[no1likem1yo]

all i could think about was the private lessons ff 😣

@queenofsa1gon youve done your numbers with this one.

[queenofsa1gon]

the amount of people who have reached out to me about this is INSANE i'm crying why is tutor hj real😭😭 he read private lessons guys trust

jokes aside this genuinely helped my motivation for getting the next chapter out. chapter 24 by the end of this week promise xx

[mingiswow]

Cross The Line | Choi Jongho

Summary: You never believed in the stories you've heard about ancient beings that lived among humans, but after running away and finding solace in a small town far from where you came, you found yourself working for one of said beings, that proved day after day to be better than any human you've encountered.

Pairing: Vampire!Jongho x fem!reader

Word count: ~11k

Content Warnings: porn with plot, fluff, angst with comfort, Jongho is a man in this, mentions of toxic past relationships, mention of mental and physical abuse and manipulation (not by Jongho), mentions of blood, brief mention of killing (?), mentions of alcohol consumption and eating, boss-employee relationship boundaries being overstepped, making out, oral (reader receiving), unprotected piv (do not), creampie, biting, drinking blood, multiple orgasms (if I forget anything pls lmk)

a/n: I've been obsessed with baby boy Jongho for a while and the draft for vampire!jongho was gathering dust on my files bc i just couldn't set the tone right, but then the concept pictures fot gh4 came out and I saw that picture of him looking all hot and sexy in the armchair it was like a light bulb turned on in my brain. So yeah… enjoy :)

⚠️ english is not my first language so I apologize if there's any mistake

⚠️ this is a piece of fiction, in any way or form I intend to say that the people portrayed in the story act this way.

⚠️ as a writer (and artist and designer as well) I do condone the use of AI for creative work, therefore, I DO NOT use AI, nor consent to the use of my work for feeding machines.

⚠️ Do NOT repost my work

Working for a vampire wasn't on your bingo card, yet you found yourself sitting right in front of the incredibly intimidating man. He scanned your resume over and over as if the piece of paper would tell him a secret only he could hear.

"You know what you are applying for, right?" Mr Choi asked you, his voice resonating within the office. His eyes, a deep dark shade of red, watched you intensely and you wondered if he could read your mind.

You nodded, fixing your posture to be even straighter. "You need a personal assistant, someone to take care of your business while you take care of, well, your business" you chuckled lowly at your choice of words.

He nodded slowly, eyes still glued to yours and you tried to focus on the crease between his brows so you didn't have to look directly at his orbs, the intense gaze making you want to fold yourself into a cocoon.

Choi Jongho was a known man in your town. Not just for his business, but also for his philanthropy.

Living for so long in the same town has granted him some vision of past, present and future. What worked and what didn't. So he, along with a group of other vampires of the town, formed a board to help the city hall into best develop the place decades ago.

The idea not only worked but also turned your city into a model for your state and country, that exported the model for many places.

Through the years, Mr Choi also helped build hospitals, schools, take different types of business and factories to the city which led to the creation of many new jobs for the population.

He did all of that to help the town that welcomed him, and the others of his kind, and allowed them to grow there over the centuries.

Well, grow in the figurative sense of the word.

He hummed lowly as he finally moved his attention away from your eyes and all the air you were holding without knowing left your lungs. "I do have some more interviews to do, miss yn, even thought I am impressed by your resume" you smiled genuinely and nodded. "Mind me if I ask you why are you applying for this job when you have such a impressive resume?" You chuckled and lowered your head.

"Turns out companies don't seem to be looking at resumes or competence anymore" your voice was a little tired, remembering all the interviews and admission processes you've been through in the past two or three years. "If you don't have anyone to push you a little further, to talk with their friends about you, there's not much you can do. And to be very honest with you, Mr Choi, my current job doesn't pay me well, and your salary offer is quite attractive" the man chuckled, a tiny smile forming in the corner of his mouth.

"I like your honesty, miss yn, that is a virtue I admire and look for in an assistant" you bowed thanking for his compliment. "As I said prior, I have other candidates to interview, but I'll let you know your results as soon as I finish the process" he got up from his chair and you mimicked him.

"Thank you for your time, sir. I'm looking forward to hear more of you" you bowed profoundly to show respect and left the office.

As soon as you arrived home, that was conveniently close to the man's office, you threw yourself on the bed, clothes and all, utterly tired and drained from anxiety. Soon, your eyes fluttered closed and you drifted asleep.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The clicking of your heels echoed on the hardwood floors as you followed the man. He wasn't much taller than you but his aura was enough to make you fell much smaller.

He was always dressed impeccably, his tailored suits fitting perfectly on his body and giving him this clean and elegant cut. His shoes always dark and polished as if they just left the box and it wouldn't shock you if they actually did. His hair always perfectly gelled in place, a few strands on top of his forehead, his red eyes always deep and observant.

When you received the email that you were the chosen one to be his personal assistant you beamed in happiness. Not only to leave your terrible job but to earn a good amount of money to be able to take care of yourself properly.

Right now, you were following your soon-to-be new boss inside his house, the place smaller and cozier than you expected. Your curious eyes wandered quickly from side to side looking at what they could as you walked behind the man.

Jongho led you to his office, the place much cozier than the one where you had your interview. This one resembled more of a library than a office, his desk made out of a dark polished wood, the heartwood marks being visible. Behind it laid a beautiful chair made out purple-dyed leather. And on the wall behind it there were shelves stacked with dozens, hundreds of books. You wondered how many of those were from other century.

The man noticed your admired face and smiled, he was certain he did the right choice picking you. Ever since the first time you step feet inside his office the day of the interview with your posture held high and the willingness and eagerness of someone wanting to do something of their life he knew you were the one.

Of course he did a background check on you, as well as every other candidate, and your life story made his dead heart shrink. He was the one called a beast yet it was the humans that made you hurt. No wonder you were stuck in this small town hid on the map looking for simple jobs when you had such an impressive resume in your hands. Anywhere bigger and you could be in danger.

He sat on his chair and motioned for you to take a sit in front of him. You did so.

"So, miss yn, thank you for accepting to being my PA" you bowed slightly holding a gentle and professional smile. He pulled out a folder with a few papers on it "this is the employment contract, feel free to read and even take to a lawyer if you feel like" he slid the folder to you. "If something is not to your liking we can always discuss and see how we can adjust to best fit both of us".

You grabbed the contract and started to read. It was a lot, really, many pages of words you honestly didn't understand. But you were smarter than just sign something without reading.

"You can take home if you want, miss yn" Jongho spoke as he watched your eyes run from side to side trying to read the words fast. "As you will read, that are a few clauses that are very important for the functioning and progress of our partnership" you nodded, motioning to him that you were listening while still reading the contract. "First thing is that you'll have a trial period of a month to see how well we will work together" you nodded again, this time turning your full attention to the man. He smiled and hummed lowly. "Next is that you will be moving in with me to this house, we need to be together from the moment I wake up to when I go to bed, I know it sounds a little bit too much "he added when he saw your widened eyes, "but when you start working you'll understand what I'm talking about" you nodded once again, this time slower, the news getting you by surprise. "Another thing you need to know that is that even if I don't eat everyday, every once in a while a voluntary blood doll will come for me to feed. I know everything is very new to you since my kind don't tend to be in big cities, but now that you'll work for me you will have to deal with my feeding appointments" he explained as if it was the most common thing in the world, as if you were going to hire a professional chef to make his meals.

A small yet heavy silence fell on the room. As he expected. Jongho knew it was a lot for you to take and he decided to just dump all the most important clauses to you right in the beginning. It was better this way, not only he could access your facial expressions and read you but also to avoid further bigger shocks at home.

Your gaze switched from him to the books behind him, still too afraid to look too deeply and for too long into his red ones. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you applied for this job, yet reality was different than imagination. It always was.

"Do you have any further questions, miss yn?" He broke the silence and the trance you put yourself into.

You shook your head and cleared your throat "Not for now, sir. I'll read the contract and let you know if anything by tomorrow max" you replied and he hummed, back relaxing on the backrest of his chair, hands folded in his lap.

"Well, that's all for today, miss yn, if there's nothing else, you're dismissed" you lifted from the chair and bowed.

"Thank you one more time for the trust, Mr. Choi" you said and with his dismissive nod you left the room.

Before going home, you decided to pass in your favorite bakery and grab some pastries and baked goodies for you to eat while reading the contract.

"Oh wow yn" the old lady that ran the place chimed as you entered, "I've never seen you so dressed up. What's the occasion?"

You smiled and told her about your probable new job. You two engaged in small talk about it and how she was happy that you were finally looking for better jobs and moving on.

Truth was that you grew in an orphanage until you reached legal age and had to leave. You started working so you could afford college and somewhere to live. Life was never easy on you but you managed through it even when sticks and stones were thrown.

During your college years you met a boy, he was sweet, caring, kind. Until he wasn't. He started to make your life a living nightmare. Manipulating you, making you distance yourself from your friends until you were isolated and depended on him for basically anything. He became violent whenever you confronted him.

You feared for your life everyday.

The only way you managed to get rid of him was to leave the town you used to live as soon as you finished your graduation. You left your phone somewhere random because you knew he had a gps on it, grabbed what you could, got on the first bus you could afford with the little money you had and went to wherever the destiny led you.

That's how you ended in this small town filled with ancient creatures that you only heard tales of but never seen in front of you. Genevieve, the owner of the bakery, was the first one to take you in after you told her your story. You slept on the back of the bakery for a couple of months until you found a job and had enough money to rent a small place.

It's been three years since you left everything behind and started it all again. And you didn't regret a single bit.

You left your shoes at the door and sighed at the feeling of finally come down of the heels and put on your soft bear shaped slippers. You moved to the kitchen to serve yourself a cup of wine before diving into reading the pile of papers.

The pastries on the right, wine on the left and the folder in the center. Your body now comfortably hugged by your pajamas.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The moving came the week after you signed your contract. Suitcases and boxes of your stuff being moved into the room designated to you in his house. The one on the far left at the second - and last - floor.

You learned that, besides you, his butler Jinho also lived in the house but on the room beside Jongho's one in case he needed anything.

As stated in the contract, he was going to still pay for your rent and bills for the trial month in case it didn't work out and you had to go back home. You promised yourself to do your best and spent the whole week studying about the job and what people on the internet that had that job talked about.

The room you were given was almost as big as your whole apartment, the walls were painted in a light beige color except for the wall behind the bed that was a deep burgundy color that matched the sheets and pillowcases. The furniture was from the same dark polished wood you saw at his office and you couldn't help but run the tip of your fingers through the vanity that was a bit farther from the bed.

You walked to the big window that was covered by a curtain in the same burgundy shade and opened to find that that it was in fact a door that led to a small balcony. You smiled as you opened the glass doors and walked to the railing and watched the beautiful view of the city countryside. Your eyes instinctively closed as you smelled the sweet scent of flowers from the fields ahead of you.

Someone cleared their throat behind you, making your turn to find the perfectly suited butler at the entrance of your room. Your bags and boxes already inside. When had they put it there?

"Welcome to the property, miss yn" his gravely voice rumbled through the room as he bowed. You repeated the gesture as you walked towards the man. "I can see you already discovered your view"

You nodded smiling "it's really pretty looking at the flowers fields from up here, it also feels like I'm smelling into a fabric softener" you chuckled.

"I'm glad is to your liking" he showed no expression. "All your things are here as far as I am aware" you nodded confirming as you recognized everything that you packed. It wasn't much since you didn't have much. "You'll find that Mr Choi already filled your wardrobe with clothes that he felt appropriate for your new work position" you opened the doors as soon as he finished speaking to find many shirts, dress pants, skirts and even heels inside the furniture. "I hope they are to your liking"

"They are, thank you" you closed the wooden doors. "He didn't have to".

"Mr Choi told me you would answer along those lines and asked me to simply say that now you are working for him and you should dress as such, and since it's a requirement that you wear certain clothes it wouldn't be fair for you having to spend from your income to renew your wardrobe"

"So I dressed badly, huh?" You teased yet the man was like a marble statue.

"If that's all, will you excuse me" he said and before he could leave you stopped him.

"I have a question" he nodded once. "Since, well, Mr Choi doesn't eat regular food, will you have to… adapt because of me?" For a fraction of a second you could see what was a hint of a twitch in Jinho's lip, almost as if he held himself from smiling and breaking his character.

"Me and other employees here are still humans, miss yn" your mouth formed an O shape. "Don't worry about such frivolous things, we will provide you everything you need as long as you do your job properly" you nodded.

"I'll do my best, sir" you gave a salute to him and he just sighed before leaving the room.

Opening the wardrobe again, you grabbed some of the clothing pieces and analyzed them, their fabric, their stitching, their quality. You wondered how much the vampire had spent on all of those clothes and shoes for you and smiled at the thought of him thinking about what you should wear and sending someone to buy it. Who bought it though? Because the person had a great taste and sense of style.

You started to unpack your things and put them into place. Makeup, brushes, perfume bottles and accessories at the vanity. Books, albums and vinyls at the shelves, as well as some of your favorite decorations that you brought along. You put your old clothes separated from the new ones just in case. Same thing with the shoes. The last thing was deciding where to hang your posters, artworks and pictures but you decided to leave that for later, you still didn't know how much you could decorate the place.

It was already dark outside when you finished organizing everything and putting away the boxes and bags. You were satisfied for now.

You decided to take a shower after finishing, glad that you had your own bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. You grabbed your towel and the clothes you were going to put on and entered the bathroom, not bothering to close the door.

The warm water hit your body like it was dark hot black coffee entering your system in the early morning: soothing, rejuvenating and reliving. Without much thought, you started to hum a song as you washed yourself.

Jongho was coming to personally call you for dinner when he heard you singing in the shower. He chuckled at the way you sang it, the voice cracking often at the high notes. He hoped you were a better assistant that you were as a singer.

"Holy shit!" You cursed as you left the bathroom to find a very casual looking Choi Jongho with his hands in his pockets and an amused smirk on his face. "I'm so sorry, Mr Choi. I didn't know you were there" you bowed deeply as you felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

"I came to invite you for the dinner and was met with a rather… unique voice" he teased you and, if possible, your face burned even more. If you were a cartoon you were sure there would be steam coming out of your head. He decided to save you from further embarrassment and stopped the teasing. "Dinner is served at the dining room, you're welcomed to come"

"Thank you, Mr Choi" he nodded and left, but not before singing the same song you were singing before with a voice that you were sure belonged to angels.

You facepalmed from already making a fool out of yourself in front of your boss on the first day.

Putting the shame aside, you quickly brushed your hair and put on your bear slippers before leaving your room to find the dining room.

It wasn't hard to find the place since as soon as you started to approach the first floor you heard clacking of cutlery, talking and some eventual laughs. You walked towards the sound and found the room, that was simple and warming. Just like almost everything in his house. The table was large and had a bunch of people, some of which you recognized as fellow employees, and Jongho was sitting on the end, a glass of what looked like wine in his hand.

Everyone turned their attention to you when you stopped at the door. Silence suddenly hovering the air.

"Welcome miss yn" Taeyang, one of his security guards broke the silence with a gleaming smile.

Everyone followed after him and started to welcome you with words and smiles. You felt shy at the attention at you but thanked everyone's hospitality with bows and smiles, walking to the empty seat between two of the employees you recognized from the day you did your interview.

Soon enough the maids started to bring the food. To say it smelled delicious was just the tip. Your mouth was watering at the smell and the sight of so much food in front of you. Just then, at the view and smell of food, that your stomach rumbled and you realized that it had been since morning that you didn't eat anything significant.

Just when Jongho motioned that everyone started to serve themselves, you following suit.

You didn't know what to grab first, the lamb or the risotto? The salad or the soup? there were so many options that your eyes moved from side to side looking at everything and deciding on what to choose.

After finally deciding on grabbing a little of everything, you settled into eating. The flavors and textures melting on your tongue, an explosion of taste on your tastebuds, something you have never tried before. You closed your eyes and hummed lowly at it, enjoying the dinner.

In his sit at the very end of the table, the man watched everyone but mostly you. Looking to see if you'd get along with everyone, if the food was to your taste, how you'd react to the food he asked to prepare extra special for your welcome dinner. Your smile at every forkful told him everything he needed to know about the subject.

He noticed how you looked cozy and comfortable on the little pajama set you wore, the light green short-sleeved button up had little black cat paws prints all over it, the fabric looked soft even though it looked like you had worn it for quite a while. The short shorts, with matching color and print, rode up on your plush thighs, leaving almost no room for imagination. He caught himself wondering if it they would feel as soft in his hands as they look all spilled on top of the chair where you sat.

He cleared his throat lowly and turned his head around, trying not to stare at you. Not too much at least. But it was especially hard with you laughing so sweetly at something one of his drivers said.

Jongho would be lying to you and himself if he ever told anyone that he didn't find you attractive. Quite the contrary, from the moment he looked at you he knew you were one of the prettiest people he ever laid eyes on. No matter the century. He wished in his dead heart that he'd find someone better than you for the job but no one ever came close to your skill and knowledge.

And he needed someone good, someone to actually help him. So there was no other choice.

During the dinner, every once in a while, you'd notice your boss looking at you but you'd brush away the thought, maybe he was looking at someone else. Or maybe he was just being a good host and making sure his new guest was well adjusted and served.

That was definitely it.

You also noticed that, while you were eating, he had a glass of a liquid that looked like wine. You wondered if it was blood. And if it was, from whom?

You shook the thoughts away as you kept your talk to one of his drivers, Malik, that was sitting next to you. He was a nice and sweet sixty-something years old man, his hair and beard already white from the time. He told you about how he owned his life to the vampire because he helped save his wife and daughter a long time ago. "I had nothing back then" he had told you, "the women of my life dying of a disease that I had never heard of until then, but Mr Choi helped us and I promised I'd pay him back. Even though I already paid my debt, I like working for this thing, he's better than any human I've met" the old man chuckled and you just nodded.

You turned to look at the creature and found him already looking at you, his lips tugging slightly at the corner as he lifted his cup to you.

A shiver ran down your spine. You don't know why.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The first two weeks at work were absolute hell. Not because you hated, but because Choi Jongho proved to be one of the busiest man you've ever met. It took you a long time to fall into his rhythm and be able to follow him along.

Now, almost two months into this position you proved not only for yourself, but to Jongho as well, that you were made for this job.

"I made sure to pack all of the essential things you might need for the trip" you spoke as you followed behind your boss at his building. "I made a list of the things I've packed and another for the personal items you might want to get for yourself" you gave him the paper and checked the little box of the task. "Your hotel room, as well as your staff's, are already booked at for four days and three nights at the hotel. The booking is on your name, so you just need to do the check in on time" you sent the man an email that quickly ringed on his phone. "Just sent you your plane tickets for both the going and return" you continued to walk, your head down, until you hit it against a relatively hard wall.

You looked up to see that it was Mr Choi's back since he stopped walking and was now turning to face you.

You'd never get used to this man's beauty, even behind his pale cold skin, dark deep red eyes that were supposed to scare you away, there was still a small sparkle of life.

"You're not coming?" His voice was deep, assertive, yet held a curiosity almost childish. You shook your head no. "How am I supposed to endure this trip without you?"

You chuckled at him. "You'll be fine, Mr Choi, it's not the first business trip you do without me, besides, you can contact me at any time you need" you smiled and held the tablet against your chest.

He shook his head. "This time is different, it's a longer trip and to another country. I need you with me to make sure I make no mistakes, I'm too used to being babysat by you as Jinho says" you laughed a little, he did look like a lost child sometimes. "Please, yn, I need you" the way those words came out of his mouth held something more than just work-related need but you decided to ignore. For your own mental health.

You sighed. Defeated. And nodded. "I'll book another flight and hotel room for me then if that's what you want, sir" he nodded proudly, smiling. He learned how to smile more to you ever since you started working for him. Which you hated to admit that you loved because he had the cutest little gummy smile you had ever seen.

Sometimes you get yourself wondering how was Jongho's life before turning into a vampire. What was he? What did he do? How did he handle the transformation and the hunger at the beginning? The idea of the man hunting and killing people for his survival scared you. Yet, the same idea made you feel almost pitiful of him and his… condition. How did he managed to evolve with the world and be able to adapt into the new centuries? The new generations?

Also, you get yourself wondering if he ever had someone. Loved someone. Being immortal comes with the curse of seeing your loved ones get old and die while you're stuck with the same face, the same eternal age that never goes up and never ends.

Sure, you already saw him receiving guests at his house outside the feeding schedule, so he wasn't lonely. But being accompanied doesn't mean being loved.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The hotel was way more luxurious than anything you had ever seen. You knew your boss liked comfort and quiet when traveling, but it exceeded your expectations. Also the meeting was happening at the same hotel, so it would be more convenient if you stayed there.

After the check in was done and the cards that opened the doors were distributed, everyone went to their designated ones to rest a little before the first dinner with the investors at night.

Besides you and Mr Choi, there was also three bodyguards along with you. You and your boss had your own separated rooms, while the other men shared another one.

You dropped yourself down the soft bed as soon as you closed the bedroom door. Body and head tired from the travel, you hated to fly. The low hum outside the window of the room slowly matched your heartbeat and soon you were drifting asleep.

You woke up with knocks on your door, not really sure for how long you had slept but from the small pool of drool on the pillow you could tell it was for a while.

Behind the door stood a very casually dressed Jongho, hair down and unstyled, making look even younger with the bangs on his eyes, a set of matching dark blue sweatpants and hoodie and a small box in his hands.

"Hm.. hi, sir, can I help you with anything?" You asked, head still a bit dizzy from the sleep and the flight. "Am I late? I am sorry, I fell asleep as soon as I laid down and I-"

"Don't worry, yn, you're not late" he smiled and you copied his gesture. You motioned for him to enter the room and so he did. "I came because I have a favor to ask" you nodded for him to keep talking. "This dinner tonight is less of a business one and more of a show-off" you tilted your head confused and he sighed, sitting on the bed. "The men I'm making business are not… nice. They like to show off their money, their businesses, whatever they can flaunt, they will. But I need their cooperation for this next move, they have real political power, and I need that" you nodded slowly.

"And where do I fit into this?" You asked still not getting what he was trying to tell.

"You see, I'd love to have a beautiful woman by my side since they value this kind of traditional structures like marriage like they value their money"

"And you want me to be your… wife?"

"Just for the night. I know it's a lot to ask and I'll understand if you don't want to, I was going to hire someone anyways" he chuckled and looked at the box on his lap before looking at you again. "But I figured that who better to help me on this than someone that not only understands my business but it's an essential part for it to work?"

"Are you trying to flatter me and my work into accepting this?" You joked, crossing your arms over your chest and pulling a soft smile out of the man.

"A little. But only with the truth though!" He rushed to add before you could get it wrong. "Please, I'll even pay extra hours"

"No need to, I'll help because I know how stressed you've been with this trip for the past week, I know how this deal is important for you" he smiled, genuinely. You thought that you had never seen him smile so big before.

"Thank you, yn. Thank you so much" he raised from the bed and handed you the box. "Wear this tonight, please. And be ready at seven"

"You knew that I was gonna accept?" You grabbed the box already knowing what was inside and he smirked at you from the door.

"I had a guess you would" he answered before leaving the room.

You chuckled and shook your head in disbelief. The more you knew about your boss, more he seemed to surprise you.

The velvety box was soft to the touch but sturdy, a sign that it was from some high-end brand you probably never heard of. Opening it you found one of the most beautiful dresses you ever laid your eyes on. The fabric was from a deep purple color and was a soft and cool satin. The bodice was strapless and from a sheer lace that would leave your torso peeking underneath the delicate pattern. The skirt started draping at the height of the hips and fell down until it reached the ground.

You admired the piece, the softness of the silk, the delicate floral pattern of the lace, the almost invisible stitching proving even further that it was a quality and high-end product.

You left the box and the dress on the bed and moved to take a shower, you had to be the most perfect you've ever been to impress the investors and help your boss.

The warm water and the smell of your jasmine body wash helping you relax your nerves. It was an important dinner for Jongho and his business, and as far as you knew, for the city as well. After the shower, you wrapped yourself in the fluffy bathrobe and started to do your hair and makeup. Since the dress was already eye-catching enough, you decided to do a simple soft look, using a bit of shiny eyeshadow to mark your eyes, a light warm blush that matched your complexion and a nude brown lip gloss that made your lips look even plumper. You decided to leave your hair natural and just apply some volume and definition to it.

You admired your reflection on the floor length mirror, the dress was not only gorgeous but it looked like it was made for your body, the fabric hugging your body on all the right places, your curves looking even more enhanced by the shape. The color complemented your complexion so well and it matched perfectly with the heels you were wearing as well as the jewelry you chose to further the look even more.

It was was exactly seven pm when you heard knocks on your door. You opened it to meet a very fancy and well dressed Choi Jongho. He wore a fitted black suit, the pants were plain black, as well as the shirt underneath, the blazer had a golden stitching with a squared pattern and gold buttons. Instead of a tie, the first button of the shirt was open and a gold chain with some details on it hung from under the collar. His perfume invaded your senses, the deep floral and earthy smell enveloping you and dizzying you with his smile.

The man was doing his best to keep his jaw closed. He knew you were pretty, but seeing you all dressed up made his stomach twist and his mouth dry. He was in trouble.

Jongho can't remember the last time he liked someone. That he allowed himself to like someone. Being immortal always made things related to the heart hard for him. He saw so many people he loved to born, to grow and to die. He knows that to love someone is to let them go, but not when he had to see it so many times.

He wasn't always like this, he wasn't born like this, which always made everything worse. He turned on a fateful night hundreds of years ago after leaving a tavern he went to celebrate the crop of the year with his friends. His sister told him not to go, warning about strange and dangerous creatures that lurked in the dark. He shooed her away saying that he was a strong man, he knew how to take care of himself.

Only if he had listened.

That night, after leaving the warm interior of the tavern, a little too drunk of soju and rice wine, he stumbled along the streets of the village until he met a man, a seemingly unsuspecting man. He asked for directions and when Jongho let his guard down and turned to the side to point to the other side that was when he felt, the painful piercing through his skin.

He woke up a few hours later, the sun already rising, the light hitting his skin and the brightness making him stir awake. His body hurt yet felt stronger and he had this hunger that wasn't normal. The young man moved to his house, the few villagers he encountered looked at him startled when he passed by.

When he arrived home his sister was ready to welcome him with slaps and screams of irresponsibility but she stopped on her track when she saw him. Her widened eyes only proved further to Jongho that something had happened. "What's wrong?" He asked, voice hoarse, low, dry, thirsty. He tried to move closer but she took steps back. "Don't come near me!" The woman squeaked. Scared. Why was her scared of him?

He took more steps forward and she took more steps back until she hit her back on the table, her hand landing on a sharp fish knife and cutting her palm. Instantly the metallic smell of blood flew to Jongho's nose and made his stomach rumble and mouth water. The sister started to shake uncontrollably, that's how she'd die.

And then it hit him. Like a hammer on a toe. He had only heard stories about beings half dead half alive that needed human blood to survive. Beings so evil that held no remorse or empathy for the human race, seeing them as nothing but a feast for them to enjoy. The man last night was one of those. And he had become one.

With all the strength he could muster, he turned around and left. He grabbed his horse and ran away to the forest, somewhere where he couldn't be a danger to anyone he loved.

Jongho became pretty good at keeping his promise. For years he only ate criminals, people so evil that he judged that didn't deserve to live. He avoided becoming closer to other people, even other vampires, he was a lone wolf and he preferred like that, this way his heart wouldn't hurt.

But he couldn't live always like this, not when years started to pass slower and even seemed to stop. After a while he met the men that would become his friends, other beings like him. Together, they formed something of a society, a book of rules for the vampires to follow and be incorporated into the society.

It worked, over the years that passed, the living-dead and the humans started more and more to live in peace together. But even then, the man never truly allowed himself to like someone, to fall in love, not even for someone like him. It was easier, more comfortable to be alone. He was used to it after centuries of living.

So the moment he saw you standing in front of him looking like a goddess on earth and he felt something twist inside of his dead body he knew. He knew he was doomed.

"Shall we go?" You asked, smiling shyly, the tiny clutch bag you had being held tightly under your fingers.

Jongho managed to get out of his daydreaming and stepped aside to let you get out and close the door. He offered you his arm and you held it so you could walk to the dinner party.

The said party was being held at the bar in the hotel you were staying at. The place was already full of fancy and well dressed people. Most of them looked way older than you, and at all honesty, than Jongho too even though he was technically hundreds of years old.

As soon as you walked in, a few men came to welcome Jongho and talk about business. You were offered a cup of champagne while your companion was talking to a couple of men something about improvement laws and some things that you couldn't understand.

You were glad that for the most part those people barely acknowledged you by his side, even the other partners that stood quietly by those men's side, except to compliment him on being with someone as pretty as you.

When your boss briefly told you about the nature of those men and how they treated their partners, besides calling themselves traditional and caring about family, they couldn't care less about their wives, seeing them as just an accessory. But you didn't expected it to be like this.

You were standing by your boss' side, champagne now warm on the cup in your hand when a chill ran down your spine as if something sinister passed by you.

"You thought that you could get away from me?" You froze in place, body stiff and shoulders tight. You could recognize that voice anywhere.

You didn't move, as if he was a wild animal that could sense fear and if you stood still he would go away. But unfortunately, to your dismay, he did the exact opposite and stopped right in front of you. Jongho sensed your discomfort and came closer to you.

"Of all the places I've imagined I'd see you again, I've never imagined it would be at a business dinner" his smirk was devilish, you could feel his dark aura emanating from him as if a dark cloud hovered over him. "Why did you ran, dear? We were so happy and I did all my best for you" he touched your face with the back of his hand, sinister smile on his lips.

You shrank into yourself and closed your eyes, hoping that the next time you opened them he would be gone. Jongho saw your discomfort and circled your waist, bringing you closer to his body and moving your ex's hand away from you.

The taller man laughed, that deep, almost evil laugh. "I see that you got yourself a protector. Who is he? Your sugar daddy?" The wicked smile never left his lips as he watched you two. He crossed his arms over his chest "you know that yn left me behind? After all I did for her, after all the love I gave, she still left me with no explanation, no clue. That sweet dear of yours is nothing but a bitch!"

"You're the only bitch in here" You fumed, fear now gone and anger taking over you. People around turned to look at what was happening but you didn't care. "You abused me! You manipulated me into a mess, into your little doll. You made me alone, without anyone else. The only friends I had was the pain and the bruises you've left on my skin!" The whispers around you increased, those people were probably thinking you were a hooligan but you couldn't care less.

You could feel the tears start to run down your face. Your lips quivering in anger. Hands balled up into a fist by your sides, ready to punch him but still afraid.

"You're so ungrateful, yn. Can't you see? All I did was because I loved you" the man snarled back, body towering over you, trying to intimidate.

"What kind of love was that that hurt the person you said to love? What kind of love beats you to the point of leaving you breathless and bruised? Tell me! After all you did to me you have the nerve to say it was because you loved me?" You snorted.

"Of course I loved you! I turned my entire life about you, you were my main priority. We had such a bright future ahead of ourselves, I couldn't let those people you had the guts of calling friends ruin what he had"

"Then you went and ruined yourself?" You shook your head and looked to the ground before looking back at him. "Do you know how hard it was for me? I had nothing left, no friends, no prospect, only fear for my life" he tried to touch your arm but Jongho finally intervened.

The man pulled you back to him and pushed the other's hand away, his fangs making an appearance and hissing at your ex. You never saw your boss angry or feed, so you never had seen him with fangs until that moment. It took you by surprise because sometimes you forget he is the being that he is, only remembering when you look at his eyes and see their red color.

"Are you okay?" He whispered to you and you denied with your head. To be honest you didn't know how you were feeling but you didn't want to stay there any longer. He turned to look at the taller man still in front of him, "if I ever find out you touched your dirty unworthy hands on yn or anyone else I'll make sure you won't touch anything at all" he pulled you to start walking with him back to your room.

"The… the partnership" you stuttered between your sobs.

"I don't care about that. If those people had the courage to do that to someone like you, what other things can they do, don't you think?"

You stood quiet while you walked back to your room, his embrace never leaving your waist. Even though he was a cold dead being, the touch still felt warm. Calming. You let yourself be guided by him while your mind was stuck at the feeling of being protected, taken care of.

The last time you felt something similar was when you first moved to town, Genevieve taking care and helping you. It was the first time someone had done something to you. And now, Mr Choi, risked his business to defend you against your ex. What could that cost to him? Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot. You didn't know.

You barely registered when you entered the room and the man guided you to sit on the bed. He knelt and gently took your heels off, caressing softly the skin there, especially where the straps touched and left indents. He proceeded to grab some cotton pads and makeup remover and started to take off the painting from your face. His touch gentle. Caring. Feather-like.

Jongho eyes were fixed on you, watching intently every twitch, every breath, every spot and mark. How your lips, partially open, looked so plump and inviting while you exhaled with shallow breaths.

He, more than never, wanted to protect you. To take care of you. He knew he was crossing a line. But for the first time in decades he felt alive again.

Jongho finished taking off your makeup and, while your eyes were still closed, he brought his hand to your cheek and caressed the soft skin there. You hummed at the touch and smiled slightly, almost invisible, but he could see. He could see everything.

You opened your eyes and locked gazes with him. He swore that, if he still breathed, his would have hitched right then and there. You leaned into his touch and smiled a bit bigger, enjoying his care toward you.

Silence fell and for a while no one said a thing. Just your breath being heard. His hand still on your cheek.

The bed creaked as you lifted yourself up, staying face to face with the man. You looked to his eyes, then to his lips and to his eyes again. Your lips twitched a small smirk before leaning into his.

The kiss was short. Just a touch of lips. Quick. Scared. Afraid.

He looked at your eyes looking for any sign of regret or fear or anything that could stop him from doing what he wanted to do. When he found none, his lips smashed against yours, tightly.

Jongho grabbed your waist with one of his hands and pushed you flush against his chest all while the other one held your face. You were fisting the collar of his suit.

Your mouths kissed as if made for each other, lips opening and closing in a mad dance of passion and need. You whined softly when you felt the hand that was on your waist slide down to your ass and move to your leg. He took advantage of your parted lips to slip his tongue inside your mouth. He tasted like fancy champagne and remnants of his minty toothpaste.

The kiss was broken just when you could no longer breathe because you, unlike him, needed oxygen to survive. He touched your foreheads together and intently watched you. His eyes, once red, now looked almost black.

Neither of you said anything. Just watched each other reactions and tried to understand what was happening inside your own heads. You both knew that you had crossed a very defined limit. Boss and employee. Human and vampire. The lines were blurring in your eyes and neither of you wanted to go back to see it clearly.

You finally let go of all your worries, inhibitions, fears and everything else and circled your hands around his neck and kissed him again. He instantly responded to the kiss and brought you back close to him by your waist, arms circling your frame.

The kiss was feverish, quick and desperate. Too many things being said in a clash of tongues.

You wanted each other. Desperately.

His hand on your back moved up until he found the zipper of your dress and slowly pulling it down, opening the garment. The cold air hit your now exposed back making shivers appear on your skin, hairs standing. Jongho moved his kisses to your jaw and neck, licking and sucking the soft skin he met on his way down.

He started to slowly pull your dress down your body, hands caressing wherever they touched and making you suck a breath at the roughness of his skin on you. The fabric pooled at your feet at the same time he knelt in front of you and helped you get away from the piece of clothing.

Jongho looked up at you, eyes dark and hooded with lust and something more. He started to caress and squeeze your supple thighs, leaving soft kisses on the skin.

And them he hummed when he nosed at your clothed core and inhaled your aroused scent, fingers squeezing your hips.

"Lay on the bed for me, darling" he spoke, low, deep, hoarse. You almost moaned at the way he spoke and how he was looking at you. You never felt more desired. "And spread your pretty legs for me. Mhm… that's it, pretty" he mused as you did as told, the visible wet patch on your simple cotton panties making the heat crawl up your face. You didn't expect to end up like this so you just wore your regular underwear.

But Jongho couldn't care less about what type of panties you were wearing, either way, he was going to take them off of you. He moved his way from the ground while kissing your thighs, his cold lips a stark contrast against your burning skin. The anticipation making you shiver and wriggle in place.

When he finally arrived at your core, he left a small kiss bellow your navel and just above the waistband of your underwear before pulling them off. You shivered again at the sudden cold wind hitting your wet and warm vulva, exposed for the man to enjoy. Oh and he would enjoy it.

He moved back to between your legs and put your left one on top of his shoulder, making you spread wider and be more exposed for him. He scented you one last time before licking at your core with a flat tongue. You arched from the bed at the contact but also for being so long since someone touched you like that. You bit your lip as he moved his tongue up and down between your folds, lapping at your juices with low hums coming from his throat.

"Don't hold back, let me hear your sweet noises" he murmured between your legs at seeing you were holding yourself from moaning. "I don't care who'll hear us, I want'em to know who's making you feel good" you nodded and moved your hand to hold at his hair.

He went back to his task, now paying attention to your clit. The tip of his tongue drawing circles and the entire alphabet before giving a harsh suck that made you roll your eyes and moan. He smiled and sucked again and again at your nub, his chin glistening with your wetness. You tugged harder at his hair when he gave you an especially hard suck, back arching from the mattress.

"You taste divine, yn" he groaned. "I think I won't be able to get over your taste now that I know how it feels against my tongue" he replaced his mouth on your clit with his thumb, circling the bud with it while his tongue started to prod at your entrance. You don't know if it was you that was sensitive after so long without being touched by someone else or if he really was that good, probably both, but you could feel your high approaching, the knot in your stomach tightening.

"Sir…" you moaned as you pulled his hair again. "I'm… I'm close" you managed to stutter, low, worn.

"Go on, dear. I have you" he encouraged you, fingers moving faster and harsher against your clit. "Let yourself go for me, let me taste you" you moaned at both his words and his tongue fucking into you.

He was moving faster, harsher, with more intent. You felt it, the wave rising high until it crashed at the shore. You couldn't care if you moaned loud or not, you needed to get that delicious feeling out of your system. Jongho smiled against your core as he drank everything you gave to him. Your taste intoxicating, addictive.

He helped you through your high until it bordered overstimulation. You pushed his head away from you, legs quivering at the intensity. He smiled widely at you, nose, lips and chin shining with your essences. He was on cloud nine.

The man quickly wiped your remains from his face before lowering himself to kiss you again. A clash of tongues and teeth. Need even higher now. His pants incredibly tight in his front.

"Can you take your clothes off now?" You asked sweetly, almost shy, while trying to open the buttons of his suit. He smiled and nodded.

He purposefully took the pieces of clothing slowly, teasing as he watched your blown eyes eat him alive and press your thighs together, low whines leaving past your lips. The man smirked when he took it all off, leaving him in only his gold chain and underwear.

You only ever saw him all dressed up in full suits and thick clothing, the most you saw were his arms when he'd walk around the house in his soft and fancy t-shirts. But he was hiding his gold. His body was absolute perfection, a sculpture you'd see in museums and books. His shoulders wide, big, strong, his arms looking even bigger now with the assembly of the whole view of his body. His chest was as large as his back and his tummy was toned, not like full abs, just little indents of the muscle adorning his soft belly. And his skin, tanned and dripping gold like honey you wanted to taste on your tongue.

You moved from your laid position to kneel on the bed. You were not thinking straight, lust and desire clouding your brain, the only thing visible in the fog was Jongho. He moved closer to you and leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss again. You used the proximity to gently rub his hard on through the soft fabric of his underwear, earning a low growl between the kiss, before you finally pulled the piece down.

If the view of his naked body had impressed you, you weren't expecting for his dick to do it even more. The member sprung free, bouncing up and down slightly and making your mouth water. He wasn't big, but the girth. That was impressive. He was thick and veiny, angry red at the tip that was already leaking precum from only eating you out.

You bit your lower lip and started to gently stroke the appendage, eyes looking up at him, lashes fluttering. He groaned at the sight under him. You, his ever so caring, competent and professional assistant, were stroking his cock while looking at him with the most dirty yet delicate look.

Jongho caressed your hair, your cheeks, until he reached your mouth. His thumb gently rubbed your lower lip until you opened your mouth and let him slide it inside, putting pressure on your tongue with the digit and making you suck it. The whine that left your lips at the act was borderline pornographic.

You kept rubbing his cock up and down, squeezing the base whenever your brain cleared a little and you could remember what you were doing.

It was a symphony of moans and whines between you two but your hands weren't enough, he needed to feel your insides.

The man took his finger from your mouth, making you whine, and turned you around and pushed your chest against the mattress. Your ass sticking in the air while your back arched perfectly. He grabbed his member and started to rub against your core, coating it in your juices, tip hitting your clit at every forward movement.

"Sir… please" your moan came stifled from your face being flush against the sheets.

"Since you asked so nicely" he smirked and teased your entrance with his tip.

You opened your mouth in a silent gasp as he started to enter you. Even slowly, you could feel your walls burning to stretch and accommodate his impressive girth inside. Your hands fisted the sheets as he kept pushing the intrusion even further.

"Fuck, yn, you're so tight" he almost whispered the words as he finished bottoming out, his size fully seated inside you.

You could feel all the muscles in your pussy tighten and relax, as if they were blinking against Jongho's dick. He allowed you to get used to his size, caressing the skin in the expanse of your back and sides.

He knew he could move the moment you started to roll your hips against his own. Hands grabbing your hips in a bruising grip before he took a bit of himself out of you before slamming back in, fucking a breath out of you.

Slowly, Jongho found a rhythm until he could pull everything out and put it in again. His thrusts were deep, taking it out slowly before slamming back in with force, each time leaving you more breathless.

The grip in your hips were strong, you were sure he'd leave purple marks from holding them with his inhumane force but, at that moment, you couldn't care less. All you could think about was his tip hitting all the right spots inside of you and his girth stretching you and probably ruining you for anyone else.

You could feel the coil in your stomach starting to build again, making your moans louder and more desperate. He also sensed by the way your walls were gripping him even tighter. He leaned down so he could circle his arm around you and his fingers play with your abused and puffy clit.

"Ngh-sir!" You almost screamed at the overwhelming sensation, legs shaking against his ones.

"Go on, dear. Cum on me" he moaned against your ear, index and middle finger never stopping their movements on your clit. "Let me feel around me how good I'm making you feel" you moaned again, back arching even further down the mattress before you came. Your gummy inside gripping the man like a vice, juices dripping down your thigh as a white-ish ring formed around his base. "Good girl" he moaned against your ear and you fluttered around his cock again, sensitivity making you dumb but you wouldn't ask him to stop. You couldn't.

He kept fucking you even after your orgasm, not calming nor slowing down, he actually started to move faster, plunging into your pussy with renewed focus and strength.

Your body fell limp on the bed, you couldn't hold your own weight anymore, the only thing keeping you up was his bruising grip on your hips. He noticed the change in your body and stopped his movements. He removed himself from you, earning a soft and needy whine, before laying your back on the bed.

Now you could see him, his blown and glassy eyes that once were red, now black with a hint of gold. His sweaty torso looking even more delicious than before and if you weren't already so spent you'd lift yourself to lick the sweat out of his chest. His lips red and swollen and his vampire fangs out and visible. You couldn't help but clench around nothing at the view in front of you.

He lined his member to your entrance again and fully bottomed out again, your walls now used to his size, but not stopping you from choking on a moan at the act. The man resumed into fucking you again at an even faster pace, the new angle hitting new spots that you didn't even know you had inside of you.

You were clouded in pleasure, mouth open, tongue lolling out, eye rolling to the back of your skull. You were light as a cloud and all you could think about was your boss. The man that gave you a job and trusted a big part of his business to you was now balls deep inside of you. His grunts and groans leaving with no shame to make a noise. He wanted you to know you were the one making him feel this way.

Your mind was so clouded that you didn't even register what you said. "What?" Jongho's movements faltered at your confession and request.

"Bite me" you repeated, eyes opening so you could watch his intense ones. "I want you to mark me" your whinny voice and the clench of your walls were enough to make him dizzy and clouded with you.

He didn't even think properly of the request, just wanting to fulfill your wishes. He leaned against your chest, a trail of kisses and gentle rubs of the tip of his fangs on his way up to your neck, that now smelled faintly of your perfume and more of your natural scent and sweat. He was addicted. You moved your head to the side, giving him more access to your neck.

He never stopped his thrusts, his hips pistoning at a slow and deep pace again.

He left sweet little kisses down your neck and throat until he reached the junction of your neck and shoulder. He gave a few licks on the spot before ripping the skin open with his sharp teeth. You screamed at both the pain and pleasure and the way they mixed all together. You didn't know which one was which.

He sucked your red elixir slowly, trying not to get overwhelmed at the taste but also not to make you faint. You started to get even lighter in the head at the same time the wetness in your core increased. You were starting to get close again.

"You taste divine, my darling" the man said after detaching from your neck and licking the holes clean. "I'm so close now, can you cum again for me? Hm? Be a good girl and cum around me again" he cooed at you, body pressed tightly against yours as he moved.

You nodded rapidly, mouth hanging open but no sound leaving anymore. You were happily spent.

Jongho lifted himself a little so he could rub your clit again. A few quick circles and you came undone underneath him, body tensing before falling limp.

He kissed your lips again and then your forehead "so good, darling, you did so well for me" he stroke a few strands of hair away from your face and peppered kisses all over it. "I'm close too, yn, where do you want me to cum?" He asked, restraining himself from coming before you answered him.

"Inside, please, sir" you both whined together.

He nodded with a smirk in his lips and, with a few more thrusts, he came, ropes of white coating and filling your walls as he slowly stopped his movements.

Jongho removed himself from you, both hissing at the feeling of loss. His cum dripping down your hole as your walls pulsated from the sensitivity and use.

He laid by your side. Quiet. Just the sound of your breaths slowly coming back to normal filling the hotel room. The man slowly moved his hand until he grabbed yours and intertwined your fingers together. His cold skin always a crude contrast to your warmth.

You two laid quietly together for a while, hands intertwined. Million thoughts started to run through your head as you started to go back to your normal state.

Sensing your overthinking, Jongho pulled you by your waist closer to his chest and kissed the top of your head. "I want you to know that I don't regret anything we did tonight. Very much the opposite of it"

You sighed against his arm where you laid. "But we still crossed a line" you looked over to him and found him already looking at you, his eyes slowly coming back to his normal red and fangs gone from his pearly white teeth. "And I don't know how to react" you confessed.

"Do you… like me? I mean, as do you want me?" He asked shyly but certain. You looked at him for a few seconds before slowly nodding, almost ashamed to be admitting this. "Well, I want you too, so there's no need to fuss or be nervous" he smiled and kissed your lips. Gentle, slow. You could taste the tangy taste of your blood on his lips.

"Thank you for protecting me today by the way" you met his gaze and he nodded with a smile.

"If you're going to be mine, you'll have to get used to get taken care of" a kiss on the tip of your nose. "And get marked everywhere on your body" you shivered at the thought, heat crawling up to your body back again.

"I can live with that" you mused before kissing him one more time before you both fell soundly asleep in each other's arms.

Requests | Main Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

Join my permanent taglist

Taglist: @dina-10s-blog @vernorica123

[kongjjen]

you rock my world ⋆☀︎. lee haechan

SYNOPSIS: lee haechan ー beloved retired prosecutor ruins his own career with his big mouth. as his lawyer, you have to save his career, or what's left of it, and you rock his world while trying to do so.

PAIRING: tv personality!haechan x female lawyer!reader

GENRE: acquaintances to strangers to lovers, humour, smut.

WORD COUNT: 16.4k

CONTAINS: appearance of other idols. love triangle?? but not really. mentions of sensitive topics but none involve the main characters directly. haechan gets called both haechan and donghyuck. one bad and possibly offensive joke. banter, humour, smut, jealousy, lots of dialogue. sub!haechan, oral (male receiving), overstimulation, praise and degradation kink, nipple play, unprotected penetrative sex, riding, choking. author's note at the end.

inspired by michael jackson's song you rock my world.

read more of TASTE OF SUN HERE

©️ KONGJJEN 2026. all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.

“If it’s morning for you, good morning,” Haechan’s ears ring as he watches the flat TV screen in his living room, “If it’s night, then, goodnight! And remember…”

“If you don’t see me again, have a nice life!” Haechan repeats the words of the host. His words. Words that he, himself came up with. His punchline — which was stolen by the crusty rat who took his place, who managed to steal from him even the intonation as he spoke the words.

Haechan scoffs, turning the TV off, and throwing his slippers away, not caring where they land. 

He made a colossal mistake, and he’d like to shirk his way out of it easily by saying it wasn’t him. The only problem? He said it on television, everyone has seen his stupid face plastered on their TV’s as he possibly fumbled his career forever. 

But how was he supposed to know people don’t have a sense of humour? Right after it slipped past his lips, his bosses warned him about the repercussions of such a joke, and even if they thought the joke was great and howled with laughter while slapping him on his back repeatedly, the audience didn’t appreciate it.

He sits back on his disgustingly big couch, and rewinds what happened that one night. 

He told his usual jokes, everyone laughed, the live band used the drums and trumpets for effect. And then, just because he felt very brave and his ego was skyrocketing after looking at the amused faces in the audience, he thought it would be a good idea to add one last joke — instead of his usual concluding line for the end of the night.

“And since this was a topic tonight… before I get to wish you a good night,” He announced, grin stretching from ear to ear, showing his pearly white teeth — a smile everyone loves or, better said, used to love, “I got one last joke about abortion that never gets old… just like the baby…”

Crickets. No one laughed, not even a sound coming from the live band — not even the disappointed sound of the trumpet at his flopping joke. 

He cringes remembering how he ended the night, the phone calls from his producers and bosses, and them wishing him the whole thing wouldn’t escalate into something bigger. 

Except, it did escalate.

His amazing rating dropped and, to put it simply, he got called in the office and put on unpaid leave until things settled and waters calmed down.

And even after being put on leave, people still came for his head. Women, activists, whole communities fuelled the online debates, criticism, and hate train over his words and actions. He saw his life being desiccated, under a magnifying glass for everyone to judge and study thoroughly, trying to find past mistakes that could be the final nail in his coffin, and which could erase him from being in the public eye.

Lee Donghyuck, who managed to work hard and make a name for himself. Lee Donghyuck, who moved on from his passion and dream job, leaving being a prosecutor for a better and, what he was hoping to be, a calmer future.

Lee Donghyuck, the almighty county prosecutor left his life behind after audiences loved his presence and made him famous, turned into his television persona — Lee Haechan — and the audiences stepped on him like a disgusting cockroach, ready to get discarded of him, who he once was, and what he once represented.

And worst of all, he got a call asking him to come into office tomorrow — and Haechan knows that’s not a good sign for him. 

You know who Haechan is. Of course you do, whoever claims not to know who he is is either lying or has been living under a rock for the past couple of years. 

He used to be a very diligent prosecutor, who took his job seriously and did his best trying to catch bad guys and getting them convicted for the longest times for their heinous crimes. He used to be one of the best in his field, of the highest competence, so much that lawyers already knew they were on thin ice trying to fight him in court, their clients most likely ending up in jail.

He had an innate talent at what he was doing, and an honest love for his profession — so much that people could just tell he lived and breathed to be a prosecutor. This passion opened a door for him — in television this time. 

There used to be this one program, with people dropping by either in person or with a phone call, and they brought up their legal battles asking for advice — all televised. And Haechan was the one expert the producers called most of the times. 

Phone calls turned into physical appearances at the studio, where he interacted with the audience. He walked in the studio like he owned the entire planet. Expensive suits, expensive leather shoes, Rolex and jewellery adorned his wrists. He had a glint in his eyes, one that could make anyone fall for his charms. 

He was cocky, and for a good reason. He knew just how good he was at his job and, quite frankly, at everything in his life. And although his cockiness might have rubbed some people the wrong way — a handful of people out of an ocean of amazed and satisfied audiences — Haechan was very talented with his charms. He talked to people like he was close to them, like they were long lost friends. He gave them pieces of advice that one would have given to the people you only cared about the most, or to real clients. Not some random person on a TV show. 

He connected with the people, and everyone loved him. He became a legend, well known, well liked — and viewer rates skyrocketed. 

So much that they gave him his own night show. That’s when he became Lee Haechan — but you’ve known him for far longer than you’d like to admit. 

You’ve known him from when he was Lee Donghyuck, a simple student. He studied law and was an insufferable presence in your classes. Your opinions clashed, but then you united against people who had opinions that not only were different than yours, but also wrong. It’s like you were allowed to fight each other, but the moment someone else tried to intervene or take either one of your places, you teamed up to fight back.

You can’t really say you were total strangers to each other. You acknowledged each other, and each other’s talent at what you were doing. Back then, you thought his presence was aggravating, with his usual talent at picking up fights with you and bickering during debates and classes, and you swear he had a sick glint of satisfaction in his eyes every time he saw you getting worked up over him contradicting you.

You got to work on some projects together, and he was close to some people from your small circle of friends. When you’re a law student, there’s not much time you can spend relaxing or going on dates, so the friends you make in your first year are basically the ones you’re stuck with. You heard stories, whispers, but not once did you consider Donghyuck more than what he was — a friend of a friend, who liked driving you insane with every chance he got. 

Everyone liked him, got along with him well, yet you kept your distance — mainly because you couldn’t stand his cockiness when he was so satisfied with his driving you up the wall, or when he knew he was right and that he won an argument or debate.

And then your studies ended, and he climbed the success ladder with big and quick steps, while you liked taking your time. 

You focused on your career, and you liked gloating that your success rate was almost impeccable. Sure, the amount of work load couldn’t compare to what Donghyuck had to work with as a prosecutor, but you never diminished your efforts and your talent. 

For this exact reason, you picked up doing pro bono work every chance you got — being driven by the thought that you could do your part and help people out, with this small aspect at least, and it became an important part of your life, one that helped you stay grounded.

After reminiscing the past, and knowing what’s to come in the next weeks, it boosts your confidence and makes you completely satisfied with yourself, like nothing — and no one — can take you down. 

Which is exactly why the drive to the studio feels extremely exciting, like your skin is tingling to get to work — this being the first time you work on this type of case. 

Your heels clink on the shiny floors as you make your way towards the conference room, where your bosses and your client are waiting for you to make an appearance.

And with a few minutes left to spare before your meeting starts, you stall on the hallways of the headquarters, because you hate showing up earlier — or later, for that matter — for appointments. You like being very precise, organised in every little aspect of your life because, after all, these are the only moments you try to stay away from unpredictability. 

“Oh, hi!” You’re snatched out of your thoughts as you look at your watch. Two more minutes left before going in. “Is there a reason you’re not going in?” Johnny Suh, one of your bosses, smiles while looking at you, all confused.

You shrug, taking a sip from your coffee, “Still two minutes left,” 

He shakes his head like he doesn’t take you seriously, and the sly smile on his features makes you understand he really isn’t, “Don’t be silly,” He gestures for you to walk towards the door, huge hand barely touching your tricep respectfully in order to guide you in, “He’s already here,”

He opens the door for you, and you give him a small smile, complying with his request to go in. He’s your boss, after all.

“I told you that’s not it! I didn’t mean it that way, I was jus-” You recognise the voice, high in pitch with frustration, and he stops his rambling when he turns his head to look at who’s walking inside the conference room. 

“Y/n?” He’s in disbelief, and a small crease forms in between his eyebrows.

“You two know each other?” Johnny asks, sitting down at the huge table, “Of course you do! I forgot you used to work in the same field,” He looks over a few papers as he takes his blazer off, “Then there’s no need for formal introductions, right?”

You take your seat right across from where Donghyuck is sitting, and you watch as he pouts with confusion while looking at you. You smile, a kind of devious and calm smile he’s never seen on your face before — and it almost creeps him out.

“What are you doin’ here?” He asks you, leaning in over the table as if your answer is meant to be a secret, for his ears only. As if the room isn’t filled with producers and executives.

“Y/n is your lawyer,” Another executive speaks up before Johnny can ease Donghyuck into it. 

You’re impressed by the straightforwardness, realising that the sooner the bandaid gets ripped off, the better for everyone. 

“My what?!” Donghyuck’s voice is high in pitch, proving to you that his usual exaggerating persona from the past hasn’t changed a bit. “I don’t need a lawyer,”

“Yet,” the CFO intervenes, and Donghyuck’s head snaps to the side to look at her. 

His eyebrows furrow while taking his sweet moment trying to understand what is going on. 

“I’m sorry but-” He snakes his head incredulously, his gaze moving between your figure and Johnny’s, “Am I being sued for something?”

“Not yet,” The CFO corrects him, and judging by the crease between Donghyuck’s eyebrows, you know he’s getting frustrated. 

“But we can’t take chances on this, Haechan,” Johnny speaks up, “We know that your image is being taunted right now, and that people are very much against you,” He explains, like it should be obvious to Donghyuck that things aren’t going to calm down so easily and so soon. “Shall anything happen, Y/n’s here to assist you the best she can while also trying to work on your public image and clear your name,”

“Shall anything happen,” Donghyuck snaps, “I can represent myself very well, you all know this already,”

You look at him, now that you have the proper opportunity to see him in real time, and not on a screen. It’s been so long since you last saw him in person, you’re almost in owe at how his features remained the same, yet they became bolder, stronger, more contoured. He matured, and it brought a glow to him that you never imagined possible — not to his annoying face, anyway.

Eyes have become fiercer, like they’ve seen so many things. His jaw is visibly more defined, stronger, and when it sets with annoyance it shows you just how much he’s changed. You saw this exact jaw so many times in the past, and with every little sign of contradiction coming from someone else against him, he acted the same — jaw setting when upset, tongue in his cheek when he was taking it lightheartedly.

You look at his hands, that have also changed over time. Veins are more prominent under his tanned, honey-like skin, jewellery now adorning his wrist and fingers with beautiful golden rings and bracelets complimenting his skin tone. 

It’s like he hasn’t changed when it comes to his behaviour, but physically he’s become something nearly out of this world — as much as you hate to admit it. Never in a thousand years were you thinking you’d ever be admitting to yourself how good-looking he’s gotten, and certainly you don’t plan to share your thought with anyone else. You guess you’ll have to take this secret to your grave, especially because you know that if your thoughts made it to his ears, you’d never know the end of it. 

“Haechan,” Another executive calls his name, as a warning. “This is Y/n’s job, not yours. I think you’ve done enough, ”

Donghyuck turns around to look at you, straight in the eye. Everything the execs are telling him, all the instructions and pieces of advice they’re directing his way, you know he’s not listening. He’s looking at you like he’s ready to take a bite out of you, and if you didn’t already know him and his ways you’d be afraid right now.

Instead, you pucker your lips trying to mask your smile, trying to keep a professional façade in front of everyone. 

What is he so worked up for, anyway? You ask yourself. No one said he’s not capable of representing himself, but you were literally hired for this kind of matters, and it’s ironic that he’s your very first client since becoming a corporate lawyer. 

You’re fairly certain Donghyuck has paid no attention to anything going on during this meeting, so you already know you’ll have to pay extra attention to everything he does until everything calms down.

As the meeting comes to an end, and everyone gets up to leave, Donghyuck doesn’t move — doesn’t even bid anyone goodbye as they exit the conference room. 

It’s just the two of you now, and you look at him as he watches every single movement of yours. The way you click on your retractable pen before putting it away in your tiny and fancy pencil case; the way you pile your files before putting them back inside your shoulder bag.

“Why are you here?” He rasps, still not relaxing in his seat. His elbows seem to be glued to the table as he keeps his fingers intertwined, not letting emotions betray him. Or so he hopes, because you know him pretty well to know he’s pissed by your presence. 

“Have you not been paying attention?” You mock him, raising your eyebrows at him, “I’m the corporate lawyer,”

He huffs a mocking breath, rolling his eyes at you before clicking his tongue, “I don’t need a lawyer,”

You sigh, suddenly at your limit after hearing him going on like a broken record, “You don’t. Yet.” You snatch your bag away from the table, gracefully placing it on your shoulder — albeit its heaviness, “You’re a fool if you think I’m here for you, though.”

“What?” He barks, not able to refrain anymore. He has so much pent up rage from the past few weeks that he’s been dying to let out, and you’re doing your best to make him snap. Just like the old days. “What does that even mean?”

“I thought you were smarter than this,” You reply, but it comes out more as a question dripping with mockery, and it has him pushing his tongue in the inside of his cheek, “I’m a corporate lawyer, which means that I’m protecting their interests and their image, not yours. I’m sure you already know how that works… When you get in trouble, they also do,” You remind him, and you’re not even sure why you have to go through this with him right now — he’s supposed to know all this stuff already. 

“I need to go now,” You announce, finally turning your back to him, “We’ll keep in touch,”

There’s a gram of satisfaction jubilating inside your body, and you can’t help the smirk that takes over your features as you leave him behind, knowing his ego and pride are now sore.

Haechan’s ears pick up a muffled sound, but he’s still too tired to care. He’s been home for a while, still on a leave, and he hasn’t seen you ever since you left the office with that arrogance that makes him want to climb walls. 

The muffled sound becomes clearer, like someone properly banging on his door, and he waits a few more moments praying that whoever is at his door will soon go away. He’s not expecting anyone, he’s sure security downstairs didn’t let anyone get to his door, yet the knocking is incessant — and it gets on his nerves.

His barefoot steps thud as he makes his way, dizzy and sleepy, towards the front door. He looks through the peephole before letting out a groan, but unlocks the door nonetheless.

“Why are you here?” He locks the door after you, and you kick your heels off, out of politeness, walking  down his entry hallway towards his living room. 

He lives in one of those luxurious buildings — and you didn’t expect less coming from a former prosecutor who made a fortune out of his job, and a fortune more from his new job in television. His living room has you fighting the urge to let out a low whistle in appreciation, and you throw a quick glance around trying not to be too obvious with your curiosity. Everything is tidy; the decor is neat, showing his personal taste with every item of eclectic furniture and memorabilia, and the place smells like him. 

You turn around on your heels, facing him once again, “You didn’t pick up my calls,” You explain, looking him up and down.

He snickers as he looks for his glasses around the living room. His hair is ruffled, his voice is raspy, and he’s still in his pyjama shorts — you definitely snatched him out of bed.

He sits on the couch, placing his glassed on the bridge of his nose before looking at you, “I don’t pick up calls from unknown callers,” He shrugs, getting more comfortable in his seat, but not offering you to take a sit.

Not that you would need him to offer you anything, not even an invitation. But because you’re in a hurry, you decide to just stand a few feet away from him. 

“I told you we’d keep in touch,” You bark, furrowing your eyebrows at him, “So didn’t you think that maybe, just maybe, your lawyer is the one calling?”

He shrugs, muffling a yawn, “You could have sent me an email,” 

“I did,” Your reply is dry, and you see him avoiding your gaze. “Go get ready, we’re going out,”

“Oh?” He squeals delighted, “Like a date?” He quips, grinning ear to ear, but stands up nonetheless.

You roll your eyes at him, “Just dress nicely,”

“Where are you taking me? I’m not a brunch person, I prefer candlelit dinners, you kn-” He’s interrupted by your steps, following him to his dressing room. “What are you doing?”

You let out the fakest, most mocking sound of endearment while looking at him and at how he keeps his hands over his clothed chest, as if you could see through his t-shirt.

“I didn’t realise you are a prude,” You mock him, looking at the enormous dressing room. “Go ahead, it’s not like I haven’t seen a man’s bare torso before,” You instruct him, and you can’t help but look at how an entire dresser is full of expensive suits and shirts made of Egyptian cotton. You suppress the need to let out a low whistle for the second time today, “I need you to look impeccable, I know the press is still after you. They can’t catch you lacking,”

He hums, and you’re sure he didn’t pay attention to what you just told him. That, or he just doesn’t care if he’s caught dressing like a homeless person. But it would be disastrous to his image, especially because most of his public appearances have been nothing short of perfect — and dressing badly right now could start discourse around press, and around everyone actively being against him. 

You see him pulling his white t-shirt off his back, tossing it on the loveseat in the corner of the room. 

Your eyes fall on his V line, out of instinct. It’s defined, it travels down to the waistband of his pyjama shorts, that are hanging dangerously low on his hips, and you feel like you can’t take your eyes off of him. Like there’s a magnetic force that doesn’t allow you to look away from him — and the same force has your eyes travelling across the waistband, gaze shifting to the happy trail on his lower abdomen.

You gulp, finally taking your eyes off his tanned skin, looking for something more appropriate to gawk at — like the vanity behind you. You turn around as if you didn’t just momentarily lose yourself in the sight of Donghyuck’s bare torso. 

If he noticed your gawking, he doesn’t say anything — and you go about your inspecting his vanity while he gets dressed, moaning about you invading his privacy. 

You look at the many bottles of perfumes scattered on the vanity, realising just how neat he is even with arranging his cologne and perfume bottles. You pick up a few, smelling them, and you’re instantly slapped by his usual scents — the ones he used back when you were students. 

“Excuse me, miss… sorry…” He mumbles while sliding up next to you and into your personal space, snatching the bottle of Diptyque from your grasp and spraying it on his bare chest and, surprisingly, all around himself.

You cough, stepping away from him, and you see how his slim fingers button his shirt up with dexterity. 

You shake your head, “Did you not apply deodorant?” 

A cocky smirk appears in the corner of his mouth, “I don’t need that,” He licks his lips, “You’ll learn that about me,” 

You throw him an incredulous look, “And how would I do that?”

That insufferable cocky smirk makes an appearance once again, and he shakes his head while styling his shirt, “There are a few ways. You’ll see… eventually,”

His cockiness irks you. You liked him better when he was sulking over the fact that you are his lawyer. 

You managed to book an important interview for him, one that can straighten his career back to the way it used to be. 

He’s going to talk about his old cases, he’s going to talk about all the times he helped people struggling with legal matters. He’s going to bring back all the good he’s done to society, and you’re sure that will stop the online hate train he’s still being the victim of. 

You explain everything to him, you line the whole plan down for him to understand, to know what he should expect from the interview. Given that today is going to be just about getting a new suit for the interview, you think he needs to have enough time to mull over his thoughts and possible answers involving the topics about his past. 

You also made sure they wouldn’t bring up the recent controversy — you made a clear script of topics to be addressed, you’ve made it clear to the producers. And you think this is the perfect opportunity for him to clear his name, save his career, and dodge any more criticism from the public. That, and the fact you know the editor working on said program, so it’s going to be easy to have everything under control. 

“As always,” You start, touching the collar of his shirt, styling it on his nape as he looks at himself in the big mirror, and your fingers comb through the strands of hair that are getting longer, “Don’t talk to the press. Ignore them, I know you have a big prosecuting mouth, but try your best not to make this even worse,”

Your words irk Donghyuck, who follows after you as you stand by his door, putting your heels back on before heading outside. 

You’re acting like he’s an idiot who runs his mouth. Like he doesn’t know what he has to do now that he’s walking on thin ice, and he wants to remind you that he’s been around the press more than you have.

“Stop bossing me around,” He rasps as he locks his front door, and you can tell that he’s getting worked up, by the way he’s pouting while talking. You walk ahead of him, going towards the lifts, “You show up to my place, dictating orders that I have to follow because you’re… my lawyer,” He barks, and it comes out more as a question, “You think you know best, but I’m not your puppy! I’m not following you around!” 

You stop in your tracks, and he nearly slams into your back as he doesn’t catch your pausing. You turn around, pouting at him. 

“I’m not asking you to follow me around, Donghyuck,” You mock him, posing and looking up at him, “You’re the one literally choosing to walk behind me, puppy boy,” You point your head at him, and you grab his cheeks with your free hand, squishing them together to make him pout, “You’re my puppy because you genuinely want to,” 

You turn around, heels clinking on the marbled floors of the hallways as you make your way towards the lifts once again, “Ya comin’?” You ask him without halting your steps.

Donghyuck stays still for a moment, right as and where you left him. He looks at the way you sway your hips as you walk down the hallway, and he feels like the collar of his shirt is strangling him. He’s very confident about what he said about not needing deodorant, but he didn’t think you’d have him in the palm of your hand, talking down to him and making him sweat.

He clears his throat, choosing to stay silent as he follows you, and the thought that he is your puppy is starting to be very convincing inside his brain. 

When interview day arrives, Donghyuck walks inside the studio like he owns the place — his usual confidence overflowing and becoming obvious even to the blind. 

You pull him by the sleeve. “Tone your ego down,” You whisper through your teeth, for him to hear, “Be humble,”

“I am humble,” He looks down at you, the proximity of your bodies making his minty breath fan down on your face. “Imagine just how insufferable I am when I don’t have to walk on glass,”

“Oh,” You push at his chest, taking a step back, “I don’t have to imagine,” You turn around, your back now facing him, and you roll your eyes out of frustration. 

He snorts, “I know you rolled your eyes at me,” He comments, voice low and raw with amusement. You turn around to look at him, and you see him grinning at you, pearly teeth on display as he tries to control his laughter, “You might not realise this yet, Y/n, but I know you,” He rasps, still amused, yet the glint in his eyes  seems serious.

His words dawn on you, and your stomach flutters — but you don’t want to overthink about his words and the implication behind them. There can be endless, and you choose not to think about any right now.

Donghyuck gets dragged towards the changing room, and you follow after him and the stylist. You keep a close eye on him. 

He’s leisurely making conversation with the stylist, making her ease into conversation and talk to him like they’re long lost friends. His innate gift of communicating is once again proven to you, and frankly to anyone else too. Even the ones mad at him seem to forget why they’re keeping away, once he opens his mouth. 

Such charms are a gift, but also a curse — judging by where it got him these days.

You look at him, all styled, all ready to go in his beautiful navy suit you personally handpicked for him a few days ago. The blue brings out the tan of his skin just perfectly; he smells like Diptyque once again, and his longer strands are styled beautifully in order to frame his face. 

You look up at him, while he plays with the buttons of his suit. The slope of his nose is perfect, and he pouts his full lips seemingly without realising, too busy paying attention to his sleeves.

You look at him in all his glory, and you let out a sigh. 

You place the palm of your hand right in between his shoulder blades, your other hand grabbing him by the base of his neck. You push on his back and at the base of his neck simultaneously, making him adjust his posture.

“Uh,” He huffs, and his eyes widen as gets startled by your sudden actions. He clears his throat, trying to fight a smile.

“You need to learn to stand up straight,” You judge, still pushing on his spine and throat.

He finally breaks, smirk obvious even to you, and you look up at him just in time to see him licking his bottom lip. 

“How’d you know I like this?” He provokes while smirking, looking down at you with the corner of his eye, but doesn’t change posture the moment you take your hands away from his body.

“Pervert,” You mumble, averting your gaze.

He chortles, turning around to look at you, posture still straight. He’s even taller than before, towering over you, and you hate that you have to look up at him.

“Oh c’mon!” He pulls you by the arm to get you to look at him, “You act like you weren't gawking at my naked body the other day,” He rasps lowly, keeping the banter between the two of you as you wait for him to be called for the interview, “I might be a pervert, but you’re not better than me!” 

His hands extend towards you, trying to grab you by the arms to get your attention — or any other reaction out of you — but you’re quick with your movements as you slap his hands away. He manages to grab you by the wrist, and you stop squirming as you feel his warm and velvety skin touching yours.

You look up at him, only to notice his eyes trailing across your features, and right after looking you straight in the eye for a few seconds, his gaze falls on your lips. His gaze is sultry as he doesn’t look away, he doesn’t even let go of your wrist, yet you become relaxed to his touch.

You feel your stomach fluttering. It’s the look in his eyes, it’s the tongue still playing on his bottom lip, his cologne flooding your senses thanks to the proximity of your bodies. Your senses are alert, he managed to wake them up with a simple touch, and you suddenly feel like hotness it starting to pool in the pit of your stomach.

Your doe eyes, and the slight blush of your cheeks are enough to rile Donghyuck up, and enough to give him a reason to believe that maybe, just maybe, this doesn’t feel so wrong. 

Just as you see him smirking once again, opening his mouth to let out something that you are sure is going to be pushing your buttons, he gets interrupted.

“Y/n?” A man’s voice snatches you out of the childish banter with Donghyuck, and you turn around to look for whoever just called your name. 

A big smile stretches on your face, “Sungchan!” 

The tall man takes a few steps, draping an arm around you, “You’re here, finally!” He smiles down at you, and then his gaze shifts towards Donghyuck, who's standing like a lost puppy behind you, “Lee Haechan! It’s so nice to finally get to meet you in person!” 

Donghyuck nods, seriousness suddenly taking over his features, and he looks at the tall man who’s now on the receiving end of all your attention. He seems like a positive person; a helper, maybe. Someone you can rely on at all times — but he doesn’t want to imagine you, of all people, relying on the man who has you grinning from eat to ear right now. It should be him, the source of your grinning and decompressing, not this person you probably don’t even know as well as you know him.

He feels hotness starting to bother him, creeping up his neck — all the way to his jaw and ears. He feels uncomfortable, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. He starts feeling like a puppy once again, and he has the urge to take his tie off and possibly beat this man with it. Who cares if he adds one more controversy to the whole fiasco? Certainly not him, because he’s ready to do it if it means he has your attention back on himself.

Just as he’s ready to intervene in your conversation — even if he doesn’t know how, but he thinks he can find a way to ruin the shameless batting of eyelashes from your part — a voice calls for his name, announcing that he’s ready to go. 

You turn around to look at him one last time, signalling him to be calm and level headed. 

“I’ve always wanted to meet him!” Sungchan’s eyes sparkle while looking at the small screen as you follow the interview. 

Donghyuck makes pleasant jokes to break the ice, witty sarcasm dripping off the tip of his tongue, enamouring the host, and you know he’s safe. He’s got this — like always.

Your attention shifts to Sungchan. You met him a long time ago, fresh out of university, during language classes you picked up as a hobby. You bonded over common interests and the fact that you attended the same course allowed you to study together from time to time, and spend more time together.

But then you started becoming busier with your career, and attending those classes became close to impossible. You kept in touch with Sungchan, and now he promised he’d help you out with Donghyuck’s interview.

You take your eyes off the small screen yet again, once you hear Sungchan humming.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” He asks, voice raw, “Would you like to have dinner with me?” 

You blink at him, and you try to keep your usual seriousness, but it becomes difficult when you notice how much his eyes are sparkling as he looks at you. You move your weight on your other leg, averting your gaze as you try to mask your delight. 

The interview will air in a couple of weeks, and by that time everything will calm down with Donghyuck’s issue. Plus, this gives you the perfect opportunity to discuss more about how you’d like the interview to come out.

“Pick me up at eight,” You tell him, smiling softly, right before your gaze returns to the small screen.

Time goes by, Sungchan eventually leaves the studio, and Donghyuck seems to have the host wrapped around his pinky finger. 

He waltz towards you, confidence coming out of every single pore on his skin, and he winks your way as he goes back to changing in his casual clothes. 

He’s relaxed, he’s his usual self as he bids everyone goodbye, and even stops to shake hands of a few executives, all while carrying his expensive suit over his shoulder. You watch him being in his natural habitat — surrounded by people, being loved and appreciated by them. He smiles, lips curving while his smile reaches his eyes as he tries to dodge certain topics and turn people down in the most polite way. And he has the tact for it, he has diplomacy, yet he has the easygoing humour that knows exactly when to attenuate conflictual topics.

You’re still wondering why he got himself in this position in the first place. Going from being a prosecutor — profession which, by the way, endowed him with all the skills he sports nowadays — to becoming a tv host who has easily fallen in disgrace, victim of sensitive judgement and especially of cancel culture.

“So,” He starts, approaching his Porsche in the parking lot, “Should we have dinner together, tomorrow? You know… to celebrate the fact that tonight was a success,” 

You raise your eyebrows, and you see the unfaltering glint in his eyes only getting bigger with excitement. You think it’s because your plan was successful, he enjoyed the interview, and it will be enough to clear up all sorts of confusion when it comes to his controversies. 

“I’d love to,” You start, and you think the glint in his eyes became even more sparkly, “But…” You suck air through your teeth, wrinkling your nose.

Donghyuck doesn’t like how you wrinkle your nose — or, to put it better, what it implies.

He nods insistingly, pushing you to continue, “I’m fairly sure you didn’t have anything planned,”

You shrug, “Sungchan kinda beat you to it,”

The sky falls on him. While he was following your orders, another man worked his charms on you? 

“You’re ditching me for someone you barely know?” He’s getting worked up, but he’s trying to keep it light by pushing his tongue in the inside on his cheek as he smiles with disbelief.

“Sungchan and I are friends,” You retort, suddenly not liking how you have to explain your life to Donghyuck — who has been a total stranger to you, and with whom you only reconnected a month ago.

“Friends?” He sniggers, disbelief making his voice high in pitch, “If you’re friends with him, then what does that make us?” 

“You’re my client, Donghyuck,” You spit out, arrogance matching his during his worst days. This is the first time Donghyuck hates the way you say his name. “I’ll call you soon. You better pick up my calls!” You warn him as your heels clink on the concrete, as you walk towards the exit.

And Donghyuck feels his insides churning as he thinks of what you’ve just told him. 

Unbelievable.

It’s unbelievable how he is at home, bored out of his mind, and you’re out on a what? A date?

He likes to think it’s just a simple chit-chat with an old friend, but he’s a man and he knows how the ones of his kind can get when there’s a pretty girl around. 

You called him his client, but he remembers how you called him a fool for believing you were his lawyer. 

Your usual biting back every time he tries to get closer hasn’t changed. Maybe you misunderstood his intentions, and no, this isn’t about him asking you out — because he totally did that, and was hoping you’d finally warm up to him. 

You literally rocked his world when you reappeared in his life, yet you’re now out with that Sung-something, and he feels like he is going to lose all progress made with you up until now. Is it a crime that he wants to crash your supposed date? That he doesn’t care if the press finds him wandering the streets as he looks for the restaurant that man took you out to?

Instead, he picks up his phone. He wants to send a text, just to make sure you’re having fun — but who is he kidding? He wants to send a text to bring your attention on him. 

How long have you known this Sung person for, anyway? Donghyuck bets the history between him and you feels heavier, fuller than whatever friendship you have with that guy because, after all, as much as you might not have liked it, you two were always around each other all those years back. 

He sighs, taking a sip from his glass of wine, and he lets his intrusive thoughts win. He dials your number,  but just as expected, you don’t pick up. So he insists, because that’s what he’s best at — pushing your buttons.

“You better be dying and for some reason I’m the last number in your recents,” You spit through gritted teeth, as you pick up his call. 

He smiles like a fool when he finally hears your voice, “I am dying,” He chuckles, playing with the rings on his fingers, “Dying to see you again,”

“Unbelievable,” You let out an outraged mumble. He can’t see you, but he knows you just rolled your eyes at his comeback. 

If only you could see him now, you’d see his pupils are the shape of hearts as his eyes glint just imagining you reacting to him. 

“Why did you call me? I’m kinda busy,” You burst his bubble, and he’s the one rolling his eyes now. Just the thought of your whereabouts and the company you keep right now is making his throat go dry.

“Oh, really?” He plays dumb, yet he knows he can’t fool you, “Was it tonight? I forgot about that,” He’s shameless, and he hears your scoffing.

“We literally talked about this last night, Hyuck,” His heart skips a bit at the way you call his name, because only people who are close to him can use his government name — and he certainly feels you being close to him, as much as neither of you have ever addressed this before. 

“I must have forgotten,” His tone drips with fake innocence, a pout forming on his plump lips. 

You hate that you can envision him right now — in his home attire, his fluffy hair unkept, only combed through by his fingers, glasses resting on the bridge of his pretty nose, bare feet taking steps between the living room and kitchen. 

“So, what? Are you on a date right now?” He challenges, finally letting you know why he’s calling. You make a sound that he takes as a confirmation of his fears, “With Mr Lanky?”

“Donghyuck!” You warn, outraged and tired. “You’re lucky he’s gone to the restroom and couldn’t hear this useless conversation,”

“Oh, I don’t know, gorgeous,” He smirks to himself, “He’s been gone for a while. What if he’s got the runs after talking to a gorgeous girl like yourself?” His tone is low and, as much as you want to hang up the call, his voice makes your stomach flutter. 

That, or the cheese soufflé is the one to blame. 

“Come by later,” He rasps, and you almost think you didn’t hear him right, “If things are disastrous and he really shat himself… just come by,”

And he doesn’t wait to hear your reply. He doesn’t want to hear a smart comeback coming from you, but he hopes you’ll come to him. 

And while you don’t show up to his place like he asked you, you certainly think about him for the rest of the night. Sungchan, who seemed like a knight in shiny armour when he picked you up, has suddenly shifted in your eyes — especially after the phone call from Donghyuck. 

Your energy deflects, you’re sure the man across the table picks up on this as well. The more you look at him, the more you realise he just isn’t what you want and what you need.

His jokes aren’t obtuse, offensive, or genuinely funny either. The sparkle in his eyes is there only when he talks about work, and you hate that you reached a point in which you’re comparing him to the obnoxious person hunting your mind. 

Truth be told, no one does it like him. You realise that even your past so-called rivalry between the two of you was something you missed while he was out there trying to conquer the world. 

Suddenly, the night seems wasted. The cheese soufflé too insipid, the steak too dry, the company not what you were hoping for. And not because Sungchan is a bad guy with an abysmal personality, but because he’s not Donghyuck. 

“Everything okay?” Sungchan asks you at some point, and you realise you haven’t been listening to him, and that he probably noticed. 

You nod, giving him a small smile, just hoping that it’s enough to fool you both. Everything seemed to be going well until Donghyuck called you. 

“Do you think you can send me a copy of the interview after you’re done with it?” You mumble absentmindedly, playing with the fork in your hand.

Sungchan smiles, teeth on display, “Y/n, I’m not here to talk about Haechan’s interview,” He announces, and a lump sets in your throat, “I wanted to have this opportunity to ask you out,”

Oh, you mouth as you find it difficult to keep your eyes on him.

He lets out a huff of laughter, albeit you know it’s not light and genuine, “But I guess it’s better if we keep  our friendship this way, right?” He’s hurt, but he’s faking it not to make you uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, Sungchan, I didn-” You try to explain but he shakes his hand, smile still present on his lips.

“No worries! I dropped it on you out of the blue, I apologise for that!” He doesn’t have to apologise for his feelings, yet he does — literally thinking that he made you uncomfortable with his small and innocent confession. 

Your chest suddenly hurts, and your eyes feel like they’re becoming fuller with unspoken feelings and emotions, and he pats your hand from across the table as he senses his mistake. 

“I don’t want you to feel bad, ‘kay? We’re just at different places in our lives, even if your and someone else’s are perfectly aligned right now! I just had to shoot my shot, I hope you can understand,” He’s awfully comforting, and somehow if feels even heavier inside your chest.

You try to shake this strange feeling away, but your insides start churning at the unbearable thought that you rejected the man in front of you, and at the thought of your bubbling feelings that need to be addressed soon.  

The door swings open, and you already think this is a bad idea. The smirk in the corner of his mouth confirms that maybe you were better off at home, in your pyjamas.

It’s been a few days since you last spoke to Donghyuck, and as much as you hate do admit it, your last interaction with Sungchan planted a thought in your brain. One that you can’t really ignore. Instead, you show up to his doorstep trying to get the answers you need.

“Wowza, gorgeous!” Donghyuck smirks, eyeing you from head to toe. He moves away from the doorway, allowing you to walk in, and you stop by the entrance. “I think you really like my place, that’s why you drop by all the time,” He rasps, eyes glinting, “That, or maybe you just like me,”

You roll your eyes, glance stopping on one picture by the entrance — that you didn’t notice last time you were here. Probably because his sleepy figure was standing in front of it, unknowingly blocking your view. You recognise the picture, it’s one of the last pictures you took with your friends as a whole group, back during your university years — before Jaemin relocated to another big city, before one of your girl friends got herself into rehab; back when everything seemed normal and felt whole. You spot yourself in a corner, hugging Jaemin and Yizhuo — your closest friends during university — and you spot Donghyuck in the other corner, smiling at the camera like he’s the sun itself. 

It was one of the last outings you did as a group, right before graduation, and right before life got busy for all of you. Looking at all the faces in the picture, you realise that was one of the best trips you took, and you think of all the times Donghyuck made the outings better and less boring. 

He sees how you’re getting lost in the nostalgia of the past, as your gaze travels along the faces in the picture. Truth be told, that picture is there for one reason only, and said reason is now looking at it with eyes full of emotion. 

He looks at you once again. You look spectacular — black dress that kisses your curves and shapes the right way, your naked shoulders seem so soft and smooth and he has to fight the thought of what your skin might feel like under the burning skin of his hands. 

You’re gorgeous, and a lump forms in his throat as he feels like you’ve never been more unattainable than right now.

Are you… perhaps…

“Going on a date?” He can’t help but ask. He sees as your gaze moves from the picture, to look at him, and you put the frame down, “How’s skid marks?” His tone is bored as he turns around to walk towards his kitchen island.

You take your heels off, and you follow him towards his kitchen with angry patters as your bare feet take steps on the hardwood floor. 

“Don’t call him that!” You bark, his nickname for Sungchan suddenly upsetting you, “Be nice, he’s helping us,” 

“Is he?” He asks, not interested in the slightest to hear your reply, “Is that why you’re going out on dates with him? Or is it because he’s your friend and I’m your client?” Suddenly he’s attentive like a vulture — he wants to hear your reply to this one question.

“Can you be serious for one moment?” You question, not wanting to bicker with him right now. 

His cocky smirk makes an appearance, “I’m a prosecutor, Y/n. I can see you’re stalling,” He retorts, and he takes pleasure in seeing you biting your bottom lip, trying your best not to snap at him. “But alright, gorgeous. To what do I owe the immense pleasure of having you here tonight?” 

You shift your weight from one leg to the other, and your hands go to your dress before you can control yourself. 

“I was promised a dinner,” You purr, matter-of-factly. 

Donghyuck wants to grin, but fights it. How did you manage to stay out of his life for so long? It’s beyond his understanding. You make him want to start howling at the moon like a depraved dog, which reminds him of how you called him a puppy before.

And remembering the way you looked up at him as you did so, touching him, talking down to him — it literally gives Donghyuck goosebumps. But he’s not ready to admit this to anyone other than himself so, instead, he does what he knows best — he acts like he’s unfazed. 

He gets ready, as you look around his place. Despite him being home ever since he was put on unpaid leave, the whole place is spotless. You think it’s because he’s been living off take out all this time, and that he’s used one or maybe two cups to drink from, but you’re impressed either way.

He shows up wearing a tux, and he steps out of his dressing room manoeuvring a bow tie.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” You fake a gasp, “I didn’t know we were attending the fucking Oscars!” 

He’s in front of the mirror, styling his bow tie while looking at you through the mirror. His eyes are piercing, he doesn’t dare look away — eyes locked onto yours — and he smirks.

“You did it first,” He points at your dress, “You thought we’d be staying in with you looking like that?!” He exaggerates, wrinkling his nose, “No way, baby,”

“Don’t call me that,” You mumble, moving towards the door, but you grab him by the sleeve to get his attention on you, “But do you think this is a good idea? Going out right now… with you and your problems?”

“Y/n,” He sighs, quickly checking his pockets for everything he needs before heading out, “You have to know me better than this by now… to know that it’s been so long that I don’t give a fuck anymore,” He opens the door for you, and this time you wait for him by the door, instead of walking in front of him towards the lifts, “And I can get us a table literally anywhere. Name the nicest place you wanna go to, and we can get in,”

“I think that’d be the case if you weren’t a prosecutor who turned into a disgraced tv personality,” You ridicule him as you walk on the long hallway, but he doesn’t seem too offended by it. You might be right, anyway. 

“It’s worth trying, at least,” He shrugs, and then he turns around to look at you with that cocky smirk that’s so typical him.

“What?” You sigh, looking at the led arrows signalling where the lift is coming from.

“So basically you admitted to showing up looking like trouble, thinking we’d be staying home?” He rasps, stupid grin of victory on his face, and then he tsks, “You just wanted to seduce me,”

You punch him in the stomach, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, you step inside the lift before he can register what you’re doing, “Let’s see how seduced you get by me making you take the stairs,” And you press the button, urging the doors to close before he can stop them with his foot or hand.

“That wasn’t very nice,” He retorts when you’re finally out on the street. 

You discovered he has four luxury cars parked in the underground parking lot of his building, and given your dress code tonight, he went straight to the Porsche.

“But you did it nonetheless,” You point out, looking at the pedestrians crossing the street, “Just like a puppy,”

He doesn’t even fight it, because he knows you’re right. Instead, he chooses to ignore it for his own good. 

He looks at you, as the red lights from the cars ahead contour your pretty features. And to think that out of endless possibilities you got back into his life by being his lawyer makes him feel like becoming a disgraced tv personality really helped him in his destiny. If it weren’t for his big, problematic mouth, he would have been alone and miserable right now — in his luxurious apartment, with his four cars parked underground, with lavish dinners and a reckless dating style. Instead, you showed up.

He can’t and won’t take it for granted. 

“Where are you taking me?” Your voice is small, almost as if your mind is somewhere else.

“I have a few options, if they take us in,” He jokes, using your words, “Is there something you’re craving, gorgeous?”

You actually think about it. As you take your sweet time trying to think of something, your glance wanders around his car — and it finally lands on Donghyuck. 

He’s relaxed, even as he speeds. His tux brings a certain air to him, like he’s the most expensive and most untouchable man on this entire planet. Confidence oozes from all his pores, even as he does nothing but keep a hand on the steering wheel — and you feel your insides churning, but you desperately hope for it to be because of hunger.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” You speak up before you can control yourself. His curiosity makes him throw you quick glances before his eyes go back to the road, seemingly taken by surprise by your change of tone. This isn’t going to be about food, and he knows it, “You were too good at what you were doing for you to be remembered by the public as nothing but a fragment of a proper scandal. It actually upsets me,”

Donghyuck doesn’t know what to answer, mainly because he doesn’t see it as you. He’s sorry you’re upset about this matter, and he wishes he could take it all away from you. He also wishes he could speak up and have a proper conversation about this topic and why he thinks you’re wrong, but it’s like his lips are sealed when it comes to speaking up about the matter. 

He didn’t know you cared about him, or anything involving him — including his career — this much.

His silence feels heavy as your ears start ringing waiting for his answer, and it never comes. You’re left waiting as you listen to the purring of his Porsche’s engine, and at the way he breathes evenly — not rushed, not panicked, not even upset. He just breathes as he refuses to make any kind of comment to what you just told him. Did you really think that opening up about this to the guy with the biggest ego in the world was a good idea?

Too lost into your own worries and overthinking, you fail to notice how the car slows down, and then you finally notice him carefully looking for somewhere to park. You look outside the window, not recognising this side of the city.

“Do you remember the greasy, meat sandwiches we had on our last trip together?” He asks, and he actually sees how your gaze starts sparkling at the memory he just brought up, “It’s one of the things I’ve been craving the most lately, thinking about that day. And luckily for us, this guy right here seems to have the exact recipe,” 

Never in a million years did you think you’d be having sandwiches with Donghyuck at the outskirts of the city, bought right from a street food truck, while the grease trailed down your forearms as you tried to keep it away from your outfit. Because obviously, looking straight out of a fashion magazine, like you’re ready to go to a charity gala and eat the most expensive food ever served to you could ever compare to seeing melted cheese and grease smudged on Donghyuck’s cheeks as he chewed his bite.

The first bite taken from your sandwich almost got a moan out of you, while Donghyuck’s got a proper grunt out of him. 

It feels almost painful to admit that he’s right thinking this was something you’d end up enjoying. It helps you go back to the past, when his smile was more carefree, when his jokes were even more obtuse than nowadays, when the sparkle brought to his eyes during classes or fights with you was more prominent. 

You know he’s hiding something, and you wish he’d open up to you — at least a little bit. But you don’t want him to shelter himself behind a shell you never knew he had. He’s always been loud, proud, morally upright — and something took that away from him. 

“Tell me this sandwich isn’t so much better than sex,” He moans, mouth absolutely full to the point it’s difficult for him to chew. 

You nearly knock the tall glass of non-alcoholic beer you’ve been sharing with him, and you give him a quizzical look.

“What kind of odd experiences have you been having?” Your tone is high in pitch, full of disbelief. 

“Oh, c’mon,” He swallows his bite, “Like you’ve never had a bad experience? With a man? Hard to believe,” 

“Were your bad experiences also with men?” You pout at him sympathetically, almost on the verge of pinching his cheek and ridiculing him.

He lets out a howl of laughter, almost choking, “Touché,” He comments, licking his lips, all content with the progression of your conversation. 

The interaction quiets down, and you see him eyeing you curiously before going back to his sandwich. But you know him just too well, and as expected, he throws the ball in your court after taking a big sip from your shared beer. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” He smiles softly, setting down his sandwich on the aluminium foil on the high table. When he sees you nodding, he waits a few more seconds, “Why did you not become a prosecutor?” He asks, cleaning his hands with a wet wipe — definitely needed in order to get rid of all the grease.

When he sees your questioning gaze, seemingly not understanding the question — or where it’s coming from, he clears his throat. “I mean, you had the skills. You and I were unbeatable at what we were doing, so when I didn’t see you in the field as one of my colleagues, I got worried. I was thinking you wasted so much potential being God knows where, doing God knows what. I had no idea of your whereabouts because, God is my witness, I really looked for you as a last resort to try and reach out and make you change your mind,” He rasps, but his tone is gentle, and it brings you comfort, “So where the hell have you been?”

You guess this is a good start for the candid conversation you were planning on starting with him, but didn’t know how to approach him first. Almost because you opened a small door earlier, during the car ride, and he seemed like he closed it shut in the blink of an eye. 

You set your sandwich down on the foil, right next to his, and you grab one of the wet wipes he extends towards you. 

“Becoming a prosecutor was never my goal,” You admit, cleaning the corners of your mouth, “I always wanted to study law to help the underprivileged. Yes, prosecuting bad guys always seems like the best choice when you think of a career in law and the whole concept of justice. But what about the people who can’t afford to be represented in court by someone who’s actually capable and confident with their skills? What about the NPO’s and charities that need someone to represent them? What about the people?”

He looks at you, at the small crease between your brows as you get so passionate about your love for your job, and he has the next question he wants to ask you, on the tip of his tongue. Yet you beat him to it.

“Why did you throw out a successful and rewarding career? Just to become a tv host?” You ask him. This question has been bothering you ever since you stumbled upon his show on television, right after he gave up his career.

“It’s more complicated than that,” He gives you a tight-lipped smile, and you understand that it really doesn’t come easy to him to open up about this change. So it really wasn’t about him loving being in the centre of attention on television, and the shift to a career in this field that could mean fulfilling this crazy need for attention faster. You judged him too harshly, even if it’s just Donghyuck.

“Then open up to me!” You plead, because it’s something you need to understand about him, “I’m the one that can understand you on this, better than anyone else,”

You’re right. Donghyuck knows this, and as much as he would have loved to tease you a bit for your choice of words and wanting to get closer to him, he refrains, understanding this is not the right time for this, for neither one of you.

“Everything was going well, I was on a roll,” He starts, finally giving in. If he wants to get somewhere with you, anywhere near where he wants you two to be, he needs to open up and finally face his past. “My success rate was unbeatable and, as you might have seen, they even talked me into helping people on national television,” He looks straight ahead, thinking of the past few years and what he’s gone through, “They made me their product and I enjoyed the money and the attention, this is one of the truths,” He clears his throat, reaching for the cold beer.

So what? Is that all he has to say about this drastic change in his life? You wonder to yourself. Were you right from the beginning? Did he really do it for the attention?

“But another truth is that… I did something I can never forgive myself for, not even today,” His voice breaks, and he’s still avoiding your gaze, “One of the last cases I worked on was just… atrocious. We’re talking about abuse of the worst kind, and it all ended with murder. This motherfucker murdered his entire family… and he got away with it,”

Realising the gravity of the story he’s telling you, you keep your mouth shut. 

He takes a big breath, “Someone tampered with key pieces of evidence in the case, so he walked out of court almost trotting. That piece of shit was beaming with satisfaction, and for the first time ever I could do nothing about it,” 

Your weight shifts from one leg, to the other, “Any internal investigation that could find the culprit?”

He nods, finally looking at you, and you get to see just how affected he still is by the whole matter, even if it’s been a while since it happened. Something this big always stays with you. 

He licks his lips, “Of course! I started an internal investigation to find answers, but then after a while I got a call from my higher ups telling me to drop it,” He pauses for a few seconds, and then lets out a ridiculing scoff, “Of course I didn’t! What kind of prosecutor with a moral compass does that?!” 

You think you have a faint idea of where this story is headed. He’s getting upset, eyebrows furrowed as he recalls his past.

“It took a call from a politician to threaten me, for me to stop the investigation. That’s also when I decided to quit,” His voice is small, yet upset. 

He’s playing with a peace of foil on the table, wrinkling and then smoothing it, and your eyes fall on his crooked pinky.

“But!” He snaps, suddenly back to having a good mood, and the enthusiasm takes you by surprise. “My turn!” He picks up your sandwich, taking a bite of it. “Why did you quit your career to become a corporate lawyer?” His mouth is full, but you understand him nonetheless. 

He keeps his eyes on you as you pick up his sandwich, and you shrug, “I needed a change,” You avert your gaze, looking at where his teeth sank into the soft bread, “I needed to see if there were more exciting things out there,”

“And how did that work out for you?” He giggles, thinking of the irony of your choice. You wanted to help the underprivileged, yet you ended up working for a corporation straight out of hell. 

He looks at you, and he can’t believe just how beautiful you are. You features are so soft in the food truck’s lighting, your skin literally shines in the cold hues. 

He sees you taking a bite from the sandwich you’re holding — his sandwich, and a smirk plays in the corner of his mouth.

“You know we’re basically kissing right now, right?” He rasps, squinting his eyes at you while he sports a shit-eating grin.

You roll your eyes at him, “Your kiss is greasy,” You retort almost instantly, dropping the last bits of sandwich back on the foil, and you clean the corners of your mouth. 

“Yours is worse,” He mumbles, side eyeing you. 

“What are you even talking about?” You’re confused by his nonsense, eyes scanning him from head to toe as he takes another bite from your sandwich. 

You find yourself gawking once again. He seems so relaxed, so comfortable around you, so confident even to be in public making a mess on his face when literally anybody can see him — not just you anymore. 

And it hits you. Since when did you think you and him were close enough to imagine yourself as the sole person allowed to see him in all sorts of circumstances? Your long history of knowing each other has never properly allowed you to go there with your thoughts, and yet you did — and it makes you feel completely out of place. 

Yet for some reason, you’ve always felt comfortable around him. Thinking of it now that he shuts up and lets you be alone with your thoughts for a little bit, you think of the past. Never, not even once — not even when you wanted to kill him for starting a contradicting argument for his sole entertainment — did you feel like he repulsed you. 

“See for yourself,” He bursts your bubble, and your eyes get back in focus as you look at his tan forearms, while he extends your sandwich towards you. “I know you didn’t believe me. Take a bite,” 

You throw him a skeptical look, and you see his eyes studying your face closely, searching for something. But you give in, nonetheless. And you touch his hand as he directs the sandwich to your lips.

And then, he snatches his hand away, his lips smacking yours instead. It happens in a split second, and you don’t even have the time to register it happening, but it doesn't feel bad, or wrong. He retracts for a bit, the hand holding the greasy piece of bread far away from your figure, and he grabs your chin with his fingers.

His thumb travels, caressing his way up from your chin to your bottom lip, and he keeps studying your face for any sign that this might not be what you want right now. And the moment he feels your eyes on his lips, and sees you kicking your lips out of habit, he bends down once again.

His kiss is fervent, almost desperate, like he feeds off of it. His lips are just as plump and soft as you thought they would be, and you don’t even think twice before parting your lips, granting him access. It feels hot, something you’ve never experienced before — not from a single kiss, anyway. 

His free hand travels towards the side of your face, fingers combing through your hair to pull you even closer. His abilities are to be praised right now, as he gets to control you to get you to do anything he puts his mind to with one hand only, the other still kept away from your bodies. 

The kiss gets deeper and heated fast, while neither one of you feels like pulling away. This might be a monumental mistake, but it surely doesn’t feel like that right now. Right now, you think you’re exactly where you want to be — while Donghyuck is absolutely certain he is where he’s always wanted to be. 

Your hands go up his neck, which has gotten incredibly hot, and you keep him close to yourself as your fingers play with the longer strands of hair from behind his ears. He grunts into the kiss, and you suddenly become breathless.

He retracts slightly, eyes still closed as he keeps giving you small pecks, allowing the both of you to get your breathing back to normal, as gracefully as possible. 

“Was my kiss greasy?” He rasps, tone low sending shivers down your spine.

You gulp, keeping your eyes closed, “No,” You shake your head almost imperceptibly, but he feels you moving your face in his grip, “But your greasy hand is in my hair,” You open your eyes just a bit, looking at him through your lashes, and you see him smirking.

“Shhhh, don’t ruin our moment,” He nudges your nose with his, then going back to pecking your lips.

And you give in once again, feeling his fingers pulling you towards him.

Your leg bounces as you sit on one of the leather armchairs in the waiting room, right outside of your boss’s office. 

Anxiety is pooling in the pit of your stomach like never before, not even when you had stressful cases on your hands did you ever feel like this. It makes you sweat, it makes you want to throw up, especially because you know you’re in big trouble.

You woke up with a terrible headache, like your body was preparing you for impact first thing in the morning, like it was giving you a sign that a shit storm was coming your way and that the headache was just the tip of the iceberg. 

And then you checked your phone. Texts, missed calls from Johnny, articles about you and Donghyuck. Apparently all the times you warned him about the press being on his trails should have been a reminder for you as well, because you appear together in all the pictures published. 

Pictures of you and him strolling around the street, pictures of you and him spotted shopping together. Pictures of you two at the studio, when the two of you were bickering, except no one knows that. From the looks of it, it seems like you two are being very close, to the point of Donghyuck grabbing you — which is totally true, but the circumstances were absolutely different than what they’re being made to seem like in these pictures. And then, the worst of all, pictures from two nights ago, when you and Donghyuck made out in the middle of the night right in front of the food truck, and then in his car — and there’s no excuse or any other explanation for these last pictures, there’s no way you can deny it. It’s all out there for everyone to see, like a reminder that lines have been crossed and you acted recklessly. 

You didn’t even try to call him, to try and talk to him about this, to try to find a version of a story plausible as to why the two of you — a lawyer and her client — were eating each other’s faces the other night. 

Instead, you called Johnny and came to the headquarters as soon as you managed to calm down the erratic  beating of your heart. 

You’re sure everyone around has heard the news or seen the pictures, and you fear of what they might be thinking of you right now. You’ve never been a fan of judgement, and being in the limelight now makes you incredibly anxious. 

Your temples are still throbbing, your throat is dry, and it feels like you’re living a nightmare. And right as you think about this, the lift dings, announcing someone is about to come out, and then you see him — your real nightmare. 

The man that turned your world upside down with just a smack of lips and a foul mouth full of smart comebacks and obnoxious jokes. He spots you right as he steps out of the lift.

“Good morning, gorgeous!” He takes a seat right next to you, on the other armchair, “What brings you here so early?” 

You look at him, genuinely wondering what is wrong with him. He looks at you like an innocent puppy, eyebrows raised and lips pouting, all while he swings his leg from left to right as he sits leisurely. 

“Are you being for real right now? Did you not see the news?” You bark at him, ready to start punching him. You’re at your limit, and he’s on very thin ice right now. 

He shakes his head, shrugging with innocence, “Johnny called me in as soon as I woke up, so I didn’t really have the time to be on my phone,” He explains, and you believe him — knowing that he’s not the type to be on his phone, given all the times he hasn’t picked up your calls or replied to your work emails as proof of this. “Why? What happened?” 

“You and I happened,” You point your index finger, moving it between you two.

“Right,” He smirks, and you genuinely think he’s doing it to provoke you into hurting him, “It certainly is a good morning!”

“Hyuck!” You slap his leg, turning towards him. The crease on your forehead is terribly cute to him, and he feels an urge to kiss your worries away — even if it might put his life in danger. “This is serious. There are pictures everywhere! We’re in so much trouble, and Johnny has been on the phone all morning,” You explain, and then you sigh, “What do you think they’re gonna do to us?”

He looks at you like he doesn’t understand what it is you want from him, “I don’t know, gorgeous,” He shrugs, feigning innocence, “They might have to hang us right outside this building,”

“See?! This is exactly the kind of shit you end up saying that gets you in trouble!” You cry, getting upset with him not taking anything seriously. 

He can see you’re getting worked up over this issue, and even if he feels bad for upsetting you with his jokes, he finds it incredibly endearing for some reason.

“You’re right, but let me ask you a question,” He turns his body to face yours, almost sitting on the edge of the cushion, “Now that we’re addressing this properly,” He moves his hand between your bodies, “My joke from that night wasn’t that bad, right?”

You roll your eyes, looking the other way as you try not to snap at him, “No, it was pretty good actually,” You confess, remembering that after the initial shock of seeing him making such joke on national television subsided, you let out a howl of laughter, “Too bad some people have boundaries they don’t joke about,”

“Thank you!” He lets out a sigh of relief, relaxing into his seat, almost as if your last line didn’t make it to his ears, “I agree that I should have made that joke in a different environment, but the backlash was too strong for just a simple joke,” He concludes, mumbling as if he wants you to know he’s not that bad as a person. 

The office door opens, and a very stressed Johnny appears in the doorway, “Y/n, get in,” He calls your name, but his gaze shifts to Donghyuck, “Great, you’re here too,” He doesn’t seem too ecstatic, and Donghyuck certainly does not appreciate the coldness of his boss’s tone, “Get in,”

You enter the office, taking a seat on the velvety couch in the corner of Johnny’s office. He sits across from you, and gives you a smile.

“I’d say we have a problem,” He relaxes into his seat, crossing his legs.

“And I’d agree,” You reply, noticing with the corner of your eye how Donghyuck’s head snaps to the side to look at you.

Johnny nods in understanding, seemingly content that you’re on the same page regarding this issue, “But we’d both be so wrong!”

“What?” You squeak, getting on the edge of your seat. You’re so confused right now, you squirm your eyes while looking at your boss. 

“See, dearest… the dating scandal brought you into the limelight, and people seem to be talking about you more than Haechan’s controversial joke,” Johnny explains, and you still don’t understand what the good part is to all this, “People are going to be curious about your life, and truth be told Y/n, your record is impeccable. They’ll talk about you, they’ll say you’re the perfect match for Haechan, and everything will calm down.” He claps his hands, satisfied with his explanation, “See? Everything will work out perfectly! I talked to our PR team and, between us, this is the perfect move! How did you end up thinking of this? This was a genius move!” 

You look at him, still confused, and then your gaze shifts to look at Donghyuck, who looks back at you just as confused. 

“Erm…” You clear your throat, tilting your head, “We didn’t do it as a PR move,” You explain, still very much confused. So much that your words come out as a question. 

Johnny opens his mouth, surprised, and then points at you, “Oh well, in this case… Congrats!” He looks at Donghyuck, “And good luck to you!” He eyes you this time, still smiling.

After being dismissed from Johnny’s office, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The headache is now gone, you feel like you can finally go back to relaxing after an entire morning spent thinking you’re three heartbeats away from having a stroke. 

You’re pretty much at peace with the fact that they’re going to focus on desiccating your past for a while, thus giving Donghyuck a bit of space after a long time. You’re not as problematic, you don’t make bad jokes, you’ve always been in your lane — and have always done your best to be respectful and good at doing your job, as best as you could. You’re sure that your life isn’t nearly as fascinating as Donghyuck’s, but you really don’t mind. 

Even as you walk inside his luxurious building and towards his apartment, Donghyuck follows your steps. He smiles at the thought that, even after weeks, he’s still following you wherever you’re going — and it doesn’t matter that you don’t have a key to his place. He looks at how determined your strut is, like the place is yours and not the other way around.

“What?” You ask him, not accustomed to having him silenced for so long. 

“Nothing,” He opens the door for you to walk in, still in front of him, “I might have to give you a key to my place,” He says nonchalantly, like it’s not a big deal.

You choke on air, and you turn around to give him a horrified look, “A key?! Already?” You’re in disbelief, and quite frankly terrified of this man’s pace, “We haven’t talked about this stuff yet,”

“What is there to talk about?” He asks, and he seems genuinely confused. He seems relaxed, very comfortable with your presence even if you haven’t even been able to define your relationship yet. 

“This,” You point your finger at him, and then towards yourself, “We haven’t even defined what we are. We have stuff to talk about, and steps to take,”

He snaps his head to look at you, shaking it all confused and with his eyes squinting, “Again… what is there to talk about? Just move in, gorgeous, we can talk at home,” He’s serious as he approaches you, grabbing you by the chin before he guides your face to get closer to his.

His lips capture yours in a sweet yet passionate kiss. They're soft on top of yours, and for a moment he gets lost in the taste of your lip balm, “Is this enough to label us?” He rasps, letting you go before he starts heading towards his dressing room.

When you fail to answer, he comes back, bare feet loud on the hardwood floor, “You’re stalling. Again,” He warns, getting closer to you once again, “I don’t like that. I want things to be quick, precise, orderly. And I want you, Y/n,” 

His confession sets a lump in your throat that’s hard to gulp down, words suddenly too difficult to get out of you.

“Years passed and regrets amassed, and not acting upon my desires at the right time made me miserable. I don’t want that for myself, and I thought my intentions were clear enough for you to understand that I don’t need a label to define us, because I quite literally want to put the world at your feet, Y/n,” He speaks, and you try to fight a smile from creeping up on your features, “You came back into my life and you rocked my world and knocked some sense into me, one that was long forgotten and which I ended up despising. I will not sit back and watch you slip through my fingers again,”

He looks silly, but it makes your chest fill with warmth as you see his pout while he concludes his statement. He’s standing in front of you, wearing his pyjama shorts which he managed to change into right before he felt the need to come back and chew your ears off, and he’s still wearing his light blue shirt, cardigan discarded of as soon as he stepped back inside. 

“This reminds me just how good you are with argumentation,” You grin, but he knows you heard him loud and clear, and you’re not out the door — so that must mean you’re not turning him down, “Is this gonna be our thing? We get off complimenting each other on our argumentation skills?” The thought seems horrifying, but it gets a snort of laughter out of Donghyuck, nonetheless.

He shakes his head, unbuttoning his shirt. “I have a few other ways to get us off,”

“Is that so?” You purr, desire suddenly making your insides melt. 

Your eyes fall on the tanned skin of his chest, trailing all the way down to your favourite spot — the V line. He gets closer to you with dangerously slow steps, like he has you exactly where he wants, where he’s planned to have you all along. 

Just one quick glance up to his face, with your gaze locking into his, and the look he’s giving you makes you suddenly want to avert your gaze. He’s confident, proud, standing upright, walking towards you like he’s literally going to take a bite out of you — not that you would mind, anyway.

He stops in front of you, his breath hitting your face as you suddenly feel small, shy to look up at him. His gaze feels intimidating, and makes your skin burn with desire, your flimsy blouse suddenly too clingy and too uncomfortable on your skin. 

“I need to know, gorgeous,” He mumbles, slender fingers playing with a strand of your hair, pushing it back behind your ear, “What about that spare key,”

You hum with delight, stretching your arms around his neck, glueing your clothed chest to his bare one, and his hands travel hungrily behind your back with a tight grip.

“I think I’ll have no choice but to agree. The prosecution side had a very compelling argument,” You sing, finally looking up at him, and he keeps his mouth awfully close to yours, but your lips don’t touch.

He hums, nose nudging yours, and you can feel his fingers traveling under your blouse, fingertips touching your ardent skin and giving you goosebumps.

It makes you literally burn up with desire. His fingers squeeze your sides and the pressure feels almost too good given the force with which he’s doing it, all because of how much he wants you right now. His arms are around you in a split second, and you don’t even realise he’s taken you off the ground, determined steps making their way towards where you suppose his bedroom is. 

Normally, you’d look around yourself, but right now your mouth is too busy on his, tongues clashing as he moans into the kiss. Your fingers travel around his nape, up all the way into his hair, pulling gently at his strands — getting a proper grunt out of him. 

He puts you down, bare feet planted on what feels like a rug right by the foot of the bed, and he plays with the waistband of your pants, pulling them down but leaving your panties on.

 You push him back on the bed, and you get on top of him — you can feel he’s already rock hard, and your mouth is literally watering at the thought of tasting him. His hot mouth is on your neck, tongue playing around and leaving wet trails everywhere it can get, one of his free hands travels to your back to unhook your bra, helping you getting rid of your blouse and bra in a split second. 

You feel like you’re on a cloud, high on desire and pleasure — he could literally manoeuvre you around and you wouldn’t realise. His hands keep you steady on his lap, on top of his hard-on, not allowing you to move because he’d quite literally lose his mind if you gave him even the slightest friction. 

He keeps his mouth busy, lips kissing the plush of your breasts before his mouth latches onto your nipple, and he grunts with pleasure now that it finally dawns on him that he’s getting all of you to himself.

“So, so gorgeous, my baby,” He breathes on your swollen nip, right before his mouth latches onto the other, and hearing his airy praise from him has you moaning, head tilted to the side as you get lost in the pleasure, and you can’t help but move your hips on top of his lap.

He moans, fingers digging forcefully into your hips to stop you, yet the force with which he’s doing it makes you even more aroused. 

His moan vibrates around your nipple, and you push at his shoulders slightly, clearly giving him instructions on what to do. All the bullshit he pulled a while back about being your puppy and not taking orders from you? Totally bluffing. The man would do anything you’d ask of him, no questions asked.

You look at him in all his glory, admiring every single inch of his skin. Your fingers travel to the waistband of his pyjama shorts, and your nails pull at it, trying to move them out of the way. With a tiny bit of help from him, you managed to discard of the clothing item right before your gaze falls back on him, and you nearly let a gasp escape you.

Perfectly girthy, one vein travels from the base of his cock all the way up to his leaking tip. Trimmed at the base, his happy trail travels up his lower stomach, and you can’t resist the urge to graze it with your nail — going from his belly all the way back to the base of his cock, where you gently grab him. 

You bend down on top of him, and he doesn’t hesitate to capture your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. But you don’t allow him to enjoy your lips for too long, as they move down to travel on his jaw and across his chest, breath fanning over all the wet spots your lips leave behind. You finally stop your journey on his chest, where you playfully graze his nip with your teeth, while your eager hand gets back on his cock, squeezing his base lightly before travelling further down, making him grunt at the feeling. 

“Stop,” He’s out of breath, and the sound of his voice — laced with desperation and lust — makes your walls throb around nothing, “Please,” He pleads, throwing his head back.

The image of him being totally at your mercy makes you feral, almost like you want to continue your ministrations just to get more out of him. But it’s too much even for you, at least for right now, so you take pity on both of you.

You bend down, kissing his tip quickly before you take him inside the warmth of your mouth.

“Fuck!” He bucks his hips up, “I don’t think you should do this,” He’s almost crying, and his hands go up to his head in order to grab strands of hair he can pull at. 

But you ignore him. Flattening you tongue as you take all of him, you indulge in the pleasure of finally being able to suck him off. Salty and heavy on your tongue as you move your head up and down slowly, you moan around him, and for a moment you think Donghyuck is going to throw you off and away from himself.

You touch him one last time after you release his cock with a pop!, and he lands forcefully on his back once again.

“I think you’ll be the death of me,” He mumbles, breathlessly as he lays unmoving, waiting to catch his breath a bit. He’s painfully hard, tip still leaking with precum, but he raises his head when he feels you getting on top of him. “No,” He shakes his head, “Wanna taste you first,”

You feel like you could cry. You want to have him in all the ways possible, yet it’s becoming unbearable for you to be deprived of any proper friction. 

“Maybe later,” You tell him, already sliding your panties down your legs, “I need to feel you inside of me,” You moan as you sit on him for a bit, and he swears he can feel your clit throbbing on top of his unmoving and hard shaft.

You align him at your entrance, throwing your soaked panties at his head — and he doesn’t even bother to catch them on time. They land on his face, and he only moves one hand to grab them and keep them close for just a tiny bit to be able to smell your scent.

His eyes become glossy the moment you sink down on him, painfully slowly, and he can’t help the moan that rumbles out of his chest. 

“Fuck, fuck, baby,” He curses through gritted teeth, sucking his stomach in a few times, “I don’t think I can- I don’t think I’ll last,”

He overestimates your willpower right now, because he’s not aware that your insides are melting with lust and pleasure, feeling the need to feel him all the way deeply inside of you.

The moment you start undulating your hips, walls squeezing him deliciously, he looks down at where your bodies meet, and he can’t help himself from bringing his thumb so you can get off faster. You moan at the friction his thumb provides you every time your clit hits against it as you move your hips, and he swears the sounds you’re making are not helping his cause right now, already feeling like he’s on the verge of spilling inside of you.

Instead, his thumb does the right thing, and you reach your climax fast, surprising him. It comes in powerful, delightful waves that are prodding you to go on and continue your movements, and Donghyuck is too lost in the image of you climaxing on top of him to remember to take his thumb away from your sensitive clit.

Your thighs are burning, everything below the belt feels like it’s about to melt, but you stretch your hands up to his chest as your hips keep rocking on top of his. He’s speechless, he’s feeling too many things, especially because he’s been on the receiving end all the time, and this way he found it easier to get lost in all the pleasure he’s been feeling. 

He raises his head a bit, in order to have a better look at you, and he opens his arms before his hands travel to your hips.

You bend down, teeth grazing his jaw before you remember something, and you smirk as you get right up. Your hand travels to his neck, hand wrapping around the sides of his throat and putting the right amount of pressure.

His eyes become the size of saucers as he looks up at you, trying his best not to let out all the moans catching in his throat.

You giggle, and the sound of it has Donghyuck throbbing, “What happened to my talkative puppy boy?” You pout, delighted at seeing him squirming.

The choice of words, your tone, your relentless riding, the pressure around his neck, and the way your walls are squeezing him too tightly, it all becomes too much for Donghyuck to bear, and you see him rolling his eyes back before he lets out the loudest moan from the pit of his ribcage — and that alone is enough to turn you on again.

But you give in, stopping your movements yet still keeping him inside of you, and you collapse on his chest. You’re too spent to keep yourself upright right now, and Donghyuck feels limp as he tries to gather his bearings. 

You place your hand on his chest, drawing soothing circles as you wait for him to catch his breath, an you giggle when you hear him cursing. His sweaty skin sticks to yours, and he grabs your hand to bring it to his lips.

He keeps you close, he’s literally where he wants to be — with your weight on top of him, he feels like this is the safest and best place for him.

He raises his head, looking at your intertwined bodies, right before a stupid but spent smirk shows up on his face, “Given our last activity, I think I just proved to you that I don’t need deodorant,”

You smack his chest when you register his words, but giggle nonetheless because only Donghyuck could get to ruin a moment by bringing this nonsense up.

“Pervert,” You move on top of him just slightly, but it’s enough to make him suck air through his teeth.

He smirks, voice already raspy as he mumbles out loud, “Oh, you have no idea!” 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: SPEAKING MY TRUTH: we need to see more of obsessed and pervert!hyuck around (◞‸◟,) thank you to everyone who has been patiently waiting for me to drop fics from this series! this series means a lot to me and im not planning to abandon it, in case you were wondering — it's just that i have to be in the right place with my creativity <3 i hope you enjoyed this one, and i'll see you babies for the next one! ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა

TAGLIST: @hyuckmoon @ridinhyuck @imnotrosiee @kissyfacekoo @nctubatu @daryaa8a @winnietheboos @saiuoma @kakutoz @dudekiss3r @crzyhyuck @jirsungs @cinnayomiroll @gomdoleemyson @vantxx95 @jenzyoit @prettymoles @simjakyuu @bamjjwi  @d6llce @hyuckluvr-com @ihatefrvits @mystverse @fullsunflowerfield @positionslab @xbmbea @httpsxnox @leleszn @neotannies @hypneosis @doiejaeyo @honeynanamin @xtrataerrestrial @neocityscreamer @bbyjayb @haesluvr @notmastyle @luvvhaechan @yuthabitz @itzafran @ohmysion @sunflowerhae @kyungsooislifeu @serenedreamscape @lelecidio @neodaydreamz @notmastyle @schatjze @haechanahceah67 @lovesvt17

[wicked-disposition]

Why Do You Love ? — K.HJ

Pairing: Alpha Hongjoong x Omega reader

Synopsis: You had never ventured outside of your small town. Your mother had condemned you to omega only schools, wanting to shield you from the dangers of the world especially alphas. But if you were serious about becoming a nurse, you knew you'd have to learn to be around them at some point and going away to university was the first step.

Warnings: [DEAD DOVE] stockholm syndrome, Mc is very innocent & sheltered, kidnapping, non-con elements, power imbalance, non-con, HJ is possessive and cunning, rough sex, loss of virginity, dirty talk, restraints, dacryphilia, breeding, shibari, non-con drug use, blood, knotting, non-con filming, knife play, take a shot every time you read the word slick, extreme dub-con, non-con picture taking, breeding, non-con somno, pregnancy, pussy spanking, degradation, predator/prey dynamics, manipulation of pheromones, biting, marking.

Authors note: If you couldn’t tell already from the warnings, this story includes a lot of non-con, so if that or any of the other warnings make you uncomfortable, DO NOT. I REPEAT, DO NOT BOTHER WITH READING THIS STORY! If you choose to disregard these warnings and read the story anyway, only to leave a rude comment, you will be blocked. So don’t bother with commenting. Aside from that, I hope you all enjoy (:

PRESENT.

Red.

That’s all you can see before your eyes. Dots of red in the darkness of the room. Speckles of them cloud your vision. At first, you used to only see one of them. One tiny dot. You would keep your eyes trained on it in order to ground yourself. Making yourself calm down by focusing on the only spot of color in the pitch black room. It flickered on and off every few seconds. You would time it along with your blinking. A good few weeks passed before you realized what that red symbolized.

A camera. Installed right in the corner of the ceiling. What you started to find a small sliver of familiarity in, now became something you felt threatened by. That red dot haunted your every nightmare, making you scared of every one of your own moves, afraid of who might be watching. Why would they be watching? But most importantly—why wouldn’t they help?

You’ve been too afraid to look back at that red dot for a long time now. Ever since you realized what it symbolized, you’ve felt too ashamed of what the lens had witnessed. Your body, naked and displayed for viewing; your cries, loud and desperate, mostly pleading for help, but sometimes—to your utter shame—begging for pleasure as well. You don't like knowing that you’re being recorded. In the beginning it made you feel hopeful. Hopeful that someone will maybe see and come rescue you. But the more time that passed, the more your hope turned into helplessness. No one was coming for you. You were to spend the rest of your days here. Or, until the one who held you decided he had had enough of you.

But by the way things were going, that seemed like a day you would never get to see. The room you started to find familiarity in was filled with everything that was sure to muddle your brain. Pheromones; full of dominance, want and need. Power; guaranteed to make you submit, roll over and present. Sweet amber;that made your eyes roll back and your tongue loll out in pure desire.

Alpha.

An alpha that seemed more than adamant on taking everything from you until he left you with absolutely nothing. Your pride, your self control, your innocence. All of it had been stripped away from you the moment you set foot inside of this room. Or better said, the moment you got strapped to the bed in the center of the room. You don't know much about what’s happening or where you are, but if there is one thing you knew for certain, it was that the alpha that took you would always take care of you. That’s what he always says at least.

“Don’t fret, little omega. You’re safe right here with me.”

At first, the comments would make every inch of your skin bristle. How could you possibly be safe at the hands of someone so cruel? Someone who tortures and takes whatever he wants from you; who makes you cry and sob and beg to be let go of. But over time, you learned to find comfort in the same touch that tainted you. The hand that hit you would always caress you gently when it was all over. The mouth that bit you and spit cruel words would kiss your sore body from head to toe almost as if those lips had healing powers. And perhaps, in the sick and twisted reality of your mind, they did.

The knife that was held against your neck, as you were forced to arch your body until it faced the tiny red dot in the corner of the room, started to feel dull against your skin when small praises were whispered in your ear along with it.

“Such a good puppy. The prettiest omega. Sitting so still for me. I really taught you well.”

And that is one thing he did. Taught you how to behave. Showing you all the ways of surviving in this small little room, abiding by his rules and orders. All you needed to do was be good; that’s it. Just be the best omega anyone could possibly dream of—an obedient little thing, with big eyes only for your alpha, always at his beck and call with your arms and legs wide open, and holes on display at all times. Your alpha didn’t ask too much of you. And if that meant you would get to survive and evade your punishments as much as possible, well, that’s something you were willing to do.

As someone who’s stayed as far away from alphas as you could all your life, the sheer power and control that had taken over your body was overwhelming for you. You knew how small and meek of an omega you were in comparison;you could never fight against the big strong alpha holding you captive. You were more than aware of how easy it would be for him to put you in your place with a simple tilt of his head and a hint of a growl. But that still didn’t stop you from trying to fight back. At least in the beginning.

You would scream, cry and beg to be let go of until your throat closed up and your voice turned raspy. Your face used to be constantly sticky with tears and your head would always be pounding from all your crying. You would over exhaust yourself to the point of passing out, which is usually when the alpha would swoop in and you would find the last remainder of power in you to fight back. But your nails were too blunt to scratch him, your hands were too weak to push him away, and your teeth were not sharp enough to bite him until they could break skin. You were rendered completely helpless with one single pinch to your scent gland on the side of your neck and a snarled “Keep still”. That’s all it took.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re really pushing my hand, sweetheart.”

How could you ever escape the hell you had been so bluntly thrust into?

PAST.

All omega schools were very common. Your mother made sure to keep you as sheltered from alphas as she possibly could since you were born. Her daughter was too innocent, too pure, to be anywhere near the grabby hands of selfish alphas that lurked around for cute little omegas like you.

College, on the other hand, was a totally different story. Although you grew up surrounded by omegas only, if you wanted to study to become a nurse, you couldn’t avoid alphas anymore. Your mother was extremely upset when she found out, but she couldn’t keep you at home under her care forever. You wanted to be on your own. So, reluctantly, she let you leave to go study in the big city.

Which is where you finally became aware of everything your mother had kept you away from all of your life. Alphas. So many of them. Everywhere. Surrounding you from all ends, with pointed stares and strong scents, that filled your nostrils and traveled all the way through your lungs, intoxicating you. On your first day of college, you got so overwhelmed that you hid and locked yourself in a bathroom stall, where you cried your little heart out throughout the entirety of the first class you were supposed to be attending.

That’s also where you made your first friend. Jung Wooyoung. A cheerful and bubbly omega that had heard your sniffles and smelled your distress from outside the bathroom stall, and somehow coaxed you into coming out of there after offering his hand through the gap underneath the door, which you held for a long twenty minutes before daring to come out. And ever since that day, Wooyoung had kept you safe at his side at all times, never leaving you alone around any alphas for even just a second.

They were still everywhere around you though. Looking at you as if they wanted to eat you whole. Chests puffing out whenever you would pass them by, growling at each other, almost as if it was a competition of who could sway you first. But you weren't interested in any of them. You just wanted to focus on studying and keeping to your small group of friends.

In your first week, Wooyung introduced you to all of his friends that had welcomed you in immediately. You were a small group, consisting of two other omegas, Jihyo and Yeosang, and a beta named Jongho, but you were more than happy to have friends you could feel safe around.

You were more than content with how things were going so far into your first semester. Your mother, although still worried, became slightly more relieved whenever you would call and tell her that things were going well. Your anxiety only started to pick up again when your small group suddenly expanded with a new addition.

An alpha that Wooyoung met in his biology lab.

“I know how you feel about alphas, but I promise you, he’s the nicest person ever! You know I would never bring anyone around you unless I was certain they were completely harmless.”

Your number one flaw has always been being too trusting.

So, reluctantly, you agreed to meet him. You waited with big eyes and parted lips, hands trembling where they clutched underneath the table between your thighs, nose twitching as you sniffed the air around. And that’s when you felt it.

Sweet amber. So potent that you felt your head float somewhere off your shoulders and you had to hold your breath in order to ground yourself. And when you were finally able to get past the sudden haziness, your eyes met a pair of dark brown ones, staring pointedly at you. Like a prey being hunted. That’s when the alpha smiled, and you felt all the air leave your lungs.

“This is Hongjoong!”

PRESENT.

Your skin had grown accustomed to handling most things over the past few months, but rope was still something that felt too harsh for you. It’s hard and bristled and it turnt your skin red in most places if you moved around too much—which more often than not, you did. But it doesn’t take more than a stinging slap to your inner thigh to get you to stop huffing and squirming.

“Be good.”

Being good is something you have learned to master over time. And of course you had. It’s so easy for you to do as you’re told—you allowed yourself to be conditioned into the most perfect little omega. Obedient to your alpha’s every single order.

“Sit like this. Move your arm like that. Stop squirming so we can finish quicker. Very good. Give alpha a kiss.”

Tactile loops of long rope hold you in place, completely unable to move. At first, the feeling of helplessness would terrify you, but over time, you've learned to curiously admire the ways in which you’d get tied up. You could not move an inch even if you tried to, but that didn’t mean the knots were constricting. They felt oddly delicate actually.

This seemed to be the alpha’s favorite way of tying you. With your hands in front of you, a string of rope looped around your torso and over your arms, and your wrists held together tightly between your legs. You felt the strain of the position in your muscles when the alpha would make you arch your back so that your calves could touch the backs of your thighs, tying the two parts of your legs together. Your toes wiggled impatiently in the air, waiting for the next move. You were on complete display like this, with your front pressed into the mattress and your ass raised high in the air.

“Beautiful.” The alpha murmurs from behind you, running the palm of his hand over the swell of your ass, giving it a light squeeze, which made the fat jiggle. “Sit just like that for me.”

You turn your head to the side, cheek squished into the sheets, lips pouted outwards beautifully. It’s a little hard for you to breathe, but you don't make a single sound. You knew that if you behaved well this would be over quickly. You just had to sit pretty and be patient until the alpha was done doing whatever he wanted.

Today it looks to be pictures. You can see from the corner of your eye the flash of the camera going off as a picture is taken from above, most likely capturing the full display of your body. You shut your eyes and exhale shakily when a warm palm presses down on your spine, making your body arch even more, something that is sure to leave you feeling sore for the next couple of hours.

Pictures is something you can deal with easily. It’s what you dread the least. You just had to sit still for a few minutes and then you usually got to be on your own for the rest of the day. If you were exceptionally well behaved, you’d also be awarded candy, which is something you’ve been striving really hard for lately. The alpha gives you green apple lollipops, which are your favorite. They remind you of home, where you wish you could be instead. But the lollipops will do for now.

You think you’re doing well. Only whining once when your arms start to go a little numb, but you’re quickly shushed and offered a light nip to your left ass cheek, which promptly quiets you down. You’ve thought about asking what this was for before. Why are pictures being taken of your body? Does the alpha look at them afterwards? Are they only for him? Does he show them to other people? Could others know about you and where you are? 

But the thought of asking is gone as soon as it comes, because you know you most likely won’t get an answer. The alpha is not very talkative, unless it’s to tell you what to do, to scold you for misbehaving, or to praise you for being good. You’d much rather prefer the latter. The only other time in which he seems to like talking, is when he’s saying cruel words that make your cheeks burn up in an instant. Things such as—

“Look at that pretty little pussy.”

You squeal, face pressing into the mattress, which muffles your sounds as rough fingers spread your ass cheeks apart, exposing both of your holes. You know you have no chance of resisting when the room starts to get pumped full of pheromones that make you submit in an instant, sweet amber travels through your lungs, making your tummy quiver and causes a sad dollop of wetness to gush right out of your cunt. 

You whimper pathetically.

“Eager little omega. In need of a treat, aren’t you?”

You try to shake your head, but the position won’t allow you to. Your thighs can’t squeeze together either, even though you squirm to do so. The ropes hold you in place, firmly squeezing where they’re supposed to, rendering you immobile. You can do nothing but exhale shakily as you try not to focus on the fingers parting your folds, collecting the slick that had dribbled out.

“Alpha’s got you.”

When two fingers slide inside of you with ease, all you can think about is that this is not the kind of treat you had been looking forward to. You were craving a lollipop, not fingers shoved up your cunt, but that’s not really something you can complain about. So, you take it like a good girl, gushing slick until it runs warmly down the inside of your thighs, body spasming as the alpha fingers you with fervor. You keen high in your throat, brain muddled completely by the alpha’s scent, breathing it in from where it’s imprinted into the sheets, resulting in you cumming in no time with a loud cry as you splatter slick all over the other’s wrist and down onto the bed.

You breathe harshly as you slowly start to come down from your high, body tingling as hands that are still slippery with your slick start to untie the rope from around your body, letting your limbs free. You whine in distress when you’re rolled over onto your back, a quiet shush is exhaled right on top of your lips before you're being kissed softly, instantly calming down. You let yourself melt into strong arms that skillfully untie your wrists, your head falls back against a broad chest as your thighs get massaged by the alpha’s big hands, kneading the flesh with his fingers and making you exhale blissfully.

“Such a good puppy. You take everything I give you so well.” The words are whispered into your ear and your eyes fall shut, letting the deep voice that makes the alpha’s chest vibrate quell your restlessness.

Your legs still feel wet and sticky with slick, but you know that’s something the alpha will take care of. He always takes care of you. You never have to worry about anything. You think that’s nice. Not having to worry feels nice. If only worrying about how you were going to get away wasn’t pressing so heavily on your thoughts…

Breathing in the powerful scent of amber, your head lolls back onto the alpha’s shoulder, your body sagging completely against him. With a content growl vibrating against your back and a small nip to your scent gland, you are instantly put to sleep.

PAST.

Hongjoong is not like any other alpha you've ever met. Of course, he still has the intensity of an alpha that is sure to bring a tremor to your knees, but it’s by far more subdued.

Hongjoong is nice. He doesn’t hold any malice behind his eyes. He smiles wide and toothy—like a ray of sunshine. His voice is soft, like a warm blanket on a chilly day. He talks about writing and his dog from back home and he calls his mom almost every day during lunch time. His scent is soft for an alpha, yet still intoxicating. 

You want to bathe in it.

Hongjoong is a good person. He’s a good friend. A good alpha. You look at him with stars in your eyes. 

And Hongjoong knows it.

It’s way too painfully obvious for him not to. 

From the way you try to avoid his gaze and the way you squeak whenever you do meet it, to the way in which your scent sweetens whenever Hongjoong is around, honeyed cherry blossom sickeningly potent, to the point in which it attracts looks. Hongjoong has to know. He has to know that you’re doing exactly what your mother had warned you not to do all your life.

Swooning for the very first alpha you ever laid eyes on. Getting lost in his scent and in his voice, replaying the sound of his laughter over and over again in your head when you’re all alone in your dorm, allowing your walls to break down for an alpha that hasn’t done as much as show you any intentions.

Hongjoong doesn’t look at you any differently than he looks at Wooyoung, or Yeosang, or even Jihyo. He’s polite in every sense of the word, and you think that that’s what makes even more hearts float around your head whenever he looks at you. It’s the fact that he’s everything an alpha shouldn’t be—and everything you have ever wanted.

Hongjoong is a reliable kind of alpha.

Independent and level headed. He’s the only one out of your friend group who lives off campus in his own apartment, unlike the rest of you that stay in dorms. He has good grades, yet never looks as if he struggles to achieve them. He’s always well put together, unlike you who has deep dark undereye circles and disheveled hair after nights of studying continuously for upcoming exams.

