifically, his ass in flimsy panties, his fingers tugging the black lace to the side to
show the plug shoved inside himself.

Don’t do this at home! He knows it’s morally dubious, he’s just—kind of running out of ideas,
okay? Also, he might be a little drunk. Just slightly. Maybe he had three screwdrivers, which is
humiliating, because drinking alone is pathetic, but he’s sad and lonely and horny, so can you stop
being judgemental for one second, and just let him continue making bad decisions that will
probably (definitely) haunt him for the rest of his life. Please?

He’s sober enough to know better, but he’s drunk enough to do it anyway.

you
[attached_img]
thinkign abtt u

More or less immediately, the regret kicks in.

Oh, no.

What did he do? Why did you let him do this? Why didn’t anyone stop him? This is so much worse
than the sand. This is so much worse than ending up in the hospital because he ate an entire jar of
gummy vitamins, which apparently you’re not supposed to do, but how was he supposed to know
that? He was seven, and also they’re delicious.

you
ooomhgyod NO
no o noono
didn’t mmean!!!!!!!!
domt look pllease
SORRYYYy

This easily tops the list of bad decisions, as anyone with brain cells probably could’ve foreseen.
Why, why, why? His fingers tremble and his breaths come out all choked and tight and short, and
he realises he is actually hyperventilating. That is not great. He squeezes his eyes shut and clenches
all his muscles, tries to ground himself in the physicality of having a body, but having a body is
what got him into this mess in the first place.

Is he going to cry?

Wow. That would really top it, wouldn’t it? This is his own fault. Why did he even think of doing
this? It was such a stupid idea. Hopefully, they’re kind, and listen to his last plea and simply do not
look at the photo—more likely, they looked at it, and now they’re laughing about him. How dumb
he is. He is so dumb. He is dumb and stupid and also not even hot, so why did he take nudes in the
first place? Why would they want to have sex with him when they can just have sex with each
other, without Jeongin involved, and why can’t he stop having feelings for them and why can’t he
stop thinking about them whenever he closes his eyes and why does he always pretend it’s
Hyunjin’s fingers when he fucks himself and pretends Seungmin is there twisting his nipples till it
hurts, why, why, why can’t he just—be—normal?

A pained sob tears itself from his chest. His tummy hurts so badly, suddenly—all knotted-up,
twisted, coiling and pumping and he thinks he’s going to be sick. That could be the alcohol, of
course. It could also be the impending humiliation.

How will he ever look at them again?

His phone buzzes.

hyunjin
aw baby you look so cute

His heart drops into his belly and he gasps. His eyes squeeze shut again and his fingers still
tremble and he thinks this is a panic attack. Yeah, this is probably a panic attack. Have you got any
tips on how to calm down from an ongoing panic attack?

hyunjin
want a treat in return?

Jeongin genuinely doesn’t know if he’s currently conscious or not. Is he imagining Hyunjin’s
replies? Is Hyunjin actually replying right now? Not only replying, but telling Jeongin that he’s
cute? Well, if it’s a dream, he might as well go all in.

you
hhhhh hthank u
please
hyunjin
seungminnie also thinks you’re so cute
[attached_img]
do you think he’s cute too?

Oh, God.

Jeongin swallows a fat lump of spit. His tongue darts out to swipe across his lip and he can’t even
blink, because—

Fuck. Hyunjin just sent a picture of Seungmin giving him head. He has his pink lips wrapped
around Hyunjin’s cock and he’s looking up at the camera, wide-eyed, cheeks all flushed, and—

And, and, and—

Jeongin doesn’t know what to do with himself. His hips jerk forward and his dick throbs and
everything is all glittery and hazy. Fuck. God. Shit.

you
hhhhgngnfnggggf
i
hhhhgg
hyung

hyunjin
[audio_file]

Jeongin swallows hard before he hits play.

‘Jeonginnie—’ A deep groan splinters Hyunjin’s voice, and in the background Jeongin hears
something unmistakably wet, a muted kind of gasp, something strangled, and it lights his skin on
fire.

Oh, God.

Oh, God, God, God.

‘You look so cute in those panties, baby,’ Hyunjin says, the pet name blurring into another gravelly
curse. ‘What’d you think about when you stuffed yourself full with that plug, hm? Seungminnie’s
—ah, he’s being so lovely right now. Well, you saw the picture. Isn’t he a darling? Maybe you
were thinking of him while playing with yourself, huh? Ah, fuck, baby—’

Hyunjin cuts himself off with a breathy moan and Jeongin starts to tremble when he hears
Seungmin whine, all wet and broken, ‘please, please—’

As the audio file ends, Jeongin’s dick twitches in his underwear and his asshole clenches down
around the plug which, yes, he’s still wearing, because he likes how full it makes him feel, even
though he would like something bigger, preferably Hyunjin’s cock, or Seungmin’s, ideally they’d
both play with him and turn his brain into glittery mush, or maybe he and Seungmin could give
Hyunjin head together, maybe, maybe, oh, wouldn’t that be lovely—he twitches again, pearls of
pre-cum staining the lace, and almost chokes on a loud, needy whimper.

He scrambles to hit the right keys, but his text message ends up as stumbled as his thoughts feel
right now.
 you
hyungnggg hhhh
mmmmmmthought of u
and
um

hyunjin
aw
are you getting shy?

Again, he can’t stifle the whine. This still feels so entirely unreal—he wonders if he really passed
out earlier, maybe when he started hyperventilating, and all of this is some twisted fever dream.

hyunjin
[attached_mov]
here’s a lil clip of seungminnie

With his breath in his throat like a pinned-down butterfly, he clicks on the video—like in the photo
earlier, Seungmin’s swollen lips are stretched around Hyunjin’s dick, but then he hollows his
cheeks and bobs his head, only to pull off and flick out his tongue at the slit, swiping up beads of
pre-cum with soft, little whines.

‘There you go, love,’ Hyunjin rasps, threading his fingers through Seungmin’s hair. He tugs, and
Seungmin’s eyelashes flutter, his eyes so blown and sparkly, clearly enjoying this, clearly so, so
into it, and Jeongin—Jeongin can’t breathe.

you
he
he omg hhhhg
hyung can i
can i touch myself pleasee

hyunjin
i thought you were this whole time sweetheart
of course you can
won’t you send me a little audio clip i can play for seungminnie?

His teeth snag on his lip as his belly coils at the suggestion. It’d be—well, it’d be embarrassing. He
wouldn’t even know what to say. He hides his face behind his hand and almost burns his fingertips
touching his cheeks.

He hovers his thumb over the grey audio icon, sucks in a breath, and presses down before he can
overthink it more.

‘Uuuh,’ he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. He runs his free hand over the jut of his hip bone
and cups his hard dick through the flimsy lace, stuttering out a moan. ‘H-hyung, I’m—I’m, I don’t
know what to—hhh—’ He whines again as he tugs his panties to the side and rubs his thumb at the
slick, drippy cockhead. ‘Ah-ah, I’m—Hyung. Hyung.’

you
[audio_file]

As he waits for Hyunjin’s reply, he palms his dick, jerking down the length to toy with his balls
and grab the base of the plug. He pulls at it, slow and teasing, the way he imagines Hyunjin would
tease, fucks it back inside so his toes curl and his eyes slide shut, overwhelmed by that delicious
gyrating desire in his underbelly, glossy and dark as a crow’s wing.

hyunjin
[audio_file]

Jeongin hits play and rocks back on the plug when he hears Hyunjin coo, ‘you sound so cute,
Jeonginnie. And you’re such a darling asking for permission to touch. Do you like being told what
you can and can’t do?’

His vision swims and he stammers out strangled moans. His fingers grab the plug harder and he
pulls—feels his asshole stretch around the widest part, mouth dropping open, then thrusts it back
inside himself.

‘Are you fucking yourself with that plug, sweetheart? Shit, Seungminnie, baby—’ A hitch in his
breathing, and the wet sound of him licking his own lips.

‘Hyunjin,’ Seungmin croaks.

‘Yeah, baby, you’re doing so well,’ Hyunjin says, something so tender in his voice, and Jeongin
can picture that lovestruck expression on his face, the soft little smile playing at his lips.
‘Jeonginnie, darling, Seungmin’s mouth feels so fucking good. He’s making me—ah, feel so
fucking good. Are you making yourself feel good right now?’

you
hyung
hyung im
the plug yess i feel
rlyyy full but also. m empty
want hyungie

Maybe that last part was a little too—forward? Presumptuous? Needy?

But Hyunjin’s already being so lovely. Seungmin is being so lovely, too, and he’s so pretty sucking
dick, so flushed and eager, so into making his boyfriend feel good. Boyfriend. Boyfriend,
boyfriend, boyfriend—Jeongin’s tummy twists at the evocation, remembering that Hyunjin and
Seungmin are dating, and they probably wouldn’t like him back, ever, not like that, and, and, and
—

hyunjin
[audio_file]

‘Shit, baby,’ Hyunjin groans over the squelchy sound of Seungmin gagging on his dick. ‘You want
Hyung to fuck you, huh? God, I’d fucking love to—bet you’re so tight. You want to sit nice and
pretty and full of cock in Hyung’s lap, yeah? Want Seungminnie and me to take care of you,
baby?’

Everything is so dizzying. His dick throbs and he gasps, over and over, clenching down on the
plug, wanting more, wanting so much, wanting everything Hyunjin just said and much more,
hoping maybe they could like him back, maybe, maybe—

you
hyung
hyunghyung lpesspleasee
 wannan come can i come

hyunjin
god you’re so fucking cute
let’s ask seungminnie and hear what he says
[attached_mov]
 minsung, mature, omorashi
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung, mature, omorashi.

Minho’s left hand has never felt as big as it does right now, resting flat against Jisung’s belly. His
right hand curls around his waist, his thumb slotted right below his ribcage. Even through the
cotton of his shirt, he can feel the heat of his skin.

Jisung sucks in another little breath as his hips jerk forward, grinding against Minho’s thigh. His
stuttered exhalation blurs into a high whine when Minho puts pressure behind the heel of his left
palm. His lips snatch into a smile at Jisung’s pathetic whimper and their eyes meet—just for a brief
moment, then Jisung’s eyes drift shut once more.

He snaps his pelvis forward again, because he is unimaginably hard, and Minho’s thighs are kind
of like heaven. Is that blasphemous? So be it. Everything they’re doing right now seems
sacrilegious anyway.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Y-yeah,’ Jisung admits in a slick, stupid gasp, because it’s hurt for a while, which Minho already
knows, so he’s kind of an asshole for asking. But then maybe Jisung likes it when he’s a bit of an
asshole sometimes. His fingers dig into Minho’s biceps as he sucks in another breath. ‘Yeah, it
hurts, Hyung—’

‘How bad?’ His right thumb runs along the curve of Jisung’s lowest rib, then jerks downwards and
presses harshly into the soft skin of his belly.

Jisung jolts from the suddenness. He tries not to whine when Minho keeps massaging his belly
with his left hand. Throbbing in his underwear, he manages to mumble, ‘a lot—it hurts a lot.’

‘I see.’ He steals his hand away from Jisung’s belly, instead grabbing the other side of his waist.
His fingers fan out at the small of Jisung’s back and push down, dragging him forward against his
thigh, sparking another stupid whine from Jisung’s lips. ‘Yeah, I can imagine. You had a lot to
drink today.’

‘That’s—’ That’s your fault, he wants to say, but the words evaporate in his mouth when Minho
suddenly kneads his palm into his dick. His eyes fly open and he spasms—in a flash, Minho’s hand
is back on his belly, pressing down, down, oh God, no, no, no—it’s too much. ‘No, no, no—’ he
gasps, but his hips still grind forward, and he could’ve slipped out of Minho’s lap any time, but he
didn’t, he never does, he always stays right here, tiptoeing along the tightrope of desire and
desperation. ‘Please—’

‘Okay, okay.’ Minho eases up, but Jisung still feels that urgent heat coil in his belly. ‘You’re right,
baby. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves—it’s only just starting to get fun.’

Another shaky sound. His fingers curl and he tries to keep his breathing steady, even—curb that
tremor in his chest. ‘Shit,’ he mumbles, his dick twitching again.
‘Huh?’

‘You’re gonna kill me.’

‘Of course I’m not,’ Minho says, looking way too delighted with himself. His fingertips spiral
patterns around Jisung’s stomach, then slip beneath the fabric of his shirt so Jisung feels his fingers
touch his skin, feels his fingers press into his skin, feels himself jerk forward, feels his mouth drop
open and his eyes roll back and, ‘please, I have to—’

Minho pets his stomach lightly. It’s distended from all the water, just slightly, but it feels like he’s
teetering on the edge of bursting. His nails dig into Minho’s arms. His lashes quiver. Need scorches
him, hot and clean white, and he can’t meet Minho’s eyes.

‘You have to what?’

It’s cruel, making him say it, but then that’s the least of Minho’s cruelties. Not that Jisung doesn’t
like that mean streak, not that it’s not the reason he’s here in the first place—flushed pink and so,
so hard, wanting release more than anything else in the world. Wanting to hold on just a little while
longer ‘cause there’s something addictive about the pain. ‘You know,’ he mumbles, eyes squeezed
so tightly that tiny sparks of light dot the darkness.

Minho grabs his hips and drags him forward against his thigh. ‘You gonna piss yourself, Jisungie?’

‘N-no—’ he insists, even though they both know he’s lying. He doesn’t stand a fucking chance. He
hasn’t stood a chance since the first time he saw Minho and thought, yeah, okay, maybe that’s
what all the songs are about.

Not that he’d admit it.

‘You’re not?’ Something mean in his eyes, something dark and alluring that zings up Jisung’s
spine.

‘I’m—not. I’m not. That’d be—’

‘Embarrassing?’

‘Yeah,’ he exhales, already anticipating the shame, already slick and trembling and ready for it.

‘You’re right,’ Minho muses, hand on Jisung’s belly again, pressing down. ‘That’d be so fucking
embarrassing. Like a dog, huh? Untrained. Out of control.’

‘Oh, God—’ His vision swims. He’s had at least three litres today, maybe closer to four, and he
hasn’t gone to the bathroom yet, and it hurts so fucking bad, it hurts, it hurts, and Minho is being
so mean, massaging his palm right where Jisung feels so full and sore, looking at him like he can’t
wait to see him break. ‘I, I—I’m not. I won’t.’

‘Well, that’s good,’ Minho says. ‘What’s all that talk about it hurting then? Where does it hurt,
baby?’

‘I—it—’ He licks his lips and closes his eyes again. ‘You’re so fucking mean.’

‘Aw, that’s not nice. What did I do? I’m asking where it hurts. Isn’t that nice? Isn’t that
considerate? I don’t like seeing you in pain, Jisungie.’

Another lie, but Jisung is trembling too badly to say anything right now. Pain swells in his belly
and all his movements feel stumbly. ‘You’re—I—’

‘Words, baby.’ His fingers splay out below Jisung’s navel and Jisung is too close and too
overwhelmed and too hazy-brained to stop whining. ‘Does your tummy hurt?’

‘Hyung—’ Gasped, again, and wet with spit. ‘Please, Hyung, it hurts. It hurts really—really bad.’
 hyunin, mature, interrupted masturbation
Chapter Notes

hyunjin/jeongin, mature, jeongin walks in on hyunjin getting off and embarrasses

himself. daddy kink.

‘And you did what?’ Minho’s right eyebrow curves into a high arch and he sucks the thick straw of
his bubble tea between his lips.

‘Um.’ Jeongin clears his throat. He picks at his pain au chocolat so flakes of flaky pastry dough
snow all over the gold-rimmed porcelain plate. ‘Well, I freaked out. Or whatever.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘You would’ve done the same.’

‘I absolutely would not,’ Minho insists. ‘It really isn’t very cash money of you.’

Jeongin rolls his eyes and sighs. He already regrets bringing this up. He takes a sip of his own
drink and breaks off a piece of his pastry. Before popping it in his mouth, he fidgets with it for a
second, then chews very deliberately.

‘So you walked in on Hyunjin getting off,’ Minho reiterates, ‘and then you—and please do correct
me if I got this part wrong—then you whimpered. And then, and this is really the part that gets me
—you said, “oh, my God, Daddy.” That’s it, right? That’s what you did?’

‘I told you I freaked out!’ he insists, but doesn’t correct Minho, because there’s not really anything
to correct. In fact, it was even more embarrassing. Without knocking, he barged into Hyunjin’s
room in their shared flat and found him with his hand wrapped around his cock, the thick silver
rings glinting in the light. And for a long second, Jeongin didn’t move—heat flooded his cheeks
and he couldn’t tear his eyes away and then, yes, he may have whimpered, and he may have felt his
knees go weak, and he may have said, out loud, ‘oh, my God, Daddy.’

He was deeply embarrassed and deeply freaked out, but Hyunjin seemed unfazed. He just cocked
his brow at him and flashed this infuriatingly attractive smirk, and smoothed his palm around the
slick cockhead. While looking straight at Jeongin.

‘And you’re telling me I would’ve done the same?’

‘Yeah,’ Jeongin says. ‘Like, totally. If you’d been there.’

‘No I fucking wouldn’t. What compelled you?’

‘He was—’ Again, he blushes. So flustered and stupid. And why did he tell Minho about this
again? Why did he feel the need to share this moment of intense mortification with anyone?
‘Whatever. Like, forget it. I’m over it anyway.’

‘Sure.’ Minho’s lips curve into a grin and he winks at him. He takes a bite of his own croissant and
washes it down with more tea. ‘You’re so over it. So what happened then? Did you get railed by
your new daddy or what?’

‘Die,’ Jeongin says coldly. ‘No. I left.’

‘You left?’

‘What the fuck was I supposed to do? Stay?’

‘That’s what I would’ve done.’

‘Oh, I guess staying would’ve been really cash money of me, huh?’

‘Yeah. Duh. It’s like a porn.’

‘Unfortunately, my life isn’t a porn.’

‘No? You called him Daddy, though. Totally unprompted.’

‘It wasn’t, like, totally unprompted. His dick was out.’

‘Big?’

‘What do you think, asshole?’

‘Mm-hm.’ He leans back in his seat. ‘So what’re you gonna do now?’

‘Iceland.’

‘Iceland?’

‘I’m moving there,’ Jeongin elaborates. He licks his fingertip and presses it to a crumb on his plate.
‘Getting on the first plane. Adios, baby.’

‘What the fuck are you going to do in bloody Iceland? Herd sheep?’ He grins again, rolls his eyes.

‘I’ll probably learn how to knit.’

‘Knit a jumper for your daddy.’

‘Die,’ Jeongin says again. ‘He’s not my daddy.’

‘You want him to be, though.’

‘I never said that.’

‘Not to me, no,’ Minho admits. ‘You kind of told him, though. I mean, earlier, when he had his
dick out. Remember?’

‘I’d love to forget, actually. Let’s talk about something else. How’s Jisung?’

‘Smashing hot as usual,’ Minho says with a roll of his shoulders. ‘He’s gonna lose his shit when I
tell him about this.’

‘You wouldn’t dare—’

‘No, no,’ Minho placates. ‘It’s between me and you, baby. Well, and Hyunjin, I suppose. The main
star of the show.’
‘You’re so irritating.’

‘Oh, what’re you gonna do about it? Ask your daddy to come beat me up?’

Jeongin rolls his eyes again. He sucks his straw between his lips and slurps up the dregs of his milk
tea, chewing on a tapioca pearl. ‘For real,’ he says, even though it’s embarrassing to be sincere,
‘what the fuck should I do, Hyung? This is probably the worst day of my life.’

So it turns out that plane tickets to Iceland are quite expensive. And Jeongin only works part-time
in a goddamn coffee shop, so it’s not like he’s exactly drowning in the money he earns, which
means he’s unfortunately stuck in Seoul and must deal with the consequences of his own foolish
actions. It’s real tragic, actually.

Rather desperately, he asked Minho, ‘you don’t think I could maybe move in with you for a
while?’

‘Sure,’ Minho said, but he had that annoying asshole look about him, so Jeongin instinctively knew
he wouldn’t like the words about to come out of his mouth. ‘If you want to listen to Jisung and me
having sex. You know, maybe we’ll try out that whole Daddy thing. You got me feeling inspired.’

‘Piss off,’ Jeongin said. ‘Whatever. Forget it. Enjoy your shitty marital sex. I hope it sucks.’

And Minho laughed and a smile tugged at Jeongin’s lips and he did briefly consider just camping
out in the nearest Metro station for the foreseeable future, but that seemed, frankly, a little
ridiculous and rather degrading, and he’d probably get fired if he came in unshowered, which
would leave him with even less money, so in the end he just walked home with his mouth curved
into a pout.

His keys jangle as he tries to unlock the door. He sends out a quick prayer that Hyunjin isn’t home,
or at least in his bedroom. Hopefully asleep so he won’t hear Jeongin come in.

But obviously God has never shown himself to give a shit about Yang Jeongin, and has, on the
contrary, seemed to actively enjoy making his life as mortifying as possible. So naturally, after
toeing out of his shoes, he finds Hyunjin on the sofa in the living room.

A tidal wave of heat washes over him and he sucks in a breath.

‘Jeonginnie,’ Hyunjin says, looking up from his cup of instant ramen. ‘You went out.’

He should’ve gone home with Minho. Sex sounds be damned—he could’ve just plugged in his
goddamn earbuds and turned up the volume till his brain evaporated into mush. Why didn’t he
think about that? Why doesn’t he ever think? Even sleeping in the alley behind a Metro station
might’ve been preferable to this.

‘Uh, yeah,’ he mumbles, scratching behind his ear and trying not to think about the sight of
Hyunjin’s dick, which would probably feel really fucking good inside him. It’d stretch him out so
well. He’d feel so full. And Hyunjin’s hands, large and warm, would grab his waist and he’d
manhandle him and it’d be so—
Didn’t he just say he wouldn’t think about it? Wasn’t that the plan? The plan was to completely
obliterate the memory of the past twelve hours. Full tabula rasa, baby. Maybe he should get drunk.
Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad right now. He’s pretty sure they have half a bottle of vodka
stashed somewhere, which would probably do the trick.

‘Where’d you go?’ Hyunjin’s voice pulls him back from the reverie. His smile is really more of a
smirk than anything else, which is irritating mainly because it makes him look even more
attractive, which in turn makes Jeongin feel even more flustered and stupid.

He sits down in the armchair and hugs his thighs to his chest. ‘I got boba with Minho.’

‘Sweet.’ Hyunjin wraps his lips around his chopsticks and slurps up noodles. ‘You disappeared
pretty fast earlier.’

The sound that slips out of his mouth is so—pathetic. It’s this little animal whine, his lashes
fluttering as he gasps for breath, because it’s so embarrassing. Why is Hyunjin bringing it up? Why
can’t he just be fucking normal and repressed and pretend it never happened? Why wasn’t he
ashamed to be caught with his hand around his dick? If it’d been the other way around—if Hyunjin
had walked in on Jeongin—Jeongin is pretty sure he would’ve genuinely passed out. Straight-up.
The mortification would’ve been so intense that his brain would fizz into static haywire, then
simply malfunction and leave him unconscious. Preferably he’d just never wake up from the
shame-induced coma.

‘God, I’m so sorry,’ he finally mumbles, because what else can he say? He is sorry, really,
although he’s sorrier for himself than for Hyunjin. He knows he ought to be sorry for Hyunjin, too
—sorry that he caught him in such an intimate moment, but he is as self-obsessed as any person in
their early 20s, and thus mostly concerned with his own embarrassment.

