CAIA

ateez fanfiction | 18+ 𝖬．𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳

[ateezscupid]

⠀⠀⠀𝜗⠀⠀⠀𓈒⠀⠀⠀⚢⠀⠀⠀CAIA/%⠀⠀⠀𓏏𓏏 masterlist⠀⠀⠀𐙚　　❜⠀⠀⠀navigation + 18+ !!

DM/Inbox to be on taglist. I mainly post for Ateez, but feel free to send requests related to the fandoms in Navigation!

⠀⠀⠀𝜗⠀⠀⠀𓈒⠀⠀⠀⚢⠀⠀⠀RECENTLY POSTED/%⠀⠀⠀𓏏𓏏 ◠◠ hello, you mini series - jeong yunho ❞

UPDATE !!!

[ateezscupid]

teaser for chpt 9 of "hello, you" <3

The first thing you notice is the smell. Sharp, metallic, underneath the usual scent of his cologne. The second is the silence. Not the cotton-stuffed quiet of before, but something hollowed out and waiting. Your key scrapes the lock, hands shaking so badly that it takes three tries to turn it.

The door creaked open on stiff hinges, the apartment beyond swallowed in shadows. The scent hit you full force. Not just blood now, but bleach, sweat, something sour underneath. Your shoes stuck slightly to the floor as you stepped inside, the tackiness making your stomach roll.

"Yunho?" Your voice barely made it past your lips. No answer. Just the drip, drip, drip of water from the kitchen sink, uneven like a failing heartbeat. You flicked the light switch. Nothing. The bulb was out or removed.

It was entirely too quiet for your liking.

Then the glass.

A crunch underfoot as you stepped further inside, the shards scattering like ice. Your breath hitched; the living room was a warzone. The coffee table lay in splinters, the TV screen spiderwebbed with cracks. Glass glittered like cursed diamonds across the floorboards, catching the dim glow from the streetlight outside. Something sticky seeped into the fabric of your sneakers with every step.

"Yunho?" You tried again, voice cracking. The silence pressed back, heavier now. The air smelled like pennies and ammonia, like someone had tried, and failed, to scrub away a crime scene.

You stare down the hallway.

The bathroom door hangs crooked on its hinges, swaying slightly like a loose tooth. The light inside flickers. On, off, on; casting jagged shadows across the wall. Something wet glistens on the floorboards. You don’t want to look closer.

"Yunho!" The name tears from your throat like a sob, bouncing off the wreckage of the apartment. No answer. Just the flicker of that goddamn bathroom light, casting long shadows down the hallway that twitch like living things. Your shoes crunch over broken glass as you step forward, then freeze.

There’s a handprint on the wall. Smudged, streaked, like someone dragged their fingers through wet paint. Except it’s not paint. You know that shade of rust-red too well. Your stomach lurches as you follow the trail down the hallway, around the doorframe, disappearing into the bathroom’s flickering glow.

The flickering bathroom light made the blood look black. That was your first thought. How stupidly clinical it was, like you were observing some forensic detail rather than the fact that Yunho’s fingers had painted the hallway in long, desperate streaks. Your second thought was that you should run. Your feet didn’t move.

The bathroom door groaned when you pushed it wider, the hinges stiff with disuse or something worse. The tiles were slick, the scent of bleach so strong it made your eyes water. And there, slumped against the bathtub with his knees drawn up like a child’s, was Yunho. His head snapped up at the sound, eyes wide and wild, pupils swallowing the brown until he looked more animal than man.

Neither of you said anything at first. The flickering bulb overhead cast jagged shadows across Yunho's face, making the hollows under his eyes look like bruises. His fingers twitched where they rested against his knees, nails bitten raw, the skin around them red and angry. You could see the whites of his knuckles even from across the room.

"You came back."

[ateezscupid]

Did you guys like what I did with Feb Filth Fest when I used songs as themes for the fics? bc if so, I can do that again ^^! (i'll make a poll of certain songs and you guys can pick what songs you want fics to be based on. the top four will be used!)

[ateezscupid]

which fic would you guys be interested seeing next? (other than chpt 9 of “hello you”)

♡

ex’s best friend w/ jongho

roommates with no boundaries w/ seonghwa

hookup only when you’re mad w/ san

ceo x worker w/ hongjoong

“it meant nothing” sex w/ wooyoung

2am calls every day w/ yeosang

age gap w/ yunho

any dark romance trope w/ mingi

other (request)

Voting ended onApr 10

[rosanry]

dolly: chapter i

"inhuman."

distant mind and gray noise,

an isolated doll maker haunted by past choices

comes to ablution when he encounters his own prototype.

pairing: perv!san x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut (mdni)

trigger warning: nsfw, gore, graphic descriptions, read at your own risk.

word count: 11,2k

series masterlist. next chapter.

୨୧

there are people in the world who move without resistance. spoken over and interrupted, touched without asking and don't pull away fast enough. plans are made around them, despite them. they adjust.

there are others who notice, who believe stillness is a request, and decide they would be better without the parts that move.

he was exhausted, heavy eyelids, full darkness, yet for some reason, rest refused to come. he hadn't taken his work gloves off. hadn't brushed his teeth. the bathroom door only being two meters away from his bed, close enough to mock him, still so out of reach. it was one of those nights, the kind where the reality of his life pressed down on him until breathing felt like effort.

san had always had a fascination for the human connection, so much that it scared him, the idea that someone could alter another's internal state using nothing but their voice, a vibration of air, felt dangerous, obscene. he studied it like one studies fire, from a distance, feeling it's warmth, terrified of it's closeness. no matter how much he tried, how much time he secretly rehearsed in his room, he never seemed to find the right words to express what he really means, and he noted people found comfort in misunderstanding. it gave them control.

on the rare occasion of someone getting a little too close, the foreseen recoil hurt worse than a kick in the teeth. as a child he had known friendship, briefly. a few names, a few afternoons. but as soon as his personality started to develop, they all drifted away, one by one. by high school he had no one. no one to sit beside, no one to reach out to later. he can only count the times he'd been invited over to someone's house for school project reasons, obligations with an end time. and girls, not even close enough to count as a possibility.

san's parents were wealthy enough that he had lifelong financial support. by the time he turned eighteen most decisions had already been made for him, through paperwork and inheritance structures he never questioned. when the opportunity to miss college came, along with the social interaction it required, he took it without hesitation. no one objected. now in his 20s, isolation settled in his routine. his only "friends" are his dolls, who he can talk to without receiving any judgement, any rejection. they listened, they stayed.

he got interested in sculpting at a very young age, long before it could be explained as a skill or career. he was good with his hands, careful, patient, drawn to the act of repairing and reshaping things that had once been whole. what started as an instinct now refined itself into precision. overtime his craftsmanship reached a level that drew attention well beyond his intimate surroundings. he now runs a doll making business from the state, producing pieces that collectors described as melancholic, intimate, and disturbingly beautiful. orders arrived from all over the world.

the work was anonymous by design. he never showed his face, never shared his voice, never even allowed his name to surface. the fear of being perceived, of being interpreted incorrectly, was intolerable. mystery protected him. the dolls could be seen, he didn't have to. some absences, he had learned, were easier to accept than to explain.

right after he finished his last order of the month, he delicately placed the small blonde girl on his shelf, along with her trinkets and various outfits, testing how each fabric changed the impression of her stillness.

"now, just look pretty." he muttered as he angled the softbox towards her immobile figure, until the light looked flattering, otherwise, she wouldn't have liked it. he angled the camera and paused, studying the frame. "they're all going to want you," he added, it wasn't a question, "of course they are."

"yeah... they're all gonna love you, how can they not love you?" enamoured, he snaps his camera, too immersed in the image of her with her little purse, imagining it's weight, it's purpose. he thinks of all the places she will take her stuff to, all the people she will meet, all the people who will reach for her.