Hongjoong wears expensive clothes and eats healthy organic food that you know must cost a fortune. You haven't felt the taste of strawberries in months, even though they’re your favorite, because you simply cannot afford them. Hongjoong looks like he could provide everything a mate would ever need. You find yourself envious of the omega that will get to call him their alpha.

But Hongjoong has never shown interest in anyone so far; at least not in front of you. He never talks about any omegas, even though there are multiple that ogle at him every time he passes by. It’s easy to see why they would all want him. Hongjoong has eyes only for his friends though. He would much rather spend his evenings with you all in the library than go out and party to possibly take someone home. And you, well…you think that’s nice.

You enjoy having Hongjoong sit across from you at your study table much more than you’d ever care to admit. You like the soft heady scent of amber tickling your nose when you’re typing away at your laptop, trying to focus on your notes rather than on the person sitting in front of you. 

But it’s hard.

It’s especially hard when you don't hear the sound of typing anymore and are rendered to sitting in tense silence. Wooyoung had left for the bathroom, so inevitably, leaving just you and Hongjoong. When you look up from behind your screen, you have to stop yourself from nearly choking on your lollipop at the sight of a dark pair of eyes focused solely on you.

You can’t help but think that Hongjoong has never looked at you like that. He’s never so blatantly allowed himself to stare you down, making you shrink into yourself that you try to make yourself as small as possible in your chair. You also take notice of another thing—this is the first time you’ve ever been alone with Hongjoong. There’s always been at least one other person with you, up until now. You think it might be because your friends were still wary about leaving you near an alpha all by yourself. They didn’t want you to freak out. But Hongjoong has been your friend for a while now. Hongjoong is a good alpha. Hongjoong can be trusted.

Hongjoong looks at you as if he wants to eat you.

“What flavor is that?”

It takes you a good few seconds and a couple long blinks before you realize that the quiet words are directed at you. It also takes you a while to realize what he means. Your lollipop. You pull the stick out of your mouth and try your hardest not to cough, swallowing thickly instead.

“Green apple.” You whisper brokenly, lips pursing together into a thin line.

You fidget in your seat, crossing and uncrossing your legs, but no matter what you do, the intense gaze settled upon you still makes you feel restless. It’s not until the soft scent that had been settled into the air around you suddenly spikes up, that your mouth drops open. You look up with slightly widened eyes, just like a deer caught in headlights. It’s strong, warm, musky, rich—it’s intoxicating. Your mouth waters.

“Is that your favorite?” You don't know how, but Hongjoong’s voice sounds deeper than ever before. It’s like a rumble, traveling through your ears. You think that if you were standing right now, you would definitely be getting weak in the knees.

“I–I think so.” You stutter out, trying your hardest to get yourself in check.

Don’t do it. Don’t make a sound. Don’t say anything.

It’s inevitable. The smallest of whimpers gets caught in the back of your throat, coming out as a measly squeak. You can feel yourself getting light headed. It’s so sudden and it’s so much, too much for you to handle. Why does Hongjoong smell like that, why is it so powerful, why is it making your legs squeeze together?

“Cute.”

The door to the library opens. And suddenly, the intensity is gone. You feel like you had been floating somewhere up above the clouds and you suddenly slumped back into your chair as if you had been dropped. You blink the haziness away, startling when Wooyoung plops back down next to you. The omega sniffs the air around and pulls a face.

“What the—” he pinches his nose, looking up at Hongjoong. “Are you close to a rut or something? It stinks in here.”

Hongjoong seems to finally peel his eyes up off of you. As if nothing had ever happened, he blinks and smiles sheepishly up at Wooyoung. His whole demeanor changes. A bashful laugh.

“I think so. Sorry.” He scratches the back of his head.

You look down at where you were still tightly gripping onto the stick of your lollipop. You urge yourself to relax and breathe as shallowly as possible. The earthy tones still prickle your nose with each inhale.

“Be careful, Hyung, jeez.” Wooyoung shakes his head and pulls a pencil out of his case, going right back to writing in his notebook.

You will yourself to look up once more. Leaning as far back in your chair as you possibly can when you meet Hongjong's gaze. A deep crimson red gets blinked away as soon as it comes. It leaves you feeling breathless.

“Yeah. I will be, don’t worry.”

PRESENT.

Sleeping is one of the only things you look forward to. Because when you sleep, you get to dream. And in your dreams, it’s just you. No one else. No alpha trying to lay their claim on you, no rules you need to abide by—only you. And you try to escape to that place as often as you can; or better said, as you’re allowed to.

You would nap all day long if you could. Your bed was comfortable, blankets warm and soft. You had more than enough pillows to surround your whole body with, with sheets that were purposefully scented for you to bury your nose into, against your better judgment. The scent that would bring a tremor to your knees and make your blood run cold was the same one you had to breathe in with each inhale, and allow it to muddle your every thought. 

Everything you do was controlled by that scent. 

The musky tone of amber that was always guaranteed to have you on your hands and knees, with your head lolling to the side and putting a strain in your neck as your body unintentionally struggled to present. Just the smallest spike of pheromones was enough to make you everything you never wanted to be—an omega controlled by the hands of an alpha you didn’t wish to belong to.

So, naturally, even in your sleep, you couldn’t escape the power that the scent possessed over you. It was everywhere around you—dictating your every move, controlling your every thought. 

In your dreams, you preen at the feeling of being engulfed by sweet amber. It makes you sigh contentedly, a flimsy whine getting caught in the back of your throat from the way it makes you feel. Like an overwhelmed teenager after their first scenting—completely smitten. You roll around in it, coating your own scent glands with it, whimpering in need at the way it engulfs your entire being.

The dreams are inevitable and you have no way of stopping them. Not when the scent is so powerful. Not when heady pheromones tickle your nose, making you twitch in your sleep. And especially not when the alpha whose scent messes with your head is the one disrupting your slumber as well.

If you were aware enough, you would’ve been mortified by the thought of your captor barging into your dreams out of all places. But you’re not. You let yourself be completely at his mercy once again; controlled entirely by the pheromones dictating your every move, kisses are lathered all across your jaw and neck, and the hands holding your body down, gently caress over the points that were sure to make you keen. 

You sigh and roll over into the arms that wrap tightly around you, soft whispers tickle your ears, and make you whimper out loud.

“Prettiest omega. You make your alpha so, so happy.”

“Gonna take such good care of you. Keep you pupped and bred so well.”

Under any other circumstance, you would cry and shake your head at the thought of birthing pups for the alpha holding you. But this is your dream. A dream in which you’re allowed to do as you wish; to nod your head and whine through the kisses being sealed into your skin. To think about your pussy being stretched around the knot that is sure to breed you good, and the swell that will be put in your stomach when you’re pumped full of cum. It’s your dream and you don't have to think rationally for once.

You can feel the stickiness, warm and wet, trailing down your inner thighs and soaking your entire backside. You can feel it gushing out of you like a faucet, your little pussy so warm and slippery, the glide of fingers through your folds produces nearly no friction, just a loud wet squelch that is sure to make your cheeks warm up. You allow yourself to be rolled over onto your front and have your legs spread, rough hands settle over both of your ass cheeks, parting them to reveal your sopping cunt. 

You think you’re still dreaming when you feel your hole being prodded. The head of the alpha’s cock catches against your entrance and teases you until you’re soaking his entire length with even more of your juices. Your honeyed scent engulfs the air around you, almost overpowering the earthy amber. You feel your head lolling around, too heavy for your own shoulders. You sigh from between the pillows your nose is pressed into. 

It makes your thighs quiver, and your pussy clench as he slowly opens you up. You can’t do more than whimper throughout content sighs, small noises leaving the back of your throat as strong hands hold your hips down, fingertips digging into your skin.

“Mine.”

The first powerful thrust is what breaks the fog that clouded your vision apart. His cock reaches deep into your tummy, breaching your cervix and making your stomach bulge. You choke around a wet gasp, weak hands trying to grasp at anything they can reach, but come up empty. Your neck strains when you try to lift your head, but a hissed snarl rumbling right by your ear is enough to have your cheek smashing right back into the pillows, a scared little mewl escaping through your lips.

Your hands are shaking. Your neck is exposed, struggling to present. You feel your entire bottom half completely soaked, a small puddle having formed underneath you, most likely seeping all the way through the mattress. Your eyes feel heavy in your head, struggling to blink them open. You feel yourself being held down, a hand tightly gripping your hip while the other pushes on the small of your back to make you arch beautifully. 

Through a struggled gasp, your eyes snap wide open and realization dawns on you. 

You’re not dreaming anymore.

You let out a moan as you feel yourself being plowed into the mattress, hands weakly scrambling to grasp for purchase. You twist the tousled sheets between your fingers, eyes watering up in an instant. You should scream and try to fight back. Beg to be let go of, to make this stop. You should cry out for mercy. 

Your eyes roll back instead.

“Alpha!” 

Your weak whimper is met with a resonating growl, your weepy little pussy gets split open on the girthy cock that has started ceaselessly thrusting into you. The nip at the back of your neck is enough to have you dripping all around the alpha’s cock, the warning of the claim to come makes you preen as he shoves your face into the pillows as you try to muffle a cry. It’s so good; opening you up so well, reaching so deep inside that you think your guts might be getting rearranged. You gurgle around your own spit when you feel your stomach distending, tummy bulging with every thrust. You wish you could reach down to feel it, but your wrists are grasped by forceful hands and held down behind your back. 

“That’s right, scream for your alpha.” You positively sob when a hand slams down by your head, startling you. The alpha only leans in closer so he can grunt his crude words right into your ear. “You like this, don’t you? Like how good your alpha fucks you?” He’s not your alpha. You don't want someone like him to be your alpha. 

You should open your mouth to tell him that but what comes out is a moan instead. 

“Perfect little omega, made to take my knot.” 

“Puh–please!” You squeal, biting down on your bottom lip until you draw blood when you feel the cock inside of you grow even bigger than before.

“Shh,” A gentle nip to the lobe of your ear and a kiss to your temple is enough to have you cease squirming, “it’s okay, sweetheart. Your alpha’s got you.” 

You feel your walls spasming, squeezing tightly around the alpha’s cock as your neck gets thoroughly scented through your orgasm. Sweet amber clouds your every sense as you get fucked so good that it starts to hurt, the promising swell of a knot makes you shed little tears of need. You don't want to be knotted, but your omega never seems to agree with you. It has a mind of its own as it makes you submit, opening your legs even wider and lolling your head to the side even further as you beg for a claim as if you were lusted by heat.

But you’re not in heat. You’ve never even had a heat before. You've never gotten to know what the true desire of a claim during heat feels like. The alpha is not in rut either. You’re just in denial of your true needs. And your need right now is to get knotted and pumped so full of cum that your tummy is sure to swell from it.

The alpha is always there to fulfill each and every one of your wishes.

“That’s right. So good, so perfect.” Your throat feels thick with a purr that you struggle to hold back. “Pretty omega. Gonna make my rut come early.”

Your struggles are rendered futile as you scream when your pussy gets completely filled up, knot plopping right inside and locking you both together, long and warm spurts of cum instantly shoot out. You hiccup through the loud purr you’d been trying to contain, letting it all out at once. Your omega feels content after being fucked and pumped full of so much cum.

“Mine, mine, mine.” The alpha growls, burying his face in the side of your neck, licking and sucking in deep purplish bruises right over your scent gland, making you throb around his knot. Your teeth grit together weakly through another forced orgasm. The feeling of being so full to the brim becomes too much. “My omega. All mine.”

You whimper pitifully as you slump into the arms holding you tightly, almost as if you would crumble if the alpha were to let go. You cry out weakly when your body gets jostled around, cum swishing warmly in your tummy as the alpha turns you both onto your sides. Your hole feels puffy against the tug of his knot. 

“Perfect. So perfect. Always do so well for me.” Tiny praises get whispered into your ear as your eyes start to roll to the back of your head, gentle bites and kisses are scattered across your neck and shoulder.

You feel your chest suddenly flood with warmth. Before you get to realize what that feeling could mean, your eyes struggle with a few last blinks before completely falling shut. The last thing you see is the tiny red dot in the corner of the room, flickering on and off and haunting the dreams you fall right back into.

PAST.

You didn’t mean to do it. At least not like you had. You definitely could have worded it better. You know how much an omega’s rejection to a alpha can sting. You spend days on end beating yourself up over it. You’re still trying so hard to get used to being near an alpha and learning how to act properly that you reacted on instinct.

It had been cold. The threat of a storm was quickly approaching campus when your last class ended. You were quick on your feet, thinking that maybe if you ran, you could get back to your dorm in time before the rain started. That’s when Hongjoong caught up with you, stopping you by the exit with a light tap on the shoulder that made you turn around sharply.

An inhale of sweet amber was enough to calm you down, before your brain went into a complete meltdown at the display of pearly white teeth as Hongjoong smiled at you.

“Hey, looks like it’s gonna storm pretty bad. Can I walk you to your dorm? Just to make sure you get there safely.”

Warm. Everything felt warm. Hongjoong’s smile, his scent, the lingering feeling of his touch, your cheeks. Way too warm. You felt as if you were going to explode. You looked around, but everyone was rushing past you to evade the oncoming storm, not sparing the two of you so much as a glance. Hongjoong waited. Patient. Way too patient. His eyes did not leave your face. You didn’t know what to say. So you just—

“N-No, thank you!” 

And just like that, you bolted.

You didn’t stop to look back once. You didn't get to see the smile being wiped off of Hongjoong’s face. You didn't get to feel his scent souring from the sting of an outright rejection. You ran and ran through campus until you reached your dorm; your clothes were completely soaked by the time you made it. And then, you face planted onto your bed and just…screamed.

You avoided Hongjoong for almost a whole week after that. You’d duck behind every wall or trashcan you could whenever you saw him passing through the hallways. The rational side of you knew the one that would have to bear the embarrassment of that whole incident was Hongjoong, but you still felt mortified. The event replayed over and over in your head. You rejected the simple offer of a walk home from the alpha you had been blatantly ogling for the past couple months. How humiliating.

You thought about a way to fix things. Constantly wracking your brain for ideas about how you should apologize, but you came up empty-handed. You were not brave enough to bring it up with the alpha. But it seemed like you wouldn’t have to after all.

After your last lecture of the day, you headed over to the library as usual. Going to the same desk you always sat at, you were taken aback to see that it wasn’t empty. Maybe someone had gotten there before you. Disappointed, you go to turn on your heel and move somewhere else, until you do a double take. Walking closer, you clutched your hands to your chest as you leaned over the desk to look at what sat on top of it.

A note. And next to it, a lollipop. 

Touching it with tentative fingers, you pick up the piece of paper to read the short sentence written on it.

Anatomy quiz on Tuesday, study with me?

And right underneath it, two check boxes. Your head whips up, instantly looking around until you spot him. Hidden behind a bookshelf, with just his head peeking out and a small smile on his lips. Hongjoong. You inwardly squeal.

Placing your backpack on the table, you unzip it to retrieve a pen. Your hand is a little shaky, but a smile pulls at the corners of your lips when you check the ‘YES’ box with no hesitation. Sitting down, you slide the note over onto the other side of the desk. Clearing your throat, you focus on unwrapping your lollipop, nervously picking up the sound of approaching footsteps.

You plop the candy into your mouth when the legs of the chair in front of you scrape the floor, a small content sound leaves you. Green apple. He remembered. Looking up, you feel your mouth water around the lollipop. Hongjoong smiles sheepishly at you.

“Hi.”

You like the sound of his voice. You feel your heart beat a little faster than before at the hushed word. Despite your nervousness, you smile. Hesitantly, you wave. And Hongjoong, well—Hongjoong grins wider than you have ever seen him do before.

Later, when your lollipop has long since melted and you’re left with nothing but the stick to chew on, you retrieve one of your own post it notes, hiding it behind your hand as you wrote a short sentence on it, you nervously look anywhere else but at Hongjoong as you pass it to him.

Walk me home?

You think you hear the alpha inhale sharply. You’re honestly prepared to be met with the same rejection you had offered a week prior. His eyes burn holes into the note sitting between you. And then, Hongjoong reaches for his pen.

Where you expected him to make a small check mark, he instead draws a heart in the box that marks yes. You absolutely melt into a puddle.

PRESENT.

You often get left alone during the day. Your alpha—a title you have surrendered to addressing the other with—is gone for a better half of the day. Which is good, because you get to nap a lot. You like naps and the silence of your room during those times, so you never complained once until now. The alpha would come in during the early hours of the morning to wake you up—either with a soft caress to your cheek or a knot shoved deep inside your cunt, depending on how he felt. Which always ended with him feeding you breakfast by his own hands, before leaving you to tend to yourself for the rest of the day.

Whenever he comes back home, you wait nervously. The other is always unpredictable. You never know what you’re going to get from him. You don’t know if you’re going to be greeted with a gentle kiss or a slap to the face. You don’t know if you’d be called “sweetheart” or a “fucking slut” until you get to see what mood your captor is in. It’s fair to say that you’d much rather prefer the former.

You've never been the type to enjoy harshness, which in a way explains itself, since you’re so soft to begin with. Always having been described as a delicate and sensitive omega. Words such as “filthy whore” and “useless cockslut” simply do not define you. That doesn’t mean you’re sheltered from the wrath of it though.

So, more often than not, you only get to find out what it’ll be when the alpha unlocks the door after having been gone all day. Or, in other rare instances, he’d do something else. Something like slipping you a note through the crack underneath the door.

After all the time you spent locked in here—maybe a month? You honestly can’t recall anymore—you’ve become extremely sensitive to even the slightest of sounds. Your ears pick up any creak in the floor and every gust of wind traveling through the house. It’s easy for you to hear the sound of footsteps approaching your door and stopping right in front of it. You wait with your heart stuck in your throat for it to open, but it doesn’t. Instead, there’s some quiet shuffling, and then something catches your eye.

You quickly scramble to your feet, nearly toppling off the bed when you see the white piece of paper slipping through the crack of the door and into the room. You know the alpha doesn’t like waiting. And you're not really keen on testing your luck. So, with trembling knees, you lower to the ground, and with shaky fingers, you pick up the piece of paper.

One question. Two check boxes. Your eyes instantly well up with tears.

Blue or pink?

You don't know what the options mean. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into by choosing one or the other, but you know you have to take your pick fast. With a sniffle, you get up to go over to your small desk in the corner of the room, picking up one of the crayons you’ve been allowed to have for your coloring book, and marking a wobbly X on the paper.

You’re feeling pink today. You don’t know what that option will bring, but you know you’re bound to find out soon enough.

Slipping the note back through the crack is probably the most nerve-wracking thing you’ve done in a while. You scurry back to your bed and clutch a pillow tight to your chest. And then, you wait.

Waiting is probably the worst part, because you don't know what you’re waiting for, nor what the outcome will be. You bite the skin around your nails and rock back and forth slowly, rooted in your spot until the steps returned, and with the twist of a key in the lock, your door swings open.

You stare wide eyed at the alpha leaning against the door frame. He gives you a tentative one over before a wave of pheromones tumble through the room, reaching you and instantly easing your anxiety. It’s pathetic how blatantly easy it is for him to hold you under his thumb. How easy it is to control you with a mere whiff of earthy musk.

“Hi, little one.” You sink into your blankets.

You don’t make a sound as the door gets shut and the alpha makes his way across the room towards you. You watch warily as you’re approached, curiously eyeing the alpha’s hands that are held behind his back. You can’t help but feel like that can’t be a good sign.

“Missed me?” The slight tilt to the alpha’s head has you squirming in your spot, bringing your pillow even tighter to your chest until your nose buries into it. “Of course you did.”

You don't want to say that you missed him. You most certainly didn’t miss the feeling of nervousness that thrummed throughout your body anytime he was near. But, perhaps, a small and distant part of you did miss the feeling of someone else being inside the house as well. You don't dare voice that thought.

“Come here.” He beckons with a small grin, the alpha’s cheery mood makes you extremely skeptical. “Y/N,” He doesn’t raise his voice; he almost never does, but the change in tone is evident, “I said come here.”

You scramble up to your knees in an instant, crawling across the bed until you reached the foot of it, looking up at the alpha with wide eyes, waiting. That seems to please him as he takes a hand from behind his back and uses it to caress the side of your face, knuckles stroking over your cheekbone tenderly.

“Very good.”

You whimper weakly when your chin gets tilted, already knowing what’s coming before it even happens. You close your eyes and exhale shakily when a nose is pressed to your neck, rubbing softly into your skin, making you wince from having your bruises prodded. They run all the way from your neck, up to your jaw, and down across your breasts, the deepest one always right over your scent gland, red and purple with hints of green in between. You never got to see yourself in a mirror, so you don't know the true extent of their severity, but you sometimes catch small glimpses of yourself in the window at night. The images are enough to give you nightmares.

You shudder through the first touch of a wet tongue over your skin, head rolling to the side to expose more of your neck, which the alpha shows appreciation for with a deep hum. You feel humiliation course hotly through your body, but your omega preens. You feel yourself tremble at the hint of a bite over the underside of your jaw.

“I got you something nice.” The alpha says next to your ear. “Close your eyes.”

You’re hesitant to do so. Every time you close your eyes, you’re scared that it’ll be the last time you’ll get to do so. A raised brow in your direction is enough to make you do as you’re told, eyes falling shut as a short exhale escapes through your lips.

“Arms up.” You don’t even get to lift your arms yourself before they’re being held up by warm hands, guiding them above your head.

You feel sweat break out over your forehead and gasp when you feel a piece of material being dragged over your arms and down your body. Clothes. You haven’t had any clothes on your body the whole time you’ve been here. You’ve slowly started growing used to being naked all the time. Your heart leaps all the way out of your chest at the feeling of finally being covered by something other than your blankets or another body on top of yours.

Your hair stands up as you slip your head through the collar of what you think is a shirt at first, until it falls down the rest of your body, and you realize it’s way too long for it to be just a shirt. When you're allowed to lower your arms and given the okay for opening your eyes again, you instantly look down.

A dress. It stops at the tops of your thighs, baby pink with white frills at the bottom, a line of bows starting from your waistline all the way up to your cleavage. When you notice the loose way it hangs around your chest, your boobs almost entirely spilling out, you realize it’s supposed to be tied in the back like a corset. You look up just as the alpha goes to sit behind you on the bed, his calloused fingers trailing down your spine, make you shiver.

You straighten your back when you feel the loops of string being tightened, breathing a little heavier as you stare out into space, the top half of the dress is secured tightly around your chest by the alpha’s skilled hands. So that’s what the pink was for. You still don't understand the purpose of the dress since it’s most likely going to be ripped off of you soon enough, but you’re not going to ask any questions.

“Come on,” the last part of the dress is tied into a neat bow before a kiss is pressed to the back of your neck, “up.”

Reluctantly, you allow yourself to be pulled up and off the bed, your legs wobble a little as you stand in front of the alpha. Looking down, you can’t take your eyes off of the way the bottom of the dress floats around you with every move you make. The alpha sits down on the bed, leaning back on his hands as he stares you up and down. 

It makes you nervous.

“Give me a twirl, pretty.” You feel your cheeks instantly flush, reaching up to press your palms over them to try and soothe the burning skin.

You bashfully spin around, flowy dress twirling along with you, the ruffles at the bottom tickling the tops of your thighs. Your hands are still pressed to your cheeks when you’ve completed the full turn, looking back at the alpha whose eyes seem to have remained unblinking, bottom lip tucked between his front teeth. A small curse escapes his mouth.

“Look at you.” His chest puffs out, almost as if he takes pride in the way you look right now, all because of his doing. “Fucking beautiful. A downright doll.”

The hands that were previously resting on your cheeks move to cover your eyes, too overwhelmed by the sudden compliments. Your knees lock together from where you stand, and an embarrassed whine escapes you. You’re not used to being praised this much. At least not unless you’re being pounded into the mattress at the same time.

“Come on, now.” A tug on the bottom of your dress is enough to pull you closer, stepping carefully until you’re standing between the alpha’s parted legs, peeking at him through the gaps between your fingers. “Give alpha a kiss.”

Reluctantly, your hands lower until they’re resting at your sides. You know the alpha doesn’t like waiting. If he asks for something, you’re expected to do it. Fast. You only get to swallow once against the ball rising in your throat before you tentatively lean down, lips pressing softly on top of the other’s, so softly it can’t be considered as more than a hint at a kiss. You inhale sharply when your chin gets grasped by forceful fingers, balancing yourself by placing both hands on the alpha’s shoulders as he takes the kiss he had previously asked for right from you, sealing your lips together tightly.

Your fingers twist into the material of the shirt you grip, eyebrows furrowing together as you’re kissed thoroughly, your lips are parted by his tongue that easily slips into your mouth, prodding against your own. Kissing is still something you haven't managed to master. It’s not like you get to do it often. You’re more used to being knotted rather than kissed. Somehow, this feels ten times more intimate. Your tummy still overflows with butterflies whenever the alpha kisses you like this.

Before you realize it, you’re being pulled forward until your knees are resting on the mattress on both sides of the alpha’s body, a hand wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You think this must be the calm before the storm. A small moment of lenience that you’re being granted. You let yourself melt into it. Into the arms holding you.

You can’t help but think that this is nice. Dressing cutely after being offered the chance to pick the color of your outfit. Kissing until your lips start to tingle, swelling from the small nips and suckles the alpha offers you. You kind of like how small you feel like this. The alpha’s arm wraps so easily around your waist, hand resting on your hip as he holds you on his lap effortlessly. You shouldn’t, but you think you really like this. You almost lose yourself completely into the kiss. 

Until you hear it.

A small swish right next to your ear. It’s so sudden that it makes you pull back sharply, spit still clinging to your lips. When your eyes snap open, a startled scream nearly rips from your throat. All you manage instead is a struggled wheeze. When your eyes fall onto the glint of the small blade by your head, you scoot back so fast that you nearly topple off the bed. The alpha catches you at the very last second, the arm he still has wrapped around your waist keeps you secure on his lap. You cry out loud when you’re tugged back onto the bed.

“Not so fast.” The alpha tuts. Your eyes instantly well up with tears.

“N—No, you can’t! Please, I—” you stutter, a wet sob slipping past your lips— “I’ve been good! I—I don’t deserve this, p—please—”

“Shh,” you instantly get hushed, calming pheromones begin to pump into the air, but they do little to ease your anxiety, “not gonna hurt you, little omega. Don’t worry.”

As you still struggle to push against the alpha’s chest and get off his lap, you can’t help but think about how much that sounds like a lie. How can he say that he’s not going to hurt you but have a knife pressed to your side at the same time? You gasp when you get easily manhandled until you’re turnt around, your back now pressed to the alpha’s chest, one hand resting on your belly, the other slowly making its way between your thighs.

You breathe in shakily as the blade is slowly lowered until it rests underneath the bottom of your dress. Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as you watch the tip of the knife lift the material until it uncovers the meat of your thighs. You feel hot tears instantly wetting your cheeks.

“Already crying?” The alpha mumbles curiously. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Yet. The promise of something that is going to happen soon. You cry harder. “Please!”

“Shh,” He tries to hush you once more, nipping playfully on the side of your neck, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looks down at what he’s doing, “don’t wanna hurt you. Just wanna mark you, that’s all.” Your breath gets caught in your throat when the hand that had been previously resting on your belly slowly trails up to grab one of your tits forcefully. “Just a little bit.”

When the knife is turned so that the tip lays against your skin, you abruptly squeeze your eyes shut and twist your head away, not able to watch. Your whole body locks up, teeth gritting together as the first touch of the blade hits your thigh. Just like a baby, you weep.

You expect to be silenced. To get a threatening bite over your neck. Maybe even a squeeze around your throat. What you don't expect is a powerful slap right over your cunt.

“Stay still.”

You whimper, trying to squeeze your legs together, but you know better than to fight back. The blade returns. And then, with a short glide, it cuts into your thigh.

You cry and scream loudly, until you realize that the pounding in your head and the soreness of your throat hurt a lot more than the little lines that graze your skin, barely drawing any blood to the surface. When you go to reach for the alpha’s hand, you get slapped again. This time, it lands right over your clit. You whine out loud through the sting.

“You’re being bad, Y/N.” The tone is threatening enough to have you fall limp against the chest behind you, weakly sniffling in defeat. “I don’t like stupid brats.”

The next series of slaps are completely undeserved and makes you cry and beg for mercy until your throat closes up and snot runs down your face. It’s not a pretty image. You can do nothing as your cunt gets abused continuously, your clit being hit over and over until the pain slowly starts stimulating you, making you splatter slick all over the alpha’s palm. You think your pussy must be red and swollen by the time it all stops, and you get thrown on your back onto the bed.

You’re too dizzy to realize what’s happening until your legs are thrown over broad shoulders, your dress gets pushed up to your hips, and your sore pussy is being filled in no time with the alpha’s girthy cock. You sob through the pain of it, crying weakly as your body gets jostled up and down onto the bed, you grip the sheets to try and ground yourself.

“Stupid omega. I give you such nice things, and you can’t even sit still for me?” You struggle to take in huge lungfuls of air when you see the blade that had been previously carving into your thigh being pressed against your neck. “Useless.”

This time, your cry is one of genuine hurt. The aches in your body are sure to heal, but the tear in your heart is deep. Being called such mean words…It hurts you more than you’d like to admit. You sob quietly, moaning through every thrust that has your cunt gushing slick like a faucet.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. You did nothing wrong. This was not your fault. Your head screams at you to shut up and not open your mouth. But still—

“I—I’m sorry.” You sniffle pathetically, blurry vision trying to focus on the alpha’s face.

He stares you down as he fucks you thoroughly into the mattress. Your face twists up through another cry. In your despair, the alpha can’t help but think about how beautiful you look. The knife gets pulled away from your throat far enough for him to be able to lean down and capture your spit slicked lips into a powerful kiss, rendering you breathless.

Just like every other time, the same words get whispered over and over into your skin as if they were a mantra. “My omega.”

You’d never thought you’d see the day in which an alpha would be rammed balls deep inside your pussy, calling you his omega. And yet, now it is something that happens on the daily .

As you lie on your back, eyes swimming around in your skull, unable to focus, you can’t help but think about the reality you’ve started to live. The one in which getting fucked within an inch of your life with a knife pressed to your throat has become the norm. It’s all you have come to know while living here.

A small part of you tells you that it’s all your fault. You forgot the only rule. Just behave. Easy as that. You didn’t need to worry about anything else. You chastise yourself for being so stupid. Brats are truly good for nothing. And that’s exactly how you feel right now as your cunt is stretched impossibly wide around the knot swelling inside of you. Bad and useless.

Blinking through your tears, you look at the leg you have thrown over the alpha’s shoulder. The sight of two bloody initials carved into your skin is what sends you tumbling over the edge, orgasm so powerful it rips through you with a scream.

Blood trails down your inner thigh warmly. Your pussy pulses around the knot that’s being fucked inside of you. Fingertips dig into the carving on your thigh, the pain searing hot. Two letters.

“HJ.”

PAST.

Your walks home with Hongjoong have started to become a more frequent occurrence. After the first one, that was spent in comfortable silence, you found that you quite enjoyed crossing the short distance from the library to your dorm in Hongjoong’s company. It became a silent agreement between you both to do it every day since then.

The comfortable silence would sometimes get disrupted by Hongjoong’s curiosity, asking you short questions, almost as if he didn’t want to test his luck, but he was just too curious to not try. Questions about how your day had been, to what you had eaten for breakfast, melted into slightly more serious ones over time, such as why you seemed so afraid of him or why you avoided alphas on campus.

“Y-You just…” you struggled to find the words. “You make me nervous.”

Hongjoong blinked once at that, but it didn't seem to be a bad reaction. And it shouldn’t be. The fact that he makes you nervous should be a good sign. You hope that he would interpret it as such. It takes him a few long seconds to reply.

“Do other alphas make you nervous?” He asks instead, tilting his head curiously.

You feel a little taken aback by the question. Everyone is aware of your reluctance around alphas. It’s a well known thing. But Hongjoong is not asking if you’re afraid of alphas. He’s asking if they make you nervous. The same way he makes you feel.

“They scare me.” You whisper, finding it hard to hold eye contact with him, but your eyes don’t waver. “But you don’t.”

At that, Hongjoong inhales sharply, visibly trying to hold himself back from puffing his chest out. Your omega recognizes Hongjoong as an alpha that you shouldn’t fear. It is definitely something he has every right to be proud of.

“I’m glad.” Hongjoong nods. “You can trust me.”

You look down at your feet, eyes focusing on your dirty sneakers as you speak. “I—I do.”

The alpha’s grin can be heard through his voice as you stop in front of the dorms after having walked the short distance together, his smile lights up his whole face as he looks down at you. You can’t help but notice the fire that seems to be burning bright behind his eyes.

“Good. I want you to.”

Small walks had prompted the two of you to start spending more and more time alone together, just the two of you, without the rest of your friends. Wooyoung would watch you both warily whenever Hongjoong went to walk you back to your dorm at the end of the day, but his worries slowly started to melt away when he noticed that you seemed at ease around Hongjoong. He’s happy to see how close you've become.

You get to know Hongjoong better, until slowly but surely, you start sitting next to each other in your shared classes. Your seat at the library desk across from Hongjoong has been abandoned so you could plop down right next to the alpha instead, working closely until your shoulders would brush. You fidget around nervously during those times, playing with whatever you can find on the table. 

It just so happens that sometimes Hongjoong’s things end up in your hands. And as you twist his pen through your fingers, you can’t help but notice the engraved initials of his name in them. Glancing over at Hongjoong, you take notice for the very first time that his initials are placed upon a lot of things. On the side of his pencil case, on the end sheet of his textbooks. 

Hongjoong puts his name on everything he owns. 

And that sparks your curiosity.

“Why do you have your initials on everything?” You ask out loud one day, twiddling once again with one of Hongjoong’s pens.

The alpha looks up at you from where he had been taking notes in his notebook, giving you a raise of his brow at the question. You don't say anything; you just sit quietly and wait for a reply. It feels almost as if Hongjoong’s eyes stare daggers into your face. You swallow thickly.

“I don’t like others touching what’s mine.” Your breath gets caught in your throat, pen slowly falling from your grasp at the confession. Hongjoong looks down and smiles. “You’re fine, though.”

That night, as you wrote down the last of your notes from your lecture, you couldn’t help but stare out into space and think of the time you spent with Hongjoong. As you still clutched the pen the alpha had given you, your eyes run over the gold initials. You think they look beautiful. Hongjoong is all you can think about.

Before you realize what you’re doing, your hand has a mind of its own as it scribbles something in the corner of your notebook. Small and pretty, right at the top of the page.

“HJ.”

With a heat spreading all the way from your cheeks to your ears, you rip the page and get to rewriting your notes all over again.

PRESENT.

For the first time in months, you feel the bite of the wind against your skin.

You haven’t left the comfort of your room the whole time you’ve been held captive. You’ve never even done as much as open a window (not like you would have been able to anyway, since they were bolted shut.) You haven't had the chance to smell much of anything but honeyed cherry blossom and sweet amber combined. When your nose sniffs around and inhales the crispness of the cold night air after so long, you nearly fall to the ground.

But you don't get the chance to, since there are strong arms wrapped around your waist to hold you up, but your knees still buckle. You breathe in deeply, heart threatening to beat right out of your chest. You’re so scared and overwhelmed, but so grateful for the first taste of fresh air in months. You feel your eyes well up with tears.

“Can you do something for me, sweetheart?” The alpha brings you back from your small daydream, lips trailing to your ear as he speaks.

You feel every hair on your body stand up. You look around, eyes rapidly trying to take in your surroundings. The alpha’s brought you to the front door of the house and you're astounded to see that you are completely surrounded by the woods. Of course, the constant silence had led you to believe you had been taken somewhere secluded, but you never would’ve predicted it would be in the depths of the forest, surrounded by nothing but tall trees and steep mountains.

You breathe rapidly, eyes struggling to stay open as you nod. A smile is pressed into your skin as your palms grow sweaty.

“Run.”

It takes you a moment to register the word. It was such a brief whisper that you start to believe it might’ve just been a gust of the wind, completely made up by your imagination. But when the arms wrapped around your waist leave you, and the body that had been previously pressed up against yours takes a step back, you’re left cold and alone for the first time in what feels like forever. And you don't know how to handle yourself.

You turn around, lips trembling as they try to form words, but nothing comes out. Your hands are clutched against your chest, fingers twisting into the smooth satin of the night gown you had been granted. You feel helpless, sitting at a crossroad, not knowing if you should walk ahead or go right back where you came from, to try to find comfort in the arms that finally set you free.

A small threatening growl is enough to make you spring into action. Against your better judgement, you do as told. You run.

The dirt feels cold and mushy underneath your bare feet, but you don’t get to think about that as you bolt down the steps leading up to the cabin, your arms flail around your body when you dash forward with no direction, and the sound of your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears. You’re scared and completely terrified at being offered the chance to get away so easily. This must be a game. The alpha has to take some kind of twisted enjoyment in seeing you try to run away, knowing that, realistically, you stood no chance.

You run for what feels like hours, but it can’t be more than a few minutes. You run until your lungs start to burn and your thighs begin to ache, you weren’t used to putting in this much effort after not taking more than ten steps inside your room every day. You feel weak. So weak that you feel like your legs will give out from underneath you at any moment. Which they do.

You find yourself tumbling through dirt and grime as you fall, yelping loudly when you try to brace yourself on your palms. Small, sharp branches graze your legs, opening up the scars that had slowly started to heal on your thigh. At the sight of blood, you cry. Your knees and elbows feel battered and bruised as you struggle to get back up, your nightgown having torn at the bottom, revealing even more skin.

You don't want to run anymore. You want to go back. You want to cry and sob into the alpha’s chest as he picks you up and carries you inside the house to bathe you just like he does every night. You would much rather take the fingers squeezing and prodding at your body as you get soaped up than this.

Spoiled, your mind tuts at you. You’re one spoiled omega, desperately looking for comfort even in the arms that cause you harm. You’ve gotten so used to being completely provided for that now, being on your own, absolutely terrifies you. You cry out weakly for your alpha.

“Please…I—I wanna go back.” You sniffle pathetically, wincing as you step on tiny pebbles that dig into your heels sharply.

You know that this is what the alpha wants. You’re not stupid. You know he’s looking for a chase. If you were to actually stand a chance at getting away, he never would’ve allowed you outside in the first place. Plus, the scent trail you left behind would be extremely easy to follow for anyone, especially for an alpha that has grown as accustomed to the sweetness of it as he has. He could easily pick out your scent from a crowd. You were doomed from the very beginning.

The crunching of leaves somewhere close by is what gives you enough strength to finally get back on your feet, sniffling pathetically as you run again, blurry vision making it harder not to trip. You choke around a sob, almost screaming out loud when the steps behind you start to grow closer. You’re being chased, and your captor wants you to know that. He wants to let you know that he’s right behind you and he won’t let you get away. You push past the strain in your legs, wind blowing across your face and turning your skin tacky from tears.

You reach a steep drop. You dig your heels into the ground right before tumbling and falling all the way off, bracing your body against a tree trunk, fingernails breaking as you dig them sharply into the rough wood. Breathing sporadically, you look around. You have nowhere left to run. You don't spot the alpha, but you can hear him. His steps are loud and clear, echoing in your ears. Through a last desperate attempt, you go to hide behind the tree, making yourself small as you crouch down and slap a hand over your mouth.

He’s getting closer. Close, close, close—until he stops. Your eyes are so wide, you feel like they might pop out of your sockets as you keep your sweaty palm pressed to your mouth, breathing heavily through your nose. You struggle so hard to keep your scent under control, but you know it must be spiking like crazy. In a desperate attempt at trying to cover it, you slap both hands over the scent glands on the sides of your neck.

You feel him lingering around, the sound of leaves crunching makes every hair on your body stand up as the alpha circles the area you’re hiding in. You hear him sniff the air around, following up with a resonating snarl. Your eyes squeeze tightly shut, thinking that this must be it. You’ve been found.

Then, the steps start to slowly trail away.

Your eyes blink open, taking in a huge breath when you don't hear any more noise. Could this be it? Did the alpha really lose your trail? Would it be possible for you to have actually gotten away? You sit like that for what feels like forever, staring out into space, not daring to move until you deem it completely safe. With trembling hands, you push yourself up and peek out from behind the wide tree trunk. It looks clear. You exhale shakily.

You did it. You actually did it. You got away. 

Your heartbeat echoes loudly in your ears when you slowly start to tiptoe away from your hiding spot. Your whole body trembles as you take your first step out. You keep on looking around, feeling as if this was too good to be true.

Which it was.

“Got you.”

You scream so loud that it pierces painfully through your own ears, the wind gets completely knocked out of you as you find yourself flipped upside down, and a hard shoulder digs into your stomach when you’re thrown over it. You yell desperately, trying to punch and scratch at the alpha’s back, but it’s futile. A painful bite right over the side of your ass makes you yelp out in distress, and your arms hang limp in the air as you get carried back up the hill you had stumbled from.

“Good girl.” You’re confused by the praise, sniffling weakly as you start feeling nauseous from being carried this way.

It’s when you arrive back that you finally realize what he praised you for. You did as you were told. You ran. The cuts on your legs and the dirt underneath your nails are enough evidence of the fact that you behaved. You get one last look at the woods outside, blinking through your tears as the door swings shut behind you.

You expect to be taken right into the bathroom to have your whole body scrubbed raw. Instead, you’re startled to find yourself being thrown onto the bed, body bouncing as it lands on the springy mattress. You gasp when your ankles get grasped forcefully, dragging you down to the edge of the bed where the alpha kneels, swiftly throwing your legs over his shoulders.

“Silly omega.” You cry out, startled when what’s left of your gown gets ripped right in half, exposing your entire body to the air of the room that had slowly gone cold while you were gone. “Can’t get away from me.”

You begin to see stars in your vision when the alpha dives right in, burying his head between your thighs and attaching his lips to your clit, sucking mercilessly until he has you writhing and gasping, slick falling out in wet dollops against his chin. You leave a trail of honey all over the lower part of his face and neck, not able to control yourself as the alpha’s tongue plunges right into your hole, greedily drinking up all the juices you have to offer him. You’re startled when he pulls away to dig his teeth into your inner thigh until he breaks skin.

“You’ll stay right here with me.” He threatens, eyes flickering red as he blinks up at you. “Forever.”

You sob through your orgasm, your whole body feeling weak after having run through the woods for so long. Your knees hurt too much to hold your weight up when you’re flipped over onto your front, flopping down pathetically with your head buried in the pillows. The air around the room is pumped full of powerful pheromones that have you cowering into submission, more than ever before. It smells different. It’s somehow more potent, if that’s even possible. It makes your body tingle all over, cunt clenching around nothing as you’re mounted from behind.

When you get thrust into, you gasp, mouth going slack as you’re filled up over and over again. Digging your blunt nails into the alpha’s wrists that slam right by your head, you can’t help but put the pieces together. It smells so good. Everything about it makes you want to get closer and clamp down around him even tighter, to make sure you get plugged up and knotted real good. It has a fiery heat simmering low in your tummy.

As promising whispers of ‘mine’ and ‘gonna breed you so well’ hit your ears, you think back on the alpha’s words from a few days ago. When his knot pops and cum starts flowing inside of you until it swells your belly, you realize he hadn’t been lying.

The alpha smells earthy and warm—and like the promise of an upcoming rut.

PAST.

The only parties you have ever attended have been the birthday parties of your classmates or neighbors. Of course, they were all held in the safety of someone’s home, where the parents could also attend and keep an eye on their children. You associate parties with confetti, cake, and kid-friendly mock champagne. What you don't associate parties with, however, is everything your friends are describing.

Of course, they’ve all been to parties before. The adult kind, where there is no cake, and the champagne contains real alcohol. Your friends have a life of their own outside of college, in which they do fun things, like going to parties, dancing with strangers, and forgetting about studying for the night. You have always been content with staying in until now. You liked being ahead of your classes and talking to your mom over the phone before bed. But you can’t deny that you feel a little left out.

The first and only time Wooyoung has asked you if you wanted to go to a party, you laughed at him awkwardly as if it were some kind of joke. The thought of being around so many strangers terrified you. You’ve seen the movies; you know how these things go. You watch Lifetime. Parties have no limits. Drinks get spilled, mouths become loose, and hands get sloppy. You didn’t want to risk having a stranger touch you. You know yourself and how you would react. It would only ruin everyone else’s mood. And what you don't want to be is a burden.

So you said no. And ever since then, it had become sort of common knowledge that you would never accept an invitation to a party where you didn’t know everyone. That’s why none of your friends ever asked again.

But Hongjoong likes parties. He used to always go out with the rest of your friends to all the parties that were thrown, even the ones that happened on weekdays. Up until a few weeks ago, he would never miss a single one. Now, not so much. He spends most of his evenings cooped up in the library next to you instead, silently studying together, and occasionally exchanging bashful glances and brief shoulder brushes. You start to feel bad about it.

You feel bad knowing that you might be the cause of Hongjoong not going out anymore. His refusals have started to become less and less subtle. When he gets asked if he wants to go out, his responses usually vary from not being able to because he has a test that has never been announced, to he has to go home and feed his cat, which is very doubtful since you have never heard him even mention having a pet. Ever.

You can’t deny the fact that you’re curious. Curious about what these parties are like. You want to quell that curiosity. At least just once. Just to see what it’s like. All your friends are going to be there anyway, right? If anything were to happen, they would protect you. You had no problem clinging to their side all night long to make sure that no one else tried to approach you. Maybe it could be nice. Something fun for you to do with your friends. You don't know if you’d like it, but you think they most definitely will.

When you speak up from the lunch table while everyone is talking away about the frat party they’re going to be attending tonight, it’s fair to say you’re met with justified shock.

“Can I come?”

You feel bad about inviting yourself, but you know they never would have asked you to come otherwise. And you don't blame them. So you built up the courage to take matters into your own hands. The silence you're met with makes you squirm uncomfortably in your spot.

“Y—yeah,” Wooyoung blinks rapidly, nodding his head, “of course, Y/N!”

Hongjoong, who had been seemingly quiet up until then, suddenly clears his throat and avoids your gaze as he speaks.

“I’ll come too.” 

Wooyoung furrows his brows. “Didn’t you say you had to change the water to your fish tank?”

Hongjoong’s jaw visibly clenches, eyes narrowing on Wooyoung's face. The omega leans back slightly, raising his eyebrows at the sudden change in demeanor. It’s true. Hongjoong did say he had plans for the night. You actually wanted to suggest that you both skip going to the library today because you didn’t want to keep him too busy. The sudden switch confuses you as well.

“My fish died.”

Yeosang slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. Jongho tuts pitifully. And you’re left rooted to your spot when you feel a gentle hand settle on top of your knee underneath the table. Swallowing thickly, you watch Hongjoong’s fingers softly run over the denim clad skin of your leg. Somehow, the touch feels comforting. 

Sweet amber tickles your nose.

Wooyoung pulls a sad face and apologizes. It’s settled then. You’re all going to the party tonight.

Your stomach rumbles with anxiety.

PRESENT.

Having taken suppressants ever since you were old enough to, you never got to experience what a real heat felt like. You’ve always been very thorough with your medication. You would take it at the exact same time every single day, on the dot. Or at least you used to.

You haven’t taken any of your pills in over two months. At first, things had been so hectic for you lately that you honestly forgot about them. It wasn’t until after the first couple weeks of being kidnapped and getting filled up with cum on the daily that you realized. Going for so long without suppressants meant you were going to experience the first full blown heat of your life really soon. And that thought terrified you.

The signs were small, too small for someone as clueless as you to put together; but your alpha did. As soon as you started huddling all of your pillows in one giant pile on the bed, lying your blankets neatly, and whining pitifully if God forbid they were to be moved, he realized exactly what was happening. Which is why he started bringing more and more things to your room, making you sniffle up at him with big eyes as more blankets along with some thoroughly scented shirts from the alpha’s closet piled in.

For the first time since you had been taken, you stopped pushing. Instead, your omega screamed at you to pull more and more of the alpha in, inviting him into your bed and into your heart. You kept your nose shoved into his shirts at all times, which more often than not led to you waking up in the middle of the night in a wet puddle, completely slicked up.

Your nights wouldn’t usually pass without being knotted multiple times. Your eyes would roll back at the heady scent invading your nostrils with the sweet promises of a claim to come being whispered into your ear. You want to blame it all on the pheromones. What did the alpha do, and why did he smell more appealing than ever before? You wanted to bathe your body from head to toe in spicy notes of heady musk. You wanted to taste it on your tongue and have it coat the back of your throat. You never thought you could become addicted to a scent, but you think that right here, with your head pressed into the alpha’s neck, is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Bathing on your own is something you haven't done once since being here. There were always hands on your body, lathering your skin up with soap, scrubbing you gently of any remnants of blood, tears, cum or any other bodily fluids. You think it’s kind of nice being taken care of like this. You learn to enjoy it far more than you probably should. You don't have to worry about lifting even as much as a finger when powerful arms wrap around you from behind, moving your body as they wish.

Your head leans back against the alpha’s shoulder, sighing in content as your sore thighs get massaged, strong hands kneading the strain away. You shift slightly, wincing when the knot that still hasn’t gone down inside of you tugs at your pussy again. The alpha growls low in his chest. You sniffle, head turning to the side.

In your bittersweet obliviousness, you can’t help but think that the alpha looks beautiful like this. Focused on taking care of you. On pleasing his omega. Your throat feels thick with the beginning of a purr, which travels between you both quietly at first, but gradually grows higher in pitch as the soreness in your muscles get massaged away. Without even realizing what you’re doing, you lean closer.

The scent is intoxicating, radiating in waves from where it’s most powerful, right over the alpha’s scent gland on the side of his neck. If you were actually clear headed right now, you would be mortified by your own actions. You feel drunk, completely overrun by lust. Your whole body burns up as you lean closer, lips ghosting on top of the alpha’s skin with the promise of a touch. You can feel his chest become rigid against your back as he holds his breath completely.

Your jumbled thoughts make the decision for you. You feel as if you’re no longer in control of your own body when your lips pucker, grazing them ever so slightly right underneath the alpha’s scent gland you’ve been subconsciously nosing at for a good minute now. You feel your lungs grow weak when the arms around your waist squeeze you so tight that they begin restricting your airflow. You’re too desperate to care. Too desperate to feel, to smell, to taste. The tip of your tongue darts out, only barely getting to touch the scent gland in front of your face before you’re gripped harshly, a hissed snarl hitting your ears.

You instantly pull away, choking around a cry as you begin to get fucked right onto the knot that’s been keeping you plugged, cum swishing warmly inside your tummy. The water splatters all around you, landing in big puddles on the tiles, your hands slip as they struggle to grasp onto the edge of the bathtub. Your head strains to push to the side when lips get sealed over your scent gland, sucking hard and making your eyes roll back.

“Mine.”

It smells good. Like earth and sex and everything that is sure to make your mouth water. Heat simmers steadily through your veins. You sob, eyes snapping wide open when the strong scent of what can’t be mistaken as anything but rut hits your nose.

You cum with the word "yours" falling from the tip of your tongue.

PAST.

You thought that the party would feel a little easier with your friends by your side. You assumed that having Wooyoung next to you and Hongjoong (hopefully) pressing up against you to send any unwarranted alphas away would grant you enough peace of mind to actually be able to enjoy yourself. But things don’t really go as planned. Wooyoung is not glued to your side, having lost him somewhere in the crowd about fifteen minutes ago. Hongjoong is also nowhere to be seen after announcing that he was going to go grab both of you some drinks. And now, you’re left alone, in the corner of a room filled with people that you don't know.

You wait impatiently, biting the skin around your nails bloody and wincing at the sting as you keep on looking around, hoping to spot a familiar face. There are two omegas you sometimes see in your biology lab, dancing wildly in the middle of the room. You also spot some other people you’ve seen in your lectures before, but you couldn’t name them even if you tried. And then, there’s someone else.

Your nose had been completely overwhelmed by the variety of scents mingling together when you first set foot inside the frat house. It was simply too much. All that sweetness, along with sourness and bitterness, should never be combined. Your nose itched as you struggled to breathe shallowly through your mouth and not let yourself freak out over all the strong alpha scents currently surrounding you. Until you pick up on the one of burnt orange and your skin instantly bristles.

It's strong, radiating towards you in waves. You know the pheromones are directed specifically at you. An alpha most commonly shows interest through their scent. And the alpha eyeing you from across the room is making his intentions very obvious. So obvious in fact that they have you clamping a hand over your nose, to try to evade the disgusting scent of smoke filling your lungs.

Your knees feel weak as you look towards the source of it. The alpha starts to make his way across the room, a look of lust evident on his face. His eyes pin you into place as if he wants to ravish, to control and dominate; his intentions clear as he strides towards you.

You gasp and back even more against the wall, knees locking together as your legs feel as if they’re going to give out on you. A startling growl splits the air. You're shocked to find that it doesn’t come from the alpha, making his way towards you. Instead, it rumbles from the other side of the room, where your eyes instantly snap towards. You swear you feel them become glossy with tears of relief when you make out who the person on the other end is.

Hongjoong takes long, purposeful strides your way, two plastic cups clutched in just one of his hands, the other instantly reaching out for you as soon as he’s close enough to do so. You mewl weakly when a wrist gets pressed to your neck, gasping as the alpha’s strong scent of amber is rubbed right over your scent gland. You grip onto his arm tightly with both hands.

The other alpha is completely forgotten about as you look up at Hongjoong, who won’t seem to take his eyes off the threat standing about ten feet away. That was a close call. But Hongjoong came back just in time to save you and cover you in his scent to lure away the unwanted alpha. Almost as if he were staking a claim. Obviously, you knew he only did it to protect you, but your omega still preens at the attention.

“T—Thank you.” You stutter, breathing in more and more of Hongjoong’s scent with each inhale. It now clings to your skin, and it’s impossible to avoid. It’s only when the other alpha decides to give up and walk away with a defeated scoff that Hongjoong finally looks at you. He grips your chin, tilting it upwards so you’d meet his gaze.

“Are you okay?” You gulp and nod your head weakly in the alpha’s grip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you here by yourself.”

All you can do is shake your head in silent protest, not wanting the alpha to feel as if this was his fault. He’s supposed to be having fun, not watching after you to make sure you’re safe. You look down at the drinks, the other is still gripping in one hand, and tilt your head curiously.

“This one’s for you.” Hongjoong clears his throat, pushing one of the red cups in your direction. “It’s not very strong, so you should be fine. I made it myself.”

You would trust anything Hongjoong gave you. You smile gratefully and take the cup from his hand, bringing it up to your lips. In a stupid attempt of wanting to forget what just happened, you downed the entire thing in just three huge gulps. Hongjoong’s eyebrows raise, most likely not having expected that. Your lips purse, mouth twisting at the bitter aftertaste. The drink is fruity, but it definitely has a kick to it. Your tongue feels tingly.

“Don’t leave my side.” The alpha warns. You wouldn’t dream of it.

It’s about an hour later that you feel your eyes begin to feel too heavy in your head for you to keep them open anymore. Your body sways as if it’s turned to jelly, and you lean your weight against the person next to you. You can’t recall who it is, but they’re definitely sturdy enough to hold you up. You giggle airily at nothing in particular.

“Y/N?” It sounds like Wooyoung. It must be Wooyoung. You smile with your eyes still closed. “Christ, how much did she have to drink?”

Your mouth feels full of lead when you go to answer, but no words come out. You want to say that you didn’t have much, just one drink. You admittedly expected to get drunk easily, since your mouth had barely touched any alcohol before ever in your life, but you didn’t think it would feel like this. Like your whole body was floating somewhere far away from you, completely out of your control. You mumble something incoherently, forehead pressed to someone’s shoulder.

“Definitely way too many to count.” You hear Hongjoong answer for you. Lie. Hongjoong is a liar. Why was he lying? You want to gasp at the realization, but you’re too tired to react.

“You were supposed to watch over her, you idiot!” Wooyoung screams angrily and you whisper a quiet “uh-oh” that no one picks up on.

“Wasn’t that your job?” Hongjoong comments dryly, wrapping an arm around your back and letting you press your face into his chest.

No words leave Wooyoung for a few long seconds after that. You feel tired. You want to take a nap. You also want some water. Your mouth feels impossibly dry. You whine into Hongjong's chest.

“Just…take her home, please?” Wooyoung sighs, his voice melting into the heavy beat of the music. You feel your body swaying along to the rhythm.

“Will do.” 

“Is it time to go home?” You think you ask. You try to at least, struggling hard for only just the last word of the sentence to come out, quiet and slurred. Your nose presses against a warm neck. Your legs give out from underneath you just as you get picked up and carried outside the house, the night air cold against your skin. Your head falls back onto Hongjoong’s shoulder.

“Yeah, pretty.” The alpha whispers, engulfing you in his comforting scent. You preen internally. “You’re coming home with me.”

You knock out before you can realize that Hongjoong is headed in a completely different direction than the one of your dorm room.

————

You awaken in a room you knew you didn’t belong in, only to startle when you find yourself tied down to a bed. A bed that wasn’t yours. Your head was pounding heavily, and your body felt as if it had been run over. Is this what a hangover felt like? But you didn't recall drinking that much at the party. The last thing you remembered was downing the entirety of the drink Hongjoong had given you. You inhaled sharply. 

Hongjoong.

You try to call out his name, but your throat feels scratchy and sore. Your whole mouth was dry as you smacked your cracked lips together. Hongjoong was not here, but he was. You could smell him. He’s everywhere around you, his scent clings to your nose and skin. It surrounded you from all ends. Where is he? Why isn’t he here helping you?

You whine pitifully, tugging on the ropes that bind your wrists together to the bedframe. Fighting against the heaviness of your lids, you blink them open only to look down and take notice that you’re not wearing anything but your dress from the previous night. You gasp, clamping your legs together. Your lack of underwear makes your bottom lip wobble, becoming more aware of the danger you're in.

The door swings open. You startle, still trembling from head to toe as you watch a figure step into the darkness of the room. When the lock clicked shut and the light switched on, you exhaled into a wet sob.

“H—Hongjoong!” You cry out, struggling against the bindings again, but to no use. You’re completely stuck. “P—Please help, I—I don’t know who did this!”

“Shh,” Hongjoong crosses the room in no time, crouching by the bed so he can be at eye level with you, “stop moving. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

Against your frantic thoughts, you do what you’re told and listen to him. Your body falls still. Looking at the alpha with teary eyes, you can’t hide your confusion. How is Hongjoong so calm? Where are you? Who did this to you? 

“Good. Very good.” Hongjoong smiled, reaching out to run his thumb across the softness of your cheek. You cowered, trying to pull away. Hongjoong didn't seem to mind, though. “You’ll learn fast if you keep listening to me.”

Learn what? What does he mean? Why isn’t he freaking out the same way that you are? Why won’t he untie you? You voice your discontent through a whine.

Hongjoong tuts in faux concern, leaning closer to dote on you, he gently runs both his hands over your cheeks before petting your hair. “What’s wrong, pup? Are you hurt? Do you need some water? Tell Alpha so he can make it better.”

You feel as if the wind had been knocked out of you. Pup. Hongjoong just called you pup. He’s coddling you as if you were a puppy. Like a mate would. You shiver at the thought. You want to ask him to take you home. Instead, you struggle to rasp out one word.

“Water.” It’s so quiet that you’re afraid the alpha won’t be able to pick it up. But he does.

It’s almost as if he had been prepared for the request; a bottle of water was waiting at the ready on the nightstand by your side. He pulls back to grab it and uncaps it, carefully bringing it up to your lips. The first touch of moisture against your dry tongue makes you inhale sharply. The hand placed on the back of your head stops you from leaning too far back and downing the whole bottle in one go; you take long sips instead, managing to quell your thirst at least to an extent. When Hongjoong pulls the bottle away from your lips, he rewards you with a small praise of “good puppy”, which makes you frown.

It takes you a few long seconds until you gain enough strength in your voice to speak up. “W—What’s going on?”

You are shocked to feel the touch of a hand run up your exposed thigh. You quickly bring your legs together, becoming even more aware of your nakedness than before. You gasp when Hongjoong’s fingers dig into your skin, a thick wave of pheromones shooting into the air, causing your eyes to roll back automatically.

“You’re so pretty, Y/N.” He mutters, the powerful scent of amber has turned you so weak that your legs fall right open when the alpha nudges them apart. “Just the prettiest omega.”

“Hong…” you exhale shakily as your body tries to fight back, but is unable to. Your inner voice screams at you. You can’t do anything but blink blearily at the alpha. 

“You know, I never meant for this to happen.” Hongjoong comments offhandedly, stroking over the skin of your inner thighs, which tremble underneath his touch. “But then, you were just…there.” The scent grows stronger, and your body becomes weaker. “Tiny and sweet. Completely untouched.” His eyes meet yours. The brief flicker of red in his irises makes you jolt. “Like you were just waiting for me.”

With a last weak attempt, you try to scoot away from the alpha’s grasp. Who is this, and what did he do to your Hongjoong? The one who was too shy to hold eye contact with you for more than a couple of seconds. Who smiled at you bashfully whenever your shoulders brushed. The one who slipped you green apple lollipops and sticky notes with check boxes drawn at the bottom. This Hongjoong is different. This Hongjoong looks at you as if he wants to bite. 

You’re afraid he just might.

For the first time, Hongjoong’s resonating growl of displeasure is directed towards you. You cower instantly, stuttering through a gasp as even more powerful pheromones pump into the air. They’re full of dominance, and they make you ache with the need to submit. The hand that had been previously resting between your thighs inches lower.

“It’s okay,” Hongjoong nods encouragingly, looking up at you sweetly from where he sits down at your side. You almost don’t take notice of your dress being flipped up over your hips, “your alpha is here now.”

Your alpha. You get hit with a sudden wave of nausea. You yelp when fingers begin to prod around your most intimate parts. You both are shocked to see that his fingers come back wet. Hongjoong grins.

“You want this.” You shake your head no desperately, but to no use. The alpha gets to his feet and is on the bed between your legs in no time. “You want me.”

“N—No, Hongjoong, not like this, p—please—” You sniffle weakly, whimpering when his fingers part your folds.

This was not how it was supposed to go. Hongjoong was supposed to be different. He was supposed to do everything you always imagined  would happen when you fell in love. You wanted to be courted; to be promised the world and give your heart in return to the person you would get to call your mate. Hongjoong was supposed to be that person for you. But now, he’s ruining everything.

“Liar.” Hongjoong slaps your inner thigh harshly, making you jump in surprise. You try to close your legs on instinct. “Got a slicked up cunt to prove it and yet you still act as if you don’t want this.”

Your eyes instantly well up with tears, not used to being talked to in such a way. No one’s ever said such crude words to you. Hongjoong is the last person you expected to ever hear it from. You squirm around uselessly as your pussy gets played with, a thumb presses to your clit as a finger sinks into your tight opening. You’re so overwhelmed that you choke on your own spit.

You've never been touched like this. You were too ashamed to even think about touching yourself down there. It was too dirty. You felt tainted by the hands violating your body. You felt as if you had completely lost control over yourself when you clench down around the fingers inside of you, sending a gush of slick trickling down the alpha’s palm, until it reached his wrist.

You felt so humiliated.

“You were made for me, Y/N.” The alpha fixes you with an intense stare that makes you cry and slick up continuously. “No one else. Just me.”

The sound of a belt buckle being undone makes you freeze. Wet squelches of slick have your cheeks heating up, the fire in your tummy flares like crazy. Then there’s something wide being pushed against your opening.

“All pretty. All mine.” And then Hongjoong’s cock is sinking inside of you.

You thrash your body around, trying to get away, but it’s futile. The alpha’s hands are gripping your hips tightly, holding you down. He lets out a startling growl that has you cowering into submission against your will. You whine like a kicked puppy as your virgin cunt gets brutally plowed into. Hongjoong offers you no mercy as his cock drives into you relentlessly. You can do nothing but sob.

“You take cock so well. Of course you do.” Hongjoong’s nose presses into your scent gland, tongue tracing a wet line down your skin. “You’re just perfect all over.”

You wish you could move your hands. You want to push and hit and scratch. A small rational part of yourself tells you that even if your hands were untied right now, you still wouldn’t be able to do any of those things anyway. Hongjoong holds too much power over you. His scent controls your every move. It’s what makes you leak like a bitch in heat, pressing your cheek into the pillow, leaving your neck exposed. The alpha seems to really enjoy that.

“Gonna keep you right here.” Hongjoong exhales sharply, attaching his lips to your scent gland and clamping down, making your eyes roll back. “Stuffing you full with my knot and breeding you so well.”

You hiccup through sobs, desperately shaking your head from side to side. You don’t want that. You don’t want to be bred, you don't want a knot shoved up your pussy. You just want to go home. 

You voice as such.

“I—I wanna go home.” You whisper desperately through a sniffle. 

Hongjoong’s thrusts slow down just enough for him to be able to lean in closer and press a kiss to your sweaty forehead. He inhales your sweet scent of honeyed cherry blossom and hums in content. 

“You are home, sweetheart. You’re with your alpha now.”

The breach of the first knot you've ever taken in your entire life feels so big, you’re afraid it might actually split you open. You cry out weakly when the base of Hongjoong’s cock swells enough to lock you both in place. You desperately try to stave off your own orgasm, but to no avail. You throw your head back, bare neck elongated and exposed as cum starts to shoot up inside your pussy, it’s too much, too fast, that it makes your stomach cramp up.

Through tears of pleasure, you can do nothing but look up at the ceiling, inhaling sharply at the flicker of a red light. You get fucked again with the same knot that’s plugging you up before you even get to realize where it’s coming from.

PRESENT.

Hongjoong’s been patient. Like a good alpha. Taking such good care of you while waiting for your heat to come. He didn’t just want to be your alpha anymore. That wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to be your mate. And the overbearing scent of sweet cherry blossoms coating the entire house was enough to send him spiraling, confirming his suspicions. It was finally time.

He’s never met an omega that could affect him as much as you do. He never really believed in perfect mates either. But as he lies you down on the bed and crawls on top of you, he just knew that this was how things were supposed to go. There’s no other explanation for it. Your heat triggered his own rut to come early, just as he hoped it would. That’s something so rare, it’s considered to be reserved only between true mates. Hongjoong’s never been sure of many things in his life, but the one thing he’s most sure of is the fact that you were made for him.

The scent of heat and rut mixing in the air has his brain melting, rendering him completely overtaken by lust. His chest vibrates with a continuous snarl as he noses into your skin, your nails scratch over his back before your teeth bite into his shoulder, to try to gain his attention. You whine so sweetly in your desperation.

“P—Please, alpha!” You whimper loudly, throwing your head back and exposing your neck. The alpha’s eyes glow red.

Hongjoong is going to make you live on his knot and only allow you off so you can birth him pups.

“Y/N L/N.” He growls, grabbing your legs and throwing them over his shoulders, bending you right in half. “Lying in my bed. Begging for my knot.”

You whimper, reaching out to paw weakly at Hongjong's chest, trying to pull him closer to press your face into his neck. Hongjoong hisses loudly when his knee presses into the mattress that is absolutely soaking, drenched in a literal puddle of slick that is gushing continuously out of your greedy cunt. 

Hongjoong loves you so much.

“I—I need it, please!” Your weepy little pussy clenches around nothing as you struggle to present. If it were up to you, you would’ve already flipped over onto your stomach and pushed your ass out, ready to get mounted. But Hongjoong is holding you firmly on your back.

Feeling the feral urge to claim, the alpha lets his rut overtake his actions. His rational side is thrown out the window for the first time, focused solely on you and the continuous thoughts about how good you’re going to look, swelled up with his pups by the time he’s done with you. With a low growl, he finds his face pressed into your neck, his cock sliding wetly inside of you.

The relief is immediate, but not enough. It’s never enough. Not when it comes to you. And he knows he won’t be able to rest until he’s knotted you so many times that your cunt will become too sloppy to keep his cum inside anymore. With that thought, Hongjoong’s hips start pistoning into you, deepening the bruises that are already lathered across your hips and inner thighs. Your sugary moans are the most beautiful sounds his ears have ever heard.

“Good girl. So good. Gonna let me breed you so well, aren’t you?” Your nod is so frantic you think you might be experiencing whiplash. “You gonna carry my pups like a good little omega?”

Yes! Your mind screams. You want Hongjoong’s pups, you want his cum and his knot, you want all of it inside of you. You want the alpha to take care of you, to hold you like this every night, to fuck you thoroughly into your bed until the sheets are ruined and the swell in your stomach becomes more and more prominent.

Hongjoong’s cock swells, the promise of a knot makes you babble incoherently, spewing nonsense about how good it feels and how much you love it and how you want more. Hot tears run down your cheeks when the graze of the alpha’s teeth hits your scent gland. You desperately wish they would just clamp down and give you the bite that you've been teased with ever since you got here.

“Mine.” Hongjoong whispers into your skin, just like every other time, licking a stripe right over your jugular.

Your eyes flutter shut, desperately speaking out loud the word that’s been resting upon your tongue for so long now.

“Yours.”

The snarl is so loud, it hits your skin before it does your ears. Sharp canines sink into your neck like a knife through smooth butter as soon as Hongjoong’s knot inside of you pops. Your heart sings from the feeling of a bond being formed.

When you close your eyes, you think that this right here could be your forever.

THREE MONTHS LATER

The coming of spring makes the outskirts of the cabin look even more beautiful than before. Hongjoong spent a good full week working on building a garden backdoor, where seedlings could sprout, giving you access to grow all the flowers your little heart desired. The grass had been neatly trimmed, and any rocks or weeds had swiftly been removed to ensure that everything was perfect. Hongjoong will always offer you nothing but the best. It’s the least you deserve.

With spring also comes new beginnings. And Hongjoong thinks that a fresh start is exactly what you both need. He’s been slowly making changes in preparation for it. Not everything could be settled in one go. Hongjoong had to get some business in order before anything else. He started small, with some housing arrangements.

Your old room became empty as soon as you mated. Hongjoong deemed separate rooms completely unnecessary now, since he knew there would be no more chances of you ever wanting to escape. He moved you upstairs to his own bedroom, which was much larger and more accommodating. He’s reminded of you smiling brightly at the offer of a new bed. Your alpha’s bed. Hongjoong loved nothing more than the sight of you rolling around in his sheets.

Along with bedroom relocations came the decision Hongjoong had been contemplating for a long time. The sight of you sleeping blissfully in his bed was enough for him to make up his mind for good. He didn’t want anyone else ever getting to see you like that. Sharing you with the world is not something he’s keen on anymore. So, without thinking twice about it, he grabs a tall enough stool so that he would be able to reach the camera installed in the corner of the room, and swiftly unplugs it.

No more red dots will be haunting your dreams at night and antagonizing you from far away. Hongjoong made that decision as soon as he laid his mark on your neck.

His computer is something he didn’t have the necessary patience to approach for a long time after that. The recordings had stopped, but everything else was still there, up and running. Hongjoong thought about keeping them all for himself. To have such important parts of your relationship recorded was something rare. Everything was on there. Your first kiss. Your first time having sex. His first time feeding you his cock. Your first heat, along with your mating. They’re all precious memories to Hongjoong. Things that shouldn’t hold sentimental value, yet somehow they still do.

But it’s risky. It’s been risky from the very beginning. It’s not the first time Hongjoong has done something like this and gotten away with it. You weren’t the only omega the cameras installed across the house have recorded. You were just the first to have ever stayed. That’s enough of a reason for Hongjoong to want to erase all these videos from existence, making sure no one else but him gets to have these memories of you ingrained in his brain.

The titles have his hands clutching into fists, previews of the videos making his pants feel all of a sudden a little too tight around his crotch. They’ve all been carefully chosen.

‘tiny omega takes her first knot’

‘bound & ravished—innocent omega begs for her abductor’s knot’

‘omega takes her punishment well with a knife pressed to her throat’

‘kidnapping:alpha goes on a hunt and comes back with an omega hanging off his knot’

There are a lot of them. So many that Hongjoong has lost count at this point. Even after all this time of not posting, the views have continued to spike, the last video ever posted being at an all-time high. Hongjoong doesn’t look at the comments anymore. He’s made that mistake before, and it led to him putting a literal hole in the wall. The thought of anyone out there saying the same things about you as he does makes him seethe. Only he’s allowed to say how pretty you are, only he gets to praise you for how well you take cock. No one else is worthy.

Everyone is obsessed with you. And of course they are. How could they not be? Hongjoong is a first-hand victim of your beauty. He can’t really blame them. They all love seeing your pretty face on camera. You’re just too good. Hongjoong never tells you what to do or how to act. Everything the lenses have captured has been real. The viewers seem to really like that. They love how natural the “acting” feels. If only they knew…

They’ve all been waiting. The most anticipated video has been slowly collecting dust in Hongjoong’s archive. It would be so easy. Just a pick of a good title along with some tags and he could just wait for the money to roll in. Everyone’s been dying to see you finally get claimed; to watch you get fucked thoroughly with a mating bite to your neck.

The video is there.  

But Hongjoong is never going to post it.

Not when you’re in the other room, humming sweetly as you fold the alpha’s clothes, piling them neatly in your shared closet. Not when you’re in the kitchen, cutting up fruit with the swell of your stomach pressing into the countertop. Not when you look up at the alpha with hearts floating around in your eyes, as if you wanted nothing more than to bake him cookies and birth him a litter.

Those are all things only Hongjoong will ever get to enjoy and cherish for the rest of his life. His hand doesn’t even hesitate as it presses the delete button, erasing all of it from existence. Every video, every comment, every view. The page is gone right before his eyes. He’s pleased as he shuts the computer down, going to the other room to do what he’s supposed to—tend to his omega.

After that, it all comes pretty easily. He drives back towards campus, somewhere he hasn’t been in a long time, and parks right outside the dorm rooms. It’s very easy to get the person at the front desk to give him a key to your old room. A simple claim of being your mate is enough to grant him all his wishes, contentedly humming a random tune as he loads up all of your old belongings in the trunk of his car. It all goes smoothly, just as expected. Except perhaps for one small bump in the road.

“Hongjoong?” The alpha turns around after he finishes putting some of your things away, leaning against his car as he glares back at the person that’s quickly walking up to him. “Holy shit, where have you been—”

Wooyoung stops dead in his tracks as soon as he’s close enough to sniff the air around. His eyes widen, books falling from his arms, laying in a sad heap on the dirty ground. Hongjoong sighs. He doesn’t have time for this. 

“Y/N…y—you found her?” Wooyoung asks shakily. Hongjoong tilts his head to the side, eyeing him curiously. His raised brow speaks for itself.

Come on, you can do better than that. Take another guess.

Realization suddenly dawns on Wooyoung’s face. Hongjoong doesn’t just have your scent lingering on his skin. It’s completely intertwined with his own. He doesn’t just smell of amber anymore. His scent sweetened, welcoming the scent of honey and cherry blossom alongside. Hongjoong smells like he’s been bonded. It’s very easy for Wooyoung to put the pieces together after that.

“You son of a bitch, where is she?” His voice shakes around a threat, visibly wanting to get closer to most likely punch the daylights out of Hongjoong, but he knows he stands no chance against the alpha.

Hongjoong shrugs his shoulders, getting back to his feet before turning around to shut the trunk of his car. His smile is patronizing when he looks back at Wooyoung. As if he’s smugly bragging about it all.

“Take care, Wooyoung.” He says, getting into his car without looking back once as he drives away.

The house smells sweet, like freshly baked apple pie and an omega he wants to get his hands on right this second. Going into the kitchen, he frowns when he doesn’t find you there. The pie rests on the windowsill, and right outside in the garden, he sees you, kneeling in the grass and tending to your petunias. 

Hongjoong smiles.

He thinks that things couldn’t have gone any better than this. This is exactly the life he’s imagined for himself. Living in a small house, somewhere far away from the rest of the world, with the cutest mate, growing beautiful flowers in the garden, and grinning widely as you get up and waddle over into his arms, the swell of your stomach pressing against his body.

You call out his name sweetly, as if Hongjoong is the only thing you’ve ever known; the only thing you’ll ever need. The alpha gathers you up in his arms, afraid that you might crumble if he lets go. With the scent of cherry blossom pressed to his nose, he knows that this is exactly how your lives were supposed to be. Running his hands across your stomach, he smiles with the most genuine joy he’s ever felt in his life.

Hongjoong is going to keep you right here, just like this. In his arms at all times. Protected from the world. He noses over your mating mark, a small playful growl escaping him as he picks you up and carries you inside the house. He bites his lip at the sound of your giggles when he places you down on the kitchen counter. He takes a step back to appraise you from head to toe, in silent disbelief at the sight of having such a beautiful omega as his mate.

“My sweet girl.” Hongjoong exhales through a smile.

When he kisses you, your lips taste like the rest of forever.

A/N: If you made it to the end of this, you’re now obligated to go watch the why do you love mv right now on YouTube. No excuses!

[yourfavtangerine]

Can you make a dragon hybrid mingi x human reader smut where like you saw round him in the forest hurt so you took him home tho help him but he got too attached

Ebony scales

Paring: dragon!Mingi x human!reader

Strangers to lovers, fluff, smut

Wc:~6.2k

Warnings: smut, monsterfucking?, size difference, knotting, tail play, ridged cock, heat/rut, possessive behavior, claiming mark, primal/rough sex, breeding kink, creampie, blood, injury/wound care, mild injury recovery

A/N: i tried something new with the smut (my first time with non human smut) so pls tell me if you like it

The forest had always felt like an extension of yourself: alive, secretive, forgiving in its quiet way. You knew every twist of the deer paths, every hollow where mushrooms clustered after rain, every spot where sunlight pierced the canopy in golden spears. It was late afternoon when you ventured deeper than usual, basket swinging at your side, foraging for late-season chanterelles and whatever wild greens hadn't yet turned bitter. The air carried the metallic tang of coming rain and the light had taken on that bruised, pre-storm quality that made everything look slightly unreal.

You almost missed him.

At first you thought the dark shape slumped against the massive oak was just another fallen trunk, moss-covered and broken. But then it shifted, slowly, painfully and a low, guttural sound rolled out, not quite a growl, more like distant thunder trapped in a chest. Your heart slammed against your ribs. You froze, breath caught, eyes adjusting to the dimness beneath the branches.

He was enormous. Even curled in on himself, wings half-folded and one hanging at an awkward angle, he dwarfed the tree he leaned against. Scales the color of coal and polished obsidian caught what little light filtered through, shimmering dully where they weren't crusted with drying gore. Horns curved back from his brow like blackened thorns; his tail: thick, muscular, tipped with a spade-like ridge, lay limp across the leaf litter. One massive clawed hand pressed to his side, fingers slick with red. The other wing, torn nearly to the membrane's edge, trembled with each labored breath.

A dragon.

Not the kind from children's tales, all fire and treasure and distant majesty. This one looked like he'd been dragged through hell and left to bleed out in your woods.

You should have run. Instead, you took one careful step forward. His head snapped up so fast the motion blurred. Golden eyes, slitted pupils blown wide with pain and suspicion, locked onto you. Fangs flashed in a snarl that showed far too many sharp edges.

"Leave."

The word wasn't spoken so much as torn from his throat, rough and resonant, vibrating through the ground into your boots. It wasn't a request.

You swallowed. Your mouth felt dry as old paper. "You're hurt."

A harsh, humorless huff escaped him, almost a laugh, if laughter could bleed. "Observant, little human. Now go."

"I can't just-" You gestured helplessly at the ruin of his side. "Those gashes are deep. If they fester-"

"Then they fester." He shifted, trying to push himself more upright and immediately regretted it. A wet, pained sound slipped from between his teeth; fresh blood welled between his fingers. "I've survived worse."

"You're bleeding all over my forest floor" you said, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounded. "And if you die here the scavengers will come and then the smell will bring every hunter within kilometers. Do you want that?"

His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "You think to threaten me?"

"No. I'm telling you the truth." You lifted your basket slightly, as proof of harmlessness. "I have bandages. Clean cloth. Salve. I can at least stop the worst of it."

He stared at you for a long moment, long enough that you began to wonder if he'd simply pass out from blood loss before deciding whether to eat you or let you help. Then, slowly, deliberately, he bared his teeth again.

"Touch me and I'll rip your arm off."

"Noted." You didn't move closer yet. "But if I leave, you'll probably bleed out by morning. Your choice."

Silence stretched between you, broken only by the patter of the first raindrops hitting the leaves overhead. His breathing was ragged, each inhale a wet rasp. Finally, grudgingly, he let his head drop back against the bark.

"Do what you want" he muttered. "Just know I'll kill you if it hurts."

You exhaled slowly through your nose. Small victories.

It took three trips back to the edge of the woods to bring everything you needed: your full foraging basket abandoned in favor of linen strips torn from an old sheet, a jar of honey-and-herb salve your grandmother had sworn by, a waterskin, a small knife for cutting cloth. Each time you returned he watched you with the same flat, predatory stare, but he didn't snarl again. Progress, maybe.

The rain had started in earnest by the time you knelt beside him, careful to stay out of immediate claw range. Up close he smelled of copper and smoke and something sharper, like lightning-struck stone. Heat rolled off him in waves despite the chill in the air; dragons ran hotter than humans, you'd heard. His side was a mess: three long slashes from what must have been a barbed spear or harpoon, tearing through scale and muscle alike. The wing was worse: a ragged tear almost to the main joint, membrane shredded like wet silk.

You started with the easiest part, cleaning the smaller cuts along his ribs. He hissed when the water touched raw flesh but didn't pull away. His tail twitched once, dangerously close to your knee, then stilled.

"Foolish" he growled under his breath as you dabbed at the wounds. "Stupid. Weak little thing playing healer to a monster."

"I've been called worse." You kept your tone even, focused on the task. "Hold still."

He made a low, rumbling sound that might have been a scoff. "You give orders now?"

"Only when someone's bleeding on my shoes."

That earned you another huff, this one almost amused, though he'd probably bite his own tongue before admitting it. You worked in silence after that, rinsing, patting dry, spreading salve with careful fingers. His scales were surprisingly warm to the touch, smooth in places, faintly ridged in others. When you reached the deepest gash he tensed so hard the muscle jumped under your palm.

"Breathe" you murmured without thinking.

His golden gaze flicked to your face, sharp, searching. For a second something flickered there, too fast to name. Then he looked away, jaw tight.

You bound the worst of it with strips of linen, tying them as snugly as you dared. He didn't complain again, though every knot made his claws flex into the earth, leaving deep furrows.

The wing was trickier. You couldn't stitch membrane, not with your supplies, not without more skill, but you could clean it, coat it in salve, and brace it loosely with cloth and slender branches so it wouldn't tear further if he tried to move.

By the time you finished, full dark had fallen. Rain drummed steadily on the leaves above your makeshift shelter of fallen branches and your own cloak stretched overhead. You were soaked, shivering, hands stained with his blood and salve. He looked marginally less like death, though still pale beneath the crimson scales along his cheekbones.

"You should go" he said quietly. No growl this time, just exhaustion.

"I will. Soon." You sat back on your heels, wiping your hands on already-ruined skirts. "But first-" You pulled your cloak from the makeshift roof and draped it over his shoulders. It barely covered half his chest, ridiculous on his massive frame, but it was dry on the inside and better than nothing.

He stared down at the fabric like it had personally offended him. "What is this?"

"It's called not freezing to death." You stood, knees protesting. "I'll come back at first light with proper food. Broth, maybe. Something warm."

His lip curled. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity." You met his eyes steadily. "It's decency."

For a heartbeat he said nothing. Then, so low you almost missed it: "I'll be gone by dawn."

You nodded once. "If that's what you want."

You left him there, curled beneath the oak, your too-small cloak draped across his back like a child's blanket on a giant, wings folded tight against the rain. His golden eyes followed you until the trees swallowed the path.

You didn't sleep much that night. The cottage felt too small, too quiet. Every creak of the timbers made you sit up, listening for wingbeats or claws on the roof. You told yourself it was caution. You told yourself you weren't worried.

At the first gray light you were already up, broth simmering on the hearth: chicken bones, carrots, thyme, a knob of ginger for strength. You packed bread, a wedge of hard cheese, a flask of herbal tea that eased pain without dulling the mind. Then you walked back into the forest, heart in your throat.

The oak loomed ahead. He was still there. Curled on his uninjured side now, breathing slow and even, your cloak tucked under one massive arm like a trophy he refused to admit he wanted. The bandages you'd tied were still in place, no fresh blood seeping through. His torn wing lay awkwardly propped on a branch you'd wedged beneath it.

He didn't stir when you approached, but you knew he was awake. The tip of his tail flicked once, lazy, deliberate.

"Told you I'd be gone" he muttered without opening his eyes.

"You did." You set the basket down carefully. "And yet."

A long pause. Then one golden eye cracked open, regarding you with something dangerously close to resignation. "You're persistent."

"I've been told that." You knelt again, checking the bandages. Clean. No fever smell. "Eat. It'll help."

He didn't move for the food right away. Instead he studied you, really studied you, head tilted slightly, horns catching the weak morning light.

"Why?" he asked at last. Simple. Raw.

You sat back, considering. "Because I could. Because you needed it. Because…" You shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't like leaving things to suffer when I can help."

His gaze lingered on your face a moment longer. Then, slowly, he reached for the bowl of broth you'd set near his hand. Claws careful not to crush the clay. He drank in silence.

You stayed until he finished, watching the forest wake around you both, mist curling through the undergrowth, birds calling tentatively overhead. He didn't thank you. He didn't need to.

When you finally stood to leave, promising to return that evening with more salve, he spoke again. "Mingi."

You paused.

"My name" he clarified, voice rough from disuse and pain. "If you're going to keep doing this foolish thing… you should know it."

You smiled, small, careful."I'm-"

"I know what you are" he interrupted, but there was no bite in it. "Little human."

You laughed under your breath. "Fair enough."

As you walked away, basket lighter now, you felt the weight of his gaze on your back until the trees closed behind you.

He didn't try to leave that day. Or the next.

The days blurred into a strange, quiet rhythm after that first morning. You brought food twice a day, sometimes broth thickened with barley and root vegetables, sometimes roasted game you’d traded for at the village edge, always paired with fresh bread you baked before dawn. You changed bandages at dusk when the light was soft and forgiving, checking for infection with the same steady hands you used to tend your herb garden. Mingi grumbled through every visit. The complaints started sharp "This slop tastes like wet dirt" "Your stitches are crooked, human" "Stop hovering like a mother hen" but they grew softer at the edges, almost performative, like a ritual he refused to abandon.

He never left the oak clearing. Not once.

At first you thought it was the wing, still braced, still tender, membrane knitting slowly under layers of salve and clean linen. Dragons healed faster than humans, everyone knew that, yet he stayed. When you asked, carefully, one evening while rewrapping the deepest slash along his ribs, he only snorted.

"Where else would I go?" His tail flicked irritably, spade tip brushing your ankle before he pulled it back. "Hunters still prowl these woods. I’d rather bleed here than give them the satisfaction."

You didn’t push. You just nodded and kept working.

By the end of the first week the gashes had scabbed over, angry red lines turning silver at the edges. The wing membrane had begun to regrow in thin, translucent sheets, fragile as new leaves. You stopped bracing it so tightly; instead you fashioned a loose sling from an old shawl so he could fold it against his back without strain. He tested it gingerly one afternoon while you watched from a safe distance: wings stretching halfway, then folding again with a low hiss of pain.

"Better" he muttered, almost to himself.

You smiled without looking up from grinding more salve in your mortar. "Good. Means you’re almost ready to fly off and terrorize some other forest."

He shot you a look, half glare, half something unreadable. "Careful what you wish for, little human."

But he didn’t fly away. Instead he started moving closer to the cottage.

It happened gradually. First he limped the short distance from oak to the stream that ran behind your garden, claiming he needed to rinse the stink of salve from his scales. You found him there one morning, crouched in the shallows like some great ebony statue, water streaming over obsidian-black plates along his shoulders. His tail curled lazily in the current; droplets caught fire in the early sun where they clung to his horns.

He didn’t acknowledge you at first. Just kept scooping water over the healing wing, letting it run pink then clear.

You left a clean towel, well, an old tablecloth, draped over a low branch and retreated without a word.

The next day he was closer still: sprawled in the tall grass at the very edge of your vegetable patch, sunning himself like a cat too proud to admit it enjoyed the warmth. One wing draped over his side like a tattered cape; the other stretched out to dry. You stepped around him carefully to harvest carrots, pretending not to notice how his golden eyes tracked your every movement.

"Those are tiny" he remarked when you brushed dirt from a particularly small root.

"They’re perfect for stew." You dropped it into your basket. "Not everything has to be massive to be useful."

A low rumble rolled from his chest, almost a laugh. "Spoken like someone who’s never seen a proper hoard."

You glanced over your shoulder. "Is that an invitation to see yours someday?"

His pupils narrowed to thin slits. For a second you thought you’d pushed too far. Then he huffed, smoke curling from his nostrils in faint wisps.

"Maybe. If you stop asking stupid questions."

You hid your smile behind a handful of greens.

He began lingering inside the cottage walls by the second week. Not inside-inside, not yet. But under the wide eaves when rain came, wings tucked tight so he could fit beneath the overhang. You started leaving the back door ajar on dry evenings so the scent of cooking drifted out: stew bubbling with wild thyme, bread cooling on the sill, apples sliced and dusted with cinnamon because you’d noticed the way his nostrils flared whenever you baked with them.

One night you found him sitting on the threshold, literally, massive frame filling the doorway, tail coiled neatly around his feet like he was trying to take up less space. His head was tilted toward the hearth fire, eyes half-lidded in the warm glow.

You paused in the middle of stirring the pot, wooden spoon dripping.

"Comfortable?" you asked.

He didn’t look at you. "Your fire doesn’t stink of wet wood like the ones in the high caves."

"High praise." You ladled stew into two bowls, one normal-sized, one you’d borrowed from the cooper because nothing else was big enough. You set his on the floor beside him. "Eat before it gets cold."

He eyed the bowl, then you. "You feed strays now?"

"Only the ones who don’t bite the hand that feeds them."

Another huff, definitely amusement this time. He took the bowl carefully between his claws, heat from the stew rising in fragrant steam. He drank half in one long swallow, then paused, tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop.

"…Acceptable" he decided.

You sat across from him on the hearth rug, legs tucked beneath you, eating more slowly. The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore. It was comfortable. Familiar.

He started talking. Not much at first, just fragments. How the hunters had ambushed him near the northern ridge, how their barbed nets had torn more than flesh, how he’d fought until the sky turned black with his own blood. He spoke of older battles too: rival drakes, ancient grudges, skies that once belonged to wings like his. His voice stayed low, rough, but the growling edge dulled when he spoke to you.

You listened. Asked careful questions when there was space for them. Never pushed when he fell silent. In return he watched you. Not like prey anymore. Like something he was trying to understand. He noticed things: how you hummed while kneading dough, how your fingers always smelled faintly of crushed lavender, how you talked to the plants in your garden as though they could answer. One afternoon you caught him staring while you read by the open window, old herbal lore, pages worn soft from years of use.

"What?" you asked, not looking up.

"Your voice changes when you read aloud."

You blinked. "Does it?"

"Quieter. Smoother." He shifted, scales rasping faintly against the doorframe. "Like water over stone."

Heat crept up your neck. You cleared your throat. "It’s just habit. Helps me remember."

He made a thoughtful sound deep in his throat.

After that he started bringing things. Small offerings left wordlessly where you’d find them. A perfect river-smoothed agate the exact color of your eyes, placed on the windowsill at dawn. A cluster of rare flowers that only bloomed under starlight, tied with a thin strip of what looked suspiciously like one of his own shed scales.

Once, a single crimson feather, probably from a rare bird, longer than your forearm, edges still shimmering with latent heat. You found it tucked beneath your pillow like a secret.

You never mentioned them directly. But you kept every single one. Arranged on the mantel above the hearth, they caught the firelight and threw tiny sparks of red and gold across the walls. Mingi never commented, but you caught the way his tail tip twitched with quiet satisfaction whenever he glanced at the growing collection.

The shift happened slowly, almost imperceptibly. He stopped snarling when you touched him to check wounds. He leaned, barely, into the brush of your fingers when you smoothed salve along the base of his horns one evening, the sensitive ridges there making his eyes flutter half-closed.

He began curling his tail near you when you sat together on the porch steps watching dusk settle over the trees. Not touching, just close enough that the spade tip rested inches from your hip. A silent claim he’d deny to his dying breath.

One night the temperature dropped hard. Frost glittered on the grass by moonrise; your breath fogged in the cottage air even with the hearth roaring. You woke shivering beneath your quilts, teeth chattering.

A soft scrape sounded at the back door. You padded over in socked feet, opening it a crack. Mingi sat on the threshold again, wings half-spread to block the wind, his body radiating heat like a living furnace.

He didn’t speak. Just tilted his head toward the interior. You stepped back. He ducked inside, careful, wings folding tight, tail dragging a slow arc across the floorboards. The cottage suddenly felt smaller, warmer, filled with the scent of smoke and iron and something deeper, wilder.

He settled near the hearth, curling on his side like an enormous cat, one wing draped loosely toward you.

You hesitated only a moment. Then you dragged your thickest quilt over, wrapped it around your shoulders and sat against his uninjured side. His scales were fever-hot through the linen of your nightshift; you could feel the slow, steady thunder of his heart beneath them.

He exhaled, a long, rumbling sigh. A moment later his wing shifted, settling over you like the world’s heaviest, warmest blanket. The membrane was still thin in places, but strong enough now to block the draft from the cracks in the walls.

You tucked your knees up, resting your cheek against the smooth curve where his shoulder met neck. His scent enveloped you: smoke, stone, distant thunderstorms.

Neither of you spoke.

After a while a low vibration started in his chest, not quite a growl. Deeper. Softer.

A purr.

It rolled through you like distant waves, easing the last of the chill from your bones. Your eyelids grew heavy.

Just before sleep claimed you, you felt the lightest brush against your hair: the very tip of his tail, tracing a slow, careful circle at the nape of your neck.

He stayed until morning. When you woke the fire had burned low, sunlight slanting gold across the floorboards. Mingi was still there, eyes closed, breathing deep and even, but his wing remained draped over you protectively, tail curled loosely around your ankle.

You didn’t move right away. You simply watched the rise and fall of his ribs, counted the faint scars that mapped his history across dark scales, felt the warmth that had kept the frost at bay all night.

Something tight and bright bloomed behind your sternum. He was no longer just a wounded dragon you’d refused to leave behind. He was Mingi.

And somehow, somewhere between broth and bandages and quiet nights, he’d decided you were worth staying for.

When his eyes finally opened, golden and sleepy, he didn’t pull away. Instead he rumbled softly, the sound vibrating straight through you.

"Morning, little human."

You smiled against his scales. "Morning, stubborn dragon."

His tail tightened, just a fraction around your ankle. Neither of you moved for a very long time.

The heat came without warning. It started as a low-grade fever Mingi couldn’t shake, scales darkening from ash grey to near-black at the edges, pupils dilating until the gold was only a thin ring around endless black. He grew restless first: pacing the clearing behind the cottage in long, agitated strides, tail lashing hard enough to snap saplings, wings flaring and folding in sharp, frustrated bursts. The air around him shimmered with heat; grass beneath his feet crisped and curled brown.

You noticed the change immediately.

He stopped coming inside after dusk. When you brought supper to the threshold he barely glanced at the bowl before growling "Not hungry" voice gravel-rough and deeper than usual. Smoke curled constantly from his nostrils now, thin wisps that smelled of molten iron and something sweeter, almost spiced, like cinnamon burned over charcoal.

The next morning he was gone. Not far, you found fresh claw marks gouged into the oaks at the forest’s edge, deep enough to bleed sap and scorch patterns where his tail had dragged through undergrowth. But no sign of him near the cottage. No lazy curl of tail in the garden, no sun-warmed wing draped across the porch steps like a living rug.

Worry knotted tight beneath your ribs. You waited until noon, then packed a small satchel: water, salve (useless now but habit), a thick wool blanket, strips of dried meat and followed the trail of destruction deeper into the woods. Broken branches, singed ferns, the faint metallic tang of his blood-scent mixed with that new, heady spice that made your head swim and your thighs clench without reason.

You found him in a hidden glade you’d never seen before: a shallow bowl of stone ringed by ancient yews, moss soft underfoot, a thin waterfall misting the far wall in silver threads. Sunlight slanted through the canopy in pale gold shafts, catching motes of dust and turning them to sparks. Mingi crouched in the center, back to you, wings half-spread and trembling. Every line of him was taut, muscles coiled beneath scales, tail thrashing slow figure-eights in the dirt, horns lowered like a bull ready to charge. Heat rolled off him in visible waves; the moss around his claws had turned brown and brittle.

He didn’t turn when your footsteps crunched on fallen leaves.

"Go back" he rasped. The words came out shredded, barely human. "Now."

You stopped ten paces away, heart hammering. "You’re burning up."

A harsh laugh scraped his throat, more pain than humor. "You have no idea."

The air between you felt charged, thick. His scent rolled over you in heavy waves: smoke, metal, that dark sweet spice that made your pulse stutter and liquid heat pool low in your belly without permission. Your nipples tightened beneath your blouse; you pressed your thighs together instinctively.

"Mingi-"

"Don’t." He finally looked over his shoulder. His eyes were almost entirely black, gold reduced to the thinnest crescent. Fangs longer than usual, pressing into his lower lip hard enough to draw pinpricks of blood that glistened like rubies. "Heat. Full rut. Ancient. Ugly. If you stay I won’t-" His claws dug deeper into stone; rock cracked audibly beneath them. "I’ll hurt you. Claim you. Knot you. Breed you until you can’t walk, can’t think, can’t breathe without me inside you. Is that what you want, little human?"

Your mouth went dry. Your core clenched on nothing.

He scented it, the faint shift in your own smell, slick and needy and a guttural sound tore from his chest, half growl, half plea.

"Run" he snarled. Wings flared wider, blocking more of the light. "Last chance."

You didn’t run. Instead you stepped closer. His wings snapped forward, blocking the sun completely now, casting you in sudden shadow. The membrane was healed now, strong and veined with faint silver scars, edges trembling with the effort of restraint.

"I said run."

"No." Your voice shook only a little. "You’ve been here weeks. Months, almost. You stayed. You let me in. You purred for me. Curled your stupid tail around my ankle like I was yours already." Another step. "If this is part of you, then I want all of it."

He laughed again, broken, desperate. "You don’t understand what you’re asking."

"Then show me."

Something snapped. He moved faster than you’d ever seen him, even whole and healthy. One clawed hand closed around your waist, not bruising, but unyielding, lifting you clean off the ground as though you weighed nothing. Your back met the smooth trunk of a yew; bark cool against your spine through thin fabric. His other hand braced beside your head, caging you. Wings curled forward until the tips brushed your shoulders, cocooning you both in living shadow and furnace heat.

His face was inches from yours. Breath hot against your lips, carrying that intoxicating spice. Pupils so blown you could see your own wide-eyed reflection in the black.

"Last. Chance." Each word was bitten off between fangs. "Say no and I let you go. I’ll fly until the heat breaks or I drop dead from it. But if you stay-" His tail lashed once, hard, then coiled around your thigh, spade tip pressing insistently against the seam of your skirts, right over your aching center. "I won’t stop until you’re marked. Inside and out. My scent. My knot. My teeth if you let me."

Your heart hammered so loud you were sure he could hear it.

You lifted one hand, slowly, until your palm rested against the heated scales of his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat at the touch, a shudder rippling down his spine.

"Then don’t stop" you whispered.

A full-body shudder ripped through him. The next instant his mouth crashed against yours. It wasn’t gentle. It was teeth and tongue and raw, starving hunger, fangs grazing your lower lip until you tasted copper, then soothed by the rough, hot slide of his tongue claiming every inch of your mouth. He tasted like smoke and iron and that dark spice that went straight to your head, making you dizzy. You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers threading into the thick mane of black hair between his horns, tugging hard enough to make him growl into your mouth, a sound that vibrated straight down your spine.

His tail tightened around your thigh, dragging your leg up and out until you were spread open against the solid wall of his body. The thick base of it nudged between your legs, pressing firm against your core through fabric. You gasped into the kiss; he swallowed the sound, rumbling approval deep in his chest.

Claws shredded your skirts in one impatient swipe, fabric tearing like paper, then hooked into your underthings and ripped them away too. Cool air hit overheated, slick skin. No hesitation. No gentleness. Just pure, primal need.

He broke the kiss long enough to look down between your bodies. Your thighs glistened already, arousal shining in the slanted light. His nostrils flared, pupils dilating impossibly wider, a low, hungry snarl escaping him.

"Wet for me" he rasped, voice wrecked. "Even knowing what I am. Even smelling the rut on me."

You nodded, breathless. "Especially because of what you are."

A snarl of pure satisfaction. His tail moved, prehensile, clever, sliding between your folds in one long, deliberate stroke. The smooth scaled length dragged over your clit, ridges catching just right. You cried out, hips jerking forward. The spade tip curled, teasing your entrance, then pushed inside, slow at first, stretching you around its surprising thickness, internal ridges catching every sensitive spot on the way in.

"Fuck-" The word tore from your throat, raw.

He purred, deep, vibrating straight through the tail buried inside you, making your walls flutter. "That’s it. Take it. Open for me. Let me feel how much you want this."

The tail fucked into you in shallow, relentless thrusts while his mouth returned to yours, devouring. His free hand slid up your ribs, claws careful now not to tear, thumb brushing the underside of your breast before cupping it fully. He rolled your nipple between two scaled fingers, firm, hot, pinching just enough to make you arch into him with a broken moan.

When you were trembling, dripping down his tail, inner walls clenching desperately, he withdrew it slowly, making you whine at the emptiness, then replaced it with something much thicker. His cock.

You hadn’t seen it fully before, only shadowed glimpses when he shifted uncomfortably, when a blanket slipped, but gods. Thick. Ridged along the underside in firm, scaled bands that promised to drag deliciously with every thrust. The head flushed darker than the rest, leaking steadily, pearling at the slit. And at the base, a swelling already forming, the knot he’d warned you about, thick and unyielding.

He notched himself at your entrance. Paused. Looked into your eyes, searching even through the haze of rut.

"Tell me to stop" he growled, voice breaking on the last word. "Last time. I can still fly away."

You wrapped your legs around his hips, awkward with wings and tail in the way, but determined, heels digging into the base of his tail. "Don’t you dare."

He thrust. One long, relentless slide that stretched you to your limit. The ridges caught, perfect, maddening friction, filling you until you felt him in your throat, pressing against places you didn’t know existed. You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red crescents on crimson scales. He stilled when hilted to the base, trembling, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

"Too much?" Voice wrecked, barely controlled.

You shook your head frantically, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes. "More. Please, more. So good."

He let out a guttural sound, half laugh, half snarl. Then he moved. Slow at first, long drags out until only the head remained, brutal snaps back in, letting you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him claiming you from the inside. His tail curled around your other thigh, spreading you wider, holding you open so he could watch himself disappear inside your body again and again.

"Mine" he growled against your neck, fangs grazing skin, not breaking yet, but promising. "My little human. My mate. Gonna fill you so full you’ll feel me for days."

The word, mate, sent heat spiraling through you, tightening everything.

He fucked harder, deeper, tail slipping between your bodies to circle your clit in tight, relentless strokes, the spade tip flicking over the swollen bud in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. Pressure built fast, too fast. You clenched around him; he groaned like he’d been struck, hips stuttering.

"Knot-" he warned, voice fracturing. "It’s swelling. Gonna lock us. Fill you. Breed you until you take every drop-"

"Yes, I trust you." You dragged his mouth back to yours, kissing him sloppy and desperate, tasting smoke and blood and need. "Give it to me. All of it. Knot me. Claim me."

He roared, sound echoing off stone walls, shaking leaves from branches and slammed home one final time.

The knot caught, thick, unyielding, stretching you to the razor edge of pain and blinding pleasure. One more brutal thrust and it popped inside, locking tight behind your pubic bone. Heat flooded you, pulse after heavy pulse, as he came with a broken snarl, fangs sinking into the curve of your shoulder, not deep enough to scar permanently like a true mating bite, but enough to mark, enough to bruise, enough to claim in the way dragons understood.

You shattered around him, clenching hard on the swollen knot, milking every drop, vision whiting out as pleasure crashed through you in endless, shattering waves. His tail pressed firm on your clit, dragging the orgasm longer until you sobbed against his neck, body shaking uncontrollably.

He held you through it, wings curled tight around you both, tail still teasing aftershocks from your oversensitive clit, knot pulsing inside you with every heartbeat, keeping you locked together.

When the storm finally ebbed you were both trembling, sweat-slick and wrecked.

He eased you down slowly, still locked together, until you rested against his chest, his wings a protective cocoon, heartbeat thundering beneath your ear. His purr returned, deep, satisfied, rumbling straight into your bones like a second heartbeat.

"Mine" he murmured again, softer now. Lips brushing the fresh bite mark, tongue lapping gently at the pinpricks of blood. "No running now. You’re carrying my scent. My seed. My mark."

You laughed, breathless, dazed, blissed-out. "Wasn’t planning to."

His tail loosened its grip on your thigh, instead curling loosely around your waist, possessive, gentle, keeping you anchored.

"Stuck with a dragon" he rumbled, almost shy beneath the growl.

You pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw, tasting salt and smoke. "Lucky me. Got myself a handsome and strong man."

He purred louder, full, rolling contentment that vibrated the stone beneath you.

The knot held for a long time, minutes stretching into what felt like hours. Each time it pulsed another small wave of heat spilled into you; each time you clenched and shuddered around him, drawing soft groans from his throat. He rocked gently when the fullness became too much, tiny movements that kept the pressure perfect, kept you full, kept you close.

Eventually, slowly, the swelling eased enough for him to slip free. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, thighs trembling; he hushed you with a deep kiss, sliding his hand to your core, keep his release where it belonged while he gathered you closer.

"Stay" he murmured against your temple. "Just like this. Let me keep you warm. Keep you mine."

You nodded, boneless against him, cheek pressed to the smooth scales over his heart.

He gathered you fully into his lap now, wings folding around you like the world’s most luxurious blanket, one clawed hand stroking slow, soothing circles on your back while the other cradled your head against his chest.

The sun moved across the glade, turning gold to amber to rose. Birds sang overhead. Waterfall misted in silver threads. And Mingi, proud, scarred, ancient dragon who once snarled at your touch, held you like you were the rarest jewel in his hoard.

"I love you" he said eventually, quiet, almost hesitant, as though the words were new and fragile in his mouth. "Foolish little human who refused to leave a dying beast in the woods. Who fed me. Healed me. Let me stay. I love you."

Your heart squeezed so hard it hurt, in the best way.

You tilted your head up, kissed the corner of his mouth where fang met lip.

"I love you too, stubborn dragon" you whispered. "Who decided I was worth staying for. Who brought me feathers and stones and curled around me when I was cold. Who just fucked me senseless in a forest glade and still purrs like I hung the moon."

His purr turned into a full, rolling rumble, contentment so deep it vibrated through your entire body. He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling deeply. "Rest now. Heat’s not done with me yet. Night will bring it back stronger."

You smiled against his scales, already feeling the low simmer building again in him and answering in you.

"I'm not leaving" you murmured, fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest.

[reallifesangi]

Stargazer

☆彡

Pairing: bestfriend!Hongjoong x Fem!reader

Synopsis: After discovering your recent ex had cheated on you while you were together, the thought of loving and trusting again seems distant and futile. That is until love finds you where you least expect it in your best friend, Hongjoong.

Tags/Warnings: hurt/comfort, primarily fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, eventual smut (18+ MDNI), extremely self-indulgent, mentions of previous toxic relationships, yearner Hongjoong, completely down bad Hongjoong, penetrative sex, fingerfucking, oral (f receiving), body worship, lowk vanilla sex (and that's okay!), jealous Hongjoong, slightly possessive Hongjoong

WC: 16.3k

A/N: Long time fic in the making! Also, like I said in the tags, this is extremely self-indulgent bc I wrote this right after just finding out my ex gf cheated on me while we were together LOL!! So, I apologize to any Y/Ns out there who might get mischaracterized by this (tried my best not to let it happen). Also, if at any point in the fic you think to yourself, "Hongjoong would not fucking say that" I'm aware lmao, I just needed to write out what I wanted to hear. Anyway, I hope you all still enjoy the fic, and as always feedback of any kind is welcome and appreciated. Enjoy!! Love, C :-3

Also on AO3

No AI has been used in the creation of this work. Feeding this work to AI in any form is prohibited.

☆彡

"I never liked them anyway."

"I know, Hongjoong," you sigh, looking at him across the table. The two of you sit in your favorite coffee shop to get some work done— as you do every week— but this time you come with a new and unfortunate discovery. You tell him that for the last few months of your relationship, your (very recent) ex had been cheating on you.

"They never treated you right. Never the way you deserved to be treated," he says with furrowed brows and a deep frown. He looks angry, and you don't blame him.

Hongjoong had always been fairly vocal about his dislike for your ex. When you'd confide in him, he never hesitated to express his concerns about their actions and statements. At the time, you thought they were your person, so you put up with the mistreatment, rationalized it, and brushed off the concerning number of times Hongjoong had to pull you aside to check if you were really happy. At the time, you told yourself you were, but deep down, you knew you weren't being treated correctly. But, it wasn't until the relationship ended that you could fully process it.

Through the poor relationship and the breakup, Hongjoong stayed by your side. He never once said, "I told you so," even though he definitely had every right to.

But now, four months after the breakup, you're realizing more and more what he had known all along; that things were really bad. Sometimes you would mention something to Hongjoong about what your ex did or said that you never told anyone about, and he would be in shock at how bad it actually was, and you would belatedly realize it too.

"I know they didn't; But, I mean, really, the signs were there,” you state while twiddling with the rings on your fingers, “ I should've just trusted my intuition and left at the first hint of cheating." You look out the window instead of at Hongjoong's eyes.

Cheating was a touchy subject for you since your prior relationship also ended with your partner cheating. It took you a long time after that relationship for you to start dating again. Because of how seriously you took infidelity, you swore that if you ever caught a partner cheating on you, you would end it right then and there. There were a few times you thought your ex might've been, but everytime you brought it up they were able to manipulate the situation for you to stay.

So, you feel incredibly stupid and naive, not knowing that your ex had successfully hidden it from you and only just now finding out about it. "Hey," Hongjoong says, soft yet firm. He waits until your eyes meet his gaze before continuing. "You're forgetting something. You did trust your intuition, and you talked to them every time you thought something was off. They were the one who lied and told you it was just jealousy. Don't blame yourself. They're the asshole that cheated." He spits out his last sentence like venom, and you can't help but giggle at Hongjoong's distaste.

You give him a smile. "I know, you're right," you say before taking a sip of your drink and continuing your work on your laptop. However, Hongjoong's inquisitive gaze stays fixed on you. "You… seem to be taking this news well," he observes.

"Yeah, well, at this point it's kind of just another thing that's happened, you know? There's nothing I can do about it now other than move on. So, I'm moving on," you say with an indifferent shrug. He has a calculative look, like he's trying to figure out if you're being truthful or just putting on a front. After so many years, Hongjoong has a pretty good read on you. Sometimes (for the worse), you feel like he can literally see right through you, but you know his attentiveness is a blessing.

He lets out a hum of acknowledgement. "Okay, well, if you ever need to talk about it more, I'm here for you," he states, with a hint of concern seeping through his tone. You smile at him once again, grateful for his support.

"Of course, Joong. Thank you. Truthfully, though, I really feel okay. Yeah, it sucks, but I've already started moving on. I'm sure by the end of this week I won't pay it any mind." The corner of Hongjoong's mouth turns upward into a small half smile, and he gives you a nod of affirmation.

You continue your time together as regularly planned, doing work and engaging in your usual conversation and banter. Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong's eyes keep drifting to you, his gaze full of warmth. He happily takes his opportunity to steal these glances while you're lost in focus. If you were to catch him, he'd probably just deflect and make a joke at your expense instead. He can't let you know what really rings true in his heart. Not yet. Not so soon.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

As the week comes to a close, your statement in the coffee shop proves so far to be true. You don't linger on the fact that you were cheated on. You actually haven't even thought about your ex or the things they did to you for quite a while. You're rather productive with moving on, given how long you were together. Eventually, you just stopped thinking about it and went on with your life. You still aren't quite ready to start dating again, but you find yourself okay with seeing people casually and hooking up with them. This displeases Hongjoong, but you easily brush him off and laugh about how he's impossible to please. You don't understand Hongjoong's irritation, and he never elaborates when you ask. You think that it should be a good thing that you're beginning to put yourself back out there. Plus, it's nothing excessive, and you're being safe. You know he's coming from a place of care, but you don't think he needs to be so uptight about everything. Even after being best friends for years, there still seems to be some things the two of you will never quite see eye to eye on.

You met Hongjoong many years ago when you first started university. Both of you were in the same gen ed. class and got paired up as partners for a semester-long project. You've been friends ever since.

Truthfully, when the two of you first started becoming close friends, you had a major crush on him. Like, a big-time, head-over-heels, total crush on him. Of course, it only took you one look at him to realize how incredibly attractive he was, but it wasn't just his beauty that had you falling for him. You found his work ethic admirable, and there was a sparkle in his eyes when he talked about his passions. It was so enchanting. Immediately, you could tell he was a man that knew what he wanted, and who would stop at nothing to achieve his dreams. He's the type of person who makes you strive to become better. How could you not completely fall for him? Everything about him was so divine.

However, you were a different person back then, and you lacked the self-confidence you now have. Back then, you couldn't fathom a future where Hongjoong would ever be interested in you the same way you were interested in him. Just the thought of being rejected by someone as perfect as him and losing his presence forever scared you into silence. You were heartbroken, but you figured getting over him to stay friends was a million times better than taking the risk of admitting your feelings. So, that's exactly what you did. You found someone else you were interested in, fell in love with them, and continued being best friends with Hongjoong. The man you once almost considered to be your love became just a friend.

Of course, you still love Hongjoong; he's always in your corner as someone you can always rely on. And even having moved on from your crush, you still can't deny his looks. But times had changed, and it was different now. Even though there was a time when you dreamed of nothing more than being with Hongjoong, you hadn't dared entertain the idea ever since your ex entered the picture. You pushed those feelings for Hongjoong away to protect your friendship and focus on your ex (at least one of you was loyal).

After the breakup, you became so focused on yourself that you didn't even consider the idea of dating again. You didn't want to rush into another relationship with anyone. Despite doing better, it's hard to imagine a life of love after just losing it, and it's hard to imagine a life of trust after just being betrayed. Even though you now have that confidence you used to lack and the knowledge that you're a desirable person many people want and would be lucky to have, the thought of letting someone new in and committing yourself to them is petrifying. You still need more time.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

After a dull day, you spend your evening alone in your cozy, little apartment. Dressed in your pajamas, you snuggle deeper into your couch as you scroll through your phone. You click through various social media apps, responding to messages and liking your friends' posts, until you see something that stops you in your tracks. A photo of your ex kissing the girl they cheated on you with. You stare blankly at the photo for a few moments before closing out of the app and turning your phone off completely.

Doesn't bother me any. I already knew they stayed together. It's none of my business anymore, you think to yourself as you turn on your TV as a distraction. Your eyes stay fixed on the screen, but your mind can't focus. You keep thinking back to that picture. How they looked so happy embracing one another, how they looked so in love, and so… remorseless.

You tap your foot pointedly on the ground before shutting off the TV and trudging to the kitchen. You pace back and forth while looking through your cabinets, trying to find something to make for dinner, but it's pointless. You can't focus on any ingredients in front of you, and you can't think clearly. All that's running through your mind is that picture and just how unfair it all was. A few months ago, if you saw that picture you would have immediately broken down into tears, but the sadness from the past mean nothing to you now, and all you feel is rage.

You storm out of your kitchen and back into the living room, grabbing your phone with the desperate hope to find a distraction from your thoughts and current emotional state. As you pick up your phone, you see a message from Hongjoong: » Is it cool if I come over? « You scoff to yourself. No shot. I'm totally not in the mood for company right now.

…

You text him back: » Sure «

You've always kept an open door policy for your friends, saying your space is theirs if they need it, and that you're always accepting unplanned visits. Hongjoong is no exception, and in fact, he's probably the one who comes over uninvited the most.

You assume he's probably already on the way over since asking, so there's no real point in saying no. You just need to play it cool until he leaves.

Not long after reading the text, you hear a knock at your door. You open it to find Hongjoong in an oversized hoodie and sweats, his hair down and fluffy, and two bags of takeout in his hands. "I figured you hadn't eaten dinner yet, so I brought some food for us," he says with his ':3' smile.

He's right, you haven't eaten yet. The knots in your stomach twist and tighten, wriggling around in anguish like they're in a hopeless attempt to escape. You're grateful that Hongjoong's so considerate, but you really don't think you can eat much in your current state. "Thanks, I appreciate it," you say with a small, forced smile as you let him in.

He makes himself at home in your apartment, stepping in and setting up the food in front of your TV. You stand by the entryway, vacantly watching him. Your mind is far from the present, you're deep in your own head, instead, trying to decipher and rationalize why you were so indignant and bothered by that photo.

You finally notice Hongjoong's worried gaze on you, snapping you back to reality. Your eyes fall behind him, where a now finished table is set up. So much for playing it cool. You shake your head to bring yourself back down to the real world, and force another smile as you make your way over to him.

"Thanks again for the food," you say as you grab the remote, desperately wanting some TV show on as background noise and a way to distract Hongjoong from your odd demeanor. "You were right, I hadn't eaten yet."

He chuckles a little and nudges you as he takes his seat next to you, "You have to start taking better care of yourself."

"You're one to talk," you remark, remembering many of his late nights working fueled by no food and only caffeine. "I think the pot is calling the kettle black, no?" You question him with an eyebrow raised.

He pouts and looks away in faux bashfulness as he picks up his chopsticks, ready to eat. "Yeah, yeah, okay, you got me there," he smiles in your direction. "We'll take care of each other then, alright?" You nod and genuinely smile in return.

Hongjoong's presence and kind words help ease the tension pent up in your body, but the fire building inside of you still rages on. Rationally, you know that ranting about it will help set your mind at ease, but for some reason you can't help but feel ashamed at the thought of bringing up your ex to Hongjoong again.

He's already listened to your troubles so much after your breakup. How would it be fair to continue bringing them up, especially since your really thought you moved on more than this? Truly, before you came across this photo, you had been doing so good. You know progress isn't linear, but you can't help but feel shame in your reaction, and really don't want Hongjoong, a friend you revere so deeply, seeing you in such a vulnerable state.

You stare blankly at the TV and your food, only taking a few bites here and there when you think you can. Primarily, though, you're just pushing it around your plate. Lost in your racing thoughts, you forget about Hongjoong, who's quietly eating next to you.

"[Y/N]," Hongjoong states, staring in your direction. "Talk to me. What's going on up there?"

Your eyebrows raise in surprise at his voice. "Oh, you know. It's just been a kind of quiet night for me. Nothing really wrong," you say awkwardly. He gives you an unimpressed stare, as if to say, "Really?"

"C'mon, I'm serious. You haven't been acting like yourself all night." Oops. You've been caught. Really, you don't know who you were trying to fool. This is Hongjoong you're dealing with; he's perceptive. He can spot the smallest indicators that something's off with you. You do make it easy for him this time, though, since you're seriously bad at playing it cool.

You huff at his observation and let your shoulders sink in on themselves. Why does he have to be so good at that? You pout, continuing to childishly complain in your head. What is he even doing here? He typically gets ahead on work tonight.

"Seriously," he continues, " I know what's going on. Let me bear some of the weight." You scoff inside your head at his persistence, but then the realization dawns on you. You raise your gaze and look up at him.

"You saw the picture too?" You ask him softly. A deep sigh leaves his nose, and he averts his gaze towards the pictures on your wall.

"Yeah, I did." He flicks his eyes back on to you, shrugging one of his shoulders as he says, "I figured you did too, and I was worried about you. Figured you wouldn't want to be alone."

It's quiet for a beat, neither of you breaking the fragile moment. The only sound in the room comes from the sitcom quietly playing on the TV, but even that becomes nothing but a murmur under your shared silence.

You take a breath, small but loud enough to grab Hongjoong's attention. "Thanks," you say softly, barely above a whisper.

"Don't mention it," he replies, equally as soft. The stillness of the moment returns to you, the silence palpable. You know you need to give Hongjoong an explanation, but forming the words feels so difficult. Even if you wanted to, your tongue feels impossible to move, like it weighs a hundred pounds in your mouth. It's just your fear getting to you, you know that, but you need to be brave. Hongjoong is kind enough to go out of his way for you and offer himself as a shoulder to lean on. You urge yourself to say something to him, to not be scared of being vulnerable and taking him up on his offer to listen. Accepting his help doesn't make you a burden to him.

"I'm not sad, by the way," you say to him, breaking the stiff silence between you. You look up from your hands and into Hongjoong's already awaiting eyes. "Well, at least not in the way you might think I am. In fact," you turn your head slightly, unable to bear the weight of looking at him any longer, "I'm actually really, really fucking pissed." Your voice wavers as you finish your sentence.

In all your years of friendship, you think you've only cried in front of Hongjoong maybe once. You typically don't cry in front of other people, opting instead to deal with those emotions by yourself. You prefer to be the type of person others can rely on, keeping your visible emotions light and easy to charm and brighten people's days. Being vulnerable like this in front of Hongjoong is so far out of your comfort zone and possibly one of the scariest things you've done.

"I just… I think I'm nice. I'm soft.. I'm actually a total romantic, believe it or not, and… I don't know… I just get the short end of the stick it seems." You briefly glance over at Hongjoong to read his facial expression. He looks at you intently, waiting patiently for you to continue. "I mean, seeing that photo earlier just really pissed me off because… like… It just.. Ugh!" You take a deep breath— frustrated by not being able to find the right words— and try to redirect your thoughts.

The words still aren't coming to you. You're already upset at the situation, scared and uncomfortable from having to talk about it, and now you're frustrated at yourself for not finding the correct words to convey the thoughts in your head. You can feel yourself beginning to spiral.

Hongjoong, astute as ever, notices as well and reaches his hand out to yours. He's able to ground you and successfully stop you from messing with your fingers, something you had unknowingly been doing as you began your descent. You look down at where his hand sits on top of yours before looking up at Hongjoong's steady face. You look back down at your entwined hands. He gives a soft, supportive squeeze to your hand, urging you to continue.

"They just— they can just go about their lives. Happy and in love with each other. And they can just do that and face absolutely no consequences for what they've done to me. Absolutely none, while I'm stuck here working on myself for who knows how long, rebuilding all the parts of me they made unstable! But they just get to go on with their lives as if nothing happened. As if they didn't do what they did. Meanwhile, I have to go about my life ignoring all the thoughts telling me I'm not enough! They're the reason those thoughts are even there to begin with, but they'll never have to deal with that distress. I do, though! Even when I think I'm doing good, some shit like this will happen and it's like all that work i did on myself was for nothing. Those thoughts come back, and it's like I'm back where I started,

"I've been cheated on time and time again, and I don't know why. Maybe there's something wrong with me, or maybe I just pick all the wrong people, but goddammit, I put my everything in my relationships." You feel tears starting to roll down your face, and your throat gets tighter, making it more difficult to speak. "I just," you start quietly, "I'm furious. I don't deserve to be treated this way. I know I don't. I deserve to be loved. And I know this kind of love exists in the world because it lives within me, but I've never been on the receiving end of it! That's just so unfair. If I can't be loved, then I deserve to be respected at the very least…" You trail off, your voice softer than it was when you started.

You focus again on your hand in Hongjoong's, watching his thumb caress your skin. Slowly, you lift your head and take in Hongjoong's expression. His mouth is painted in a deep frown, and his eyes are painfully sad, almost as if he's holding back tears of his own. Somewhere deep inside you, a wall crumbles. "I just don't get it," you say, your voice breaking as more tears fall.

Immediately, he reaches out and pulls you into him, one arm cradling your head while the other wraps protectively around your back. Neither of you are particularly touchy people, but this comforting position— this moment— feels so warm to you. Against Hongjoong's chest, every protective barrier inside you crumbles and breaks. You cry harder, his shirt muffling the sound as he holds you tighter, trying to soothe your shaking body. "I'm so fucking angry," you reiterate in that same pitiful, broken voice that made Hongjoong want to hold you.

"Shhh.. I know," he says calmly, petting his hand soothingly across your hair. "You never deserved what happened to you." You continue to sob at his kind words. "There's nothing wrong with you either. Your exes are low-life, evil pieces of scum for doing the things they did to you, and you're so strong for being able to overcome it all." Another sob trembles through your body, and your arms tighten around Hongjoong's back, attempting to become impossibly closer to your best friend and only source of comfort right now.

"You're right, too," he continues as he places his chin on top of your head. "You do deserve to be treated better and loved. You deserve to be loved and valued for all of eternity." His voice gets softer. "You deserve someone who will cherish and adore you, someone who will give you the whole world and more. Someone who will provide anything you wish." You take a few deep, uneven breaths, trying to steady your breathing from the crying. Hongjoong is still holding you as close as he possibly can. "I mean it," he whispers, "I truly do."

You stay in your positions for minutes or hours. You're not sure, time seems to pass slower in Hongjoong's arms. Throughout it all, Hongjoong occasionally gives you more words of comfort or a grounding, "I'm here."

Eventually, enough time passes for you to stop the tears and steady your body. Now, you find yourself worrying that staying in his arms oversteps boundaries. You know Hongjoong isn't very physically affectionate, and for the most part, you aren't either (the only time you feel comfortable initiating physical affection is with romantic partners). It dawns on you how out of character it was for him to initiate contact, and you start to push back. As you lean up to sit on your own, Hongjoong's arms loosen around you. You see the giant wet spot you left on Hongjoong's hoodie and cringe. "I'm sorry about that," you hoarsely mumble out, nodding your head in the direction of the spot on his chest.

He looks down and lets out a tiny chuckle. "You have nothing to apologize for." Still a bit embarrassed about your breakdown, you timidly peek up at his face. His eyes are so full of comfort and warmth. He looks at you with nothing but care and adoration. There's something unfamiliar deep within his gaze, but you don't dwell on it. Instead, you want to spend your last bout of energy focused on the present with your friend.

"Thank you, Hongjoong, for being here. Truly, I mean it. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Oh, you wouldn't last a day," he jokes. You lightly giggle along with him, thankful for the lighthearted mood. Conversation the rest of the evening is sparse, but relaxed. You're mainly just talking about the strange subplot of the show you're finally able to pay attention to. The air isn't tense like before; it'scomfortable and quiet. Hongjoong's presence puts you at ease, and the remainder of your night with him alleviates all your prior negative emotions.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

In the following weeks, you were met with a lot of progress. You block your ex and the girl they cheated on you with on all social media, ensuring that nothing else they post will make its way back to you, and effectively wiping them from your radar. You spend your time focusing on yourself and your friends— even more than before. Being with people you love and who love you brings support and tranquility into your sphere, and they help immensely to remind you that you're valued enough as a person. You don't need a rotten partner to feel like you're worthy of love and respect; you know it already in your heart, and it is reflected in the hearts of those you hold close. When you aren't with your friends, you spend your time engaging in your hobbies and picking up new ones, like journaling to help on days with bad thoughts. Creativity flows through you far more than before, and you feel as though you've finally gotten a piece of your old spark back. Some days are harder than others, but overall, each day is easier than the last.

Along with progress, you were also met with a lot of Hongjoong. The two of you already spend tons of time together, but since that night it feels like you can't get a break from him! Of course, you mean that lightheartedly. You're undoubtedly appreciative of his support and his company, but you're also starting to get a little concerned. You assume that since Hongjoong's never seen you in such a vulnerable and broken state before, he's just extra cautious and worried about you. Even still, it's been almost a month since that night, and he's just as attentive. It's very curious.

Not long after returning home from work late one evening, you hear a knock on your apartment door. It's Hongjoong, no doubt. "It's open!" you yell from your bedroom as you change out of your work attire and into something more comfortable. The door clicks open, and you hear Hongjoong shout out a greeting. Coming out of your room, you see him still standing near the entryway, clumsily rocking back and forth on his feet with his hands behind his back. He looks at you with bright eyes and a small pout on his face.

"Hey, you look nice," he says to you, briefly taking in your appearance. You tilt your head to the side, slightly puzzled by his out-of-the-blue compliment and restless demeanor. You hesitantly thank him for the compliment before he adds, "You should grab your coat."

"And why should I do that?" you ask, skeptical about what he's planning.

"It's a really beautiful night tonight. You always talk about wanting to go stargazing, and I found a good spot for it not far from here. So, I thought we could go for a walk and go check it out," he replies with a smile. Warmth blossoms in your chest as you think back to the last time you mentioned wanting to go stargazing. It's probably been at least a year ago since you had brought that up around anybody, and it was likely an off-handed comment too.

"You remembered I like to stargaze and that I had been wanting to go?" you incredulously ask him.

"Yeah, of course I did," he casually replies. He says it as if it's the most obvious fact about you he could've remembered. He said it like it was remembering your birthday or what you do for work, not like it was an off-handed comment you said forever ago.

Fully processing processing Hongjoong's words and what you're about to do, excitement overcomes your body. You burst into the brightest smile, and eagerness runs through your veins. "Wait right there!" you shout out to Hongjoong before bouncing off to your room to grab a jacket and your shoes. Hongjoong is left giggling at your evident excitement. You hurry back to him, now wearing the appropriate outerwear for a late-night walk. "C'mon, what are you waiting for? Let's go, let's go!" You impatiently usher him out the door, and he continues to watch you in amusement, chuckling at your giddiness.

The night air is chilly, but not harsh. How could it be with so much excitement in the air and Hongjoong walking so close to you? His hand brushes against yours a couple of times, but neither of you cares to move further away. On your walk, you talk animatedly about anything that comes to your mind, and he willingly takes the role of main listener. He adds to the conversation occasionally, but he primarily just leads the way and allows you to talk as much as you wanted. Caught up in the high-spirited moment and your chatter, you don't notice how often Hongjoong glances over at you with that small, kind grin on his face. You don't see how he looks at you like you hung the very stars you were about to gaze at.

You arrive at a rather large park you've never been to before, and Hongjoong guides you deeper through it until you reach a large, open field with a few tall trees and no light pollution.

"Wow, Hongjoong, this is amazing!" you exclaim, taking a seat on the grass beneath you. You both lean back on the ground, the sides of your heads touching slightly as you look up towards the night sky. The stars gleam and sparkle; they're brighter than you could've ever imagined them. The two of you alternate between taking in the night sky in quiet contemplation and talking about the beauty above you. He asks you to point out the constellations you know, and you show him by taking his pointed hand in yours and tracing them in the night sky. He asks about your favorite constellations and the stories behind them, while you ask if he sees any shapes in the sky and what stories he'd give them. The conversation between you flows so easily— just as it always did— but this moment feels so much more tender than normal.

"This is perfect," you softly tell him after another hushed moment.

"You know," he says with a hint of uncertainty in his voice, "we can do things like this all the time."

You turn your head to the side to get a better look at his face. "Yeah, I know," you respond as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, I mean," his eyes dart away from yours as a pout starts to take form on his mouth. "I mean, we can do things like this all the time.. together. The two of us."

"Yeah, of course we can," you giggle at him. Hongjoong groans next to you, bringing his hands up to cover his eyes in frustration. His reaction slows your laughter. "Hongjoong, what's going on?" you ask, intrigued by what's getting your friend so worked up.

"I'm no good at this," he says, his words muffled from behind his hands. Your eyebrow raises at his statement, but before you could question him any further, he shoots up from his lying position and into a sitting one. He looks down at your face, and you can see the conflict and frustration evident on his facial features. The longer he looks at your face, however, you see the pained expressions fade out into ones of… adoration? He lets out a puff of air from his nose— the sound resembling one of affection.

Possibly more to himself than to you, he whispers, "The stars are dancing in your eyes." Your breath hitches. "I could look at them forever."

"Hongjoong…"

"Look, [Y/N], I know you've been through so much recently, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I have to let you know how I feel." You slowly sit up, intrigued yet slightly worried by your friend's strange behavior. You tilt your head to the side, silently allowing him to continue at his own pace. He takes a breath and looks deep into your eyes. "I'm… I'm in love with you."

You stop breathing, and your brain begins to short circuit. "What?" you hoarsely whisper to him, not believing you actually heard what he said.

"I'm in love with you. Desperately. I have been for a long time." You look at his face, searching for any hint of deception, but you find none. It's too dark outside to really tell, but you're certain his cheeks and ears are red.

"You… You're serious," you state, still skeptical, but you know Hongjoong would never joke about such a thing. Definitely not like this.

"I am. And I know you're not looking for a relationship right now, but I just couldn't hold it in anymore," he replies, desperation seeping through his tone.

You remain speechless for another beat, letting silence take over the moment before asking, "What changed?" You're not upset at the confession— not at all— it's just so unexpected, and you're so confused. You never once considered a timeline where Kim Hongjoong would be interested in you. You can't understand where he's coming from, or how this all happened.

He sighs deeply and turns his head to the side, looking off in the distance. "That night.. I don't want to ever see you that way again: so upset and broken."

"Hongjoong, if that's the only reason-"

"But it isn't!" he interrupts, correctly anticipating where your train of thought would take you. "I've been in love with you for almost as long as I've known you. I'm not the best with my feelings— you know this— so it took me a little while to realize it. By the time I did, you had already found someone else. Even if you hadn't, I probably still wouldn't have said anything right away." You rack your brain, going through years' worth of memories with Hongjoong. You try to imagine and accept that Hongjoong has been in love with you through all of them. It feels unreal.

"That night," he continues, "holding you while hearing about how you have to remind yourself that you're enough because of what that asshole did to you, it broke my heart. Especially because I cherish you more than anything, and I know I would never do anything to hurt you. Never do anything to make you feel less than what you are. Actually, I truly don't understand how anyone could look at you and not feel blessed that you're in their life. That breaks my heart, and I can't go on without you knowing how special you are to me."

You inhale sharply at his words. "Hongjoong, I…" You take a second, trying your best to look over his face in the moonlight. Your thoughts race, your heart pounds, and your chest tightens. You don't know what to say to him. Not trusting your mind to come up with an answer, you listen to your body instead, and you feel as though you're about to enter fight or flight. The thought of getting into a new relationship… it scares you and feels suffocating. You're not against the idea of being with Hongjoong, but you have to put yourself first. "I don't want to say no to you, but I'm still scared," you whisper out.

He reaches out his hand and grabs yours. "I know, and I don't want to rush anything or make you uncomfortable. All I ask is that you give me the chance to show you that I'm serious. Let me prove to you that I truly love you and that you can trust me with your heart." You look at him curiously. All you see in his face is sincerity. "I'll go at your pace, and I can wait for as long as you need. Or, with one word from you, I'll stop. I know it's a bit selfish of me to confess while you're not ready for anything, but I want to show you how much I value you and that my love for you is genuine."

You think for a moment, and, despite your scattered state of mind, you find yourself reaching a decision quicker than expected. You nod. "Yeah, okay. You can do that." You see a toothy smile as a wave of relief washes over his face. He looks cute like this.

"I promise, I'll be someone you can wholeheartedly trust."