And then, of course, there’s the fact that he now knows exactly how Hyunjin’s dick looks, and
how is he supposed to feel sorry about that? He knows damn well that tonight he’ll triple-check
that his door is locked, then shove his biggest dildo up his asshole and pretend it’s Hyunjin fucking
him raw.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he repeats. He blinks slowly, stares at his fingers as he laces them together. ‘I
should’ve knocked.’

Hyunjin cocks his eyebrow. Jeongin recalls how pre-cum beaded at the head of his cock, and the
way he smirked at Jeongin when he polished his palm across it. ‘That’s what you’re sorry about?’

He recalls a statement he made earlier in the bubble tea shop: this is probably the worst day of my
life. He was wrong. This is definitely, certainly, and unquestionably the absolute worst day of his
goddamn life.
 jiseungjin, explicit, belly bulge
Chapter Notes

hyunjin/seungmin/jisung, explicit, belly bulge.

The slow, wet drag of Jisung’s tongue up his belly makes Seungmin gasp—high and surprised,
clenching down on Hyunjin’s cock inside him, thousands of butterflies buzzing from his stomach
and into his chest, clogging his throat, whirring out amidst soft little whines.

Hyunjin rolls his hips and curls his hands on Seungmin’s thighs to haul him closer, groaning
something dark and nasty as he handles Seungmin’s body so easily—this pliant thing, so loose-
limbed and docile; he yields with each thrust, only whines as he feels himself fucked so full.

With a moan, Jisung dances his mouth over Seungmin’s belly, right along the bulge of Hyunjin’s
cock nestled inside him.

‘Gffhhhh,’ Seungmin slurs, all tight and trembly.

‘Shit,’ Jisung says, pressing four nimble fingers into Seungmin’s soft flesh. ‘The way you’re
fucking bulging, Seungminnie—it’s so hot. Hyunjin’s so deep inside you.’

He exhales a pathetic whine and covers his burning face with his hands as Jisung slots his lips to
his skin again, mouthing right where his tummy distends each time Hyunjin fucks into him.

‘You hear that, baby?’ Hyunjin rubs his thumb at Seungmin’s rim, sensitive and stretched-out
around Hyunjin’s cock. He twitches at the insistent touch, twitches again when Hyunjin touches
his belly and asks, ‘you like when I’m so deep inside you that you bulge from it? You must feel so
—’ With a sharp thrust, he finishes his sentence, ‘full.’

‘S’full,’ Seungmin manages, the rounded vowel slipping from his lips all slurred and slick with
spit. His eyes roll back when Jisung licks his stomach again, zigzags his tongue around the belly
bulge. ‘God, Jisung, you—’

‘He’s a bit of a tease, isn’t he?’ Hyunjin threads his fingers through Jisung’s hair and tugs, but
Jisung only purrs with delight. ‘I am?’

‘A little bit,’ Hyunjin says. He grinds into Seungmin and stays still, teases a lazy fingertip around
his lower belly. ‘Or maybe you’re just so fucking desperate to get your mouth filled that you can’t
wait, huh?’

Jisung’s groan sets Seungmin’s skin on fire. ‘Somethin’ like that. Can I—’

Hyunjin’s fingers bruise Seungmin’s hips as he slams into him again.

‘F-fuck,’ Seungmin gasps; he quivers and his asshole spasms down on Hyunjin’s dick as he hears
him ask, ‘can you what, Jisungie?’

‘Lemme suck him off,’ he says, still playing his fingers around where Seungmin’s belly swells. He
ducks his head to press a wet kiss above his navel, swirls his tongue around—maybe in the shape
of a heart, maybe something absentminded and meaningless. ‘Don’t you want him to feel good?’

‘Oh—’ There’s something mean in Hyunjin’s voice, something a little breathless and dark. ‘I think
he’s feeling good already, sweetheart. Why don’t you ask him?’

‘Seungmin,’ Jisung says. ‘Do you want me to suck you off? I’ll let you come down my throat.’

‘That’s not what you were supposed to ask, Jisungie.’

‘Okay, okay,’ he grumbles, shifting on the bed. His dick bobs against his belly, neglected so far.
Seungmin wants to touch him, but he can’t figure out how to move at this point—all fucked-out, all
loose-limbed and clumsy.

‘Seungminnie, how’re you feeling?’

‘Full,’ Seungmin gasps. His hips jerk off the bed when Hyunjin pulls out with a dark laugh,
slapping his wet cockhead against Seungmin’s greedy, clenching asshole. ‘No, no—no, no, ‘m
empty, I wanna—wanna be full, not empty—’

‘Aw.’ Hyunjin thrusts into him again, grabs his waist and tugs him close to meet the fuck of his
hips. ‘Bet you want me to breed you stupid, huh?’

‘Oooh, God—’ His thoughts whirl and disappear into a haze as dumb, needy whines spill from his
bitten lips. ‘Please, I wanna—’ He shivers when he feels Jisung’s mouth on his belly again, the wet
swirl of his tongue, his teeth grazing the tender skin.

He licks his lips and tries to focus through the dizzying mist of desire. ‘I wanna—want you. Inside,
Hyunjin. What you said.’

‘You want me to breed you full of cum, yeah?’

Another dazed, high-pitched whimper—his cheeks burn hot pink. When Jisung rests his palm flat
on his stomach and presses down, Seungmin squeals.

‘You’re already fucking bulging, sweetheart,’ Hyunjin continues. ‘Just imagine how full you’ll be
after I pump you full of cum. And Jisungie, too, right? He deserves a turn with you as well, don’t
you think?’

‘Hhh—’

‘I know, I know.’ Hyunjin fits his thumbs right below Seungmin’s hip bones and drags him on to
his cock. ‘He’ll have to behave for that. He can keep kissing your full little tummy, but he doesn’t
get to suck your dick. We want you to come untouched, don’t we?’

‘Hyunjin—’ They echo each other, Seungmin’s voice a whinier replica of Jisung’s, or maybe the
other way around. He’s too dizzy to think—his dick twitches and he clenches around Hyunjin
again, feels needy and hot and desperate for release.

As Jisung mouths below his navel again, Seungmin’s eyes squeeze shut and his abdominal
muscles contract. He squirms—so full, wanting more—and gasps out a wet, slick sound as Jisung
keeps licking at his stomach.

‘Seungminnie,’ Jisung says below his breath, the sound blurred into Seungmin’s skin. ‘You’re so
—fuck, just imagine how you’d bulge if we both fucked you at the same time.’ His tongue glides
down the other side of the bulge. ‘Would you like that, baby? Both of us inside you at the same
time?’

‘Hhhgnfnffuck—’

Jisung exhales a soft laugh. ‘Sounds like a yes,’ he says, pressing on the bulge again. He looks
over at Hyunjin and asks, ‘what do you say, Hyunjinnie? Would you like that, baby?’
 minsung x jeongin, mature, voyeurism
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung x jeongin, mature, jeongin asks minsung if he can watch them have sex.

‘Hyung, do you think—’ Jeongin draws in a gasped breath and curls his fingers in the hem of his
loose tee. He has spent the better part of a fortnight trying to figure out how to ask this question—
going back and forth on whether he even could or if it’d be too bizarre, too inappropriate, too much
and too weird and too—just too, but that slick desperation wouldn’t leave him and he couldn’t get
it out of his head no matter how hard he tried, so he decided he had to at least give it a shot.

It’s difficult, though. It’s so embarrassing. His face is awash in scorching heat and even the tips of
his ears burn.

‘Yes?’ Minho asks, something concerned in his eyes.

Jeongin chances a look at Jisung, then abruptly ducks his head again. ‘Hyung, I mean, when you
—’ He squeezes his eyes shut. They’ve been hanging out all day, and they’ve kissed so much in
front of him, and he thinks he’s going a little bit insane. He steels himself. ‘Can I—can I watch you
guys?’

When he tilts his head up to look at Minho, he sees his lips twitch into a smile. ‘Can you watch us
what, Jeonginnie?’

‘Hhh—’ All embarrassed, all dumb and needy, this slick, animal whimper, and isn’t it so pathetic?
‘Have sex,’ he whispers, a clean crack in his voice.

‘Oh, Jeonginnie,’ Jisung chirps. ‘That’s quite an idea you’ve got there.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘You don’t have to say yes. I just—just—’

‘Aw,’ Minho coos, touching Jisung’s nape and tugging him close for an open-mouthed kiss.

Jeongin’s lips part and he gasps out a whine. They always fucking tease like this. It’s not fair. It’s
like—it’s like they wanted him to ask, really. It’s like they want him to watch. Could they? Could
they want that?

‘How long have you been wanting to ask us that, Jeonginnie?’ Minho’s eyebrow quirks, a taunting
smile playing at those pink lips.

‘Um.’ He licks his lips. ‘It was totally unprompted. Weird idea. I hadn’t even thought of it before.’

‘I see,’ Jisung says. ‘Well, all right, first things first. Good boys don’t lie, and only good boys get
rewarded, so you might want to take a moment to reconsider if that’s how you want to answer
Minho-hyung’s question.’

He whines again, because—come on. ‘Hhh, okay,’ he manages, twisting his hands in his shirt.
‘Um, a while. But I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t—you don’t—’
‘It’s okay,’ Minho cuts off his rambling. ‘You can watch us fuck, Jeonginnie-baby. Maybe you’ve
been touching yourself thinking about it?’

His spidery lashes flutter shut and he heaves out a wet breath. ‘Y-yes. Sometimes. ‘s
embarrassing.’

‘Cute,’ Jisung says.

‘Well, we’ll let you watch,’ Minho says. ‘No touching. No talking. You just sit there like a good
boy and let your hyungs show you how sex works. Is that what you want?’

His belly flips upside-down and a sudden, high-pitched ringing deafens him. ‘Yes,’ he gasps. ‘Yes.
Please. Oh, my God. Please.’

‘He’s cute,’ Jisung says, touching Minho again, kissing his jaw. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘Sure,’ Minho says. ‘Do you think he’ll come in his pants like a needy little virgin when he sees
me fit your cock down my throat?’

‘Hhhhh—’

‘What did we just say?’ Minho asks, dark eyes cutting to Jeongin. ‘No talking.’

‘To be fair,’ Jisung says, ‘I don’t really think a sound like that counts as talking.’

‘Hyung—’ He licks his lips, his eyes so wide, his vision swimming already. ‘Hyung. Please.’

‘Okay, okay,’ Minho says, flashing another wolfish smile, and suddenly he’s close, suddenly he’s
touching Jeongin’s wrist and manoeuvring him to the bedroom, pushing him down on the chair in
the corner and telling him, ‘you only get to watch, okay?’

‘It’ll be just like porn,’ Jisung says with a wink. ‘Only much better ‘cause it’s Minho-hyung and
he’s the hottest man alive. Right?’

‘Sycophant,’ Minho scoffs, pushing Jisung down on the bed and slipping his hands beneath his T-
shirt. With a final look at Jeongin, he slots his mouth against Jisung’s and Jeongin almost gasps
hearing the sounds of their kiss—wet and slick, the glide of their lips, Jisung’s rasped moans when
Minho sucks on his tongue.

Minho kisses up Jisung’s jawline and traps his earlobe between his teeth.

‘Hyung,’ Jisung groans, eyes darting to Jeongin, trailing down his body. His hand curls at the back
of Minho’s neck and he pulls him down for another heady kiss and mutters, ‘he’s already so
fuckin’ hard, Hyung. Just watching us kiss.’

‘Nasty little boy.’ Minho slants his head and kisses a bruise on Jisung’s throat. ‘I’ll give you head.
You think he’ll come before you?’

‘Untouched?’

‘Yeah,’ Minho says, tonguing at the love bite. ‘I bet he can. You said he’s already hard.’

Jisung’s eyes meet Jeongin’s and Jeongin’s brain buzzes with static. He feels electrified—
strawberry pop rocks swirled through his veins, carbon dioxide pumped into his bone marrow. He
slides his hands underneath his thighs and digs his teeth into his bottom lip so he doesn’t breathe
out all those embarrassing sounds bubbling in his throat.
‘He is,’ Jisung says, looking back at his boyfriend, pushing at his shirt. ‘Shit, if he comes before
me—’

‘Kinda hot,’ Minho muses. He shifts around on the bed and unbuckles Jisung’s belt, cupping his
cock through his jeans. ‘You’re pretty hard too, Jisungie. You like having an audience, huh?’

‘Yeah.’ His hips buck off the bed when Minho unzips his jeans. ‘Like you said—it’s kinda hot.’

‘You’re right,’ Minho agrees, sliding down the bed to properly kneel between Jisung’s spread legs.
He bends over to mouth at the bulge in his underwear, teasing his fingernails up his thighs. ‘Let’s
give him a nice show then, what d’you say?’

‘Fuck.’ He traps his lip between his teeth and casts a look at Jeongin again. ‘Fuck, jus’ look at him,
Hyung. He’ll come before me.’

Minho looks over at Jeongin. He looks like a debauched angel, something erotic and still so
hallowed about his smile. ‘How many times do you think you can come untouched, baby?’ he
asks, then shakes his head. ‘No, wait, I said you weren’t allowed to talk. Guess we’ll just have to
find out then, huh?’
 minsung, explicit, overstimulation
Chapter Notes

jisung/minho, explicit, multiple orgasms/overstimulation.

His knuckles are bruised the same sangria shade as the floral print of the duvet cover grasped
tightly in his fists. His hips cant off the bed and a dumb sound slips from his pretty mouth,
abdominal muscles tensed up as he squirms.

‘H-hurts,’ he gasps, all cross-eyed and lovely, ‘Ji-Jisung, ah, ah, it hurts—’

‘Oh, Hyungie.’ Jisung keeps the bullet vibrator pressed right to the slit of Minho’s slick, sensitive
cock, and he keeps his voice light and sweet, a glossy veneer of faux compassion which he knows
makes Minho burn. ‘Does it really hurt that badly?’

‘Y-ah—yes—’ He gets tripped up on that final sibilant, keeps hissing as Jisung circles the vibrator,
runs it down the length of his dick and toys it against his balls.

‘But didn’t you ask me to make you come?’ he muses, indifferent to Minho’s desperate thrashing,
all those harsh pants of oversensitivity. It only makes something hot and sooty wreathe behind his
navel, kindles a scorching garnet flame of desire.

‘Y-yes, I—I did, b-but—’

‘But?’

‘I already—’ He breaks off with a whimper when Jisung digs the vibrator harshly into his
cockhead.

‘You already what, Minho-hyung? Use your words, love. I’m not a mind reader.’

‘Hhhh. I already—already came.’

‘You did,’ Jisung concurs. He presses the vibrator against Minho’s balls and polishes his palm over
the head of his dick, all slippery with lube and cum after the two orgasms he’s already wrung out
of him. ‘And you looked so lovely. I love watching you come, Hyungie.’

‘Hhh. Hh, Jisung, it, it, I—’

He shushes him and lets go of his dick just to glide his flat palm over the plane of his stomach,
teasing blunt fingernails around the soft skin. ‘Shh, you don’t have to talk, Minho-hyung. I know
it’s hard, right? I know your thoughts get all fuzzy and blank, so just lie here and let me make you
feel good.’ He grabs his dick again, strokes him slowly while circling the pointed end of the
vibrator around where he’s dripping and slick. ‘Doesn’t that sound nice?’

Each teasing spiral of the toy makes his flushed, weeping cock twitch. He shifts, gulps in air, and
slurs, ‘I, I, ah-ah—’

‘I think you can come again,’ Jisung hums, and Minho jerks off the bed. Jisung coos and pins him
down by the hip. ‘Lie still, baby. There’s really no reason to squirm around like that, is there?’

‘Jisung—’

‘I know, sweetheart. I know you want to come again.’

‘I—’

‘Don’t you?’ Catching his eyes, he takes hold of his dick once more. It throbs in his hand and he
smiles at his boyfriend, so endeared by how twitchy he is, how sensitive and lovely, and all those
soft, sweet whimpers. ‘Even when it hurts, it feels so nice, doesn’t it? And you want to come for
me again. I want you to come again, Minho-hyung, so you’ll come again. Isn’t that right?’

‘Jisung,’ he gasps, and moves like a twitchy little rabbit—simultaneously pushing forward and up
against the vibrations while trying to squirm away. ‘Jisung-ah. Please.’

He rubs his thumb at Minho’s dick, digs his nail into the slit and smiles when Minho thrashes with
a sharp cry. ‘You’d do anything I asked, right? Tell me, Hyungie. You can’t say no to me.’

‘Hhhh, Ji-Jisung, ah-ah, I—’

Jisung snaps away both his hands. Minho’s dick bobs against his contracting belly and he gasps,
fingers straightening just to fist the duvet again. ‘Yes,’ he moans, meeting Jisung’s gaze with half-
lidded, glassy eyes. ‘Y-yes, Sungie, everything. I wanna come for you. I wanna come again, I
wanna—wanna, ah-ah, ah, wanna be good. For you.’

‘Aw. You’re so lovely.’ He nudges the tip of the vibrator against Minho’s pelvis and draws a tiny
heart, then slides it up along his dick again. ‘You’re so wet for me, Hyung. I’m going to count to
five and then you’re going to come again for me. Okay?’

‘Hnfgff—’

‘I know you can do it,’ he says, ‘because you’re always so, so sensitive, and you want to make me
happy. Five—’ He fists his hand tighter around Minho’s dick and polishes the drippy head while
he digs the vibrator into his balls.

Minho’s eyes flutter and a glimmer of drool drips from his open mouth.

‘Four—’

He whines again, wet and sweet, limbs quivering like the strings of a gleaming, gilded harp.

‘Three—’ Jisung blotches a kiss above Minho’s knee and glides the vibrator up his dick to press it
harshly into the head. He keeps it there, unrelenting, as he picks up the pace of his fist.

‘Ah, S-S-Sungie, please—’

‘Good boy,’ Jisung coos, ‘look at how you’re dripping for me. And so red—oh, you must be so
sensitive. Two—’

‘I’m—’ His whole body is tight. His forearms press into the bed and he grasps the duvet even
tighter, keening out soft cries as Jisung works his cock adroitly. He knows his body so intimately
after all these years, knows just where to push and pull, what to say, how to angle his wrist and
how to stroke his thumb and how to tease Minho till he twitches, body spasming on the mattress,
till he throbs with need. ‘I’m, I’m—’
‘One, baby,’ Jisung coos, ‘come for me now—’

Minho cries. He twitches in Jisung’s hand and his chest convulses, his head thrown back, barely
any cum spurting from his overstimulated cock.

‘There you go,’ Jisung soothes, slowing the pace of his hand, cooing as Minho flails, choked-off
sounds trapped in his throat. ‘There you go, baby, just like that. You’re so lovely like this.’

‘Hhh, Ji—’ His voice is almost gone, the words crackling and raw, ‘Jisung-ah, ‘m—‘m sensitive, it
hurts—’

‘Oh, Hyungie,’ Jisung says, again, still thumbing at the wet slit of Minho’s dick, still teasing
around the vibe. ‘Does it really hurt that badly?’
 minsung, teen, canon compliant
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung, teen, canon compliant.

Minho grabs two packages of mint chocolate Pepero off the shelf and drops them into the shopping
basket. They don’t really need groceries—as evidenced by the plethora of snacks and distinct lack
of any actually nutritious items in the basket—but he was bored, which seemed like a good reason
to go to the shop.

At least that’s what he tells himself. Boredom is always a brilliant excuse.

He grabs a can of sugar-free Monster Energy and heads to the self-checkout. He quickly pays and
packs up everything in his fabric bag, then makes a beeline for the exit, side-stepping a young
woman pushing a midnight blue pram with a babbling baby inside.

Outside, fuzzy white clouds dot the sky, the Virgo sun hanging low. He briefly considers going
directly home, but he’d just be bored again. Right? And Seungmin and Jeongin are probably in the
middle of some elaborate Jenga tournament that he doesn’t want to get dragooned into, so it’s
totally reasonable to make a pit stop at Jisung’s flat.

Correction: the other flat. It’s not just Jisung living there, and Minho is not heading there because
of Jisung, definitely not. Why would he be? He’s heading there because he’s tired after his trip to
the grocery shop. He does not have a crush on Jisung, obviously, and it would be bloody great if
everyone could stop insinuating that he does.

So Jisung is the most handsome, clever, funny, talented, hardworking, lovely, wonderful,
conscientious, and incredible person he has ever met and he thinks about him pretty much all the
time, but what of it? It’s not like it means anything. So maybe he specifically picked the mint
chocolate Pepero because that’s Jisung’s favourite flavour. And maybe he also bought Monster for
him. It literally means nothing, okay?

(Minho knows, of course, like apparently everyone else in his life, that it probably means
something. They call each other soul mates but that’s just a joke, that’s just friendship, Jisung
doesn’t mean it like that, but—yeah. Well. Something, all right.)

(So maybe it means something, but it’s not like it matters.)

He lets himself inside and finds Hyunjin sitting cross-legged on the sofa. ‘Oh, Minho-hyung, my
knight in shining armour. Have you come to save me?’

‘What?’

‘They’re all working out again,’ Hyunjin laments, and as soon as he gets the last word out, his
flatmates appear in various stages of undress, all of them flushed and glossy with sweat, Chan
rubbing a towel over his face.

Jisung notices him first and flashes a bright smile. ‘Minho-hyung, hi! What are you doing here?’
He isn’t wearing a shirt. He is not wearing a shirt. He is shirtless. Oh, God. No shirt. Why is he not
wearing a shirt?

Minho almost drops his tote bag. ‘Um.’ He clears his throat and tastes iron. Jisung is so hot. He is
so ridiculously hot and his chest is so hot and Minho wants to touch it so badly. He wants to lick it.
He wants to press his hands against it and he wants to kiss down his torso and grab his slim waist
and lick his abs and go lower and, and, and—

He clears his throat again. ‘Hi, Jisung.’

‘What’s in the bag?’ Changbin asks.

‘Uh, I bought—I was in the shop. Stuff. Snacks.’

‘Wicked,’ Jisung says. The way he’s shaking his protein shake makes his bicep flex. His chest
jiggles. Everything is too hot and too much and too close and Minho shouldn’t have stopped by. He
should’ve gone straight home and crowned himself the King of Jenga because God knows he is
otherwise nothing but a fool. An idiot. So, so stupid.

Why is Jisung so hot? Why isn’t he wearing a fucking shirt? Why does he make everything so hard
all the time?

‘You’re quiet today,’ Changbin notes as he sifts through the tote bag, grabbing one of those
ridiculous protein bars that Minho only buys because Jisung likes them. That also means nothing,
by the way. None of this means anything. Minho absolutely does not have feelings for Jisung, and
he is currently not five milliseconds from passing out.

‘Yeah,’ Chan chimes in, ‘you okay?’

‘I’m great,’ Minho lies. He blinks five times very rapidly and hopes a T-shirt will suddenly appear
on Jisung’s upper body. No such luck.

‘No, for real,’ Jisung says, still shaking his stupid fucking jock drink. He runs his free hand
through his sweat-damp hair and quirks his eyebrow. ‘You look like you’re going to be sick or
something.’

‘I’m great,’ Minho repeats. ‘Totally awesome. Best day ever.’

‘I understand exactly what you’re feeling right now,’ Hyunjin says. ‘The living conditions here are
abject and miserable. Let’s go to my room, Hyung. I’ll make tea.’

‘Y-yeah,’ he mumbles, shaking his head. He holds the tote bag out for Chan and says, ‘uh, you
guys—uh, have fun. With all that. And all—’ He gestures loosely at their bodies, ‘all that.’

