Chapter Text
| Chapter 1 |
of Twinks, Haunted Houses and Cursed Dolls
“...and thank you everyone for tuning into today’s episode of Sung-Scares! I will open up the poll for our 200K challenge tonight - cannot wait to see what everyone wants me to do~”
Jisung balls up his fists to look like cat paws and nyangs goodbye to the camera before turning off the recording.
He feels content with finishing yet another recording session - this one an episode about the Obon Festival origins. He makes a note to edit it and upload it for tomorrow and then open a poll as he just recorded.
Jisung moves onto shedding his vlogger persona, as his housemates call it. Today’s outfit was a black tight crop top with ghostface’s face dolled up in pink plastered on it, paired with a frilly pink and black mini mini-skirt, topped with star shaped pink hair clips and make-up to match.
If you had told Jisung from two years ago, he would be running a successful ghost stories vlogging channel decked out in the most vixen babygirl outfits possible, he would laugh in your face and cry about the people at uni who made fun of his love for wearing skirts.
But as it turns out, embracing his princess mannerisms and babygirlisms made for a decent paycheck as a content creator.
Jisung successfully changes out into a comfy hoodie and his round specs and tunes into his group’s discord call.
Part of Jisung’s fanbase is directly linked to Chan and Changbin’s, the younger man having been essentially launched by the older pair. This somehow led them to hosting a bi-weekly voice stream to maintain their community tight-knit.
“Oh, here he is! Welcome Sungie!” Chan’s voice crackles in through Jisung’s headset, kind and warm.
“Hi Chan-hyungie, how was this week’s hunt? See any fun things I can research and talk about?”
“Mmm, not really! But Binnie had an idea! You know, for your poll?” Jisung is glad the stream is voice only, because he almost drops out of his chair - any ideas coming from Changbin are likely to make Jisung embarrass or piss himself in fear. Or both.
Like that time he made Jisung go into an abandoned sewer tunnel in the pitch dark, and then sneaked around the other side to jump-scare him. Jisung almost did piss himself. He definitely cried.
“Oh that’s right I did!” He can hear the smugness drip from Changbin’s words.
“Oh boy, this can’t be good, ahah.” Jisung laughs, chewing on the straw of his ice coffee nervously.
“Oh, don’t chicken out on us Jisungie! The guys in the chat liked it when I mentioned it!”
There are a lot of sadists who watch Jisung’s content, loving to see how small and scared he acts. Fucking pervs. Jisung loves them…usually.
“Well, I- I guess I would do it if the chat likes the idea. And votes for it!” Truthfully, Jisung doesn’t really mind being pushed, tossed around or teased a little. He usually likes the effect his pathetic demeanour elicits in the audience. He likes being fawned over, taken care of. However, being this is for such a big milestone he is slightly nervous to see what people may vote for, since he promised he would make it extra special.
“Okay! That’s the spirit, Sungie!” Jisung dumbly nods, but then shakes himself out of it - no one can see it after all. It’s a voice stream.
“Alright, alright - listen to this: Why don’t you - drum roll please Chan-hyung,” Changbin requests and Chan happily obliges, sounds of what must be hand-to-desk drumming coming through the headset, “du-du-du-du-do a ghost hunt yourself!?”
Jisung must have early-onset hearing loss. The silence stretches.
“Sungie?” A questioning sound from his hyungs.
“I beg your pardon?” Jisung must have seriously misheard.
“A hunt, Sungie! You said you wanted to do a solo hunt if a chance presented itself!” Jisung did say he wanted to do a hunt last week, a solo hunt even - but that was after his third soju bottle.
“Me? An actual hunt? But I-”
“We have the equipment, it’s fine! You’ll see!”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆༺ 𓆩^._.^𓆪 ༻⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖
What Jisung did see was that this episode of the voice stream took off and suddenly his poll was getting too much attention. Clip twitter accounts, instagram fan-accounts, tiktok gossip accounts - all were sharing the voice stream and poll.
And Changbin’s cursed idea was winning by a landslide.