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

That night, you don't sleep much. You lose yourself in your jumbled thoughts while you continuously toss and turn in your sheets. Still in disbelief, you almost convince yourself that you made up the entire exchange. You find yourself thinking back to all of the things that happened throughout the years: all of the times Hongjoong had been with you, all of the times his interest might've shone through, all of the times your ex had treated you poorly. You think back to when you still had an active crush on Hongjoong, which felt like lifetimes ago. You're a completely different person now, but could that previous version of yourself who was head over heels for Hongjoong still be living deep inside you? Is it even possible to return to those feelings? You don't know, and you're really just stressing yourself out by thinking about it.

The following day is your weekly coffee shop meetup with Hongjoong. You worry all day about what to expect, unsure of what your dynamic would be like now and what Hongjoong really meant by 'showing you he cares'.

Upon your arrival at your usual coffee shop, you see that Hongjoong's already sitting at your favorite table. In front of him are two coffee cups.

"Hey," he smiles up at you. "I got you your usual." It's not uncommon for him to occasionally get your drink for you if he arrives early, but it still brings a smile to your face.

"Thank you," you say with a smile as you take your seat across from him. You set up your laptop and start on the work you need to get done. So far, everything seems normal. You began to think you were worried for no reason; maybe everything will just pass over like nothing happened. As that thought crosses your mind,however, you find yourself uneased by the possibility of that being the case. You're not quite sure what you want yet or what to expect going forward, and you find that to be relatively troublesome.

As you stare off into your laptop screen with your thoughts running wild, a small sensation brings you back down to earth. You feel Hongjoong's leg slot between yours under the table; your ankle and calf are now lightly pressed by his. You shoot your head up to look at him, only to see bright red cheeks, a large pout, and his eyes glued to his notebook, desperately trying to avoid your gaze.

You gape slightly at him, studying his expression and actions in awe. Even though it's a small gesture done in his Hongjoong-like way (a way you honestly prefer), he's still initiating physical contact with you. Hongjoong never does that for the sole purpose of just doing it. The thought of Hongjoong reaching out to touch someone just for the comfort of touching is unheard of, and yet here he is doing it.

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" you state— more so than ask— after gaping at him for a beat too long.

He finally looks up at you as he replies, "Yeah, I am." His cheeks are still so red, it almost makes you want to giggle. It's obvious he's out of his comfort zone but genuinely trying to make an effort.

You smile softly at him. "You know, you don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"Don't worry," he smirks, determination in his eyes, "I don't do anything I don't want to." A second passes before his face molds into something more sincere. "If I did anything to make you uncomfortable, though, you'd tell me, right?"

"Of course I would," you respond. You're grateful that Hongjoong makes sure you are okay, but there is honestly very little he could do that would make you uneasy.

"Good," he says, bringing his attention back to his work. As he does so, you feel his leg press more confidently against yours, the sensation from the touch more prominent than before. "I meant every word that I said last night," he says, still looking down at his notebook. "As soon as you're ready to open your heart up again," he looks up and locks eyes with you, "I want it to be for me. Nobody else." The look in his eyes, a mix of adoration and determination, makes you want to shiver. You know Hongjoong is the type of person to work hard and make his dreams a reality, but you never expected to be part of those dreams.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The initial hurdle of believing Hongjoong is in love with you is the hardest part, then getting used to his affections quickly follows. You worried about how different it would be between you two, but you find that not too much has changed. It's still just you and Hongjoong— like it always had been— but now it's… more.

As the weeks go on, you become the sole recipient of Hongjoong's affections. His pursuit of physical touch increases tenfold, always seeking out some part of you to touch. He does it all: brushing your hands, pressing his limbs against yours, throwing an arm around your shoulders, or tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You notice he compliments you far more frequently than he ever did before. He's always you how nice and pretty you look, how kind you are, and how he's glad he can spend his time with you.

For a while, you feel bad that you're not returning any of his affections, but after bringing it up to him, all he says is that you can take as much time as you need, and that loving you isn't a matter of transaction. Of course, he would certainly like it if you reciprocated, but he knows it's still difficult for you after your last relationship. You aren't sure if you can ever match Hongjoong's love in the same way, or if you'd ever be able to return to that crush you once had on him. That's what worries you most. The last thing you want to do is break your best friend's heart, but the thought of loving again seems so distant. You love so much, you love with everything in you, and all you've gotten is contempt in return. Loving someone again, even someone like Hongjoong, who you know is good, just seems impossible.

Or that's what you thought. As the weeks turn to months, and Hongjoong's love for you never faltering, you begin to notice changes in yourself. You begin to put a bit more effort into your appearance on days you know you'll see Hongjoong, and you feel your cheeks flush whenever he compliments you. While his touch used to have you tense up with surprise, you now find yourself seeking it out, leaning into it, and feeling cold when it's not there. What really gets you is his little surprises.

One day while at work, a delivery comes for you: a large bouquet of pink 'stargazer' lilies. Your favorite flowers. On the bouquet, a note reads, "I couldn't stop thinking about you today, so I figured I'd send you a little something. HJ ♡"

Your heart flutters in your chest and your cheeks burn red. All day your coworkers ooh and aah at your bouquet, gushing about how pretty it is and how they wish their husbands or boyfriends would do the same. They ask questions about who sent them and what he looks like, and they fuss over how handsome he is and how good you look together when you show them a picture. Their comments leave you more flustered and redthan you already are. When they ask how long you have been together, you're unsure how to answer. You end up just telling them how many years you've known each other, and they say how lucky you are to be with someone who still puts in the effort after such a long time. Their comments get you thinking about your time with Hongjoong and what the future would be like. You honestly can't imagine a future without Hongjoong in it. In fact, it sounds like a life of misery without him. You know you want Hongjoong by your side for the rest of time, but now you're starting to open up to another way for that to happen.

You leave work that day with a text message to Hongjoong saying: »You were a hot topic at work today«

He responds quickly: »So you liked the flowers?«

»I loved them«

More weeks go by, and your attraction only becomes more present in your mind. You constantly find yourself daydreaming about his smile, his hand on yours, the way his tattoo peaks out from behind the sleeves of his shirts. Since you're still unsure of what you want, you try to keep your own flirtations to a minimum, but you wonder if Hongjoong has caught on to your growing feelings for him. Even still, Hongjoong's devotion to you never wavers.

This evening, you're preparing to go to Hongjoong's apartment for dinner. He asked you a few days prior if you would come over, and after agreeing you asked, "Is this romantic Hongjoong asking or friend Hongjoong?" He only looked at you with a smirk before responding, "They're the same thing."

You were supposed to head over to his right after work, but instead you take a detour to your apartment first to change clothes and freshen up. Hongjoong has seen you in your after-work state a million times before, but you figure if he's putting in the effort to make you a nice dinner then you could put in the effort to show up looking a bit nicer than normal.

You arrive to his apartment soon after, and you feel butterflies in your stomach as you knock on the door. Strange, that hasn't happened in a long time.

You smooth you hands over the front of your clothes and run your fingers through your hair, wanting to make sure you look presentable before Hongjoong lets you in. Right as you fluff your hair, Hongjoong opens the door with a smile on his face that immediately drops at the sight of you. "Oh, you look so pretty," he says to you quietly as his eyes roam over your form. You feel heat rise to your face under his warm gaze and at his sweet words.

"Thank you," you quietly respond as he lets you in. Since when did you become so bashful around him??

Upon entry, you're immediately hit by the delicious smell of food cooking in the kitchen. Warm-toned lamps light up the apartment, and music plays softly from the record player in the living room.

"What are you making?" you ask, leaning across the kitchen counter as Hongjoong gets back to working on the food.

"Doenjang-jjigae," he replies, focusing his attention on the food in front of him. He's making one of your favorite meals. You smile to yourself at his thoughtfulness.

"Do you need any help?" you ask, wanting to make yourself useful. He looks at you incredulously.

"Not at all. You keeping me company is enough, so just sit back and let me take care of you," he says with a wink.

"How chivalrous of you," you tease, masking the fact that you actually feel very touched by his words and efforts.

He lightly exhales a laugh. "I've been told a time or two that I can be quite the gentleman."

You narrowly cut your eyes at him. "Oh, yeah? By who?" He turns his head to the side to get a better look at you, still stirring the ingredients in front of him. He has a cocky look on his face that makes you want to roll your eyes. Or kiss it clean off. You're not sure.

"Do my ears deceive me, or is that jealousy in your tone, [Y/N]?" He looks far too proud of himself.

"It's your ears," you swiftly respond. He chuckles lightly at you.

"I'm not too sure about that," he taunts. You pout at his words, and Hongjoong spares you a look before letting out a full laugh. "Awh, there's no need to sulk," he teases as your pout grows deeper. "If it makes you feel any better, I get jealous too."

"Yeah, of course you do. You're a Scorpio," you state as if it's obvious. He simply chuckles in response and says something along the lines of, "You got me there."

As the room settles and the sound of chopping and food bubbling fills the space, you decide to ask him a question that has been plaguing your mind since he confessed. "Hey, Hongjoong?" He hums in response, focusing on the final touches of dinner. "When you said you had been in love with me for a long time… just when did you realize it?"

He pauses for a moment to think before continuing his work. "Since the end of our first year in college. I realized about two or three months before you started seeing your ex, but truthfully, looking back, I had started falling by the end of that first semester."

"Huh, so same time as me then," you murmur, mainly to yourself, but it's still loud enough for Hongjoong to catch what you said. His body stills, and he whips his head towards you.

"What?" he asks, his eyes wide.

"Oh," you tilt your head at him, "I guess I never told you. I used to have a massive crush on you back in the day." For a moment, he doesn't say anything; he just blinks at you with his mouth slightly ajar.

"What?" he asks again. "What happened?" He turns to face you fully, dinner forgotten behind him.

"Don't worry, it wasn't because of anything you did or didn't do. It was all me. I was just a completely different person back then, and I couldn't see a future where someone like you would be interested in being with someone like me."

"What do you mean by that? Someone like me?" His tone sounds puzzled and faintly anxious.

You give him a slight smile, hoping to ease his worries somewhat, and move further into the kitchen to help plate the food he had forgotten about in favor of you. "It's just," you begin, a small sigh escaping your lips as you scoop the stew in front of you, "I didn't think highly of myself then. I've lived hundreds of lifetimes between then and now, and the me today knows my value and worth. But, back then, I…" you still for a moment, trying to find the right words. You don't know how to convey to Hongjoong that you used to think of yourself as simple, inconsequential, ugly. At least not in a way that wouldn't absolutely break his heart. "I just didn't at the time."

You feel Hongjoong's presence as he steps closer towards you. "And you were…" You turn to look him in the eye, but you're now much closer than anticipated— only a few inches separated your faces. "You were unreachable," you say gently, a dreamy whisp in your voice. "I know I tease you for saying this all the time, but truthfully there really is no one like you, Hongjoong." You hear his breath hitch from where you stand, and his eyes look deep and unreadable. "And at the time I just couldn't picture it," you shrug. "Someone as radiant as you choosing to be with someone as insignificant as me." Upon hearing your words, sorrow begins to take place in Hongjoong's features. You continue in hopes of reassuring him, "But that was the old me. I'm different now. Better."

Hongjoong takes another step towards you, further closing the gap between you two. He's so close you can feel his body heat radiating off of him. Your heartbeat quickens when he looks down at your lips before landing his eyes back on yours. "I know you're a different person now, but even still… Do you think you'll ever have those feelings you used to have for me again?" he asks quietly, as if one wrong noise would break the moment entirely. Thoughts race through your mind, your face is flushed, and you feel every word you could possibly say to him get stuck in the center of your throat. Not trusting yourself enough to speak, you look up at him through your eyelashes and nod instead. He smiles at that. It's a genuine smile: a bit lopsided, showing the sharpness of his teeth. You can't help but think how attractive he looks like that.

"Good," he says to you as softly as before. "because I don't want you looking at anybody else. Only me." He smiles down at you for another moment before turning to grab the dishes and set the table.

Only as he starts walking away do you feel like you can breathe normally again. "I guess that's the jealousy you mentioned earlier," you jokingly comment as you follow him to the table, hoping it'll help cut the tension that now runs rampant throughout the apartment.

"Mhm," he hums in response as he set the plates down. He pulls a lighter out of his pocket to light some candles he laid out before your arrival. Alongside the candles is a small vase that holds a few stems of flowers.

"Wow. Romantic," you state, standing next to Hongjoong as you admire his work.

"Heh, I know, right?" he replies, pride seeping out of his voice and stance. His conviction and self-confidence are endearing to see in action. So much so, you giggle to yourself and smile behind your hand. He gives you one quick look before pulling out the chair for you to sit down.

You eye him as you take your seat. "There really is no end to your doting, is there?" you say lightheartedly. You tease him, but you're actually the furthest thing from annoyed.

"Of course there isn't," he replies while taking his own seat. "Why should there be?" You don't have a good response for him, so he continues to sit there— proud and smug.

Hongjoong's meal is absolutely delicious, and it's evident he put a lot of effort into making it. Conversation during dinner is ceaseless, easy, and indisputably flirtatious. When you finish eating, Hongjoong swiftly takes the plates to the kitchen before coming back to the table with a bottle of wine and a surprise dessert he made. It seems he's pulling out all the stops this evening.

"Hongjoong," you say after taking a sip of wine, "there's something else I've been curious about."

"And what would that be?"

You toy with the fork in front of you and look at Hongjoong flirtatiously through your eyelashes. "What was it about me that caused you to fall for me?"

He huffs out a breath of endearment. "What, still can't believe that I'm in love with you, so now you need specifics?" His tone is light and unserious, but there's an air of genuine concern in the question.

"No, I believe it. Like I said, I'm simply curious," you reply with a small smile. You stare down at your dessert, trying to avoid Hongjoong's knowing gaze. You say, now quiet and earnestly, "I would just like to hear you say what."

"Well, it was a culmination of things, really," he begins, taking your hand into his from across the table. "Like how kind and sweet you are, how caring you are, how you make me laugh." He runs his thumb across your hand, and his eyes are open and honest as he looks into yours. Even if his words aren't enough for you, his eyes tell you everything you need to hear. "I love how you show up for the people around you, and how you light up every room you're in." At this point, you start becoming bashful. You know you were the one to ask, but being the absolute center of Hongjoong's attention and hearing everything about you he adores is almost too much. His loving words and devoted gaze, are something so unfamiliar to you. You're not used to warmth like this.

"That's what made me fall, but every day since then, I've fallen for you more and more," he continues. "Seeing you grow, face hardships with care and grace, and still hold so much love in your heart, that just made me fall further."

You turn your face away, unable to bear the weight of his stare any longer. "Hongjoong…"

"I love how you feel so deeply. Not just for yourself, either, but for everyone around you, too. You have so many of the qualities I lack, and I think that's beautiful. You're like a star in the night sky leading me home."

Your face is warm and surely pink all over. You glance over to Hongjoong, who's still looking at you with that tender expression. "Hongjoong, please…" He lets out a laugh at your reaction.

"What? I thought you wanted to know," he jokes as you pout at him, your face still just as rosy. "I haven't even gotten to tell you how beautiful you are! How I get lost in your eyes, or how your lips pull me in-"

"Okay!" you interrupt, one hand covering your flaming red face while the other stays in Hongjoong's grasp. "You can't just say things like that.." you mutter, now unable to take much more of his compliments.

He laughs loudly at your reaction, gripping your hand tighter. "Really, though, you're someone I've always admired and respected, and you've always been by my side. How could I not have fallen madly in love with you?"

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Your evening with Hongjoong continued with tensions that ran high, but you didn't end up acting on anything. You certainly wanted to, but you still held some reservations in your heart and mind. You're certain you've fallen for him again, but you're worried that you still can't give him as much as he deserves quite yet. You want to be completely sure and confident in your love for him— and yourself— before opening your heart to him and letting him in.

You honestly aren't sure when you will be ready. You aren't sure where the natural turning point in your relationship with Hongjoong is or if anything would change. In your previous relationships, everything changed for the worse after becoming official, and the thought of that happening again with Hongjoong worries you. On top of that, you had become used to his doting, and you fear you wouldn't be able to do the same for him yet. Not the the same extent, at least. Not while you're still hindered with fears from your poor previous relationship.

But you decided to put the thought of it all off for now. A mutual friend of yours and Hongjoong's invited you both to a movie night at their apartment, and you figured you could wait until after then to figure your feelings out.

Their apartment wasn't far from yours, so you decided to walk and meet up with Hongjoong there. The affair was lively, bright, and loud, with many of your mutual friends littering the apartment space. There aren't too many people in the apartment, but just enough for mutliple different groups of conversation and activities to form. Even still, Hongjoong spends a majority of his time extra close to your side.

The two of you converse with your friend, Jongho, and his plus one until Hongjoong gets called into the other room.

"You want anything while I'm gone?" he asks you before he leaves.

"No, I'm okay right now," you respond. His eyes stayed glued to you for a moment longer before giving you a small smile and nod then walks away to the other room.

You bring your attention back to awaiting eyes. Jongho's friend has a sweet smile on her face, while Jongho has one that is knowing and mischevious. "You and your boyfriend are really cute together," she says to you.

"Thank you," you quietly respond at the same time Jongho says, "Oh, they aren't dating."

He gapes at you with an incredulous look, and you quickly work to recover before you become victim to Jongho's teasing.

"Jongho's right; we technically aren't dating."

"Technically?!" he questions, his eyebrows raising and a smirk making permenant home on his face.

"Yeah, technically!" you defend. "He confessed to me a while ago and has sort of been… courting me until I'm ready to date again."

"Wow," he starts. "I never thought Hongjoong would actually be able to do it."

You tilt your head up at him. "You mean you've known this whole time?"

"[Y/N], he didn't have to explicitly say it for any of us to know. He makes it extremely obvious."

You think back to how all of your friends would act around you and Hongjoong in the past. Just how long have you been clueless??

"So," Jongho says, bringing your attention back down to Earth, "When are you two going to start dating for real?"

You shrug your shoulders. "Whenever I feel comfortable being in a relationship again, I guess."

"You guys are basically dating now, why string it out and lead him on?" Jongho asks casually.

"I am not leading him on!" He gives you an unimpressed stare before looking towards his friend with an expression that seems to sarcastically say, "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious, I'm not leading him on any. I'm just still not ready to offically date again after last time. I was in a really long relationship, that takes time!" you attempt to justify.

"Yeah, a long shitty relationship. Seriously, what's the hold up?" The look on his face is casual and slightly playful, but his eyes show genuine concern.

You look away before cautiously replying, "I guess I'm just a little worried to fully trust someone again."

"Are you serious? This is Hongjoong we're talking about. When has anyone not been able to completely trust him?"

Jongho's question rings in your ears and echoes in your head long after the conversation is over. He's right. You've never not trusted Hongjoong before. He's one of the most trustworthy people you know, if not the most trustworthy. He's never given you any reason to not trust him. A title change won't make any difference.

Before the movie officially starts, you go to the kitchen to grab drinks and snacks for you and Hongjoong, while he secures your spots on the couch. As you walk back into the living room, you can't help but laught at the scene in front of you— Hongjoong is sits at the end cushion of the couch with a large pout on his face, and your mutual friend, Yunho, sits flushed up against him with a large smile on his lips. Yunho takes a look at you, then Hongjoong, before trying to cuddle up even closer to him.Hongjoong leans impossibly further into the arm of the couch and tries to push Yunho away. There's no doubt he's doing this because Hongjoong has been more obvious about his feelings for you tonight, and you can only imagine how much teasing he's been subjected to before now. Seriously, just how clueless have you been??

Yunho eases his teasing as you walk closer to the couch. Hongjoong looks up at you with that grimace he saves for when his friends get on his nerves, but Yunho still looks like a puppy dog sprawled across his owner's lap.

You're certain he wanted to sit next to you and not Yunho, and that's probably half of the reason for the pout on his lips. You give him a smile in return and hand him his drink before grabbing a blanket and choosing to sit on the floor in front of him instead, your back now pressed against the couch and between Hongjoong's legs.

The rest of your friends settle in on the remaining spaces available on the couch, chairs, and floor before the lights turn off and the movie starts. Shortly after the film begins, you feel Hongjoong's hands in your hair. At first, you think he's trying to get your attention, until you realize that he's simply keeping his hands busy. His fingers rake through your strands rhythmically, occasionally making small braids before letting them loose and raking through them again. The motions sent a wave of calm over you as you lean further into his touch. The longer he plays with your hair, the more tranquil you become, and, eventually you feel your head and eyelids growing heavy. Giving in, you tilt your head to rest it upon Hongjoong's leg beside you, and you let the serenity overtake you.

You awake to the feeling of soft, gentle touches to your face and Hongjoong's quiet voice saying, "Hey, pretty girl, time to wake up."

"Hongjoongie?" you murmur as you open your eyes groggily. As you blink the sleep out of your eyes, the world becomes clearer and you can see the look of endearment painting his face.

"How about I drive you home?" he asks, his tone as quiet as before. You blink some more and take in your surroundings, seeing the few remainder of your friends getting ready to leave themselves.

"Oh no, I missed the whole movie?"

Hongjoong chuckles softly. "Don't worry, you wouldn't have liked it anyway. It had way too much cgi for your taste. C'mon, let's go." He reaches a hand out to you to help you up. You accept his hand up with a stretch and begin to gather both yours and Hongjoong's things as you both say your goodbyes to everyone. "Ready?" he asks you, and you nod in reply while holding his keys out for him.

The ride back to your apartment is peaceful. Hongjoong plays his music at a soft volume, and sparse conversation keeps the energy in the car calm.

This is Hongjoong we're talking about. When has anyone not been able to completely trust him?

Jongho's words continue to play in your head. The more you think about it, the more true it becomes. You can't believe you ever thought otherwise. Additionally to that, everything is just easy with Hongjoong. You don't have to worry about being too high energy around him, or conversely, being too boring when your social battery is down. In fact, you never felt more relaxed around any other person, and you certainly don't trust anyone else enough to fall asleep on them in a crowded room. No other person has ever brought you that much comfort.

No one has ever shown you love the way Hongjoong has. No one has ever cared as deeply or yearned for you as long. He has shown his love for you since you became friends, and in the past few months he's shown it in so many different ways unrelentlessly, and never once asking for anything in return. You feel so incredibly lucky, and so incredibly stupid for not realizing sooner that the love you've always longed for was right under your nose.

Even though it'd be nice to change the past and be with him sooner, you can't dwell on the 'what-ifs.' You're happy with who and where you are today, and you now know that you want your future to always include Hongjoong and his love.

This is Hongjoong we're talking about. The car comes to a slow stop outside of your apartment. You and Hongjoong look to each other, but otherwise make no other movements towards exiting the car. When has anyone not been able to completely trust him?

"Thank you for driving me," you say to him.

"You don't have to thank me for that." The stillness returns. Neither of you quite know what to say to each other next, but you know you don't want the moment to end.

"You're, uh, still planning on going to Wooyoung's birthday this week, right?" Even though you know his answer will be yes, it's the best you can come up with to stay in the car with him for a moment longer.

"Yeah, of course," he replies, his tone soft. You look at him for one more moment, knowing you'll have to go in eventually.

"Okay, well.. I'll see you then."

I'm ready.

You briefly hesitate before leaning closer and gently placing your lips upon his cheek. As you lean back, you take note of how red his face is. Not only is it cute, but it feels nice to have Hongjoong blushing for once instead of you.

"Goodnight, Hongjoong," you whisper, stepping out of the car.

Before entering your apartment, you turn to face his car one last time and give a small wave.

Oh, god. I really love him.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The energy inside the bar was loud, stuffy, and lively. J. Wang, the bar you're at, is one of the hottest spots in the city, and it's the perfect place for your energetic, loving friend, Wooyoung's, birthday celebration. It has the perfect amount of energy to party, but it's still more laid back than a typical club. You stand by the large booth in the secluded corner reserved for the party where it's a bit easier to hear and breathe. You talk with one of Wooyoung's friends you don't know very well, and you want to give the conversation your complete attention, but your attention keeps drifting to the entrance of the bar. You're anxiously awaiting Hongjoong's arrival, and your newfound butterflies feel like they're about to rip a hole right through your stomach.

Hongjoong had offered to take you to the bar, but you declined in favor of getting there early; you wanted to ensure you could give Wooyoung his birthday present before the night got carried away. You hadn't seen Hongjoong since he drove you home from the movie night two days ago, and you're not sure what to expect tonight. All you know is that you're eagerly anticipating his arrival, wanting badly to be here with him.

While you converse, you spot a familiar head of hair make its way through the crowd of bodies at the entrance. Your heartbeat quickens. Hongjoong's hair is styled so that his forehead is visible, and he's wearing a tight-fitted shirt that's tucked into his pants. The style accentuates his waist and chest. To put it blatantly, he looks really fucking hot. He catches your eye and gives you a smirk as he walks towards the back corner. Your cheeks become rosy, and you feel warm under his gaze that never leaves your form.

As soon as he approaches you, he leans his head down towards your ear and says, "You look stunning." His breath is hot, and the sensation sends goosebumps down your skin. He's so close to your ear, you can almost feel his lips against your skin. All that goes through your mind is how you wish he would close that small gap. You want to experience the feel of his lips on you— not just the phantom touch of them.

You smile back up at Hongjoong, placing your hand on his shoulder to tug him down to your height and reverse your positions. "So do you," is all you tell him, but in a state of want, your flirtatious tendencies take control, and you allow your mouth to inch closer than his did. As you say your compliment, your lips brush against his ear, and you allow them to linger there for a moment longer before pulling away from him. Looking up at his face now, desire and longing evident in his eyes.

Before much else can happen, you're interrupted by a "Hongjoong!" You both turn to see the birthday boy approaching with his arms out wide. Wooyoung wraps his arms around Hongjoong with a big smile on his face. "I was wondering when you'd get here!"

Wooyoung's interruption causes the two of you to push your desires aside and continue with the party as planned. You laugh, you dance, you talk with old and new friends. It's a perfect night. You keep close to Hongjoong for a lot of the night, but even when you aren't with him, you feel his eyes following you. You like the feeling, and you think you could quickly become addicted to it.

"Hey, I'm going to go get a drink. I'll be right back," you tell Hongjoong a bit later in the night. You make your way to the bar through all of the bodies in the room, and walk up to the first available spot you see. You're standing next to a tall man, and you can feel him looking at you as you wait for the bartender to finish their current drinks and make their way over.

"Some party you guys are having over there," he leans over and says to you. You finally look over at him; he's not unattractive, but you're not interested in him any. Why would you be when you have the perfect man for you just a few feet away?

"Tell me about it," you politely respond before turning back towards the bartender. You hope he catches the hint that you aren't interested, but he is a man, so you try not to get too hopeful.

"I'm Ji-won." You were right not to let your hopes get too high. You cut your eyes at him, thinking he looks too self-satisfied. You know you're an attractive woman, and you can't blame him for trying to put himself out there, but you can blame him for not taking a hint.

"[Y/N]," you return, once again turning away from him. Seeing that they finished the drink they were making before, you flag down the bartender and give them your order. As they start making it, you feel Ji-won's hand on your shoulder.

"That's a really pretty name. Very suiting for a pretty girl."

You maneuver your shoulder out of his grasp as you curtly respond, "Yeah." You don't even try to hide your attitude or sound thankful. The bartender returns with your drink, and as you pull your card out to pay, Ji-won cuts in.

"How about I cover that for you, baby?"

Just as you were gear up to tell him to 'fuck off', you feel a strong hand on your waist as a familiar voice says, "No need for that." You look up to see Hongjoong beside you now, one hand wrapped around your waist, staking his claim, while the other holds out his card to the bartender. "I'd appreciate it if you left my girl alone," Hongjoong says. His voice is mean, and his eyes are hard as stone as he looks at the man.

Without any argument, the man nods his head and walks away from his place at the bar. You return your gaze to Hongjoong, who's still adamant about keeping his hand on your waist. He looks pissed, and while you don't want him to be upset in any capacity, you can't deny how hot he looks like that.

"Don't worry, Joongie," you tease, grabbing his attention. "I wasn't looking at anyone else." He looks down at you, still with that pissed expression that makes your knees feel a little weak.

"I know. Doesn't stop other people from looking at you, though," he responds, now with a tiny pout on his lips. You don't understand how he can look so cute and so hot at the same time.

"Well, of course not. Look at who's on your arm," you joke confidently, briefly glancing down at his arm around your waist. To your comment, he rakes his eyes up and down your form.

"Don't I know it," he says with a smirk, tugging you in closer to him. The bartender returns with Hongjoong's card, and the two of you head back to your reserved corner.

Even though Wooyoung's party continues on the same, it's different for you now; Hongjoong never loosens the grasp on your waist. Your skin burns underneath the weight of his hand, and you feel the butterflies return to your stomach. You have to admit, you kind of like this jealous side of Hongjoong. You're certain that he trusts you, so you aren't bothered by this act of asserting you as 'his'. In fact, you like how proud he is to have you on his arm. He isn't ashamed to show you off like your previous partners were. His love and attraction for you isn't just quiet and intimate, but also loud and outward. You're convinced he would shout his love from the rooftops if you asked him to, and you're willing to bet he'd enjoy doing it as well.

You've been partying for hours at this point, and it doesn't look like the celebration will end any time soon. However, you're ready to just be alone with Hongjoong at this point. You yearn to finally tell him how you feel, to finally let him in and open yourself up to him completely.

Currently, the two of you stand in a group with Wooyoung and some more of his friends. Hongjoong's hand is still at home on your waist, and your back is pressed up against his chest. The close contact just makes you want to be alone with him even more. You turn in his hold to slightly face him, and successfully grab his attention. He leans his head down closer towards your lips so he can hear you over the loud music. "You ready to leave?" you ask him, happy when he nods his head yes.

He lets Wooyoung know the two of you are leaving while you go grab your jacket from the booth. Wooyoung gives you both a hug goodbye, and you catch him giving Hongjoong a silly expression, presumably about him leaving with you, to which you hear Hongjoong respond, "Oh, shut up!" You say your quick goodbyes to the people you've been talking with, and then the two of you make your way out of J. Wang Bar.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The cold November air makes you shiver as you walk out of the bar, your stylish winter jacket and the little party dress underneath hardly enough to keep you warm. Seeing as Hongjoong still sneaks glances at you, you can't complain too much— it did its job well this evening.

You sigh out of your nose, looking towards the night sky as you walk in the direction to your apartments. "I don't want tonight to end just yet," you admit to Hongjoong.

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. "No? Just didn't want to be at the party anymore?"

"No, it's not that. I just," you turn your head to look at him, "I just want to be alone with you." You can see a blush making its way onto Hongjoong's cheeks. You're sure that if you point it out to him, he'd pout and lie, saying it's from the cold air. You decide not to tease him about it this time; instead, you just admire how good it looks there. "Do you think we can take our time on our walk home? Maybe look at the stars a little bit on our way?"

He gives you a mesmerizing smile before responding, "Of course. We can do anything you want." You're starting to realize that he truly can't resist you or deny you anything you ask. You smile back at him and thank him. "You don't have to thank me for that."

As you approach a park near Hongjoong's apartment, you grab hold of his arm to keep him close and protect yourself from the cold night air. The park isn't like the one Hongjoong found before. It's smaller and much deeper in the city, but it's a nice place with visible stars. He leads you further away from the light posts towards a bench surrounded by trees. Even given the circumstances, he's still trying to find you the best spot.

When you sit down, you make sure your bodies are close. Your head leans against his as you look out at the stars, seeing Orion and the Little Dipper. Hongjoong listens intently as you point them out and tell him their names. The moment is so tender and romantic, it makes your heart swell.

"Thank you for indulging me with this. I know it's late and cold," you say, turning your head slightly against his so you can look at each other.

"Don't worry about it," he smiles sweetly at you. He gazes at you longingly for a moment longer before whispering, "How could I deny you anything?"

Your breath hitches, and you feel all the love you have for Hongjoong coursing through your body. You have never experienced love as pure, warm, and true as Hongjoong's; never experienced devotion or yearning such as his before. You love him desperately, and you need him in your life just as badly as he needs you.

"Hongjoong…" You sit up, facing him now, but remain just as close as before. Looking at you, his eyes are so clear and large. You could stare at them forever. "My heart… it's yours."

"[Y/N]…" Hongjoong mutters, his face incandescent and emotional, as if he never expected those words to come out of your mouth.

"It's true," you say, bringing your hand to the side of his face. "I'm in love with you. Deeply, desperately, wildly in love with you." He lays one hand on top of yours while the other travels to your cheek and situates at the base of your jaw. His touch is so soft and gentle.

"You love me too…" he states, voice overcome with fondness.

"Yes, I do. Most ardently." You lean your head closer into the warmth of his hand. "My heart is all yours and yours alone. Please," you whisper, "be gentle with it."

"Of course I will," he responds, inching closer to your face. Unable to help yourselves any longer, you both lean in and close your eyes, surrendering to a long-awaited kiss under the stars. His lips feel as though they've always belonged there. Your lips move together, conveying emotions far too deep to ever be verbally expressed.

Kissing one another quickly becomes addictive for both of you. The longer you kiss, the deeper and more passionate it becomes. Slowly but surely, the kiss morphs from something of adoration and devotion into something of longing, desire, and hunger. A moment of breathing allows you to slip your tongue into Hongjoong's mouth, deepening your kiss and intensifying your moment.

You pull back slightly, your lips still ghosting his. "How far is your place from here?" Your lips fall right back onto his immediately after asking.

"Only a couple of blocks," he replies before repeating your unresisting act.

You move you head to the side, allowing Hongjoong's lips to explore along your jaw. "Let's go," you breathe out. "I want you, Hongjoong. Please."

He pulls back to look at your face; there's nothing but love, yearning, and desire in your eyes. His expression matches yours exactly. He nods at your request and stands up, offering his hand out to you. "Me too. Let's go."

The walk back to Hongjoong's apartment is, in fact, short, but it feels like it's taking ages. It's a good thing not many people are out this late at night, because neither of you can keep your hands off of each other. Eagerness overtakes you both, and Hongjoong's apartment couldn't feel farther away.

Anticipation pools in your stomach as you approach his apartment and watch Hongjoong unlock the door. Immediately upon entry, Hongjoong backs you against the closing door and cages you in, resuming his siege on your mouth. Gone is the slow and impassioned kiss that this all began with; it's all fervent hunger now. It's sloppy, all hands, teeth, and hot breath. With his lips still attached to yours, Hongjoong begins toeing off his shoes. You try reaching down to unzip your boots, still engaged in his lips, but Hongjoong pulls away and stops you.

"Let me," he murmurs, moving his hands down to your hips and placing them there with a firm grip. Effortlessly, he sinks down on his knees, looking up at you through his long eyelashes as he removes your boots. He doesn't get up once he's done; instead his hands trace up your bare legs with his mouth close to follow. Maintaining eye contact, he kisses up your legs while his hands slowly make their way further up your body. His touch leaves a trail of goosebumps on your skin, and heat rises in your lower abdomen at the sight of him worshiping your body.

His hands push up your little dress towards your hips until your underwear is exposed. At this point, he's made his way up to the top of your left thigh, venerating it with open-mouthed kisses. He takes his eyes off yours and looks toward your clothed core. "One word from you and I'll stop," he says with lust and ardor in his gaze.

"Please, don't stop," you respond, neediness seeping through your voice. Almost instantaneously, his lips are on your clothed center, mouthing you and leaving you gasping from shock. Once he's had his fill, he moves further up, grabbing the waist hem of your panties with his teeth and tugs them down. Now that you're exposed, he drops them, letting them fall to your feet.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he groans as he repositions you so one of your legs is resting over his shoulder. He looked at the sight of you before him— open, wet, and eager for him— with dark, hungry eyes. Without much further build up, he dives in, licking up your entrance with the hunger of a starved man. He continues lapping at your folds, before making his way up to your clit, sucking on it and leaving you in a dizzying state.

Your hand reaches for his hair, tugging on it as the heat in your core intensifies. He keeps an unyielding pressure on your clit, going between sucking on it and flicking it with the tip of his tongue. He looks up at you as you roll your hips at his tongue's entrance within you. He groans at the feeling of you tightening around his tongue, the vibrations making their way through your core. As he feasts upon you, his nose brushes up against your swollen bud, causing you to shiver and moan.

He brings his tongue back to your swollen clit as he pumps two fingers inside of you. "God, Hongjoong," you whine out, throwing your head back against the door. You feel the knot in your stomach tightening as Hongjoong continues curling his fingers inside you, searching for that sensitive spot of yours.

Your legs feel weak and wobbly, unable to take much more of Hongjoong's stimulation while standing. He can feel you shaking, so he wraps his arm tighter around your ass, simultaneously steadying you and groping at your flesh. He continues to moan around your clit at the sensation of you clenching around his fingers, sending shockwaves through your nerves. His rhythm was unrelenting, and you knew you wouldn't be able to last much longer. His grip on your ass tightens, and he takes on more of your weight as he keeps on his attack. He alters the angle of his fingers, now hitting that tender spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

"Hongjoong, I'm close," you whimper out as your hand tightens its grasp on his hair. He keeps his unruly pace, sucking and moaning on your clit. Heat travels through your body as the wave of your climax washes over you, leaving you trembling in Hongjoong's grasp. He eases his feast on you and removes his fingers, now lightly licking up the remnants and leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses to your core.

He finally pulls away, moving your leg from his shoulder and licking his two fingers clean. Clearly, he's obsessed with the taste of you. He rises to his feet once again, and his eyes still burn with lust and primal desire. You're sure you look the same— it's certainly how you feel.

You take in his form, noticing the blatant hard-on in his pants. You hook a finger around the necklace adorning his throat and use it to pull him closer to you, back into a searing kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, and you know you need more of him.

Hongjoong leads your stumbling bodies through his apartment and into his bedroom. He only has time to turn on one of his lamps before your hands and lips are back on him. Hungry for more, you begin undressing him as much as you can without removing your lips from his body. You unbutton and tug at his pants, reaching your unsatisfied hands under his shirt. The singular lamp and soft moonlight coming through the window provide enough light to fully see each other's forms.

Eventually, you break apart, too desperate to keep your clothes on any longer. Hongjoong removes his jacket and shirt in two swift motions before he reaches his arms behind you to unzip your dress and let it fall to the floor, leaving you now completely naked and exposed to him. He drinks in the sight of you; his expression conveying complete and utter devotion. "God, you're so beautiful," he says to you, almost as if you are a goddess in front of him that he's praying to.

You lean back against his bed, and before you know it, his pants are off, and he's climbing on top of you. One hand lands on your breast, rolling and teasing your nipple between his fingers. The other makes itself home on your ass again, grabbing as much of the flesh as possible. All the while, his mouth goes back to your neck, leaving bites down to your collarbones to mark you as his. Your hands travel across his body, leaving a few scratches on his back before reaching for his ample chest. You lean your head up, as well, and leave a couple of love bites of your own at the base of his neck.

He pulls back, removing his underwear and grabbing a condom, ready for more. As he gets ready to position himself, he stills.

"Hongjoong?" you question, desire overtaking your tone.

"Let me admire you for a moment," he says with a genuine smile, gazing at you as if he's memorizing every curve. You feel your cheeks warm, and shyness creeps up on you. Despite your slight bashfulness, you take this moment to gaze upon Hongjoong as well. The man of your dreams above you in all of his grandeur.

Hongjoong lines up the head of his cock with your entrance, teasing it up and down between your folds.

"Hongjoong, please," you whine, unable to take much more of his teasing. "I need you now."

"Alright, alright," he concedes with a sweet smile, beginning to push himself in. "Anything for my girl." He slips in with ease due to how wet you are, and he grabs your hand in his as he bottoms out. You both moan at the sensation. "I love you," he whispers to you, letting you get used to the stretch before moving.

"And I love you," you whisper back. He starts moving out slowly, pulling himself back until only his head is left inside you before snapping his hips and filling you with his length once more. The pace starts slow and passionate, but still searing and unrelenting. You meet his thrusts with as much strength as you can muster, wanting him as deep in you as possible. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder once again, positioning himself even deeper inside of your velvet walls and allowing him to hit every tender spot within you. The sound of skin slapping against skin and your combined whimpers and moans sound lewd and vulgar, but the look on Hongjoong's face above you is nothing short of ethereal.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his pace quickening. Each thrust becomes harsher than the last, and your walls continue to tighten and clench around him, sucking him in with every move.

"Hongjoong, I'm getting close- ah fuck!" you cry out. Your back arches from his cock filling you up, and your head crashes onto the pillow from your overwhelming pleasure. Keeping his merciless pace, he licks his thumb and brings it down to your sensitive clit, stimulating it and maintaining a firm pressure against it. You feel heat coil in your stomach as your release rapidly approaches.

"Cum for me, baby," he mutters— his voice pushing you over the edge. You cry out his name in ecstasy as your walls spasm around his cock, and your legs quiver around his form. His thrusts become more sporadic and desperate as your walls tighten, signifying he isn't far behind and aches for his own release.

"Hongjoong, cum for me, please," you request, reaching your hand up to his cheek. Not even a second later, he releases inside the rubber, twitching with pleasure between your walls. His cock throbs inside of you, and you feel every pulse of his hot release.

Hongjoong collapses on top of you,holding you close and burying his head in your neck as you both recover from your orgasms with heavy breaths.

"I told you," he says after a moment of catching his breath. You turn your head to the side to get a better look at him: he looks at you with nothing but love and adoration in his gaze. "I can't deny you anything you ask of me." You giggle at words, but you know that earnestness is behind them.

Slowly Hongjoong pulls out of you, leaving you empty. "Stay right here," he utters, his tone endearing. He gets up and quickly cleans himself off in the bathroom before returning with a warm washcloth that he uses to clean you up. He's gentle— knowing how sensitive you still are— but efficient.

After cleaning you up, he lies down on the bed with you, taking you into his arms and holding you close. There's no place in the entire world you would rather be than in his arms.

"My girl… My star…" he mutters, his lips pressing against your temple. You look up at him, hoping your gaze says all of the emotions you can't voice. He leans down and cathces your lips in another kiss, as if making up for all of the lost time as soon as possible.

The two of you lie there, engulfed in each other, and you wouldn't have it any other way. You kiss with the thought of it never getting old, and hold one another with the promise that you will do so for the rest of time. The moonlight shines through the window as you indulge in each other's love. The stars peek in through the window, watching and smiling upon your young love. They twinkle at you through that window and listen to the sweet nothings and the promises you both make to each other with great interest. It's partly because of them, after all, that the two of you are where you are now.

"I'm completely yours, Hongjoong. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."

"I plan on keeping you by my side and cherishing you forever."

[youknowsoobin]

title: come touch the line pairing: jeong yunho x fem!reader genre: neighbors to lovers, neighbors au, smut (mdni!!) word count: 23.3k

summary: your next-door neighbor is both incredibly insufferable and insanely hot.

author's note: really desperately needed to write brat tamer yunho, so here he is! i hope you enjoy. you can find this fic on ao3 here! also I will never not hate making graphics/making these posts cute so I hope u can tolerate that dkfgjskjfs ily guys so much thanks for reading <3

tags/warnings: brat tamer yunho, reader is a menace, reader is a brat, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, blow jobs, teasing, general brat/brat tamer dynamic, begging, dirty talk, safe sex (I did it!), multiple orgasms, face-fucking, yunho does the tongue thing, best friends jihyo & wooyoung, hongjoong mentioned

The moment your eyes flew open, it was to the sound of video games and swearing. Unfortunately, from learned experience, there was no waiting this out. No staying in bed until the problem eventually removed itself. This problem loved to overstay its welcome, loved to take a seat on your couch until it rotted there. 

You lay in bed for as long as you could stand the background noise. You tried to fall back asleep, but the sounds of intermittent fucks and sporadic yelling made it entirely impossible. 

When you did finally drag yourself out of bed, still half asleep and grumbling to yourself about the inconvenience, it was in baggy sweatpants and a loose-fitting shirt, your hair tied up into a bun. 

Creaking open the door to your bedroom, you watched him momentarily. He didn’t notice the disturbance, just remained locked into the game, lighting up bright colors and explosions on your television. 

Your fingers easily found the spot they always managed to settle on your face when he was around, pinching the bridge of your nose in stress. 

One of your mugs sat on the coffee table in front of him, filled to the brim. You ignored the problem at hand, the man intruding on your living room before noon without your permission, for the second, or maybe third time that week, and walked toward the coffee maker instead. 

He didn’t acknowledge you as you passed, his eyes instead remaining laser-focused on the screen. You didn’t speak either, hoping that maybe if you continued to ignore him, he’d go away. Though, based on past encounters, it never really worked out that way. Though a girl could dream. 

Pulling down a mug from the cabinet, you attempted to place it carefully on the counter before you, tempering your anger. It didn’t matter anyway, even if you slammed the thing down so hard it shattered into pieces, he still probably wouldn’t have looked up. 

It was when you reached out for the coffee pot, hand just barely touching the handle, that the anger bubbled over. 

You whipped around, coffee pot in hand, face screwed up into a scowl that only Jeong Yunho could produce. “Are you serious?” you asked, raising the coffee pot above your head, directing that scowl in his direction—not that he even looked up to see it. 

He was too locked into whatever video game he busied himself playing on your PlayStation. It drove you over the edge, how little regard he had for you. How he used your apartment like a landing ground, a place to escape—and then dared to ignore you while inside it. 

You walked around the counter, coffee pot still in hand, and stopped in front of the television with your arms outstretched. “Earth to fucking Yunho—what are you doing here?” 

You knew the answer before you asked, knew why he was there based on the sheer lack of sleep you’d gotten during the night. 

He shifted to the side in an attempt to see the screen behind you, but you moved with him, waving your arms to get in the way as much as possible. Finally, with a groan and a roll of his eyes—like you were inconveniencing him—he set down the controller. 

With his attention free, he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. His legs were spread, and he took up way more space than he needed to. 

His eyes dragged over you slowly, making a show out of looking at you. It made you squirm in a self-conscious kind of way. The kind of way that also made you want to chuck something at his head.

With a lazy smile, he finally leaned forward again, balancing elbows on the tops of his thighs. “Good morning to you, too,” he said. 

You closed your eyes, sucking in a deep breath to keep yourself from screaming at him this early in the morning. “You know, if you’re going to use my apartment as a hideout, the least you could do is save me some fucking coffee.” 

You had to admit—you understood why his apartment had a constant stream of one-night stands filing in at night and out in the morning. He had this way of looking at someone like they were the only person in the entire universe, like nothing else mattered. He looked at you like that, now. All attentive eyes and half-quirked up lips. 

“Your charm doesn’t work on me,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Because it didn’t. All that charm, it was nice. There were split seconds where you understood, sure. But that feeling always passed even faster when you remembered every other thing about him. 

“Not sure about that,” he teased. It was always this push and pull. Him trying to get under your skin, and you always reacting. 

You pushed past the teasing because you just couldn’t deal with his entire personality that early in the morning. Instead, you got back to the matter at hand. “Is she still in there?” you asked, placing the empty coffee pot down on the table in front of you, simply so you could cross your arms. 

Yunho shrugged, accentuating his uncertainty with a slight lift of his eyebrows. “Why don’t you go over and find out?” 

“We’re not doing this,” you said, looking at him with that same pointed expression. 

“Doing what?” he asked, mocking ignorance. 

This would not be the first time, nor the second, nor the third that you’d provided Jeong Yunho with this kind of turn-down service. The first had been a mistake. Knocking on his door to ream him out for being loud throughout the night. The second time he’d tricked you, asked you to come over. And the third, well, it went something like this. 

“We’re not friends. This is not something I just do for you,” you said. “And stop letting yourself into my apartment.” 

“So, are you going to do it, or?” Yunho asked, one brow raised, and you knew he wasn’t planning on relenting. No, he would be insufferable about it until you gave in. He was always stronger-willed than you in that matter—more stubborn. More annoying. 

“Make some coffee,” you said. It was in exasperation that you turned and stormed out, choosing to face the innocent woman left behind in his apartment rather than continuing to have this conversation. Plus, if there was anything you’d learned, it was that once you’d scared her away, he’d leave, too. 

You didn’t understand why he did it. The whole one-night stand after one-night stand thing. He was charming enough, and any of the many girls you’d kicked out of his apartment probably would have made for a great long-term partner. Even just a situationship. It was his biggest red flag. The thing that turned you off. But you got it, too. Because if he didn’t live next door, if you didn’t get to witness the parade and the payoff, you would probably fall for his tricks and charms just as easily. 

But you’d seen the man behind the curtain. You knew the game. And so you knew, too, that he didn’t give a single fuck about any of those women. Not even enough to reject them himself. 

Even though it wasn’t the first time you’d done this, it still felt strange. Pretending. You knocked on the door. Crossed your arms over your chest. Tapped your foot. Directed the annoyance you felt toward Yunho into pretend anger. 

Someone did, inevitably, answer the door. 

“Hey bab—” the woman started. She had long black hair and warm brown eyes. She wore a long button-up shirt that stopped above her knees. Yunho’s. You witnessed the slow furrow of her brow as she put together the situation before you started whatever badly performed rant you chose this time. 

You scrunched your face up to match, mock irritation appearing in the creases at the corner of your eyes, the slight scowl of your lips. 

“Who are you?” the girl asked. It was always their first question, and sometimes you even felt bad about having to crush their dreams—you shattered the ideal image they had of Yunho in their heads, before he could find a way to do it themselves. You framed them as a mistress, the other half of a cheater. 

Why couldn’t he just reject them himself? Wouldn’t everyone leave with more dignity in that circumstance? You and whatever girl he’d involved included?

But you stood firm, trying to imagine what it would feel like to show up at your boyfriend’s apartment only for the door to be answered by another woman. 

“I’m Yunho’s girlfriend,” you said. You’d said it before. It still felt strange. A label you would never want to have. Probably because it would land you in a situation too close to this one. “Who are you?” you asked. 

“I’m—uh,” the girl said. You didn’t stay to listen, instead pushing past her into the apartment, looking for your cheating boyfriend. It was enough to send her into high gear, throwing her clothes back on and ducking out the front door before you could so much as turn around. 

Once she was gone, you took your time leaving. There was nothing interesting in his apartment, no secrets to glean by snooping. For the most part, he was an open book. All games and pick-up lines, without any actual substance. 

You headed back to your apartment. Yunho stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, waiting for the pot of coffee to brew. 

“She’s gone,” you said. 

He chuckled under his breath, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually done it. The first time, you’d both had a laugh about the situation. The incidental scaring off of the woman he’d invited over. It wasn’t as funny anymore. At least not to you. 

You studied him, watching his face for any shred of emotion, finding none. He truly didn’t care about these women or what happened to them after they left his apartment. It wasn’t like he’d speak to them again, so why would it matter how things ended? 

“Come on,” Yunho said. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” you said. But you could feel the scowl, still pressed into your features. Disgust. 

He took a step forward, towering over you and craning his neck to meet your eyes. He loved getting into your personal space, like he was trying to figure you out just the same. But if he wouldn’t give away any shred of his real personality, then neither would you. 

He was just an annoyance. A neighbor who thought the two of you were friends. That didn’t mean you actually had to be his friend. 

“Well,” he said. “Say it.” His head tilted slightly to the side, waiting for whatever opinion you so clearly wanted to share regarding his dating habits. 

“You should go home,” you said, instead. “Thanks to you and your little house guest, I didn’t get any sleep last night—and I have to work later.” 

This made him smirk, a slow crawl across his lips as he enjoyed the thought of you listening. It wasn’t that you wanted to listen—because of course you didn’t. But he made it difficult. Your bedrooms shared a wall, and it wasn’t exactly thick. 

“Don’t start,” you said, stopping whatever thought process was going on behind his eyes, whatever words he was planning on using to get even further under your skin. 

He took the hint, holding his hands up in defense. He stepped away from you, taking out the full coffee pot to fill both of your mugs. He scooped one spoonful of sugar into his own mug, stirring it a few times before grabbing the mug and walking out of the kitchen. “Have a good day at work,” he said, before the door to your apartment opened and closed. 

“I just don’t understand what his problem is,” you said, standing behind the bar, mixing a drink. Jihyo sat across from you, nursing the first drink you’d made for her. It was a quiet Thursday night, so for the most part, your bar was occupied by friends and a few other regulars who didn’t require that much attention. 

It was Wooyoung who responded. “Maybe he likes you,” he said. It wouldn’t be the first time this idea was floated by the board. But it only earned an eye roll from both you and Jihyo, who refused to believe this asinine idea. “It’s guy logic,” Wooyoung said. 

“Maybe you should move,” Jihyo suggested. 

You pointed a finger at her, but looked at Wooyoung. “Now these are the types of solutions I’m looking for.” You laughed. “Maybe I should move.” 

Wooyoung and Jihyo have been your best friends for ages, ever since college. They’ve been there for you throughout more challenging circumstances than just Yunho. If anyone were going to help you get through this, it would be them. 

“You can’t move,” Wooyoung pointed out. “Your place is too nice.” 

You’d talked in this circle with them countless times before. There was no obvious solution, aside from putting up with him. 

“I could threaten to call the police,” you suggested. “Next time he shows up in my apartment.” You placed the finished drink on the counter in front of Wooyoung, taking his empty glass. 

Jihyo pressed a finger to her lips. “Or,” she said. “You could lock your door.”

“I do lock my door,” you said. “He just knows where I keep the spare.”

“Okay, so hide the spare somewhere else,” Wooyoung said. 

“I’ve tried that,” you said. 

“Do you really need the spare?” Wooyoung asked. 

“You made me get one,” you said, pointedly. “When I kept locking myself out.” 

“Right, yeah,” he said. “You could give your backup to Jihyo instead—then there’s no Yunho problem, and I don’t have to worry about you calling me at two in the morning when you lock yourself out.” 

Jihyo said, “No, no,” with a wag of her finger. 

With a sigh, you picked up a collection of shot glasses, placing them on the bar between the three of you. They both had regular people jobs—i.e., ones that required them to be up early the next day, but neither did they protest when you started filling the glasses. 

Just as you filled the last of the three, the bell atop the front door chimed. Pushing open the door was the topic of conversation himself. He wore a black leather jacket, snow dusting the tops of his shoulders. His cheeks were a soft pink from the cold, and his eyes found yours immediately from across the room. 

His pleased smile was met by yet another scowl on your end. He closed the distance between the door and the bar in only a few steps, coming up behind Jihyo and Wooyoung. He reached forward and took Wooyoung’s shot as you pushed it forward. 

Wooyoung looked at you, brows drawn together in shared annoyance. You and Jihyo already had your glasses raised, and Yunho was quick to join in on the cheers he hadn’t been invited to participate in. 

He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. He just raised the shot to his lips, tipping it back and swallowing the clear liquid as if it were water. 

You watched in stunned shock. 

“Damn,” Yunho said. “You’re hanging out without me?” 

You let your eyes fall shut for a second, trying to process the situation, trying to figure out what words to say aloud without coming off like a complete and total asshole. 

Jihyo took the lead instead. “Why would we invite you?” she asked, a pretty smile appearing on her lips. One that might have looked harmless to an outsider, but you know meant I’ll fucking kill you. 

Yunho placed a hand on his chest. “And here I thought we were friends.”

“You’re delusional,” you said. 

He lifted his eyes to yours and smiled warmly, like he really was that delusional. You poured Wooyoung another shot, holding it while you waited for Yunho to sit anywhere else. Of course, he didn’t, instead opting to sit on the other side of Jihyo, who promptly turned her back to face Wooyoung completely. 

You put the replacement in Wooyoung’s waiting hands.

Just as you were raising the shot glasses, Yunho cleared his throat. “Can I get something to drink, beautiful?” He had one arm on the counter, and he leaned forward over it, looking at you with those big brown eyes. You might even be attracted to him if he weren’t so god damn annoying. 

You ignored him, instead, looking back to your friends. Your shot glasses clinked in the center before you all threw them back. 

“Why is he here?” Jihyo asked in a low voice. 

“He can hear you,” Yunho quipped, and you could hear the smirk in his tone without even looking in his direction. “And this is a public bar. You do know that, right?” 

Jihyo pressed her lips into a tight line, glaring at you because she refused to turn around and glare at the source of the problem. 

“What do you want to drink, Yunho?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest and attempting to press a smile to your lips. It was your job, after all, to provide good customer service. You couldn’t be the one asking him why he was there or what he wanted from you. At least not when you were on the clock. You would leave those questions to Jihyo and Wooyoung. 

“Do you know how to make an Old Fashioned?” Yunho asked. 

Jihyo did whip around to face him, then. “She’s a bartender, you idiot. She knows how to make an Old Fashioned.” 

That same slow smile crept across his lips. “You’re pretty when you’re mad,” he said, eliciting an immediate groan from Jihyo. 

“Oh my god,” she said. “What is your problem?” 

You looked to Wooyoung, who attempted to hide a laugh with his hand. This was pretty much how it went whenever the three of you were together. You and Wooyoung stopping Jihyo from getting into yelling matches with whoever didn’t agree with her. It was charming, in its own way. 

“It’s fine,” you said, not wanting to make a scene in front of the four other customers in the bar. “Just ignore him. I do.”

You started making the Old Fashion instead, letting Wooyoung and Jihyo get back to their own conversation. All the while, feeling Yunho’s eyes trailing your hands, watching your movements. 

Maybe Jihyo saw your cheeks turning red, or maybe she was just really curious about your love life, because she diverted the conversation away from Yunho, distracting you from his watchful eyes in one swoop. “How are things going with Hongjoong?” she asked. 

You placed the drink in front of Yunho, saying, “Oh, yeah. They’re good,” while making direct eye contact. There was something quizzical in his gaze that you couldn’t quite place. You didn’t ask, and he didn’t voice whatever question it was that plagued his brain. “We’re going out tomorrow night.”

“Third date, right?” Jihyo asked. 

“Mhm,” you said. 

“I hope he puts out,” Wooyoung said, and Yunho choked on his sip, setting the glass down to cough into the collar of his jacket, hiding the redness blooming on his cheeks. 

Your eyes widened at Wooyoung, a pointed glare. 

“What?” he said, unsure why you were looking at him like that. “You’re the one who said it had been a while—”

Jihyo elbowed him in the stomach, and that was the end of that conversation. 

You printed out Yunho’s receipt and placed it on the table in front of him without meeting his eyes. 

“Actually, can I start a tab?” he asked. 

You grabbed the receipt, crumpling it into a ball. Through gritted teeth, you said, “Of course,” taking his card out of his outstretched hand. 

Customers thinned out one at a time for the next several hours, with Jihyo and Wooyoung finally departing a little bit before midnight. But Yunho stayed. 

At 1am, he was still there, watching you clean up from across the bar. 

“So,” he started. 

You threw your head back in exasperation, even though the conversation had hardly begun. You just knew, because it was Yunho, that it was going to be exhausting. 

“You’re dating,” he said. 

It wasn’t what you expected, and it caught you off guard. The way he said it so casually, aloud to the empty bar.

“Is there something strange about that to you?” you asked. “Me dating?” You tried not to go on the defensive. But there was something so inherently cutting about the way he’d said it. Like he couldn’t believe it. Did he think there was something wrong with you? Something fundamentally unlikable? Or were you just projecting?

“No,” he said. “Of course not.”

Silence. Deafening. Your ears had a heartbeat. 

“So, it’s been a while…?” he asked, and that stupid fucking smirk reappeared on his lips, like he was proud of something. 

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” you said. 

“You know, if you don’t remember how to do it, I can give you a crash course,” Yunho suggested, leaning back in his seat. 

“I’ll kill you.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” 

You took your phone out to check the time, waiting for the numbers to flip forward just enough. When they did, you smiled. “Sorry, we’re actually closed.” You turned to face the register, printing out his receipt. You placed it in a book, then in front of him. 

“You want a ride home?” he asked. 

You couldn’t help the look of surprise that appeared on your face. 

“What?” he asked. “I’m a gentleman.” 

“You are not.” 

“Just because you don’t like me, doesn’t mean I’m not charming,” he said. “So, do you want a ride home or not? It’s cold.” 

He signed the receipt and closed the book. 

You shook your head. “No,” you said. It sounded too firm. “Thanks,” you tacked on. You’d face whatever winter weather you had to in order to get home without his help. 

Yunho stood up, and for some reason, you watched him. You always forgot how tall he was, how broad his shoulders were, until he was standing in front of you. He tossed his leather jacket back on, shoved his hands into his pockets, and left without another word. 

You followed, locking the door behind him. Then, finishing your tasks, you grabbed the book off the counter and pulled out his receipt. On the few drinks he’d ordered, he tipped nearly thirty dollars. And there was a note scrawled across the bottom, too. Sorry for being an ass. You looked at it for a while before putting the tip into the system, storing the receipt, and shutting everything down. 

It was a short walk between the bar and your apartment. Only about ten minutes. There was never any point in getting a car. On weekend nights, you could always count on Jihyo or Wooyoung to bring you home. Other nights, the walk wasn’t so bad. Besides, you kept pepper spray and a knife close at hand in case anyone dared try something with you. It wasn’t masked murderers in the middle of the night that caused a problem, though. 

It was the torrential downpour that came on like a light switch, drenching you in ice-cold rain in seconds. You held one arm above your head as you walked, but it barely shielded you from the storm. 

There were hardly any cars on the road, so when a motorcycle pulled up next to you, you were fairly certain you were about to be kidnapped. 

So when the rider took off his helmet and extended it to you, revealing a quickly drenched Yunho, you couldn’t keep the shock from your face. 

“Come on,” he said. “Get on.” 

“What?” you asked, because your brain wasn’t exactly functioning properly. You didn’t even know he had a motorcycle, and you certainly weren’t going to get on the back of it. 

“Come on,” he said again. “It’s pouring. You’ve made it ten feet. Let me take you home.”

You hated the way he said it, but your clothes were getting heavier as he spoke, so you stepped forward and took it. 

“Isn’t it dangerous?” you asked. “You don’t have another helmet?” 

He shook his head, freeing some of the wet hair that was stuck to his forehead. “Stop talking,” he said. “Just get on.” 

You swung a leg over, keeping your distance from him. “What—how do I?” you asked. 

“Hold on to me,” he said. You hesitated. “Just do it, it’s pouring, if you haven’t noticed, and I’d like to get going.” 

You scooted forward and placed your hands delicately on the sides of his body. One hand at a time, he pulled you forward even more, putting each of your palms on his chest. “You’re such a baby,” he said. “Just hold on to me.” 

“Fine,” you grumbled, pressing your body against his. You hated how large he felt. His back was wide and strong, and his chest felt warm underneath your hands. 

Before you could think about how much you liked being close to him, he started driving. You hardly even had time to worry about him driving without a helmet in the rain before you were pulling into the apartment complex’s garage. 

You were still clutching his chest when he said, “You can let go.” 

“Oh,” you said, not loud enough to be heard through the helmet. You did, however, jump away from him, pulling your arms back and scooting backward before clambering off the bike altogether. 

Your heart raced, and a clamminess had settled on your skin beneath all the layers of drenched clothing. When your hands touched his body—even through his clothes, it felt like being electrocuted. No reason for that could be justified by hatred. But you hated it, still. That he was so hot that just touching him made your body react. You convinced yourself it was purely animalistic. That how much you hated him couldn’t negate how attractive he was. It made you hate him more. 

He turned off the bike and swung a leg over to stand up, reaching a hand out to you. You stared at it for a second too long. “The helmet,” he said. 

Right, you thought. What was making your brain lag behind? Why couldn’t you fucking think straight? Surely it couldn’t be the dripping wet 6’1” man in front of you. 

You took the helmet off and handed it to him. He secured it on the back of the bike, then lifted his hands to grasp his shirt, twisting it. Water fell in droplets onto the floor between you, but your eyes lingered on the patch of exposed skin, the curve of a few abs under the thin shirt. You could barely even process the fact that you were looking, let alone that he looked good. It was only when he cleared his throat that your eyes flicked up to meet his and that stupid smirk that never seemed to fade fully. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you said abruptly before taking a few quick steps away toward the elevator. Unfortunately, he followed, slipping inside before the doors could budge. 

Right, you wanted to say. We’re neighbors. At least you wouldn’t have to listen to him engaging in his usual extracurricular activities that night. Unless he magically found some way to get a girl back to his place in the middle of the night. Maybe he could summon one from the internet with the power of dating apps. You didn’t know how he did it, anyway. 

The elevator immediately felt small, the ride up to your floor longer than it had ever been. Every time you looked up, he was trying to find your eyes, watching you intently. But neither did he say anything—and of course, you kept quiet too. Kept actively trying not to look at him. But you were curious, and you couldn’t help yourself sometimes. Because who was this man? This man who grated on your nerves and got under your skin and was so god damn annoying, but also left you big tips with nice notes and drove you home from work in the rain? This man who was absolutely gorgeous, whose body you wanted to touch again?

“You seem like you’re panicking,” he said.

“What?” you asked, lifting your head to meet his eyes. He leaned casually against the railing in the elevator, watching you with his hands in his pockets. “I’m not panicking. Why would I be panicking?” you asked, but it was immediately too defensive, too much talking. 

He raised a brow, nodding almost imperceptibly. “Right,” he said. “All things someone who isn’t panicking would say.” He kicked off the wall, striding toward you, only to stop a few inches short. 

“What are you doing?” you asked. 

“Just trying to figure you out,” he said. 

“I don’t need figuring out,” you said. 

“Really?” he asked. He reached out, then, because he couldn’t help it. Because he wanted to touch you. His hand skimmed your bicep, and you shivered. He leaned forward. “Are you sure you don’t like me?” 

“Yes,” you said, through gritted teeth, trying to sound as sure of yourself as you possibly could. 

This only elicited a smile and a dry laugh from Yunho. “You don’t sound sure.” 

“I could kiss you, and I would still feel absolutely nothing,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. Who was he to question your feelings, especially when all you’d ever given him were snarky comments and sass? Did he think a few longing looks at his abs equated true desire?

“Prove it,” he said. 

“What?” 

“Kiss me,” he said. 

Later that night, when you struggled to sleep—you’d argue with yourself about the reasons. You’d say it was a matter of impulse. A desire to prove him wrong. But there would be something in the back of your head, too, a nagging, whispering like the devil on your shoulder—you did it because you wanted to. 

When you stepped forward and stood on your toes, you weren’t thinking about any of that. 

It was a challenge, and you weren’t one to back down. Simple as that. 

The kiss started soft. Yunho took a moment to react, his lips still against yours for only a second before he stepped forward into you, forcing you backward into the wall. His hands moved, first grabbing your upper arms, then the sides of your face as he tilted your head back to deepen it—slipping a tongue between your lips. 

You didn’t hold back. Your hands gripped the zippered edges of his jacket, pulling him toward you needlessly. 

The kiss was not kind or soft, but passionate and aggressive, like something pent up was spilling out for everyone to see. 

Only the ding of the elevator reaching your floor was enough to separate you. You pulled away, letting your hands drop from his jacket as your thumb came up to wipe away some inevitably smeared lipstick—probably worse than you could save with a simple action, anyway. 

“See,” you said, rolling your shoulders back. “Nothing.” 

Then, you slipped out from under his grasp and walked out of the elevator, trying to keep your pace even and calm until you were inside your apartment, breathing heavily with your back against the door. 

Yunho turned to watch you leave, but didn’t follow. Instead, he stood stock still in the center of the elevator, fingers touching his lips, until the doors started to close. 

“You what?” Jihyo asked. She leaned against the door frame as you dusted blush across your cheekbones. 

You hadn’t exactly planned on telling her—or anyone—what happened, but it just slipped out. There weren’t really words to explain the situation. You couldn’t figure out why you’d done it, anyway. He’d tested you, and you weren’t one to back away from a dare. You wanted him to know, for certain, that he had no chance with you. 

But why, then, had it been so difficult to stop thinking about him? 

“I don’t know,” you said, because they were the only words bubbling to the surface in your otherwise Yunho-occupied mind. The heat of his lips on yours, the way his hands roamed all over your skin. You were starting to understand why the women he shared a bed with sang his praises all night long. 

“Well—why? How?” she asked. “When?” 

When you didn’t respond right away, Jihyo’s eyes widened expectantly, waiting for you to reveal all the dirty details of the situation. 

With a sigh, you put down the brush and turned, leaning against the sink. “He gave me a ride home last night, after my shift.”

“He stayed that late?” 

“Yes,” you said. “And I thought it was just to get on my nerves—but I don’t know. He left me a big tip and apologized for being such an ass.”

“He what?” 

“He left a note on his check. Sorry for being an ass,” you explained. 

“And then he kissed you?” Jihyo asked, one brow raised. 

You shook your head. “No. He left. I started walking home. It was cold. It started raining. Yunho found me. I don’t know how. Maybe he was waiting. I don’t know. He gave me a ride home on his motorcycle, by the way.” 

“You got on a motorcycle with Yunho?” 

Your eyes narrowed. “Is that so unbelievable?” 

“A little bit, yeah,” she commented. 

“Anyway, it’s pouring. He drives me home. We’re in the elevator on the way up, and he just accuses me of looking at him differently.” 

“Were you?” Jihyo asked. 

“Hm?” 

“Were you looking at him differently?” she clarified. 

“Oh.” You hesitated. “Of course not. But I don’t know what I was thinking. The words just kind of came out. I said something along the lines of, I could kiss you and still feel nothing.” You, of course, did remember the exact words you’d spoken—but you were trying to be aloof. Trying to pretend that it wasn’t affecting you. 

You weren’t very good at it. And besides. Jihyo could always see through your bullshit. 

“And then he told me to prove it,” you said, your voice a bit smaller than before, ashamed of the act so many hours past it. An entire night's sleep and you still couldn’t believe you’d actually done it. You should have just laughed in his face. Should have ignored him, like you always did. 

“So you did,” Jihyo said. 

“So I did,” you echoed. 

“But you felt something,” she said. 

“But I felt something.” Your stomach flipped. You turned away from Jihyo, facing the mirror again, your hands gripping the edge. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

Jihyo, ever the pragmatic, said, “Well, stop thinking about it. He’s an asshole, remember.” 

You weren’t naive to believe that his apology truly fixed anything. Besides, maybe this was the long con. Step one: apologize. Step two: get you on the back of his bike. Step three: kiss you in the elevator? Then what? 

Who would he send over to kick you out in the morning? Some other neighbor? 

It wasn’t feasible, these thoughts. They couldn’t go anywhere. It almost made it worse—that they just had to stay in your head. Trapped. Because acting on them, well, it was a fucking horrible idea. And he was probably just playing with you, anyway. That’s what he did. 

“I remember,” you grumbled. 

“Do you remember Hongjoong?” she asked, and you could see the way she smiled reflected in the mirror. Pointed, obvious in the point she was conveying. 

You picked up a lip gloss and ran the wand over your lips. “I didn’t cancel the date, did I?” you said. “I’m wearing a cute outfit. I’m going.” 

Jihyo smiled. “Okay. Good.” 

“You know, you can be really judgmental,” you said, a hint of a laugh escaping between words. 

“That’s why you love me.” She smiled big and wide. “Now have fun tonight. That’s an order. And try to get laid, for the love of god.”

You were standing in front of your door, a little bit tipsy, trying to unlock it, when the one down the hall popped open. You couldn’t help the groan that fell from your lips, knowing just who was going to appear in front of you in no time at all. 

He took his time. You had to give him that. He leaned against the door frame to his own apartment for a little while, watching you struggle. Which was annoying in its own way—but at least it was from a distance. 

The distance didn’t last. He got closer. 

You held up a hand in his direction. “No,” you said. You weren’t drunk enough that your words were slurring, just tipsy enough to say exactly what was on your mind. A dangerous thing, considering what was on your mind lately regarding the man in the hallway. “You stay over there.”

Thankfully, you got the key to work, letting the door to your apartment swing inward. Yunho was faster, though, and more determined. He caught it with one hand before it could slam closed. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and those weren’t the words you expected to come out of his mouth. They weren’t suggestive or annoying. He actually seemed genuine. Had you ever met a more confusing man? One who could flip back and forth between strange softness and playful humor faster than you could process it? 

He wore black jeans, the same leather jacket he basically lived in. His near-black hair fell just past his eyebrows, only partially obscuring brown eyes that met your gaze. There was a slight crease between his brows, like he was just as confused as you were about the state of his personality—about the way he was acting toward you. 

“Yes,” you said. Yunho closed the door gently behind him. “And you can’t just invite yourself into my apartment whenever you want.” 

“Date didn’t go well, I take it?” he asked, that playful tone coming back at half power. The smirk that appeared put in a lot of work. 

You pressed your lips into a tight line, gritting your teeth. You couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks as you grew embarrassed. Any normal person wouldn’t have commented on the fact that you’d come home alone after a third date—especially after your friends announced so loudly your desire to get laid. 

“Can we not do this right now?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as if to cover some of your obvious discomfort. 

“You know,” he said, taking another step closer to you. You didn’t move. Of course you didn’t. You wanted him closer, even if you wanted to pretend otherwise. And ultimately, your body beat out your mind the moment he intruded upon your personal space. “The offer still stands.” 

Your brain wasn’t working. “What offer?” you bit out. 

He didn’t touch you, but his hands might as well have been all over your body with how hot you felt. “You know—if you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be with someone.” 

It was enough to make you take a much-needed step back, sobering you some. “Oh my god, get a grip, Yunho.” 

He just laughed. It wasn’t a big deal to him. It was just another joke, another way to get under your skin. 

You steeled yourself for the lie you needed to speak aloud, to really get the point across. “I don’t want you. I’ll never want you. I like my men with a little more… dignity.” 

For a split second, you were certain you’d hurt his feelings. His eyes softened, and his shoulders lowered. But then he was back to smiling again, acting like it hadn’t affected him in the slightest. 

When had this turned from him asking you if you were okay to him propositioning you again? And why had you wanted to say yes? If it weren’t for the voice of Jihyo playing in the back of your head, reminding you that he was an asshole—over and over again—you might have let it happen. You were feeling just dejected enough, anyway. 

Hongjoong had basically rejected you. It was rightful, too, since you’d barely paid attention to him during your date. Your mind had been on other things. Other people. And besides, there’d been no spark. He didn’t push your buttons. He didn’t make you laugh. 

“Really, though,” Yunho said, taking a more serious tone again—enough to give you whiplash. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you said. 

“You don’t seem fine,” Yunho said. 

“If I needed a friend, I’d call Jihyo. Or Wooyoung.” 

Again, that look of hurt. Like he’d been struck. 

“Right,” he said. “Obviously.” He took a step away from you, toward the door. “Sorry.” You were too stunned to speak. “I’ll see you later.”

When you woke up the next morning, there was no woman to escort out of Yunho’s apartment. Your apartment sat empty. Quiet. It continued like that for several days. Nearly a week. You let Jihyo and Wooyoung talk you out of going over there, of making sure everything was okay with him. That he hadn’t died or moved out or something. 

No matter what excuses you made up, however, you still couldn’t get him out of your head. Even when he wasn’t around to bother you. You found yourself hoping to catch him around a corner, in the elevator, or by his bike in the parking garage. You didn’t. 

He was strangely absent. 

Not only that, but his apartment was quiet, too. 

That should have resulted in better sleep, but you found yourself awake for other reasons, staring at the ceiling. You could find any reason to doubt yourself. Maybe you’d been too quick to judge him. The way his face had fallen the last time you spoke haunted you. Eyes open or closed, you could still see the ghost of his disappointment. The soft tenor of his voice and the way he sounded so genuine. 

Convincing yourself that it was a fluke did not help. 

And somehow, you always ended up back in that elevator, his lips hot on yours. 

Yunho was hot. Of course, he was. You had never questioned that fact. You had explicitly tried to ignore it. But he wasn’t your type. He liked to push your buttons, get under your skin. He didn’t respect basic boundaries. 

Now, he was gone. The firm boundary you’d put in place was being respected, and you found yourself being the one who wanted to cross it. 

Maybe that was growth. Or maybe it was all a part of Yunho’s grand scheme to get in your pants. If you thought about it for too long, you could believe anything. It was the only the long con, a way of getting to you by disappearing when you were finally interested—or, it was the first genuine thing he’d ever done. 

And it made you feel bad. 

Something shot through your nervous system, a realization that you didn’t want to make eye contact. You missed him.

It was nearly a week later when you spotted his door clicking shut just as you were leaving to run a few errands. 

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you. But after all the times he’d barged in uninvited, you figure it was okay to intrude on his space just once. Walking the short distance from your door to his, however, did cause a strange anxiety to settle in next to your heart, tucked away in your ribcage. A thrumming that whispered, “What are you doing? Why are you doing it?” over and over again. 

It didn’t stop you from raising your hand to tap your knuckles against the door. 

When Yunho opened the door, he looked a little worse for wear. His hair was fluffier than usual, sticking up in places like he’d spent the last seven days running his hands through it. He looked you up and down. A smile appeared on his lips, but it wasn’t the same as the proud one you’d grown used to. He didn’t say anything, just watched you. 

“Hey,” you said. Attempting to be casual didn’t exactly suit you. 

“Hey?” he repeated. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Hey.” You tried to meet his gaze, but his eyes kept moving away, finding something else to look at whenever you got close. 

He had one hand on the door, holding it open. It would be easier that way, to close it whenever he needed to. Because he wanted to look at you. He wanted to meet your gaze. But there was this ball of anger in the pit of his stomach, too. A tightly wound piece of hatred. Not for you, of course. He couldn’t hate you. No. He hated himself. And he would never say it out loud, not to himself and certainly not to you—but he hated himself for being someone you didn’t want. 

But all he could do was look past your eyes and force a smile. 

Unfortunately, the hatred he felt toward himself manifested as anger. “Do you need something?” 

The sharpness in his tone sliced straight through you. “What?” 

“You made it clear you don’t want me,” he said. 

“Well—” you stammered. “That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“You have Jihyo and Wooyoung, right? That’s what you said.” He paused and finally met your eyes. Something crossed his face. “Besides, I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Oh,” you said. The anxiety tucked away in your chest blossomed, and your heart began to race. This was a mistake, then. At least you could leave and pretend it never happened. Why then, were you so frozen solid to the spot in front of his door? Why couldn’t you just turn and walk away? Why could you feel the ghost of his lips on yours, the heat of his palms on your arms? Why couldn’t you look away? 

“You’re afraid to admit it, but I’m not,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, gentle tone once more. The one you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. The one that floated through your dreams like a melody. “I like you.” 

Your lips parted. He leaned forward to look at you on eye level, studying you. He didn’t touch you, just let his eyes bore into yours. It was far too intimate than your racing heart could take. 

“You think I’m all bad,” he said. “I’m not. Let me take you out sometime. I’ll prove it to you.” The corners of his lips turned up in a small smile. Hopeful. 

It was your own self-hatred, your own uncertainty, your own self-consciousness, your own fear, that made you say what you did. “I can’t,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. And that’s what broke you. Not the rejection, but the acceptance. The way his smile turned firm as he stood straight up and stepped away from you, moving to close the door just as you turned to flee. 

Several days passed, but even the passage of time didn’t make you feel any better. 

“It’s good,” Jihyo said. “I don’t trust him.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung echoed. “Me either.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, either, given how much you’d been thinking about it. About him. Even your thoughts felt selfish. Because you could have him, if you really wanted to. If you really wanted to have him, you could walk over to his apartment and tell him that. 

But something held you back. 

The fear, mostly. 

The thought that you would just end up like all the other girls he’d engaged in one-night stands with. You weren’t exactly a one-night stand kind of girl. Or, at least, you weren’t certain that was what you wanted from Yunho. You didn’t know what you wanted. Maybe that was the scariest part. 

“You didn’t see the look on his face,” you said, sinking deeper and deeper into the couch. 

It was Wooyoung who eventually said. “If you like him, I guess I don’t really see what the problem is.”

“The problem is he has a different girl over every night,” Jihyo commented. 

“Not every night. Besides, he hasn’t in a while,” you said, which earned you a look from Jihyo. “What? The walls are thin. I can hear everything.”

“Maybe he’s a changed man,” Wooyoung commented. 

“Doubt it,” Jihyo said. 

You could only shrug. “I don’t know. I hardly know him, anyway.” You let out a long, deep breath. “I’ll get over it eventually. So will he. I’m sure it’ll be fine in a few weeks. Maybe we’ll even laugh about it.”

Hours later, when Jihyo and Wooyoung finally left your apartment—you stood at the door, waiting for them to get on the elevator. An old habit. Like making sure they got home safe. The elevator doors opened, and Yunho stepped out. You only saw him at first. 

Then, you saw her. The girl hanging off his arm. Laughing. Smiling. 

Jihyo shot you a look, but you shook your head. It was fine. You didn’t need them coming to your rescue over a man you’d rejected. They got into the elevator and disappeared. You tried to close your door fast, but Yunho spotted you first. You just barely caught him raising a few fingers in a wave, a smile on his lips, before the hastily shut door separated you both. 

Something bloomed in your chest, hot and angry. You’d seen him with other women before. Countless times, in fact. You’d heard them through your walls, escorted them out afterward. And you’d never been angry at anything other than the inconvenience. 

But now the anger flushed your system of coherent thoughts. The tips of your ears turned red as you rested your forehead against the closed door. This wasn’t anger. As much as you wanted to believe it, manifest it into being so—it was so much worse. 

Jealousy. 

It made your skin crawl, the realization. You were jealous. And the worst part was that you had no right to be. He had offered you the same thing he gave all those girls, and you’d turned him down. So why now, did you have your head resting on the door and your eyes squeezed tight? Maybe it wasn’t just jealousy, but anger too. 

Anger at your own poor decision-making skills. Anger at Yunho for—what exactly? Moving on? You were the one who’d been adamant that there was absolutely nothing between you. He’d shot his shot and failed. Had you expected him to retire from the little game he played every weekend? 

You tried to remind yourself what would have happened if you’d gone out with him. That he wasn’t relationship material. That he didn’t want you like you wanted him. 

Fuck. You wanted him. 

You wanted him, and it made you feel like an idiot. 

Is that how everyone who ended up in his bed felt? Confused and annoyed, angry with his charming personality and his ability to sweep pretty much anyone off their feet without really even trying? 

And when had this happened, anyway? He’d moved in a few months ago. You’d been tolerating his presence since—and then things just, well, shifted. 

It didn’t even matter if you ended up as just another one-night stand—you wanted to be in his bed, underneath him, no matter what the outcome was. It was that thought that pulled you away from the door and sent you into the bedroom, diving under the covers and attempting to think about anything other than what was possibly going on in the next room over. 

Damn his stupid motorcycle and the way his shirt, damp with rain and sweat, had stuck to his skin. Damn his stupid, charming smile that shifted between snarky and kind. Damn his everything, every detail that made you look twice, that had you second-guessing every moment, every interaction. 

It was even worse, knowing that he wanted you, too. Knowing that he wanted you, and that you could have just had him, if you weren’t such an idiot. 

And so you oscillated back and forth like that for a while—between being annoyed at yourself for rejecting him and at him for being so charming and so untrustworthy at the same time. 

It went on like that for some time before you eventually fell asleep to thoughts of walking down the hall and throwing the door open, to grabbing him and kissing him—before your mind eventually decided being awake no longer served you. 

Unfortunately, when morning came, it wasn’t with a new, refreshed mind. 

Instead, more thoughts swarmed, and before you could stop and think about what you were doing, you were standing in the hallway outside Yunho’s apartment in your pajamas. 

It wasn’t until you raised your hand to knock that you realized exactly where you were. 

Yunho must have sensed it. The door swung open, and there he was, standing there with that somewhat charming, somewhat obnoxious smile on his face, looking at you like this—whatever you were doing—was, in fact, completely normal behavior. 

He looked just out of bed, messy hair and plaid pajama pants. A white shirt that clung to him and a loose robe overtop. One hand held a mug of coffee, and he leaned against the door frame in such a casual manner as you glanced him over, trying to figure out some excuse for why you’d shown up at his door. 

“Good morning,” he said. There was a coldness to his voice. Something absent from his tone that you didn’t want to linger on. Like he was distancing himself from you. 

Words failed you. 

“I—” you started. You took a step forward, nearly into his body. He didn’t yield against you, instead holding firm in the door frame. You tried to look over his shoulder to see if the girl was still present. Did he not want your help escorting her out?

The smile that fell on his lips was slow, and you watched him figure you out in record time. 

“Looking for someone?” he asked, that cold tone growing warmer, charm seeping back into his words, that familiar enjoyment. A cat playing with a mouse. 

You took a step back. “No.” 

“Seems like you are.” 

“I’m not,” you said, but you weren’t able to keep the defensive note from your voice. It was so painstakingly clear to both of you why you were there and what you were looking for. It became a game, then, of who would concede the space first. Who would give up. You could easily admit your lie, but there was no pride in that. And Yunho, well, he could just as easily call you out on it, but that didn’t seem like the path he wanted to take, either. 

Instead, it turned into a standoff of words loaded into guns and backs turned. Paces counted before firing. Eye contact, before your gaze dropped to his lips, and the slow smile crawling across turned into a smirk of victory undeserved. 

“I just thought you might want my help,” you said, cocking your head back and crossing your arms. A feeble attempt to gain some ground. 

“I don’t,” he said. Sharp. You hated that the simple words cut, even though you would have claimed to hate said help only a week prior. 

“You don’t,” you repeated. 

Your cursed brain. He’d found someone else. Someone else to break the streak of one-night stand girls. He’d found someone else, and it was too late, and you’d ruined everything out of pure indecisiveness and misguided advice. 

Maybe he wasn’t even such a bad guy. 

Maybe your vision had been clouded by jealousy from the very beginning. 

Yunho stepped away from the door, walking deeper into the apartment. You hesitated. He brought down another mug and filled it, pushing it in your direction and eying you to take it. 

“You know,” he said. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.” 

Your brows drew together as you watched him, sipping his coffee and looking over the cup at you, still standing in the hallway. 

“I’m not—” you started, but he just laughed. “I’m really not.” 

“Then why are you here?” he asked, the genuine nature of his voice catching you off guard. “You already rejected me, remember?” 

Your feet carried you into his apartment. You closed the door behind you. 

“I remember,” you said. You stopped across from him and reached over to pick up the mug of coffee, the kitchen island separating you. You looked over your shoulder, eyes wandering toward the open door of his bedroom. 

“You’re funny,” he said. 

“What?” you asked, eyes snapping back to him. 

“There’s no one here,” Yunho said. He set his coffee mug down on the counter and walked closer to you. “And whatever you’re trying to do—you’re not very good at it.”

He reached up and took the coffee mug out of your hands, placing it on the counter next to his. 

“There’s no one here,” you said, repeating his words back to him for the second time. It was easier than finding new ones to say. 

He rolled his eyes, but the annoyance didn’t reach his lips. No, those still held that same pleased smile, like he knew something you didn’t. 

Yunho reached out, closing the distance between you, to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. He looked down at you with a gaze you couldn’t place. Something between admiration and lust. His fingers trailed down your jaw and hooked under your chin. 

His touch froze you. You could only blink and watch, your gaze darting between his mouth and his eyes. 

“Are you jealous?” he asked, holding your chin and looking at you carefully. 

“I don’t know,” you said, because that was the truth. All the thoughts in your mind were jumbled, and nothing made sense when it came to him. 

He raised one brow, skeptical. “Did you need to borrow something?” he asked. “Or yell at me because the TV was too loud?” 

“No,” you said. 

“Then why did you come over?” he asked. He led you toward the answer, walked you there while holding your chin and making sure you kept your eyes trained on his. His voice was gentle, but stern—and you knew he wouldn’t relent until you gave him the truth. 

You sighed, and this small act of giving up only made the corners of his lips turn up. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you said. His lips parted in shock. Because he’d been expecting an admission regarding your jealousy, not the way that he raced through your mind all night. But you kept going, anyway. “And I didn’t mean to come over, I mean—I guess I did. But I left my apartment, and then here I was—and I wasn’t even going to knock, but you opened the door, and then all I could think about was whether or not you had a girl over.” 

His hand slipped from your chin to lay flat against the side of your head, his palm on your cheek and his fingers dipping into your hair. 

Your heart raced faster as his eyes dropped to your lips, and your first kiss played on a loop over and over again until you were stepping closer to him, lifting a hand to touch the one on your cheek. 

He inched closer too, until your bodies were almost touching. 

Yunho’s eyes met yours, then flicked downward. Up and back. Your eyes followed the same pattern, and you moved closer, closer, a centimeter at a time, until his lips were on yours again and everything agonizingly slow kicked into full speed. 

His other hand came up to cup your other cheek as he kissed you slowly. It wasn’t the abrupt, intense heat of the kiss you shared in the elevator, but a soft, molten kiss that sent your nerves firing. 

When he pulled away, it was only a half an inch, barely enough to keep you from recapturing his lips and stopping whatever sentence whirred to life behind hazy eyes. “That’s what I wanted our first kiss to be like,” he said. 

“I liked our first kiss,” you said, without really thinking. 

He dropped his forehead against yours. “Me too.” 

“I liked the second too.” But you didn’t let yourself reach out again, not with the last thought that nagged at the back of your mind. “What about the girl—your date last night?” 

“She didn’t stay long. I couldn’t stop thinking about my neighbor.” He put a half-step’s worth of space between you. 

“How annoying,” you said, laughing under your breath. 

“Yeah, she really is,” he teased. “Kinda hot, though.” 

“Kinda?” you asked, raising a brow at him. 

“Okay, insanely,” Yunho said, crossing his arms over his chest. “So hot she’s driven me mad since the day I moved in. Is that what you want to hear?” 

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. “Yes.” 

“Now will you let me take you out?” he asked. 

You hadn’t thought about what would happen after you stormed over to his apartment without invitation, nor what would happen after his lips were on yours. You thought he would try something more, but he kept his distance—asked about dates instead. 

“You look shocked,” he said. 

“I’m not,” you said, and he chuckled under his breath. Apparently, you were easier to read than you thought, or maybe he was just good at knowing what you were thinking. Somehow, that wasn’t as annoying as it used to be. 

“Not jealous, not shocked…” he trailed off. “Not very good at lying, either.” 

“I just didn’t think dating was really your thing,” you said. 

He placed a hand to his heart in mock hurt. “You wound me,” he said. “I’m a romantic at heart, you’ll see.”

“Oh, will I?” you asked, “From what I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound like romance.” You tilted your head to the side, looking up at him, watching for the reaction. 

His brows lifted a hair. “You’ve been listening.” 

“The walls are thin, Yunho.” 

“And that’s why you’re jealous?” he asked, reaching out to poke your cheek. “Because of what you’ve been hearing?” 

“No,” you stammered, a crinkle developing between your brows in irritation. 

“I can’t figure you out,” he said. “You think I’m this big player, right? But you’re also up at night with your ear to the wall trying to listen in so—I think you might be the real freak, here.” 

You slapped his arm playfully. “I am not.” 

“We’ll see,” he said, continuing before you could get a word in, “Let me take you out tonight.”

“I’m working,” you said. 

“Tomorrow night.”

You pretended to ponder the availability of your schedule. Since your minor situationship with Hongjoong fizzled out, you hadn’t had plans with anyone but Jihyo and Wooyoung. And they wouldn’t mind a night off from having to listen to your problems. Maybe you’d get an earful from Jihyo about how you were choosing to spend the night, instead, but Wooyoung would come around. 

“Tomorrow night,” you confirmed. 

It was strange how quickly everything turned over in your mind. Maybe you were naive, but one kiss and you’d started to see him differently. That voice that nagged in the back of your mind, reminding you that maybe he was like this with all the girls he brought back, had disappeared completely. Instead, you found ways to justify it all. There was nothing wrong with sleeping around, anyway. 

You’d had more active times in your life, too. And no one had judged you for that, well, experimentation. 

He watched the cogs turn behind your eyes. “What are you thinking?” he asked. 

“Just trying to figure you out, is all.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, rethinking whatever it was he wanted to say. It seemed like you were both playing the same game—trying to understand the other without giving too much away, without making a big deal out of something that hadn’t gone anywhere, yet. 

“So,” you said. A blanket of silence suddenly fell between you, the awkward air of the kiss settling on your shoulders, and the future plans made. 

“So,” Yunho said, much cooler, calmer, than you had. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?” 

“Yeah,” you said. “Definitely.” 

You took a step back, but he reached out to grab your hand before you could get too far. He held it, not too tight, but not exactly with a gentle grasp, either. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said. “Really.” 

Heat rose to your cheeks. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Me too,” before disappearing from his apartment. By the time you were back home, your palms were sweating. 

Was this a horrible idea? And if it was, why did you want it so badly?

The next 36 hours went by at an unimaginably slow pace. In that time, you managed to spend a good several more hours overthinking, at least thirty minutes on the phone with Jihyo, convincing her that this was, maybe, a good idea, actually, and the rest of the time panicking about your ability to make decisions regarding your love life. 

“It doesn’t have to be anything,” Jihyo said at the end of the call, after retiring her role as devil’s advocate. “It was just a kiss, right? And it’s just a date.” 

“Maybe I want it to be something,” you said. “That’s what scares me. What if he doesn’t?” 

You could hear her shrug over the line. “Guess you’ll have to ask him.”

Wooyoung chimed in from over Jihyo’s shoulder. “Besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen, anyway? You find out if the sex is good, and then he stops showing up at your apartment without permission?” 

You pinched your nose between your thumb and forefinger. “Neither of you are helpful,” you said. 

Hours after the call, however, you couldn’t help but admit that Wooyoung’s words were true. This was a sexual attraction. Yunho was sexy. He had a confusing charm to him that you never understood, and a contagious smile. He was goofy, good at video games, and fun to bicker with—but you didn’t really know him, did you? 

So you decided that’s what the date would be for. 

You’d get to know him. Decide exactly what you wanted. And if that was just sex, well. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, right? Maybe fucking him would get him out of your head, too. Though, you had a feeling that probably wouldn’t be the case. 

By the time eight o’clock rolled around, you were standing in your bedroom, looking in the floor-length mirror, still attempting to determine exactly which outfit was right for the date. 

You’d never been this nervous for a date before. 

It was just a date. Yunho was just a man. 

The knock at the door, however, sent your heart into your stomach—so maybe you were just lying to yourself. Either way, it wasn’t working. 

You smoothed your hands down the front of your shirt, over the sides of your skirt. Was there time to change? He was on the other side of the door, and still, you didn’t feel exactly right. Almost like you were wearing a costume, something to impress him, but not something that was really you. 

The nerves were getting to you, and all you had to do was just open the door. 

Open the door, and he would be there, staring back at you. You knew exactly what he would look like, too. Leather jacket, permanent smirk curling up the corners of his lips, knowing brown eyes scanning you. It was a comfort, almost, this knowing. 

But still, you were frozen. 

Like opening the door was some kind of test of your own nature. He was the same, steady. Predictable. But you? Was he on the other side of the door, telling himself the same thing, that you were there—familiar?

What if he didn’t like this version of you? The one who had spent hours trying to figure out how to look just right, for him. The one wearing a skirt, the one who was excited about the date, who had gotten her hopes up. 

What if he had only ever liked you because you didn’t like him?

You rubbed your temples, trying to quiet the ever-existing anxiety that stirred behind your eyes, a reminder that this was something you fucking cared about, which only made the whole thing worse. You cared, which meant you could screw it up. You could screw it up, and it would hurt. 

“You gonna open the door?” Yunho asked from the hall. He had this weird ability to read your mind, to sense when you were nearby. Like he knew some part of you that even you couldn’t see. 

You opened the door halfway through an eye roll. 

And there he was. 

He looked nothing like you’d imagined in your head. His leather jacket was missing, replaced by a black suit jacket with a white button-up underneath, a skinny black tie cut down the middle. Though you could barely see his torso behind the bouquet of flowers he held in one arm. 

Yunho’s eyes stayed glued to yours. They didn’t wander, as yours did. But that slow smile did crawl across his lips as you took him in, this different version of him. 

“Are those for me?” you asked, looking at the arrangement of tulips and baby’s breath. 

He took a step closer to you, dropping his free hand around your shoulders to place a kiss atop your head, into your hair. It was immediately overwhelming, being in his presence again, especially after so many hours of trying to pretend that he had no effect on you. 

Well, there that effect was. The way your heart immediately beat faster, your nervous system racing into high alert, goosebumps rising on your forearms. You would think that something was truly wrong, the way your body reacted. Like this was something to run away from. But coupled with the feeling of ignition—the warmth of him being close started a fire somewhere deep within you—there was no chance you would run away. 

“Do you have a vase I can put these in?” he said, answering your arguably dumb question as he took a step away from you. 

You moved out of the way, letting him step into your apartment. A place familiar to him. Some place he’d basically broken into over and over again. He moved through it like it belonged to him, walking into the kitchen to grab a vase from under the sink. He filled it with water and placed the bouquet inside, leaving it on the counter. 

“You seem nervous,” he commented as he trimmed away the plastic wrapping with a pair of scissors he’d also known the location of. 

Your arms were crossed over your chest, not in disappointment or contempt, but because you had to hold onto something to steady yourself. Your fingers dug into your biceps only slightly, but he must have caught that, too. 

Or maybe he was just so used to the inner workings of your mind, your body, that he could sense these differences too. 

You had no idea he paid so much attention. 

“I’m not,” you said. But even a stranger would have known you were lying. 

He peeled away the rest of the crinkling plastic and put it in the trash, snipping the rubber band on the bouquet and letting the flowers fall outward. 

“They’re pretty,” you said, as if that could distract from your nerves and his commentary on them. “Thank you.” 

You kept your distance from him, standing just outside the kitchen while he worked. But once finished, he strode toward you again. He stopped just short, not opting to reach for you, just looking. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. “You sure you’re okay?” 

You cleared your throat as you nodded. “Mhm.” 

He could only chuckle under his breath. You were standing so straight, holding yourself so tightly. He did reach out, then, peeling one of your hands away from your arm to hold it. He laced his fingers between yours. 

Yunho’s hands were large and warm, and they didn’t serve to ground you any. 

Oh god. What was happening to you? 

You tried to remind yourself of everything you’d said earlier. This was just a date. Yunho was just a man. A really, really fucking hot man. And a man who drove you absolutely insane. A man who knew how to kiss. 

“You ready to go?” he asked, eyes flicked downward, watching your joined hands. He couldnt’t believe it either—was just better at keeping his cool—that this was actually happening. That you’d agreed to it. 

“Yes,” you said, and the pair of you walked out of your apartment together. He made eyes at you in the elevator. 

Were you both thinking about the same thing? The upward quirk of his smile was enough to make you think yes. 

“You are nervous,” Yunho commented as the doors to the lobby slid open. 

“Shut up,” you said. “I’m not.”

He held his free hand up in defense. “Not a very nice way to talk to your date.”

You shot a glare in his direction, but it wasn’t very threatening when paired with the smile gracing your lips. 

He squeezed your hand. “Why?” 

“Why, what?” you asked. 

“Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” you said again, but this time the pointed look was from him. And frankly, it was deserved. “Shut up,” you said again, as the two of you stepped outside. “I’m not nervous, you’re nervous.”

“I’m a little nervous,” he said. 

He kept your hand in his as you walked. He didn’t tell you where you were going, and you didn’t ask. 

“What?” you asked. “The Jeong Yunho, nervous? Haven’t you done this like a million times?”

“Yeah, but never with you,” he said, which only made heat rise to your cheeks. 

You were still not used to this version of Yunho. The charming one. The complement to the snarky asshole who’s been appearing in your apartment for the past several months. 

“Where are you taking me, anyway?” you asked, diverting the conversation from compliments that made your skin turn pink. 

“We’re almost there,” he said. 

There were so many other questions flying through your head, but it was so much harder to form words around him, now. It was easier before, when all those words were full of frustration and anger, when you were making fun of him or reacting to his torment. When he was being kind to you, it only left you speechless and on uneven footing. 

Thankfully, he was right. In only a few minutes of walking, you arrived at a small Italian bistro. A place you’d seen a hundred times on walks home from work, but never stopped into. It wasn’t exactly a bartender’s salary kind of place, unless you wanted to blow an entire month’s food budget on delicious gnocchi. Which, honestly, you’d thought about plenty of times before. 

Booths lined the walls with tables in the center, spread out and quiet, each with its own warm candlelight in the middle, its own dangling chandelier in the center. The tables were preset with wine glasses and cutlery. 

He gave his name at the host stand, and the two of you followed her to a table. Yunho’s hand settled on your lower back as you walked. 

Only the thin layer of your shirt stopped the electricity from knocking you out, dulling it to a mild spark instead. You slid into a booth opposite him. 

The host rattled off some wine specials. 

“Whatever you suggest,” Yunho said, smiling warmly at the woman. 

She disappeared momentarily, then returned with a bottle of red wine with a name you didn’t know how to pronounce. She filled up your glasses, then left the bottle behind. 

“So,” Yunho said, picking up his glass to look at you over it. “I should have said this already, but you look really nice tonight.”

“Don’t,” you said, a knee-jerk reaction to his complimenting. “I mean—”

“You know this is a date, right?” he teased. “You agreed to go on a date with me.”

You laughed under your breath, covering your mouth with your hand. “Sorry,” you said, trying not to laugh. “Still trying to get used to you being like this.”

“Like what?” he asked, one brow raised. 

“Oh, come on. You know like what,” you fired back. You lifted your glass of wine too and took a small sip. It was delicious. Deep and dry. 

He set his wine glass down and leaned slightly forward with both elbows on the table, trying to get closer to you. He tilted his head to the side, watching you curiously. “I don’t,” he said. 

“All charming and nice,” you said. 

“I think I’ve always been charming and nice,” Yunho said. 

You shake your head, taking another sip of your wine to hide the fact that the smile won’t fade from your lips—that being around him made you smile, now. “That’s not true, and you know it, Yunho.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please,” you said. “You can’t pretend that for the last several months you haven’t been trying to get on my last nerve.”

He pursed his lips like he was really, actually taking the time to think about it. “Maybe I just like getting you all hot and bothered,” he said, finally. 

“Wasn’t hot,” you said. “Just bothered.”

“And now?” Yunho asked, leaning even further over the table, as if making direct eye contact would allow him to glean every secret you ever had. 

“Still just bothered, I think,” you teased, lifting your glass to your lips. 

Yunho leaned back in his seat, picking up his own glass and smiling smugly to himself. “I do like a challenge.”

When the waitress came over to ask about starting courses, you were still looking at one another, like you were both trying to place exactly what was going on, exactly what all of it meant. Yunho looked at you like he was trying to read your mind, trying to figure out what you thought about him, and you looked at him like you were trying to piece together a complex puzzle, trying to figure out what he wanted from you. 

It was Yunho who broke eye contact first, who glanced over at the waitress, who ordered a few starters for the table. 

When she walked away, you were still looking at him, watching. Studying, almost. Like you could glean something in the way he talked to others, in whether he chose bruschetta or burrata. 

“So,” he said, lowering his empty glass back to the table. 

“So,” you mirrored. 

It occurred to you then that you knew almost nothing about him, aside from the fact that he liked video games and coffee. Aside from what his mouth felt like against yours. 

You engaged in tense, short, small talk for a little while, until the food came out. How work had been for you, what he’d been up to with his time. Trying to get to know each other even a little bit more. It all came back to pointed glances and tension—both of you guarded against something. Not each other, really, but refusing to let the other in. 

Yunho didn’t give much away about himself, only continued asking about you. And you could only tease him in response. Keeping him at a distance by pushing back, instead. 

As the wine levels lowered, so did your defenses. 

“Is this how it usually goes for you?” you asked, finishing off your second glass of wine while you waited for his answer. He didn’t speak immediately, so you clarified. “Like, on all your dates, is this usually how things go?”

“I don’t know where you got this idea that I go on tons of dates,” he said. 

It only served to stun you. Because—where else would you have gotten that information, aside from the obvious? By living next door. By kicking out said dates the next morning. 

“I mean—” you started. 

“Your impression of me,” he said. “It’s wrong. You think I’m this ladies man, right?” He laughed like he couldn’t even say the words with a straight face. “I’m really not.”

“Oh, please,” you said, because you knew that to be false. You’d met the women. Spoken with them. 

He chuckled under his breath. “Just because they were at my house didn’t mean I went out on dates with them. You know that, right? That you don’t have to go on a date with someone to get into bed with them?” He raised a brow in such a suggestive way that you choked on your saliva. 

“I know that,” you said. Even though it didn’t really occur to you that he wasn’t actually dating anyone. 

“This is the first date I’ve been on in over a year,” he said, offering up something about himself completely unprompted. “So I don’t know how it’s going, really. My date seems a little tense. A little nervous, even though she doesn’t want to admit it.”

“You haven’t been on a date in over a year?” you asked, lingering on the details. “But you’re so—” you started, then realized you had no idea how to finish the sentence. What? Active? 

“Let’s just get this conversation over with,” Yunho said, a bit of tension appearing in the crease between his brows. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to draw attention to it. But you were so obviously curious, and it was so easy to do anything when it was what you wanted. 

“No,” you said, holding a hand up. “It’s okay, really. I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “It makes sense why you did. The women I’ve been with, they knew what I was looking for. I didn’t trick them or make them think I was looking for a relationship when I wasn’t. We met at bars or clubs or on dating apps. I didn’t date any of them.” 

“Okay,” you said. 

“So, I guess I’m kind of rusty,” he said. “When it comes to stuff like this.”

You laughed. “You’re not rusty at all,” you said. “You’re charming. You’ve always been charming.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Like, annoyingly so.” 

He looked down at the table, but not before you caught the slight blush appearing on his cheeks. Had you actually made Yunho blush?

“I think that makes you the experienced dater in the situation, then,” Yunho said. 

This, too, made you laugh. Because if there was anything you didn’t have experience with, it was dating. All of your dates had ended—with a fizzle and certainly without a bang. Your track record over the past year or two was mostly boring. Boring men who didn’t make you laugh. Boring men who you couldn’t bicker playfully with. Men who wanted more from you than you had to give. Or not enough. 

“I don’t know about that,” you said. Then, “Maybe we’re both losers.”

A bright smile crossed his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”

The rest of the dinner went by without as much tension. You learned a few little bits of information about one another. Where he grew up. What you studied in school. What your favorite drink to make at work was. 

“Do you like it?” he asked, refilling your wine when a new bottle appeared at the table seemingly out of nowhere. “Your job?” 

You shrugged. “Most of the time, yes.” You took a small sip. “I like the people. The regulars are mostly cool. And I get this glimpse into people’s lives that I don’t think I could get anywhere else. I only get to see what they want to show me. What they tell me about their day, or whatever baggage they bring to the counter. I like that.”

“Is what they say about bartenders really true?” he asked. “Do people tell you their life stories, their secrets?”

“Sometimes,” you said. “Depends on the person, and how many drinks they’ve had. Most people keep to themselves, but I have a few regulars who like to talk.”

“You’re kind of fascinating, you know that?” he asked. 

“What?” you said, exhaling a short laugh. 

“When I moved in down the hall, you were headed out somewhere with Wooyoung and Jihyo—”

You interrupted him. “No, that’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“Why?” he asked. “I like this story.”

You put your hands over your face like you could hide from it, from your own actions several months ago. 

“You walked right over to me and introduced yourself. I thought that was pretty cool.” 

Really? Because you had recounted that interaction several times in the hours afterward, convinced that you had made a complete ass out of yourself, convinced that you were the lamest person in the entire world. 

“Do you remember what you said to me?” he asked. 

“No,” you said. Even though you obviously did. Even though you knew exactly the words you’d said. 

Yunho smiled. “That I could come over any time if I needed something. That you were excited to have a cool, new neighbor.”

You hid your face behind your hands again. “God, that’s so lame.” 

“I thought it was cute.”

“You did not,” you said. 

He took a sip of his wine, eyes not leaving yours as he did. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you were certain that this embarrassment was going to kill you. 

“And then you came over whenever you wanted for the rest of forever,” you said. “Just to bother me.”

He laughed again. “I came over because I thought you were cute.”

“I thought you were just trying to get away from the girls in your apartment.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Because they weren’t you.”

You rolled your eyes at him because it was such a line. So something he would say to get what he wanted, to make a girl blush, or make them want him. It was probably something he said to those girls in the bar, to get them to come home with him. Not that he probably had to say much of anything at all. His appearance could do most of the talking. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he said. “I’m being honest here.”

“You are not,” you said. 

His eyebrows raised at your blatant dismissal. “Just because you don’t want to believe me doesn’t make it untrue.”

“Yunho, be serious.”

“I am being serious,” he said. “None of those girls meant anything to me. They knew it. I knew it.”

“How charming,” you said. 

“Are you going to keep judging me for this, or can we move on?” he asked, straight-faced, just as blatant as your words. It must have been the alcohol, making you both so free to talk about what you were really thinking. 

“I’m not judging you for sleeping around. I don’t care about your sex life, Yunho. I really don’t,” you said. “You just can’t expect me to believe that you were thinking about me the whole time. I mean, we didn’t even know each other.”

“I know you wake up at ten on weekdays and eleven on weekends. I know you record more reality TV than any sane person probably should. I know that you like coffee and you hate tea. I know you make a really good old-fashioned. I know you like people. I know you’re kind, but you don’t take people’s shit.”

It was all true. 

“And I know I think about you when you aren’t around. I know that I’m not good enough for you even on my best days.” 

“That’s not true,” you said. “You’re good.”

“Is that why you rejected me?” he asked. 

“No,” you said. “I rejected you because I wanted more than I thought you wanted to give me.”

Something lit up behind his eyes when he smiled. 

The rest of the date went on without incident. You returned to small talk. To easier conversation. To more teasing and taunting. 

When you finally left, both wine drunk and happy, it was with intertwined hands. 

“So nice of you to walk me home,” you joked. 

“Well, I am quite the gentleman,” Yunho said. 

You laughed under your breath. 

“Your place or mine?” you asked as you stepped into the lobby and pressed the button to call the elevator down. 

He looked shocked by this. Like he hadn’t been thinking about it all night, what taking you back to his place would be like. Okay, so maybe he had, but that didn’t mean he was going to act on those feelings. No, he wanted to do this right. 

He didn’t respond fast enough, and it felt like a rejection. 

You played it off. “I just want to make you a drink, Yunho. Don’t be weird,” you said. Even though that wasn’t exactly what you meant. Maybe it meant what he thought it meant. That you were looking for more. 

“Your place, then,” he said, trying to keep the smile off his lips with little success. 

The elevator doors slipped open, and you both stepped inside. 

That same tension returned again. The we-kissed-here tension. 

You were both looking at each other. Wine drunk and smiling. You used your intertwined hands to pull him toward you. He took one confident stride closer. When the doors slid open at your floor, his hands were reaching up to touch your arms, that same darkened look in his eyes. The part of his lips, the way his eyes roamed your face, up and down, unable to stop in any one location. He wanted to kiss you. 

But he remained that step away, instead letting his knuckles glide along your skin. 

You reached out for him, like that first night. Your hands found his lapels as the elevator doors slid closed. You didn’t tug him closer, but just held them. 

He leaned down slowly, eyes shifting between your lips and your mouth. Your lips parted, too, and he captured them like it was an invitation. 

Kissing him felt just as insane every single time you’d done it. There was the urgency and the fear of the first night, the pretending. And days ago, there had only been tenderness in his investigation. This kiss fell somewhere in the middle. 

You could taste the wine on his lips as they moved slowly against yours. He tried to savor every bit of you. But as soon as it was really getting started, he was pulling away, cutting it off. 

Then, his hand intertwined with yours again. He hit a button to make the elevator doors open again, and he led you down the hall, toward your place. 

You wanted to reach for him again, wanted to drag him down for another kiss. But his expression looked like steel. He didn’t look at you, but instead forward at the door while you dug around for your keys. Even when you tried to steal a glance, he didn’t meet it. 

But he let you lead him into your apartment, and once you were inside, he removed his jacket, placing it on the back of one of your chairs. You went to the kitchen, and he followed you, wrapping his arms low around your waist so he could rest his chin on your shoulder. 

It was so domestic that it made your teeth hurt like you were sucking on a sweet candy. 

“What do you like to drink?” you asked. “Do you actually like an old-fashioned, or were you just trying to piss me off?” 

He chuckled in your ear, low and melodic, his breath curling against the shell of your ear. “I like them.”

“But are they your favorite?” you asked. 

“I don’t know if I have a favorite,” he said. 

“Everyone has a favorite,” you said.

“What’s yours?” he asked. “That’s what I want.”

You weren’t going to be able to make anyone anything if he kept holding onto you like that, kept whispering in your ear. 

“I like, um,” you started. “Mai tais. Rum-based drinks in general.” 

“Rum sounds good,” he said. 

You took a step forward, and his arms fell away from you. You collected a few things from the counter, moving them over to the place next to the sink. Yunho stayed close, watching you work as you sliced and juiced a lime. He watched as you filled a shaker with ice and added the ingredients. He watched you shake it, then strain the contents over ice in a lowball glass. He watched as you carefully placed a few cherries atop the drink next to a lime wheel. 

“Wait,” you said. “Finishing touch.” You dug around in a drawer and found a tiny umbrella, which you dropped into the drink for him, before picking it up and handing it to him. 

He took a tentative sip, then smiled. “Damn, that’s good.” 

“Kind of my specialty,” you said, already starting the process over for yours. 

Eventually, the two of you migrated to the couch. You took a seat on the ground, your back to the legs of the couch, your drink on the table adjacent to you. Yunho sat behind you, on the couch itself. 

You already had a controller in your hands, and it didn’t take long before Yunho wandered to the other side of the room to pick up another one. 

While you scrolled through your available games, he said, “Trying to figure out which game you want to lose at?” 

You shook your head, not looking back at him. “Cocky,” you commented. “I think you’ll find I’m better than you think.”

“I play on your account,” he said, which really meant I’ve seen your statistics. 

“Okay, so I’m bad at the games you like to play,” you said. 

He slipped onto the ground next to you. 

“I was thinking something collaborative.” 

You pulled up Overcooked and watched as he rolled his sleeves up. 

“It’s that serious?” you asked, teasingly. 

He laughed. “It’s incredibly serious.” 

You both finished your drinks and played into the middle of the night, yelling at each other about vegetables and recipes. 

It was nearly three in the morning when your eyes started to get heavy, when your head started to hurt, the hangover starting. You leaned your head against his shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. Neither of you moved for a long time. At some point, his hand came up to stroke long lines into your hair. And when you did, finally, fall asleep like that, he scooped you up and carried you to bed. 

He peeled back the covers and deposited you there, pulling them back up around your body afterward. He pressed a kiss into your hair and disappeared.

When you woke up the next morning, it was to an empty apartment. When you wandered into the living room, there were no empty mai tai glasses to be found, no dishes from your late-night cocktail crafting. Everything was clean and put away. 

You had no choice but to call Jihyo. 

When she answered, it was not with a hello but with the immediate, important questions. “Oh my god, how was it?”

You kicked your feet up on the coffee table, leaned back with arms crossed over your chest, thinking. 

“You’re up later than usual—does that mean it went really well?” Jihyo asked. 

What was this feeling developing in the center of your chest? It couldn’t possibly be disappointment, right? There was nothing wrong with the date. He’d been a perfect gentleman. He’d paid for the meal, walked you home, let you yell at him into the wee hours of the night. He’d even tucked you in and washed your dishes. 

But he’d hardly kissed you. 

“It was… good,” you said. 

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It wasn’t bad,” you said hastily. “It was really good. It just—I just, I guess I can’t even tell if he really even likes me or not.”

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

You shrugged, even though Jihyo couldn’t see it. “We kissed again, but that was it—and he didn’t even seem like, eager to continue.”

“That’s… weird,” was Jihyo’s analysis of the evening. You filled her in on the rest of the fine details. The restaurant, the banter, the moments of tension. “Maybe he’s just being careful?” she suggested. “Like he doesn’t want you to think he just wants you for one thing.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Maybe.”

Jihyo laughed. “So what you’re saying is that it was a really good date, but you’re annoyed he didn’t put out?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you said. 

“Kind of sounds like what you’re saying.”

“I’m hanging up now,” you said. 

And you did. 

It wasn’t long before you heard from Yunho again. Before another date was scheduled. Before you were calling Jihyo afterward again to recount the same news. The lack of news. And then it happened again. You were beginning to think the worst, that he didn’t want you. When he pulled away from another kiss on the night of your fourth date, two weeks into whatever it was the two of you were doing together, you threw your hands out in exasperation. 

“Is there something wrong with me?” you asked. 

He folded his arms over his chest. “Hm?” he asked. Then, what you said must have registered with him. “What do you mean?” He might have teased you if you hadn’t sounded so serious. 

You chewed on your bottom lip for a long time, trying to work up the nerve to say the words you really wanted to say. 

“I mean,” you started, but the words died on your tongue. 

He had to know. 

There was no way he didn’t. 

He lifted his hand to your face, curled two fingers under your chin, and lifted, making you hold his gaze. His eyes were sharp, brown, drowning in blown-out pupils. 

“Do you even still like me?” you asked, getting the words out. They weren’t exactly the right words, but the right words made your stomach turn. Even these ones made your heart beat faster, made your fingers twitch. Because it felt so stupid to be asking. Obviously, he liked you. 

And he laughed. 

Because, of course, he laughed. 

It was a stupid fucking question. 

“Of course, I like you,” he said, still holding your chin, still looking at you. Something knowing crossed his features, then, and you wished he would just confirm your worries without you having to actually speak them aloud. 

“Then why don’t you want me?” you asked, voice small and timid. 

His hand moved to the side of your face, his fingers dipping into your hair, holding you. “You think that I don’t want you?” he asked. 

“I mean, it’s the only reasonable explanation,” you stammered, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“It’s not reasonable,” Yunho said. 

Then, he dropped his hand from your face, slipping his palm into yours instead. He tugged you toward his door, away from your apartment—where he was previously dropping you off for the evening. You don’t even remember what his excuse had been. Something about having to work in the morning. 

You let him lead you down the hall, toward his apartment. You would have followed him anywhere. He didn’t speak, just walked with you trailing behind. The short distance felt so much longer when you had to cross it without knowing what was on his mind. 

As soon as you were inside, the door closed behind you, and he had you pressed against it, the cold metal interior, the doorknob just to the side of your hip. He didn’t kiss you. Just held you caged between his arms, elbows next to your shoulder, forearms resting against the door next to your head. 

You cleared your throat. Breathing felt like an impossibility, like all of the air had been sucked fully and totally out of the room, with his face so close to yours, his eyes studying every movement you made. 

“What were you saying?” you asked, voice just above a whisper. “About it being unreasonable?”

He ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his cheek, and it was so much hotter than it had any reason to be. 

How high did he keep the heat in his apartment? Why did it feel like you were absolutely drenched in sweat? Your hands were clammy, your fingers tense at your side. You didn’t touch him, even though you wanted to. You weren’t afraid of being rejected. You knew that wasn’t what this was, exactly. But you were too curious to move. 

Curious about what he would do—what he wanted. 

Yunho shifted his weight, pressing against the door with one arm, in order to lean slightly back, to run the pads of his pointer and middle finger along your jawline. Your eyes stayed locked on his, watching him as he followed the movement of his hand. They flicked back to you, dark and deep. He cleared his throat, parted his soft, almost heart-shaped lips, to speak. 

“I was trying,” he started, voice still gravely despite his attempt at clearing it. “To be a gentleman.” 

Your lips formed into an oh, and you swallowed thick, trying to gather the confidence to say the next thing. To make the words known. “You don’t have to be.”

His fingers stilled on your jaw, and his dark brown eyes—overflowing with want—caught yours. You tried to keep your gaze neutral, but you could tell by the way he was looking at you that it wasn’t a success. 

One corner of his lips quirked up first, just before the smirk drew across his face. Brows slightly raised, eyes inquisitive. 

He was still so close to you, leaning in just an inch away from your lips. You could have closed the distance if you wanted to, but there was something appealing about this game the two of you had started playing the moment the door to his apartment closed. Like it was something tangible between the two of you that could be grabbed at any moment, but you both tiptoed around it, careful and curious. 

Yunho’s hand fell to your neck, his knuckles dragged downward, skittering over your pulse and making your heart beat faster. 

“So jumpy,” he said. “How long have you been thinking about this?” he asked. “About saying something?” 

Your lips parted, but the confidence in your brain didn’t meet the confidence of the real-life situation, couldn’t face the way he was looking at you. Words died on your tongue, and he looked at you like he could see the entire process. Your struggling only made his smirk more proud. 

“Really interesting,” he said, voice still low and gravely, but soft—too. A tool he used for inspection. “I was trying to be a gentleman for you, and you were thinking about—what?” he asked. 

Your breath caught in your throat as he lowered his lips to the edge of your ear. You tried to collect your thoughts, tried to figure out how to navigate this new situation. This was the Yunho you were more familiar with. The one who poked and prodded at you. Who teased you in the living room, who was downright difficult. 

It was the gentlemanly version of him that you’d been unfamiliar with, that you didn’t know quite how to handle. 

“Oh, now she’s quiet,” he commented. “You had so much to say not even five minutes ago.”

“Five minutes ago, you didn’t have me pressed up against a wall,” you said, trying to steady your voice into something that sounded any semblance of calm, even if you didn’t feel it. 

He slipped his hand into your hair at the base of your neck. “How long have you been thinking about it?” he asked. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, tilting your head up as you ran your tongue over your lower lip. 

Yunho laughed dryly under his breath. “Is that right?” 

“That’s right,” you repeated. 

“I was going to be so nice to you, baby,” Yunho whispered, breath curling against your ear. “Was going to treat you so good, too. Now, I’m not sure you deserve it.” 

Your mouth fell open. 

“What?” he asked, pulling back to look at you, to read the shock running its way across your face. “You want to play pretend now—pretend you haven’t been thinking about it, pretend you didn’t just ask. I can play, too.” 

“I just—” you start. “You weren’t—” 

“What wasn’t I doing?” he asked, one brow quirked upward. He wanted actual, tangible answers. 

The way he spoke made everything in your brain stop working. All the lights turned off, and it was just fizzling, crackling energy left behind. Nothing that converted the thoughts into words. You were left just staring at him, mouth opening for a moment before your lips pressed together again. 

Yunho was patient. He didn’t speak. Just kept his hand laced through your hair, kept that same look leveled on you. It didn’t help, but it certainly didn’t hurt, either. 

“Let’s recap,” he said after a moment. “You asked me why I don’t want you. Which, I’m not sure where you got that idea, but that’s not important. And I asked you how long you’ve been thinking about this. And what was it that you said?” he asked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

A small smile crept across your lips in delight at the way he spoke, the way his words got faster the more irritated he got with trying to figure you out. It was nice to be the one to get under his skin for once. 

He shook his head in disbelief, but you could see the hint of a smile on his lips, too. He was enjoying this just as much as you were, this back and forth. 

“I don’t,” you said, a proud smile on your lips now. “Know what you’re talking about.”

He exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. 

“You know if you keep playing innocent, you’re not going to get what you want. What we both know you want,” he said. 

You pressed your lips into a pout. He couldn’t resist. He removed his hand from your hair and touched the center of your lower lip with the pad of his thumb, dragging gently downward. “You don’t have to pout,” he said. “Just tell me how long you’ve been thinking about it—and don’t lie.”

Speaking didn’t appeal to you. Instead, you parted your lips around his thumb and leaned just slightly forward so the pad landed flat atop your tongue. 

He did it again, ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his cheek in an attempt to mask his frustration. He hummed, a disapproving sound laced with something else. Like he enjoyed it, but didn’t want to indulge. 

“That’s not going to work on me, beautiful,” he said, pulling his thumb slowly out of your mouth. He dropped his hand to the space right below your neck, holding it ever-so-gently. He leaned in slowly, so his lips were only a fraction from yours. 

Your body reacted before you could stop it, leaning slightly forward to try to capture his lips. He pulled back, holding you firm against the door with one hand. “Ah, ah,” he said. 

“You don’t want to kiss me, Yunho?” you asked, pouting. “I mean, I kind of got that impression on our dates, but I thought maybe I was wrong.” 

He ran his tongue over his gums, just under his lower lip, and you could tell you were driving him insane, too. 

But you kept going. “If you don’t really want me, I could just go home,” you said. 

“Never said that,” he said. He took one of your hands, hanging useless at your side, and placed it atop the taut material and the hard length underneath it, lowering his lips to your ear again to whisper, “I want you, but not before you tell me what I want to hear.” 

He didn’t hold your hand to him, but yours lingered, regardless. You moved your palm against him, and he worked hard to keep his expression neutral, to not break immediately underneath your touch. After a few moments, he pulled your hand away, holding it tight in his. 

“Come on, baby,” he said. “How long?” The tip of his nose ran along the shell of your ear, and you shuddered under the sensation. Goosebumps rose on your forearms, and the heat of the apartment had only increased. “How long were you thinking about this while I was focused on treating you right, being a gentleman?” 

He kissed the hinge of your jaw. “I just want to know how long it took,” he said, pressing another kiss lower, along your jawline. “Was it the first date?” he asked. “Or the second?” Another kiss, this time at the top of your neck. You angled your head away from him, giving him better access. He didn’t comment, but you could feel the pride tug at the corner of his lips. “You must have been really frustrated to ask.” He dragged his teeth downward, then bit gently. “Were you frustrated?” 

All the bravado disappeared, and you were left, mouth open, victim to his ministrations, trying to figure out exactly how you could argue against this idea that you had been thinking about him like this nonstop for the past two weeks. 

You could no longer find a good reason to continue frustrating him. 

“The night you drove me home,” you said, your voice just above a whisper, like it was embarrassing to admit. His smile grew against your skin in an instant. 

“Mmm,” he hummed against your skin. “The kiss in the elevator really did it for you?” 

“No,” you said, like it was an instinct to shut him down. 

He only chuckled into the crook of your neck. 

“Is this what I have to look forward to?” he asked. “You being a brat?” 

“No,” you said, cocky smile across your face. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said, exasperation seeping into his words, seconds before his lips were on yours. You were all talk. The moment his lips touched yours, you came alive against him. It was a taste of what you wanted, and you immediately didn’t want it to end. You pushed away from the door, letting your arms fall over his shoulders as you pressed your body into his. His hands fell to your waist, then slid around to your back, holding you against him. 

Yeah, sure. Maybe you were impatient. Maybe you’d been thinking about this for weeks. Maybe you didn’t want him to know just how much you’d been thinking about it, how much your body absolutely craved his. But when your hands dropped to the buttons of his shirt, he didn’t complain. He didn’t make you stop to recite the answers to any questions. 

He just smiled against your lips, proud, like he’d won something. 

Your fingers grazed his bare skin as you worked further down. He deepened the kiss, angling forward as he tilted your head back, slipping his tongue between your lips. Yunho’s fingers dug into the cloth covering your hips, and your fingers stalled on his shirt. You reached for his skin instead, wanting to touch anything you could. You put one hand flat on his chest, but he was quick to loop a hand around your wrist and pull it away. 

“Hey,” you mumbled into his lips. 

He gave no response, only laced his fingers through the hand he’d stolen and pinned it back against the door as he continued to kiss you, running his tongue along yours. 

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said, breaking apart from your mouth, breaths ragged, forehead touching yours. “At anytime,” he said. 

You nodded, but remained silent. Hoping for the continuation of whatever he was doing, his lips on your again, his hands exploring your body. Any of it. You didn’t care. You’d take what he was willing to give. You might even say thank you.

He kissed you again, dragging your lower lip into his mouth as his fingers inched toward the hem of your shirt. One hand snuck underneath it. His knuckles grazed your bare stomach, and you jumped. He smiled into the kiss, and you rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. 

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, muttering the words against you between kisses. “I’m barely touching you.”

“I’m fine,” you hissed. His lips found the column of your neck again, however, and you began to question the declaration. 

He chuckled again, letting the sound reverberate through you as his fingers climbed further up your abdomen. 

Your head lolled backward, resting against the door behind you, the rest of your body arched forward into him. 

“You give up on the shirt?” he asked, eyes glancing between the two of you, to the few buttons holding his shirt together. 

“No,” you said. 

His hand still held one of yours pinned to the door. You reached between your bodies with your free one and worked on the button. It kept slipping free from your fingers at the same time as your soft moans. He bit your pulse point, sucking your skin into his mouth gently at first and then harder. Your lids fluttered closed, and the fabric fell out of your hand again. 

“Come on,” he said. 

His other hand slipped under your bra, cupping your breast. You almost had the last button done when his thumb ran over your nipple. “Yunho,” you hissed in annoyance. 

“Want me to stop?” he asked, lifting his lips from your neck just enough to catch your gaze, his thumb still moving back and forth across your nipple inconsistently, making it impossible to get used to. 

“It would be easier,” you said. “If I could use my other hand.” 

“Huh,” he said. “That’s too bad.” Then, he dropped his lips to your neck again, kissing lower, grazing them along the length of your collarbone. 

You finally did get the last button, then used your one free hand to attempt to push the fabric back off his shoulders. You tugged against his hand, trying to free yourself from the grip. He held firm, didn’t even so much as budge. But he felt your attempt, and that had him grinning. 

“Need help?” he asked. 

“Nope,” you said. You had most of his chest revealed, and that was good enough for you. You reached out for it, running just the tips of your fingers down the center. He didn’t stop you this time, letting you explore him. 

He released your hand then, only for his own benefit, to grab the hem of your shirt with both hands and lift it up and over your head. 

You stood apart for a second, looking at one another. His eyes fell to your chest, your cleavage. His tongue flicked out to wet his lower lip. You were too busy getting the rest of his shirt off to notice the way he looked at you. 

The break only lasted a moment, but it might as well have been an eternity of not touching one another. Of studying what was before you and wanting it. You both seized forward at the same time, your lips colliding as hands roamed over bodies. Yours found his shoulders, slid down his arms over his biceps, then back up. His went to your waist, around to your back. One fiddled with the strap of your bra before unhooking it in a swift motion. 

He didn’t break the kiss, just took a half-step back as he pulled the straps off your shoulders and down. Once your bra was on the floor in the growing pile of clothes next to you, he pulled away again to look at you. His lips were on your skin again in no time, working downward as his hand moved upward. He rolled one nipple between thumb and forefinger as he kissed a circle around the other. 

Your body tensed under his ministrations, and you were certain this man was going to be the absolute death of you with his knowing looks and his slow touches. Heat started in your stomach and dripped dangerously low at every caress. But you tried to keep your cool, tried to handle it. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being putty in his hands. 

Yunho hummed a sound of happiness as he sucked, flicking your nipple with his tongue. Your hands threaded into his hair. 

His hands fell to your pants, unbuttoning the top button. “Take these off,” he said, and you finished the job, stepping out of them as he kissed back upward, taking his time. His fingers teased at the waistband of your underwear. 

You sucked in a breath, hot and sharp between your teeth. The door pressed cold lines into your back, and Yunho’s fingertips continued to flutter atop the band, teasing. The heat of the moment and the cold of the metal did not grant you equilibrium but only contributed to the building feeling of overstimulation that you know he would absolutely revel in if he could read your mind. 

Maybe he could read your mind, because he smirked against your skin for at least the tenth time in so many minutes, and you were starting to think he knew every nasty thought you’d ever had. 

It was a stalemate, because you knew that he wanted you restless. He wanted you begging. But you didn’t want to voice another word, another request, didn’t want to do what he told you to do. Unfortunately, you also really wanted him to slip his fingers lower. 

He watched you, too, like he knew you were making this calculation. 

He placed his hand across your stomach as he leaned forward to whisper in your ear. “Just say it,” he whispered. “I know you want to.”

He lifted your chin with his fingers as he pulled back, meeting your eyes. His eyes were dark and heavy, full of clear desire. The word no died on your tongue. 

But neither did he wait for you to ask. He held your eye contact as he moved his hand between your thighs, humming as he ran the pads of his fingers along your clothed slit. “Nice and wet for me, hm?” 

He pushed your underwear to the side, dragged his middle finger through your folds, and then slipped it inside of you to the knuckle. 

“See, I can be nice,” he said.

You choked on a gasp and tried to let your head fall back against the door, but he held your chin firm, keeping his eyes on you. He moved his finger slowly as you adjusted. His eyes traced your expression, the subtle part of your lips, the way your eyes rolled slightly backward. And you studied his, too. The hooded gaze as he watched you, the way his smirk got cockier every time you reacted to the movement. 

There was no escaping his careful eye. He caught every soundless gasp, every subtle movement.  

He liked you like this, falling apart and trying to keep yourself together at the same time. Not wanting to give in to him, but wanting everything he had to give. He liked teasing it out of you, that desire. 

Your lids fluttered closed as he stroked just the right spot, curling his finger to meet it. 

“Eyes open,” he said. His voice was firm, but not sharp. Commanding in a gentle kind of way. 

It didn’t make you want to listen. 

“Or what?” you challenged, eyes still closed. 

“Or I’ll stop,” he said. And he did. 

Your eyes flew open, and he couldn’t help the breathy laugh that fell off his lips. 

“You’re trying so hard, baby, but your body keeps giving you away,” Yunho said, a hair away from your lips, before he kissed you. 

He slipped another finger inside of you at the same time, and your body arched forward, your hands reaching for something to hold onto and finding his shoulders with ease. You groaned into his mouth, both at the feeling and his words. 

“God,” you moaned, breaking away from his lips to catch your breath. He didn’t go far, instead dropping his lips to your neck, biting and sucking at your skin until you felt like you were melting. You rolled your hips against his hand, wanting more, and he gave it without a word. His thumb ran over your clit, sending a shudder through your body. “Yunho, oh my god,” you muttered, hands digging into his shoulders. 

It was all too much. His teeth on your neck, his fingers moving fast inside you, curling, and his thumb running circles over your clit at a pace that made everything ache. 

“That feel good, baby?” he asked, voice gravely, breath hot on your neck. 

He didn’t slow his pace, so you could barely voice the words you wanted to say. All that came out was a breathy, “Don’t stop.”

And he was smirking again, running his tongue over your pulse before whispering, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Your hips kept rolling into his fingers, but he managed to keep the dizzing pressure on your clit as you squirmed. He took a step into you, pressing you up against the door again. One of his legs snuck between yours, and he used his upper thigh to hold you in place. 

He had you on the edge, about to teeter over, every muscle in your body so tense you were almost shaking. 

Then, he did exactly what he said he wouldn’t. He stopped. He dragged his fingers out of you slow, removed his thumb from your clit, and met your eyes. He struggled to keep your gaze, his eyes falling to your heaving chest as you tried to catch your breath. 

You groaned and tried to let your head fall back against the door, but he caught it, holding you forward by the neck. 

“Aw, you don’t like being teased, baby?” he asked, looking down his nose at you. 

You whimpered, moving your hips against his thigh in search of something. He only pinned you harder, keeping you from moving at all. 

He lifted his hand, slick with you, and tapped your lower lip. “Open,” he said. 

Your lips fell open, and he placed both of his fingers on the flat of your tongue. You closed your lips around them. He pressed down on your tongue, and you licked from the base of his finger to the tip without breaking the very direct eye contact he made with you. 

“Look at that,” he said. “You can follow directions.” 

You rolled your eyes and bit down gently on his fingers. He hooked his fingertips just behind your teeth and pulled you forward. 

“Mm,” he hummed. “I think I like you like this—unable to talk back.”

You ran your tongue over his fingers again, tried to move your hips again, chasing anything that would give you any kind of satisfaction now that fire danced over every inch of your skin, where he touched you and where he didn’t. 

He pulled his fingers from your mouth slowly as you licked them clean. He replaced his fingers with his tongue, lips crashing into yours—hungrier than before. The entire length of his body pressed up against you, anchoring you in place. You could hardly move between him and the wall, except to reach for him, to grip his arms tight in a grounding kind of way. 

He took a step away from you, dragging his lips from yours like it was the hardest decision he’d ever made. Then, he was grabbing your hand, pulling you deeper into his apartment, past the kitchen, through the living room, toward his bedroom. 