‘Darjeeling or green?’ Hyunjin calls. ‘Or something stronger—vodka?’

 fem minsung, explicit, exhibitionism
Chapter Notes

sex swapped minho/jisung, explicit, exhibitionism & mommy kink.

They are, ostensibly, here to study, but Jisu hasn’t been able to concentrate on big O notation for at
least ten minutes. Her teeth snag on her bottom lip to stifle a traitorous whimper as Minhee’s
fingertips tease further up the inside of her right thigh.

She curls her fingers into a tight fist and tries, for the seventh time, to read this next paragraph.

Minhee hooks her chin on Jisu’s shoulder and glances at her laptop screen. ‘That sounds boring,’
she muses, exhaling a sweet little sigh right next to Jisu’s ear. ‘Aren’t you bored, babe?’

‘No,’ Jisu huffs. She redoubles her efforts and tries to ignore how Minhee’s fingers slip beneath the
edge of her shorts and dance dangerously close to the edge of her panties, but something fluttery
beats behind her ribs. ‘I’m—concentrating.’

‘I see.’ She presses her mouth to Jisu’s soft cheek, the faint scent of her pomegranate lip balm
drifting from the kiss. ‘I’m bored, though.’

‘Yeah, I’d be bored too reading—’ She casts her eyes over at the half dozen books stacked next to
Minhee’s rose gold MacBook. ‘Contemporary Approaches in Literary Trauma Theory. Jesus
Christ, I wouldn’t just be bored, I’d be miserable.’

‘Shut up.’ Minhee flicks at her thigh, but then promptly ghosts her fingertips over the front of
Jisu’s panties.

Even though it’s really just a trace of a touch, so feather-light, Jisu’s hips still rock forward and she
clenches her teeth to stay quiet.

Minhee coos and circles her index finger around Jisu’s clit, and she has always been sensitive, so
sensitive, and it isn’t fair, none of this is fair, she squirms and her eyelashes quiver and she feels
that needy heat bubble in her chest and rise into her cheeks. They’re in public. She glances around
their corner of the library—down in the back of the archives where traffic is infrequent, which is
why it’s such a good study spot, but still—

‘Minhee-yah,’ Jisu says quietly, an embarrassing tinge to her voice already, something fizzy about
it. ‘I’m—you wanted to come here. To study. You said—’

‘Maybe I need a break,’ Minhee whispers into Jisu’s ear, soft lips smudging kisses down her jaw.
‘And you just make it so easy,’ she continues. Her voice is low and dark; everything else about her
is so soft and sweet and soaked in pastel pink and it drives Jisu crazy. Something about the
contrasts makes her head spin. ‘I’m barely touching you and you’re already twitching,’ she says. ‘I
bet you’re wet already, baby. I bet you’re all drippy ‘cause you want me to finger you right here.’

It’s so unfair how she does this. Jisu’s pelvis snaps forward again and she almost whimpers when
Minhee thumbs at her clit through her black cotton panties. ‘You—’ She grasps Minhee’s thigh and
grumbles, ‘you’ve—you’ve been teasing. So long. ‘s not my fault I get wet.’
‘It’s my fault, huh?’

‘Yes.’

‘I see,’ she says thoughtfully, then tugs Jisu’s panties to the side and slides two fingers inside her
hole. ‘Shouldn’t I be the one to take care of it then, sweetheart? Don’t you want Mommy to toy
with this pretty little pussy now that I was so mean and got it all wet?’

‘Hhh, you—you—’ She gnaws at her lip, the risk of being caught augmenting that dark, coiling
heat in her belly. Her cunt clenches and she whimpers when she hears how wet she is, how it
seems so much louder here, whimpers again when Minhee fucks her fingers deeper inside her in
that way that feels so fucking good and makes her head tilt back and her eyes squeeze shut and she
digs her fingers into Minhee’s thick, plush thigh, and—‘Mommy,’ she says, soft and broken,
another babbled whine when Minhee groans into her ear. ‘We’re—someone could—’

‘Someone could walk in,’ Minhee finishes her thought, a hot drawl into Jisu’s skin when she kisses
her cheekbone again. She twists her wrist and Jisu doesn’t know how she’s making it work with
this angle, how she’s making it so good, but then she never knows how Minhee does the things
Minhee does.

‘I bet that’s why you got this wet so fast,’ she teases. ‘You want someone to catch you like this, all
pliant for me. My needy princess.’

‘N-no, no,’ Jisu whispers, but she’s grinding down on Minhee’s fingers and everything is hot, hot,
hot. Sensitive. So sensitive, and Minhee exploits it all the time—loves to rile her up and tease her
for ages, till Jisu’s brain is all fuzzy and she can’t think at all and her whole body is trembling with
silky, raw need and she’s breathless from begging.

And even then she’ll still deny her sometimes. Oh, God, if she doesn’t let her come now—

As if reading her mind, she asks, ‘you want Mommy to make you come?’

‘Please,’ Jisu gasps. ‘Mo-mommy, ah—’ She brings up her right hand and shoves her knuckles
between her teeth to muffle her whines, shifting to fuck herself back on Minhee’s fingers.

‘Aren’t you embarrassed?’ she asks, voice pitched so low, thumb circling Jisu’s clit while she
pumps two fingers into her pussy. ‘We’re in the library, Jisu-yah. And you’re dripping all over my
fingers like a dirty little girl.

‘Hhh,’ she slurs around her own fingers, so hot, and so close, God, she’s so close already, she can’t
keep her eyes open and she can’t think and everything is all misty—desire sizzles in her belly and
her pussy throbs and she’s going to come, right here, and someone could walk in, someone could
find her like this, all stupid for it, not even able to keep it together for one study session, all
worked-up and ruined so easily.

‘Are you going to come, darling?’ Minhee groans, fingers working Jisu’s slick cunt expertly—the
wet sounds are so loud and, shit, what if someone hears, what if, what if—

‘Are you going to come all over Mommy’s fingers like a nasty little girl?’ she prompts and Jisu
shudders—her whole body goes tight and she bites her fist harder, drool spilling down her chin,
everything trembly and tight and sensitive and then she spasms, pink glitter washing over her, a
thwarted moan leaking around her knuckles, fervent, glossy pleasure rippling through her body.

‘Ah,’ Minhee coos, fingerfucking her through it, ‘there you go, baby. Good girl. Good girl, there
you go—’
‘Hhh—’ She wrangles her fingers from her mouth and wipes away the saliva on her chin. She
shivers again, and gasps when Minhee pulls out her fingers and ghosts at her clit.

Catching Jisu’s eyes, she swirls her pink tongue around her fingers and slips them between her lips
with a moan, licking them clean.

Jisu feels more heat splotch her cheeks and she nervously looks around the place again.

‘Relax.’ Minhee flashes a smug smile and tugs Jisu’s panties back in place. ‘Nobody ever comes
all the way back here.’

‘Someone could.’ She grabs one of Minhee’s pastel highlighters and fidgets with the lid. Her lips
tug into a pout and she mumbles, ‘how do you expect me to concentrate now?’

‘Who says I do?’

She looks around again before she leans close and whispers, ‘Mommy, I wanna come again.
Please. I feel—feel empty now. ‘s your fault.’

‘Everything seems to be my fault today.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you want to go home?’

She exhales and looks down at Minhee’s thighs. ‘One more,’ she flusters, ‘here, and then—then
home. And you—you fuck me. When we’re home.’

Minhee’s smile is audible when she skims her fingertips around Jisu’s inner thigh again. ‘Okay,’
she says. ‘I’m down with that.’
 m/f minsung, explicit, blow jobs
Chapter Notes

sex swapped minho/male jisung, explicit, blow jobs + mommy kink.

He has been hard for what feels like four thousand years. It’s strange how she’s the one kneeling,
but the worship is all subverted—shouldn’t he feel deified like this? Instead he feels devout,
reduced to a mess of babbled monosyllables with each flick of her pretty tongue, the steady,
shameful drip of pre-cum slicking down his cock, twitching when she catches his eyes and calls
him a good boy.

‘Hhh,’ he slurs, trying so hard to keep his hips still, fingers curling into tight fists when she bats her
mascara-thick lashes up at him, hollows her cheeks, bobs her head and makes him feel all lit-up
and sparkling inside.

She always draws it out like this—takes her time, toys with his balls and fits his cock between her
small, soft hands, and licks at his dripping cockhead till he gasps for air and feels so sensitive, his
body the flimsiest house of cards, and just the barest touch would make him crumble. But she
handles him so expertly, toes the line, works him up and keeps him worked-up and never lets him
crumble till he’s desperate, so desperate, all breathless and panting and begging, and she’s the one
on her knees between his legs, but that doesn’t mean she’s relinquished control. Is he the first man
to see a goddess kneel?

‘You want to come, baby?’ she asks and zigzags her tongue along a vein on his dick again.

‘Hngggplease—’ Whimpering quietly, twitching in her mouth. ‘Mommy, Mommy, please—’

It’s a split second later that he realises the faux pas, because his brain is fogged-over and so misty
and he didn’t mean to say that, he shouldn’t have, and he’s trembling now, his fingernails digging
into his palms harshly enough to sting but even that pain doesn’t alleviate the embarrassment.
Something burns behind his eyes and his throat feels scraped raw. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry—’ he
gasps, but he can’t look at her and he’s hot all over and he just hopes she’ll be nice and let it slide
because he really doesn’t know how to tell his friends he got dumped because he couldn’t keep his
fucking mouth shut and wants weird things and—

‘Hey, hey,’ she whispers, hands sliding down his thighs and squeezing just above his knees. ‘Hey,
baby, it’s okay. You want Mommy to make you come?’

He spasms. How embarrassing, the way his entire body twitches like a harp string, and that
pathetic, whiny sound that slips out. All prey. All dumb little worked-up animal and she’s smiling,
he can hear it, the sound of her soft giggle making something hot and needy twist beneath his
navel.

He thinks, briefly, that he must’ve slipped into a dreamscape because she isn’t pushing him away.
She’s still touching him, her wet, wet tongue licking across his dick, her soft fingers dancing
around his sensitive skin, not repulsed and not mean and he feels so small.

‘Don’t be shy,’ she says softly. ‘You can say it again. I think it’s cute.’
‘Hhhh—’ It can’t be real, but then a dream could never be so palpable, could it? It thrums through
him. Bravely, he blinks open his eyes and feels his cheeks burn when he catches her gaze. When
she coos, he twitches in her hands, and his hips jerk forward. ‘Mommy,’ he whispers, hoarse, still
embarrassed, but her pleased sound makes him feel so floaty and safe. ‘Mommy, Mommy, I—I
wanna—’

‘You want to come, baby?’

‘Please,’ he gasps, and he’s already so high-strung, it won’t take a lot, just a flick of her tongue, her
palm polishing his drippy cockhead, and his body will crumble. And she knows that, he’s sure,
because she can read him better than her deck of Tarot cards, and what is he if not the Fool,
condensed into incoherence and all dumb for her, the Sun, the Empress, the Devil reversed. She
can read him so well and she could make him come in two seconds, but she withdraws her hands
and giggles when he twitches and scrapes her pink-polished nails down his thighs till he gasps.

‘I’ll make you come,’ she promises, her lips swollen and pinker than ever, ‘if you say it again. Can
you be good for me, baby?’

‘Hhh I’m good,’ he says, ‘I’m good, I’m good, Mommy, I’m good—’

‘You’re good,’ she agrees, and wraps her lips around his dick again.

He balls his hands into fists again and groans when she bobs her head, swallows around him,
works both hands over the part of him that doesn’t fit in her mouth.

‘Please, Mommy,’ he says, cracked and stupid and he’s so close now, he’s going to come, he is,
he’s been close for so long, and he’s allowed to call her that and it’s dizzying and he feels delirious
and slightly drunk, but he won’t overthink it. She didn’t push him away, so there’s no reason to
ruin it with that familiar spiral of anxious thoughts. ‘Mommy, Mommy, I’m—’

‘Mmm.’ She moans around his cock and pulls off, kissing down the length, murmuring, ‘you can
come, sweetheart. Mommy wants you to come.’

‘Hhhgg—’ When she takes him in her mouth again, his teeth dig into his bottom lip and a startled,
gasped sound rips from him as his body rocks with pleasure. ‘Hhhh, Mommy, I’m, I’m—’

She hums around him and swallows and he’s so sensitive, still trembling, and she tells him, ‘good
boy. Good boy, there you go,’ and this is probably heaven, he thinks, or at least a pretty decent
imitation, and what more could he possibly want?
 minsung, explicit, massage + spanking
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung, explicit, massage and spankings.

Minho knuckles down on both sides of Jisung’s spine and spreads his hands like wings at the small
of his back. When he digs his thumbs into the soft tissue of his lumbar spine, Jisung exhales a quiet
groan.

‘Pressure okay?’

‘Mm-hm,’ Jisung mumbles into the pillow, ‘yeah, pressure’s perfect.’

He smoothes his palms up Jisung’s back and palpates his spinalis thoracis. ‘That’s good.’

Jisung works too much. He’s like a damn hummingbird flapping his wings 80 times per minute,
terrified of resting for even a moment. It’s a myth that he’ll actually die if he stops moving, but try
telling him that. Once a week, Minho will pull off his T-shirt and press him down on the bed and
pour scented massage oil into his palm and tell Jisung, fucking relax for me for one second, okay?
and Jisung will grumble but give in pretty fast.

Newsflash! Stress will kill you, actually, so book yourself a massage appointment, or at least let
your besotted boyfriend knead your back till you feel loose and liquid and a little less like you’ll
explode within the next four seconds because your to-do list is longer than the Yangtze River.

But then, of course, you’d have to believe that you deserve nice things, which is something else
Jisung struggles with. Is there a thread of masochism woven through the workaholic tendencies?
Perhaps.

Clearly, he has a lot of issues, but they’re working on that. Minho’s got plenty of his own, so it’s
not that he’s judging.

He just likes to see Jisung happy is all. He likes to see him relaxed and dazed and soft, so he works
his hands around his oil-slick back, relieving some of all that built-up tension and pain. He hums
along to Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14 and kneads Jisung’s right trapezius, smoothes his thumb
along his scapula.

Occasionally, Jisung will groan, or a soft, sated whine will slip from his lips. He probably thinks
that Minho doesn’t notice the way he shifts occasionally, a stutter of his hips, but obviously he
does. Minho feels like he’s spent half his life noticing every tiny thing about Jisung.

The third movement of the sonata has tapered off and now the adagio of No. 1 is playing. Plenty of
time for Jisung’s brain to turn fuzzy, really—with his face pressed into the pillow like this, Minho
can’t see whether he’s drooling, but he knows that he is.

‘Feeling okay?’ Minho asks, taming his smile, thumbs zig-zagging at Jisung’s lower back. ‘Feeling
good, baby?’

‘Hhng,’ he whines in response, hips unsurprisingly rutting forward into the mattress again. ‘Hyung,
‘m—’

‘You’re what?’ Minho asks, although he knows. He’s known for a while, of course.

‘I hate you,’ he says. ‘You know.’

‘If you’re talking about how your stupid cock got all hard and drippy just from me massaging you,
then, yeah, I do know.’ He thumbs at his tailbone and smiles when Jisung whimpers. ‘What I don’t
understand, though, is why you’d say you hate me if you’re hoping I’ll help you out with it.’

‘Hhh—’ Fingers curling in the bedsheet, and clearly already all dizzy, which is so fucking
adorable. He’s always so easy to work up, and a massage does the trick every time.

‘Hhh, you’re mean,’ Jisung whimpers, grinding his hips forward again. ‘I don’t—hate you. I
guess.’

‘Yeah, right.’ He trails his fingertip down the crease of Jisung’s ass and pads his dry hole. Jisung
arches off the bed and curves into Minho’s touch. ‘You know, if you want me to spank you till
you’re sore and then fuck you stupid, you can just ask.’

‘Hyung.’

‘What’s that?’

Burying his head further into the pillow, he mumbles his next words.

‘What do you want, Jisungie?’ Minho sing-songs, drawing a squiggly pattern with his fingertip.

‘Hhh, I want—’ He twists his head and looks up at Minho over his shoulder, cheeks splotched
raspberry. ‘That. What you said. Please.’

Sharply, Minho lands his flat palm against Jisung’s ass and laughs when he moans. ‘You want me
to spank you, princess?’

‘Hngfg fuck—’ He ruts into the mattress and whimpers when Minho brings down his hand again.
The sound of the slap bounces through the room, immediately echoed as he spanks each ass cheek
twice more. ‘F-fuck, ah—’

Another handful of lighter hits to warm up his skin, Jisung all squirmy and sweet beneath him,
exhaling soft, wet gasps.

‘You’re such a doll,’ Minho praises, and soothes his palm over the reddened skin, a brief entr’acte,
then delivers a spank so sharp the pain sings through Jisung’s body and makes him spasm.

‘Hhhh-ooow—’

Wordlessly, Minho slaps his other cheek. He thumbs his asshole again and hits his thigh lightly,
then harshly enough to really hurt. The way Jisung jerks is so endearing. His drool stains the ivory
pillowcase and his knuckles have blanched grasping the sheet.

Sweet thing.

Minho’s lips snatch into a smile when he spanks him again. ‘You like it when I hurt you,
princess?’

‘Oh, God,’ Jisung says, all whimpered and soft and Minho can’t help but find him adorable. He
hits him again to see him shiver.

‘You do, right?’

‘Yes,’ he whinges, ‘like—like it.’

‘And you like it when I call you princess, huh?’

‘Hhhh ‘s embarrassing—’

‘Yeah,’ Minho says. He grabs him by the hip and pushes him on to his back. Catching his blown
eyes, he spanks his inner thigh, then takes hold of his hard dick to palm the glossy head. ‘Also a bit
embarrassing how hard you are, darling. Don’t you think?’

‘Hhgng Hyung, don’t—’

‘You don’t think so?’ He tilts his head, his smile slanted and too cocksure for his own good. ‘I
think so, though. A bit pathetic to get this wet when I slap you around. Wouldn’t you agree,
princess?’

His eyes roll back and a smear of drool shines down his chin.

‘You’re a stupid little masochist,’ Minho notes. ‘I know you want me to hit you even harder, so tell
me how much you like it.’ Jisung’s dick twitches in his palm and Minho smiles again, arching his
brow. ‘Use your words, baby, if you want me to hurt you just the way you like.’

‘God.’ He exhales a stuttered breath and licks his lip. ‘God, you’re so fuckin’ mean.’

Minho digs his thumb into the slit of Jisung’s dick. ‘You like it,’ he says. ‘Tell me how much you
love it or I won’t spank your ass red and ruined before I fuck you.’
 hyunminyang, explicit
Chapter Notes

hyunjin/minho/jeongin, but implied poly ot8. explicit. dicksucking contest between

hyunjin and minho. cw: watersports references. a lot of them. god have mercy

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘No,’ Hyunjin insists. ‘In your dreams, maybe.’

‘Sweetheart, I don’t dream about you.’

‘No?’ He points his spoon at Minho and a few droplets of milk dribble on to the table. ‘That’s
because you know I’m better at sucking dick than you are, and your dream self doesn’t want to be
humiliated.’

‘Guys,’ Jisung interrupts, ‘some of us are trying to eat.’

Minho quirks his eyebrow and glances at him. ‘Who’s stopping you?’ He spoons up more of his
Frosties. ‘Keep eating. You’re not part of this conversation.’

‘Actually,’ Hyunjin looks at Jisung. ‘You can settle this right now if you’re so upset. Who gives
the best head? Hyung or me?’

‘Oh, no.’ Jisung shakes his head. ‘I’m not part of this conversation.’

‘You made yourself part of this conversation,’ Hyunjin says. ‘Just cast your vote.’

Jisung grabs his ceramic bowl and pushes back his chair with a loud screeching sound. ‘I think, uh,
I have something—I mean, I can hear—I think Felix just fell in the shower and I should go help
him out because he might be hurt, so, eh—’ He trails off, milk spilling from his bowl as he hurries
away from the table.

‘You’re bringing your cereal to the bathroom?’ Minho calls after him. ‘That’s disgusting. I piss
there.’

‘Piss on Hyunjin instead, babe.’

‘Coward!’ Hyunjin calls after him, then fixes Minho with a glance again. ‘I’ll let you piss in me if
you just admit I give better head than you.’

‘He said on.’

‘I know what he said.’

‘Sounds like you want me to lie and then reward you for it.’ Minho shovels more Frosties into his
mouth. ‘What’s in this for me?’
‘Fine,’ he scoffs, then pulls out his phone and opens his favourite contacts. ‘Jeonginnie-doll,’ he
purrs. ‘Can you come to the kitchen?’

Minho looks at him. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Showdown,’ Hyunjin says as he puts his phone back on the table and plays his spoon around the
milk in his bowl. ‘You and me. Jeongin’s the judge. If you win, you get to piss in me. When I win
—’

‘No,’ Minho cuts him off. ‘I don’t want to fucking piss anywhere near you.’

‘Your loss,’ Hyunjin sighs. ‘And you’re not going to win anyway, so it’s fine. When I win—’

‘I am not indulging your sick little fetish, so don’t even try.’

‘When I win—’ Hyunjin begins again, but is cut off by a breathless Jeongin appearing.

‘I was just about to win my game of Klondike, so this better be fucking important.’

‘Who gives better head?’ Minho asks.

Jeongin’s eyes widen a fraction and his cheeks bloom from raspberry to deep crimson. ‘What?’ he
squeals.

‘You heard me,’ Minho says.

‘Um.’

‘Take your trousers off,’ Hyunjin says. ‘We’re settling this right fucking now.’ He slides his chair
back and grabs Jeongin’s wrist, wrangling him into a chair while he’s still too dumbfounded to
fight back. ‘We all know I’m the best, but Hyung is being a wanker about it.’ He looks over at
Minho again. ‘When I win, you’re pissing on Jisung and I get to watch.’

‘I do not agree to your terms,’ Minho argues, but Hyunjin isn’t paying attention to the nonsense
that’s coming out of his mouth. He’s busy pushing Jeongin’s joggers down his thighs and palming
his soft dick through his Spiderman boxer briefs, blinking slowly up at him, a secret smile playing
at his lips.

‘Hyung,’ Jeongin gasps, eyes darting from Hyunjin to Minho. ‘What’s—going on?’

Minho catches Hyunjin’s eyes. ‘Bit daft, isn’t he?’

‘Aw,’ Hyunjin coos, ‘don’t be mean to the baby.’

‘Hyung,’ Jeongin says again, hips twitching forward when Hyunjin cups his dick. ‘You’re both
going to suck me off or what? And I have to say who’s best?’

‘Ding, ding, ding,’ Minho says. ‘We have a winner! Want a golden star sticker, darling?’

‘What’s in it for me?’

Hyunjin tilts his head. ‘You’re getting your dick sucked twice,’ he says. ‘That’s reward enough,
isn’t it? Don’t be fucking greedy now.’

‘Why would we have to compensate you for getting your dick out?’ Minho asks, slurping up more
of his cereal, which is really a mood-killer, actually. Asshole. He’s trying to bias Jeongin against
Hyunjin. ‘You already get your dick out every day for free. As if you need incentive.’

Hyunjin works his fingers under the elastic band of Jeongin’s underwear and tugs them down his
thighs. Blowing him an air kiss, he wraps his hand around the base of his cock and strokes him
slowly. He swirls his tongue around the head and catches Jeongin’s wide eyes, winking up at him
as he laps up a drop of pre-cum.