"i would love you, look at that beautiful face, i don't doubt you're beautiful on the inside too" he smiles at her, convinced that she can hear his sweet compliments, and that if he makes enough silence, he could hear her thanking him. the idea rang too long.

he stops taking pictures to just look at her through the lense, he doesn't know if he's waiting for something, for her clay form to turn into skin, somehow. just like he always does. to reveal something he couldn't see directly.

nothing.

he drops the camera and for some reason, looking at her now only causes him pain. a pain he recognized well. "not again" he thinks, covering his face more out of habit than shame. he sits on the floor at the corner of the studio, trying to hold in the tears. although crying never solved anything, it only prolonged the moment.

he thinks of himself a year ago, being in the same exact situation, just like the year before too, and the year before that too. always at the same stage, always after the last detail, after there was nothing left to correct. completion was the problem, it meant stillness that invited thinking.

he thought briefly of the times he pressed the pigment against his lips, smearing the color where it didn't belong. to interrupt the numbness. the taste had been flat, chemical, vaguely bitter. disappointing in the way most things were.

twenty eight years old, sitting on the floor, attached to objects that couldn't return the favor. he enjoyed the focus, the precision, the hours disappearing in his hands. but once a doll was finished, his mind betrayed him. reaching for something impossible. reshaping clay, silence, women.

he gave up on love a long time ago, though he couldn't remember when. now he spent his time at home making his own food, training alone in his private gym, working until his hands ached and slept when exhaustion forced him to. a sort of situation that would drive anyone insane.

the house absorbed everything. but it was livable, that was the problem.

the echoes of his movements bounce all over the solitary mansion his parents once used to own. he drags himself to lay on his bed, steps louder than intended, bloodshot eyes and thick heart. the darkness allowing his imagination a torture

questioning himself how did he get to this point, why him? why couldn't he be normal? to have a childhood friendships that lasted lifetimes like other men do? to have more "manly" interests and a "manlier" job? to be close to people, to meet someone and fall in love, to bring her flowers and make her feel special, just like she would make him feel. for her to giggle around him, for her to like him, to touch him, kiss him, bare herself to him and connect physically.

he got up and took an adderall, tired of allowing his overthinking consume him. he got in his car and just drove, the radio distracting him like a shield against his shadow. the woods near his house had undoubtedly a pleasant view, the night mirroring his obscure notion. stepping out of his car, he took a deep breath, taking in the space, making sure his feet are touching the ground, gravity that made him human. "you're a human" he affirmed himself. he looks at his hands that have made such beautiful creations, he touches the trees around him, a piercing feeling on his fingers, drawing red, confirming his mortality. he looks up at the sky, bringing memories of past experiences with others who were no longer sharing this dimension. just as the unawareness of time and place starts to weigh on him, he notices he's not alone.

"it doesn't matter anymore! we're graduating!" san tries to make out the words of the group of strangers, his curiosity pulling him closer. it reached him in fragments by distance.

he hadn't heard any other voice than his own in weeks, when his unavoidable errands stretched his schedule. there were several of them, scattered. they seemed to be around his age, maybe younger. walking across the grove using their phones as flashlights cutting uneven paths. the good looking faces came to view, chatting and laughing about what seemed to be the date of their college graduation coming. they looked unguarded, careless. attractive in the way people are when they don't expect to be watched.

remorseful of his condition, san avoided thinking what it would be like to have that experience, to belong to a moment like that.

"come on y/n, we're getting close!" as a girl shouted, san then repeated said name in a whisper.

and that's when he saw her, he saw you.

he saw you in pieces, just like a finished product. doll like features, delicate hair and just the right amount of unintentional blush. helplessly trying to shoo away the mosquitoes while keeping up behind the group, lagging behind.

his breath caught, repeating your name silently as if to taste it's weight.

cupid's fruition, a white aura, the breeze sang to him. san saw every single one of his creations on your face, as if his own collection of "perfect women" merged and came to life. he's taken back, the air failing to reach his lungs. it was recognition beyond attraction. sharp and immediate. it felt less like seeing someone new and more like encountering a misplacement, something that had escaped its proper context.

for a brief, disorienting moment, he wondered if he had done this. if all those faces he had shaped and refined had been rehearsals for this one. the thought made him dizzy.

you were wrong in this setting. too real. too mobile. his mind reached instinctively for correction. fabric, lighting, composition, and he had to physically still himself to keep from acting on the impulse. the urge to adjust you, to reduce you to something he could contain, frightened him with its clarity.

you moved again, laughing at something someone ahead of her said, unaware of the scrutiny watching you.

"i told you to bring spray" said the tallest guy, looking down at your stature, which made san raise an eyebrow, a sudden pulse running through his body.

"i'm sorry" your voice as soft as the silk he used for the clothing of his dolls, the guy chuckled pulling you by his side, san didn't like that at all.

"fuck you mr. smith! fuck you and your stupid fucking mustache!" a black haired girl screamed into the air while the others laughed along, taking out her rage against her teacher.

"and mr. lee fucking cuckold!"

"oof.. i hated that son of a bitch too, hope he drowns in one of his wife's dildos"

"your turn, y/n," someone called out. "you know you’ve got something to say about pérez’s class."

a few of them laughed, another voice added, amused, "i don’t think i’ve ever heard her raise her voice."

you hesitated, then you shook your head, smiling faintly, as if declining was a reflex even if you were getting booed. a tall boy beside you hooked an arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer in a gesture that went unanswered. you didn’t lean into it, but didn’t pull away either. the imbalance registered immediately.

san watched the contact longer than he should have. the boy, your response to him. the way you adjusted your footing instead of confronting it.

their sweaters caught his attention next. uniform-like. identical fonts, identical colors, the name of the university printed cleanly across their chests. proof of affiliation. proof of belonging. he read and immediately recognized it, some of his former classmates went to that same school.

they resumed shouting into the open air, complaints spilling out in overlapping fragments. professors, deadlines, rules they no longer had to obey. the noise grated. it felt excessive, wasteful. you laughed once, briefly, then fell quiet again as the group moved forward.

san remained still, unnoticed, watching as they disappeared deeper into the dark.

as they settled a few meters ahead, a loose circle forming in the clearing. someone dropped a backpack onto the dirt, another kicked leaves away with the toe of their shoe. phone lights dimmed, then brightened again as they argued over who had service. their laughter came easy, answered.

san crouched behind a tree, close enough now to hear individual voices. too close. his pulse stuttered at the realization, but he didn’t move away.

they talked over one another constantly. sentences overlapped and dissolved before finishing, replaced by louder ones. it sounded exhausting. san tried to track a single voice, failed, then tried again.

youn sat cross-legged near the edge of the circle. he took the time to observe you, to get to know you. his breathing, tried to mimick yours. your hands, he pretended to own, slowly over his pants.

you were smaller than the rest of them. your knees pulled in, hands tucked into the sleeves of your sweater. someone nudged your shoulder with theirs when they laughed too hard. another leaned back and bumped into her without looking. no one apologized. no one noticed.

san's jaw tightened.

the same previous guy dragged you into a side hug without asking, again. you stiffened for half a second and san caught it, latched onto it. the conversation kept going.

san’s free fingers dug into the bark behind him. his mind supplied words no one had said. he watched your mouth open once, twice, then close again as someone else spoke louder. he decided you'd been interrupted. he decided you'd been ignored.

san felt the heat crawl up his neck. he imagined you shrinking further with every moment, folding in on herself, learning to disappear.

but you laughed along, that made it worse.

your laughter sounded practiced to him, automatic. he convinced himself it was something you did to survive. people smiled when they were uncomfortable all the time. he knew that. he was an expert in it.

the tall guy leaned toward her again, saying something san couldn’t hear. he felt suddenly, irrationally furious. they didn’t see you. not really, they couldn't. they didn’t know how to handle something delicate. they were loud, careless, all elbows and noise.

toying with the pleasure, a sound escaped him, barely more than a breath. his hands soft around his length, tenderly caressing his wet skin. suddenly, a foot shifting against gravel. the sound sliced through the moment like glass.

the circle froze.

"did you hear that?" someone whispered.

"what was that?" said yeosang, your long time best friend.

"probably a ghost," said jacob nonchalantly sitting by your side, your friend ally quickly shushing him.

"shut the fuck up, i swear to god." karina covered her ears in fear.

"yo girls, chill. it's windy alright?" tom got up looking around. "you want us to investigate?"

"stop, that's literally how the first one dies in horror movies." ally tried to reach for him to make him sit back down.

"hello?" yeosang tested and jacob chuckled at him.

"you think the murderer will reply?"

"guys stop, it's nothing. see? no more sounds."

as the group awaited the resonation, tom teasingly imitated a small effeminate whimper. one of the girls squealed, grabbing the person next to her. laughter followed immediately, louder than before, mocking the fear as soon as it appeared.

a chill running down your spine guides your head to the side, noticing something moving in the distance. "hey, don't be scared, we're okay." the warmth of jacob's hand on your shoulder calms you a little bit, you brush the thought out of your head.

san's vision tunneled.

they were laughing at the dark. at the idea of something watching them.

at him.

he didn’t wait to be discovered. he turned and ran, branches snapping at his sleeves, breath tearing out of his chest. he didn’t stop until the voices dissolved completely, until the woods swallowed him whole again.