You’d been here before, seen these places before. You’d stalked through his apartment, looking for your fake boyfriend in order to drive off the women he’d slept with, you’d sat on his couch post-date, talking into the late hours of the night. 

The place seemed different now. His bedroom a completely new world. You’d only seen it in the aftermath, or with another woman sprawled out across it, waiting for his return. It was pristine now, the bed made with crisp sheets and a comfortable atop it. Pillows stacked in front of the headboard.

He guided you toward the edge of the bed, and you sat while he towered over you, hands lowering to his belt. You watched with rapt attention, tongue running between your lips. He undid his belt buckle, then the top button of his pants. He worked slowly—slower because he could tell you were watching, waiting. 

Yunho let his pants fall to his ankles. He stepped out of them, and your hands shot out, touching his abdomen but trailing downward for more. You were so interested, so needy. You’d never wanted anyone as much as you wanted him, right then. 

He slipped his hands over yours, and you rolled your eyes before he could open his mouth. 

“Ask for it,” he said, looking down at you. That same smirk playing on his lips. You should have known that being with him would be like this, with all the teasing he did outside the bedroom. All the playful glances he always shot in your direction, all the comments he made. It just never occurred to you that he would be so, well, annoying. 

Why was it so hot, then? If you were so annoyed, why did his words always make that same heat pool between your legs, always make you want him even more? And why did it drive you absolutely insane anytime he asked you anything? 

You pressed your lips into a tight line, determined to be stubborn about this. 

“You don’t have to touch me,” he said. “But if you want to—I’m going to need to hear you ask.” 

He held your hands tight in his to prevent them from going anywhere. 

“You’re—”

“What, baby?” he asked, still looking down at you, not touching you anywhere other than your hands. He cocked his head to the side. “What am I?” 

“Bossy,” you said. “And kind of a pain in the ass.” 

He laughed, a full, deep one that shook his chest. “You want me to stop?” he asked, lifting one hand to tilt your chin upward. “I could be nice to you, instead. Really nice.” 

You hesitated. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said. 

“Shut up,” you said, pushing against his abdomen with your intertwined hands. You grumbled under your breath. You batted your eyelashes at him. “I’d really like to touch you, Yunho. Could I, please?” 

He smirked. “Now, I don’t think you really mean that.”

“Oh, should I get on my knees?” you said, that same expression on your face—fluttering eyelashes, like you’d do anything he wanted if he really wanted it. 

“Only if you want to, beautiful,” he said. He freed your other hand, too. 

You hooked your fingers into the band of his boxers and pulled them down, tongue flicking out to wet your lips as you slid off the edge of the bed and onto your knees in front of him. He watched, silently, one hand coming up to gather your hair away from your face. 

One of your hands lifted to wrap around him. He was big, you had to admit. And you couldn’t keep the look off your face. Like you were drunk on want. Like he was all you could possibly think about. 

You leaned forward, flattened your tongue against the underside of the tip, eyes flicking up to meet his as you did, watching for a reaction. He didn’t hold back as you did, but let you watch as his lips parted. His hand tightened in your hair, and you gasped as you took him into your mouth—shallow at first, as you got used to the size. 

Slowly, you took him deeper. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re so good.” 

He rolled his hips once, slow, as he held the back of your head. 

“That okay?” he asked, his voice dropping to one much more gentle than how he’d been speaking to you. 

You nodded as best you could with your mouth wrapped around his cock. 

Another slow roll of his hips, and he was reaching your throat. You dropped your hands from him and looked up. You stopped moving, letting him take control instead. He held the back of your head firm and rolled his hips again and again, a little harder each time. 

Each time he hit the back of your throat, your eyes stung. His grip in your hair tightened, and you moaned around him, which only made him thrust into your mouth faster—harder. 

Tears stung in the corners of your eyes, but neither of you stopped. 

“God,” Yunho hissed again, hips bucking, snapping forward into you one more time before he pulled out fast. 

“Get up,” he said, and you stood—no attitude needed. 

He wiped the tears from under your eyes, the drool from your mouth, then spun you around and pressed you down, into the mattress. He reached into the drawer next to his bed, ripped open a condom with his teeth, and rolled it on, keeping one hand on your lower back. 

He guided the tip of his cock to your entrance and dragged it through your folds. “Still so wet, and I wasn’t even touching you,” he said. 

You couldn’t get a single word out. Your face was buried in the bedspread. He pushed just the tip inside of you, and every muscle in your legs went taut, seizing up. 

“Relax, baby,” Yunho said, moving forward another inch, reveling in the stretch, the feeling of tightness as you clamped down hard around him. Your hands were already balled into the fabric next to you, your teeth already biting down hard on your bottom lip to keep from whimpering. You pushed back against him, trying to get more. 

His hands came up to hold your hips, preventing you from moving. He slid forward another inch, slowly, enough to make you ache. 

“Please,” you begged, needing all of him way faster than he was willing to give it. 

You could practically hear the smirk appear behind you as he rolled his hips forward into you, filling you up. 

A jagged gasp escaped your lips. You could feel him pulsing inside of you, twitching, betraying his resolve. But he didn’t move. He kept one hand on your hip, then ran the other down your spine, making you shiver. 

“Yunho,” you whimpered. 

“Something you want, hm?” he asked, voice low and dark, like he was holding back from what he wanted, too, just to break you down even further. 

You gritted your teeth. “Yes,” you said, forcing the word out. 

He traced lazy circles on your back. “Tell me.” 

“Yunho,” you moaned again, trying to move your hips against them again. 

He stilled them once more. “I want to hear you say it.” 

“Say what?” you teased—only punishing yourself. 

He shifted only slightly, enough to remind you what you wanted. He grabbed your shoulder, pulled you back against him, pushing his cock even deeper into you, making you gasp into the blankets. “Tell me what you want from me.” 

“God, Yunho,” you muttered, thighs starting to shake. “I want you,” you said. “I don’t know—I want you, I just want you.” 

He laughed dryly under his breath and rewarded you with a slow roll of his hips. “Not specific enough,” he said. 

You groaned again, exasperated and desperate. 

“I don’t—” you started, another slow, agonizing thrust. “I don’t—” 

“You know,” he said. “You just don’t want to say it.”

He pulled out of you slow, then snapped his hips forward, taking you to new levels of desperation. 

“You’re—” you stumbled over your words. “You’re being so mean.”

He stilled again, giving you time to process, to think. He massaged circles into your hip with his palm. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Yes,” you said, through gritted teeth. He started slow again, and you couldn’t help the whimpers that fell off your lips immediately, giving you away. “I want you so bad, please. Yunho, please,” you begged. 

He didn’t move. 

“What do you want me to say?” you hissed, irritated. “That I want you to fuck me until I see stars?” 

His fingers dug into your hip, and you knew you’d hit the mark. 

“Look at you, so good with your words,” he commented. 

His hips snapped forward again, deeper this time, faster. He established a rhythm. “Fuck—” you started, only to be interrupted by your own gasps. “You.” 

He slammed into you until you were stuttering, barely even able to say his name or mutter any other profanities. Your thighs were still shaking, legs tense and tight, especially as you arched into him, standing on your toes to lift your ass even higher. He put his hands on your shoulders, holding you in place before him, not letting you shift forward with every thrust—instead taking all of him with each deep stroke. 

It didn’t take long for you to start crumbling against him. He’d had you on the line for a long time, and your body could hardly take it anymore. Your thighs clenched, walls slamming down around him. 

“You wanna come, baby?” he asked, voice soft and deep, just above a whisper. You could hear the desire dripping from it, and it only made it more difficult to hold back. 

You nodded, whimpering as he kept up the pace, holding you and slamming forward again and again. He reached forward and grabbed your hair at the root, pulling you back. Your fingers tightened in the bedspread as the orgasm crashed into you, over you, through you, and you pressed yourself back against him as hard as you could, taking everything he could give as everything tightened so hard it was nearly unbearable. 

“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed as you came undone, falling limp beneath him. His pace slowed into long, languid strokes before he pulled out. 

With his hands on your hips, he turned you over, and you let him. Your face was flushed, your chest hot and red, your lips swollen from earlier kisses, and your hair a mess from his hands. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said. 

You let out a shaky breath, eyes dropping to his cock, still hard. You must have read his mind, because as he crawled onto the bed toward you, you moved away, sliding up so you could rest your head atop the pillows. 

Your knees were folded up, thighs pressed together. 

He slipped a hand on the inside of your knee and pushed them open so he could crawl between, moving up your body. Your hands went to his shoulders immediately, looking for something to grab before he touched you anywhere. 

Yunho pressed a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, the side of your nose. 

“Can you take more, baby?” he asked. 

You nodded, lip between your teeth. 

“God, you’re fucking perfect, you know that?” he asked. 

You shook your head, and he laughed, dropping his lips to yours in a slow, tender kiss, such a stark difference from the previous few and their feverish nature. 

He slipped a hand between your bodies, slipping a finger inside of you quickly, in and then out, before lining himself up with your entrance again. You sucked in a breath before he even moved. In one fluid motion, he sheathed himself fully inside of you. You shared the same gasp, mangled between kisses. 

Everything felt immediately intense. Each stroke lighting a new fire. He seemed intent on wrecking you completely, because his fingers moved quickly to find your clit. He put pressure on it with two fingers, letting the movement of his thrusts provide the friction. 

He sat up and pulled your hips down on him as he slid into you over and over again. 

“Yunho, oh my god,” you said through heavy breaths, the combination of sensations making you dizzy, making it difficult to keep your eyes open. 

Your sounds only encouraged him further, and soon his own grunts joined with your moans. He rubbed your clit with his thumb, not stopping to give you a second to calm down, only taking the sensation higher and higher. You squirmed, trying to get away from him, trying to stop the overstimulation, the feeling of everything being encompassed in wet, hot fire, but he didn’t let you move an inch. 

You threw your head back against the pillow in defeat, letting your hips roll against his. He lifted one of your legs, leaning it against his shoulder as he fucked deeper and deeper into you. You had to close your eyes—and he didn’t stop you, didn’t demand your attention, just kept touching and thrusting, and holding you until it was all too much. 

“I can’t—” you started, hips stuttering as your core tightened impossibly, strangling him inside of you. He groaned as you came, and you felt him twitch inside of you at the same time as he fucked you through your second orgasm of the night, until you were lying nearly boneless beneath him. And then he was still, too, collapsing on top of you, gathering you into his arms. 

You breathed heavily together for some time. Yunho pressed soft kisses to whatever skin he could reach and smoothed your hair away from your face. 

It was a long time—intertwined just like that—before he got out of bed to clean up. As soon as he returned, it was to gather you into his arms all over again, to hold you flush against his skin, to kiss your lips soft and slow. 

“That was—” you started, even though there were no words in the known world to finish the sentence properly. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Really was.”

You nestled your face deeper into his neck, and he held you even tighter, like he was worried you were going to go somewhere. 

When he spoke again, it was quiet, just above a whisper. “I really like you, you know.” 

You peeled away from him enough to catch his eyes. There was a bit of worry in them. Your hand shot out to touch his cheek. 

“I really like you, too,” you said. 

He cleared his throat. “Haven’t really—you know, dated anyone,” he said. “In a while.”

The words hung between you for some time. 

“I want to, though. I mean, I want to keep dating you,” he said. 

You laughed under your breath. He was cute when he was flustered. “Good,” you said, touching the tip of his nose with yours before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I want that, too.” 

“Sex was that good, huh?” he teased, and you pushed his shoulder. “Kidding.”

“It was good, though,” you said, pointedly. “But that’s not the only reason. A silver lining, definitely.” 

You tucked your head back into the crook of his neck and fell asleep with his arms wrapped around you, thinking this is a good thing, and wondering how you were ever anything other than completely enamored by him. 

[maho6any]

,,Dollhouse’’

Professor!Song Mingi x student babysitter!Reader

summary: every girl has had that exhilarating little crush on their teacher, it’s not unheard of by any means. it almost always amounts to nothing, a small little motivation that keeps you awake in class. most girls don’t get hired by their professors to be a babysitter, and most girls don’t end up entwined in a situation so wrong that it eats them alive at night. not the guilt, or the shame. but the hunger, and the need. and most professors certainly don’t play into those little infatuations, and find themselves chasing that chance to absolutely ruin them. so why are you trying to play house and take on a role that wasn’t meant for you?

warnings: age gap(reader is in her 20’s, mingi is in his 40’s), this is nasty, DILF!mingi, lowkey salt & pepper!mingi, tension, power dynamics, emotional turmoil, girl dad mingi, manipulation, corruption, teasing, condescending!mdom, pet names(sweetheart, pretty baby, darling, slut etc), size kink, voice kink, praise, mating press, oral(f!receiving), countdown, biting, fingering, lowkey breeding kink, choking, overstimulation, dirty talk, eye contact, messy sex, mouth covering, hold the moan, creampie

wc: 18.1k (I am SO sorry)

notes: hiii… my dear @linearities, it’s me your secret admirer! you put down dilf Mingi and I was SAT. and then you mentioned prof!teez, so I just thought why not combine the two? you don’t understand how much I got into this while I was writing it’s kind of insane, god I hope you like it. all the love in the world… thank you @everyonewooeverywhere for hosting such a fun event

- your secret admirer <3

tracklist: million dollar man, strange candy, baby one more time

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t dumb, quite the opposite. You were intelligent, cunning. A smart woman who sometimes made foolish decisions. This would be one of them, one of the stupidest you've ever made.

And you would still do it again if ever given a second chance.

It nearly frightened you, the effect he had on you; it was embarrassing enough. It felt like an unattainable crush, a fleeting little infatuation that was bound to pass with time.

But it was so hard to get over it when you saw him nearly every day of the week. And even so, it was still not enough, and far too much all at once.

If it had to be described as anything, the word would be taboo. When he was introducing himself to his class of the year, he started with something that made your stomach do a flip.

“Y’know I have tattoos older than most of you in here, so if you ever question my teaching methods, think long and hard about how much longer I’ve been on earth than you.”

You thought long and hard, alright, and it certainly didn't help your little girly infatuation with your professor.

Professor Song Mingi, a literary instructor at your college. Students clamored during open season to squeeze into his class, which always filled up so quickly during enrollment. His teaching was sound and effective, and it didn’t hurt that he was way too easy on the eyes.

A low, flowing voice that was easy to grip onto and follow, gentle handwriting, and a pristine way with words. Dark tresses that framed his soft yet angular face, pink, puffy lips that wrapped around his syllables like a glove. His pretty, sharp nose beckoned for a rider. His meaty arms that always seemed to be struggling beneath his rolled-up white blazers, the buttons on the cuffs mere seconds from popping off.

His class was always dimly lit, a comfortable aura that made it easy to ease into learning. You could write a 20-page essay on why you enjoyed his class.

He was never dismissive, always listened to his students attentively, and truly valued their thoughts and opinions. He enjoyed shaping young folks' minds and helping them through their way, assisting them in growing and becoming respective, creative individuals.

You never struggled in his class, never had to ask for tutoring sessions. And to be honest, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle a one-on-one with him either way. He was too intimidating, too suffocating.

Whenever he asked the class a question, and you were able to gather your bearings to answer, you could hardly keep yourself from tripping over your words with how intense his gaze was.

Like he was clinging onto every word like a lifeline, his eyebrows raising now and then when your response flowed from your lips, his tongue would poke out the corner of his mouth, nodding along as he listened.

He’d always smile when you finally stumbled through your response, pointing his pen in your direction with a sly grin. 

“Smart girl.” That stupid voice that made your brain dissolve into a useless puddle.

It was never good for your nerves.

But recently, you felt like his material has been getting more difficult. Maybe it was because finals for the semester were approaching, and the work started to get more grueling? Or maybe you were just tired, but his lectures started to blend into watercolor, and the readings he assigned the class started to sound like pig Latin.

Luckily, you weren’t the only one confused, when a girl who sat next to you leaned over while he was talking and whispered to you.

“Is he speaking English right now?”

Today was no different; the stress started to weigh on you as more finals began to close in. Recently, you’d been a bit tight on money, trying your best to save up from the barista job you’d been managing for the past year, but it was starting to fall short.

You had set up a job portfolio the night before in a fit of desperation in hopes of snagging a gig on the side in childcare, just to push you through the last few months of the year. 

The winter chill nipped at your bones, and you always felt demotivated in the cold. The class dragged on, and you could barely keep your thoughts in a straight line as Professor Song droned on. You tried to cling to every word, retain every piece of information, but it all just seemed to slip away like you had butter fingers.

Your notes became sloppy, and your doodles in the margins became more frequent. Everyone in your immediate vicinity seemed just as hopeless, and this must have caught your professors' attention.

He turned from the board, and his face fell from concentrated to a soft sort of concern. He sighed softly and set his pen on the desk, a quiet clatter on the wood surface. This caught your attention, and you raised your head slowly. 

Your eyes locked with his immediately, almost as if he was already trained on you before you raised your gaze. Your eyes dance with one another for a fleeting moment, and something flashes across his face, subtle yet electrifying. Then he’s clearing his throat, ripping his eyes from yours, and swimming over the rest of the lecture room.

He moves away from the board, lifting himself to sit on his desk, crossing his legs, and clasping his hands on his lap.

“Alright, guys, I get it.” The class directs its scattered attention to its professor sitting on his desk, his foot shaking back and forth softly. “It's the end of the semester, we’re all tired. Believe me, I’m in the same boat.”

He turns his head to a framed picture on his desk, a candid photo of him and his young daughter celebrating her birthday at the aquarium. “My daughter keeps whining at me about how hard her coloring sheets are. She can’t for the life of her understand the difference between indigo and violet.”

This pulls a warm laugh out of everyone, and you can’t help but join in. Professor Song never stops talking about his daughter; he loves her with all his heart. He has her many scribbled arts around his lecture room, photos of her on his desk, and her pipe cleaner flowers displayed proudly in the far right corner. 

You tap your pen against your notebook rhythmically, and you don’t catch the way his eyes sweep over your face while the laughter dies down. “Everyone’s running on fumes, and I’m sure you’ve heard it a thousand times, but this is important. We’ll pull through this last month, and we’ll have a few weeks off to laze away, and it’ll be well earned.  Right?”

The class nods in agreement, and Professor Song smiles in acknowledgment. “So, do me a beautiful favor, and stay with me a little longer while we get through this, okay? You all have been doing phenomenal this year, let's keep it up til the end, yeah?”

Everyone perks up at the encouraging words, and you find your energy slowly creeping its way back into your blood. Just enough to get through the day, but not enough to prepare for the shitshow that was to come.

Two thousand weekly.

You rubbed your eyes, blinking a few times and drinking some water to be sure you weren’t hallucinating the mail in your inbox.

You had arrived back home after dragging yourself through the last bits of Professor Song’s class, leaving with mostly full note pages and a renewed vigor to pull through this last semester.

The portfolio you had set up on the nanny website already had a response, and quite an unexpected one. A generous offer for pay, a part-time position as a babysitter for a young girl, age 6. Two thousand per week for 6 months, free meals provided, flexible schedule. It was almost too good to be true. The email didn’t go into too much detail, only offering further information if you shot back a response expressing your interest.

It was everything you needed and more, but one thing was making you hesitant. One small, coincidental detail.

Regards, M. Song.

Signed at the bottom of the email, like colorful barbed wire.

It had to be a coincidence. There was no way it was him. 

Song is a common last name; you were sure it had to be somebody else. No matter, it was too good to pass up, and you found yourself drafting your email before you gave it any more rational thought. If it were him, it would be dangerous. You’d be deep in enemy territory.

You sent the email expressing enthusiastic interest in the position, and slammed your laptop shut so hard you thought you heard a key fly off. You buried your face in your hands and groaned aloud into the darkness of your bedroom, trying to shake the weird feeling blossoming in your chest.

It had to be a coincidence. There’s no way your literary professor saw the hundreds of capable babysitting portfolios to choose from and decided to pick yours. There’s no way you posted it yesterday, and he just so happens upon a day later and immediately makes his decision.

There was no way he was offering so much money for something as simple as babysitting.

There was no way you’d be able to go through this and maintain a professional, normal attitude.

Not even 10 minutes later, your phone chimes, the blinding light illuminating your dark room, therefore sealing your fate. You hadn’t even clicked the notification, skimming over the email banner before mentally checking out.

Dear Miss L/N,

     Thank you for expressing your interest in the position. I would be delighted-

And that was it. You eventually gathered enough courage to open the email. It gave you all the information you needed, a scheduled time to meet at his home to set up the payroll, and introduced you to his daughter. Work out kinks and settle into the position.

Mr. Song doesn’t return home until after dark, well after 9 pm. Your shifts start at 3 pm every day for the next six months. Sundays are guaranteed days off, and he shall keep you posted on future days off if available. You had mentioned in your email that you were a student, so availability might fluctuate depending on school.

His response?

“You mentioned you were a student; I am well aware of this fact. Do not worry, I will ensure that your studies will remain unaffected.”

An insane thing to say, by the way. 

It was definitely him. Regardless, you would find out in due time when you finally meet him at his home, and solidify what was to come, which can only be described as unmentionable.

-

His big warm hand encased yours, swallowing it whole so effortlessly. Calloused fingertips brush against the pulse that bounces in your wrist, and you barely keep your breath from hitching. His thumb runs over your knuckles, and you swallow a weird noise.

“Thank you for taking the position, darling. You’re saving me a hell of a lot of time.” That's stupid, grin, toothy, and wide. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the crows' feet making their grand appearance. The streaks of silver that flow through his dark hair like a wave you’ve never noticed until now, so close it was hard to miss.

“Of course… Mr. Song, thank you for considering me.” You weren’t sure whether you should call him professor or a different honorific outside of the lecture room, but he did not correct you, so you assumed it was the right choice.

You caught yourself that Saturday morning paying extra attention to your hair, curling your lashes a little higher, reapplying layers of lip gloss until it looked like you’d been making out with honeycomb. 

Throwing together a cute outfit to make a good “first impression.” You couldn’t believe yourself, but once you were out the door and in your car, it was too late to worry about it now.

Your nerves were alight as you made your way to his address. You nearly saw him every goddamn day, but of course, this was different. 

His residence was a rustic western style house, furnished with well-kept gardens in the front yards and a freshly painted porch and patio. A cute, homey place that somehow just made him all the more attractive. 

You pulled into his driveway, taking your keys out of the ignition and giving your body a moment to relax. A few deep breaths and one life saver mint later, and you were stepping out with your purse in your clutches and your anxiety written all over your poor face.

You hadn’t even noticed until you raised your gaze from your feet, but there he stood. On his front porch, that white blazer with his rolled-up sleeves, no tie today. Black slacks and his glasses low on the bridge of his nose. His eyes are leering at you.

You stopped in place when you saw him, and his expression never changed. A sort of scrutiny on his brow as he watched you step out of your car, dare you say borderline predatory, but you certainly wouldn’t want to set anything into motion by manifestation. Surely not.

You lift your hand and give a curt, polite wave. Then his brows are falling, his lips are curling, and he’s offering a warm, gentle smile.

“(Name.) Good to see you, I’m glad you could make it.” Mingi’s own voice booms over his front yard to your ears, and you force your feet to unstick from the driveway pavement and continue to walk to his home.

You walk up the steps with only slightly shaky legs, face-to-face with him. “Of course, sorry if I’m a bit early.”

He smiles wider, yet softer. “It’s perfectly fine, I’d prefer you be early rather than late. I admire your punctuality; you’ve always been like that.”

You’ve always been like that.

You try not to let the praise get to your head, and you barely miss the way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he catches the way your shoulders hunch slightly at his words, and your fingers squeeze the straps of your purse just a little tighter.

“Well, let’s not just stand around. She’s excited to meet you.” Mr. Song turns and pushes open his front door, standing in front of it to hold it open. “After you.”

You smile nervously and slowly walk inside. He watches every step you take as you brush past him, your shoulder just barely grazing his lower chest, there not quite being enough room between him and the door frame to give you a spacious entry. His cologne hits your nose as you walk by, and you stop yourself from inhaling deeply as you plant your feet on his foyer floor, listening as he shuts the door and clicks the lock.

You were in enemy territory, and you had never felt more vulnerable in your life. 

Immediately, you were tripping over toys, and you nearly fell backwards as a little girl came running up you, picking up one of the dolls you nearly busted your ass on and handed it to you.

“Okay and scene!” You can’t help the smile that breaks on your face, the confusion of being suddenly thrown into a scene, evident.

“Wait, what’s happening-“

The little girl is carrying another doll, and she shakes it back and forth as she begins to speak. “Where have you been? You’re late again!” She pouts furiously as she points to the doll in your hand, and you know that's your time to shine.

“I’m not late,” you speak through the doll in your grasp, kneeling to sit at eye level with the girl. “In fact, I’m right on time!” You motion the doll’s arm to point at an invisible watch on her plastic wrist, and you practically see the girl light up over you playing along with her.

You pay no attention to Mingi, who stands behind you, watching you interact with his daughter, a small smile on his face. You play along happily, and he can see how much his daughter has already taken a liking to you. But before she can drag you into another scene, Mingi is clearing his throat.

He crouches down and with his strong arms he scoops her up, and little giggles flow from her as he lifts her into his hold. “You little monster!” He grumbles playfully, the sweetest smile on his lips as litters her face in fleeting kisses, an exaggerated ‘mwah’ punctuating each one he landed.

He swings her back and forth like she was on a carnival ride and he laughs morph into joyous squeals, the smile on Mingi’s face nothing short of beautiful.

You watch in awe and admiration, how sweet he is with her and it makes something in your heart twist.

When she reaches her little hand out and pulls on some of his hair, his smile drops a little and hers only widens.

“Ouch- okay, no hair pulling sweetpea we know this.” He gently sets her down, not without the theatrics akin to a landing airplane.

Once her feet touch the ground she mumbles out an adorable sorry, and you swear you see Mingi’s heart melt.

“Alright, lovebug, you can give her more acting lessons later. Daddy needs to talk to her for a second, okay?”

The little girl frowns as you sheepishly hand her back her doll. “Don’t worry, we can play a lot more once I’m all settled in. I promise.” You smile, and she returns it, taking her doll back and bounding away to the couch in the living room, resuming her little roleplay on her own.

You stand up slowly and watch her skip away, somewhat avoiding turning around to see Mr. Song. When you finally turn, his back is to you as he’s begun walking to the kitchen. You follow, nearly tripping over toy cars and plush animals again.

He stops in front of the kitchen island, pouring you and himself a small glass of water out of a filter. He sets the cup on the countertop with a clink, sliding towards you as you stand a few feet away from him, trying to keep as much distance as is deemed appropriate.

When the silence stretches for much too long, you pick up your cup and take a big sip, hoping the cool water will calm your nerves. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.

“She likes you a lot already.” He states, raising his eyes over and glancing at the back of the couch.

A shy smile graces your face as you take another sip. “You could tell that from such a small interaction, Professor?” You glance up at him over the rim of your glass, and you don’t miss the way his eyebrows raise, and his face shows nothing short of amusement.

“Well, she is my kid after all, and I know her pretty well.” He takes a sip from his own glass, tapping his metal-clad fingers against the checkered walls of the cup. “And I don’t see why she wouldn’t like you.”

Of course, you were going to ask, what the hell does he mean by that? You smile, more confident now, setting your glass on the countertop and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do tell, what's there to like?” Something about the entire conversation just felt… informal. You’ve never spoken to him outside of the lines of education or questions about exams. This type of talk was far beyond your teacher-student boundaries, even if it can be considered as fleeting small talk.

This makes him laugh, and you feel your lips twitch at the melodic sound. You try not to smile any harder than you already are.

“Asking for lip service now, are we (Name)?” His playful tone of voice carried a much lighter cadence than the authoritative tone he held in the classroom. You tried not to notice that tattoo that was peeking through his sheer white dress shirt.

“No, Mingi.” You reply just as playfully, and you find yourself rubbing your lips together, grounding yourself with the feeling of the layer of lip gloss on your lips. 

His eyes linger on your mouth for just a fraction of a second, hardly noticeable. They trail up the side of your face, and his gaze stops on your eyes. Something in his eyes changes, a kind of shift that makes your heart stop for a moment. His jaw flexes and fingers twitch as he moves to cross his own arms.

“That’s Mr. Song, or 'sir' to you, young lady.” His eyebrows set hard, and you feel your stomach drop at the sudden change in attitude. He looks down at you like you’re small, like you don’t deserve his respect. As much as you’d like to push it, he controls your grades and ultimately your future. And passing up on such a gratuitous opportunity with this job simply to act a little too familiar with your professor would be borderline idiotic.

His eyebrows raise, and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, urging your confirmation of his command. “Understand?”

You swallow and nod your head politely. “Yes, sir.” You quickly grab your glass again and down the rest of the water, taking a moment to gather yourself, because as depraved as it was. That entire interaction made you god-awful wet.

“We may not be in class, but I’m still your elder.” He turns around and walks past you, a trail of his cologne passing beneath your nose and fogging your brain. You have to crane your neck to watch the back of his head as he walks away, the sheer size of him dizzying.

“If you don’t mind me asking.” You force from your throat, keeping your eyes on the floor as you speak. “Was there any reason you chose me specifically?”

He snorts, endearingly so. “Do I need a reason?” Like it was a dumb question, even though there are no such things in his words. “I just decided to hire you. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Well, there were plenty of people who were just as capable, if not more so-“

He interrupts you with a whistle and a loud snap of his fingers. “What did I say?” He leans his head backward like he was annoyed, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips as he speaks under a low breath. “God, always so inquisitive.”

You stop from letting your mouth drop open in surprise. “If you have any implications swimming around that pretty brain of yours, forget it. You’re a capable girl, aren’t you?” He lowers his gaze to you, waiting expectantly for you to reply.

You nod and pick a piece of dust off your shirt. “Of course.” You reply in a small voice, but Mingi clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“Say it out loud. C’mon.” You take a small breath and sigh quietly.

“I am capable.”

Mingi smiles and turns away from you once more. “Beautiful. Save the rest of the questions after we set up your payroll.”

He finishes, and he raises his hand and brings up his middle and ring finger, motioning to you in a “come hither” motion, a movement so slow that it seemed dizzyingly suggestive.

“Come now, while we’re still young.” You force your feet to move and follow him further into the house, passing his daughter as she plays on her own world on the couch, completely oblivious to the strange tension that lingered between her father and her new babysitter.

Mingi was intense, authoritative. He knew how he wanted things to be and made sure everyone else stayed in their lane. And you had a weird lingering feeling that nothing good was to come out of stepping that home privacy boundary. 

But hey, two thousand was two thousand. And maybe you were being greedy, but something much more than money was keeping you from using your fucking brain and getting out of dodge.

He was not good for you, and god he knew it. You both knew it.  But if the heat you felt in your lower belly and the racing of your heart were anything to go by, the gut instinct that told you not to walk into the wolf’s den was for sure one that was meant to be ignored.

After a smooth process of connecting your bank account, printing you a house key, and an extensive tour of the home, he sent you home with a thank-you bonus of a few hundred dollars and your schedule for the following week. Monday through Friday, at 3 pm, you would arrive at the Song residence. You would see Mingi off for his night classes and tend to his daughter until he arrived home at 10 pm.

He never mentioned a wife, or any kind of spouse. You had assumed they had most likely divorced, you never saw any picture of a woman around the house, and his daughter never mentioned a mother.

You had considered asking him about it, but something inside of you said that would be overstepping a grand boundary that should not be touched.

While you had Mingi’s morning class, he would only be on campus for those two hours before returning home to spend the rest of his day with his daughter, before the evening whisked him away to work once again. So, of course, you would still see him in class.

And it is so much worse now.

And you couldn’t help but feel that he found the whole thing amusing. 

Teaching the class like normal, writing down key points on the board, reading through articles and poems, and helping everyone pick the words apart. You never called him sir in class; it was always Mr. Song or Professor. He asked you to call him sir, no, demanded that you refer to him as such when you visited his home.

So with a slow raise of your hand, to ask a question that truly meant nothing. He paused his writing to look at you, and he moved back around to continue his writing once you had been acknowledged. “Yes, ma’am?” He asks, while he finishes the cursive curl of his letter y.

“You say that symbolism in poetry is entirely up to the reader’s perception, and that we can choose to decipher it any way we see fit. Is that maybe a little too loose in terms of freedom, considering some people might extend their reach of understanding too far to be deemed within the author’s original intentions?”

It was an innocent question, a good one, maybe perhaps a little random. Mingi turns away from the board, ending the sentence he wrote with a heavy period, a loud thunk against the whiteboard. The edges of the blue ink splatter around the punctuation.

“It's as I said,” he begins, eyebrows relaxed as he finds you easily at your desk, rolling your pencil eraser over your bottom lip, a curious glaze of intrigue shadowing your eyes. “While it is entirely up to the reader, most people are smart enough to gather what the poet is trying to convey. Readers can come up with similar conclusions, but maybe with different rounded edges. There will be similarities, but there can also be differences, all because we perceive everything differently as humans.” He quietly adjusts the knot of his tie, the veins in his hand flushing as he moves.

You find your eyes falling to watch his arm move, his biceps struggling under his sleeves. You smile and nod, bringing your pencil down to your chin and tapping it lightly. “Thank you, sir.”

Nobody else catches it; it was so subtle that it wouldn’t have mattered to anyone even if they did. But his hand froze around his necktie, and his fingers twitched. His nose scrunched only slightly, and a sharp, quiet inhale made your skin prickle.

He nods quietly and turns back to the board to continue teaching. “Always with the smart questions.” He murmurs under his breath, and you both clearly knew that the question was about much more than just poetry.

The first day went surprisingly smooth. You arrived at his home early, of course, using your new key to unlock the door and welcome yourself in. His daughter was the first to greet you, running to you and enveloping your legs in a tight hug, her little nails digging into your skin with how hard she held you.

You said hi, all warm smiles and soft tones, only raising your eyes when you feel another pair on you. Standing at the end of the hallway was Mingi, leaning against a doorframe with relaxed ease, his tie loosened and his hair astray. He leaned his head against the white frame, his eyes low as he paid no attention to anything but you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, and all you could feel was pinned. Like he was holding your body down with just his gaze, and it makes your heart kick up.

Then he smirked, a ghost of one if anything. A knowing, small smile that would be easy to ignore if it simply wasn’t him. Before you could say or do anything else, the little girl, whose name you learned was Ami, was dragging you away from the foyer, spewing phrases about new toys and complimenting your punctuality. 

Mingi watches you walk away with his daughter, clasping your hand tight, and your sweet little warm smile returns as you respond to her words with enthusiastic earnestness.

She leads you to the couch, grabs the remote, and asks you to switch on a movie for her.

“Can I borrow your new friend for a second, sweetheart?” Mingi appears behind the back of the couch, his sudden presence nearly startling you out of your skin. He looks down at his daughter with nothing short of pure love, his gaze soft and his tone low and sweet. Ami pouts dramatically and crosses her arms.

Mingi pouts in turn, giving her playful puppy eyes. Then you feel his fingers gently brush the nape of your neck, a slow, gentle caress that was so light it could have been mistaken for a breeze. But it was too warm, too calloused.

“Please?” he whines with a smile, and his daughter rolls her eyes, setting down the remote with a clatter. 

“Okay, Daddy, but bring her back.” Her little voice warms your heart, happy that she's taking a great liking to you. You swallow as you feel his fingers slip away from your nape, and you're standing on wobbly legs to follow him as he begins to walk away.

“I promise I will,” he says, blowing her a little kiss, to which she returns with a bright smile. Mingi is leading you away from the living room, and you follow behind with a sort of muted apprehension, and it feels like you are in school again. Like you were being led away by your teacher to talk about poor behavior.

Once you’re back in the foyer, he turns to you, and his soft, parental smile has fallen into something unrecognizable. 

He pulls a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and hands it to you. “This is your list of things that should be maintained and done while watching her. Keeping the place clean, making sure she eats well. Everything we’ve already discussed.” You take the list and give it a swift once-over, mentally noting the most important things.

You slip it into your own pocket, raising your head to look at him once more, and for just a split second, you swear you caught his gaze lingering on your neck. “If you have any questions, my number is also on that piece of paper. Do not call me, but you can message me.”

You nod silently, and he sighs. “Can we work on your verbal confirmation? Use your words, please.” You can’t help the almost sour look that flashes across your face, and you quickly gather yourself before exaggeratedly dropping into a flashy curtsy.

“Yes, boss, I understand.” You say in a dramatic prim accent, but before you could stand back up straight, you feel his warm, large hand slip beneath your chin, gripping your lower jaw firmly.

He’s lifting you back up, leaning his head down so close that you feel his breath on your neck, his nose just shy of brushing against your ear. Your breath catches, and his sweet scent clouds your senses, and you could feel your knees start to buckle beneath you. Mingi’s hand keeps its firm hold on your chin as he lowers his voice to a heavy, throaty whisper that makes the skin on your temple tingle.

“Try again, and lose the attitude, gorgeous. You know better.” His breath fans over your ear, and you could physically feel the skin of the back of your neck flare warmly. He squeezes the pads of his fingers against the soft flesh of your cheek a little harder, and the heat blooms across your lower jaw at his tense hold, and you nearly melt into his hand. Your own voice drops to a nervous, shaky whisper, and you exhale slowly out of your nose. It was so quiet you could hear the wristwatch on his hand ticking by your ear. 

“Yes… Sir.” You correct yourself quietly, and his hand still doesn’t move. Instead, his thumb gently runs over your cheek, a repeated soothing path like he’s trying to lull you to sleep with his caresses. He leans away from your ear, coming face to face with you once more, his nose mere inches from brushing with yours. So close you can see every strand of silver in his hair, every wrinkle at the corners of his eyes, every freckle, and the remaining five o'clock shadow from where he shaved earlier that morning. He smelled of faded cologne and wintergreen mints, and you could hardly stop your eyelids from fluttering.

His thumb moves over your bottom lip, gently pressing down on it like he was admiring how soft you were, taking a mental note of how easy you melt under him. How all he needed to do to get you to act right was to pet you like you were some kind of puppy.

It felt like an eternal standstill by the time he slipped his hand away from your face, and you could still feel the heat of it across your face. It felt so wrong. And god did you want to feel it again.

He turns and fixes his loose tie, slipping his blazer on and adjusting his watch. He walks away, leaving you standing like a dumb fawn, grinning as he opens the front door, his keys jingling in his hand. “Do behave yourself, while rewards and punishments are not handed out in class, my home is an entirely different story.” 

And with that final note, the door shuts behind him with a click, and you are left in Mingi’s foyer with your heart in your throat and warmth in your stomach, and your entire body thrumming with what can only be described as anticipation.

-

You and Ami got along well, playing with toys and watching television. There was a small spat when you tried to get her to eat her veggies, but after some bribery with a promise of a packet of gummies, she offered up no more fight.

Putting her to bed was no easy feat either, her only surrendering at the promise of a bedtime story. You sent her off to go pick a book, and she came into her bedroom, trotting proudly with the first installment of the Narnia series.

When you dared to question her lengthy decision, she responded with, “Daddy has been reading this to me every night, we’re on chapter 6, he said you could continue reading it to me.”

You quietly roll your eyes, mumbling to yourself as she begins to tuck herself into bed. “Did he now?”

You didn’t complain, and you did find yourself easing into the storytelling, reading with a soft, slow tone to help lull her off to sleep, which didn’t take long, especially after a long day of play.

When her breathing evened, and her head went lazy on her neck, you switched off her lamp and set her stuffed zebra next to her arms and left her room, making sure her rainbow night light in the outlet was on.

You shut her door with a quiet click and sighed to yourself. First night done, now all that was left to do was wait for Mingi to arrive home. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket to check the time.

9:03

He was sure to be home anytime soon, so you decided to take the book you were reading with you downstairs. It had pulled you in enough just by that one chapter alone, and you found yourself wanting to read it from the beginning.

Your bare feet padded against the tile floors of the kitchen, the house asleep and silent as you picked a small mandarin out of the fridge. You sat at the kitchen island, gently peeling the citrus fruit as you held the book open with one hand, and began to read.

You found your fingers nimbly peeling the white veins of the orange and dropping them onto the napkin. Engrossed in the book, you slipped slice after slice of mandarin past your lips as you continued to read.

The quiet of his home was so different in comparison to your own. Tucked further towards the countryside, absent from the honking of horns and the screeches of tires. Just the tranquil sound of whistling trees and the occasional creak of the house settling. It was nice, something you could see yourself getting used to.

You weren’t sure how long you had been reading for, and it wasn’t until you heard the front door shut that you were ripped from your own little world. You hadn’t even noticed the jingle of keys in the lock. Your orange was long gone; only the shredded peel remained as he walked past the foyer, straight into the kitchen to see you.

He paused for a moment, taking in your peaceful little moment, then smiling to himself as he began to shed his coat and drape it over the kitchen table chair. “You look comfy.” He murmurs, loosening his tie.

You swallow a dry patch in your throat, the whole moment reeking of something inappropriately domestic. The low, warm lighting of the overhead oven light. Mingi quietly gets unready after a long day of work, your eyes catching on the way his muscles flex with every movement he makes.

Unclipping his watch and dropping it into the small wooden bowl on the edge of the counter, uncuffing his dress shirt and rolling his sleeves up once again, the hints of a tattoo you’ve never had the pleasure of fully seeing peeking underneath the white linen.

Running a large hand through his silver streaked hair, the strands falling around his face in an organized mess as he sighs, a deep and heavy sound that makes your thighs clench underneath the island.

You close the book absentmindedly, dropping your gaze to the counter just as he raises his eyes to look at you, and you clear your throat as you move to stand.

“I see you’re reading Narnia. Ami asked you to read it to her?” His voice was so quiet, so lofty, it made your brain fizz. 

You nod. “She ate dinner well, told me she had fun playing with me today. She asked me to read to her, and she was out like a light by the fourth page. It intrigued me, so I decided to give it a gander.”

You raise your head again, gathering your orange peels in your hand and crossing over to the trash can in the corner. Once dropped in the waste, you turned to hand the book back to him. Your arm outstretched, to which he only stood and stared back at you, his eyes dropping over your body in a less than subtle once over.

He finally reaches out and takes the book from you, not without letting his long fingers brush against your knuckles. His two middle fingers slip between the pages, bookmarking the place that you had stopped at. You swallow as he puppy dog ears the page with one hand, before closing the book and setting it on the island.

The muted glow of the oven light shadowed his face in a soft yellow, the rest of him swallowed in the darkness of the home. He was so tall, his body big enough to stand in front of you and effectively block you from being seen by anyone.

“Well, I should be going.” You mutter, nervously wrinkling the corner of your shirt over and over again. “Thank you again.” You nod your head respectfully, and yet neither one of you makes any move.

Mingi doesn’t move; instead, he lifts his head, lowering his eyes to a half-lidded kind of gaze that makes you feel like you were being preyed on. He sees the tension in your shoulders, the unevenness of your breath, the uncertainty in your eyes, the curiosity in the way your fingers twitch at your side.

The unconscious way your tongue wets your bottom lip, the little vein in your neck that only he could notice.

Then he’s stepping forward, slowly, just enough to have you closer. Smell you, smell him. Not too inappropriate, but maybe not professional.

“I should be thanking you, darling.” His hand reaches out, oh so slowly, just enough to give you time to back away if you want. You don’t. His index finger finds a curl at the front of your head, gently twirling it around the tip of his finger, his eyes on yours.

A gaze so warm, so mistakenly hungry, you swore you were hallucinating. He watched you visibly melt, your lip forming into a parted pout, a beckon. A silent ask.

His finger moves away from the curl of your hair, dances along the side of your neck, brushes down with featherlight gentleness against the side of your throat, a tickling sensation that has your body shivering.

His eyebrows knotted together like he was conflicted, like he was battling an inner ache, one that he was holding himself back from showing.

You couldn’t take it. You simply couldn’t. 

Your brain hadn’t caught up to your body, but before you could second-guess yourself, your hands shot out and gripped the collar of his dress shirt, dragging his head down and crashing your lips into his.

No words, no gasp, just a wanton moan that slips past your lips and against his.

Mingi growls from the back of his throat, a sound of sheer surprise, nearly losing his footing underneath him. He rips his head back, his eyes wide and his breathing coming labored.

You freeze, your hands holding nothing but air as he pulls himself away from you. Your heart dropped to your stomach. A look of pure fear on your face as you realized he didn’t reciprocate. 

Fuck. Fuck.

A conflicted look flashes across your professor’s face, and he looked like he was about to give you what for. You screwed up.

You immediately open your mouth, ready to spew pathetic attempts at apologies and pleas for forgiveness. But he beats you to it.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His gravely voice comes out strained and low, and a painful silence begins to stretch between you two.

Then, he bites his inner cheek, his hand lifts and slips his glasses off his face, all but letting them fall onto the counter, groaning low and sonorous, and he’s on you before you could breathe. 

His hands slip around and grip either side of your waist, a tight, possessive hold as he slots his lips with yours, melting against your mouth like you tasted like a heaven he’d never get into.

His hands roam up and down your waist, his mouth opening and closing against yours, sliding his tongue over yours, and running it over your teeth. Moaning, sighing into your mouth, his eyebrows knit together in nothing short of pure bliss.

Your hands find his shoulders, your neck beginning to hurt from having to crane your head up to kiss him. All heat behind your tongues, warmth and wetness against each other as you feel a thin trail of drool slipping down the corner of your mouth.

Then he’s lifting you, picking you up off the ground, and dropping you on your ass on the kitchen island. Merely eye level with him, he kisses you deeper, shoving his tongue further down your throat, tilting his head to the side to completely devour you. 

Your hands drag down the front of him, your palms flat against his chest, whimpering against his lips in tandem with his starved movements. A quiet “baby” is murmured around your tongue, and your entire body erupts into consuming flames.

His hands slip down and find either of your thighs, spreading them pretty and wide as he slots his lower body between them, pushing his body closer to your between your legs.

His hand moves back up and cups the back of your head, the other trailing up the front of your body and finding a grounding home at the base of your neck, pulling your head further into him as he takes like the greedy man he was.

Kissing the college girl on the counter as she tasted like bourbon, squeezing your flesh like it was keeping him sane, melting at the soft, needy moans that flowed down his throat from your reactions to his touch.

It was a breathless, taboo kind of lust that only people sick in the head can get a kick out of. And if this makes Mingi a sick man, then so fucking be it. He finds himself lost in the sweetness of your lips, the arch in your back. His hand trails down the side of your waist, warm and big as he finds the flesh of your thigh again, squeezing and pressing the softness, moaning at how smooth your skin feels in comparison to his rough hands.

His hand slips up the leg of your shorts, and warmth blooms on your skin, your body shivers as you lean further into him, your kisses turning needy, dangerously feral.

It’s your whiny, low moan that nearly undoes him. And the way your hands slide up to help further loosen his tie. But while he may not be a good man, he’s not a bad one either. With a type of restraint only a soldier could have, Mingi pulls away from your shiny, swollen lips, a thin trail of saliva between you both snapping silently.

Your heavy breaths mingle together, and he rests his forehead against yours, the hand on your neck slowly sliding away, and his other hand moving from your bare thigh to firmly place them flat on either side of your spread thighs, loosely caging your body against the island.

You say nothing, only fighting to catch your breath as your dizzy brain struggles to catch up. He looks down at the floor, the bulge in his pants loud and proud and fucking painful.

With a deep sigh, he turns away, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand as he mutters a deep “fuck” beneath his breath.

You slowly crawl off the counter, realizing that you need to go. Now.

“I-I’ll see you tomorrow, Min- uh... Professor Song. Sir-“You stutter over your words, a foggy layer of need clouding your mind after having been kissed like he was trying to eat you alive.

Mingi seethes, inhaling sharply as he raises a hand to get you to keep quiet.

“Stop- goddamnit. Sweetheart, don’t call me ‘sir’ right now unless- unless you want me to fuck you against that wall.” You swallow, and it takes everything in your power not to get on your knees and beg for just that.

He could practically smell your hesitation, and it nearly made his entire body erupt into a muted shiver. You nibble on your bottom lip, he could see the way you nervously shake, and you open your mouth to respond, but he just knew what you were going to say, and he did not need to hear it right now.

“Oh, babygirl, you shouldn’t want that.” He ignores your pretty little glazed-over eyes and your frizzy hair that he messed up with his own two hands.

The addicting way you held onto him with your smaller hands, arching your back into him and keening into his touch, crying out as it hurt for every second he let you breathe.

“And neither should I.” He mumbles like he was trying to convince himself too.

Mingi massages his upper jaw, exhaling heavily out of his nose before he turns away from you again, truly believing that if he looked at you one more time, he wouldn’t be able to compose himself. Forty-something years old, and one of his students is making him feel things he hasn’t felt since high school. 

“Go home.” He commands, his bassy, breathless voice sending a shockwave straight between your legs. When you don’t immediately move, Mingi clenches his jaw and slightly turns his neck, giving you a glimpse of the turmoil on his face. 

“Now.” He bites out, and before you could form another thought, your body was moving.

You grab your things off the living room coffee table and slip out of the house, speeding off to your car and pulling off into the cricket-filled night, confused, turned on, and conflicted.

It was only the first day, and the walls were already crumbling. 

-

The following week was torture. Dragging yourself out of bed after being kept up all night with ludicrous dreams, dreams of what could’ve happened if you two didn’t stop. Panties sticky and eyes heavy, you crawl out of bed and dread having to face him every day.

It went the same every day; you arrived, maybe a little later than usual. You avoided every look he shot your way, and you never asked any questions. Just listened and took notes, silently. And when it was time to watch his daughter, he’d be out the front door by the time your car pulled into the driveway, walking past you in silence as you effectively traded places.

You both knew it was for your own good, to keep whatever had been brewing between you two at bay, even if it was never explicitly stated. You had hardly said a word to your professor since that first day. But your eyes said everything.

His, too, god if you both couldn’t be subtle. He’d sit at his desk, watching you click away at your laptop, your leg bouncing beneath the table as you nibbled on your nail. He imagined things about you, things that made him have to adjust his pants before he stood to continue teaching.

And when he arrived home early? Fuck it was even worse. He’d quietly sneak in the front door and catch you and Ami on the couch, her head lying on her lap with her blanket tight in her grasp.

You read to her in a soothing, quiet voice, and gently, your hand stroked the top of her head, playfully brushing your fingers over her face like you were trying to convince her to close her eyes, all with a beautiful smile on your face.

Your pretty pout, your mothering voice, your frizzy hair, and your soft body. God, it makes him so hard it hurts. That night, he announced himself and offered to take Ami off to bed himself, and by the time he made it downstairs, you were already in your car and pulling out of the driveway. It was better this way anyway, Mingi would tell himself. But better for whom? And for what?

Why was this so wrong?

His morale was beginning to chip away, and with each passing hour, each passing day, it was getting harder and harder to keep his hands off of you. And he could tell you felt the same. Your lingering looks and the way your thighs would clench when your gazes met in the lecture room.

Saturday night. You did not go to class that day; therefore, you did not see him. But you would have to later. He always travels to campus on Saturday night to get any extra work done. A workaholic, you called him once. And it was true.

So when you arrived at his front door once again, you tried with every bone in your body to act normal. Unlocking the entrance, you walked inside the now familiar home and stopped in your tracks when you noticed him. Standing in the hallway entrance, like he was waiting for you.

His eyes are low, and his body seems tense. Wearing a form-fitting black dress shirt today, the top two buttons undone. Something more casual for the weekend. A small silver necklace with a dog tag pendant disappeared beneath the collar, and you could see the print of the tag through his shirt. His hair was messier, and his glasses were clasped loosely in his hand.

You breathe quietly, then he's walking towards you. Just as you think he’s going to stop, he walks right past you and reaches for his watch in the little brown bowl. “Ami is down for a nap; if she’s not up by five, go ahead and rouse her.”

He slips on the timepiece, then slides his glasses onto his face, letting them sit low on the bridge of his nose. You nod in acknowledgment, and he's already made his way to the front door, his car keys jingling on his fingers.

Just as you think he’s going to leave, he pauses, his hand hovering above the knob.

“And keep your hands out of my liquor cabinet, young lady.” Now that makes your heart stop. You may have indulged one night after you put Ami to bed, just a couple shots, nothing too concerning. But he had noticed, of course, he had.

When you don't reply, he turns back to you and raises his eyebrows in a scrutinizing question. “Next time, have enough manners to ask. That stuff is not cheap, sweetheart.” The pet name had a bite to it, and you can’t help but want to bite back.

He turns, opens the door, and takes one step outside.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll ask politely next time.” You speak the words with a ghost of a moan enveloping them, and you could see the way his shoulders tense and his hands squeeze the doorknob harder. 

Mingi inhales sharply and keeps his head forward. The silence stretches so long and thin you think time might have frozen. And when he speaks next, it sends electricity through your blood, and you can't deny the way you feel your skin tingle.

He laughs, a slow, soft chuckle. “Keep that shit up, (Name),” he challenges, adjusting the straps of his watch in one swift movement. “I can be a bad man if you need me to.” Then the door is shutting behind him, a loud click that rivals the pounding of your heart in your ears.

The house is silent once again, and you are left alone with your racing thoughts and a really, really stupid fantasy in your mind that makes you feel like the nastiest bitch on earth.

-

The bottoms of your feet felt like they were burning, and the floors of his house were frigid. The heat of your body rivaled the still quiet of the house, Ami put to bed, leaving you as the only soul awake inside.

Mingi would be home any minute. And it was at this moment that you needed to make a decision. You weren’t sure what you were going to do, or rather, you weren’t sure what he was going to do.

Or what he wanted to do. 

You felt trapped in a home with no lock, like there was no escape. The windows were unbreakable, and the walls were too thick. You were a trapped animal who did not want to leave in the first place.

You could argue that you were a dumb, naive little girl who didn’t know her way in the world, who couldn’t pick up on the signs that her professor wanted to fold her in half and show her what it felt like to be ruined by a real man.

You’d be such a liar, because that’s the one thing that you wanted. You were stupid for wanting this. And Mingi wholeheartedly believed that.

He believed that your wanting him was complete ignorance of consequences, turning a blind eye to plenty of boys who were perfect for a sweet girl such as yourself.

Choosing a man, one that would not care how much you cried those pretty tears, a man that would fuck you until you weren’t able to tell where you ended and he began.

And it was taking everything in his power as he climbed into his car after work that night to not drive himself off the bridge as he drove. Because that would be the sole and only way to stop himself from pouncing on you as soon as he stepped through the front door.

You lie on his bed. In his room. Invading his space without a care in the world as you took in his abode. Neat, clean-smelling, suffocating. Being in there felt like you couldn’t move a muscle without the walls closing in on you.

He strictly told you his room was off limits, that you had no business in there. He would come home, and he would find you in there, the doe on the wrong edge of the forest. And he would hunt you then and there, because you stepped into his territory, and the rules were painted in red on his sheets.

When Mingi first stepped foot into the house that night, he was surprised to find you missing from your usual place at the kitchen island. Reading a book, having a snack. Waiting for him so politely.

You weren’t in the living room, you weren’t in Ami’s room. The guest room, either. Were you hiding from him? He sighed and set his briefcase on the kitchen table, loosening his tie with a groan and setting his watch in the wooden bowl. 

You could hear him from upstairs, the familiar sounds of him getting unready. You shifted in his sheets and sat up straight, straining your ears to listen for him. 

Footsteps, the clack of the metal plates beneath his shoes, resonated throughout the house like gunfire. The sounds of them ascending the stairs, before the silence of his footfalls as he hit the carpet. He was upstairs.

Immediately, you began to second-guess your decision to be in here. Your choice to take this job. Hell, your choice to take his class to begin with. It was all too risky, too grey. 

Silence again, and you could only feel your heart beating in your ears.

“I sure hope you’re not in there, doll.” His voice was so much closer that you could see his shadow through the crack beneath the door. His voice penetrated the walls of his room like a dark kind of fire, and it rattled your bones.

He could hear you. Hear you shift your weight on his sheets after he addressed you. He could hear you stand, hear you walk to the door, and stop in front of it like you were scared to walk any further.

“You’re not supposed to be in my room, you know better.” His tone was tinged with a disappointed, disciplinary note. Mingi teases you by lightly shaking the doorknob, and you nearly jump out of your skin. Why were you so nervous? You had no idea.

You know better. One of his favorite things to say to you. It was true after all. You do know better, but it doesn’t mean you acted like it.

Mingi wouldn’t admit it. Not to you, not to himself either. But he was having so much fun with you. You awakened this dangerous excitement in him that made him want to make all the wrong choices.

He wanted to bend you over his knee and punish you for affecting him the way you did. He wanted to bury his fingers deep in your hair and pull like he was trying to steer you about at his discretion while he worked you inside and out.

Mingi wanted to lay your body out and make you cum so many times you’d have to drop out of his class because every time you laid eyes on him, you would still feel him in your belly.

You made him feel alive, and at his age, that was a dangerous thing.

When you didn’t respond to him, he lowered his voice to a small, gentle coax, like he was trying to convince you he was no threat. “Listen, sweetheart, you’re not in trouble.” It was like he was using his dad voice on you, and you hated that it made you freeze and your heart flutter.

“I just want to talk to you. So are you going to come out of my room? Or am I going to have to come get you myself?”

Your hand hovered over the knob, and just as you dropped it to twist it open, you stopped. Your brain reeled in your skull, and you backed away from the door with small, quiet steps.

When Mingi realized you wouldn’t be opening the door, he couldn’t help but smile. So typical of someone so young and fresh-blooded like you.

You wanted to be found, you wanted to be desired, you wanted to be chased. You wanted Mingi to open that door and make you regret your decision not to listen to him. 

You didn’t use your manners and ask with your big girl words, but don’t worry, he’d come in there and set you straight.

Just as you were starting to second-guess yourself, the knob twists, and the door makes no sound. No creak, no squeal on the hinges. Just a silent, slow invitation. The warm light of the stairwell flooded the floor of the dark bedroom, like a spill of orange oil. He stepped in, reached back, and shut the door closed once more with a muted click, and darkness shrouded the room again.

The silence stretched as he stalked towards you; with every step he took, you took one back.

With every step he removed something. His shoes came first, then he reached up and slipped his glasses off his nose, setting them on the dresser he passed by.

His tie was next, his big veiny hands untying it gracefully and wrapping it around the palm of his hand like a leash, teasingly, before he let it hit the floor.

One by one until you were backed against the wall by his headboard. His smell surrounded you like mustard gas, his body shadowed over you like a monster, and his eyes pierced through the dark like a hunter. You barely contained your trembling once he was close enough to touch, close enough to melt into.

His big, rough hands find your wrists, gently gripping them and sliding his palms up your inner arms, over your shoulders, to the back of your neck. He cupped your nape like he was trying to cradle your head from injury, so gentle and so loving. 

He squeezed softly, stepping further into you, pressing his body against yours, molding your front with his. His head craned down, and he maneuvered your neck to train your eyes on him. In the dark, everything felt more intense. His touch on your neck burned, the way his thumbs stroked along the edges of your jaw, and his blunt fingernails scraped against your nape.

He inhaled deeply, like he was trying to calm himself. 

“Asking for permission really isn’t your style is it?” He spits out the words like a reprimand, and he could feel you shiver under his touch when he said it. You had tears in your eyes, you looked like you had just dropped your lollipop, and you wanted to cry. You were so pretty.

You felt him everywhere, in your ribcage and in your head; he smelled so good. The silver in his hair glimmered from the lamp in the far corner. You heard a roll of thunder in the distance that sounded like Mingi’s moans. The onpour of rain that hit the roof like a broken television.

He looked so beautiful in the dark.

“We can fix that.”

While one hand remained on your neck, the other slid away, along your jaw, up the front of your throat, until you felt his fingers prod against your pouted lips. You opened with zero hesitation, and he slid his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, laying them flat on your tongue. 

Oh, so slowly, he glides his fingers in and out of your pretty little mouth, pushing just far enough against the back of your tongue to make the tears in your eyes finally fall. “Such a nasty, pretty baby.” His eyes fell like he was entranced by you, your compliance, and the way you shook like a deer. His eyebrows knit together like he was trying to memorize you, everything about you.

He presses his fingers up, and your canines gently sink into the flesh, and it makes his skin tingle. Back down across your tongue, breaching the back of your mouth, gagging around him with a sad little choke.

He slips his fingers out of your mouth, and you hardly notice the saliva that connected to him, with how you could not pull your eyes away from his face. With a patience that drives you both mad, he trails his hand down the front of your body, over the swell of your breasts beneath your shirt, down to the waistband of your shorts.

He presses his hand at the back of your neck harder, forcing your forehead to collide with his. Nowhere to run as he slips his hand into your shorts.

“You wanna be nasty?” he whispers against your lips, and you catch yourself nodding. You didn’t even mean to, but he finds it so amusing.

Your entire body jerks when you feel his wet fingertips slide beneath your panties and brush over your lips, lifting the slightest bit, finding your clit with such quick ease you could hardly believe it.

Your hands shoot up and fist the front of his shirt, and your eyelids widen then flutter as he presses against that sensitive bundle of nerves, a gentle press and prod as he circles against your clit with teasing intent.

When Mingi watched you practically melt at the simplest of his touches, he felt the confessions start to rear at the backs of his teeth. The urge to tell you everything you may or may not want to hear.

His breath ghosts over your parted lips, his fingers making mind-numbing work of your clit, rotating movement and pressurized strokes that made your thighs shake around his wrist. With a deep breath, he pressed his lips to yours, slipping his thick tongue into your mouth and groaning down your throat.

His fingers claw at the back of your neck, tracing intimate patterns into your mouth, as his fingers dance away from your clit, and gently he prods at your dripping entrance. He coats his fingers in your arousal, and he presses his thigh between your legs to spread you further for him.

“You’re such a pretty little thing.” He whispers into your mouth, and you gasp against him when he slowly fills your soaked cunt with one thick finger, and you feel your eyes roll when he presses so deep and curls up just right. He circles the pad of his finger against that spongy spot, and he purrs into your mouth when your hands on his shirt tighten even more.

“I drive myself crazy thinking about you at night.” Slow, deep come-hither motions inside of you that had your breath coming in broken shudders. “I’d think about kissing you silly, holding you down, playing with you, having that smart mouth of yours moaning for me instead of giving me lip.”

You shiver as he slips a second finger inside of you, a slight stretch that had your knees buckling, but he kept you up by the back of your neck, fully pushing his body against yours and holding you still against his bedroom wall. You moan whiny and pathetic as he slips his thumb up and gently circles it against your clit, all the while his fingers keep curling nice and deep inside you.

“Would you like that?” He murmurs, pulling away from your lips and gently kissing below your ear, breathing lowly against the side of your neck. Your skin shivers as his voice brushes over your ear, and you can hardly control the way your body responds to him so effortlessly, like he has an invisible leash on you.

You nod, muttering out a pathetic ‘yes.’ Mingi pressed the tip of his nose against your neck and pressed his lips against your skin so you could feel them move when he talked. “Words, sweet girl. Haven’t I already told you this?”

It was hard to form words while he was fingerfucking you so well, so deep it was making your stomach cave in, but the need for more outweighed everything else. “Y-yes, sir.” You whimpered, and you felt your chest flutter when he groaned lowly against your ear, a guttural, primal sound that had you clenching around his fingers.

He leans away from your neck with a fleeting kiss, moving his hand from the back of your neck around to the front. Squeezing at the base of your throat, his fingers pressing on those sensitive, soft spots on the side that started making your eyes darken at the corners. His fingers pressed harder, deeper, coaxing inside of you with purpose that was making you go insane with bliss.

Your hands frantically grasped at anything you could, his wrist, his shirt, his belt, anything you could to ground yourself as he pushed you towards that orgasm. He held your throat nice and tight, and you were choking on moans as he fucked you with his thick fingers, and he breathed heavily against your lips. The grip on your neck kept your head in place for him, and as your eyes began to roll to the back of your head, he pressed against those soft spots a little harder.

“Eyes, darling, eyes,” he commands in a breathless moan, and you tear your eyes from the back of your head to look at him, and it nearly undoes you. His fingers are relentlessly curling deep in your pussy, his big warm hand squeezing your throat just tight enough to make your body feel all fuzzy. His dark, begging eyes make your stomach clench, his guiding, baritone voice making your whimpers slip out involuntarily.

“You wanna cum?” He whines against your lips, just lightly loosening his grip on your neck to allow you to respond. “Ask me nicely.”

“Yes, fuck- please…” You moan hoarsely, and Mingi takes his bottom lip between his teeth.

“So you do have manners.” He teases, his thumb brushing upwards against your clit as the grip on your throat tightens once more. “Cum then, baby. Let it go, make a mess for me.” The corners of your vision bleed into something dark, and he lowers his mouth to take your lips with his again, moaning softly into your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Come on, come on….” he barely whispers into the kiss, and you cannot deny him even if you tried. His fingers never cease, only slowing as he does his very best to prolong your orgasm like some kind of torture method. His fingers curl and prod, rolling inside of you as your orgasm rocks your body, a feeling so intense you feel like you are shattering from the inside out.

“Thats it, that's it. Don’t stop.” He keeps kissing you, fucking your cunt with his fingers, squeezing your throat just hard enough you feel like you might have been on the brink of passing out. 

Mingi rides you through it, the restraint in his movements starting to slip away the more he sees of you. His hand on your throat moves away and slips beneath your shirt, up and over your smooth stomach, around to the warm skin of your waist. Up until his hand slips beneath your bra and cups the swell of your breast. So soft beneath his calloused palms, he finds that he can’t stop his fingers inside of you, massaging your chest and continuing to fingerfuck you through the overstimulation.

“Wait-” you whine out, interrupted by your own moans. Mingi reaches behind your back and finds the clasp of your bra with more surprising ease. It falls loose beneath your shirt, and he maneuvers your shirt over your head. He catches your surprise, and it only makes his cock twitch at your sweet expression.

“I’m a grown man, (Name).” He speaks against your cheek, slipping the straps of your bra down your arms until it falls onto his floor. “None of this is new to me, baby.” Finally, he slips his fingers out of your cunt, and the slick sound it made was embarrassing. He gives you no time to quell on it as he slides his fingers into his mouth and cleans your mess off him with a hungry moan.

His other hand makes quick work of the buttons of his shirt. One by one, unclipping the silver buttons until it's completely open. As he reaches for his belt, the clank of the metal makes your thighs clench. He cocks his head to the side, running his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Lie down,” he instructs, as he undoes his belt. The dark of the room shrouds his face, and a loud rumble of thunder rolls, much closer this time. You can hardly move at first, your eyes trailing down his body. Toned, the grey and black happy trail that disappears beneath the waistband of his pants is tantalizing.

You swallow and slowly sit on the edge of the bed, but Mingi doesn’t give you the chance to lie back on your own. Once he loosens his belt, he’s leaning over you and caging you in. His hands find your waist as he inches you further up the bed and pushes you onto your back. You stare at the dog tag on his necklace that swings back and forth as he sets you up how he wants. 

His thighs, thick and strong, cage either side of your legs as he leans down, his hands massaging up your sides like he was trying to soothe you to sleep. He kisses between the valley of your breasts, down your chest, and along your stomach, all the while his hands make their way further down to the waistband of your shorts, teasing you with his fingers slipping beneath them as he worships your body.

“So soft.” He mumbles between kisses as he slips your shorts down your legs and off onto his floor. “So pretty, so sweet.” 

When his fingers hook on your panties, he moans and nibbles on the flesh of your stomach, and your entire body tenses as he slips off the final piece of clothing. 

Down your legs, off your feet, and onto the floor. He’s quick to sink to his knees at the edge of the bed, hooking his big, strong arms around your lower waist and pulling you to the edge of the bed, just enough to where your ass nearly hangs off.

He signals you with his hands, making a grabbing motion. You watch and slowly give your hands to him, and he laces his fingers with yours and holds your hands down against your abdomen.

Your thighs hang over his broad shoulders, his face inches away from your dripping cunt, and Mingi’s eyes bore into yours as he places a soft, gentle kiss against your mound.

You whimper in anticipation, and his hands squeeze yours harder, your limbs twitching at his pinning gaze.

“You want my mouth, honey?” He teases, blowing a stream of cold air against you, your thighs twitching around his head. 

“Fuck… please?” You beg lowly, and he gently lets his tongue loll out of his mouth, splitting your lips with a low laugh. When you jerk at the feel of his warm tongue, he tugs your hands harder against your stomach and trails his tongue up to circle your clit.

“Stop squirming, and take it for me.” He opens his mouth and takes your sensitive nub into his mouth, running his tongue over it and sucking it like he’s been deprived for months. Which technically wasn’t a lie. He had dreams of your taste, dreamed of the reactions he could drag out of you with his mouth.

Your moans come out high-pitched and cracked, his warm mouth working your poor pussy out like his favorite meal. Obscene, sloppy noises as he fucks you open with his mouth. Detaching from your clit and burying himself between your thighs even further. His nose nudges the nerves while his tongue slips inside of you. Tasting you, drinking you, making you cry like a baby while he ruins you.

“F-fuck… too much-!” You were so sensitive after his fingers fucking you stupid just mere minutes before, and now his thick tongue is filling you like no other, his pretty big nose pressing up against your clit so perfectly it was insane. 

He lets go of your hands, just to take both your wrists in one hand while the other flattens against your stomach, trailing down along your inner thigh, before gently sliding between your slick pussy lips.

“Fuck, you taste incredible, such a wet mess.” He wraps his lips around your clit and slides his coated fingers inside of you once again, and your voice shatters when she curls them perfectly. The stimulation of his mouth and the feel of his fingers pressing and kneading, your wrists twist and turn in his grasp, but he makes no move to let you go. He only squeezes tighter. He groans around your clit, and your mouth falls open as the vibrations of his voice send sparks flying in your brain.

Moaning like he could feel it himself, slow, coaxing motions of his fingers against your walls that had your eyes rolling, the tip of his tongue circling your clit just enough to have you tethering that edge.

“Good girl… good girl…” he coos, his voice muffled as he focuses on getting you to cum again. “Feel me, focus on me, pretty baby. God…”

He was getting off on your frantic movements, your endless amounts of arousal that seemed to gush from you. The way you clenched around his fingers when his voice vibrated around your clit.

“You’re right there.” He encourages, shaking his head back and forth against your cunt, your arousal slipping down his chin and coating his lips, the wet slurping sounds so nasty and vile.

“Keep working for me, you're so close.” Mingi talks you through it, pulling away from your clit and littering wet kisses against your tummy. “Rock your hips, tell me what feels good, let me hear you.”

You choke out a broken cry, and he’s tempted to let up just so you can quiet down, but he’s addicted to you, and he couldn’t stop even if he tried.

“U-up..” you stutter out, and he wastes no time. Gently, he moves his fingers inside of you, nudging them upwards a little more. He feels it, your body tense and your cunt clench, and you let out a low groan.

“There… right there…” You exhale, and he presses up against that spot, circling the tip of his fingers against it repeatedly, instead of thrusting them. A constant, mind-numbing pressure that feels so good it hurts.

“Yeah, there we go.” He grits out, bringing his tongue down and flicking it up against your clit in soft kitten licks, a slow light, warm pressure that makes your hips jerk to chase it more.

You try to cry out, beg for more, but the harder his fingers pressed, the less you could remember English. Your breaths were whiny, and your voice kept cracking, and you were so close to cumming again.

“I'm going to count you down, darling.” His low voice pulls a low wail from your chest, and you try to move your hands to grab his head to push him further against you, just to remember he had you restrained. 

“You can cum your brains out when I get to one, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You nod your head frantically, your hips bucking against his tongue that oh so gently teases your clit. Mingi smiles and nibbles your sensitive nerves playfully, and then he starts to increase the pressure of his fingertips against your G-spot.

“10.” You cry out when he runs his tongue along your inner thigh, up and down, a teasing motion against the sensitive skin that makes your entire body flare with heat. “9… 8… 7…”

With every number he bites you. Sinking his teeth into your thigh, your stomach, your clit, anything his mouth could reach between your legs. And all the while, his fingers never stop curling.

“6… 5… uh uh. C’mon, baby, get a hold of yourself, not yet.” He feels you clench hard, your moans getting breathy. He knows you’re so close, he can hear it in your tears. But he gave you a command, and he expects you to follow it.

“You can do it… 4.” He wraps his lips around your clit one more time, and this time he lets out long, drawn-out groans that come from deep in his chest, the quiver of his voice stimulating your clit so perfectly you thought you wouldn’t make it.

“3…2… c'mon baby, make it good. Cum yourself stupid for me, okay? For me… please?” 

God, when he whines. It hurts your head. You force yourself to breathe, the knot in your stomach tighter than ever. He lets go of your wrists, and immediately, your hands fly and bury themselves in his soft hair. His now free hand snakes underneath your thigh and hikes it further up his shoulder, prying you open as your legs begin to close around his skull.

His tough fingers sink into the soft flesh, and he drags his tongue over your clit in repeated, pressured waves.

“1… go ahead, baby, cum for me. Don’t hold back, give it to me. Let me have you.” You shatter, instantaneously. It hurt, it felt amazing. Your entire body locks up, his hand on your thigh, squeezing so hard it was sure to bruise, his fingers coax and prod, dragging you through it.

He moans around your clit, and you feel like you’ve been shocked with volts of electricity. Your fingers grip his hair at his scalp, the intensity of your orgasm nearly knocking you out. 

He laps at your pussy, drinking up the slick that spills from you, and you find yourself limp beneath him, regaining your breath as he cleans you up greedily during the aftershocks. Purely for his own enjoyment, it seems. He could watch you do that all day. He finds himself wondering if you’ve ever squirted before.

He rests back on his haunches, taking in your body below him. Squirming and soaked, begging for his hands and for his mouth. 

“You’re so fucking bad for me.” Mingi breathes out in barely controlled disbelief, like your very being was something unhealthy while he was on a diet.

He’s leaning back over you and letting one hand slip around your body, pressing against your lower back to arch you a bit, his other hand unbuttoning his pants with hurried precision.

His lips swallow yours in a hungry moan, tilting his head and kissing you long and deep and frantic, your heavy breaths brushing against each other, his warm tongue running over yours in a cannibalistic kind of hunger.

“You’re making me such a bad, bad man, baby.” Mingi coos into the kiss, and while he’s kissing you into a fever, you feel something warm and heavy press against your stomach. Slowly, he grinds his hips against you, humping his cock against your belly.

You can tell two things immediately. Number one. Mingi was feral. The kiss was all teeth and drool, not giving you one second to breathe. The hand on your back is moving back up and gripping the back of your neck to help maneuver your head in the best way to kiss you as deep as possible.

And two. He felt so fucking huge.

Not to mention the mere size of him as he is, his broad shoulders shielding you from even being able to see the ceiling of his bedroom itself. But you can feel his cock twitch against your flesh. Long, so much so it reaches past your belly button, thick, hot. He was gonna split you in half, there was no doubt about it.

When he finally gives you a moment to breathe, he’s taking his other hand and grabbing the underside of your thigh, lifting it and maneuvering your leg over his shoulder, your ankle resting next to his head.

Spreading you nice and pretty, he reaches back down and grabs the base of his cock, setting it between your drooling lips, twitching against your clit, and you groan loudly into the space.

He gently moves his hips through your folds, a slow, slick glide as he lubes himself up with your arousal, moaning low and deep as he coats himself with you. His hand drags up your body, grabbing every inch of flesh he can before his hand is cupping over your mouth, pressing down nice and hard.

Your eyes widen as his hips never cease their movement, only gliding even smoother the wetter the length of his cock gets. He leans down to press his lips against your ear, and he kisses it lightly, his shaky breath fanning over you.

“Shh…shh.” he coos, and he cock jumps when he feels your moans vibrate beneath his palm. He litters the side of your neck with wet kisses, and your entire body shivers as you realize that no matter what you do, you cannot move.

He has you pinned against his mattress with the strength of his own body, holding you down with his weight. He feels you shake, and he swears he feels your cunt get even wetter, and he’s barely holding back the primal urge to pound you into his bed until you cry for him to stop.

“Not gonna use a condom with you, baby, I’m going to give it to you raw, maybe fuck some manners into your head while I’m at it.” Mingi groans nice and low against your ear, and then he’s finally sinking his cock into you, nice and slow. Stretching your pretty little pussy out as torturously as he can manage.

When you squeal beneath his hand, he shakes his head and leans back, his eyes lock with your watery ones as he clicks his tongue.

“No baby no….” He purrs, but he doesn’t stop sinking into you, pressing his hand further against your drooling mouth. “You have to be quiet, okay? Please?” He begs in a low, whiny tone. You can feel every vein of him graze against your pulsing walls, your tears spill down your cheeks and flow over his knuckles, and he whispers sweet nothings to you as he seems to sink into you endlessly.

“Such a pretty crier, darling.”

“Almost there, just a little more, beautiful slutty girl, taking me so well.”

His fingers are wet with your tears, and he can’t quite bottom out yet; he has to fuck himself deeper into you.

“Alright, I need you to be a good girl for me and keep that pretty mouth shut, I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?” You whine with a broken cry, and he’s pulling his hips back, sliding the length of him out of you, and then sliding right back in with a moan you can feel in your chest. Your legs shake as he pushes himself just a little deeper this time, and your belly feels full of him.

“Yeah, you've been wanting me to mess this pussy up, huh, baby?” Mingi’s free hand finds the base of your throat once more, helping keep you quiet by limiting your airflow. And you tighten around him so much that he has to pause because he physically cannot move any further.

He laughs lowly, and he peeps the way your eyelids flutter, and you seem to have drunk haze over your eyes. One hand over your mouth, so large he practically has your entire jaw in his grip. The other with a grounding hold on your throat, just tight enough to make you a little dumb. His entire body presses down against yours, pinned beneath him, so helpless.

His cock thick, heavy, and deep in your guts, slow, mean strokes that make your drool pool in the back of your throat.

He grins, and then he’s pressing himself deeper into your cunt, and you moan gutturally against his palm. 

“Nasty little girl. You like not being able to breathe when I fuck you? Huh?” You don’t answer, of course, just moan and whine as he fucks his cock into you, deep and slow. 

Your muscles start to tense from the pressure, your leg straightening over Mingi’s shoulder as the pleasure absolutely sweeps you away beneath his warm body.

“Your legs are locking up, baby.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. “C’mon, relax, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” He teases you, even while drilling his cock into you like he was insatiable.

Then he’s slipping his hand underneath your knee, bending your leg forward, and pressing it against your chest. You cry out, and suddenly he’s sinking in ever deeper, and you feel so incredibly full. His hand slips away from your mouth for just a moment to hook beneath your other knee, and pushes it up to your chest as well, folded underneath your professor like some kind of doll.

You choke out an overstimulated sob, and once he’s able to hold both your legs down against your body with his chest, his hand is back on your mouth to keep your noises down. 

He stops moving his hips and shivers, the new angle having you so much tighter around his cock, and with your knees up to your shoulders, making you look so small, he’s seconds away from losing it.

“S-Sir…” you whine beneath his palm, your cries muffled and your breath hot against his skin. Mingi’s cock jumps inside of you when he feels your voice against his hand, and he drops his head by your neck with a shaky, low moan.

“I’m sorry, pretty baby.” He murmurs in your ear, and then he starts to move again. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

This time, he’s kissing spots so deep you feel him in your ribcage. His tip scraping that perfect spot that makes your muscles cramp, and your throat catches. 

“Am I too big for you?” He smiles against the flared skin of your throat, pulling his hips all the way back, tantalizingly slow enough to force you to feel every thick inch of him stroke in and out of your walls.

He leans away from your neck and looks at you, your eyes fluttering and your nose flaring as he slowly eases into a meaner pace, nearly pounding your cunt like he couldn’t control himself.

“Look at me, baby,” Mingi mumbles softly, and when you don’t respond, he squeezes your jaw harder, and your eyes shoot open. “I said, look at me, right here.” His voice is rougher this time, commanding. Like how he talks to the class when he wants their undivided attention, but this time it’s laced with pure primal need.

Your eyes lock with his, and everything starts to crumble. Your whines break into breathless, sad whimpers, your legs shake even when he’s got them pressed to your chest, your pussy gushes around him as he finds a relentless, deep rhythm, drilling his fat cock into you.

“Holy shit, you’re soaked.” He breathes out, pressing his lips against the back of his hand that covers your mouth. His hips smack against yours, a wet slap of skin with every drag of his hips; you could hardly hear yourself think.

“Good slut… fuckkk- my baby is so needy, hm? Such a selfish pussy.” He’s bullying you now, his swollen lips shiny and wet, then finally he’s taking his hand off your mouth and immediately replacing it with his lips.

Kissing you slow and deep, muffling your cries with his own mouth. His tongue fills your mouth, and your moans vibrate against him, and you feel as he starts to fuck up into you faster, the slaps of skin louder and the pleasure scraping up your spine and rendering you cockdrunk.

“Such a crybaby.” He groans down your throat, his warm chest pressed against your own like a heated cage, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

“Mm, just wanna- fuck… just wanna make you feel good.” He sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and almost growls, and you notice he’s starting to get rougher, get meaner. Losing control.

He started to ramble in cracked moans under his breath. “Better than her… p-prettier than her… fuck-! Softer than h-her…”

You hadn’t had half the mind to dwell on his words, but you just knew he must have been talking about his wife. Whether she was in the picture or not, he was still thinking about her. And you hated to admit it, but it sent your ego soaring.

His hands grip the underside of your thighs, pushing your legs harder against your body, then he’s dragging his hips back with a heady growl and pounding you.

Hard, deep thrusts that have you sliding up the mattress, he’s careful enough not to send the headboard flying against the wall, but it’s still enough that it sends your poor little brain into a frenzy.

“Shouldn’t be letting me do this to you.” He breathes through gritted teeth, his messy salt and pepper hair falling over his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again, but interrupted himself with a broken moan. You felt so fucking good around him, he couldn’t believe it.

A wet, blissful mess under him. Such a smart girl who risked everything she had just to be ruined by a man old enough to be her father. There was no redeeming himself now. And he wasn’t sure that he’d want to.

“Does it feel good? Does my baby feel good here?” His hand gently presses against your lower stomach, where he’s buried inside of you, teasing you with heated questions he knows you don’t have the capacity to answer. You shake and shiver every time his tip kisses that sweet spot.

You’re doing so well, keeping your voice down, struggling to breathe as you try to keep your noises to yourself. And in all honesty, all he wants to do is hear you. He wants to hear you squeal and cry for him, but not while his daughter is home.

“P-please…!” You weep, your hands scrambling to grab something, anything. He doesn’t let you, grabbing both your wrists in his huge hand and lifting your hands above your head.

“Wrap your legs around me.” He bites out, sliding his hand from under your thigh and covering your mouth once again.  Your muffled whines flow through his hand as you follow his command, wrapping your shaky legs around his waist as he adjusts the position of his hips so he can put as much force as he can behind his thrusts.

With your wrists pinned above you and your mouth beneath his palm, his gaze burns through your skull, and his eyebrows knit together like he’s focusing. “Shh. Be still, be quiet.”

You whine loudly, and he presses his hand harder against your mouth, shaking his head like he was disappointed. 

“No ma’am, you know better.” He groans, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to muffle his own noises as he starts to fuck you so hard it’s like he is trying to force your cunt to mold to his shape.

Resolute, deep, cruel, Mingi uses your body like he is burning from the inside out. Angling his hips upward with every thrust to perfectly graze against your G-spot in a way that had you spiraling forward to your orgasm in record time. Your neck involuntarily cranes backward, and his hand follows your movements, keeping a tight grip on your jaw to muffle you.

Your wrists wiggle in his grasp, your hands shaking and spasming as all you feel is white-hot bliss. Like your entire being was pleasure embodied, and Mingi was working you out so perfectly.

The wet slaps were impossible to mask, the creak of the bed rivaling Mingi’s only thought that swam around his brain. 

Break her. Break her. Break her.

You sobbed quietly, and you couldn’t believe this was happening. It all felt too good, and Mingi was way too good at this. It would be easy to get addicted, and it would ultimately be the downfall for you both. But you were too lost in it to care; all you wanted was to cum, and Mingi was getting you there no problem.

“I know baby, I know.” He growls under his breath, and your stomach lurches.

Mingi whines out broken and low curses, dropping his forehead against yours, his body jerking when he feels you tighten around him.

He lifts his eyes to your fucked out ones and kisses the tip of your nose, such a soft gesture, all the while he pounds your pussy to death.

“You cumming beautiful?” He exhales, and you nod frantically beneath his hand. There’s a conflict in his eyes, then he’s leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“I’m gonna move my hand, but you have to be quiet, darling. I want this to be good for you, but you have to breathe through it.”

You weren’t really listening, too focused on your orgasm, the more it coiled in your lower stomach. You nodded, anything to let you cum. Mingi wasn’t buying your eagerness, and he shook his head.

“Look me in the eyes and say you understand.” You force your eyes to lock with his, his hips slowing to a deep grind, your shuddering breaths warming his hand. 

Your pleading gaze has him crumbling, and slowly he slips his hand away and grips the front of your throat loose enough you can breathe, but enough to assert control. 

“I u-understand!” You cry, your voice a low whimper. “Please, Mingi, I’ll b-be good! I promise…”

Your sweet voice, it makes his cock twitch inside of you, and he grinds so deep into you that your lungs shake. 

“Beg.” He snarls, forming his lips into a mocking pout. “Say, ‘Please let me cum, please fuck me through it, please.’ Make it pretty, use your manners.”

Your nose flares, and your cheeks are wet with tears make Mingi’s heart pound. 

“Please… let me c-cum.” You whimper, your bottom lip wobbling, every word a drunken slur. “Please, wan’ it so bad… please.”

He smiles greedily, your pleas trailing off into quiet, mindless babbles, while he slips his hand between your melded bodies and finds your clit.

You feel his fingertips press up against it, and a gasp tears from your lungs, your legs tightening around him enough to force his hips to sink his cock deeper into you. Mingi tucks his bottom lip between his teeth drunkenly, circling your clit and grinding his hips into you each time he bottoms out with every powerful thrust. 

“Yes. Yes…” You weep pathetically, and with every clench of your cunt, every sweet noise from your mouth, Mingi finds it very hard to push the thought of fucking a baby into you to the back of his mind.

His body craves it, his soul screams at him to fill you up, his cock twitches from the sensitivity of holding himself back. He knows that it would be bad for both of you. Once he lets go like that, he’s going to want to fill you up again, again, again. Until the results are satisfactory and you are round with his child. 

He doesn’t want that. He’s sure you don’t want that. His body craves it, his instincts pick up on your young, palpable fertility like he was some kind of animal. 

Your legs lock up around him, and your back arches off the bed, so close to that blinding edge. Your hands reach around his claw at his broad back, your nails scratching him up, dragging a wince from his lips.

“M-Mingi-! Oh my god… right there- right there…” 

The authoritative honorific long abandoned, your brain clouds over as your orgasm creeps up your neck. 

“You got it, sweetheart…” he praises, never stopping the repetitive strokes of his fingers, the filthy grind of his hips. “Cum for me, all over me, please baby…”

He kisses the front of your throat, sucking dark marks into your soft skin and running his tongue flat over them. Repeated begs for you to fall apart on his cock, begging for you to let go.

Your entire body tenses, and then it washes over you in waves; they seem to never stop. He doesn’t stop moving his hips; he starts to fuck you faster. Dragging your orgasm out and taking advantage of how tight you’ve gotten, you cry out and shake violently. Mingi gives you no room to breathe, every slick sound of his cock slipping in and out of you so smoothly, only seeming to help you cum harder.

“That’s it… yeah… c’mon babygirl. Don’t stop. Cum until it hurts.” He smashes his lips with yours and moans loudly down your throat, his tongue invading your mouth with a greedy hunger, fucking you with renewed vigor. His hands slide up and cup your jaw, holding your head still as he kisses you stupid.

Then, your legs tighten around him, you tilt your head, and kiss him deeper. You force his hips against yours, and he sinks deeper into you.

“Inside.” You moan around his tongue, and you could feel his low, gravelly whine against your teeth. “Please.”

“Fuck…” he growls, and the hands on your jaw slip up and splay against either side of your face, holding you like you might try and run from him. “Don’t say that.”

But you double down. “Please, sir. Need you to fuck me full of you… get me all messy.”

Mingi gives you a warning look, his thumb slipping down and pushing against your chin, opening your mouth for him. He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, and you watch as a string of spit falls down the tip of his tongue and into your mouth, and your entire body erupts into an uncontrollable shiver.

“You want it?”He grunts, molding his lips with yours and kissing you so nastily, so dirty, you swear you were cumming again. You whisper pleading ‘yes’s’ and whimpering begs for him to fill you up, and you could practically feel the resolve crack in hips. “Gonna make this pussy a fucking mess.”

How could he resist? Mingi’s hips stutter, and his mouth opens against yours, breathing heavily, exhales broken with whines and groans. His pretty eyes half lidded, and his eyebrows pulled together as he shoves himself deep in your cunt one last time before he’s cumming, rolling his hips into you as he shakily moans against your lips, filling your pussy up with him.

Warmth spreads throughout your body, and Mingi’s entire body presses down heavily against yours, his hips grinding against you in slow, repeated motions, making sure not a single drop of him slips out of you.

Your heavy breaths fill the quiet of his room that has fallen, and realization begins to set in. There was no coming back from this.

You weren’t going to drop his class. You weren’t going to quit the babysitting job. You needed both, and Mingi could do without you, no matter what you decide to do.

He could find a new babysitter. It would be one less paper to grade. 

But he doesn’t think he would be able to go one day without craving you like some kind of drug.

Slowly, he crawls off of you, his heart still racing. You sit up on your elbows, and immediately you move to gather your clothes, but his hand on your wrist stops you.

“Whoa, whoa, wait. What are you doing?” His gentle, kind voice has returned, and your eyes widen as you freeze in place.

“I’m- I’m getting my stuff…?” You’re confused, and he shakes his head like he was disappointed. He stands up and guides you to stand with him. He towers over you, and his hands, which were so rough with you earlier, caress the sides of your arms.

Up your shoulders and along the marks he littered along your neck. He presses his lips to the top of your head and kisses you softly, inhaling the smell of your shampoo. “Let me take care of you.” He murmurs into your hair, and you exhale shakily.

“Why?” You answer, and he rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“What a stupid question.” He laughs, massaging your shoulders and maneuvering you to walk towards his bathroom.

“I thought you said there was no such thing.” You tease, and he opens the bathroom door before picking you up and setting you on the counter.

“I can be wrong sometimes.” He shrugs, turning around and opening the sliding glass door of the shower. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

While he’s adjusting the temperature of the water, you turn and look at yourself in the mirror. You were an awful wreck. Frizzy hair, sweaty skin, dark marks on every inch of your body. He really did a number on you.

“I am still a gentleman after all.” He smiles and turns to fetch you once again, scooping you up and setting you inside the tub. 

“You weren’t acting like one earlier.” You mumble, and he scoops some water in his hand and splashes it on your face. Your mouth falls open in shock, and he raises a warning eyebrow at you.

“Manners, young lady.” 

Mingi cleans you up with a soft rag, gently washing you clean with a soap that smells like him. You nearly fall asleep in his arms, strong and grounding as held your body up.

He’s careful with you, like you’re made of glass. Attentive to your sensitive spots. He dries you off like a baby duck, avoiding your hair to not mess it up any further.

Once he’s got you cleaned up, he ushers you downstairs and urges you to eat something while he takes a shower of his own. He ever generously cuts you up a bowl of fruit, wearing nothing but a loose towel around his waist.

That strange domesticity from the first night he had hired you returned tenfold. And you couldn’t pull your eyes away from him while he worked. His damp hair clinging to his skin, his skin shiny and freckled. The tattoos on his body faded and turned green from the years of existence.

He lay you on the couch, gently massaging your ankles while you ate the fruit, a comfortable quiet settling over both. 

“You can sleep here, if you want.” He whispers, massaging your calves. His glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, and he glances at you over them. You avoid his gaze, very interested in the pieces of kiwi sprinkled about your bowl.

“I shouldn’t.” You mumble, and you could feel his grip on your calf loosen. You turn and lock eyes with him, and he thinks he would do anything for those pretty eyes you give him.

“We shouldn’t.” You finish, and you move to stand, but he follows you. His hands cup your elbows and pull you close, flush to his chest. His fingers caress the fragile bone in your arms, and he leans his head down to kiss your forehead.

“Just for tonight, you shouldn’t be driving. You can hardly keep your eyes open.”

He kisses your eyelid, trailing chaste smooches down the side of your face until he melts against your lips, breathing deeply as you lean into him. 

His hands slide down from your elbows to gently envelop either side of your waist, tilting his head to greedily kiss you deeper.

You sigh into his mouth, and he could feel you relax in his arms. Your hands reach up and wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him further against you.

“Okay.” You whisper, pulling away from his lips. He smiles, the smile lines making your heart flutter in your chest. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then he’s leading you away once again, the half-empty bowl of fruit abandoned on the side table. “Just this once.”

Of course, once would turn into twice. And before you know it, you have a routine with him.

Moments that were spent together in the privacy of his own home gradually transitioned into fleeting touches in the campus library, pushing you up against secluded bookshelves and eating you out to high heaven.

Dragging you to his office after class and bending you over his desk and having you then and there like some kind of animal.

You even went so far as to have him over at your home, riding on the hope that your parents wouldn’t decide to come home early from their date nights.

If the board found out, he’d be terminated effective immediately. If your parents found out? God knows how they would feel.

So you agreed to keep this little secret between you two. His daughter was none the wiser, and she never questioned whenever you chose to stay the night, it only made her happier.

You and Mingi had something. Something good? Something bad? You weren’t sure just yet. 

For now, you were having fun. Something someone your age should prioritize. You act like strangers in class, only fleeting looks that were silent promises for what was to come later in the privacy of his home.

These kinds of things were always bound to end in a disaster, and god you prayed it wouldn’t. Just this one time.

You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t his wife. You were a placeholder of sorts, a ghost to fill the empty shadow left in the home. You had no place there, but the longer you stayed the more you began to burn your imprint into the floorboards.

The wolf can keep that fawn as a pet for a little while, but its instinct to consume will always outshine later down the road.

And the fawn’s instinct to flee will always be there; it never disappears. However long it chooses to ignore it, will only prolong the pain that will destroy it when it is finally devoured.

[potatomountain]

Sweet Fairy

Pairing: Fairy Hongjoong x Witch reader AU: e2l, magical Genre: fantasy, romance, darkish, smut WC: 14.2k Summary: In a world built with the help of witches, witch hunts were a thing of the past- supposedly. You meet the first being in centuries willing to hunt and kill witches, shockingly it's a fairy. So beautiful in his wrath that you find yourself dedicated to finding him, and hunting, all in his name. Warnings: minor character death, mentions of hunting/torturing/researching magical beings, obsession/yandere themes, descriptions of animal corpses and cleaning of the corpses, magical murder, semi-bloody handjob, implied somnophilia AN: This is done for the @lapydiaries First anniversary event "Witch Hunt" as well as an added prompt from the winter event "Like Winter Air" Winter event prompt: “As if I enjoyed spending any time with you.” “Mmh. You look pretty even when you lie.” - locked in a small space together/trapped in a snowstorm Beta read by one @daemour deserving of Wooyoung's hand in marriage <3 Banners and dividers made by me, editing done by me (barely)

Frustration boiled beneath skin, your goal right in front of you but your luck had proved nonexistent. Or well, tipped in the other unfavorable direction. This part of the forest was known to be more otherworldly – and in turn unpredictable – so you thought nothing of the forest restraining you, an intruder. Just unlucky.

Vines moved over your limbs, digging through the fabric of your clothes to bruise your skin, the flora humming with magic. Old, natural magic with a much stronger connection to Gaia than your own. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, but when it became apparent that your own magic was bulking the rough vines, being sucked from your body like a vampire drinking your lifeforce, alarm bells went off in your head.

The magic of the forest had always been tricky, mischievous even, but never deadly. It preferred to restrain or deflect threats, confusing them with hazy mists or blocking their path with mudslides or trees weaving together. Never did it take. The forest had all it needed inhabiting its soil and branches and rivers, the creatures just as peaceful but at times mischievous as the old ancient earth around them. It was a provider, not a bringer of death.

Panic threatened to seize your heart and all you could do was press your hand to the soil and whisper soft pleas, attempting to remind the great mother that lived in all, that you were no threat. You had come with the purpose of peace and healing, not to hurt the ancient forest or take what it did not freely offer.

A pained hiss reached your ears, distant but it could very well be your own with the magic draining from you. A witch without her magic was… well it could never truly leave you but you had never heard of it being pulled from you like this. The unknown was frightening at this moment, fueling the desperation in your plea to Gaia.

“Stop it, witch! You do not deserve to ask for her help!”

Harsh unexpected words, distracting you from your task to find the source. 

What the fuck.

Shock and awe rushing through you with such a force that the vines bruising your skin and draining your magic was momentarily forgotten. All that mattered was the being that stood tall a few meters away, anger and hatred twisting his ethereal features but not taking an ounce of his beauty away. 

Red vibrant hair, obsidian eyes that shine with the soft gold flecks, more prominent with the magic he was using. A petite, perfect nose scrunched cutely and perfect teeth bared in a snarl. Translucent black wings – with red and purple veins that outlined a beautiful garden – fluttered with clear agitation the longer you stared.

It was the wings that nailed it home: a fairy. One that looked like the personification of Nature's wrath, beautiful but deadly.

Confusion joined the shock and awe you expressed. A fairy? Causing intentional harm? Unprovoked? Unheard of, thought impossible, and yet here was proof. 

The proof tightened its grip on you with a strength that was eerily close to crushing your bones if you stayed in its hold. The magic coursing through its veins matched the fairy staring you down as if you were personally responsible for some great travesty against him. 

It was getting increasingly harder to think, so you could not deny or confirm such silent accusations. “Do you intend to end my life, sweet fairy?” Despite the irony at calling him sweet, your tone gave no indication that you thought the term didn't define him. Awe and acceptance was all you gave him, as that was what you felt the most in this moment.

If you had indeed caused such a beautiful thing such harm that he deemed your life forfeit, you had no qualms giving it over. The peace cascading over you at that resignation was warm, relaxing your muscles and allowing you to succumb to the earth's grip on your body. Your only objection was that he would show mercy in the form of quickness. Slowly getting crushed into the soil beneath you would be a long and tiring process. Unless your magic ran out first and graced you with unconsciousness.

In response, the tight hold loosened, his nasally but perfect voice hissing in exasperation as if your acceptance was not what he wanted. 

Your gaze lifted up to his once more, unable to recall when your cheek had pressed against the cool dirt and rested your eyes. Abject horror was displayed on his features, confusion pulling your brows together in response. “No need to be afraid, you can take it if you must.” The heaviness of your tongue slurred your words, drool escaping and slight embarrassment flooded your cheeks. Drooling like a mess in front of such an ethereal creature? How could you?

“You are insane.” He shrilled out. 

The vines flinched back quickly into the ground as if they had been slapped away. The gold of his eyes thankfully remained despite no longer using his magic, wings still fluttering with agitation, but now you could see a sheen to his skin, like a soft shimmer, that just made him even more beautiful.

Insane? Maybe you were but you could not find it in you to care when he was just so beautiful.

You began to reevaluate if you were really unlucky for this encounter, just for him to disappear in a puff of black shimmering dust, like crushed onyx, that was quickly blown away and taken by the forest.

Yes, you were very unlucky.

Because now the fairy was gone, you were still alive, and would now have to face your master and explain why your magic reserves were on the cusp of bone dry.

✨️

Displeased was an understatement. Your teacher was absolutely furious.

It had been dark by the time your lethargic, heavy body made it back to the cottage, the elder slamming the door open before it was fully in sight, sensing your approach. The scowl on his fierce features sent a fear through you that probably should have been felt when the fairy was attempting to kill you. A reminder that you truly did not wish any harm on yourself, or your life, but that wish was nonexistent in the face of such a creature.

Despite your fear, you refrained from mentioning the fairy. Your teacher would not believe you anyways. Even with the demand for fairies for potions and spells, there had never been an instance where the creatures did more than that of the forest. Attempt to stall, delay and run, but never fight.

You were not concerned with him believing you about the Fairy’s actions, only his presence. The cottage was still too close to one of the more modernized cities for fairies to be nearby, so if he believed there was one, then he would hunt for it. Capturing and dissecting a fairy was much less work than the high prices on the market. There have been stories of some covens even threatening and selling “useless” members in exchange for fairy pieces- not even a living fairy, but just a wing or even part of one.

A disgusting aspect of magic evolution, though you disagreed with the said evolution. What was the need to discover new and more powerful spells? Mother Gaia and the fates gave all one would ever want and need as long as you respected her. The way witches have begun to treat not only fairies but the mystical beings close to Gaia was a nauseating and cruel reality.

So the knowledge of this fairy's existence would be taken to your grave, never spoken or hinted at. 

For that, you suffered a grave punishment for your folly of using too much magic to find one simple herb, angering the forest by doing so. A herb that you did bring back but far too late for your teacher's liking. 

The result was confinement and meditation. No healing for your bond deep. bruises or where your skin had blistered from the vines tightening. No change of clothes, dinner, or a chance to wash up. You were ordered to stay like this and memorize the tome of herbs and poisons that you technically already knew by heart, so really it was until your master no longer felt ire at your folly enough to deem you ready for more tasks. Not that you would get any care then.

The solitude wasn't too horrible.

Yes your body was sore, exhaustion threatening to pull you from consciousness but you had a better use of your time. Like the walk back you just thought of the ethereal and furious creature you had been ready to lay your life down for. To give him anything he should wish. A compulsion you could find no fault in, no complaints about.

Nothing deterred your desire to appease the creature. The solitude and flowers on the old, thick pages only stoked the flames his appearance had ignited in the deepest parts of your soul. A determination blossoming from the heat.

To find him and give him whatever he desired. Including your life.

✨️

Years had passed, the desire strong as ever, but there had not been a second encounter yet.

The familiar frustration simmered under your skin as you followed another dead end. Not that it was truly a dead end, but it provided no new information or answers to bring you to him. Just the confirmation that he had taken another life.

The compulsion to dabble in necromancy flared to life, just so you could bring the deceased witch back for your answers. And if you also wanted to take out your jealousy that they were felled by the fairy and not you, well that was to simmer in the darkest parts of your soul. The parts that belonged to Nature's Wrath.

He had earned himself that title, your chest puffing with pride whenever you heard a fellow witch whisper it in fear. That alone had been cause for a decrease in fairy hunting. You had your own hand in it, just a bit.

In your search for the creature you had studied every single piece of knowledge on fairies that you could get your hands on. The different types, habitats, magics and cultures. That included dabbling in fairy hunting yourself. And, well, hunting hunters.

It gained you a wild reputation. Known as a fairy obsessed wild card. You had gone after well known hunters, taken fairies yourself, but never caused them harm, only studying and attempting to learn about him.

The hunters knew it was a gamble interacting with you. If they had no information to give you, it tended to put you in a foul mood. Most still ended up dead. It was said you did it for the fairies. In a sense, you did so.

If you killed other hunters just to limit the pool of potential victims for the fairy you sought, well that was your business alone. Less hunters meant a higher chance for him to come to you. You have yet to reap the benefits of such efforts.

For the nth time since the encounter you questioned if you truly were insane in some way. Obsessed was true, you could not deny that. Instead pride would bloom in your chest at the notion. 

You? Obsessed with that ethereal being? Yes, you were. Equally proud that such a fact was part of your reputation, even if it was seen as an obsession over fairies and not the one you truly sought.

With a heavy sigh, frustration simmered to disappointment, no longer interested in the group of hunters who had worked with the newest deceased.

They seemed to notice the shift in your demeanor, fear twisting their aura and deepening your frown with distaste. Fear makes one do and say stupid things, one of them grabbing at nonexistent straws, an offer no one had dared to give before.

“Come with us to hunt it. The vile thing.”

It was his fault, you mused, wiping the blood that splattered on your cheek with the back of your hand. His fault for calling your sweet fairy vile. 

He should have known you would react like that, the magic bolt carving out the place where his heart should have been. He didn't have one before you summoned the spell anyways, not if he could insult your fairy like that.

Once his body hit the dirt – blood seeping into the ground and magic bleeding into the air– did you realize what he had offered. A smile spread over your features, too happy and innocent for the act you had just committed, turning towards the remaining four hunters who were rooted in place by fear.

“Do you think you can catch him?” You asked sweetly, wondering how useful these four would be to draw him out. They would make good bait… if you could refrain from killing one just for insulting what was the most precious thing to exist.

They shared a look, the biggest finally giving a nod before bravely meeting your eyes. “There is talk… of hunters getting together to capture… him.” He said after some clear deliberation. “The council wants him taken care of, believing him responsible for more than just hunter deaths. They're offering a huge reward and a clean slate for any and all hunters that assist in his capture.”

Keeping your blood from boiling was truly a feat. The council? Truly? 

After experiencing him first hand years ago you knew he was capable of handling himself. Hearing the stories, the feats, that he had accomplished only furthered that belief.

This was the first time you were filled with concern. With dread. Considering the pacifist nature of most – well all other – fairies, it didn’t take a skilled witch to capture them before. Usually just heartless. With the rise of ‘Nature’s Wrath’ only the most skilled had stayed in business, or some vengeful witches on occasion. The Witch Council, consisting of the heads of the influential Coven’s, had always turned a blind eye to fairy hunting. There were some laws against harming magical creatures, but it was an open secret that the Council did nothing to stop those that broke these laws in favor of the benefits.

Therefore, they had never interfered before. They hadn’t been a problem before.

Now you were even more insistent to find your fairy.

“Alright, I will join you.”

The other four seemed relieved at your declaration, shoulders relaxing as if their life wasn’t on the line any more. Foolish of them, really. Their lives were only guaranteed as long as they were useful.

Something they seemed aware of as they filled in details of the plan, leaving out important information such as the location and number of others. The tinge of respect you quickly pushed away, not wanting to feel anything for these witches other than indifference.

They at least gave you a time. Three days, west entrance of the city, midday. With a nod of confirmation, they ran off, only glancing briefly at their dead fifth that was currently being absorbed into the ground by vines. After experiencing the vines for yourself, you had found a way to do the same, the rush of magic humming through your veins, accompanied by bits and pieces of feelings and memories. Nothing solid enough to pin point, just tell you enough about the deceased to wager the threat his death brought you.

Arrogance, cruelty, and no strong feelings for another. Just like most of the others you had consumed.

With a heavy sigh, you shifted and stretched, letting the new magic settle under your skin. Sometimes it felt gross, the other’s magic tainted or twisted, no longer of its natural state. Use of unnatural magics usually twisted one’s core, and the most common use of unnatural magic used the fairy remains. 

It would take some meditation to cleanse your own core of the taint, your own core more naturally attuned to the earth than most other witches.

That’s how you spent the three days, just outside the city, in the forest, naked and meditating through the elements, cleansing your body of the wrongness of the magic, a delicate process.

So by the time you met up with the others, you felt refreshed and more powerful, even in a bright mood that would be hard to break. Not even the dozen or so extra witches standing with the four from before put a damper on your joy.

Most of them clearly fought off the urge to run at the sight of you, but one of the original four was quick to put them at ease. “They’re helping.”

The tension bleeding from their shoulders almost made you laugh. It was good to know they feared you, but still foolish to think they were safe only because you were “helping”. 

“Shall we head out? Do I get to know the details of the plan?” You asked, keeping your tone cordial and friendly.

One of the more experienced hunters–you could tell from his aura–was the one to answer. “There are others out hunting right now. We assumed due to the large number of us here in the city that he would still be nearby. They are sticking to an area we have previously scouted and set with wards and traps. Both magical and not.”

Your chin dipped in acknowledgement, urging him to continue as the group began walking along the dirt road out towards the forest. It made sense to use rigged mechanical traps, as the fairy would surely sense any magical traps due to his attunement with nature itself. Any strange magic would be noticed. But they would still bring him in regardless, as they were signs of hunters. Bait.

Well aware this tactic had been used before, and that your fairy would still be able to handle himself, it was the number of hunters that raised problems. While none of them had magical levels close to your own, there was strength in numbers. Something the hunters had kept limited due to their own greed. More hunters meant more ways to split the cut. Less money for each.

This time either the reward was so grand it didn’t matter, or they were just that eager to see your fairy stopped so they could continue their own business. 

And maybe, in a way, you did want him stopped. You hadn’t given much thought to what you would do when you found him. Perhaps offer your life as before. Let him absorb you as he had tried once before, as you have done to many others.

But a small part of you wanted him safe. Didn’t want such a beautiful creature to be harmed. To be seen and chased after by the scum that are surrounding you now. That he had killed before. You wanted to keep him all for yourself. Your sweet fairy.

A thought you always pushed aside, reminding yourself that your devotion far outweighed your greed. Your life belonged to him, not the other way around.

It was quite a distance down the dirt path before the group turned into the forest, heading north bound and staying silent. Their footsteps hushed by magic or skill, reminding you that these were hunters. The skill needed to capture a fairy was one of stealth. To sneak up and surprise. To lay bait, or know where to find one. Those last two required the skill of a novice, but the way a few of the hunters seemed to blend in with their environment, becoming nearly invisible, was a tad impressive.

You never tried to hide in the forest. It welcomed you as if you were a part of it, the whispers of the trees and plants giddy at your mere presence, moving out of your way and providing passage.

A few of the hunters near you were watching in awe, resulting in your own chest inflating with pride. This was what happened when a witch accepted Gaia and her body. When a witch gives themself to the Great Mother, nurtures her. She nurtures back, welcomes you with open arms.

Something modern “progressive” witches never did. Magic was power to them, and not the life force and energy that makes up everything from the air they breath to the light they see and the ground beneath their feet. A lack of respect for the Great Mother, taking as if their right, as if they are greater than she. 

Ignoring the questioning and curious looks, you let the others wonder, despite the answers being right beneath their feet. You weren’t going to spell it out for them, not when they don’t listen.

How could they ignore the gentle voices all around? Disrespect them and the home they provided to so much. Not just fairies, but even the non-magical creatures.

Witches had become too dependent on their human counterparts. Perhaps a consequence of the pact with non-magical humans and the integration of magic into human society. Even if they were unaware of most of what a witch could do, appeasing the non-magical majority of society had led to an influx of greed and cruelty, and a detachment from Gaia herself.

Yes, that could explain how witches had fallen so far from their former grace. The pact made with humans to stop their persecution of witches had been made to protect, but now their “advancements” had brought greed out on both sides. Even if witches were still painted in a light that made them seem mostly harmless.

As if enchanting and cultivating magic was the extent of their power, only small spells allowed outside of magical cities and coven protected zones to keep up the illusion that witches could not kill another with a flick of their wrist. Which, granted, normally they couldn’t.

Not anymore.

In order to appease humanity, chanting and spellwork was the only acceptable magic for a few decades. All while the covens worked behind the lines to make safe zones and push for witch rights. The nature of a witches power went from the very air and ground around them to each other and the words imbued with magic. It diluted a witches ability to pull the magic from around them, making the words, enchantments, and often coven bonds, a need to bring out stronger magics.

A nomad witch as yourself, raised on the old ways by a master who still revered Gaia, had no need for such things. Using magic as it was intended. And that was part of the reason the Council also did nothing about your own crimes. The death of a witch was on the witch’s coven. And no influential coven had ties to any of the mongrel that had been absorbed by your hands. 

Another reason the stakes were higher now. An order by the Council to capture your fairy would draw the attention of such Coven’s. As well as the Council hounds that did have power perhaps equal to your own. You could not simply kill one for insulting your fairy like you had done to the witch earlier this week. Not if you wanted the freedom to pursue said fairy.

Jolted out of your reminiscing by a sudden shift in the magic, your eyes darted around to make a head count of your temporary companions. There were now more, all of them halting the way forward and instead beginning to spread out. On instinct, you memorized their magical signatures, keeping a mindful inner eye on their movements to track them.

It was clear you had reached the zone in which the bait was laid. A river could be heard in the distance, and you could barely make out a ragged cliff side further ahead. Breathing in, your magic surged forward, a line through the dirt in the direction of the cliff to further scope it out. It went on in both directions for a distance you couldn’t follow, and the height was too high to jump up– death awaited anyone who would jump down. However, you could feel a scattering of caves of varying sizes. Reminiscent of fairy caves mostly.

The creatures had the ability to shift sizes, though they often stayed in their smaller size, akin to their brethren, pixies. It was safer to be small, less magic to be pulled, less mass to be used for greed.

A surge of anger ran through your spine as your magic ran through the caves, finding fairies deep within, trembling with fear.

This was the bait. A nest of fairies. One the hunters knew about, at least one, deciding to share the location of the nest for this hunt. Frightened Fairies radiated magic on a frequency that resembled an SOS, usually to Gaia herself. Creatures or the forest itself would defend the small creatures since their fear quite literally disturbed the magic and nature around them. And a whole nest shaking with fear was why the air felt so wrong.

You could barely see the cave walls through the foliage, even in the mid afternoon sun, and their distress affected the natural magic this far, several dozen meters away, most likely in all directions.

There was no way your fairy could ignore a distress signal this large. Regardless of the wards and traps you could vaguely feel in the distance between you and the nest. The signal worked even more in the hunter’s favor as it overpowered the magical signature of the traps, hiding them much better. You would wave the odd signatures off as the forest responding to the distress if you weren’t actively aware and looking for said traps.

To your utter dismay, you had to admit this was a genius plan. To your utter dread, you had to admit the chances of your fairy making it out of this was slim.

It was a good thing you were here.

With no knowledge of how long the fairies had been in such a state, you made quick work of rooting your magic beneath you, spreading it out as inconspicuous as you could manage. Hopefully if anyone noticed they would just assume you were helping them in some way.

You managed to have a mental map of every hunter, trap, fairy, and tree in the distressed zone up to the cliff by the time you felt the first hunter die.

He was closest to the cliff on the right, his body pushed against the rock, life force draining from him quickly and not into the earth. It was out of sight from your point of view, but not of nearby hunters.

No sooner was the first dead and another hunter screamed “It’s him!” before chaos broke out.

Suddenly a hunter on the left by the cliff was dead, and then one closer to you on your right. He was jumping around, picking them off with surprising ease.

It wasn’t until he appeared from a tree and grabbed the one on your left that you realized how he was killing. The hunter dared to reach out for you, even as his head was pulled in and melded with the tree. Only the fairy’s upper half was sticking out of the bark, his obsidian eyes shot in your direction, the gold much brighter than you remembered. His scowl deepened at the sight of you, quickly disappearing into the bark. The hunter was half merged into the tree, his legs twitching as the last of his life was pulled from him, dangling at the odd angle.

The forest accepted the offering of life, the bark moving over the rest and making the body an extension of itself, reaching for the ground where its own roots had spurred forth to connect.

A reminder of how beautiful and deadly nature was. The distress of nature’s cultivators bringing out the forest’s protective instincts in frightening but gentle ways.

Becoming one with a tree? That was a death of honor.

You were pulled back to the scene as one of the other others demanded your help, feeling most of them running closer to the fairy nest if only so they weren’t picked off so quickly any further. 

Magic wards were hastily thrown up, faltering in place as fear caused the witches to stumble over the incantations. You wondered if he even needed you here, considering how foolish and weak these hunters were. It seemed even in numbers they were no match for this one fairy, using the forest to aid him in protecting his kin.

As you approached the remaining dozen and a half, your own dread falling off your shoulders, the battle quickly turned in their favor.

One of them had the bright idea to use fire magic. They aimed a low level fireball right at the nearest cluster of caves. As soon as the ethereal fairy appeared to deflect or absorb the magic–both a dangerous idea considering his own nature– another hunter used a spell to yank him away.

It was your quick thinking that stopped the fire from reaching and torching the caves, the use of your own magic manipulating the stone walls to temporarily shut the caves and disperse the fire. It would rumble the caves, so a little extra magic was spent ensuring they were stable through the shockwaves.

The hunters were not dismayed though, several of them charging towards the fairy with blades, a couple using wind spells to keep the fairy from the trees, and then taking it a step forward by burning the surrounding areas.

The pain of the forest added to the distress of the fairies, both burning in the back of your mind. A downfall of being so attuned to the forest and nature itself. You had been able to mostly ignore the distress signal from the fairies, but combined with the pain of the forest around? A dull ache spreads from the back of your head down your spine.

These men were willing to burn the forest down to capture the deadly fairy.

And if the distress around was affecting you like this, you could only imagine how the other felt. You caught flashes of him in between dodging the blades, pulling a blade of his own out and parrying with surprising ease. His features were just as perfect as the last time you saw him, twisted with rage and a deep concentration that had you in awe. Such an expression on another person would look vile, or cruel. But not on him.

Nature’s wrath was a title that he truly embodied, and like the tree absorbing the hunter, it was truly a beautiful thing.

One you could not admire for more than a mere few seconds before you had to act. The fires were spreading, some of the hunters intent on spreading it with their own wind and burning hands. The fairy on occasion fluttered his wings and dosed some of the flames with his own dust or using the water in the air to combat the spread. Water would be harder for him to summon this far from the river, still out of sight even if it could be heard and felt in the distance. It would require a level of concentration that was not possible in the heat of battle.

Not for him. But for you?

You threw a few spells into the mix of the battle, letting your magical presence be felt so the hunters didn’t turn on you just yet. Simple and small bits of magic that deflected a sword or staggered one of them just enough to spare the fairy from injury. Despite how simple it was, the level of focus while your head was pounding was quite a feat.

All while you moved on the perimeter of the zone, moving towards the river you could hear, a string of your magic moving through the dirt to search it out. A sigh of relief when you realized it was not so far. Yes it would still be an effort for what you had planned, but it would not drain you too much.

You hoped so at least.

With the backs of the hunters to you, the fairy rushing back towards the cliff while dodging the others, you took a moment to retract your magic from them and the zone to focus it all behind you. A soft prayer to Gaia under your breath, and seconds later the river was rising and rushing through the forest like a small tsunami.

Water rushed past you on the forest floor, no higher than your calves but it was plenty to rush forward and wiped out the fires that were spreading quickly. You pushed it several meters past the distressed zone, letting it sink enough to cover the ground and keep it wet as a protective measure against further fires.

The rush knocked a few off their feet, not expecting the water of course.

It also gave away where your allegiances lie for this fight, since it gave the fairy an upper hand enough to end two of the six remaining attackers nearby.

“Well, guess I should get serious.” You huffed, reaching down to pull your boots off and feel the muddy water beneath your toes. The stronger connection to the earth both eased and distressed your magic, since the forest itself was still in distress.

Still you felt a brush of energy that felt eerily like a thank you. Perhaps for stopping the fires. Yes the water may have drowned some plants or hurt them, but it saved many more.

Half the hunters turned to you as you charged forward, using the water beneath to direct your attacks. Slices of the water came up to cut and maim while the muddy earth began to pull and stagger all of the hunters. You bended the mud and water to not only attack, but also deflect, nature listening to you with more ease with its own instinct to fight the threats.

It also gave you warning when there were more people approaching. Nearly all but two of the hunters were dead as another round approached and surrounded you. You stood near the fairy, his obsidian eyes casting wary glances your way, at least noting you meant him no harm. The enemy of your enemy is your ally after all.

It was as he fell the last of the hunter that he hissed in your direction. “Tell me why I should not kill you.”

Ah, his voice. You had missed it.

Unable to help the dreamy sigh, you smiled in his direction. “I have no reason, my sweet fairy. If my death would please you, it is yours.”

Recognition flashed through his eyes, shock twisting his features for a moment before a strange voice called out. “Hand him over, witch. He has to pay for his crimes.” You turned just enough to notice the several dozens around, and all with a matching crest. Shit. It was the city’s coven. They were one of the more powerful ones, their magic keeping the city shielded from non-magical folk. Or, well, hiding all the magic from anyone without a magical core.

“It is you that have committed crimes against fairies! I have done nothing but exact justice!” The fairy next to you shouted, his black and red wings fluttered with agitation behind him. He clearly had this conversation before, though you saw no reason to try. 

“They don’t care.” Sighing, your eyes ran over the many witches, surprised even the head was there. “The Council gave the order for your capture. Hunters are easy compared to coven witches, and this Coven is powerful. If I may suggest a retreat? These ones will not bother the fairy nest.”

Just to make sure that would be the case, your magic sought out the nest, eyes widening as you sensed a small portal of sorts.

A glance at the fairy next to you told you all you needed to know about where the portal came from. As well as the fact he would not be running until the last of his kin were gone from the nest. A shame they must leave their own home, truly.

“Do you even have the magic to leave?” A whisper, ignoring the way your tone trembled.

He met your gaze, the usual displeased frown lifting into a cocky smirk. You could almost believe it, if not for the way his hands tremble.

Nodding, you took a few steps forward, hands up in front of you as if trying to calm a beast. “Let’s not do anything hasty now.” “Says the fairy lover.” One snapped.

“And what’s wrong with that? They are Gaia’s children, just as we are.” You mused, keeping an inner eye on the fairy nest and the portal. You could buy as much time as you could, opening up the caves again. Giving the sweet fairy a way to reach the portal quickly and without using more of his own magic. “The old ways are dying.” A voice boomed, drawing your attention to the coven leader. “As is our connection to Gaia. We don’t need her anymore.”

Your eye roll was dramatic to say the least. “Now that is just rude to the Great Mother! She is our provider. Our core. Breaking from her breaks what we are.”

“She is not needed anymore.” The Coven head stressed once more, nodding at some of his men who began to chant.

Before you could respond, a few others charged forward, summoning spectral weapons and clashing in battle. They parried your slashes of water, staggering you back. Your attention was pulled in different directions. From trying to block the attacks to disrupting the chanting going on around you while keeping track of the fairies inside the cave.

Your only advantage was the fairy’s help next to you, but he was clearly struggling with the overwhelming foes.

With a curse, you used the water to pull up a wall of water, pushing it towards his attackers before quickly maneuvering it to block incoming magic missiles. “You aren’t going to make it at this rate! Go, the last of them are leaving. Go be with your kin.” You kissed out at the fairy who was also using the water much like you were but on a smaller scale.

The open portal was draining him too much, you could see that. Even with the magic he gained from the hunters, a fairy could usually teleport himself through the magic but opening a portal and holding it was more of space magic than the natural. It was possible he was just opening one to their realm, one that fairies could use to travel, but the distance and time holding it would still drain him while fighting like this.

And yet he looked at you as if you were mad for suggesting that he head through. Was that not his plan? An emotion much like concern flashed over his features, but you pushed that aside. You did not think he would be concerned for you, why would he?

The brief hesitation was all that was needed for things to go from bad to worse. His magic wavered, a manifested weapon swung down. He noticed too late.

A slash over his eye had him hissing back in pain, a few other gashes appearing on his exposed arms. It was enough to distract you as well, feeling a burning pain shoot out from your non-dominant arm and along your side. A barrage of magic missiles that had you stumbling.

His portal in the nest closed, thankfully after all the fairies had evacuated. But now you were both injured and running out of magic., the coven swarming in to either capture or kill.

Every possible escape route swam through your mind. Every possible spell you could use to turn the tides or run and each option as unlikely as the last. Even as you pushed out with your magic, sending more water in a rush towards your enemies, pushing them back and staggering but not stopping them. The fairy was holding his eyes, blood running down his arm from the wound and the wounds marring his skin. The idea of him teleporting himself away--even just a small distance–was on the tip of your tongue when you noticed a limp in one of his wings.

Injured. He couldn’t send himself away.

“Well-” You rushed over, grabbing his waist with your dominant arm while using your injured to throw a quick barrage of magic missiles. A quick and heavy one, 20 or so missiles, enough to distract for the real spell. “Apologies sweetheart, but bare with me.” 

He looked up with his one good eye, confusion quickly shifted to shock as water rushed up and covered both of your bodies. 

Your only thought was of hope you two would not be followed, and then you both dissolved into the water.

✨️

It had been a few years since you had returned here, but it was the safest place you could think of.

A foolish thing, considering the distance required more magic than you had at the time. Part of a Master’s job when raising and training a young witch was cultivating a home for the witch.

Your master had shown you the location he had picked out many years ago. After the fight you had with him before leaving only a few years prior to today, you didn’t think it would still be there.

Due to your affinity and closeness to the earth itself, your master had chosen a place much farther from the cities than he had lived. Transporting not only you but a fairy, both injured, across many miles and up a mountain was nowhere near easy. And if the cabin was not there, well, that would really fucking suck. Simple as that.

Emerging from the stream nearby and seeing the cabin was a major relief before you had passed out, acknowledging a cold nip to the air.

Waking up inside the cabin, clothes dry and wounds clearly taken care of, wasn’t even the most shocking thing. It was the fairy standing near the fire, stoking it with his back towards you, wings folded down in relaxation.

You must have made some sort of noise because he glanced over his shoulder at you, the fire reflecting in the obsidian eyes, stoking a fire in your own chest. “You’re awake.”

“How long was I out?” You croaked out, making no effort to move or get up. The bed was cozy.

“A little over a day.” He turned back to the fire, ending the conversation there.

The whine that left you at the lack of his attention was entirely unintentional, but you were pleased when he immediately looked back, expression softer.

“I feel like shit.” You answered his silent question, shutting your eyes to momentarily make a mental check on your body. The bed was stiff, probably from years of sitting here, unused. Surprisingly the air did not smell stiff or dusty, especially for such a small cabin. A witch is given a small one and expected to build onto it themselves.

So aside from the bed and the fire, there was little else. A table and chair in a corner. A shelf stacked with unused cooking ware and empty bottles and some basic starting supplies for potion making. And by the bandages on your arm, you would assume there was a medkit there as well. How useful it would be was questionable, but it was clearly used.

Wait.

“You…” Sitting up faster than you should–given the spinning of the room–you stared in shock at the fairy. “Did you tend to my wounds? How are yours?”

He stiffened. Then turned. And you gasped.

There was a white eye patch over his injured eye, as well as bandages on his arms but they were loose, as if he struggled to put them on. Your chest was tight at the picture he was, much softer than the vengeful fairy that had tried to take your life so long ago.

In fact, he almost seemed bashful. 

“I did try.”

With a soft chuckle you patted the bed next to you. “Come, I will fix your bandages.”

He hesitated, then made his way over and sat down stiffly. Rolling your eyes you pulled him closer, mindful of his gaze as you unwrapped the too loose gauze. “If you are having trouble with your wounds then you must still be out of magic, am I right?”

A slow nod, barely seen from how you were bent over his arm, gently unraveling. 

“I can feel that my core is still weak as well, so healing magic is out of the question for me. And if I remember, this cabin is pretty far from the village. Most likely a near day’s walk.” And your side hurt too much to even attempt the trek.

“A storm is coming as well.” He mentioned lowly, drawing your attention from the exposed cuts up to his face. 

Grateful for his input, you continued with honesty, letting him know just how this situation was. “Well that is both a good and bad thing. Good because it will definitely ensure we are not found. But bad because I have not been to this cabin in so long there is no food or supplies to withstand days waiting for it to pass.”

He scoffed, turning his head away and saying nothing more. Taking the silence as answer enough –meaning there is none– you turned back to your work. Thankfully the wounds seemed cleaned and some paste was applied. You assumed healing herbs. So all you needed to do was probably wrap up the bandages.

You finished and moved to his other arm, this time much closer to him since it was on his other side, practically leaning over his lap to do so. The position agitated the bruises on your side, brow furrowed with the pain but you pushed it aside. Pain was a price to pay for helping your sweet fairy.

Realizing you couldn’t call him that out loud(well you could but he might not like it), you broke the silence. “What’s your name?”

Feeling his eye on you, you kept your focus on your task. “Hongjoong.”

“Hongjoong.” You tested it on your tongue, humming in satisfaction. “A pretty name for a pretty fairy.”

Because your hands were on his arm you noticed instantly how he stiffened further, as well as stopped breathing. Shooting a glance up at his face, you marveled at the whirlwind of emotions there, deciding to spare him from sitting in them you gave your own name. “But call me whatever you want.”

“I don’t care for your name, witch.” He hissed, yanking his arm away the second the bandage was properly secure.

With a sigh, you patted his knee. “That’s alright. I cared about yours.”

“You truly are insane.”

“So you have told me.”

“And I meant it. Who willingly offers their life?! Do you have a death wish?” “On the contrary, I do not. I simply wanted to give you what you wanted.”

“Insane!” He stood up abruptly, pacing away while running his hand through his red hair, wings shaking with some agitation but still in their relaxed state.

Shrugging, the words just rolled off. “I suppose I am. Though I’d like to think I just know what I want.”

He swiveled on the ball of his foot, snarling at you with his teeth bared. “And that is to give me your life?!”

The urge to shrug again was pushed down, instead a soft smile on your lips, hands on your lap as you met his gaze with one of conviction. “To give the most ethereal, majestic being I have ever seen, whatever he wants. If that is my life, I will gladly give it. If that is another’s, consider it done.” You slide off the bed, barely registering you were in only your undergarments as you got on your knees. Crawling over, you stopped before him, tilting your head back as a show of submission. “I want whatever you want, please use me.”

Conflicting emotions warred on his features, from shock to horror to… awe? Dare you say desire?

Before you could truly pinpoint what you saw, he turned once more and was out the small cabin door in a rush, slamming the thick wood behind him.

Well that could have gone better.

Exhaling deeply you stood back up and examined the room more closely. Maybe there were some clothes you could wash in the stream with the bedding. Focusing on that instead of the fact your sweet fa- Hongjoong left you was a better idea than wallowing.

Hours passed as you cleaned the bedding, used the tiny bit of magic you had to pull all the moisture from the items, and then searched near the stream and cabin for anything to eat. By the time night fell the cabin was clean and you had a fish and mushroom stew above the fire and a mental catalog of everything inside.

The location was up in the mountains, but if you remember correctly the flora and fauna in this particular part of the mountains was abundant and not as touched by humans as most others. There should be a town near the base, and a valley in between this and the next mountain. There was also a plethora of caves running through this mountain range that probably contained more magical creatures, or at least dangerous ones, that would limit the amount of humans up this far.

Logically it made a good home, especially since you had all the skills and knowledge to live off the land. However, it did not have one thing: Hongjoong.

While it would be smart to stay here, you knew as soon as you were able, you would go find him. Go where he went. Do what he wanted.

You had agitated the bruises on our side with all your moving about, but aside from how drained you were of magic and fatigued you were. Using the last bit you had recovered sleeping to dry the clothes and bedding wasn’t the smartest idea.

Running your hand down the thick dress, cinched at the waist with a tie, begged to differ. Even with the fire burning in the small cabin, there was an unmistakable chill in the air and the thicker clothing would help with that.

Perhaps the cold was the reason that the door opened at dusk, your fairy stepping through, a pout on his lips and shivers running down his body.

“Welcome back.” Your excitement over his arrival was palpable, a grin spread wide. Not even the fierce glare he shot your way could dampen it.

“Where are we? I am unfamiliar with the forest here.” 

“Well I imagine so, we are quite far from where we fought. It would take us several weeks to travel back on foot. A week on horseback.” You explained, turning your attention back to the stew above the fire. “You will have better luck remaining here and recharging your magic. I would give you mine, but teleporting such a distance truly drained me.”

He scoffed, still standing by the door but at least shut the heavy wood, letting the latch fall into place. “You didn’t need to use what you had to dry the fabric earlier.”

That surprised you, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Oh? Were you watching?”

He blushed, the sight filling you with glee. The fact he was so expressive and easy to read just elevated his worth in your heart. He truly was the most beautiful creature to exist. A Fairy willing to go against his very nature and kill those who had harmed his kin. Hunting them as they hunted Fairies. And yet he could be so bashful and clumsy, even caring. 

“It was just a guess!” He huffed, wings fluttering with agitation. You had to stop yourself from cooing at the sight.

“Mhmm, so observant of you. Are you hungry?” 

Whatever reply he had died on his tongue, momentarily stunned by your shift in topic. “What is it?” Curiosity brightened his features, lifting his head further to look over your shoulder. You made it easier on him by stepping out of view, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

He sniffed the air gingerly, once more holding back a coo at the sight. A hesitant step forward and the sound of a grumbling stomach filled the space.

This time you couldn’t help your coo at his bashful expression. “Fish and mushroom stew. I am not sure how you feel about fish, I know meat is not a common diet for fairies but it’s not completely ignored either. The chunks are big enough to eat around.”

Tearing his gaze from the pot he met yours, the shock evident. “What? How do you know that?” You could see the moment he remembered that technically you had been one of the hunters who had baited him, a hiss falling from his lips and hatred filling his obsidian gaze. 

It struck no fear into you, as you could never be afraid of him. Even if he ripped your innards out while you watched, tortured you, or left you to rot. None of those outcomes scared you, since they would be done by his hand. Still, a part of you wanted him to know you meant him no harm.

“I have never killed or harmed a fairy. I promise you. Any hunting I did was to gather more research. To know more about you and fairies alike. Your diet, habits, traditions. Some had been very open about the information after some time. Though I was a bit frustrated, none of them wanted to tell me about you.” With a soft sigh you turned back to the stew, checking to see if it was good enough to eat. “I can understand why they consider you an outcast, killing goes against their nature. Many resigned to their fate saying this was Gaia’s doing, the hunters. They would not sell you out either way, if it caused their kin harm.”

“I do not do this for my kin’s acceptance.”

“Of course not.” You started plating two bowls, one with fish, one without, deciding you would eat whichever he chose not to. “You do it for their safety. An admirable thing, to go to such lengths to protect your kind.”

He scoffed, stepping closer as you set the two bowls on the table. “I do not need your admiration.”

“Of course not.” You repeated, stepping back and giving him the space to choose.

Eyeing you warily, he chose the bowl without fish, hesitating further before sitting down. Taking the other bowl, you sat on the bed, giving him as much space the small cabin could allow.

Despite your hunger, you did not eat as quickly as him, instead watching him take each bite. A bit sloppy, but cute. He relaxed with each bite, finished before you were a third of the way done with yours. The quiet stretched as he stood up, his gaze telling as it flickered between you and the pot and his bowl.

“Have as much as you want. I plan to do a more extensive search for food and herbs tomorrow.”

Still, he hesitated, obviously conflicted with something.

You have never known the amount of patience you could muster than in this moment, a soft smile on your lips as you waited for him to decide, or speak up about what the issue was. Hours could have passed like that and you would still be content just watching the plethora of emotions battle it out on his perfect face.

“The storm…” He finally started, hesitation still evident in his tone. “It will hit by the morning, and food will be hard to obtain. Feels like ice on the wind.” “Oh.” The smile faltered to a more thoughtful expression. “That is definitely a problem. It is winter, and this high up in the mountains I assume it will not be a gentle storm either. Very well, I may need to exhaust myself a bit further, but it’s necessary.” Setting the half eaten soup aside, you stood, knowing every second wasted could cost you. 

“What?” Flabbergasted, he blocked your path. “You can’t go out there now.”

“Sure I can.”

“No. You can’t.”

Perplexed by how adamant he was over this, you tilted your head, expression showing your confusion. That had him wavering, eye darting towards the door before back to you. With a dejected sigh, he continued on. “You will use more magic, will you not?”

“Only a bit. I will ask Gaia for her blessing and assistance, the Great Mother always provides.” You offered, touched by what you could only guess was concern. “Unless… Are you going to do so? But I could not ask my sweet fairy to do such a thing.”

He snarled at the name. “Don’t call me that!”