‘What’s in it—what does the winner get?’ he asks.

‘Still undecided,’ Minho says.

‘Oh, it’s decided.’ Hyunjin rubs his thumb along the slit of Jeongin’s dick and toys with his balls.
‘Didn’t you hear? When I win, I get to watch Minho-hyung piss on Jisung.’

‘In your dreams,’ Minho says flatly.

‘Oh, for sure.’

‘And if—’ Jeongin says, ‘if Hyung wins?’

‘Hyung won’t win,’ Hyunjin says, wrapping his lips around his cock and going down on him
slowly.

‘Hyung will win,’ Minho says, ‘and when Hyung wins, Hyunjin isn’t allowed to use the word piss
for 25 days.’

Hyunjin pulls off. ‘25?’ he says. ‘Oddly specific.’

‘It’s Hyung’s birthday,’ Jeongin mumbles. ‘The 25 th of October. That’s probably why.’

‘Aw,’ Minho coos. ‘You know my birthday, Jeonginnie? What’s next, you’re going to admit you
have a crush on me?’

Adorably, Jeongin’s cheeks flush even redder and he ducks his head. ‘Shut up,’ he mumbles. ‘I
don’t.’

‘Anyway,’ Hyunjin says. ‘Fortunately for everyone, Minho-hyung won’t win. I’ll let you watch
with me when he pisses on Jisung.’

‘Uh, thanks? I think?’

‘Yeah,’ Hyunjin says. ‘I’m real generous like that.’

‘Can you get his dick in your mouth already?’ Minho asks. ‘That way you won’t be able to fucking
talk. Jesus.’

‘Ever heard of foreplay, Hyung?’ He looks over at him. ‘No? God, this will be so easy. I’m gonna
fucking blow you out of the water.’
 chanlix, mature
Chapter Notes

chan/felix, mature, felix sends chan an ao3 link.

lixie
bro are u still awake

you
…yes

lixie
fucking bril
cause u won’t believe what i just found
https://archiveofourown.org/works/4089…

He’s unfamiliar with the domain name, but he expects something similar to what Felix usually
sends him—clickbaity quizzes to figure out which type of fruit/Ghibli character/Pantone colour
you are; Reformation dresses he wants to buy; weird TikTok videos that are sometimes funny and
sometimes really not at all.

He doesn’t expect the page to load and show him his own name next to Felix’s in a category called
‘Relationships.’

He accidentally chokes when his eyes scan the next string of words—Plot What Plot/Porn Without
Plot, Blow Jobs, Puppy Play, Sub Bang Chan (Stray Kids).

Listen. He knows what fanfiction is. He is, contrary to popular belief, not a fucking imbecile. His
IQ score is perfectly within the normal range. On top of that, he’s part of Generation Unrestricted
Internet Access so, you know—well, let’s leave it at that.

But there’s a difference between knowing that explicit fanfiction exists in general and being
presented with an explicit piece of work starring himself.

lixie
lmao did u know ppl write porn about us?????

Chan swallows.

He hits the Messages notification to get back to his open chat with Felix.

you
uuh
i guess i was like vaguely aware of the possibility
i never sought it out though?

lixie
i reject the notion that i “sought it out”
i was on tiktok
rabbit holes and all
ANYWAY it’s funny
i’ve read like 15 stories by now
a lot of stuff about lee know hyung sucking hannie’s dick
like. A LOT

you
that’s their business
love is love

His fingers itch to switch back to the open Firefox tab. He’s just curious. Why wouldn’t he be
curious? Of course he’s curious. That’s all he is. You’d be too!

Curious. Intrigued. Interested. All of those things. And only those things. There’s no weird ache
coiling in his lower belly. There’s nothing that could maybe be labelled desire. Absolutely fucking
not. Shut up! Shut up! There’s not!

lixie
did u start reading yet lol

His brain pings back to the ‘Additional Tags’ he just skimmed and his cheeks catch fire. His
tongue darts out and his fingers keep trembling; he wants desperately to read the fanfic Felix sent
and he wants, just as desperately, to get hit by a severe case of sudden and total amnesia, because,
wow, hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me, haha!

It’s half two in the middle of the fucking night and his co-worker/close friend/maybe-crush-but-
we’re-not-talking-about-that-please just sent him fan-written erotica about himself. About the two
of them, together.

Jesus Christ.

He runs his hand over his face.

He is way too fucking sleep-deprived to deal with this right now.

you
no

lixie
what are u waiting for?

Well, all right. What is he waiting for?

lixie
come on bro i’ve got like 6 more i want to show you

you
why aren’t u asleep

He’s deflecting. He’s aware, so you don’t have to call him out. Actually, can you just, like, stay out
of this situation entirely? He doesn’t need an audience. He really doesn’t. There was no
‘Voyeurism’ tag, so close your goddamn eyes already.
lixie
cause i’m reading weird tentacle porn about han obviously
ppl are mad creative i’m actually impressed
u think he and lee know hyung have fucked fr?
wouldn’t we have heard them??
hannie seems like he’d be loud

you
that would be their business and i don’t want to know
why are u making me think of this!!!!

lixie
LMAO
anyway start reading hyungie
let me know what u think

He swallows again.

Now, you may know this already, but the thing is—Chan would do absolutely fucking anything for
Felix, actually. His DNA seems to be wired in a way that makes him incapable of ever saying no to
him. This is, of course, quite humiliating. His sister has a fucking field day every time they
videocall. Even his mum teases him about it.

‘How’s my future son-in-law doing?’ she’ll ask.

Oh, you know, Ma, apparently he’s been reading tentacle porn about his best friend! You still want
me to ask for his hand in marriage?

He sighs again.

He isn’t sure whether Felix knows about his feelings. He hopes he doesn’t.

He switches back to Firefox. He reads the summary and forgets how to breathe.

Chan has been such a good puppy. Felix rewards him.

He should close this tab. He should. He should turn off his phone and dry-swallow four of his
prescription sleeping pills and pass out. He should not keep reading.

He keeps reading.

(Of course he does. Felix told him to.)

By the third paragraph, his throat feels parched. He’s hot everywhere. He doesn’t think he’ll
survive the night.

He keeps reading anyway.

Reads about himself whining uselessly, nudging against Felix’s bare thigh.

In the fanfic, Chan is wearing a dog collar and Felix tugs on the attached leash. In the fanfic, Felix
asks him to bark and Chan does. In the fanfic, Felix calls him a good boy and Chan sighs happily
and fits Felix’s cock between his lips.

Oh, no.
No.

No, no.

Why is he reading this? Why did something twist in his belly at the image of himself with a collar
and clip-on dog ears? Why did he have to stifle a whimper at the thought of Felix calling him a
good puppy? Why is he—

Oh, God, why is he getting hard?

Spit pools in the back of his mouth. Shame claws through him, but he can’t stop reading. It’s
—dizzying.

He’s never thought of this before. He hasn’t. Swear on it. He’s thought of kissing Felix’s body, yes,
and he’s imagined touching him, yes, and he’s felt so fucking guilty every single time, but this—

No. Not this. Never before.

Now he thinks he won’t ever be able to forget.

How’s he supposed to ever look at Felix again?

Almost subconsciously, he presses the heel of his hand into his crotch, his hips jerking up. He
throbs in his underwear. His mind is a blank cyclone of want.

He wants and he wants and he wants and—

He’s not supposed to.

He’s not supposed to want Felix at all, and especially not like this. Whatever this is.

lixie
did u finish reading?
cause i got another one lmao
 fem seungsung, teen
Chapter Notes

lesbian jisung/seungmin, teen.

See, Seungmin likes order. She keeps one of those Instagram-worthy bullet journals, colour
coordinates her notes, and has taken the art of alphabetisation to the next level. Not just her
bookcases, but also her spice rack and the bottles of shampoo and conditioner lined up in the
shower. She has a system, okay?

Now the thing about Han Jisu is that she keeps fucking up that system.

There’s really no reason for her to look this good in a sports bra. Seungmin is supposed to be
reviewing her flash cards, but she keeps zoning out to look at her girlfriend’s chest instead.

It’s like Jisu was put on this planet just to make Seungmin’s life difficult.

‘You’re staring,’ she says, a twitch at the right corner of her mouth. ‘Like what you see?’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Don’t be rude, Minnie,’ she says. ‘If you ask me nicely, I’ll let you touch.’

Their eyes meet, and Seungmin makes a show of pulling up the next flash card. She stares at it, but
the sight of Jisu in her black sports bra is superimposed on top of it. She closes her eyes, but she
still sees Jisu.

She groans. ‘You’re distracting.’

‘What?’ she demands, faux innocent, chest rising as she inhales. ‘I’m literally just sitting here.’

‘Fuck you,’ Seungmin says again. She should be strong. She should not give in. She should stick to
the goddamn schedule, but Jisu is a menace and Seungmin is weak and she puts down the stack of
cards and crawls across the bed to straddle Jisu’s lap.

Jisu lifts her eyebrows. Seungmin thinks she’s altogether way too smug about everything, so she
surges forward to press their lips together before she can say anything.

‘Fuck you,’ she mutters against Jisu’s warm, soft lips, tasting raspberry when she flicks out her
tongue. ‘You’re—pretty. Too pretty. It’s distracting.’

‘Maybe you’re just easy,’ she says, a smile in her voice, one hand settling on Seungmin’s waist and
the other sliding up the small of her back. ‘But you’re pretty, too.’

‘Shut up,’ she mumbles, because she still can’t deal with that. Her cheeks feel hot and she kisses
Jisu again. Her lips are unbearably soft and she tugs Seungmin closer, her touch so tender and
sweet.

It’s impossible to condense Jisu into something that fits on a 3-by-5 card, but perfect would be a
pretty good place to start.
 m/f changjin, teen
Chapter Summary

m/f changbin/hyunjin, teen.

‘Oi,’ Minho snaps, shoving a hand towel at Changbin. ‘Got this for you. Now wipe your drool off
my fucking floor.’

He curls his fingers in the plush terrycloth, unable to tear his eyes away from the literal goddess
who just walked into Minho’s living room. ‘Wha—’

‘And stop ogling her,’ Minho says. ‘Or she’ll file a fucking police report.’

He clears his throat with a click. ‘Who—is that?’

Minho rolls his eyes and Changbin feels his cheeks grow even hotter. ‘Hyunjin,’ he says. ‘She’s
one of Ji’s friends. Have you never met her before?’

He shakes his head because he would definitely remember if he’d ever been introduced to her.
‘She’s—’ His tongue is a Gordian knot in his mouth that he can’t talk around. ‘Tall,’ he finishes
lamely.

Tall really doesn’t even begin to describe it. She’s wearing a cornflower blue milkmaid dress that
makes Changbin believe in God. There’s some kind of glitter on her cheekbones, or maybe she’s
just naturally ethereal and shimmery. He wouldn’t be surprised. Silver bracelets loop around her
slender wrists and a dark tattoo swirls up her forearm but he’s too far away to make out the details
of it.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Minho says.

He blinks. ‘What does she, uh, do?’

She must be a model. She’s tall enough. And stunning. God, she’s so stunning. Changbin’s
muscles are liquefying at the sight of her legs in that dress and his tongue is getting all tangled
again. If she looked straight at him, he’d probably just die.

‘Fine arts,’ Minho says. ‘I think. You’ll have to brush up on your knowledge about the Post-
Impressionists. Hah,’ he snickers, ‘brush up. Get it? ‘Cause she paints?’

‘Yeah,’ Changbin says absentmindedly, not actually paying attention to Minho’s shitty jokes. His
eyes have drifted back to Hyunjin, lingering on her sharp cheekbones and white teeth. Her high
ponytail bobs when she tosses her head, talking animatedly with Jisu, and he trails the movement
with his eyes. ‘Very funny, Hyung. Is she single?’

‘Far as I know,’ he says.

He looks over at Minho again. ‘Be honest now,’ he says, flustered embarrassment coiling in his
belly. ‘Do you think I have a chance?’
Minho looks him over. ‘Hard to tell.’ He tilts his head. ‘But hey, give it a shot. Maybe she’s into
short idiots.’

‘Cheers,’ he says. ‘You’ve really got the art of encouragement down to a T.’

‘Yup.’ He gives Changbin’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘That’s me. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need a
pick-me-up after she turns you down.’
 2min, explicit, praise
Chapter Notes

minho/seungmin, explicit, praise kink.

Minho is achingly beautiful and Seungmin will never tell him so. It’s not that he doesn’t want to,
it’s just—that’s not how they work, really, or it’s not how Seungmin works. He can’t just tell
someone that he likes them. He can drop hints, but the hints are usually so subtle that most ordinary
people wouldn’t pick up on them.

Maybe he would like to say it, though.

Maybe he would like to hear it even more.

‘You’re doing so well,’ Minho murmurs, pressing a kiss just below Seungmin’s ear. ‘Baby, you’re
doing so well for me.’

Seungmin shivers. It’s not just because of the praise—it’s everything. Minho’s eerie sixth sense,
the way he’s so tuned in to all of Seungmin’s intricacies, pinpointing exactly what he needs with
seismic precision.

His eyelashes flutter and he exhales a soft sigh. It bleeds into a choked-off whine when Minho
readjusts his grip on his waist and rolls his hips, fucking so deep inside Seungmin he feels split
open.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind being eviscerated by him. Maybe that’s what love is.

Not that he’d ever use that word, no, but—

‘Baby,’ Minho says again, and Seungmin’s body feels like a tuning fork. ‘You feel so fucking
good. Ah, just look at you—you’re so pretty like this. You close, Seungminnie?’

He keeps vibrating. His tongue darts out and he blinks open his eyes, catching Minho’s gaze,
clenching down on him. ‘Yeah, ‘m—close.’

‘Good boy,’ Minho says. He pulls halfway out and fucks back inside with a wet, wet squelch.
‘You’re so tight, baby, you feel so good—’

Seungmin curls his legs around him and tips his head back, neck bared. ‘Tell me—’ he rasps, ‘tell
me I’m—’

But he can’t say the rest. He can’t. He wants to, but it’s greedy, and he can’t be—

‘You’re so good,’ Minho says, like he knows, because he always knows. ‘You’re so good, baby.
You’re so good for me, always.’

Seungmin cries out, his dick twitching against his belly. His thoughts evaporate and his eyes drift
shut again.
‘I want you to come for me,’ he whispers, mouth slanted against Seungmin’s own. Wet and hot and
perfect. ‘You deserve it, baby. Let me make you feel good. Let me make you come.’
 minsung, mature
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung, mature, aftercare. note: daddy kink and jisung calls minho dad.

Swathed in the post-sex fog of subspace, Jisung’s lips tug into a giddy smile when Minho wraps an
arm around him and pulls him closer to cuddle.

‘There you are, baby,’ he murmurs, smudging a kiss to his forehead. ‘I’ve got you.’

‘Mmmm.’ He wriggles slightly, swinging a leg over Minho’s body to get as close as physically
possible. Closer still. Impossibly close. So close the line between them blurs away, just as reality
has blurred and suspended itself, the moment right now soaked in liminality. ‘Mm ‘m good. ‘m
good?’

‘You’re so good,’ Minho says. He kisses him again and ruffles a hand through his hair. ‘You did
so well, sweetheart.’

The praise glows through him till he’s all dizzy with it. Soreness starts to set in, his body still slack
and fucked-out. His hole clenches around the plug Minho stuffed him with, his cum inside him, a
sign of that possessive streak that makes Jisung so light-headed. He likes feeling owned, being
marked-up and spoiled like this. He likes all the physical evidence of Minho’s love.

‘You’re the best boy in the world, Jisungie.’

He sighs contentedly, nudging his nose against Minho’s collarbone. ‘Daddy,’ he mumbles. ‘Mmm
feel good. All floaty.’

He brushes his hand over his head again. ‘Yeah, you can just float now, love. You’re safe here.’

‘Mmm safe.’ His tongue flicks out to wet his lips and he yawns. ‘Safe with m’dad. Love you.’

Minho’s hand stills. He squeezes Jisung tighter again and there’s something strained about his
voice when he says, ‘that’s right, baby. Daddy’s gonna keep you safe.’

Another soft giggle trips from him. ‘Dad,’ he says. Everything is still so hazy. He doesn’t think
about what he’s saying and here, now, in this in-between space, he doesn’t feel shame either. Guilt
and worries can’t get to him, because Minho is hugging him and Minho just fucked him stupid and
Minho always takes such good care of him. He dispels all the anxiety. He’s safe, safe, safe, he’s
the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he’s his pole star, he’s his soul mate, he’s—‘Dad,’ he
says again, not shy about it, nuzzling closer. ‘D’you love me?’

‘Yeah,’ he says immediately, ‘of course, baby.’ A second passes in silence—or maybe more or
maybe less because temporality has no hold on them—and then his voice cracks a little when he
says, ‘I’m your dad, yeah?’

‘Mm-hm,’ Jisung agrees. ‘‘Course.’

‘Okay, kiddo,’ Minho says. He gives his body another squeeze and presses a kiss to his forehead.
‘Come here, then. Give your dad a big kiss.’

Jisung shifts around and blinks his eyes open, flashing Minho a wide smile. He kisses him on the
mouth and sighs into it, then lies back down with his head on his chest. ‘Nap time? ‘m sleepy.’

He runs his hand over Jisung’s back. ‘We really ought to shower, sweetheart.’

‘No,’ he says, face scrunching up. ‘I’m comfy. And sore. Please, Daddy.’

Minho sighs. ‘Fine,’ he says. ‘Okay. Close your eyes then.’

‘They’re already closed.’

‘Sweet dreams, baby.’

‘Gonna dream about you, Dad,’ he mumbles as sleep catches hold of him and starts to drag him
under.
 jilix, explicit, feminisation
Chapter Notes

jisung/felix, explicit, feminisation + oppa kink + chastity devices.

The tennis skirt is the same shade of blush pink as the plastic cage secured tightly around Jisung’s
cock. Gnawing on his lip, he fidgets with the elastic band of his white knee sock and does his best
to avoid Felix’s eyes.

Felix had picked the skirt to match the cage and completed the outfit with a white baby tee and a
flick of mascara to Jisung’s lashes. Pretty, he’d called him. Pretty girl.

Jisung’s belly twists with sick desire. If it weren’t for the cage, he’d be so achingly hard, twitching
against his belly. Now, he just aches.

‘F-Felix,’ he mumbles, eyes squeezed shut. He balls his hands into fists. ‘I—I—’ He isn’t even
sure what he wants to say. Felix has been feeling him up, has alternated between sugary praise and
words so mean they singe Jisung’s skin. By now, his mind’s melted into a slushy mess and he
doesn’t know what exactly he wants. He just wants. ‘Please—’

‘What’s that, babygirl?’ he asks, smudging another kiss below Jisung’s ear. ‘Speak up. Oppa can’t
understand you when you mumble.’

His mouth drops open. He pants, embarrassed, dizzyingly turned-on.

Felix manhandles him on to his hands and knees. Jisung is all too willing to obey—pliant and
docile for him, he arches his back when Felix runs a hand up his thigh and squeezes his ass. ‘What
do you need, babygirl?’

He feels so—exposed. He feels so small and needy and pathetic. His head hangs between his
shoulders and when he opens his eyes he’s met with the sight of the fabric of the skirt, so pink, so
girly, so—so good. So good. ‘I—I want—need—’ He runs his tongue along the row of his teeth
and bites his lip. ‘O-Oppa. Need you. Want you—please, fuck me.’

A clicking sound, and then the cold, wet sensation of lube dribbling against his asshole, down his
perineum. A shiver runs up his spine but he stays put, whining when he feels all that wetness start
to slick down his thighs.

Felix puts his thumb against Jisung’s hole. ‘Need me to fuck you, princess?’ he asks, voice so
fucking rough it scratches Jisung’s nerves. It inflames his desire. ‘Need Oppa to fill your pretty
little cunt?’ He leans closer; his mouth brushes his shoulder blade and then it’s right by Jisung’s
ear. Below his breath, he asks, ‘you need my cock inside you, princess? Does your pussy feel
empty without me?’

He jerks. His knees almost give out and he gasps out a needy sound. His cock is trying valiantly to
get hard, but the cage won’t allow it—he whimpers again, pushing his ass back against Felix’s
hand. ‘P-please, please, please…’

‘Please what, sweetheart?’

Heat flares up his chest. His thoughts are so fuzzy. Drool slips down his lolled-out tongue and
drips to the bedsheet. ‘Please,’ he gasps, ‘please, Oppa, ‘m so empty. My—my—’ Saying it is so
hard. The humiliation stings. ‘My—my pussy, please, Oppa, fuck me. Fuck my pussy.’

‘Good girl.’ He kisses his cheek again and slides two fingers inside Jisung’s prepped asshole,
curling them to rub at his prostate. ‘Wasn’t so hard was it, sweetheart? Of course Oppa will fuck
you—you know you just have to ask.’

The remaining bits of his mind disintegrate as Felix fingerfucks him roughly. He cups Jisung’s
caged cock and laughs meanly when he shudders. ‘Sweet thing,’ he says. ‘God, you’re so fucking
wet for me. You need your cunt filled that bad, baby?’

‘Hh—hhhh—’

‘Yeah, I’ve got you, love.’

When he pulls his fingers out, Jisung whimpers. His head snaps around and he blinks up at his
boyfriend, all hazy with need, but Felix doesn’t make him wait long—a few moments later he taps
the head of his cock against Jisung’s hole and eases himself inside with a low moan.

‘There you are,’ he says. He grabs Jisung’s waist and hauls him on to his dick. ‘ Fuck, baby, your
pussy’s so tight for me. Good girl—’ He slowly pulls out and pushes back inside, fucking a squeal
out of Jisung. ‘Aw, you like that, sweetheart? Like when Oppa calls you a good girl?’

Everything burns. He clenches around Felix’s cock and tries to string words into an affirmative
sentence, but he can only produce little uh-uh-uh sounds. He sounds so needy. He is so needy. He
wants and wants and wants and Felix—Felix is so perfect and gives it all to him. He’s never mean
except when Jisung wants him to be. ‘Puh—p-p-pl—please…’

Felix smoothes his hands down Jisung’s hips and spreads his ass cheeks apart. ‘Fucking look at
you, princess. You’re so good for me. Such a good girl for me.’

‘Hhghgnhgfff—’ He fucks himself back on Felix’s cock and drools mindlessly. How he’d love to
come right now. Oh, how he’d love to be able to come. But he can’t, because—because good girls
don’t come. And Jisung is such a good girl. ‘Oppa, Oppa…’ he trails off, whining when Felix
bottoms out and rubs his thumb at his stretched-out hole.

‘My pretty babygirl,’ he says. ‘I love your cunt, baby. Always so wet for me, you always— ah,
always take my cock so fucking well.’ He squeezes Jisung’s ass again and lands a light spank
before he grabs his waist and pulls him back to meet the thrust of his hips. ‘You gonna make Oppa
come, sweetheart?’

‘Hhhgnf ah-ah-ah—’ He feels so full. He’s so delirious and he wants to come and he can’t and he
wants Felix to come inside him and he wants and wants and wants and—

‘Be a good girl and clench for me,’ Felix says. ‘Just like that, baby. Be good now and tell me how
you want Oppa to fuck you full of cum.’

‘H—h—O—Oppa, I—I, I, I—’

‘Words, princess,’ he says. ‘Use your words.’

 minsung, explicit, fleshlight
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung, explicit, minho gets jisung off with a fleshlight.

‘Aw, sweetheart. Does it feel good?’