୨୧

for the next few days, the tortured artist failed nostalgia him like a bad habit he couldn’t quit. over and over again. it arrived uninvited and left nothing behind. every morning followed the same humiliating arc: he woke up with tears already burning, the weight of time pressing on his chest before his eyes were even open. another day lost. another day closer to nothing.

he sat at his worktable and dissected air-dry clay with surgical focus, shaving millimeters off cheeks, correcting asymmetry only he could see. the faces came easily now. too easily. his hands no longer searched, they remembered. a curve here, a slope there. he didn’t need references anymore. he didn’t need sketches. your features surfaced on their own, as if the clay insisted.

when the studio grew quiet, he reached for his phone.

he scrolled through the university’s account with a devotion that embarrassed him. group photos, event flyers, graduation posts. he enlarged faces until they blurred, scanned the backgrounds, checked tags, refreshed stories long even seconds before expiring. every time he failed to find you, his stomach dropped, sharp and childish, like being stood up by someone who never agreed to meet him.

he told himself it was coincidence when your likeness began appearing everywhere. in the dolls’ glassy eyes, in the tilt of their mouths, in the way their heads leaned, just slightly, as if listening. he tried to correct it once. reshaped a jaw, widened the nose, but his hands rebelled, undoing the changes with quiet insistence.

soon, every small figure carried her imprint. they lined the shelves like accusations.

he stopped photographing them as carefully. clients could wait. deadlines blurred. what mattered was the repetition, the reassurance of recreating something he’d seen with his own eyes, something real. each finished doll reminded him of the night in the woods, not as it had happened, but as it should have gone. the way he should have intervened. the way you should have been alone.

by evening, exhaustion pressed him back into bed. he slept in fragments, waking with your name half formed on his tongue, the image of your face dissolving as soon as he tried to hold it. when he couldn’t stand the emptiness anymore, he got up and returned to the studio, convincing himself he was working.

he wasn’t trying to replace you, he was trying to prove you existed.

eventually, he decided to pay you a visit. not for any real reason, just to see.

the drive unfolded under a low, gray sky that pressed against the windshield, colorless and flat. his hands locked around the steering wheel, knuckles pale from strain rather than cold. they trembled anyway. he noticed it, hated it, tightened his grip until it hurt.

he ignored the familiar burn behind his eyes, the one that usually dragged him back to bed, back to the dark. today, he dressed instead. pulled his least wrinkled clothes from the back of the drawer. the fabric faintly damp, carrying the smell of neglect. he changed his shirt twice, then once more, before settling on the first one again. his hair refused to cooperate. he fixed it anyway.

he left the house before his courage could decay.

the closer he got to campus, the more his thoughts unraveled. he told himself he wasn’t expecting anything. that he wasn’t going to speak to you. that this was only observation. reassurance. proof that you were real, that the night in the woods hadn’t been a fabrication his mind invented to survive the quiet.

but his imagination betrayed him.

scenes played uninvited. introductions that made sense only to him, conversations where you listened the way no one ever had, moments of recognition that felt immediate and undeserved. he pictured you responding warmly to a stranger you had never seen before. accepting his presence without question, without fear. the logic didn’t matter. the images persisted.

he mistook the pressure in his chest for hope.

hope felt harmless, even virtuous. people were allowed to hope. people hoped all the time. unalarmed, necessary, like a structure hastily built to keep something worse from caving in. he told himself that paths didn’t cross without reason. that accidents weren’t random.

that the world had finally, briefly, aligned in his favor.

"destiny" he tried to smile to himself.

colder than usual, the campus moved under layers of puffed fabric and hunched shoulders. students danced and crossed the pale field in uneven currents. some of them running toward lectures, others dragging themselves toward libraries heavy with finals. their movements felt choreographed, practiced. san usually threaded through them too quickly. a passing shape, the kind people registered only after he was already gone.

today, he slowed.

the stillness scared him more than movement ever had. he stood with the sense that if he blinked, if he turned his head at the wrong moment, he would miss your encounter entirely. his eyes skimmed faces without landing, his pulse counting bodies like inventory. he told himself to breathe, that this wasn’t waiting.

the minutes pose as hours in his head. he felt brave, prepared to face anything and like turning back to his car to drive far away, all in the same second.

a thought surfaced, unearned and stubborn: maybe soon enough, you'd be the one looking for him. embracing him into a warm hug.

shy steps forward, each movement rehearsed in his head before it happened. the light was thin, filtered through clouds, but it burned anyway. someone nearby mentioned mr. pérez. he turned his neck before scanning again.

time stretched wrong. minutes bloated into something unbearable. he felt simultaneously braced for confrontation and on the verge of retreat, his body unable to choose between advance and escape. the idea struck him suddenly, with humiliating force, that none of this was real. that he had built you from fragments, mistaken coincidence for meaning.

the wind picked up, cold against his face, as if urging him to leave.

he didn’t.

instead, he retreated into the cafeteria, the noise and warmth hitting him all at once. he took a seat with his back pressed against a table, against anyone. he rubbed his eyes hard with his palms, willing his heart to slow, willing the image of you to stay intact.

"so i ended up firing my previous p.t.," your voice alerts him, cutting though him so suddenly his shoulders tensed. "he was too harsh on me, i could barely move the next day."

he froze, the sound a little too close, too specific. he turned his head slowly, careful not to give himself away. you were seated just behind him, back to back. if it weren't for the thickness of the booth, you'd be touching him right now.

the shorter guy from the woods sat across from you, legs stretched out, already comfortable.

"yeah, i remember," the guy said. "i called you to help me move that microwave and you could barely lift it."

you scoffed. “exactly. he pushed me too hard, that’s on him." a cute whine comes out of your mouth, san still processing the situation. wondering if it'd be too suspicious if he changed his seat so he could take a better look at you.

"i know, i know. i blame him too, don't worry"

san stared at the scuffed floor between his shoes, listening too closely. every word felt stolen. he tried to catalog details instead. the cadence of your voice, the way you exaggerated the last syllables when you complained

"but i'm excited to take this class with karina."

"pilates, huh?" he laughed. "i don't know if stretching will help with anything but, whatever suits you, i guess," he popped a fry into his mouth teasingly.

"have you ever even tried it, yeosang?" san pictured you rolling your eyes.

"absolutely not. i'm a man."

you laughed a melodic tone. "oh please. try it once, i dare you, oh-" you stopped suddenly. "they forgot my dressing, i'll be right-"

you stood, san stood too.

the movement was reflexive, unplanned. before he could correct himself, retreat, he turned right into you, colliding with your much smaller frame.

the impact was awkward. your shoulder hit his chest, he felt the brief, unmistakable warmth of you through layers of fabric. real, human, undeniable. his body burned.

"oh, sorry." you apologized immediately, already stepping back.

the word landed wrong, it meant fault to him, and he hadn't meant to exist in your path at all.

his mouth opened, then closed. the air fell on him and he decided to nod once, too sharply, eyes fixed somewhere on your collarbone instead of your face.

you were already moving around him, unbothered, unfazed, calling something back to your friend over your shoulder. he remained standing for a second too long. the space you had been now felt exposed, as if something essential had been removed. his heart pounded but no longer with anticipation, but with the dull panic of having been perceived, and found unremarkable.

his hands trembled, replaying the moment again and again, trying to decided whether it had meant anything at all. his body stalled between decisions, waiting for instructions out of thin air. he could feel the scope he'd disturbed, the gap he created by getting up at all. no one was looking at him and that, somehow, made it worse.

that realization pressed hard against his chest.

careful not to make another sound, he kept his eyes down, he moved toward the exit and the door swung shut behind him with a dull thud. outside, the cold hit him all at once. the air felt sharper, like punishment. he walked fast, then faster, not running but close enough that his breath started to snag. every few steps, the moment replayed. the collision, your apology. the way you'd stepped around him without pause. he catalogued it obsessively, searching for signs he might have missed.

you must have thought he was strange.

he must have startled you.

they were probably talking about it now, the certainty came easily.

he cut across campus without direction, avoiding clusters of students, skirting the edges of paths. the buildings blurred past him, indistinct. this place wasn’t meant for him. it never had been. the realization settled with a familiar bitterness, one he recognized too well to argue with.

by the time he reached his car, his hands were shaking again. he didn’t sit right away, he stood beside it, head bowed, breathing shallow, trying to steady himself. he told himself he’d done the right thing by leaving. that staying would have made it worse. that being seen, even briefly, had been a mistake.

as he drove away, the campus shrunk in the rearview mirror, he made a quiet decision he didn’t name aloud. he wouldn’t come back. some places were not survivable without control.

୨୧

he arrived at the safety of his home. at the comforting shroud against the world outside. dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight that pierced the windows, illuminating the intricate tools scattered across his workbench. tiny chisels, delicate brushes, spools of fine silk thread.

on a velvet stand, he took his latest work, a doll that's meant to look exactly like you. same hair and colours. he spends the whole day painting her to sublimity, an honoring manifestation. she only needed her babydoll dress, so with tunnel vision focus, a boiling course through his body, he sews her little clothes at it's most accuracy.

he doesn’t reach for the others anymore. they stay where they are. lined up, covered or turned away. their silence thick with something he refuses to name. he tells himself it’s easier this way, more efficient.

it's only you, that he brings to the desk now.

the dress is wrong. not poorly made, never that. the stitching is clean, the fabric sits exactly where it should. pale blue, soft, unthreatening. you chose it carefully and he respected. something that wouldn’t demand attention. something that wouldn’t invite interruption.

still, he adjusts it again, smoothing a crease that isn’t there.