“Why not? You are being so sweet. Taking care of my wounds, offering to hunt food for us. Oh such a devoted and caring fairy.” You sighed dreamily, cupping your cheeks and letting out a giddy giggle. “Unless the issue is calling you mine.”

He hissed again, standing a bit straighter. “You need to recoup so you can take me back there! I have unfinished business.” The blush on his cheeks belied such a purpose though. Maybe it was a half truth.

“Mmm nope. If you leave to hunt I will just follow. Two are better than one, are they not? The fire enchantment should last through a storm, but some ingredients to enhance the enchantment and provide extra protection would not be a bad idea either. So, I will come with. You may find food if you wish.”

“Are you always so stubborn?”

“I would think so. I have been chasing you for years.” Your admission had him flinching back in shock, but it paid you no mind. 

“Years?” 

“Mhmm. Since the day you first found me. I was nearing the end of my apprenticeship anyways, and with a goal of study, my Master deemed me worthy to be on my own. And I haven’t stopped my research or search for you since.” 

Intent on getting out there and beginning your search, you stepped closer to him, biting back a chuckle as he stepped back. When his back hit the door, you didn’t stop, reaching next to his hip and grabbing the handle. He resembled a frozen deer with how wide and innocent his eyes had gone. “Now, I can give you a list of animals and plants that should be in the area for food. Since you aren’t a fan of fish, rabbit or boar would do nicely.”

He hissed at that, clearly not keen on the idea of hunting another animal. “I know how to hunt.” Or perhaps he was?

“Good. Go do it, my pretty fairy. Since that’s what you want.” You all but purred out, watching the way he blushed deeper and deeper.

So damned pretty like this.

You wondered what would happen if you kissed him. Would he get even more shy? Vengeful? Would he hurt you? Maybe all of them.

Every single one filled you with excitement.

Before you could decide what to do about it, he was pushing you back and pushing himself out the door. Biting back the disappointment, you followed.

Just to stumble to a stop at the sight right outside the door. There were a couple animals, from a boar, a couple of rabbits and squirrels. All clean kills by the lack of blood. Another pile of herbs and berries and some vegetation was nearby.

When you threw a questioning glance at the other, he made an effort not to meet it.

“I can see you already handled it then. Very well. Some buckets of drinking water and a few more herbs will be easy to get for myself. Is there anything in particular you need? Perhaps your clothes washed?”

“I can handle it.”

“No.” Shaking your head, your hand found his wrist. “I have a suspicion you have not rested yet, my sweet, and you suffered more physical wounds than I. Allow me. It would be better for you to get rest. This is nothing I can’t handle, even drained as I am. The stream is right there, and I already noted some herbs and ingredients that would be needed nearby. There are pajamas inside, the bottoms should fit and I can wash your clothes. I am not taking no for an answer.”

Staring down at your hand, Hongjoong said nothing at first, just frozen from the touch. In the back of your mind you lamented your lack of magic, knowing you could use it to get your way if you had it right now. A simple sleep spell would do.

When he nodded, your shoulders relaxed a bit. Good, no fight there.

No, he waited until you returned, clearly exhausted from hauling water back to the cabin to fill up the barrel, and even more exhausted after scouring for herbs. In your defense, the last time you had felt so utterly drained was years ago when this fairy in question had taken your magic. And you were too worried about saving face in front of your obsession to let your struggle show.

It started with a hard stare, judgemental even, as he was now wearing the pajamas you had pointed out. At least he listened to that too.

Then it was the scoffs and huffs every time you came back in and poured the buckets of water into the barrel, or set the pile of herbs down.

And by the time you had finished, he was up and pointing at the bed, giving you a look that had you shivering. “Awww, worried about me, sweetie?”

“No!” The red of his cheeks said otherwise. “I don’t want to be stuck with a rotting body is all.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to keep from cooing, you nodded and just walked over. Okay, not walked, more like dragged your sluggish feet and collapsed onto the bed face first. “Just let me rest for an hour or so. I need to cut and clean the meat before rot sets in.”

“I am not incompetent, I can handle that much.”  He huffed, surprising you by rolling your body fully on the bed and pulling the blankets over you. “Sleep. You have done enough.”

Despite the fact he practically snapped the words in your direction, there was a pleased smile on your face. Your sweet fairy was worried about you. It made it easy to fall asleep after that.

✨️

Truthfully you hadn’t expected to wake up and see everything done properly. The cabin smelled of blood, bone, and animal guts. He somehow kept it to a corner of the room, even though the blood was seeping into the wood and stone of the floor. But that would be easy to get out once your magic was back. For now, you would have to do what you could.

You could hear the snow raging outside. The harsh winds, the bone chill seeping into the walls. Nature was indeed fierce, commanding the respect she deserves. And the fairy? Your fairy? Turning to you when you stood from the bed, blood soaked down the front of the cream pajamas, some of it smeared on his face. 

A thrill shot through you, locking your gaze with his, there was an undeniable spark. His eye widened before he looked away, clearing his throat. “You don’t look half dead on your feet anymore.”

“I feel much better as well.” You didn’t hide the way your eyes took him in. The bloody fabric sticking to his body, the shimmer of his wings as if they could feel your desire. The effort it clearly took him to return to work.

Not that it did him any good when you stood next to him, taking in the deconstruction animal corpses on the table, different parts in bowls or baskets. A low whistle escaped your lips, impressed with the work. “I see you’re skilled with your hands. Even with one eye harmed.” Watching him debone a squirrel was interesting work. At least you assumed it was a squirrel, considering he had already skinned the animals and had them hanging above the mantle to dry.

“I am using a little magic for guidance. I already nicked a blood vessel on the boar.”

“Well it’s a good thing you look delicious covered in blood."

He tugged too hard on the small corpse, ripping the body resulting in bones flying across the room. His head had jerked up, eye wide with disbelief. “How can you say something so twisted?”

With an incredulous look, you met his gaze. “Because I am. You look positively immaculate in any form, my sweet fairy. Pulling a hunter into a tree, killing them with ease, stealing my magic, being worried about me or, covered in animal blood as you work tirelessly to supply us both with what Gaia has given us. I am sure there are other sides to you that I will swoon over.”

“I don’t think I can ever get over how you talk.” He whispered to himself with a shake of his head and just returned to his work. “Make yourself useful and deal with the herbs. I noticed you got some mana rich ones.”

Accepting the redirection you nodded, turning to the untouched basket near the bed, far from the fire and blood. “To help mana flow and regeneration. I want to treat your eye as soon as I can.”

That’s how you found yourself for the next couple of hours. The storm outside was too dense for any light to stream in, the tightly bound windows, only intuition telling you roughly when it was late morning and you started on another soup, letting it simmer as you organized and prep the many herbs, brewing the mana recovery potions in a smaller pot next to the soup over the fire.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, at least on your end. The tasks were familiar and easy on your worn body, the smell of the food filled the air and covered the smell of dried blood. The space was small enough that the fire kept it warm despite the icy storm just outside.

He was finished first, the sections of boar hung up to dry, the bones and skins being washed with water in a makeshift dip in the floor– a couple of stones that had recently sunk down to form a basin, most likely his handiwork. But then the soup was ready, both of you were hungry, and he was still covered in blood.

“If you are done, strip and set the clothes by the table. I will wash you.” With said table dirty and stained from his tasks, you set two bowls on the end table by the bed and pushed the sleeves of your gown up.

He visibly recoiled at your offer, shaking his head. “I can wash myself.”

“I’m sure you can, my sweet, but I would do a better job. Make sure no blood remains and then it will be your turn to rest.” He took another step back as you stepped forward. Brows raised, your hands went to your hips. “Strip, or I will do it for you and get us both bloody.”

More hesitation, but he complied finally. Even under the dried blood on his cheek you could see the flush of warmth. It deepened as his shirt came off, landing with a plop at the leg of the table, his slick but not as drenched as the fabric had been. You still admired how it made the lines and curves of his torso more prominent, tongue darting over your lips when your gaze took in the two beautiful pink nipples of his, hardened from a chill only he felt. 

His thumbs hooked into the hem of the pants and paused, a sound like a squawk escaping his throat as he noticed you were not tearing your gaze away. “Do you mind?”

“I’m about to touch you, Darling, I’m going to see it.”

“Were you always a pervert??”

Laughter bubbled in your throat at his accusation, watching as he pulled his pants off and tossed them aside while immediately attempting to cover his privates. “May I remind you of my earlier words? Sit in the basin.” A gentle order as you moved to the barrel and grabbed a bucket of clean water. Then one of the crushed herbs to add to a second bucket. You set them both down as he did as instructed, looking far too adorable curled into himself and flustered.

“N-no. You don’t. I only momentarily forgot I am stuck with an insane woman.”

“It would do you best to remember, Hongjoong. If you let your guard down too much, I might pounce.” A teasing joke that fell from your lips like a purr, resulting in a jolt through the other. His head snapped up to fix you with a glare that had no effect with how flustered he was. More like an indignant pout. 

“Maybe I should have let you rot.”

“If that’s what you want.” Kneeling down next to him and the basin, a rag in hand, you dipped it in the water before starting with his hair. “Whatever you desire, my sweet fairy.”

He scoffed, wings fluttering in agitation. They didn’t seem to be fully physical, more like a visage in the air, an illusion of spiritual nature. Intangible and ethereal. You wondered if this was because of the lack of fairy dust coating them since his own magic energy was still so low. Or if this was always the case. You had only worked with smaller fairies, and you knew their wings could be torn off and used, not that you ever tried. The curiosity to find out was strong, but you pushed it aside as easily as you pushed his wet, clean hair out of his face and worked on the delicate and petite features there.

You took his inaction to stop you as permission to keep going, fighting off a smile when his wings would flutter behind him or shiver depending on where you touched. His neck seemed sensitive, his pits ticklish, but it was as the rag roughly ghosted over one of his pretty pink nipples that he let out a gasp as his wings shivered with the faintest sound of bells.

The smile spread over your face as you purposely did the same to the other, receiving the same reaction if not more obvious. “I had assumed only your wings would be sensitive, Joong-ah.” 

His hand snapped up to grab your wrist when you went to brush against his nipple again. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning you obviously.”

“I can do that.”

“We already had this conversation, my sweet. Now relax and let me take care of you.”

The two of you locked eyes for a moment, a battle of wills in between your gazes, one which he looked away first, a blush running up his cheeks from whatever he saw in your own gaze. With a happy hum you continued to wash him.

And perhaps take many opportunities to pull such delicious reactions out of him that got his wings to tingle or his lips to part in a soft, barely there gasp. Your touch was gentle over his stomach, pleased when he leaned back to give you access to the soft lines and his thin waist.

His skin was flushed from the heat of the water and your own touches, moving down to his bare thighs. With a slight tap to his inner knees he spread them for you, and you did your best to ignore what was at the center between the junction of his hips, low on his pelvis. He made a poor effort of covering it with his hand, appearing almost shy. You assumed it was more to hide how your simple touches had him half hard and trembling.

You washed as much of him as you could, moving around to sit at his back and gently push him forward. He went with a bit of hesitation, a sound much like a whine leaving him as you manhandle him by the hips to spread his legs some and ass up in the air. He was gripping the stone in front of him, balancing on the balls of his feet, glancing back at you in semi-alarm.

“Why must you be so touchy?”

“How else am I supposed to wash you?”

“I should have fought you harder on this.” His head fell forward however as the wet rag, freshly dipping in the water, ran down his spine. At first his back arched forward, and then back into your touch as if to ask for more.

“Then why aren’t you?” The smirk on your lips could be heard in your tone.

His body reacted in contrast to his words, affecting his tone as he started stuttering out some excuse about playing nice, that was wiping from his tongue as your fingers ran over his skin where the wings met his flesh. While your hands passed through the noncorporeal beauties, they left behind a tingle on your skin that was most pleasant.

He seemed so pliant under your hands, his expression hidden from you but judging from the flutter of his wings, the heat of his skin, and his near fully hard cock dangling between his legs- he was enjoying your touch.

How pretty would he look coming undone by your hand? By your mouth? Writhing with pleasure and begging for you?

Your own arousal burned hotter, undoing what little restraint you had. Washing his back, you teased with the gentle drag of your fingernails and the soft breath on his wings. His body twitched and arched and was honest with what it liked, going so far as for his behind to be pushed towards you as you washed the soft cheeks. His thighs trembled as you wash the back of them, down to his calves and then back up.

You saved the best for last, staying behind him to give him a sense of privacy as you reached between his legs and wrapped the rag around his fully hard member. His whole body jolted, falling to his knees and letting out a soft cry that was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. More so than any masterpiece of music that had goosebumps spreading across your skin. His sinful and soft sound of pleasure had your soul singing in tune.

“I-I can-”

“You can what?” You asked lowly, hand stroking his hard member slow and steady. Your thumb brushed over the tip, earning a harsh jut of his hips forward as if fuck your hand. “You don’t want me to touch you there? You can tell me to stop. Say no right now.”

Only because you knew the truth did your hand pause and move off. 

His response came with his own hand grabbing yours and wrapping it back around his member. You let him guide you, the rag falling after a few strokes so it was just your hand on his wet skin. He arched his back more, cock dangling between his thighs as soft pants and breathy moans fell from his lips where you couldn’t see. He kept his face hidden, turned into his bicep as his shaky grip continued to guide his hand.

“So beautiful like this, my sweet. Trust me, I’ll bring you to even more beautiful heights.” The words were a promise. An oath. One you would love to have until the end of your days or even in a new life, should Gaia grant you one.

When your hand picked up, his sounds grew a bit more strangled, wings fluttering with each wave of pleasure you brought him. Curious, your free hand slid up his spine, rubbing around where his wings met skin, pleased to see them emitting a soft glow as his sounds picked up in pitch and volume.

It was with wonder that you watched him quickly become undone, ropes of pure liquid silver shooting from his cock as his body and wings convulsed from the force of his orgasm and cry. The strange cum mixed with the pink water in the basin he was still kneeling in. He was leaning forward on his forearms in support, the slightest jerk of your hand earning a more fierce reaction from him that almost drove you to see how many times you could make him cum in a row.

The thought was dashed when he finally lifted his head, skin flushed and the gold flecks in his one obsidian eye shined like stars in the night sky. His lips were swollen, the bottom pulled in between his teeth enough to leave marks. 

“Beautiful.” You breathed, barely a whisper as you sat awestruck by the aftermath of what you had done.

He blinked back water from his lashline, standing up quickly and grabbing a tunic you had left out for him. He put it on, too big for his small and lithe frame, and then climbed into bed without a word.

You let him go, sitting there for a long moment, replaying every single second of those moments in your head until you heard his breathing even out with sleep.

✨️

Over the coming days, it was not the only time you touched him. In fact, you made it your mission to do so.

The two of you fell into a routine of eating, sleeping, potion making, and idle chatter. Though the chatter was more so on your part. As well as the initiation of touch. But you reminded him, plenty, that all he had to do was say no.

He never did. 

Sure he pretended to be upset most of the time, protesting your touches. Grabbing your wrist when your hands snaked down into his trousers, but never pulling you away. He avoided eye contact, tried at times to be quiet, but every time he let you tease him to mass and stroke him to climax.

It was the morning when you could feel that the storm had past, the sun shined outside on the deep snow and you had already made a trip to the stream to refill the water barrels with clean water. The stains of blood were the first to go when you had enough magic to do so without hard. Well, first after you had healed his eye. He would never get his sight back, the nerves too damaged, but you properly closed the wound and others he had.

It was a matter of time before your magic and his own would be vast enough once more to return, and you were a bit stumped on how to persuade him not to go back. Not that you would stop him, but if an entire coven was waiting for him, he would be like a lamb to the slaughter and you did not wish to send him to his death.

The desire was stronger now as you sat back, licking your lips and staring down at the beautiful fairy you had woken with your mouth on his cock, coaxing him to climax down your throat. “Even your cum tastes like sweet magic.”

“D-Did you have to wake me up like that?”

“I was doing you a service, my sweet. You were the one making such sweet sounds in your slip, rutting against the mattress with a hard cock, seeking pleasure. Was my mouth no good?”

His pink cheeks flushed deeper, gaze fixating on the burning fire across the room as if it was the thing he spoke to. “I-I didn’t say that…”

“Ah so you did enjoy it? I knew it, you like me and my company don’t you?” Giddy you climbed off the bed, never seeking release for yourself. Never pushing to have the heat in your stomach appeased. Because bringing him to such joy and ecstasy was all you wanted. Especially if it would convince him to stay.

The bed sheets rustled behind you as he sat up, your attention on the new stew you were making for the day, using the last of the meat you didn’t dry out as jerky so it would not spoil. You would have to get more later.

“As if I enjoyed spending any time with you.” His voice shook with the telltale sign of fake courage through a lie, which you had gotten good at discerning over the days.

You glanced over your shoulder at him with a smirk that showed you didn’t believe him for a second. He grew more flustered at his lie being seen through. “Mhmm. You look pretty even when you lie. Really, I knew nothing could beat your beauty in any form.”

He looked almost innocent with the way he shied away from your gaze, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Either he didn’t think you were still watching, or he wanted you to see.

Despite bringing him to the precipice of pleasure with your hand multiple times, and now your mouth, you had yet to see a real smile. One of joy aimed in your direction. You craved that more than you craved him to use you as he pleased.

Which caused turmoil to bloom in your chest as you turned back to the stew, stirring it absentmindedly.

There was silence as he washed himself up in the now formed wash pool you had built in a corner with a bit of magic. The water was fresh and filtering itself with a touch of magic. He didn’t slip in past the stone walls of it, just washed away your drool from his pelvis if the sounds were any indication. The silence was not uncomfortable, but you could feel from his energy something weighing on his mind and you waited patiently for him to broach whatever subject it was.

You didn’t have to wait long. “Why haven’t you asked me to please you in return? Or even kiss you?” The words were so soft you would have missed them if you were not waiting for him to speak.

“Because you have not asked for either. Your body has asked for touch, for release, and so I give it. Even if you deny it, I give you the option to back out every time and you do not. I have not pursued the other because you have shown no interest.” You clarified with ease. “Besides, I feel plenty satiated seeing you come undone by my doing. It brings me great pride.”

He huffed, no sound of his movement but you felt his presence grow behind you. You turned to see what he was doing when he grabbed your arm and spun you the rest of the way. No time for questions before his lips were on yours.

It was… a pity you hadn’t kissed him before. It ignited desire in you like none before. It was clumsy, clearly something he knew little to none about, but he sought your lips like they would appease an endless hunger in him. A hunger that matched your own.

Breathing was suddenly unimportant as his tongue pried your lips open and licked inside your mouth, a soft sound of pleasure mingling with your own at his exploration.

You would have loved nothing more for the kiss to continue, to involve the undressing of the clothe from your body and his hands learning the ways it ticked like you had learned for his. For the kiss to lead to a release of your own, brought to you by his hand or mouth or cock- just by him, it did not matter how.

Yet instead you were both panting heavily as he pulled away, as if you had been attempting to break a record of holding your breath underwater and had just resurfaced. Your eyes met his, the daze you felt reflected in his.

The sudden distance twisted your gut uncomfortably. 

“We should expand the hut, a place to store fresh meat and water. This winter will be a long one to push through.” He turned to examine the small four walls and each piece of furniture. Your eyes followed, instead remembering vividly which pieces you had him bent over or sitting on as you brought him to pleasurable heights and wondering how he would bring you to such heights on those same surfaces.

His words registered like a slap of hot steam. “We should? Are you staying the full winter?”

“For now.” The soft flutter of his wings, barely noticeable, said otherwise.

It was hard to contain your excitement. Lying or not, it gave you a full season to convince him to stay. A life up here, far from covens and humans and surrounded by deep natural magic where everything could be provided?

With your sweet fairy?

The desire for such a future burned much hotter than any will to die by his hand or be a tool for him to use.

You just had a winter to convince him that it was a life worth living. It was a good thing he was a poor liar, and you were obsessed with his pleasure.

[lieslostinsilence]

Skin of a Memory

Author's note: As promised, here is the much, much longer fic inspired by Seonghwa’s Skin MV. I did this to myself. I watched that MV on repeat until it crawled under my skin and refused to leave, and this story is the result. It is slower and darker, meant to be felt rather than rushed through. Writing it was equal parts indulgence and torture, something I let fester until it became sharp enough to share. If it lingers, if it unsettles you, if it hurts a little, then it worked. Let it sink in. Let it stay with you. Let it burn the way it burned me. I do welcome feedback or any thoughts! Enjoy~ Bye-um~ Short A/N: I am thinking of starting taglists. So do let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist for future works. Taglist will be included before cutoff. Description: You were never meant to cross his path. Wearing the face of a dead lover, sealed magic buried beneath your skin, you become the living wound Seonghwa never allowed to heal. What begins as hatred turns into fixation. What begins as pursuit becomes possession. As an ancient naga lord collides with a witch of old blood, fear gives way to power, power gives way to desire, and desire becomes something far more dangerous. This is not a love story born gently. It is forged through obsession, violence, training, claiming, and the slow, brutal realization that you are not a ghost of the past but something new and unstoppable. A story about power, grief, survival, and choosing each other in the ruins left behind. Warnings: Smut (18+), explicit sexual content, monster romance, naga creature, witchcraft and supernatural elements, enemies to lovers, predator/prey dynamics, possessive and obsessive behavior, power imbalance, manipulation and coercion, physical restraint (hands, throat gripping), biting and marking, dominance and submission themes, degradation and praise kink, dirty talk, unprotected penetrative sex (please practice safe sex IRL), explicit oral sex (receiving), rough sex, breeding implications, claiming and ownership themes, emotional trauma, grief and loss, violence and gore, murder, blood, injury, supernatural combat, dubious consent, emotional manipulation, fixation, intense attachment, eventual mutual devotion. Word Count: 15.6K Read Before Proceeding: This content is for mature audiences only. It contains explicit sexual material and detailed depictions of sexual acts. Reader discretion is strongly advised. MDNI — Minors Do Not Interact. As always, take care of yourselves, read responsibly, and know exactly what you’re walking into before you do. For Requests: Whisper What You Need Masterlist for my page: Lies Lost In Silence Taglist: @miassblogggggg @haven-cove @joongthusiast

The jungle did not forgive. It did not forget. It simply consumed.

Seonghwa moved through the dense, suffocating greenery with a silence that belonged to nothing human. His human legs carried him over the gnarled roots of ancient banyan trees, but beneath the skin of the man he pretended to be, the serpent coiled.

He could feel the ghost of his true form, the heavy, muscular length of his tail, the sensation of scales sliding over damp earth, the heat that built in his belly and radiated through his blood. It had been centuries since he had last shed the disguise completely, centuries since he had allowed himself the luxury of being the monster nature intended.

He wore human skin like an ill-fitting coat. It was necessary. The modern world crept closer every year, encroaching on the wild places with the insistent buzz of electricity and the stench of exhaust. He had his limits. He tolerated the city only when the hunger grew too sharp or the need for certain things drove him out of the deep forest.

But he did not belong there. He belonged in the shadows, in the places where the light struggled to penetrate the canopy and the air was thick with the scent of decay and growth.

His mind was a stagnant pool of old grievances. He did not think of the future. He did not dream of peace. He existed in a perpetual state of waiting, though he no longer knew what he waited for. His family, those ancient, pompous lords of the deep, were likely dead or had retreated into the cracks of the earth.

He had severed ties with them long ago, in a spray of blood that had soaked the temple floors. They had taken everything from him. They had stripped him of his title, his honor, and his heart.

Centuries ago, he had been something different. He had been a Lord, revered and feared, his image carved into stone by mortals who trembled at the mere mention of his name. He had believed in balance then. He had believed in the rigid structures of their society, the caste systems that kept the pure-blooded nagas at the pinnacle of power and the lowborns in the mud where they belonged. Until she had shattered that worldview.

She had been nothing. A lowborn naga with dull, unremarkable scales and a spirit that burned brighter than the sun. She was not supposed to look at him. She was not supposed to speak to him. She was supposed to serve, to bow her head and vanish into the background.

But she had looked at him. She had smiled at him as if he were a man, not a god. She had touched him with hands that were rough from work but gentle with affection. He had fallen for her with a terrifying intensity, a descent into madness that he welcomed with open arms. He had defied his father, his mother, his ancestors. He had shattered tradition and dragged her to the heights of power beside him, declaring her his mate regardless of the laws that forbade it.

His family had seen it as a corruption. They had whispered that she had bewitched him, that she was a parasite feeding on his strength. They had feared the dilution of their bloodline, the taint of inferior genetics. They had not warned him. They had not threatened him. They had simply acted.

One evening, while he was away attending to the matters of the territory, they had executed her. It had been a cold, calculated thing. No passion, no anger. Just a removal of an obstacle.

He had returned to find her body cooling on the stone floor of their chambers. She had been bleeding out, her life slipping away through a cruel gash in her side. He had gathered her into his arms, his roar shaking the foundations of the temple.

She had looked up at him, her eyes fading, and she had not cursed their murderers. She had not screamed for vengeance. She had only touched his face, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw, and told him to live.

That mercy had destroyed him.

He had slaughtered them. He had hunted down every member of the council that had ordered her death, every guard that had stood by, every sibling that had nodded in agreement. He had torn them apart with his bare hands, reveling in the heat of their blood and the crunch of bone. He had renounced his name, his title, and his home. He had retreated into the wilds, letting the beast take over. He became a legend, a horror story told to keep young nagas in line. He ceased to be Seonghwa the Lord and became Seonghwa the Forsaken.

He pushed through a thicket of ferns, the humid air clinging to his skin like a second layer. He was close to the city now. He could smell it, the metallic tang of pollution and the sharp bite of chemical cleaners. He hated it. But his pantry was empty, and he needed supplies. It was a tedious necessity, a reminder of the mortal form he maintained.

He stepped onto the asphalt of a side road, adjusting his clothes. He wore a long, dark coat that covered most of his body, shielding him from the prying eyes of the world. His face was a mask of indifference, his eyes dark and unreadable. He walked with a predatory grace, his movements fluid and silent. People instinctively moved out of his way, sensing the danger that radiated from him without understanding why.

He turned a corner and froze.

The world narrowed down to a single point. Across the street, standing near a flower stall, was a ghost. It was impossible. It was a trick of the light, a hallucination born of centuries of grief. But as he stared, the figure turned, and he saw the face.

It was her.

The eyes were the same, shaped like almonds and dark with a depth that seemed to swallow the light. The mouth was identical, the upper lip slightly fuller, the corners curving up naturally. Even the way she stood, the slight tilt of her head, the way the hair fell over her shoulder, it was all exactly as he remembered. He felt the breath leave his lungs, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Then came the rage. It rose up like bile, burning and acidic. This was not her. She was dead. She had died in his arms. This thing, this abomination, was a mockery. It was an insult. Someone had crafted this face, this body, to torment him. It was a cruel joke, a weapon designed to pierce the armor he had built around his heart.

He watched you buy a bouquet of wildflowers, your laughter light and unburdened. You had no idea you were being watched by a monster. You had no idea that your very existence was an act of war.

Seonghwa turned on his heel and vanished into the shadows, but the image of your face was burned into his mind. He would not ignore this. He would find out who you were and why you wore that face. And then he would destroy you.

You felt the eyes on you before you saw him. It was a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the hairs on your arms standing up. You looked around, scanning the crowded street, but you saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual mix of commuters, tourists, and shoppers. You shook your head, trying to dismiss the feeling as paranoia, but it lingered.

You had always felt different. As if you were waiting for something you could not name. You had dreams that were not dreams, flashes of a life that was not yours. A man with eyes like obsidian, the smell of rain and wet earth, the feeling of cold scales against your skin. You woke up crying sometimes, overwhelmed by a grief that had no source.

Your grandmother, the matriarch of your family, had always told you that you were special. She had said you came from a long line of powerful women, women who could shape the world with their will.

But she had also warned you to hide. She had sealed your magic when you were a child, placing a dampening spell on your core that suppressed your power and kept you safe. The world was not kind to witches. It hunted them, feared them, tried to destroy them.

You lived a quiet life, working in a small bookstore and spending your evenings in your tiny apartment. You liked the quiet. It gave you space to breathe, to think. But lately, the quiet had felt oppressive. The seal on your magic was weakening.

You could feel it, a hum of energy under your skin, a restless twitch in your fingers. Objects moved when you were angry. Lights flickered when you were sad. The world was responding to you, and you did not know how to control it.

That evening, as you walked home, the feeling of being watched intensified. You quickened your pace, your heart pounding in your chest. You turned down a narrow alley, a shortcut you usually avoided, but you wanted to get off the main street.

You made it halfway down the alley before you realized you were not alone. The shadows seemed to thicken, coalescing into a tall, dark figure at the other end. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The figure stepped forward, and the streetlight caught his features.

He was breathtakingly beautiful, in a terrifying way. His face was sharp and angular, his cheekbones high enough to cut. His eyes were black, void of any warmth, and they bored into yours with an intensity that made you want to look away. But you could not. You were rooted to the spot.

"You wear her face," he said. His voice was low, a smooth rumble that vibrated in your chest.

"I do not know what you are talking about," you managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

He moved closer, invading your personal space. He towered over you, his presence suffocating. He reached out, his fingers cold as they brushed your cheek. You flinched, expecting pain, but his touch was oddly gentle, a terrifying contrast to the hatred in his eyes.

"Liar," he hissed. "Do not think you can deceive me, witch. I know every line, every angle. I buried that face centuries ago."

Your mind raced. Witch. He knew. How could he know? You had never told anyone about your heritage, not even your closest friends. The seal your grandmother placed was supposed to make you undetectable to your own kind.

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice gaining a shred of defiance.

He laughed, a dark, humorless sound. "I am your nightmare, little witch. I am the consequence of your arrogance. But do not worry. I will find out who sent you. And when I do, I will peel the skin from your bones until you tell me how you did it."

He gripped your chin, tilting your head back to force you to look at him. His eyes were swirling with ancient power, the pupils elongating into vertical slits. You felt your magic react, a spark of recognition igniting in your chest. It was not fear you felt, but a strange pull, a magnetic draw that terrified you more than his threats.

"Stay away from me," you warned, though it sounded weak to your own ears.

"Or what?" he mocked. "You will curse me? I have already been cursed by the best. Your parlor tricks mean nothing to me."

He released you, shoving you back against the brick wall. He vanished into the shadows as quickly as he had appeared, leaving you gasping for air, your heart hammering against your ribs. You touched your cheek where his fingers had been, the cold sensation lingering like a bruise.

The encounter did not scare you away as it should have. Instead, it lit a fire under you. You went home and tore through your grandmother's grimoires, searching for anything that explained the man with the serpent eyes.

You found nothing about him specifically, but you found mentions of the Naga Lords, ancient beings of immense power who ruled the jungles long before humans built their cities. They were said to be extinct, driven into hiding by their own wars.

But he was real. He was out there, and he had marked you as his enemy.

The days that followed were a blur of paranoia and strange occurrences. You felt eyes on you constantly, a ghostly presence that hovered at the edge of your vision. You would catch a glimpse of a long coat turning a corner, or feel a draft of cold air in a closed room. He was stalking you. He was hunting you.

He did not try to kill you, though. That was the most confusing part. He simply watched. He would appear at random times, always in the shadows, always watching you with that intense, predatory gaze. Sometimes he would speak to you, his words dripping with venom. He called you an abomination, a copy, a hollow shell. He told you that you were not real, that you were just a puppet crafted by magic.

"You are an insult," he spat one evening as you walked through the park. He had stepped out from behind a large oak tree, blocking your path. "Walking around with her face, pretending to be alive. It is sickening."

"I am not pretending," you said, clutching your bag tighter. "I am just me."

"You are nothing," he said, stepping closer. "You are a collection of spells stitched together to look like a memory. You have no soul. If I cut you open, I would not find blood. I would find ink and ash."

His words hurt, though you refused to let him see it. You did not understand why he hated you so much, why he was so obsessed with proving you were fake. You had never met him before. You had never hurt him.

"Why do you care?" you asked, your frustration boiling over. "If you think I am so fake, why not just ignore me? Why not just kill me and get it over with?"

He stopped. For a moment, the mask of indifference slipped, and you saw a raw, agonizing pain beneath. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a colder, harder glare.

"Because I loved her," he said, his voice quiet but deadly. "And seeing you wear her face like a cheap mask is a betrayal I cannot ignore. You do not deserve to live. You do not deserve to breathe the same air she once did."

He reached out, grabbing your wrist. His grip was bruising, his fingers digging into your skin. He pulled you closer, until you were pressed against his hard chest. You could smell him now, a scent of rain and wet earth, musk and something metallic, like old blood.

"I should break you," he whispered against your ear. "I should shatter every bone in your body and scatter the pieces to the wind. But I need to know. I need to know who made you. I need to know why they sent you to torment me."

He released you, pushing you away. You stumbled back, rubbing your wrist. You looked at him, really looked at him, and you saw the torment in his posture. He was not just a monster. He was a grieving man who had lost everything.

You did not run away. You stood your ground.

"I did not ask for this," you said. "I did not ask to look like someone you lost. I am just trying to live my life. If you want to blame someone, blame the universe. But stop taking it out on me."

He stared at you, his eyes narrowing. For a second, you thought he might strike you. Instead, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.

The dynamic shifted after that. He stopped threatening you with immediate death, but his presence became more constant. He would sit in your apartment while you slept, a silent guardian in the corner. He would follow you to work, lurking in the alleyways, watching you through the windows. He was obsessed, his fixation on you bordering on madness.

He was testing you. He was pushing you, trying to see if you would break. He wanted you to show your true colors, to reveal the witch he knew you were hiding. And eventually, you did.

It happened a few weeks later. You were walking home late from a shift at the bookstore. A group of men, drunk and loud, cornered you in an alley. They shoved you against the wall, their hands grabbing at your clothes, their breath hot and sour on your face.

Fear spiked in your chest, sharp and terrifying. You fought back, kicking and scratching, but there were too many of them. One of them pulled a knife, pressing it to your throat.

"Don't scream," he slurred. "Just be a good girl and let us have some fun."

The seal on your magic cracked. The power surged up inside you, responding to the threat. You did not know how to control it, you just let it out. A blast of energy erupted from your body, throwing the men back against the brick walls. They hit the ground hard, groaning in pain. The knife clattered to the pavement.

You stood there, panting, your hands trembling. You looked at the men, unconscious and bleeding, and felt a surge of horror. You had done that. You had hurt them.

The shadows at the end of the alley shifted. Seonghwa stepped into the dim light, his face impassive. He looked at the men on the ground, then at you. He did not look surprised. He looked satisfied.

"So, the witch reveals herself," he said, his voice smooth. "I knew it. I knew you were not human."

"It was an accident," you stammered, backing away. "I did not mean to."

"Intent means nothing to power," he said. "You are dangerous. Just as I suspected."

He walked towards you, his movements slow and deliberate. You backed up until your back hit the wall. He stopped inches from you, trapping you with his body. He reached out, taking a strand of your hair between his fingers.

"I will say this for the one who made you," he murmured. "They did not skimp on the details. You even bleed like her."

"I am not her," you said, tears stinging your eyes. "Why can you not see that?"

"Because I do not want to," he replied simply. "I want you to be her. I want to tear you apart and find her inside. I want to make you pay for not being her."

He leaned in, his lips hovering over yours. You could feel his breath, cool and minty, on your skin. You wanted to push him away, but you were paralyzed, trapped by his gaze and the strange pull that hummed between you.

"But I cannot," he whispered. "Because as much as I hate you, I cannot stop looking at you. I cannot stop wanting you."

He kissed you then. It was not a gentle kiss. It was a punishment, a branding. His lips crushed yours, his teeth grazing your skin. You gasped, opening your mouth to him, and he took full advantage, his tongue sweeping in to claim yours. He tasted of darkness and desire, a heady mix that made your head spin.

You kissed him back, fueled by anger and a need you did not understand. You dug your nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer. He groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your waist, lifting you up against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his hips, grinding against him, desperate for friction.

The kiss went on and on, a battle of wills and tongues. You felt his magic brush against yours, a cold, slithering sensation that made your skin tingle. It recognized him. Your power had been dormant for so long, but it knew him. It knew what he was. It recognized an apex predator, a creature of ancient lineage that matched the buried history of your own blood.

He broke the kiss abruptly, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes were still fractured, his expression conflicted. He looked at you as if he wanted to kill you and worship you in the same breath.

"You taste the same," he whispered, the words sounding like a confession torn from his throat. "Even your taste is a lie."

"It is not a lie," you insisted, your voice shaking with the aftermath of the kiss. "It is just me. Seonghwa."

He flinched when you said his name. He pulled back, letting you slide down the wall until your feet touched the ground. He stepped away, putting distance between you, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"Do not say that name," he warned. "You have no right to speak it. You do not know what it means. You do not know the weight of it."

"Then tell me," you challenged. You were tired of the riddles, tired of being treated like a doll that had sprung to life. "If you hate me so much, if you think I am some magical construct, then explain it to me. Explain why you are obsessed with me. Explain why you kissed me."

He stared at you, his chest heaving. The silence stretched, heavy and thick with the unspoken history between you. For a moment, you thought he might actually answer. He looked at you with an intensity that stripped you bare, as if he was looking for a crack in the façade, a seam in the magic that held you together.

"Because I am weak," he finally said, the admission laced with self-loathing. "Because I am a fool who thought he could bury the past. Seeing you is like digging up a corpse and dressing it in new clothes. It is revolting. And yet I cannot look away."

He turned his back on you. "Go home, witch. Before I do something we both regret."

You watched him walk away, disappearing into the night like smoke. You stood alone in the alley, your body still humming from his touch, your lips bruised from his kiss. You touched your mouth, tracing the shape he had left behind. You did not understand him. You did not understand this pull that dragged you towards him despite his cruelty.

But you knew one thing. You were not going to run. He wanted a monster? He wanted a weapon? You would show him exactly what happened when you pushed a witch too far.

The following weeks were a twisted dance of avoidance and pursuit. He was everywhere and nowhere. He watched you from the edges of your vision, a dark shadow that never fully materialized. You felt his gaze like a physical weight, a constant reminder of his presence. He did not touch you again. He did not kiss you again. He simply watched.

His magic began to bleed into your life. The air in your apartment grew colder, the shadows lengthening even at midday. Houseplants began to wither and die, only to be replaced by strange, creeping vines that bloomed with poisonous flowers. You found snake skins shed on your pillow, translucent and dry. They were warnings. They were threats.

You reacted by trying to strengthen your own defenses. You dug deeper into your grandmother's books, learning simple wards and protection spells. You salted your windowsills and burned sage until your apartment smelled like a temple. But it was useless. His power was ancient, rooted in the earth itself. It ignored your petty attempts at barricades.

He was escalating. He was trying to force a reaction out of you. He wanted to see the witch he knew you were hiding. He was poking at a wound, waiting for it to fester.

You finally snapped one evening. You came home to find him sitting on your sofa, his long legs stretched out, looking perfectly at home. He was holding a photograph of your grandmother, turning it over in his hands with a look of bored curiosity.

"Get out," you said, your voice low with suppressed rage.

He looked up, his eyes dark and amused. "Make me."

You felt the snap in your mind. The seal your grandmother had placed on you shattered completely. The power rushed through your veins like a tidal wave, crashing against the shores of your consciousness. You did not try to stop it. You welcomed it. You raised your hand, and the air in the room began to vibrate.

"Leave," you commanded.

The word was spoken with a force that rattled the windows. A blast of pure, raw magic erupted from your palm, slamming into him. He was thrown off the sofa, crashing into the wall. Books flew off the shelves, pictures leaped from the walls. The entire building shook.

He recovered quickly, landing in a crouch. His eyes were wide, glowing with a predatory light. He looked at you with a newfound respect, and a hunger that terrified you.

"There she is," he purred. "The witch beneath the skin. I knew you were in there."

He launched himself at you, moving faster than a human should. You threw up a shield, a shimmering barrier of purple light. He crashed against it, his hands clawing at the energy. You held him back, gritting your teeth with the effort. He was strong, incredibly strong. But you were stronger than you realized.

Your magic was a part of you, an extension of your will. You felt the flow of it, the ebb and surge of the energy around you. You pushed him back, throwing him across the room again. He landed on his feet, snarling.

"Stop this," you gasped, sweat beading on your forehead. "I do not want to fight you."

"Then submit," he growled. "Admit what you are. Admit that you are a fraud."

"I am not a fraud!" you screamed. "I am real. I am alive. And I am done letting you treat me like a ghost."

You pushed forward, projecting your will outward. The room filled with a blinding light, a burst of magical energy that blew the windows out. Glass shattered, raining down onto the street below. Seonghwa shielded his eyes, stumbling back.

When the light faded, you were standing in the center of the room, your hair floating around you like a halo. You felt different. Lighter. The seal was gone. You were fully awake for the first time in your life.

Seonghwa stared at you. He looked at you with an expression that was a mix of wonder and horror. He took a step towards you, then stopped.

"What are you?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"I am me," you said. "And I am done playing your games."

He left that night. He did not say another word. He just vanished, leaving you standing in the wreckage of your living room. You sank to the floor, exhausted, your body trembling with the aftershocks of the power surge.

You thought he would leave you alone after that. You thought he would realize you were not the weak, fragile copy he wanted you to be. But you were wrong. His absence only lasted a few days.

He came back, but the dynamic had changed. He no longer looked at you with simple hatred. He looked at you with a calculated interest. He began to teach you, in his own twisted way. He would test your limits, pushing you to use your magic in new ways. He would bring you objects and demand you move them, or break them, or change them. He criticized your form, your control, your intent.

"Pathetic," he would say when you failed to lift a heavy stone. "You have the power of a storm behind your eyes, yet you cannot move a pebble. Wasted."

"Show me," you would snap back. "If you are so superior, show me how it is done."

He would scoff, but sometimes he would demonstrate. He would move things without touching them, his power a subtle, invisible force that bent the world to his will. It was terrifying and mesmerizing. You watched him, learning the flow of his energy, the way he commanded the elements.

It was a strange, brutal courtship. He insulted you, belittled you, and challenged you at every turn. And you rose to meet him. You stopped trying to earn his approval. You stopped trying to be the memory he was mourning. You embraced your own power, your own strength. You began to see the cracks in his armor, the vulnerabilities he tried so hard to hide.

You saw the loneliness in him. It was a deep, abiding emptiness that echoed your own. He was a creature who had lost his mate, his home, and his purpose. He was surviving, but he was not living. He was trapped in the past, reliving his trauma over and over again.

You started to pity him. It was a dangerous emotion to feel towards a monster, but you could not help it. He was pathetic in his obsession. He was hurting himself more than he was hurting you.

You began to push back. You challenged his worldview. You argued with him about fate and choice. You refused to let him define you.

"I am not her," you told him one evening as you sat on the roof of your apartment building. He was standing by the edge, looking out at the city lights. "I never will be. You need to let her go."

He turned to you, his eyes cold. "I will never let her go. She was everything. She was the only good thing in a world of rot and filth. You are just a reminder of what I lost."

"Then I am a reminder you cannot ignore," you countered, standing your ground. "If I am such an insult, why do you stay? Why teach me? Why kiss me?"

He did not answer. He turned away from you, his jaw clenched tight. But you saw the way his hands gripped the railing, the white knuckles betraying his turmoil.

"I stay," he finally said, his voice low and rough, "because I need to understand how you exist. I need to find the flaw in the spell. I will unravel you, thread by thread, until I find the source."

You shook your head, a sad smile touching your lips. "You keep telling yourself that, Seonghwa. But we both know it is a lie. You stay because you are lonely. You stay because you are drawn to me just as much as I am drawn to you."

He spun around, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Do not flatter yourself, witch. I am drawn to the memory, not the reality. If I could erase you without losing her face, I would do it in a heartbeat."

"Then do it," you said, spreading your arms wide. "Kill me. End it. Erase the insult."

He strode towards you, his movement sudden and violent. He stopped inches from you, his hand wrapping around your throat. He squeezed, just hard enough to restrict your breathing, to make you gasp. He glared into your eyes, searching for fear, for submission.

You did not look away. You looked up at him, your eyes challenging him, your magic pulsing under your skin, ready to defend yourself. You were not afraid of death. You were afraid of this limbo, this half-life where you were neither loved nor hated, just tolerated as a ghost.

His grip loosened. He stared at you, his expression crumbling. He looked torn, his emotions warring across his face. He wanted to hurt you, but he could not. He wanted to break you, but he was the one breaking.

"Go," he whispered, releasing you. "Leave my sight before I change my mind."

You did not hesitate. You left him there on the roof, alone with his demons. But as you walked away, you felt the shift. He was losing the battle against his own nature. The hatred was a wall he had built to protect himself, but the wall was cracking.

You decided then that you would stop waiting for him to accept you. You would stop trying to prove you were real. You would simply be. And if he could not handle that, it was his loss.

You began to distance yourself. You stopped looking for him in the crowds. You stopped waiting for him to appear in your apartment. You focused on your magic, letting it grow wild and free. You practiced your spells, honed your craft, and embraced the witch blood that ran through your veins.

Serpents began to seek you out. Not just the small garden snakes, but the larger, more dangerous varieties. Pythons and cobras would slither out of the shadows to bask in your presence. They did not fear you. They recognized you as a queen of their kind, a creature of ancient power. They bowed to you, their forked tongues tasting the air around you.

Seonghwa saw this. He watched from the shadows as you walked through the park, a large python draped over your shoulders like a shawl. He saw the way the creatures responded to you, the way they accepted your dominance. It was a slap in the face to his worldview. You were not just a copy. You were something else. Something perhaps even more dangerous than the mate he had lost.

His hatred began to curdle into something else. Obsession. Need. He could not stay away. He found himself drawn to your side, watching you with a hunger that gnawed at his insides. He hated himself for it. He felt like he was betraying her memory by wanting you.

He cornered you in a secluded part of the park one evening. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the grass. You were sitting on a bench, a book in your hands, ignoring the world around you.

"You have gathered an entourage," he said, his voice dripping with disdain.

You looked up, surprised to see him. He looked wilder than usual, his hair messy, his clothes disheveled. He looked like he had not slept in days.

"They like me," you said simply, closing your book.

"They are mindless beasts," he snapped. "Just like you."

"If they are mindless, why do they listen to me?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe they sense something you refuse to."

"I sense plenty," he growled, stepping closer. "I sense a fraud. I sense a danger that should be eliminated."

"Then eliminate it," you said, standing up to face him. "Or shut up. I am tired of your threats, Seonghwa. If you are going to kill me, do it. If not, leave me alone."

He stared at you, his chest heaving. He looked at your mouth, your eyes, the curve of your neck. He wanted to bite you, to mark you, to claim you in the most primal way possible. He wanted to erase the line between past and present and just take.

"I cannot kill you," he admitted, the words sounding like they were being ripped from his throat. "Believe me, I have tried. I have imagined it a thousand times. But I cannot."

"Why?" you asked, though you were not sure you wanted to hear the answer.

"Because you are the only thing in this wretched world that makes me feel something," he said, his voice cracking. "Even if it is hate. Even if it is pain. It is better than the numbness."

You reached out, your hand brushing against his cheek. He flinched but did not pull away. His skin was cold, his pulse sluggish.

"I do not want you to hate me, Seonghwa," you said softly. "I want you to see me. Not as a ghost, but as a woman. A witch who can stand beside you."

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. For a moment, he looked vulnerable, almost human. Then he jerked back, his expression hardening.

"Do not think this changes anything," he warned. "I still despise what you are. I still despise that you exist. But I am done fighting the inevitable."

"The inevitable?" you repeated.

"The fact that you are mine," he said, his voice dropping to a possessive growl. "Whether you like it or not. Whether I like it or not. You belong to me. You wear her face, so you will bear her burden. You will suffer for her sins."

"I will not be your surrogate," you said, your voice firm. "I will not be your stand-in for a dead woman."

"You do not have a choice," he said, stepping closer. "You are a witch of the old blood. You have power, but you have no protection. The world will tear you apart if you are not careful. You need me. You need my strength."

"I have my own strength," you argued.

"Not enough," he countered. "You are young. Your magic is wild. You cannot control it. You need a master. You need someone to tame you."

"I am not a dog to be tamed," you snapped.

"No," he said, a dark smile curving his lips. "You are a serpent. And you need a handler."

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you towards him. You struggled, but he was too strong. He captured your other wrist, holding them behind your back with one hand. He used his free hand to grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"Listen to me," he hissed. "I have survived for centuries by crushing my enemies and taking what I want. I will not let a little witch with a god complex stand in my way. You are mine. I will mark you. I will claim you. And I will make sure you never forget who you belong to."

You glared at him, your magic flaring. You could feel the heat building in your palms, ready to blast him away. But then you saw the desperation in his eyes. It was buried deep under layers of arrogance and cruelty, but it was there. He was terrified of losing you, just as he had lost her. He was trying to possess you to keep you safe.

You let your magic die down. You relaxed your stance, allowing him to hold you. He seemed surprised by your submission, but he did not let go.

"Claim me then," you whispered. "But know this. If you touch me, you are touching me. Not her. If you kiss me, you are kissing me. Not her. If you ever confuse us again, I will burn you alive."

He stared at you, his eyes searching yours. He saw the truth in your words. He saw the steel in your spine. He realized then that you were not the soft, gentle mate he had lost. You were something sharper, harder. You were a survivor, just like him.

"I know," he said, his voice rough. "I know exactly who you are. You are a nightmare. You are a plague. You are the most beautiful thing I have seen in centuries."

He lowered his head, his lips brushing against yours. It was not a gentle kiss. It was a taking. He bit your lower lip, drawing blood, tasting the copper tang on his tongue. You groaned, arching against him, your hands straining against his grip. He deepened the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, claiming every inch of you. His hold on your wrists was bruising, pinning you against his unyielding frame. There was no escape, and for a terrifying moment, you realized you did not want one. The chemistry between you was a volatile chemical reaction, waiting for a spark.

He pulled away abruptly, leaving you breathless and dazed. He looked at your mouth, swollen and wet from his kiss, and a dark satisfaction settled in his eyes.

"You taste of power," he murmured, his voice a low rasp. "And fear. It is intoxicating."

"I am not afraid of you," you lied, your heart hammering against his chest.

"You should be," he countered. "I am going to ruin you for anyone else. No human male will ever be able to satisfy you after I am done."

He released your wrists, stepping back. He adjusted his coat, composing himself, though the predatory glint in his eyes remained.

"Come," he commanded, turning his back on you. "We are leaving."

"Where?" you asked, rubbing your sore wrists.

"Somewhere safe," he replied. "Somewhere I can teach you how to use that magic without bringing the ceiling down on our heads."

You hesitated. Going with him meant stepping into his world, leaving behind the fragile safety of your human life. But what safety? You were unsealed, untrained, and a target for every supernatural creature that sensed your power. He was dangerous, yes. But he was also the only one who could protect you.

"Fine," you said, falling into step beside him. "But if you try to turn me into a sacrifice or some sort of ritual offering, I will turn you inside out."

He chuckled, a dark, rich sound. "I have no doubt you would try. Come."

He led you out of the park and towards the edge of the city, where the streetlights grew sparse and the buildings gave way to dense, tangled forest. The air grew cooler, the sounds of traffic fading into the hum of crickets and the rustle of leaves. You walked in silence, the tension between you stretching tight like a bowstring.

He stopped at the base of a massive, ancient tree. The roots were thick and gnarled, twisting into the earth like grasping fingers. He placed his hand on the bark, murmuring words in a language you did not recognize. The ground beneath your feet shifted, the roots parting to reveal a hidden staircase spiraling down into the dark.

"After you," he said, gesturing with a smirk.

You looked at the gaping maw of the earth with trepidation. "Where does this go?"

"My home," he replied. "Or what is left of it."

You took a deep breath and began the descent. The stairs were carved from stone, slick with moss and dampness. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and old magic. You could feel the weight of the centuries pressing down on you, the ghosts of the past lingering in the shadows.

Seonghwa followed close behind, his presence a warm weight at your back. You reached the bottom and found yourself in a large, circular chamber. The walls were lined with shelves filled with ancient artifacts, bones, and jars of unknown substances. In the center of the room was a large, circular pit filled with coals that glowed with a low, steady heat.

He moved past you, shedding his coat and tossing it onto a stone bench. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing forearms corded with muscle. He looked different here. Less restrained. More wild.

"This is where the real work begins," he said, turning to face you. "No more parlor tricks. No more accidental explosions. You will learn control."

You stood your ground, crossing your arms over your chest. "And what makes you think you can teach me? You are a naga, not a witch."

"I am older than your magic," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "I have watched civilizations rise and fall. I have seen sorcerers who could level mountains with a thought. I know power. And I know how to break it."

"I am not something to be broken," you shot back.

"Everything breaks," he countered. "If you apply the right pressure. But that is not why we are here. We are here to see if you are worth the trouble."

He walked over to a table and picked up a small, sharp blade. He held it up, the metal catching the light from the coals.

"Give me your hand," he commanded.

You hesitated. This was a test. You knew it. If you refused, you were admitting weakness. If you obeyed, you were submitting to his authority. You stepped forward and held out your hand.

He took it, his grip firm but not painful. He turned your hand over, exposing your palm. With a quick, precise motion, he sliced the blade across the skin. You gasped at the sharp sting, blood welling up in the cut.

"Heal it," he ordered.

"I do not know how," you stammered.

"Then learn," he said. "Focus your will. Visualize the skin knitting back together. Command your body to obey."

You stared at your palm, the blood dripping onto the stone floor. You tried to do as he said, focusing your mind on the wound. You felt your magic respond, a tingle of energy rushing to your hand. The blood slowed, the skin beginning to itch and pull together.

"Good," he murmured, watching the process intently. "Now close it completely."

You pushed harder, gritting your teeth. The magic surged, the wound sealing shut until only a faint white line remained. You looked up at him, breathless.

"Acceptable," he said, dropping your hand. "But slow. In a battle, you would be dead before you finished the thought."

"I did it," you argued. "That is progress."

"It is barely a crawl," he sneered. "We have a long way to go."

He turned away from you, pacing the length of the chamber. "Your bloodline is ancient. That much is obvious. The resonance in your magic is unlike anything I have felt in a mortal. It rivals the old families. But you are raw. Unrefined. You are a diamond stuck in the rough, covered in mud and ignorance."

He stopped pacing and looked at you, his eyes narrowing. "Who sealed you? It must have taken immense power to hide a talent like yours. Who was your grandmother really?"

"My grandmother was a healer," you said, feeling a defensive need to protect her memory. "She protected me. She said the world was not ready for me."

"She was right," he agreed. "The world would have devoured you. But she is gone now. And you are exposed."

"She taught me what she could," you said, your voice rising. "She died to keep me safe."

"And now she is dead," he said coldly. "And you are alone. Unless you accept my help."

"I do have a choice," you insisted.

"Do you?" he challenged. "You think you can survive the coming storm on your own? The seal is broken. Every creature of the night can sense you. They are already hunting you. I can smell their stink on you from the city. They are circling, waiting for a mistake."

You shivered. You had felt it too. The sensation of being watched, the prickle of eyes in the dark. You had thought it was just him, but maybe there were others.

"What do I do?" you asked, the fight draining out of you.

"You train," he said. "You learn to fight. You learn to kill. You stop being a victim and start being a predator."

He walked over to the pit of coals and held his hands over the heat. "Magic is not just about waving your hands and making things happen. It is about exchange. About balance. To create, you must destroy. To heal, you must understand pain. To protect, you must be willing to shed blood."

He looked at you over his shoulder. "Are you willing to do that? Are you willing to get your hands dirty?"

You looked at the fire, the flames dancing in his eyes. You thought of the men in the alley, the knife at your throat. You thought of the terror you had felt, and the surge of power that had saved you. You had enjoyed it. You had enjoyed the feeling of being strong, of being the one inflicting pain instead of receiving it.

"Yes," you said, the word hanging in the air like a vow. "I am willing."

He smiled, a sharp, dangerous expression. "Good. Then we begin."

The training was brutal. He pushed you to your limits and beyond. He made you levitate heavy stones until your muscles screamed and your vision blurred. He made you manipulate fire until your hands were blistered and raw. He taught you offensive and defensive spells, ways to incapacitate an opponent, ways to shield yourself from magical attacks.

He was a harsh taskmaster. He criticized every mistake, mocked every failure. He treated you like a soldier, not a student. But under the cruelty, you sensed a grudging respect. He was molding you into a weapon, and he was pleased with the results.

Weeks turned into months. You fell into a routine. Days were spent in the underground chamber, honing your craft. Nights were spent in his quarters, a spartan room adjoining the main chamber. He slept on a pile of furs and silks, a remnant of his past life as a lord. You slept on a pallet on the floor, though you often found yourself waking up in his bed, curled against his warmth.

You never spoke of it. It was an unspoken arrangement. You would seek him out in the dark, drawn by the cold that permeated the stone walls, and he would let you in. He never wrapped his arms around you, never initiated the contact, but he never pushed you away. You would press your face against his chest, listening to the slow, rhythmic thud of his heart, and he would stiffen, then slowly relax. It was a silent truce, a temporary ceasefire in the war between his memories and his desires.

The intimacy was confusing. He would spend hours tormenting you physically and mentally during the day, stripping away your defenses and forcing you to confront your own power. Then at night, he would let you into his bed, letting you seek comfort from the very source of your pain. It was a messed up, toxic dynamic, and you were addicted to it.

You began to notice changes in him as well. The sharp edges of his hatred were dulling. He looked at you less with the desire to tear you apart and more with a brooding intensity. He touched you more often, lingering when he corrected your stance, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw or the curve of your spine. He was possessive, his eyes constantly tracking your movements when you were in the same room.

You were not the only one changing. Your magic was growing stronger, more responsive. You could feel the hum of the earth beneath your feet, the flow of energy in the air around you. You could sense the presence of other creatures, the weak minds of animals and the darker intent of predators. You were becoming what he wanted you to be. A weapon.

But you were also becoming something else. You were becoming a witch who knew her own worth. You stopped seeking his approval. You stopped apologizing for your existence. You met his gaze head on, unflinching. You challenged him, argued with him, and sometimes, you won.

One evening, after a particularly grueling session of combat training, you were sitting by the fire, nursing a bruised rib. He was pacing, lecturing you on your sloppy footwork.

"You hesitate," he grumbled. "In the moment of truth, you paused. If that had been a real opponent, you would be dead right now."

"I was thinking," you defended. "I was looking for an opening."

"Thinking is for scholars," he snapped. "Fighting is for killers. You do not think. You react. You let the instinct take over."

"Easy for you to say," you retorted. "You have had centuries to perfect your instinct. I have had a few months."

"Excuses," he scoffed. "You rely too much on your magic. It is a crutch. You need to learn to fight without it."

"Then teach me," you said, standing up. "Show me how to fight like a naga."

He stopped pacing and looked at you. A dangerous gleam entered his eyes. "You want to learn my ways? You want to fight like a monster?"

"I want to survive," you countered. "And you are the best survivor I know."

He laughed, a dark, humorless sound. "Very well. But be careful what you wish for, little witch. I do not pull punches."

He lunged at you, moving with the speed of a serpent striking. You barely had time to raise your arms to block his attack. He grabbed your wrists, twisting them behind your back, and kicked your legs out from under you. You went down hard, gasping as you hit the stone floor.

He was on you instantly, pinning you to the ground. He straddled your hips, his weight holding you in place. He grabbed your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breathing difficult.

"You are dead," he hissed.

"Is this where you kill me?" you choked out.

"Maybe," he mused, his thumb tracing your jawline. "Or maybe I will just keep you here as my pet. A pretty little witch to warm my bed."

"I am not a pet," you spat, bucking your hips in an attempt to dislodge him.

He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "No. You are a nuisance. A distraction. A temptation I should have crushed months ago."

"Then why did you not?" you challenged.

He stared at you, his eyes searching yours. You saw the conflict warring in his gaze. He wanted to hurt you, to punish you for existing. But he also wanted to kiss you, to lose himself in the heat of your body.

"Because I am a fool," he whispered.

He lowered his head and captured your lips in a searing kiss. It was different from the kisses before. It was not a punishment or a brand. It was a need. He kissed you with a desperate hunger, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you. You responded instantly, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

He groaned, pressing his body harder against yours. You could feel his arousal, hard and demanding against your hip. The heat between you flared, instant and overwhelming. You arched up, rubbing against him, seeking friction.

He broke the kiss, panting, his forehead resting against yours. "You are dangerous."

"You like dangerous," you murmured, nipping at his bottom lip.

"I love it," he corrected, his voice rough with desire. "God help me, I love it."

He claimed your mouth again, his hands roaming over your body. He squeezed your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt, his thumb brushing over your nipple. You gasped into his mouth, your back arching off the cold floor.

He shifted, positioning himself between your legs. He ground his hips against yours, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your veins. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

"Seonghwa," you breathed, your head falling back as he kissed a trail down your neck.

He bit you, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin where your neck met your shoulder. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders. It was not a gentle bite. It was a claiming mark, a brand of ownership. You felt the heat of his magic seeping into the wound, sealing it, marking you as his.

He sat back, pulling his shirt over his head. Your eyes roamed over his chest, the pale skin stretched over lean muscle. There were scars, old and faded, marks of battles fought and won. You reached out, tracing the lines of his abs, feeling the tension coiled beneath your fingertips.

"You are beautiful," you whispered.

"I am a monster," he corrected, catching your hand and pressing it flat against his chest. His heart was beating fast, a frantic rhythm that matched your own.

"You are my monster," you said.

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then he surged forward, capturing your lips again. He kissed you with a ferocity that scared and thrilled you. He tore at your clothes, impatient with the barriers between your skin. You helped him, pulling your shirt over your head, fumbling with the clasp of your bra.

When your skin was finally bared to him, he stilled. He looked at you, his eyes darkening with hunger. He cup your breasts in his hands, weighing them, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. They hardened under his touch, pebbling into tight buds.

"Perfect," he murmured, leaning down to take one into his mouth.

You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked and licked, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. He lavished attention on your breasts, switching between them, driving you crazy with pleasure. You could feel the heat pooling in your belly, a dull ache that demanded more.

He moved lower, kissing his way down your stomach. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants and pulled them down, taking your underwear with them. You kicked them off, lying bare before him.

He spread your legs with his hands, settling between them. He looked up at you from under his lashes, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.

"Let me see how much you want this," he taunted.

He lowered his head and licked a stripe up your slit. You gasped, your hips bucking off the floor. He held you down, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you open for him. He ate you out with a skill that left you breathless, his tongue exploring every fold, every ridge. He found your clit and sucked it into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.

You were moaning loudly, your head thrown back, your hands gripping his hair. The pleasure was intense, building rapidly towards a peak. You could feel the tension coiling in your belly, ready to snap.

"Seonghwa," you gasped. "Please."

"Not yet," he murmured against your skin. "You do not get to come until I say so."

He continued his torture, bringing you to the edge and then pulling back, leaving you hanging. You were whimpering now, begging for release. He enjoyed your desperation, his ego stroked by your need for him.

Finally, he relented. He slid a finger inside you, pumping it in and out. You were so wet, so ready for him. He added a second finger, stretching you, preparing you. You bucked your hips, meeting his thrusts, chasing the pleasure.

"Please," you begged again. "I need you."

"Take me then," he growled.

He positioned himself at your entrance, his cock nudging your folds. He looked you in the eye as he pushed forward, burying himself inside you in one smooth thrust.

You cried out, the stretch intense but pleasurable. He filled you completely, stretching you to your limits. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to his size. His eyes were locked on yours, watching your every expression, reading the pleasure and pain that warred on your face.

"You are tight," he ground out, his voice strained. "Like a vice. Is it the fear or the want, witch?"

"Both," you admitted breathlessly, your inner walls fluttering around him.

He smirked, a dark, arrogant tilt of his lips. "Good. Hold onto that fear. It makes you sweeter."

He began to move, his strokes slow and deep. He pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, his hips hitting yours with a resounding slap. It was a punishing rhythm, designed to remind you of his strength, his dominance. But it felt incredible. The friction was exquisite, sparking nerves you did not know you had.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, digging your heels into his lower back, urging him on. You wanted more. You wanted to match his intensity, to take everything he gave and give it back. You met his thrusts, lifting your hips to meet his, grinding against him.

He groaned, his head falling back, exposing the long line of his throat. You leaned up and bit him, sinking your teeth into the sensitive skin over his pulse. He hissed, his hips snapping forward harder, driving a cry from your lips.

"Vicious little thing," he praised, gripping your hips bruisingly. "Mark me if it pleases you. It will not change who owns you."

"You do not own me," you panted, releasing his skin to lick the mark. "I let you in. There is a difference."

"Is there?" he challenged, picking up the pace. He was fucking you harder now, the coil of pleasure in your belly tightening to an almost painful degree. "Then tell me to stop. Tell me you do not want this."

You could not. You did not want to stop. You were lost in the sensation, the drag of his cock inside you, the slap of skin against skin, the scent of sex and musk filling the air. It was primal. It was raw.

"Silence," he mocked, though his breathing was ragged. "Your body speaks louder than your tongue. It clings to me. It milks me. It wants to be bred by a monster."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you. You did not care about the dirty talk, about the degradation. You only cared about the way he made you feel. Alive. Electric.

"Seonghwa," you moaned, your nails scoring his back. "I am close."

"I know," he said, reaching between your bodies to rub your clit. "I can feel you fluttering around me. Come for me. Scream my name."

He pinched your clit, and that was it. The tension snapped. You came with a hoarse cry, your body arching off the floor, your vision whiting out. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, rippling through your muscles, leaving you trembling and weak.

He followed you over the edge with a guttural roar. He buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilled his seed. He collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy but grounding, his heart hammering against your chest.

For a long time, you just lay there, tangled together on the hard stone floor, the fire crackling in the background. You could feel his seed leaking out of you, a wet, sticky reminder of what you had just done. You should have felt used. You should have felt cheap. But you did not. You felt satisfied. You felt powerful.

He lifted his head, looking down at you. His eyes were softer now, the harsh lines of his face relaxed. He brushed a stray hair away from your forehead, his touch uncharacteristically gentle.

"You are mine now," he said quietly. "There is no going back."

"I know," you replied. "I never wanted to go back."

He kissed you then, a slow, languid kiss that tasted of sex and contentment. It was a promise, a seal on the twisted bond you had forged. You knew it was not love. Not yet. Maybe it never would be. But it was something. It was real.

In the weeks that followed, the training intensified. He no longer held back, pushing you harder, faster. He taught you to fight with a knife, to strike with precision, to use your environment to your advantage. He taught you how to use your magic in combat, weaving spells into your physical attacks.

You grew stronger. Your muscles became more defined, your reflexes sharper. You could hold your own against him in a spar, at least for a few minutes. He still beat you, but he was proud of your progress.

The nights were spent in his bed, exploring this new physical intimacy. He was insatiable, his appetite for you seemingly endless. He took you in every position, in every room of the underground chamber. He was rough, demanding, and sometimes cruel, but he was also attentive. He learned what made you gasp, what made you scream, what made you beg. He used that knowledge to drive you wild.

You stopped fighting the connection. You stopped worrying about the woman whose face you wore. You were just you. And he was just Seonghwa. A monster and his witch.

But the past has a way of catching up, no matter how fast you run.

It happened on a night when the moon was new, the sky a velvet blanket of stars. You were sitting on the roof of his hidden sanctuary, a rare spot where the trees parted enough to see the sky. The air was cool, the silence peaceful.

Seonghwa was sitting beside you, cleaning a blade with a scrap of cloth. He had been quiet all evening, a brooding tension radiating from him.

"What is it?" you asked, breaking the silence.

"Something is coming," he replied, not looking up. "I can feel it in the earth. A disturbance. The old wards are vibrating."

"The ones your family set?" you asked.

"Yes," he said. "They have not been triggered in centuries. Not since I slaughtered them all."

"Do you think it is them?" you asked, a chill running down your spine. "I thought you killed them all."

"I thought I did," he said, sheathing the blade with a click. "But Nagas are hard to kill. Some may have gone into deep hibernation. Or others may have risen to take their place."

He stood up, walking to the edge of the roof. He looked out at the dark forest, his eyes scanning the tree line. "They sense you. They sense the old blood. They are coming to investigate."

"To kill me?" you asked, standing up as well.

"To destroy," he corrected. "They will see you as an abomination. A threat to the purity of the line. They will not stop until you are dust."

He turned to you, his expression grim. "You are not ready."

"I am ready," you insisted, though your heart was hammering. "You trained me."

"Against common enemies," he said. "Not against my own kin. They are powerful. They are ancient. They are ruthless."

"Then we fight them together," you said. "You and me."

He stared at you for a long moment. Then he stepped forward, pulling you into his arms. He held you tight, burying his face in your neck. You felt him tremble, a rare show of fear.

"Yes," he whispered. "We fight them together. I will not let them take you. I will not lose you again."

The use of the word "again" hung in the air. He had not said it before. He had not admitted that losing you would be like losing her. That you were not just a replacement, but someone he could not bear to lose in your own right.

You held him back, your hands stroking his spine. "I am not going anywhere, Seonghwa. I am right here."

He lifted his head, looking you in the eye. The raw emotion in his gaze made your breath catch.

"I know," he said, his voice rough. "But I almost lost you once to my own blood. I will not make that mistake again."

He kissed you, a desperate, hungry kiss that tasted of fear and longing. You melted into him, opening your mouth to him, letting him pour all his darkness and all his light into you.

The attack came three nights later.

You were in the training chamber, practicing a levitation spell. One moment, the air was calm, the next, the explosion rocked the foundation of the sanctuary. The stone walls cracked, dust raining down from the ceiling. You fell to the ground, the spell dissolving into sparks.

Seonghwa was there instantly, pulling you to your feet. "Stay behind me."

The entrance to the chamber exploded inward, chunks of stone flying like shrapnel. Through the dust and debris, three massive shapes slithered into the light.

They were Nagas. In their true forms. They were horrifyingly beautiful, their upper bodies humanoid and muscular, scaled from the waist down. Their tails were thick and powerful, thrashing against the stone floor. Their eyes were glowing slits of gold and venom.

Seonghwa hissed, a sound of pure rage. He shifted then, partially. His skin rippled, scales erupting along his arms and neck. His eyes shifted, the pupils elongating. He grew taller, broader, the air around him shimmering with the heat of his power.

"Brothers," he spat, the word dripping with venom. "I see the rot did not kill the roots."

"Seonghwa," the lead Naga hissed. He was older, his scales a dull, muddy green, his face a map of old scars and cruelty. "The runt returns to the nest. And you bring a stray."

"I am no stray," you snapped, stepping up beside Seonghwa. Your magic flared, a shield of purple energy snapping into existence around you both. "I am the one who will end you."

The old Naga laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "Look at her. The face of the traitor, wrapped in the stench of witchcraft. You defile us twice, brother. Once by bedding a lowborn, and now by consorting with this abomination."

"Watch your tongue," Seonghwa warned, his voice dropping into a register that vibrated in your bones. "She is more powerful than your entire collective. She will be your end."

"She is a mistake," the third Naga snarled. He was younger, faster, his scales a vibrant, angry red. "A spell gone wrong. We will take her apart and see how she ticks."

They lunged as one.

It was chaos. The air filled with the sound of roaring and the clash of magic. Seonghwa met the old leader head on, his massive tail lashing out with enough force to crack stone. They grappled, tearing at each other with claws and fangs, a primal, brutal dance of violence.

The red one came for you. He moved with terrifying speed, his tail whipping through the air like a heavy club. You dodged, rolling across the floor, and lashed out with a wave of kinetic force. He staggered, his scales crackling under the impact, but he recovered quickly.

"Is that the best you can do?" he mocked, circling you. "The little witch throws pebbles."

You gritted your teeth, calling on the deeper reserves of your power. You felt the earth beneath you, the ley lines that crisscrossed the forest. You drew from them, pulling ancient energy up through your feet. It rushed into your hands, glowing white hot.

"How about this?" you screamed, thrusting your palms forward.

A blast of pure, concentrated energy hit the red Naga square in the chest. The force of it lifted him off his feet, slamming him into the far wall. He slid down, unconscious, his tail twitching feebly.

You turned to help Seonghwa, but the third Naga, a silent, calculating one with black scales, was already there. He was trying to flank Seonghwa, aiming a blade of poisoned magic at Seonghwa's exposed back.

"Seonghwa!" you screamed, launching a fireball at the black scaled attacker.

He deflected it with a sneer, but the distraction was enough. Seonghwa sensed the attack and spun around, catching the black Naga by the throat. He squeezed, his muscles bulging, and with a sickening crunch, he ended the threat.

The leader roared, seeing his kin fall. He redoubled his efforts, his magic flaring in a toxic green cloud. Seonghwa was forced back, coughing as the poison coated his skin. He was strong, but he was outnumbered, and he was protecting you.

The leader saw his advantage. He lunged, his fangs bared, aiming for Seonghwa's jugular. Seonghwa tried to dodge, but he was too slow. The poison was slowing his reflexes.

"No!" you screamed.

You did not think. You did not calculate. You just moved. You threw yourself between them, raising a shield. The leader's fangs struck the magical barrier inches from Seonghwa's face. The impact was immense. You felt the shield shatter, the force throwing you back.

You hit the ground hard, skidding across the stone. Pain erupted in your side, sharp and blinding. You tasted blood.

Seonghwa roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated fury. The sight of you falling broke something inside him. The last of his restraint shattered. He did not just fight the leader. He decimated him.

He caught the old Naga by the tail, swinging him around like a ragdoll and slamming him into the ground. He stomped on his chest, the stone cracking under the impact. He leaned down, his shifting face inches from the leader's.

"You touch her," Seonghwa hissed, his voice no longer human, "and I will peel the scales from your body one by one."

The leader laughed, gurgling blood. "She is just a copy, Seonghwa. A pale shadow. Kill her and be free of the ghosts."

"She is not a shadow!" Seonghwa roared. "She is the light!"

He drove his claws into the leader's throat, ending the taunts permanently.

Silence fell over the chamber, heavy and thick. Seonghwa stood over the body, his chest heaving, his form still monstrous and scaled. He was trembling, the adrenaline fading into cold realization.

He turned to you. You were trying to sit up, clutching your ribs. Your face was pale, sweat beading on your forehead.

He rushed to you, dropping to his knees. He gathered you into his arms, his hands trembling as they checked you for injuries.

"Where are you hurt?" he demanded, his voice frantic. "Tell me."

"Ribs," you gasped, wincing as he prodded your side. "Maybe some internal bleeding. I will be fine."

"You will not be fine," he said, his eyes wide with panic. "You are hurt. I let you get hurt."

"I protected you," you reminded him, touching his face. His skin was still hot, the scales receding slowly. "I saved you."

He stared at you, his expression crumbling. "Why? Why would you do that? I am the monster. I am the one who deserves pain."

"Because you are mine," you said simply. "And I protect what is mine."

He let out a choked sound, halfway between a sob and a laugh. He buried his face in your neck, holding you so tight you could barely breathe.

"I could have lost you," he whispered. "Again. Just like before."

"But you did not," you soothed, running your fingers through his hair. "I am right here. I am alive."

He lifted his head, looking at you with an intensity that scorched. He looked at your eyes, your mouth, the blood on your lip. He saw you. Not her. You.

"You are not her," he said, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "You are not her. You never were."

"I know," you said softly.

"You are stronger," he continued, his voice filled with wonder. "She was gentle. She was kind. She would not have thrown a fireball. She would not have taken a blade for me. She would have died in my arms again."

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "I have been looking for her in you. I have been trying to find the ghost. But the ghost is gone. And you are here."

"I am here," you repeated.

"I love you," he said. The words were unexpected, shocking in their simplicity. "I do not know when it happened. I do not know how I let it happen. But I love you. Not for her face. Not for the memory. But for you. For your fire. For your rage. For your ridiculous, stubborn heart."

Tears pricked your eyes. You had waited so long to hear him say something that was not an insult or an order. To hear him say something real.

"I love you too, Seonghwa," you whispered. "Even though you are a bossy, arrogant, infuriating serpent."

He laughed, a genuine, happy sound that lit up his face. He leaned down and kissed you, a gentle, tender kiss that was at odds with the violence that surrounded you. It was a promise. A new beginning.

He helped you to your feet, supporting your weight as you limped towards the exit.

"We need to get you patched up," he said, his voice filled with concern.

"I will be fine," you assured him. "Just get me to bed."

"Bed," he agreed, a smirk touching his lips. "I can think of several ways to keep you there."

You laughed, then groaned as your ribs protested. "Easy, monster. I am injured, remember?"

"I will be gentle," he promised. "For now."

He carried you out of the destroyed chamber, into the cool night air. The forest was quiet, the danger passed. The old ghosts were laid to rest, finally banished by the living.

The days that followed were a blur of recovery and rebuilding. The sanctuary was in ruins, but Seonghwa did not care. He said he did not need the stone walls or the ancient artifacts. He only needed you.

He spent his time tending to your injuries, using his magic to knit your bones and soothe your pain. He was attentive, almost doting. It was a strange side of him, one you had never seen before. He brought you food, held you while you slept, and entertained you with stories of his past, stories he had never shared before.

He told you about his childhood in the temple, about the rigid structure of naga society, about the pressure to be perfect. He told you about the first time he saw his mate, how she was scrubbing the floors of the temple, her back straight, her head held high despite her lowly status. He told you about their courtship, stolen moments in the gardens, whispered promises of a future they could not have.

He spoke of the banishment, the brutal decree that had torn them apart because a creature of his lineage was not to mix with a human servant. He told you of the centuries he spent hunting for a cure to the poison that had taken her, a poison meant for him. He told you of the guilt that had eaten him alive, the belief that his survival was a punishment for his failure to save her.

"I spent a hundred years looking for a way to bring her back," he confessed one evening, as you lay resting against his chest. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the forest floor where you sat. "I delved into necromancy, blood magic, pacts with demons. I would have turned the world upside down to see her smile one last time."

You traced the patterns of the scales on his arm, now fully retracted into his human form. "And now?"

"And now I wonder if I was trying to resurrect a memory rather than a person," he said quietly. "I wanted her back so badly I was willing to destroy anything in my path. Including you."

"But you didn't," you reminded him. "You stopped."

"Because you fought back," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You refused to be a ghost. You forced me to see the woman in front of me. You are stubborn, defiant, and fiercely loyal. You are not the gentle girl who died in my arms. You are a warrior. And I realized… I didn't fall in love with a memory. I fell in love with the storm that wears her face."

It was the closest he would come to saying he had moved on, and it was enough.

As your strength returned, so did your restlessness. The sanctuary was destroyed, and while the location was hidden, the attack had proven that nowhere was truly safe. Seonghwa's kin had found you once. They would find you again.

"We cannot stay here," Seonghwa said, watching you pack a bag with supplies salvaged from the wreckage. "The scent of blood will draw others. Scavengers. You are not strong enough to fight another war so soon."

"Where do we go?" you asked, slinging the bag over your shoulder. You were fully healed now, your magic humming at a steady, controlled thrum beneath your skin.

"Away," he said. "To the ends of the earth if necessary. I have lands in the East, mountains that touch the sky where the air is too thin for lesser creatures. Or we could go to the desert, where the sand buries all secrets."

"I like the mountains," you said. "But I want to travel. I want to see the world you told me about. I want to visit the temples, the ruins, the places you walked alone for centuries."

He looked at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You would walk beside me? After everything?"

"I would walk beside you," you confirmed. "Or ahead of you, if you are too slow."

He laughed, pulling you into his arms. "Then we travel. As partners. As equals."

It was a new chapter. You left the forest behind, leaving the ruins of the sanctuary as a grave for the past. You traveled by night, avoiding human settlements, moving through the world like shadows. Seonghwa taught you the languages of the old world, the secrets of the flora and fauna, the hidden pathways that intersected with the mortal realm only at certain times of the year.

You saw things that would drive a human mad. You saw cities of glass beneath the ocean, inhabited by creatures who sang to the moon. You saw forests of crystal where the trees hummed with the voices of the dead. You saw the battlefields of ancient wars where the spirits of soldiers still marched at twilight.

Through it all, your bond with Seonghwa deepened. The physical passion remained, a burning constant that flared whenever you touched, but it was tempered by a profound emotional intimacy. You knew his moods, his darkness, his rare moments of joy. He knew yours. You fought occasionally, clashes of will and ego that usually ended in bruised lips and tangled sheets.

But the world was not done with you yet.

You were in the mountains of the East, high above the cloud line, when you felt it. A disturbance in the magical currents. A pull on your blood.

You were meditating in a cave opening, the cold wind whipping through your hair. Your eyes snapped open.

"What is it?" Seonghwa asked, immediately alert. He had been sharpening his blade nearby, but he was at your side in an instant.

"I do not know," you said, staring out at the jagged peaks. "It feels… like a summons. But not for me. For you."

"Me?" He frowned, scanning the horizon.

"No," you corrected, closing your eyes to focus on the sensation. "Not for you. For the Naga blood. It is faint, but it is there. A beacon. It is calling to the Lords."

Seonghwa stiffened. "The High Council. They only convene when the balance is threatened. They would not call for me unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless they deemed me a threat to be eliminated," he finished. "Or unless they have sensed the awakening of a new power."

He looked at you, his expression grave. "Your magic has grown. It is no longer just witchcraft. It is intertwined with the earth, with the old ley lines. You are tapping into the source. The Council will feel that. They will want to control it. Or destroy it."

"Let them come," you said, your magic crackling at your fingertips. "I am not the weak witch they found in the alley. I am your mate. And I will burn them to the ground if they try to take you from me."

Seonghwa looked at you with fierce pride. "My warrior queen."

"We go to the Council?" you asked.

"We go to the Council," he confirmed. "But not to submit. To challenge."

The journey to the Council's stronghold was a treacherous trek through the treacherous shifting paths of the Spirit World. The air grew thin and cold, and the landscape twisted into impossible geometries. Gravity seemed to fluctuate, and time moved erratically.

Finally, you arrived at the Spire of Judgment. It was a colossal needle of black obsidian, piercing the sky, floating in a void between stars. It radiated an ancient, suffocating power.

You stood before the massive gates, carved with the faces of screaming demons. Seonghwa took your hand, squeezing it tight.

"Whatever happens in there," he warned, "do not let go of my hand. If we are separated, they will trap you in your own mind."

"I am not letting go," you promised.

The gates opened with a deafening groan, revealing a vast, domed chamber. The walls were lined with thousands of glowing eyes, the observers of the Council. In the center of the room sat seven massive thrones.

Upon them sat the Naga Lords.

They were colossal, far larger than Seonghwa in his shifted form. Their scales were iridescent, shimmering with colors that hurt the eyes. Their eyes were like voids, swallowing all light. They radiated an aura of power that made your knees weak.

Seonghwa stood tall, his head held high, refusing to bow. You stood beside him, pouring your magic into a shield that protected you both from the oppressive pressure.

"Seonghwa," the central Lord boomed. His voice was like grinding tectonic plates. "The Prodigal Son returns. And he brings a pet."

"She is my mate," Seonghwa corrected, his voice echoing with a power you had never heard before. "And she is here to answer your challenge."

"We issued no challenge," the Lord replied. "We issued a summons. You have broken the laws of our kind. You have consorted with a witch, a wielder of the forbidden arts. You have diluted your bloodline with a mortal."

"My bloodline is none of your concern," Seonghwa shot back. "I left your society centuries ago. I renounced my title. I want nothing to do with your politics."

"You renounced nothing," the Lord sneered. "Once a Naga, always a Naga. Your existence is an affront to our purity. And this… creature…" He pointed a clawed finger at you. "She is an abomination. She wields power that does not belong to her. She must be purged."

"Try it," you spat, stepping forward. You let your shield drop, revealing your full power. It flared around you, a vortex of purple and gold fire. The observers in the walls gasped, a collective ripple of shock running through the chamber.

"You dare threaten the Council?" the Lord roared, standing up. His serpent tail lashed out, smashing into the floor.

"I dare anything," you replied. "I am the daughter of the earth and the sky. I am the witch who broke the seal. I am the mate of your son. And I am done being spoken down to by old fossils who are afraid of a little change."

The silence was absolute. The Lords stared at you, their void eyes widening. They had not expected defiance. They had not expected power.

Seonghwa chuckled, a dark, proud sound. "I warned you," he said. "She is not what you think."

"She is a plague," the Lord hissed. "And she must be eradicated."

He raised his hand, and the air in the chamber began to darken. Shadows coalesced into forms, monstrous beasts of tooth and claw. The observers in the walls began to chant, a low, vibrating sound that felt like it was drilling into your skull. The Council was preparing to erase you.

Seonghwa moved in front of you, his own power erupting in a wave of midnight blue. He grew instantly, his form shifting, tearing through his clothes. His scales erupted, dark and iridescent, his lower half becoming a massive, crushing tail. His face elongated, fangs descending, eyes glowing with the slit-pupiled gaze of a predator.

"If you want her," he roared, his voice shaking the obsidian walls, "you go through me!"

"Then you die with her, traitor!" the Head Lord shrieked.

The battle was instantaneous and catastrophic. The lesser Naga Lords launched themselves from their thrones, their magic a chaotic storm of venom and shadow. Seonghwa met them mid-air, a collision of force that cracked the dome of the Spire. He was a force of nature, his tail lashing out, shattering stone and bone alike. But there were seven of them, and even his immense power was being tested.

You did not hide behind him. You moved.

You cast a spell of gravity reversal, sending the charging Lords crashing into the ceiling instead of the floor. You summoned chains of pure light, wrapping them around the massive tails of the beasts, pinning them in place. You threw spheres of void magic that ate through their defensive barriers like acid.

They were terrified of you. You could feel it. They had expected a weak human pet, not a being who commanded the fundamental forces of the universe.

"A sorceress!" one of them screamed, trying to bat away a bolt of lightning you hurled at him. "She is a sorceress!"

"She is the Queen!" Seonghwa bellowed, ripping the throat out of a Lord who dared to get too close. "Bow to her!"

The Head Lord, seeing his kin fall, grew desperate. He abandoned physical combat and began to chant a forbidden spell. The air in the chamber turned white-hot. The void between stars began to spin, forming a vortex that sought to suck you in.

"I call upon the Judgment of the Void!" the Lord screeched. "Be unmade!"

You felt the pull. It was terrifying. It felt like your very atoms were being ripped apart. You looked at Seonghwa. He was pinned, fighting off three others, unable to reach you. You saw the horror in his eyes.

No, you thought. I am not unmaking.

You dug deep. You went past the magic, past the training, past the anger. You reached for the core of yourself, the spark that had always been there, the thing that made you you. You remembered the alley, the fear, the power. You remembered the training, the pain, the love.

You grabbed the edges of the vortex with your mind. It burned. It felt like holding onto a sun. But you held on.

"Unmake this!" you screamed, and you pushed back.

The recoil was explosive. The void collapsed in on itself, blowing outwards in a shockwave of pure white energy. It slammed into the Head Lord, shattering his shield, then his body, then his essence. He didn't just die; he was erased from existence, turned into dust that scattered into the wind.

The shockwave blew out the walls of the Spire. The ceiling groaned and collapsed. You fell, the ground rushing up to meet you.

Strong arms caught you.

Seonghwa, bleeding from a dozen wounds, his scales cracked and dull, held you tight against his chest. He wrapped his tail around you, curling into a ball to shield you from the falling debris.

You blacked out.

When you woke up, you were lying on a bed of soft moss. The air smelled of rain and pine. You sat up, gasping. Your body ached, but you were intact.

Seonghwa was beside you, back in his human form. He was unconscious, his torso wrapped in crude bandages made of vines and leaves. His face was pale, drawn.

"Seonghwa," you cried out, scrambling to him. You touched his cheek. His skin was cool.

His eyes fluttered open. They focused on you, and a weak smile touched his lips.

"You destroyed them," he rasped. "You destroyed the Spire."

"Are you okay?" you asked, tears streaming down your face.

"I will heal," he said. "We are… away from the Spirit World. I managed to shift us out before the collapse."

He reached up, wiping a tear from your cheek. "You are terrifying, did you know that?"

"I had to save you," you said.

"You did," he agreed. "You saved us both. The Council is gone. The Lords are dead. There is no one left to challenge us."

"Who will rule?" you asked.

He looked at you, his gaze intense and serious. "I have no desire to rule the Naga. Let them descend into chaos. They have forgotten the old ways anyway."

He sat up, wincing slightly, and took your hands in his.

"But I do desire one thing," he said. "I desire a life with you. A real life. No more hiding. No more running. We are the most powerful beings in existence now, witch. We can go anywhere. Do anything."

"Anything?" you repeated.

"Yes," he said. "We can find a new home. Build a sanctuary. Or we can travel the world and watch the sun rise over every ocean. We can be monsters who terrorize the villages," he joked, "or we can be guardians who protect the weak."

He pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. "I choose you. Whatever path we walk, as long as you are by my side, that is my kingdom."

You kissed him, pouring all your love and relief into the touch. He kissed you back, his hands tangling in your hair, his grip possessive and tender.

"Then let's go home," you whispered when you finally pulled away.

"Where is home?" he asked.

"Wherever you are," you answered.

He smiled, a true, genuine smile that reached his eyes. He stood up, pulling you to your feet. The forest around you was peaceful, the birds singing, unaware that two gods walked among them.

"Come, my queen," he said, offering you his arm. "We have a lifetime to explore."

You took his arm, and together, you walked out of the shadows and into the light.

[matchamatz]

CHERRY WAVES

★ Rockstar! Hongjoong x Fem! Reader  ★

★ Genre: Rookie Rockstar - Rockstar's girlfriend vibe. College Students, College band Ateez (not all members), Strangers to Lovers. Attempt at humour. Set in the 90's/00's, also 90's/00's movie vibes so it's kinda tropey!!! Plot with smut like usual :P Smut (18+, MDNI!!!!) All of members make an appearance.

★ Warnings: Alcohol mention, Weed mention, Smoking, Blood (nothing graphic), smut (MDNI!!!). Mentions of toxic ex partners. Woosan if you really squint. Word count: 25,200?...(they just keep getting longer.)

★ Visuals: Mood-board Outfit inspo

★ Playlist

DISCLAIMER: This is not intended to represent Hongjoong or any of the other individuals involved. This is a work of fiction!!! Please read the content warnings and feel free to let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Notes: This version of Hongjoong I've made up in my head has created levels of delusion I will never recover from :( give him to me.

You’re sat in your dorm, the warm glow of fairy lights casting soft shadows across the room. The window is wide open, the early October rain tapping gently against it’s frame, you were half hanging out of it, joint pressed to your lips. You should be getting ready to go out, like come on, It’s a Friday night - 8pm to be exact.

The dorms buzzed with life. Music thumped through the walls, voices echoed in the hallways, friends laughed as they got ready for parties and drinks flowed in the common areas, but you were content staying right where you were. Just you, a blunt, and an open window. Just how you liked it.

You could spend hours staring at the night sky. There was something about it, the way the stars began to flash different colours if you looked long enough, the shapes formed by constellations surrounded by deep shades of blue. It made your heart ache.

You’d take this over some stinky frat party any day. Over the noise, the sweat, the half-hearted conversations. Over the constant worry about what might be in your drink. This was peace. This was yours.

You were mid-drag, eyes half-lidded, when your dorm door slammed open.  You choked on your drag, the fluorescent light switched on before you could protest.

“Ahh too bright” you wince between coughs, your eyes squinting.

“Get up. Now.” your roommate said, breathless and grinning. “There’s a party on 5th. Some band’s playing, some numetal skate punk shit, sad sounding, totally your vibe.”

You groaned, head falling back against the window frame. “I’m good here. Got my blunt, got the rain, got the stars. What more could I need?”

She rolled her eyes, already rifling through your closet. “Enough of the poetic shit. You need to stop being a hermit. Come on, it’ll be fun. You love live music. And the lead singer… I heard they’re a total heartthrob.”

You smirked despite yourself. She knew you too well. Over the past few months, you'd grown close. You have similar interests in music, style, and the same tragic taste in men. If anyone could drag you out, it was her.

“I don’t know…” you take another drag, inhaling slowly. She was already tossing you a tight baby tee which had bedazzled shiny stars where your nipples would be, a black mini skirt, and some chunky boots.

“Trust me.” she said, eyes gleaming. “You’ll thank me later.”

You sighed, stubbed out your joint, and stood. “Fine. But if it sucks, I’m leaving.”

She laughed “Deal.”

When you arrived, you shot your friend a deathly glare. “You failed to mention it was at a frat house.”

But she only looked back at you with bright eyes and a wide smile. “You wouldn’t have come with me if I told you. Plus these guys are pretty chill.” With a giggle, she tugged at your arm, forcing you both to jog toward the entrance.

When the door swung open, you were greeted by cloud of smoke that hung heavy in the air, mixing with the faint smell of stale crisps and cheap beer. The living room was a sea of red solo cups, sticky floors, and bodies pressed together, moving to the bass that thumped from a speaker in the corner.

People shouted their conversations over the music, laughter spilling out in waves and heated discussions adding to tension to the mix, it made you feel alive. A couple was making out against the wall, while the group of people just beside them ignored them because behaviour like this was normal apparently. You mentally gagged at the sight. 

“Y/N! Yeji! Over here!” Your friends had noticed you, already half buzzed. You both walk over, still hand in hand.

“Now this is how you spend a Friday night.” Yeji laughed. “Yeah, right. I’d much rather be in bed.” you huffed.

“Oh, cheer up. Yeji get her a drink, PLEASE. She’s killing the vibe.” Changbin said, while you shoot him a look that said don’t start with me! Yeji secured her hand around your wrist and dragged you through the crowd to locate the kitchen. You dodged and weaved between sweaty bodies, down the hallway past gossiping girls and rowdy boys before coming into the kitchen,  where the counters are lined with half‑empty bottles, green jell‑o shots glowing under the dim light and a sink that had long since lost it’s ice and is now holding half floating cans of beer. You each grabbed a cup and filled it with something fizzy and topped it off with vodka and clinked them together with a grin.

“So remember that guy…the one I was telling you about?” Yeji couldn’t contain her excitement as she pointed towards the window.

You hummed in response, recalling her dramatic retelling of her encounter with the guy. You follow her gesture, look outside and you’re greeted by the sight of someone so good looking you almost fall to your knees.

“Wow Yej! Congratulations!!!” you turn and give her a few slow claps.

“Thank you, thank you!” she takes an exaggerated bow like she’s just won the Nobel peace prize.

It doesn’t take long for your peace to be ruined, because moments later you were approached a wannabe rapper type, oversized cap tilted to the side, gold chain catching the light. His pants sagged so damn low you half expected them to fall down and honestly the thought half scared you to death. Fuck that. He leaned against the counter like he owned the place. “Hey, my sweetness.” he drawled, flashing what he clearly thought was a winning smile.

You and Yeji exchanged a look, the kind that said: are you seeing what I’m seeing? “Sweetness? Did you hit your head on the way here or something?” Yeji shot back, rolling her eyes.

“Did you rehearse that in the mirror before coming here? I bet you did.” you added, brushing past him with your drink.

But he wasn’t done. He shuffled after you, still grinning. “Aw, come on baby, don’t be like that. You know you want a real man to show you a good time.” He moved to place his arm around your shoulder, but you were quick to dodge him.

Yeji laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. “A real man? Please. Go crawl back into whatever hole you came from.”

“Shawty there’s no need to be feisty.”

Turning to Yeji you point at the guy. “Did he just?” you say half stunned.

“Leave them alone, dude. They’re clearly not interested.” a voice cut in from behind you.

You both turn to see who it is, and it wasn’t anyone you recognised. But my god, he was pretty. His hair was almost a dusty blonde, slightly bleached lighter at the tips, the shaggy mullet suiting him perfectly. He wore a black and white striped jumper with black jeans and boots, the kind of look that felt effortless. Silver piercings and rings caught in the dim light, making him all the more hotter. You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

 He was casually pouring himself a drink, completely unfazed by the situation.

The “real man” scoffed, shaking himself off “sheesh whatever dude. They ain’t all that anyway.” He left with a dramatic bop in his step and muttering something under his breath.

The other glanced up at you with a half‑smile, voice low but steady. “Guys like that never get the hint. He’ll find someone else to annoy in five minutes.”

Yeji smirked, raising her cup. “Well, thanks for the save.”

He shrugged, leaning back against the counter, eyes flicking between the two of you. “No problem. Besides, you looked like you had better things to do than deal with some jerk who can’t read the room.” He pushed himself off the counter. “See you around.” And with that he was gone, disappearing into the growing crowd of people.

You stand there in stunned silence, caught in awe of a man you knew you’d probably never see again.

A crowd gathered around the beer pong table, the kitchen had now been transformed into hub of cheering participants. Red solo cups filled with questionable beverages seemed to shine brighter than usual under the fluorescent lights. Yeji was already laughing, cup in hand, egging you on as you lined up your shot.

“Come on, don’t choke now baby” she teased from across the table.

Changbin was your team mate, navigating you on where to sink the ball next. He leaned in gripping your shoulders and rubbing them. “Go for the left, go for the LEFT!”

You aimed, steadied your hand. 

Yeji was trash talking from across the table, with too much confidence for someone who's losing. “Come on. Miss it. I dare you.”

You closed your left eye and poked your tongue out slightly. Entering a flow state. The room went quiet as you took the shot, the ball bounced once, twice, then landed squarely in the cup, and the room erupted in cheers, some was even slamming the table. You spun around, excitement bubbling over and threw your arms around Changbin. “DRINK IT!” you shouted and pointed and Yeji, voice cracking with excitement.

“Okay, okay, you’re officially playing a dangerous game.” Yeji grinned before downing the beer like a champ, slamming the empty cup upside-down on the table.

Felix cheered from the sidelines “Don’t let them win Yej!”

You laughed, bowing, milking your small victory for all it’s worth, but your attention was already drifting. You slip away, letting Changbin take over, and walk into the living room. It was buzzing, people spilling onto couches, leaning against walls, and shouting over the music, but it all seemed to blur together. Your thoughts keep drifting back to the band was meant to play later, because well…that was the real reason you came here.

Excitement ripped through your chest at the thought of live music, no matter how shitty or fucking amazing it could be. You’ve even started playing a game in your head, running through guesses of who they could be. Was it the guy’s in the corner with ripped jeans and skateboards? Or the group of girls in matching plaid skirts with smudged eyeliner? Maybe the group of quiet guys nursing drinks by the stereo, who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. You scanned the crowd, but every guess felt wrong. Whoever it was, they were hiding in plain sight.

Your thoughts were cut off by the screeching static coming from an amplifier. The chatter came to an immediate halt and everyone’s eyes shifted toward the makeshift stage set up in the living room. A drum kit sat waiting, guitars leaned against amps, cables snaking across the sticky floor.

The crowd had started to buzz, restless energy building as people clustered around the makeshift stage in the living room. The coffee table was shoved to the side, red cups littering the floor, and someone dimmed the lights until the whole room felt like it was holding its breath.

Then, without warning, the band emerged, setting up their instruments.

They looked like they’d just walked out of a garage rehearsal, messy, raw, unpolished but the energy was undeniable. The band were dressed in the uniform of the scene, some wearing oversized tees hanging loose or baggy jumpers, jorts and baggy jeans worn thin at the knees, some even had rips, sneakers and boots scuffed from too many nights spent at the skate park. One of them even had his hair spiked into a wild, gravity‑defying style. You caught yourself staring, kind of obsessed with the whole vibe. Then your eyes landed on someone familiar, you recognised the lead singer but couldn’t quite place him, the room was too dark.

The first chord ripped through the room, loud, messy, melodic and fucking perfect. The guitars snarled, and the drums crashed with reckless abandon, the band had passion, and it was clear.

Then the vocals kicked in. The lead singer gripped the mic like it was a lifeline, his voice raw and aching, as if he were reaching for something he couldn’t reach and he wasn’t sure if he ever would. Every word carried a restless yearning, and you felt it sink into your chest. You were in awe.

At first, you lingered at the back of the crowd, content to watch from a distance, letting the music wash over you. But before you realised it, your feet were moving on their own, carrying you closer and closer, your friends following close behind, weaving through the crowd until you stood only two rows from the front.

That’s when you felt it, a tug in your chest. It was him. The guy from earlier, the one who had pulled you away from bad company. Just as recognition settled in, he glanced up, his eyes sweeping the crowd until they found yours. The moment stretched, suspended in the haze of lights and sound. He held your gaze as he sang, recognition flickered in his eyes too, soft and certain, and then he smiled. It was enough to make your breath hitch.

When the next song kicked in, faster, louder, it sent the crowd into chaos. You danced with friends, cups raised, bodies colliding in the surge of noise and laughter. The floor shook beneath you, the guitars snarled, and the drummer nailed the double time pace, and when they slowed it down to half time the crowd went wild.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Even as he shouted into the mic, even as the crowd roared back, his gaze kept finding you in the blur of bodies. You felt it, the weight it carried, but immediately tried to shake it off. Obviously imagining it, GET A GRIP. 

He was mesmerised by the way you moved, reckless, free, alive in the moment and the way you swayed your hips…it was almost enough to make him forget his lyrics. For a second, it felt like he was performing the entire show was just for you.

The set burned on, each song louder, dirtier, more unhinged than the last. The crowd collapsed into chaos, beer sloshing from plastic cups, voices screaming lyrics half‑remembered, the living room floor trembling like it might cave in beneath the weight of it all.

You were lost in it, laughing with Yeji, Changbin, and Felix, the four of you dancing until your legs ached, the music rattling through your chest like a second heartbeat. It was sweaty, euphoric, exactly the kind of night you’d dreamt about when you first fell in love with this scene. And you can’t believe it’s happening in a frat house.

But even in the blur, you couldn’t keep your eyes off him.

They commanded the floor like it was built for them, the lead singer was now thrashing through a riff with his leg propped up on an amp, sweat dripping down his temple, hair sticking to his forehead. His upper body bopped with every chord, raw energy pouring out of him, and it was clear his heart and soul were stitched into every note.

You felt it in your stomach, that dizzy, fluttering ache. Infatuation. Borderline obsession. The kind that made the room tilt, the kind that made you forget what was happening around you.

By the time the last chord rang out, the room was drenched in sweat. The crowd erupted, voices hoarse, hands raised high. The band grinned at each other, breathless, feeding off the chaos they’d created.

He stepped back from the mic, scanning the crowd again until his eyes landed on you. This time, the smile he sent wasn’t subtle, it was deliberate, lingering, like a secret only the two of you shared.

Yeji nudged you, grinning. “He’s staring at you. Don’t even try to deny it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was pounding.

“We’ve been Ateez!” They all bowed and left the makeshift stage. The band started breaking down their gear, the crowd thinning as people spilled back toward the kitchen and the beer pong table. But Hongjoong stayed put, still watching, like he was waiting for the right moment.

“See? This is why you came!” she shouted over the noise. “Aren’t you glad I dragged you out!”

And you couldn’t help but smile, because she was right.

“Wanna go for a smoke?” you asked, pulling a joint from your tiny purse and flashing a lazy grin.

“Thought you’d never ask.” Felix replied, already leading the way toward the garden.

The air outside was damp, the wind sharp, carrying the faint smell of rain. The cool air feeling heavenly, hitting you like salvation, the sudden contrast from the sweaty heat inside and the wind feels euphoric. You dug your lighter out of your tiny bag, shielding the flame with your hand as you tried to spark it, but the winds keep snuffing it out. You cursed under your breath, struggling against the elements, when suddenly a shadow fell across you.

“Let me help.” a voice said.

You look up, startled, and there he was, the guy from earlier, the hot singer. You hadn’t noticed him slip outside. He stepped closer, leaning in. His hands cupping around yours, blocking the wind and rain. The warmth of his palms brushed against your fingers as he leaned in, close enough that you could see the damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, a faint glimmer of sweat and rain mixing together.

You bent toward him instinctively, the two of you cocooned in that small space he’d created against the wind. The lighter flickered to life, flame steady at last, and the joint caught. For a moment, the world shrank to nothing but the glow between you, the smell of smoke, and the way his eyes lingered on yours as if the chaos of the party didn’t exist.

Your friends watched on in shared silence, cigarettes and joints glowing faintly in the dark. They exchanged glances, shocked, amused, entertained by the sudden shift in atmosphere but none of them spoke. They knew if they broke the moment, if they made any sudden movements, you’d spook and slip away.

You were in a haze, your brain too consumed by the rising tension between the two of you. His hands had shielded yours, his warmth still lingering on your skin. You whispered a small “thanks, you've saved me twice tonight.” you laugh, voice softer than you intended, and then, almost without thinking, you held the joint out toward him.

“Want some?”

He hesitated for only a heartbeat before leaning in, fingers brushing yours as he took it. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a shiver down your spine. He inhaled slowly, eyes never leaving yours, and when he exhaled, the smoke that curled between you made you feel woozy.

“That’s some good stuff.” he teased, taking one last drag before handing it back, his fingers grazing yours deliberately this time. Then, with a playful tilt of his head, he added. “I’m Hongjoong, by the way.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden formality but you also couldn’t hide the smile on your face. “Y/N.”

His grin widened, crooked and warm. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” he glanced back toward the house where the muffled roar of the crowd spilled out into the garden. You could see it in his posture, the pull back to his bandmates, the responsibility waiting for him.

Still, he didn’t leave right away. He leaned in just slightly, voice low enough that it felt like it was meant only for you. “I should get back.” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But… I enjoyed this. More than I probably should have.”

Your stomach flipped at the honesty in his tone.

He straightened, stepping back, but his eyes stayed on yours. “Hopefully I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the noise and bodies inside.

You’re slumped in the corner of the lecture hall, too tired to even comprehend the topic of your 8am class. Everything felt so overwhelming. Settling into college life is harder than you’d imagined, feeling so out of your depth. Nobody warned you about how the way of studying changes, assignments were far more complex, and how everyone else seemed just as lost, which meant there was no one to ask for help. It didn’t help that you’d been up until 3 a.m. the night before… but that was beside the point.

You flip open your notebook, but you couldn’t seem to bring your pen to paper, you tried to focus on your professor, but your mind kept drifting back to Hongjoong and Ateez. It had been a few weeks since the frat party, and you still couldn’t get him out of your head. You wanted to know more about them, more about him. But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask; you knew you’d never hear the end of it. You wanted to play it cool, asking too many questions would seem desperate, but the truth was you were desperate.

Later, you were sitting in the lunch hall while Yeji launched into a dramatic retelling of her latest academic disaster. “The second I saw the brief, I knew it was over… I bombed. oh god, this is so bad” she groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. I heard they’re more lenient on freshmen.” Felix said, patting her back in an attempt to console her.

“In better, more exciting news.” Changbin cut in, trying to break the tension, tired of the theatrics. “There’s this annual Halloween party at one of the frats this weekend. Apparently, it’s legendary. I think we should go, show up in killer costumes and just drown our sorrows.”

Yeji immediately perked up, her eyes wide and glassy. “Binnie, I love you!” she squealed. Then her gaze darted to you. “Oh my god, we should wear a couples costume!” She practically leapt from her seat to sit beside you, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

You laughed at her idea, but honestly, it wasn’t half bad. “Yes! Let’s do it!”

You couldn’t help but wonder if Ateez would be at the Halloween party.

The rest of lunch passed in a blur, and soon you were walking back across campus toward your dorms. The autumn air was sharp, leaves crunching under your shoes, and you were already half‑lost in thought about what costume you and Yeji could pull together.

That’s when you saw him.

Across the yard, he was leaning against the steps of the library, talking to a girl. She was beautiful, her arms crossed, her expression tight. From the distance, it looked like they were in the middle of an argument.

Your stomach dropped. Girlfriend? Of course he had one, someone who looked like that definitely wasn’t single. So why did he flirt with me? Was that even flirting? I mean this is college, maybe it’s different here. The disappointment hit harder than you expected, completely shattering the crush you had on him. You ducked your head, deciding not to approach, but the path back to your dorms meant you had to walk past them. GREAT!

As you got closer, he glanced up. His eyes caught yours, and just like that, the conversation with the girl ended. He waved, breaking into a jog as he approached you.

“Hey” he said, slightly breathless but smiling.

“Hey” you replied, trying to sound casual even as your heart hammered.

“I didn’t expect to see you around.” he admitted.

You frowned, amused. “Why not?”

He let out a small awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… I don’t really have a good answer for that.” He paused for a moment “So… are you going to that Halloween party this weekend?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, just heard about it today.”

He grinned. “I’ll be there too. Not performing this time, though, just going for fun.”

“That’s a shame.” you said before you could stop yourself. “You guys were amazing. I’d love to watch you guys play again.”

He laughed, the sound warm and easy. “I’m sure I can make that happen.” His smile was replaced with a devious smirk. There was a pause, then he glanced over his shoulder. “Look I’ve got to get going, but… I’ll see you on Saturday. I can’t wait to see what costume you wear.” And just like that, he was gone, jogging back across the yard.

You stood there for a moment, replaying the exchange in your head, a light blush adorning your cheeks. But the image of him with the girl lingered, heavy and sharp. Fuck you were confused. You walked back to your dorms feeling defeated.

By Saturday night, your dorm room looked like a thrift store had exploded. Clothes were piled everywhere, makeup scattered across the desk, and Yeji was pacing with a grin plastered on her face.

Yeji had gone all in on Cher Horowitz from Clueless, the yellow plaid skirt suit, knee‑high socks, and a mini backpack slung over her shoulder. She looked stunning, and you couldn’t help but worry for her safety tonight, the guys were going to be all over her, and you half‑expected you might end up fighting a frat bro before the night was over.

In the end, you both decided to go for separate costumes. You opted for something a little more fun, dressing up as Baby Spice and recreating her iconic Union Jack dress. You’d gone all out, even dyeing your hair a shade of ginger to really commit to the look and truthfully, you’d been looking for an excuse to change your hair anyway.

Changbin showed up in a black suit and skinny tie, sunglasses perched on his nose. Men in Black, of course. Felix had gone classic horror with Ghostface, the mask and robe that had taken over every Halloween since Scream dropped in 1996. The two of them were goofing around in the corner of your dorm room as you and Yeji got dressed, Changbin proudly showing off the prop neuralyzer he’d spent all of last night making, flicking it open and shut like he was about to erase someone’s memory. Felix kept lunging at Yeji with the Ghostface knife, earning himself a smack on the arm every time.

“Okay, okay, enough.” Yeji laughed, adjusting her plaid skirt. “We’re going to be late.”

The frat house was only a ten‑minute walk away, the streets buzzing with students in costumes. Groups passed you on the sidewalk, vampires with fake blood dripping down their chins, even a cluster of ghosts drifting along together. The air was crisp, the kind of autumn night that carried the faint scent of leaves and burning wood.

By the time you reached the house, you understood why everyone called it legendary.

The place had been transformed. Pumpkins lined the porch steps, each carved with intricate faces glowing from within. Fake fog curled across the lawn, spilling from hidden machines. Black lights flickered in the windows, casting eerie shadows against the walls. Cobwebs stretched across the railings, skeletons dangled from the roof, and a giant inflatable ghost loomed over the entrance.

It didn’t look like a frat house anymore, it looked like a curated haunted attraction, the kind you’d pay money to walk through.

Yeji grabbed your hand, eyes wide. “This is insane.”

“Yeah, it is.” Your words came out breathless, stunned by the sight. “I wonder who's rich daddy paid for all of this.”

You all made your way inside, and the atmosphere was even more surreal. The living room was now a dancefloor, strobe lights flashing over costumed bodies. The kitchen was a makeshift bar, lined with bowls of punch of the radioactive nature and trays of Jell‑O shots. Hallways were draped in black fabric and fake spiders, with hidden speakers pumping out creepy sound effects, chains rattling, doors creaking, distant screams.

It was spooky, it was chaotic, and it was fun. Exactly the kind of night you knew would spiral into something unforgettable.

Felix had began darting in and out of the crowd with his Ghostface mask, scaring people and then doubling over in laughter. Changbin was perched on the arm of a couch, now with some of his teammates, sitting with sunglasses still on indoors, flashing his homemade neuralyzer at anyone who’d look. You had to resist the urge to grab them both by the scruffs of their necks.

You were leaning against the kitchen doorway, drink now in hand, watching the chaos unfold. The music thumped through the walls, bass rattling the floorboards, and the whole house felt alive with energy. Yeji had gone off with the guy she’d been talking to for weeks, you’d found out he was part of the frat house from before, which explained why she’d dragged you there in the first place. The moment she saw him her face turned lovesick, so you let her slip away to play house.

Across the room, Hongjoong had spotted you standing alone, nursing your drink.

He’d just stepped inside, trench coat sweeping behind him, sunglasses perched low on his nose. Neo from the Matrix. The costume suited him almost too well: dark, sleek, magnetic. He scanned the crowd, but the moment his eyes landed on you, everything else blurred.

For a beat, he didn’t move. He just watched, lips quirking like he already had a plan. Then, slowly, he started weaving through the crowd. His presence was impossible to ignore, people parted for him without even realising, drawn to the sharp silhouette cutting through them.

You didn’t notice him at first, too caught in your own thoughts, sipping your drink as the party roared around you. But he was deliberate, taking his time, slipping closer until he was just a few feet away.

Then, with a sudden step, he leaned in from behind, voice low and teasing against your ear. “Boo.”

You squeaked out a tragic sound. “Jesus!” You jumped, nearly spilling your drink, spinning around to find him laughing, sunglasses pushed down just enough for you to catch the spark in his eyes.

You looked different tonight. Your hair now dyed ginger, red boots catching the light. Fun, bold, unapologetic. He remembered the first time he saw you in that dingy frat kitchen. He remembered watching you dance later, completely lost in the sound of HIS music. You had remained in his thoughts ever since. 

“I’m not Jesus.” he joked, eyes lighting up at his own stupid dad joke.

He grinned, tugging the sunglasses down just enough to meet your eyes. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well you did.” you muttered, trying to steady yourself. He moved to steady you, holding your arm until you managed to steady your balance.

“Sorry… but it was worth it.” he teased, gaze lingering. “You look… incredible. Baby Spice, right?”

You laughed, nodding. “You didn’t strike me as the type of guy to know the Spice Girls.”

Hongjoong raised a brow, smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t strike you as the type of girl to like Spice Girls.”

“Please don’t let my looks deceive you.” you said, rolling your eyes. “I like girly things too.”

He leaned in slightly, voice low, playful. “Girly things, huh? I’ll keep that in mind.”

You shot him a look, amused. “What, I can’t dress the way I do and still have a soft spot for pop music and pink?”

He chuckled. “Depends who you ask. My friends would say it’s a crime against humanity and an injustice to the scene.” He leaned in closer “but between me and you. I kinda like it.” His voice was low, smooth, and you felt it run through your body.

The music shifted into another skate‑punk anthem, the crowd surging toward the dance floor. Hongjoong glanced at the chaos, then back at you, his eyes refusing to leave.

“Come on.” he said, tilting his head toward the crowd. “Show me how Baby Spice moves.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t in these boots” you said, lifting one foot to show off the chunky platforms.

Hongjoong’s grin widened. “Oh come on. I know you can.” His tone was playful, but there was a spark in his eyes that made it feel like more than just a joke.

So, you gave in, letting him pull you toward the dance floor. The two of you moved together, half goofy, half serious, spinning, swaying, bumping shoulders as the music rattled the walls.

“I like your costume.” you said, nodding at his trench coat. “Neo, right?”

“Neo.” he confirmed, tugging his sunglasses down just enough to meet your gaze. Then, with a sly smile, “Not as much as I like yours, though.”

The words caught you off guard. Heat rushed to your cheeks before you could stop it, and you ducked your head slightly, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. The alcohol made it harder to play it cool, and you knew he’d noticed. Hongjoong’s grin deepened, just a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He didn’t say anything about it, but he made a quiet mental note: compliments work on you.

As much as you liked his compliment, you couldn’t shake the thought that he might have a girlfriend. You tried to brush it off, but the idea lingered anyway. This didn’t feel like casual conversation, it felt like flirting. Still, you could have completely misread the situation…like seriously misread. Was this just how he was with everyone? You try to brush it aside, but the alcohol has loosened your tongue, and before you could stop yourself, the words came out, teasing and careless.

“Shouldn’t you be dancing with your girlfriend right now?”

His smile faltered, just for a moment. “Girlfriend?” he repeated, brows knitting. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He laughed lightly, tilting his head. “Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, nothing- it’s nothing.” you rushed out, waving your hand as if you could erase the words. Inside, you were mentally beating yourself up. Your own stupidity had landed you here, and now you had to deal with it. What, like guys and girls can’t just be friends? Ugh. STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!!!

Hongjoong didn’t let it slide. He leaned in a little, finally taking his sunglasses off so he could look at you properly. “You know.” he said slowly, voice low and deliberate, “You’re a terrible liar.” Each word brought him closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the weight of his presence.

Your breath caught, half from embarrassment, half from the teasing edge in his tone. “I wasn’t lying.” you protested weakly, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Mm.” He hummed, tilting his head, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth as his hands settled lightly on your hips. “Oh, don’t get shy now.” His words were playful, but there was a sharpness underneath, like he’d caught on to more than you wanted him to.

“You’ve got me all figured out already, huh?” His voice dropped further as he leaned in, mouth brushing close to your ear. “For the record, I came here alone. And right now…” his breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine “…I’m glad I did.” oh fuck. The closeness unravelled you. Your body betrayed you, a fragile whimper slipping past your lips before you could stop it. His grin widened at the sound, satisfaction flickering in his eyes.

He doesn’t move from here he’s situated by your ear “I’ve been thinking about you, you know.” he whispered, voice low enough to drown beneath the music. “Ever since that night at the frat house.”

Your heart skipped, the words sinking deep. You turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes in the flashing light. “Me too.” you admitted softly, gaze slipping away as embarrassment settled in. He just watched, amused, as the bold and brave girl who had been sparring with him moments ago stumbled over her own honesty.

And for a moment, the chaos of the party faded away. It was just the two of you, caught in the rhythm, closer than you’d ever been. Every song felt like an excuse to stay pressed together, laughing, moving, forgetting the world around you.

“I want you to come see us perform again, this time at a real venue.” He paused, then added “It’s at the dive bar in town, Saturday, November 22nd.” He stepped back slightly, watching your face, like he wanted to see if you’d really want to.

Your heart leapt, the date already etching itself into your mind. “Seriously? I’d love to.” you said, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

Hongjoong’s grin widened, pleased with your reaction. “Good. Bring your friends too, I’ll sort out the rest.”

The certainty in his tone made it feel less like an invitation and more like a promise. You nodded quickly, already picturing it: the sticky floors, neon lights buzzing overhead, the smell of beer casks, the crowd pressed too close to the stage, and the kind of music rattled the walls.

“I should probably get back to my friends.”

Hongjoong leaned in before you left, his voice low but certain. “I’ll come find you later, OK?”

The promise lingered as you slipped back into rhythm of the party. Yeji was already halfway through a drink, her cheeks flushed and her smile wide. Felix was terrorising strangers with his Ghostface mask, darting through the crowd with gleeful menace. And Changbin, true to form had somehow turned a random corner of the room into his own show, challenging people to arm‑wrestling matches on the sticky table and defeating them all and dramatically bowing once it was time to move on. You all ended up settling into a card game with a group of people you’d never met before, giggling as the rules made less and less sense with every round. As the night wound down and people began drifting away, you realised you hadn’t crossed paths with Hongjoong again, and the feeling was bittersweet, like the night felt incomplete. 

The next morning, you were crammed into a booth at a diner with your friends, half‑hungover and clinging to mugs of coffee like lifelines. Yeji squinted at you over her coffee mug, her voice raspy. “So… where did you run off to last night?”

Felix perked up, smirking despite the hood pulled low over his face. “Yeah, you vanished for a bit. Don’t tell me you were off with Neo. Oh wait what’s his name again…ah Hongjooooooong” he teased.

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you tried to play it off, but the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you. “Maybe.” you admitted, voice soft as you pushed around the hashbrowns on your plate.

Yeji leaned forward, suddenly more awake. “Oh my god, you were! So what happened?”

You hesitated, the memory of his words still echoing in your head. “We danced…He… invited me to a gig.”

That got their attention. Three pairs of eyes snapped toward you, the hangover haze forgotten.

“A gig?” Felix repeated, eyebrows shooting up.

“Yeah.” you said, excitement bubbling despite yourself. “At the dive bar in town. Saturday, November 22nd. He told me to bring you guys.”

The table erupted, Yeji squealing before quickly remembering she was hungover, gripping the table as her headache ripped her a new one. Felix groaning dramatically about what he’d wear, and Changbin declaring he’d be the band’s number one hype man. Their voices overlapped, teasing questions flying at you: what did he say, how close did you get, did you dance? You laughed, ignoring everything as you ate your breakfast.

Your dorm had been a disaster, and with classes getting serious, and part time jobs keeping you occupied, you and Yeji couldn’t take it anymore. So, the two of you spent the entire Saturday morning cleaning and reorganising, scrubbing until the place looked almost unrecognisable. When Felix and Changbin came by later that evening, they swore you both had been replaced by aliens, because they’d never seen your dorm so clean before.

Now you were all sprawled across the room, surrounded by half‑empty takeaway boxes, passing around a joint with the faint hum of the TV in the background. Some whacky, family‑friendly game show was keeping you company.

Yeji was venting about her classes, waving her chopsticks like a weapon. “My professor thinks group projects are a good idea. They’re not. They’re torture.”

Felix, curled up in a blanket, grinned. “At least you don’t have a roommate who practices guitar at three in the morning. I swear I’m learning his setlist against my will.”

Changbin, of course, had his own story. “You think that’s bad? I signed up for a gym membership, and now the trainer thinks I’m entering a competition because I’m there so much. He keeps yelling ‘champion mindset!’ at me. I don’t have the heart to tell him I just like the gym and I’m a sports science major.” He puffed out his chest dramatically, earning a round of laughter.

You swear you could live in this moment forever, you loved the kinds of night where you could forget about everything else. But this time your mind kept drifting back to Hongjoong’s words. Saturday, November 22nd. 

The weather outside was borderline Baltic, you swore you could feel your limbs freezing as you walked into your part-time job at the coffee shop. You only worked Tuesdays and Thursdays and sometimes picked up the odd shift between classes. The smell of light roast coffee and freshly baked pastries filled the air as you stepped inside. You’d arrived twenty minutes early for your shift, which was unusual. Maybe you could fill the time with breakfast, since you’d skipped it.

“Morning, San!” you called as you made your way to the staff room, shedding your jacket as you moved.

“Hey, Y/N!” he shouted back, his voice carrying easily over the clatter of cups and chatter of customers.

After slipping on your apron, you wandered behind the counter, scanning the baked goods display, trying to decide which one would make the best breakfast.

“You’re early! That’s a first” San teased, but his concentration was locked onto the espresso machine, as he frothed milk.

You turned to shoot him daggers. “Thought I’d come in for breakfast!”

He smirked, raising a brow. “Oh, so you’re finally taking the job seriously.” Tone dripping with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you with a smile. “Keep talking San, and I’ll make sure your next latte tastes like dishwater.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” you shot back, but the warmth between you was undeniable. Working together always felt less like a job and more like hanging out with a friend who knew exactly how to push your buttons. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

After finally settling for a chocolate filled croissant, you caught San smirking in your direction. “What?”

“Oh nothing…just very predictable.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Predictable? Please. I’m the most unpredictable person you know.”

“Unpredictable?” He laughed, already steaming milk for another customer. “You’ve ordered the same drink every shift since you started here. If I had to bet my life savings, I’d put it all on you asking for a cappuccino.”

You gasped dramatically. “That’s called consistency, San.”

Before he could fire back, the bell above the door chimed and a small rush of customers filtered in. The two of you exchanged a look, the kind of look that said here we go again. You took the last bite of you breakfast before slipping into the chaotic café rhythm you’ve grown to love.

San handled the espresso machine like it was second nature, while you worked the register, and stepped in when it got busy. You both toss sarcastic comments over your shoulder whenever either of you mess up.  And he takes great pleasure in giving you the ugliest cappuccino hearts he could manage, grinning like a menace.

You were busy making an order when you heard a familiar voice. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You turned, and there he was, Hongjoong, leaning casually against the counter.

Your pulse jumped. “Oh hey.” The words came out smaller than you expected.

“Wow the apron really suits you...it’s cute.” you ignore him…because let’s face it, if you tried to speak it would’ve come out as a squeak.

“What can I get you?” you eventually ask, putting on your sweetest customer service voice.

“Hmmm just a cappuccino please.” He is beaming, clearly enjoying this side of you. 

“Good choice!”

You move around the espresso machine, the hiss from steaming the milk filled the room as you begin making his coffee, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee settles into the air. You don’t look up, but you can feel him watching, never taking his eyes off you, still leaning against the counter.

“So…are you planning on coming to the gig?”

“Hmmm maybe.” you tease back, a smile on your face now.

“Ahhhhhhhh” his pretend frustration only make you smile wider. You slide his coffee across the counter.

“That’ll be $2.25” you put on your nicest customer service voice, and he slides you a $5. 

 “Keep the change. Oh, and don’t be late y/n.” 

And just like that, he was gone.

“WHO was THAT?” San’s eyes are wide and voice was too loud.

“Huh?” You avoid his gaze, making your wake to the sink and dropping some used mugs into it, the sound of clashing ceramic filled the room.

“What do you mean “Huh” spill. NOW!” he was already on your heels.

You sighed. “Oh him? Just someone I met at a party. He asked me to come see his band next week-”he cut you off with a gasp, wanting to announce your business to the whole café.

“Shhhh.”  You tapped his arm, quick to shut him up.

“All right! All right! You better give me all the details.” He raised his arms in defeat, almost as if he was waving a white flag. But as he walked away you could see the shit eating grin on his face.

“What are you going to wear?” Yeji was raiding your closet with no remorse, tossing potential outfits onto the bed and the rejected “crimes against fashion” on the floor.

“I don’t know...maybe some jeans, that one black top and a jacket?” you had no plans of dressing up for a dive bar, especially not in the dead of winter. But you already know Yeji wouldn’t tolerate that.

“WHAT? A hot guy asks you to come watch his band and you want to wear JEANS? Nuuh-ahhh.” She rolled her eyes. But annoyingly, you hated to admit…She was right.

 She began rummaging through your dress drawer, leaving no corner left unturned.

“Yej, please! You’re making a mess. I’m not cleaning this up!”

“Don’t worry about it, we’ll sort it tomorrow.”….??? WE???

“WE?” You stare at her dumbfounded. In your dreams.

“Ah this!!” she pulled out a black mini dress that had the classic square neckline, holding it up like she just struck gold.

“And you can wear it with that white roll neck? Ohhh and my chunky wedge boots, and leather jacket. Yes!”  She was moving around the room like a woman on a mission. She shoved the dress into your arms and before you had the chance to protest, then she was moving to retrieve her jacket.

You groaned before accepting defeat and slipping into the outfit.

“Okay! And the boots!” she was back across the room again, pulling her chunky boots out from the bottom of the closet and chucking them to you. You stumbled into them, laughing but also mortified. Yeji clapped her hands together, eyes sparkling while she watched you slip the shoes on.

“YES, that’s it. Omg you look so hot.” 

“You think?” blushing you tug on the hem of your dress.

“Well obvi” Yeji threw herself onto the bed, satisfied. She grabbed the remote and flicked on the stereo and pressing play.

You both laughed, dancing around the room as you finished getting ready, applying the finishing touches to your make up, lip gloss, eyeliner, and a heavy spritz of perfume. Then Yeji pulled a joint out of her bed-side drawer, dangling it between her fingers with a grin. “Pre‑smoke ritual?” she wiggled her eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes but followed her, you both giggle as you fight for the best position near the window. The cold air bit at your skin, the campus buzzing faintly below. You took a drag, the smoke curling into the night, nerves mixing with excitement.

A knock at the door broke the moment. Changbin and Felix barged in, loud and chaotic, Felix already humming some tune while Changbin raided your mini fridge. “You two look crazy hot” Felix teased, not bothering to hide the fact he was gawking at the sight.

Yeji smirked. “Thanks babe but that is the point.”

The four of you joked, laughed, and hyped each other up until it was time to leave. Jackets zipped, boots stomping, you spilled out into the night.

The dive bar was a different world.

You lined up outside, the neon sign buzzing faintly above the door. The crowd was restless, smoke hanging in the air, boots scraping against the pavement. When you reached the security guy, your stomach twisted.

“Uh… we were invited by the band.” you said quietly, giving your name.

He looked you up and down, then asked flatly, “How many?”

“Four.” Yeji answered quickly, gesturing to the group.

The guy gave a small nod, unhooked the rope, and let you in.

Inside, the vibe shifted.

The air was musky, heavy with beer and sweat. Neon lights flickered against graffiti‑covered walls, stickers layered over posters from bands long forgotten. The floor was sticky, every step pulling at your boots.

The stage was already set, amps humming, drum kit gleaming under dim lights, cables littering the floor.

You and your friends pushed through the crowd, finding a corner near the bar. Yeji ordered shots, Changbin grabbed beers, and Felix leaned against the counter like he was too cool to be here….you knew he was nervous, this place isn’t his vibe. You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

You clutched your drink, eyes darting around as you try to take it all in, the chaos, the anticipation. The room buzzed with chatter and music as you scanned the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone you knew, maybe even catch Hongjoong before he performed. The thought of seeing him on stage again sent a strange, unfamiliar feeling spread across your chest. And the more let yourself think about him, the less you minded the feeling.

Changbin and Felix reappear with beers in hand, and smirks plastered on their faces.

“Thought you’d girls would like another drink” Changbin passed you both fresh beers.

“and we spotted your little friend at the bar.” Felix added, his tone teasing. “soooo we invited him over for a drink” you froze mid sip and choke slightly, eyes wide.

“wait.what.why????” your voice cracked and tone panicked, like very fucking panicked. This can’t be happening right now, I’m not mentally prepared for this!!!!maybe if I hide they’ll leave me alone…probably forget I even exist. I didn't mean it!!!

Yeji being thoroughly entertained and wanting to stir the pot decides she want’s you to implode too “you might want to calm down babe” she paused. “he’s walking over right now…and with company”

You turn slightly, and sure enough…there’s Hongjoong, followed by 4 others, you recognised them from the band. They were trailing behind him, they looked effortlessly cool. It all felt like they were approaching in slow motion. Meanwhile your brain was short circuiting, this is fine! You’re totally chill. Where the fuck is the nearest exit.

Hongjoong stopped in front of your group, his grin sharp. “Well, looks like we found the most interesting people in the room.” His tone dripping with confidence. “Mind if we join?” His eye’s flicked to you, his gaze lingering just enough to make your chest feel tight.

“mmhmm sure” your voice was shaky, but you managed to send him a small smile.

“Yeah! Join us!” Yeji waved them in, signalling them to come closer.

The tall one with spiked hair leaned down slightly to introduce himself. “I’m Mingi by the way. I hope you don’t mind us crashing” he let out a deep chuckle.

“Wooyoung” he gave a small wave. “Trust me, we aren’t bad company” 

“Yeosang. Nice to meet you all” he gave a polite nod.

The last guy was tall, he walked around the crowd to try and slot himself in. “I’m Yunho” he flashed a smile.

The introductions all blurred together, the now large group settling into superficial conversation. Small talk flowing easily, but you barely heard any of it, because you were hyperaware of the set of eyes burning holes in the side of your head. Hongjoong was standing just to the right of you, and every time you managed to muster up the courage to look up from your beer, his eyes were on you, like he was waiting for the right moment to get closer.

You can feel heat rising to your cheeks. Oh my god. He’s doing this on purpose. Stop staring! Stop looking at me. Oh good he’s turned away. NOPE HE’S LOOKING AT ME AGAIN! GOD I NEED A STRONGER DRINK!

The group erupted into laughter, the sudden noise pulling you out of your existential crisis. And as if Wooyoung had plucked the thought straight from your head, he leaned in, grinning like a mad man. “Alright! pre-show shots time!” 

If ever there was a moment to believe in divine intervention, it was right now! You could’ve dropped to your knees in the middle of the bar to thank whatever higher power was listening, because thanks to Wooyoung, your salvation has arrived in the form of tequila.

The now-large group had made their way to the dimly lit bar in the corner, taking up most of the space. The small venue was filling up quickly, and you were slightly stunned by the turn out. Hongjoong leaned into the bar, greeting the bartender. They seemed friendly, like knew each other quite well. “Hey Chan, let’s get our usual. But with…” He turned around to count heads. “four extra, we have guests tonight.” He grinned.

“Anything for you Joong.” Chan teases, already lining up glasses. Once the shot hit the counter, the group erupted into cheers. The glasses were passed around, Changbin shouting over everyone and Wooyoung seemed to egg him on.

Hongjoong slid in beside you, close enough that the faint mix of his perfume and weed reached you. You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes back in pure bliss as you felt a fluttering feeling tighten in your tummy, nerves feeling like sparks. The smell was intoxicating. 

He leaned against the bar, his voice low enough only you could hear. “You sure you can handle this?” his tone was teasing, like he knew it would get under your skin. And he was right.

You tilted your head, deciding to match his tone. “What, worried I might outdrink you?”

“mmmhh” he hummed, letting out a small laugh that sounded sincere. “Worried you’ll black out before you get to watch us again. Can’t have that now, can we.” he smirked poking the side of his mouth with his tongue.

You roll your eyes but couldn’t help but notice how much your body reacted to his words, the hairs on your skin now standing on edge. Before you could get caught over thinking, you back the shot before he does, slamming the shot glass back onto the bar. You couldn’t help but feel smug about it.

Hongjoong laughed softly at your smug grin, shaking his head as he finally tipped his own shot back. He set the glass down with a clink, then straightened, his expression shifting just slightly. “We should head out.” he said, glancing at the others. “Stage in thirty.”

The band gathered themselves quickly, slipping back into performer mode, and with a few quick goodbyes they disappeared into the crowd.

You and your friends exchanged looks, the same thought sparking at once. “Front row!” Yeji grinned, already tugging Felix toward the stage.

The venue was small, the kind where the stage was barely raised above the floor - just a few steps up, framed by flickering neon lights and speakers in questionable state. You squeezed through, elbows brushing strangers, until you were right at the edge of the stage, close enough to see the scuffs on the amps and neon green tape markers on the floor.

The lights dimmed, the chatter dropped, and then the first notes hit, low, heavy bass rumbling through the floor, drums pounding like a heartbeat, guitar scratchy and dreamlike, weaving a sound that felt both raw and surreal.

It wasn’t a song you’d heard from them before. This one was different, almost like it ached. And when Hongjoong’s voice cut through, devastating in its intensity, it felt like the air itself shifted. But what shocked you was Mingi. From behind the drum kit, his deep voice rose to meet Hongjoong’s, harmonizing in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. The contrast was perfect. The sharp edge of Hongjoong’s vocals softened and grounded by Mingi’s depth. Together, they filled the room with something so powerful it made your chest tighten and your eye’s welling up.

You couldn’t help it, you smiled, wide and unrestrained, caught between awe and the thrill of being there, front and centre, watching them create something that felt bigger than the tiny stage it was born on.

The next song began, Hongjoong’s voice cut through the hazy sound, sharp and commanding, and though he moved across the stage, gesturing to the crowd, pulling them in with every note, his eyes never left you.

It was impossible to ignore. Every time he turned, every time he leaned into the mic, his gaze found you again, steady and unrelenting. The audience roared, but it felt like he was singing only to you.