Jisung jerks. His hips kick off the bed when Minho slowly pumps the clear fleshlight down his
dick and slants his mouth against his throat in a wet kiss. ‘H—hhy-yeah, feels—good.’ He squirms
around, back pressing closer to Minho’s chest, fingers digging into his thigh to steady himself.

‘That’s good,’ Minho says quietly, brushing another kiss right below Jisung’s ear. ‘I want you to
feel good, baby.’

The low pitch of his voice makes him shiver. The slick, nasty sounds of the toy stroking his cock
make him flush with embarrassment—it’s so tight around him and it’s so wet and it’s so good.
Minho stuffed him full with a plug earlier and he feels it press against his prostate with each
squirmy movement. It turns his brain into mush.

‘I, I, I—’ He grabs Minho’s free hand and clutches it. He runs his tongue along his lower lip and
tries to untangle the knot in his mouth so he can say something that won’t sound fucked-out and
dumb. ‘I’m—I’m. So good. Hyung. Hyung, ‘s good.’

Minho smiles into his skin. He breathes out a soft laugh and traps Jisung’s earlobe between his
teeth. Humming quietly, he picks up the pace of his right hand. ‘You’re so whiny,’ he says.
‘You’re always so whiny, baby.’

It sparks another whine that he can’t stifle and his cheeks flush hot with embarrassment.

‘My whiny baby,’ Minho teases. He kisses his neck and strokes the fleshlight down Jisung’s dick.
The lube squelches obscenely. Jisung feels himself twitch inside the toy, feels how he keeps
dripping pre-cum. His hips jump again, but Minho holds him steady. ‘You’re so good letting me
toy with you like this, baby.’

‘Feels—feels good,’ he mumbles. ‘You always—always make me feel so good.’

Cradling his neck, Minho turns his head so he can plant a slanted kiss to Jisung’s open mouth.
‘Good boy,’ he coos. ‘Hear how wet you are, baby? You’re fucking dripping for me. Does it feel
that good, huh?’

‘Hhhh—’

‘Always get so wet for me,’ he continues, mouth trailing down the column of Jisung’s throat. He
bites the tender skin above his collarbone and Jisung’s head tilts back, a hissing sound kicked from
deep in his chest.

‘I’m gonna fuck you after this,’ Minho says. ‘Gonna flip you over on your hands and knees and fill
you up the way pretty boys like you need to be filled up.’
‘Oh God.’ His eyes roll back. Spit wells up in his open mouth and slicks down his chin when he
can’t manage to swallow. How embarrassing. How needy he gets, how wet and worked-up and
squirmy for Minho. Always for Minho. ‘Please. Please, please—’

He works the toy even faster. ‘I love all your little sounds, babyboy. Can’t wait to hear how you
squeal when I fuck you on my cock.’

Jisung’s mind spins. His body trembles. He keeps rutting forward into the fleshlight so the plug
inside him shifts and he wants to fuck himself on it—wants Minho to fuck him like he promised
and wants to come and he wants everything. Desire coils beneath his navel, glossy and dark and
about to snap and overwhelm him. So close. So close.

‘Please,’ he whimpers, ‘please, Hyung. I want. Wanna be good for you.’

‘You want to be Hyung’s good boy, baby?’ His mouth presses against the side of Jisung’s neck
again and he takes his time kissing a bruise there. Everyone will see. Everyone will know Jisung is
Minho’s. All Minho’s. ‘Want me to come inside you, sweetheart? Want me to pump you full of
cum and push this plug into you again so it won’t leak out of you?’ He kisses his shoulder blade
and Jisung shudders. ‘Come on, baby, don’t be shy. Is that what you want?’

‘Hhhhhhyung,’ he gasps. His thighs tense and he can’t keep his eyes open any more and there’s all
this glitter about to wash over him, it’s right there, right there, he can sense it coming and—‘please,
please, can I—can I, can I, can I—please—’

‘Go on,’ Minho says. He strokes the fleshlight down Jisung’s cock and moans below his ear.
‘Come for me, sweetheart. You’re allowed.’

His body tenses up and a wrecked moan tears itself free from his throat. It scrapes out, raw and
needy and frothing into a higher pitch, and Jisung shakes while Minho keeps wringing the orgasm
out of him.

‘Good boy,’ he says, kissing him again, pumping the fleshlight languidly. ‘Such a good boy.
You’re so fucking cute when you come, baby. Want to make you come on my cock. Want to hear
you whine for me.’

‘Hhh, ah—ah-ah-aaahh sen-sensitive—’

‘Cute,’ Minho teases. He pulls the toy off Jisung’s dick just to run his fingertips around his skin,
teasing through the mess of cum still clinging to him. ‘You made such a mess, baby. Look at all
this.’ He brings his fingers to Jisung’s mouth and presses against his lower lip. ‘Clean it up like a
good boy.’

Shuddering, he sucks Minho’s fingers into his mouth and swirls his tongue around them. He
squeezes his hand and squirms closer, whining again at the feeling of Minho’s erection pressed
against him. The promises he made, how they’re not done yet—a whimper sprouts in his throat.
His eyes roll back.

Minho withdraws his fingers to swipe up more cum from Jisung’s spent dick. ‘Open up,’ he says,
and Jisung does. He always does. ‘Good boy.’
 minsung, explicit, hybrids
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung, explicit. bunny hybrid jisung x panther minho. cw: noncon/cnc. it can
be read either way.

His heart thumps. His blood races through his body, his breath coming out in sharp, wet gasps, all
the words he wants to say lodged in his throat. No. No, stop. No, please. But they won’t come out.
He kicks out his leg, but he can’t get away, can’t, can’t do anything, feeling more like prey than he
ever has in his life.

‘Shh,’ Minho says roughly, Minho the panther hybrid who is so much broader than Jisung, so
much stronger. He pins him down like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He smiles at Jisung like
his attempts at fighting back are endearing. Like he’s cute. ‘Shh, come on, lie still—’

‘Hhhh—’ The whimper trips out of him. His hole clenches instinctively so more slick leaks out of
him. Why is he getting wet? Why is he getting this wet? Fear rushes through him, raw and acidic
and he wants to yell, he does, he wants to, but he can’t, his throat is closing up and he gasps, gasps,
gasps—

Minho rubs his thumb around Jisung’s hole and coos at him.

All his instincts scream escape. Escape, escape, run, run, run, get away from here, but Minho’s grip
is so tight, and he manhandles him so easily, and he tugs on Jisung’s ear. He digs his sharp nails
into the soft inside and Jisung’s back arches. He feels like a harp’s string. He feels like he’ll break.
‘N-no, nonono,’ he gasps, ‘no—no, no—’

But Minho keeps shushing him. Keeps cooing at him and calling him a cute little thing as he
presses his hard cock against Jisung’s hole.

He chokes on the next sob. He’s so wet. He’s so, so wet, and his whole body is trembling, and it’s
not supposed to. He’s not supposed to get wet from this. He’s supposed to run.

His leg kicks out again when Minho starts coercing his cock inside him.

‘Aw,’ Minho says, voice so sweet Jisung’s heart stills for a second. He grabs his thigh and digs his
fingertips in harshly. ‘Kicking your little leg. You think you might be able to escape?’

‘Hghfngh—’ He pants. It hurts. He’s never been stretched this much, never felt this full, thinks—
thinks he might split. Break. ‘Ah—ah-ah-ah-ow—’ It burns inside him. The pain of it. The
pleasure. The pleasure he doesn’t want to get from it or—or does he? Does he want this? Is that
why he’s getting so desperately wet, is that why he keeps clenching down on Minho’s cock, is that
why he’s making these pathetic, needy sounds? Is that why he’s not fighting harder?

‘Fuck,’ Minho groans, gripping Jisung’s waist tightly. He pulls out and fucks back into him,
rubbing his thumbs up the sides of Jisung’s belly. ‘You’re so tight around me, bunny. Good boys
are always so tight like this.’
‘Hhgngh—’ Horrifyingly, his instinct is to babble thank you. His brain is all fuzzy. Broken. He just
wants to be good and please. And Minho is calling him good. That’s good.

‘So wet for me,’ he continues. ‘So fucking wet. Are you going into heat, baby? Do you like it that
much?’

Oh God. No. No, he’s not. Nothing would be more embarrassing. Nothing could ever be so
embarrassing. He whimpers quietly and pushes at Minho’s shoulder, but he just laughs down at
him.

‘You can stop pretending you don’t like this,’ he says, amusement dancing in his voice. ‘You
wouldn’t be this wet if you didn’t like it.’ He thrusts into him harder, so fucking deep Jisung’s eyes
roll back and he nearly chokes on his drool-slick squeal. ‘You like it,’ he says. ‘You like it so
much, baby. I can tell. You’d make such a perfect little sex pet for me. Want me to get you a nice
collar and keep you leashed to my bed?’

With his next thrust, Jisung’s body goes rigid and he comes all over himself.

‘Hah!’ Minho says delightedly. ‘How cute.’ He presses down on Jisung’s stomach and groans.
‘Shit, you’re so fucking small. Tiny little thing. You’re bulging for me, sweetheart.’

He cries. Tears spill down his cheeks and he keeps sniffling, because it’s so embarrassing. He
knows. He knows he’s bulging. It’s not supposed to work like this. Minho is a different kind of
hybrid—he’s bigger, and he’s a predator, and his cock is too big for Jisung’s body. He fills him up
so completely. He’s so stretched he thinks he might black out.

And—and—and it feels good. Red-hot flames of shame lick through him. Overwhelm him. He
knows he shouldn’t like this. He knows it’s wrong. But—but, but, but—

Sex has never felt this good with other rabbit hybrids. He’s never felt this seized and claimed and
owned. And maybe Minho is a little rougher than he should be, maybe the things he says are
mean, but this treatment singes Jisung’s brain. It turns him pliant and docile.

He likes being docile.

‘Hhghfnghfng—’

Minho bites the side of his neck and Jisung comes again, a sharp, desperate cry cascading from his
throat.

‘I guess it’s true what they say,’ Minho muses. He gives another slow roll of his hip and rubs his
thumb around Jisung’s nipple. ‘About bunnies. How sensitive you are. How insatiable. How
needy.’

He gasps. ‘Hhhngg uh—uh, uh, uh—’ How mortifying to make all these noises. How mortifying to
become wordless like this.

‘Don’t worry,’ Minho says. He snaps his hips forward. ‘I’ll tire you out, little bunny. I’ll fuck you
till it hurts to come.’

Jisung’s eyes roll back. It squelches every time Minho fucks into him, a loud, obscene testament to
how much slick Jisung’s body is producing. A testament to how much he likes this.

‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ He gives his soft ear another harsh tug. ‘You want me to fuck little
kittens into you, baby?’
His back curls again and his mouth drops open and his hole spasms desperately as he comes again.
He’s so dizzy. He forgets that he’s supposed to fight this. Why would he fight it when it feels like
his body was crafted for this, like he was made for Minho to use?

He blacks out at some point. Around the ninth orgasm, or the tenth, he’s not sure—he loses count.
He loses consciousness. He wakes up again with something like a fever scalding him from the
inside, wakes up with cum leaking out of him with each of Minho’s rough, deep thrusts. Wakes up
to his body still being used, handled, tugged around, wakes up—wakes up to Minho’s teeth
scraping his neck, his voice low in his ear. ‘Ah, there you are,’ he says, delighted, mean, so mean.
Jisung’s heart trembles. ‘Lost you for a while. Show me your pretty eyes again, baby.’

He blinks and blinks. The world is so bright. The pain even brighter. The pleasure so sickening he
thinks he might pass out once more. ‘Ah—ah-ah, no, no—’

Minho presses his finger to Jisung’s open mouth and shushes him. ‘Don’t tell me to stop,’ he says.
‘Don’t lie to my face, bunny.’

Jisung’s head is too heavy for his neck. It’s so, so loud each time Minho drives into his body—all
his slick, all the slick his body keeps producing, all the cum Minho’s fucked into him. How many
times did he come in Jisung while he was unconscious? How many times did Jisung come?

Oh.

Oh, that’s terrible.

He goes still again, spasming on Minho’s too-big cock, sobbing as he comes dryly. It hurts. It hurts
to come now, it hurts, and it burns, and everything—everything in him is screaming for respite.
Everything is screaming for more. That fever. Sharp and bright. An itch so terrible. A need so big it
deranges him.

No.

No, no, no—

‘You lied to me,’ Minho says. He forces his thumb into Jisung’s hole next to his cock and tugs.
Pulls him open wider. Pulls him open so wide Jisung squeals. The edges of consciousness start to
blur again, start to melt away. ‘You lied to me, bunny. You said you weren’t going into heat.’

‘N-no,’ Jisung gasps, terror clogging his throat. ‘No—no, ‘m not, ‘m not, ‘m not—’

‘You are, though,’ he says. Amused. Rough-voiced. Nasty. ‘I can fucking smell it.’ He leans even
closer. ‘But it’s okay, bunny. You want to pretend you don’t want it? Go on. Cry for me. It makes
it so much fucking better.’

‘I’m not, I’m not—’ He keeps babbling it, as if that’ll make it less of a lie. As if that’ll stop the
flames of desperation burning inside him now. ‘I’m not—not, not, not—’ And he cries. He cries as
Minho drives his cock into him again, cries as he shoves two fingers into Jisung’s mouth, cries as
he squeezes his tail. ‘Please—please, please, don’t—don’t—’
‘You don’t want me to stop,’ Minho says, a rough murmur right into Jisung’s ear. ‘You don’t. You
like this, bunny. You like it when I treat you like the stupid little prey you are.’

‘Nngnhngnfhgf—’ He gasps. His hole clenches again, a spasm he can’t control. Sore everywhere.
Burning inside and outside. He’s—he’s on suppressants. So why is his body betraying him like
this? ‘No—no,’ he whispers, this queasy feeling in his stomach, something acidic bursting behind
his ribs. He shouldn’t like this. He shouldn’t be wet and it shouldn’t trigger his heat and he
shouldn’t whimper.

‘It’s okay,’ he coos. How is he still hard? How isn’t he tired yet? Will he never tire of using
Jisung’s body like a toy? ‘I won’t tell anyone, baby. I won’t tell anyone what a whore you are.’

More tears well up in his eyes. ‘No,’ he chokes, ‘no, no, no…’

‘It’ll be our secret, sweetheart,’ he says. ‘You won’t tell anyone either, will you? You don’t want
anyone else to know your dirty little secret.’

Jisung whimpers again. His stomach feels bloated and he aches all over and still—still his heat
isn’t sated. He needs so much more. When will it stop?

‘I’ll take care of your heat,’ Minho promises. ‘Don’t worry, baby. I’ll fuck the pain out of you. I’ll
breed you nice and full just the way you need.’

‘Hhhhhgn.’ He gives into it. What else can he do? ‘Please,’ he moans, ‘please—please, it hurts, it
hurts, it hurts, please—pleasepleaseplease—’

‘There you are.’ He sounds so cocky. Jisung can’t stop crying. ‘Good boy.’

‘Nnnnnghnhnggg p-please. Stop, stop, don’t—don’t stop…’

‘I won’t.’ Minho bites his neck again. ‘I won’t stop when you beg so sweetly.’
 minsung, teen
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung. this is a really dumb joke i'm so sorry

Jisung clutches the straps of his over-stuffed IKEA shopping bag and hauls it with him into his
newly assigned dorm room. It feels like his heart will never start beating at a normal pace again—
everything about starting college is strange and terrifying. Moving away. Living with a stranger.
New place, new people, new everything.

He’s so rattled his fingers won’t stop trembling.

When he enters the room, he wonders if all the stress actually killed him. At least that’d explain
why there’s an angel standing in front of him. ‘Um. Hi?’

‘Hi,’ the man says. ‘I’m Minho. We’re going to room together.’

‘Oh, uh, hi. I’m Jisung.’

‘Cool.’ He offers a half smile and gives Jisung a once-over. ‘Top or bottom?’

He drops the bag. Thank God it contains mostly clothes and bedsheets and nothing that can break.
‘W-what?’

‘Top or bottom?’ Minho repeats.

How does he even know that Jisung is gay? And why is he asking that? Jisung could never ask that
so boldly. It’s—isn’t he embarrassed? Or maybe—Jisung has to remind himself that some people
know how to flirt. Some people know how to make it clear when they want something. Not
everyone thinks that stealing glances at your crush is the same as making your interest clear. ‘Um,
I, uh—I’m a bottom.’

Minho’s lips stretch into a taunting smile. ‘Well, that much is obvious,’ he says. He gestures
towards the bunk bed. ‘But I’m trying to figure out where you want to sleep.’

Oh.

Oh.

‘OhmyGod,’ he whimpers. He wants to die. He wants to pass out and go into a coma and never
wake up. He has to live with this man. He has to share a room with this unbearably attractive man
for the next year and he already embarrassed himself within the first ten seconds of knowing him.
How is he supposed to recover from that? ‘I’m. Um. I’m so sorry.’

He winks at him. ‘I’ll take the bottom then, yeah? If that’s fine with you.’

Jisung buries his head in his hands. ‘Kill me. Please.’

 minsung and chanlix, teen
Chapter Notes

chan/felix and minho/jisung, teen, gym bros and twinks tm.

Minho finishes his third set of Bulgarian split squats and chugs down water. Taking a step back
and gesturing with his free hand, he tells Chris, ‘your turn.’

‘Uh, hi,’ someone says, and they both look over at the short man that’s suddenly materialised next
to them. He fusses with the end of his blond ponytail and looks at Chris with a smile. ‘I’m so sorry
to interrupt.’

‘No, no—’ Chris says, a pink blush already creeping up his neck. He’s so fucking predictable. ‘Not
at all, not at all. What’s up?’

‘It’s a little embarrassing,’ he says slowly, breathing out a small laugh. He plucks at the neckline
of his white T-shirt. ‘Um, do you think you can help me with the treadmill?’

Minho nearly laughs. Come on. Using a treadmill is the easiest thing in the world. All you need to
do is press “go” and then start walking. That’s it. That’s all. This is clearly bait, and nobody in the
world would be dumb enough to fall for it.

‘Of course,’ Chris says, because of course he does. Of course he’s dumb enough to fall for it. ‘Of
course, it can be really tricky.’

It can’t. A treadmill is literally designed to not be tricky. This man doesn’t actually need your help,
Christopher, he just thinks you’re hot. Please. It’s so obvious.

‘You’re a life-saver,’ he says, eyes trailing down Chris’ arms. Does he think he’s slick? He’s not.
Minho sees right through his ruse. ‘Thank you so much. I’m Felix, by the way. What’s your
name?’

‘Ah, I’m Chris,’ he says, the blush now tinging his ears red as well. He trails after Felix towards
the nearest treadmill and Minho hears him start explaining how it works. ‘So I don’t really run
much myself, I’m mostly here to lift weights, but—’

‘Yeah, I kinda guessed,’ Felix says, something dark about his voice. Something appreciative and
clearly suggestive and Minho wants to turns around so he doesn’t have to watch Chris embarrass
himself, but it’s like watching a car crash. He can’t look away. ‘Your arms are so big. You must be
really, really strong.’

‘Ummm, I guess,’ Chris says, a little squeaky. He runs a hand through his messy curls. ‘Um, but
you just press here, yeah?’ He touches the screen on the treadmill and it slowly starts moving.
‘The green button that says “go”. And then over here you can adjust how fast you want to go,
right? So, if you want to just walk, or run, or like jog, or—or I guess, uh—yeah! Oh, right, and here
you can mess with the incline, like if you want to walk uphill, which is great for your glutes, by the
way, then you can do that.’

‘Ah,’ Felix says. ‘I get it. Oh, that’s great. Thank you soo much. Really. I’m so glad you were here
to help, Chris.’

‘Of course. Of course, of course, I love to help, I hope—hope you have fun, yeah? If you ever need
help with anything else, or if you want—I mean, want to try lifting weights or anything, then, uh,
just ask! Right?’

God. God. His best friend is a moron. Minho would never let himself be so obviously baited.
Minho is smart.

‘Uh, hi,’ a soft voice says.

Minho looks around and nearly blacks out when his eyes land on the prettiest boy he’s seen in
months. With hair dyed an ashy blond and soft cheeks and a criminally tiny waist, he looks like
Minho’s wettest dream come alive. He has to remind himself how to breathe. He has to remind
himself that it’s inappropriate to stare at his mouth. ‘Hi?’

‘Do you know what Romanian deadlifts are?’ he asks. ‘Do you think you can help me?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ he says, because he’s not an asshole. It’d be, like, gatekeeping the gym if he
didn’t help this guy out. Wouldn’t it? It’s just the ethical thing to do. He needs to show him proper
form or he might get an injury, and that’d be bad, obviously, and it’s actually really difficult to get
the form right with deadlifts. And form is important. Minho wouldn’t want to be responsible for
someone getting injured! No. No, of course not. No, he should help out here. He should show him
how to do it properly.

The fact that he’s hot means nothing. The fact that he might have to touch his hips and ass to
correct his stance also means nothing.

Nothing at all.

Nothing.
 minsung, teen, professor/student
Chapter Notes

note: age gap, professor/student relationship. no sexual content in this one.

Whenever Professor Lee pushes the sleeves of his white dress shirt up to his elbows, Jisung thinks
he might pass out.

He always has a hard time focusing in this class, because his professor is unreasonably, unbearably,
unbelievably attractive, so Jisung keeps losing himself in hazy, inappropriate fantasies with
plotlines lifted straight from the most clichéd porn. But, then, is there anything more cliché than
crushing on your hot professor?

Even though his voice always shakes, he still raises his hand as often as he can. He wants to make a
good impression. He wants, a little shamefully, to be remembered. To be liked. Not by his
classmates, but by him.

Professor Lee. Well-spoken and scarily clever and fifteen years older than Jisung, which should
make him want him less, not more, but Jisung wants him so badly. He wants to be wanted by him.
So he messes with his hair every Wednesday before class and swaps his regular studs out for
dangly earrings and dabs mother-of-pearl highlighter on to his cheekbones. He makes himself look
as pretty as he can, and it’s stupid, it’s so ridiculously silly, but—but, but—

What if?

He reads all their assigned texts thoroughly and takes extensive notes and hopes to wow him with
his own writings, hopes he can wow him into bending him over a table. The hope is flimsy, but
sometimes it oscillates into something thick. Palpable. Sometimes the hope is so real he can dig his
teeth into it.

It’s not that unheard of, you know. These things do happen.

Why can’t it happen to him?

‘Jisung,’ Professor Lee says after dismissing class, just as Jisung is on his way out of the door. ‘Do
you have a moment?’

His head snaps up and he turns around. ‘Huh?’

‘Do you have a class after this?’ he asks. ‘If you’re busy, this can wait.’

‘No, no.’ Jisung shakes his head a little too eagerly. He licks out at his lips and grabs the right strap
of his rucksack just to have something to hold as he blinks up at his professor. It feels a little bit
prophetic, but that’s just all his wet dreams getting to his head. ‘No, I’m—I have a moment. Or
more.’

He smiles at him kindly. The skin around his eyes crinkles. ‘I just wanted to tell you that I read the
first draft you submitted.’ He sits down on the edge of the table and straightens out his left sleeve.
‘I really enjoyed it. You have such a strong, clear voice throughout all your work.’
‘O-oh.’ He swallows and ducks his head, as if that’ll hide how badly he’s blushing. ‘You think
so?’

‘Of course.’ He catches Jisung’s eyes and lifts his brows a tiny bit. ‘Do you think I’d be
dishonest?’