"it’s better like this," he murmurs, though nothing has changed.

the hair falls the way he remembers. he tucks a strand behind her ear, pauses, then leaves it there as if the gesture might hold. he lifts the doll slowly, with reverence and precision, bringing it closer until the painted cheek presses against his own. the surface is cool at first, then warms slightly where it meets his skin.

he closes his eyes. for a moment, the noise in his head evens out. the overlapping fragments of your voice, the laughter, the word sorry, flatten into something manageable. contained. he can hold this version without it shifting on him.

the doll says nothing, of course it doesn’t.

his grip tightens slightly, not enough to damage it, just enough to confirm it won’t move unless he allows it to. he exhales against it's hair, slow, measured, now syncing his breathing to something that doesn’t resist.

across the room, beneath the cloth, the other dolls remain unseen. he is aware of them anyway. of the versions that didn’t work. the ones that felt almost right until they didn’t. this one is correct because it resembles you perfectly.

he lowers it back to the desk, adjusting its posture so it faces forward, compliant, composed. the crease in the dress has returned, he smooths it again.

"stay like this," he says.

and it does.

୨୧

this time he remembers to shower, steam blooming around him, unused. he reached for the familiar cloth mask, the one he’d worn for years, a barrier between his pale, gaunt features and the world, even his own reflection. his fingers hesitated. your face swam before him, your eyes bright, unmasked. his hand dropped. it remained hung.

he moved through the house, a ghost in his own clay mausoleum. blankets, heavy and grey with dust, shrouded the mirrors. he had covered them all, years ago. unable to bear the hollow gaze staring back. he stopped before the largest, a towering antique in the main parlor, it's ornate frame caked with neglect. he gripped the edge of the blanket. it ripped with a soft sigh as he pulled.

the glass revealed him. a gaunt face, sharp angles, eyes that held the depth of forgotten wells. his hair, dark and tangled, clung to his forehead. he saw the faint lines of exhaustion, the shadow of a smile he hadn’t worn in years. he saw himself, not the monster he'd imagined, not the void, but a man. a man who had just showered, who stood unmasked, who now stared, truly stared, at his own reflection for the first time in an age. the image held no pity, only stark, unblinking truth.

a tremor ran through him, his lips parted and took a breath, deep and shuddering. he pulled on his worn, black coat, its heavy fabric a familiar comfort, and stepped out into the biting morning.

he found a bench and from here, he commanded a clear view of the park entrance, the paved path leading to the community center, and the glass fronted studio beyond. he pulled a worn paperback from his coat pocket, it's pages unread, a prop. his eyes, however, never left the studio door.

minutes stretched into an hour. the park began to stir. a young mother pushed a stroller, it's wheels crunching on the gravel path. a couple walked out of a costume shop, giggling about medical terms. an elderly man, his back bent, shuffled by with a small, barking dog. two kids arguing about who'll play which animated character. each passing figure registered as a blur, a non-entity. he didn't care about them, he only cared about you. his focus remained absolute.

then, the studio door opened.

a stream of women emerged, their faces flushed, their hair damp. they wore brightly colored leggings and fitted tops, carrying yoga mats tucked under their arms.

you were there.

not alone. never alone. you stood with two other girls, your face was open in a way he hadn’t seen before, tilted toward them, unguarded. san looked away too late, the image burned already.

it wasn't just the resemblance anymore. it was you, the vibrant energy that radiated from you, a stark contrast to the muted world he inhabited. the model aspect was a vessel, a perfect form. you were the spirit within.

he tried to stand. his body didn’t cooperate.

"…i’m just saying," one of the girls was saying. taller, sharper voice. karina. he remembered the name without knowing where from. "jacob’s not that bad."

his eyes widened.

"i know," you replied. "he’s just-"

you didn’t finish the sentence, or at least he couldn't hear it. someone walked past, laughter trailing behind them, swallowing the rest, making his ears ring.

"he likes you," karina pressed. "you know he does."

a pause, inviting interpretation.

san leaned forward without realizing it, elbows pressing into his knees. his mouth tasted wrong, metallic, like he might be sick.

"i don’t know," you said finally. "i’m not really thinking about that right now, i got my trip to paris."

"your trip to paris," the other girl chimed in along with you, her tone lighter, teasing. “baguette girl.”

paris.

the word landed with a dull thud, heavy and final.

"it’s just a gap year," you said quickly. "it's not like i'm gonna be gone forever."

"well," karina laughed, "you’re not gonna be here either, are you?"

they all laughed then. easy in their ears.

san's vision didn't just narrow, it left.

he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, grounding himself over the tilting surface. he told himself to get up. to move and leave before this became something he couldn’t undo.

but his body stayed rooted.

he watched as you shrugged, your smile smaller now but still present. the noise of the park rushed back in all at once. footsteps, voices, screams. someone tripped on their feet in passing. he flinched, sharp and obvious, drawing a glance from a stranger who immediately looked away.

that did it.

san stood too fast, dizziness washing over him in a cold wave. he didn’t look at you again. he couldn’t. the idea of seeing you laugh once more, knowing now that you were already planning to leave made something inside him recoil.

he walked away stiffly, as if moving too quickly might cause everything to spill out of him at once.

behind him, the laughter continued. ahead of him, the park stretched on, indifferent. by the time he reached the street, the word paris repeated in his head, stripped of romance, reduced to a deadline. a vanishing point. proof that waiting meant losing.

when he got home and walked through the west hall, the mansion is in its usual state. dim, neglected. his footsteps echo, then dissolve. halfway down the corridor, he slows. there’s nothing there. he knows that. still, his body reacts first, a gasp in his breath, like he’s entered a room where someone else is sleeping.

not posed but present, he saw you at the end of the hall. knees pulled slightly inward on one of the antique chairs, hands folded in your lap, not knowing where else to put them. you don't look afraid, or at least he's convinced you wouldn't be.

the house feels different when he thinks of you in it. smaller. warmer. less like a museum and more like a place that’s being used for the first time in decades.

you would like it here, he thinks. not immediately, but eventually.

the image fades when a floorboard creaks under his own weight. the hall empty again, returning to it's original silence. the chair at the end remains untouched. he exhales, long and unsteady, pressing his palm briefly against the wall as if to ground himself.

"not yet," he murmurs, making a promise.

he walks away. the house feels expectant, like it knows.

suddenly he stops leaving things where they fall. cups don’t stay by the sink overnight anymore. shoes are lined up instead of kicked aside. he opens windows he hasn’t touched in years, just for a few minutes at a time, lingering the cold a little too long.

the dolls start watching him. worse than dramatic, incremental. he avoids meeting their eyes. it's the clay curing, the paint, the solvents. they now faced the wall as he worked.

but he doesn't notice he started doing that. to him, they're unimpressed. rows of faces he catches through his reflection in the glass of a display case. fragmented by curves. short of warmth.

"what?" he asks. "you don't like it?"

silence, but he can feel it. their collective knowing. that they lean towards the version of him they remember. hands steady, focus absolute, no distractions bleeding into the work.

'you were better before,' their stillness seems to say. 'before her.'

he snaps at a seam too hard and cracks a doll’s wrist clean through. the sound is louder than intended in the small room. final. his stomach drops.

"i didn’t mean-” he starts, then stops himself.

the doll’s broken hand lies under the light like a gun, an accusation. that night, he covers the shelves with cloth. not for the dolls, to protect himself. the house continues it's quiet rearranging. he buys a second toothbrush and leaves it in the cup without thinking. he replaces the locks on the inside doors, less likely to jam. he throws away an old jacket that smells too much like paint thinner, like distant noises and replaces it with something softer.

he starts cooking meals meant for two portions and eating only half. the fridge now fills with things he doesn’t like. fruit. yogurt. herbal teas. foods that remind him of you and feel gentle.

somewhere in the darkened studio, beneath layers of cloth, the dolls hold their silence, growing judgment.

୨୧

the deafening hum of the grocery store pressed down, a dull, insistent drone against your eardrums. you pushed the cart, it's single wobbly wheel with a rhythmic squeak, matching ally’s bright chatter. she bounced ahead, a sunflower amidst the sterile aisles, her hand sweeping through a display of perfectly ripe avocados.

"look at these beauties!" ally’s voice, a bell chime. "don’t they just scream ‘guacamole night’?" she tossed two into the cart, their smooth, dark skins a stark contrast to the chrome. "oh my god, no way."

you quietly followed her gaze, near the fruit station settled the plushies aisle. she was already reaching the ears of the teddy bears before you managed to turn.

you observed her endeared, at how she picked up the scarred fish from 'finding nemo' and pouted at it like it could observe her, mimick her.

"i used to have the biggest crush on him as a child."

you blinked, the sudden shift in topic jarring. "gill? are you serious?"

ally nodded vigorously, her bright curls bouncing. "yes! he was so… enigmatic."

you stared at her, a slow, incredulous smile spreading across your face. "you had a crush on an animated fish." the words felt foreign on your tongue, a concept so absurd it was almost beautiful.

she puffed out her cheeks, feigning indignation. "hey! don't judge. you can't say he doesn't look like a dilf."

"gross."

"well, who was yours then? who was your astute childhood prince charming?"

you pushed the cart towards the dairy aisle, the refrigerated air a cool balm against your skin.

"mmh, not prince charming." your gaze drifted past rows of milk cartons, landing on a display of brightly colored yogurt cups. "mine was… more adventurous."

ally’s eyebrows rose, a silent invitation to continue.

