Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Tongues out. Make out for daddy.”

The order landed like a slap—sharp, hot—and both boys obeyed instantly. No hesitation, no teasing, just raw need.

One moaned, diving in, tongue sliding between parted lips. The other met him halfway, whimpering as their mouths crashed—sloppy, deep, hungry. Spit strung between them like they’d been edged all night.

Above them, that thick cock throbbed in a fist. Heavy, flushed, dripping pre over their cheeks.

“Fuck, that’s it,” the man groaned—married, mid-forties, probably with two kids and a minivan waiting at home. None of that mattered now. Right now, he was just a cock-drunk daddy with two college boys on their knees like they’d been bred for this.

They were. Absolutely.

“Please,” one of them gasped—Beomgyu. Sugar baby. Not just a fling—his literal financial burden. Tuition, apartment, skincare—covered. All earned on his knees.

“Please, daddy. Wanna taste it. Wanna feel it hit my tongue.”

The man turned, slapped the other boy across the cheek with his cock. A sharp thwap .

“How about you, pretty boy?” he rumbled. “You want it too?”

Yeonjun let out a shaky breath, tongue sliding out slow, theatrical. “Paint me with it,” he purred. “And I’ll spit it back in your mouth, daddy.”

Yeonjun. Beomgyu’s best friend. Campus slut royalty.

Tight clothes, soft skin, pink, wolf-cut hair, zero shame. Dance major with a body built to make porn directors cry. While Beomgyu was in it for cock and cash, Yeonjun was just here for the cock.

And, well—the cum. Not the gifts. No rent. Just ruin me and leave the door unlocked. He lived for the backblowing, hole-widening kind of sex Beomgyu had on retainer.

Right now, with spit on his chin and Beomgyu’s fingers laced in his, he was in his element. The man groaned, cock twitching in his fist. 

“Open. Stick those tongues out. You want it so bad—take it.” They did. Side by side, mouths open, eyes on the prize.

First shot hit Yeonjun across the lips. He moaned. Second painted Beomgyu’s chin. The rest landed in messy streaks—tongues, cheeks, hands.

They lived for it. Moaning, tongues fighting mid-kiss, licking each other clean like animals. A hand tangled in Beomgyu’s hair, dragging him up.

“We’re not done,” the man growled.

Beomgyu moaned, bent over without protest. Hole already wet. One rough thrust and he was split open in a single stroke.Yeonjun didn’t flinch. He stood, walked straight to the shower as skin slapped and moans echoed. Water on. Steam rising. His best friend getting railed into next week.

And Yeonjun? He kinda wanted that. Not the sugar daddy setup—just that personal fucking. The way Beomgyu was getting folded in half like fucking tablecloth.

It wasn’t like Yeonjun wasn’t getting laid. He was on cock number who-even-knows. But it was all the same. Fast, hot, done. No connection. Just another face. Another mess. Another Uber ride home.

By the time the two finally finished ruining the paint job where the headboard hits. and caught their breath, Beomgyu wandered out. Totally naked. Bruised. Bitemarked. Glowing. WIth his hair wild, chest flushed, and a limp in his step like his spine got rearranged.

“Hey,” he croaked, like he hadn’t just been split open. “There’s still beer in the mini fridge.”

“I hate how good you look,” Yeonjun hissed. Beomgyu sparkled like a raw dick had cured his seasonal depression. Which, to be fair—it did .

Beomgyu stretched, satisfied. “Thanks. Post-married-daddy-fuck glow is real.”

Yeonjun groaned. “I want that.”

“Then pick one of the sugar daddies blowing up your phone. You’ve got a whole collection—it’s horny LinkedIn in there.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “I don’t want it just for the money.”

Beomgyu snorted. “Wow. Growth.”

Yeonjun flipped him off. Beomgyu grinned.

“Anyway,” he added, grabbing something cold from the fridge, “you’re not getting mine. French and Canadian. With arms like that? Bitch, no. My daddy.”

Yeonjun sighed, unlocking his phone with a thumb still slick from earlier.

“God,” he muttered. “Maybe I do need to try something else.”

“Crack?” Beomgyu offered, tipping back the last of the champagne like they were on a honeymoon.

“No. That ruins your teeth. I meant someone with, like… a connection.”

Beomgyu blinked. “So… dating?”

Yeonjun gagged. “With emotions? Yuck. I said connection, not trauma bonding over brunch.”

Beomgyu laughed and threw a pillow. “You’re a menace.”

“And you’re glowing like a cum-soaked chandelier,” Yeonjun shot back, dodging. “So don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Beomgyu said, stretching out, smug and bruised. “You want a connection? Might have to stop treating sex like a group sport.”

“I should totally get a gold medal–whatever,” Yeonjun muttered, slipping into loose jeans, crop-top hoodie riding high. He grabbed sneakers and his phone, multitasking like it was muscle memory. “I’mma go. Got an exam tomorrow for one of my dumbass minors.”

Beomgyu yawned, already half-asleep. “You can sleep here.”

“And hear you two break another bed?” Yeonjun scoffed. “Nope.”

“I’ll Venmo you for a ride.”

“You forget I’m loaded too, babe. I got it.”

“Rich and petty,” Beomgyu said, raising the bottle like a toast. “My favorite combo.”

And with that Yeonjun left the two and headed back to his own apartment. And by the next morning, Yeonjun walked into class in his usual cropped tee and loose jeans, looking flawless and functioning at 40% capacity.The test was easy. Humanities fluff. Nothing to stress about.

What was stressful? Sitting.

Beomgyu’s daddy had ruined his hole last night. And this plastic seat? It felt like punishment. He winced as he eased down, shifting like someone smuggled a fist up there and forgot it. As he scanned the room—half bored, half stalling—his eyes caught on someone in the corner.

Glasses too big. Jet-black hair a mess. Hoodie sleeves past the knuckles. Spine shaped like a question mark. Hunched over the exam like the paper owed him money.

He screamed nerd.
The kind who types in forums, hoards USB cables, and carries an emotional support Nintendo Switch.

Yeonjun blinked.

Something about him felt… something. Cute in a nerdy way? Geeky-hot? Unfuckable in a way that made Yeonjun want to fuck it?

He shifted in his seat, still wincing.

He kind of knew who the guy was—just by reputation. One of those quiet types who always hovered at the edges of campus life. Manga-reading, cosplay-wearing, never-makes-eye-contact nerd. The kind Yeonjun usually spared maybe half a glance before going back to his iced coffee and better taste. 100%, Absolutely. Definitely not his type. 

Maybe I should try fucking that, he thought—then laughed under his breath.

Please! He’d never even considered fucking a nerd. It’d be five minutes of awkward fumbling, maybe a sad blowjob, and then a half-hearted apology about not lasting. Still, the thought lingered just long enough to let him sink fully into the seat without crying out. Small mercies. 

Yeonjun took and finished the test, and it was so hard that Yeonjun just had to get drunk afterward to recover from it. (no it wasn’t, Yeonjun just wants to drink)

Thankfully, a frat boy friend of his—Taehyun—just so happened to be hosting one of his classic house parties that night.  Yeonjun threw on a white T-shirt—slightly cropped, slightly clingy, just the right amount of gloss to make it pop—and walked in like he owned the place.

The house was alive already: low house music, a beer pong table surrounded by shouting idiots, and a growing number of drunk, half-dressed college kids bumping into each other. A minute in he already has a red solo cup in hand and was already scoping out a possible guy (or guys) to hopefully sit on tonight.  Yeonjun smiled. Right where he belonged.

Then he spots it – or more of a him. Something that clearly doesn’t belong

“Taehyunnie~!” Yeonjun called out, spotting the host weaving through the crowd with a solo cup in hand. “I have a question.”

“No, my room isn’t for hookups,” Taehyun replied instantly, not even slowing down. “Last time you did it, I had to sleep in the basement.”

“ Not that, silly,” Yeonjun huffed, grabbing his wrist to stop him and gesturing with a flick of his head toward the corner of the room.

There, slouched into a beanbag like he was trying to disappear, was a guy in an oversized hoodie nursing a beer that had clearly been in his hand for way too long. He looked like he’d been dragged there by force and was counting down the minutes until it was socially acceptable to leave.

“What’s that ?” Yeonjun asked, eyes narrowing.

Taehyun followed his gaze. “Oh. That’s Soobin. One of Huening Kai’s buddies from class—wait, don’t you take that class too? Humanities?”

Yeonjun nodded, slowly. “Yeah. But what I meant was... what’s he doing here? ”

“Oh,” Taehyun said, like the answer was obvious. “Kai invited him. Apparently Soobin helped him study for the exam. Like, actually helped. Guy practically tutored him through it.”

Yeonjun blinked again, lips pursing. “ That guy?”

Taehyun shot him a look. “Dude’s smart.”

Yeonjun kept staring, head tilted slightly.

Taehyun followed his gaze again, then grinned. “Wait. Do you have the hots for the nerdy type now?”

Yeonjun scoffed. “Please. As if.”

“Mmhm,” Taehyun hummed, taking a drink. “Just saying, no way in hell he’d go out with you.”

That got Yeonjun’s brow up. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Taehyun shrugged, too casually. “You’re 100% not Soobin’s type.”

Yeonjun blinked. Then laughed—sharp, scoffing. “Baby, I’m everyone’s type.”

Taehyun raised a brow. “Soobin’s straight.”

Yeonjun shrugged. “That’s never really stopped me before.”

“He’s the quiet type,” Taehyun added, sipping his drink.

“Maybe he’s noisy somewhere else,” Yeonjun shot back, lips curling into a smirk.

Yeonjun blinked. Then laughed—sharp, scoffing. “I’m everyone’s type.”

Taehyun gave him a side-eye. “He’s so laid back. Chill as hell.”

Yeonjun smiled sweetly. “He can lay on his back for me .”

Taehyun snorted. “You’re disgusting.”

Yeonjun grinned wider. “You say that like it’s news.”

Taehyun gave him a look. “Thought you weren’t interested in him?”

Yeonjun took a long sip from his drink. “I’m not.”

Then his eyes drifted back toward the corner, where Soobin still sat—still awkward, still out of place, still sipping from that long-warm beer.

“Good,” Taehyun said casually, “’cause you’re totally not gonna score.”

Yeonjun’s head snapped around. “You know what ? Screw you.”

Taehyun raised both brows.

“I’m gonna make him take me home just to spite you. Fuck you , Taehyunnie.” He stuck his tongue out,and  flipped him the bird for good measure, tossed his drink back, and marched straight across the room toward the couch where Soobin, Huening Kai, and a few other guys were slouched around talking.

“Kai!” Yeonjun beamed, turning on the full sparkle. “How’d you do on the exam?”

Kai perked up. “Not too shabby, thanks to Soobin-hyung here. Dude basically saved my ass!”

He nodded toward Soobin, who gave a tiny, awkward wave, gripping his cup like it might protect him.

“Oh yeah?” Yeonjun’s eyes slid over, slow and curious. “Maybe I should’ve gotten him to tutor me too. ”

Kai snorted. “Aren’t you an arts major? The one on a humanities scholarship?”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I don’t need help.”

He turned fully to Soobin, smile sharp. “This seat taken?”

Soobin blinked, wide-eyed. “Which seat?”

Yeonjun didn’t bother explaining.

He just dropped down—right into Soobin’s lap, the beanbag squishing under both of them with a soft whoomph as Yeonjun’s body molded against his. The angle forced Soobin to lean back slightly, legs parted for balance, arms caught mid-air like he’d been struck by lightning.

Yeonjun looped his arms lazily around Soobin’s neck, grinning like he did this every day.

“Thanks! Looks really comfortable.”

Soobin sat there, completely still, his beer now held awkwardly off to the side like it was about to become a casualty.

Kai choked on a laugh. “Damn, smooth, Yeonjun-hyung.”

“What? I wanted a seat! Do you mind, Soobie?” Yeonjun said innocently, batting his lashes. Then he turned, all faux-sweetness to the boy beneath him. 

Soobin made a noise that wasn’t quite human. “I—I uhh—mmm—no, it’s cool, Junnie—I mean, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun’s smile sharpened, all teeth and amusement. Junnie, huh?

Poor Soobin was doing his best to hold still, but it wasn’t working. His oversized hoodie was bunching awkwardly under Yeonjun’s weight, and his long, slightly messy hair had started to fall into his eyes—soft strands drooping down over his glasses, the fringe brushing just above his lashes.  Okay–not a bad looker.  

“Cute,” Yeonjun said, casually. No clarification on whether he meant the nickname, the stammering, the way Soobin was already struggling to breathe—or just Soobin.

He stayed right where he was, perfectly relaxed in Soobin’s lap like it was made for him, fingers now tracing light, absent-minded shapes along the edge of Soobin’s hoodie.

“So,” Yeonjun said, tone still playful but his eyes sharp, “what’s your major?”

“Uh—visual arts,” Soobin managed. “Motion and graphic design.”

Yeonjun perked up a little, pleasantly surprised. “Really? That’s kinda hot.”

Soobin blinked. “It…what? It is?”

“Totally. I love artsy hands.” Yeonjun’s gaze dropped briefly to Soobin’s fingers, still stiff around his cup. “What else are you into? Well aside from letting cute boys sit on your lap?”

Soobin made a noise somewhere between a breath and a choke. “I–uhhm–mhm–um. Anime? Games. I—uh, I do some cosplay sometimes—”

Yeonjun gasped, exaggerated and delighted. “You’re one of those ?”

Kai, still lingering beside them, rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m gonna go get a drink before I die of secondhand tension. Feels like I’m interrupting a first date.”

Yeonjun, without missing a beat, lifted a hand. “Get me something too, babe—anything dangerous.”

Kai groaned and disappeared into the crowd.

Yeonjun turned back to Soobin with a grin “So… cosplay, huh? You make your own…What's the word? Outfits? Costumes?”

“Mostly,” Soobin said, voice still a little thin. “I mean, I build them. Sew some stuff, mod others. Depends on the character.”

“Huh.” Yeonjun tilted his head, genuinely intrigued. “Didn’t know you had that kind of talent.”

He shifted slightly, adjusting his position in Soobin’s lap—and that’s when he felt it. The hoodie had masked it well.. Yeonjun registered the firm, with a surprisingly toned build hiding underneath all the soft cotton. That’s something.

Kai reappeared a moment later, shoving a drink into Yeonjun’s hand without comment. As Yeonjun reached up to take it, his cropped shirt lifted, just enough to flash a strip of bare stomach and a lean, sculpted waist. He didn’t think anything of it—until he caught Soobin’s reaction. The other boy’s eyes dropped, caught for a second too long, then snapped away. His Adam’s apple bobbed hard; 

Yeonjun smirked and slowly settled back down into his lap—only to pause, lips parting slightly when he felt it. Something was poking into him.

Daaaamn.Okay . He turned his head, mouth curving slow and wicked.

“So tell me, is that a joystick in your pants, Soobie… or are you just really excited to be talking to someone this cute?” Soobin’s brain immediately malfunctioned. His mouth opened. Closed. No words made it out. Just a quiet, strangled sound and a look of pure panic behind his fogged-up glasses.