Jisung doesn’t even know where to look. His eyes, his mouth, the sharp line of his jaw—his
forearms and his chest and he needs to stop. He needs to stop. He needs to take a deep breath and
not embarrass himself in front of him. ‘N-no,’ he mumbles. ‘No, of course not. I just—’ He sets his
rucksack down on a table and sits down next to his professor, an agonising few inches of space
between them. ‘I really wasn’t sure about this story. Second person point of view is something I
haven’t really tried before, and it was a little—’ He waves his hand between them. ‘It felt right. It
felt right for the story, but it’s unusual, yeah? A little unorthodox. So I wasn’t sure…’

‘It was definitely the right choice,’ he says. His hand brushes over Jisung’s shoulder, briefly, barely
there, but it still sets his skin on fire. ‘And what an opening line. It’s been rattling around my brain
ever since I read it. You don’t want to hurt the rabbit, but this is not your choice to make.’

His breath catches in his throat. This is distinctly surreal. He blinks rapidly and runs his thumb up
the shell of his ear, the touch making his earring dangle. ‘I—Thank you, Professor.’ He licks his
lips again. He doesn’t know what else to say. He could ramble forever about this story, the thought
he put into it, but he’s worried about sounding silly. Dumb. A little kid pretending to know the
meanings of big words. ‘Your opinion really—really means a lot to me.’

‘You don’t have to call me Professor, Jisung.’ There’s something about his expression—his eyes,
the curve of his mouth. It’s going to haunt Jisung all night.

‘Wh-what should I call you then?’ he asks, unsure what he’s doing. Is he trying to be bold? He
can’t tell. He doesn’t feel bold. He feels like sun-softened honey. He freezes when he feels his
professor’s hand on the top of his back.

‘Whatever you want,’ he says, just a beat late. Jisung nearly blurts out something embarrassing in
response. ‘Just Minho is fine. I’ve never loved the formality, really.’

‘O-okay.’

‘I’ll let you get on with your day.’ He stands up from the table and slides his laptop into its sleeve.
‘I saw you leaving, and wanted to tell you in person. But I’ll e-mail you my proper feedback on
your story.’

‘I—or I could—’ He casts his eyes down at his own feet for a moment, taps the leather toe of his
boot against the floor. ‘I could come to your office hours,’ he says, a little breathless. He pulls his
lip between his teeth and dares another look at Minho. ‘If you wanna—wanna talk about it. Tell
me where you think I can improve.’

He gives him a long look. ‘Of course,’ he finally says. He puts his laptop bag into his leather
satchel and closes it. ‘No, that’s a good idea. It’s on Thursdays, four to five. Do you know the
number of my office?’

‘A970,’ he blurts. Of course he knows. He’s thought of going every week, but he couldn’t come up
with a reason that wasn’t too transparent.

Minho slips the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then?’

Jisung nods, again too eagerly. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, just the two of them. In Minho’s office.
Alone It’s to discuss his short story, so why does it still feel like he has a date? Office hours are
open for all his students—someone else could stop by with a question. It’s not a date. It’s the
furthest thing from a date.

But the more he looks at him, the shyer he feels. Something bursts inside him, warm and red.
Darker than a cherry.

‘Tomorrow,’ Jisung says, tugging on his rucksack. ‘I can’t wait,’ he adds. Not lying. He takes a
step backwards towards the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Jisung.’

 hyunminsung, mature
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung/hyunjin, mature. canon compliant, minho is hyunsung's get-along-dom.

‘Hah!’ Jisung says meanly. ‘That’s not what your mum said last night.’

‘Hannie,’ Minho interrupts. Voice like a blade. Voice so sweet it ices you. ‘Don’t talk about Ms
Hwang like that. She’s a nice woman. She wouldn’t go for a guy like you.’

Jisung grinds his teeth. Hyunjin is being annoying and Jisung is just defending himself and of
course Minho would take Hyunjin’s side in the argument. Of course. Because the entire world is
always stacked against Jisung. ‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘I got confused. I wasn’t fucking Hyunjin’s
mum last night; that was last week. Yesterday I was fucking yours.’

Very slowly, Minho grabs the back of his neck. ‘Cute,’ he says. ‘It’s really fucking cute you think
anyone would believe that you know how to make a woman come.’ His lips flit into his most
dangerous smile. ‘Get on your knees, Hannie.’ He turns his head. ‘Hyunjin-ah, come over here.
You’re not off the fucking hook either.’

‘Nuh-uh,’ he whines, but he shuffles closer to the couch. He digs his elbow into Jisung’s side when
he kneels down next to him. ‘I hate you.’

‘You wanna be me,’ Jisung snaps.

‘Why would I wanna be you?’ His cheeks flush. In anger or embarrassment, Jisung can’t tell.
Maybe a little bit of both. ‘You have a shitty gag reflex and you can’t dance.’

‘Hyung likes it when I choke on his cock,’ Jisung says.

‘Hyung likes it more when I deepthroat him.’

‘Hyung likes it the most when you both keep your fucking mouths shut,’ Minho snaps. ‘Quit it.
I’m not running a kindergarten.’

‘It’s Han’s fault—’

‘I said quit it,’ Minho cuts him off. ‘Kiss each other.’

Jisung folds his arms over his chest.

Hyunjin pulls a face.

‘I said,’ Minho says, and leans back in his seat. ‘Kiss each other. Right now. I’m tired of listening
to your squabbling. Use your mouths for something better or I’ll get the duct tape.’

‘Han would like that,’ Hyunjin says. ‘Han wants to be your little basement pet.’

‘Fuck you,’ he spits, something hot burning inside his belly. Anger, yes, and something else.
Something he doesn’t want to look at.
Minho grabs them both by the hair and pushes their heads together. ‘I told you to shut up. Don’t
make me repeat myself again.’

Jisung gasps. Okay. Okay. Reluctantly, he slots his mouth against Hyunjin’s. He makes a frustrated
noise. He doesn’t want to be the first to part his lips, but Hyunjin seems to have the same idea.

‘With tongue,’ Minho says, tugging on his hair. ‘Get nasty for me. I want to watch you get needy.’

He wants to complain. He wants to tell him he’s being stupid, but then—then he doesn’t really
want to, not at all. He likes when Minho takes charge. Likes when Minho forces them together like
this, loses patience with their bickering, tells them what to do. Tells them how to be good. So
Jisung parts his lips and licks into Hyunjin’s mouth; he makes another sigh, high and needy, and
presses closer. He breathes in Hyunjin’s perfume, sweeter than Jisung’s own, all vanilla bean and
orchids. ‘Ah—ah—’

Hyunjin echoes his whine. ‘Hhngh—’

‘That’s better,’ Minho says. He eases up the tight hold on Jisung’s hair, just enough for him to
move his head a little more freely, to kiss Hyunjin deeper. ‘Much better.’

Desire stirs inside him. His dick twitches against his thigh and his hips kick forward, just a little,
but of course Minho notices. He always notices everything. He laughs above them.

‘Here’s an idea,’ he says. ‘Jisung-ah, since you talk such a big fucking game about all the pussy
you get, why don’t you show Hyung that you know how to use your mouth. Hyunjin, come here.
Hannie is going to make you feel good.’

‘I’m what?’ he says indignantly. ‘I’m not—I don’t—’

‘You think you can’t do it?’ Minho asks. ‘Is that it? But I thought you fucked his mum and my
mum. I thought you were soo fucking good in bed, Jisung-ah.’

‘F-fuck you.’ He ducks his head. He burns.

‘Oh, I will,’ he says cheerfully. ‘Later. Hyung will fuck you both as long as you behave. Okay?’ He
yanks on Jisung’s hair to make him look up at him. ‘You get to start. You get to suck Hyunjin’s
dick. He won’t get to come, of course. Brats don’t get to fucking come.’

‘Nnnhjgngjghg—’ Hyunjin blinks his big, pretty eyes rapidly. ‘No-no. No.’

‘Yes,’ Minho says. ‘And once you’re dumb and denied, you get to suck Hannie off, too.’ He looks
back at Jisung. ‘That’s right, you won’t fucking get to come either. If you wanted to come, you
shouldn’t have been so annoying earlier. Next time you start a fight with Hyunjin, I’ll cage your
dick.’

He gasps. He sways a little, and grabs the couch so he doesn’t topple over. ‘Hyung,’ he whines.
‘Hyung-ah, that’s not fair.’

‘Since when do I play fair?’ he snaps. ‘You want a fair fight, go fuck with Channie.’ He grabs
Hyunjin’s wrist and pulls him up to sit on the couch. ‘Come here. Get out of your clothes and let
Hannie show us just how bad his gag reflex is.’

‘It’s not—’ He curls his hands into fists. He’s so hard it hurts now, this ache that’s hard to ignore.
This ache that’s delicious to ignore. He eyes Hyunjin’s dick and his throat smarts in expectation.
It’s a good thing they’re not recording anything tomorrow.
‘Show us,’ Minho says, manhandling him in between Hyunjin’s legs. ‘Be a good boy and stop
talking. Make Hyung proud, baby.’

‘Hhgnfhgnfjgn.’ His eyes roll back. Not fair. Not fair that Minho knows exactly what gets to him.
Exactly how to play with him. ‘Hyung-ah, please.’

Minho waves his hand at him. ‘Go on now. I’m waiting.’

Tears spill down his cheeks as he tries to fit more of Hyunjin’s cock down his throat. He keeps
choking on him, and it’s embarrassing. It’s embarrassing because Minho points it out. He tells him
how pathetic he is, how he made such a big fuss about being a good lay and then he can’t even
suck dick without gagging.

And—Jisung likes it. The sting of the humiliation. Minho’s mean voice mingling with Hyunjin’s
small moans, raspy as Jisung licks at the wet head of his cock. Reality feels a little fuzzy around
the edges by now.

‘Han-ah,’ Minho croons. ‘Pretty boy. You’re so pretty when you cry like this.’

He makes another strangled, needy sound and pulls off Hyunjin’s dick to wipe at his eyes. ‘You’re
—mean,’ he mumbles, blinking away the stars in his vision. ‘Why do I have to—’

Minho’s fingers tug on his hair sharply. ‘I told you you’re pretty when you cry,’ he says. ‘Not
when you talk. Go on.’

‘Ngnhngnhgg—’ It’s not fair. How can he just talk like that? It’s so—it’s so dizzying Jisung can
barely keep his eyes open. And he wants to say something in return, wants to spit at him, but he
can’t make himself do it. The snappy tone won’t materialise. He wants to be cocksure and brazen
and untameable, but desire makes him fold. Desire makes him desperate to prove himself. He licks
his own lips and leans closer to mouth at Hyunjin’s cock again; he suckles the tip and slides him to
the back of his tongue, blinking just once and catching Hyunjin’s eyes.

A small furrow wrinkles the skin between his eyebrows. He bites his lip to smother a moan, but his
hips jerk forward and gives his pleasure away.

Jisung bobs his head slowly. He looks over at Minho instead, and his stomach flips. That dark
gaze. Those shrewd eyes. His mouth twitches into a mean smile and he pinches Jisung’s nose shut,
arching a brow at him.

He wants to pull off. He wants to gasp for breath, but—he can’t disappoint him. Not again. He told
him he’s pretty when he cries. Maybe he also thinks he’s pretty when he’s afraid. So he pushes
through the panic and chokes himself on Hyunjin’s cock. His throat smarts. His eyes burn; hot tears
squeezing out and streaking down his cheeks.

‘Good boy,’ Minho says, and finally allows him air again. He turns his head to look at Hyunjin and
gives his thigh a squeeze. ‘How’re you feeling, Hyunjin-ah? Getting close?’

‘Nnghngfhffn-no.’ He shakes his head decisively. ‘No. No, Hannie can’t—can’t make me come.’
Jisung nearly bites his dick. He pulls off and spits, ‘fuck you.’ His words come out garbled, though.
Pathetically hoarse already.

‘You wish,’ Hyunjin says.

‘Enough.’ Minho digs his nails into Hyunjin’s skin and he jolts. He looks back at Jisung and gives
him a smile, and then—then he reaches down and slides his thumb into Jisung’s mouth. He presses
on his tongue so harshly he gags again; spit wells up and spills down his chin, sticky and wet.

Jisung doesn’t even blink. He tries to make a sound, but he only manages an aborted moan—
embarrassingly, his dick jumps. His underwear is a mess by now. He closes his eyes to avoid the
way they’re looking at him. Minho’s mean amusement. Hyunjin’s—something mocking about his
gaze. Like Jisung is so pathetic.

‘Aw,’ Hyunjin says. ‘Your gag reflex is shit, Hannie. I can’t believe Hyung hasn’t managed to train
that out of you yet.’

It burns inside him. Stupefies him, a wet gasp trickling out of his open mouth.

‘I said enough, Hyunjin,’ Minho snaps. He withdraws his thumb from Jisung’s mouth to press it
against his soft cheek instead as he slides three fingers on to his tongue. Too much. Too—much.

Jisung whimpers as Minho plays with his tongue; all the fight leaves his body as he tugs around his
head. His mouth is so full. He can’t stop drooling. He wants to say something; wants to beg him to
stop. Wants to beg him for more. ‘Nnghgfnhgnfgfffff—’

‘So cute,’ Minho coos over him. With his fingers hooked inside his mouth, he shakes Jisung’s
head. He goes limp. It’s so embarrassing. How limp he is, how docile and doll-like. ‘Isn’t he cute,
Hyunjin-ah? How could you be mean to a boy this pretty?’ He looks over at him. ‘I bet it’s ‘cause
you’re jealous.’

‘N-no,’ he says, shaking his head. A flush rises in his cheek. His cock jumps, and Jisung kind of
wants it in his mouth again. Wants to suck him off until he comes. Then Minho would punish him,
because he told him not to come—and that’s good. He wants to see Hyunjin punished. ‘No, I’m
—not. Not jealous of him.’

‘No?’ He removes his fingers from Jisung’s mouth and wipes the spit off on Hyunjin’s thigh. He
flicks at the head of his dick and grabs him by the cheeks, twisting his head to the side. ‘I think
you are, though. But don’t worry. Hyung will make you cry too. Then you’ll be just as pretty as
Hannie.’

Jisung’s eyes roll back and he slumps forward, head bumping into Hyunjin’s thigh. Pretty. He’s
pretty. He wants to be so pretty. He wants to be good. He also wants to see Hyunjin cry. He tongues
at his dick again, hollowing his cheeks around the tip.

‘I’m—p-prettier than him,’ Hyunjin says, strangled. Worked-up. Clearly affected. ‘You know that.’

‘You’d be prettier crying,’ he says flatly. ‘You’d be prettier begging me to stop.’

Hyunjin gasps. ‘H-Hyung.’

‘That’s what you want, right? That’s what it’ll take to put you in your fucking place, isn’t it?’

His head tilts back. He makes a soft sound.

Jisung strains his throat. He still gags around him, working his hands around the part of him that
won’t fit in his mouth. But he can make him come. He can. He can.

He wants to prove himself.

He can prove himself.

‘Good boy,’ Minho says, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.
 seungchan, gen
Chapter Notes

seungmin/chan, gen, seungmin has a new co-worker.

He had his suspicions this morning, but he decided to follow his mother’s usual advice and ‘stay
optimistic.’ Now, though? Now Seungmin isn’t so optimistic any more.

See, the thing is—he has a new co-worker. This buff guy with bleached curls and a big, toothy grin
that dimples both his cheeks. Yeah, all right, he’s attractive, but that’s not the point. The point is
that he gets on the Line 1 Subway train at the same station as Seungmin does. They get out at the
same station too, for the obvious reason that they now work in the same office. Are you following?
Don’t dawdle. The point is that they have the exact same commute, and Seungmin doesn’t want to
spend it chatting.

He wants to watch dramas on his phone. He wants to close his eyes and daydream about winning
the lottery and buying a really, really, really nice couch and sinking into it and never leaving.
That’s what he wants.

He doesn’t want to talk to hot guys with charming smiles and a bucketful of dad jokes.

So he had his suspicions. But he tried to be optimistic. But optimism is for wankers, because
Seungmin’s suspicions were right.

‘Hiya,’ Chan says, sitting down right next to Seungmin. Why isn’t the train more crowded? Why is
the spot next to him free? ‘How’re you doing?’

Seungmin just looks at him. Maybe if he says nothing, he’ll get the hint and leave Seungmin to his
solitude and silence. But Seungmin wasn’t raised in a fucking barn (there are no barns in inner
Seoul, so this should be obvious, too). No, Seungmin was raised to be polite. A real gentleman. He
was five when he started holding the door open for any woman he saw. He was sixteen when he
started holding the door open for men, too, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is that he
cannot simply stare at Chan and hope he’ll go away. The point is that he has to be nice. ‘I’m okay,’
he says. ‘And you?’

‘I’m good, I’m good.’ The sound of his voice is like the feeling of your toes sinking into sun-
warmed sand on a beach day in August, but Seungmin shouldn’t get distracted by that. ‘Really
excited about this new job. How long have you been working there?’

‘A few years.’

‘And how do you like it?’

Resignedly, Seungmin locks his phone. This episode of My Holo Love will, tragically, have to wait.
‘It’s—a job,’ he says, and then licks his lips. ‘I mean, it’s nice. Good.’

‘Yeah?’ He looks like a fucking Golden Retriever. He smells like orange blossom and patchouli
and Seungmin keeps thinking about summer and salt water and ice cream. Which is dumb. This is
dumb. He doesn’t want a conversation partner. He wants a nap. ‘Nice co-workers? I’m excited to
get to know everyone better.’

You don’t fucking say.

‘Yes,’ Seungmin says. He tries for a smile. Maybe a smile will end this conversation. It’s not even
that talking to Chan is uncomfortable, because it’s not. He’s nice. He’s charming. He’s too
charming, is the point. Well, it’s one of the points. There are a lot of points. Seungmin can
multitask. Can you? ‘Yeah, everyone’s nice.’

‘That’s cool, that’s good,’ he says. ‘So what’re you doing later?’

Is he supposed to have plans after work? He’s going to eat instant ramen and watch TV on his
couch. Maybe if he’s feeling really wild he’ll even drink an orange soda. Maybe he’ll spice it up
with a dash of vodka. Probably not. It’s only Tuesday, after all. ‘Nothing really,’ he says. ‘Just
going to relax at home.’ And then—and curse his good breeding and good manners for this—he
asks, ‘what about you?’

‘Ah, I’m hanging out with a few friends,’ he says. ‘Nothing crazy. We’re gonna watch the match.
Premier League. Are you into football?’

Seungmin blinks. ‘You mean, like—with the feet. And the ball. And the, uh, the goal?’

Chan snorts. ‘I’ll take that as a no.’ He beams at him. Those dimples are a little bit distracting.
Seungmin’s fingers tap against his thigh. Just 28 more stops. Should be doable. Maybe. ‘I played
when I was younger. Now I mostly watch.’

‘That’s—cool?’

‘Into any sports at all?’

Seungmin blinks again. Is this man insane? Does Seungmin look like a sports person? ‘Uh,
baseball? Kind of? Not, like, religiously.’

‘Oh, wicked,’ he says. ‘That’s awesome. My buddy’s really into baseball.’

Seungmin hates socialising. He doesn’t want to talk about sports and think about how big Chan’s
biceps are. They’re, like, distractingly big. Yeah, he’s a sports type, all right. Seungmin closes his
eyes for a second, but blinks them open when Chan asks if he’s watched anything good recently.
‘Eh,’ he says. ‘I just finished Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha, but it was kind of so-so.’

‘Are you kidding?’ he demands. ‘Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha is brilliant. What parts did you not
like?’

Seungmin just looks at him. Shocked. He can’t believe Chan watches romcoms and enjoys them.
What the hell? ‘I mean, it was okay,’ he says, a little lamely. ‘I just wasn’t that convinced by the
plot.’

‘Right,’ he says. ‘Okay, so what’re you watching now? You said you finished it, right? Did you
start something new?’

Well, I was trying to. But then this big puppy of a man started talking to me. And kept talking to me.
And wouldn’t stop.

‘My Holo Love,’ he says. ‘I’ve only watched one episode. Do you know about it?’
‘I’ve been meaning to watch it,’ he says. ‘It sounds cool. I love sci-fi. Do you like sci-fi?’

I like sci-lence, he doesn’t say. Maybe tonight he’ll research alternative routes to work. Isn’t that an
idea. Or maybe tonight he’ll take a shower and think about dimples and biceps. That would be bad.
That would be annoying.

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Blade Runner was, like, transformative for me as a kid. Have you watched it?’

‘Of course I’ve watched Blade Runner,’ he says. ‘Who do you think I am?’
 minsung, mature, voice kink
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung, mature, jisung listens to a JOI audio by minho.

Sleep was always a struggle. When he was little, he’d stare at the glow-in-the-dark teddy bears
stuck all over his ceiling and count not only sheep but also horses and cows and caterpillars and
every other animal he could think of. Teenagehood gifted him anxiety and it only got worse after
that; too many nights spent tossing his own body like a coin, his brain nosediving into panic, his
heart nearly breaking his ribcage. He did everything you’re supposed to do—no screens after nine,
no caffeine after lunch, no naps on the couch. He still couldn’t sleep.

Until one night he opened YouTube and, nearly delirious, typed I am so tired I want to sleep I want
to sleep can I please sleep let me sleep in the search bar. And then he found Minho. Jisung doesn’t
want to be too melodramatic, but he kind of feels like Minho saved his life. He changed it, at least.
With the help of his soft, lilting voice, Jisung’s heartbeat calmed down. He could uncurl his
fingers.

He could breathe.

He could, suddenly, relax enough to fall asleep.

What a fucking miracle.

Sometimes he wonders if Minho might be half siren, because there’s something magical about his
voice. Without fail, his videos will put Jisung to sleep. And nothing—nothing—has ever managed
to do that before.

Now he’s just on the cusp of consciousness and his body’s all pliant and loose. His breathing even,
slow. The track he was listening to just finished, so there’s a lull before the next one starts. His
library is set up to automatically play the next item in the queue; he takes another breath, waiting.
Waiting for sleep. It’s right there, so close.

‘Hi, baby,’ Minho says, as lilting as ever, but there’s something different about his voice. He
sounds—breathier. More playful. It’s not soft-spoken like usually, and the words aren’t the words
that usually introduce the ASMR videos that Jisung religiously downloads to save as audio tracks.
Those words are sweet, relaxing. A greeting of a different sort. Now he sounds hot. His voice
soaked in sex and easy confidence and—‘How’re you feeling tonight?’

It takes a long moment for Jisung’s brain to sift through the haze of near-sleep, but then his body
spasms. He remembers. Oh. Oh.

A few weeks ago, he bought this—track, he’ll call it. Minho doesn’t only do ASMR. He has a
separate, age-restricted account where you have to pay to download the files. All those files are
about—

They’re about sex. They’re about Minho guiding his listener on how to masturbate.

Curiosity has been eating at him for months. Shame, too. For so long, he was too embarrassed to
buy one. Minho (this stranger on the Internet whose real name might not even be Minho) helping
him with his insomnia is one thing. Minho helping him get off—that’s different. That’s nerve-
wracking.

But it was so fucking tempting. Minho’s magical, wonderful voice. Minho’s voice that’s kept
Jisung company for months. Minho, Minho—so of course, eventually, he worked up the nerve and
he nearly passed out as he scrolled through the JOI files. The different subjects, scenarios. Kinkier
ones. Softer ones. Niche ones. He thought he’d die. But he wanted—he wanted it.

And then he couldn’t look at the file after the download completed. He was too shy, too
embarrassed about it, but his library must’ve sorted it into the queue because it’s by the same
artist. Or something like that. And that’s why it started playing now.