"peter pan." you finally confessed, the name a soft echo from a distant past. "not the animated one, the 2003 live action one."

ally’s eyes widened, then she clapped her hands together, a sudden, joyful sound that made a nearby shopper jump. "oh, that peter pan! yes! he was dreamy. all those curls, and that mischievous smile."

"i know! i used to leave my window open at night so he would come in," you mentally slapped yourself at your confession.

"oh, to be as hopeful as we were when we were kids." she picked up a carton of eggs with a dreamy sigh, her fingers tracing the smooth, fragile shells.

"you said it."

little did she know you still did that, occasionally, the need of hope was heavy. when the echoes of childhood longing lingered. this morning's class was dismissed for unclarified reasons, but since you couldn't go back to sleep, you decided to watch your favorite childhood movies, 'peter pan' happened to be one of them.

you slid the disc into your ancient dvd player, the whirring sound a nostalgic hit. he appeared, peter pan himself. green and mischief, crashing through the window in a spark of chaos and freedom you yearned for.

you remembered the first time you saw the movie, secretly. when your own home, then, was not a place of whimsical toys and comforting silence. you remember the metallic scent of fear. the way your stomach would clench, a knot of dread tightening with every shout, wishing you were wendy darling.

peter pan, had been a beacon. he represented a world where children were free, where magic was real, and where grown up problems simply didn’t exist. you had watched him, mesmerized and comforted. a desperate prayer forming in your young heart.

take me away. just take me away.

you wiped your tears, tears of recognition, of an aching understanding. feeling silly and glad that no one could see you in this state.

you walked to the window of your room, the old wooden frame groaning softly as you pushed it open. a gust of morning breeze swept in, ruffled the curtains, sighing into the quiet apartment. you left the window wide open, a childish dare to the universe. a small, defiant act. a thrill for the distant memory of a boy who could fly, and a girl who desperately wished he would come for her. you felt like looking at a 7 year old in the mirror again and even though your crushing gaze shifted to captain hook this time, the feeling of childish desire gave you comfort.

as your multiple tote bags hang from your shoulders, you reached ally's car under the rain, talking to her absentmindedly about a game you used to play. she gets on the passenger side and before she could start she freezes, frowning at the phone in her hand.

"thank you for driving me by the way, so lucky that classes were cancelled today." you look at her skin quickly turning pale as you fastened your seatbelt. "i'm gonna need to get the dairies home but i'll be quick and then we can pick up karina..."

used to her dramatic behavior, you gave yourself a moment to release the heaviness of the shopping stress, the large amounts of peanut butter jars should be the main concern right now, but when you noticed the whites of eyes widening, face still in shock, you leaned towards her.

"is everything alright?" you tilted your head to look at her, then at her phone.

"it's mr. pérez..." she scrolled back up to show you the title of the article she'd d been sent, bold in big letters. "he's dead."

'college professor stabbed to death, no suspects found at the scene.'

୨୧

it's been almost two years since you moved out, your studio apartment might be small, old, scratched up, leaning with age, but you're happy to finally get the fridge space all to yourself. to decorate with all the books and delicate trinkets and ornaments you wanted. a ceramic rabbit, a stack of vintage books for kids, a collection of wind up toys that you liked to imagine used to belong to someone's now favorite grandma, their paint faded and mechanisms stiff.

it was a haven for you, a carefully constructed world designed to reclaim a childhood you never truly had, a playful rebellion against the starkness of your past.

on the other side, pages scattered, unfolded bedsheets, glasses from evenings of unanswered phone calls. you've talked it out many times before, but such upbringing stays a fog. ashamed box hidden under your wardrobe, kicked and out of sight. it was the only item in your apartment that defied the whimsical aesthetic, unadorned, utilitarian presence.

yet he found it, as he stood in the middle of your room.

the risk of midday was pronounced, but as the dark clouds painted the sky, strong breezes tasting of liquid alarms, the streets cleared of people who'd rather stay at home. he took the emptiness and ran to the emergency stairs before he could be seen.

his fingers traced the edges. the sweet scent from the strawberry cake diffuser, the pink accents and teddy bears, they were all a trap. a disguise you wore well. a flimsy curtain over something far darker.

he rummaged, gently untying the thick threads. a high school diploma from a town three states away. a smudged photo, no one smiling. hospital records. a faded newspaper, names blurred, but a clear address.

"you hide it well," san breathed.

meticulously replacing everything, he tucked the box back into it's hiding spot. his hands felt clammy with the information, now absorbed, tingling beneath his skin. he got up again, his eyes studied the room one last time before settling on the pink sheets, the crumpled pillow, still bearing the faint indentation of your head. he recognizes your nightstand from the picture you posted in march where it casted a golden hour. now things were a little scattered, used and lived.

a moth drawn to a flame, he pulled back the covers, the fabric cool against his skin. he layed down, sinking into the mattress, the faint scent of your shampoo clinging to the pillow. he pressed his tears into it, inhaling deeply. a desperate, animal sound escaping him. he imagined you there, beside him. your soft skin against his, your breath warm on his neck.

he doesn't exactly know the cause of his wept, drowned in pressure and a bit of eagerness. on a remnant note, your apartment is now seen blurred. he cries and cries pathetically, sorrow impatient nauseous him to a deep breath.

hands trembling, went to the button of his jeans. the denim felt rough, constricting. he fumbled with it, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. he needed you, needed to bridge the chasm of loneliness that had consumed him for so long, ached with a profound emptiness.

announced by your wind chime and shaky windows, it eventually starts to rain. the impact on the surface of your balcony travel a gentle patter to his ears. your name a soft chant, his hands on his crotch. watered leaves and his thoughts.

cock sprung forth, already engorged and straining, a pulsing testament to his desperate need. it was thick, veiny, tip glistening with a bead of pre cum. he began to stroke, slowly at first. his eyes fixed on the ceiling, on the shadows dancing in the corner of the room. wondering if you'd ever touched yourself, in this exact spot. he closed his eyes, picturing you. your soft lips. your wide, innocent eyes. he imagined you lying beside him, your head on the pillow, your small sensitive hands reaching for him.

the strokes grew, fastening their pace, more urgent. the feel of the camisole you left under your pillow soft against his cheek, the silkiness of it. he pictured you naked, vulnerable, her body open to him, welcoming him like his dolls.

"oh, dolly," he gasped, his voice thick with lust and anguish. "so good."

he pushed his hips in a desperate, grinding motion, mimicking the act he longed to perform. the sheets tangled around his legs, hot and damp. as he reached down, he pulled his balls up, letting them slap against his perineum with each thrust of his hand. the squelch, the suction, the way your walls would grip him, milking him dry was clear in his mind.

a grunt, guttural sound of pure, unadulterated need filled your space. pulling and releasing, pulling and releasing.

the air grew thick with his scent, sticky and hot. the emptiness, momentarily filled, now yawned open wider than before. once he cleaned the stained sheets, a profound sadness settled over him. the scent of strawberry cake still lingered, now mingling with the musky odor of his spent desire.

one night turns into four, then five, then two weeks, commissions closed, disused residency and terminating restraint. he followed you almost every single day, he memorized your work days and classes. he learned your favorite music, using your public playlist and the songs you blasted at night as an idea. he learned your favorite foods, as you had your breakfast in your balcony and through the discarded envelopes he found in your trash. he learned the size of your bras and your preferred model of panties.

he knew he was crossing a line, stepping further into the realm of the unsettling. but the thought no longer bothered him. you had become his sole purpose, his only connection to the living world. his muse, his inspiration, his reason for being. his, his, his.

୨୧

murdered, a chilling pronouncement.

not just dead, but murdered. someone had plunged a blade into him, again and again. a brutal, intimate act of violence.

a strange, nauseating twist coiled in your gut. a cold, alien sensation, a morbid fascination mixed with something darker, something you couldn't quite name. you despised him, yes. hated him with a fervor that surprised even yourself. but this… it was too extreme. too final.

ally pulled the car over to the curb and turned to you, her face pale, a question in her eyes you couldn’t answer.

"he was such a prick," ally finally said, her voice strained. "but… god, y/n. stabbed?"

you nodded, a small, unsure movement. the image of a knife, his face, contorted in pain, in surprise. the thought made your stomach clench.