“Relax. I’m kidding.” Yeonjun laughed. He wasn’t. So for the next thirty minutes, Yeonjun did what he did best: worked his magic .

A few well-placed laughs. Subtle touches, fingers lingering just a second too long when passing a drink. The occasional lean-in, lip brushing Soobin’s ear when he whispered. And maybe a not-so-subtle touch or two.  He kept downing drinks, too—grinning with each one, cheeks flushed, playing up the hazy blink in his eyes. But he wasn’t drunk. Not even close.

Yeonjun could outdrink a fish if he wanted to. He was tipsy on purpose .

Time to land this.

Yeonjun stretched, then swayed just a little too dramatically, his words slurred just enough to sound cute.

“Gosh… I think I drank too much.” He stood up—wobbled— almost tumbled over.

Soobin shot up to catch him, arms strong and steady around Yeonjun’s waist before he could tip over completely.

Good reflexes, Yeonjun noted. Impressive for someone who gave off couch potato energy.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Yeonjun said, swatting at invisible concern. “Just… probably time to head home.”

“You’re so full of it,” Kai called out from across the room. “I’ve seen you down three Jägerbombs and not even blink.”

Yeonjun shot him a glare, mouthing knock it off with all the force of someone threatening violence in highlighter.But Soobin didn’t even hear him. He was too busy looking worried .

“I uhm…I can walk you home,” he said quickly, already pulling his hoodie sleeves down. “It’s not a problem.”

Yeonjun blinked. “Oh, no—it's way too far.”

Soobin shook his head.  “I–It’s fine. Really. You shouldn’t go out alone like this.”

Yeonjun smiled sweetly, masking the gleam behind his eyes. Hook. Line. And this nerd’s a sinker.

He leaned into Soobin as they headed for the door, swaying just enough to make Soobin instinctively steady him with a hand to the small of his back. As they passed through the entryway, Yeonjun spotted Taehyun across the room—cup in hand, clearly watching.

Yeonjun stuck his tongue out at him, smug as hell, like he’d just won the semester.

Taehyun rolled his eyes and saluted with his drink.

They stepped out into the night, Yeonjun leaning heavily against Soobin’s side like he could barely walk straight. Soobin stayed close, holding him with that awkward but solid kind of care, guiding him along. 

Yeonjun’s apartment wasn’t far—just on the edge of campus. By the time they made it to the elevator, Yeonjun was tucked under Soobin’s arm like he belonged there. The moment the doors closed, the silence wrapped around them.

He let out a soft groan—half sigh, half tease—and leaned in, face pressed against the side of Soobin’s neck.

God, how did this nerd smell so good ? Clean, warm, a little like clean sheets and something deeper. Something that made Yeonjun want to keep breathing him in. His lips brushed skin, just a little. Just enough. A tiny kiss, a pretend-drunk hum.

Soobin froze .

“J–Jun–Yeonjun?” he stammered, voice jumping half an octave. “Are–are you okay?”

Yeonjun groaned again, mumbling into his neck. “Mmm. Warm.”

Soobin went silent, standing perfectly still as the elevator climbed, his ears visibly turning red, hands twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to hold Yeonjun closer or throw him over his shoulder and bolt.

They reached Yeonjun’s floor, and with a soft huff, he handed Soobin the keys—still leaning on him like his legs were too wobbly to manage a door.

As Soobin fiddled with the lock, Yeonjun nuzzled into his neck again, lips brushing skin.

Okay what the fuck am I doing? Why does he smell so good? Do otakus have some special nerd cologne I don’t know about? Eau de Aniwatch? This is criminal!

The door clicked open. Soobin started to step back—had every intention of walking him inside, maybe even tucking him onto the couch and awkwardly bowing out. But Yeonjun’s hand shot out , grabbing a fistful of hoodie and yanking him in.

Soobin stumbled after him as Yeonjun, still mumbling soft, breathy thank-yous, dragged him toward the couch. They collapsed together—Yeonjun falling back first, body hitting the cushions with a soft thump .

His arms looped lazily around Soobin’s neck, pulling him down with him. Soobin caught himself just in time, hovering over him, wide-eyed, palms planted on either side of Yeonjun’s shoulders.

“Jun—Yeonjun—what are you—?”

“Shhh,” Yeonjun whispered, eyes half-lidded, lips curling.  As Soobin hovered there, clearly trying to decide between running for the door or melting into the couch, his glasses slipped—sliding off slightly until they landed against Yeonjun’s chest with a soft clink.

His fringe shifted with the movement, swept just enough to reveal his full face for the first time—not hidden behind fogged lenses or long bangs, just open, flushed, and real.

Yeonjun blinked, caught off guard.

Wait… Am I actually drunk or is he properly handsome?

Because that shouldn’t have hit like it did. Not with the angle of his jaw, not with the soft curve of his mouth, not with the way his eyes—clear, wide, and dark—were staring down at him. 

Yeonjun swallowed, the smug smirk on his face slowly melting. Soobin was still hovering, face bare now, glasses forgotten between them. His voice came out softer this time—still shaky, but a little steadier. “You’re… you’re drunk.”

Usually, that’d be Yeonjun’s cue. He’d say something slutty. Something clever. A wink, a laugh, a wanna find out? But this time? It came out simpler; 

“I’m not,” 

Soobin blinked, clearly thrown.  The stammer was still there, but the question came through clean. Honest. “Then… what was all that?”

Yeonjun didn’t answer right away. He looked at Soobin—really looked. Traced one eye, then down to his lips. Paused. Looked up at the other eye. Then, quieter than usual, more real than he meant to be, he said:

“I wanted you here.”

“Why?” Soobin asked, barely above a whisper. And—okay. Fair question.

Why did Yeonjun bring him here? To prove a point to Taehyun? To get laid? To try something new, someone different? Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it. Yeonjun opened his mouth, then closed it again. He let out a slow breath, his fingers still looped around the back of Soobin’s neck.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. But he leaned in anyway, and as he did, he gently pulled Soobin down with him—closer, slow, deliberate. 

“I just…” Their noses brushed. His lips hovered, warm and soft and right there.

“A–Are you sure…?” Soobin asked, voice barely there—shaky, like he was asking himself as much as he was asking Yeonjun.

Yeonjun didn’t answer. Not with words. He leaned up, closing the space between them, and pressed his lips to Soobin’s.

Chapter Text

Cute femboy sitting on my lap—be cool.

That was the phrase Soobin’s brain decided to loop for the entire thirty-something minutes Yeonjun was on him at the party. When the cute boy that he knows he shares a humanities class with just flat-out decided to turn him into a chair. 

Be cool. Don’t stare. Don’t look at his waist again. Did I look again? Fuck. It’s so tiny?!

Stop sweating. Oh god, is he touching your thigh? He’s touching your thigh!!!

Okay. We’re good. We’re good…Nope. You’re hard.

Soobin sat like a statue—beer in hand, hoodie swallowing him, heart going insane. He could hear his pulse in his ears, pounding like a soundtrack to his slow death. And Yeonjun? Yeonjun was talking . Laughing. Whispering into his ear like it was nothing. Like his lips weren’t brushing skin every time he leaned in.

And he smelled good . That part wasn’t fair. Like that Ariana Grande perfume Soobin usually found obnoxiously strong on anyone else—but on Yeonjun? It made his brain slide sideways.

He was sure he said something. Probably answered questions. Motion design? Cosplay? God—had he really said cosplay out loud? He remembered Yeonjun gasping like it was scandalous, hand on his chest like Soobin had just confessed to a crime.

You're one of those? Soobin had wanted to crawl into the floor and die. Right there. In the beanbag. And the worst part? The absolute, universe-ending, dignity-destroying worst part?

He was hard. Actually hard.

This shouldn’t be happening He was straight. Right? Its probably nothing. Its just a thing–oh! It’s a gamer thing! Yeah. That’s what it is. Like when he plays COD or Valo with his friends and they make femboy jokes. It’s a joke . Right? That’s all this is —femboys and shit. It’s funny. Not... hot. Just a meme. A bit.

Totally.

Except he was really hard. And really horny. And Yeonjun kept touching him like it was a game. Like his hand on Soobin’s thigh wasn’t slowly driving him out of his mind.

And then— “Gosh,” Yeonjun said, stretching like a cat, “I think I drank too much.”

Wait—what? Soobin blinked, his brain lagging three seconds behind.

“Probably time to head home,” Yeonjun added, swaying as he stood up. Off balance. Off him .

Wait. Home? Alone? Like— alone alone? He’s just gonna leave? Walk home? While tipsy? At night?

No—that wasn’t right. That wasn’t safe.

Soobin straightened, still warm from where Yeonjun had been sitting, heart doing laps in his chest. There was no way he was letting Yeonjun walk home like that. Even if it was an act—and okay, maybe it was an act—Soobin didn’t care. He couldn’t just let him go stumbling off into the dark in that tiny crop top, smelling this good, and being this pretty and–

He could walk him home. That was the least he could do. Especially considering Yeonjun had just given him the hardest, most humiliatingly obvious boner he’d had since—Well. Since ever .

And okay, sure , this could all be a game. Yeonjun could totally be playing him. But also—how the fuck is someone that pretty and still sound so… normal? Casual? Like, bro-level chill, but dressed like a K-pop thirst trap. Wait. Does Yeonjun kind of look like Mingi from NewJeans? —Not the point.

I mean Soobin’s dated, sure. A few girls here and there. Otaku girls at cons could be...bold. He’d had his fair share of post-panel flirtation and hotel-room hookups. A couple of them had even stayed in costume the whole time—which, okay, he hadn’t asked for but definitely hadn’t minded . Especially since most of them were into the same characters he cosplayed.

And it helped that he looked the part.

He wasn’t built like a jock—nothing huge or shredded—but he was lean, strong in a quiet way. Enough muscle to fill out a sleeveless uniform or a skin-tight fantasy jacket, but not so much that he couldn’t pass for the lithe, angular characters with swords and tragic backstories. He worked on that. Hit the gym, sculpted the look. Not to bulk—just to match the silhouette.

That was the point. Precision. Shape. Control.

Which was why this—walking next to a boy in a crop top, glitter in his pink hair, zero concept of personal space—felt completely out of control.

Soobin was on autopilot. Or—well—as autopilot as it could get when his brain was short-circuiting every time Yeonjun leaned into him. And the hair. God, the hair. Pink. Shimmery. Cut into this perfectly messy wolf style that looked straight out of Soobin’s questionable Yuno Gasai Rule 34 search history.

By the time they made it to the elevator, Soobin was running hot, pulse screaming, fingers twitching.

And then Yeonjun sniffed him . Actually leaned in, nuzzled against his neck like he was some kind of warm, comforting body pillow.

Then came the kiss. Barely there. Lips ghosting soft and warm across his neck.

Nope. Okay. Soobin was officially five seconds away from nutting in his pants.

And the way Yeonjun giggled—soft, high, airy—was straight out of some high school-themed hentai Soobin definitely didn’t need to be thinking about right now.

Do not think about that right now.

Not when they reached Yeonjun’s door and the boy— the actual, real-life pretty boy femboy otome dream —turned around with that drunk-on-purpose smile and slurred out something like,

“Thanks, Soobie,” before grabbing a fistful of hoodie and yanking him inside . There wasn’t even time to react. Yeonjun was already dragging him toward the couch, mumbling breathy little thank-yous under his breath like Soobin had just carried him home from battle. He stumbled after him helplessly, trying not to step on anything, trying not to stare, trying— failing —not to think.

Then Yeonjun fell back into the cushions—limbs loose, warm, inviting—and before Soobin could step back, he was pulled down with him. Arms looped lazily around his neck like Yeonjun did this all the time. Like this wasn’t absolutely frying every one of Soobin’s circuits.

Soobin caught himself, hands planted on either side of Yeonjun’s shoulders, heart in his throat. And then his glasses slipped. They slid right off his face and landed against Yeonjun’s chest with a soft clink.

Yeonjun’s face from this close—flushed, sharp-eyed, lips parted just slightly—

“You’re…” Soobin swallowed. “You’re drunk.”

Yeonjun’s voice came out clear. No slur. No haze. “I’m not.”

Soobin blinked again, brain buffering. “Then… what was all that?”

Yeonjun didn’t answer right away. He just looked at him—really looked. His eyes traced across Soobin’s face slowly, almost too deliberately. One eye. Down to his mouth. Paused. Back up to the other eye.

Why the fuck is that so hot?

“I wanted you here,” Yeonjun said.

Soobin’s breath caught. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Me too, Soobin thought, staring down at the boy beneath him.

Literally half an hour ago he’d been pretending to drink a beer and now— now —he was hovering above the prettiest boy, dude, person, being he’d ever seen in his entire life, and he was having a full-blown gender crisis.

I’m straight. Right?

“I just…” Yeonjun leaned in.

“A–Are you sure…?” Soobin’s pulse spiked. His voice came out barely there—thin, cracking at the edges. Like he was asking Yeonjun… but also asking himself.

And Yeonjun answered him.

With a kiss. Soft. Very soft. Too soft. The softest. Like Yeonjun had been planning it in slow motion, like the goal wasn’t to shock him—but to undo him. And oh, it worked. Soobin’s brain went quiet – and that’s dangerous. 

Because without the noise, without the panic, there was nothing stopping him when he kissed back— slowly , carefully, like he was stepping onto thin ice but already too far out to turn back.

He leaned in closer, nose brushing against Yeonjun’s, lips parting just enough to let the kiss deepen. There’s no voice in his head saying stop . No warning bell when Yeonjun’s breath hitched, fingers tightening behind Soobin’s neck like he didn’t want to be let go.

And when they finally parted—just far enough to breathe—Soobin barely caught his own breath before hearing it.

A soft, needy sound. Yeonjun was mewling.

Like a proper fucking hentai girl.

“Soobie… please, kiss me more?”

It barely sounded like Yeonjun.  Soobin didn’t even have time to think. This time, he leaned in first—lips catching Yeonjun’s in a kiss that was hotter, deeper, messier. A kiss that said fuck it , a kiss that came from somewhere low and desperate in his chest.

Okay—he hadn’t gotten any in a while. Half a year, maybe more. And after being rock hard and shamelessly teased for the better part of the evening, yeah , he might’ve been getting a little too eager.

And then there was the way Yeonjun leaned into it. The way his mouth parted perfectly under Soobin. The way his body shivered the moment Soobin’s hand slipped under the hem of his shirt—fingertips brushing bare skin, dragging up , slow, over the curve of his stomach.

So warm. So soft.

Soobin groaned into his mouth—and before he even realized what he was doing, he was yanking his hoodie up and over his head, tossing it to the floor without a second thought. Underneath: smooth skin over broad shoulders, defined arms, and a solid torso. Toned in all the right places, built like he knew exactly how he wanted to look—and trained for it.

“ Fuck, where’ve you been hiding that body?” Yeonjun moaned. In one fluid shift, hands on Soobin’s shoulders, he pushed down— flipping him —until Soobin hit the couch flat on his back, Yeonjun straddling his hips. 