‘Ah, you’re excited, huh?’ Minho continues, still playful. ‘I’m excited too, baby.’

From his ASMR videos, Jisung knows what Minho looks like. His full lips. His jawline. His kind
eyes. So he can picture him now—teasing his thumb along his lower lip, looking at Jisung like he
wants to eat him alive. He shivers at the thought, shivers at the sound of his voice in his
headphones. His dick stirs already, and that’s embarrassing, this is all so embarrassing, but Minho
sounds—he sounds so good. And Jisung’s brain is finally catching up and he’s realising what’s
happening. What’s going to happen. And he has never felt this scorched, overheating in his sleep
shirt; torn between kicking away the duvet and hiding underneath it. Curling in on himself.

It’s normal. It’s not a big deal. Most people masturbate sometimes. There’s no reason to be this
nervous—Minho isn’t even here. He’s alone. Nobody will ever even know about this.

‘Don’t think I forgot what a brat you were the other night,’ Minho says, and Jisung makes a
strange, choked noise that he didn’t mean to make. ‘Are you going to be good for me tonight?’

His hips kick forward. ‘Y-yeah,’ he whimpers before he can catch himself, and he digs his teeth
into his lip to stifle any more sounds.

‘That’s good,’ he murmurs, quiet enough that Jisung can imagine his mouth close to his ear. Can
imagine him kissing down his throat. Can imagine him teasing his hand down his chest and
stomach to squeeze his dick through his sleep shorts. ‘You know what happens to bad boys,
sweetheart.’

‘Hgnfhgnfgf.’ Oh God. Oh God. How did he end up here? He was just about to sleep, but now—
he’s never been this awake. Worked up so fucking fast. On edge so instantaneously.

‘That’s why I’m not going to touch you tonight,’ he goes on. ‘I’m going to tell you how you should
touch yourself instead, okay? And you’re going to do exactly as I say and prove that you’re still my
good boy.’

Jisung whimpers again. Nervously, he presses his palm into his hard dick and nearly gasps at the
feeling. He ruts up against his hand and makes another sound, eyes rolling back as Minho
continues to talk.

‘Not so fast, baby,’ he says, a laugh edging into the last word. ‘You’re supposed to put on a nice
show for me.’

‘Hhhhkay,’ he mumbles, nodding along. ‘Okay. Okay, of—of course, ‘m—‘m good.’

‘Good boy,’ he says, almost like he can hear Jisung’s babbling. Almost like he’s really here,
guiding him. Calm and authoritative. Exactly what Jisung needs. ‘Ask me nicely and I’ll let you
get out of your underwear.’

‘Please,’ he gasps, and shame cracks his voice. How embarrassing. He’s alone. He doesn’t—he
doesn’t really need to beg for it. But he does anyway. ‘Please, please—‘m so hard. Hurts.’

‘Oh, it hurts?’ he asks, voice dipped in syrup. ‘Too bad. It’s going to hurt a lot more before I let
you come.’
 minsunglix, explicit, voyeurism/exhibitionism
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung/felix, explicit, felix gets caught watching minsung have sex

They left the door open. Just a little bit, but still—they left it open. It’s almost an invitation. If they
didn’t want anyone to catch them, they would’ve closed the door. They would’ve locked it, and
they would’ve been quieter, but—but they left it askew, so it’s almost like they asked Felix to
watch.

His dick twitches in his underwear as he watches Minho’s hands roam over Jisung’s pliant body.
Jisung’s head tilts back and he gasps out please when Minho kisses down the column of his throat.
Felix swallows the lump in his throat and digs his fingernails into his palm. He isn’t sure how
much time has passed, how long he’s lingered here, how long he’s watched them make out. Like a
creep. Like a perverted freak, but there’s just—something about them. The way they touch, the
things they say, the way Jisung always yields. The easy way Minho handles him.

It’s no surprise Felix got curious, interested. And they left the door open. So.

It’s not Felix’s fault, really. He was going to get a drink and then he heard a noise and went to
investigate. Just that. Pure and innocent. But here he is, now, desire building in his stomach, hands
clammy as he watches Minho and Jisung make out. Watches Jisung shudder as Minho works his
hand down his dick and murmurs something that Felix doesn’t catch.

He wonders what he said. Did he praise him? Hyung’s good boy, maybe. He could’ve said that. Or
it could’ve been meaner, he could’ve called him dirty. Eager. Desperate.

His head spins.

‘Ah—ah-ah,’ Jisung whimpers, rocking forward in Minho’s lap. He’s so pretty, always, but even
prettier now. Flushed pink down his chest, his back arching. Pliant and sweet. ‘H-Hyung, feels—
good. Feels good.’

Felix digs the heel of his hand into his crotch. He can’t tear his eyes away from them. His skin
prickles, and something twists inside him—shame mingled with his arousal. The knowledge that
he’s trespassing where he shouldn’t. That he’s watching something not meant for his eyes.

(But they left the door open. They did. They did.)

‘Feels good, yeah?’ Minho murmurs, and Felix shivers at the sound of his voice. As sweet as ever,
but undercut with something sharp. The way a cat sheathes its claws, but you know they’re there.
All the more dangerous when you can’t see them. ‘Feels good when you let hyung touch you?’

Jisung’s responding whimper ignites a fire in Felix’s belly. He doesn’t mean to groan—he’s
supposed to be quiet, they’re not supposed to know he’s here—but the raspy noise spills out of him
without his consent.

And then—Minho looks up. He looks right at him, and Felix’s body freezes.
‘Hannie,’ Minho says, eyes still on Felix. Gaze impenetrable. Watching him like he’s prey. ‘We
have company, Han-ah. Baby. Someone’s watching us. Did you know?’

‘Wh-what?’ His body flinches and he whips around his head. ‘Who?’

‘Yongbokkie,’ Minho says. His mouth curves at the corner. ‘Didn’t anyone teach you to knock?’

This time, when he makes a sound, his entire body rocks. He grabs the doorframe to steady
himself, but he still can’t tear his eyes away.

‘Why don’t you come in?’ Minho continues. He’s still petting Jisung, squeezing his ass and
holding him in place. He kisses his shoulder blade again. ‘Close the door behind you.’

He can’t say anything. Everything is hot, and he can’t—can’t think. Can only move. He startles
forward into the room and closes the door behind him with a soft click. Catching Jisung’s eyes, he
swallows hard.

‘Lixie,’ Jisung says quietly. He bites his lip and shifts in Minho’s lap, that pretty flush deepening
into a proper red. ‘Um, hi.’

Felix licks his lips. His eyes dart between Jisung and Minho.

‘So,’ Minho says, ‘Yongbok-ah, how long did you stand there?’

‘Uuuum.’ How is he supposed to answer that when he isn’t even sure? How is he supposed to not
give himself away entirely? ‘Not—not long. I heard something. Thought—thought Hannie might
be hurt.’

‘Aha,’ Minho says. ‘Did you now. Well, why don’t you come here and check up on him then?’

He chews on the inside of his cheek. He looks back at Jisung, back at Minho, back at Jisung—
seeks permission, encouragement. Slowly takes a step forward and then another until he kneels on
the bed.

‘He told me it hurts,’ Minho says. ‘His cock. Says he’s so hard and it hurts.’ He levels Felix with a
look and lifts his eyebrows. ‘Why don’t you kiss it better?’

‘Nnhngnhgg you—you mean?’

‘Come here.’ He grabs Felix’s arm and tugs him closer. He keeps Jisung in his lap, but he makes
enough space for Felix to fit between them as well. ‘Or do you just want to watch? Is that what gets
you hot, hovering in the doorway? Watching hyung fuck your best friend? Or do you want to touch
him, too?’

It’s so—so much. He can’t wade through the fog in his own brain. ‘I—I, hyung—’

‘Lix,’ Jisung says. He sounds so pitiful, that little sniffle. The wetness in his voice. ‘Lix, it really
hurts. Hyung—hyung’s been—so long, he’s—he won’t let me come, please—’

‘Oh God,’ he whispers. He casts a final look at Minho’s face before he ducks his head and fits his
lips around Jisung’s hard cock. He can’t tell who moans the loudest, but he can’t tell anything any
more—he hollows his cheeks and swipes his tongue across the slit and focuses on the heavy
weight in his mouth, moaning again. Eager. Desperate.

Minho threads his fingers through his hair and keeps him in place. ‘Is this what you wanted?’ he
murmurs. ‘Good boy. Stay there, make my baby feel good.’

He jerks. His throat contracts around Jisung’s dick, but he forces himself further down. Swallows
again. Whimpers when Jisung does.

‘Does that feel good, darling?’ Minho asks. ‘Do you want to kiss hyung while Yongbok uses his
mouth like a good boy?’

‘H-hyung,’ Jisung whines, hips twitching forward, cock nudging the back of Felix’s mouth.
‘Hyung, please. Please.’
 fem minsung, explicit, pussy spanking
Chapter Notes

minhee/jisu, explicit, pussy spanking + mommy kink.

Anticipation makes her shiver. Her thighs try to press together, but Minhee keeps her pinned down,
keeps her open and exposed, keeps her on edge.

She runs her thumb down Jisu’s soft pussy and coos at her. ‘Aw, sweetheart. You’re so wet for
me.’ She slips her finger between her folds and teases at Jisu’s hole. ‘You’re dripping. You want
me to hit you that bad?’

Jisu gasps. ‘Nnnghgnf,’ she mumbles, throwing an arm over her face to hide her flush. It’s so
embarrassing. Her cunt clenches again, and she wants—wants to be touched. Wants to come, but
Minhee won’t let her. She’s been toying with her for what feels like hours, and Jisu is so delirious
she thinks she could die. The pain is pure and whiter than a flame, the desperation fanged inside
her. It hurts how much she needs it. It hurts to be pushed to the edged and denied, over and over.
She knows what happens next will hurt even more, but she still craves it. Still wants to endure the
pain for Minhee and show how good she can be, how sweet and obedient, how deserving. ‘Please.
Please.’

She hits her without warning.

‘AH!’ Jisu chokes, arching off the bed, trying to squirm away but Minhee’s left hand doesn’t
budge. It keeps her in place. ‘Ah-ah, ow.’

Minhee spanks her cunt again. ‘Lie still,’ she scolds. ‘Stop squirming, sweetheart.’

She whimpers. She tries to lie still, but she flinches when Minhee hits her again. It hurts so badly
she sees white.

‘You asked for this,’ she says. She pinches Jisu’s clit before she hits her again. ‘Remember?’

‘Hhnnhhffff—’ Her leg kicks out and a sob bubbles out of her throat. When she opens her eyes, her
vision swims; even blurry, though, Minhee is so gorgeous. Her dark hair pulled back in a thick
plait, her eyes so focused, the satisfied curve of her mouth. Amused and endeared, enjoying herself.
Jisu whimpers. ‘I—I, I—’

‘I’m just giving you what you wanted, baby.’

She thrashes when Minhee spanks her again. Desire starbursts inside her and the pain blurs into
pleasure—it’s so addictive to endure it. Even though it hurts, even though she doesn’t really enjoy
the pain—she likes taking it. She likes showing how good she can be. ‘Ah—ah, m-mommy,
mommy—ow, ow, ow—’

‘You’re doing so well, baby,’ Minhee says. She plants a kiss right above Jisu’s kneecap and
thumbs her clit, rewarding her with sweet, pure pleasure amidst the pain. ‘And you’re so soft. Just
for me, yeah? Remind me who this pretty little pussy belongs to.’
‘Mommy,’ she says immediately. ‘Mommy, mommy—you, you, ‘m—‘m yours, all yours.’

‘Good girl.’ She kisses her again, and then hits her right where her mouth touched. ‘Sweet thing.’

Jisu spasms. ‘Hurts,’ she cries, eyes burning with tears. ‘O-ow, please—pleasepleaseplease.’

‘Please what?’ she asks. ‘Use your words, babygirl.’

‘Ngnhgjngf.’ She knows Jisu can’t string words into sentences right now. She knows she can’t do
anything but whine uselessly and paw at the bedsheets. ‘Mommy. Mommy, hurts.’

‘Mommy knows it hurts,’ she says sweetly. The faux sympathy sears her, her tone so sugary it
makes her whine. ‘I want it to hurt, baby. You asked me to hurt you.’

She hides her face again. Her hips twitch off the bed, made feral by arousal. Made desperate by
pain and denial. ‘Please—pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, wanna—wanna, please—’

‘I know you want to please,’ Minhee says, intentionally misunderstanding her. ‘Because you’re
always such a good girl. You’re taking this so well, darling.’ Another hit so sharp Jisu nearly jolts
out of her own body. The only thing that anchors her is Minhee’s words, the pacifying praise.
‘Such a good girl letting mommy hurt you.’

‘Hhhhhh good,’ she manages, clotted with spit. ‘Good, ‘m good, ‘m good for mommy.’

‘You’re so good,’ she says again. ‘And you’re allowed to come, baby. If you want to. Do you think
you can come from me hitting you?’

It breaks her mind. She doesn’t—she isn’t—how could she? How could she come from that?
Wouldn’t it be impossible? Wouldn’t it be mortifying?

But Minhee targets her cunt with each hit. Her palm connects with her vulva; she spreads her open
with two fingers and hits her clit, and it—it zings through her body. The pain is so raw. It feels so
good and it feels terrible and she can’t think and she can’t talk and she’s choking on it—so big
inside her, all this need, all this desperation and longing and pain and pleasure—too big for her
body. Too much. Can’t take it. Needs more. Needs a break, needs Minhee to never stop, needs—
needs, needs, needs—

‘Mommy,’ she moans desperately, ‘mommymommymommy, it hurts, it hurts,

hurtshurtshurtshurtshurts—’

‘Don’t you want to come, baby?’ she asks. She grazes her fingernails around Jisu’s inner thigh and
locks their gazes. ‘Don’t you want to be a really good girl and come for me?’

‘Hhhhhh—hhh-ah-ah-aaahhhngngf.’ She flinches every time Minhee spanks her pussy. Her
abdominal muscles contract and everything is so, so overwhelming. Her clit throbs. It’s so intense.
It builds inside her, it’s been building for so long, and now—now she’s allowed. She’s allowed to
come. Minhee gave her permission. She’s allowed to come from this. From being hurt. It’ll be so
embarrassing, but she wants it. She wants to embarrass herself for Minhee. She wants to entertain
her, satisfy her, make her proud. ‘Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy—’ she babbles,
grinding up against Minhee’s hand, chasing the next hit even though it burns. Even though it feels
like she’s one fire.

‘Good girl,’ Minhee praises. ‘Come for me, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.’

She comes with a loud sob. Her entire body tenses and she writhes as Minhee rubs her clit through
the orgasm, hiccupping as she comes, and comes, and comes. ‘Ah—ow, ow, ow—mommy, ow—’

‘I know,’ Minhee says. ‘Good girl. Such a good girl, baby.’

 chanlix, explicit, daddy kink
Chapter Notes

chan/felix, explicit, daddy kink

Chan once said Felix’s heart is like the time between spring and summer. It’s not the most
embarrassing thing he’s said about Felix, and he knows he’s going to say a lot more embarrassing
things about him before they leave this life for the next. He’ll find him again in that one, he’s sure.
He’d find him in any life. Well, there you go. That’s another truly embarrassing thing, but his heart
is made of embarrassing things when it comes to Felix.

Felix makes Chan a better person. He makes his heart purer, because Felix’s heart is pure. Felix’s
heart opens like a tulip in April. It melts away all snow and makes way for joy so dizzying Chan
still can’t believe he gets to experience it. He has done very little with his life to deserve something
so transcendental, but he’ll keep trying harder every day if it means Felix will love him. If it means
Felix will shine his light on him, Chan will do anything. He’ll repent every sin he’s ever
committed.

Every sin he has yet to commit.

And does he still feel monstrous sometimes—yeah, of course he does. It feels like he’ll taint Felix,
but he’s working on that. He’s working on letting himself be loved.

Loved in the way Felix loves him. Loved by someone who loves so eagerly and openly, who finds
pleasure in giving. Chan feels wrong when he takes what Felix offers, but—he’s offering. It’s an
offering. Ignoring it would be crueller.

So he takes. And he gets fucking drunk on it, too—the way Felix gives him everything. His heart
blooms like a field of wildflowers. His body blooms the same way; his body yields and opens and
accepts.

He gasps into Chan’s neck as he drives into him. He tightens around his cock and paws at his
biceps, his little hands, his little mouth so red. Sometimes it drives Chan crazy how small Felix is.
He feels so fragile in his hands. He knows he’s deceptively strong and could drop-kick you with a
cocksure smile on his face, but he’s small. Smaller than Chan. So much smaller, so tight for him,
so sweetly pliant. ‘Daddy,’ he whispers, meeting the next thrust. ‘Daddy, you’re—you’re so big in
me.’

Chan groans. His sweaty hands slip on Felix’s hips and he grabs him tighter, hauls him back on his
cock. ‘Baby,’ he says. ‘Baby, baby.’ Sometimes, it’s all he can say. Sometimes he feels like he’ll
go insane if he doesn’t tell Felix that he loves him, that he’s his baby, that he’d do everything for
him. ‘Baby, you’re so good.’

‘Mmm.’ He blinks slowly, lazily. So feline sometimes. He licks across his lower lip and keeps his
mouth open, gasping as Chan fucks into him again. ‘Ah—ah, feels good. Feels s’good.’

It does. It always feels so good with Felix. The love he feels for him augments the physical
pleasure. How embarrassing. How mortifying to be so deeply in love. He can’t imagine his life
without Felix, doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to imagine a life where he doesn’t get to take care of
him. In this way. In every way. ‘Baby, fuck—you’re so good for Daddy, sweetheart.’

‘Hhhhh—’ A sweet, high whine tumbles out of him. His voice changes when he gets fucked, rises
in pitch. Wrecked and needy. ‘Daddy, I’m good for Daddy.’

‘You’re so good for Daddy.’

Felix catches his eyes again. He looks as drunk as Chan feels. He clenches around him again and
touches his small hands against his lower belly, right where his skin distends. Taking Chan so well.
Giving him this, giving him everything. All this stupefying pleasure. All the love in the world
sprouts from Felix’s heart. He’s bigger than the universe. ‘So full,’ he moans, pressing down his
hands. ‘Right here. So full. Feels so good.’

‘You take it so well,’ he grunts, driving into him again. It squelches, these wet sounds of the lube
that embarrass them both. ‘So good, baby.’

‘I’m so wet,’ Felix gasps. ‘Daddy got me so wet. Daddy feels so—so fucking good in me. Daddy,
please.’

‘Fuck,’ Chan says. He thumbs Felix’s hip bones and looks at his pretty face, his eyes so big and
lovely. So eager. ‘Fuck, baby boy.’

‘Want—want you inside me,’ he says, clenching again. ‘Inside me, Daddy, want you—right here,
want you to fill me up.’

‘Yeah?’ He rams into him again, a little crazed. Dizzy with the power Felix gives him. The trust he
puts in him. ‘Want me to breed you full, sweetheart?’ He leans closer and slots his mouth to the
side of his throat, kisses a mark there. The makeup noonas won’t be happy, but he doesn’t care
right now. He needs to see Felix bruised by his love. ‘Want me to fuck a baby into you?’

‘O-ohhhgngg—’ He tightens around Chan’s cock again, hole spasming as he comes between them.
Sticky and wet, a hymn of overwhelmed sounds spilling out of him. ‘Ah—ah, please—Daddy,
please—’

Later, Chan will overthink it. He’ll be so embarrassed about saying something like that. But now—
right now—he can only focus on Felix’s pleasure. Can only focus on his own. Felix’s whimpered
begging makes him dizzy, makes him snap his hips forward harder to drive his cock deeper into
him. To claim him. To own him.

He’s spent years trying to dispel his own greed, but he can’t. He’ll never manage. As long as Felix
lives, he’ll be greedy. As long as Felix lives, he’ll want to love him. He’ll want to be loved by him.

‘Baby,’ he groans. ‘Fuck, you’re so tight for me. You want that, yeah? Want Daddy to breed you
so fucking full?’

‘Please.’ He sounds a little delirious. ‘Daddy, please, please. Daddy, please show me how much
you love me.’

That breaks him. It always does. He always wants to show Felix how much he loves him.

Always.

Through spring and summer. Through winter, too. When everything hurts and when everything is
golden and smooth.
‘Baby,’ he groans, ‘baby, Daddy loves you so much. You know I do.’
 minchan, gen, littlespace
Chapter Notes

minho/chan, gen, little chan

Chan’s smile dimples both his cheeks and Minho wants to eat him. He’s so—cute. The soft giggle
and the flush in his cheeks and his right hand clutching his puppy plushie. Two fingers shoved into
his mouth, staring at Minho with his big, sparkly eyes. ‘Daddy,’ he mumbles, knuckling at his
eyes. ‘Daddy, ‘m sleepy.’

He’s so adorable. His voice rises in pitch the further he slips, and he gets less shy about everything.
He’d been mortified the first time this happened, because he’s mortified about everything to do
with himself and his desires, his needs. If Chan could need nothing, Minho knows he would.

Minho loves to tend to all his needs, though. Chan will probably never fully believe it, but it makes
him happy to be trusted that much. It makes him happy to be needed.

‘It’s nap time then,’ he says. He ruffles a hand through Chan’s hair and gives him an encouraging
smile, gesturing for him to come lie down on the couch. ‘Here, sweetheart. I think Wolfie is sleepy
too.’

He looks down at the stuffie in his hand. ‘Sleepy Wolfie?’

‘So sleepy,’ Minho says. ‘I’m sure. Why don’t you both come here and have a nap?’

‘Mmmmm.’ Minho can track the hesitation as it moves across Chan’s face. The residue resistance,
the ingrained belief that he should be doing something else right now. He should be working. He
shouldn’t let himself feel little and needy and he shouldn’t let Minho take care of him. ‘Mmm b-but
—’

‘Come here,’ Minho cuts him off. He handles Chan’s limp body to make him lie with his head in
Minho’s lap, his stuffie hugged to his chest. ‘Good boys don’t throw tantrums, honey. A little baby
like you needs to nap when Daddy says so.’

His lips part and a soft, broken noise spills out. The flush in his cheeks darkens into burgundy. It’s
fun to watch him slip deeper. He’s so responsive to it, the coddling. The caretaking. He thinks he
doesn’t deserve it, but he does. And he needs it. He needs it so much.

And Minho needs to give it to him. He threads his fingers through his hair and coos at him. ‘There
you go, kiddo. Close your eyes, okay?’

‘Mmmmk-kay.’ He yawns and rubs at his eyes again, babbling out another few sleepy sounds.
‘Daaaad.’

When he was younger, Minho never would’ve guessed love could feel so much like a heart attack.
But it often does, and it often hurts, and there’s something devastating about the purity of this.
Nobody else gets to see Chan like this. Nobody else will ever know how he regresses so deeply
and sucks on his own thumb and babbles into Minho’s thigh. Only Minho will ever know, only
Minho will ever experience this intimacy, and isn’t that crushing? Doesn’t it break your heart as
much as it mends it?

Chan bites the ear of Wolfie and slurs, ‘Dada.’

‘Baby, you can’t sleep if you keep talking,’ he says. ‘Silly boy.’

He hmphs. ‘Not silly.’

‘Very silly,’ Minho says. He runs his fingertip down the slope of Chan’s nose and boops the tip. ‘If
you nap without a fuss, we can watch a cartoon later. Okay?’