"i… i don’t know what to say,” you managed, your voice thin, reedy. it felt like a lie, a betrayal of the vitriol you’d harbored for him. you wanted to feel shock, grief even, for the sheer tragedy of it. instead, a peculiar emptiness settled in your chest, a void where outrage should have been.

ally reached, her hand finding yours, squeezing tight, you were not okay. you'd wished him gone, wished him silent, to stop targeting you, wished him out of your life. but not like this. never like this.

you hugged your friend tightly, caressing her hair as comfort for having to keep driving in such state. mr. perez wasn't your favorite professor by any means, but you can't help but wear a blame for cursing him so many times. under your breath, but still there.

you shed your damp coat, letting it fall in a heap by the door before a sudden rush of wind through the window made you run towards it and close it, knowing your remote brain would play tricks on you.

a guilty shiver ran down your spine, a confusing sadness. you hugged yourself, trying to quell the tremor. but underneath yourself, a dark, insidious current pulsed. a sense of relief. relief that his critical gaze would never fall upon you again. relief that his sharp tongue would never cut you down. relief that the constant pressure, the feeling of being hunted, had finally lifted. graduation's coming up anyway, you weren't supposed to see him at all anytime soon.

the realization hit you like a cold wave. you were grieving, but you were also selfishly relieved. the two emotions clashed, a brutal internal battle that left you breathless. you sank onto the worn sofa, burying your face in your hands. you tried to force remorse, tried to summon genuine sorrow for the man. but it wouldn't come. only that hollow, sickening relief, mingling with a profound unease.

no one deserves that.

a desperate plea to your own conscience. "no one deserves to die like that," you whispered against yourself. you wouldn't wish such a horrific death on anyone, not even him. the thought brought a fresh wave of nausea.

"stop," you cut the air with your voice. the man is dead, gone in an unimaginable horrific way, there's no space to feel remorseful right now.

the silence of the apartment started pressing in, heavy and stagnant. the need to cleanse it, to cleanse yourself made you push yourself up. you moved to the small, cluttered bookshelf and selected a few, unscented, pure white candles, and arranged them on the coffee table. one by one, the tiny flames dancing, casting flickering shadows on the walls. the soft glow pushed back the encroaching darkness, a small, fragile barrier against the unsettling thoughts.

after a deep sigh, you strip of your clothes, bare and delicate, and walked into the small bathroom, the tiles cold beneath your bare feet. the shower curtain, a faded floral pattern, swayed slightly as you pulled it back. the lingering guilt, the confusing relief, the unsettling emptiness, for a moment, they all receded, replaced by the sheer, overwhelming sensation of the cold. it stung and numbed. shocked your system into carrying away the day's grime, and you hoped, the day's burden.

completely and utterly unaware of the lustful eyes following your every movement from the narrow ledge of your balcony, san pressed himself against the cold brick, the rain a veil around him.

୨୧

your fingers trembled as you scrolled through the article. the details blurring into a gruesome tableau. the police tape, the hushed passerbys, the vacant unreal stare of a detective. you looked out the window, the rain now a soft tap of clearing skies.

you opened your social media, thumbs moving without conscious thought. a picture of a lone candle flickering in the dark, a somber filter. you typed out a short, heartfelt (try of a) message, a lament for a life cut short. it felt inadequate, a coward shield against the guilt gnawing at her. you pressed post, offering a fleeting, hollow comfort.

but there was one person, who you weren't expecting to call bullshit on your message.

jacob: hey, saw your post.

jacob: really rough about pérez, huh?

you stared, unwelcome jump. jacob. the 6'4 tall sports guy everyone seemed to link you with. athletic, with a smile that could disarm any person.

y/n: yeah

y/n: still can't believe it

jacob: me neither.

jacob: you doing okay?

your fingers stiffed. were you doing okay? your apartment felt too big, too silent. the news had left you raw, exposed.

y/n: not really

jacob: thought so

jacob: you want to clear your head? go for a walk?

jacob: the rain's pretty mild now

a walk. the idea, initially, felt wrong. too casual, too normal for a night stained by murder. but the thought of remaining cooped up, drowning in your thoughts, was worse. a breath of cool air, the distraction of conversation, might be exactly what you needed.

y/n: k

y/n: sounds cool

jacob: cool

jacob: i’m just a few blocks away

jacob: see you in ten?

y/n: see u then

you changed quickly, pulling on a soft, dark sweater and jeans. your reflection stared back, eyes wide, a pallor clinging to your skin. leaving your world felt off, but you needed something, anything, to ground you. jacob’s offer, however unexpected, felt like a lifeline.

a soft knock sounded at her door exactly ten minutes later. he looked exactly as he always did. effortlessly put-together, radiating an easy confidence.

"hey," he said, his voice a low rumble. his eyes, a warm hazel, held yours. "you look a little shaken."

"i am," you confessed, stepping out and pulling the door shut behind you. you stared back at your door for a moment, you don't know why you did that. you just let your hand rest on the knob a little longer.

"come on," he snapped you out of your small trance, before offering a hand and gesturing down the hallway. it's light feeling harsh. "let's just walk. no destination, just clear your head."

once outside, the cool night air embraced you, a welcome caress against your flushed cheeks.

"it's just... i keep thinking about him," you began. the words tumbling out, raw and unbidden. "mr. pérez. he was so strict, you know? always pushing us, always finding the flaw in every argument. i hated it sometimes. i really did." your voice dropped to a near whisper. "i even thought, just yesterday, that i wished he'd just... disappear." jacob walked beside you, his strides long and even. he didn't interrupt, just listened. "and now he's gone," you continued. "and i feel so awful. like, what kind of person wishes something like that? even if it's just a- fleeting thought... a frustration." you shook your head, a tremor running through you. "it’s selfish, right? to feel relieved when someone dies?"

he finally spoke, his voice gentle. "it's human, y/n. we all have dark thoughts, frustrations. it doesn't mean you actually wished him dead. you’re just processing a really shocking event, and your mind is trying to make sense of it through your own experiences with him." he glanced at you, his expression sympathetic. "he was a tough professor. no one's going to deny that. you're allowed to feel conflicted. it's part of grieving, even for someone you didn’t exactly adore."

his words felt like a balm, simple and understanding. the knot in your stomach loosened it's grip, just slightly.

"thanks, jacob." you said, a faint ghost smile touching your lips. "i needed to hear that."

you walked in comfortable silence for a few blocks, the rhythm of your footsteps a steady counterpoint to the distant hum of the city. the air grew cooler, carrying the faint scent of damp pavement and blooming night. you felt a flicker of calm settle over you, the oppressive weight of your earlier thoughts easing.

"you know what would really hit the spot right now?" he broke the silence. "ice cream. there's a place around the corner that stays open late, they have the weirdest names for the flavors but i swear, they're so good."

your eyes widened, hugging yourself closer at the thought of ice in this cold temperature. "right now?"

"yes, right now" a natural leader, he declared. "trust me. you'll love it."

he led you down a side street, the residential houses giving way to a more commercial strip. neon signs flickered, casting colorful glows on the pavement. the ice cream parlor was small, it's windows steamy, a comforting beacon of warmth and sweetness. you stepped inside, the chill of the night receding. the air was thick with the scent of sugar, vanilla, and various fruit essences.

you glanced at the names of the flavors, barely able to make up what they were really for. fox's blood for raspberry. golden bruise for pineapple. marionette for cookies and cream.

"two scoops, i'll have... burnt bones for me," jacob told the young woman behind the counter, but before you could even open your mouth, he continued. "rabbit's tongue for the lady." he turned to you with a confident smile and a wink, "don't worry, it's just strawberry."

you felt a small, pleasant flutter in her chest. it was a simple gesture, yet it felt thoughtful, kind.

he paid, then handed you a cup filled with baby pink ice cream. you took a tentative spoonful. the flavor was fruity but mostly creamy, subtly sweet.

"wow," you breathed, genuinely surprised. "you were right. it's amazing."

"see?" he chuckled, taking a bite of his own caramel scoop. "sometimes you just need someone to pick for you. yake the decision making off your plate for a bit."

you ate your ice cream, leaning against a display case, talking about nothing in particular, avoiding college conversations. you found herself relaxing, the easy flow of conversation a welcome distraction from the earlier darkness. jacob was a good listener, his gaze steady and attentive, making you feel seen, understood.

"this was a really good idea, jacob," you said, finishing the last of your strawberry. "thank you. i really needed this."

"anytime," he replied, his smile widening. "come on, let's walk a bit more. it's still early."

jacob led you down a different street, one you didn't recognize. the buildings grew taller, their facades more imposing. distant music, a heavy, rhythmic throb, began to filter through the urban landscape.

"where are we headed?" you asked, a faint unease stirring within her. the street seemed to narrow, the lights growing dimmer, save for a pulsating glow ahead.

"just a little shortcut," he said, his voice casual, but his hand suddenly found the small of your back, a light, guiding pressure. it lingered there. a touch that felt a little too firm, a little too intimate for a casual stroll.

the thumping music grew louder, shaking the very ground beneath your feet. you rounded a corner, and a wall of sound hit her, vibrant and overwhelming. a dazzling array of flashing lights painted the night sky, spilling from a massive building. a nightclub. the bass vibrated through your bones, a primal pulse.

"whoa," you managed, shielding your eyes from the blinding strobes. "it's so loud."

jacob steered you into a narrow alleyway running alongside the club. it suddenly smelled of stale beer, sweat, and something metallic, faintly acrid. the music, though muffled by the brick walls, still hammered relentlessly. you couldn't recognize anything, not the music, not the air, unfamiliar at your core. the alley was dark, save for the spill of light from a distant street lamp and the occasional flash from the club’s entrance.