His own ideas - wear a slutty nurse outfit or do a no-lights vlog of a Top 10 scariest Urban Legends - did seem bleak in comparison, so he shouldn’t be mad at his viewers for preferring the solo ghost hunting idea.
“Hyunjin. Felix. If I died, would you buy a ouija board to keep me updated on the gossip?” Jisung throws himself on the couch.
“Stop being dramatic, Sungie. Realistically, how often did Chan and Binnie get into trouble during their little explorations?” Hyunjin snorts, all too used to his antics.
“Jinnie’s right, Jisungie.” Felix is the more sensible out of the three, usually. Jisung nods, still not fully convinced.
“But they’re - they’re them. They are big and loud and intimidating. I’m just a twink.” Jisung is full on pouting for show.
He thought his 200K sub challenge poll would be flirty slutty fun, not exploring a spooky undisclosed location on his own.
At this, his friends burst out laughing.
“Jisung, babe, you haven’t been a twink in a year. You are almost Changbin’s size.” Hyunjin gestures at Jisung’s biceps, tracing the taper of his shoulders in the air.
“Hey, you take that back! No size shaming, what the fuck?” Jisung half-heartedly throws a pillow at Hyunjin, laughing with his friends.
“Twink is a way of life.” Felix declares, left hand to chest, right hand down on an imaginary bible. “Such is our doctrine.”
“Gay-men.” Jisung and Hyunjin chant in unison, hands splayed solemnly over their hearts.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆༺ 𓆩^._.^𓆪 ༻⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖
Before he knows it, the poll has closed and he is recording a small video letting his followers know that yes, I will be going on a solo hunt ! I hope you are just as excited as I am, Woohoo!
Jisung stops recording, adds a bunch of cute kuromi stickers, a glittery filter, a little pink ribbon emoji on his hair and uploads.
He locks his phone and throws it on his bed with a grunt, burrowing under the soft comforter in front of him and screaming.
I can’t believe I let myself be pulled into this.
He screams into his pillow again for good measure.
“Jisung? Are you playing Silent Hill alone again?” Felix calls from somewhere outside his room.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆༺ 𓆩^._.^𓆪 ༻⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖
And so, three days, a trip to Chan and Changbin’s shared flat, some light prep, a trip to the convenience store for snacks and approximately one hundred “I can’t believe crybaby sung is pulling through” youtube comments later—
Here Jisung is.
Decked out in full-on Sung-Style — his trusted tartan pleated mini-skirt, a black crop tee, his lucky garter and enough chains around his neck for any metal detector to become a rave party.
“Here” is actually at the gates of the only Victorian-inspired, three-hundred-year-old maisonette in town. Jisung always wondered why there is a Victorian house on the outskirts of a South Korean suburb, but that’s not the type of questions he is here to ask.
The location was chosen by Chan, who had been looking into the house for fun.
The older man had explained that the house had been bought and sold over ten times in seven years due to undisclosed reasons. That sometimes weird noises would be heard and nobody could guess their origin. That shadows moved in the night and yada yada yada spooky stuff. Honestly Jisung had stopped listening halfway through, for his own sanity.
Jisung’s plan was to get some footage of the place, footage of himself, and then do a voice over-slash-picture-in-picture of him explaining the lore, and for that, he does not really need to know the chronological history of the creepy ass house.
One thing Jisung did retain about the house is that it is reported to look old and broken but somehow also having the aura of a lived in, pristine mansion. The weeds are supposedly always trimmed, no cobwebs to be seen, no dust.
It honestly makes the whole thing even more eerie - a clean ghost? How miserable had the human been that his spirit is tidy.
As much as Jisung’s bread and butter is the occult and, as much as he is inclined to agree spirits and ghosts are likely real, he is less inclined to believe just anybody can experience the paranormal. Because if everyone could, he would have certainly have encountered at the least a small orb in his twenty-five years of life.
However, experiencing the maisonette now, Jisung certainly feels something alright. All the stories Chan had fed Jisung about the house seemed to check out. He feels like there definitely is someone or something residing on these grounds, that the house is cared for, but his rational side fights this feeling seeing as the house is indeed old and broken.