Then he crossed the stage, steps deliberate, until he was right at the edge where you stood. The grip he had on the microphone was strong, steady, his knuckles pale under the stage lights. He leaned down, smiling in that cocky way that showed you exactly what he was like on stage, confident, magnetic, untouchable.

Your heart raced, the tequila running through your body, and you couldn’t help yourself. You smiled back, leaning in too. For a moment, the world narrowed to the space between you. His forehead hovered so close to yours you could feel the heat radiating off him. The tension was unbearable, almost thrilling. And just when you indulged him, just when you let yourself lean into the moment, Hongjoong pulled back. Moving back across the stage effortlessly, his smirk widening as he moved away, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

The crowd screamed, the music surged, but you were left standing there with your chest tight, knowing he’d done it on purpose.

The rest of the set passed by in a blur, a haze of sound and light that swallowed the crowed whole. You and your friends were swept up in it completely, you and Yeji danced like nobody was watching, and Changbin and Felix were cheering on their new found friends so loudly you were pretty sure by the morning they’d have no voices…which didn’t sound too bad actually.

By the time the final song was over, you were breathless, throat raw and your chest tight from the sheer amount of force from the music. You watched as Ateez say their goodbyes and disappear into the back of the venue. The crowd began to clear out, some lingering behind to catch another drink before close.

“They’re so fucking good.” You said, breathless.

“They’re gonna be famous one day.” Changbin said as he threw his arm around your shoulder.

None of you were ready to leave and it was only 10pm, the bar buzzed with leftover energy, a few stragglers nursing drinks while the staff wiped down counters. So you all decided to linger, half because you wanted to thank Ateez for inviting you, half because the adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet…and a few more drinks wouldn’t hurt right?

Wooyoung appeared first, his grin as wide as ever. “Don’t run off yet. We’re heading out back for a smoke. You should come.”

Yeosang nodded, pleased by the suggestion “We’ve got access to the back room. It’s quieter there. You’ll like it.”

That was all the convincing you needed. Soon enough, you were tucked into the back with them, the air hazy with smoke, drinks refilled, laughter spilling over. The atmosphere was loose, easy, like the show had cracked everyone open and left only joy behind.

As the night stretched on, you excused yourself, slipping outside for a smoke. The cool air hit your skin, a welcome contrast to the heat inside. Crouching slightly your platform boots helping you stay balanced, you lit up your cigarette, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, enjoying the quiet. One hand wrapped around your crouched knees while the other brought the cigarette to your lips.

A few minutes later, footsteps approached. “Hey.” Hongjoong. You quickly rose to your feet.

He leaned against the wall beside you. “How was the show?” he asked, voice low, teasing, like he already knew the answer.

You smirked, taking another drag before offering it to him. “Not bad. Could’ve been better.”

He laughed, shaking his head. He accepts the cigarette. “Wooow, is see.” He pushed himself off the wall, now standing in front of you. He takes a drag.

You tilted your chin, refusing to back down. “Guess you’ll just have to try harder next time.” You take it back, putting it between your lips.

His smile widened, cocky and amused, eyes locked on yours. The tension hung heavy, electric, as he closed the gap inch by inch. You didn’t move away, you couldn’t bring yourself to. You wanted to soak up every ounce of attention he gave you.

And he knew it.

Silence hung between you for a moment before he took another step closer. You didn’t move back, so he took another. Your gaze shifted from the burnt-out cigarette between your fingers and up into his eyes. They were darker now, unfamiliar to you, you could tell he was thinking about something. His brows tightened as his gaze moved from your eyes to your lips. He looked defeated, desperate for something.

And to him, you looked exactly the same. Your eyes wide and pupils blown, anticipation written all over your face.

“I really want to kiss you.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

You couldn’t answer him. The words kept getting caught in your throat. He watched as you struggled to get your words out, panic spreading across your face. He decided to test your boundaries. Reaching out, his hand gliding softly to the nape of your neck, fingers nestling into your hair.  His grip was firm, grounding. You bit back a sound of shock, your eyes widening just a little more. When you didn’t pull away, Hongjoong decided it was now or never. 

He moved in slowly and once his lips met yours, every doubt you had disappeared. The kiss was soft, gentle, open mouthed. He focused more on your bottom lip, and when you let out a small whimper, something in him snapped. He couldn’t stop himself after that, he dragged his tongue across your lip, begging for entry. You gladly accepted, matching his pace without hesitation, your tongue brushing against his in a fight for dominance, causing him to let out a groan. His other hand came up to fully cup your face, fingers lacing in your hair and tugging at it slightly.

You felt a tingling sensation bloom in your stomach as you threw your hands around his neck, pulling him closer. Needing him closer. But this caused him to pull away. Breathless, he took you in. Lips swollen, puffy and skin faintly blushed. He was usually a strong man, always composed but something about you…made him lose all sense.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” He ran a hand through his hair, voice rough.

You just let out a soft laugh before walking towards to the door. “Should probably head out now, it’s getting late.” You paused for a moment. “Thank you for inviting us by the way. We had fun.”

You left him there, stunned and plagued by his own thoughts.

Once you were back inside, in the empty hallway, that’s when you panic.

Fuck. What have I done.

You force yourself to steady your breathing before walking back into the room on shaky legs, your friends are already saying their goodbyes.

While waiting at the door, you’re approached by Mingi, who’s expression is amused. “It was nice to finally meet you. I mean, Hongjoong can’t stop talking about you.”

You choke on air, a sudden feeling of despair settle in your stomach. From across the room, he notices the shift, and he shoots Mingi daggers. You can’t tell if he’s teasing or being serious. But it doesn’t matter, because suddenly everything feels too real.

Still, you fake a smile and laugh. “Oh really?” You pause, not really wanting to continue. “you guys were amazing tonight, thanks again for having us.” All you want is to leave right now.

“Give me your number! I’ll let you know when we next have a show.” Mingi is now beaming, cheesing like a child who’s just been offered their favourite snack. You laugh.

You scribble your number down on a napkin, before handing over and waving goodbye.

You all step out into the cold night air, the neon glow from the venue sign casting a purple hue across the wet concrete. The streets are quiet now, besides form the hum of distant cars and the soft thud of your footsteps. You linger slightly behind your friends, letting the events from tonight replay in your head, over and over and over. You begin to regret everything, the weight of your actions bearing heavy on your shoulders. I can’t do this. Truthfully, you’re scared. You swore you’d never do this with anyone, EVER again. 

Yet Hongjoong’s stare lingers in your memory, the heat of his touch still burning hot on your skin…you’ve never felt anything like this before. 

You stop walking, fumbling in your bag to grab your cigarettes. Lighting one, you inhale deeply. You didn’t even want it, but at least it’ll warm you from the inside…and it’ll distract you for a little while…even if it is fleeting. You start walking again, dragging your feet a little more this time. It’s funny how something as innocent as a kiss can unravel all the work you’ve done to rebuild yourself, leaving nothing but chaos in it’s wake.

It’s Monday morning, and you’re rushing across campus. You managed to sleep through all eight of your alarms and barely had the time to make sure your shoes were on the right feet. You clutch your books tightly, you bag slipping off your shoulder, when you suddenly slam into someone.

“Shit!” you mutter, frantically picking up your books before glancing up. Hongjoong. He had noticed you across campus and rushed over to see you…but in your daze you didn’t see him – the collision causing him to stumble backward. His eyes are confused, searching yours. You mumble a small “sorry.”  before moving past him, not giving him a chance to talk. You don’t notice the way his hand reaches slightly for you while you speed off.

It's better this way. It’s safer. Keep your distance now.

By the time you enter the lecture all, the professor has already begun. Yeji spots you and waved you over, saving you a seat. She’d stayed with Felix after a movie night.

She studies you for a moment, brows furrowing. “Are you ok?” she whispers.

You hesitate, the words heavy on your tongue. Deciding now is the right time spill, you let it all go. “Hongjoong…we- we kissed. And now I don’t know what to do.” 

“WHAT” well that was too loud. Head’s snap in your direction, and the professor quickly reminds everyone to remain quiet and pay attention.

“Yeah.” You sigh. “my last relationship was awful. He wasn’t kind. He used everything against me. Anything I did he twisted. I don’t know if I can do that again.” your throat tight and sore as you spoke, the resurfacing memories stung more than you thought. 

Yeji leans in more, forcing you to look at her. “Hey.” Her tone soft. “Don’t shut everything out because one shitty boyfriend decided you weren’t worth anything. Because you are. If you need to take it slow, then take it slow.”

Her words felt like taking several knives to the chest…ripping you open, releasing everything negative you’d been holding in. You know she’s right. But it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. You deserve more than fear and regret. But deep down, a gnawing voice whispers that you might ruin everything, that no matter how careful you are, things will break and burn before they get a chance to grow.

Time passes by slowly, and you slip back into your hermit ways. You don’t go out anymore, just work, classes, then home. This feels safe, and the predictable routine makes life easier. At least you’ve grown closer to San at the café. He’s easy to talk to, and your personalities seem to mesh well…he’s easy to tease and you like teasing him. The avoiding Hongjoong thing – well it’s exhausting. He even came by the café once, asking San if he’s seen you around. San covered for you while you were ducked behind the counter, heart pounding, and praying he didn’t notice you duck behind the counter.

San has even joined movie nights and diner runs, fitting right in with the group. Tonight, you’re all crammed into Changbin’s dorm, passing around a joint and playing blackjack, the room hazy with smoke and filled with the noise of bickering and cheating accusations.

You suddenly feel you phone vibrate against your thigh. A number you don’t recognise. You ignore it at first, but it rings again. With a huff, you excuse yourself and step into the hallway, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” you voice coming out more confused than frustrated.

“Hey y/n” On the other end, a familiar voice, but you can’t make out who it is. 

“What, you don’t recognise me? It’s me Mingi.” His tone cocky and playful.

You laugh, teasing back. “Ah right, guess I needed the reminder.”

He’s laughing now. “How are you?” the simple question shocks you, it’s genuine. Did he call just to chat? You couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m good thanks Mingi, how are you.” You entertain him, it feels like when your younger cousin calls and you’re forced to talk to them…but you always enjoy it.

“I’m good too, it’s been a while.” You hum in response.

“There’s this party on Friday. Not a frat party I promise. More of a kick-back. You should come.”

You hesitate, knowing Hongjoong will be there. “I’m not sure Mingi, I’m busy with work and school.”

“Don’t you work in a café?”

“Yes………how do you know that?” 

“Hongjoong told me.” Ah.

“You can come after work? No obligation though.” Mingi is relentless, he can’t help but plead a little, with a grin you can practically hear through the phone. “But it would be nice to hang out again, pretty please y/n”

“Fine. Yes.” you cave. WOW he’s good.

“Perfect! I’ll send you the deets. Bring your friends!” and just like that he hung up. You lean against the wall, feeling like something for the first time in weeks is screaming at you to come out of hiding.

You walk back into the room, slipping your phone back into your joggers pocket. “Guess we’re going out on Friday.” You announce casually.

The reaction was immediate, everyone erupting into cheers, the card game now abandoned and half on the floor. You don’t notice it, but your friends exchange glances. One that says they’re relieved to see you getting back to yourself again. For the first time in weeks, they’re not worried.

 The next day, you find yourself sitting alone in the lunch hall. You’re not really eating, the snacks sit beside your books as you try to study. With the festive break approaching, you’re forcing yourself to cram as much as you can before finals. But your thoughts are too consumed by Friday. Will he be weird about it? After all, you’ve made it your life’s mission to ignore him. Or would you make it weird? The guilt over how you’ve behaved gnaws at you.

You’re staring into space, left leg shaking frantically, pen tapping against your notebook, when you feel someone tap your shoulder. Your whip around, startled.

“Are you y/n?” yikes, what’s with the cold attitude.

You look up at a girl you don’t recognise. Thought something about her feels familiar.

“Sorry, do I know you?” you raise a brow. 

“No. But you do know Hongjoong.” Her tone is ice. What’s her problem?

“Ok? I hardly know him. is there something you want?” you narrow your eyes, matching her tone.

She crosses her arms like a spoiled child, staring you down. “Yeah, for you to leave him alone.” 

And then it clicks. Ohhh you recognise her now. She’s the girl you saw with Hongjoong that time. Shame, she’s really pretty when she isn’t behaving like a petulant child. 

You laugh. “hmmm that’s not how this works.” 

Your words seem to knock her down a few pegs, clearly shocked by your retaliation. She doesn’t answer, just glares.

“Right ok. This isn’t high school, I’m not playing childish games.” You turn back to your papers. 

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away.” Ah how sweet, a threat.

You turn again, rage bubbling in your chest. “Oh, is that right? And what are you going to do about it?” you stand, taking a step closer.

You’ve been in too many situations where you’ve let people treat you poorly, talk down to you…well not today. You’ve grown up too much to let this slide.

Her eyes widen, arms now falling to her sides as she takes a step back.

“That’s what I thought. Look, I’m not trying to interfere with whatever you’ve got going on. But you’re not going to tell me what to do.” You voice is low and steady, and dripping with new found confidence.

“Just stay away, ok?”

“No.” 

She blinks. Shocked. “No?”

“Yes. now leave me alone.”

No longer in the mood to study, you collect your belongings and shove them into your bag, leaving behind the girl and the group of shocked bystanders that watched the entire situation. I guess they’ll have plenty to talk about now.

Later that day, Hongjoong is back at his tiny apartment he shares with Wooyoung. The space is crowded, Mingi, Yeosang, Yunho and a few of his other friends Jongho and Seonghwa, were sprawled out across mismatched furniture. 

“Hey Hongjoong, you know that y/n girl you mentioned.?” Jongho suddenly speaks up.

Hongjoong is confused. “uhh yeah why?”

Hongjoong listens to him go on about what he witnessed in the lunch hall earlier. His jaw tightening. Anger simmering beneath the surface, but he tries to keep his cool. He doesn’t believe it at first. 

“Come on guys, stop fucking around.”

Seonghwa clears his throat “Joong… I was there. I saw the whole thing too. She came out of nowhere, she told her to stay away.”

Jongho leans forward, taking a sip of his beer before speaking up. “Yeah, she was being a bitch.” He lets out a chuckle, remembering how you clearly got under her skin. “but y/n really put her in her place. She’s feisty.”

The words hang heavy for a moment.

“You need to shut this down, hyung. Quickly.” Mingi’s the first to state the obvious. 

And Yeosang is quick to agree. “Yeah, she’s annoying, it’s not like this is the first time she’s caused problems like this.”

Hongjoong doesn’t bother answering. Instead, he pushed himself up from the couch and slips onto the balcony. The cold air hit’s him instantly. He leans over the railings, before lighting a joint, beer perched on the ledge beside him. He knows he’s partly to blame for this. They dated briefly back in his freshman year. But it ended quickly, and he thought that would be it. But then there were night’s after, that shouldn’t have happened. Quiet hookups that stretched on for longer than they should have. But those ended too, at the end of the last academic year. He made it clear it wasn’t happening anymore.

He inhales deeply, letting it sit in his lungs before letting the smoke drift into the night. Is this why you’re ignoring me?The thought made him sick. He takes a swig of beer, overthinking everything, but one thing is clear: he needs to talk to you.

Friday night arrives and you’re filled with dread. Your small dorm is buzzing, Yeji’s side looks like a battlefield. A mixture of yours and her clothes lined the floor, bed and some ever laid out on the desk. The boys are sprawled across your bed, busy chatting amongst themselves, unbothered by both of your noise.

Yeji never turns down an opportunity to get dressed up, already done with her hair and makeup, holding up outfits in the mirror while asking for feedback…the boys always hum a soft “yes looks good.” No matter the outfit combo.

“What's with you and always wanting to wear jeans. Come on, you can’t wear that.” She insists, eyes narrowing at you. While you’re sporting a shit eating grin, holding up the most boring yet comfy outfit you could manage.

“Look it’s only a kickback. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.” You discard the outfit and cross your arms.

“It’s not for anyone else…it’s for you! Don’t you want to feel good? Cute? This is the first time you’ve been out in weeks.”

You nudge her…and she laughs. That’s how she knows she’s right. Whenever you accept defeat, you always whack her lightly. “See! Get dressed already.”

You do want to feel good. So, you settle on light-washed high waisted boyfriend jeans, pointed heels, and a black long sleeve top with a deep v-neck cut. You throw on an oversized black leather racer jacket and add some gold jewellery. Your hair, now dyed a dark shade of brown was styled into a silky blowout. The reflection staring back at you feel like someone you haven’t seen for a while.

Yeji is looking at her on reflection, she had paired a denim skirt with a cute cream jumper, tights, chunky boots and a trench coat. Applying lipgloss as a final touch, a dramatic smack of her lips “Perfect!”

Noticing you’re both dressed and ready, San groans dramatically “Can we leave already, I’m dying here!” 

The group bursts into laughter, deciding to dogpile him, throwing cushions at him, teasing him for being impatient. You can’t help but feel all the anxiety from the past few weeks slip away with the sound of your friends laughter.

Finally leaving the dorms, the December air nipping at your skin, you all huddle together while your check the address. The address Mingi sent you, leads you to an apartment building, you all look up, noticing one of the apartments full of people. You exchange curious glances with Yeji. Well, I guess this is it…a kickback at someone’s apartment. Interesting…you were expecting a dorm.

You’re all greeted at the door by Wooyoung, who’s already buzzing with excitement. “Welcome to my apartment!” he grins, arms spread wide.

You all blink at him stunned. His?? Wait- how old are they then? You’d thought they were freshmen like you. But that doesn’t even make sense now that you think about it. Their band is well-known on campus, they couldn’t possibly be first years. You make a mental note to ask Mingi about it later.

Inside, hip-hop and rap is coming from the speakers, the bass feeling like silk in your ears. You all make the rounds, saying hello to Yunho who’s manning the speakers, clearly enjoying his job DJ’ing. You spot Mingi and make your way over. He pulls you into a hug, his warmth instantly easing your nerves. “Hey, let’s get you guys come drinks.” He leads you to the kitchen. You all grab a beer and the rest head back over to Yunho and Yeosang.

Leaving you both in the kitchen, you lean against the kitchen side. “I didn’t know Wooyoung lived in an apartment. I thought you guy’s lived in dorms.” 

He laughs “none of us do. We decided to go for student housing for our second year.  With the band, we can’t really rehearse in dorms. It gets complicated”

“Oh, I guess you’re right.” You take a sip of your beer. 

“Wooyoung lives here with Hongjoong.” You almost choke. You’re in Hongjoong’s apartment?

He goes on to tell you that he, Yeosang and Yunho share a small house nearby. Between their part-time jobs, the band and student loans and help from their parents, they’ve managed to afford a place where they can rehearse in peace. You watch him explain in awe. “it’s not much but it’s enough.” He smiles. You find it adorable and admirable how much effort they put into pursuing their dreams.

“Wow, you guys are amazing.”

“Nope, we’re just regular guys.” Mingi is too nonchalant about it.

“Don’t sell yourselves short Mingi. You are.” You say, tone frustrated…because let’s face it you are. You notice him blushing.

After talking to Mingi for a while, you slip out onto the balcony for some fresh air. It’s more like a fire escape but more upscale. It was narrow but gave you enough space to breathe.

You were alone for a while…until you weren’t.

Someone steps out, lighting a cigarette, the glow from the lighter illuminating their face. They inhale, then turn to you. “Hey”

You offer a polite smile. “Hey.”

“Want some?” they ask, holding out their cigarette and giving it a little wiggle.

“No thanks, got my own.” You flash your own, which has been burning low between your fingers for a while now.

The stranger steps closer, too close, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture made your stomach churn. You take a step back, but the edge of the balcony presses into your back, leaving you nowhere to go.

He smirks, voice dripping with arrogance. “what’s a pretty girl like you doing here alone?”

You look at him with disgust. “I’m not alone. I came with friends.”

Back inside, Hongjoong, Mingi, Changbin and San are watching you through the glass door. Their expressions harden, fury rising. Hongjoong is the first to move, the others following close behind.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Hongjoong’s tone is threatening.

The guy backs up, shrugging. “Just messing around.”

“The fuck you are.” Hongjoong snaps.

The stranger turns his attention away from you, finally noticing the other four broad and built guys standing behind Hongjoong. His confidence falters “Shit, you guys are no fun.”

“I think it’s best you leave.” Yeosang says.

“Yeah. Leave.” Hongjoong is now taking a step closer.

“Sheesh, whatever.” He flicks his cig butt off the edge of balcony, and heads back inside…not before winking at you.

You flip him off. 

The others follow him to make sure he leaves. Now it’s just you and him left, the city lights stretching out below.

“Thanks”  you mumble, looking down at your feet.

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah.” No.

“Wanna go for a walk, get out of here for a bit”

You look up at him, eyes wide gratitude. “please” you breath, thankful for the lifeline.

“Come quick.” he grabs your hand and leads you to the stairs on the fire escape. You can’t help but let out a giggle as the metal stairs creak beneath your boots, the heels catching between the ridges. His grip firm to keep you from falling. “Come on, keep up.” He teases, glancing back with a grin.

Once you’re on the street, you realise how quiet his neighbourhood is. It’s so different to campus life. You’ve never actually seen an actual neighbourhood since moving here a few months ago. You couldn’t believe how beautiful it was. 

“So, this is your neighbourhood?” You glance around at the unfamiliar street.

“Yeah. it’s not much, but we love it here.” He’s already a few paces in ahead, leading you to a convenience store. “Come, let’s get ice cream.” He grabs your hand again, and you welcome the warmth.

Inside the fluorescent lights buzz over head, quiet jingle sounding music playing as you browse the shelves. You can already feel the headache settling in. The two of you wander the aisles together, debating snacks, holding things up for approval. Eventually you both reach for the same ice cream. At the checkout you grab a cherry flavoured lollipop from the jar near the gum. 

He tries to pay, but you argue. He insists and so do you…but in the end you let him win.

You find a nearby bench and sit, deciding to eat before heading back. Silence hangs between you, before the awkwardness pushes you to speak... “so how have you been?” 

“Good, just been coasting through life.” He replies between bites of ice cream.

“mmhhm same.” The tension was thick.

“Sorry, you know- for what happened on the balcony. We don’t really know the guy, he’s a friend of a friend…” the guilt in his words was clear.

“It’s not your fault…but I guess you could keep better company.” You tease. 

 “You’re right” He chuckles slightly, nodding.

You finished your ice creams in quiet, letting the sounds of the night fill the empty space.

“Let’s get back before everyone noticed we’re gone.” you say, unwrapping your lollipop and popping it into your mouth with a smile. Hongjoong watches, amused…remembering you saying you had a soft spot for girly things. He can’t help but notice how happy you look.

He just nods and starts walking, but when he notices you aren’t following, he calls back. “Are you coming or what?”

You nod. “Are you sure I’m allowed to be seen with you?” you tease. “Your girlfriend might kill me.” You try to keep your tone light, playing it off as a joke.

He stops mid-stride, turning to look at you with raised brows. His tone playful but laced with something more serious. A tone akin to the one you heard earlier. “You and this girlfriend thing…I told you already.”

You nudge him in the shoulder, with a grin. “I know, I know. I’m just messing.” He knows you’re not.

“Oh, you’re impossible.”

You stop dead in your tracks, now standing directly in front of him. Pulling the lolly out, you deadpan “or am I.” then you pop it back in your mouth and walk ahead. 

But before you could escape, he grabs your wrist, pulling you back over to him, pulling your closer.

“If I had a girlfriend.” He paused, locking eyes with you, pupils dilated. “Would I do this?” 

He takes the stick of the lollipop, pulling it from your mouth with a satisfying pop. Your expression is unreadable, but inside you’re freaking out. His other hand comes up to rest gently against your cheek, before he leans in, pressing a firm, reassuring kiss to your lips, before pulling away, with a smirk on his face. He pops your sweet into his mouth and breaks out into a jog, running ahead, hands tucked in his pockets.

You stood there stunned. And annoyed. HELLO?? THAT’S MINE??

“HEY! Give that back.” You chase after him, the sound of your heels hitting the pavement echoing through the street.

“mmhmm, cherry flavour my favourite!” he teases, picking up speed.

“HONGJOONG!!!” you break out into fits of giggles. “GIVE IT BACK! WAIT FOR ME.”

Back at his apartment, you both lingered downstairs. The lollipop long finished by Hongjoong. “You owe me a new one.” You playfully pout.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He moves closer to you, hands brushing your sides. “Before we go back to the chaos, I want to do one more thing.”

“What?” the words came out quiet…too quiet. He laughs.

“This.” He cups both of your cheeks and kisses you again. It starts out soft, gentle. But you want more, so you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip. He laughs, and you swear you felt your heart skip a beat.

He lets you in, letting you take control. The kiss is nothing like he’s felt before. It’s slow, deliberate, like it carried meaning. The taste of cherry on your tongue and the feeling of your glossed lips moving so slowly against his own, was enough to make him want to feel this for the rest of his life. He wants to take over and give you more. When you pulled away, he swore he could cry.

You give him no time to react, quickly making your way back up the fire escape stairs. Pride swells in your chest when you don’t hear him following.

You walk back into the party like nothing happened. Yunho greets you immediately, concern etched in his voice. “Hey y/n, you good? I heard about what happened?” 

“Yeah, I good” you say with a wide smile…you are now, FOR SURE.

“Have you seen Joong?”

“Nope” you say before excusing yourself and finding your friends.

You sink into the empty sofa, stretching out comfortably, one leg hanging off the edge. You slip into conversation with Yeji, San, and Changbin…where Felix was... you didn’t know. The group feels easy, like they’ve always been your friends.

From across the room, Hongjoong can’t help himself. His eyes keep drifting back to you, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the conversation happening right in front of him. He watches the way you laugh, head thrown back, the way your gestures are more animated when you tease San about his earlier impatience. You look so at ease, laid out across his sofa like you belong there.

He takes a sip of his beer, watching as you smile at Yeju who’s now standing above you. He feels his chest tighten. He watches as Yeji flops herself onto of you, both of you full on belly laughing. He can’t help it. He feels the corners of his own mouth twitch. He knows he should look away, but he doesn’t.

Mingi notices, nudging him with a stupid grin. “You’re not even trying to be subtle, man.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “Shut up.” But he doesn’t deny it.

The night carries on, everyone chatting and drinking, the earlier tension long forgotten. You catch sight of Wooyoung and San getting cozy on the sofa, their shoulders pressed together, Wooyoung has one leg tucked slightly behind Sans, heads leaning close. You laugh, rolling your eyes, nudging Yeji to point it out. She smirks knowingly, and the two of you dissolve into giggles.

Eventually, you all decide to leave. Felix emerging from a room you didn’t know existed with Yeosang and two others who you now know as Seonghwa and Jongho. They snuck away to play video games… typical.

“San, don’t forget we’ve got work tomorrow.” you remind him, tugging at his sleeve. He groans dramatically, earning a chorus of teasing. You turn to Wooyoung with a wink. “Sorry for stealing him away.”

The walk home is quiet, the December air crisp against your cheeks. Once back in your dorm, you collapse onto your bed, still buzzing from the night.

Your phone vibrates. An unknown number. You hesitate, then open the message.

UNKNOWN: we’ve got one more show before we leave for the holidays. You should come.

You stare at the message, you watch as another text comes in. The details for the show.

Before you could reply, wanting to ask who it was. Another message came through.

UNKNOWN: Cherry really is my favourite btw ;)

You stare at the screen, heart racing. Hongjoong.

Kicking your feet excitedly under your covers, you bury your face in your pillows, unable to hide the smile on your face.

The final few weeks of college pass by in a blur of exams and busy shifts. Everyone’s social lives on campus come to a standstill. The dorms heavy with exhaustion and stale air as everyone stays cooped up in their rooms, besides leaving for lectures, work or the library. Your desk is littered with open textbooks, coffee cups which have now accumulated into a stack...right next to the OTHER stack of cup ramen.

You abruptly wake up from your nap, head snapping up from your desk, wiping the drool off your face. Dazed and confused you reach for your clock to check the time. 8pm. Your pulse quickens, 8PM!! You fell asleep for 4 hours. Shit. You notice you have 2 missed calls and a few messages.

2 MISSED CALLS. Yeji <3.

NEW MESSAGE FROM UNKNOWN: Finals are brutal huh?

Hongjoong. You hadn’t even realised you still hadn’t saved his number.

You’re about to click his contact to save his number, when your phone starts vibrating in your hand.

Incoming call: UNKNOWN.

Oh. Oh no. oh shit, is this really happening??? 

You hesitate, then pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

There’s a short pause on the line before he spoke again. Your stomach flipped.

“Hey, I’m grabbing some food near campus. Thought I’d see if you’re down to study together and eat?” 

This must be some sick joke right?

“I could swing by? That’s if you’re free…No pressure.” 

You look around at the state of yours and Yeji’s dorm, suddenly feeling disgusted, offended even, by the sight of it.

“oh um…” you stall.

“It’s ok if you don’t want to-” 

“no no no!” You cut him off so quick that you cringe. “It’s just, we’ve been studying so much our room’s a mess…Don’t judge us…please.” You let out an awkward laugh, cursing yourself and Yeji for putting your education first like responsible adults.

You hear him laugh in response and you slowly drop your head back to your desk…this is so mortifying.

“Well we could always go to mine?” whaaaaaaaaaaaat?

“I mean…I guess. That works.” 

“oh..cool. I can meet you at mine. I’m getting takeout. Any recommendations.” He seemed shocked by your response, like he was expecting rejection. You start to regret your decision.

“um no, I don’t think I’ve had takeout around here before. You pick, I’m not fussy.”

“Cool, I’ll see you at mine by 9?” 

Again…you respond too quickly, agreeing before hanging up and staring at your phone like it’s just committed the worst betrayal of all time.

You spend the next 30 minutes frantically moving around your room. Throwing on some jeans and an oversized flannel, instead of your joggers and stained tshirt. Splashing water on your face, brushing your teeth and hair, and applying a little makeup.

By the time you’re on the way to Hongjoong’s apartment, your heart is beating uncontrollably. And the reality of the situation is starting to settle in, you’re meeting Hongjoong alone, at his…and you’re painfully sober. And that’s a problem, this is the first time you’ll be hanging out with him without something in your system, something to loosen your tongue and calm your nerves. 

But now everything is real, too real, and now you’re scared.

You’re approaching Hongjoong’s apartment, when you see him lingering outside the entrance, leaning against the wall with a takeout back in his hand.

He spots you and grins, before pushing the door open and holding it for you. “Well look who decided to show up.”

“I could’ve taken longer you know.” Hongjoong just laughs and leads the way. 

You follow him upstairs, the stairwell echoing the with your footsteps. Once you’re inside the apartment, he puts the food on the coffee table between the sofas and tell you to “make yourself at home.” 

You watch his as he retreats into the small kitchen. You slip off your shoes and make your way to the nearest sofa. Looking around, you take in the scenery of his and Wooyoung’s shared apartment. It looks so different when it’s not filled to the brim with college students and rap playing through speakers.

In the corner of your eye, you spot a pink guitar leaned against the wall by some other music things. It was gorgeous. You wondered who it belonged to.

Their apartment was incredibly clean. The apartment smelled like clean laundry and a hint of boy musk…but not in a bad way. Which this was a shock…college boys didn’t tend to keep clean. This made it easier to relax a little. You reach out to grab your bag, placing it on your lap before unpacking your books and putting them onto the large coffee table. Deciding it was too far away, you moved to sit on the floor, making it easier to use the table.

Hongjoong returns not too long after with a few plates, chopsticks and some cups. He settles not too far from you, but not close enough for it to be awkward.

“I decided on Chinese. I hope that’s OK.” He rubs the back of his neck, wearing a lazy smile.

“Nice! I love Chinese.” You reassure him.

He starts unloading thing’s from the bag, placing it on the table, putting drinks into cups. “Help yourself, but please try the fried rice. It’s the best in this city.” You can tell he’s trying to not make this feel weird.

“So,” he says, opening a takeout container. “What do you study then? I don’t think we’ve ever spoken about it.”

You let out a laugh, amused by the ridiculousness of it. “True. I study chemistry…you?”

He looks at you with wide eyes… “I’m studying literature.” He said slowly, still in shock by your answer.

Hongjoong blinks at you, still processing the word chemistry like it personally offended him.

“Chemistry” he repeats, eyebrows raised. “Like… actual science? Lab coats and explosions?”

You laugh. “Not everything explodes.”

“Yeah, but enough things do.” He nudges your knee lightly with his. “Meanwhile I’m over here writing essays about dead poets with daddy issues.”

You snort, and he grins like he’s proud of himself for getting that reaction.

He opens another container and pushes it toward you. “Here. Try this one.”

You take a bite, and he watches you…not in a weird way, just… curious. Like he wants to see your reaction.

“mmhm it’s good!” you nod in approval, and he relaxes a little.

“It’s my favourite.” He says with a small smile.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Not awkward, just comfortable.

Then he reaches into the takeout bag again.

“Oh..right.” He pulls out a small, crinkled wrapper and holds it out to you. “I got you this.”

You look down. A cherry lollipop.

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I, uh… stole yours. You said I owe you one so.” he wiggles it around in the space between you.

You take it from him, your fingers brushing his. A tiny spark shoots up your arm, and you almost flinch.

“Thanks.” you say softly, avoiding his gaze.

“Don’t make it weird” he teases, but his smile is warm. “It’s just candy.”

It’s not just candy. You both know that.

You place it on the table before grabbing your notebooks and flipping them open.

he says, clearing his throat, “Are you actually any good at chemistry?” 

“I’m pretty good.” you say, trying not to sound defensive.

“Oh, I believe you.” He leans in slightly, elbow brushing yours. “You give off smart‑kid energy.”

You roll your eyes. “And you give off… literature‑major energy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Brooding. Dramatic. Probably writes lyrics in the margins of your notes.”

His mouth twitches. “I do not brood.”

“You literally brooded outside the building waiting for me.”

“That was leaning.” he corrects, pointing at you with his chopsticks. “Very different.”

You laugh again, and he looks pleased with himself.

The studying starts naturally, your books spread across the table, his notebook open beside yours. He leans close when he asks questions, close enough that you can smell the fresh laundry on his hoodie. Every time his hand brushes yours while reaching for a pen or flipping a page, your breath catches.

He notices. Of course he notices.

At one point, he leans over your shoulder to look at a diagram in your textbook, his hand resting lightly on the floor beside your knee. His voice is low, warm, close enough that you feel it more than hear it.

“So this is what you do all day?” he murmurs.

“Pretty much. We’re not really doing lab work until next semester.”

He hums. “No wonder you’re always stressed.”

You glance at him. “And you’re not?”

He shrugs. “I mean, yeah. But I get to read stories and write stuff. You’re out here doing math.”

“Chemistry isn’t just math.”

“It’s math with extra steps.”

You shove his shoulder lightly, and he laughs, a soft, breathy sound that makes your stomach twist.

The room settles into a warm hush, broken only by the occasional sigh or muttered complaint about finals.

Time blurs.

At some point, you reach for the cherry lollipop he bought you. The wrapper crackles, a small, sharp sound in the quiet.

Hongjoong hears it instantly.

He doesn’t look up at first, but something in him shifts, a tiny, almost imperceptible pause in the way he turns a page.

You unwrap it, pop it into your mouth, and keep reading.

He tries to keep his eyes on his notes. He really does.

But the soft click of the candy against your teeth…the way your lips part around the red gloss of it…the faint cherry scent that drifts across the small space between you…

It unravels him.

His mind slips. Uninvited, unstoppable. back to that night. The taste of cherry on your tongue when you kissed him, soft and sudden and so sweet it nearly knocked him out.

He remembers the way you’d pulled back, breathless, eyes wide like you couldn’t believe you’d done it. He remembers wanting to pull you right back in.

He remembers thinking about it for days after. Every night since.

Now, watching you with that same candy between your lips… It’s too much.

His pupils dilate. His throat tightens. A slow heat crawls up his neck, settling under his skin like a fever.

He tries to focus on his book, but the words blur. He tries to breathe normally, but it comes out uneven, each breath shaking on its way out. He tries to be subtle, but he’s losing the battle.

You don’t notice at first, too absorbed in your notes, pen tapping lightly against the page. But eventually… you feel it, that stare, It’s heavy, warm. Almost desperate.

You look up.

Your eyes meet his, wide, innocent, curious and he freezes like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

You tilt your head slightly, pen still in hand, and reach up with your other to pull the lollipop from your mouth. The candy leaves your lips with a soft pop. The candy glinting red under the lamplight. Your lips are still parted, breath soft, eyes wide and impossibly innocent as you look up at him.

“What?” The word is small. Soft. Completely unaware of the chaos it detonates in him.

Hongjoong’s breath hitches just barely, his pen slips slightly in his hand. He blinks once, slow, like he’s trying to reset his brain before it betrays him any further.

Because you’re sitting there on his living room floor, surrounded by textbooks and half‑finished notes, looking at him like that, like you don’t know what you’re doing to him.

He swallows, throat tight.

“You…” he starts, voice lower than he meant it to be. He clears it quickly, trying to steady himself. “You just-”

He gestures vaguely toward you, toward the lollipop, toward the whole situation, like the words won’t line up.

“You’re distracting.” he finally says, barely above a whisper.

The room goes still. Your pen hovers mid‑air. Your eyes widen just a fraction more.

And Hongjoong knows he’s in trouble, the kind of trouble that feels a little like falling and a little like wanting to.

Hongjoong blinks hard, trying to pull himself out of whatever daze you’ve put him in. He clears his throat, scoots a little closer, and taps the corner of your worksheet.

“Uh-this one.” he says, voice a little too casual. “Explain it to me?”

You nod, shifting your textbook toward him. He leans in. You lean in. Your shoulders almost touch.

Almost.

You start explaining the problem, a basic reaction equation, nothing complicated. But your voice feels too loud in the quiet room. You point to the numbers, the arrows, the balancing steps. He watches your hand move across the page.

But he’s not listening.

Not really.

Because you’re still sucking on that damn cherry lollipop.

You keep talking, oblivious to the way he’s unravelling. Your voice is soft, steady, explaining the reaction step by step. He nods, pretending to follow, but his eyes keep flicking to your mouth.

He doesn’t notice he’s drifting closer.

Not until your knees brush.

Not until your breath mixes with his.

Something snaps.

Before he can think, before he can stop himself, Hongjoong leans in and kisses you.

It’s quick. Your gasp caught between his lips. He swallows the sound with ease, pulling back just enough to see your expression.

You’re wide‑eyed. Stunned. Breathless.

He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“I just…” he murmurs, voice low. “…really like the taste of cherry.”

He leans back against the sofa, pretending to be casual, but his cheeks are flushed and his breathing isn’t steady.

Something sparks in you, confidence, boldness, something reckless.

Before he can process it, you’re moving, crawling slightly across the floor toward him, the lollipop still in your hand. His eyes widen, but he doesn’t move.

You lean in and place a gentle kiss on his lips.

It’s soft. Barely there. But it destroys him.

Whatever restraint he had left flickers out like a blown fuse.

His hand comes up instinctively, fingers sliding to the nape of your neck as he pulls you in for a deeper kiss, slow, warm, hungry in a way that feels like he’s been holding it back for far too long.

He shifts, back pressed to the sofa, and you’re still on your hands and knees when he pulls you closer, guiding you into his lap without thinking. Your knees settle at his sides, your lolly long forgotten. His other hand coming down to grip your hip a little too tight, like he’s trying to pull you down further into his lap. The sudden closeness causes you to gasp into the kiss, because you can feel him, hard and pulsing against your core. Hongjoong let’s out a smug laugh.

 The world narrows to the sound of your breathing, the warmth of his hands, the soft press of your mouths. You grind down, before you could stop yourself, your brain deciding you needed to feel more, threading your fingers in his hair. Hongjoong’s head falls back against the cushions of the sofa, abandoning the kiss. He goes to speak but before he could get the words out. The front door bursts open.

“Oh.”

“OH MY GOD-”

Wooyoung. Mingi.

You shove yourself off Hongjoong so fast you nearly topple over your textbooks. Your face is burning. Hongjoong’s isn’t much better, pink‑cheeked, hair tussled, lips definitely swollen…and wearing a smug little half‑smile that makes everything worse.

Wooyoung whistles. “Wow. Really guys? In my living room?”

Mingi grins, walking over and assessing the contents of the table, flicking a page or two of your textbooks. “Didn’t know we were interrupting a chemistry lesson.”

Hongjoong groans. You want the floor to swallow you whole.

“H‑hi.” you manage, voice embarrassingly small. “Um… I should probably head out. It’s getting late.”

“Already?” Wooyoung teases. “Aww, don’t go on our account.”

You scramble to pack your things, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Hongjoong stands, rubbing the back of his neck, still looking far too pleased for someone who just got caught.

“Thanks for the food.” you mumble. “And… the quiet study time.”

“Anytime.” he says, but the way he says it makes your stomach flip.

You slip past Wooyoung and Mingi, who both give you matching knowing smirks as you escape into the hallway.

The door closes behind you.

And you break.

You press your hands to your face, pacing in a tiny circle, whispering frantic little noises of disbelief to yourself.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. What was that. What did I just- oh my GOD.”

You cringe so hard your soul tries to leave your body.

But under the embarrassment… there’s something else.

A warmth. A thrill. A memory of cherry and breathless laughter and the way he pulled you in like he’d been waiting for it.

You make it three steps down the hallway before your brain finally catches up with your body.

Then it hits you.

You kissed Hongjoong. Hongjoong kissed you, AGAIN. You were in his LAP. Wooyoung and Mingi SAW.

You stop walking. Your soul leaves your body.

You press both hands to your face and whisper, “No. Nope. Absolutely not. That was social suicide. I’m never going to live that down.” Your freak out continues.

Down the hall, their door opens slightly, someone peeks out, sees you having a meltdown, and silently closes it again. Mingi.

You pace in a tiny circle, muttering:

“Why did I crawl? Why did I crawl? Who crawls? Who does that? I’m a grown adult. I have a degree- well no, almost…three years from now but STILL.”

You smack your forehead lightly. “And the lollipop. THE LOLLIPOP. Oh my god. EWWWW.”

You groan into your hands.

Meanwhile, behind the door you just left.

“She’s freaking out.” Mingi turns to the others, clearly amused.

“So.” Wooyoung says casually. “you two looked… busy.”

Hongjoong closes his eyes. “We were studying.”

“Mm.” Wooyoung nods, pretending to think. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“WE WERE STUDYING WOOYOUNG.”

“BRO, YOU HAD HER IN YOUR LAP-”

“Shut up” Hongjoong groans.

“I can’t believe you were making out on the FLOOR.”

“Bro, your hair is literally messed up.”

Hongjoong touches his hair. It is messed up. He grins harder.

Wooyoung narrows his eyes. “Why do you look so smug?”

Hongjoong shrugs, trying to play it cool. “No reason.”

Mingi adds “Her face was SO red.” Laughing to himself.

“So was his.” Wooyoung fires back.

“Both of you get out of my apartment.”

“I literally live here.” Wooyoung pushes past him.

You freeze in the hallway, mortified… but also smiling like an idiot.

Because despite the embarrassment, despite the chaos, despite the fact that you may never show your face in public again…You wouldn’t change a thing.

Finals are finally over! And you now get to spend time doing things that really benefit you… like sitting in chat rooms for hours and editing your profile. You pull up a chair and sit in front of the dorm’s computer. You crack your knuckles over the keyboard, the glow of monitor lighting up your room. Yeji is behind you on her bed, flipping through a magazine and humming to the Brittany song coming from your CD player.

xXx_y/nInURDreamz: exams are over!!! what’s the 411?

You hit send, the chat window starts blinking…you wait for it to explode.

Felix is first to respond… always is.

Lixxie99: Dive bar duhhh.

Lixxie99: like where else would we celebrate lol…and your boyfriends band playing ;P

You scoff at his response, but mentally facepalm because how could you forget??

xXx_y/nInURDreamz: OMG no. 

Yeji rolls off her bed and slides into her desk beside you, dialling up her own computer. typing with one hand while the other is applying chapstick.

A new message pops up – Changbin, typing like he can’t formulate a coherent sentence in one message.

Changbinnie: YO! 

Changbinnie: I’m in

Changbinnie: but only if you guys promise to buy my drinks

Changbinnie: im broke :’-(

yejibbyXoX0: I second that motion

yejibbyXoX0: when are you not broke?

YejibbyXoX0: is san AFK? It say’s he’s online.

You laugh, leaning back in your chair. “he spent all his money on protein power.”

Yeji snorts.

San joins…likes he been monitoring the chat this whole time.

3annie_: ok ok whats going on?

3annie_: I’ve got like 100 notifs

xXx_y/nInURDreamz: speaking of lmao.

Lixxie99: keep up grandpa

3annie_: excuse me? I am youthful :(

3annie_: dive bar yes I’m in

xXx_y/nInURdreamz: ok so dive @ 9?

The last messages flood in, the boys agreeing to meet you there. You close the window and shut the computer off.

“Alright, let’s get ready!!” Yeji is still typing in the chat.

You glance at the clock, 6:30pm. You decide to get ready slowly, letting the anticipation settle into your bones. You hadn’t heard from Hongjoong since the night at his apartment and you couldn’t help but feel awkward…did he even want you there tonight?

You had decided on wearing low rise jeans, the ones that hug you just right. A black square neck vest that hugged at your chest, paired with a leather bomber. Your chunky boots thud against the floor as you move around the dorm. You’re busy smoothing over your hair and touching up your makeup one last time, when your cell phone buzzes. You reach into your tiny bag to pull out your flip phone. 

Hongjoong: are you coming tonight?

You stare at the message for an unnecessary amount of time, a wave of relief washing over you as you read the words over and over. You response with a short “I’ll be there.”

Before tossing it back into your bag. 

Yeji takes one last look at you before she goes to put on her shoes. “Hongjoong is going to lose his mind…he might have to fight someone.”

You laugh as you pull open the door “yeah right.”  But you couldn’t help but feel a pool of heat building up in your tummy.

The dive bar is already buzzing when you arrive. The bouncer recognises you both from last time and waves you in with a nod. Inside, the air is warm and thick, so thick it coated your lungs. The neon signs humming against the walls in colours and designs that weren’t there last time. The floors as sticky as ever, the crowed thick. Everyone in this place feels like they’re hanging onto their last lifeline…like they’re here is for the same reason: to blow off some academic steam.

You and Yeji make your way to the bar, weaving through clusters of people you recognise from campus. Chan spots you immediately, leaning forward with a grin like he’s been waiting for friendly faces to show up and make his shift easier.

“Well, look who’s back.”

You smile. “miss us?” you mind drifts back to the last night here with Ateez, and how Chan had joined you after the place had gone quiet.

“Always. What can I get you?”

“Four tequila shots.” Chan shoots you a look…and shakes his head with a little laugh.

He lines them up, salt and lime and all…but when you reach for your wallet, he shakes his head.

“Not tonight.”

You frown “Chan-”

He cuts you off but putting his pointer finger over his lips, you look at him wide eyed, shocked by his audacity.

“I’ve been told to not let the pretty girl and her pretty friend pay for anything.”

You both freeze, then blush. Yeji mutters something like “Those boys are insufferable.” with a laugh. Chan gestures to the shots, you down the first one, it burns at first but you love the feeling, both gagging at taste before giggling.

Now that you’ve taken the liquid courage, you decide to find the rest of the group, but to no avail…the sounds and vibrations swallow the sound of your calls to Changbin’s cell phone and the room is too busy…so naturally you guys slip into conversation with a couple people from your chem class, deciding to grab another few drinks with them. Time slips by without you noticing, and before you know it.

The lights dim.

The crowd shifts, tightening around the stage. A burst of excitement moves through the room, and you and Yeji exchange a look before pushing forward. But you couldn’t get too close, Changbin and San aren’t here to bulldoze a path for you, but you’re close enough.

The crowd cheers and you feel your stomach flip. You push yourself onto your tiptoes and watch as Ateez walk across the stage. You bring your hands to your mouth before screaming “OH MY GOD IT’S HONGJOONG” before bursting into laughter while Yeji slaps you back in fits of giggles.

Hongjoong chuckles, looking around to try and find the source, he recognises your voice, but doesn’t seem to find you.

Yeosang hit’s the first cord, a rugged guitar sound before Mingi kicks in on the drums. Hongjoong steps into the hue of orange stage light, hair pushed back, wearing the focused expression you’ve grown to love, right before he sings. 

Your chest tightens, as his voice carries through the small venue, pride, affection, something warm and strange…

The crowd moves like a single body. You allow yourself to lose yourself in it, letting the music consume you.

That’s when you feel Yeji jab you in the side. “There.” She shouts over the music, pointing slightly to the left.

You stop, follow her gaze. You see San, waving for you over from a pocket of space near the front with the others. You both push through, exchanging smalls sorry’s and hello’s to anyone you recognised. Then suddenly you’re right at the front, and you can see everything – the lights, the wires, the sweat that adorned their faces and the way Hongjoong’s eyes scan the room.

Then he see’s you. And he smiles.

But this smile isn’t the usual stage smile, it’s not polite…it’s a smile reserved only for you. And you smile back, with a little wave. He copies and the crowed loses it. Your friends behind you going absolutely ballistic.

And San see’s this as the perfect opportunity to lean close, voice low.

“So…that chemistry session was true huh?” he laughs.

You whip your head towards him, eyes wide. He just winks and makes a mocking kissy face. You punch his arm…not hard, but enough to make him hiss. He shoots you a pout before whispering “Don’t hit me…Hit Wooyoung.” He shouts over the music.

Well, Wooyoung isn’t here right now…so he will do. You whack his arm again. Raising a brow and San quickly diverts his attention back to the stage.

The lights shift before the next song, and the crowd feels it. The subtle tightening, the shift on stage. The band had rarely paused between tracks the few times you’d seen them, so the sudden stillness pulls everyone forward.

Yunho steps up to his mic, breathless and grinning. “This next one is new.” His voice echoing through the speakers. “So, uh…be kind please.”

The crowd laughs, but your attention is already drifting.

Hongjoong disappears behind one of the tall speakers, crouching down like he’s digging through something. When he stands again, your breath catches.

He’s holding a pink guitar. The pink guitar from his apartment. The one you’d seen leaning against the wall.

He steps back into the light, adjusting the strap. He doesn’t look at you, he commands the stage. But when his eyes finally flicker towards you, just for a second…your pulse jumps.

He strums. 

The sound hits you like a shockwave. Deep. Heavy. Raw.

Mingi’s voice comes in with a growl, layered with Yunho’s fry screams that send the crowd into a frenzy. The whole group feels different, they look different.

But Hongjoong is something else.

His fingers move fast, the pink guitar snarling and purring under his touch. The lights flash across his face, catching the sharp line of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. He looks alive, but in a way you’ve never seen before. His passion is clear as the strings bite at their fingertips, until the songs memory is carved into them and crimson blood scatters across the guitar. He moves with a kind of reckless devotion, one that looks like it should hurt, but he doesn’t stop, and it leaves you feeling envious of the instrument. 

You’re swept up in it all, but you feel something shift…out of nowhere, you’re shoved from behind, sharp enough to jolt you forward.

You turn, startled, greeted by somebody you’d hoped to never see again.

The girl that threated you. His EX?

She gives you a look that’s filled with venom and insecurity and mouths a half arsed, vile “I’m sorry.” before turning to her friends and laughing.

You can’t help but let out an amused scoff, while moving to step forward to try catch her. But Yeji grabs your arm. “Don’t.” she warns.

You listen, choosing to ignore her pathetic attempt at high school level bullying.

But Hongjoong saw the whole situation. Of course he did. He’s not angry, his behaviour not reckless but decisive, like something finally clicks into place.

During the next chorus, he steps forward, in your direction. Closer and closer. He swings his guitar to his side and crouches at the edge of the stage, right in front of you. Time freezes and your stomach flips, a nervous bubbling feels like it’s making it’s way up your throat. You watch his face, casted in a golden haze, sweat catching the light, come closer…and closer and closer, eyes locked on yours. His hand finds your jaw, his blood stained fingers slip into your hair and he pulls you in.

It’s not rushed, not messy but it’s absolutely for show. A kiss that says I will choose you every time, in front of everyone.

The crowed screams, and somewhere behind you, his ex goes silent.

Hongjoong pulls back, just enough to look at you… really look at you, then places one last soft peck on your lips before turning and launching back into the song like nothing happened.

You stand there shocked, unable to take in the final moments of their set, temporally blacking out…freaking out actually, because what the fuck? You’re not used to this, to being seen, to being chosen so loudly. 

So, while everyone around you was dancing to the last song, you were spiralling, overthinking every action you’d made in the last 2 hours…

The set ends with the crash of Mingi’s drums, and a screech from Wooyoung’s amp. When they finally stepped off stage, they were buzzing. The post gig adrenaline still humming under their skin, slick sweat cooling on their necks, and hearts pounding. But underneath that energy, sits a hollow ache, the kind that hits after every gig. Every time they leave the stage, it feels like a little of them is left behind. A piece they won’t get it back until they’re in the spotlight again.

Your friends suggest sticking around, San mentions something about meeting them backstage for drinks…the thought stirred something in you. Excitement and fear.

Backstage was dim, walls littered with graffiti, stickers, posters, and even signatures from bands…their legacies either carried on or left long forgotten. The room smelled like sweat, old wood and cheap leather sofas that feared black lights.

Mingi tosses Hongjoong a water bottle. “That crowd felt bigger, right? I’m not going crazy?”

Wooyoung nods, leaning against the table. “Yeah, something felt different.”

Hongjoong just nods in agreement, chugging water, and flexing his taped fingers.

Yeosang and Yunho exchange a looking. A Is he seriously not going to talk about the kiss? look

Then you and your friends burst in, laughing, shouting praises and giggling. The two boys shoot you a look of confusion…

Yunho is the first to break “Sooo. Front row looked fun…”

Yeosang muffles his laugh. “Are we pretending that kiss didn’t happen?”

Everyone else just laughs, like they’ve seen it before, or had been expecting it for a while now.

You laugh “mind your business.”

He just smirks “I mean you made it my business when you both started making out during my set.”

Chan walked in at just the right moment, holding a small cooler of beers “You kids are messy.” He says, cracking one open. “Good show, though.”

Everyone settles into their own rhythm, you’re sitting with Yeji who’s hanging off Mingi’s arm, making him blush so hard he can’t even look at her. The rest of the guys are huddled around a table with a deck of cards, and you could’ve sworn you heard Changbin counting bets.

You head for the cooler, reaching for a drink when Hongjoong suddenly appears, hair still damp, shirt clinging to him and fingers taped. He looked tired, but in the best way, like he was fulfilled, flushed and still buzzing with post gig adrenaline. 

He stops just in front of you, wearing a look you can’t place.

“You good?”

He nods once “Yeah.”

It’s not the answer you wanted, but you tell yourself he’s tired.

You grab you drink and walk to the open window. You feel him follow.

You’re leaning out of the window, and he leans on the wall beside you, like he’s waiting for you to speak. You don’t. You turn slightly to look at him, to study his features, then go back to looking out the window.

He makes a face…his lips pursed and eyes wide like a begging puppy. “Are you gonna pretend you didn't kiss me? and enjoy it."

Heat floods your cheeks, oh, he’s playing. So, you play back. “Hmm. Not sure I remember that.”

He gives you a look, and it excites you as much as it scares you. “Don’t start.” His voice stern.

“I can’t promise that.” You shrug, a challenge.

He glances around, everyone’s busy, distracted. Nobody’s watching. Or so he thought.

He steps closer, his hand brushing yours, fingers hooking with yours, playing with them. Testing the waters.

“Come here.” His tone still serious.

And you do.

He kisses you again, but this time it’s different, it’s slower and deeper, like the night in his apartment. Like he’d been reliving that moment until he got the chance to do it again. And the kiss on stage had only made him crave you more. The kiss was warm, the feeling of him pulling slightly at the small tufts of hair at the nape of your neck makes your knees give out, but you catch yourself.

He pulls back, his forehead resting against yours. “Let’s get out of here.” His voice low, you could feel the vibration of his words run through you.

You whisper “Okay.” 

And with a quick glance around, you slip out the back door together, hand in hand, mischievous looks on your faces, thinking you’d gotten away with it.

But inside, Wooyoung murmurs “Did they really think we couldn’t see them” He doesn’t even look up from his cards.

The group erupts into hysterics.

Mingi perks up, eyes wide “Oh I wonder where they’re going. Whose room is doomed”

Wooyoung’s eyes shoot up from his cards. “oh no.”

Yeji cringes “She wouldn’t!”

Yunho and Yeosang are still confused. “What is happening?”

But you and Hongjoong, unaware of the terror you’ve just caused, make your way to his apartment. The walk to his apartment was quiet, the city lights paint you both in gold, and the frosty air feels good against your flushed skin. You brush your hand against his, testing, and he takes it.

When you reach his apartment, he unlocks his door, but you notice how his hands shake. He steps aside, letting you in first. The soft click of the door closing behind you sends a shiver down your spine.

You turn, slowly. He’s already watching, looking at you with anticipation. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes your pulse stutter. Your brain tried to process it, tries to play catch up, but everything feels like it’s on a half-second delay with reality.

You feel stuck, like your body can’t move. You’re frozen. Not with fear. Frozen with too much.

Too much adrenaline, too much want, too much him.

Your thoughts are all over the place, tripping over themselves, your body just won’t move.

You just stand there, only able to watch him as he takes a step closer.

You feel your breath catch in your throat. Your brain is now screaming for you to move, do something, anything. But your legs don’t listen.

He tilts his head slightly, cocky, when your eyes widen. Like he’s filing away every tiny reaction, every flicker of response you give him.

Another step, he moves closer, his hands find your waist. “You don’t understand how much you fuck with my head.” His words, the contact, sends a shock through you so strong your knees almost give out.

You scrunch your nose, your body finally ready to cooperate “huh?”

He exhales, a frustrated, helpless sound. “You make me want things I’ve never even thought about.” His thumbs trace small circles into your hips, soft and deliberate.

“like?” you’re breathless.

“like? I don’t know, everything. You make me want to do better. You make me want you.” 

The words leave you before you can even think them through, breathless and raw. Filled with months of building ache and want. The walls you’ve been rebuilding, and the self doubt you’ve been feeling come crashing down, hard. “You’ve had me for a while, Hongjoong.”

“Fuck.” He whispers. His hands raise to cup your cheeks, pulling you into a kiss. A kiss so desperate your teeth bump, both struggling to keep at each other’s rhythm. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, not pulling, just holding, like you needed it to ground you. He leans into your touch, like he’s begging you to do something.

Then he pulls away. Gently, he slips one hand down to lace his fingers with yours.

“Come!” He tugs at your hand, pulling you along. Your legs feel heavy as your cross his apartment. You enter a short hallway you’ve never seen before, and suddenly you can hear your pulse in your ears.

He pushes open a door, and you stop dead in your tracks. His room. The room was dimly lit, only by a small lamp and some string lights, that casted the room in a soft amber glow. It’s messy, but not in a gross way…a way that feels lived in. It was comfortable and a little chaotic. It felt like him. A couple guitars rest on stands in the corner next to some recording equipment that had seen better days. A small desk pushed against the wall, cluttered with tangled cables and his textbooks. 

Hongjoong watches you as you take it all in. You walk over to his desk, where a mic stand stood, leaning at a questionable angle. Set just beside everything was a pair of headphones and a stack of notebooks. You pick one up, and flick through the pages. Hongjoong goes to move, to stop you but he decided not to. The notebook was filled with scribbled lyrics and doddles. You can’t help but smile, your heart feeling like it was going to burst at the seams.

Placing the notebook back down, you take a final look around. His walls were covered in posters, the typical bands like Nirvana, Weezer, The Smashing Pumpkins, and a few local bands you’ve never heard of. One poster was signed, the ink smudged and faded.

He watches your reactions still, feeling shy for the first time tonight.

“Sorry.” he murmurs, his arms crosses and self-soothing by rubbing. “It’s…kind of a mess.”

You shake your head, still taking it all in. “No! It’s very you. I like it.”

He laughs, walking closer. Bringing your attention back to the lyric books. He wraps his arms around your waist, placing his head into the crook of your neck. “You’re not going to steal my lyrics, are you?” he jokes.

“Mmhm. That was my plan all along. I’ll start my own band with Yeji, might even steal Yunho and Mingi.”

He gasps with faux shock. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

He gasps again but this time louder, which caused you to laugh, and something cracks inside of him, he places a small peck on your neck. You let out a soft hum, he takes this as a sign to continue. He places another kiss, this time lingering longer, and pulling you in closer. Another followed, he licked a stripe from the crook of your neck to just below your ear, he was slow, enjoying, savouring the saltiness of your skin. He places one last open mouth kiss on your neck, you let out a breathless moan.

You turn to face him, wanting to be closer. Suddenly with a surge of confidence after your brain had been stagnant, you place a firm hand on his chest and push him towards the bed. His legs hit the edge and he sits, pulling you into his lap. You kiss him, holding his face. You pull away for a moment, looking at him, wanting to take in his image, because what if this never happens again. He’s looking back at you, doing the same, pupils dilated and lips pursed. 

“Hi.” you whisper, wearing a lazy smile.

He huffs, tired of waiting. He lifts you of off his lap and flips you over, now taking up space between your legs. You both laugh as you hit the mattress, and you pull him closer.

“Are you okay? Do you want this?” He asks as he adjusts, settling on his knees between your legs.

“Yes, I really do Joong.” You sigh.

He near enough loses his mind at the nickname. He attaches his lip to yours with pure desperation, all teeth and spit and no coordination. You groan at the feeling, opening your legs wider so he could come closer…if that was even possible.

You feel sparks spread through your core as he moves closer, his clothed core meeting yours. You gasp at the sensation, grinding up in a pathetic attempted at tyring to feel more. His voice was sickly sweet, teasing as you try to reach for him. But he completely ignores you. Instead, he reaches for the waistband of your trousers, tugging slightly. You lift your hips, allowing him room to remove them. Leaving you in your black lace undies and top. He quickly strips off his top, and you’re left speechless. He’s not muscular but you can tell he’s active as the sight of his toned chest and tummy make you whimper.

“Huh what was that?” He teases.

You shake your head, embarrassed.

He laughs at your pathetic actions, and you burn red. He decides not to press, and instead runs his hands across the now exposed skin between your panties and vest. The cold metal of his rings sends a shiver down your spine, and his taped fingertips tickle, causing your hairs to stand on edge, as he slides his hand up your waist and under your top, his hand now cupping your breast. You gasp when he takes a nipple between his fingers, pinches it gently, and moves to the other doing the same. He just scoffs, shaking his head. Leaving you unsatisfied and needy. Hongjoong’s usual energy had shifted, replaced with something more dominant, something possessive, and it scares you…in the best way.

You whimper as he kneads his fingers into the skin of your hips, he mocks you again. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.” You don’t say anything, in the hopes he’ll let it go again.

This time he doesn’t. With a firm grip on your hips, he leans down to whisper “Ah, ah. What do you need baby.”

“You Joong, please.” You try to keep your voice steady, but the words come out broken and shaky.

He chuckles, dragging his hands back down your body, until they reach the waistband of your panties. You watch with anticipation as he shuffles, lower, coming face to face with your core. You internally freak out, because this is new to you. But the excitement is too much to bear.

You can feel his breath against you, the lace of your panties creating the mere illusion of a barrier. He places a firm kiss on the fabric, causing your core to pulse. He looks up at you from between your legs, eyes hooded and filled with lust.

“Can I?”

“Please.”

He needed no convincing, he pulls your panties to the side, exposing you, the sudden cold air makes you jolt, hips snapping up. He finds enjoyment in your small reactions, so he blows against you. The sensation makes you jolt again, but this time he makes light work of it, immediately attaching his mouth to your clit, sucking gently. The sudden stimulation made you scream, pleasure rippling through your body, a pleasure you’ve never experienced.

He licks a wet stripe up your folds, sucking lightly before wrapping his arms around your thighs, gripping them like they’re his anchor. Your head falls back against his mattress, fingers lacing themselves through his hair. He groans into you as he continues his movements, the feeling causing you to tug as his hair. 

A pitiful “Hongjoong-” falls from your lips, unable to string together anything coherent as the rest becomes babbles.

This only encourages him further, as he releases the grip on your thighs, brining one hand to your entrance. His fingers tease, applying pressure at your entrance, then circling around it. You whinge and whine under his touch, the lack of full contact was frustrating you. You wanted more. And he knew it, the tugging on his hair gave you away.

He pulls away, moving so he’s now kneeling between your legs, but before you have the chance to object, he’s slipping his fingers into you. You let out a loud moan as he curls his fingers into you. You look up at him with glassy eyes, his mouth glistens from your wetness, and he’s wearing a look of concentration, his hooded and hazy eyes only add to your arousal. You reach for him, grabbing the air trying to grasp even a piece of him. He laughs, curling his fingers more, telling you to wait. You become a moaning mess under him, but still wanting more contact, you try again. Your eyes met his, wide and pleading, voice trembling as you whispered “Joongie please.”

He practically whimpered. “Fuck, how can I say no to that.”

He picks up the pace as he comes down to meet you in a kiss, lips clashing together, his tongue forcing entry as he swallows your moans. Before you could warn him, your orgasm hit you. You squeeze your eyes shut, legs shaking as you choke out “H- ah, joong!”

You could only hear him laugh “There it is, that’s what I want.” relishing every moment of your pleasure, loving making you feel good.

You could feel him move, hear his belt unbuckling and the shuffling as he takes his jeans off. He lined himself up with your entrance, but he pauses, like he’s waiting for you, like he’ll only move with your say. Your eyes shoot open, nerves taking over. He notices.

“Are you ok? Do you want me to stop?” Concern clear in his voice. A moment ago, your nerves were enough to for you to abandon everything, stop this before it turns into something you can’t take back. But the way he asks, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters…that’s enough. And just like that, you feel yourself choosing to trust him. Fully.

“No, no please don’t. I want this Hongjoong, please.” Your pleads would sound desperate and frantic to anyone else, but to him, it sounds like someone finally allowing themselves to choose for themselves. 

His hands trail down your thighs, giving them a light squeeze before sliding his hand between you both, to guide himself to you. The pressure of his tip teasing your entrance, made you whimper. He eased into you agonisingly slow, you could feel the stretch of every inch. He made it about halfway before he pressed in further and harder. With that final firm thrust, he bottomed out. The both of you let out strained moans, you bring your hands to his shoulders, manicured nails digging into his skin, gripping him like a lifeline as he starts fucking into you. Small, punctured thrusts at first, letting you get used to his size.

“You sound so pretty baby.” He whispers, rolling hips into you, drawing another moan from your lips. “See, like that. So pretty.” He teases, through gritted teeth. He starts to thrust faster, harder, whines slip past your lips with every thrust, breath catching as he comes down to bury his face in the crook of your neck. You moan in tandem, his rugged moans and pants blending perfectly with your whines and breathless whimpers.

You feel heat spread across you, a pressure building between your thighs as he moves in a perfect rhythm. “More please Joong.” 

“Yeah baby, you want more?” His words come out rugged, like he struggled to speak.

“mmhmm please.”

The shift was instant, his thrusts became harder, at a brutal pace. The sound of skin echoed through the room and the bed began to creak. You gasp, loud, shocking you both. Hongjoong let out a strangled chuckle, bringing a hand to your jaw, his thumb gently brushing your bottom lip. You open your mouth, inviting him in. He gladly accepts, putting pressure on you tongue as you suck.

“Shit.” His jaw is clenched, as he snaps his hips, harder, slowing down to an agonising pace. You start to see stars, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure you’re feeling.

“God you feel so good. So wet baby.” His voice unsteady as he comes close to cumming.

“So good Joongie.” You feel your cheeks get warm, heat spreading through you. Like the knot in your stomach is about to snap.

Hongjoong can tell you’re close as your moans take on a higher pitch. “Gonna cum for me? Wanna feel you cum.” He asks, barely able to get his words out. He brings a hand down to rub circles against your clit. The contact made you gasp for air, eyes roll to the back of your head as you reach your climax. He continues fucking you through your orgasm, the overstimulation causing you to convulse and whine uncontrollably, your hands that were gripping the sheets below, shot out for Hongjoong. You held him close, nails dragging down his spine as he doesn’t stop, now chasing his own high. You hear his whimpers and feel his thrusts becoming erratic as he starts to come undone. He pulls out before it’s too late, releasing his load onto your stomach with a choked breath.

He flops down beside you with a sigh, catching his breath. He reaches and grabs an old t-shirt, one worn from years of wear, to clean you up with. He bunches it in his hands, his expression shifting to focus. You watch as he cleans you, his brows drawn together, his lips in a pout. There’s something so tender about it, the way he handles you like you’re something precious, like he might break you if he’s not careful.

“I’ll be back in a sec okay.” He leaves the room for a moment, the door clicking softly behind him. You lay there in the warm glow, breathing still trying to steady itself, cheeks still blushed.  When he returns, he’s wearing fresh clothes, a loose band tee and some sweats. Hair still damp with sweat and cheeks sporting the same flush as yours. He’s carrying two glasses of water. He hands you one, you open your mouth to thank him, but he blurts out, too fast. 

“Please stay.”

You laugh, surprised. “Okay.”

He breathes a breath of relief. “Cool.” he nods once, then again, like he’s trying to play it cool.

You set down your glass and glance around his room, suddenly aware that you have no idea what “staying” looks like. You sit on the edge of his bed in nothing but your top and panties, confused. He notices your hesitation and mentally beats himself up.

“Ah sorry! Pick any top you want from that drawer.” He points to the small chest of drawers next to his bed. He moves to a pile of laundry, grabbing you some socks and a pair of boxers.

“I hope this is ok?” he hands them to you, and you nod.

You open the drawer and find exactly what you expected: a pile of soft, worn shirts that all smell faintly like him. You pick one and slip into the bathroom to change.

When you return, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, fiddling with the hem of his shirt like he’s trying to keep his hands busy. He looks up when you enter and the way his eyes soften makes your stomach flip.

“You look…” He trails off, shaking his head with a shy smile. “You look good in my clothes.” You blush but ignore him…trying to remain calm.

You climb onto the bed slowly, unsure of the rules, unsure of where to put your hands, unsure of everything except the fact that you want to be close to him.

He hesitates for a moment, then lifts the blanket in silent invitation.

You slide under it.

The mattress dips as he lies down beside you, leaving a respectful amount of space at first. Then, gently, he shifts closer.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He inches closer until his arm brushes yours. Then, slowly, like he’s afraid to spook you, he drapes an arm around your waist. You melt into him without thinking, your body finally catching up to what your heart has known for weeks.

He exhales, a soft, content sound that warms your chest.

You rest your head against his shoulder, and he tucks his chin lightly against your head. His fingers trace small, absent‑minded patterns along your arm. Everything just feels right, like you’ve done this before…together.

Morning comes slowly.

You wake to the faint hum of the city outside and the soft rise and fall of Hongjoong’s breathing beside you. For a moment, you just lie there, wrapped in him, in the strange yet wonderful feeling that last night wasn’t a dream.

Eventually, you slip out of bed, feet hitting the cool floor. Hongjoong stirs, blinking awake, hair in complete disarray, eyes soft with sleep.

“Morning” he murmurs, voice rough.

You smile. “Morning.”

You both pad out into the living room and immediately freeze.

Wooyoung is sprawled across the sofa like he owns it, blanket half on the floor, hair sticking up in every direction. San is curled up on the other end, equally dishevelled, eye’s glued to the tv, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to be here.

So he stayed the night too, you think, trying not to laugh.

You manage a shy, awkward little “Hi…”

Wooyoung’s eyebrows shoot up, a slow grin spreading across his face.

San’s eyes widen, taking in the sight of you.

Hongjoong, of course, is completely unbothered. He stretches, yawns, and greets them like nothing is out of the ordinary.

“Morning.”

Wooyoung snorts. “Morning, he says. Like they didn’t ditch us last night.”

Your face heats instantly.

San sits up, pointing at you dramatically. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, young lady.”

You groan. “Please don’t start.”

“Oh, but we’ve already started.” Wooyoung says, leaning back with a hand over his heart. “I’m emotionally wounded. Betrayed. Abandoned. I thought we were friends.”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, amused. “Who wants coffee?”

You nod quickly, anything to escape the teasing and follow him into the kitchen. He moves around the space with sleepy ease, grabbing mugs, filling the pot, humming under his breath.

When the coffee is ready, you pour it into two mismatched mugs. As you do, you feel arms slip around your waist from behind, warm, gentle, familiar. Hongjoong rests his head lightly on your shoulder, still half-asleep.

He presses kiss, soft and affectionate on your exposed neck. A small gesture that makes your chest tighten.

Wooyoung turns into the kitchen, at the wrong moment clearly.

“EW!” Wooyoung yells. “I need to stop walking into rooms unannounced.”

You laugh, leaning back into Hongjoong just a little. He only tightens his hold, completely unfazed.

“Get used to it.” he calls back.

Wooyoung groans loudly, while picking up a mug of coffee. “I hate it here.” 

But he’s smiling, big, bright, and genuine, the kind that tell you this is a group you’ll be stuck with for a long, long time.

The next evening, you’re all piled into Changbin’s dorm. You, Yeji, Changbin, Felix, and San… Snacks everywhere, and a smoky haze created by only the best weed on campus. Everyone staring at you like you’re about to deliver the scoop of the century.

“So?” Yeji demands. “Spill. You don’t get to ditch without giving the deets.”

You give them the short version of last night. The kiss, the sex, the staying over, the morning coffee.

They all gasp. Felix falls backwards, lying on the ground and stares at the celling like he’s tapped out from the conversation.

“You’re joking.”

Changbin points at you. “You’re not joking.”

San just smirks. “You should’ve seen her the morning after.”

Your head snaps toward him. “San!”

He shrugs. “What? I was there.”

The room goes silent.

Yeji’s jaw drops. “YOU WHAT?”

Felix’s eyes widen. “San… did you?”

San throws his hands up but can’t come up with an excuse in time.

“Oh my god. You did.” Felix is in disbelief.

“Scandalous!” Yeji screams before burying her face into a pillow.

They all gasp again, louder this time.

Changbin groans dramatically. “I’m friends with whores.” Throwing his hands up in defeat.

You bury your face in your hands, laughing despite yourself.

And just like that, the room slips into familiar chaos, loud, ridiculous, full of people talking over each other. You sit there watching them, and somewhere between the laughter and the teasing, it hits you: this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

[yeonlymine]

gambit 99.7% ᢉ𐭩 hongjoong

joong is for the girls

who reread their own texts to see what he sees

|series masterlist|

𐙚 hongjoong x f!reader

𐙚 wc: 16.2k

𐙚 warnings!: plot&smut. coworkers to lovers kinda maybe idk, surveillance/documentation without consent, audio recordings, power imbalance, mutual observation kink, blindfold use, bondage (belt), fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, morally gray dynamics. probably missing some. proceed with caution, this is a little bit more dark than 1&2 of syncink imo.

𐙚 okay so. third installment and we're officially getting into the fucked-up part of the series. we're sitting in some VERY gray areas with this one so if that's not your vibe, no worries. but if it is? welcome home, babe. pretty little birds by sza was such a big player in creating joong's story btw. love u enjoy <3

The chessboard has been sitting on the studio console for months.

Midgame, neither of you willing to make the next move.

There's dust on the white queen. A fingerprint smudge on the black rook that you're pretty sure is yours from two weeks ago when you almost moved it, then didn't.

The studio is always cold, feels like a doctor's office in a way, but at the same time, it's where you exist. Where you thrive.

Creaky and worn-out leather wheelie chairs, computers, and soundboards covered in fingerprints because you don't bother wiping your hands in between snacks.

It's your norm, his norm.

You feel him before you see him. The shift in air pressure, maybe, or how the way the hallway light changes when someone's blocking it.

You don't look up, not yet.

Your laptop clock says 3:45. You note it, keep your eyes on the lyric doc even though you're not reading anymore, just staring at the same line you've been stuck on for twenty minutes.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.

You tap your pen against the desk, four taps, always four.

Three Mississippi.

Lick the cheeto dust off your thumb even though you finished the bag ten minutes ago, it's performative at this point.

Four Mississippi.

The soundboard hums. The chair squeaks when you shift your weight, angling yourself so you can see him in your peripheral without making it obvious.

He's there, arms crossed. Head resting on the doorframe, black tank, joggers, those stupid non-prescription glasses.

Five Mississippi.

You wonder if he's counting too.

Probably, he notices everything.

‘but you swim as well as you fly.’

Six Mississippi.

Your pen taps again. You're aware of the rhythm now, aware that he's aware.

This is so stupid. We're both just standing here—well, I'm sitting, he's standing—doing absolutely nothing productive.

Seven Mississippi.

The chess piece sits there.

Eight Mississippi.

You could look up now. You've done nine minutes before, just to see if he'd break first, he didn't. Just stood there like a statue with really nice teeth.

Nine Mississippi.

Your phone screen lights up with a notification you don't read.

Ten Mississippi.

The studio is so quiet you can hear him breathing.

Eleven Mississippi.

Fuck it.

You look up.

He's already smiling. Not smug. Just... knowing, like he knew exactly when you'd break, down to the second. You don't see his phone light up.

synCink PRELIMINARY PROFILE — ACTIVE

data source: passive behavioral inference

confidence threshold: 83%

note: subject exhibits heightened emotional response when perceived as understood.He looks at you like he's already decided not to tell you.

The lights are always dimmed on this side of the building per Hongjoong's instruction, claims the harsh fluorescent lighting messes up the "vibes."

You're kinda thankful, as that kind of lighting washes you out, and you hate seeing the reflection of yourself in the studio mirrors.

You've both been working the same track, constantly working with each other. He called it override. You were curious about the title, but never pushed to ask why.

You are the lyricist after all, not the singer.

"How do you know when the 3 minutes are up?"

"I watch the time in the corner of my laptop."

"You're so strange."

"Says the man who knows I wait 3 minutes to even look at him." "Can't argue with that." He glances over his shoulder with a smile.

Working with Hongjoong has always been easy; you get to see the artistic side of him while also just getting to know the reasoning of why he is the way he is.

It's the evening, and he's been in and out running around while you've been stuck on a verse. No movement, lost on what to write next.

"Making a beat with that pen is not going to magically put words in your brain." "Just because you stand at the soundboard doesn't mean you're actually doing anything either."

There's playback happening, but it's starting to sound more like chalk against a board since you're not coming up with anything new.

It's just mocking you, just like Hongjoong standing and doing absolutely nothing.

You can tell something is turning in his head, he has shaken his curls numerous times, and it's not even in his face.

Runs his fingers over the inside of his arm, rubbing his tattoo. It's the one thing you like about shortsleeves on him.

Praise whoever created black tanks.

"Whatcha thinking bout'?" "Nothinggggg." "Mhm….Joong." "Ever heard of synCink?"

It should've been jarring to hear that word, but it isn't. It floods your timeline and is so popular amongst industry people.

You just try not to hop on every trend that comes across, so you haven't done the quiz or even tried to deep dive into the app.

"Yes, why?" "Just curious, ya know it's all over the place." "Birds are all over the place, but that doesn't mean I become a bird-brained bitch."

He laughs, turns, and leans against the soundboard. He crosses his legs. "No, no, never that, that brain is beautiful."

You shy away, look at your reflection in the laptop screen that has gone black, you hate being shy, especially in front of him.

"I think we should take a break, take the quiz."

You immediately snap your head around to him, because he has to be joking. Who casually says to take a quiz that practically runs a thorough background check that could compete with government security.

"You're serious?" "As serious as you are about those cheeto puffs."

Oh, so very serious. You know Hongjoong doesn't do stuff for just shits and giggles, although that is his name in your phone. Captain Giggleshits, perfect, seen it at 1 am in a comment section.

You can never figure out his motives right away, he probably wants you to take it to make fun of you, see if you match with anyone in the industry. Possibly trying to play cupid, or matchmaker, he tries to have so many jobs you wouldn't be surprised with him trying to dabble in your love life. Not like there's much of it anyway, just yearning.

"I'm technically your boss in this matter, and I'm telling you to take the quiz and a break." "That's gotta be illegal in some way, yeah?"

"Dunno, I just know you need to pull it up and take it now." He comes over and closes your laptop, taps on your phone that's sitting idle next to it.

"Chop chop, lollipop." "And you're supposed to be a renowned producer?" "Hush. Unlock. Download. Answer. Kay?"

You roll your eyes, open your phone as he hovers, don't even care as he sees you type in your password. You scroll to the app store, find the cute little icon, but you know nothing is cute about it.

It looks so harmless and enticing, it makes you think that all your reservations about was wrong and Hongjoong might genuinely be trying to get you to take a break.

He knows how analytical you are, knows this would relax you…maybe.

It eventually loads, asks for permissions, and you look up at Hongjoong for some form of approval on whether you should agree. Your phone vibrates like it's impatient with you. Not a normal buzz, a soft little pulse.

> proximity event logged — 0.5m

> mutual gaze detected— 11s

> consent: PENDING

You blink. You haven't even agreed yet and it's already acting like it knows where you're standing. You look up at Hongjoong again. He nods his head, he's still hovering over you and watches every move. You just click agree on everything, your "boss" is saying it's okay, you'd expect him to always think in your best interests.

After giving it access to your life, damn near, questions start appearing. what happens when nothing's wrong?

do you confuse effort with love?

Um, okay, is there someone with a psych degree who just went through my phone? You look up at Hongjoong, but he has his head turned, almost like he's trying to give you privacy or not seem pushy even though he's standing right next to you.

You answer the questions truthfully, like you're being graded; some come in rapid fire, some are timed, so if you think too long, that becomes your answer.

if loved quietly, would you hear it?

Yeah, let's get this shit over with. You answer the final question, Hongjoong is still not looking, tapping on your chair, and humming. It matches the hum of the loading screen that takes ages, you could've time-traveled back to the dinosaurs, and it'd still be loading.

analyzing compatibility…

98% MATCH FOUND – KIM HONGJOONG

[CONFIRMED 6 MONTHS AGO – EXTENDED TRACKING ACTIVE]

We started working together 6 months ago. You scroll without meaning to. It's not a percentage anymore, it's receipts.

> first proximity: 6 months, 4 days ago — 1:10 a.m.

> heart rate elevation: +22 bpm (user 1), +18 bpm (user 2)

> repeat event: 35 occurrences

> routine sync: 81%

> mutal silence tolerance: HIGH

> "override" FILE ACCESSED: 14 times (user 2), 9 times (user 1)Like I've been watched so long the watching has timestamps now.

‘jackin’, beanin’, stalkin’ just to get to me, love.’

CREATIVE COLLABORATION DETECTED – HIGH INTELLECTUAL COMPATIBILITY"What the flying fuck." Maybe I do wanna go back to the dinosaurs.

Hongjoong turns, stops the tapping, stops the humming. You expect the same amount of shock on his face.

Instead, he smirks, he fucking smirks.

"You knew. You already took it." Omg the humming…"Maybe. I just wanted someone to talk about the app with." You know this is a lie. Hongjoong talks regardless, you know he already knew the result.

"Don't lie, Joong, seriously. We're coworkers, yes, but I thought at the very least we were friends." "How do you know I'm lying?" Just like a man to answer only one part of the problem, sigh.

"Because I just know, it literally says detected 6 months ago, so fess up." You tap his thigh, it's supposed to be encouraging, but it just seems to make him chuckle.

"It's just a quiz." "Oh my gosh, you're still lying, why!? It's not just a quiz, that's why you made me take it." He just stares at you, no words, back to your usual game of looks. It aggravates you, but you can't be because this is the dynamic you've set up.

You should be used to this and not expect any change. His eyes pouring into yours is the answer. It's up to you to decipher it. He's been planning this, wanting to see if the match is one-sided, and you don't know if it is; that's the scary part. This wasn't a casual suggestion from him. This was meaningful, and you need to acknowledge it, but have trouble finding the words.

You need to make the next move, just like the chess piece that sits on the studio console.

I'm not moving the damn chess piece.

You stare at your phone screen, at the stupid percentage. 98%. Like you're almost perfect for each other but not quite, and that 2% is probably the part of you that knows better.

"Six months," you say.

"Six months," he confirms.

"You've known for six months."

"Mhm."

Oh, so we're back to nonverbal communication, cool cool cool.

Your brain does the thing where it rewinds, fast-forwards, plays back every interaction you've had since you started working together.

The 3-minute waiting game. His hovering, the way he always knows when you've hit a wall before you say anything.

The chess game that never progresses.

"You've been watching me."

‘pretty little birds, pretty little birds’

"Observing," he corrects, and you want to throw your phone at his dumb handsome face. "There's a difference."

"Enlighten me, please, because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like you've been running some kind of fucked-up social experiment."

He doesn't flinch or apologize. Just pushes his glasses up his nose. God, even that is calculated, isn't it?—and tilts his head.

"You count to three minutes before looking at me. Every single time. You think I don't notice, but I do. You lick your fingers after eating cheetos, but only the cheese puff kind, never the crunchy ones. You hate your reflection in the studio mirrors, so you angle your chair 13 degrees to the left. You tap your pen in sets of four when you're stuck, and you only drink water after 9pm, never during the day."

You feel your throat tighten, "You're proving my point."

"Am I?" He moves closer. "Or am I proving that I pay attention because I want to? Because you're worth observing?"

His phone lights up on the soundboard next to him, notification glowing. You catch a glimpse of the screen, it doesn't look like yours.

More data fields, different layout, numbers and graphs you don't recognize. What the hell interface is that? Is that—no, that's not the normal app screen. Why does his have more—

But your brain is too busy short-circuiting from his closeness to process it properly, and you forget about the phone entirely.

Nope. No. Uh uh. We're not doing this.

"That's—" You stand up, your chair creaking. "That's not normal, Joong."

"Neither is waiting exactly three minutes to acknowledge someone you work with every day."

Touché, you annoying genius.

You pace, three steps to the soundboard, three steps back. He watches, arms crossed, leaning against the console.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Your voice comes out smaller than you want. "Why make me take the quiz? Why the whole performance?"

"Because I needed to know if you'd see it too."

"See what?"

"That we're the same."

You stop pacing.

He's not smirking anymore. His expression is serious, open.

"You think I didn't notice?" he continues. "The way you watch me in the doorway before I say anything? How you always have a comeback ready, like you've already predicted what I'm going to say? You're just as calculated as I am. You just hide it better."

He's right.

You do predict his responses. You do watch him, take note of his habits, his patterns. The way he rubs his tattoo when he's thinking. The way he hums when he's avoiding eye contact.

You've been observing him too.

"This is so stupid," you mutter, sitting back down because your legs feel uneasy.

"Maybe." He moves the white knight on the chessboard after months. "But it's honest."

You stare at the piece, at the new position that changes everything.

"You could've just asked me out like a normal person."

"You would've said no."

"You don't know that."

"I do, actually." He sits on the edge of the console, "Because you don't trust easy things. You need to see the work behind it, or you'll convince yourself it's not real."

Stop perceiving me challenge: impossible difficulty.

"The app did that," he says. "It gave you proof. Something you couldn't argue with."

"I can argue with anything."

"I know. It's one of my favorite things about you."

Your heart does a stupid flutter thing that you resent. "This is manipulation," you say, but there's no real heat behind it.

"It's strategy."

"Same thing."

"Not when both players know the game."

You look up at him, and it hits you that this isn't curiosity, it's familiarity, and you don't know when you let him earn that.

"What happens now?" you ask.

"That depends."

"On?"

"Whether you make the next move."

The chess piece sits there, waiting. You think about the questions the app asked. What happens when nothing's wrong? Do you confuse effort with love? If loved quietly, would you hear it?Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

new feature unlocked!!: COMPLEXITY INDEX

compatibility requires: HIGH COGNITIVE LOAD

WARNING: SIMPLIFIED INTERACTION PATTERNS WILL DECREASE MATCH PERCENTAGE

note: relationship stability correlates with difficulty level

You stare at it. The app just told me I can't do simple. Great. Very encouraging.

You think about Hongjoong standing in doorways, humming while you work, bringing you water after 9 without being asked.

Quiet love, calculated love. The kind of love that pays attention.

"You're so annoying," you say finally.

He grins. "You're stalling."

"I'm processing."

"You've been processing for six months. I've been patient."

"Patient? You literally orchestrated this entire thing."

"And yet you're still here." Damn him.

You reach for the chessboard, fingers hovering over the black bishop. You could move it, could engage. Could admit that maybe, possibly, you've been waiting for him to make a move because you were too scared to make one yourself. Or I could flip the board and walk out.

"I need time," you say instead.

"Okay."

"That's it? Just okay?"

"I've waited six months. I can wait longer."

"What if I don't—" You can't finish the sentence.

"Then you don't." He stands, stretches, and the hem of his tank rides up just enough to show his happy trail. "But I don't think that's what's going to happen."

"You're comfortable."

"That's not what it is." He pauses in the doorway, arms crossed, head on the frame. Your usual positions. "For the record," he says, "the 3-minute thing? I think it's cute. Don't stop." Then he's gone.

You sit there, staring at the chessboard, at the moved knight, at your phone screen that still shows 98%.

CONFIRMED 6 MONTHS AGO – EXTENDED TRACKING ACTIVE.

You pick up your phone, open the app again, scroll through the compatibility breakdown.

communication style: NONVERBAL DOMINANT

emotional processing: ANALYTICAL, REQUIRES EVIDENCE-BASED VALIDATION

attachment style: ANXIOUS-AVOIDANT (BOTH PARTIES)

So we're both disasters, got it!

You look at the chessboard again, it's haunting at this point. The black bishop sits there. You know what moving it means, not just continuing the game, but admitting you've been playing all along. This will get messy. You can already feel it, like standing too close to train tracks and knowing the train isn't stopping for you.

But you pick up the bishop anyway and move it forward. Not to win, not to lose. To see what happens when you stop pretending you don't want to.

Three days pass before you see him again.

Not because he's avoiding you, you check the studio schedule obsessively, which is definitely normal…but because he's been in meetings. Doing all the things that pull him away from the studio.

You tell yourself you're relieved. I swear I deserve an award for the biggest liar.

The studio feels wrong without him. The chess piece you moved sits exactly where you left it, and his white knight is still in its new position, and the whole thing feels like a conversation.

You eat cheeto puffs at 2am and stare at the board. This is fine. Everything is fine. I'm definitelyyyyy not spiraling.

When he finally shows up on Thursday, you've been stuck on the same verse for hours.

He doesn't knock, never does. Just appears in the doorway as usual. You don't wait three minutes this time.

You look up immediately, and his expression shifts, pleased and surprised. "Stuck?" he asks.

"Aggressively."

He walks over, doesn't sit in his usual chair. He stands behind yours, your spine straightens involuntarily.

"Read it to me."

The verse is garbage, and you both know it, but he listens anyway. His hand comes to rest on the back of your chair, fingers drumming a rhythm that matches the track playing low in the background.

"You're forcing it," he says.

"Wow, groundbreaking observation, thank you."

"You're trying to make it mean something instead of letting it mean something." Here we go, ladies and gents.

"Those are the same thing."

"They're not." He leans down, super close. "One is control. The other is trust."

You turn your head, and suddenly his face is right there, inches away, neither of you moves. The soundboard hums, the track loops. Your heart is becoming annoying.

"I don't trust easy," you say finally.

"I know." He doesn't pull back. "That's why I'm still here." What does that even mean—

But he's already moving away, sitting in his chair, pulling up his own screen like he didn't just say something that rewired your entire brain.

You stare at your laptop, but your hands are shaking.

This whole work thing starts to become an evident pattern.

He hovers, stands behind your chair when you're stuck, his shoulder nudging yours just enough when he passes, never more, but your spine notices every time.

He rearranges the same three knobs on the soundboard in the same order every single day before touching anything else, and you've started timing it. Twelve seconds.

He brings you water without asking, sets it down on the right side of the console, never the left. Aligns your pen perfectly parallel to your paper when you're not looking, and you only catch him doing it once, but now you check every time you come back from the bathroom.

You start noticing when he's not there.

You check your phone to see if he's texted.

captain giggleshits: you're spiraling aren't you

you: no

captain giggleshits: liar, see u in 20

He stays closer that day, you watch him tuck the small fray at the hem of his shirt before leaning over the equipment.

His fingers twitch on the volume fader while he listens to your verse, tracing a rhythm only he can hear, and you wonder if he knows you're jotting this down too. This is dependency, this is dangerous.

But when his hand comes to rest on the back of your chair again, you don't pull away.

‘when the spiral down feels as good as the flight up.’

Tuesday is when it happens, you've been staring at the same line once more, and your brain is combusting, not just about the lyrics, but about everything.

The deadline, the album. The fact that you moved a chess piece and Hongjoong hasn't moved his, and maybe that means something, maybe it means you misread everything.

"Stop."

You blink. Hongjoong is standing in front of you, blocking your view of the laptop.

"I'm working."

"You're literally in your head."

"I'm fine—"

"You're not." He crouches down, eye level with you, and his hands come to rest on your knees. You catch the slight curl of his lip, that thing he does when something's wrong. Except this time it's aimed at you. "Your leg has been bouncing for ten minutes. You've rewritten the same line four times. You're not fine." 

Stop perceiving me challenge: still impossible. He's so perfect though—

"I just need to focus—"

"You need to stop."

His hands tighten on your knees, just slightly, and something in your chest unclenches, you hate that it works.

"I don't know how," you admit, and your voice comes out weak. He stands, pulls you up with him. Your legs feel shaky, but his hands are still there, steadying you.

"Come here."

"Where—"

But he's already moving, guiding you to the couch in the corner of the studio. It's old, leather cracked in places, smells faintly like the maple candle someone burned months ago. He sits down, pulls you down next to him, then wraps his arms around you, tight and firm. His arms lock around your shoulders and waist, pulling you against his chest, and the pressure is something you don't even wanna explain.

Your brain goes quiet, not empty, just utterly still.

"Breathe," he says, and his breath hovers from your ear, never touches, but you feel it anyway.

You do slow and measured breaths. His chest rises and falls against your back, and you match the rhythm without thinking.

"You're holding tension here." His hand presses against your shoulder blade, "And here." His other hand spreads across your stomach, just below your ribs. You should probably say something, acknowledge this, ask what he's doing. Yeah, like a sane person, ma'am.

But your body is already relaxing, sinking into the pressure, and words feel impossible.

"Better?" he asks after a minute.

"I—yeah."

"You like this." You'd normally make a joke, deflect like you always do, but instead, you nod. His arms tighten.

"Thought so."

Your heart is poundnig, but the rest of you feels calm. Like the weight of him is the only thing keeping you from fluttering away.

"How did you know?" you ask.

"I pay attention." A-t-t-e-n-t-i-o-n. Put it on my tombstone.

His hand moves, slow, tracing up your spine, pressure that makes you arch slightly into the touch.

"You don't like being coddled," he says. You catch him licking the inside of his cheek. "You don't want someone to tell you it's okay or that you're doing great. You want something tangible."

His hand presses between your shoulder blades, holds you still. "You want to feel it."

"This is—" You don't know how to finish that sentence.

"Tell me to stop."

His other hand slides up, wraps around the front of your throat. Not squeezing, just a reminder that he could, if you wanted him to.

Your breath hitches. Oh shit.

"You're not breathing," he says.

"I'm—processing."

"Process faster."

You laugh, and it comes out shaky. His hand tightens just slightly, and the laugh cuts off.

"Joong—" This is the line. I cross this and there's no pretending. This will get under my skin. This will ruin me.

But his hand is still on your throat, and you want it there.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No." The word comes out too fast, so honest, and you feel him smile against your shoulder.

He shifts, pulls you fully into his lap, maneuvers you so your back is completely against his chest, your legs spread over his thighs.

He hooks his ankles around yours, forces your legs wider, and the position makes you very aware of how exposed you are even fully clothed.

You can't move, and dammit, you don't want to.

"This is what you need," he says. His hand slides under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, and you can feel the calluses on his hands and the coldness of his rings. "You need to stop managing. Stop controlling."

His other arm locks across your chest, just under your breasts, holding you immobile against him. You feel his cock hard against your ass through his joggers and it makes your brain jump. No, like literally the little people inside my brain are having a meltdown.

"I've got you," he says, lips against your ear. "You don't have to do anything."

His hand moves lower, slips beneath the waistband of your pants, beneath your underwear, and his fingers find you already wet.

"Fuck," he breathes. "How long have you been like this?"

"Since—" You can't finish the sentence because his fingers slide through your folds, finding your clit with zero hesitation. Of course he knows exactly where it is.

"Since when?" he presses, circling slowly, and you try to roll your hips but his arm tightens across your chest.

"Since you sat down," you admit.

"Since I pulled you onto the couch, or since I wrapped my arms around you?"

"Both. Fuck, both."

He makes a satisfied sound, and his fingers press harder. The pressure is perfect, just exactly what you need but didn't know how to ask for.

Your hips try to move again, seeking more friction, but he holds you completely still.

"No," he says. "Stay still. Let me."

You force yourself to stop fighting it, and the second you go pliant against him, his fingers slide lower, two of them pushing inside you without warning.

You hate the noise you make, how easily it gives you away. He smiles into your skin. "Yeah. That."

His fingers curl, he's very methodical about it, watches every shift in your breathing, every small sound, adjusts the angle and pressure accordingly.

It's not romantic, it's clinical, and that makes it so much worse.

"Joong—"

His thumb finds your clit while his fingers work inside you, and the sensation makes your thighs shake. You try to close your legs, but his ankles are still hooked around yours, keeping you spread open.

"I know." His fingers move faster, harder, and his arm across your chest tightens. "I can feel it. You're close."

You're so close it's almost painful, and he knows it. "That's it," he says. "Let go." His fingers press that spot inside you again, his thumb circles your clit, and the tension snaps.

You come hard, your body going rigid against him, and his arm is the only thing keeping you from collapsing forward. He doesn't stop, works you through, drawing it out until you're shaking.

When you finally go limp against him, gasping, he slowly withdraws his hand. You watch, dazed, as he brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes them. And I work with this freak?!

"You're staring," he says.

"You just—" You can't form words.

He smirks, wipes his hand on his joggers like he didn't just completely dismantle you. "Finish the sentence."

"Fuck off."

He laughs, shifts you off his lap, you can feel how hard he still is and your brain tries to process that he's just going to leave it, and stands.

You stare at the very obvious bulge in his joggers.

"You're not—"

"Not today." He adjusts himself without shame. "Today was about you."

He heads toward the door, pauses in the doorway. "Finish the verse," he says.

"That's it?"

"You'll be able to now." Cocky bastard. Then he's gone.

You sit there, clothes readjusted but still feeling the ghost of his arm around your ribs, his fingers inside you, the way he held you down and made you take it.

The studio hums, the track loops, you open your laptop.

The words come easy now.

You finish the verse in 30 minutes.

Best work you've done in months, and you hate that he was right. Hate that your brain needed to be shut off like a power box before it could function properly again.

You send it to him, no response.

Not for three hours. When he finally texts back, it's just ‘perfect. knew you had it in you.’

Not good job or let's record tomorrow or anything that acknowledges what happened on that couch.

Just perfect. You stare at your phone.

captain giggleshits is typing...

The bubble appears, disappears, appears again.

Nothing sends. Yup yup yup, totally just a chill guy.

The next day, he's in the studio when you arrive, but he's across the room.

Not in the doorway, not hovering over your shoulder, not doing the twelve-second knob ritual within arm's reach.

He's at the far soundboard, the one near the other window that no one ever uses. You wait three minutes anyway.

Force of habit, he doesn't look up.

Okay...

You sit and open your laptop while pretending to work. Your spine feels wrong. Like it's expecting weight that isn't coming.

You keep glancing at the empty space beside your chair where he usually stands.

He's wearing a black tank again. The one with the frayed hem. He tucks it before leaning over the equipment, same as always, but he's doing it over there.

Twelve feet away.

Might as well be 12,000 miles.

"You good?" you ask, because apparently you're the one breaking the silence now.

"Mhm." So we're back to caveman communication. 'I have rock.'

"The verse worked?"

"Yeah. Recording it Thursday."

"Cool."

You want to throw your laptop at him, make him have the same kind of headache he is giving you.

He licks the inside of his cheek, fingers twitching on the fader. But he's not thinking about you. He's thinking about the track, the mix, something that isn't this.

Isn't you.

This is professional anyway.

Except your hands are shaking and you don't know why.

It continues for four days.

Four days of him being present but distant. In the studio but across the room, polite but not there. He doesn't bring you water after 9.

Doesn't do the shoulder nudge thing when he passes, the one that makes your spine shiver.

He's still watching, you can feel it, but from a distance. The chair he's using doesn't squeak, you hate that.

You've been tracking him by sound for months, the creak when he sits, when he leans back, when he shifts his weight. Now there's nothing.

I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. The chessboard sits on the console, untouched, and you wonder if he's waiting for you to move next or if the game's just paused forever. Hate that you miss the hovering, hate that the studio feels too big, a space that's supposed to be for you. He's testing something. You know he is.

Watching how you respond to absence the same way he watched how you responded to presence. Noting your tells, your patterns, the way you keep glancing at the empty space beside you like a dog waiting for its owner to come home. I'm not a dog. I'm not— Except you are.

You're waiting for him to come back in anticipation. To hover, to stand too close and breathe near your ear and make your brain go quiet again.

On day five, you snap.

Not emotionally. You don't do emotions in the studio. But you stand, walk across the room to where he's pretending to adjust levels, and just stand there. He doesn't look up.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Working."

"No. What are you doing?"

He finally looks at you, his glasses reflect the soundboard lights, and you can't see his eyes properly, which feels intentional.

"You've been avoiding me for five days."

"I've been here every day."

"You know what the hell I mean."

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "You're spiraling," he says. I'm spiraling while you look unbothered that's the fucking problem.

"I'm not—"

"You've checked your phone 30 times today. You keep looking at the space next to your chair. You haven't eaten anything except those puffs, and you only do that when you're anxious." 30 times. He counted.

"So you have been watching."

"I'm always watching, I just changed the distance."

"Why?"

"To see how you'd respond."

Your brain does this thing where it wants to be mad, but also it's so perfectly him that you can't even be shocked.

"And?"

"You don't like it." He tilts his head, and there's that lip curl, the tiny one that means he's figured something out. "You're more anxious with distance than proximity. Interesting."

"I'm not a science experiment, Joong."

"Aren't you though?" I'm going to kill him. I'm going to actually—

"We both are," he continues, standing now, and suddenly he's close again, the way his fingers twitch like they want to reach for you but don't.

"That's the point. We're both observing. Both cataloging. You think I don't know you've been counting how many times I look at you? That you've memorized which side of the console I put my water on?" Right side. Never left.

"You're just as calculating as I am," he says. "You just don't like admitting it."

You should argue, tell him he's wrong, that this is fucked, that coworkers don't do this. But he's not wrong.

"What do you want?" you ask instead.

His eyes flicker to your mouth, then back up.

"I want to try something."

"Another experiment?"

"A progression." Oh, we're scientists instead of creatives now, yay!! (sedate me)

"What kind of progression?"

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a black bandana. "Blindfold," he says. Your stomach drops.

"You're serious."

"You don't like anticipating. You like being held still, contained. But you're still trying to predict everything, manage the variables."

He steps closer, and his breath hovers near your ear, never touching until you let him. "I want to see what happens when you can't." This is insane. This is—

"Okay."

He smiles, not a smirk, an actual smile. "Couch," he says. You sit. He stands in front of you, bandana in hand, and looks. "You can say no," he says.

"I know."

"You can stop whenever you want."

"I know, Joong. I'm not—" You exhale. "Just do it."

He kneels, eye level now. The way his breathing is slightly faster than normal. He's nervous too. That shouldn't be comforting, but it is.

He folds the bandana, smooths it out and lifts it to your eyes.

"Last chance," he says.

"Do it."

The fabric settles over your eyes, and your world goes dark. You feel his fingers at the back of your head, tying it, not too tight, but secure.

The knot sits at the base of your skull, and you can't see anything. Your breath picks up.

"Hey." His voice is right in front of you, but you already knew, you recognize the pattern of his breathing before he speaks, that slight catch he does when he's focusing. "Breathe."

"I am."

"No, you're panicking. Breathe." You force air into your lungs, once, twice.

"Good," he says, and you feel his hand on your knee. His fingers are slightly cold. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay."

"I'm going to touch you now. Tell me if you want me to stop."

You nod.

His hand slides up your thigh, and you can't see it coming. Can't brace for it, can't manage it. You feel his other hand on your hip, guiding you back against the couch. "Lie down."

The leather creaks under you, and you feel him shift, feel the couch dip as he moves between your legs.

It's terrifying, but it's perfect.

His hands slide under your hoodie, pushing it up, and you feel the cool air on your stomach before you feel his mouth. Oh fuck.

He kisses just below your ribs. Your hands grip the couch cushions, and you feel him smile against your skin.

"You're so tense," he says.

"I can't—I don't know what you're—"

"I know." His hands move to your pants, fingers hooking into the waistband. "That's the point."

He pulls them down, underwear too, and the air hits your skin and you feel so exposed you might actually die.

But you can't see his face, can't see if he's looking at you, analyzing you. You just have to trust that he is.

His hands spread your thighs apart, and you feel his breath first, then his tongue. The sound you make isn't human.

Your phone buzzes somewhere on the couch.

heart rate sync — 70%

OPTIMAL TOUCH PATTERN DETECTED

verbal affirmation recommended: NOW

You laugh once, wrecked. "Is it—" you gasp, "is it grading you?"

Hongjoong doesn't stop, he hums like approval. He licks a slow stripe up, and your back arches off the couch. "Fuck," you gasp.

He doesn't respond, just does it again, slower this time, and your hands fly to his hair, curls, soft, you've thought about touching them for months, and you grip.

He hums against you more, and the vibration makes your thighs shake. His tongue finds your clit, circles it, and you can't think.

He slides two fingers inside you without warning, crooks them up to that spot he found last time, and you're gone.

"Joong—"

"Give it to me," he says against you. You come so hard, you see white spots behind the blindfold.

He works you through it, tongue and fingers, drawing it out until you're gasping and pulling his hair so hard it has to hurt.

When he finally pulls back, you're destroyed. You feel him shift, feel the couch dip as he sits beside you, and then his hands are at the back of your head, untying the bandana.

The light hits your eyes, and you blink. He's watching you.

Hair a mess from your hands, lips wet, glasses slightly fogged, he looks wrecked too. You stare at each other.

He doesn't apologize, doesn't ask if you're okay. Doesn't do the whole aftercare speech thing.

"Friday," he says finally.

"What?"

"We're doing this again Friday." He pauses, swallows. "Friday. Yeah." He just repeated himself.

"Okay."

He stands, adjusts himself, still hard, still ignoring it, and heads toward the door. "Finish the next verse by Thursday," he says.

Then he's gone, again.

You lie there, pants still around your ankles, hoodie pushed up, blindfold dangling from your hand. He didn't even take the damn bandana back.

The studio hums, your phone buzzes.

You don't check it, you already know what it says.

INTERACTION PATTERN SHIFT DETECTED – BEHAVIORAL RESPONSE LOGGED

The app refreshes on its own, just once a banner flashes at the top of the screen.

ghost match detected!! — KANG YEOSANG

new feature unlocked!!: PREDICTIVE MODELING

behavorial sync detected

ALERT: SUBJECT RESISTS PREDICTIVE PATTERNS

containment failure possible.

note: compatibility increases when subject behavior becomes unpredictable

Then it disappears, like it realized you saw it.

Friday comes and you finish the verse Wednesday night, send it to him at 2am because you know he's awake. He responds with a single emoji, the eyes one, and nothing else.

Thursday, he's in and out of the studio. You see him twice, once in the hallway where his shoulder nudges yours in passing. Once through the studio window. Friday he texts you at 4pm.

captain giggleshits: different studio tn. K8. 7pm.

you: why

captain giggleshits: better couch

I'm going to combust. Literally and figuratively

You show up at 6:58pm because apparently you've abandoned all pretense of the three-minute rule.

K8 is smaller, darker. The soundproofing is better here, makes everything feel insulated. There's a couch that's definitely an upgrade, actual cushions, not just cracked leather that sticks to your thighs.

Hongjoong's already there, sitting on the floor with his back against said couch, laptop open. He doesn't look up when you enter.

"You're early," he says.

"You texted me two hours ago. I had time to spiral properly, sir."

"Did you?"

"Obviously."

He closes the laptop. Looks up, his glasses catch the dim light from the single desk lamp he's turned on, everything else is dark.

"Sit," he says, patting the floor next to him. Okay, so we're doing this differently.

You sit, cross-legged, facing him, your knees almost touch.

"I need to tell you something," he says.

Your stomach drops. Oh no. Oh fuck. He's ending whatever this is. He's—

"I watch people because I had to." HUH???

He's not looking at you now, he's looking at his hands. "Not—" He stops. Starts again. "I learned early that if you don't anticipate what someone needs before they ask, they get upset. Angry. So I started watching. Predicting."

He says it like this isn't the first time he's had to justify it. "It became automatic. I don't even think about it anymore. I just. Do it." 

Mau's Narrator Voice: Like Nike. Okok back to his speech

You don't ask who made him learn that. You don't need to.

"That's why the app thing," he continues. "I needed data I could trust more than my own observations. Because sometimes I can't tell if I'm seeing patterns that are real or patterns I'm inventing to stay safe."

He looks at you, "I'm not experimenting on you. I'm just. Trying to figure out if this is real."

Your throat feels tight, you should say something comforting or kind even. Instead you say, "I test people." I'm such a genius!

He blinks.

"I test them," you repeat. "I make them prove they'll stay. Because no one ever stayed without being tested first, and even then most of them failed. So I just. Keep testing. Keep waiting for them to leave so I can say I knew it all along."

Your phone buzzes with another notification. You glance at his screen at the same time and frown. Why does your app look different?"

He tilts his phone away slightly. "What?"

"Your interface. It has like... more stuff. Different sections." You're squinting at it, trying to see, but he's already swiping it away.

"Oh." He swipes something else. "Yeah, it's been glitching since the last update. Keeps showing debug screens or some shit. Annoying as hell."

Hm. You let it go again, because you have bigger things to speak about right now, like the fact that he just admitted to noting down your behavioral patterns and also you're pretty sure your heart is going to explode out of your chest, and also—focus, focus—you need to figure out if this is sweet or creepy or both.

His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes shifts.

"The three-minute thing," you continue. "It's not cute. It's a test. If you leave before I look up, it means you weren't actually interested. If you stay, maybe you are. Maybe."

"I always stay," he says quietly. "Yes."

"You're still testing." "I'm highly aware."

You sit there, knees almost touching, both of you looking at each other like you're seeing the same reflection for the first time.

"This isn't normal," you say, staring at the space between you instead of his face.

He exhales through his nose. "This is not a good idea."

"Probably," he says. You pick at your sleeve. "I'm not going to stop testing you."

He's quiet for a second. "You keep saying that like it's a warning."

You look up. "It's just how you are," he adds. Not unkind, not reassuring either.

The studio hums around you. The soundproofing makes it feel like you're in a bubble, like the rest of the world doesn't exist. Can someone pop it already?

He reaches out, slowly, and picks up your hand. Turns it over, traces the lines on your palm with one finger.

"I want to try something again," he says.

"Is this the part where you suggest the restraints?"

His lips curl again, he's surprised you caught on.

"It's different from the blindfold," he says, still tracing your palm. "You'll see everything. You'll see me. But you won't be able to move."

"Why?"

"Because I think you need to know you can give up control and still be chosen."

"And I—" He stops. Swallows. "I need to know you trust me with it. Not because you can't see what I'm doing, but because you can and you're choosing it anyway."

"Alright…," you say.

He guides you to the couch, the better couch with actual cushions.

"On your back."

He kneels next to the couch, reaches for his belt. His belt. He's using his belt. I'm going to disintegrate.

"Hands," he says.

You lift them, wrists together, and he wraps the belt around them, firm enough that you can't slip out. He loops the end through the buckle, then guides your bound wrists up over your head.

"Keep them there," he says. "Don't move them unless you need to. If you need to, just move them. That's the signal."

No safeword. Very him.

"Okay," you breathe.

He sits back, just looking at you. Arms stretched above your head, wrists bound, hoodie riding up slightly, bottoms still on but you know that won't last.

"You look—" He stops. Licks the inside of his cheek. "You look perfect like this." I'm going to combust part two: electric chair preferable.

He leans over you, braces one hand next to your head, and kisses you.

It's the first time he's kissed you.

The first time his mouth has been on yours instead of other places, and it's slow. His tongue traces your bottom lip before slipping inside, and you can't touch him, can't pull him closer, can only take what he gives you.

You make a sound against his mouth. He pulls back, just enough to look at you.

"Still okay?"

"Stop asking questions you already know the answer to."

He grins. His hand slides under your hoodie. You're not wearing a bra because you never do in the studio, woman empowerment in the workplace and all.

His palm cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, you arch into it, wrists straining against the belt.

"Don't move them," he reminds you, voice low. Right. Shit.

You force your arms to stay still, even though every instinct is screaming to touch him back.

He watches your face while his hand works. The way your breath hitches when he pinches lightly. The way your eyes flutter when he soothes it with his thumb after.

"I could do this for hours. Just watch you."

"Please don't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll actually die."

He laughs, and the sound does something to you. Makes your chest feel too full. His hand leaves your breast, trails down your stomach, slips under the waistband.

"Lift your hips," he says.

He pulls them down, leaves them bunched at your knees because apparently he's into the half-dressed thing.

Note to self: he's into the half-dressed thing.

He positions himself between your legs, hands on your thighs, spreading them wider.

You can see his face this time. Can see the way his pupils are blown, the way he's breathing harder, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

"Joong—"

"I'm looking," he says. "Let me fucking look."

He leans down, presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another, then his mouth is on you, tongue flat and broad, licking up in one slow stripe.

Your hands jerk against the belt.

"Still," he says against you, and the vibration makes you whimper.

He takes his time, figures out that you like pressure more than speed, that you need his fingers inside you while his mouth works your clit, that you make this specific sound when he curls them just right.

You're so close, wrists aching from staying still, and he pulls back.

"No—"

"Look at me," he says.

He's kneeling between your legs, and he's undoing his pants with one hand. Oh we're—

He pulls himself out, strokes once, twice, and you can see how hard he is. How much he wants this.

"Still okay?" he asks.

"If you don't fuck me in the next ten seconds I'm moving my hands and doing it myself."

He leans over you, one hand braced next to your head, the other guiding himself. Rubs the head against you, slick and teasing, and you're about to threaten him again when he pushes in slow, so slow.

You can feel every inch, the stretch, the fullness, and your wrists strain against the belt because you need to touch him, need to pull him closer.

"Breathe," he says, and his breath hovers near your ear. You breathe again.

He bottoms out, stays still, lets you adjust.

"Okay?" he asks again, and this time it's softer, genuine.

"Yeah–," you manage. "Yeah, okay."

He starts moving. Long, deep strokes that make you feel pinned, contained, held in place by his body and the belt and his hand next to your head.

You can see the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes stay locked on yours, the way he's watching you fall apart under him.

"You're—" He stops. Breathes. "You're so gorgeous like this. Letting me. Trusting me."

I'm going to cry. I'm actually going to cry.

"Joong—"

"I know," he says. "I know."

His hand slides between you, finds your clit, and that's it. Clenching around him, wrists jerking hard against the belt, his name falling from your lips.

He follows, forehead dropping to yours, breath ragged, and you feel him pulse inside you. You lie there, both of you breathing hard, his weight on you, your wrists still bound above your head.

He lifts his head, looks at you, curls in his eyes.

"Hey," he says. "You okay?"

"Stop asking me that."

"Never."

He reaches up, unbuckles the belt, carefully unwraps your wrists. Rubs them gently even though there are no marks.

You lower your arms. He pulls out slowly, tucks himself back in, helps you pull your pants up.

Then he lies down next to you on the couch, pulls you against his chest, you can hear his heartbeat, still fast.

"We're really bad at being coworkers," you say.

"The worst."

"The app is going to have a field day with this."

"Probably already has."

You reach for your phone on the floor, open the app.

99% MATCH – BEHAVIORAL SYNCHRONIZATION DETECTED

mutual vulnerability exchange logged

trust patterns established

"It went up," you say.

"Told you it was real."

You look at the chessboard in the corner of the room, because duh there's one here too, he probably has them in every studio. This one is further along, someone's been playing.

"Did you move the pieces?" you ask.

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Every time you moved yours in the other studio. I've been mirroring you."

"We're both playing, then."

"We've always been playing."

You close your eyes, let yourself exist in this moment. His heartbeat under your ear, his hand tracing patterns on your back.

"Friday again?" you ask.

"Friday again," he confirms, and for the first time, it doesn't feel like a test, it feels like an actual choice.

A week passes. Maybe more. Time gets weird when you're not counting the days between sessions, when you're just existing in the same space without the weight of anticipation.

You're working on the bridge for override when you notice the app notification.

99% MATCH – SUSTAINED BEHAVIORAL ALIGNMENT

interaction frequency: DAILY

emotional baseline: STABLE [RECALIBRATING]

You stare at that last line. Recalibrating. Like it can't quite figure out what to do with stable. "The app's being weird," you say, not looking up from your laptop.

Hongjoong's at the soundboard. "How so?"

"Says we're at 99% but also that it's... recalibrating my emotional baseline. Like it doesn't know what to do with us."

"Good."

You glance up. "Good?"

"Means we're doing something it can't predict." He doesn't look at you, just keeps adjusting levels. "Data's always behind. It can only tell you what already happened."

But we're still happening.

You tap your pen against your thigh. Four times. Then four more. Why does that sound like he's reading from a script?

"We've been at 99% for like, a week straight now," you say. Your voice sounds normal. Casual. You're very proud of this. "Think it'll ever hit 100?"

"Probably not."

"Why not?"

He glances over his shoulder. "Because perfect doesn't exist. Just... close enough."

Close enough. The pen tapping gets faster. You're aware of it. Can't stop it. Close enough. What the fuck does that mean? Close enough to what? Close enough for who?

"You're doing the thing again," he says.

"What thing?"

"The pen tapping. Four beats."

He knows my patterns better than I do. Your stomach drops. Not in the good way. In the oh fuck I'm being watched way.

"Maybe I'm just anxious," you say.

"You're not." He turns fully now. "You're satisfied. It's different."

You save the document, close your laptop. Your hands are trembling, and you're trying to hide by gripping the laptop edges.

"Okay, so what are you?" The words come out sharper than you meant. "A producer or a behavioral analyst?"

"Both, apparently."

"That's—" You stop. Because he's right. Again. You are satisfied. And somehow that makes it worse. He crosses the room, sits on the edge of the couch next to you.

"The track's done," he says. "We finished it."

There's a pause. The kind that used to feel comfortable, now it feels like he's waiting for you to do something, say something. Perform on cue. 

"So what happens now?" you ask.

"We start the next one."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

You look at him. The non-prescription glasses he's wearing today have smudges on them. There's a new fray at the hem of his tank. His fingers are tapping that invisible rhythm on his thigh. 

He looks tired. Or settled. Like he's been holding his breath for months and doesn't trust the air when he finally lets it go. Or like he's satisfied with the results of his experiment.

"You okay?" you ask.

"Yeah." He tilts his head. "Are you?"

"I think so."

"You think so?"

Your phone buzzes against your leg. You ignore it.

"I don't know. This is—" You gesture between you. "I don't know what this is."

"Does it need a name?"

"Maybe?"

"Why?"

Because I need to categorize it. File it. Understand it so I can control it. Because if I can't name it, I can't predict it, and if I can't predict it, I can't protect myself from it.

"Because I'm annoying like that," you say instead.

He almost smiles. "You're not annoying."

"You literally called me strange like two weeks ago."

"Strange isn't annoying. Strange is interesting."

Interesting.

"Is that what I am?" Your voice sounds far away. "Interesting?"

"Among other things."

You wait for him to elaborate, he doesn't. He never does. Always makes me work for it. Always makes me prove I'm worth the explanation.

"You're doing it again," you say.

"What?"

"The vague thing. Where you say something that sounds like it means something but doesn't actually tell me anything."

"I told you—you're interesting."

"That's not—" You stop. Breathe. Your hand finds your pen. Tap tap tap tap. "Never mind."

He's quiet for a moment. Watching you. Stop looking at me like that. Stop seeing me like that.

"You touched your pen four times just now," he says.

Your hand freezes. What?

"What?"

"Four times. Before you said 'never mind.'" His voice is completely even. Matter-of-fact. "You do that when you're deciding whether to trust what I'm saying or build a case against it. Three taps means you're considering. Four means you've already decided I'm wrong, you're just being polite about it."

Your stomach drops so fast you think you might throw up. 

"I'm not—"

"Five taps and you leave the room entirely." He's still not looking at you. He's looking at the chessboard on the console across the room. "You did it twice last week. Once on Tuesday when I said the bridge needed work. Once on Thursday when I asked if you were okay."

omgomgomgomgomg. Your chest is too tight. The studio is too small, the air is too thin.

"You're cataloging me still," you say. Your voice sounds hollow.

"I'm paying attention."

"No." You stand up. Need to not be perceived for five fucking seconds. "No, that's not—that's not paying attention. That's surveillance."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Your hands are shaking. You shove them in your pockets. "You just listed my behavioral patterns like you're reading from a fucking spreadsheet. Three taps, four taps, five taps. What else do you have documented? How many times I blink when I'm nervous? The exact angle I tilt my head when I'm about to disagree with you?"

"You're losing it." His voice is calm. "This isn't about the pen taps."

"Don't." The word comes out sharp. "Don't therapize me right now. Don't sit there and tell me what this is really about like I'm one of your—your case studies."

"I'm not—"

"You are!" Your voice cracks. "You're doing it right now! 'You're losing it’—like you're diagnosing me. Like I'm a problem to be solved."

He stands too. "I'm trying to understand what's happening right now. You were fine five minutes ago."

"Was I?" You laugh, and it sounds unreal even to you. "Or did I just perform 'fine' correctly? Hit all the right markers? Tap my pen the right number of times?"

"Jesus Christ." He runs his hand through his hair. "Where is this coming from?"

"It's coming from—" You grab your phone, shove the screen in his face. The app notification is still there. EMOTIONAL BASELINE: [RECALIBRATING]. "From this. From the fact that I've been at 99% compatibility with you for a week and I don't even know if what I'm feeling is real or if I've just been conditioned to—"

"Conditioned?" His voice goes cold. "Are you serious right now?"

"Yes!" Your hands are shaking so hard you have to grip your phone with both hands. "Yes, I'm serious! You've been using that app to track me. You know my patterns better than I do. You've literally trained me to associate you with—with relief and safety and—"

"With being seen." His jaw is tight. "That's what this is really about. I see you too clearly."

"You observe me." The distinction feels important. "There's a damn difference."

"Is there?"

"Yes!" You're crying now. "Yes, because observation is clinical. Observation is data collection. Observation is—is what you do to lab rats, not people you—"

You stop. Not people you love. The word hangs in the air between you, unspoken but deafening.

"Not people I what?" His voice is dangerous now. Quiet. "Say it."

"Nothing."

"Say it."

"I can't—"

"You think I don't love you." It's not a question. "That's what this is. You think I've been running some kind of experiment. That you're just—what? An interesting problem? A fascinating behavioral study?"

Yes. No. I don't know.

"I think—" Your voice is barely a whisper. "I think you're fascinated by me. By how broken I am. By how well I respond to your methods. But fascination isn't—"

"Isn't what?" He steps closer. "Isn't love? You think I've been doing this—all of this—out of academic curiosity?"

"I don't know!" The words rip out of you. "I don't know what you feel because you never fucking tell me! You just observe and analyze and make these cryptic comments about patterns and behavioral synchronization and—"

"And you eat it up." His voice is sharp now, cutting. "Don't pretend you don't. You love being seen. Being understood. Being challenged. You asked for this."

"I asked to be treated like a person, not a—"

"You asked me to push you." He's angry now. "You showed up at my door desperate for someone to see through your bullshit. To give you structure. To make you feel something other than numb. And now that I have, now that I know you, you can't handle it."

"That's not—"

"You're terrified." He's in your space now. "You're terrified because I see all of you. The brilliance and the damage and the fear. And you can't stand it. You can't stand being known."

"Don't." Your hands are fists. "Don't turn this into some psychological profile when I'm trying to—"

"Trying to what? Push me away? Prove that I'm just using you? Confirm whatever fucked up story you tell yourself about not being worth—"

"Stop!" The word comes out strangled. "Stop acting like you know me!"

"I do know you!" His voice cracks. "That's the fucking problem! I know that you tap your pen four times when you've already decided I'm wrong. I know that you touch your hair when you're about to say something vulnerable. I know that you need the complexity, the difficulty, because if it was easy you wouldn't trust it. I know that you're sabotaging this right now because we're at 99% and that terrifies you more than failure ever could."

The silence is suffocating. He's right. He's right and I hate that he's right.

"You're still testing me," he continues, and his voice is quieter now. Devastated. "Every time I don't elaborate, every time I leave space for you to fill in the blanks, you're checking to see if I'll give you a reason to leave. You're building a case. Collecting evidence. Waiting for me to confirm that this isn't real."

"Because maybe it's not!" Your voice breaks. "Maybe I'm just—I'm just responding to stimuli. Like Pavlov's fucking dog. You've trained me to need you and I don't know if that's love or just—just behavioral conditioning."

"Was any of it real?" The question comes out broken. "The chess games? The conversations? Last Friday when you looked at me like I was—" He stops. Swallows hard. "Or was I just novel enough to hold your attention until you got bored or scared?"

"That's not right."

"None of this is right!" He's crying now too. You can see it even though he's trying to hide it. "You're burning this down before it can burn you first. You're so fucking terrified of being hurt that you'd rather destroy it yourself. At least then you're in control, right?"

SIGNIFICANT CONFLICT DETECTED

COMPATIBILITY METRICS DESTABILIZING

RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE INTERVENTION

You both look at it.

And then you see it. His laptop. Open on the soundboard behind him, screen still lit. Your name is visible in a folder label.

SUBJECT 11798 - LONGITUDINAL STUDY

Everything stops. That's my name. That's—what the fuck is that?

"What is that?"

He follows your gaze. Goes completely, utterly still. The kind of still that confirms every terrible thing you're thinking.

You move before he can stop you, shouldering past him to the laptop. The folder is right there. You click it. 

week 1 - initial contact, week 4 - testing behavior emerges.                                                                   week 8 - first physical contact, week 12 - sexual interaction analysis.                                                    week 16 - attachment indicators.

"What the fuck is this?" Your voice doesn't sound like yours. 

You click Week 12.  session date: valentine’s day. location: studio S5. duration: 1hr, 34 minutes. sexual contact initiated by researcher at subject request. subject required control dynamics to achieve comfort - allowed researcher to dictate positioning (see: attachment patterns, avoidant style). orgasm achieved at 25-minute mark. vocalization patterns included repeated phrases "don't stop" (x7), "please" (x12), name-calling (x4). heart rate peaked at 150 bpm. recovery time: 6 minutes before subject re-engaged conversation. deflection humor noted as defense mechanism.

There's a fucking graph. Heart rate over time. Color-coded zones. Red for peak arousal. Blue for recovery. recommendation: continue trust-building protocol. subject responding to observational validation. physical intimacy accelerating attachment as predicted.

"You graphed my orgasms." It doesn't sound real. None of this sounds real. You're having an out-of-body experience. You're watching yourself say these words from somewhere outside your body.

"I can explain—"

"You GRAPHED my ORGASMS." Your voice is rising now, getting louder, and some distant part of you knows you're about to lose it completely but you can't stop. "You documented how many times I said please while you fucked me and you made a goddamn BAR CHART."

ou're clicking through more files now, hands shaking so badly you can barely control the trackpad. Weeks and weeks of documentation. week 3: subject arrived 12 minutes late (testing behavior). did not acknowledge discrepancy per research protocol. subject visible relaxation noted. week 7: subject disclosed childhood trauma re: father's abandonment. researcher expressed empathy (genuine). 

session notes filed separately due to personal compromise. week 9: subject gifted coffee without prompting. researcher reciprocated with preferred order (oat milk latte, extra shot, no foam - see: beverage preference log). positive reinforcement of caretaking behavior observed.

He has a beverage preference log. He has a BEVERAGE PREFERENCE LOG.

"How long?" You still can't look at him. "How long have you been doing this?"

"From the beginning." The words hit like a slap. Like a punch. Like every fear you've ever had confirmed in three words.

You laugh. It sounds unhinged. You sound unhinged. You probably are unhinged at this point. "From the beginning. From the VERY beginning."

"I'm a researcher for synCink." He's talking fast now, desperate, words tumbling over each other. "We run long-term behavioral studies on high-compatibility pairs. Deep observation. Longitudinal data collection. I was assigned—"

"Assigned to ME." You finally turn to look at him and god, he looks wrecked, but you don't care, you can't care right now. "I was assigned to you like a fucking dissertation topic."

"It wasn't supposed to be—I wasn't supposed to get involved—"

"Oh but you did SUCH a good job staying objective, right?" You're clicking through more folders now, rage making your hands steadier. There's one labeled ADMIN ACCESS. 

You click it. your full profile. Backend interface. Every message you’ve ever sent. Every location ping. Real-time biometric data. current status: IN PROXIMITY TO RESEARCHER (0.8 meters). heart rate: 156 bpm (CRITICAL ELEVATION). stress markers: SEVERE. cortisol levels: CLIMBING. respiratory rate: INCREASED.

It's tracking you RIGHT NOW. Right this second. Documenting your breakdown in real-time.

"You've had access to all of this? This entire time?" Your voice is too calm now. The kind of calm that comes right before you completely lose your shit.

Another folder. AUDIO LOGS. No. No no no no— You click it. 11:50pm - Studio S5.wav. 10:20pm - Studio K8.wav.  9:58pm - Studio S5.wav.

"Tell me these aren't what I think they are." He doesn't answer. You click one. Your own voice fills the studio, breathy and desperate and so fucking vulnerable it makes you want to die. "—don't stop, please don't stop, Joong I'm gonna—"

You slam the laptop shut so hard you're surprised it doesn't crack. "You recorded us. You recorded us fucking. For your research."

"The app auto-logs audio in proximity events, I didn't manually—"

"Don't you DARE blame the app!" You're screaming now, actually screaming, and you never scream. "You had admin access! You could have turned it off! You CHOSE to keep recordings of me coming and you—what? Took notes? Analyzed my vocalizations? Presented it at a fucking conference?"

"I never shared the audio files, they're confidential research data—"

"Oh well THAT makes it fine then!" Your laugh is manic. "As long as it's CONFIDENTIAL research data that you used to document how to systematically make me fall in love with you!"

"That's not what I—"

"Then WHAT?" You grab the laptop, shove it toward him. "Explain this. Explain the heart rate monitors and the orgasm graphs and the fucking AUDIO RECORDINGS. Make it make sense, Hongjoong. Please. Make this make ANY kind of sense."

He's crying now. Actually crying. Good. "I was supposed to observe. Document behavioral patterns in high-compatibility pairs. Long-term attachment formation. How people with avoidant attachment styles respond to consistent observation and validation. You were—you were perfect for the study."

Perfect for the study. The words echo in your head. Perfect for the study. Perfect for the study.

"Perfect," you repeat. Your voice is shaking. Your whole body is shaking. "I was perfect. Not 'perfect for me.' Perfect for your STUDY."

"That came out wrong—"

"Did it?" You're in his face now, close enough to see the tears on his cheeks, close enough to see how wrecked he looks, and you don't care. "Because it sounded pretty fucking clear. You saw a broken girl with daddy issues who tests everyone and you thought 'great data source' and you—what? Engineered the perfect relationship to see what would happen?"

"I fell in love with you!" His voice cracks. "That wasn't engineered, that wasn't part of the study, I wasn't supposed to—"

"How would I KNOW that?" You're shaking. Crying. Screaming. All of it at once. "How would I EVER know that? You documented every single thing I did, you had a playbook for how to make me trust you, you recorded me at my most vulnerable and turned it into DATA POINTS—"

"You WANTED to be studied!" The words explode out of him. Loud. Raw. So unexpected you actually stop mid-sentence.

You stop. "What?"

"Don't act like you didn't," he continues, and his voice is different now. Not apologetic anymore. "You WANTED someone to pay attention. To notice every little thing. To prove you were worth observing. That's the whole reason you do the three-minute thing. The tests. The performance. You're BEGGING someone to see through it and you're pissed off that I actually DID."

"Fuck you—"

"No, fuck YOU." He's not backing down anymore. "You tested me for MONTHS. Was that ethical? You manipulated every interaction to see if I'd stay. You PUSHED me away over and over to see if I'd chase you. Don't stand there and act like you're the only victim here."

"I wasn't DOCUMENTING it—"

"You were doing it anyway!" His voice is loud now, furious, and you've never seen him like this. "At least I was honest with myself about what I was doing. You've been running experiments on me since day one and calling it self-protection. Calling it trauma. Using it as an excuse to hurt people before they hurt you."

The words land like punches. Each one hitting exactly where it hurts most. 

"That's not the same—"

"ISN'T IT?" He laughs, bitter and broken. "You think I don't know you were waiting for me to fail? That every single time you tested me, you were HOPING I'd leave so you could be right about everyone abandoning you? That's not self-protection, that's self-fulfilling prophecy. That's YOU manipulating outcomes and then acting shocked when you get what you engineered."

"Stop—"

"No. You wanted honesty? Here's honesty." He's close now, eyes blazing. "You're so fucking terrified of being known that you turn yourself into a puzzle. Make people work for every piece of you. And then when someone actually SOLVES you? When someone sees all your patterns and broken pieces and wants you anyway? You burn it down. Because being loved is scarier than being alone."

Tears are streaming down your face. Your chest hurts. Everything hurts. "You don't get to therapize me—"

"I'm not therapizing you, I'm telling you the truth you've been running from!" His voice breaks. "Yes, I documented you. Yes, I turned it into research. Yes, I violated your privacy in ways I can never take back. I'm a piece of shit. I KNOW I'm a piece of shit." 

Both of you wrecked. Both of you destroyed. "But don't you DARE pretend you're innocent in this. Don't pretend you didn't want exactly what I was giving you. Someone who saw every test, every wall, every defense mechanism and stayed anyway. You got what you wanted. You just can't handle that it came from someone as fucked up as you are."

The silence is deafening. "So was ANY of it real?" Your voice is barely a whisper. "Or were we just two broken people running experiments on each other?"

"I don't know." His honesty is devastating. Completely devastating. "I don't know if I love you because of who you are or because I spent months studying your patterns until you're all I think about. I don't know if you love me or if I engineered it so perfectly you couldn't help it. I don't know what's real anymore."

You stare at him. At this person who saw every broken piece of you and documented it. Who you let in knowing full well you were testing him every step. We're both so fucked up. We're both so incredibly fucked up.

"They're pulling you from the study," you say. It's not a question.

"Last week. They found out I'm compromised. Too involved. I have to submit final documentation and then I'm done. No more access to your data. No more—" His voice breaks. "No more you."

There it is. "So this was what? Your closing argument? One last session before you submit the final report and move on to the next subject?"

"No." He looks gutted. "I was going to tell you. Tonight. Everything. I was going to tell you and hope—fuck, I don't know what I was hoping for."

"That I'd understand? Forgive you? Keep fucking the guy who recorded me without consent and called it science?"

He flinches. Deserves it. Deserves worse than that, honestly.

"I need to know one thing," you say, and your voice is eerily calm now. "Did you love me before the study or because of it?"