Soobin blinked up, wide-eyed, chest rising fast, like he’d just been knocked out and didn’t want to get up. Yeonjun reached down, picked up the glasses from where they’d fallen earlier, and gently slid them back onto Soobin’s face.

“I don’t want you to miss it,” he said.

Soobin swallowed. “Miss what?”

Yeonjun just smiled—slow, wicked, starving . Soobin barely had time to register it before Yeonjun dipped low, pressing soft kisses to the corner of his mouth, then down his jaw. Lower still—neck, collarbone— dragging heat with him .

Then he trailed lower, lips brushing across Soobin’s collarbone, down to his chest. He kissed there—softly, then again, and again, until he reached the edge of a pec and flicked his tongue against one nipple. Just a test.

Soobin twitched—hard—hips jerking up just enough for Yeonjun to feel the tension straining in his pants.

“Oh?” Yeonjun hummed, glancing up with a smile that was too sweet to be safe.

He licked again, slower this time, then sealed his mouth around the nub and sucked—gently but with intent.

Soobin gasped. His thighs tensed. His hands gripped the cushions like he didn’t know where else to put them.

Yeonjun grinded down—just a little. Just enough.

He felt it. The heat. The pressure.

“You’re really hard, Soobie,” he breathed, voice dipping into something dripping. “Didn’t think little nerdy boys like you got this worked up over a little kissing.”

Then he sat up slightly, rolling his hips down in time with the curve of Soobin’s. His own breath hitched, but he didn’t stop.

Instead, he let it out on a high, needy whine, eyes fluttering.“Mmh— fuck , you feel so big…”

Soobin growled. Not loudly, not on purpose—just a deep, involuntary sound that came from somewhere in his throat. His hands flew to Yeonjun’s waist, gripping tight, stilling him in place.

“Wait—no—Yeonjun, I haven’t—”

Yeonjun cut him off, voice thick with heat, teasing but not unkind.

“Never been with another boy before, Soobie?”

Soobin’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Not because he didn’t have an answer—but because that was the moment he really looked at him.

And it hit him like a punch to the gut.

Somewhere between the grinding and the kisses, Yeonjun had shrugged off his crop top. It was gone now—tossed to the floor or the couch or who even cared. All Soobin could see was him.

Cheeks flushed pink, half from the booze, half from heat. His hair was a mess. His lips were red and slick. His chest was bare—nipples a soft pink, standing tight from the cool air or the attention or both. And his body—fuck—his body was all soft curves and sharp lines, toned but slim, tapering perfectly at the waist.

Yeonjun wasn’t just pretty. He was devastating .

“N–No… I haven’t,” Soobin admitted, voice low, rough around the edges.

And he was screwed. Yeonjun tilted his head, still straddling his waist, fingers brushing lightly along Soobin’s bare stomach.

“Do you want to?” he asked, voice soft but direct.

And Soobin should say no. Should laugh it off. Should sit up, say good night, thanks for the hard-on, see you in Humanities 104.

But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded. Shakily. Like a fucking virgin biting his lip, nodding unsure—nervous, and low-key terrified of putting something new in his mouth.

Yeonjun smirked, then stood up. And for the third heart attack of the night, he just—dropped his jeans. Right in front of Soobin. And what they revealed made Soobin’s throat go dry.

A pair of white, V-shaped briefs that looked an awful lot like panties—tight, thin, dangerously soft-looking—hugged every curve of Yeonjun’s hips and ass like they were tailored for sin. And nestled between them? A thick, hard cock pressing up against the fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination.

It should’ve been overwhelming. It was . But it also made Soobin even hornier.

Yeonjun extended a hand toward him, palm open.

“Come on,” he said, voice warm and steady.

Soobin took it.

He let himself be guided—slowly, breath catching somewhere in his chest—into Yeonjun’s dimly lit bedroom. It smelled like vanilla and something warm and sweet underneath. The curtains were drawn. The light was low. Everything felt close. Yeonjun stopped him at the edge of the bed, then stepped in— close , hands gentle on Soobin’s hips before he dropped to his knees without a word.

Soobin’s breath caught.

Yeonjun’s fingers found his belt, unbuckling it slow, like he was unwrapping something expensive. The metal clicked, the zipper dragged—and Soobin’s jeans dropped heavy to the floor with a soft thud .

And this time? This time, it was Yeonjun’s eyes that went wide.

Still behind a pair of loose-fitting, navy plaid boxers—the kind that screamed comfort over style—Soobin was clearly, undeniably huge . Thick, heavy, clearly straining even at half-mast, the fabric doing next to nothing to hide the sheer weight of it. There wasn’t a shy bone in Yeonjun’s body, but his mouth fell open, eyes locked on the bulge like it had just rewritten his night.

Yeonjun drags down the shorts looking up at soobin smiling like someone unwrapping a present for Christmas, and when he does fuck its thick,pale, veined but smooth and a thick head that looks like it’ll hurt 

“Holy shit…” he whispered, breath catching. “Soobie…”

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of the boxers—those loose-fitting, navy plaid things that had no business hiding something like this—and dragged them down, slow. He looked up as he did it, smiling like fucking loon.

And when he got it all the way down, Yeonjun let out the kind of sound that could only be spelled in vowels.

“Fuuuck…”

It was thick. Pale, veined but smooth, flushed at the tip with a fat head that looked like it’d hurt if you took it without prep—but Yeonjun’s hands were already on it. Wrapping around the shaft, fingers barely meeting as he gave it an instinctive stroke.

“God, Soobin,” he gasped, biting his lip. “You’ve been walking around with this thing? That’s not fair—you’re not fair.”

Then—lower, filthier, voice going full anime-girl whimper—Yeonjun added: “Do you think it'll even fit?”

That alone sent Soobin into a spiral. Those were words he’d only ever seen in subtitles—badly translated ones—under low-res hentai clips he used to jerk off to at 3AM.

“I—uh… I dunno…” he stammered, voice cracking like a freshman giving a book report.

Yeonjun just giggled. Giggled . Then wrapped both hands around Soobin’s shaft—barely covering half of it—and brought the thick, flushed head up to his own face like he was sizing it up.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes sparkling. “It’s almost as big as my whole face, Soobie.”

He grinned wider, cheek pressing against the side of it like he was posing for a selfie. “Do I look good down here Soobie?” 

Soobin’s eyes were wide—frozen, lips parted, barely breathing—as he watched Yeonjun shift lower, tongue slipping out to lick a slow stripe up the underside. The warmth, the wetness—it all registered at once. Yeonjun wasn’t just teasing anymore. He was serious. His hand gripped the base, steadying it, lips parting as he leaned in.

Soobin’s voice cracked. “Y-Yeonjun… holy f-fuck, you’re—shit— you’re actually doing it—? ”

Yeonjun moaned around him, lips stretched wide, cheeks hollowed, his throat working as he took more—more—still more. His eyes fluttered up, locking onto Soobin’s like a dare. Like a command. Like you better not look away now.

Soobin’s body jolted when he realized how far Yeonjun had gone—when he felt the warmth of his breath so close to the base it made his toes curl.

Panic flared. “W-Wait—!Yeon–J–Junnie you shouldn’t—fuck, you’re gonna choke—”

His hands came down to gently push him back, pull him off, but Yeonjun never broke eye contact. Not once. And then—with his lips pressed to Soobin’s lightly bushy base, cock buried to the hilt in his throat. 

Yeonjun smiled. Actually fucking smiled.And then, as if he hadn't just stolen every last functioning neuron from Soobin’s body—He sniffed it. Like it was the best smell in the world.

Soobin lost it. His knees nearly buckled, his fingers clutched Yeonjun’s hair, not to pull—but just to hold on. Like anything in him could stay grounded after that. “What the fuck are you made of…?”

Yeonjun pulled all the way out, breath catching, mouth slick and red, a smug, satisfied look lighting up his face.

“Fuck, Soobie… you’re at least nine inches,” he moaned, fingers wrapped around the base. How Yeonjun managed to spot-measure like his throat had a built-in laser ruler was anyone’s guess—but Soobin didn’t have time to question it. Because Yeonjun was already pushing it back in. Mouth open, tongue out, eyes fluttering like he’d been waiting for it.

His hands gripped Soobin’s thighs, tight, anchoring himself as he eased down again—inch by inch until his lips were hugging the base.

And that was it. Soobin’s brain just… stopped.

There were no more thoughts. No more hesitations. Just the obscene warmth of Yeonjun’s throat around him, the way his lips sealed tigh.  His hands clutched tighter in Yeonjun’s hair.

His hips bucked—just a little at first.And Yeonjun? He didn’t flinch didn’t even pull back. He moaned .

Mouth stuffed. Throat full. Mewling softly like it turned him on to be used like this. And then—he pushed back , meeting Soobin’s shallow thrusts with matching rhythm, like he wanted it. That was all it took. Soobin’s restraint shattered.

He growled—low, primal—and started fucking Yeonjun’s throat properly. Smooth strokes turned sharp, urgent. His hips snapped forward, forcing Yeonjun’s head to rock with every drive, fingers tight in his hair but not cruel—just needy .

And still, Yeonjun took it—like he was built to star in his own uncensored OVA.

Thirty seconds, a minute, two – absolutely nonstop. Soobin threw his head back, face fucking Yeonjun, feeling the prettyboy’s spit trailing down his saft and dripping down his balls. Three minutes until Yeonjun finally gagged. A high, choked whine broke through, nails digging into Soobin’s thighs as he tapped once—just once—against his hip.

Soobin pulled back, panting, dazed, his cock dripping with spit— soaked like never before. He looked down, fully expecting to see Yeonjun in ruins.

And he was, in a way. Face flushed and puffy. Lashes wet. Eyes glassy, half-lidded, still streaming tears down his cheeks.

But ruined? No. Yeonjun looked glowing . Absolutely fucked-out, blissed-out— radiant .

“Fuck, Soobie,” he rasped, coughing softly as he slid off the cock with a slick, obscene sound, strings of spit still connecting him to the shaft. He licked his lips like they weren’t already swollen and shining. “Didn’t know you had facefuck game like that.”

His hands were still on Soobin’s cock—stroking it, kissing it, licking up the underside like it deserved praise.

Then lower. He nuzzled Soobin’s spit-slick sack, sucking gently, dragging his tongue back up to the head in one long, hungry swipe—like it was a popsicle in July. Then, with a giggle so sweet it bordered on evil, he looked up through his lashes, lips glistening.

“Can you fuck my pussy like that too?”

And okay—Soobin wasn’t a stranger to dirty talk. He could hold his own. A few “you like that?”, “harder”, “just like that”—sure. But Yeonjun? Yeonjun saying pussy. Saying stretch me out. Saying fuck me loose like it was just casual conversation about, oh I dunno, the weather?

Yeah. Not even the straightest, most locker room-certified bro could hold out against that.

Soobin ended up just sitting on the edge of the bed, cock still slick, mind blank, carding a hand through Yeonjun’s now-matted pink hair.

Fuck. He’s so pretty. Yeonjun crawled closer, settling between his knees like it was his throne , hands dragging up Soobin’s thighs, murmuring as he licks Soobin’s glistening tip.

“Come on, Soobie,” he murmured, licking at the still-glistening tip like it was the easiest thing to do. “It won’t be that different from fucking a girl.”

Soobin’s hand drifted up—without even thinking—and cupped Yeonjun’s cheek. And Yeonjun leaned into it. Nuzzled into his palm . 

“I’ll just be prettier…” he whispered. 

“And tighter.” He let the word linger, heavy and low, like it meant something.

Then, softer: “And better.”

His lips brushed the edge of Soobin’s hand again, tongue sliding out to lap at the pads of his fingers, delicate and filthy all at once.

“Did I mention prettier?” he added with a crooked smile. He leaned forward—knees on the floor, face just inches from Soobin’s cock, still slick and flushed, twitching from just the sight of him. And then—soft, sweet, filthy:

“I like it raw.” A pause. “I like being bred.”

Soobin’s cock twitched hard. Yeonjun saw it. Felt it. And giggled, absolutely delighted with himself.

“So?” he purred, rocking slightly on his knees. His eyes were wide, glassy with heat, lashes wet, cheeks glowing—and his grin? Devilish.

“What do you say?”

Soobin made a pained sound.

Low. Guttural. Half-choked in his throat.

He didn’t know if it was a gasp or a groan, only that it sounded like it hurt to hold back.

His whole body was tense, jaw locked, shoulders stiff—like something inside him was trying to claw its way out.

Every fiber of his otaku-brained body was screaming at him to claim the pretty femboy kneeling in front of him. To bend him over and fuck him to the brink. To leave him shaking, dripping, completely ruined —coated in shiofuki, leaking and stretched, unable to speak or beg for more.

His cock twitched again—hard.

Yeonjun saw it. Smirked. Then tilted his head, voice soft and shining with heat.

“Please, Soobin…” His voice cracked.  Breathless. Desperate. “I need it.”

Soobin’s mouth opened—then closed. His throat worked like he was trying to swallow words that wouldn’t form.

“I—I don’t…” He blinked. Swallowed again. “I’ve never—I mean, I don’t know if I—”

Another twitch. Another shaky breath. His hand reached out like it had a mind of its own, fingertips brushing Yeonjun’s cheek. Yeonjun pouted. And who the fuck pouts with a cock two inches from their mouth? And pouts so adorably?

“Do you want me to beg for it, Soobie?” he murmured. Then he stood up—slowly—climbing right into Soobin’s lap like he owned it, settling with his soft, clothed ass pressed flush against Soobin’s rock-hard cock.

He leaned in, lips brushing Soobin’s ear, voice soft and soaked in sin. “I wanna feel full. Yeonjunnie wants to cry on your cock Soobie.”

His hips rolled, grinding down with a slow, filthy drag. “Want you to breed me full, Soobie~ please?”

A kiss to his jaw. Then his neck. Then higher, lips brushing just beneath his ear.

"You’ll ruin me, right?" Yeonjun whispered, his voice dripping with desire. "Break me like one of those hentai girls you jack off to?"

And then he pulled back, just enough to meet Soobin’s eyes—faces an inch apart, breath shared. He shifted—subtly but deliberately—hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and sliding the back down just enough.  Just enough to feel Soobin’s cock pressed right against his hole.

And then he rocked back—slow, teasing—grinding his bare entrance along the soaked head.

“Please, Soobie?” he moaned, breath hitching. “Just... fuck me dumb?”

Chapter Text

Choi Yeonjun could be described in a lot of ways ;

Pretty? Absolutely  Pink wolf cut, cropped tops, tight shirts that clung to just the right places. Soft but angular features that said, “Yes, I know I’m prettier than you.”

Forward? Oh, for sure. No filter. No backstop. Just pure, uncut, and  fortified-with-vitamins-and-chaotic-horny-energy Yeonjun. Zero hesitation. Zero shame.

Smart? Sure. Grades solidly above average—even with a drinking schedule, a party calendar, and a “bedroom hobby” that took up more time than his actual electives.