“Okay. Okay, Jisung. You got this, diva. Let’s hunt some ghosts. Let’s Ghost Whisperer this mother-” He hypes himself up, drawing on his logical side that says the probability he actually experiences any supernatural phenomena is quite small.
He checks all the equipment he has brought in from his friend’s house. Adjusts the go-pro on his head, turns on the EMF Reader. Checks his backpack for snacks and drinks. Glances at the mansion. Asks himself why he couldn’t make his parents proud by becoming a doctor and marrying a nice girl instead of going into the entertainment industry and liking dick.
Okay, let’s end this. He sighs and makes up the pathway to the entrance.
The ground floor of the mansion is exactly what he expects: exposed brickwork where the wallpaper and drywall have been eroded with the passing of years, white sheets over furniture, light leaking in through half-drawn curtains. Nothing of note but still a nice aesthetic for his little goth inner-teen.
The scariest thing so far is the lack of dust - again, what sort of homemaker ghost is obsessed with cleaning.
Still, Jisung is not a rude person— he silently thanks the ghost for not setting off his dust allergies.
He takes a few photos of the living space, films some b-cuts and moves up the creaky stairs to the first floor.
Jisung is met with a few doors lining the single corridor that ends in a big stained glass window - how cliche. The vlogger snaps and films a few shots of the corridor, the old artwork lining the walls and the bust of a nameless woman that is propped on a small pillar-looking display.
Jisung then decides to try the doors - 6 in total it seems.
The first door opens onto another room filled with a lot of covered furniture. He takes a minute to look around, being immediately drawn to Grand Piano that is somehow uncovered.
As he comes closer, the vlogger confirms his suspicions that the instrument is not dusty, it’s cover lifted and bench in disarray, as if it was played not too long ago. There is also an open music sheet propped up - Claire de Lune.
“Oh? Why the hell is everything in this set up so cliche?” Jisung snorts to himself. “Is this a prank? Did I walk into a YA novel written in the early 2000s?” The boy makes a comedic show of looking around, but no one comes out of the shadows with a camera or shouts You’ve just been Punk’d.
Jisung decides to record himself playing for a while. He sets up the camera on the top of the Piano and presses play. He goes on to stroke the keys gently, getting used to the feel of them, before earnestly following the melody written down on the pages. He did always like music.
Finished playing the open page, Jisung recalls what exactly brought him here today and steps away from the piano after a last satisfying scale progression. He thanks the tidy-ghost for maintaining the piano in working order as he exits the room.
He decides to try the door opposite of the room he just exited but the lock seems jammed. He shoulders at it without success. Jisung is about to try kicking it open but a noise that echoes from the floor below has him jump off his skin.
Maybe he yelps, not that he would admit to it.
“I-I-I’m s-s-sorry! I won’t vandalize your house, tidy-ghost. I’m s-sorry!” Jisung squeals, shrinking himself down to a jittery ball.
Minutes pass in growing silence and Jisung feels increasingly more stupid for getting scared of what was probably the wind or a stray cat. He clears his throat and comes to stand, shaking himself from the scare.
With a sigh, Jisung smooths down his plaid skirt and combs his hair away from his eyes. Come on, Han Jisung, don’t be a scaredy mouse.
After deciding he will only feel at peace if he checks out whatever the noise was, and battling the part of his brain that says that’s how people die in Horror movies, he makes his way back down.
Thankfully, he finds the ground floor to be in the same state he left it in. He now sees, having come fully down the stairs, a small hallway to the left that he had not yet explored.
As he steps in that direction, he realizes it’s where the kitchen is and notices a secondary door next to the entrance to the kitchen.
Curiosity pulls at Jisung’s strings, making him open the door.
Of course, the basement.
In front of Jisung, winding stairs and probably impending doom.
He knows he should not venture down, even if the house has been mostly safe, clean and not really too threatening to his sanity. There is no way he won’t encounter, at the very least, a huge rat down there.
Good thing Jisung uses his conscience as white noise and not as a tool for decision-making.