"yeah, it gets pretty wild," his voice now lower, closer. his hand moved from her back, tracing a path up your arm, his fingers brushing against her bare skin beneath the cuff of her sweater. a shiver, not of cold, ran down your spine.

"jacob, maybe we should head back," your voice barely audible over the din. a sudden, cold prickle of fear bloomed in your stomach. he seemed to crack, revealing something colder beneath.

"what's the rush?" his body turning to block your path. the light from the street lamp caught his eyes, and they no longer held the warm, sympathetic glint you remembered.

"i really should get home," you insisted with a crack on your voice, trying to step around him. your heart hammering against your ribs. it suddenly clicked to you. he's big and smart. he knew mr. pérez. he barely seemed affected or even scared of a murderer around the small town. you had to get out of here, right now.

he didn't move sharply. instead, he reached out, his fingers closing around your wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. "y/n... you said we were having a good time, didn't you?" his smile was gone, replaced by a tight unyielding line.

"jacob, let go of me," a tremor of panic covered your words. you tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, bruising your skin. the alley suddenly felt like a trap.

"don't play coy," he breathed, his face close to yours, the scent of his breath suddenly unpleasant. "you know what this is. you came out with me." his other hand snaked around your waist, pulling your flush against his chest. you could feel the hard muscle beneath his hoodie, the insistent pressure of his body.

"no! i came out for a walk! you said you wanted to help me!" a desperate gasp as you struggled, twisting against his hold, your mind screaming. this wasn't happening. not here, not now.

his lips descended, rough and demanding, pushing against yours. you clamped your mouth shut, turning her head away, but he was relentless. his mouth pressed against your cheek, your jaw. from your waist, sliding down, pressing against your hip, pulling you closer still. the heavy bass from the club pounded in your ears, a frantic drumbeat to the terror.

"stop it, jacob!" you cried, voice muffled, tears stinging your eyes. you tried pushing against his chest with all your might, but he was too strong, too determined. but before you could process, you think he might've grasp the situation, that he was back to his normal self as you couldn't feel his penetrating grasp anymore. but you were dead wrong. a blur of motion, a heavy thud echoed, a sound that cut through the club’s music. jacob grunted, a choked, surprised sound as he stumbled back, his head snapping to the side.

you watched in a horrified fascination as the figure, lean and compact, lunged again. a fist connected with jacob’s jaw, a brutal, bone-jarring blow. he cried out, and crumpled to the ground, his body hitting the wet pavement with a slap.

the figure didn't stop. it straddled him. dark and relentless force. a flurry of blows rained down, quick and precise, each one landing with a sickening crunch. you could hear the impact, the tearing of flesh, the wet, pulpy sounds. jacob’s pleas turned into gurgles, then nothing but ragged, desperate gasps. the figure was a machine of violence, it's movements efficient, devoid of hesitation.

you stood frozen, breath caught in your throat as you watched the brutal spectacle. your mind refused to process the horror unfolding before your eyes. jacob, the handsome, charming jock, was being beaten, systematically, mercilessly. his face, once so perfectly sculpted, was rapidly becoming a mangled mess, a canvas of blood and contorted bone. like he was made of clay. you could hear the wet tearing of skin, the sickening crack of cartilage.

"stop!" you finally managed to shriek, voice raw, tearing through the suffocating music. "please, stop!"

but the figure didn't pause. it continued it's grim work, a silent, relentless fury. jacob’s body twitched, then lay still, a grotesque heap on the ground. the figure rose slowly, it's breathing even, unlabored, as if it had merely been swatting a fly. then he stomped on his wounded, unresponsive head without remorse.

the dim light caught it's face for a fleeting moment. you saw him. his eyes that held a chilling intensity, empty and unreadable. the face was gaunt, almost skeletal, with sharp, angular features. you didn't know him. only a deep, primal terror.

you could barely see through your pouring eyes, but his gaze fixed on you. he moved, slowly, deliberately. steps silent on the rough ground. blood streaked his knuckles and you stumbled backwards, legs weak, mind screaming for escape.

"stay away from me!"

but the man didn’t speak. he simply reached into an inner pocket of his dark jacket. he pulled out a small, white cloth. everything around you seemed to thicken, carrying a sharp, sweet chemical odor. chloroform. the word flashed in your mind. a final, terrifying realization.

you tried to scream, but your throat constricted.

you tried to run, but your legs refused to obey, rooted to the spot by sheer terror.

the man was upon you in an instant, his hand clamping over your mouth, the chemical-soaked cloth pressing against your nose and lips.

the smell was overpowering, suffocating. lungs burned, desperate for clean air. vision blurred, the flashing lights of the club becoming indistinct smears of color. a dizzying wave washed over you, pulling you down, down into a swirling vortex of darkness, before everything dissolved into an inky, silent black.

୨୧

series masterlist. next chapter.

[ateezscupid]

I’ve been itching to dive more into the more raunchy, taboo side of fanfiction (nothing borderline illegal) 😭😭 like, I love my fluff every here and then, but sometimes I need disgustingly freaky and filthy fanfiction. my “hello, you” series with yunho is only the top of the iceburg ngl

[ateezscupid]

─── STRESS RELIEVER ♡

SUMMARY / Being a CEO wasn't as fun as you dreamt it'd be as a little girl. It was lonely, depressing, and stressful. And after a night of mingling with celebrities and other ceos whom you didn't really like, your Bodyguard-slash-Driver was your last resort.

warnings ✩ non-idol au, bodyguard!san, ceo!fem reader, reader is really just an angry woman who's mad at the world and san is head over heels for her but doesn't know how to express it, reader is in a failing marriage AND has a child, switch!reader, switch!san, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, oral and fingering (f), praise, some power imbalance and dub-con themes

word count ✩ 6,71k

tags ✩ request or dm to be on my taglist!

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST

Tonight had worn you out. The gala’s glitz and glamour left you feeling bitter, and the small talk was as empty as the champagne flutes you kept refilling. You leaned back in the leather seat, watching city lights blur past the tinted windows as the car hummed along.

Every day, you wondered if keeping the family business going was worth it. Your father’s legacy and the board’s expectations pressed on you like a migraine you could never shake. Guilt gnawed at your insides, knowing that money and power were the only things that brought you even a shallow sense of pleasure in your hollow existence.

As you sat in the backseat, you sighed, looking down and grabbing your phone that was in your lap. You didn't even enjoy scrolling through social media anymore. It was just the same thing over and over again. You decided to scroll through your music library instead, searching for something to dull the edge of your irritation. Your thumb hovered over the play button.

"How was the Gala, ma'am?" your bodyguard, San, asked from the driver's seat, his eyes never leaving the road. His voice was a gentle rumble in the quiet car, a stark contrast to the chaos of the night you'd just left behind.

You grumble and set your phone face down. "Wouldn't you like to know? Same as always. Surrounded by people I couldn't give a damn about."

San chuckled softly. "You never did enjoy those sorts of events."

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious." You couldn't help the sarcasm that laced your words.

San glanced at you through the rearview mirror, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "You're more than welcome to vent. I've got a pretty thick skin, you know."

"Are you a therapist?" You snapped back, your eyes narrowed at the reflection in the mirror. "Great to know I have one."

San's smile never wavered. "No, ma'am, just a concerned bodyguard."

Your eyes rolled so hard you felt them threaten to get stuck in the back of your head. "Well, don't bother. I can handle my own shit."

San remained unfazed. "I'm sure you can, ma'am, but sometimes it helps to have someone listen."

"Yeah, well," There was a long pause, your eyes staring out the window. "I'd rather not burden you with it." You didn't need his pity, and you certainly didn't need his advice.

San only smiles softly. "Was Mr. L/N with you? Did he come in another car?"

"I don't want to talk about that fucking loser of a husband. Just drive," you bark at San, your voice a mix of anger and exhaustion. San's eyes remained on the road ahead, his knuckles tightening slightly around the steering wheel.

"As you wish, ma'am," he responds calmly, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

"He was probably in that hotel room fucking that whore of a woman." You spat out, your voice laced with anger. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, the humiliation of knowing that everyone at the gala had probably seen the tabloids about your husband's latest affair.

"Fucking that— that dog. That stripper— how could I have not known he was fucking a prostitute of all people?!" Your voice echoed in the confined space of the car, your nails digging into the leather armrest as you let out a furious growl. The car remained silent except for the steady rhythm of the engine, and you could feel San's gaze on you, his eyes filled with a blend of pity and concern.

"Ma'am," he began cautiously, "you know I'm here to protect and support you, no matter what. You can talk to me if you need to."

"I'm fine, okay?!" you yell, the sound of your voice bouncing off the leather interior of the car. San's eyes flit to the rearview mirror, meeting yours for a brief moment before returning to the road. You can see the question in his gaze, the silent inquiry that asks if you're really okay, if you're not just hiding your pain behind a mask of anger.

"Ma'am, I just-" San starts to say, his voice tentative.

"There's nothing to even fucking talk about! H-He fucked some other woman!" You shout, your voice cracking with anger and a hint of hurt. San remained silent, his eyes focused on the road ahead as he drove through the quiet streets. You felt a pang of regret for taking your frustration out on him, but the rage was still burning within you.