But could he be described as having foresight ? As in, the ability to look past the right now and maybe consider if his actions might snowball into something a little unmanageable?

Yeah… not so much.

Because the moment Yeonjun rocked his ass back—bare, slick, perfectly lined up—and felt that thick head press against him, just stretching him open the tiniest bit, he knew. Knew . He was in trouble. The tip alone was too much. Just that bit of pressure sent warning sirens through his thighs. 

And yet he stayed. Rolled back again. Begged .

And Soobin? Soobin moved like he’d blacked out. His one arm wrapped around Yeonjun’s waist, the other behind his neck, threading into sweat-damp pink hair. He leaned in, voice cracking against Yeonjun’s ear.

“I’m—I’m sorry…fuck I can’t help it.” 

Yeonjun blinked—confused, caught—until Soobin crashed their lips together. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was all teeth, all tongue, and Yeonjun gasped into it just in time for Soobin to swallow it whole.

Then— grinding . Sweet, electric grinding.  

Soobin’s hips started to move—not in, not yet—but between his cheeks, that thick cock sliding along his crack, gliding up against his hole with every thrust. It was messy. Hot. Heavy . Yeonjun whined into his mouth. His whole body went tight. Every grind lit his nerves up like livewire, each pass dragging slick and heat across him like a threat.

He wasn’t even inside yet. And still, Yeonjun was unraveling.

How the fuck did this nerd get so much game? Yeonjun was trying to rationalize—trying to breathe—but the absolute murder going on across his nerves was not helping. Not even a little. Because Soobin couldn’t stop kissing him. Couldn’t stop touching. His lips dragged across Yeonjun’s throat, biting just under the jaw before moving down, sucking hard at his collarbones—leaving marks like he was staking a claim.

“Fuck, you’re so soft…so warm…” Soobin murmured, his voice wrecked as he left a deep mark on Yeonjun’s neck, one that would be impossible to hide in the daylight. Yeonjun had kicked guys out for even lightly nipping at him, but now? His body betrayed him. He couldn’t help but beg for more.

Another kiss. Another bite  “Pretty thing.”

A nip at his shoulder. “Prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

And all Yeonjun could do was gasp, shudder, and leak—leak so much in his underwear, his body screaming for more.

And Yeonjun—mouth parted, chest rising too fast—couldn’t even form a comeback. His mind was fried, nerves sparking like Christmas lights in a short circuit. He thought he couldn’t get more lost in the moment.

Then Soobin’s mouth started to trail down. He licked over one nipple, then sucked it between his lips—slow at first, teasing, then a sharp tug with his teeth that made Yeonjun whine out loud.

“S–Soobie—Soobin~!” Soobin suckled on him like he was starved—like he was actually trying to drink from him—and fuck, Yeonjun might just cream himself if this kept up.

And then— grinding . It didn’t let up. Didn’t ease. Soobin’s cock, heavy and leaking, dragged between Yeonjun’s cheeks, slick from spit and desperation. Every rut forward slid hot and slow across his entrance, sending shocks up Yeonjun’s spine.

Then Soobin grabbed his ass with both hands—gripped tight and pushed his cheeks together, making it tighter around his length.

“Fuck—you're like a toy , Yeonjun—f-fuck~!”

He wasn’t even trying to aim. Wasn’t teasing. Just rutted against him—breathless, wild, nearly whimpering as he humped between the plush of Yeonjun’s thighs like he was losing his mind.

Yeonjun was just starting to enjoy the way that massive cock teased his hole—just getting into the rhythm—when suddenly Soobin picked him up like he weighed nothing and threw him face-first onto the bed.

He barely had time to gasp before— Riiip.

There went his expensive thong. But instead of being annoyed, Yeonjun’s body moved on its own, reacting before he could think. Knees pulling under him. Arching. Ass out.He reached back and spread himself open— what the fuck am I doing—?

And then Soobin was there. On his knees. Hands on his ass, pulling him wide. And he dove in.

Soobin licked like it was a pussy—long, flat drags of his tongue, moaning against it like it was driving him insane .

Fuck, nerd boy can lick .

“So warm… fuck… this is insane…”

Yeonjun’s hole twitched, fluttering, wetter by the second from spit and desperation. Soobin's fingers traced around the rim, light and teasing, making every nerve fire, every muscle tighten—like his body was begging for more before it even knew what more was.

Then, without warning, he was spun—flipped onto his back like he weighed nothing. Wide-eyed, breath hitched, thighs still trembling. Soobin loomed over him, flushed and feral, looking down like he didn’t know if he wanted to fuck Yeonjun or worship him.

And fuck , it was hot. Soobin was warm, sloppy, wild. Starving . He popped Yeonjun’s pink little cock out of his mouth with a wet sound—only to suck on his own fingers , drenching them in spit.

Then he went right back down—mouth swallowing Yeonjun up again while his hand slipped lower, two fingers sliding between flushed cheeks to tease his rim. He pressed the pads in slow circles, spreading the wetness, watching the way Yeonjun’s body twitched at the contact.

“F–fuhhck, S–Soobin!” Yeonjun whimpered, legs spreading wider, one heel digging into the sheets. “ “Mmh—ah, fuck me, f–fuck me with your fingers, Soobie— baby , please—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

Baby? 

What the fuck?! Where the hell did that come from?

Yeonjun’s brain stuttered like a buffering stream, caught somewhere between horror and arousal. He was fully prepared to chastise himself—make a mental note, delete that, never again—but then— Soobin’s fingers pressed just right.

Slow. Deep. Curling up inside him like they were made for it. Because Soobin was stretching him open, mouth still wrapped around the head of his cock, and Yeonjun was too far gone to care about anything except how fucking good it felt.

Then Soobin pulled off with a groan, voice low and dazed. “Say that again.”

Yeonjun blinked, brain short-circuiting.  “What?”

“Call me Baby. Say it again.”

“Wh–Ba—ahhhh~! Baby! ” Yeonjun screamed just as Soobin’s middle finger slid in, stupidly deep on the first push—no buildup, no mercy—and fucking hit something .

Yeonjun's whole body jolted, back arching. “Too dry—baby, too dry!”

Soobin pulled out fast, fingers slick but clearly not slick enough . He stuck the whole thing into his mouth, making it wet and slick, shoving it back in just as fast—and Yeonjun yelped again. He gasped, voice cracking.

“FUCK!~Soobie~!!!” Yeonjun screamed—loud, cracked, raw. For sure his neighbors were thinking he was getting murdered. But no—he was just getting wrecked.

Two fingers in. Right away. No slow buildup, no soft teasing. Just Soobin’s fingers curling exactly right inside him—hitting a spot that sent electric shocks through his spine. Soobin hadn’t fucked a guy before. Not once. But fuck, he’d clearly made girls shake and quiver just from his hands—and Yeonjun was no exception.

Soobin groaned, grinding his thumb against the tight heat beneath his fingers. “So warm… so fucking tight…”

He reached for the bottle again, squeezing more lube directly onto his hand, onto Yeonjun, onto the spread, soaked mess between them. It dripped over his fingers, ran down to the base of his palm as he fucked it in, hard.

Squelching. Wet. Obscene.  The sound was loud —slick and rhythmic, every thrust of Soobin’s fingers echoing off the walls like a warning. And it was the wetness that did it.

Soobin froze for a second, staring at the way lube dripped around his knuckles, the mess leaking out of Yeonjun’s clenching hole with every curl of his fingers. He whispered like he couldn’t believe it.

“ You're so wet... fuck. ” He pulled his hand back slowly, fingers glistening, and moved—hovering over Yeonjun now, body shaking, cock flushed dark and leaking between them.

One last beat. One final tether to logic. His voice came soft, barely steady. “Are you… are you sure?”

And this time— Yeonjun had to think. Because bro that shit was big . Thick. Girth.Too Fucking Big. His stretched rim was already pulsing, aching just from fingers. And now that thick, raw cock was right there —ready to split him.

He looked up, eyes wide, breath caught. And suddenly, the cocky, teasing femboy was gone. His voice came quiet, almost shy.

“Can you… can you be gentle with me, Soobie?”

Soobin let out a sound that was half moan, half whimper . “Fuck you’re so pretty.” 

Then he lined up—gripped Yeonjun’s thighs—and pushed in, slowly . The head breached. Yeonjun’s eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. He whined—high, helpless—trembling as his fingers gripped the sheets tight, white-knuckled, trying not to move.

“Hnnggggg~ S–Soooooobie~!” Soobin inched in deeper, breath ragged, jaw clenched as he muttered under his breath.

“Holy fuck…” It took forever —inch by inch—Yeonjun doing his absolute best not to clench, not to squeeze, because fuck , he could feel it in his gut. What in the actual fuck is that?!

“So tight… holy fuck, you’re squeezing me—” Soobin groaned, voice shaking.

Yeonjun could hear the restraint in him, the fight —his body wanted to thrust, to shove all the way in and rearrange his internal organs on the spot. But his head—his trembling, overwhelmed head—was holding the reins.

Barely. And then—finally—Soobin bottomed out. All the way.

Fuck, it felt perfect. Yeonjun’s face scrunched, breath catching in his throat. So full. Too full. Full in a way that should not be possible.

“Oh my god… fuck, it’s all inside.” The sense of amazement in Soobin’s voice was unmistakable—and it made Yeonjun’s ego flare, even as he shook beneath him.

“F–fuck, Junnie… I’m all inside.” Soobin slowly rocked back—only halfway out—then pushed back in, testing the motion. Gentle, but shaky. His hips stuttered like he was trying to memorize the shape of Yeonjun from the inside .

“So tight— so fucking tight —fuck, Yeonjun—fuck.”

He sank all the way in again, buried to the hilt, hips flush, breath caught. Then he leaned down, chest pressed to Yeonjun’s, and whispered right into his ear. “Baby... no one’s ever taken me like this.”

“Just you.” Yeonjun’s breath hitched. His hands reached up, wrapping around Soobin’s neck, pulling him down—desperate to kiss him. To distract himself from the pressure, the stretch, the fire curling up his spine.

Their mouths crashed—open, wet, needy.

And again, like always, Yeonjun didn’t think before he spoke.

Didn’t pause, didn’t plan.

Just let the words tumble out, soaked in breath and heat and want.

“ Fuck me. ”

And that’s where it all went horribly—deliciously—wrong. Because in Soobin’s head? Every shred of restraint he’d managed to scrape together—all the careful pacing, the sweet, ginger movements, the breathless “you okay?” pauses—just went right out the fucking window.

Soobin is a simple man. He’s not a dick. He’s nice. Holds doors, texts you when he gets home safe, apologizes when he sneezes too loud. In bed? Same deal. Always gentle. Always slow. Makes sure you’re okay. Makes sure it doesn’t hurt. So naturally—naturally—when Yeonjun looked up at him with those big, teary eyes and moaned “Fuck me” like he was starring in a Pink Pineapple OVA as someone’s cock-hungry shota wife?

So what does Soobin—sweet, shy, horribly pent-up Soobin—do exactly?  He grabbed Yeonjun’s hips. And he started to fuck.

And I mean fuck.

Steady. Long, rolling thrusts that hit bottom every time and dragged out so slow it was almost cruel. The kind of rhythm that made Yeonjun moan every single time Soobin slid back in, the kind that made the bed creak louder with each pass.

Skin slapping. Balls bouncing. The mattress shuddering under the weight of it.

And Soobin? He just groaned through clenched teeth, eyes locked on the way Yeonjun’s body took him—how it gripped him, sucked him in, welcomed it.

“So tight… fuck… so fucking tight…” He sped up. Just a little.

Yeonjun’s moans turned breathier, higher. “Soobie—w-wait—fuck, wait—!!!”

He wasn’t saying stop . Not really. But Soobin didn’t hear it anyway. His hips slammed forward, faster now— harder . And Yeonjun’s voice cracked in his throat.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? It felt like they’d been lost in it forever—fucking and kissing, moaning into each other’s mouths like it was the only language they knew.

Their lips clashed again, teeth bumping, spit wet and messy. Then Soobin pulled back—sweaty, breathless—and looked down. Watched, entranced, as his cock disappeared into Yeonjun’s stretched, slick hole over and over again. 

Fuck, why is this so fucking hot?!

And Yeonjun—fuck, Yeonjun was crumbling. Eyes wet, lips parted, sobbing with pleasure, body jerking with every thrust like he couldn’t take it—but wanted it anyway.

But it wasn’t enough.

That itch under Soobin’s skin burned hotter. His arms moved without thinking. He slid his hands under Yeonjun’s thighs.

And then— lifted . “W–wait, what—Soobie?!”

Yeonjun’s legs locked around his waist, reflex more than command. He gasped, half-panicked, half-turned on beyond belief. Soobin just slammed forward, pressing him back against the nearest wall—hips snapping, cock burying deep again like it never left.

He bit into Yeonjun’s shoulder—hard—panting against his skin.

“Fuck, baby  feel so good…”

Yeonjun sobbed , hands scrambling for Soobin’s shoulders, his hair, anything to hold onto.

“Y-you’re gonna break me—Soobie–baby, f-fuck, you're breaking me—!” Soobin didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Neither of them could.

Their bodies were slick with sweat, clinging, crashing, skin to skin, breath to breath. Soobin stumbled backward, still clutching Yeonjun like he weighed nothing. He lowered onto the edge of the bed, propping one leg up—half-sitting, half-standing—and pulled Yeonjun back down into his lap, cock still buried deep. Yeonjun straddled him fully now, thighs wide, hips open, chest flushed and heaving. His entire body trembling.

Soobin’s hands gripped his waist. He shifted. Thrust up. And then—he hit something.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH~!" Yeonjun screamed. Loud. High. Shattering.

Soobin froze. “Shit—fuck—did… sorry, are you okay? Did I—?”

“I—ngghhh—do that again!” Yeonjun’s voice cracked, wrecked and pleading. His hands clawed at Soobin’s shoulders, nails dragging down skin. “Right there! Hit that again! Soobie—please!—please!—please!”

Soobin’s breath hitched. He didn’t know what he’d done—but he did it again. Same angle. Same thrust.

Yeonjun howled. His tongue lolled out, eyes rolling back, his whole body jolting like he’d been hit by lightning. Every muscle in his legs twitched. His arms wrapped around Soobin’s neck, face buried in his shoulder, drooling—actually drooling as he whimpered through the overload.

“There!—fuck!—fuck!—don’t stop—right there—!!!”

Soobin obeyed. He kept going. Same motion. Same depth. Over and over, each stroke smashing into that spot like it was made for him. Yeonjun’s thighs were shaking, his hole clenching rhythmically around the cock buried inside him, dragging Soobin deeper with every twitch. He couldn’t speak anymore. Just gasped, moaned, a hot blur of wet, broken sounds that barely resembled words.

Soobin held him tighter. Watched it all—dizzy, breathless, completely stunned. He didn’t know what he was doing. But holy fuck, he was doing it right. He looks down on Yeonjun and what does he find?