‘Cartoon,’ he mumbles happily. ‘Mmm. And snacks?’

His mouth stretches into a fond smile. ‘Only if you sleep now.’

‘Sleeping,’ he insists. ‘Channie’s sleeping. Channie’s good.’

‘Channie’s so good,’ Minho says. He brushes his fingers down his cheek and contorts his body so
he can press a soft kiss to Chan’s forehead. ‘So good, sweetheart. Daddy’s sweet little boy.’

He shudders and turns his face away, hiding in Minho’s thigh.

Minho knows it’s still hard. Even when Chan’s this little, it’s still hard for him to be praised. That
doesn’t mean Minho will stop, though. If anything, it just means he needs to tell him more. Needs
to melt Chan’s brain till it’s pliant and submissive and small and he’ll soak up all the love Minho
has for him. Needs to make him understand how good he is.

And loved.

Needs him to know he’s good and loved and little.

 minsung, explicit, feminisation
Chapter Notes

minho/jisung, explicit, feminisation + semi-public sex

Felix once said life’s too fucking short to wear skirts that properly cover your ass, but Felix has a
lot less shame about most things than Jisung does. He’s become better, sort of, but shame’s not that
easy to evict once it’s made a home for itself right behind your spleen, so it still sits there, still
radiates, still makes Jisung blush so furiously and curl in on himself all too frequently.

Luckily—well, as all things, a perspective thing—Minho’s got even less shame than Felix. Almost
unbearably pragmatic sometimes. It makes him great in bed and also outside of it, steady and
reliable, calm when Jisung spirals about how there’s something wrong with him and he’s probably
going to hell and stop looking at me don’t look at me stop it stop it stop it I can’t breathe and—
there Minho is, pinning him to the bed and forcing him to breathe through it. So we’ll go to hell
together. Heaven sounds tedious anyway. Eternity is unfathomable in the first place and we’re
supposed to spend it, what, polishing halos? Fuck out of here. At least they have lube in hell. And
there’s nothing wrong with you, for the record, or maybe there is but I like you best this way. My
boy. My baby, my perfect boy.

And Jisung can breathe again, or something. That’s almost just as embarrassing, how easily he
unfurls. Minho placates the panic smoothly, naturally. Indulges every outré thought and fantasy
with an easy smile, huffing, ‘Thought you’d never ask, darling.’

And look, it’s happening again—a spiral of sorts, although not the fretful hurricane, no, much
sappier. Worse. The I’m So Desperately Hopelessly Fucking Gone For Minho train speeding
through the Alps, maybe crashing, his heart convulses so badly it feels like it’s crashing. Never
staying on track, is he. Embarrassed about the short skirt he put on and the way Minho’s eyes
lingered on his thighs and then, bam, here we fucking go waxing poetics about what a wonderful
man Minho is, how he’s the best boyfriend alive, how Jisung would be miserable forever without
him, how he would die if he left him, et cetera, et cetera, doesn’t it get old.

Apparently not.

It’s not the first time he’s gone out in a skirt, but his heart still beats faster. His cheeks feel hot.

Minho keeps his hand on the small of his back and Jisung turns his head to look at him, his
earrings dangling from the movement. Minho’s not smiling, exactly; his eyes drop to where
Jisung’s t-shirt is tucked into the waistband and he presses in his thumb.

Jisung shivers. Then he does something they both knew he’d do eventually: he takes Minho’s wrist
and leads him towards the restrooms.

It’s not the first time they’ve fucked in public either, but tell that to the paroxysm in his chest. Can
you blame him anyway, when Minho walks around looking like that? You’d do the same. You’d
drop to your knees anywhere, anytime, and open your fucking mouth.

He doesn’t do that just yet, but he does press his back against a toilet stall, kicks the door shut, and
loops his arms around Minho’s neck. Pulls him in for a kiss, sloppy with tongue, and shudders
when Minho laughs into his mouth.

‘Needy?’ He fits his thigh between Jisung’s legs to give him something to grind on, which is real
nice. Minho can be so nice sometimes when he’s not busy being a cunt. Or both at the same time.
Layers and all. So talented he is. Everyone’s dream guy, especially Jisung’s who likes them a little
mean. Or a lot. And secretly so fucking sweet. ‘Pretty thing.’

‘That’s me,’ Jisung breathes, catching Minho’s lower lip with his teeth. Licks into his mouth and
grabs his arm.

‘What’s you, baby?’ He trails his mouth up Jisung’s jawline as he teases his hand down his
abdomen. ‘Pretty thing or needy?’

‘Both,’ he says. ‘Both. Hyung, help me get off. Please.’

‘Right here?’ he taunts, touching Jisung’s hip. ‘Dirty girl.’

There it is, he knew it was coming, and still—his body jerks. He makes an embarrassing noise,
hand shooting up to cover his mouth. Someone could walk in and they’d hear him whining like
this, all miserably needy and ashamed of the things he likes, the things he wants, turned-on even
more because of the shame. Because it feels wrong, like he shouldn’t want it. But he does, so
much. In his short skirt and hidden panties, he’s Minho’s dirty girl who drops to her knees
anywhere and everywhere.

‘Right here,’ he murmurs, grinds against Minho’s thigh determinedly. ‘Please. Wan’ it.’

‘What do you want, babygirl?’ he asks. ‘Want me to fuck you here where we might get caught?’

‘Please.’ His head tilts back and he blinks at Minho, almost drowsily. He always drops so fucking
fast. Well, Minho plugged him up before tying his shoes for him, so he’s bound to be a little—
jittery, right, a little skittish about everything, worked-up and desperate for it. Not his fault at all.
All Minho’s fault, really. Jisung’s just a helpless, pretty girl. You can’t blame her. ‘Please, need it.’

Minho hums as he finally—finally— slips his hand under Jisung’s skirt and cups his dick through
the panties. ‘Ah,’ he says clinically, squeezing him as he thumbs at the wet spot, ‘that needy, huh?’

He clutches Minho’s arm and looks at him dazedly. When they walk out of here, everyone who
looks at him will know what happened. They’ll see his flushed face and messy hair and know he
just got fucked. The thought only makes him throb and clench around the plug, jaw locking so he
doesn’t make another sound. ‘Your fault,’ he mutters, ‘got me all—wet.’

He tugs Jisung’s underwear to the side to mess with the plug. ‘It’s my fault, is it?’ He pulls at it,
thrusts it back inside Jisung so he jolts. ‘My fault that your pussy is always so fucking wet for me,
darling?’

‘Hhh—’ He bites Minho’s shoulder to keep the sounds inside. His belly twists and he grinds
backwards as Minho fucks him with the plug. ‘Yes,’ he whispers, throat clicking, ‘yes, all—all
you.’

This is, objectively, a less than ideal place to get railed. But at least the floor is clean and the toilet
closes, not that it matters much when Jisung’s got his eyes closed anyway. He’s turned around and
pressed against the wall; drool gathers in his mouth as Minho toys with his ass, pulls the plug out
and thrusts three fingers inside him.
‘Can you be quiet?’ Minho asks. The head of his cock nudges against Jisung’s rim, but he doesn’t
push inside yet. Meanly patient. Jisung wants to cry. ‘Or do you want everyone to hear?’

‘No,’ he says, ‘no, I mean—don’t want that.’

‘No?’ he echoes, easing into Jisung’s body, fucking all the air out of him. ‘Someone might hear
you, come ask if they can have a go with my girl once I’m done with her.’

Jisung tightens up around him desperately. He’s so full, feels so complete and dirty, and Minho’s
right, someone could hear—someone could walk in any moment and they’d know they’re fucking
because it’s so loud, the lube squelching with each thrust, Minho’s skin meeting Jisung’s. His
laboured breathing into his own wrist, the little whimpers that escape even though he’s trying to be
quiet like a good girl. ‘Please,’ he whispers. ‘No. No, only yours.’

‘I know, darling,’ he says, and bites Jisung’s shoulder. His spit will stain his shirt and everyone
will know, everyone will know that Jisung belongs to Minho, that he spreads his legs for him all
the time, that he’s needy and desperate and owned. ‘Not sharing you with anyone, don’t worry.
You’re too pretty for that.’

He loves the praise more than he’ll ever admit. Minho knows it anyway, Jisung rarely needs to say
anything for Minho to understand. He just makes him do it anyway sometimes, because he likes it
when Jisung flusters and chokes. Embarrass yourself for me, he says, and Jisung does. He likes it,
with Minho. He likes everything with him.

Minho’s mouth moves from Jisung’s throat and closer to his ear. ‘You’re so tight for me, baby,’ he
says, louder than he should be. Shameless. ‘Walking around in your little skirt, you know everyone
wants to bend you over and fill your pussy.’

His mouth falls open. Drool shines to the teeth-bruised skin of his wrist. ‘Do I—feel good?’ he
manages, moaning in time with Minho’s next thrust. The pleasure burns inside him, bright and fast.
Unclean. Ammonium in his mouth.

‘Yes, princess.’ He rubs his thumb over the head of Jisung’s cock and fucks into him, deep, so
deep Jisung chokes on it. He trembles, everything so sensitive and close and too much to handle.
‘You feel so fucking good on my cock, babygirl.’

‘Nngngg—’ God, he does love it when Minho calls him that. It embarrasses him, but he does.
Loves to be pretty and pathetic for him, needy and wordless and just—good. So good. Feels so
fucking good, the way he’s touching him, everywhere all at once, his body always docile for
Minho. His orgasm’s so close. He’s breaking apart at the seams. ‘Please, please, please—’

Minho twists his wrist. He fucks Jisung like he wants to see him cry. He probably does, bless his
heart, and moans into his ear. Tells him, ‘Be good now, come for me, baby.’

Jisung’s muscles lock up as he comes. He trembles even harder when Minho keeps fucking him, a
few more thrusts, and comes inside him. ‘That’s my girl,’ he says, exhales raggedly, as he pets a
hand over Jisung’s head and pulls out. He slips the plug inside him again and brushes a kiss to his
cheek. ‘You’re still on the pill, right?’

He laughs weakly, knees loose and stitched together wrong. Still full but also empty, and so soiled
now. A pretty mess for him. ‘Shut up,’ he mumbles. ‘You’re gross.’

‘I’m gross?’ He casts a long, performative look around the toilet stall. ‘You just begged me to fuck
your cunt right here?’
‘What can I say.’ He grabs toilet paper and wipes at his dick to clean away cum. ‘The feminine
urge to have your shit wrecked by your man everywhere you go?’

Minho snorts. He presses a soft, long kiss right on his mouth and takes the paper from Jisung’s
hand to clean him up for him. ‘You’re cute,’ he says. ‘You’ll also be the death of me.’

‘They call my pussy AK-47.’

He raises his eyebrow. ‘What?’

‘Sorry, that was awful. Forget I said that.’

‘I love you awful,’ he says, kissing him again. ‘You look so fucked-out. We need to get out of here
before I get hard again.’

‘Oooh, what a shame that would be,’ Jisung says. He sighs into his mouth, melts a little in his hold.
‘Wouldn’t want that to happen.’

‘Behave,’ he says. ‘Be good and maybe I’ll let you come again once we’re home.’

He folds instantaneously. He always does. ‘Okay,’ he mumbles. ‘Okay, I’ll be good.’

 seungsung, explicit, pain play
Chapter Notes

seungmin/jisung, explicit, sadomasochism + pain play.

They met when they were teenagers. Seungmin had a bowl cut and a wardrobe full of ironed
button-ups and looked, in hindsight, ridiculous and overly formal, but he somehow made it work.
Or maybe fifteen-year-old Jisung just had bad taste in boys and Seungmin had money and Jisung
didn’t and it was like destiny, or something. Jisung doesn’t believe in anything so stupid as fate, but
things have worked out for nearly seven years now, and that’s got to count for something.

Seungmin’s hair looks a lot better. He still wears those dress shirts, but they’re tailored now, and
when he rolls up the sleeves Jisung gets vaguely dizzy. Memories flood back. Seungmin all neat,
put-together, and Jisung making a mess of himself with a toy, his fingers, babbling nonsense and
begging for his cock inside him.

Seungmin was valedictorian, obviously. Seungmin is shrewd and organised and knows exactly
how to unravel Jisung entirely, how to shuck him like an oyster and keep him on edge for so long
his body doesn’t feel like a body anymore, then force him to come till his thighs won’t stop
spasming.

His family likes him, too. They’ve liked him since the first time they met him. Seungmin is very
likeable, and deeply, deeply polite. Rich people and their good breeding, right? Well-mannered.

For the most part, at least.

Jisung likes when he flings off the manners and gets rough and dirty with him. When he unbuckles
the nice Versace belt that Jisung bought for him with Seungmin’s money and bends Jisung over his
knee. The pain so sharp and delicious. The tears hot, salty, his panting so pathetic.

Jisung loves when it hurts.

There is something very tender about that type of pain. If you don’t understand it—fine. Most
people probably don’t. But Seungmin is good at it, making Jisung cry. Giving him exactly what he
needs, loves.

He puts his hand on the back of Jisung’s neck and tells him, ‘down’, strokes his thumb gently
where Jisung’s pulse is jumping.

He falls down, down, into that hazy delicious space of eggshell submission. No thoughts, just
sensation. Pain, which he always craves. Which makes him twitch and drip and squirm uselessly.
He doesn’t remember how words work anymore, not really. He just knows that it hurts and he
loves it.

‘Good,’ Seungmin says, steadily neutral, before he gropes Jisung’s ass and hits him again. ‘There
you are, baby.’

He flinches. He chokes on a sob, because his skin is on fire, and Seungmin only paddles him again.
And again. He coos over him, and digs in a fingernail, and Jisung’s throat burns when he sobs.
‘Shh.’ He pets over his head again, which feels nice, so nice, all soft, and Jisung curls into the
touch. ‘You sound so lovely when you cry.’

Jisung sniffles.

Seungmin snakes his hand between Jisung’s thighs and grabs his dick, tugs on it. ‘You poor thing,’
he says, brushing a kiss to Jisung’s nape. ‘Do you think other boys get this hard when you slap
them around?’

He hides his face, whimpers.

‘Or just mine?’ Seungmin continues. He lets go of his dick and spanks him again, lightly,
teasingly. ‘My pretty thing.’

The praise turns him giddy. His brain’s like a strawberry smoothie at this point, liquified by the
pleasure-pain, that twisted masochistic desire that embarrasses him as much as it turns him on. The
need to take it. The need to be so, so good. And he is—Seungmin tells him so, tells him how good
he is. How eager and pliant and sweet. How pretty he looks when he cries. How he wants to hurt
him, so bad. Which might seem like a red flag to someone else, but it’s not. It’s not, it’s love. It’s
what love is all about.

And he didn’t know that back when he was fifteen and met Seungmin in the library of his new
boarding school where he absolutely did not fucking belong. But he found out, he is still finding
out. All the things love can be. The trust and vulnerability you have to scavenge for, that builds up
over years, and it is—safe. It’s supposed to be. With Seungmin, he’s safe to want to be hurt. To be
loved in this way, and other ways.

‘Please,’ he mumbles. ‘It hurts.’

‘I know,’ Seungmin says, amused. Endeared. ‘But you take it so well.’

It glows inside him. He is good. He feels so good. He arches his back, presses closer. Doesn’t beg
Seungmin to paddle him again, but Seungmin does anyway. Hits him so hard the sound bounces
around the room. Hits him again.

Jisung gags, and comes all over the bedsheet beneath him. He whimpers as he grinds against the
mattress, the orgasm pulled from him, his body aching all over. He keeps sniffling.

‘Aw,’ Seungmin says. ‘Oh, baby.’ He kisses him, right where his skin stings. Where he must be
flaming red, where he’s sensitive. Sore. He kisses up his spine and touches his nape again,
whispers, ‘stay there. Float for me.’

Jisung feels so free. ‘Hurts,’ he manages, ‘so good.’

‘I know, baby.’ He kisses his cheek and brushes his hand over his head. ‘You take it all so well,
every time. And you’re so pretty crying for me.’

‘Pretty,’ he echoes, and sighs. Sniffles. He turns his head and blinks at Seungmin. Tears blur his
vision, his handsome face. He smiles. ‘Thank you.’

Seungmin kisses him again.

 minchansung, explicit, brat jisung
Chapter Notes

chan/jisung/minho, explicit, brat jisung. daddy kink + degradation.

‘Jisung,’ Chan says, his voice less patient than it was forty minutes ago, ‘I’m working.’

‘You’re always working,’ he says. He had a double espresso for breakfast and an energy drink and
a bag of sour gummies for lunch. He slept roughly three hours last night. If he doesn’t get attention
right now, he’ll wither and die. It is that serious. ‘It’s unhealthy. You should fuck me instead.’

‘Jisung,’ he repeats. He rubs at the bridge of his nose but steadfastly keeps his eyes on the monitor
in front of him. ‘Please.’

‘No, seriously.’ He sounds a little bit delirious. He presses his hand between his thighs and grinds
up against his wrist, lets an exaggerated moan float towards Chan. ‘Hyung, please. I’m so empty.’

‘Be good,’ he says. ‘Let me finish my work and you’ll get what you’re so desperate for.’

He’s quiet for exactly two and a half seconds. ‘But Minho-hyung said—’

‘I’m sure Minho would want you to be good,’ Chan cuts him off, and looks at him over his
shoulder. He smiles sweetly. ‘Don’t you think so?’

Jisung kicks out his leg petulantly. ‘I know what Minho-hyung would want,’ he says below his
breath, and gets out his phone. He opens his chat with Minho and presses his thumb on the
recording button. Then, he moans loudly. ‘Hyung-ah,’ he whines, laying it on very thick, ‘Daddy
won’t fuck me.’

Chan spins around in the chair and stares at him.

‘Ahh.’ Jisung widens his eyes faux innocently and pokes his tongue into the inside of his cheek.
‘Ah-ah, hyung, please—please, I need to come so bad.’ He sends the audio message to Minho and
beams at Chan.

‘What was that?’

He shrugs. ‘I’m texting hyung,’ he says, ‘except I’m too lazy to text. Just like you’re too lazy to
fuck me the way I deserve.’

‘Jisung.’

‘You keep saying that,’ he says. ‘Jisung, Jisung. You’re supposed to call me beautiful darling
babyboy sweetheart angel.’

‘Beautiful darling babyboy sweetheart angel,’ Chan says evenly. ‘Would you stop being a brat and
let me finish my work?’

Jisung looks at him for a long moment. Then, he brings his phone closer to his face and records
another audio message for Minho. ‘Hyung, pleeeeeease,’ he says. ‘Daddy says I’m a brat, but I
miss you. Need you both.’

His phone buzzes with incoming texts.

hyung-ah ❤️
you are a brat
i’m in the store
lucky for you i had my headphones in

He looks up at Chan and catches his eyes again. ‘Daddy,’ he says, quieter this time. All the
performativity stripped away. His eyes feel wet, his cock aching to be touched. Everything
suddenly a little too raw and honest. He blinks. ‘I didn’t sleep well. And I’m needy.’

‘Got that last part,’ Chan mutters, but he finally gets out of the desk chair. He cages Jisung against
the worn couch they keep in the studio. Ordinarily, Jisung tries not to think about the odd stains
here and there. If all goes well he’s about to add to them, so. Beggars can’t be choosers. ‘Ask
again, but nicely this time.’

He opens his mouth. He shudders weakly when Chan places his hand on his breastbone. ‘Please,’
he whispers. ‘Please, I’m good. I’ve been good.’

Chan laughs. ‘You haven’t,’ he says. ‘You’ve been a bratty whore.’

‘Fuck.’ His eyes glaze over. He grabs Chan’s biceps and pulls him closer, tries to grind up against
his thigh. ‘Daddy. Daddy, please.’ He knows how much Chan loves that word, and how much it
still embarrasses him. How he feels guilty about his own desire. But Jisung’s not just saying it to
indulge him and rile him up, no—Jisung likes it just as much. It makes Jisung fucking drip. He
scrambles to push his sweatpants down his thighs and blinks at Chan with big, hopeful eyes.
‘Please?’

‘Call Minho,’ he says, pressing his palm into Jisung’s hard dick.

‘Okay.’ His fingers tremble enough that his phone nearly slips to the floor as he tries to hit call.
‘Hyung,’ he says, breathless, tripping over a moan when Chan touches him again. ‘Hyung, hey, hi,
hi, hi, please, please, Daddy said I should call you so I’m calling you. Hi.’

‘How much caffeine did you have today?’ Minho asks, his voice bemused. ‘You sound drunk.’

‘Cockdrunk,’ he says. Feels a little lame about it, but then he’s quickly slipping, dazed. ‘Well, not
really. But I wanna be.’

Chan presses his mouth to Jisung’s throat and nips at his skin. ‘Our boy’s been awful,’ he muses.
‘Neediest thing alive. He won’t let me work.’

‘You work too much,’ Minho says. ‘I might have to take his side on this one.’

‘Listen to hyung.’ Jisung digs his fingers into Chan’s arm. ‘Yes? I’m good? I’m rescuing you from
work, burnout, stress and stuff. It’s bad for you. You’re a workaholic. And I’m so sweet giving you
a break. So you should reward me. With your cock.’

‘Jisung, I swear to God.’

He pouts. ‘Hyung, Daddy keeps calling me Jisung. In that voice. Like I’m a brat.’
 ‘You are a brat,’ they both say in tandem, which makes him giggle.

‘Prettiest brat alive, though,’ he says. ‘And also the emptiest. I’ll go fuck myself if you’re both
going to be evil and deny me.’

‘No,’ Chan says. His hold on him tightens. He tugs his underwear to the side to get a hand around
his cock, squeezing hard. ‘You stay right here.’

He sucks in a breath. ‘I stay right here,’ he whispers, trembling in Chan’s hold. ‘Hyung, please—
please, wanna feel good. Deserve it.’

‘You deserve to be spanked stupid,’ Chan says. ‘And then have your face fucked.’ He manoeuvres
him around a bit, swipes his thumb at the head of Jisung’s cock, trails his hand downwards to play
with his balls. ‘I don’t even think you deserve to come, acting out like that.’

‘No, no, no—’ He shakes his head. If they don’t let him come, he’ll cry so bad. They wouldn’t be
so mean. They wouldn’t, they wouldn’t—they would. Jisung shivers. ‘No, please. Daddy, be nice.
Hyung, tell him I’m good. Please.’

‘Funny,’ Minho says, ‘how he suddenly remembers his manners when he wants something.’

‘Isn’t it just,’ Chan agrees, moving his hand lazily around Jisung’s cock.

‘I’ll be so good,’ Jisung says, ‘I’ll take you both. At the same time.’

Chan snorts. ‘That’s not you being good,’ he says. ‘That’s you being greedy.’

‘Hyyyung,’ he whines. ‘Where are you? I need your cock inside me. And Daddy’s. Both at once.
So you can feel each other inside me and I’m so tight and wet and it’s too much and I cry a little.
Please.’

‘Baby, don’t talk like that,’ Minho says. His voice has changed a bit, gone a little deeper in that
nice, dirty way Jisung likes so much. Sometimes, he’s so much meaner than Chan. But sometimes
he’s so sweet. ‘Chan-ah, he really is right. You deserve a break.’

‘Not you too.’

‘Yes,’ Minho says, ‘me too. I’m on my way over. Don’t let him come till I’m there.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ he says. ‘I still don’t think he deserves to come at all.’

Jisung’s lip wobbles. His cock drips precum, sticky on Chan’s skin. ‘Hyung-ah. Please.’

‘Be good,’ he says, stern as ever. ‘I know you can.’

End Notes

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