"I—" He stops. Starts again. "I don't know. Both? Neither? Does it matter?"

"YES IT FUCKING MATTERS!" You're screaming again. Can't help it. "Because if you loved me first and used the study to justify it, that's one thing. If the study CREATED the love? If you fell for me BECAUSE you were documenting me? Then I'm just—I'm just Stockholm syndrome with extra steps."

"It's not—"

"ANSWER THE QUESTION."

He's quiet for so long. "Week seven. When you told me about your dad. I went home and I couldn't write the report. Just sat there staring at the template and I—I couldn't do it. Couldn't reduce you to data points. That's when I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That I was fucked." His laugh is broken. "That I'd compromised the entire study. That I'd fallen in love with my research subject and there was no way back."

Week seven. You remember that night. Remember crying in the studio at 2am because you'd had a fight with your mom about your dad and everything came spilling out. Remember him just... sitting with you. Not trying to fix it. Not offering solutions. Just being there. And he went home and couldn't write about it. Couldn't turn it into data.

"But you kept documenting anyway."

"I kept documenting anyway," he confirms. "Because if I stopped, they'd pull me from the study. Pull me from you. And I couldn't—I wasn't ready to lose you yet."

"So you chose the research over me."

"I chose having you in any capacity over not having you at all." His voice is wrecked. "I know that's not better. I know that makes me selfish and cowardly and—"

"A fucking liar," you finish. "Don't forget liar."

"Yeah." He nods. "That too."

You stand there, everything in you screaming. Leave. You need to leave. You need to leave right now before you do something stupid like forgive him.

Your phone buzzes. critical destabilization eventsubject-researcher boundary violation exposedstudy integrity: compromisedrecommended action: terminate contact

"Perfect fucking timing," you mutter. You look at the chessboard. At the game you've been playing for months. At your black knight and his white rook, frozen mid-play. 

"You know what the worst part is?" Your voice is quiet now. "I was RIGHT. About everything. I AM being conditioned. You WERE manipulating me. Every fear I had about being watched and studied and turned into a project was TRUE. And you—" Your voice breaks. "You made me think I was paranoid. Made me think I was self-sabotaging. Convinced me to trust you. And the whole time, I was right to be afraid."

"I'm sorry." He's sobbing now. Full-on sobbing. "I'm so fucking sorry. You're right. About all of it. And I don't—I don't know how to fix this. I don't think I can."

"You can't." You grab your bag, your laptop. Your hands have stopped shaking. "There's no fixing this. You can't unrecord those audio files. Can't unwrite those reports. Can't give me back my privacy or my trust or my ability to believe that someone could love me without turning me into a science experiment."

You head for the door.

"Wait—"

You stop. Don't turn around. Can't turn around.

"The chess game," he says quietly. "I never moved my last piece. I was waiting for you."

You look back at the board. At the pieces frozen in play. "You want to know what I was going to do next?" Your voice is flat. Empty. "I was going to flip the board. Walk away. Choose nothing over playing a game with rules I didn't agree to."

You can see the realization hit him. The understanding that even in this, even at the end, you're unpredictable.

"That's why I love you," he whispers.

"Past tense," you correct. "That's why you loved me. Before you turned me into Subject 11798."

You walk out. The hallway is too bright. Fluorescent lights that hurt your eyes. The elevator takes forever. What the fuck just happened. What the actual fuck just happened.

Your phone won't stop buzzing. ISOLATION EVENT LOGGED. USER WELLBEING: CRITICAL. RESEARCHER PROTOCOL VIOLATION CONFIRMED.

You turn it off. Fuck the app. Fuck all of it.

The parking garage is freezing. You get in your car, lock the doors. And then you break. He recorded us. He recorded me saying his name, begging, breaking apart, and he saved it. Analyzed it. Put it in a fucking FOLDER.

But also, He was right though.

No. Shut up.

But he was. You wanted someone to study you. To prove you were worth the effort of understanding.

That doesn't make what he did okay. Doesn't make it not true either.

You sit there in the dark, crying so hard you can't breathe, and somewhere seventeen floors above you, Hongjoong sits in the same dark, staring at a laptop full of data that doesn't mean anything anymore.

He opens the final report template. subject 11798 - study conclusion. He types: the subject discovered researcher involvement. relationship terminated. notable response: extreme distress, betrayal, anger. predicted reaction: complete withdrawal, potential for—

He stops. Deletes it all. Closes the laptop. Sends one email to his supervisor, ‘I'm done. Find someone else.’

And then he sits in the dark with the chessboard and waits for a move that will never come.

Four days. You make it four days. Wow girly…

Not because you've forgiven him, you haven't, you're still furious, you're still hurt, you still want to throw his laptop out a window, not because you've processed the betrayal or convinced yourself it wasn't that bad or found a way to rationalize dating a guy who turned you into research data.

But because you're fucking FURIOUS. And leaving would let him be right about you. About the running away. The self-sabotage. The choosing loneliness over risk. Fuck that. Fuck HIM.

Also because you emailed yourself all his research files before you left, because you're not above stealing data from the guy who stole yours, turnabout is fair play and all that, and you've spent four days reading every single report. Every observation. Every prediction. Every note about your patterns and behaviors and broken pieces.

week 4: Subject testing behavior intensifies. Deliberately provoking reactions to assess researcher commitment. Hypothesis: subject expects abandonment, creates conditions to confirm bias.

week 9: Subject exhibits approach-avoidance in physical intimacy. Initiates contact, then withdraws. Requires control and predetermined boundaries to feel safe. Recommendation: Provide consistent structure without pressure.

week 14: Subject disclosed fear of being "too much." Directly connected to paternal abandonment and subsequent relationship patterns. Notable: subject appears unaware of how this drives testing behaviors.

He saw you. Documented it all in clinical language, but he SAW you.

And the fucked up thing? The thing that you're not proud of but also can't deny? That's exactly what you wanted. 

So you're going back. Not to forgive him. Not to reconcile. To confront him with his own research and see what happens. This is insane. I should be blocking his number and moving to a different studio and maybe a different city. But here I am. Driving back. Because I’m an idiot.

You park in the same spot. Take the same elevator. The door is closed, you don't knock. If he's not alone, this is going to be really awkward. If he's with another "subject" I'm going to lose my mind.

He's there, same position, same devastated look. The laptop is closed, the chessboard hasn't been touched. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.

"You came back."

"Don't sound so surprised." You close the door behind you. Lock it. Why did I lock it? Why am I locking the door? "You probably predicted this. Subject returns within 3-7 days, 75% probability, motivated by need for closure slash control."

He goes pale. "You read the files."

"I read ALL the files." You drop your bag. Move closer. "Every single report. Every prediction. Every detailed analysis of my fucked-up attachment patterns." You're right in front of him now. "Week four. Week nine. Week twelve with the orgasm graphs. Week fourteen where you noted I'm 'unaware' of my own patterns. I read it all, Joong."

"I'm sorry—"

"Week twelve," you interrupt. "Sexual interaction analysis. You documented everything. How long it took me to come. What I said. How my heart rate spiked." You're right in front of him now, close enough to see his pupils dilate. "I want you to read it to me."

"What?"

"The report. From week twelve. I want you to read it. Out loud. Right now."

"I can't—"

"You WROTE it. You can READ it." Your voice is sharp. Cutting. "Or was it only okay to document me when I didn't know about it?"

His hands are shaking. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm taking it back." You pick up his laptop. Open it. Pull up the file. Week 12 is right there. "You observed me? Fine. Now you get to CONFRONT what you did. Read it."

He stares at the screen. At the documentation of your intimacy. At the graphs and the timestamps and the vocalization counts.

"Out loud, Joong."

His voice is barely a whisper. "‘Session date: valentine’s say. Location: Studio S5. Duration: 1 hour, 34 minutes. Sexual contact initiated by researcher at subject request—’"

"Louder."

"‘Subject required control dynamics to achieve comfort. Allowed researcher to dictate positioning, pacing, and—’" His voice breaks. "I can't do this."

"Keep going." You're not letting him off the hook. Not even a little bit.

"’Orgasm achieved at 25-minute mark. Vocalization patterns included repeated phrases: 'don't stop' recorded seven times, 'please' recorded twelve times—’"

"What else?" You're right behind him now. Close enough to feel the heat coming off him.

"’Subject's heart rate peaked. Recovery time: six minutes before re-engaging conversation. Subject employed deflection humor as defense mechanism post-intimacy.’"

Silence. "You turned me coming into a data point," you say quietly. "Graphed it. Analyzed it. Filed it under research."

"I know." He's crying. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." You close the laptop. "Stand up."

"What?"

"Stand up."

He does, slow and uncertain, like you might bolt or hit him or both. You step closer, close enough to feel his breath.

"I read all of it," you say. "Every week. Every observation. Every prediction about what I'd do next. And you know what I realized?"

He doesn't answer. Just stares at you like he's trying to figure out if you're about to destroy him or forgive him. Joke's on him, you don't know either.

"You were right. About everything. I DO test people. I DO engineer situations to confirm my own abandonment issues. I DO push people away before they can leave me." Your voice is steady. Calmer than you feel. "You saw all of it. Documented it. And you stayed anyway."

"That doesn't make what I did okay—"

"No, it doesn't." You grab his shirt. Pull him closer. "But I'm not here because I forgive you. I'm here because I'm choosing this knowingly. With all the information. With every fucked-up thing you did and every fucked-up thing I did right back."

"You shouldn't—"

"Stop telling me what I should do." You kiss him. Four days of missing him and hating him and wanting him all at once. "You studied me? Great. Now you get to deal with the consequences of being RIGHT about everything."

He kisses you back like he's drowning, like he can't believe you're here. "This is a bad idea—"

"The worst." You're pulling at his clothes now, his shirt coming off, your hands on his skin. "But I'm done pretending I want something perfect. Done pretending I don't want exactly this."

"You should hate me—"

"I DO hate you." His shirt is off now. Your hands are on his belt. "I hate that you made me fall for you. I hate that I'll never know what's real. I hate that even now I want you." Your hands are shaking but you don't stop. "And I'm choosing you anyway because fuck your predictions. You don't get to be right about me leaving."

"This is—we shouldn't—"

"Shut up and take off your pants."

He does. You do. It's frantic and desperate and four days of missing him despite everything, despite the betrayal, despite the recordings and the graphs and the documentation of your heart breaking. You end up on the studio couch, him pulling you onto his lap, both of you breathing hard.

Your brain supplies he documented this too, he knows exactly what you need, every position you prefer, every angle that works, he has NOTES—

You line him up. Sink down slow, taking him in, and you both gasp. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

"Fuck—" His hands are on your hips, gripping tight. "You feel—"

"Don't." You start moving, slow at first, finding the rhythm. "Don't tell me what you observed. Don't tell me this matches your data. Just be here."

He nods, pulls you closer. Kisses you while you ride him, and it's good, it's so good, he knows exactly what angle, what pace—Because he studied you. Because he has months of data on exactly how to make you fall apart.

"Stop thinking," he gasps against your mouth.

"Can't." You're moving faster now, chasing something, chasing release, chasing the feeling of being known even if it came from the worst possible place. "Can't stop thinking about week twelve."

His hands tighten on your hips. "Do you want to stop?"

"No." You grind down harder, making him gasp. "I want you to tell me. What did the report say? What did you document?"

"I can't—"

"Tell me." You slow down, making him desperate, making him need it. "Tell me what you wrote or I stop."

"This isn't—" He's breathing hard, pupils blown. "This isn't healthy—"

"I don't give a fuck." You clench around him and watch his eyes roll back. "Tell me what you observed. Tell me what you learned about how I fuck."

His hands are shaking. "Subject prefers control. Needs to set the pace. Responds to praise and—" He stops.

"And what?"

"And being watched." His voice is wrecked. Completely wrecked. "You get off on being perceived. On knowing someone is paying attention to every reaction."

"See?" You start moving again, faster, harder. "You DO know me. You studied me and figured it out and now you're stuck with that information."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize." You're close now, can feel it building. "Use it. You want me to come? You know how."

His hand slides between your bodies, finds your clit, and the pressure is perfect. "That's it," he's saying, and his voice has that clinical edge now, that observational tone. "I can feel you getting close. Your breathing changes. Your pupils dilate. You always—"

"Shut up—"

"You always dig your nails in right before." He's right. You're doing it right now, nails digging into his shoulders. "And you say my name. Three times. Always three."

"Joong—" You're so close, right on the edge. "Fuck, Joong—"

"That's two."

"Joong!" You come hard, clenching around him. He comes right after, face buried in your neck, hands shaking on your hips, and for a moment you just stay there, connected, breathing hard.

You collapse against him, both of you breathing hard, sweaty, wrecked.

"We're so fucked up," you say finally.

He's still inside you. His hands are gentle now, rubbing circles on your back. "Does that bother you?"

"It should." You pull back to look at him. His hair is a mess. His glasses are crooked. He looks destroyed in the best way. "But I think that's the point. I don't WANT simple. I want someone who sees every broken piece and wants me anyway."

"Even if they documented the broken pieces in research files?"

"Especially then." You're smiling despite everything. Despite the betrayal and the recordings and the fact that you're probably making the worst decision of your life. "Because at least you can't pretend you didn't know what you were getting into."

He laughs, relieved. "For the girls who can't love anything simple."

"Something like that." You climb off him, both of you wincing. You find your clothes. Your legs are shaky. You just had sex with the guy who recorded you without consent. You're insane. You've lost your mind.

"I quit," he says suddenly. "Told synCink I was done. They threatened legal action. I don't care."

"You quit." You're pulling on your jeans.

He's pulling on his jeans too, not looking at you. "Deleted all the files. The reports. The audio logs. Everything."

"Can't delete what's already out there though." You're not accusing. Just stating facts. "Can't delete what's in their servers."

"No," he agrees. "I submitted enough data that they don't need the rest. It's in their systems. In their databases. I can't take that back."

You should feel violated. You do feel violated, you're also still here. What does that say about you?

"Show me," you say.

"What?"

"Your app. Show me your interface."

He hesitates, then hands you his phone. You look at the screen, it's normal now, same layout as yours. No admin access, no backend data, no extra fields.

"They revoked your credentials."

"Yeah."

You check the percentage. 99.2%. Higher than before. How is it higher? We just had a massive fight. We broke up. How is it HIGHER?

"Is that real?" you ask. "Or did you manipulate it before they kicked you out?"

"I don't know. I don't have access to see. That's all we get now. Whatever the algorithm says."

You stare at the number, at him. At the chessboard still sitting there. Your phone buzzes. So does his. proximity event logged – complexity index: elevatednote: researcher access revokednote: standard user tracking resumed

And then another notification. One you've never seen before. new protocol detected

You both click it at the same time. mutual observation pattern identified

analysis: both users exhibit heightened observation and behavioral analysis of partner. recursive study dynamic detected. user 2 documents user 1. user 1 tests and analyzes user 2's responses. pattern consistent with mutual psychological assessment.

compatibility increased due to: matched observational tendencies. both users process relationships through analysis/documentation. rare dynamic: observer pair.

note: this pairing was flagged for research study specifically due to mutual observation patterns. high probability both users would engage in reciprocal behavioral analysis.

"Observer pair," you say slowly.

"The app KNEW." Hongjoong is staring at his phone. "It matched us specifically because we both—because we're both—"

"Fucked up in the same way." You start laughing. "Oh my god. The app paired us because we BOTH study people. I test. You document. It knew we'd do this to each other."

"That's—" He looks wrecked. "That's actually worse than I thought."

"It's perfect." You're still laughing, slightly hysterical. "We were both running experiments. The whole time. You were studying me, I was testing you, and the app was watching us study each other like some fucked up feedback loop."

"I don't know if that makes this better or worse."

"Both. Neither. Does it matter?" You pocket your phone. "We're here anyway."

He's quiet for a long moment. "Why did you come back? Really."

"Because leaving would be predictable," you say honestly. "Because I read every report and you were right about me and I couldn't let that be the end of the story. Because—" You stop. Look at him. "Because I spent four days alone and I realized I'd rather be fucked up with you than healthy without you."

His eyes are wet. "That's the most shittiest thing you've ever said."

You move closer. “Your point?"

He pulls you in, arms wrapping around you. You stand there in the middle of the studio, holding each other, both of you knowing this is a terrible idea. This is a terrible idea. This is the worst idea you've ever had. You're choosing dysfunction. You're choosing someone who violated your privacy. You're choosing—

Your phone buzzes again. compatibility increased: 99.7% – new feature unlocked: behavioral synchronization

You tap it. at this compatibility level, the app has detected behavioral synchronization between users. this means your patterns are beginning to mirror each other. shared vocabulary. matching micro-expressions. synchronized decision-making.

note: this is extremely rare and indicates deep psychological integration.

warning: users may experience difficulty distinguishing between individual desires and partner-influenced preferences. sense of self may become enmeshed with partner identity.

recommend: establish boundaries to maintain separate identities.

"It's warning us," you say. "We're at 99.7%."

"Yeah."

"If we stay together, we might lose ourselves in each other."

"Does that scare you?"

"Terrifies me." You kiss him anyway. "Let's do it."

You walk over to the chessboard. Look at the pieces. Pick up your black knight. And instead of the safe move, the smart move, the move he'd predict, you make a wild, reckless, sacrificial play that breaks every pattern you've established. That leaves you exposed and vulnerable and completely unpredictable.

He stares at the board. At you. "I didn't see that coming."

"Get used to it."

You kiss him. Later, you'll deal with the aftermath. The trust that's shattered. The privacy that's gone. The fact that you're choosing to love someone who turned you into research data. 

Later, you'll figure out if you can maintain your sense of self while merging with someone who studied every aspect of who you are.

Later.

For now, you're here. Together. Two observers who found each other through an algorithm that knew exactly how fucked up you both were.

The app screen stays at 99.7%. The chessboard sits there on the console, your black knight in that position that made no sense, his white rook still waiting for a response that broke all his predictions. You don't know if you made the right move. You don't know if there is a right move. You just know you made it.

Somewhere in synCink's servers, your data is filed under OBSERVER PAIR - MUTUAL AWARENESS - UNPRECEDENTED OUTCOME. They're probably writing papers about you. Analyzing the feedback loop. Documenting how two people who study each other can create something the algorithm didn't predict.

Is this love or is this just two fucked-up people who found each other through an app that knew exactly how broken we are? Does it matter? Should it matter?

You don't know. You might never know.

But you're here anyway. Choosing this. Choosing him. Choosing dysfunction over loneliness and enmeshment over safety and being known over being whole.

‘when the morning comes, i hope you’re still mine.’

taglist: @sangis-puppy @chanscappuccino @cazza1805 @j4mergy @minkiluva @isaluschka @gigikubolong29 @kaitioo @yvanillelate @joongsfantasy @heartyuluv @ningningiloveumarryme @luviebears @choreomvnia @h0ngverse @sparda1234 @teaxtease @cinnamonpinktea @kisvva @h-llsp-wn @raicecakes-and-buldak @yunwoogidoll @prettygirlslietoo @meeghangryfun @yazzyu @lovelylusts @seongjoongs-world @bunny--g1rl @guerrillias @hwabby @atiny3000 @moonchild-stuff7 @mingiblossoms @tinystarryeyes @newworldwritings @do99k @mingtee @straykidsobssessionandenha @sincerely-moth @jupiterxox @silenttrxxs @trivia-134340 @vicurious28 @turtash @woobabyyyy @toastmenace @aaa-sia @sleepyheadyunho @honghwalvr @spiderfae03 @moooonandroses @cultofsin @kyeos4ng @blamethemovies23 (as always, let me know if you wish to be added, missed you, or removed <3)

[binniebb]

home // p.sw.

summary: sometimes love is inevitable as fate. but will it be enough for you to break free from societal expectations?

◦ pairing: greaser!seonghwa × soc!reader, oc x reader ◦ genre: strangers → lovers, 1950's themed ◦ rating: mature 18+, mdni ◦ wc: ~15k ◦ tw: [emotional partner abuse/neglect, possessive behavior, depictions of violence, smoking, references to alcohol use, classism/social ostracism, family conflict/estrangement, let me know if there's more <3] ◦ warnings: [smut, creampie, p in v sex, fingering, breast play, pregnancy talk, slow-burn, angst, fluff, pining, seonghwa and reader down bad for each other]

a/n: here it is y'all! first ateez fic. i love the fifties aesthetic so much so this was so fun to write. obviously this is more western themed. i'm not familiar with korean history, so pls keep that in mind <3 as always, enjoy! and pls like, comment, and reblog if you do.

. . . .

You stand just behind your boyfriend’s shoulder, hands folded neatly, smiling when you’re supposed to. He and his friends talk over you like you’re furniture, laughter loud and careless. Every time one of them bumps into you, no one apologizes. You’re proof of something, not a person.

Yeong-su’s hand rests at your waist, fingers tight enough to remind you who you belong to.

Then the air changes.

Leather creaks. Boots scrape pavement. Conversation stutters as a group of greasers cuts across the edge of the lot, cigarette tips glowing in the dark. Your boyfriend stiffens. His friends scowl openly, muttering insults they wouldn’t dare say in front of their parents.

You’ve learned not to look.

But you do anyway.

Park Seonghwa walks among them, jacket hanging loose, hands in his pockets like he has nothing to prove. His gaze lifts — and finds you.

It isn’t hungry. Isn’t mocking.

It’s quiet. Knowing.

For one suspended second, he sees past the letterman jacket, past the grip at your waist, past the role you’re playing. He sees the strain in your smile, the way your shoulders are tight like you’re bracing for something. Like he understands the bullshit without you having to say a word.

When he looks away, the laughter crashes back in.

But you don’t feel the same anymore.

Your boyfriend laughs again, louder than before, like he needs to fill the space Seonghwa left behind. His hand tightens at your waist, thumb pressing in warning, and you realize he noticed. He always notices when your attention slips.

“What were you lookin’ at?” he asks, tone casual, eyes sharp.

“Nothing,” you say automatically, because that’s what you’re good at. Nothing answers. Nothing feelings. Nothing wrong.

One of his friends snorts. “Those greaseballs don’t know their place.”

Yeong-su nods, jaw clenched, pride wounded by someone who didn’t even look at him. He starts talking again — about a game, about a party, about himself — and the circle closes back in. You smile when prompted. You nod when expected.

But your chest feels tight.

Across the lot, Seonghwa pauses near the curb. One of his friends says something low, amused, but Seonghwa doesn’t laugh. He glances back once, quick and dangerous, just to make sure you’re still standing.

You are.

Barely.

Yeong-su steers you away, already planning the rest of your night without asking. As you’re pulled along, you steal one last look over your shoulder.

Seonghwa is gone.

But the way he looked at you — like he knew, like he cared — lingers longer than the grip on your waist. And for the first time, you wonder what it would feel like to be seen without being owned.

The lot empties out, leaving behind a few scattered cars and the hum of distant music. Seonghwa leans against his, arms crossed, cigarette dangling from his lips as he watches the jock and his girl walk away. His friends mill around, talking shit and laughing, but Seonghwa stays still, eyes narrowed on the retreating figures.

Woo-young claps his shoulder, making him tear his eyes away from the pair. “Diner tonight?” He asks, searching his friend’s face. “You good?”

Seonghwa nods, flicking his cigarette to the ground. "Yeah," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "I'm good." He pushes off from the car and joins his friends, falling into step beside Woo-young. But as they walk away, he can't shake the image of that girl—her stiff posture, the way she looked at him like she was drowning. It sticks in his mind, a quiet ache he doesn't understand.

. . . .

The diner is the kind of place everyone in town claims as theirs, even though it’s never really been neutral ground.

Bright fluorescent lights buzz overhead, washing the front half of the room in a clean, unforgiving glow. The socials take up those booths by instinct. Letterman jackets slung over vinyl seats, polished shoes hooked around chair legs, voices loud and confident as if volume alone grants them ownership. Someone feeds a coin into the jukebox, and a love song crackles to life, tinny and cheerful, completely at odds with the tight feeling in your chest.

You slide into the booth beside Yeong-su, smoothing your skirt over your knees. He’s already halfway through a story, arm thrown across the back of the seat like it belongs there. Like you belong there. When the waitress stops by, Yeong-su orders for both of you without looking, rattling off your usual like it’s proof of how well he knows you.

You don’t correct him.

You rarely do.

The back of the diner feels different, dimmer, as though the lights lose their nerve before they reach it. That’s where the greasers sit, leather jackets creaking as they move, boots scuffing the tile. Cigarette smoke hangs low around their booth despite the NO SMOKING sign, curling lazily as if it knows no one’s going to challenge them. Their laughter is rougher, edged with something defensive — men used to being watched.

Your gaze drifts there before you can stop yourself.

Seonghwa sits half-turned in the booth, one arm draped over the cracked vinyl, grease-stained fingers wrapped loosely around a coffee mug gone cold. He isn’t laughing. He isn’t showing off. He’s listening, eyes distant, like he’s thinking about something far beyond the diner walls.

When his gaze lifts and finds yours, it feels like a held breath.

The noise dulls — not gone, just muted — until it’s only the hum of lights and your own pulse. Seonghwa doesn’t stare or smirk. He just looks at you, steady and open, like he’s taking stock of something important.

His eyes flick briefly to Yeong-su’s arm stretched behind you, fingers curled possessively at the edge of the booth. Something shifts in Seonghwa’s expression. Not anger, not jealousy. Recognition.

So that’s how it is.

Yeong-su leans closer, laughter loud, shoulder knocking into yours. “You hear that?” he asks, already turning back to his friends before you can answer.

The waitress returns with plates, and Yeong-su slides yours closer, cutting into it without asking. The scrape of a fork against porcelain makes your jaw tense.

From the back booth, someone laughs low. Seonghwa finally looks away, attention pulled back to his friends, and the moment loosens, just slightly.

But it doesn’t disappear.

One of Yeong-su’s friends mutters something about “grease trash,” eyes flicking toward the back. Yeong-su smirks, says nothing, pride flaring brighter than decency.

Your stomach twists.

You glance back once more. Seonghwa’s eyes meet yours again, softer now, brows drawn just enough to ask a question without words.

You okay?

Outside, an engine revs, promising motion, escape, something else entirely. When Seonghwa stands and shrugs on his jacket, the back of the diner seems to dim further in his absence.

Yeong-su keeps talking, unaware that something has shifted so subtly he’ll never see it coming. But you feel it, sitting beneath the buzzing lights, boxed in by laughter that isn’t kind.

The distance between the front and back booths isn’t just about where you sit.

It’s about who gets to breathe.

And for the first time, you wonder what it would feel like to choose differently.

Seonghwa pushes back from the booth a few minutes later, chair legs scraping softly against the tile. One of his friends says something under his breath, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth, but Seonghwa barely reacts. He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a cigarette, and rolls it between his fingers like he’s thinking through something carefully.

Then he stands.

Leather creaks as he shrugs the jacket fully onto his shoulders, dark hair falling into his eyes. His Converse clad feet scuff quietly against the floor as he heads for the door, casual in a way that isn’t careless. Measured. Deliberate. The bell above the diner entrance jingles when he pushes it open, letting in a sharp breath of night air that cuts through the warmth.

You don’t mean to watch him.

You do anyway.

Just before he steps outside, Seonghwa glances back.

Not at the socials. Not at the room.

At you.

It’s not obvious enough for anyone else to catch, but you feel it like a hand at your spine. His gaze is steady, unflinching, dark with something that makes your chest tighten. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t challenge. He just looks at you like he’s checking in. Like he knows exactly how hard it is to sit where you’re sitting.

Then he’s gone.

The door swings shut. The bell settles.

Yeong-su feels it instantly.

His arm tightens along the back of the booth, fingers digging into the vinyl behind you. “What was that?” he asks, voice light but sharp around the edges, eyes locked on the door Seonghwa just exited through.

You blink. “What?”

“That greaser,” Yeong-su says, scoffing. “Why was he lookin’ at you?”

“I don’t know,” you reply automatically. Too fast. Too practiced.

Yeong-su lets out a short laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You sure about that?” His thumb presses into your side, just enough to remind you it could hurt if he wanted it to. “Guys like him don’t just look.”

One of his friends snorts. “Probably thinks he’s got a shot.”

Yeong-su straightens, pride flaring like he’s been personally challenged. “Not a chance,” he says. “He doesn’t know his place.”

But his eyes drift to the window.

So do yours.

Outside, Seonghwa leans back against the brick wall of the diner, one heel propped behind him, cigarette lit and glowing faintly in the dark. Smoke curls up around his face as he exhales, shoulders loose, expression calm. Out there, under the flickering streetlight, he looks untouchable in a way Yeong-su never has.

Yeong-su notices where you’re looking.

His jaw tightens.

“You stay here,” he says abruptly, already sliding out of the booth.

“Yeong-su—”

The bell jingles again as he storms outside.

Cold air rushes in with him. Seonghwa barely moves when Yeong-su steps into his space, only shifts his weight, cigarette still between his fingers. The silence stretches, thick and electric.

“You got a problem?” Yeong-su snaps.

Seonghwa lifts his gaze slowly, taking Yeong-su in from letterman jacket to polished shoes. He exhales smoke to the side, unbothered. “Didn’t know I needed one.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Yeong-su says, chest puffed out. “You were lookin’ at my girl.”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightens just slightly. “She’s not property.”

That’s when Yeong-su shoves him.

It’s not hard enough to knock him down, but it’s meant to humiliate. The cigarette drops to the pavement. Seonghwa doesn’t stumble. He just steps back once, Converse scraping, eyes darkening.

“You should walk away,” Seonghwa says quietly.

Yeong-su swings.

Seonghwa blocks it, fast and controlled, fist catching Yeong-su’s wrist before it lands. The sound of impact echoes too loudly in the night. They grapple briefly — anger versus restraint — until Seonghwa shoves Yeong-su back hard enough to make him stumble.

Yeong-su shoves him again, harder this time, both hands to his chest, like he needs the contact to prove something. Seonghwa’s shoulder hits the brick wall behind him with a dull thud.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Yeong-su snarls, crowding his space. “You don’t get to look at her. You don’t get to think about her.”

Seonghwa straightens slowly, rolling his shoulder once like he’s testing it. His voice stays calm, almost quiet. “You’re makin’ a scene.”

“That’s rich, comin’ from you.”

Yeong-su swings again.

It’s sloppy. Angry, overconfident, but fast. Seonghwa ducks just in time, the punch grazing his cheek instead of breaking his nose. He feels it anyway, a flash of heat across his skin. Before Yeong-su can recover, Seonghwa drives his shoulder into Yeong-su’s ribs, knocking the air out of him with a sharp grunt.

They crash into each other, shoes skidding on pavement. Yeong-su grabs fistfuls of Seonghwa’s jacket, hauling him forward, forehead slamming into Seonghwa’s temple. White flashes explode behind Seonghwa’s eyes, but he doesn’t go down. He’s used to pain, used to fighting just to stay standing.

Yeong-su throws another punch, this one landing square against Seonghwa’s jaw.

The sound is sickening.

Seonghwa stumbles back a step, tasting blood. Something dark and cold settles in his chest. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes lifting slowly to meet Yeong-su’s.

“That all you got?” he asks.

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Yeong-su charges, tackling him at the waist. They hit the ground hard, breath knocked loose, bodies tangling. Seonghwa’s back slams against the concrete, stars bursting in his vision. Yeong-su straddles him, raining down punches. Wild, furious, unrestrained.

One lands on Seonghwa’s cheek. Another clips his eyebrow. A third glances off his shoulder.

Seonghwa finally snaps.

He grabs Yeong-su’s wrist mid-swing, twists hard until Yeong-su yells, then bucks his hips and rolls them over. Now it’s Seonghwa on top, knees digging into Yeong-su’s sides, one hand fisted in his collar.

“You think this is strength?” Seonghwa growls, landing a solid punch to Yeong-su’s mouth. Blood splatters across the pavement. “You think scarin’ her makes you a man?”

Yeong-su spits blood and laughs, feral. He hooks his leg and flips them again, using his size, his weight. Seonghwa’s head cracks against the ground, a sharp pain blooming at the base of his skull.

“Shut up!” Yeong-su roars. He swings again.

This time, Seonghwa blocks it clean, forearms burning from the impact. He headbutts Yeong-su hard, once, twice. Yeong-su recoils, dazed just long enough for Seonghwa to scramble up.

They stagger to their feet, both breathing hard, faces already swelling, knuckles scraped raw. Yeong-su lunges again, but Seonghwa sidesteps and drives a fist into Yeong-su’s stomach. Yeong-su folds with a choked sound. Seonghwa follows with a punch to the jaw that sends Yeong-su sprawling backward into a trash can.

Metal clatters. Lids roll.

For a second, there’s only heavy breathing and the hum of the streetlight overhead.

Then you’re there.

“Stop!” you shout, voice cracking as you push between them.

Yeong-su wipes his mouth, eyes blazing with humiliation and rage. “Get out of the way.”

“No,” you say, hands shaking but planted firmly against Seonghwa’s chest. “It’s over.”

Seonghwa freezes instantly at your touch, fists unclenching like he’s pulling himself back from somewhere dangerous. He looks down at you, eyes still dark, chest heaving—but there’s concern there, too. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?”

That’s when Yeong-su tries to swing again — desperate, ugly.

Seonghwa sees it.

He moves fast, shoving you aside just enough to shield you as Yeong-su’s punch grazes his shoulder instead. Seonghwa retaliates without hesitation, a sharp, controlled blow that knocks Yeong-su flat onto his back.

“Stay. Down,” Seonghwa says, voice low and deadly.

Yeong-su lies there, chest heaving, pride shattered, eyes flicking to the diner windows where silhouettes have gathered. He curses under his breath, scrambles up, and staggers away into the dark without another word.

Silence crashes down hard.

Seonghwa turns to you, blood at the corner of his mouth, bruise already darkening under one eye. “I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I didn’t want you seein’ that.”

You stare at him, heart pounding, fear and adrenaline tangling tight in your chest.

“I’m glad you did,” you say softly.

Something in Seonghwa’s expression breaks open at that. Something gentle, something careful. Under the streetlight, smoke still hanging in the air, he nods once.

And for the first time that night, standing beside him instead of behind someone else, you feel steady.

He watches you closely, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to calm down. He's used to being the one everyone's scared of, the one people avoid. But right now, with you looking at him like that — without fear, without disgust —I t's doing something strange to his heart. "You shouldn't be thanking me," he murmurs gruffly. "I just got into a brawl with your boyfriend." He runs his tongue along his split lip, wincing slightly at the taste of blood.

You reach down, grab your skirt, tear a piece of the pink fabric, and hand it to him. “Sorry…I don’t have a handkerchief on me,” you say softly, shrugging.

He takes the makeshift bandage carefully, his fingers brushing against yours as he does. A flicker of surprise passes over his face at the gentle gesture, something almost like awe crossing his features before he quickly schools his expression. He presses the fabric to his bleeding lip, holding it there as he watches you intently. "Pink," he comments softly, almost to himself. "Figures."

You blush. “What is that supposed to mean?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, slightly offended.

He smirks slightly, the corner of his mouth pulling up despite the pain. "Nothing bad," he clarifies quickly, noticing your offense. "Just... you strike me as the kind of girl who likes pink things. Frilly dresses, bows, that sort of stuff." He glances down at the piece of fabric in his hand, the color bright against his rough fingers. "And here I am, bleeding all over it." He laughs softly, the sound tinged with self-deprecation. " Typical me, messing up something pretty."

You blink up at him, small and delicate. “You stood up for me. I don’t think that’s messing anything up.”

Something shifts in his expression then. Something softer, almost vulnerable. He's used to people seeing him as violent and dangerous, but you're looking at him like he's something closer to heroic. It makes his chest feel tight in a way that has nothing to do with the fight. "I didn't do it for points," he says gruffly, trying to maintain his rough exterior even as warmth spreads through him.

You blush, embarrassed. “I know,” you say, bowing your head, both in courtesy and to hide your downturned face. “I just want to say thank you.”

He's silent for a moment, watching you bow your head. Something about the gesture makes his heart ache—a reminder of the life you’re trapped in, always having to show deference to men like Yeong-su. When you look up again, he reaches out, gently tilting your chin up with his free hand. "Look at me when you talk to me," he says softly, his thumb brushing against your jaw. "You don't have to bow your head around me." His voice is gentle but firm, a command wrapped in caring.

You look up at him with lips parted and eyes wide with surprise. The moment is broken by his friends coming out to check on him, both shocked and amazed that he got in a fight with Yeong-su

"Holy shit," one of his friends, Mingi, exclaims, taking in Seonghwa's battered face and Yeong-su's retreating figure. "You actually fought him?" Woo-young whistles lowly, impressed. "And you're still standing. Damn." They both glance at you, curiosity and something like respect in their eyes. Seonghwa ignores them, focusing on cleaning the blood from his face with the pink fabric.

You glance behind yourself and see Yeong-su at the table, pointing outside, eyes blazing with fury. You turn back around. “Yeong-su and his friends will be out here soon. You all should probably scatter,” you say softly.

Seonghwa's friends exchange a glance, both of them nodding in agreement. They know that dealing with Yeong-su and his crew is only going to end up in more trouble. One of them claps Seonghwa on the shoulder, "Come on, let's go before those assholes come out here." He pulls Seonghwa towards the opposite direction from where Yeong-su is standing. But Seonghwa hesitates, looking back at you. "You okay?"

You shrug, smiling sadly. “I don’t know.”

His friends pause, watching the exchange with interest. Seonghwa steps closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. "Come with me," he says suddenly, the words out before he can think better of them. "My friends and I are leaving. You don't have to stay here with him." His eyes search yours, intense and sincere. "Just... come with me."

And though you hardly know each other, looking into his eyes, you see only safety and comfort swirling in his dark irises. He holds out his hand silently, and you take it immediately, not sparing a glance behind you.

Seonghwa's heart skips a beat when you take his hand without hesitation. He feels a rush of something warm and protective surge through him as he leads you away from the diner, his friends falling into step behind you. Yeong-su chooses that moment to storm out of the diner, shouting something angry, but Seonghwa doesn't slow down or look back.

. . . .

The car sits a little farther down the street, tucked beneath a dying streetlight like it knows better than to draw attention to itself. The engine ticks softly as it cools, metal still warm from the drive earlier. Everything feels quieter once you’re away from the diner — the laughter, the shouting, Yeong-su’s voice all fading into something distant and unreal.

Seonghwa opens the passenger door for you without a word.

You hesitate for half a second, the habit of waiting for permission tugging at you out of reflex. Then you remember his hand, how it reached for yours, steady and sure, not pulling, not demanding.

Just asking.

You slide into the seat.

The door shuts with a solid thunk, sealing you inside the small, oil-and-leather-scented space. Seonghwa walks around to the driver’s side, movements slower now, like the adrenaline is finally bleeding out of him. When he gets in, the car dips slightly with his weight. For a moment, neither of you speaks.

The silence isn’t awkward.

It’s fragile.

Seonghwa starts the engine, the low rumble filling the space between you. His knuckles are scraped raw where they rest on the steering wheel, dried blood dark against his skin. One eye is already swelling, a bruise blooming beneath it like a storm cloud.

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” he says quietly, not looking at you. “I can take you back. Wherever you want.”

You look at him — really look at him now, under the dashboard light, jaw tight but eyes gentle, like he’s afraid of making the wrong move.

“I don’t want to go back,” you say.

He exhales, slow and careful, like he’s been holding that breath since the moment he stepped outside the diner.

The car rolls forward, tires humming against the pavement. Streetlights pass overhead in lazy intervals, flashing gold across the windshield. After a block or two, Seonghwa’s hand leaves the wheel briefly, hovering between you. Uncertain, uncharacteristically hesitant.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “About all of it. I didn’t mean for it to turn into—” He cuts himself off, jaw flexing. “I just didn’t want him touchin’ you like that.”

You don’t answer with words.

You reach out.

Your fingers slide into his without hesitation, fitting there like they’ve been waiting all night. Seonghwa stiffens for a split second, then relaxes, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles like he’s grounding himself.

Neither of you lets go.

The car keeps moving, engine steady, night opening up around you like a promise. For the first time in longer than you can remember, you aren’t bracing for what comes next.

You’re choosing it.

Seonghwa slows the car as the streets begin to change.

The asphalt smooths out, streetlights brighter and closer together, houses lined up neat and polite behind trimmed hedges. White fences. Dark windows. Everything is quiet in a way that feels intentional, like noise isn’t welcome here. He eases off the gas, shoulders tightening without meaning to.

This side of town has never been his.

He parks a little crooked at the curb, engine idling low, the headlights washing over your front gate. The house looks warm even in the dark—soft porch light glowing, curtains drawn just enough to suggest someone waiting inside. It’s the kind of place Seonghwa’s only ever seen from the outside, hands shoved in his pockets, knowing better than to linger.

He doesn’t realize it’s a facade.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

“This is me,” you say gently, like you’re afraid to startle him.

He nods, fingers tightening briefly around the steering wheel. Up close, the quiet presses in on him, makes him feel too loud, too rough, too out of place. Grease under his nails. Blood dried at the corner of his mouth. A car that smells like smoke and oil sitting in front of a house like this.

He swallows. “You sure you’re okay?”

You turn toward him fully now, softness written into every line of you—your voice, your eyes, the way you’re still holding his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your thumb brushes over his scraped knuckles, slow and careful, like you’re soothing something skittish.

“I am,” you say. “I am now.”

Something in his chest loosens.

You don’t look at him like he’s wrong for being here. You don’t flinch at the bruises or the blood. You look at him like he belongs in this moment, even if he doesn’t belong on this street.

Seonghwa exhales, tension bleeding out of him in a way he didn’t realize he needed. “I don’t usually come around places like this,” he admits quietly.

You smile, small and sincere. “I don’t usually leave them.”

That earns a soft huff of a laugh from him, surprised and real. He finally turns the engine off, the sudden silence wrapping around you both. When you open the door, cool night air slips in, carrying the scent of cut grass and flowers instead of smoke.

You pause before stepping out.

“Thank you,” you say, then hesitate, eyes flicking to his bruised cheek. “For everything.”

He shrugs, but it’s gentler than before. “Anytime.”

You step onto the sidewalk, then turn back, one hand resting on the open door. The porch light casts you in warm gold, makes you look unreal. Safe. Untouched by the things that have shaped him.

And still you chose to come with him.

“Goodnight, Seonghwa,” you say softly.

“Goodnight,” he replies, watching you walk up the path until the door closes behind you.

Only then does he let himself breathe.

Sitting alone in his car on a street that doesn’t want him, Seonghwa realizes something unsettling and new: the unease is still there, but so is a calm he’s never felt before. One that lingers like your hand in his, like the quiet certainty that for the first time in his life, someone from a world this soft didn’t look at him and see damage.

And it makes him wonder how long he’s going to be able to stay away.

. . . .

The front door clicks shut behind you with a soft, final sound.

The house doesn’t stir.

No lights flicker on. No footsteps come down the hall. The quiet inside is heavier than the quiet outside, settling into your bones like it always does. You stand there for a moment with your hand still on the doorknob, listening out of habit, half-expecting a voice to call your name.

Nothing.

Your parents are either asleep or out — working late, attending something important, or simply choosing not to be home. It’s always been like this. They provide in the ways that look good on paper: a clean house, meals left covered in the oven, tuition paid on time, polite smiles at school events. Middle class. Comfortable. Respectable.

Loveless in all the quiet places that matter.

You slip off your shoes and set them neatly by the door, careful not to scuff the floor. You’ve learned how to move through this house without leaving a trace, how to make yourself small enough not to be noticed. The living room smells faintly of furniture polish and old magazines, everything arranged just so; cushions untouched, framed photographs lining the mantel.

Pictures of milestones.

Birthdays with forced smiles. Graduation photos where your parents stand a careful inch away, hands never quite resting on your shoulders. Proof that you were raised well, even if you were never held close.

You walk down the hallway, fingertips brushing the wallpaper, the familiar ache settling in your chest. Growing up, love was never loud here. No yelling, no chaos—but no warmth either. Praise was rare and conditional. Affection practical. You were taught early that being “good” was the easiest way to avoid disappointment.

So you were good.

You studied hard. You smiled politely. You dated the kind of boy your parents approved of without ever asking how he treated you behind closed doors. You learned that being chosen didn’t mean being cherished.

Your bedroom waits at the end of the hall, door exactly as you left it. Inside, the space is tidy, carefully curated. Books stacked neatly, bed made, everything in its place. You sit on the edge of the mattress and finally let your shoulders slump, breath shaking as the night catches up to you.

In the quiet, the loneliness presses in harder than any bruise ever could.

You think of Seonghwa’s hand reaching for yours without demand. The way he looked at you like you mattered without needing you to perform. The gentleness of it hits you so suddenly it almost hurts.

You lie back and stare at the ceiling, listening to the house breathe around you—empty, indifferent, unchanged.

And for the first time, you realize the ache you’ve carried all your life has a name.

You weren’t asking for much.

You were just asking to be loved.

. . . .

Morning comes early in Seonghwa’s house.

Not with an alarm clock, but with the sound of the radiator coughing to life and the distant rumble of trucks on the main road. Pale light slips through thin curtains, catching on peeling wallpaper and the edges of furniture that’s been repaired more times than replaced. Seonghwa lies still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, body sore in places he didn’t notice the night before.

His jaw aches when he shifts it. His ribs protest when he sits up.

He exhales slowly and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

The mirror above the washbasin doesn’t lie. One eye is bruised dark, swelling faintly beneath the skin. His knuckles are scraped, skin split, and healing rough. There’s a faint cut near his brow he must’ve missed cleaning properly. He runs cold water over his hands, hissing softly, then splashes his face like that might wash the night away.

It doesn’t.

The kitchen smells like rice and weak coffee. His mother is already up, hair pulled back neatly, factory uniform pressed despite the wear. Mi-sook moves quietly as she cooks, humming under her breath, the sound gentle and constant. Like love made routine.

Jongho sits at the table, hunched over his books, while Young-ja and Young-sook argue softly over a ribbon, their voices sleepy but warm. This house is small, crowded, and imperfect.

Seonghwa steps into the doorway, and the humming stops.

His mother turns.

Her eyes go straight to his face.

“Seonghwa,” she says softly, already crossing the room. Her hands cup his cheeks without hesitation, thumbs brushing near the bruise with practiced gentleness. “What happened?”

He stiffens out of instinct, then relaxes. There’s no judgment in her voice. Only worry.

“It’s nothing,” he starts, the same lie he’s used before.

She looks at him.

He sighs. “I got into a fight.”

Her brows knit, but she doesn’t pull away. “Why?”

He hesitates just a beat. Then, honest. “To help a girl.”

Something shifts in her expression. Concern remains, but it’s joined by understanding. Pride, quiet and restrained. She presses her forehead briefly to his chest, a gesture so familiar it tightens his throat.

“You did the right thing,” she murmurs. “But you don’t have to carry the whole world alone.”

He swallows. “I know.”

She smooths his hair back like he’s still a boy, then nudges him toward the table. “Eat. You’ll be late for work.”

Life doesn’t pause here. Not for grief, not for bruises.

His father’s photograph hangs near the doorway, taken before the war, smile steady and kind. Seonghwa catches it in his peripheral vision as he eats, the familiar weight settling in his chest. When his father didn’t come home, Seonghwa learned what it meant to step forward. Oldest son. Provider. Protector.

While his mother works long hours at the factory, he balances school and the service station—oil-stained hands, late nights studying by dim light, dreams carefully folded away for later. He wants more for them. Something safer. Something better.

They don’t have much. But Jongho’s laughter fills the house. Young-ja and Young-sook cling to his sleeves. His mother’s hand rests warm on his shoulder.

They are rich where it counts.

As he heads out the door, jacket slung over his shoulder, Seonghwa thinks of you — the softness in your voice, the way you took his hand without fear. 

The thought settles deep in his chest.

Maybe helping you wasn’t just the right thing.

Maybe it was the beginning of something he didn’t know he was allowed to want.

. . . .

The morning is soft in a way that feels almost unreal.

You ride your bike slowly, skirt fluttering just above your knees, cardigan buttoned neatly despite the warmth. The pastel blue frame gleams under the sun, white tires humming against the pavement. This is the version of you the town recognizes. The one that fits. The one that looks harmless, proper, and easy to place.

Your hands are steady on the handlebars. Your heart is not.

You hadn’t planned to go this way. You tell yourself that as the service station comes into view at the edge of town, gas pumps standing like quiet sentries, the air thick with the smell of oil and metal. But your feet keep pedaling anyway, carrying you forward with a certainty you didn’t have yesterday.

Seonghwa is there. Sleeves rolled up, white undershirt clinging faintly to his back, grease smudged along his forearms. He’s bent over the hood of a car, wrench in hand, brows drawn in concentration. A radio crackles somewhere nearby, low and distant.

He straightens when he hears your bike slow. For a split second, he just stares.

You don’t belong here, not visually, not socially. Pastels and pressed fabric against oil stains and concrete.

“Hey,” you say softly, feet touching the ground as you stop.

“Hey,” he answers, voice quieter than usual, like he’s afraid of spooking you. He wipes his hands on a rag, eyes flicking to your bike, your skirt, your face. “You… you okay?”

You nod. Then you take a breath. “I called Yeong-su this morning,” you say.

Seonghwa stills. “And?” he asks carefully.

“I broke up with him.”

The words land between you, solid and irreversible.

Seonghwa’s jaw tightens — not in anger, but in restraint. “Are you safe?”

“Yes,” you say. “He was angry. But… I was calm. I told him it was over. For good.”

Something in Seonghwa’s shoulders drops, tension easing like he’d been holding it since last night. He looks at the ground for a moment, then back at you. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” you admit. “But it felt right.”

The wind stirs, lifting the edge of your cardigan. Seonghwa notices how your hands aren’t shaking. How your voice doesn’t waver. He smiles. Not wide, not flashy. Just real.

“I’m glad you came by,” he says.

“So am I,” you reply.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you. The service station humming quietly around you, the town still waking up, the space between your worlds feeling a little smaller than it did yesterday.

You rest one foot on the curb, fingers curled around your handlebars, and look at him like you’re not planning on leaving just yet.

And Seonghwa, grease-stained and bruised and steady, looks back like he hopes you don’t.

. . . .

It starts with small choices.

You ride your bike past the campus quad where the socials sprawl across the grass, laughter bright and performative, eyes lingering when they see you pass and don’t stop. Instead, you keep going — past the diner, past the record shop — until you find the familiar cluster of leather jackets gathered near the edge of town.

The first time you show up alone, conversation stalls.

Pastels among black leather. A cardigan where there are chains. You feel it. The pause, the curiosity, but not a single one of them tells you to leave.

Seonghwa looks up from where he’s sitting on the hood of his car, sunlight catching in his hair. His mouth quirks, just slightly. “You lost?”

“No,” you say, steady. “I think I found the right place.”

That earns a few surprised laughs. Someone scoots over to make room. Someone else offers you a soda without comment. You sit, skirt smoothed beneath you, hands folded the same way they always are.

No one asks you to change.

Days turn into afternoons, afternoons into evenings. You sit with them at the back booth of the diner now, knees brushing cracked vinyl, jukebox songs warbling through the air. The waitress raises a brow the first time, but nothing happens. The world doesn’t end. The greasers talk around you easily, teasing each other, arguing about engines and music and nothing at all.

They treat you like you belong.

You still wear your skirts and soft colors. You still laugh gently, still say please and thank you, still tilt your head when you listen. And somehow, instead of sticking out, you fit—like a bright thread woven into something rough and honest.

Seonghwa is always nearby.

Sometimes your shoulders brush. Sometimes his knee nudges yours under the table. Sometimes he hands you a cigarette you never light, just hold it between your fingers while he smokes, eyes watching you like he’s memorizing the way you exist in his space.

“You know,” he says one night, leaning closer, voice low, “you’re gonna ruin our reputation.”

You smile sweetly. “What reputation?”

He laughs, real and surprised. “Fair.”

The flirting sneaks in quietly.

His hand lingering at your lower back when he helps you off the hood of a car. Your fingers brushing grease from his cheek without thinking. The way he looks at you like you’re something precious he doesn’t want to break, but also something he wants very badly.

“You always this brave?” he asks once, watching you argue back at one of his friends without backing down.

You glance at him. “Only when I feel safe.”

His expression softens in a way that makes your chest ache.

Somewhere between shared sodas, late-night rides where you sit side-saddle on his car hood instead of behind Yeong-su’s expectations, and laughter that doesn’t cost you anything, you realize something quietly revolutionary: You didn’t have to become someone else to be chosen. They chose you anyway.

And Seonghwa — grease-stained hands, soft eyes, steady presence — looks at you like he’s already fallen, just waiting for you to notice.

The socials stop waving when they see you.

You don’t notice at all.

. . . .

It all explodes over dinner.

Not loudly at first, just tight voices and sharp questions, the kind that pretend to be concern until they aren’t anymore. Your father folds his newspaper with deliberate care. Your mother’s eyes are already cold, calculating.

“We’ve been hearing things,” she says. “About the people you’ve been associating with.”

You know what she means.

“The greasers?” your father snaps before you can answer. “Do you have any idea what that looks like?”

Your chest tightens. “They’re just people.”

“That’s not the point,” your mother cuts in. “And Yeong-su’s mother called this afternoon. She was very confused.”

You swallow. “I broke up with him.”

The silence that follows is sharp enough to cut.

“You did what?” Your father rises halfway out of his chair. “That boy was respectable. He had prospects.”

“He hurt me,” you say, voice shaking but real. “And I’m done pretending that doesn’t matter.”

Your mother laughs, short and disbelieving. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Something breaks.

They talk over you then — about reputation, about embarrassment, about how much they’ve done for you. Words stack on top of each other until you can’t breathe.

“If you keep this up,” your father says finally, face red with anger, “you can find somewhere else to live.”

The threat lands heavy and final.

You don’t remember grabbing your cardigan. You don’t remember opening the front door. You just know the night air hits your face and suddenly you’re walking, then stumbling down the sidewalk, tears blurring everything.

At the corner, shaking, you stop and use the phone booth. Your fingers tremble as you lift the receiver. You dial slowly, deliberately, each number clicking back into place with a sound that feels too loud in the quiet booth. Your heart hammers as the line rings.

Once.

Twice.

“Hello?” Seonghwa’s voice answers.

“Seonghwa,” you sob. “I—I don’t know where to go.”

“I’m coming,” he says instantly. No questions. No hesitation. “Where are you, baby?”

You tell him.

The line clicks dead.

You walk back out, knees giving out as you sink onto the curb, arms wrapped around yourself like you’re trying to keep from shattering completely.

Headlights appear minutes later. Too fast. Impossibly fast.

Seonghwa’s car screeches to a stop. He’s out of it before the engine fully dies, running toward you like the world might end if he doesn’t reach you in time.

“Hey—hey,” he says, dropping to his knees in front of you. “I’ve got you.”

You collapse into him.

He gathers you up without effort, arms solid and warm, one hand cradling the back of your head as you cry into his chest. He smells like oil and soap and something achingly familiar.

“They said they’d kick me out,” you choke. “They hate me.”

Seonghwa’s grip tightens. Not possessive, but protective. “They don’t get to do that to you. Not tonight. Not ever.”

He lifts you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, carrying you back to his car, shielding you from the cold, from the street, from everything that’s ever made you feel unwanted.

As he buckles you in, he rests his forehead briefly against yours. “You’re not alone,” he whispers. “You hear me?”

And for the first time, even through the tears, you believe it.

. . . .

The car is quiet once you stop crying.

Not empty, just hushed, like the night itself is listening.

Seonghwa drives without rushing, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting near you like he’s ready to reach over again if you start to shake. Streetlights pass in slow intervals, painting gold across the windshield and then taking it away. Your chest still aches, but it’s a duller pain now — tired instead of sharp.

After a while, you speak. “I don’t want to go back there.”

He doesn’t pretend not to understand. His jaw tightens, but his voice stays gentle. “You don’t have to. Not tonight.”

You stare out the window, watching houses blur past. “I could go to my aunt’s,” you say quietly. “She lives out of state. She’s… kinder. I could write her. Or call. I could leave.”

The word leave hangs heavy in the car.

Seonghwa’s fingers curl tighter around the steering wheel. He keeps his eyes on the road, but you see the way his throat moves when he swallows. “How far?” he asks.

“Far,” you admit. “Different everything.”

He nods once, like he’s bracing himself. For a moment, he says nothing, and you think that’s the answer. That this is where your paths split — soft girl from a quiet house, greaser boy from the wrong side of town, one night of bravery not enough to bridge the distance.

Then he exhales. “You could stay with me.”

You turn toward him, startled. “Seonghwa—”

“I mean it,” he says quickly, glancing at you now, eyes earnest and a little scared. “I’ve got my own room. It’s small, but it’s yours if you want it. My family wouldn’t mind. My mom—she’d make space. She always does.”

“But your house—” You hesitate. “There’s barely enough room.”

He smiles faintly, sad and soft. “We’ve never had much. But we’ve always had enough.”

The car slows as he pulls onto a quieter street. He parks beneath a tree, engine ticking as it cools, and finally turns fully toward you. “I’m not sayin’ it has to be forever,” he adds carefully. “Just… until you figure things out. Until you’re steady again.”

You search his face — bruised, tired, open in a way that makes your chest ache all over again.

“You’d really do that for me?” you whisper.

Seonghwa shrugs, embarrassed, eyes dropping briefly to your hands folded in your lap. “I already am.”

Something inside you breaks, not painfully this time, but like ice thawing. You nod, once, then again, tears threatening but different now.

“Okay,” you say. “Just… for now.”

His smile is small, relieved, real. He starts the car again, and as he pulls back onto the road, the night feels a little less endless.

You don’t know what tomorrow looks like.

But for the first time, you’re not facing it alone.

. . . .

The house is smaller than yours, tucked close to the road like it’s bracing itself against the world, but it’s warm in a way you feel immediately.

Light spills from the windows, yellow and lived-in. When Seonghwa opens the door, voices drift out first: laughter, overlapping conversation, the clatter of dishes. The smell of rice and soup wraps around you before you can second-guess yourself.

“Eomma,” Seonghwa calls softly. “I’m home.”

Everything pauses.

Then his mother appears, wiping her hands on a towel, eyes kind and sharp all at once. Mi-sook takes one look at your face — tear-stained, tired — and her expression softens completely.

“Oh,” she says gently. “You must be Y/N.”

Before you can respond, she’s guiding you inside, hands warm on your shoulders like she’s known you longer than five seconds. “Come in, come in. You look frozen.”

Jongho peeks around the corner, curiosity bright, while Young-ja and Young-sook whisper behind him until Mi-sook clears her throat pointedly. “Manners,” she says, though there’s a smile tugging at her mouth. “Say hello.”

They do—shy, earnest, real.

No one stares at your clothes. No one asks where you’re from or who your parents are or why you’re here so late. Mi-sook pours you tea like it’s the most natural thing in the world, presses a bowl of food into your hands even when you insist you’re not hungry.

“You’re safe here,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “That’s what matters.”

Your throat tightens.

When Seonghwa leads you down the narrow hall to his room, Mi-sook calls after him lightly, “Door stays open unless you want me checking in every ten minutes.”

“Eomma,” he groans, ears pink.

She laughs. “Behave,” she adds playfully, wagging a finger. “She’s a guest.”

The door closes anyway. 

Mostly.

His room is small but unmistakably his. A neatly made bed, textbooks stacked carefully on the desk, a jacket hung on the back of the chair. It smells like soap and clean laundry, nothing like the oil and smoke you associate with him outside. It feels… intentional. Earned.

You sit on the edge of the bed. And then everything caves in. The tears come fast and ugly, sobs ripping out of you like you’ve been holding them back your whole life. Your hands cover your face, shoulders shaking as the weight of tonight, of everything, finally lands.

Seonghwa doesn’t hesitate. He sits beside you and pulls you into his arms, holding you close, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other firm at your waist like he’s anchoring you to something solid. You cry into his chest, fingers fisting in his shirt, and he lets you—no rushing, no shushing. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, over and over. “You’re okay. You’re here.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” you choke. “I don’t know how to be on my own.”

“You don’t have to,” he says quietly, forehead resting against your hair. “Not right now. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

You cling to him like the promise itself might keep you upright.

Outside the room, the house hums softly. Life continues, steady and warm. And inside, held in Seonghwa’s arms, you realize something terrifying and beautiful all at once: This is what it feels like to be wanted without conditions.

And for the first time, you let yourself stay.

. . . .

Your parents’ house looks smaller in the daylight.

Too neat. Too quiet. Like it’s holding its breath.

You stand in the entryway with Seonghwa beside you and two of his friends hovering a few steps back, hands shoved into pockets, jackets zipped up despite the warmth. They don’t sprawl or joke or touch anything they shouldn’t. They’re careful, more careful than anyone has ever been in this house.

Your parents sit rigidly in the living room.

Your mother’s lips press into a thin line when she sees who you’ve brought. Your father doesn’t bother hiding his disdain, eyes flicking over leather jackets and worn shoes like he’s tallying up offenses.

“I won’t be staying here anymore,” you say. Your voice shakes, but you don’t back down. “I’m moving out.”

A sharp laugh. “With them?” your mother asks coolly. “This is what you’ve chosen?”

Seonghwa doesn’t move. Neither do his friends.

They help you pack quietly — boxes lifted, drawers emptied, your life reduced to what you can carry. When your father mutters something about “trash dragging you down,” one of the boys stiffens, but Seonghwa gives a subtle shake of his head. They keep working. Dignified. Unbothered.

It hurts worse than yelling would.

At the door, coat on, box in your arms, your mother finally speaks directly to you. “Don’t come crawling back when this blows up in your face,” she says. “Girls like you always do.”

Your breath catches.

Before you can respond, Seonghwa steps forward, not between you and them, but beside you.

He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t sneer.

“Mr. and Mrs. Y/LN,” he says evenly, meeting their eyes, “I won’t disrespect you in your own home. But I need you to know something.” His hand finds yours. Steady. Public. “She won’t be hurt again. Not by anyone. Not while she’s with us.”

The silence stretches tight. Your parents don’t reply. They don’t have to.

You walk out with your head high, sunlight warm on your face, Seonghwa’s grip sure and grounding. Behind you, the door closes.

Final.

Outside, one of the boys lets out a low whistle. “Damn,” he mutters. “That was clean.”

Seonghwa just looks at you. “You okay?”

You nod, tears burning, but this time, they’re not from fear.

They’re from freedom.

. . . .

Life doesn’t transform all at once. It settles.

The days with Seonghwa’s family fall into a rhythm so natural it almost scares you how quickly your body learns it. Mornings start early in the small house—radiator ticking, kettle whistling, Jongho shuffling sleepily through his books at the table. Mi-sook hums as she cooks, the same soft melody every morning, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned neatly back.

She never asks you to prove you belong. Instead, she hands you an apron.

“Cut the onions like this,” she says, guiding your hands gently, laughing when your eyes water. Cooking beside her becomes something sacred — shared glances, easy conversation, the quiet comfort of being useful without being judged. When you thank her too many times, she only waves you off. “You help. That is enough.”

You do help.

You find a job at the local library. Dusty shelves, sunlit reading tables, the comforting hush of pages turning. The work is calm, steady. You like knowing where you’ll be each afternoon, like your time finally belongs to you. You bring home spare change and stories from the patrons, and Mi-sook listens like every word matters.

In the evenings, you play with Young-ja and Young-sook, braiding their hair, letting them paint your nails crooked and bright. They follow you everywhere, tugging at your cardigan, asking endless questions. No one has ever wanted your attention like this before.

Jongho sits beside you at the table after dinner, brow furrowed over his homework. You help him with his numbers, patient and encouraging, and when he finally gets it right, his smile is blinding. “You’re better than my teacher,” he says seriously.

Seonghwa watches it all quietly. He doesn’t say much about giving you his room. He just shrugs the first night, already spreading a blanket across the couch like it’s nothing. You protest. Of course you do. But he only smiles, soft and stubborn.

“You’ve had enough nights not sleepin’,” he says. “Let me handle this.”

Some nights, you wake to the sound of him shifting on the couch, and guilt curls in your chest. Other nights, you hear his quiet breathing through the thin walls and feel safe in a way you never have before.

No one here keeps score.

No one reminds you what you owe.

The house stays small. Money stays tight. But laughter fills the space between the walls, and love is woven into everything — in shared meals, in tired smiles, in the way Seonghwa’s mother squeezes your hand when she passes by.

You don’t feel like a guest. You feel like you’ve been folded gently into a life that knows how to hold you.

. . . .

Seonghwa doesn’t tell you at first.

He moves quietly, the way he always does when he’s decided something matters. Extra shifts at the service station. Long nights hunched over papers at the kitchen table after everyone else has gone to bed. Envelopes tucked carefully into the drawer beneath his clothes, money counted and recounted with practiced precision.

You notice, but you don’t ask.

It isn’t until one evening that Mi-sook clears her throat at dinner, eyes shining in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

“We’re going to see a house tomorrow,” she says calmly, like she’s talking about groceries.

You freeze. “A… house?”

Seonghwa finally looks at you then, a small, nervous smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s nothing fancy,” he says. “But it’s bigger.”

The next afternoon, you stand in front of it together.

It’s a modest three-bedroom house, set back from the road with a patchy yard and a porch that’s seen better days. The paint is chipped, the steps creak when Jongho tests them, but the windows let in plenty of light. There’s room to breathe here. Space that doesn’t feel borrowed.

Seonghwa watches his family take it in: his sisters racing from room to room, Jongho measuring walls with his eyes, Mi-sook standing very still in the doorway like she’s afraid the moment might disappear.

“I used the money I saved,” Seonghwa says quietly, standing beside you. “And what my dad left me.”

Your chest tightens.

Later that night, while boxes sit half-packed in the corner, the reality sinks in.

“You’re moving,” you say softly. “I should start looking too. Maybe the aunt I mentioned—”

The room goes silent.

Mi-sook turns first. “Why would you leave?”

You blink. “I don’t want to be in the way. You finally have space—”

Seonghwa steps closer, shaking his head. “You’re not in the way.”

Jongho frowns at you like you’ve said something strange. “You live with us.”

Young-ja and Young-sook nod in fierce agreement.

Seonghwa reaches for your hand and squeezes it gently. “We didn’t buy a bigger place to lose you,” he says. “You’re family. If you want to stay, there’s a room for you. Always.”

Tears blur your vision. No conditions. No hesitation. Just choice.

You nod, voice too thick to speak.

And for the first time, standing in a house that hasn’t even been moved into yet, you understand what home really means—not walls or rooms or money saved, but the certainty that you are wanted exactly where you are.

. . . .

The house feels different at night.

Not quieter, just fuller, like it’s holding everyone gently instead of pressing in on them. Boxes are stacked against walls, lamps plugged in wherever there’s an outlet, the air smelling faintly of dust and fresh paint and something hopeful.

Mi-sook retires early to her room upstairs, exhausted but smiling. The girls disappear into their room, already whispering and giggling like it’s a sleepover that never has to end. Jongho shuts his door with careful pride, claiming his space for the first time in his life.

And then there’s the basement.

It’s large, open, unfinished in places—but warm. A studio, really. One side carved out into a sleeping area, the other already crowded with books, clothes, and a small table pushed against the wall. A single window near the ceiling lets in a stripe of moonlight.

You set your box down slowly. “I can still take the couch if—”

Seonghwa laughs softly, cutting you off. “You’re not sleepin’ on a couch ever again.”

You smile despite yourself.

You unpack together, easy and domestic in a way that makes your chest ache. You hang dresses beside his jackets. Fold sweaters into the same drawer as his shirts. It feels intimate in a way neither of you acknowledges out loud.

Seonghwa leans against the bed frame, watching you. “You know,” he says casually, “you look dangerous down here.”

You glance at him. “Dangerous?”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes warm, teasing. “Gonna get me in trouble.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks heat. “You flirt like you don’t mean it.”

“I flirt like I very much do,” he replies, stepping closer.

The space between you shrinks without either of you deciding it should. You’re suddenly aware of everything. How close he is, the way his voice drops, the way his hands hover like he’s giving you the chance to move first.“Is this okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

He kisses you gently at first, like he’s afraid of startling you. Warm, careful, reverent. When you lean into it, fingers curling into his shirt, the kiss deepens just a little, enough to make your breath hitch.

It’s not rushed. It’s not messy. It’s right.

When you pull back, foreheads resting together, Seonghwa exhales a shaky laugh. “I’ve wanted to do that since the diner.”

You smile, heart full. “Me too.”

Around you, the house settles. New walls, new rooms, a new life taking shape. And there, in the basement you now share, with boxes half-unpacked and the future wide open, you realize something quietly, beautifully certain: You didn’t just find love.

You found where you belong.

. . . .

The weeks slip by softly, one into the next, until you realize a full month has passed and nothing feels unfamiliar anymore.

The house settles around you like it was always meant to be lived in this way. Mi-sook hums as she cooks in the evenings, her movements unhurried now that there’s space to breathe. The girls decorate their room with drawings taped crookedly to the walls, proud and loud about it. Jongho grows into his room like he’s claiming a future, door always half-open, books stacked higher every day.

And you stay.

You learn the sound of the house at every hour — the creak of the basement steps, the way the heater kicks on just before dawn, Seonghwa’s quiet footsteps when he thinks you’re asleep. You fold laundry together, brush shoulders in the narrow hallway, exchange smiles that feel like secrets.

Seonghwa doesn’t ask you to be his girlfriend. He just takes your hand one night while you’re walking back from the store, fingers lacing together like it’s always been that way. Later, when Jongho catches you kissing behind the garage and makes a loud, dramatic gagging noise, Seonghwa laughs and pulls you closer.

That’s how everyone knows.

The kisses are everywhere and nowhere. Stolen in the kitchen when Mi-sook isn’t looking, pressed quick and breathless against the basement wall, soft and lingering when the house is asleep and the world feels far away. Late nights turn into shared blankets, whispered stories, Seonghwa tracing circles on your back while you talk about nothing and everything.

“I love you,” he says one night, so casually it almost breaks you.

You freeze. “You do?”

He nods, eyes steady. “I have for a while.”

You don’t hesitate. “I love you too.”

The words don’t feel heavy. They feel like relief.

Days are busy. Work, school, responsibilities…but nights are yours. You sit on the basement floor with records playing low, his head resting in your lap, your fingers carding through his hair. Sometimes you talk about the future. Sometimes you don’t need to.

Four months in, the mirror shows someone new. Not different, just steadier. You are loved openly. Chosen daily. Held without conditions.

And in the quiet rhythm of this life — grease-stained hands and pastel sleeves intertwined — you realize the happiest part isn’t the dramatic escape or the grand gestures. It’s waking up each morning knowing exactly where you belong.

. . . .

Seonghwa quitting cigarettes is louder than you expect.

Not in obvious ways. No slammed doors or raised voices at first, but in the tension that follows him like a shadow. His hands stay busy. His jaw clenches more often. He paces the basement late at night, running fingers through his hair like he’s trying to peel his own skin off. Mi-sook notices. So do you.

You give him space. Extra patience. Soft touches he sometimes flinches away from before catching himself.

He keeps saying he’s fine. He isn’t.

The breaking point comes on a quiet night, rain tapping against the windows, the house wrapped in that heavy, inward kind of silence. Jongho sits at the kitchen table with a test paper spread out in front of him, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the red marks like they might rearrange themselves if he stares long enough.

Seonghwa sees the grade. His face tightens instantly.

“What is this?” he asks, voice sharp enough to make Jongho flinch.

“I—I studied,” Jongho mutters. “I just—”

“That’s not good enough,” Seonghwa snaps. “You know how hard Mom’s working. You know what this costs.”

“I tried—”

“Trying doesn’t pay bills,” Seonghwa cuts in, too fast, too harsh. “You can’t afford to mess around like this.”

You step in before you can think better of it, heart already aching for Jongho. “Seonghwa,” you say gently, “he did try. One bad test doesn’t—”

Seonghwa turns on you. The look in his eyes isn’t anger at first — it’s exhaustion, raw and ugly. “What would you know about it?” he snaps. “You grew up wealthy. Comfortable. You never had to worry about failing because there was always a safety net.”

The words hit harder than any shout.

The kitchen goes dead silent.

Jongho’s face crumples. “I—I’ll go study more,” he says quietly, already standing, paper clutched tight in his hands.

No one stops him.

You stare at Seonghwa, chest tight, throat burning. “That’s not fair,” you whisper.

He rubs his face hard, pacing, already regretting it, but the damage is done. “I’m just saying you don’t understand what it’s like when one mistake can ruin everything.”

You nod slowly, because if you open your mouth, you’ll cry.

So you turn and walk away.

The basement door closes softly behind you, but the sound feels final anyway. You sink onto the bed, hands shaking as the tears come. Quiet, broken sobs pressed into the pillow so no one else hears.

You know he’s hurting.

You know he didn’t mean it like that.

But the words still carve deep, dragging up every old fear you carry. That you don’t belong, that your softness is a liability, that love comes with conditions after all.

Upstairs, the house settles uneasily. And downstairs, in the room you share, you cry alone for the first time in a long while, wondering how something so good can suddenly feel so fragile.

. . . .

Seonghwa doesn’t trust himself to stay in the house. Not with the way his chest feels too tight, like something is clawing its way out. He grabs his jacket and keys and leaves before anyone can stop him, the front door clicking shut behind him too softly for the damage already done.

The car hums beneath him as he drives, knuckles white on the steering wheel. The road is muscle memory — left here, straight there — until the familiar neon sign comes into view. The gas station on the corner. Cigarettes behind the counter. Relief wrapped in paper and fire.

He pulls into the lot.

The engine idles.

His hands shake.

For a long moment, he just sits there, forehead resting against the steering wheel, breath coming too fast. He can already taste it. The burn, the calm, the way it would smooth the edges enough to forget the look on your face when he snapped. Enough to forget Jongho’s shoulders curling in on himself.

“Idiot,” he mutters to himself.

It wouldn’t be the cigarettes fixing anything. They never did. What’s eating him alive isn’t nicotine. It’s fear. Fear that he’s failing Jongho the way his father never got the chance to. Fear that no matter how hard he works, it still won’t be enough to keep the lights on, the fridge full, the future secure. Fear that one bad choice, one bad grade, will domino into everything collapsing.

And worst of all—

Fear that one day you’ll look at him and realize loving him means choosing a harder life. That you’ll leave.

He slams the car door shut without ever going inside and turns around. The drive back feels longer.

The house is quiet when he gets home. Too quiet. He knows where you are without asking. The basement light glows faintly under the door, like it’s waiting.

He hesitates only once before knocking.

No answer. He opens the door anyway.

You’re curled on the bed, facing the wall, shoulders tense like you’re bracing for another blow. The sight of it knocks the air out of his lungs.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey… it’s me.”

You don’t turn around.

Seonghwa crosses the room in two steps and drops to his knees beside the bed, hands hovering uselessly in the air. “I’m so sorry,” he says, voice breaking immediately. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have snapped. I—God, I hurt you.”

You finally look at him, eyes red and shining. He hates himself for being the reason.

“It’s not the cigarettes,” he continues quickly, desperate for you to understand. “I thought it was. I wanted to believe it was. But it’s not.”

He swallows hard. “I’m scared. All the time. Scared I’m not enough for my family. Scared I’m messin’ everything up. And I’m scared I won’t ever be enough for you.” His voice drops. “You make everything brighter. Softer. And sometimes I’m terrified I’m gonna ruin that just by being who I am.”

Tears spill down his face now, unguarded and raw. “But I don’t believe what I said. You understand more than anyone. You see us. You choose us. I lashed out because I was drowning, not because you were wrong.”

He finally reaches for your hand, gentle like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Please,” he whispers. “Don’t think for a second that I don’t know how lucky I am to love you.”

The room is quiet except for his uneven breathing.

He stays there on his knees, waiting, ready to take whatever comes. Because apologizing doesn’t mean asking for forgiveness. It means owning the hurt.

And he’ll do that, every time, if it means not losing you.

You don’t let him finish waiting.

The moment his hand brushes yours, you turn fully and pull him into you — arms wrapping around his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair like you’re afraid he might disappear if you don’t hold on tight enough. He stiffens in surprise for half a heartbeat.

Then he breaks. The sound he makes is small and wrecked, something torn straight from his chest. He collapses against you, forehead pressed into your shoulder, hands fisting in your clothes as if you’re the only solid thing left in the world. You hold him without hesitation, rocking him gently, cheek resting against his temple.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “I’ve got you.”

His breath stutters. “I didn’t mean it,” he chokes. “I never meant it.”

“I know,” you say immediately, firm and sure. “I know you didn’t.”

You pull back just enough to cup his face, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes, wiping tears without embarrassment or fear. “Seonghwa, listen to me.”

He looks at you like he’s bracing for impact.

“You saved me,” you say softly. “You pulled me out of a life that was killing me slowly. You gave me a home. A family. You showed me what it feels like to be loved without having to earn it.”

His lips tremble.

“I don’t care that it’s hard,” you continue. “I don’t care that we struggle sometimes. I choose you. I would choose you again and again, even knowing everything that comes with it.”

You press your forehead to his. “You are enough. For them. For me. For yourself. Even when you can’t see it.”

A sob rips free from him then, raw and unrestrained. He clings to you like he needs proof you’re real, arms tightening around your waist. You hold him through it all, steady and unflinching, whispering reassurances into his hair until his breathing slows.

“I love you,” you say, without fear. Without doubt.

He lifts his head, eyes red, voice hoarse. “I love you too. I swear—I’ll do better. I’ll talk instead of—”

You smile softly and kiss his cheek. “We’ll do better,” you correct gently. “Together.”

He nods, pulling you back into his arms, holding you like something precious he’s finally allowing himself to keep.

. . . .

Seonghwa finds Jongho at the kitchen table, shoulders hunched over his books again, pencil moving slower than usual. The house is quiet, the kind of quiet that carries unfinished feelings. Seonghwa stands there for a moment, watching his younger brother chew on his lip in concentration, and the guilt hits him fresh.

“Hey,” Seonghwa says softly.

Jongho looks up, wary.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says immediately. He crouches so they’re eye level. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

Jongho blinks. “I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

The words cut deeper than any argument.

Seonghwa swallows hard. “You didn’t,” he says. “You never could. One test doesn’t decide your worth. I know how hard you try. I see it. I just let my fear turn into pressure, and that’s on me.”

Jongho hesitates, then nods, eyes shining. “Okay.”

Seonghwa pulls him into a hug without asking, holding on a second longer than usual. Jongho hugs him back just as tightly.

Later, in the living room, Seonghwa gathers everyone without making a big deal of it. Mi-sook looks at him with quiet understanding. The girls climb onto the couch beside him. Jongho lingers close.

“I just want you all to know something,” Seonghwa says, voice steady but thick. “I love you. All of you. Everything I do — it’s for us. And I’m sorry if I ever forget how to say that right.”

Mi-sook reaches for him first, pulling him into her arms like she used to when he was small. The girls pile on, laughing and clinging. Jongho wraps his arms around Seonghwa’s waist. For a moment, they’re a tangle of warmth and shared history.

It feels like home.

The next day, you go with him to the cemetery.

The air is cool, the grass trimmed neatly, the world hushed in a respectful way. Seonghwa stands in front of his father’s grave for a long time before speaking, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders squared.

“I’m trying,” he says quietly. “I promise I am.”

He tells his father about the house. About Jongho’s school. About the girls growing too fast. About his mother smiling more lately. And then—about you.

“I’m gonna take care of them,” he says, voice firm now. “All of them. I’ll make you proud.”

You slip your hand into his, squeezing once.

Seonghwa exhales, some old weight finally easing from his chest. He leans down and presses his palm to the headstone, just for a second, then straightens.

When he turns back to you, his eyes are clearer. Steadier.

And as you walk away together, hand in hand, it feels like a promise kept—not just to the past, but to the life you’re building now.

. . . .

The house is quiet by the time night settles in fully.

The basement lamp casts a warm glow across the room, softening the edges of everything. You lie on your side facing Seonghwa, knees brushing, his arm draped loosely around your waist like it belongs there.

He’s been quiet for a while.

You trace idle patterns on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, until he finally speaks.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hey.”

He shifts closer, forehead resting against yours. “I was thinkin’ today. At the cemetery. About everything.” His thumb rubs slow circles at your hip, grounding, familiar. “I don’t know when. And I don’t know how fancy it’ll be—”

You smile softly. “Seonghwa—”

“I’m serious,” he says, eyes intent, a little nervous. “I’m gonna put a ring on your finger someday. I promise.”

Your breath catches. Not from surprise, but from how right it feels.

“I know,” you whisper. “I’ll wait.”

He kisses you then, slow and sure, like sealing a vow instead of making one. The kiss deepens gently, unhurried, his hand sliding up your side, yours curling into his hair. There’s laughter between kisses, quiet and breathless, the kind that only comes when you feel safe enough to want more.

His lips trail to your cheek, your jaw, your neck — soft, reverent touches that make your heart race. You pull him closer, and he responds instinctively, careful and attentive, as if every movement is a question he wants answered honestly.

The world narrows to warmth and closeness and the shared certainty that you’re choosing each other. Again, and again.

Later, wrapped together beneath the covers, his forehead rests against yours as the lamp clicks off.

“I love you,” he murmurs into the dark.

“I love you too.”

And with that promise held between you, the night carries you gently the rest of the way.

. . . .

The months pass in a blur of shared mornings and stolen kisses, of family dinners and late-night conversations that stretch until the sun comes up. The house fills with laughter more often than not, and Mi-sook's smile becomes a constant presence, a reminder of the life they've built together. Jongho's grades improve, and the girls grow taller and more beautiful every day, their eyes sparkling with the same determination as their mother and brother.

It’s late. Everyone is asleep upstairs. In the basement, however, soft moans fill the room as you and Seonghwa are tangled half-naked together. His lips trail kisses along your neck, whispering sweet nothings into your skin, his hands roaming your body, squeezing and rubbing while you writhe beneath him.

His voice comes out hoarse, "God, you're perfect," he murmurs against your neck, sucking gently on the sensitive spot below your ear. His hands squeeze your bottom, pulling you flush against him so you can feel exactly how hard he is for you right now. "So beautiful," he whispers. His teeth graze your earlobe, his hips pressing against yours rhythmically as if begging for more friction. "Love you," he manages to choke out before kissing you deeply again, his tongue sliding against yours hungrily.

“Hwa,” you moan, hands gripping his broad shoulders as he slides his hand beneath your arched back, unclasping the hook of your brassiere and letting it fall. He’s seen your breasts a number of times now, but he always looks at you as if it’s the first time.

His breath hitches as his eyes lock onto yours, filled with awe and desire. "You take my breath away," he whispers reverently before leaning down to press soft kisses along the swell of your breasts. His hands cup them gently, thumbs brushing over nipples that harden instantly under his touch. He takes one into his mouth slowly, sucking lightly while his other hand slides down to grip your thigh possessively. The room is filled with the sound of wet kisses and soft moans as he worships every inch of you tenderly and urgently.

“Oh my gosh,” you whisper, biting down on your fingers to keep from being too loud. Your other hand tangles in his hair. The smell of soap and something uniquely him fills your senses as he licks and sucks at your breasts.

He smiles against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. He loves making you feel good, loves hearing those soft gasps and whimpers that only he can coax out of you. His hand on your thigh slowly slides higher, his fingers brushing over your sensitive inner thigh as he continues to lavish attention on your breasts. Suddenly, he lifts his head, his eyes dark with desire as he captures one of your fingers in his mouth, sucking gently before releasing it with a pop. "Shh,"

“I’m trying,” you whimper, breathing out a laugh as he chuckles against your skin. It was always like this with him. Passionate yet comfortable. Heated yet playful.

"You're doing great," he teases, his voice low and husky. His fingers continue to trace patterns on your inner thigh, inching closer and closer to the heat between your legs. He travels lower and presses a kiss to the curve of your hip before nuzzling his face there, inhaling deeply. "You smell like heaven," he murmurs, his breath warm against your sensitive skin. His fingers finally reach your core, gently pressing against the damp fabric of your underwear. "And you're soaking wet for me, aren't you?"

“You make me like this,” you say back, breathing hard and breasts heaving as you try to calm yourself.

He groans softly, his fingers gently rubbing through the wetness. "God, I love you like this," he admits, his voice thick with desire. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, slowly sliding them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours, "I love making you wet, making you gasp, making you come undone." His fingers slide back up your legs, this time finding your bare flesh, spreading your folds gently. "You're so beautiful here.”

You spread your legs for him, gasping as he slides his fingers through your wetness, whimpering when he brushes your swollen clit.

"Quiet, baby," he warns gently, but there's a smile in his voice. His fingers circle your clit slowly, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips jerk involuntarily. He's learned your body so well over the months — what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, what makes you shake with pleasure. "Look at how wet you are," he murmurs approvingly, slipping two fingers inside you slowly while his thumb presses against your clit.

You mewl, curling into him, tilting your head up to kiss him hungrily.

He kisses you back passionately, his fingers moving inside you in a slow, deliberate rhythm as he swallows your whimpers and moans. His free arm wraps around your waist, holding you close as he devours your mouth, his tongue mimicking the movements of his fingers below. Suddenly, he breaks the kiss to bury his face in your neck, biting gently on that sensitive spot again as he curls his fingers upwards, hitting that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.

Your gasp turns into barely contained moans as he continues to finger you, gliding along your sweet spot, pulling whimpers through bitten lips from you. He’s never seen anything so beautiful as you coming undone beneath him.

"You're getting close, aren't you?" he whispers against your neck, his breath hot on your skin as his fingers move faster, deeper. He knows those sounds, and it drives him crazy in the best way possible. He adds a third finger, stretching you gently, hitting that spot over and over until your hips are jerking wildly against his hand. "Come on, baby," he encourages softly, "Let me feel you tighten around my fingers." His thumb presses harder against your clit.

Your mouth opens silently, eyes closed tightly. He leans back, seeing the calm before the storm. And then he’s leaning down, kissing you as you tighten around his fingers. Wetness coats his long digits before it drips down onto the sheets, making him moan as he feels you shake and quiver in his arms.

He swallows every sound you make, his own moans vibrating against your lips as you clench around his fingers. Seeing you fall apart like this is the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed. Your face contorted with pleasure, your body shaking helplessly in his arms. He slows his fingers gently as you come down from your high but keeps them inside you, wanting to feel every aftershock of your orgasm against his touch.

You breathe heavily as your eyes slowly open to look up at him. He’s looking at you with pure love, eyes taking in every inch of your face. He slowly pulls his fingers out, making you whimper and close your legs at the sensitivity.

"You're so gorgeous when you come," he murmurs, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean without hesitation. Your eyes widen at the sight — the way he doesn't even think twice about tasting you, the way he moans around your flavor like it's the best thing he's ever had. "I love making you feel good," he says softly, kissing you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

You kiss him back, tongue sliding along his, teeth clashing as you both curl into each other, eyes closed and hearts racing. A man and a woman in love.

He wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you against his chest as he deepens the kiss, pouring all his love and desire into it. His heart feels like it could burst with how much he loves you—your taste, your scent, your sounds of pleasure. He knows he'll never get enough of you, not in this lifetime or the next. He breaks the kiss to press soft ones along your jaw and neck, murmuring "I love you" over and over like a prayer between each press of his lips.

And then he’s slotting himself between your legs — hard and leaking, needy and desperate to feel you wrapped around his length. He reaches between your bodies and strokes himself before slowly sliding inside you. You both groan at the feeling. You’d made love several times now, but it was always like the first time. Tight heat and hard thickness.

He takes his time, sliding in inch by inch, giving you both a chance to savor the feeling of being so intimately connected. His forehead rests against yours as he goes deeper, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He lets out a shaky breath when he's fully sheathed inside you. Home. That's what this feels like every time. Coming home after being lost for so long.

After a few moments of kissing and letting you adjust to his thick length, he starts moving slowly, both sets of eyes rolling back in pleasure.

His movements are slow, steady, deliberate, as if he's trying to memorize every single second of being inside you. His hands grip your hips softly, guiding you against him in a slow, sensual rhythm. He watches your face intently, taking in every moan, every gasp, every tiny smile that plays on your lips. He loves seeing the pleasure wash over you, knows he's the one putting that look on your face. "You feel so good," he whispers, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

He braces himself on his forearms, holding his weight off you as much as he can as he rolls his hips perfectly against you. You slide your hands up his back and curl your fingers around his shoulders, pulling him down so that his chest is pressed against yours, wanting, needing the weight of him.

He presses his body fully against yours, his chest meeting your breasts, his hips fitting perfectly between your legs. He kisses you deeply as he moves, the angle allowing him to hit that spot inside you that makes your eyes flutter closed. His hands tangle in your hair, holding you close as he loves you slowly and thoroughly — every thrust measured and full of emotion. The room fills with soft sounds of skin meeting skin and whispered endearments between kisses.

You reach up and hold his face in your hands, looking up at him. “I love you so much,” you whisper.

His heart stutters at the words, his thrusts faltering for a moment before picking up speed again. He kisses your palm before pressing his own against your cheek. "I love you more," he vows fiercely, his hips snapping forward in a rhythm that makes the bed creak softly beneath you. He buries his face in your neck, breathing in your scent and murmuring those three words over and over again like a promise.

Your bodies move faster as you both approach your climaxes. He reaches down and rubs tight circles on your clit, making you bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

He grunts at the sudden bite, his fingers working furiously against your clit as he feels you start to tighten around him. The combination of his touch and his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you pushes you over the edge, your entire body shaking as you come apart around him—silently screaming into his shoulder as he swallows your muffled cries with hungry kisses. Feeling you fall apart sends him spiraling right after you, his own release hitting him hard as he buries himself deep inside you with a muffled groan against your skin.

You look up at the ceiling as he buries himself in your heat, pumping his warm seed into you, marking you as his, groaning and breathing hard into your neck, hands holding you tightly against him.

He stays buried inside you, his body shaking with aftershocks as he gently kisses your neck, collarbone, jaw—marking you. He knows you're sensitive right now, so he treats you like the most precious thing in the world—his hands gently stroking your sides, your hair, your face. He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with so much love and tenderness that it makes your heart skip a beat. "I'm not pulling out,"

You laugh softly, unintentionally tightening around him. You sigh, stroking his cheek. “We have rubbers in the drawer, and you never put one on,” you say, rubbing his back, scolding him gently. “You’re lucky that this pill came out last year,” you say softly. A contraceptive pill was launched last year, which made things a whole lot less complicated for you both. Seonghwa loved feeling you with no barrier, despite the risk of pregnancy.

He smiles sheepishly, pressing a soft kiss to your nose. "I know, I know," he murmurs against your skin. "But feeling you like this…it's just too good to resist." He shifts his hips slightly, still buried deep inside you, proving his point with a slow roll of his pelvis that makes both of you shudder. "Plus, I like the thought of getting you pregnant someday," he admits softly, his voice turning serious.

“That’s the whole point of the pill, Hwa. To not get pregnant. Not now at least.”

He pouts dramatically as he rolls onto his back, his softening cock slipping out of you with a wet sound that makes both of you blush. "I know, I know," he repeats, reaching for you to pull you onto his chest. "I just love the idea of seeing you round with my baby someday." He kisses your forehead tenderly. "But I understand. We’re not ready yet." His hand rests protectively over your lower belly anyway.

You both clean up your mess. Seonghwa is a menace, and his touches and kisses almost turn into more, but he’s able to control himself, and after a shower together, you’re in bed once more, clothed and holding each other.

You lie tangled together beneath the blankets, the lamp off now, the basement lit only by moonlight slipping in through the small window. Seonghwa’s arm is wrapped securely around you, your head tucked beneath his chin, his hand warm where it rests against your back—steady, protective, real.

His breathing is slow again. Yours matches it without trying.

For a long while, neither of you speaks.

Then he presses a kiss into your hair, soft and lingering. “You okay?” he murmurs, the question tender, practiced in care.

You smile against his chest. “More than okay.”

His hand tightens slightly, like he’s grounding himself in the answer. You shift closer, fingers tracing the lines of his ribs, feeling the proof of him—here, alive, choosing you.

“Can I tell you something?” you ask quietly.

“Always.”

You hesitate, then say it anyway. “I think… I’d like a family someday. Not right now. Just—someday. One that feels like this.”

He goes still for half a second.

Then his arms tighten around you, like the idea roots itself somewhere deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, I want that too.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. His eyes are gentle in the dark, full of something steady and sure. 

He cups your face carefully, thumb brushing beneath your eye. “I promise you,” he says, voice low and unwavering, “as long as I’m around, you’ll never feel alone again. Never unwanted. Never small.”

Tears sting, but they’re warm ones this time.

“I love you,” you whisper.

He kisses your forehead, then your temple, then your lips—slow and reverent. “I love you,” he answers. “For the rest of my life.”

You settle back into him, heart full, future wide and frightening and beautiful all at once. And wrapped in his arms, listening to the house breathe around you, you know one thing with absolute certainty.

You are home.

. . . .

a/n: let me know what you guys think! seonghwa is always so polished and put together in my head, so having him be a greaser really did something to me. tysm for reading! see you on the next one <3

[katiny07]

⤷ ゛pretty bird - p.sh ˎˊ˗

٠࣪⭑ prostitute!seonghwa x afab!reader ٠࣪⭑ synopsis ╰┈➤ where seonghwa develops an infatuation with a woman who repeatedly refuses his services; takes place in late feudal era japan ٠࣪⭑ word count╰┈➤ 13.8k ٠࣪⭑ cw ╰┈➤ smut (mdni!), [semi]-public sex, p-in-v, unprotected sex, fingering, cheirophilia, dacryphilia, obsessive hwa if you squint, dom hwa, begging, overstimulation, cum swallowing, dirty talk, praise, edging, pet name usage (pretty bird) ٠࣪⭑ terms to know before reading: getas > traditional shoes worn in feudal era japan yukata > casual form of kimono, worn by commoners in this context shogun > military rulers zataku > low dining tables; the type of tables you have to be on your knees to eat at ٠࣪⭑ a/n ╰┈➤ i tried to research proper clothing/other cultural aspects. please let me know if anything is inaccurate!

“Come back again tomorrow.”

The sudden slump in your shoulders was followed by your defeated groan. Your gaze trailed down to the merchant across from you; her frown spread across her wrinkled face as she saw the bamboo woven basket rested firmly in your grip. You heard her sigh before she spoke apologetically.

“A man came by and purchased the last bunch of the night. Right before you appeared,” her head dipped and glanced down at the absent goods from her stand. 

“That is why I’m still here. If it weren’t for my worn out bones, I’d be returning home by now,” she chuckled, “I can’t move as fast as I used to.”

You stared down at your empty basket, the sudden wave of disappointment evident on your face. All of the effort needed for sneaking out of your estate and disobeying your curfew to search for a late night snack because of the strict diets your family put you through was now just a waste. You sighed; maybe this is a sign from the universe to stop sneaking out at night, the thought crossed your mind. The defeated look you carried on your face glanced up at the older merchant.

“I understand…” You bowed your head down before you began to walk away, giving the merchant one last solemn look. The farther you walked, the more your stomach craved yakitori: the yakitori that was sold for a price so low that it was almost offensive, and the yakitori that tasted better than any course that was fed to you to maintain your figure. This yakitori was a staple in your diet that preceded any sleep that your parents assumed you were getting.

Walking home with an empty stomach and an empty basket could almost be as bad as your sneaking habits being discovered by your father. Normally when you snuck out, you would be loaded with sweet and savory goods that you couldn’t get anywhere else. The yakitori from Mrs. Ogura was the cherry on top that made the late night runs so special. Except tonight was unique, where it seemed that a crowd before you had already swept the goods before you could even make it.

As you continued the disappointing trek home, you fell upon a fork in the road. Two pathways that lead you home were presented. The quiet lane, as you called it, was the path you normally took. It was a path that cut through residential buildings for commoners and other vendors. Except this time, the quiet lane was far from quiet; a crowd had gathered around to witness what appeared to be a dispute between two men. You glanced over to the other path; it gave a shorter journey back home and less people to potentially recognize you and your status. Normally it would be an easy decision on where you should go, but this shorter path was home to the Red Light District, a place you had no business being in. You watched older men stumble into brothels and soaphouses while there were women who drew customers in with just a quick glance and wink. You glanced at the quiet lane, now showing no signs of deescalation, and then glanced back at the Red Light District. As if your shoulders couldn’t slump any deeper, you sighed and walked away from the quiet lane.

Keep your head down, don’t make eye contact with anyone, you repeated those affirmations in your head as your eyes were glued onto the uneven, maroon pavement. It’ll be easy to avoid confrontation with people here since it’s not like these workers force you into prostitution. That is what you kept telling yourself at least; you could feel stares burning onto your passing slumped figure. You were moving as fast as your getas could muster, but the uphill road seemed to have not seen renovation in decades. 

The tension in your body withered slowly as the hike continued. You heard a few whistles and calls, but none of them were directed to you. One by one, the clients that were once walking the same road as you were beginning to thin out and disperse into buildings. You were now alone, or so you thought. Your head was lifted up from the ground and continued to walk the trail that appeared to be coming to an end. What you didn’t see was one last stare from afar burning onto you.

“Care to join me, pretty bird?”

Those words echoed through the empty road. You nearly halted in your tracks, turning your attention to the source of that echo. This was different from the other interactions you had heard previously; you were sure this time that this voice was directed at you. 

Your eyes finally fell on a man standing near a dimly lit alleyway; his feathery, long, ebony hued hair encaged his face as he leaned on the corner of the building. The dark gaze he held on you peered through the wisps of his hair and the vibrantly colored fan he kept over most of his face. You drew your head away from the man and continued your stride back home. You had already made the mistake of looking at him, being temporarily entranced by his alluring gaze, so it was best not to answer him. You may not have heard him speaking again, but you felt his eyes back on you once more. 

The walk out of the district was over soon; you still had over ten minutes left of your journey to complete before you finally reached your estate. However, the man you had encountered had lingered in your mind far longer than you liked to admit. Perhaps it was because you were intrigued by the idea of a man doing work like that, or perhaps it was because of the gaze he held with you and how you were ashamed to admit that it made your heart pause in the moment. He was quite the opulent man, the thought crossed your mind. You shook your head at the thought; you weren’t the type of person to engage in such activity with a random. Especially with someone with status such as yours. How would your family deal with you if they found out that their royal bloodline could have been potentially tainted by a district worker? 

The rest of the walk home was silent; you successfully managed to return to your room without anyone alerted of your presence. The thoughts you once had about the man you encountered were then pushed away as your empty stomach begged you for the food you had failed to acquire. It was then that you remembered that the next day you had promised your cousin that you would go shopping for jewels with her. Maybe then I can find a food vendor, you pondered to yourself as you felt your eyes drift into slumber.

Growing up with Hime made your childhood more bearable; Hime wasn’t like a best friend, but she was someone who served a valuable purpose to you. Unlike the other women of your class rank and your other cousins, Hime was someone who never seemed to be facetious even if it was just around you. No glaring after everything you said, no snickering behind your back, just a girl who wanted to share her life with you.

And that is what today was. 

Your voyages at night greatly differed from your day appearances. Expensive kimonos, extravagant eye makeup, and neatly tied hair went to cheap yukatas you secretly purchased and loosely tied strands of hair shielding your eyes. In the bright and early afternoon, the same street vendors you visited at night were making sales to common folk and the wealthy. You walked alongside your cousin as she went on and on about some topic that you couldn’t quite remember at the moment. Revisiting the same road you were once at last night made you think about the prostitute you encountered. His sharp, striking eyes making eye contact with you failed to escape your head. 

“Are you even listening to me, y/n?”

The sound of Hime’s voice cut through your thoughts like a blade.

“Ah- I apologize,” your startled voice stammered as you quickly turned your head over to her. 

Hime glanced over to you with a slight frown. “If I’m boring you out, just tell me…”

“No no, there’s no need for that- I mean, you’re fine. I was just distracted by something…” You trailed off. Hime sighed as you both stopped at a jewelry vendor.

Hime continued as she examined the various ear pieces displayed in front of you both, “What were you distracted by? Better be more interesting than me rejecting Hikaru for the fifth time…” She began to briefly speak with the merchant as she waited for you to explain. You couldn’t tell her that you’ve been sneaking out almost every night to get food, and you certainly couldn’t talk to her about the alluring prostitute you encountered last night. 

You cleared your throat, “Just… thinking about what’s for dinner tonight…” Thankfully, Hime was too invested into the jewelry she was examining for her to even question the validity of what you said. 

“Mhm…oh, yes! I think blue suits my skin tone quite well too!” Hime looked over to you and spoke, “You said you’re thinking about dinner? Would you care to join me tonight? I believe the menu tonight is being prepared by a foreign chef. I believe he is from an empire in the west. You might enjoy it!” 

“Actually, I’d quite enjoy that. I’ll be returning home with you then,” the idea of eating western cuisine, something you didn’t do often, enticed you. You spoke with a faint grin in anticipation. 

Hime had continued to speak to you about Hikaru, the man who had been trying for months to get her attention, while you assessed which jewel aesthetically complemented her the best. You had managed to get the man out of your head now, likely only because your cousin put another man into your head to think about. 

You glanced around the market place to assess the scene; commoners were the majority of the crowd present. Many families, adolescents, and lone figures were seen either selling their goods or purchasing others. You didn’t get much time to observe people since you were either cooped up in your estate or avoiding attention from others in your nightly escapades. Watching people in their most authentic state wasn’t an activity you got to practice very often; whether it would be within your family or at the various events you are required to attend, frequently you notice people putting on their best mask to appeal to others. However, with common folk, you could appreciate seeing them interact without thinking they are putting on a performance for others to believe.

Your gaze was beginning to return back to Hime until you caught the gaze of someone in the crowd. A man. A man was briefly watching you until he turned around and engaged with a vendor. His back was facing you now, but you felt an uncomfortable familiarity with him. You couldn’t recall the exact image of his face, but the vague glimpse you caught of his eyes were enough to send a shiver down your spine. Observing his back, you saw the grey striped yukata he wore with his black hair falling on his shoulders. It can’t be him, you thought to yourself as you watched him idly. 

You couldn’t even break your gaze off of him. He didn’t pose a threat to you or anyone in the area, so why are you worrying so hard?

“y/n~”

“y/n.”

“y/n!”

The sound of Hime calling out your name once more shook you back into reality. You flinched and glanced back down to her, muttering a quick apology.

“Is everything okay?” Her eyebrows furrowed up as her frown deepened. “You seem a little absent today…”

“I’m sorry, I just got distracted by a vendor over there. Uh, we should visit that one next!” The excuse you made up was enough to convince Hime, which was enough for you. You waited for a few more minutes so she could purchase her jewelry, checking your back every now and then to see if the man had looked over at you again. But yet, he was standing still, conversing with the same merchant.

It probably wasn’t him then, you sighed as you began to walk with Hime to search for another vendor. As you made your way down the street, you made conversation with her once again while your eyes scanned the crowd. When you passed him, your gaze made its way back to him for the final time. There he was, idly stationed, bargaining what seemed to be a yukata with the vendor. You sighed, perhaps this was all nothing, you managed to calm yourself down as you continued to walk with your oblivious cousin. Even if it was him, he would have never recognized me with this look, you assured yourself.

What you failed to realize, was that same burning stare from earlier came back to look at you one final time. 

The marketplace had called back to you just a few nights later. This time, you had made sure to sneak out earlier, so you could obtain Mrs. Ogura’s yakitori, among other goods from other vendors, before it ran out. The usual twenty minute walk was condensed with your enthusiasm and energy. 

Once you had set foot onto the main street, you bounced from vendor to vendor to acquire all of the treats you had daydreamed about since the last late night journey.  Though you had arrived at the busiest time of the night, you had managed to gather all of the treats your mouth had been salivating for. Even the fresh yakitori, which you were now eating as you made your way back home, was readily available for you to enjoy.

With the yakitori skewers in one hand and your woven basket in the other, you walked down the main road, more joyfully than usual, to prepare your journey home. It wasn’t until you ran upon the fork in the road once more. The quiet lane, the path you usually took to go home, was occupied by samurai policing the street. The halt in your steps came as quickly as the disappointment; walking down a road occupied by samurai was dangerous for you, the niece of a powerful shogun in the region. It appears that the altercation that took place many nights ago had prompted samurai presence in the area. You stared down the quiet lane before you groaned to yourself, spinning on the heel of your feet and making your way towards the district.

If the uphill road and the cheap, stiff getas you were wearing didn’t exist, perhaps you would’ve gotten home quicker. The street had gathered more clients than the previous night which made navigating up the road more challenging than it already had been. You struggled to keep your head held down due to you still feasting on the fresh yakitoris. You were down to your last skewer, making your way through most of the district. The drunk men on the street that stumbled their way into soaphouses were thinning out, leaving just you alone on the street - or so you had thought.

“I’ve missed you, pretty bird.”

The sound of the familiar, delicate voice of him. The unmistakable voice you had heard days ago. The sound of his voice did not startle you much despite the shiver it caused; if that, the sound made you walk at a quicker pace. It seemed to have been working, until you heard his strides follow behind you.

“Those cheap clothes don’t fool me.”

“I know who you are.”

The simplicity of his statement made you halt. You whipped your head back to face the prostitute, who now dropped his fan from his face. In the eyes, he resembled the same man you witnessed watching you briefly at the market. Of course that was the same man, your thoughts raced across your head. Your secret identity had been figured out so easily, by a man you’ve never talked to at that. 

All that could be heard in the street was your uneven breathing and the panic settling in. It seemed to be apparent to the man, as he slowly stepped closer to you, still maintaining his distance.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” The question slipped off his tongue like silk. The gaze his eyes carried was striking, but still held a level of softness to it that almost made you want to give up your guard around him. The softness in his eyes completely contrasted the faint, but mischievous grin he kept on his face. You stared at him and contemplated your next action. Lying was stupid; he was so sure of himself that it would take physical evidence for you to prove otherwise. Either way, his gaze almost seemed hypnotizing, like every action you did under his watch was under his command.

“Never fear, pretty bird. I mean no harm to you…” He took one gentle step closer to you with the same expression plastered on his face.

“Then how could I possibly be of service to you? I’m not interested in what you’re selling.” You managed to tell him, taking a small step back. “In fact, I was just on my way home.” You watched him cock his head to the left, intrigued by your resistance.

“You surely don’t act like it. There's got to be a reason we have met for the third time this week.” 

You gulped. As you were choosing what words to speak next, he had already beat you to it.

“You don’t think I don’t see the way you look at me?” A step closer. “Or that I see you’re starting to frequent this side of the city,” you avoided his stare on you as you felt your figure being scanned.

“It’s…it’s complicated,” you took a pause. “And frankly, none of your business.” 

And with that, you spun on your heels and began to walk away, hoping that would’ve been the last encounter you had with him. As you walked, you heard more footsteps behind you. This time, they seemed to grow heavier, like he was trying to catch up quickly.

“If you’re worried about me exposing your little secret, don’t,” he started suddenly, his tone coming across as more serious. 

“I’m not concerned with that.” 

You paused in your tracks again and turned around to face him. There he was with that smirk gone off of his face, showing a glimpse of vulnerability and empathy from a man you had just met. However, with his next statement, that vulnerability would be gone.

“However, I won’t lie and say it doesn’t intrigue me at all,” he eyed you up and down once more, his sly smirk returning fuller.

“I told you I’m not interested. I’m not sure why you’re still so stuck on me. Don’t you have other clients to attend to?” You took another step back which was followed by a subsequent step forward from the man. You didn’t feel fear around him, but rather you felt uncertainty brewing in your stomach. Uncertainty was brewed from your unfamiliarity with him and a secret, dwelling feeling that you couldn’t describe. 

Silence fell upon the man for a second before he smirked down at you. A step closer he took, staying nearly an arm’s distance away.

“It’s not uncommon for me to do services with wealthy men and women alike. But you…” you’ve never seen a stare so soft yet so intense. Perhaps it was the way he paused his sentence to read your face like an open book. Perhaps it was the way the mystery behind this man was almost enticing. 

“I’ve never met someone so resistant, yet so willing,” a silence fell upon you and him. You could feel your eyebrows furrow at the ridiculousness of his statement. Of course he was being delusional, you were everything but willing. Who did this guy think he was? Or perhaps you felt called out and read thoroughly. Regardless, the scoff you let out shortly after made him raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. I’m only down here so I don’t get caught in those street patrols,” you nudged your head over to the direction of the quiet lane with the man’s head also following.

“Ah, you’re only visiting me because of that…” disappointedly he sighed before you opened his eyes back to you, a smirk returning to his face.

“But, still doesn’t explain why you’re still here talking to me. You could’ve just…left, yes?” You didn’t even have to look at him to see the smug expression he so pridefully carried. 

And with the final furrow of your eyebrow, you spun around again and stormed off away from him with a groan under your breath. This time, you didn’t hear him follow you, nor did you hear a call back to you.

“You’re delusional,” you told him one final time, already taking off.

What he couldn’t see was the rosy blush that crept up to your face or the brisk biting of your bottom lip. What you couldn’t see, however, was his menacing smirk growing heavier on his walk back down to his alley. 

You contemplated never sneaking out again; the quiet lane was occupied by samurai forces each night you went out, no matter what time of the day. Mrs. Ogura had told you that the altercation a few nights ago was between a now wanted man and an officer. If you couldn’t walk down the quiet lane then, you certainly couldn’t walk down now. Of course, this meant that your interactions with the man were almost inevitable. With every time you wanted to go get extra food so you didn’t fall asleep hungry, there was another appearance of him; or so, you assumed.

On your third interaction with him, you had told yourself to walk past him and to not give him the attention he wanted. In fact, you had rehearsed it in your head several times with each rehearsal resulting in you getting the last word.

Except when you actually walked past him again, you found yourself in the same predicament as before: stopped in the middle of the road and arguing with him. In the end, he got the last word. The last thing you remembered before you once again stormed off was the stupid, sly grin he always carried and his eyes piercing directly into you. 

That night, his eyes were all you thought about; you had never seen eyes like his before. A stare down like his made it increasingly uncomfortable for you to sleep at night. It was almost like he saw through you entirely. Such as the things inside of you that you were too scared to admit. But of course, you weren’t craving to see him again, you thought. It’s normal to think about someone at night when they keep finding you, right? 

And so the inevitable happened that night: he appeared in your dreams. Of course, it was normal to briefly imagine being suggestive scenarios with a sex worker you kept seeing on accident. Especially if he keeps insinuating such, what else could you do about that? Of course images of him hovered above you with his hair sticking to the sweat coating your face flashed in this dream, no, this nightmare that occurred. Of course, auditory hallucinations of him telling you how much of a good girl you were occurred. And of course, imagines of him completely nude and having you encased in his arms occurred. This was completely normal for you to imagine, of course, because he had been harassing you for some days now. It had nothing to do with any feeling you potentially held towards him, at least that is what you kept telling yourself.

Yet, despite everything, the following night, you went out again. Most of the vendors ran out of food and Mrs. Ogura ran out of her yakitori once again. However, you couldn’t recall feeling as upset as you did nearly a week ago. Annoyed and hungry? Yes, but it was probably because you didn’t feel like going outside that night. Yet, there you were, walking down the district path once more. 

You had walked down the path, almost reaching the end, until you paused your steps. The street was desolate and almost bleak. Turning around, you had seen only some older men stammering around and some women through the windows of the buildings. Instinctively, you had made your way down the road, glancing down every alleyway that you passed. It didn’t take long for you to finally reach the alley that the man usually resided in. In the middle of the road you then stood, aimlessly looking for that man. Naturally, you grew accustomed to his usual harassment and pestering. It wasn’t that you missed it, you were just thrown off by the lack of his voice and the absent feeling of being watched.

Your eyes then fell on a window above you. Inside the dimly lit room, a silhouette was vaguely visible. Despite that, you knew exactly what you were looking at: the silhouette of a man, the man, through the window. Vaguely, you could make out him putting his yukata back on his bare body and his hair flown down and resting on his shoulders. On the ground, a woman emerges from the building with her hair tangled and her own yukata being loose, as if she was just putting it back on.

When the woman walked away from you, your eyes trailed back up to the window. Unexpectedly, your eyes met his face, the man in the window. Despite the lack of light present outside and inside the building, you knew it was the same man from before. The man that had always tried to get your attention. You spun on your heels and resumed your trek home before you could meet his eyes or before he could have the chance to come outside to meet you. 

The rest of the walk home, a gut wrenching feeling resided within you. Suddenly, in that moment, you wished that Mrs. Ogura didn’t run out of yakitoris so that your usual night run wasn’t completely useless. The idea that your interactions with the man made somewhat of a positive impact on your night was simply untrue. You weren’t disappointed seeing him do his job as a prostitute with another person. You obviously knew how he made his money, that was never a secret to you; so why did your body react the way that it did? You were so sure that your gut wrenching feeling only lingered for so long because you had an empty stomach. Of course, it was your fault for not coming out earlier to grab the skewers. 

That night, you remained restless. It was because you were hungry, you thought. You continued to blame yourself for not visiting Mrs. Ogura earlier. You knew better than to sneak out nearly thirty minutes after your usual time. This has been the second time you returned home with an empty basket, yet, this feeling, this hunger, was far worse than the first.

For the next few days, you were content with falling asleep hungry. You didn’t sneak out as much as you did in the week prior. You convinced yourself that talking with that man again was bad for you, as everything he did, or didn’t do drove you insane. Perhaps it was time to acknowledge you began to enjoy his company, which was dangerous. You weren’t sexually attracted to him, no, you were just developing a platonic bond with him, which is normal for someone as isolated from the world as you.

It wasn’t until this night, where the idea of falling asleep hungry was unbearable. Having such a strict diet like yours was finally getting to you. Your sleep prolonged throughout the day and you were getting exhausted much quicker. You found yourself back at the market street again, standing in front of Mrs. Ogura’s stand, with another empty basket. Not even a yakitori from her; once again, you were too late. 

The walk up the district path was humiliating for you, even if no one else there was paying attention to you. The growl of your stomach combined with your tiredness made you come to an executive decision. Despite the risks, you decided to eat out in a restaurant, a place guaranteed to have food. You knew a place that was nearby; however, it was quicker to reach there by walking through the district. 

Towards the end of the path, you came to realize that the man was nowhere to be found. Saves myself from the embarrassment, you thought as the memories of you nearly encountering him naked after a session with a client came into your head. However, you couldn’t help but feel an unsettling feeling fester in your stomach, like this was all an unfortunate thing. Nonsense, you thought to yourself, you should be glad that you’re alone right now.

It was almost like you had spoken too soon.

“Long time, no see, pretty bird.”

The familiar whisper brushed up against your ear from behind. Suddenly, you were hyperaware of your surroundings; the man had been walking behind you, attempting to catch up to you just so he could mess with you by whispering up against your ear. You would never admit it, but his attempt in making you flustered worked. Though, you wouldn’t have to verbally admit anything, because the cover of your mouth with your free hand and your surprised face being red following your sharp turn to face him was already enough to make him tease you.

“Awe, did I scare you?” His voice was sweet and comforting, yet it carried an underlying vexatious tone. 

“Wha- what are you doing?!” You stuttered, dropping your hand from your mouth. You felt your tense shoulders drop finally, a sigh escaping your mouth.

You finally caught a look at his face. He looked like he wasn’t currently working as all of his excess makeup was absent from his eyes. The colorful yukatas he once championed were replaced with the dull, cheap yukatas that the general population wore. His hair encased his dark, olive-toned face, just like in the first time you met him. The same sly look on his face was still present; you just knew he enjoyed the sight of you flustered at any given moment, and that bothered you.

“I’m not working today. If anything, I was preparing to go home. But then, I saw you turn on this road.” He stepped closer to you, placing his hand on your shoulder. “If you missed me so badly, you should’ve said something earlier…” You immediately brushed his hand off of your shoulder and sneered at him.

“It’s not about you, I was just searching for food at the market down there…” 

“I see then. Is that what you do every time I see you?” He gave a quick glance down at your empty basket. 

“Doesn’t seem to be successful everytime.” 

You heard him chuckle at you; your eyes rolled at his teasing before you spun around and began to walk without him. Expectedly, you heard him catch up to you, now walking with you side by side.

“Are you returning home now?” You heard the curiosity in his voice. You decided to not answer him, hoping he would finally leave after he gets bored of you. You continued the walk uphill with the man lingering with you. You could feel his gaze scan all over you again, perhaps trying to read you. You kept your head low, so you wouldn’t have to give him that satisfaction of him seeing you submissive and nervous because of him. 

“If you don’t respond, I’ll just follow you back to your estate. I don’t think your family will enjoy you bringing home a pro-”

“I’ll give you whatever you want if you promise you’ll leave me alone after!” You, normally timid and a pushover, finally snapped. It was like he knew exactly how to get under your skin, and you hated that. You paused in the middle of the road and stared up at him. Watching down at you, you saw his smirk widen at your outburst. It was like he found enjoyment in nearly everything you did, even if it was you showing genuine distaste for him.

“Anything, you say?” The suggestive tone in his voice indicated something far from what you were considering. With your face flushed an even darker maroon, you responded.

“I’m not going to ask for one of your services!” You scolded him. “I was considering taking you out to dinner… only because I’m getting ready to go eat dinner myself!”

The only thing you heard after that was the deep, almost sinister sounding, chuckle emerging from his voice. You glanced up at him, witnessing the most amusement you’ve ever seen on his face thus far. 

“Lead the way then, pretty bird.”

In all of your years of being royalty, never have you used your notoriety or wealth to get something you wanted. If anything, you found that it was only degenerates who did such a thing. You’ve witnessed it done by family members, normally to escape small legal disputes they accidentally found themselves in. You vowed to yourself to never engage in activity such as that, under any circumstance.

That was until you found yourself slamming a large sum of cash on the zataku in a restaurant's private room. The host quickly took the money from you and left you alone with the man. As the door slid shut, you immediately felt a sense of guilt.

“You’re serious about not being caught with me, aren’t you?” The man's voice almost seemed to linger with shame as he stared at you from across the table. The room wasn’t so small that it was suffocating, but the room felt smaller knowing that the man you sat across from hasn’t seemed to leave your mind since your first meeting. 

Returning his eye contact meant that you suddenly felt bad for making him feel that way. Yes, you paid excessive cash so you, a person with much notoriety, wouldn’t be caught with him. However, despite how badly he bothered you, you didn’t want to make him feel like he was at fault here. He was likely trying to tease you once again, but you couldn’t shake the guilt that you felt in you.

“It’s not because of you, it’s because of me,” you paused for a moment, debating on what words you should choose next.

“I-I can’t be caught with anyone who isn’t family or below me in status. It’s not in my control,” you bowed your head slightly, almost as if you were apologizing. 

A silence fell upon the table until you heard him pouring oolong tea into both of your cups. You knew he was staring at you again. Was it out of frustration? Was he sad? Actually, why did you care? Of course it’s only because you’re just an empathetic person. It would be more concerning if you didn’t show any concern or care for his feelings.

Hesitantly, you brought up your gaze from your lap and brought it to his face. This was the first time you had seen him so calm and peaceful, like he wasn’t the same man who found pleasure from driving you insane. The tea cup slid across the table and landed in front of you which was followed by his signature chuckle. 

“Relax, pretty bird, I was just teasing…” The trail off in voice, the weak smile he tried to portray, the solemn sip he took from his cup; he appeared much differently now. You didn’t believe that he truly felt unaffected by all of this, but you decided to drop it for now, muttering a small thank you instead.

The next minute was spent in silence, with the exception of the sound of the both of you drinking or attempting to cool down the tea. You snuck glances up at him, trying to gauge what he was currently thinking, or what if he was planning to strike up a conversation with you. Surprisingly, he seemed to be occupying his own business, stirring his tea occasionally. 

“Is there something the pretty bird wants to know?” He didn’t move his contact from the tea cup, but you knew he had caught you staring at him. Your throat cleared, as if his question caught you off guard. 

“Well…I guess I have one- or two, actually,” you paused.

“Maybe three…”

You heard his laugh echo in the confined space, like his normal demeanor returned back to him. His hands dropped to rest on his lap, leaning in closer to the table. Was his yukata always this loose? The black cotton fabric was vaguely draped over his chest. You ashamedly took a glance down at his exposed, bare chest; his breast muscles contracted with every breath he took under his olive skin glistening in the overhead lantern. Fuck, he’s no different than the dream, you ashamedly thought to yourself. With everything breath, the hem of the cotton teased you, like it wanted you to reach out and strip him bare.

A silent curse in your head was issued by you immediately after explicitly imagining that perverse thought about him. You returned his eye contact and prayed that he didn’t catch you fantasizing about his body. Even if you wanted to continue, his voice cut through your thoughts.

“Seonghwa.”

Your eyebrow raised instinctively, not expecting him to blurt out something so random. 

“I-excuse me?”

“You were wondering what my name was, I’m assuming? If you weren't, at least now you know my name.” 

The way he delivered his response was cocky and arrogant; but, he read your mind like it was his. In your head, he had always been referred to as “The Man” or “that one prostitute that won’t leave me alone”. However, you wanted to give him the respect he required, such as knowing his name.

“...yes. You’re right,” you took a pause to process his name. “Seonghwa”, you unintentionally repeated under your breath.

Your eyes met his again, “You’re not from around here, are you? I’ve never heard that name before.”

“I’m from Korea. I’ve been here since my early adolescence. I hardly remember the language anymore,” he spoke after he took a meek sip of his tea. Your eyes caught his grip on the cup; with every muscle contraction, his veins in his hand bulged. It was distracting. You didn’t know what had gotten into you. For the 2nd time tonight, you were ogling at his body while he was doing mundane tasks. You silently cursed yourself again, drawing your eyes away from his hands.

“I like it when you say my name, y/n.”

If you were drinking your tea, which you almost thought of doing to wash down your dirty thoughts, you would’ve nearly choked on it. Normally, you would’ve just rolled your eyes at his suggestive comments, but ever since you saw him through that window, dressing his nude body, and when you had that dream about him, you weren’t acting like yourself. Perhaps you were just going through a biological phase of some sort, something you couldn’t explain. 

Even though he knew your name for quite some time, as it was public knowledge, hearing him say your name for the first time gave you an odd sense of comfort. Apparently, he had felt the same way when you said his name. You had tried to ignore his comment, and you tried to show that you weren’t flustered by it, even if the color of your face and your tense posture showed otherwise.

“Uh-anyways, I also wanted to ask, why are you protecting my identity? You do understand, that there are people who would be joyful to know that a family member of a shogun is roaming the Red-light district, right?” A pause.

“Some people find great pleasure in tearing someone with so much power down.”

 There was a silence amongst you two again. The smirk on his face having faded and being replaced with a hesitant lip bite, like he was preparing to share something vulnerable or grave. Putting down his cup, he started.

“Ah, that is a valid question to ask,” he kept his eyes trained on you, not in a sly or suggestive manner, but like he was debating on opening up to you. You maintained eye contact, but inside, you wondered if you had asked him a question that had required him to share more than he wanted. Or worse, he was contemplating on actually exposing you.

“I apologize, you don’t have to answer th-”

“Many people place their own assumptions about me because of what I do.”

His voice suddenly interrupted yours, his serious tone making a return. When he wasn’t behaving mischievously and giving you that delinquent smirk, his permissive gaze that he always carried became more evident. You gave him a small nod, waiting for him to continue.

“I also assume that many people place judgement and assumptions on you as well,” he glanced up at you, searching for confirmation to his claim.

“Yes, you would be right.”

He continued, “I don’t want to be treated differently because of my status or my job, and I also assume you wouldn’t want to be either, right?” You gave him another nod.

“It is as simple as that,” he leaned in closer over the table, making it harder for you to avoid his eye contact.

“You may act otherwise towards me, but I can feel that you’re not a part of the crowd who looks down on me. You don’t think I’m an annoying pest; but, you do think I am an annoying human,” in typical Seonghwa fashion, he couldn’t finish a serious statement without delivering a joke, even if it was just to humor himself. Surprisingly for him, showing in eyebrows, this got a brief chuckle from you as well, which eased some of the preexisting tension in you. 

“You may irritate me, but I don’t despise you with all my being. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here right now,” you spoke honestly, still maintaining your guard. It seemed that Seonghwa found your statement humorous, with him only responding with a laugh. 

The rim of your tea cup returned to your lips as you thought about the last question you had planned to ask him. Initially, you had felt comfortable with the idea of you interrogating him about odd behavior: Why did he flirt so intensively, even when he wasn’t working? Why you, out of everyone he could’ve asked? You were afraid to open Pandora’s Box, nervous about what the answer could be.

You need to be honest with yourself. You were growing attached to Seonghwa; not the same platonic attachment you described earlier, but rather something more, something greater that you couldn’t describe. Or a feeling you were too afraid to describe.

Worst of all, you couldn’t tell if he reciprocated. Which is why you hesitated to ask him your final question. You wanted him, and after days of verbally denying it, you were too scared to even speak up and mention it. Besides, you were so sure that he had encountered people like this before. People that developed an attachment towards a worker giving them the services they are being paid to do. Except, you aren’t his customer, you’re just a woman he occasionally pesters with when he gets the chance. 

You were probably the only one who was dreaming and fantasizing about the other. After all, you both had just finished a vulnerable conversation about empathy and trust. He would think you’re disgusting for having such perverse thoughts about him still. Your eyebrows furrowed just a tinge, bringing your lips back to your tea. Seonghwa must have noticed your off behavior, because he had spoken up.

“Is there a third question from me that you wanted to ask? I know you mentioned something about that,” unwavering, he held the gaze that you previously broke with him. You couldn’t tell if he was completely oblivious to your demeanor or if he was just teasing you again, which drove you insane. 

Before you could even answer or make up an excuse, the door to the private room opened. Bowls of noodle soups, platters of meat, and cups of rice were dispersed on your table. You thanked the worker, mentally, for coming with the food at the right time. There remained a silence between the both of you as you both watched the plates of food compile on the table. It wasn’t long until the worker had left, leaving you, Seonghwa, and the aroma of the food lingering.

Without paying any mind to his question, you unravelled your chopsticks and began eating the bowl in front of you. In your peripheral, you had watched Seonghwa slowly reach for his own bowl before he began to eat, like he wanted to say something else to you. For a moment, you had been glad to enjoy your meal and avoid the uncomfortable question you had wanted to ask him for the past week. 

But you forgot that “uncomfortable questions” don’t exist with Seonghwa.

“The last question you had for me? Were you going to mention anything about that?” He questioned you again after eating a generous portion of his food. 

“Ah- no, it…left my mind. Can’t remember,” you were a horrible liar, and Seonghwa seemed to have learned that just now. The burning stare came back and burned holes into your bowed head. You tried your best to behave like there was no issue that was vexing you, but Seonghwa wasn’t stupid. He could pick up on these things, likely better than you could. 

“I think you’re lying to me, pretty bird.”

That damned nickname came back in his vocabulary. You were initially able to just shake off that name like it didn’t mean anything. But with your recent acceptance of your feelings towards Seonghwa, a name as simple as pretty bird suddenly carried weight. Suddenly, you understood the power he had over you, and you didn’t like that.

You continued to eat your food, nearing the end of your noodle soup. You figured that if you had just continued to play dumb, then maybe, just maybe, there was a slim chance of Seonghwa giving up on interrogating you. Or, if you were super lucky, he could believe you completely, which you doubted. Regardless, you’d rather take that risk than open up.

“I really don’t remember, I got distracted by the food coming here…haha,” your little pretend joke barely made Seonghwa’s lips budge. Instead, the stare in his eyes narrowed in on you intensely. There was a brief silence, the aroma of the food vaguely masking the tension in the air, before you heard Seonghwa’s sigh breaking the silence.

“Is that so?”

You nodded your head, continuing to eat your food.

He paused.

“I suppose I should speak more about myself then. Maybe the question will come back in that pretty head of yours.”

Another pause; this time with you. You tried not to let your nerves show; even the most basic of compliments could suddenly make you go weak, and that was dangerous. So you resumed your eating, hoping the conversation continued smoothly.

You didn’t know how wrong you could be.

He took a breath.

“I saw you looking at me through the window.”

You halted your body, a small gasp vaguely escaping you. You didn’t have to look at him to know that his devilish smirk returned to his face. It was laced all in his speech; you had no reason to look back up at him to check if you were right. You paused before you placed your bowl down on the table, keeping your head bowed. While you were frantically searching for the right response, with your clammy palms and your quickened heart beat. 

“I suppose you didn’t know that I was watching you too, did you?” Of course this would happen. It was dark outside that night, and the room he was in was even darker. You could only interpret his silhouette, not his face or any other details. But of course, it would’ve been easier for him to see you in the maroon red lights that highlighted the entire street. 

You wanted to come up with an excuse, but they were all so pathetic and lackluster. He didn’t believe you then, and he surely wouldn’t believe you now. You were just going to have to admit that you were ogling his body after pretending to hate his attention for so long.

“I- I apologize for that. I shouldn’t have invaded your priva-”

“Oh, pretty bird, I’m not asking you to apologize.”

A pause.

“Look at me, I want to see your face.”

You hesitated to show him your face, but you complied. Your face rose up slowly, finally reaching eye contact with Seonghwa. His stare was intense. And it made you uncomfortable. But you liked it; in fact, you didn’t feel any inclination to look away from him. Like you were hypnotized, and you couldn’t do a single thing about it. Your palms, however, stayed glued to your lap, hoping he didn’t notice.

Seonghwa enjoyed watching you crumble over a simple order he gave. You could see it in his posture, how he leaned forward, resting his jaw in his hand. Or how he carried that damned cocky grin you hated even greater on his face. He had gotten you to behave like a walking ball of nerves after having you act so resistant to him a week ago; and God, was he getting a high off of it.

“Does anything I'm saying ring any bells for you yet?”

You shook your head. Another lie.

He continued, “You probably think that you’re hard to read. That I don’t understand what your true, most pure intentions are with me.”

He looked you up and down, feeling a sense of control over you and the conversation. You, unfortunately, couldn’t feel the same; he was unravelling you piece by piece, exposing every aspect about you that you had tried to keep hidden.

“You probably think that I don’t see you eyeing my body up and down. Or that I don’t see how all of the sudden, your demeanor changed around me. Acting so shy and timid around me”

You felt his eyes zoom in on each one of your features, “I love it when the words I say make you squirm on your lap like that. Or how red I can make your face without even having to touch you.”

You hadn’t even realized that all of your seemingly small behavior shifts were that noticeable by him. He saw every change in you. Almost on instinct, your legs uncomfortably shifted together again. Fuck, the way he read you made you damp, yearning for him. You maintained eye contact with him as you spoke up.

“So what’s your point?” Your meek voice attempted to taunt him. You watched the color of his face blush pink near his eyes, followed by him biting his own lip like he was holding back a maniacal smirk.

“I want you to ask me the last question you had for me. I want to know if I guessed right.”

He patiently waited for you to finally reveal what you had wanted to ask him all dinner, his finger tapping on the zataku at a steady rhythm. Whether it was because of his taunting voice, his exposed chest, his eyes holding the most graceful, yet most daunting stare, or the veins in his hands bulging, you were starting to lose your self control.

You figured you had nothing to lose at this point. Lying was pointless when he already knew nearly everything about you already. Yet, the fear that lingered within you made you excited, like you wanted to be perceived as a permissive, naive woman who was oblivious to her effect on him. You were so far gone, but you couldn’t care much anymore.

“Why me?” You began, “What makes me different from your regular customers that would make you want to come eat dinner with me?” 

Finally, the weight of pretending had been released from you. You watched Seonghwa’s smirk progressively grow into a menacing chuckle. This was the question he was looking for, you were sure of it.

“Why you?” his tone dimmed, washing over the devilish look on his face. 

“You’re difficult.”

You bite your lip, as if you were begging him to continue. Seeming like he heard your thoughts, you watched him pause his statement before he sat up and, to your surprise, walked over to you. He slowly knelt down beside you while you remained still.

“You want my attention. Even if you don’t act like it. I always know.”

“Because it’s written all over your face.”

A pause.

“You know, it’s not common for me to crave someone's attention so badly. I want your attention too, pretty bird.”

The palm of his hand raised from his side and hovered over your cheek.

“May I?”

Hesitantly, your full body shifted to face him, giving him permission to touch you. His cool palm, softly landed on your cheek with the heat from your flushed face warming his hands instantly. He leaned in, the opposite hand being placed firmly on the table beside you. He scanned you thoroughly, his eyes raking up and down your body several times. The only thing heard in the room now was the subtle panting above you. 

“Pretty bird…do I really need to explain to you why I want to fuck you?” The breathless tone in his voice escaped him, like he was pleading to you, needing you. 

With every inch he closed between you two, you retreated, eventually landing your back against the wall. He had had you cornered now, his free hand off from the table and firmly rested beside your head on the wall. The desperation in his face was a stark contrast to the persona he initially played into. The maroon cheeks, the burning stare onto your lips, and the slight tremble in his voice; his true feelings and intentions were manifest. 

His thumb dragged along your face before landing on the center of your lips, circling the bottom of your lip sensually. He continued, “I think about you when I’m with my clients. Fuck, I do it all the time. Especially on the nights when you come down the district.”

His knee slowly pushed your legs apart, “Stop me if you don’t want this”, his mouth dropped down to whisper into your ear, earning you a softly pressed kiss below your ear. He returned to look down at your face, staring at you intently while his knee continued to travel up your inner thighs. He stopped his knee at your entrance, letting it hover. 

This was wrong, you thought to yourself. Anyone could hear us. Or walk in. 

Despite your concerns, all you could focus on was Seonghwa’s body towering over you with his yukata drawn loose at his chest. Your eyes flickered up and down, from his eyes down back to his chest, and back again. He had barely touched you, but he already had your legs trembling and your breath shaky. When your eyes finally decided to keep eye contact with him, you instinctively bit your lip and his thumb that was lazily drawing circles. The soft hitch caught in his voice didn’t last long before he hesitantly inserted his thumb into your mouth. 

“Are you sure you want to do this here?” You could hear the self-control in him failing with every passing moment. He began to retract his finger from your mouth to give you a chance to respond, but your hand flew up to his arm to stop him; the muscle was flexed underneath your hands. You gently sucked on his finger and lathered it with your tongue, and with this action he understood your answer.

Before you could blink, his thumb deepened into your mouth. The grip you had on his arm tightened, earning a soft moan from you. Your other hand rose up and rested on his bare clavicle. The sly smirk he once wore now returned. He watched your face as his finger in your mouth played with your salivating tongue. 

“That night when I caught those pretty eyes of yours staring at me through the window,” he released his finger from your mouth slowly, letting the salvia that soaked his thumb drip on the floor beside you, “The same eyes you’re giving me right now,” you watched his face zoom in closer to your, feeling the desire in his breath against your mouth. He popped his soaked thumb in his mouth to taste you before this hand returned to cradle your face.

He continued: “I want those eyes on me while I touch you, okay? Can you do that for me, pretty bird?” He stared into you before he glanced back down at your lips. You muttered a quick yes under your breath, your head nodding at a desperate speed.

Before you could even say anything else, he inched away from you and pulled you down by your legs. You yelped as you fell on your back and onto the padded floor. Your legs wrapped over his shoulders, his hands aiding the process. The yukata that once modestly covered your body was now pooled at your hips. 

As Seonghwa’s gaze dragged over your bare legs, with his hands delicately running across your thighs and up to your ankles. The warmth that radiated from his palms sent shivers down your entire body. You watched him through half-lidded eyes as his hands massaged your legs, going down to your inner thigh. The only thing heard in the room was the soft whimpering you had tried to suppress from outside ears. 