Completely, utterly, shattered. And it was the prettiest fucking thing Soobin had ever seen. An ahegao face. In real life. On him .

Soobin groaned—shaky, overwhelmed, barely able to breathe. His voice cracked as he whispered, “You’re so fucking pretty…”

Another thrust. Deeper. “You’re… f-fuck, you’re perfect …”

Yeonjun blinked, dazed, lips twitching into a blissed-out smile.

“S–Soobie…” he slurred, eyes rolling as his hips rolled weakly into each thrust, tongue lolling out.  He moaned again, louder this time, voice breaking. “Use me.”

Soobin held Yeonjun tighter, grinding up with sharp, desperate thrusts, his breath hitching—eyes locked on the mess in front of him. His pretty boy. His ruined, cock-drunk little thing.

And then—He shifted. Yeonjun gasped as he was pulled forward, guided by shaking hands until Soobin was sitting back on the edge of the bed—legs apart, cock still buried deep inside. Yeonjun ended up straddling him, facing forward. And there—right there, across from them—was the mirror. Soobin blinked. Then moaned. Because what he saw was obscene.

Yeonjun seated on his lap, his cock deep inside the femboy’s hole, stuffed full and twitching. Yeonjun’s cheeks were flushed. His eyes were glassy. His lips were swollen from kissing and biting. Hair wild. Skin covered in sweat and bites.

Ruined. And he looked so fucking beautiful.

Soobin wrapped his arms around him from behind, burying his face in Yeonjun’s neck, kissing him there—hot, messy kisses, breath ragged as his eyes flicked between the mirror and the reflection of what they’d become.

“You’re perfect…” he whispered. “Look at you—look at yourself, baby…”

Yeonjun moaned, breath hitched, body rocking in slow, messy circles in Soobin’s lap. His thighs were shaking. His hole, stretched and soaked, clenched around the thick cock still buried inside him like it belonged there.

He was trembling. Fucked open. Cock untouched. Leaking down his thighs.

“Ride it,” Soobin rasped, voice cracking against his ear. 

“Come on, Junnie… fuck yourself on my cock.” Okay where is this nerdy-daddy energy coming from? Yeonjun whimpered—eyes fluttering up to meet his own in the mirror, mouth parted, face flushed beyond repair. Then he nodded, dizzy, and began to move.

Slow at first. Just lifting his hips, then dropping back down, and gasping every time the curve of Soobin’s cock slammed right into his prostate—dead on.

His whole body jolted. Again. And again. It was perfect. Too perfect.

Then—suddenly—Yeonjun shifted. He tensed, back arching, a small gasp breaking free of his throat. “So—Soobie—?!”

His voice cracked, panic mixing with the pleasure. Soobin blinked, breath catching. “What’s wrong?” he asked, arms tightening around Yeonjun’s trembling waist. “Junnie, what’s—?”

“I feel—?” Yeonjun gasped. “—I don’t know—fuck, something’s—!”

Concern bloomed in Soobin’s chest. But his hips were already moving. He couldn’t stop. Yeonjun was bouncing helplessly in his lap, and Soobin’s body met every drop, thrusting up into him without mercy, cock buried deep, thick and hot and twitching.

“I—I don’t—fuck—what’s happening to me!” Yeonjun sobbed, twisting in his lap, voice cracked and shaking, like his body was betraying him in real time.

Soobin didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t know what was happening either.

But his hands gripped Yeonjun’s hips, held him right there—suspended in a half-squat, hole stretched wide and dripping around him.

Then he thrust up—hard. “Soobie—ahh, no—it’s–it’s–!”

But it was already too late.

He felt it first. Yeonjun’s whole body shuddered, trembling against him, head thrown back, spine arched, toes curling tight. Then—twitching. Full-body spasms rolling down his thighs like he was short-circuiting from the inside out.

Then came the warmth. A sudden, spreading heat, trailing down Soobin’s thighs. 

Then—the sound. A soft patter against the wooden floor below them.

Soobin froze. Breath caught. Muscles locked.

Slowly, shakily, he lifted his gaze to the mirror—his glasses fogged, smeared with sweat—but still clear enough to see everything. Yeonjun was arched back against him, spine curved, body quivering like it had reached some critical failure point. His thighs trembled violently, toes curled, arms limp at his sides.

“It’s coming—!” Yeonjun gasped, voice high and trembling, panicked. “I can’t—!hold it—!”

Right there in his lap, cock twitching, untouched, spraying down over Soobin’s thighs in broken, pulsing bursts—splattering onto the floor, onto their legs, soaking them both.

Yeonjun pissed himself. 

“Nnnghh!—Aaaaaaaaaah~!!” Soobin watched it happen in the mirror, eyes wide, breath gone—Yeonjun’s flushed, tear-streaked face twisted in pleasure, mouth open, drooling, whimpering as his body let go.

His voice cracked again. “Fuck I’m wet—I can’t—can’t stop—!!!”

And then it started to slow. The hot gush arced one last time, soaking his belly, trailing down his thighs, before it finally faded into a few weak spurts.

And then— silence .Just the sound of both of them breathing. Hard. Fast. Shaky. Soobin didn’t move.

Soobin didn’t speak right away. He just watched —mouth parted, heart pounding—as Yeonjun trembled in his lap, soaked and panting, skin flushed and glistening, chest heaving. 

“Holy—fuck,” Soobin finally whispered. “You squirted?”

He blinked. Still in shock. “I-I didn’t know guys could… fuck, just like in Shiofuki Sisters…”

Yeonjun said nothing. Didn’t even look at him. Instead, he tried to curl forward, arms wrapping around himself, trying to hide—

But the mirror was right there. And Soobin was still looking straight at him. Still inside him. Still holding him.

There was nowhere to hide.

Yeonjun’s arms curled tighter around himself, trying to shrink down, to fold in, to disappear—but then Soobin’s hand came up, gentle but firm, and tilted his chin.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “ Look at me in the mirror. ”

Yeonjun hesitated. Then lifted his eyes. A beat passed—quiet, thick, soaking in the wet heat between them.  And then Soobin asked, low, breathless:

“Can you do that again?”

Yeonjun’s breath hitched, eyes flying wide. “W-what—? No—!Soobin, I—”

But Soobin didn’t wait. His hips jerked up, hard, making Yeonjun bounce—just once, but it was enough to make his whole body jolt.

“Please, baby,” Soobin groaned, voice shaking. “Squirt for me again.”

Another bounce. Then another.

Yeonjun cried out, “N-no!—stop!—Soobin—I can’t—!”

But Soobin was lost. He gripped Yeonjun’s waist, pulled him in tight—and flipped him.Turned him around to face him. Then kissed him—rough, deep, desperate. Mouth to mouth, lips sticky with heat.

And between kisses—sloppy, breathless, open-mouthed kisses—Soobin moaned into him:

“Do it again, baby… squirt for me again. Please.”

Then he slammed up. Hard. Again. And again. Each thrust hit deep, sharp, unrelenting—his grip on Yeonjun’s waist bruising, their sweat-slicked chests sliding together with every crash of skin on skin.

And then—He angled just slightly. And hit it.

That spot making Yeonjun's entire body literally convulse. He gasped—sharp, high, desperate—and Soobin did it again. Same thrust. Same angle. And again. Yeonjun's eyes flew wide, mouth open, tongue half-out as a strangled moan tore from his throat.

“Soobin!—Soobin!—oh fuck, it’s—right there! it’s—!”

He couldn't finish. His voice cracked into a sob, hips jerking down involuntarily to meet each thrust like his body had taken over, locked into chase mode.

“Fuck, you're clenching—so tight—baby, your pussy's begging for it—”

Soobin growled the words, hips slamming up into him with ruthless precision now, cock punching into that perfect spot with every thrust. Yeonjun was twitching. Hole fluttering. Legs shaking uncontrollably.

And then.

“Soobie—nnghh!—Soobin, it’s—” Yeonjun’s voice broke into sobs, gasping, shaking. “*It’s coming again—*hnggg~ baby—!”

But Soobin didn’t stop. He physically couldn’t. His cock pulsed inside him, hips pounding up without rhythm now—just need , raw and ugly.

Then it hit. Yeonjun arched hard, spine snapping tight as his cock jerked between them—and sprayed . Not just a leak— a full-on release , fuller than the first. 

Hot, wet streams splashed up his belly, over his chest, streaking across Soobin’s skin, soaking them both in heat and mess and something unbelievably real .

Soobin’s eyes went wide, lips parted in awe. He felt it— on him , between them , dripping down his abs, Yeonjun’s body pulsing with every burst. 

“Holy shit—” he gasped, watching it happen just inches from his face. “Fucking omaroshi…”

Yeonjun was sobbing now. A wreck. Shaking and flushed and twitching from overstimulation, tears streaking down his cheeks, mouth open in helpless moans as he collapsed against Soobin’s chest as Soobin kept thrusting chasing the orgasm he’s been holding back for the past hour 

Yeonjun was sobbing now. A wreck .

Shaking. Flushed. Twitching from overstimulation, tears streaking down his cheeks, mouth open in helpless moans as he collapsed against Soobin’s chest—limp, soaked, ruined.

And Soobin—still thrusting. Still moving, hips grinding up in short, desperate rolls as he chased the orgasm he’d been holding back for what felt like a fucking hour .

“F-fuck, baby— fuck— I’m gonna—Junnie—I can’t—”

His rhythm broke—hips snapping harder, erratic now, his whole body trembling. Yeonjun whimpered against him, barely able to lift his head, but Soobin felt it. The clench. His pretty little hole spasming around him as he empties out his bladder—fluttering tight, choking his cock as if begging to keep it inside.

“Shit—shit—fuck—” Soobin panted, babbling, lost in it. “So warm—mhphff—I’m gonna—Junnie—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Inside me, please Soobie~!” Yeonjun begs, clenching around Soobin. “...fill me up please–”

Another squeeze. Another broken cry from Yeonjun. And that was it.

Soobin groaned—deep, from his chest—and slammed in one final time, hips flush to Yeonjun’s ass as he came hard, cock twitching violently inside the overstretched heat. Thick, hot pulses flooded in—so much of it—his breath catching on each spasm as Yeonjun gasped and moaned, swallowing the sounds Soobin couldn’t hold back.

And Yeonjun didn’t stop. Even ruined, even crying, he moved—grinding down, hips rolling, riding every wave of Soobin’s orgasm, milking him dry.

“Junnie—fuck—!!!” Soobin sobbed, voice cracking as he twitched through the aftershocks.

Right there Yeonjun’s body arched. Back bowed, thighs trembling, hole still clenching around Soobin. And without a single touch to his cock—He came .

A sharp, high moan ripped out of him as thick spurts painted their chests, stomachs, necks—between them and all over Soobin’s skin. He jerked, breath caught, body locking tight before going slack again, breathless and slick and completely spent .

Soobin just held him.

Arms tight. Cock still buried deep.

Chest rising and falling beneath the weight of the prettiest, filthiest thing he’d ever seen.

Chapter Text

“...AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! S-–someone get me a chair!”

Beomgyu was already sat. But that didn’t stop him from nearly falling out of it, doubled over and howling, tears in his eyes as he slapped the café table with one hand and clutched his stomach with the other.

They were sitting outside, shaded under the trees, mid-afternoon sun warm but bearable. A late lunch, mostly untouched, sat on their trays. Beomgyu, Taehyun and Yeonjun—who, for once, was the one who was being quiet..

“You’re already sitting down, dumbass!” Yeonjun muttered, adjusting in his seat with all the grace of someone who had, in fact, been rearranged by a nerd the night before.

His thighs ached. His back ached. His soul ached. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to look at a pair of black, thick rimmed eyeglasses every again.

Beomgyu took a dramatic sip of his iced americano, still giggling. “Are you seriously telling me that a nerd did that to you?!”

“Would you fucking keep your voice down!?” Yeonjun hissed, chucking a piece of lettuce across the table like it might shut him up.

Too late. Damage done. He hadn’t meant to give details. Honestly. But Taehyun already knew—he’d hosted the damn party—and Beomgyu had all but dragged Yeonjun out of his apartment the next day and demanded details’

And so… he told them. He told them how Soobin fucked him. Two more times. Within the next two hours. Like he had the stamina of a teenager mainlining Viagra intravenously.

His bed. A chair. Against a cabinet. The bathroom. Yeonjun listed them off like war zones.

He told them how Soobin was the first guy he’d ever let leave marks. And not just light ones—he was talking full bite imprints, teeth and tongue, little purple badges of honor scattered across his body. Hence the fully zipped jacket, hoodie up, sunglasses. Because his whole body looked like it had been rag-dolled, chewed up, and spit out by the surprisingly fit, massive-cocked, anime-watching otaku who—for lack of a better term— bred him so thoroughly that by the last time Soobin came inside, it literally leaked out of him .

Because he was that loose.

“He’s never even fucked a dude before?!” Taehyun blinked, looking genuinely stunned, worried even.“Jesus. That man’s a beast.”

“I’ll say,” Beomgyu muttered, one brow raised, looking slightly scandalized—which, for him, was a rare feat. “And you let him stay over?”

Yeonjun groaned, slumping in his seat. “Couldn’t really kick him out. I passed out after the third round…”

He remembered it— barely . Being carried to the bathroom, arms dangling. Soobin kneels in front of him, washing him off. Gently scrubbing between his legs. Shampooing his hair. Wrapping him in a towel like a wet little noodle. Drying it all off. Even the conditioner got in there.

“So a beast in bed and he gives aftercare,” Beomgyu mused, like he was browsing a catalog. “Package deal. Get one nerd, get wrecked three times free.”

“More like one night for the price of three…” Taehyun hummed into his drink. “...full weeks of recovery.”

“Are you two fucking done?” Yeonjun rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out.

“Just saying,” Beomgyu shrugged. “That shit’s probably still sore and raw. Bet your ego’s bruised too, huh?”

Yeah . That part was true. He’d told them everything. Or almost everything. Including the fact that when he woke up this morning—around eight—he was alone. Yep. You read that right.

Yeonjun. The campus slut. Local cock concierge. Certified bounce-to-the-beat freak. Changes hookups like Dolly changes wigs and Cher changes hair colors. Got ghosted. By a nerd. A nerd who had quite literally fucked him loose.

He’d woken up to find the bed still warm, the room still steeped in the smell of Soobin—clean, a little sharp, with something earthy underneath that made Yeonjun’s toes curl under the sheets. The pillows were neatly stacked. He was tucked in under a blanket he didn’t remember pulling over himself. Wearing a T-shirt, one he vaguely remembered Soobin helping him into sometime after round three when his limbs stopped working.

He also remembered the warmth. Not from the blanket—wrapped warmth. Body warmth. Arms. Breath on his neck. He remembered being held. More importantly, he remembered the one holding Soobin last night - Koala on tree branch levels. Though that part? He didn’t share. That was for him. Just him.

Even if it did leave him staring up at the ceiling that morning, wondering what the hell just happened to him.