He advances down the stairs.
As the open space comes into view, the first odd thing Jisung notices is the sunset lamp that is bathing the basement in warm mood light.
The second thing is the creepiest fucking porcelain doll Jisung ever saw that is sitting in the dead center of a salt circle.
“S-shit.” He startles, blinking himself into action. He is going to take a few photos and fuck right out of here.
He is about to click the shooter when a sudden draft of air licks at his nape, making his skin prickle with fear. He swallows the excess saliva gathering in his mouth and stills.
And then- an airy chuckle accompanied by a light, soft voice fill his ears.
“Ah, I really wish witches would stop trapping evil spirits in stupid, turn of the century dolls. It’s truly démodé.'
To say Jisung jumps so high out of his own skin that he glimpses heaven is an euphemism.
Bracing himself, Jisung clutches at the crucifix on one of his many necklaces. In a quick motion, he turns on his heel, brandishing the Shein-bought accessory against whatever hellish creature awaits him.
“B-by the p-power of G-god, I— I compel— huh-” He does his best to get out the words he learnt from, admittedly one too many, possession movies. As he stutters the words out, his eyes finally focus - not on a horrid three-headed troll or gooey demon with razor sharp teeth, but on a gorgeous man?
Oh?
Jisung blinks, mind empty of everything except for the small smirk playing at the beautiful man’s lips.
The handsome man stands slightly taller than Jisung, big bright red eyes, ghostly hair falling just below his ear, perfect nose. There is something elegant and comfortable to the way he stands there in his joggers and hoodie, hand propped on his hip as he looks Jisung up and down, licking his lips.
He seems ethereal, otherworldly, but at the same time completely belonging to Jisung’s world. There is a familiarity to him that Jisung cannot put his fingers on. Like the forgotten name of your favourite childhood tv show.
But more than that, the openness with which he trails the vlogger’s figure makes Jisung wants to present himself as an offering— wait a minute, Han Jisung???
The man seems to take his sweet time in committing Jisung to memory, eyes tracing his figure torturously slow. Jisung is simultaneously drawn in and scared - wanting to bare his neck (what the fuck) at the same time he wants to cover himself and run away. His thoughts feel foggy, cotton filling his brain.
Jisung thinks the man’s eyes flash an impossibly brighter red for a second, and maybe- no, not maybe, he is certainly hallucinating the black/red veins that pulse faintly just under his skin.
In a moment of clarity, Jisung motions his trembling hand further out in front of himself, crucifix serving as a hopeful barrier between him and whatever or whoever this person is.
“Alright, alright, calm down Buffy the vampire slayer. Put your toy away, sweetheart. We don’t need your sorry ass to wake up my demonic roommate now, do we?”
“You—?” Jisung blinks at the dazzling smile the man is giving him, looks up at his eyes. All he sees are red glowing irises — his mind is clouding over. He feels a little dizzy, aroused even. Fuck. This is NOT the TIME for your pred/prey kink Han Jisung. “—The, huh, the doll?” He looks between the handsome man and the hell-spawn on the chair.
Gorgeous man nods once.
“My name is Minho.” Jisung nods back, the slight tingle of fear mixing with something heavier, stickier in his stomach. “What’s your name, princess?” He smirks, eyes glued to Jisung’s exposed thighs. The way the nickname rolls off his tongue make Jisung blush. He feels nauseous with emotions he can’t name, pulling at his core — this stranger is playing with him, but he feels compelled to, to—
Jisung finally remembers to answer the question Minho asked.
"Ji- wait a minute. " Gorg— Minho blinks, eyes back up to Jisung’s face. The vlogger gasps at the shamelessness of the man, so openly checking him out. He pulls at the hem of his skirt to try and hide his thighs before he continues.
"Why do you want my name?!” Jisung squints, his conscience doing abstract little twirls at finally being used for something. “T-thats not— I don’t— I don’t know you!" Jisung gestures between himself and Minho.
“Oh? Princess wants to get to know me, does he?” Minho takes a step closer to Jisung, who instinctively takes a step back. "Alright, ok." Minho laughs, light and airy, sharp canines on display.