“You’re already getting this noisy for me. I didn’t know you could be so responsive,” his finger trailed down your thigh once more before he reached the pooled yukata that vaguely covered your wet entrance. The further his finger travelled, the more your body throbbed for his touch. His hand reached higher and leisurely undid the tied yukata around your waist. All you could do was watch as he teased you so slowly, knowing you were craving for him to touch and please you already, your impatient shifting apparent throughout.

“I bet you’re already so ready for me. Shall I check?” He pressed a soft kiss to your calf before he zoomed in onto your inner thighs. His hand brushed away the loose cloth away from your heat, exposing your wet, throbbing core. 

He took his fingers and pressed them against you, rubbing circles across the lips. Your legs squirmed over his shoulders, a moan echoing in the room with the sound of your slick being played. He licked his own lips as he watched you struggle against his gentle touch. 

“Shh…shh…don’t be too loud,” his assuring, velvet voice spoke out to you as he slowed his pace down, “bite down on something for me,” he used his free hand to bring the collar of your yukata up to your mouth. Eagerly, you took the cloth into your mouth, both of your hands gripping the cloth with your teeth. 

Almost instantly, he quickened the pace of his fingers circling your labia. His free hand trailed down from your collar and slid underneath the cotton. His hands made their way to your breasts, giving a generous squeeze to the cup. He had complete control over your body, while all you could do was lay on your back and let him fondle you. The whimpers in your voice had gotten louder when you rolled your hips to the rhythm of his slick fingers. 

“You’re doing so good. Being such an obedient girl for me,” his voice purred. He teased a finger in between your folds, maintaining eye contact with you. 

“Mmpfh- Seonghwa, I need you,” you released your teeth from the cloth momentarily to beg, “Please, please just make me cum.” The speed of the tip of his finger quickened gradually as you continued to squirm and whimper under his touch. 

Seonghwa, who was getting off at the sight of you obediently and pathetically submitting to him, freed a moan from his lips. He dragged the hand on your breasts over to your nipples, the fingers lazily fondling the soft tissue.

His mischievous grin returned, “You better keep those pretty eyes on me at all times then. Okay?” His finger titillatingly flicked your clit faster as he waited for a verbal response from you. It was evil; just a few days ago you were so confident that he was just a bothersome man who developed an unreciprocated infatuation with you. Now, he had you moaning on the floor and teasing you.

“Please- Seonghwa, I’m being good for you,” you had no shame in your begging; your eyes glistened with tears as his finger continued to play with your clit.

“Awe, my pretty bird wants me to do more?” Perhaps it was the tears in your eyes that prompted him to stop teasing you and finally begin to stick his middle finger knuckle deep inside you. Your teeth clamped back down on your clothes as he started to stroke your pussy. 

The damp noises of his finger fucking you in the room could almost make Seonghwa salivate like a dog; there you were, hair sprawled out on the padded floor, your yukata dishelved and loosely hanging onto you, and the sight of tears falling down the sides of your face because of his fingers stimulating your body. His smile was maniacal. This is exactly how he wanted you, after all of those days he yearned over your attention. 

“You have no idea how gorgeous you look right now,” he pumped another finger into you as he quickened the pace of his strokes while his other hand on your breast roughly massaged with him occasionally pinching your nipple.

Your legs stiffened around his shoulders as you maintained eye contact with Seonghwa through your glossy eyes. You stuffed more fabric into your mouth to muffle the volume of your moans that increasingly grew louder with each of his strokes. Despite the eye contact you tried to maintain, your tears were clouding your vision. Your vision was only worsened when Seonghwa added a third finger; the tremble of your legs was felt by the both of you.

“Ah ah, I don’t want you to cum just yet,” you didn’t need your vision to know that his maniacal grin returned on his face. He stilled all three of his fingers deep in you while his free hand reached up to your face, his finger tenderly wiping away stray tears. 

“Please, Seonghwa, please, I’m so close-” he interrupted your pleading with his finger trailing down your face, landing over your lips.

“But y/n, you must not understand how beautiful you look under me right now. I just want to keep you like this forever…” he spoke in such a gentle purr. If it wasn’t for you nearly being folded in half with him knuckle-deep into you, you’d be swooned and serenaded by the soft-spoken tone in his voice.

“Do you really want me to make you cum?” He asked teasingly, his fingers moving away from your mouth and back down to your body. You rapidly, desperately nodded; but Seonghwa shook his head.

“Use your words, pretty bird. I want to hear what you want,” His effect on you made you look so pathetic, but you didn’t even care; this was exactly what you had dreamed about with him.

“Please, make me cum, Seonghwa…” You softly plead spoken under your breath, your imploring eyes searching his proud ones for any hint of approval. His eyebrow raised, as if he wasn’t fully convinced yet.

“Seonghwa…please,” He eventually chuckled at your final plea, his hand on your chest making its way back to your nipple.

“Since you used your words, I’ll make those lips sing,” Seonghwa didn’t give you time to respond; his fingers immediately began to pump in you quicker than before. The soft massages on your breasts turned into his hand kneading them. What once was a room only filled with sounds of your pussy being pumped by his fingers was now a room filled with sounds of your moaning croaking out from between your lips. 

Seonghwa had noticed that your yukata that you had bit down on to keep quiet was absent from your mouth, “Come on, pretty bird, don’t be too loud,” despite his warning, it seemed that he had been aroused by the idea of you being loud when you’re supposed to be quiet for him; the louder you got, the harder and faster he went. 

Your legs trembled on his shoulders, and your back arched from the ground; Seonghwa didn’t need you to tell him what you were about to do. Every twitch and shake in your body told him that you were about to cum.

“That’s right, cum on me,” Seonghwa’s delicate voice assured you. With your orgasm vibrating into the cloth in your mouth, you finished on him. You threw your head back onto the padded floor, feeling your trembling legs being pampered with kisses that felt like silk against skin. 

“You did amazing,” Seonghwa carefully placed your legs down on the floor before he crawled above you, resting himself on top of your stomach with his legs straddling your body. On one hand, his fingers were dripping in your cum; with his free hand, he took your chin and turned your head back so he could continue observing you. 

His soft, yet proud gaze scanned your entire face; your face was wetted by your tears and your hair was sticking to the tears that trickled down your neck. His clean hand wiped a free tear from your face again before it returned back down to your mouth, his thumb brushing against.

“Open wide for me,” you obeyed his command, watching his grin grow as your lips parted further. Without any warning, his cum-soiled fingers plunged into your mouth. Your tongue lathered his fingers as Seonghwa leaned down over you. The warmth of his breath was felt with every inch he closed between you. Beside your head, his other hand was planted on the ground, closing you in once again.

Your eyes locked with his before Seonghwa’s stare fell down to your lips, “Let me taste you,” Seonghwa removed his fingers from your tongue, letting his lips connect with yours gently. You melted into the kiss, your hands rising to cup his silk-like face. You couldn’t get enough of the sweet flavor that exuded from his lips; along with the soft texture of his lips on yours, you were disappointed to feel him pull back from the kiss, even if it was just to observe you once again.

“You taste so good, pretty bird,” his head dipped into the crook of your neck, deliberately placing wet kisses under your jaw, travelling down to your collarbone. His hands reached back down to your yukata, slipping through the fabric once more. 

“I wish I could eat you right now, but I need to finish up quickly,” he rose up from your neck and pressed another kiss on your lips, this time slower, deeper. Every inch of skin on your bare abdomen was being massaged by the graceful touch of his palms. With every moan from you that he felt through the kiss, and with every touch felt by your hands entangled in his hair, the hungrier the kiss became.

His hand trailed down your body again before it reached your labia. His fingers began circling over the region again; the present sound of the wet lips echoing in the room almost made Seonghwa weak, his moan vaguely being heard.

“You’re still ready for me. That’s good,” he broke the kiss as he sat back up, looking down at you while his hands undid the cloth wrapped around him. He let his yukata hang freely open, his cock springing out. 

The precum oozed from him, running down his length in anticipation. God, you couldn’t get your eyes off of his curve, and he loved that. You cursed under your breath, your salivating mouth unable to form phrases. He then came back down to kiss you softly on the nose, before trailing the kisses back down to your neck. All the while, his tip was knocking at your entrance door. You felt it grazing your folds, increasingly teasing you as he continued to suck on your neck.

“Ngh, Se-Seonghwa…” your fragile voice managed to escape, “I need more than your tip.” Your hands that pushed the yukata from off his shoulders begged him to do more to you.

“Ah ah, you’re being too eager. I need you to ask for it nicer,” his head rose to your ear, whispering his command gently. He leaned away from you, cocking his eyebrow up smugly as he saw the desperation in your eyes. His cock remained at your folds with every twitch causing you to throb harder. 

“Please, Seonghwa. Please just fuck me again,” you laid there begging pathetically and so desperate for him. Yet, he didn’t move at all. He just stood over you, his bare chest on full display, watching you beg.

As if he was testing you, his cock teasingly inched into you, earning him a desperate, but sinful sound leaving your quivering lips. You knew that he enjoyed watching you squirm around on the ground at his will; with every whimper he heard and with every desperate look he saw in your eyes, you could feel the remote throbbing of his member inside you, like the lust he had for you traversed through the veins that ran up and down his length.  

He stared down at you for a moment more, like he was enjoying the effect he continued to have on you. Then suddenly, his hands placed themselves on either side of your hips while his body was perched over yours. 

“Fuck, I can’t resist you,” was the last thing that muttered from his mouth before his cock disappeared into your cunt. The suddenness almost caught you off guard. You almost disobeyed him and screamed his name, however, you managed to bite down hard on your lips with your pathetic whimpers replacing what would’ve been a sinful scream.

His cock rested inside of you momentarily, allowing you to regain some composure. His hands, with a gentle yet firm grip, lifted your hips from the ground slightly. The warm air that filled the room crashed against your lifted lower back. Seonghwa panted like a dog in anticipation at the sight of his cock stuffed into your pussy. With the smirk of a deviant, he gave you one last knowing glance down at you.

“Remember to be quiet”

Following the order he gave in his rough, aroused voice, he started his thrusts slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. Despite the slow tempo, he made sure to fill you up with as much of his cock as possible. You were doing well with managing him and remaining quiet, outside of a few whimpers that hummed in between your lips. Seonghwa knew this too; he was greedy, and he wanted to push you to your limits. He kept a malevolent smirk on his face that only grew more as his thrusts continued, like he was thinking of all of the fun he could have from witnessing you pathetically try to handle him without making a noise. 

His gentle grip no longer, he continued to thrust into you at a noticeably faster rate. The sound of his skin slapping against your pussy, the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing from your body, and the sight of his long hair sticking to his temples was nearly enough to make you cum already. The tears you let out before returned to cry out in the sheer pain you experienced from biting down on your tongue so hard just so you couldn’t scream his name. 

But damn, did it feel titillating

Your hands fell down to your breast, stimulating the feeling of him sucking on your nipples earlier. You knew it would make it harder for you to control your volume, but you loved the danger. And so did Seonghwa. 

Your quivering legs on either side of him, your tight folds clenching around his length, and his flushed face that traded with the smugness he carried earlier; this was exactly what Seonghwa wanted to experience with you. No more nights of him imagining you as his clients. Just the real you, half naked on the floor with his throbbing length fucking you.

 Just as he anticipated, your moans managed to slip through your lips; it grew harder for you to control your volume.

“S-Se-Seonghwa,” you whined shakily, “Can’t stay q-quiet”. 

He abruptly stopped, keeping himself inside you. He looked tauntingly disappointed in you. Of course, he knew this would happen. His body slightly leaned over yours, with his facial features becoming condescending and the grip on your hips softening. 

He sighed, “Ah ah, pretty bird. I won’t let you finish until you stay quiet,” one of his hands left your hips and teasingly drew down to your folds, letting his ring finger fondle with them while he rested inside you. Even the slight tease with his fingers was enough to force you to bite down on your clothing. 

Your teary, desperate eyes met his. The vague smile on his face showed you that he was enjoying every second of your squirming and whining. Seonghwa watched you struggle to silently keep eye contact with him despite the fondling not ceasing. He just watched you, once again, pathetically try not to whine at his touch.

“You’re so beautiful like this, being obedient to me.”

The endless teasing didn’t stop even when he noticed your precum developing a small pool around him. In fact, it made him continue with another finger. The pain in your tongue and teeth resurfaced again as you bit down harder on your yukata.

A considerable amount of time passed as he continued the slow fondling. Your legs were still tensely still around his body, but the room became quieter. You continued to lay there silently in agony, anticipating for him to continue pleasuring you. His sudden chuckle left you in relief as his hand retreated back to your hip. 

“You’re a good listener. Perhaps I shall award you for your good behavior,” he gradually restarted his thrust into you as he continued the praise. 

“You’re doing so good, pretty bird,” he repeated his assortment of praises as he gradually pounded you. Your teeth clenched down fiercely on your finger wrapped in the yukata that was once in your mouth while your eyes began to swell in tears once again. The sound of skin contact was louder than before; surely, someone had to have heard such a sinful sound coming from their room.

Regardless, you both knew he was on the verge of cumming. The usual smugness of Seonghwa’s face on his thrown back head was replaced with his mouth agape. The sweat that resided on his temples were now dripping down his olive skin. His bare chest glistened under the lights. The hair that rested on his broad shoulders were stuck to the sweat that emitted from his neck. With the arch of your back and your trembling legs on either side of him, you knew you didn’t have much longer left.

“Open your mouth,” he moaned desperately, his cock twitching in you. Both of you were losing composure; the more Seonghwa softly moaned, the tighter the already tense grip on your hip became. Finally, he whipped out his cock as soon as the cum oozed out of him and slapped the tip on your lips. Simultaneously, your orgasm vibrated throughout the room, allowing his cum to trickle down your throat. 

You swallowed his fluid before you both laid down on the padded floor, hefty  breathing from both of your half naked bodies. He laid on top of you, still like a lifeless body. You both kept each other’s sweaty bodies wrapped in each other's arms. After basking in the comfort of each other's embrace, Seonghwa elevated himself above you, either hand on each side of your head. He glanced down at you, wiping away the tears that ran down your face. 

There was a peaceful silence that lingered amongst the room until he muttered, “You did better than I expected. I’m pleasantly surprised you managed to stay so quiet,” you rolled your eyes at his claim, brushing more tears off.

“Oh please, you think too low of me,” you gave him a grin, “I’m not that stubborn.”

Seonghwa inched away from your face and adjusted his head down at your sore folds. His tongue gently cleaned them, unsurprisingly making you squirm in pleasure. Before he rose from in between your legs, he gave the lips a final graze of his tongue as he retreated back to your face. He pressed his lips to yours, letting you taste yourself once more. Both of your lips tiredly and sloppily meshed together, with your hands returning back to entangle his hair, and his hands cradling either side of your flushed face. Seonghwa finally pulled away, his tired, yet euphoric, gaze studying the gratified expression you held.

“Ah, I suppose you’re right,” he jokingly pondered, “In fact, you gave yourself up to me quite quickly. Earlier, you had almost convinced me that you really didn’t want anything to do with me.” 

You groaned, pushing his face away from yours in playful irritation. Sitting up from where you laid, you fixed up your yukata, tying it around you once more. Your hands vaguely ran through your hair in its attempt to fix it.

“One day I’ll have to tame that stubbornness in you,” Seonghwa stood up to adjust his clothes, back now facing towards you. The muscles you had just memorized with your hand were now concealed by his yukata. 

You briefly paused; one day? He believes there will be another time after this? I mean, of course you wanted that as well. It was just that you were just assuming that what took place during dinner was just a one time thing. Your heart skipped a beat before you shook your head, discontinuing your wishful thinking.

When he noticed your lack of response, he turned his body and knelt down beside you. The vulnerable look on his face made a reappearance; your eyes avoided his face, but you knew that his eyes were glued on your solemn expression as you raked your hands through your tangled hair. 

“That is, if you want there to be a next time?” he paused, “I would like for you to come visit me again, in a less public area, that is,” his hand reached up to a loose strand of hair hovered over your face before it halted, like he was asking for permission before touching you again. 

“I-...well,” you turned your head to face him. It was evident from his furrowed eyebrows and slight frown that he looked disappointed at the possibility of not seeing you again.

“Yes, I would actually like for there to be a next time,” the hesitation was noticeable in your voice initially until you scanned his face for a positive reaction. It didn’t take long until Seonghwa’s hand finally brushed the hair from your face. 

“Good,” Seonghwa looked you up and down with his free thumb dragging across your lower lip once more, “Are you sure that’s what you want? You hesitated to answer,” His thumb slowed down against lips before Seonghwa turned his attention back to your eyes.

“I just wasn’t entirely sure if you wanted this again. I’m glad you do, but I just didn’t expect you to want it this much,” you embarrassingly confessed to him. You heard him chuckle, his thumb suddenly beginning to soothe your lower lip once more. The hair that hovered around Seonghwa’s face tickled your cheeks as he leaned in.

“y/n,” he began, “I wanted, needed, your attention for a reason,” Seonghwa’s lips connected with yours in a passionate exchange before he pulled away, his breath being felt on your face.

“You’re quite the intriguing person. And there is still so much about you that I crave to learn about.”

That sentence alone was enough to convince you. Maybe someone of royalty shouldn’t develop an infatuation with a person of a different class, but there was an excitement you had from sneaking out at night. A mutual fixation forming between the both of you, a sex worker and royalty, who were equally forbidden from developing any form of relationship with each other, was a dangerous game that you both were willing to play.

“Then, shall I visit you in a few nights-”

“Tomorrow.”

His voice interrupted yours suddenly. For a moment, a flicker of seriousness displayed on his face before the gentle yet menacing smile you were used to seeing grew. His hand trailed down your sleeve slowly before landing on your thigh. 

“I would like to see you again tomorrow, if your schedule allows it,” he gave your leg a gentle squeeze as he patiently awaited your response. You initially were thrown off by the sudden request from him, so you stilled yourself on the floor without emitting a single sound except for a giggle.

“Well then, I better see you at your alley again,” you promised him with a smirk on your face. Seonghwa stared back at you before he chuckled. He stood up from where he was sitting, towering over your frame. 

A hand from his side reached down to your head, tilting your head up to view him. The malevolence in his tone seemed to have run away. The gentle, unassuming expression returned to his face like nothing had happened. As if he didn’t just make you swallow his own cum. He allowed himself to check out your disheveled appearance, admiring his work he did on you. He finally locked eyes with yours one final time before he last spoke:

“Next time, I’ll make sure to make that voice sing louder, pretty bird.”

٠࣪⭑ a/n ╰┈➤ Lordddd this done took me so long to write lol im so sorry (╥﹏╥). I've been dealing with college exams this past week so I hope I didn't write horrible here.... anyways, the ateez drabbles should be out as well, so go read that as well! Hope you all enjoyed, lmk if there are any mistakes!! ₍^. .^₎⟆

[mingi-buffering-24-7]

I Hate You (And You’re Mine)

You hate him. He’s insufferable. Your anger tempts him.

Somewhere between dusted relics and low light, Seonghwa finds a far more dangerous way to make a point.

Hate has never felt this raw.

Pairing: dom!Seonghwa x fem!Reader Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Locked Room / Forced Proximity, Slow Burn Sexual Tension, Power Dynamics / Handsy, Hate/Angry-Sex, Workplace / Academic Romance. No use of y/n. Genre: Smut. Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), Dominant/submissive dynamics, dub!con, Seonghwa is a little (very) mean, Rough/Forceful sex, Hand restraint (wrists, waist, hips), Choking/Throat play, Hair pulling, Marking/Hickeys/Bruising, Table sex, Teasing, Partial nudity/Clothing manipulation, Language, Dirty/Commanding, Rapid climax/Overstimulation, Enemies-to-lovers tension, Verbal teasing/Insults, Flirtation/Manipulation, Anger mixed with desire, Jealousy/Possessiveness, Forced proximity/Confinement, Frustration/Restraint play, Workplace setting, Power imbalance, Pushing boundaries.

Word Count: 5.8k

masterlist

The research wing of the museum smells of old paper, waxed wood, and that faint metallic tang history always leaves behind. Sunlight cuts through the tall, narrow windows in thin, sharp beams, dust drifting lazily in the air. 

Shelves stretch toward the ceiling, marble statues watch from the corners, and the floorboards groan under every step like they’re tired of you.

You sit at one of the long oak tables, surrounded by scattered papers and artifacts. You’re cataloging a fragile manuscript — cross-referencing, scribbling, double-checking — lost in the focused chaos you’ve created.

Seonghwa sits beside you, bent over the same artifact for far too long. His glasses are low on the bridge of his nose, and his voice slices through the quiet with that calm, maddening precision you’ve learned to hate.

“Your notes are inconsistent again,” he says without even blinking, eyes moving over your handwriting like he’s hunting for flaws.

“Your personality is inconsistent,” you shoot back, heat rising — not from anger, but from how close he is.

He finally lifts his gaze. A small, smug smirk tugs at his mouth. “Try harder.”

Your pen stalls mid-stroke. “I do try. Some of us don’t spend half our time pointing out everyone else’s mistakes.”

He leans slightly closer, eyebrow arched. “And yet here we are. You clearly can’t resist trying to prove me wrong.”

“I’m not proving anything,” you snap, fingers tightening around the pen. “I’m just doing my job.”

He leans back, smirk widening, folding his arms, tone casual but edged with challenge. “Right. Because it looks like you’re trying to outdo me. Again.”

You grit your teeth. Heat crawls up your neck. “Maybe I just don’t like being corrected by someone who barely notices how wrong they are half the time.”

“And maybe I don’t like correcting someone who refuses to see the truth,” he says, calm in that infuriating way that means he knows he’s getting to you.

Silence stretches — sharp, tense. You both stare at the manuscript like it’s the only thing keeping the room from exploding.

Finally, you mutter, “You really think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

“Not think,” he replies, slow, measured, sharp. “Know.”

The words hang there, heavy, pulsing between ancient shelves and lingering dust. You hate him. He hates you. And somehow every brush of fabric, every breath too close, every tiny glance only makes it worse.

The museum shifts at night.

The lights dim to a soft amber glow, washing over marble and carved wood like the whole place is exhaling. Dust settles in the low light. Volunteers file out with tired waves.

“Don’t kill each other,” someone jokes on their way out.

Seonghwa doesn’t look up. “No promises.”

Dry. Effortless. Of course. A blade delivered without effort.

The door clicks shut, leaving the research wing silent — just you and him.

The quiet turns stretched, fragile, uncomfortable. You shift in your chair and the leather creaks too loudly. You both keep working, technically, but every turn of a page, every tiny breath, echoes like it belongs to both of you.

You don’t look at him.

Which is why it drives you insane that he keeps glancing over — whether to check your notes, or check you, you can’t tell.

The worst part?

You feel it. The prickle on your skin. The slight charge in the air.

You cross your legs, pretending nothing’s wrong. He flips another page, pretending he isn’t watching.

Two people who should never be left alone in a room like this… and yet here you are. The air waiting. The tension simmering.

You sigh, trying to shake him off. “Could you not breathe so loudly?”

He lets out a quiet laugh — one that is, annoyingly, almost attractive.

“I’ll make an effort,” he says, tone clipped and clinical, but with an edge of amusement you wish you hadn’t caught.

Silence settles again — stretched thin, humming with everything unspoken.

Old paper, cold stone, the faint draft from the vents. A room you normally love, ruined by the man sharing it.

Your knee won’t stop bouncing. Your pen keeps spinning between your fingers. You’ve rewritten the same line three times.

Seonghwa is quiet too. For about two minutes.

A rustle. A shift of paper. The click of his tongue.

“You mislabeled the Ottoman restoration date again.”

Your shoulders tighten.

He knows exactly where to aim. Not your temper — your intellect.

His voice is low, precise, irritatingly calm — sliding right under your skin. You don’t look at him. You pretend you’re still writing. You pretend the heat rising up your neck is anger, not… awareness.

He keeps going.

“And here—” His fingers tap your notebook. “This transition is sloppy. You’re connecting thesis to evidence with emotion instead of logic.”

Your jaw clamps. The pen nearly snaps in your hand.

He notices — of course he notices.

His eyes flick to your bouncing knee, and a smirk tugs at his mouth. He bites his lip like he’s trying not to laugh.

Then he leans in — shoulder brushing yours, warm through the draft, close enough that your breath hitches before you scoot an inch away.

He raises a brow. “Avoiding the problem won’t fix your structure.”

You bite your tongue so hard you taste metal.

He still pushes, voice dipping low, meant only for you.

“I’m only trying to help you improve.”

That’s it.

You stand too fast — chair legs screeching across stone. You grab the carved relic heading back to the vault, fingers slipping for a second on the polished surface. It’s heavier than you remember, forcing your breath to hitch as you adjust your grip.

Your fingers trace the ancient grooves — anything to keep from committing a felony in the museum.

“Where are you going?” he asks, amused, like this is a game.

You don’t answer.

You just walk. Fast.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears. The room suddenly feels too small, too warm. A chair leg juts out unexpectedly and you nearly trip — catching yourself with a sharp inhale. He sees it. He laughs under his breath.

“I’m not finished explaining your mistakes,” he calls out.

You close your eyes for half a second while moving.

Inhale. Exhale.

Don’t turn around.

Don’t break the artifact.

Don’t throw it at him.

He follows without hesitation, unhurried steps echoing behind you. His shadow stretches over yours as he catches up.

“That annotation on the binding is wrong too,” he adds. “You’d know that if you read more carefully.”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts — he can’t see it, but he can probably feel it.

“You’re ignoring me,” he observes. “That’s certainly one way to cope with inadequacy.”

Your pace quickens — not running, just escaping.

He keeps up effortlessly, voice warm, low, maddeningly clear in the marble hall.

“You know,” he says lightly, as if giving a tour, “if you ever want help tightening your arguments, you could ask. I’d be happy to lend you some clarity.”

You reach the vault at last.

Your hands are full of the relic, fingers aching around its edges. The panel where the code goes is being stubborn on purpose. You mutter under your breath, annoyed at the extra step.

Before you can set anything down, Seonghwa appears beside you, eyes glinting.

“Let me.”

He leans in, fingers quick and precise as he punches in the code. A sharp beep, and the vault unlocks with a heavy groan.

You step inside without a word, quick steps, frustrated sighs escaping your lips as the cold steel swallow you whole. 

Ironically, it’s quieter than him.

You place the relic back in its slot, hands steady even though your jaw is clenched to hell.

And he’s still talking.

“And your conclusions? Emotional. Rushed. You need more discipline. More focus. More—”

You snap around, eyes blazing.

“Seonghwa, if you don’t shut up for five—”

A mechanical thunk cuts you off.

You both turn.

The vault door is sliding shut. Rising locks. Flashing lights. A deep, final click echoes through the room.

Then silence.

Slowly, you face him again, heart thudding, warmth crawling up your neck despite the cold.

“…Tell me you have a key.”

He blinks. “You think I locked us in?”

“I think you ruin everything you touch.”

He laughs — low, dark, amused in a way he absolutely shouldn’t be right now.

“Not everything,” he murmurs, stepping closer. His gaze flicks down your throat, lingering on the heat blooming there. “Some things respond remarkably well to my hands.”

You flush harder. You hate it. You hate him.

But your breath still stutters.

“You’re such a dickhead,” you snap, turning away.

He pauses, then smirks, slow and victorious.

“Ouch,” he drawls, mock-offended. “Was that necessary?”

“You’re insufferable.” 

He steps closer, voice dipping, teasing. “Oh, honey, I’m only getting started.”

The lights dim, settling into nighttime mode. Shadows deepen between shelves of ancient manuscripts. The room shrinks — colder, darker, intimate in a way that makes your pulse jump.

You huff, throwing your hands into the air in exasperation.

“Ugh,” you mutter, stepping toward the heavy steel door, tugging at the handle. Nothing. You push harder, banging your shoulder against it. Useless.

A frustrated slap against the metal echoes loudly.

“Fuck!”

You turn around, cheeks flushed, hair falling across your face, breathing quick.

And he’s there.

Leaning lazily against the work table, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his mouth, glasses catching the low light like he’s amused by every second of this. Calm. Smug. Untouchable.

Your pulse spikes. The heat in your spine feels wrong and right at the same time.

“Seriously?” you snap, voice sharper than you intended, stepping closer to the table, “you find this funny?”

He tilts his head slightly, watching you struggle. “Funny?” he repeats softly, smirk deepening. “I think… this is exactly how it’s supposed to feel.”

“I hate you,” you hiss, tugging the hem of your skirt down in nervous frustration, one heeled foot scratching against your calf like your body is trying to burn off the tension.

“Yeah, honey…” he murmurs, almost approvingly, “I’ve heard you say that a hundred times. You always do.”

You pivot sharply, ignoring the heat crawling up your spine. Your fingers skim a nearby shelf, skimming titles, looking for anything. Anything that isn’t him.

Eventually, you settle on a fragile, leather-bound volume. Dust floats through the dim light as you ease it open.

You sit at the metal table, legs crossed, letting the book’s weight drag you into another century. Your fingers trace yellowed pages carefully as the vault hums quietly around you.

Across the table, Seonghwa mirrors you, sliding onto the opposite side of the table with his own manuscript. He handles it like a surgeon, precise and careful. 

Every few seconds, you feel his eyes on you.

A flick.

A glance.

A prickle down your neck.

You refuse to look back. You refuse to give him anything.

Of course, he doesn’t let you concentrate.

“You know what your problem is?” His voice is low, smooth — a clean blade sliding across glass.

You look up, wary. “…What?”

“You hate that I’m always right.”

“No,” you snap, heat blooming across your chest and ears. “I hate that you’re always watching me like you want to—”

The words die in your throat.

He incorporates slowly. Lethal. Quiet. Intentional. The shadows of the vault stretch long behind him as he closes the distance between you. His presence cages you until the table feels too small, the air too warm.

“Finish the sentence,” he whispers, almost a growl.

Your stomach twists. The air thickens. You grip the book so tightly your knuckles ache.

You want to snap back, to flee, to shove him away. But you know that if you do, the game is already lost.

“…like you want to crawl inside my head and never leave,” you force out, voice tight.

Seonghwa leans back slightly, letting the low vault lighting carve sharp edges across his face. A slow smirk. Controlled. Dangerous.

“Bingo,” he murmurs. “And it drives me insane. You’re brilliant, maddening, and I can’t stop noticing.”

You roll your eyes hard, cheeks burning. “…So, jealous?”

“Desperately,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear, just soft enough to make your stomach twist as he leans closer. “You’re infuriating.”

You snap the book closed and shove your chair back, the metal groaning. Heat coils low in your spine as you stand, holding the volume like a shield.

You walk toward the shelf to return it, keeping your back to Seonghwa, trying to hide the way your hands shake and your heart races.

“You’re irritating,” you hiss as you slide the manuscript into its slot.

“And you’re…,” he stops, letting the pause stretch, letting it weigh heavy in the thick air of the vault. “…fucking beautiful when you’re this frustrated.”

Your breath stutters. Your lips part around a retort — something sharp, something cruel — but nothing comes out.

The vault suddenly feels warmer, smaller, darker.

A sharp scrape echoes — the subtle drag of his chair. Your stomach drops.

Then the deliberate swish of his footsteps stepping closer and closer.

Heat ghosts across your back before you register the distance closing. His chest brushes you, his breath skimming your neck — not quite a touch, not yet, but enough to spike your pulse.

His hands settle on your waist, steady and sure, and in one smooth turn he pivots you to face him. A soft gasp slips out before you can swallow it.

Your own hands fly up instinctively, pushing against his chest.

“Back off,” you mutter, sharp but unsteady.

He only chuckles softly. “Or what?”

You shove harder this time, but he catches your wrists with ease, pinning them lightly at your sides. You freeze — not because you can’t fight, but because something in the way he holds you, calm and certain, knocks the air out of you.

“God,” he breathes, rough and honest. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

And before you can twist away, he leans in — fast, decisive — and his mouth crashes into yours.

The kiss hits like a slammed door. Hard. Bruising. Everything else drops out.

Seonghwa kisses like he’s been starving for days — hands moving to your waist, pulling you so tight your breath stutters. You push back, anger sparking through the want, but he only growls into your mouth and pushes you against the cold metal shelf.

“Keep fighting,” he murmurs against your lips, voice shaking with restraint. “See where it gets you.”

Your fingers claw up the open V of his shirt, scraping nails down his chest until a button snaps and skitters across the floor. He hisses — low, thrilled.

His hand slides into your hair, gripping hard enough to tilt your head back, your mouth falling open for him. The next kiss is deeper, dirtier, all precision and push — the same focus he brings to manuscripts, now tearing you apart.

He pulls back just long enough to order, voice sharp and commanding.

“Up.”

You don’t even think — you rise without thinking, legs wrapping around his waist as his hands grip your ass.

He starts walking, your body steady in his hold, mouths brushing, breaths tangled. You feel the shift in the room a heartbeat before it happens.

His arm sweeps across the worktable in one sharp, impatient motion. Papers scatter like startled birds, pens clatter to the floor, even the old book he’d been reading thuds down and flips open on impact.

Only then he set you on the cleared surface — not gently, but with a hunger that’s been rattling inside him far too long. The table creaks under you. His chest pins yours. His mouth finds your neck, hot and unrestrained, rolling heat through you in wild waves.

You grip his bicep with one hand, the table with the other, trying to keep yourself grounded as he sucks a hard bruise beneath your collarbone.

The sound you make isn’t quite a breath. Not quite a whine. Something in between.

He hears it, smirking against your skin.

You fumble with his shirt again, shaking hands fighting tiny buttons, brushing warm skin with every slip. Each touch drags a sharper grind from his hips, his jaw tightening, breath catching.

When he finally gets impatient, he bunches your skirt in his fists and drags it up your thighs, crowding your space completely. The metal table bites into your flesh as he steps closer, forcing your knees apart with his.

You’re still in your panties — thin, black, barely there — and when he sees them, he goes perfectly still.

“Fuck.”

Half a whisper. Half a confession.

His thumb strokes the lace once, slow and wicked, and your pulse jumps.

“You came to work like this?” he murmurs, voice thick and unbearably focused. “Black lace?”

His gaze drags up your body slowly, landing on your face with a look that pins you in place.

“Were you hoping I’d notice?”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh,” he murmurs, leaning in until his breath spills hot into your open mouth, hips grinding deliberately between your legs, “I fully intend to.”

His fingers slip under the lace in one rough, unforgiving motion, pushing your panties aside. The elastic bites your skin. The cold vault air hits you first, then his hand, hot and sure.

You gasp, raw and unrestrained.

He laughs, low and thrilled, brushing his lips along your jaw.

“That’s it. Be loud. No one’s going to hear you.”

Your hand flies to his hair, desperate for balance. He lets you tug for a heartbeat before catching your wrist and shoving it behind your back, harder than he meant.

A choked sound leaves you.

He freezes. Briefly.

Then your breath breaks into a needy whine, and all hesitation melts out of him.

“Brat,” he whispers against your throat — half smile, half warning, all promise. “I knew you’d be like this.”

His grip shifts to your hip, fingers digging hard enough to leave marks. He spreads you open with his thumb and middle finger, baring you to the cold air — and to his stare.

He touches your clit first. One slow, devastating stroke.

Your back arches instantly.

“So wet already?” His voice drops. “Look at me.”

You don’t. Out of pure stubbornness.

His hand slides up, grabbing your jaw, tilting your face toward him with a firm squeeze.

“Look. At. Me.”

You do.

His grin spreads — slow, victorious, lethal.

“Good girl.”

The noise that leaves you is embarrassingly needy, and his pupils blow so wide they eclipse the brown.

He steps closer, and unbuckles his belt with one hand. The metal clinks, the leather slides free, and he shoves his pants down just enough, his open shirt framing the clean lines of his chest.

Your stomach drops. Your thighs instinctively try to close.

He stops them immediately.

“Spread wider,” he orders, voice rough.

You obey — barely.

He uses his hips to force your legs apart until the stretch burns and your breath catches.

“Better.”

One arm hooks under your thigh, lifting it. Your body tips back against the table, balanced only by his grip. His other hand wraps around himself — one slow stroke, letting you watch — before guiding the head of his cock to your entrance.

He doesn’t push in.

He teases — dragging over your clit, down to your slick opening, back up again, unbearably slow.

You tremble hard enough that the table shudders.

You glare. “If you don’t—”

“Oh, impatient now?” His mouth finds your neck. He bites, hard. “You should’ve thought about that before teasing me for months.”

And then — without warning — he thrusts into you.

One brutal, full, hungry stroke.

You cry out. He groans into your shoulder. Your body clamps around him, tight and overwhelmed.

He waits. Only a few seconds — just long enough for your breathing to steady, your nails to dig into his shirt, your muscles to loosen around him.

Then he pulls out—

And slams back in.

Hard.

Deep.

Precise.

Not fast — worse. Every thrust hits the same spot, relentless and controlled, knocking broken sounds from your throat.

Your hands claw at him — shoulders, hair, shirt — pulling him closer, pulling him harder.

He bites your neck. You yank his hair.

He groans your name like it’s something he’s not supposed to say.

The table rocks. The vault hums.

And your moans fractures around him.

“Say it,” he growls against your mouth — thrusting hard enough to punch the breath right out of you. “Say you wanted this.”

You bare your teeth. “No.”

His laugh breaks out low and ruined. “Wrong answer.”

His hand slips from your hip to your throat, thumb pressing under your chin. He tilts your head up — claiming the angle — but you refuse to give him your eyes. You drag your gaze anywhere else: the wall, the shelves, the table behind him.

Anywhere but him.

“Look at me when you talk back.”

You flick your eyes toward his for half a second — then drop them again, down to where his cock disappears inside you, a messy, dizzying sight that steals a quiet gasp from your throat. 

Your head is fixed in his grip, held exactly where he wants it, but your eyes keep skittering away, clinging to defiance with the last scraps you have.

So he squeezes.

Not cruel. Only a warning. Just enough pressure to tell you there’s only one direction he expects your attention to go.

Your pulse jumps under his palm. Your eyes fly to him instantly — sharp, startled, almost offended that he dared. Offended that it worked. Your lips part in a shaky inhale, betrayal and arousal tangling in your expression.

And he watches all of it — the stubbornness, the surrender creeping up your throat, the way your eyes roll just slightly before you pull them back to his.

A slow smirk curves his mouth, pure satisfaction.

“There she is,” he murmurs, leaning in close enough that his breath hits your lips. “Knew you’d listen once I made you.”

He keeps your leg hooked over his arm as he thrusts up into you — deep, punishing, making the table creak under the impact.

“You’re not—” you start.

A brutal thrust knocks the rest out of you.

He yanks you down the table so hard the legs scrape against the floor and pins you flat onto the surface with his hand at your throat.

His body towering over yours. His cock buried deep.

Your back arches, chest rising under your half-open shirt, mouth falling open on a helpless sound you didn’t mean to let out.

His grip tightens just enough to make your pulse jump.

“Try again.”

You swallow against his palm.

“S-Seonghwa—”

Another thrust — devastatingly deep.

Your gasp breaks into a whine.

He leans over you, breath hot against your ear. “What was that?”

A harder thrust, sharp enough to rip a whine out of you.

“Who’s in charge now?”

You try to answer, you really do, but you can’t — not with him fucking you like this, not with your leg held up in his arm, not with his hand on your throat keeping your body exactly where he wants it.

One of your hands shoots up — clutching his wrist, nails digging into his skin. Your other hand claws at his pants, fingers crushing the fabric over his thigh.

His mouth curves in a devilish smirk against your cheek. Dark. Delighted.

“Use your words,” he murmurs, the humiliation soft, intimate, poisoned with pleasure. “You do it so well in your essays.”

He presses a little harder on your throat — just enough to make your eyes roll back.

Your breath stutters — helpless, ruined — and no sound follows except something embarrassingly close to a sob.

He groans — low, wrecked — and lets your throat go.

But he doesn’t move his hand far.

Instead, he drags his fingers slowly down the column of your neck, along your collarbone, then lower, tracing the shape of your cleavage through your shirt.

You’re panting.

He’s staring like he wants to memorize the way your body arches for him.

Then he grips your shirt and pulls.

Pop.

A button snaps, bouncing across the table and black lace spills into view.

He stops — just for a second — staring, before he lets a vicious curse slip out of him. “Fuck… look at you.”

His hand cups your breast through the lace, thumb circling until your nipple hardens against the fabric. You jerk, gasping, and he laughs dark and satisfied.

“This what you wear under your little academic shirts?” His thumb presses harder, teasing, claiming.

His mouth drops to the exposed edge of the bra, lips brushing the lace. “Trying to make me lose my mind?”

His teeth graze your skin. Your hips buck. He grips harder.

He looks down at you — spread open, shirt ripped, furrowed eyebrows — and something in his expression goes even darker.

Overwhelmed by the sight of you submitting under him.

Completely undone.

Completely his.

“Seonghwa—”

His gaze locks onto yours, blown wide.

“Again.”

His hand slides from your breast to your hair. He curls them at the roots and pulls your head back, exposing your throat to him. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind you who’s controlling every inch of your body right now.

Your breath stutters.

His smirk is pure sin.

His other arm releases your leg and moves up, fingers catching your jaw, thumb pressing into one cheek, the rest of his hand framing the other. Your cheeks round under the pressure and your mouth parts helplessly.

He leans in, forehead pressing to yours. “Say my name.”

You swallow, chest heaving. “Seonghwa—”

He squeezes your cheeks, just a little harder. “Louder.”

Your head falls back, hair stretched tight in his fist. 

“Seong— ngh —Seonghwa—!”

It tears out of you. Bare, broken, desperate.

The sound wrecks him.

He groans into your mouth — a low, shaking noise that rips his rhythm apart for the first time all night.

He thrusts deeper, his hips stuttering. His grip on your hair tightens as he pants against your lips, losing every ounce of the control he walked into this vault with.

“Fuck—” he breathes, voice cracking, “so fucking perfect… I’ve been patient for months.”

His mouth trails down your chest, over your collarbone, along your throat — kissing, sucking, marking. Every time you gasp, he bites harder. Every time you moan his name, he groans like he’s about to break.

Your body shakes under him. Overwhelmed, stretched open, pinned flat to the table, clothes half-off, his whole weight driving into you.

His hand slides down your stomach, fingers trembling with how ruined he is. Your own hand follows, slipping between your bodies, between your legs, touching yourself because you need more, need everything.

The second your fingers brush your clit, your whole body jolts.

He feels the way your walls clamp around him, tight and pulsing.

His legs almost give out.

“Shit—” he gasps, nearly choking on the sound. “—do that again.”

You circle yourself with trembling fingertips, and your cunt squeezes around him so hard he swears — so hard he swears he could die right here, inside you, and still be the luckiest man alive.

His thrusts falter for a moment, just enough to betray how undone he is, before he grabs your body tighter and drives harder, claiming you like he can’t get enough. Rough. Demanding. But every slammed motion carries the weight of how desperately he wants you.

“Oh my—” his voice breaks on a moan, “you’re gonna make me—”

His jaw locks. His thighs shake against the edge of the table. He’s barely holding himself up.

You’re shaking too — breathless, undone — taking every deep, sharp thrust, clenching around him again and again, vision going wet and white at the edges.

“That’s it,” he pants, losing control. His hips slam harder, sloppy, desperate. “Fuck—yes—take it—take all of it—”

Your fingers start moving faster, but he slaps your hand away with a firm, commanding growl. “No, I’m taking care of you.” His fingers replace yours on your clit, circling, pressing, driving you wild.

His thrusts get rougher, your bodies shaking together, locked so deep the table whines beneath you.

You come first — hard, back arching, nerves firing, moans tearing from your throat. Your legs clamp around his waist, pulling him impossibly close.

He watches every contortion of your face, every gasp and moan, stretching the intensity, savoring it.

When he finally removes his fingers from your clit, he presses them to your lips.

“Clean your mess,” he murmurs.

You open your mouth, taking them in, tongue moving obediently as he moans low, hips fucking you harder, letting his rhythm get messy. Not careless, but too desperate to be clean.

Your body writhes under him, coming down slowly from the high he’s kept you on, muscles trembling, nails digging into his shoulders.

As your strength starts to falter, he wraps his other arm around your head, pulling you to his chest, fingers still in your mouth, pressing lightly against your tongue.

“I’m not done yet,” he murmurs, low and condescending, voice thick with need. “…Hold on a little longer, honey. Can’t let you go just yet.”

He begins to use your body for his own release, pinning you as your muscles convulse around him. Tiny tears slip from your eyes, but you don’t care. Waves of pleasure crash over you as he rides every slick, tight contraction.

The cold of the vault presses in around you, but your skin burns under him, warmth clashing perfectly with metal and air-conditioning hum.

“Fuck—shit—yes…” he grunts, voice breaking, as he finally bends over the edge. His thrusts are rough and heavy, until he comes — harsh, messy, complete.

His body collapses completely over yours, weight pinning you to the table. Forehead buried in your neck, inhaling your scent, feeling the pulse of your heartbeat, the heat of your skin. 

He groans low, helpless, lost in the sensation of you and him tangled, broken, undone.

Your arms clutch at his shoulders, hips, hair — whatever you can grab to hold him close — and he grunts again, utterly wrecked by the connection.

You both pant like you’ve been running through fire, breaths harsh and shaking, echoing off the walls. Your hair is plastered to your forehead, your skin slick with sweat.

After a long moment, he shifts — just enough for his forehead to rest against your collarbone so he can breathe.

“Don’t,” he rasps, thumb brushing your jaw, voice rough and low, “…ever tell me you didn’t want this.”

You blink up through the haze of sweat and heat. For the first time tonight, something in him softens. His grip loosens — still in your hair, still claiming, but no longer pinning you into the table with that brutal precision from before.

His chest rises against yours, breath unsteady, eyes calmer now. Less conquering. More like he’s finally letting himself exist here with you.

Your hand drags weakly along his back, feeling the shift — his fingers are no longer tugging or commanding, just lingering. Refusing to break the contact.

“I still hate you,” you murmur, voice shaky, half‑laughing despite the tremor in your breath. But you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face.

He lifts from your neck, lips twitching into a smirk that’s half victory, half amusement.

“Sure you do,” he says, tone warm and mocking. “And I’m sure you’ll remind me of that every chance you get.”

You roll your eyes, trying to maintain the pretense, but he just chuckles, satisfied.

He leans down and kisses you again, slow, controlled, almost tender. His tongue pushes into your mouth like he’s still taking, but too exhausted to hide how badly he wanted this. Frustration and need bleed through every movement.

“You’re mine,” he growls against your lips. Jaw tight, breath uneven.

You chuckle, breathless, pushing him back just enough to tease. “Mm, sure, Seonghwa. Keep telling yourself that.”

Without warning, his teeth clamp on your bottom lip — sharp enough to sting, sharp enough to make your pulse spike. When he lets go, he licks your lips quickly, tasting you again.

“I don’t need you to agree,” he murmurs, voice hot and frayed. “I just need you to know it.”

You bite your lip. You don’t answer — but the look on your face tells him you already do.

He finally pulls out, the slide messy and slick. He adjusts himself with shaky hands, fumbling with his pants, trying to button what’s left of his shirt.

The motion is unrushed, controlled and undeniably him.

He takes in the sight of you spread on the table — flushed, trembling, his cum sliding out of you. And a slow, wicked smirk curls on his lips. 

He rolls his eyes and grabs your wrist, tugging you upright. “Come here,” he mutters. You groan, muscles sore, but let him guide you to sit.

He steps between your legs again, brushing a stray lock of hair from your temple, hands tracing your skin as he fixes your shirt with whatever buttons survived. Gaps expose the lace he ruined earlier, and his hands linger, tracing your ribs.

He pulls your panties back into place — careful, but not innocent. His fingers drag along the skin of your thigh a second longer than they need to.

Seonghwa’s fingers trace the marks along your cleavage and the torn edges of your shirt, soft enough to raise goosebumps. “See this?” he murmurs, dark and satisfied. “Everyone will know you’re finally mine.”

You tilt your head, smirking despite yourself. “Mm, terrifying. I’m shaking… really.”

He leans closer, thumb dragging over a bruise, voice low, teasing, dangerous. “Stop pretending you can’t feel it.”

“I’m not pretending,” you whisper, chest tight, pulse racing, though your skin betrays you perfectly under his touch.

His lips curl. “Good. Because this,” he murmurs again, brushing over the marks, “this proves it.”

You huff a laugh, rolling your eyes but letting your fingers ghost over his arm. “Ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he says, body pressing closer, heat searing against yours, “but you look perfect like this. Off limits.”

Seonghwa grabs your face with both hands, lips crushing against yours in one last possessive, claiming kiss, leaving no doubt whose you are.

A faint metallic click echoes through the vault.

Your hearts leap. You both finally pull apart, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat and heat. You fumble to pull your shirt together, trying desperately to cover the exposed skin. 

But it’s hopeless — the buttons are torn, the fabric clinging to your skin. You bite your lip, cheeks burning, mortified.

The vault door swings open.

A security guard stands frozen in the threshold, wide-eyed and awkward. “…Everything okay in here?” His voice is small, hesitant, clearly regretting being the one to open this door.

You whirl, flustered, hair plastered to your forehead, trying to smooth your skirt and failing miserably. Every motion feels painfully obvious, every exposed mark screaming scandal.

Seonghwa doesn’t flinch. He stands tall, shoulders squared. His gaze locks on the guard, unbothered, unshakable. Then his hand sweeps possessively to the small of your back, anchoring you.

“Perfectly,” he says, voice smooth, confident — as if nothing happening here could touch him.

The guard swallows hard, looking between the two of you, then slowly backs out, muttering something incoherent about checking the cameras.

You glance at Seonghwa, still holding you. You’re mortified, humiliated, but there’s a tiny, reluctant thrill in the way his hand feels steady against your skin.

Together, you step out of the vault. Messy. Marked. Disheveled. Absolutely, unapologetically his.

Everyone will know.

But neither of you care.

masterlist

Taglist: @bloomyroses @livonianmaia (brace yourself, this one’s targeting your throat) @keels-8

✨ general taglist open! ✨

if you want to be tagged in my upcoming fics , feel free to comment or send a message 💖

© All rights reserved. Do not edit, or translate without permission. Credit to @mingi-buffering-24-7.

[stxrrywoo]

KNOCK KNOCK ── k.hj

synopsis ; your new neighbor was always bringing girls home almost every week which you thought was odd because of the curfew that had been set since a killer appeared in town. yet when you start to notice that you never see them leave you become more wary. then when you start to recognize a few on the news you knew for sure it was your neighbor, but what if he catches you before you could turn him in?

pairing(s) ; hongjoong x f!reader

☆ ── wc. ; 8.7k ☆ ── genre ; DARK THEMES!!!, smut, horror/thriller, serial killer!au, serial killer!joong ☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, blood, gore, mentions of murder and death, reader let curiosity get the best of her, use of a knife (both in a nonsexual and sexual light), death threats, manipulation, mind brakeage, lowkey stockholm syndrome vibes, kissing, crying, joong is a psychopath at its finest, depictions of corpses, controlling behavior, mentions of physical punishment (but not described), violence, lowkey ynadere joong, name calling (not aimed at reader), lowkey stalking, extremely toxic relationship, emotional/psychological abuse, petnames (doll, sweetheart, baby...), blood consumption, lowkey possessive behavior, rough make out, dry humping, biting/marking, degradation, lowkey dubcon (depends on how you look at it), unprotected sex, dom!hongjoong x sub!reader, joong is just downright filthy (phew), teasing, multiple orgasms, sadomasochism, fingering, clit play, orgasm denial, sir kink, overstimulation, breast play, rough sex, knife play, skin carving, spanking, passing out, creampie, orgasm control, dumbification, lmk if I missed anything! ☆ ── notes ; y'all better buckle up and cluch your pearls for this one it's gonna be a wild ride~ so this was going to be a part of my october special I had planned but seeing as it didn't quite go as planned this has just been sitting in my drafts.... but instead of letting it rot I am posting it for you guys!!

It was some time after midnight, and you were still awake, working on a project that you had put on the back burner for far too long. It was like you procrastinated on purpose, and who knows, maybe you do. The sound of your friend's voice flowed from the speakers of your phone as she complained about her dickwad of a boss for the hundredth time, and you just sat there, half listening.

"Then he had the audacity to try and show me how to do my job, but made an absolute fool of himself." She groaned, and you could hear the eye roll in her tone, causing the corner of your lip to twitch into a small smile.

Then you heard it: the sound of the floorboards in the hallway outside your apartment creaking. You knew exactly what—who—it was. It seemed to be like a routine at this point, not that you tried to catch him on purpose. No, you happen to be up late every Friday.

"Hey, Yoon, give me a second." You told your friend, causing her to stop mid-sentence, silence filling the space around you. This had been going on for a few months by now. Your neighbor across the hall had just moved in at the beginning of the year, and you had never really talked to him besides a few occasional waves and greetings in the hall when you happened to pass each other. However, every few weeks, he would come home late, always on a Friday night, always around midnight, and always with a new girl latched onto his arm.

Curiosity digging its claws into your brain, you found yourself slipping out of the dining chair and walking over to the door with cautious steps. The last thing you needed was for him to catch on to your noisy antics; things never ended well with noisy neighbors. Swallowing thickly, you stepped closer and peeked through the peephole, catching sight of the two walking over to Hongjoong's door, his arm wrapped around yet another girl that you didn't recognize. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear, causing her to giggle, leaning more into his body. Then they walked inside, the door closing behind them, and everything fell silent.

You waited a few more moments before pushing away from the door with a sigh, shaking your head softly. It had always been strange to you that he was always out at late hours of the night, even with the curfew that had been set since the news of a serial killer was heard. However, you didn't let yourself dwell on it too much, knowing that it would be his own fault if he got caught.

With a small huff, you walked back over to the table and sat down, letting Yoon know that you were back.

"What was all that about?" Yoon asked, her voice a bit louder, probably because she moved closer.

"My neighbor, he's just now getting home, and he has some girl with him." You explained, not trying to sound too bothered by it, but your eyebrows scrunched together regardless.

"Why the hell is he out so late when there's a literal murderer on the loose?" She asked in complete disbelief, like it was the craziest thing in the world, and she wouldn't be too far off.

You let out a small laugh, pulling your chair closer to the table, "I have no clue, you know some people just don't give a shit."

"Yeah, you aren't wrong. People are stupid as fuck." She stated, causing you to laugh lightly, fingers drifting back to your keyboard to pick up where you left off, "Speaking of the murderer, have you heard about the recent body that was found?"

Your fingers stopped, hovering right over the keys as you glanced down at your phone, "I've heard about it on the radio, but haven't had the chance to see who the victim was."

The number of killings that have happened in the last four months has been concerningly high. All victims were female college students who were fine one day and then disappeared overnight. That was why the curfew was set to try and stop the killings or hopefully catch the killer, but neither has happened.

"Girl…" Yoon started making your stomach drop slightly, "It was Moon Chewon, the girl who's in our class."

At the sound of the girl's name, your eyebrows knit together, and your body leaned away from the table until your back rested against your chair. It wasn't because you were close with her, the opposite in fact. No, it was because you happened to recall seeing her walk out of a party, latched right onto Hongjoong's arm.

As much as you didn't want to dwell on your mysterious neighbor, your mind couldn't seem to stop going back to him. There were patterns that you were starting to notice. The number of times that you have seen him and the girls walk into his apartment could cruelly rival the number of times that you've seen them leave. At first, you just tried to brush it off as they just left in the morning while you were sleeping or when you weren't paying attention. However, Friday nights were your all-nighter days of the week, so you were sure that you'd at least see one or two of them leave. Yet you never saw them after they walked into that apartment.

You hadn't even realized that your mind had wandered off until the sound of your name being repeatedly called finally got your attention. Blinking a few times, you glanced down at your phone's black screen, apologizing.

"You're probably just trying to get your project done, so I'll let you go, but message me in the morning so I know you're still alive." She joked, causing you to let out a short laugh, rolling your eyes.

"Har har Yoon. Goodnight."

The sound of the call ending filled your dining room after she bid you a farewell, and you just sat there for a moment. Your eyes then floated to the clock that hung on the wall above the entry to your living room, and you cursed under your breath. It was already late, and you weren't even halfway done with your project.

Pushing the thought of Hongjoong and the girls to the back of your mind, you tried your best to focus on your work so you could get most of it done.

And it worked… at least for the first hour and a half, then your mind drifted back to Chewon and how you saw her with Hongjoong. It made your stomach turn thinking that he could possibly be connected to the murders, but you also didn't want to assume anything.

With a sigh, you pushed your chair back and stood from your seat, deciding to wait a little bit longer to see if the new girl who walked in with your neighbor had left. Hoping that it would ease your mind at least a little bit.

So that's what you did, you worked on your project as much as you could while keeping an ear out for the sound of his apartment door. You weren't sure how many cups of coffee you had downed at this point, and you were sure that you'd overdose on caffeine. But just as you were about to give up and just go to bed, you heard the familiar creak of the old doors.

You stood from your chair as quickly as you could without raising any suspicion and walked over to your own apartment door. Looking through the peephole, but there was no sign of the girl, just Hongjoong walking out looking exhausted, holding a trash bag in his hand as he shut his door.

Letting out a sigh, you moved your head away from the peephole, resting your forehead against the cool metal. You felt like you were going insane, just because you haven't seen her leave doesn't mean that she doesn't at all.

"Stop being so paranoid, y/n, you're gonna drive yourself insane." You grumbled to yourself quietly, moving away from the door with a yawn. A sudden wave of exhaustion rushes over you, your limbs feeling heavy. Coming to the conclusion that your crazy thinking was just because of how tired you were, you decided to just go to bed.

Walking back over to the dining table, you shut your laptop and grabbed your coffee cup to put in the sink before making your way to your bedroom. You flopped on your pillows, a content sigh escaping your lips.

"It's probably nothing anyway." You mumbled, closing your eyes and allowing your body to be pulled into the darkness of sleep.

It had been more than a month since that night, and you've managed to mind your own business, knowing that it would be better for your own well-being if you did so. However, as you were walking into your class on a day, you happened to overhear a table of students talking about a new victim that had been found the other night.

"They just released her identity, look." One of them spoke, turning their phone to show the others.

You felt your heart lurch, that same paranoia and unease flood back through your veins. With a lump in your throat, you walked over to the table with small steps.

"Who's the victim?" You choked the words out, catching the attention of the group, fear climbing its way up your spine.

The group looked at you with mixed reactions, but they figured that you were just scared of the killings. Which they wouldn't be entirely wrong, except it was something more profound than just the killings. One girl turned her phone screen towards you with the image of a girl, and bile crept up your throat, heart beating furiously against your ribs. You recognized her almost instantly.

It was her—the girl who had been brought home last month.

You quickly thanked them before backing away, hands trembling like crazy at your sides. Then your eyes glanced around the room, your blood running cold as you found the back of his head, his copper hair tossed on top of his head.

The feeling of eyes burning into the back of his head, Hongjoong turned, catching your gaze for just a moment before you quickly averted your gaze. Panicking, you scurried to your seat, eyes everywhere but the copper-haired male, completely missing the ghost of a smirk that pulled on the corner of his lips.

During class, when you thought he wasn't paying you any mind, you would glance at him. Watching all of his movements as the dots finally started to connect.

He was the killer.

But you couldn't just go and turn him in, no, he was probably smart enough to get himself out of it, and you'd become his next target. You needed to gather as much evidence against him so that when you did turn him in, there was no way in hell that he'd get out of it.

The lecture your teacher was giving became background noise as you started to scribble your plan down in your notebook. You knew you needed to dive deeper into these murder cases and gather reliable evidence. And the first thing on that list?

Order a camera.

You went the whole day trying to come up with a plan, making notes of things you should order and what safety precautions you needed to take. You had been so lost in your notebook that you hadn't noticed the shadow that lurked around you all day, eyes watching your every move.

—

As soon as you got home that evening, you locked your door and tossed your bag onto the dining table. You pulled one of the chairs out, sitting down, but your shoulders were still tense as you searched for reliable door cams. Hopefully, one that he wouldn't notice.

Once you found one, you didn't even bother adding it to your cart; you just ordered it right then and there, clicking on the fastest shipping option. A bit of relief washed over you when you saw the order confirmation screen.

"Now…" You muttered quietly, setting your phone down on the table before pulling your laptop out of your backpack. The first thing you needed to do was gather some more background on the murders, seeing as you've never really bothered to read the whole report before.

"Oh my god." A gasp fell from your lips as you read over the reports.

All of the bodies have been found in black heavy-duty trash bags, found in random dumps all over town. Images of Hongjoong leaving his apartment with a trash bag flashed in your mind, and you bit your tongue.

By the time that they had been discovered, they had started to decay, but the main cause of death was blood loss due to multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. Your nerves were on edge the more you read, fear pooling in your gut, knowing that he was just across the hall from you.

You needed to gather all the necessary evidence and fast.

The hours ticked by, and you hadn't even realized just how late it was, seeing as you were so lost in your research. Your laptop screen was split; one side displayed all the information that the public could see, while the other side contained a document where you kept all your notes on things you had gathered.

A knock at your door broke the still silence, nearly causing your soul to leave your body. Tearing your gaze away from the screen, you glanced at the door, your stomach churning. Your heart started racing as you slowly rose out of your seat, a lump forming in your throat.

There was no way that it would be Yoon; she wouldn't be caught dead out after curfew. So, you were left wondering who it could possibly be, but the options were few and short.

Walking up to the cheaply made door, you pressed your palms against the cool metal and reached up to peek through the peephole. Your heartbeat was ringing in your ears, fear clawing its way into your brain. But you were only left confused when you didn't see anyone outside.

"Huh?" You questioned softly, pushing away from the door with kitted eyebrows. Thinking that it might be a food delivery from Yoon because she was known for doing that, you tried to calm down. However, a little voice in the back of your mind was telling you that she would have messaged beforehand.

Brushing it off, you slowly unlocked your door, shaky hand wrapping around the doorknob. The door creaked quietly as you opened it just enough to peek out. Your eyes glanced around for any sign of anyone before looking down.

Your jaw clenched tight, annoyance bubbling in your chest, thinking that it was probably those same pesky kids that have been dingdong ditching everyone in the complex. Shaking your head, you opened the door all of the way, standing straight and ready to shout down the hall.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement, but in the blink of an eye, there was a figure standing before you. Before you could even scream, a hand was slapped over your mouth, muffling any and all sounds you made.

Panic clouded your mind, hands flying up to try and pull the perpetrator off, but it was futile; he was stronger than you. His other hand grabbed the back of your neck and shoved you back into your apartment, kicking the door shut behind him.

'No, no, no, not now.' Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to get out of his grip, your whole body thrashing around.

But as soon as you felt the cool metal of a sharp blade, your movements stopped and your body stiffened. Your teary eyes flickered up, meeting Hongjoong's cold gaze, and you felt all the blood drain from your face. You berated yourself as tears spilled from your eyes, catching on his gloved hand. This never would have happened if you weren't so god damn nosy and didn't try to play the hero.

"You get one chance, you scream, I'll slice your pretty little throat wide open and leave you here to bleed out." His voice was dark, eyes narrowed into slits, and your heart dropped, but regardless, you nodded as well as you could in his hold. "Good." He hummed, slowly removing his hand from your mouth, but the blade stayed pressed against your skin. "Now, go sit down."

Tears spilled down your face as he slowly backed you up towards the table, never moving the knife. His eyes watched you like a predator would its prey as your body trembled, turning to grab the chair that was in front of your laptop and phone.

"Nuh uh," You froze, not moving a single inch as you felt his presence behind you, "over there." He motioned to the other chair with the knife over your shoulder.

Your heart was racing in your chest, and your ears were ringing so loud you could barely hear anything over it. The room around you seemed as if it were starting to close in on you, and you sat down, fingers wrapping tightly around the edge of the wooden chair.

Hongjoong's eyes didn't leave your shaking form even as he took the seat across from you, right in front of your laptop. A wickedly amused gleam flashed across his eyes as he caught sight of an article about one of his killings pulled up. He then glanced over to the open doc, a smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth.

"P-Please." You managed to choke out a plea, sobs now racking your body, no matter how hard you tried to keep them at bay. "I won't tell anyone, please let me go." A part of you knew that begging with a killer was always pointless, but you hoped that maybe, just maybe, he'd let you go. "I'll do anything, just let me go."

Hongjoong watched with a sinister grin spread across his lips, the sight making your stomach turn, bile creeping up the lining of your throat. You started to feel lightheaded, a thin layer of sweat forming on your skin due to nerves.

He leans back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, and brings the knife up before tapping it against the hard surface of the table, causing you to jump and cry, falling from your lips. Your eyes squeezed shut when he brought it back up, the sharp end pointing directly at you.

"Here's the deal, sweetheart," He started, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward as you opened your eyes, blinking the tears out of your vision. Your breath hitched as the knife neared your face, eyes focusing on the point, looking up once he spoke, "Unless you wanna become another worthless body on my list, then I suggest you listen and obey every fucking word I say."

Your eyes widening, this wasn't how you wanted this night to go. Hell, this wasn't how you wanted any night to go. However, you knew that if you didn't agree to his terms, you wouldn't see the light of another day. So you bit back a sob and nodded your head, keeping your eyes glued to him.

A sick, satisfied smile spread across Hongjoong's lips, and he stood. He started to walk around the table slowly, letting the tip of the blade drag across the surface, making your body stiffen. You didn't dare to make a sound or even breathe as he moved to stand behind you.

"First things first, doll." He bent down until his lips brushed your ear, eliciting a whimper from your lips. You feared that your heart would explode at any given moment with the rate it was beating against your ribcage. "I'mma need you to delete anything and everything about me and the killings from your laptop and your phone."

You squeezed your eyes shut as he leaned over you, his body pressed against your back, and grabbed the device sitting on the other side. He drags it across the table until it sits in front of you, the bright screen reflecting off your tear-stained face. Swallowing thickly, you opened your eyes, shaky hands reaching for your keyboard, but you froze when you felt the blade underneath your chin. Hongjoong pressed the blade against your skin until your head tipped back, your breath hitching at the pressure.

"Try anything funny and I'll gut you like a fish and leave you here for your little bestie to find." His voice dropped an octave, eyes darkening as he sneered down at you.

"I-I won't!" You told him, tears streaming from the corner of your eyes as you felt the knife of the precipice of puncturing your skin.

But he didn't move, eyes locked on your face, watching and waiting to see any kind of slip-up. Something to give him the green light to cut deep into your pretty skin. Yet he didn't see or find anything, so with a click of his tongue, he moved the knife, allowing you to grab the laptop.

Hongjoong watched with a piercing gaze as you went through everything on your laptop and deleted all of the things that you had related to him and the cases. Your hands were trembling as you did so, your heart about to burst out of your chest, and tears falling down your flushed cheeks like waterfalls. Once you were done, you looked back at him, flinching when his eyes shifted to you.

A small scream fell from your lips, your body jolting in your seat when he slammed the laptop closed and grabbed your phone off the table. He stands straight, hitting the power button, his upper lip pulling back in disgust when he sees you have a biometric lock. You flinched when he held it out to you, and you tried to grab it, but he pulled it back with a click of his tongue.

"Unlock it." He demanded, holding the device back out to you, and you reached out once more. You tried your damndest to keep your hand steady as you pressed your thumb against the fingerprint scanner. A small breath escaped your lungs when the device unlocked and opened to your homepage.

Hongjoong walked back to the other side of the table, a smirk etched on his face as he sat down. You watched in terror, and he swiped through your phone; your breath caught in your throat. Noticing your gaze, he let out a short laugh before finishing putting some kind of bug in your phone that would allow him to keep tabs on you 24/7. He then caught sight of a notification that your camera shipped, and his smirk turned sinister.

Once he was finished, he hit the power button once more and laid the device down, eyes catching yours. Unable to hold his burning gaze, you let your gaze drift down to the table in front of you.

"Now, you're going to do as you are told, when you're told, and without a peep, got it?" He raised an eyebrow, and you nodded meekly, hands gripping the edge of the table so hard that your knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white. "Good, I'll be watching you even when I'm not with you, so don't even think about misbehaving." He explained, and you inhaled shakily, raising your head to look at him with glassy eyes, "and when I'm with you, you are to act like the happiest girlfriend in the world because the moment anyone starts to suspect anything, I will not hesitate to kill you."

A cry caught in your throat as you tried to think of any way that you would be able to do that without it being weird. However, you knew you didn't have a choice in the matter, so you nodded your head nonetheless, agreeing.

He nods, tapping the table with the knife once more before standing and walking around the table to stand behind you once more. His hands fell onto your shoulders, causing you to jump, the blade reflecting the overhead light right next to your face. Then you felt your heart stop in your chest when his warm breath fanned over your ear, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart. Don't forget, I'll be watching, so try to be good." His voice held a faux pleading tone as you let out a small sob.

It felt like all the air rushed back into your lungs the moment he let go of you and moved away. You watched with wide eyes as he strutted over to your apartment door, but just before he turned the knob, he turned and looked back at you.

"Oh, and that cute little camera you ordered? Don't worry, I have another plan for it." He told you with a sinister smirk before tearing your door open and walking out, letting it slam shut behind him.

As soon as the door latched, sobs racked your body, and you pulled your knees up, hugging them to your chest. Tears streamed endlessly as you tried to make sense of what the hell you had gotten yourself into and how it could've all been avoided had you just minded your own business.

And your own words rang loudly in your head, 'Things never ended well with noisy neighbors.'

The first week, you were walking around on eggshells, constantly worried that you would do or say something that set Hongjoong off. You tried your best to put on this fake happy girlfriend facade that he wanted you to.

Not a single person questioned it.

The weeks after seemed to get easier progressively; the fear that Hongjoong would do something to you started to diminish. He never laid a hand on you unless you stepped out of line, but even then, it was nothing obvious because he didn't want anyone to become suspicious. And with your life being on the line, neither did you.

Weeks turned into months, and somewhere along the way, the fear you once felt towards the psychotic man diminished into something else. Something deeper. Love? Loyalty? Obedience? Want? You weren't sure, but it was there, burning in the back of your brain.

Hongjoong, of course, noticed, amusement bubbling in his chest whenever he watched you follow his every command. Even if it were embarrassing, you'd do them in a heartbeat if it meant pleasing him.

He used it to his advantage, too. Slowly but surely, he isolated you. You didn't know when, but you stopped talking to anyone who wasn't Hongjoong or people in class when necessary. He made all of the decisions for you; you couldn't even remember the last time you made a decision for yourself. Yet you didn't care and allowed him to lead you along.

You were right in the palm of his hand—the perfect little toy to play with.

Even now, it was late into the night on a Friday, and there was a sharp knock at your apartment door. You stood from the dining table and rushed over, not even bothering to check the peephole. You knew exactly who it was. Unlocking the door, you pulled it open, a bright gleam on your face as Hongjoong came into your view.

That smile soon drops as you take in his appearance, blood drenching the front of his shirt, staining the fabric a crimson red. His signature knife was clutched tightly in his hand, and annoyance painted his face beautifully.

Quickly, you moved out of his way, holding the door open for him, and he walked in, grumbling under his breath. Once he was inside, you shut the door, locking it once more. Hongjoong doesn't say a word as he walks into your living room, tossing the dirtied blade onto your coffee table, the clatter making you flinch. He flopped down onto the couch with a huff, head tilted back and eyes closed.

You knew he was annoyed, so you stayed glued to your spot, not wanting to overstep and get in trouble. Your hands folded in front of you, eyes watching him carefully. Looking him over, you noticed that he had a busted lip, blood smeared around the wound, and you wondered if the victim did that to him, an annoyance bubbling in your chest.

Noticing that you haven't moved any closer, Hongjoong opened his eyes and lifted his head, eyes fixated on you. Lifting his hand, he motioned you forward, a gleam in his eye that dared you to go against him. But you didn't—couldn't.

You walk over to him, your knees feel like they'd buckle at any given moment. Unlacing your fingers, you let your hands drop to your sides as you stood in front of him, legs barely brushing his knees.

Hongjoong looked up at you, his jaw tight as he took in your expression. Your cheeks tinted a light shade of red, and your lips pursed just asking to be claimed. However, when you didn't move any further, it only annoyed him further, so with a click of his tongue, his hands flew to your hips. Your breath hitched as he tugged you into his lap, your hands falling onto his shoulders to keep some sense of stability.

Heat rushed up your neck as his hands fell to your bare thighs, squeezing the soft flesh, some spilling out between his fingers. You bit back a whimper when he leaned forward, pulling your body flush against his. The crimson blood smearing all over your pajamas.

"That bitch managed to slip from her restraints and fought back." He sneered, recalling the encounter he had just a short time before he came to you, "busted my fucking lip, she's lucky I didn't dismember her." The growl that emanated from his throat caused heat to envelop your gut, your hips moving slightly. Noticing Hongjoong smirked, leaning in closer to you, "You'll take care of me, won't you, sweetheart?"

Your lips parted, but no sound came out, and you raised your shaky hand to his face. He watched you with hooded eyes as the tips of your fingers brushed over his lips. A cute little gasp fell from your parted lips when he grabbed your wrist, pressing a firm kiss to your fingertips.

"J-Joong." You breathed out as he kissed each kuckle before landing on your palm, a shiver rushing down your spine. Arousul grew as he let his lips trail from your hand to your inner wrist, up your forearm, and the crook of your elbow. Need pooled in your eyes as you watched him, your jaw slack, and a few little gasps slipped out here and there.

"Such a pretty, obedient baby." He cooed, leaning forward until his lips brushed your ear, making your body jerk softly. Then his lips were on your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses all along the expanse of your skin.

A high-pitched whimper fell from your lips when he bit down on the junction of your shoulder, hips rolling against his. All sound caught in your throat when you felt him against your clothed cunt, and Hongjoong bit back a groan when you started to rock against him.

"Look at you, so fucking needy that you don't even care I'm covered in blood." Hongjoong mocked you, a sinister smirk spreading across his lips as he leaned back, watching you. All that left your lips were weak moans and whines, eyes fluttering closed, and fingers digging into his shoulders.

Your brain was starting to fog over, narrowly focused on reaching your high. Hongjoong's name falling from your lips like a sin. Another whine escaped your throat when his hands cupped your ass, angling your hips to have your clit brushing over his dick with each roll of your hips.

"J-Joong!" You bit back another moan, hips stuttering against his as waves of pleasure washed over your body.

"Ah, c'mon baby, if you wanna cum you gotta work for it." He pouted at you, his grip on your body lossening, "Show me how much you want my cock, sweetheart."

You let out a whine when he leaned away from your body, his touch falling away altogether. Tears started to build along your waterline as you ground your hips against his. Your thighs burned and your knees were screaming in protest, but at the moment you couldn't care less.

"So pathetic," He mocked you, and it was true, you truly were pathetic. This man had just murdered someone not even an hour ago, and here you were rutting your hips against his like a bitch in heat. Yet as he brushed over your clit all those thoughts melted away, replaced by burning pleasure.

"J-Joong… I'm gonna—" You choked out, spreading your legs further to ground your hips further into his.

"Gonna cum already, doll?" He smirked, a sinister gleam in his eyes as he watched you fall apart on top of him without having to lift a finger.

You nodded your head crazily, fingers digging further into his shoulders to try and ground yourself. Even though you wanted to cum, so so badly, your body stopped you, needing something more to tip over the edge.

Hongjoong leaned forward, his lips brushing over your part, panting ones before speaking, "Go ahead, sweetheart, cum like the pathetic little baby you are." His tone was commanding, and that was exactly what you needed to get there, your thighs tensed before shaking as your high washed over you.

"F-Fuck." You whined out when his hands latched onto your hips, forcing your hips to keep moving, prolonging your orgasm.

Hongjoong relished in your little gasps and whines as your body collapsed against his, face buried in his neck. Just as you were on the precipice of another orgasm, his movements stopped, grip tightening to stop yours as well.

"No." You tried to fight against his hold so you could push yourself over the edge, but his grip was too strong. A choked moan slipped from your lips when he moved one hand to smack your ass.

"Nuh uh, baby, you only get to cum when I say you can. Don't start disobeying now." He growled in your ear, the sounds vibrating against your cheek that was pressed against his neck. When you didn't give him any response or lift your head, his hand grabbed the back of your neck, pulling your face out of his. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." You choked out, eyes flickering up to meet his. The tears that had been sitting idly on your waterline broke free, spilling down your flushed cheeks. The sight caused Hongjoong's dick to twitch in his jeans, his jaw tightening.

"Good girl, now…" His hand moved from your neck back to your hips, fingers sliding under the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. "Take this off."

You did as told without a second thought, fingers wrapping around the hem of your top and pulling it off in hurried movements. Throwing the fabric to the side, you let your hands fall to rest on Hongjoong's forearms, your breast on full display.

"Fucking hell." He cursed, taking in your bare skin, his eyes darkening as an idea popped into his head, "Lean back, doll." He coaxed your body back a little bit before moving his hand to his own shirt, fingers running through the still-wet blood.

Your breath hitched in your throat when he started using the blood to draw on the skin of your stomach. Hongjoong's touch was light, moving to gather more of the thick crimson liquid when he needed to until he was finished. Pulling away, he looked at his work with a sick sense of satisfaction, and you glanced down, stomach fluttering as you took in the word.

His name.

"Now if you're good, I'll make it more permanent." He cooed, leaning forward until his lips were brushing over yours. His words made your core clench around nothing at the thought of him using his knife on your body.

Seeing the glint in your eyes, Hongjoong smirked, knowing exactly what was going through your pretty little head. However, in the next second, his lips were on yours, his hand grabbing the back of your neck roughly to keep you in place.

The kiss wasn't sweet. Hell, it wasn't even gentle. It was hungry, as if he were trying to devour you. For all you know, that's exactly what he was trying to do. You tried to keep up, but the feeling of his plush lips working against yours had your brain turning to putty. It was a mixture of teeth and saliva, some trickling down your chin.

His other hand moved from your waist to the hem of your sleep shorts, slipping underneath to cup your bare ass. A gasp falls from your messy lips only to be swallowed by Hongjoong's. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve burning with desire.

Your hands moved from his shoulders, down his chest, feeling every sharp plane of his torso. The blood that still soaked the fabric now coated your palm and fingertips, but you didn't care. Far too lost in the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

Hongjoong's skin tingled under your touch, a groan tearing through his lips when your fingers brushed over the top of his jeans. His lips trailing from yours down to your neck, then to your ears, nipping at your earlobe.

Your head fell back, your mind starting to cloud, and your hips pressing down against his, causing your body to shiver. Noticing, Hongjoong chuckled darkly, kissing the hollow of your throat before pulling back to look at you.

"So needy aren't you?" His tone was teasing, hand squeezing your ass, eliciting another sweet moan from your swollen lips. "Tell me, sweetheart," He pulled your hips flush to his, rutting his hips up into your throbbing core, "what do you want?"

"Y-You." You managed to stutter out as he kept rocking your hips, fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt.

"My what baby? You gotta be more specific than that." He gave you a faux pout, watching your body tremble in his hold, "my tongue? My fingers? My cock?"

Your walls clenched around nothing at the mention of his cock, and he could feel it, causing him to chuckle once again.

"Tell me, doll." His voice was sweet, but his tone commanding, and your teary, lust-filled eyes met his.

"Fingers, please, sir." You whined out, needing him to do something before your body imploded.

"My fingers hmm?" He hummed, pulling his hands from your shorts, causing you to whine in protest, but he quickly silenced you when he smacked your ass once more, "Have some patience." His voice came out in a deep growl, making you whimper, but you nodded nonetheless.

He helped you pull your shorts and soaked panties off before tossing them somewhere in the room. Then he was pulling you back into his lap, fingers squeezing your bare flesh as he took in the sight of your bare body. A groan reverberated from his throat when his eyes landed on his name still perfectly drawn on your stomach.

A small whine from you pulled him from his trance, and he looked up at you with a dark gaze, making you shiver. Without a word, he brought his hand to your mouth, tapping your lips with his middle and ring fingers. Your lips parted without protest, allowing him to shove the digits into your wet cavern, pressing down on your tongue.

You moaned at the metallic taste of blood that still coated his fingers. You wrapped your lips around his fingers, moaning as he pressed down on your tongue once more. Your tongue swirled around his digits, coating them in your spit, and Hongjoong bit his tongue as he watched you.

"So fucking filthy," He groaned, pulling his now drenched fingers from your mouth with a wet 'pop'.

Your chest heaved slightly as you tried to regulate your breathing, but it was proved fruitless when it hitched in your throat. Hongjoong let his soaked digits trail down your chin to your throat and lower until he stopped at your lower tummy. His eyes snapped back to you, gauging your reaction, but not moving.

"How bad do you want my fingers, sweetheart?" He asked, the corner of his lip twitching slightly when you looked at him through your lashes.

"So bad, sir," You whined, the sound of the name making his dick twitch, straining against his jeans, "please touch me, sir, please." You begged pathetically, hoping that it would hurry his movements.

"You look so pretty when you beg," He cooed before finally dropping his hand to your aching cunt, pulling a sharp moan from your slick lips. He watches as your face contorts in pleasure as he circles your clit, soaking in all of the sounds you make. Then his fingers moved to your leaking slit, "Look at you, baby, you've already cum, but you're still begging for more. Pathetic really, but that's all you are, aren't you? A little pathetic baby needy for some dick, hmm?"

You tried to speak, but all of the words died on your tongue when he pressed his fingers into you. Stars coulded your vision when he pressed down on that spongy spots deep in your walls. Your eyes rolled back, hands grabbing his bicep as he started to fuck his fingers into your pussy, thumb pressing down on your twitching clit.

"God, I haven't even fucked you properly and you're already falling apart," He groaned, eyes glued to your face as he pressed against your sweet spot once more. Your moans bounced off the walls, not a care in the world for your neighbors.

Your mind fogged over as you felt your earlier orgasm creep up rather quickly, and your body shook violently. The feeling of your walls tightening around his fingers caused the copper-haired male to smirk, drawing tight circles on your clit, causing your body to jerk.

"S-Sir—fuck!" You cried out, eyes squeezing shut as that coil in the pit of your stomach tightened fast, threatening to snap at any moment. "I wanna cum, please, sir, let me cum." You begged, tears spilling down your cheeks, and your thighs burned.

"Hmm, not yet, sweetheart. Hold it for me." He told you with a sadistic smirk before leaning forward to take one of your nipples into his mouth. A loud, choked moan fell from your lips as pleasure shot through your body.

Sobs racked your body as you tried your best to hold off on your high, but the way his fingers abused your sweet spot and clit with his mouth on your breast made it extremely difficult. Your fingers dug into his bicep and neck, leaving behind crescent-shaped indents as you tried to ground yourself.

"P-Please." You cried, knowing that you wouldn't be able to keep it at bay any longer, and the last thing you wanted to do was disobey Hongjoong.

Chuckling against your skin, he let his lips trail up your chest before finding your ears, "cum," He demanded, voice husky and dark.

Your whole body shook violently as your high crashed into you like a tidal wave, vision turning white, and soundless screams fell from your parted lips. All the air in your lungs had been stolen when his lips crashed into yours, tongue swiping over your bottom lip.

He continued to fuck you through your high, your release drenching his hand and staining his jeans underneath you. Then once your high started to wear off, the burn of overstimulation set in, causing you to whine.

"S-Sir—" You choked out another moan when he pressed against your aching clit, eyes rolling as your body jerked. A mixture of incoherent moans and cries of his name fell from your lips as he brought you to the edge once more.

"That's it, baby, I want you to completely soak my hand." He growled, coaxing another orgasm from your spazzing cunt.

Your scream of his name bounced off the walls, causing him to smirk, curling his fingers one last time before pulling them from your sweet cunt. A pathetic squeak fell from your lips when his hands found your hips, flipping your body over so you were lying flat on the couch.

"You cum so pretty, doll." He cooed, hands smoothing down your sides, "I need you to do it again, but on my cock."

Then he was pulling his clothes off his body until he was left completely bare before you, dick standing proudly. Your mouth started to water at the sight, but his fingers caught your chin, making you look up at him.

"Eyes on me, doll." He slotted his body between your legs once more, hands ghosting over your thighs. You let out a whimper as he teased your clit with the tip of his cock, tears still spilling from your eyes. "Oh, you poor thing, I haven't even put it in and you're already sobbing." His tone was condescending, and you opened your mouth to speak, but were cut off when he pushed into your tight walls in one go.

"Fuck!" You screamed, nails dragging down his taunt back as he gave you no time to adjust before he was pounding into you. Pleasure ripped through your body when he lifted your hips to hit at a different angle, stars dancing across your vision.

"Such a sweet little cunt for such a pathetic little girl." He growled, rocking his hips into yours at a brutal pace, pulling all sorts of sounds from your pleasure-ridden body.

You couldn't speak, not even if you wanted to, as all words fled from your brain, utterly invaded by pleasure. Cries tear through your lips when he brushes over your sweet spot, your legs tightening around his waist.

Hongjoong moved one hand from your hip to your stomach, tracing the letters of his name that were drawn on your skin. Then a sick and twisted idea popped into his head, and his movements slowed until he stopped entirely, buried to the hilt in your cunt.

You barely managed to let out a whine before he turned to grab something. When he turned around, your eyes went wide as the dim lights reflected off the blood-stained blade. Hongjoong's eyes then fell back onto you, taking in the borderline terror that pooled in your misty eyes.

Grabbing your squirming body, he leaned over you, lips ghosting over yours, causing your breath to hitch. Fear clawed into your brain, believing that he was about to kill you right here while being balls deep in your cunt. Then his words made that fear disappear with a shiver.

"Why don't we make this more permanent?" He smirked, fingers tracing your stomach once more, and at the mere thought, your walls tightened around him. Yet he didn't move, wanting to hear you say it on your own, "What do you think, baby?"

"P-Please," You choked out, fingers tracing along his jaw before cupping his face, "I want you to claim me."

A sinister chuckle spilled from his lips as he pulled away from you, letting your hand drop. Then he brought the knife back into your line of sight once more, excitement and fear clouding your mind. However, you couldn't dwell on it for too long before he rolled his hips against yours, eliciting a high-pitched moan from your lips.

The moment the blade touched your skin, your body burned like it had been lit aflame, a cry of pain falling from your lips. Hongjoong's movements were precise, even as your blood spilled, smearing all over your skin.

Your hands went to grab his wrist, but he was quicker, snatching your hands into his without even taking his eyes off the blade. He pinned them down to the couch next to your head.

The pain was almost unbearable, but with every drag of his cock against your velvet walls, it became more bearable. Pleasure and pain mix together, making that coil in your gut tighten again.

Then, with a few more strokes of the blade, he was done, a triumphant grin on his lips as he took in his work. He then tossed the blade to the side before grabbing your hips, using them to pound into you once more.

"Fuck you should see yourself, doll. Red is such a pretty color on you." He chirped, hips slapping against yours, and the wet sounds that filled the room should have been embarrassing, but you were too far gone to care.

"J-Joong." You croaked out, back arching off the couch when you felt yourself grow closer to your high.

Chuckling, Hongjoong bent over you once more and kissed the corner of your lips, "Hold on just a little bit longer, sweetheart."

You let out a choked whine as you felt your body tetering on the edge, your nails digging into his shoulders, almost breaking skin as you tried to ground yourself. Incoherent babbles fell from your lips as Hongjoong pressed his lips against your collarbone, hips thrusting into yours mercilessly.

J-Joongie…" A mixture of a whine and a moan fell from your swollen lips, head falling back as he abused your sweet spot. Your legs trembled around his waist as you felt hot pressure building up in your gut. "I-I can't, p-please." You cried out, head shaking as you tried to hold back, but it was nearly impossible due to how sensitive you were.

"You can doll, be a good girl, yeah?" Hongjoong groaned, grip tightening on your hips as he felt his own high creeping up on him, "I'm almost there."

Your jaw fell slack with a pathetic whine, trying to will yourself not to cum before he gives you permission. But every time he hit that spongy spot, you felt like your body was going to explode.

"Fuck, cum. Cum now." He commanded, and just like that, your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your vision blurring and cries of his name falling from your lips, nails digging into his skin. Hongjoong hissed due to the pain as he spilled deep in your walls, rocking his hips against yours to ride out both of your highs.

Once you started to come back down from your high, air invaded your lungs, and your vision went black. The copper-haired male watched in amusement as your body went limp underneath him, tears still staining your flushed face.

"Mine." He cooed, brushing some of the hair out of your face, fingertip tracing your jaw, down your neck, before stopping just short of the carving of his name. "All mine."

—

Hongjoong lay in bed next to you, watching as you slept peacefully after cleaning up. He played with the ends of your hair, studying your features. A sick sense of pride and enjoyment pooled in his gut because he knew that he had you entirely wrapped around his finger.

The corners of his lips pulled back into a borderline sadistic smile. You were going to be the perfect little plaything for him. He starts to wonder just how long you'll last before he has to get rid of you, just like the others.

As your eyes fluttered open, looking up at him, nothing but obedience and adoration, he hoped that it would be for a long time.

"Such a perfect little doll." He cooed, tracing his fingers over your skin, and your eyes fluttered, leaning into his touch.

You hummed in content, not even knowing how much your life had been fucked up by the man next to you. But if someone had asked you right now, you would say that you wouldn't change it for the world.

You were too far gone for any kind of saving.

© 𝐬𝐭𝐱𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 : 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙡𝙮

[maho6any]

Hang Up Your Heels

office employee!hongjoong x f!boss reader

summary: You have the entire office wrapped around your finger. Confident, hard working, and more than sure of your positon. You hold the power to do and say whatever you please. But, theres someone else. Someone else in the office who just might be able to knock you down a few pegs, and for some reason, the idea of being reminded that you are less than you think you are is positively riveting. And maybe for once, you could just lay back and let someone else do all the work…

warnings: so many hr violations, tension, drunken confessions, power dynamics, banter, microsoft ex*el(sorry), hongjoong is a tease, reader is overworked, pet names (ma'am, baby, sweetheart, etc.), dom!hongjoong, office sex, body worship, cocky joong (YES YESYES), unprotected sex, stress relief, whiny joong(YES YES YES X4), praise, oral (f!recieving), over the desk, manhandling, fingering, hair pulling, eye contact, cumming all over your stomach

wc: 10.1k

notes: i've been wanting to write something like this for months, and here it finally is, hongjoong fucking the stress out of his boss (you)

tracklist: the town, #icanteven, black milk

Deadlines to meet. Pitches to present. Meetings to schedule and papers to revise. You were drowning.

You pride yourself on your work ethic, and you rarely let yourself fall behind for anything, no matter what. But with the holidays rapidly approaching, the office would be closed for a few weeks, and things needed to be nipped in the bud before the new year.

Employees swarmed around the office, the clacking of keyboards and the clicking of metal shoe plates, the droning of the printers, and the whispers that flowed from grey cubicles swirled about the space as you stepped out of your office. You did your best to ensure your employees were not overworking themselves, that they got ample time off, and met deadlines without loss of sleep.

However, everyone was on a time crunch. People were planning family trips and making holiday excursions, and the whole office was a chaotic tumble, everyone frantically trying to wrap things up as soon as possible.

You thought that if you stared at Excel for one more second, you would throw your monitor out the 13th-story window. A coffee, that's all you needed right now.

Making a beeline for the break room, you strode past employees offering a curt good afternoon, your eyes drawn to the snow that swirled out the tall glass windows of the building. You stepped into the breakroom, thinking at first you might have had it to yourself so you could brew your coffee in silence before you went back to work.

“Are we allowed to bring Jell-O shots to the holiday party, Ms. L/N?” 

Slowly, you closed your eyes and let your head tilt up to the ceiling, a heavy sigh escaping your lungs as annoyance already began to run its course through your veins. You walk forward towards the coffee maker on the counter, completely ignoring the presence of the man standing by the table.

You grab the container of coffee grounds and scoop some into the filter silently.

“Yoo hoo? Is this thing on?” He speaks again, and you almost spill the grounds.

“Why are you in here?” You ask him, switching on the coffee pot and picking at a hangnail.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he presses, and you watch as he leans his head over in your field of vision, a groan bubbling from your throat.

“No, Hongjoong. You cannot bring Jello shots to the holiday party. There will already be drinks provided.” You reluctantly turn your head to look at him.

All charming aura and confident attitude, Kim Hongjoong leans against the counter with a lazy smile, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His dark hair framed around his face in a neat style, a few stray strands here and there that only added to his boyishness. His tie is loose, as always, and his fingers are clasped around a stir stick that he twirls in his hand. And as per usual, he’s giving you that knowing look. That look that always irritates the shit out of you. 

Hongjoong was one of your best workers, and you admired his ethic to an extent. But that's as far as it could ever go. In any other department, he was truly insufferable. You almost think he’d make a great manager; he could annoy his employees to get work done just so they could get him to shut up.

He worked well. He met deadlines. He was funny sometimes. Charismatic, always willing to help. And you hated it. Hated him. You felt like he didn’t respect you. You felt like he was prancing around the office with the confidence of ten men, some idea planted in his head that he was above it all. Of course, you never asked him about it. It's just what you thought. You don't have control over him. He met deadlines, but not because of you. His boss. He threw amazing pitches, but not because of you. You felt as though you did not influence him in any way, shape, or form, even though he worked under you. And it drove you fucking crazy.

Always watching. Always whining. Always giving you new reasons to fire him, but you never do.

“Didn’t think so,” he chides, and you nibble on your bottom lip as you watch your coffee slowly drip into the pot. “Okay, how about a charcuterie board. Can I bring one of those?”

“There’ll be a notice of termination on your desk in 5 minutes if you don’t stop asking me stupid questions.” You snap lowly, tapping your fingers on the counter rhythmically, your eyes narrowing at the man in front of you.

His smile only grows and waves you off like he’s dismissing a compliment.

“Ma’am, you do know there's a no-flirting policy. Have some decorum.” You could hear the grin through his words, and you could only roll your eyes in response.

The annual holiday party rolled around at Christmas time. Just a few days before the company shut down until January. It was always a daunting task for you. Find caterers, book a venue, and invite everyone in the entire office. It always went the same: everyone would pregame, show up, get blacked out drunk, and then clock in the next morning with a hangover that could kill God. And nobody ever learned from their mistakes from the previous year because the pattern was continuous, and you were sure this year would be no different.

You never drank at the parties, well, at least not much. You were responsible, as you had to be in the office every morning, punctual and ready to grind for the last few days. Surprisingly, Hongjoong was similar to you in that fashion, staying sober enough to come in the next day, his best self.

But something about the stress that's been weighing you down this past year might urge you to indulge just a little more than usual this time around.

“I assume you’re all caught up.” You pick up the hot pot of coffee and pour it into your cup. You already knew the answer.

“Of course I am, do you even have to ask. That’s why I’m your favorite.” Hongjoong smiles widely and hands you 2 packets of hazelnut creamer and 4 packets of sugar. Just how you like it. You raise an eyebrow and snort, taking the additives and shaking the warm feeling that bloomed on the back of your neck. He was, in fact, not your favorite, but you wondered when he had the time to memorize how you liked your coffee.

“You’re really sure of yourself, Kim.” You tear open the packets and pour them into your cup.

Hongjoong slips the stir stick into his mouth, nibbling on the end gently. His eyes rake over your body for just a moment while you add more sugar to your coffee, his gaze stuttering where your stockings hugged the thickness of your thighs. “That's how I got this job, Ms. L/N.”

You reach for a stir stick, but Hongjoong tries to hand you the one he has. You made a face and reached past his outstretched hand to grab one from the box. 

“Rude.” He whines, placing the stir stick back into his mouth. As you stir your coffee, Hongjoong’s eyes remained glued to your face, like he was waiting for you to turn back to him and satiate his attention. You sigh and finally turn to him, your hand on your hip and the stir stick swirling in your cup when you let it go.

“If you’re all caught up, then find something to do, or go home. I don’t really care. But you’re not gonna stand here and annoy me until I’m done with work.” 

Hongjoong's smile slickens, like he senses the unease that stirs within you, an unease that he brought up. “I like looking at you, though.” He says simply, a tingle in his tone that makes your chest flutter quietly. “I can’t stay and stare at you until you go home?”

You close your eyes, take in a deep breath, and pick up your coffee cup. Hongjoong watches your every move like it was the most entertaining thing ever, and you hated his stupid, handsome face. It’d be much easier to deal with his bullshit if he were hard to look at.

“Hongjoong, you’re too pretty to be acting this way.” You deadpan, sipping your coffee, your eyes staying glued to his over the rim of your cup.

His eyes widen, and you see his throat bob as he swallows, clearly not expecting you to say something like that, but as he does, he recovers quickly, his sly grin returning promptly. “You think I’m pretty?”

You smile and raise your brows. “Well, yeah, I sure didn’t hire you for your personality.” You click your tongue and set your cup back down. “I can’t help but feel as though you think you’re above me.”

Hongjoong shakes his head slowly, a soft laugh slipping past his lips. “Oh, I would hate to give you that impression, ma’am. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you.” It doesn’t seem sincere; the playful glint in his eyes and the amused tone of his voice make you want to laugh harder.

“Do you have fun getting a rise out of me?” You ask, your eyebrows knit in discernment as you try to read his body, his expression, anything to just understand what he's thinking.

“Oh, absolutely, you make it really easy,” he grins, those beautiful teeth on display. You find your eyes wandering down to the thin vein that bulges on the side of his neck, how it disappears behind the collar of his dress shirt. It hugged him well, and you mentally shake those thoughts out of your head before they could go any further south.

“And you make it really easy to want to fire you.” You say half sincerely. And of course, all he does in response to your empty threat is laugh.

“Whatever you say, ma’am. Stats are on your desk. I finished them an hour ago. I hope they’re to your standards, as they usually are.” He winks at you, turning to pour himself a cup of coffee as well.

Your jaw clenches, and Hongjoong catches it, his tongue running over his teeth as he watches the way your body tenses in response to his nonchalance. You really do make it easy, but it's only because it was him. Hongjoong manages to irk you in a way that no other man has been able to before. You weren’t sure what it was about him; the air he radiated challenged you. Your authority, your patience, your body. He made you feel hot all over, whether it be his sly remarks that pissed you off, or the charming smiles he shot your way that made your heart skip.

Kim Hongjoong made your blood pressure rise in a way that was borderline unhealthy, but god, he was so fucking good at his job. It didn’t help that you did, in fact, like looking at him, and you almost thought that he knew that. That’s why he bothered you so much; he knew the effect he had on you.

An employee who intimidates his employer is a recipe for disaster, and the tension that charged between you two anytime you were in a room together dangerously intrigued you both. Yet, it was like you both couldn’t get enough. Neither one of you would say it, but it was there. And it was palpable.

“I’ll see you at the holiday party, Hongjoong.” You say with a note of finality, turning on your heel to walk out of the breakroom.

Hongjoong watches you walk away, his hand reaching out and switching the coffee pot to the warming setting. “Can’t wait,” he calls back, biting the end of the stir stick off with a quiet snap.  “Maybe let loose this time around, ma’am. It might do you some good; you seem more stressed than usual.” Hongjoong’s tone had a ring of concern around it, and that alone made your skin prickle with irritation, and maybe something else.

You hoot out a laugh as the break room door shuts behind you, the hustle and bustle of the office flooding your ears once again. 

You could let loose this year, take the night just to let out your nerves, and live in the moment. It probably wouldn’t hurt.

“Whoa, Ms. L/N, I didn’t mean this loose. How many fingers am I holding up?”

You squint your eyes and really look. “Seventeen.” You hiccup.

“That's not even humanly possible, ma’am.”

The party rolled around faster than you could even process, and before you knew it, you were wandering around the venue, glass of chardonnay in hand. Employees chatted loudly around you as you took in the grand space. Large chandeliers and glassy floors, everyone was dressed to a T, bright smiles and obnoxious laughter around every corner. 

You wrapped your cardigan around your body tighter, not because you were cold, but parties had never been your thing. You had them organized for your employees because you knew they would appreciate it. They would often come up to you late into the execution, smelling of wine and drunk smiles on their faces as they thanked you profusely for not making their job a living hell, and then crying about how they are going to be late to work in the morning because of how shit faced they got.

It made you happy to see them living, one last hurrah before the holidays took their time and attention for the remaining weeks. Some of your male employees tend to get bold once the alcohol starts to flow, offering you a dance or even a ride home.

You always politely declined and never brought it up the next day to save them the embarrassment.

The stress of the year had really torn you down worse than usual. You weren’t sure if it was the developments the company had been pushing or maybe the fact that your mind had just been kind of scrambled the whole year, but in that moment, all you wanted to do was drink until you passed out. Not out of sadness or anything depressing, just to not have to think about having to walk into the office tomorrow morning and sit at your desk and drain your life away on Excel.

One glass of chardonnay turned into two, then three, then four… and before you knew it, you couldn’t see straight. The lights were too bright, and your body wracked with hiccups. You stumbled around the venue blindly, laughing at things that weren't funny and actually accepting dances from people.

That's when he found you, shit faced, sitting on the spiral stairs, your half-empty glass clutched tightly in your hand as you overlooked the swarms of drunken people.

“There she is!” Hongjoong says cheerily, walking over to you with a wide smile. It faltered slightly when he noticed how disoriented you looked, swaying on the steps slowly with the glass in your hand held loosely like you didn’t even know you were holding it.

“Hong– joong…” You sneer, words slurring as you raise your eyes to watch as he prances over to you. “Why are you here?”

He raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Um, I work here? From the looks of it, I’m glad I didn’t bring the jello shots; you seem drunk enough.”

You scoff and attempt to stand, placing your hand firmly on the railing and shooting to your feet clumsily. Hongjoong was quick to reach out and steady you, or you would have tumbled to the floor. “Don’t talk to me like that!” You mumble, the warmth of his hands on your bare arms spreading throughout your body. His fingers curl around your biceps, holding strong to keep you upright.

“W-Woah! Hold on now, you almost fell-”

You interrupt him, pulling your arms from his grasp. “I’m not a child, I can handle my alcohol.”

“Clearly not,” he mutters, a small smile on his lips, and he reaches forward and gently takes your wrists in his hands. “C’mon, let's get you off these stairs.” You pout, but you let him guide you off the stairs, following in clumsy movements as he walks you down the hallway where fewer people are gathered, away from the loud drunken craze in the main area.

He leans you up against the wall, placing his hand flat against the back of your skull to make sure you don’t bang it. “Alright, you need anything? Water, bathroom? You can yell at me some more if it’ll make you feel better.” His smile is genuine, his perfect teeth poking through his plush lips, his eyes low and soft; he looked at you like you were the only thing he saw. Or maybe it was the alcohol.

Your heels made you a little taller than him, your heavy eyes fluttering as you found yourself leaning your head down and resting your forehead against his shoulder. He stiffens slightly, the contact unexpected.

“You smell good.” You whisper, your breath fanning over his ear. Hongjoong couldn't help the laugh that bubbles from his chest.

“Oh wow, you’re really drunk, ma’am.” His hands clasp your shoulders and gently lift you back up so he can see your face. “When I said you should let loose, I didn’t mean drink yourself into a stupor.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” You slur, raising your hand to gently push at his chest. “I’m your boss, that's my job…”

“You’re right, that is your job. But at the moment, you are in no shape to do your job.” He turns around to go fetch you a glass of water, but you reach out. You grab his wrist and shove his palm flat between your breasts, over your racing heart.

“Um-” Hongjoong starts, more than surprised at your sudden and strange move, but you beat him to it.

“Feel that?” You mumble softly, pressing his hand harder against your chest. “You piss me off so badly, Kim.”

Your brain is fuzzy, and you really have no idea what you’re doing at the moment, but it happens anyway. “You’re giving me grey hairs.” You sneer, your grip on his wrist tightening.

Hongjoong takes a step closer, embracing this strange choice you’ve made to make him feel your heart race beneath his palm. “I am?” He responds, and he smiles slightly, like he was getting a kick out of you acting so unlike you.

“You are.” You groan. “Kinda wanna fuck you too. But you don’t deserve that.” You let go of his wrist, and his hand falls away from your chest. You giggle and tilt your head back until he bumps against the wall.

“Maybe if you weren’t such an ass.” You speak loftily into the air with a heavy sigh. Hongjoong was at a loss for words, your confession floating around in his brain.

“That's a serious HR violation, Ms. L/N,” Hongjoong teases, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he takes in your drunken form with nothing short of pure amusement.

Your hand shoots out and grabs his tie, wrapping it around your hand and tugging him closer to you, so close your noses brush, and your wine-ridden breaths mingle in the quiet of the venue hall. “You’re a walking HR violation, Joong.” You whisper, the nickname new and sparking something fresh between you two.

“Always flirting with me, getting on my nerves, testing my patience.” You end every word with a sharp bite, tugging harder on his tie as a punctuation to each sentence. “And yet you never do anything about it.”

His eyebrow raises, then falls, slowly. “Do you want me to do something about it?” He purrs lowly, a warning in his tone. You took note of the connotations, but ignored them. Your eyes narrowed further.

“You wouldn’t dare.” You seethe, the alcohol makes you brave, and you decide now is the best time to test his limits, if he actually had any. “You dance around me, begging for my attention all the time. Joong wants the boss’s eyes on him at all times, yeah?”

He doesn’t speak, but his gaze shifts, cold yet heated. His hand twitched at his side, like he was restraining himself from grabbing something. He bites back what he really wants to say to you, opting for a more tame response.

“Can’t help it that you’re so responsive.” He hums deeply, testing the invisible barrier between you two, leaning in further, his lips mere millimeters from yours. “You choose to give me the time of day, ma’am. That's all on you.”

You curl your fingers further around his black tie, the fabric rough against your palm.

“You think you’re better than me, Hongjoong?” You question, your face heated, and your heart racing even faster. 

Hongjoong only smiles, that stupid, knowing smirk, and runs his tongue over his teeth like he does when he knows he’s got the upper hand. Despite the position he’s in at the moment, with his tie in your grasp like you’ve got him on a leash.

“I’m not better than anyone, ma’am.” He replies indifferently. Then he leans in, pushing the boundaries and hovering his lips just shy of your ear. His breath seems cold in comparison to your hot skin. Your grip on his tie loosens.

“And neither are you.” 

You both don’t move for a minute. He stays by your ear, his breathing steady as it fans over your neck. Your body tingles strangely, and a weird feeling pushes its way through your gut.

Then you speak, and maybe what you end up saying sets something into motion, but whether it was a mistake or not, you will learn in due time. You pull on his tie to drag him back in front of your face, your gaze momentarily flicking down to his lips before boring into his eyes like you were trying to kill him with looks. 

“Actions speak louder than words, Kim. Stop playing games and make good on your words, or keep your mouth shut.” Your gaze is set hard, testing. Silence stretches between your way too close bodies. His breath fanning over your lips, his eyes half lidded, and his chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

The hustle and bustle of the party fades into background noise at this standstill, your skin buzzing alight with a new feeling. He was so close, you could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell his expensive cologne. He smelled like chocolate and wine, and it only made your head feel fuzzier.

Carefully, his hand lifts and cups over yours, prying your fingers from his tie. His hard gaze never falters, dragging your hand away until it falls back to your side.

“You’re drunk, (Name.)” he whispers, and his low tone sends a shiver down your spine. It’s the first time he’s ever called you by your name. “Lay off the wine for the rest of the night, will you?”

You click your tongue and push your body off the wall, Hongjoong taking a step back, the space between you two returning. 

“All bark, and no bite.” You grumble, turning away and walking back into the main area of the party, your heels echoing off the shiny walls. Hongjoong watches your every step, his eyes dark and his lips pressed into a thin line. He watched until you disappeared around the corner. The gears in his head turned, a flush rising to the back of his neck.

He really wanted to keep his job, he really did. Hongjoong was a good man, and he would never take advantage of someone as drunk as you are.

But it took every fiber of his being not to drag you to the bathroom and fuck you over the counter until you lost feeling in your legs just to prove you wrong.

You wished the sun had just exploded that morning. Your hangover could indeed kill God. Your head pounded like steel drums, your eyes burned, and your stomach roiled. You dragged yourself to the office the next day, a hot coffee clasped between your cold hands. You remember the night before in bits and pieces, and when you stepped into the office, the vibe was the same.

Everyone sat at their desk, bags under their eyes, and a bottle of ibuprofen at the ready by their monitor. You mumbled a collective good morning to everyone before retreating to your office. Your office was warm, the hum of the heater working almost as a lullaby. Two more days until the holiday. That's all you needed to get through. Finalize some things, make sure holiday pay is at the ready. Prepare for the new year. You really wished you hadn’t even touched a wine glass last night.

Your computer mocked you the entire day, every clack of the keyboard like a nail in your skull. The screech of the printers makes you want to bang your head against the wall.

The bits in pieces you could remember last night were enough to keep you anxious all day long. His smell. That's the number one thing that stuck with you. Rich chocolate and a soft musk. Fruity wine and a gentle brush of clean linen. 

Every time he walked past your office door that day, your eyes lingered, like you were trying to find the missing piece of a puzzle. You remembered the tickle of his dark, soft hair, his low, dangerous voice.

All the pieces you had gathered led you to one conclusion. You two got close somehow. Close enough to smell him, close enough to feel him. And it made your brain go haywire. The pieces you were missing had you on edge. What was said, what was felt. How far did it go?

You wouldn’t have to wonder for very much longer.

Slowly, one by one, employees file out of the building, heading home for the holidays. Computers shut down and cubicles cleaned out, the snow outside swirled louder as the sun continued to set after a long and grueling day. Everyone stopped by and wished you a happy holiday before heading off, to which you would smile and reciprocate, still somewhat battling a headache.

Silence gradually fell over the office as the evening dragged on, the words on your computer started to meld together, and you found your eyes wandering towards the grand glass windows of your office more often than not. You tapped your foot beneath your desk impatiently, and by 10 o’clock, you were the only one left in the office.

You sighed aloud, leaning back in your chair with your hands on your face, dragging them down exhaustedly. Your headache finally subsides as you wrap up final tasks.

Finally, you were done. 

Then, your office door creaks open. 

There he stands, hair a slight mess, his tie loose, and that little smile on his face. You groan really loudly this time, making sure your annoyance is very evident.

“You didn’t even bother to knock.” You bite, gathering files on your desk as you stand to put them away.

Hongjoong shrugs his shoulders like he couldn’t care less. “What, were you indecent or something?” 

You snort out a quiet laugh as you shut down your monitor and gather pens. “What do you want? Everyone else has gone home. You should too.”

“I want to know why.” He says, stepping further into your office, the opaque door shutting behind him with a quiet click.

“Why has everyone gone home? It’s the holiday, Hongjoong-“

“I'm not trying to be funny.” Hongjoong continues to walk until he’s stood in front of your desk, and you cross your arms with a sigh as you look him over. 

“Then what is it?” You deadpan, trying your best to push down the new fuzzy feeling that blooms quietly in your chest when he’s closer than usual. You needed to get out of the office right now, get away from him. Clear your head for the holiday.

“Why don’t I deserve it?” His eyelids lower, his hands plant firmly on your desk as he leans over it, his voice low as his fingers grip the edge of the cool wood.

You pause, confused. “What are you talking about?” Your voice shook slightly. You were confused, yes, but there was something in his voice when he spoke that made you think you had said something. Something that blurred boundaries.

“Last night. You said I don’t deserve it.”

You swallow, narrowing your eyes in an attempt to gain the room back. To take control.

“Deserve what, Kim-“

“To fuck you.”

Your breath catches. There it was. The push your brain needed to remember. The memories came flooding back, and Hongjoong could visibly watch your morale crumble as you remembered the things you said to each other, the way you touched him. He acted more professionally than you did when you talked to him in that hallway. How you challenged him.

“ ‘All bark and no bite,’ you had said.” He quotes you, his smile falling. 

“I was drunk.” You reply, your fists clenching the pen in your hand. “I didn’t mean anything I said to you.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts, right? You had to mean some of it.”

“I meant the parts about you being an insufferable ass.”

“I’m sure you did, you seemed very sure of yourself.” Using your own words against you. You bite your tongue.

“It’s not professional.” You reply curtly, as if it actually meant anything.

“Nothing that’s ever happened between us has ever followed along the lines of professional.” Correct once again.

“That’s all your fault, you’re always crossing lines.” You’re trying to be reasonable, but your words are empty.

“I didn’t know lines had been drawn.”

“Hongjoong.”

“(Name).”

You both stop and stare. You couldn’t win with him; he was right. The lines, if there had been any, had been blurred beyond recognition. In that office room, you were not employer and employee. You didn’t know what you were. 

“I don’t know what you want from me.” You admit in defeat, dropping the pen on the desk with a clatter, your voice dropped to a low murmur. Hongjoong stands up straight and walks around your desk to stand in front of you. He walks close enough to you that you're forced to take a seat in your swivel chair. He stands there, his knees pressed against yours, before leaning down.

He grabs either side of your armrests, caging you in against the chair as he lowers his head to meet your eyes. “I want you to say what you want from me.” His hair falls over his eyes, his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and his grip on the armrests makes the chair audibly creak.

He smelled too fucking good, and it was suffocating you. Your fists clenched in your lap as you craned your head to look up at him.

“Now that you’re sober.” He murmurs, leaning his head closer, so close his warm lips brush over your ear. “Clear-minded.” He moves his head to whisper in your other ear. “If you don’t think I deserve to fuck you…”

You don’t move, you don’t shy away from him. You don’t push him off. You stay dead still, your heart racing. He leans his head further in, and you could feel his lips press against the side of your throat, a whisper of a kiss against your warm skin that made your entire body erupt into a flurry of tingles. His hair tickles the side of your neck, and all you could see was his shoulder as he leaned over you.

“What can I do to convince you, ma’am?” He purrs against your throat, and you couldn’t help the small whine that slips from your lips. The wind outside howled, and the office felt like the heat was on full blast. You felt trapped, in the best way possible.

Hongjoong takes notice that you have yet to deny his advances, so he ups the ante. His hand on the left armrest lifts, gently brushing his fingertips over your wrist that lies on your lap, tickling patterns and circles.

Then he drops down, slowly running his fingers up the length of your clothed thigh. He pulls away from your neck to meet your eyes once again, his eyebrows lax. He catches the wanton look in your gaze, and it nearly undoes him.

“I could work a little harder just for you.” He whispers, a hint of a desperate whine at the lilt of his sentences. “Put in some extra hours, really put my all into those reports.”

His hand trails further up, now massaging your hip in slow strokes, gently gripping the flesh. “Or, I can get a little more hands-on.”

Up the side of your waist, crossing over to gently rub your lower tummy over your blouse. You fought not to melt at the feeling of his warm hand, but you were promptly losing the battle. “I could kiss those pretty lips until you forget that you could fire me at the twitch of a finger.”

Over your stomach, back to your side, dragging up your arm to your shoulder. “I could really blur those aforementioned lines, maybe even try to change your mind if you’d let me finger fuck you until your legs shake.”

He presses his lips against your temple as his hand finally finds its home at the nape of your neck, grabbing it and squeezing gently. “I could make you forget how to walk without even fucking you properly if you let me get my mouth on you.” His whispers make your stomach leap; his hand never ceases its massaging movement on the back of your neck. His fingers gently scrape your lower scalp, sending a pleasant sensation throughout your bones.

“Whaddya say, boss?” he smiles against your temple. Your hands that were previously clenched, you hadn’t even noticed that you had grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, effectively holding him in place above you as your breath fanned over the skin of his throat, excitedly.

When you finally speak, it's low, but confident enough.

“You’re still not doing anything, Hongjoong.” His hand on the back of your neck freezes. 

“Actions speak louder than words.” You repeat one last time.

You feel his lips spread into a smile against your temple, then his fingers brush upwards, burying his hand in your hair. “You’re shaking.” He coos, and you feel his fingers curl, firmly gripping your hair at the scalp. “Clearly, my words affect you much more than you’d like to admit, ma’am.”

He yanks your skull back, forcing your head to crane upward, moving his head back before crashing his lips into yours without a warning. Heat blooms from where your lips touch, Hongjoong’s head tilted to kiss you messy and deep, and you let out a groan that could only be from satisfaction that falls down his throat. You grip his collar harder, his other hand on the armrest, moving to press down on your thigh. Hongjoong grins into the kiss, keeping your head at that angle, your noses bumping from the frantic movements.

The desperation, the tension, the anger, and the stress, all being released into a hungry, rule-breaking kiss that made your knees buckle. Hongjoong maneuvers your body up by your hair, forcing you to stand to follow his movements. He pushes you until your back is pressed against the tall glass windows, his lips never pulling from yours as he kisses you into a fever. His tongue melts with yours in a practiced dance, and your brain fogs as he presses his body against yours.

His hand slips from your hair and trails down your body, over your blouse, down to your skirt waistband. Then he pulls away, his lips leave yours as he sinks to his knees in front of you.

You watch, chest rising and falling with frenzied breaths as you brace your palms flat against the cold windows.

On his knees, Hongjoong’s hands trail down your legs, landing on the buckle of your shiny black heels. He makes slow work of his hands, gently undoing the straps of your heels and slipping them off your feet like they were made of glass. He kisses the side of your knee softly as he slips off the other shoe, setting them off to the side neatly.

Your stomach flutters at the carefulness of his actions, his eyes lifting to watch your watery gaze take in the sight below you. Then his fingers brush upwards, featherlight touches until they reach the welt of your left stocking.

His fingers slide beneath the sheer fabric as he slowly pulls it down your leg. 

“Y’know…” he starts, right as he pulls the stocking completely off your body. His fingers moved to the right one. So slow, so teasing.

“You remember that one day, you came into the office, and for the very first time, you were wearing thigh-high stockings.” He slips off the second one, laying the pair next to your heels. His hands slid up the sides of your legs, feeling you shiver beneath his palms.

“I said something to you about them. About how I liked them.” Hongjoong’s hands slid beneath your pleated skirt, cupping either one of your thighs possessively. His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging at them teasingly.

“You gave me shit about me mentioning them. Telling me that I shouldn’t be paying attention to what you wear like that.”

He slips your panties over your thighs, down your legs, until they fall on the floor at your feet. Bare beneath your black skirt. His hand grips the underside of your left thigh, hiking it over his shoulder as he kisses the soft skin. 

His other fingers gently brush through the wet mess you've made between your legs, and your breath catches in your throat at how easily his fingertips glide through the folds of your slick cunt.

“But I swear, every single fucking day since then-” he bunches your skirt up around your hips, pushing his face closer to your center, his fingers easily finding your clit and circling it oh so slowly.

“There hasn’t been a single time when you haven’t come to work wearing them.” His warm breath fans over your pussy, and you shiver, a whiny moan slipping from your lips.

“Lying through your teeth like that, chastising me for saying how pretty they looked on you.” Hongjoong grins, slipping his wet fingers into his mouth and licking your shiny arousal off of them with a greedy groan.

“When it's so obvious you’ve been wearing them every day just for me.” Then his mouth is on you. His tongue slips through you, parting your folds with a wet, loud slurp, and immediately your legs begin to tremble.

His hand keeps your thigh firm and hiked over his shoulder, his other hand gently massaging your hips while his mouth works wonders on you. Slipping his tongue up, circling your clit. Back down, drinking up each gush of arousal that spills from you. Suctioning his soft lips to the sensitive bud and burying his face so deep between your thighs, you were afraid he might not be able to breathe.

But he was moaning like he couldn’t get enough. The vibrations of his breathy keens sent shocks through your body, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thigh as he devoured, eating your cunt greedily like he had been dreaming about it for years.

You couldn’t control your moans, and they only spurred him on further, his tongue mapping out patterns. Listening to your noises and pinpointing what you liked so he could keep it up, keep you crying for him.

“Fuck…” he laughs against you, moving the hand on your thigh down to gently circle his finger around your entrance. “Taste so sweet, smell so good.” He laps at your clit hungrily, and you choke on a moan when you feel him slip a finger into your snug pussy, your warm walls pulsing around him. “Let's see if we can find that spot that’ll make you cry for me, yeah?”

He prods around, curling it, massaging, and when he feels your thigh tense and your breath shake, he knows he’s got it. “There she is.” Promptly, he slips another finger inside of you, pressing up and forward, rubbing pressured curves against that spongy spot deep inside of you, his mouth suctioned around your clit as his tongue draws patterns around it that make your gut twist.

“F-fuck-! Hongjoong!” You cry out, your hands flying to his mussed brown hair and burying your fingers into it at the scalp, grounding yourself so you don't buckle at the knees.

“I know, baby, I know.” He murmurs around your sensitive bud, his fingers moving deep inside of you in repetitive come-hither motions. Your head bangs against the cold glass, your back arching off of it as you take what he gives you with drunken earnestness.

“Let it all out, c’mon, big stretch sweetheart…” His hand moves away from your thigh and slides around to your lower back, pressing against it, forcing your arch further, stretching the tense muscles there as his fingers turn you inside out.

You groan, and he rewards your good listening with a nip to your clit. “That's it, I got you.” He reassures you, pressing your buttons and working you out, playing with you like it was giving him life. “Fuck you’re so pretty.” He slides his glasses off his face, all fogged up and starting to drip with your wetness, slipping them into his pocket.

Your nails scratch against his scalp, your jaw clenching as the pleasure rocks through you like electricity, your breath stuttering each time you feel his tongue slip over your clit, each time his fingers curl particularly hard.

Hongjoong catches the way your walls clench around his fingers, how your thighs vibrate, and your toes curl. “You close, ma’am?” He smiles around your clit, still in the mood to tease you even when he’s knuckle deep in your cunt.

“Yes, Hong–joong-!” you cry, tugging the hair at his scalp and pulling him deeper between your thighs. “Stop fucking around, please!”

Now that makes Hongjoong laugh. And then he’s growling, keeping up the persistent rhythm of his fingers and sucking your clit. “Never get to hear you say please… begging suits you, sweetheart, I could get used to that.”

He shakes his head back and forth, the friction making your head swim and your chest cave. Just when you’re so close to falling over the edge, Hongjoong pulls from you with a slick pop.

You groan in disappointment, and Hongjoong stands and swallows your complaints in a deep kiss, your own taste flooding your mouth. His tongue swipes over yours, letting you savor the flavor of your arousal. Allow you to relish in what he had done to you. How absolutely wet he’s made you. You listen as he unbuckles his belt with one hand, while the other grips the front of your throat.

“C’mon.” He groans against your mouth, and he's maneuvering you back over to the desk. You reach out your hands just as he pushes you down onto it, shoving the files off the surface onto the floor. Hongjoong flattens his hand against your back, dragging it up until it reaches the collar of your blouse.

“Arms.” He commands breathlessly, and you lift them, allowing him to slide the fabric over your head. Your skin is bare to him, his hand trails back down to unclasp your bra, and you help him slip it over your arms.

Hongjoong’s warm hands flatten against your shoulder blades as he keeps your front pressed down against the cold wooden desk. He drags his palms down, along your spine to where your black skirt hugs your hips. He leans his body over yours and presses wet kisses to the side of your neck, his hands roaming up and down your body like it belonged to him and him alone.

You could feel the rough cloth of his tie tickle the skin of your back. One hand leaves your body, and you could hear him shuffle his slacks down, and then you feel him. Your hips squirm as you feel the heat of his cock against your lower back.

You let out a needy whine, to which Hongjoong lifts his hand to your hair, burying his fingers into the locks, gripping it tight, and pulling your head back until you arch beautifully. Your skirt remaining bunched at your waist, you wince at the sting from him pulling your hair, forcing your neck to crane, almost far enough you could see the ceiling of your office.

“Fuck, wish you could see yourself right now.” Hongjoong’s other hand massages your hip, his nails lightly scratching against your goose-pebbled skin. He pulls his hips back until you can feel the fat, dripping tip of his cock slip between your lips, and he slowly drags his hips between your thighs, each slow thrust coating his length in your wetness and catching the friction of your clit.

“Bent over your own desk, wet and desperate.” he leans down and pulls your head farther back, pressing his lips flush against your ear and letting out a low, whiny groan right in your ear that makes your thighs clench around his cock.

“Driving me fucking crazy.” Your whole body shivers when you feel his blunt nails gently scratch against your scalp, unable to contain your pathetic whines.

“Please, Joong…” you cry quietly, pushing your hips back against him to try and coax him to finally slip inside of you. “Need you so bad, baby, please…” 

You could feel his cock twitch between your thighs, and it made your chest swell with pride. No matter what position he had you in at the moment, you knew he was a sucker for your attention. For your praise.

“I want you to make me feel good.” You moan softly, and you feel his body curl further over yours, until you meet his eyes, your neck craned so far back it almost hurts. He looks down at you, and when you see him, you nearly unravel.

His face is flushed, his lips are spit-soaked and kiss swollen. His pupils are blown and his hair a hot mess. “Yeah, you want me, baby? Want me to make you feel sooo good?” You whine in confirmation, right as he leans in closer, his eyes boring into yours, nowhere to hide. All you could do was share his heated gaze. Feel a type of desire that was burning you alive from the inside out.

“Keep looking at me.” He commands breathlessly, and you feel his tip just barely breach your entrance. “Wanna see those pretty eyes cross when I stuff this pussy full of me.”

When he slowly pushes in, you realize it's much thicker than you could have ever guessed. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, and Hongjoong’s eyes stay on yours, barely blinking as his own lips part in satisfaction. His eyebrows knit in pure bliss as your warm, fluttering walls swallow him up. You choke out a broken moan at each inch that slips inside of you, and not even halfway in, and you feel so unbelievably full.

“Hongjoong…!” you gasp, and Hongjoong only nods in acknowledgment. Your vision goes blurry as he fills you up, and the grip on your hair only tightens as he feels you pulse around his cock.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I know it's big,” he purrs, the hand on your hip sliding up and down the side of your waist, coaxing you to relax so you could open up some more and let him slide all the way in.

“You’re so wet, though, making it so easy for me.” He kisses your forehead just as he pushes in a little more, met with a little less resistance. “God, you’re dripping everywhere.”

When he’s filled you to the hilt, you can no longer control your shaking, your body a shivering pleasure-ridden mess. You can feel his cock jump inside of you, holding still to try and calm his brain before he absolutely loses it and pounds you stupid over your desk.

“You’re so fucking tight, pretty.” Hongjoong laughs above you, and he slowly pulls his hips back, his thick girth dragging against your walls with a slick sound. You moan aloud, the fat tip of him perfectly sliding over that spot.

Then he slides right back in, a nice, long stroke that hits every angle just right. Hongjoong could hear it in your voice, how good you were feeling, and it was sending his ego through the roof.

“This what you needed?” He tugs your hair, just as your eyes begin to roll when he starts to set a slow, deep rhythm. Languid, heavy thrusts that forced you to really feel every inch of him gliding in and out of you.

He leans down to whisper in your ear, and you could catch low whimpers and the way his breath catches when your cunt squeezes around him when you hear his soft voice. 

“Baby is sooo stressed.” He thrusts hard, just for a moment, smiling when you nearly yelp. Then he’s back at it slowly again. “Overworked and tired, and all this time. All this fucking attitude…” he kisses the shell of your ear and breathes in your scent, his body shaking like he was high off of your smell.

“And all you ever needed was for me to fuck it out of you, hm?” He pushes his cock in deep, then slowly rotates his hips in a heavy grind that makes your voice shiver when you moan. 

Your hands grip the edge of the desk, and you swear you heard the wood splinter beneath your nails. Hongjoong leans away from your face to look down at where he sat inside of you, and you hear him growl above you and squeeze your hair.

“Shit, baby, you’re literally dribbling on the fucking floor.” He watches as he slips out of you, just leaving the tip inside, drunk over the way more of your arousal seems to flood out of nowhere and drip to the grey carpeted floor.

“Mmm… Joongie-!” You whine, and the hand on your waist travels to the small of your back, kneading and pressing, massaging the knot of stress out of it. All the while, his cock never stops moving, sliding in and out of you, dragging over your G-spot maddeningly, and it’s almost too much for you.

“Hold on, baby, work with me, okay?” His hand massages down until it cups the underside of your trembling thigh, pushing your leg up until it’s hiked over the desk.

The new angle is incredible, now pushing even deeper into your guts. You let out a low, drawn-out groan, Hongjoong’s heated palm squeezing and kneading your thigh as he held it up.

“There we go, that's better. Doesn’t that feel good, sweetheart?” He coos, and his tone sends shocks straight to your gut. You nibble on your bottom lip, each heavy glide of his hips making your desk creak quietly beneath your melting bodies. 

Hongjoong’s hands were gripping the reins, fucking you deep and talking to you all sugar and cream, but his brain was reeling just as much as yours. “You don’t have to say anything honey, I can feel your pussy pulsing around me. I know what it needs, and you know I can give it to you just right.”

The satisfaction of finally putting you in your place, a beautiful, confident, powerful woman such as yourself, his boss, the woman who wrote his checks. Bent over, wood digging into your stomach as he pressed you against the desk, absolutely ravaging your crying pussy. And you were begging for it. Begging for him.

He was fucking loving it.

“Doesn’t it feel good to give up control?” He murmurs around lusty groans, feeling your stomach cave as he speeds up the pace of his thrusts, your wet sounds and your mingled moans bouncing off your office walls. “To not have to worry about meetings, or deadlines…”

His hand snakes around, and then your entire body jolts when his fingers press against your clit, rolling over it smoothly. “When all you have to do is lie down and fucking take it, nice and deep?”

Each brush of his cock against your G-spot, coupled with pressure on your clit made your brain short-circuit, and all you could do was moan pathetically, which apparently wasn’t good enough for Hongjoong.

The hand in your hair grips tighter and yanks your head far back, and his lips are pressed hard against your ear, his heavy breaths the only thing you could hear as he manhandled you as he saw fit. “I’m talking to you, boss.” He seethes against your ear, pushing up against your clit and leaving wet, warm kisses against the shell of your ear.

“Not a very good listener, are you, baby?” He clicks his tongue and rolls his hips deep into you, and you choke, your throat bobbing visibly with the way he forced your neck to crane at his whim.

“‘M sorry!” you gasp around a whiny moan, and Hongjoong’s cock twitches at the sound, a pained groan of a laugh coming from his throat.

“Fuck, honey…” he pulls his hand from your hair, and suddenly he slips out of you. You whine, feeling empty, Hongjoong groaning in tandem at the loss of warmth. But then he’s flipped you over, your back against the desk as he grabs your ankles and spreads them nice and wide. He slots his body between your spread thighs and slides the length of him through your soaked folds.

When you finally get to look at him, you whine loudly. His hair was so messy, his skin sweat slick. His tie hangs loosely around his collar, his blazer slipping off his shoulders, and the top buttons of his dress shirt are undone.

His hands keep you open as he quickly sheathes himself right back inside of you. He leans over your body and his hands hold either side of your head, keeping it still as he ruts his thick cock right back into you.

His nose brushes yours, keeping his frenzied eyes on yours as he slots his lips with yours, swallowing your moans and cries as he fucks you on your back.

“Say it again.” He groans into your mouth, his hips relentless as he ravages you in this new, exposing position. His hands are firm on either side of your face as he barely gives you any time to even breathe. “Say you’re sorry. Wanna look at you when you apologize to me.” You waste no time.

“I’m so sorry-! Joong-!” you moan down his throat, your hands flying around to cup the back of his neck, pressing his lips harder against yours. His hands warm on either side of your face make your brain fuzzy as he purrs and whines against your mouth with each thrust of his cock into your cunt.

“Again,” he whispers.

“I’m… fuck- sorry!” you cry.

“Again, baby again.” He whispers even lower, and your stomach clenches, like he tugged a string that was unraveling you from the inside out.

“I’m sorry Hongjoong!” He grins wickedly into your mouth, pulling away, a thin string of saliva snapping as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, letting out a low whine against your heated skin.

“Yeah, you are…” he whispers in your ear, and you feel that knot starting to form in your lower belly, the heat pooling tantalizingly.

You claw at his shoulders, whimpering out attempted warnings. “‘M c-close, close…” You fist the fabric of his blazer, your legs shaking as you focus all your attention on falling over that edge.

“You cumming, baby?” He coos into your ear, peppering kisses right below your lobe. You could only nod, your breath stuttering in your lungs as your orgasm crept up your back.

He keeps up that same angle, same pace, perfect, and helps you teeter closer to the edge. “Whenever you can.” He drawls, his hands staying on your face and turning your head to face him once again. His eyebrows furrowed, and his lips parted as he whined right against your mouth.

His eyelids are lowered, his gaze is focused. Like he’s trying to pick apart your expressions as carefully as he can. Read the glint in your eyes and the tremble of your lips. Swimming in the fucked out glaze of your teary eyes, the pleasure rendering you helpless beneath him.

His lips hover millimeters above yours, your heavy breaths kissing each other. You feel the thin soft skin of his lips brush over yours when he speaks, a whisper so low you can feel it in your gut.

“Cum for me whenever it feels right, baby, you can do it. Make it messy, okay? Don’t hold back.”

It was hard to deny when you had never felt an orgasm hit you this hard. Hongjoong tried telling you to breathe through it, but you physically couldn’t. It rocks your body hard, and you swear you hear the sound of his suit jacket ripping. But he pays no mind, kissing you with hungry fervor, slipping his tongue over yours, and drinking your loud moans greedily.

“That’s it, that’s it.” He instructs into the kiss, his hands keeping your head still as your body convulses and jerks beneath him. “Let me help you ride it out.”

His cock slows inside of you, long deep strokes, each kiss against your sensitive G-spot, making your mouth pool with saliva. 

Before he could let himself fall apart inside of you, Hongjoong lifts off of your body, slipping his soaked cock out of you and letting it rest against your lower belly. Whining softly, he leans his head back, his hands coming down and cupping either one of your breasts, squeezing as he spills all over your stomach.

Pumping white ropes of cum all over your soft body, heady groans and purrs hitting your ears as he cums all over you, his chest heaving and his cock twitching against your stomach. His fingers pinch your nipples and roll them as he grinds slowly against the flesh of your tummy, slowing to a stop when he feels himself coming down.

“Holy fuck…” he sighs, leaning back down and grabbing the front of your throat, kissing you hungrily as his other hand massages your hip, helping you come down from your own high. “You’re unreal.” He whispers against your lips, grinning when you giggle in response.

“You’re lucky it’s the holidays and I’m feeling rather giving.” You tease, catching your breath and nudging your nose against his. “Or else this is a write-up.”

Hongjoong hoots out a laugh and gently massages right beneath your breasts. “You could fire me and blacklist me from every company within 100 miles, and I would still think it was completely worth it.”

“You’re lucky you’re my favorite.”

You could visibly see his eyes light up. “I thought you said I wasn’t!”

You shrug and kiss his nose. “I lied. But you can still be my favorite while also being an insufferable ass.”

Hongjoong tilts his head and smiles fondly. “I’ll work on that.”

“Please do.” You chide. “Make it a New Year’s resolution, I want to see improvements after the holiday.”

“Maybe I’ll make some steadier progress if you come over and help me work on it?” He wiggles his eyebrows, and you playfully smack his shoulder.

“We’ll see.” You sigh dramatically, but you couldn’t help the warm smile that damn near splits your face. “I’m still your boss, though, and you are on thin ice. Watch yourself, Kim.”

He stands and begins to walk to grab some things to clean up, raising his hand to salute cheekily.

“Yes, ma’am!” He shouts, and you roll your eyes.

HR seriously cannot find out about this, or else you’re both getting the boot.

And knowing Hongjoong, he’s definitely not going to make it easy on you.