That was the part clawing under Yeonjun’s skin. The fact that he woke up alone. And not just alone. Tucked in comfortably. In a fresh shirt. Pillows fluffed. The bed still warm on one side like someone had just slipped out a minute ago. And right there—on the bedside table, like something out of a stupid low-budget K-drama—was a packet of aspirin, a full glass of water, a neon blue Gatorade and a stupid, folded, annoyingly cute little note.

Please drink this. Sorry I had to go — Soobin.

What the actual fuck.

“What is this, a fucking romcom?” Yeonjun hissed under his breath, slouched in his café chair like the world personally offended him. Who does that? Who wrecks someone in six different positions, cuddles them to sleep, then leaves like a gentleman and signs a note with a smiley face?!

“Fucking asshole…” Yeonjun muttered into his straw, aggressively sipping his iced coffee with a scowl sharp enough to slice. “No one walks out on me. I’m the one who walks out. I ghost. I choose when the Uber’s called.”

Beomgyu blinked. “You’re spiraling.”

“Am not—!”

“Am to,” Taehyun echoed, unbothered.

“Who the fuck does this nerd think he is, anyway!?” Yeonjun snapped, crossing his arms so tightly. “What, he gets one night with me and suddenly he’s the main character?”

“Dude… you’re really bothered by this,” Beomgyu smirked.

“Fuck yeah I am!” Yeonjun snapped, ripping a corner off his sandwich like it owed him money and chomping down hard. 

“...After he made me squirt and everything… fucking dick…”He said it offhandedly—mid-chew, mid-glare, pure grumble. Until he realized the table had gone silent, too silent. He blinked, looking up to see that Taehyun was frozen mid-sip, eyes huge over the lid of his cup. Beomgyu’s fork had literally dropped from his hand, clattering onto his plate.

“You—?” Beomgyu finally croaked, voice cracking.

Taehyun swallowed too hard. “He. Did. What?!”

Yeonjun stared. “Wait no!  I meant—!”

Beomgyu howled. Fully howled. Laughter burst out of him like a grenade went off.

“OH MY GOD—!” Taehyun wasn’t laughing. Taehyun looked like he’d witnessed a miracle. He leaned forward, hands planted on the table. Voice full of pure, dumbstruck awe. “Guys can do that?!”

Yeonjun’s face drained. “...shit! I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You think?!” Beomgyu wheezed, doubled over, actual tears running down his cheeks as he clutched his stomach like it was physically hurting him to laugh this hard.

“Wait! Wait! Rewind—back up—go again!” Taehyun leaned in, eyes wide. “That was a real thing?! Like one of those porn girls that—”

“—shut up!” Yeonjun hissed. “It was—ugh—body stuff! I had too much to drink, my prostate was—don’t make me say this out loud!”

“Oh my god! HAHAHAHA—ooop—!” Beomgyu laughed so hard his chair tipped back. Then over. “---HAHAHA—s–someone get me a fresh chair! You’re a real-life hentai girl!”

“Ugh, shut the fuck up!!!!” Yeonjun hissed, cheeks burning. People were looking now. Like, a lot of people.

Taehyun moved to help Beomgyu up, but he was already sliding around on the pavement like he was being possessed by laughter demons. Yeonjun had had it. He grabbed his drink, his bag, and stood up with all the poise of a drag queen about to throw hands.

“Where are you going?!” Taehyun called after him.

“Away from you dickwads!” Yeonjun snapped, storming off.

“Chotto matte! hentai girl! We haven’t paid the bill!” Beomgyu shouted through giggles, practically choking on air.

Yeonjun flipped him off over his shoulder without breaking stride. “You pay!”

He didn’t look back.

Beomgyu was still giggling when he finally sat upright again, cheeks red, hair messy, eyes wild. Taehyun just sighed, watching Yeonjun disappear around the corner like a diva storming off set.

“Well. Guess we’re stuck with the bill. Again .”  Taehyun muttered “And of course he ordered the most expensive thing on the menu. Just when my wallet is running on fumes too.”

Beomgyu wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, finally catching his breath. “Worth it. So worth it. I haven’t seen him that frazzled since someone called him bro at some house party sophomore year.”

He flagged the server down with a wave, still wheezing. He tapped his card against the reader without even glancing at the total, casual as hell. “It’s fine. I got it.”

“I’ll transfer you my half,” Taehyun offered, already pulling out his phone.

“Nah,” Beomgyu waved him off. “Daddy just dropped my allowance. Consider it an investment in comedy.”

Taehyun stared. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” Beomgyu grinned, tossing back the last of his drink like a victory shot. “So is Yeonjun’s squirt arc.”

Taehyun just shook his head, still dazed. “Didn’t even know guys could do that.”

“It’s rare,” Beomgyu said, casually slinging his bag over one shoulder as they stood and started walking off the café patio. “Takes a lot of practice. Precision. Control. Right pressure. Right angle. Right partner.”

He smirked. “Honestly? I’m impressed. Didn’t think Soobin had it in him. And I know Yeonjun. That was his first time.”

Taehyun raised a brow as they headed down the campus path. “Wait... you can do that?”

Beomgyu didn’t answer—just gave him a slow, smug smile.

Taehyun blinked. “Can I try and make you do that?”

Beomgyu clicked his tongue and gave a mock-pitying look. “Can you afford it?”

Taehyun frowned. “Come on, you know I’m on a student budget.”

“I know,” Beomgyu said, grinning. Then he leaned in, close enough to smell like vanilla and mischief, and kissed Taehyun’s cheek—light, teasing, too familiar. “But no money, no honey, Taehyunnie~”

Taehyun let out a breath, quiet and tired. “Can’t I just have this one time?”

Beomgyu paused mid-step. Turned slightly, still smiling—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.. “I already gave you a freebie once.”

Then he turned again, walking ahead without waiting for an answer. Taehyun stayed back, watching him go—smile faltering, hand still half-raised from where Beomgyu had kissed him.

Always just out of reach. But that’s a story for another time.

Right now, Yeonjun was back in his dorm.

Because he came in planning to assess the damage—take stock of what he had to clean up after that night—and the worst of it, obviously, had to be the bedroom. Only, when he stepped in, he didn’t see the sticky floor he expected. Nope. It was borderline shining . It had been cleaned. Mopped , even—like someone had gone over it with actual care.

His jaw tightened. Alright, fucking fine. The bed then.

What he hadn’t noticed earlier—and only registered now that he had caffeine and actual food in his system (and not just, you know, Soobie Seed)—was that the bed was immaculate. Well, a little messy from how he’d woken up and dragged himself out, but the sheets? Fresh. Yesterday’s. Tucked in. Corners folded.

That fucking nerdy— He stalked over to the laundry hamper. Flipped the lid. And there they were: the soiled sheets. The ruined ones. The ones soaked in spit, sweat, and at least two kinds of bodily fluids. And somehow, that made him more pissed.

Because Soobin hadn’t just ghosted him. He’d cleaned up afterward. Like a fucking gentleman .

Because, WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT? What the fuck was he playing at?! What was this? A studio Ghibli one-night stand?! The fuck is this— My Neighbor Totoro and the dude with A NINE INCH COCK?!

So Yeonjun fumed. Boy stewed.

Like a rack of brisket in a smoker—low heat, high pressure—for days.

He was practically counting down to his humanities class, dead set on giving Soobin a piece of his very pink, very sparkly, very pissed-off mind.

He had it all planned. He’d sit across the room, shoot daggers at Soobin for the full two hours. The guy would feel it—like psychic assault. Then he’d corner him right after class. Watch him stutter. Not in that cute, nose-twitchy, squishable way—nope! In the “I’m about to get emotionally bodied in public” kind of way.

And then he’d wail on him. Proper full-volume meltdown. People would stare Like a proper telenovela. If there’s one thing this Performing Arts and Dance is how to put on a proper show. 

Then he’d lean in close, jab a finger into Soobin’s chest, and flat-out kiss him—

Wait. What?

No! Not that! He’d yell ! Not kiss! Jesus!

Whatever. He was already pumped the morning of humanities class. Practically buzzing. Almost did stretches and vocal warmups like he was about to step on stage. This was his moment. His monologue. His revenge arc.

Then his phone pinged. He almost ignored it—probably some student council update or dance club group chat nonsense—but the notification preview flashed: URGENT.

His stomach dropped. It was from his humanities professor. And wouldn’t you fucking know it? The guy was setting a reading break. For a whole-ass month.

"Due to personal reasons," the email read, "I’ll be stepping away from instruction. Please refer to the reading list and expect writing prompts to be sent for self-submission before..."

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!

Yeonjun stared at the screen. Thumb frozen. Eye twitching. This was not part of the plan. He had rage. He had rhetoric . He had a 30-minute takedown monologue and a full ensemble built around his best angles in case Soobin made eye contact. And he wanted Soobin to make eye contact. Wanted him to look. Just look—because this outfit? The one he picked out the night before? Midriff-baring. Cropped just right.. He knew Soobin looked at it last time. And since it felt nice to have his attention and maybe if he— WHAT THE FUCK AM I THINKING ABOUT?!

He practically threw the phone across the room. Stood up. Sat down. Stood up again. Punched a pillow. Missed and slapped the head board instead. 

Today was not his day.

And the next day? Also not his fucking day.

Why did sitting on his own couch make him think about the way Soobin hovered over him—just before kissing him and it made his stomach go asdjkhakdjhakjdhaksd?! 

And the day after that? He was doing laundry in the communal room of his building when he caught Soobin’s scent in one of his pillowcases. And for two full seconds, he almost took a sniff. A sniff?!

Nope! He immediately chucked it into the washer so hard the elderly neighbor at the dryer next to him flinched. Gave him a look like he’d just screamed at a ghost. He bowed and muttered an apology. 

And then the day after that—he was in the library, trying to be a good, studious human, actually doing the required readings for humanities. Midway through flipping a page, he picked up his reading glasses. The way they settled into his hands? Reminded him of how he had made Soobin put his own glasses back on.

“I don’t want you to miss it, ” he’d whispered. Right before... 

Yeonjun slammed Critiques of Reason by Immanuel fucking Kant so hard seven people shushed him in unison.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Relax. What is this, a library?”

He packed up his shit in a blur. Grabbed his glasses like they were radioactive, shoved them into his bag, and stormed out—because there was no way he was getting through a single paragraph of Kant after that mental image.

He needed to walk it off.

Campus was winding down, street lamps flickering on, the early evening buzz mellowing out. A stroll. That’s what he needed. A nice, chill walk to get his head back on straight. Yeah. That was a good idea . A walk. Through the gym courtyard. With the giant windows. You know, the ones where all the hot buff dudes flex during their cooldowns. Yeah, maybe one of them would rail him hard enough to make him forget that delicious nine-inch—

Oh for fuck’s sake!

He groaned into his hand. Still, a plan was a plan. He swung by the little campus coffee stand near the main park, grabbed something iced and bitter, then started walking—long detour-style—right past the physio building. He wasn’t expecting anything. Just a walk. Just muscles. Just a distraction.

But who—who—decides to be the one guy just getting off the only cable machine directly in front of the window?

Soobin.
In a white tank top. And a backwards snapback.

Yeonjun wasn’t prepared. He thought he’d see Soobin maybe… reading? Typing in a corner somewhere? Not literally pumping iron .

Pale skin practically glowing under the gym lights. Veins thick and defined, biceps flexed and veiny as hell. The tank top was loose—but not loose enough. It clung in all the right places. Hung low enough on the sides that Yeonjun could see the ridges of Soobin’s obliques every time he moved. And with those arms crossed like that—veins bulging, shoulders tensed, mouth parted slightly like he was still catching his breath…

He watched Soobin turn and—holy fuck—even his back was broad?! Yeonjun didn’t even like backs. He liked faces. Specifically the kind twisted in pleasure underneath him. But this? This was porn . Soobin wiped his face with the towel and it slid down the dip of his throat, soaking up sweat. Just like when he was fucking me until I squir—

Yeonjun choked.

He actually choked on his iced coffee, coughed, nearly dropped the cup, and backed into a lamp post—all in one motion.

People on the sidewalk stopped and stared. Yeonjun wanted the earth to swallow him whole. He was just about ready to bolt when he made the mistake of glancing back toward the window—only to see her . A girl. A fucking girl. Standing next to Soobin, shifting her weight from foot to foot, twirling her hair, laughing way too hard and—oh, hell no —grabbing his bicep.

The expression vision turned red got thrown around a lot, but here? Very apt. Yeonjun felt his blood boil so hot his face practically matched the pink in his hair.

He was about to storm in—was already halfway into a rage strut—when he stopped just long enough to toss his empty coffee cup in the bin. He was angry, yes. But he wasn’t an animal.

Then he marched into the gym, sneakers somehow managing to stomp on padded floors.

“YOU!” he shouted, blowing past the girl like she didn’t exist.

Soobin blinked, mid-wipe with his towel, squinting just as Yeonjun came into range—close enough to grab him by the wrist. His eyes went wide.

“Y–Yeonjun?!” he stammered, barely getting the words out before Yeonjun hissed—literally hissed—at the girl. Without missing a beat, Yeonjun yanked Soobin forward, storming off with all the dramatic force the performing arts major has been holding in for almost a week. Soobin stumbled after him, confused, slightly terrified, and very much aware that his towel was still hanging awkwardly around his neck.

“Where—where are we—Yeonjun?!” Yeonjun didn’t answer. Just pushed open the double doors to the men’s locker room and glared. 

There were at least five massive guys changing mid-protein-shake-conversation—but when  Yeonjun turned that fire-breathing death glare on them and snapped, 

“OUT!”

They left. All of them. A literal stampede of startled gym bros. One guy dropped his shaker bottle. Another forgot his towel. No one looked back. And then it was just the two of them. Soobin, wide-eyed and breathless. Yeonjun, chest heaving, high on fury fueled by an americano with a pump of syrup and extra shot of espresso. 

He shoved Soobin back into the lockers with a loud clang, the sound bouncing through the empty room. Then he stepped in—way too close—and planted one arm against the metal right beside Soobin’s head, caging him in.

Soobin flinched. Visibly. His back hit cold steel, and his eyes went wide, blinking up at Yeonjun like a deer caught in neon pink headlights. His towel was still around his neck. His shirt still clung to his chest. He looked like he was sweating for entirely new reasons now.

“I want answers!” Yeonjun demanded and Soobin visibly swallowed. A single drop of sweat rolled down his temple, trailing along the line of his jaw—and maybe Yeonjun did want to lick it, but that wasn’t the point right now.

“A–answers to… what?” Soobin asked carefully, voice small and cautious. 

It was a fair question. A damn fair question. Because now that Yeonjun had him cornered, now that the adrenaline was cooling into caffeine jitters and rage hormones… his brain finally caught up. And he had no fucking clue what he was supposed to say next.

“To…to stuff!” Yeonjun barked, arms flailing slightly, trying to land back on his feet. “Important things!”

Soobin blinked again. He looked like he was waiting to get slapped.And then Yeonjun finally snapped, voice cracking with the first note of something real.

“Why did you leave me alone that morning?!” There it was. Out in the air. Not clever. Not snappy. But real.