Jisung stumbles backwards at the sight, losing his footing. He curses himself as his eyes glimpse the salt circle on his way down — he is falling into the circle. Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable impact and god-knows-what-else from the creepy doll.
The impact never comes, or rather, not ass-to-dingy-basement-cement-flooring impact. Instead, ass-to-soft-hoodie impact happens and damn Minho smells like fresh flowers and something else - Jisung recognizes the metallic twang to it but he can’t place what it is exactly. Jisung takes a deep inhale of the flowery scent, finding he wants to nuzzle against his neck— Woah???
As freakishly fast as Minho appeared behind him, Jisung blinks and Minho is now in front of him again, his softness against Jisung’s back gone. The vlogger closes his eyes for a moment to try and focus and, next thing he knows, Minho is pulling him along and out of the basement.
“Alright, enough thrilling experiences for you for today, silly child.”
Minho guides Jisung out into the lobby, hand pulling at his arm to drag him along as Jisung tries and fails to protest.
“I- huh- what? M-Minho?” Minho stops, Jisung almost crashing into his back, and turns around with a smile that is clearly as fake as the labubu the vlogger bought at the flea market last week.
"Off you go, baby." He grabs at Jisung’s shoulders and manhandles him out the door. "See you never, ta-ta~"
Jisung stutters a “Wait, what, who— yah! Stop pushing me out!”
“You're lucky to be out, darling, now stay out.” Minho crosses his arms over his sturdy, full, mouth-watering che— Woah, Han Peter Jisung?
“But— you— ?” Jisung clears his throat, swallowing his thoughts, and pushes through his words, standing his ground.
“What of me?” There is a feline quality to the smirk Minho graces Jisung with, that makes Jisung want to shrink in on himself.
“You live here?” He asks, receiving a curt nod from the other man. Jisung blinks and makes out to take Minho’s hand gently. “Are you, huh, —?”
“Am I what?” Minho looks a little bewildered at Jisung’s insistence.
“—Insane?” This makes Minho scoff, a sharp exhale leaving his nose. He nods, more to himself than to Jisung and retrieves the hand Jisung was cradling.
“Mmm, maybe.” Minho waves goodbye with one hand while he swings the door shut with his other hand.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆༺ 𓆩^._.^𓆪 ༻⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖
Later that night, Jisung does what Jisung does best: let’s the experience consume his whole being, obsessing just short of buying duct tape, red string and highlighters. He supposes the pin board in his mind is actually sufficient. No need for his friends to think he finally lost the plot completely.
Minho, Minho, Minho—
“Ji, you have been in the same position for like 9 hours now. What the fuck?” Hyunjin is at the door, taking off his shoes. Jisung slowly blinks at him, turning then to the clock mounted on the wall: 6:00 — he cannot make out if that is A.M. or P.M.
“I- wha-” Jisung’s throat feels hoarse, mouth dry. Now he thinks about it, his eyes feel dry and itchy too - how long did I sit there dissociating? The vlogger clears his throat and gets up, his limbs stiff from apparently sitting too long. “Woah, I really locked in, huh?”
“Locked in on what, my gay? You look like shit, did you even drink water or eat or sleep?” Hyunjin has made it to the kitchen by the time Jisung has stretched and regained control over his legs. He comes out with a water bottle and pushes it into Jisung’s hands, who takes it gratefully.
“Ugh, no, I just— I don’t don’t how that happened, I swear. I saw something weird and—” The first drink of water has Jisung refreshed, quickly gulping down half of the bottle.
“Weird? At that haunted place?” Jisung nods at Hyunjin. “Like, what?”
Jisung and Hyunjin settle on the sofa, where Jisung tells him all about the house, but especially the beautiful, gorgeous, sinfully allur-
“Just so I’m on the same page,” Hyunjin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you met some weirdo that you are now in heat over? Do I get that right?”