“I—I had somewhere I needed to go!” Soobin blurted, like he’d been holding it in this whole time.

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. “That’s bullshit. No one needs to be anywhere that early.”

“I’m serious!” Soobin squeaked—shaky but sincere, his hands. “I had to get to the industrial design building early! I was meeting someone—I’m borrowing a mold maker to, um… to make the base structure and scales for the Rathalos Armor .”

Yeonjun stared. Blank. Soobin blinked rapidly, then added quickly—like it was critical information.

“...from Monster Hunter Freedom Unite! For my next cosplay!” Yeonjun’s brain short-circuited. Too many geek words. Too fast. 

He squinted like the phrase had physically offended him. “Rathalos Armor?” 

“Y–yeah…a–and a gunlance…” Soobin trailed.

STOP SPEAKING NERDANESSE TO ME!

“F–fine!” he huffed, scrambling. “Then why… aha! Why’d you fucking—uhm—change my sheets, huh?!”

Soobin tilted his head. “Because we, uh… messed them up? There was no way I was gonna let you sleep in that.”

Yeonjun opened his mouth. Closed it. Fuck . That was… a solid point.

Still, he puffed his cheeks, scrambling for something else. “Oh yeah?! Then why’d you—uhh—why’d you bathe me, huh? PERV!”

“You were barely conscious,” Soobin said, flustered, cheeks coloring. “After I… you know—after the third time—so I thought it was the least I could do sice you were uhm covered in it…”

Yeonjun blinked.

“I helped you wash up,” Soobin continued, eyes darting everywhere but Yeonjun’s. “Then dressed you—and moved you to the couch. So I could clean the bedroom. Changed the sheets. Wiped the floors. By the time I was done it was like 3AM.”

Yeonjun tried to hold onto his glare.

“I was gonna leave,” Soobin said softly. “But then… you told me to stay.”

Yeonjun’s glare wavered. “What?”

“You, um…” Soobin’s blush deepened. “You cuddled up to me.”

“No way in hell I did—!” Yeonjun started—then the memory hit.

His own voice, whining into Soobin’s shoulder. His body curling up close, face nuzzled into his neck, legs tangled. And him mumbling, half-asleep: Soobie, don’t go. Stay. Wanna cuddle…

Yeonjun shut his mouth immediately. Fuck. Yep. That happened. And now his ears were as pink as his hair.

And now his ears were as pink as his hair. But he wasn’t done. Not yet.

“Then… uh… then why’d—oh! Why didn’t you call me after? Or—OR! Ha! Why the fuck are you avoiding me, huh? Huh? Huh?! ”

Soobin flinched but didn’t look away.

“Yeonjun… I don’t have your number. And we only have that one class together. And we’re on a reading break…”

Yeonjun blinked.

Oh. Oh. —Fuck!  His telenovela energy fizzled instantly, all the fire and fury draining out of him and pooling somewhere low and cold in his gut. That ache again. That annoying hollow pinch at the bottom of his heart that had been clawing at him for days.

And then, softer, smaller, he finally said the thing he’d really meant to ask all along.

“Then… why’d you leave me alone after, Soobie?” he mumbled, voice cracking. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

Chapter Text

“…Why’d you leave me alone after, Soobie? Why didn’t you reach out?”

At twenty-two years old, the graphics design major Choi Soobin had never been punched in his life.

Sure, he was the quiet, nerdy type — always more into PSPs and sketchpads than social drama — but he wasn’t bullied. Not really. He was tall, decent at sports, polite enough that most people just left him be. Geeky, yeah. But harmless. The kind of harmless that didn’t warrant anyone’s fist.

So why did it feel like Yeonjun had just socked him in the gut?

Looking at him now—at Yeonjun, pink hair slightly mussed, lips jutted in a pout that didn’t feel playful, eyes downcast like he couldn’t even bring himself to meet his gaze—Soobin wanted to invent time travel. Not to undo the sex. God, no. That was hands down the best sex Soobin had ever had in his very limited (but now very overwhelmed) experience. But he wanted to go back just to sucker punch himself—for making Yeonjun feel like this.

Because Yeonjun looked hurt. Not pissed. Not smug. Not ready with some snappy comeback. Just... hurt. Small, even. And Soobin knew, without a doubt, that it was his fault. And why didn’t he reach out? That was a fair question. And honestly?

“I thought you didn’t want me to,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Because, for all the angst and the glasses-dropping flashbacks Yeonjun had all week, Soobin—a man who literally thought he was straight only a little over one hundred and sixty-eight hours ago—was undergoing what could only be described as a full-blown sexuality crisis.

Because from the moment he kissed Yeonjun for the first time, to the moment he grunted out one final breath and sprayed what was, surprisingly, still a lot across Yeonjun’s flushed face for the third time that night—Soobin had pretty much accepted that, yeah, he was not, in fact, as straight as he thought.

Sure, sex is sex, right? Getting his monster donger sucked by the prettiest boy on campus could’ve been chalked up to a one-time bicurious blip. Happens. All dudes are pasta, right? Straight until wet. He could’ve spun that angle. Said all the right hetero-adjusted things. Even the aftercare—changing the sheets, bathing Yeonjun, putting him in fresh clothes—technically just being a decent (if slightly above-and-beyond) human.

But it was the moment Yeonjun mumbled in his sleep, asked him to stay… cuddled into him like it was the most natural thing in the world and clung to him all night… and then woke up with the morning sun casting over his face, hair mussed, lashes soft, lips parted like a damn dream—yeah, that probably did it.

And okay, maybe Soobin had already gotten dressed. Maybe he was halfway out the door when the panic hit. Maybe he did order aspirin and a bottle of Gatorade through a shopping app, and yes, maybe the delivery fee was more expensive than everything combined.

And maybe—just maybe—before he left, he kissed Yeonjun on the forehead after scribbling that dumb note. Because his buddy from Industrial Design had already called three times, and Soobin had a 3D mold printer booked with his name on it.

But yeah. Crisis. Full-blown. Basically the Titans are inside the walls.

He made it to the industrial design building on time. Helped with the molds. Burned his hand on hot plastic. Dunked it under cold water while trying not to flinch, still distracted. Because his brain? Still stuck on how goddamn beautiful Yeonjun looked that morning. Still flashing back to the night before. The sounds. The heat. The things they said (thank god he was properly spent—because the images playing in his head? Obscene.) And it didn’t stop.

The next day, Soobin walked into a convenience store and got hit with that Ariana Grande perfume Yeonjun wore—sweet, too strong, and for some reason, completely addictive. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He spun around like a puppy on instinct, expecting soft pink hair, soft voice, that soft sleepy face from the morning light. Instead, it was a middle-aged woman buying energy drinks and foot pads. Yeah, that shit hurts. 

Then came the real heartbreak. The professor announced a reading break. Soobin sulked. Hard. He thought about messaging Huening Kai, asking for Yeonjun’s number under the guise of a study group, or asking about the reading list. But the closer he got to typing it out, the more something ugly started scratching at the back of his throat.

Dude, does Yeonjun even want to see you?  Soobin wasn’t stupid. He might’ve been late to his sexuality revelation, but he wasn’t blind. He’d… heard things. The whispers. The comments. And out of curiosity—or maybe desperation—he’d clicked. Searched. Scrolled. Dug just enough to know. Yeonjun was known. Yeonjun had stories. People didn’t just talk about him, usual campus gossip that ran around.

Soobin was just one more. A one-night extra in Yeonjun’s obviously illustrious OVA. The kind of blink-and-you-miss-it character the main ahegao girl hooks up with just before meeting her actual love interest.

Why the hell would Yeonjun want to see him again?

And yeah. That one fucking stung.

So now, after a workout he barely even remembered doing—after trying to clear his head and accidentally talking to one of the gym girls who always hovered a little too close—Soobin found himself nearly dragged across the gym floor by a very angry, very loud, very pink-haired Yeonjun.

And now that same femboy—who had been running through his thoughts like a hamster in a wheel for the better part of a week—was right here. Cornering him. Demanding answers.

What does Soobin do?

Well, obviously—he stutters. Shakes. Eyes dart around like he’s buffering mid-conversation. That’s our awkward, overthinking, hentai-downloading, introverted gooner nerdy boy. It’s who he is.

But what he does next? That’s the important part.

He reaches out. Gently. Holds Yeonjun’s face in both hands. And lifts it—softly—just enough to meet his gaze.

“Did you want me to?” Soobin asked, voice soft but steady. “Did you want me to reach out?”

Yeonjun, being Yeonjun, clicked his tongue, rolled his eyes, and scoffed, “What the fuck do you think?”

But of course Soobin—sweet, flustered, emotionally buffering Soobin—blinked like he needed a reboot and said, “Yeonjun… I need you to hear it.” His hands were still cupping Yeonjun’s face, thumbs gentle along his cheeks. He leaned in closer, heart thudding. “I—I need you to say it for me.”

And of course that’s when a fresh squad of gym bros strolled into the locker room—sweaty, loud, and laughing like they owned the place.

Without missing a beat, Yeonjun turned and went full Rihanna, going from zero to sixty in three point five, shouting at full diva volume:

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT!!!!”

Yeonjun spun right back around, deadpan gone, eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed. All soft again. Like a full Shoujo manga panel—sparkles, petals, dramatic lighting included. “I wanted you to,” 

And that—that—was the moment Soobin’s heart did something really stupid. Like fall.

Fall for Yeonjun.

Because he leaned in, slow, tentative—just enough for their lips to brush before he whispered, “I—I’m really sorry, Yeonjun… I didn’t—”

Yeonjun sighs “—can you just kiss me again, Soobie?”

“ Please?” 

And yep. There it was. The nickname. That goddamn nickname. The one Soobin’s brain had been itching— scratch that —dying to hear again. In Yeonjun’s voice. Sweet and teasing and soft and all wrapped in that fucking pout that made him stupid.

So yeah. He was done for. He leaned in and kissed him. Kissed Yeonjun.

Holy fucking shit he was kissing him again—the pretty femboy, the one from the party, the one who’d sat in his lap like he belonged there, the one Soobin had bent and stretched and held and kissed like a dream—and he was kissing him now. Right now. Again.

And it would’ve been so romantic. Perfect. Literally a romantic anime closing scene—cue soft fade, cherry blossoms, dramatic strings, final kiss as the camera pans out.

Would’ve been romantic… If not for the very real, very inconvenient fact that Soobin now had a massive boner pressing into Yeonjun’s stomach. Again.

And Yeonjun? Was already grinding up on him. No shame. Mewling into the kiss like this wasn’t a very public, very walk-in-able locker room. Like they hadn’t just nearly traumatized a full squad of gym bros.

Soobin had to actually pry him back—just a little—hands on Yeonjun’s waist, breathing like he just sprinted a mile. “Y–yeonjun…w–wait~” 

Because Yeonjun was already pushing in harder. Hands in Soobin’s hair. Chest to chest. Pressing Soobin right up against the lockers, the cold metal digging into his spine while Yeonjun basically tried to climb him like a tree.

“Yeonjun—!” Soobin half-gasped. “This is… this is the men’s locker room—”

Yeonjun looked up at him with smudged gloss, blown pupils, and a hunger in his eyes that made Soobin’s brain glitch out. He rolled his hips again, slow and deliberate, grinding right against Soobin’s growing bulge.

Soobin’s brain bluescreened.

And then—Yeonjun fucking smiled. That smile. Wicked, knowing, sweet as sin.

“Soobie,” he purred, voice all breath and tease, “can you fuck me here?”

Soobin twitched. Down low. Instinct said yes. Logic screamed no.

He grabbed Yeonjun’s hips, trying to still him—barely holding on to a thread of sanity. “We don’t have any lube—!”

“Spit on it,” Yeonjun whispered, already palming Soobin through his shorts like that solved everything.

“Yeonjun, that’s not—fuck—” Soobin grit his teeth, trying to breathe. “That’s not gonna be enough—”

Yeonjun leaned in close, hot breath on his ear, the devil in his tone. “Why aren’t you calling me properly?”

Soobin blinked. “What?”

But Yeonjun’s hand slipped past the waistband of his shorts, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock with practiced ease.

“Isn’t it Yeonjunnie?” he whispered. “Or… baby ?”

Soobin full-on blue-screened. Again.

It took every conceivable ounce of processing power, self-restraint, and the literal act of gripping the base of his own cock to stop himself from flipping Yeonjun around, yanking those shorts down, and absolutely ruining him against the lockers for anyone to walk in and witness. But no. No, fuck that! This femboy? Was his . And nobody—nobody—was going to see his pussy get stretched but him.

Soobin surged forward, kissed him—firm, deep, just shy of desperate. Sweet, but grounding. Lingering, but final. 

When he pulled back, Yeonjun was wide-eyed, lips wet, already gearing up for the dirtiest, most bratty, most fuck-me-right-now-or-regret-it-forever comeback Soobin had ever heard. He could see it loading in real time. So he cut him off.

“—I’m gonna take a cold shower,” Soobin said, still slightly panting. “And you’re gonna wait outside.”

Yeonjun’s face scrunched up. Yep he’s got another retort, a bratty complaint in the chamber and what does Soobin do? Another kiss—quieter this time, softer at the edges, right over Yeonjun’s gloss-stained mouth. He barely pulled back an inch when he added:

“And then we’re gonna go on a date.” Yeonjun blinked. Still short-circuiting. Mouth open.

For the third time, he was about to protest. Soobin could feel the my-way-or-no-way-mode powering up again—right there behind those narrowed, glitter-lashed eyes and that pouty mouth already halfway to a snarky retort.

So he hit him with the uno reverse. “Please, baby ?”

Yeonjun’s lips twitched. Like he was trying not to smile. Like it was physically painful to keep the smug, dizzy blush off his face. His ears turned pink first. Then his cheeks. Then—barely holding it together—he turned on his heel.

“Fuckin’--f–fine!” he huffed, full brat-mode, waving one hand as he walked off. 

“But hurry up—and wear a tank top!” And with that, the locker room door swung closed behind him. Leaving Soobin with a raging boner, a racing heart, and the very real need for the coldest shower of his fucking life. Which he did get. Like, bone-deep, soul-and-cock-resetting cold. 

He had a full meltdown in there—a quiet freakout into his hands, whisper-screamed “ fuckfuckfuck ” into the tiles, mentally slapped himself into acting normal. He got out Slid his glasses back on. Borrowed a clean tank top from one of the gym bros he was kinda cool with. Promised to return it. Managed to get out of there in under ten minutes.

When he stepped out? Yeonjun was still there. Sitting on the bench, phone in hand, looking bored as hell. Casual. Normal. There. And Soobin almost dropped dead on the spot from relief. Thinking he hallucinated everything that just happened. 

And the date he’d so proudly declared? Horribly mid.

They hit up the concession stand, got some street-style snacks, and walked around campus while it slowly faded into dusk. Nothing fancy. Not romantic. Just… casual. Chill. Normal. Except nothing about this felt normal. Yeonjun talked. A lot. About literally everything. 