“Ye— I— That’s not what I said!” The vlogger feels his face heating up, he wants to hide in his bedroom. Yeah he did not say it, but Hyunjin hit the nail in the head. “…Maybe. I mean—”
“Han Jisung.” Hyunjin covers his friend’s mouth. “This guy could be all kinds of psycho, do you hear yourself? Who the actual fuck hangs out at a haunted house—” His exhale is resigned, “actually, no, don’t answer that, I’m surrounded by freaks.”
Jisung shifts in his seat, avoiding the judgemental gaze of his housemate.
"You don’t understand, Jinnie…” He adds in a smaller voice.
“No, I can’t say I do. And I hope I never have to understand. Please stay the fuck away from that place.” The gaze Hyunjin fixes him with is worse than any judgement he could pass onto Jisung - it’s an “I know you won’t listen and you will end up in shit” look.
Jisung pouts and sticks his tongue out at his friend.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆༺ 𓆩^._.^𓆪 ༻⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖
As expected, Jisung finds himself outside the gates of the creepy maisonette once more.
It’s early evening, the air is getting colder as the months advance into Winter and the leaves are crunching under Jisung’s feet.
He is halfway across the path to the front door when he hears Minho’s voice.
“I thought I told you to stay out, princess.”
Jisung turns around, but Minho is not there. When he turns back to the door, he sees the man right in front of him.
“Boo~”
Jisung cannot help but startle at his sudden appearance. He stumbles backwards but feels strong arms and that flowery scent before he truly loses balance.
“You really need to stop scaring me like that.” Jisung huffs but makes no move to back out of Minho’s embrace. Maybe he even moves an inch or two closer, for stability. And if Minho notices, he does not comment on it - and Jisung decides to ignore the mischievous glint in his eyes.
“And you really need to stop snooping around here. What is your obsession with my home anyway, Velma? This ain’t a Scoobi Doo episode, sweetheart.”
“I— I’m not obsessed with your stupid house. I, huh, I just—” Jisung’s first mistake was coming here after people said not to, but he feels now his worst mistake is looking into Minho’s red eyes.
“I— huh—” Jisung blinks, his thoughts fogging up again, dizziness crawling up his stomach. Jisung feels a little like a deer in headlights, a little drunk, a little possessed. His only clear thoughts are flowers, blood, teeth. Teeth?
“What, cat got your tongue, baby?” Minho’s voice crawls under Jisung’s skin, goosebumps riding up his arms.
Jisung’s hand comes up to Minho’s face, he feels distantly aware of Minho’s confused look. Jisung pokes at Minho’s top lip, trying to pry it open, subconsciously moving to confirm why Minho’s teeth peek out the way they do. Teeth, teeth, teeth, blood. There is a foggy thought trying to make it’s way to Jisung.
“Oh, wait— fuck—” Minho yanks his arm arm and shakes him lightly. “Wake up.”
“Woah.” Just as the fog comes, Jisung feels it receding. “What the f—” Jisung looks at his hand and then back up at Minho, who is now looking away.
“My bad.” Minho clears his throat and lets go of Jisung, taking a step back. And then another. And one more. And now he is at the door and shouting out at Jisung, “Anyway, like I said, get the fuck off my property, blah blah blah— goodbye, Nancy Downs.”
The last thing Jisung hears is the bang of the door as he is left to process what the hell just happened.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆༺ 𓆩^._.^𓆪 ༻⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖
It’s honestly a silver lining that the house is empty when Jisung returns. He would get an earful from Hyunjin about going back to the house. And what excuse did he have?
Did he go there in the interest of finishing his filming? No.
Did he go there to at least find out more about the doll? Also no.
Did he go there for anything remotely acceptable? No, no he did not.
The reason Han Jisung returned to that cursed house was dictated by his cock. Dick-tated if you will. There was no rational reason, no logical explanation. Just a painfully simple “Jisung is horny”.
Jisung just felt a pull whenever he thought about Minho and he had no idea why.
There is something in the corner of Jisung’s mind that bristles at the thought of Minho. However, when he tries to unveil those thoughts he feels light-headed, spaces out, mind filled with white noise. It’s similar to how he felt earlier, how his mind slipped, his body moving in ways he did not command.