And Soobin? Soobin barely followed any of it. He nodded. Smiled. Tried to listen. But the whole time, his brain was short-circuiting. Because holy shit . Yeonjun. Was. So . Pretty. Every gesture. Every laugh. The way he adjusted his crop top when it rode too high. The glint in his earrings when he turned toward the light. Unreal.

“...yeah, and I walked out and left them with the bill because—” Yeonjun paused mid-story, cocked his head to the side, eyebrow lifting  “—Yah! Soobie?” Are you even listening to me?”

“...y–you’re pretty ~” he said, utterly dazed—like an anime protagonist laying eyes on the busty female lead for the first time.  

Yeonjun paused. Then beamed. “Aww, thanks Soobie! I know!”

Soobin’s face turned bright red , ears hot. “I mean—like—seriously. Yeonjun—”

Yeonjun held up a finger. “Yeonjunnie or baby. Pick one.”

“...Yeonjunnie.” Soobin fumbled the name out quietly, then—braver. 

“You’re, like… the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.”

Yeonjunnie’s smile went soft. Not cocky. Not smug. Just warm. Glowing under the campus lights.

“Prettier than your hentai girls, Soobie?” Yeonjun pouted, poking his cheek, acting cute—and yep, cute femboy boner officially unlocked for our boy Soobin, right in the middle of campus.

“So much,” Soobin breathed out, completely dazed. And holy shit—did he just make Yeonjun blush? The prettiest boy he’s ever seen, ever , literally dusting pink in the cheeks. 

“Aww, shucks, Soobie. Just say you wanna get in my pants—I’m easy.”

“I—I do…” Soobin blinked. He said it. Honest. Instantly. Then flushed so hard. “I mean no! Wait—not like I don’t, I do , I just—fuck, Yeonjunnie, I really do but like… also more than that. I wanna… I dunno, go on dumb walks like this. Get to know you. Like, really know you. And just…”

His voice cracked.

That little pit opened up in his stomach again. Cold anxiety creeping back in like a wave under the door. Does Yeonjun even want that?

“I mean—unless you don’t! If this isn’t what you’re into, or you were just—I mean, that’s totally fine, you don’t have to—but like, I can be chill, I can just—”

Yeonjun stopped. Just stopped walking. Stepped right into Soobin’s space and grabbed him gently by the face—both hands—tilting his head until their eyes met.

“I do.” Two words. Clear. No hesitation.

“I do want to do all that with you, Soobie.”

Soobin’s troubles left him all at once. Like someone unplugged the panic. Like that knot in his chest just... snapped. And fuck did that feel good! 

And then Yeonjun leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice dropping low. Dangerously low.

“But I also want you to fuck me raw again, Soobie,” he whispered. Voice dripping with it now—full hentai-girl register, breathy, ruined, soaked in want. “Fuck, this tank top? You’re making me so hard, baby. I want it so bad.”

What happens next is 100% expected and still manages to fry every last functioning braincell Soobin has left. Because somehow—he doesn’t even know how—they’re back in the familiar elevator of Yeonjun’s building. And Yeonjun? The prettiest boy in the whole goddamn universe is pressed up against him again, close enough to kiss, close enough to bite—and Soobin’s hands are already hooked around his waist, tugging him in like instinct.

“ Oh? ” Yeonjun’s smirk curves up slow, hips shifting forward just enough to brush Soobin’s growing bulge. “Did Soobie miss me too?”

Soobin, barely breathing, barely thinking, rolls a straight d20 on charisma and somehow nat-20s the shit out of it. “You have no idea, baby.”

Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn.

Yeonjun’s smirk deepens. He leans in again, lips brushing Soobin’s ear, hips giving another roll that has Soobin choking on air.

“I missed you too,” Yeonjun whispers. “Missed you so much it drove me insane. Every night, Soobie. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

Yeonjun lets his hand graze down barely touching where it counts;  “About this. About how full I felt.”

His voice drops lower—sleazier, filthier, with that dangerous glint in his eye.

“No one’s ever made me squirt like that. Ever.” A breathy moan slips past his lips. “Pretty sure you fucking broke me, Soobie. Pretty sure no one else could ever make me feel that good again.” 

He grinds forward again, voice wrecked. “I want it again. I want you to ruin me all over.”

And Soobin? He’s barely hanging on. Right there. In the elevator. Glasses fogged to hell, brain bluescreened, the baseball bat in his shorts hard enough to hit a goddamn home run.

Yeonjun leans in close. Too close. A hair’s length away now—their noses brushing, foreheads touching, breath shared in the tightest little space. Everything felt hot. Electric. Dangerous.

“Soobie…?” Yeonjun whispered, voice soft but dripping in sin. His eyes flicked down to Soobin’s lips, then back up. “Do you want me?”

And how the hell was Soobin supposed to say yes — so much , so fucking hard , so desperately it hurts —without sounding like the biggest loser on Earth?

He did the only thing he could. He grabbed Yeonjun tighter. Pulled him in. Chest to chest. Cock to cock.

And when he ground forward—grinding into that sweet little femboy like his body couldn’t help it—it took everything Soobin had not to come right there in his gym shorts.

He leaned down, lips ghosting over Yeonjun’s ear, and said it again. The same words as before—but this time?

“You have no idea, baby.”

Let’s just say Yeonjun didn’t waste time. He grabbed Soobin by the wrist and practically floated them back to his apartment—because that’s how it felt to Soobin, being tugged along by the prettiest boy he’s ever seen, heart jackhammering, half-hard in his gym shorts, and very aware of how every step made his thighs brush just right.

Then the door slammed. Hard . So hard the frames on the walls probably shook four apartments down.

And Yeonjun? Already on him. Mouth open. Breath ragged. Mewling.

They didn’t ease into anything. There was no slow build, no teasing banter this time. Yeonjun pushed Soobin back against the door like he was trying to fuse them together, hands everywhere—clutching his tank top, yanking him down, pressing kisses that felt like they were going to bruise.

Soobin groaned into his mouth, then slipped down—lips trailing hot and hungry along Yeonjun’s jaw, his neck, right beneath his ear where Yeonjun made the cutest sound when kissed just right.

“Why the fuck does this perfume smell so good on you?” Soobin growled, His voice cracked in part frustration, part awe. 

Yeonjun froze for half a second. Just a breath. Then he went red. Actual blush blooming over his cheeks, the same way it did when Soobin first kissed him back at the party. Only now, his pupils were blown wide, and he whimpered instead of giggled.

“It makes me so fucking hard baby you have no idea.”

That made Yeonjun shiver— actually shiver—like WHOA THERE HENTAI BOY.

He pushed them both off the door, stumbling deeper into the apartment still tangled up, like they couldn’t separate even if they tried.  They made it to Yeonjun’s bed, and the back of Soobin’s legs hit the edge. Yeonjun gave one firm push and Soobin landed on the mattress, legs dangling off the end, gym shorts tight as hell around a very obvious, very heavy bulge.

Yeonjun stared. Just stared.

Hungry. His eyes dropped straight to Soobin’s cock.  He bit his lip, tongue flicking out slow across the top lip. 

Fuck, that shot straight to Soobin’s ego. And his cock. Equal measure. Because holy shit—this pretty little femboy, the one he literally going gay for, was looking at him like he was already nine inches deep down his throat.

“Wait here, Soobie,” Yeonjun said with that same slow smile, blinking up at him with wide, glossy eyes. “Five minutes,” he added. “And don’t touch yourself.”

What? Wait—what? The fuck is he—? Oh. The shower. Can I join? He voted against it since he may just walk in and just flat out shower fuck Yeonjun…not the most romatic. So for a whie Soobin lay there on Yeonjun’s bed, rock hard and wildly overstimulated from nothing but the sound of a shower and the mental image of Yeonjun in it. Alone. Wet. Naked.

His brain was having a full-blown tactical debate with itself.

“Should I get naked? I mean—Yeonjun said don’t touch myself. But he didn’t say don’t, like… prepare. Right?”

Soobin huffed. Nervous hands slipped under the waistband of his shorts.

“Okay. Just take them off. Nothing weird. Totally normal. Just… getting comfortable. That’s fine.”

He peeled them down slowly, biting his lip like that somehow made it less horny. Dick flopping out, thighs exposed, laid out on top of neatly folded legs like a discount bishounen boy from a late-night anime. The air hit him and, fuck, he twitched. A lot.

But then—panic. “Shit. I look stupid. This looks stupid. What am I even doing?”

Soobin scrambled to pull them back up, reaching blindly along the bed, fumbling around for the waistband, bent knees shifting awkwardly.

And that’s exactly when the bathroom door clicked open.

Yeonjun stepped in, damp and glowing, wearing nothing but a towel and a smirk that curled the moment his eyes landed on the scene before him. Because why wouldn’t he smirk? Laid out on his bed, caught mid-motion, was Soobin—stupidly toned, biceps flexed where he’d frozen mid-scramble, thick glasses slightly askew on his face, hair a mess.

And his cock. Still halfway out. Just… there. Thick. Flushed. Twitching like it knew it was being watched. Yeonjun blinked. Why the actual fuck is this the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life?

“So…” he said, voice low, dripping with heat. “This what I get for leaving you alone five minutes?”

Soobin opened his mouth—probably to explain that this was not what it looked like—then realized it was exactly what it looked like… and promptly shut his mouth again.Yeonjun didn’t give him a second to recover.

The towel hit the floor.

Yeonjun climbed onto the bed, slow and deliberate, every inch of him glowing. His skin was pale, kissed pink from the hot shower, smooth and impossibly soft-looking. Tiny beads of water still clung to the curve of his shoulders, ran lazy trails down the slope of his chest and the slim taper of his waist. He looked unreal. Pretty wasn’t even the word. It was offensive how pretty he looked. 

Soobin couldn’t move.

Yeonjun crawled up his body, thighs bracketing Soobin’s, straddling his hips. His hands planted firm beside Soobin’s head, their noses inches apart as he leaned in and licked a slow, teasing stripe up Soobin’s throat—soft, warm, sinful.

“Soobie-senpai…” he purred, voice soaked in sugar and heat. That name. Soobin visibly twitched, cock and all.  Yeonjun chuckled under his breath. His mouth hovered near Soobin’s ear, breath hot and damp, he whispered:

“Can you make me squirt again?”

Let’s just say Soobin didn’t just make Yeonjun soak his mattress, moan and beg all over again—he worshiped every inch of him, kissed him breathless well into the next morning. And now, they weren’t just making Yeonjun’s neighbors uncomfortable with how hard the headboard kept slamming the wall—they were making an entirely new batch of people uncomfortable, too.

“What the actual fuck am I looking at?”

Beomgyu stood at the edge of the arts building cafeteria like he’d walked into a glitch in the matrix. Because what else do you call the sight of Choi Yeonjun—pink-haired menace—sitting on the lap of one very large, very nervous-looking Soobin? Hoodie up. Hood drowning him, actually. Like maybe if he pulled it low enough, the rest of the world would cease to exist.

Yeonjun, meanwhile, looked perfectly content. Whining.

“Why didn’t you shower with me this morning, Soobie?”

Soobin was trying to explain. Or maybe plead for help. Either way, his voice cracked. “I—I had an early class. And my stuff was still in my dorm—”

Yeonjun pouted. Arms crossed. Nose scrunched. Full brat mode activated. “Then why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You looked too comfortable sleeping, I know you were tired and…Yeonjun, and—”

Yeonjun looked offended.“Oh, so now I’m just Yeonjun ? Not Junnie ? Not baby ?”

“I—what—???”

“Did I have an aneurysm and die?” Beomgyu finally made it to the table, plopping his tray down with all the grace of a man who had seen too much. “Is this hell? This feels like hell.”

“I sure hope you do,” Yeonjun shot back, not even sparing Beomgyu a glance. “You’re ruining a moment here.”

“I’m sorry—did I miss the part between yesterday , where you were calling him—I assume this is Soobin—an asshole, to now you’re a whining little bitch sitting in his lap? At noon ? In front of everybody’s—wait, what the fuck did I buy for lunch—?” Beomgyu looked down at his tray. “Oh, right. Salad?! ”

“No one cares about you.” Yeonjun deadpanned as he adjusted in Soobin’s lap, wrapping his arms around Soobin’s neck so casually it might’ve been illegal. Soobin, meanwhile, visibly short-circuited. Blushed so hard he looked like a thermometer. “And yes. This is Soobin.”

“Wait—you called me an asshole?” Soobin blinked, just now catching up.

“No, baby,” Yeonjun cooed, immediately switching gears. “I was just upset because you didn’t message me or call me or—whatever, it doesn’t matter, that’s in the past!”

“It’s been barely twenty-four hours,” Beomgyu said flatly. “You changed up quick.”

“What can I say?” Yeonjun shrugged sweetly. “Soobie here just knows that the way to my heart is five hours of nonstop prostate stimulation.”

Soobin choked mid-sip. Literally choked. Wrong move to drink anything when Yeonjun’s mouth was moving. And yep—attention? Officially attracted.

“Oh no, Soobie baby, are you okay?” Yeonjun asked, fake-gasping like it was a drama, grabbing a napkin and dabbing the corners of Soobin’s mouth like he was an old-timey nobleman’s wife.

“F–fine,” Soobin coughed out, swallowing a mouthful of water in self-defense.

Beomgyu blinked. “Okay. I’m lost. What are you two? Dating? Casual? Bed buddies bumping uglies?”

Yeonjun replied like it was the most obvious thing in the entire known universe. “He’s my boyfriend. Duh.”

Another spittake. Round two. Right out of Soobin’s nose this time. “W–wait. I’m your—?”

“Boyfriend,” Yeonjun said again, casually, tossing it over his shoulder. 

Soobin was malfunctioning. Absolutely short-circuiting. “Wait, we...uhm…you...wait...what—?”

Beomgyu stabbed his lettuce with a smirk. “Lol. Looks like Soobin didn’t know that.”

“Well, we are—not unless you don’t want to.” Yeonjun turned ull pout-mode activated, big round eyes and that soft, lip-jut thing that somehow made him look like a literal hentai catgirl. All Soobin saw in his brain was pink ears. Pink tail. Maid outfit. Big Nyaa~ energy.

And yep. Now he’s hard.

“No! I mean—no, I mean yes!” Soobin stumbled over every word like he was dodging fireballs in Mario. “I do want—fuck—Yeonjun, I do want to be your boyfriend.”

Yeonjun squealed. Squealed. Arms wrapped right back around Soobin’s neck in a full on hug. “Yay!”

Beomgyu sighed deeply. “Boy, you in for a wild ride.”

Yeonjun was rubbing his cheeks againt Soobin’s, all grins. “...and if I’m gonna let Soobie slip away from me! He’s got the best fuck game I’ve ever—”

Beomgyu stood. Full tray in hand. Walked off mid-sentence. “—nope, I’m outta here!” 

Just in time for Taehyun and Huening Kai to walk up. “Where are you going?”

“Away. From...whatever that is,” Beomgyu muttered, walking away from the cuddling chaos of Yeonjun and Soobin.