Maybe I am just a freakishly horny bitch.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆༺ 𓆩^._.^𓆪 ༻⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖
Come to me, come to me, come—
Jisung feels warm, like his blood is heating up. There’s a faint touch. Weight. The feeling of being held against a body ghosting his thoughts.
His eyes cannot focus, he fights to open them, but the world is a blur. He reaches out with his hands, wants to make out what is happening. His hands find soft skin. Slightly cold but so soft, this broad expanse of skin.
There is a sliver of a scent, flowers. Something pulses under Jisung’s skin. There’s a soft sound Jisung cannot make out, it’s too blurry, but it’s inviting, comforting.
Jisung’s senses are not working, he cannot make out the world around him- but, oh? His body’s nerve endings are going haywire with scent and soft sounds and a chilled touch that is oddly gentle.
There is pressure on his wrist, soft peppered touches on his chest, a squeeze at his waist. Something, someone moves against him, hovers, he wants more- more- more-
He tries to chase the feeling, feels goosebumps erupt over his body, warmth coiling in his center. The soft touches travel up his chest, the flowery scent inching closer to his nose.
Jisung distantly hears himself pleading, he doesn’t know what for.
There’s a shift, a heavy weight settling between his legs, brushing against him. Jisung vaguely notices he is naked and he seeks the weight, moves his body to find the friction his cloudy brain is requesting. He almost registers his own moan.
He feels so good, his brain shutting down faster and faster until only flowers and pressure and softness register and—
Jisung feels something sharp at his neck. The sensations are confusing and overwhelming. Jisung moans, a name on his tongue—
“Minho—!” Jisung gasps and his eyes fly open, nothing but his ceiling above him. His breath comes to him in tiny gasps. He sits up, grabs blindly at a bottle of water he keeps on his nightstand and gulps through the dryness in his throat.
Well, fuck me. That was— Jisung palms down his body, confirming his suspicions - he is naked and hard.
With his mind clearer now, he does what he must: Jisung fucks his hand about it.
His thoughts travel back to red eyes, full chest and airy teasing voice. His dream plays behind his closed eyes.
He teases himself, thumbing at his slit, a shaky moan erupting from his throat. Two of his, now lube-slick, fingers find one of his nipples, playing with his chest as he increases his pace on his straining cock.
“Ngh- fuck—” Jisung’s breath becomes erratic as he pumps himself increasingly faster, moaning onto his pillow, wishing he could get more.
He imagines Minho taking him, whispering filth into his ear as he thrusts into him with abandon. Jisung’s mind latches onto the idea, momentarily letting go of his cock to fetch one of his dildos from the drawer and to smear lube over his rim.
Jisung’s mind fogs over with desire, holding onto the thought of being stretched open on Minho. He thrusts a finger into himself, groaning at the slight burn, thoroughly fucking himself open to make space for a second and then a third finger.
When he finally feels stretched enough to fuck himself on the dildo, he is dripping all over his stomach, his thighs trembling from the position. Jisung flips on his stomach, pressing his head and chest against the mattress, inhaling deep before pressing the glass dildo past his rim— flowers, his sheets smell like flowers.
If Jisung wasn’t so gone, cockdrunk on a dream, writhing and moaning out of sheer neediness to feel full, then maybe his brain could register the concern of Minho’s scent being all over his bed. But alas, all that Jisung’s brain can process is how much he wants to be split open on a cock.
He drives the dildo in hard and fast, angling and arching to hit just right. His cock twitches with the recklessness he is fucking himself with, the edge fast approaching. Jisung uses his free hand to stroke himself over the edge, coming fast and hard and with a moan that sounds a lot like Minho’s name.
It’s later, once he has cleaned up and changed his sheets and is pouring himself coffee while watching the sunrise, that it dawns on Jisung that he came ridiculously hard over a complete stranger he happened to have a sex dream about.
Somewhere in Jisung’s underused mind, his conscience cries a little.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆༺ 𓆩^._.^𓆪 ༻⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