"Then had the audacity to lie to me about it," you go quiet for a moment. "Didn't even bother to speak to his daughter. He had to tell me through a text message that he's leaving us," you spit out, feeling the bitterness of the words on your tongue.

"H-He had the audacity to lie to those goddamn reporters and say those nasty things about me! About my body! As if I don't work hard enough to keep this company afloat!" You rant, the anger in your voice growing with each word. The pressure in your chest builds, your breath coming out in harsh pants.

San's eyes remained on the road, his jaw tightening at the mention of the tabloids. He knew better than to argue with you when you were like this. But his silence didn't stop you. "And then he says I'm cold! That I don't know how to love! What the fuck does he know about love?!" You shout, slamming your hand on the armrest.

You rest your elbow on the armrest and cover your face with your hand, trying to hold yourself together but failing miserably. You don't know why you're telling San all this, but it feels good to let it out, even if it's just to the bodyguard you've had for the past five years. San's eyes never left the road, his knuckles still white on the steering wheel.

You sniffle and cover your mouth, breathing shakily. "Pull over."

San's eyes widen slightly before he nods, turning the car into the first empty alleyway he sees. He puts the car in park and turns to face you, his expression one of genuine concern.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" San's voice was softer now, a hint of worry seeping through the professionalism he usually maintained.

"I said I was fine." You don't know why you're pushing him away, but you do it anyway.

"…Get in the back seat." You order, your voice still thick with anger. San nods and opens the driver’s side door, his movements careful and precise. He rounds the car and opens the door opposite you, sliding in gracefully. He's so close now that you can feel the warmth of his body, and his cologne fills the small space between you. It's a comforting scent, something you've grown accustomed to over the years, but tonight it only serves to irritate you further.

"San, am I…" you begin, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand, trying to regain your composure. "…Am I beautiful?"

San's eyes widen at the question, taken aback by the sudden vulnerability in your voice. "Ma'am, of course, you are," he says gently, his voice sincere. "You're one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen, inside and out."

You glance at him and don't respond, the question hanging in the air. San's heart thuds in his chest, his mind racing as he tries to navigate the sudden shift in your demeanor. He's seen you upset before, but never quite like this. Normally, you're the one in control, the one calling the shots, but tonight you seem…broken. And it's tearing him apart to see you this way.

"Why would he… cheat on me?" You whisper, your voice barely above a whisper. San's heart aches as he watches the strong, independent woman he's sworn to protect crumble before his eyes.

"Ma'am, I can't say why he did it, but I know that you're worth more than his lies," San replies, his voice soft and soothing. He reaches for your hand but stops just short, unsure if the gesture would be welcome.

"I had his child." You spoke through gritted teeth, looking down at your hands. "And he throws it all away for some cheap slut."

San's gaze remained on you, his heart breaking with each word you spoke. He knew the kind of man your husband was, knew the kind of pain you must be feeling. But he also knew that you didn't mean the harsh things you were saying to him. You were just hurt and lashing out.

"You're not cold, ma'am," San said firmly, his voice a gentle counterpoint to your anger. "You're just tired of him."

You stare at him for a little while, wiping any more tears that fell down your cheeks before gulping. "San,"

"Yes, ma'am?" San's voice was a gentle rumble in the quiet car, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for you to continue.

You scoff, the sound a harsh, bitter echo in the small space. "Why are you always so nice to me? I treat you like absolute shit and you still… You’re still nice to me." You spit out the words, your anger now directed at him. It wasn't fair that you had to deal with all this shit while he just sat there, looking perfect, smelling like heaven, and acting like nothing was wrong.

San's eyes never leave yours, his expression calm and composed, even as he's on the receiving end of your wrath. "It's my job, ma'am," he says, his voice steady. "But it's also because I care about you."

You scoff and look out of the window for a moment. "Do you know what it feels like to know that the person who promised to love you forever doesn't want you anymore?"

San remains silent for a beat before responding, "I can't say that I do, ma'am, but I can imagine it's incredibly painful."

You look back at him. "San," you shake your head and sigh. "I want to feel wanted again."

San's heart skips a beat at the raw need in your voice. He's heard the pain, the anger, and the frustration, but this…this was something new, something raw. And as much as he wants to tell you that you don't have to look outside yourself for validation, for want, he knows that's not what you need to hear right now. So instead, he remains silent, giving you the space to continue.

"Don't stare at me like a fucking dumbass like you don't know what I'm talking about." You barked, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. San's expression remained unchanged, his eyes still filled with that damn concern that made you want to scream.

"Ma'am, I assure you, I'm not judging," he says, his tone calm and even. "I'm just trying to understand how I can help."

"…" you go silent for a moment. "Sex. I want you to— to fuck me."

San's eyes widened slightly, but his expression remained neutral. He'd been your bodyguard for years, and he'd seen you at your best and worst, but he'd never seen you so…desperate. He knew that you were hurt and looking for something to fill the void that your husband had left behind. But this was crossing a line that could never be uncrossed.

"Ma'am," he began carefully, his voice steady. "I'm your bodyguard. That— this isn't appropriate."

But you're beyond caring about propriety. You've had enough of being told what's appropriate and what's not. “Exactly. You’re a bodyguard,” You lean over, pulling your faux fur wrap off your shoulders and discarding it in the seats behind yours. "You’re supposed to do as I say," you hiss.

"And I've seen the way you look at me. Even when I was still married. Before my husband even thought of cheating on me." You accuse, your voice cold. San's expression remained unreadable, his eyes never leaving yours. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it," you whispered, your voice now filled with challenge.

San took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. He knew that you were hurt, that you were looking for something, anything to make you feel better, but this wasn't the answer. "Ma'am, I understand that you're upset, but-"

You cut him off. "Don't 'ma'am' me," you growl. "I don't want your understanding, I want you to do as I say."

San's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign that you weren't serious. But the fire in them told him you were dead set on this course of action. He swallowed hard, knowing that this was a line he could never come back from, but also knowing that he couldn't leave you in this state of pain.

"If that's truly what you want, ma'am," he said, his voice tight with tension, "I'll do what I can to help you feel better."

"Thank you." The words leave your mouth, sounding more like a demand than a genuine expression of gratitude. You can feel San's tension as he nods, his eyes still on yours. You know he's just trying to do his job, to protect you, but right now all you want is to feel something other than anger and betrayal.

"…Eat me out."

San's eyes widened, but he remained silent, his hand frozen in mid-air. You grab and push his hand down, guiding it to the apex of your thighs, where the heat of your anger meets the ache of your desire. San swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as he felt the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips.

"Don't pretend like you haven't thought about it," you sneered, your eyes never leaving his. San knew that you weren't being fair, that you were just looking for someone to blame, someone to take out your anger on. But he also knew that he couldn't deny his attraction to you. So, instead of arguing, he gently began to massage your thigh, his touch feather-light as he tried to gauge your reaction.

You jerked slightly at the contact, but you didn't push him away. Instead, you spread your legs wider, giving him better access. San took a deep breath, his heart racing as he slid his hand higher, his fingers grazing the soft fabric of your underwear. You bit your lip, trying not to let the anticipation show on your face.

You tried to avoid eye contact, biting your finger gently and repositioning yourself so your back was against the door. Thank goodness your car's backseat was huge. "Get to it."

San's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign that you weren't serious, but the fiery determination in your gaze made it clear that you were. He sighed internally, knowing that this wasn't the time to argue. Instead, he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he peeled your dress up and over your hips. You watched him through narrowed eyes, daring him to back out now. But San was nothing if not professional, even in this unprofessional situation.

He kissed the inside of your thigh gently, his hands steady as he pulled aside your underwear. His eyes met, and you could see the conflict within them. He wanted to make you feel better, but he also knew that this wasn't the way to do it. Yet, he didn't pull away. He knew that pushing you away now would only make things worse, so he continued, his tongue tracing a line from your knee to the sensitive folds of your sex.

You hiss as his warm breath teases against your skin, his movements methodical and precise as he positions himself between your legs. He's so close now that you can feel his breath against your core, and the anticipation is almost unbearable. San takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him, the way your body tenses with every touch. He leans in, sliding your lace panties down your legs and throwing them to the floor. He lifts your legs as his tongue tentatively brushes against your clit, and you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips.

His hands are steady as they grip your thighs, holding you in place as he starts to explore you with gentle strokes and soft kisses. You try to keep your face neutral, to hide the pleasure that's already building inside of you, but it's no use. The feeling of his mouth on you is too much, too intense, and before you know it, you're squirming in your seat, desperately trying to hold back the moans that threaten to spill out.

"Shit," you grab onto his hair with both hands, your knuckles turning white as you try to hold back the moan that's fighting its way up your throat.

San's eyes meet yours, and the sight of you, so powerful and in control, losing yourself to pleasure, sends a jolt of heat through him. He leans in closer, his tongue delving deeper into your folds as he tastes you completely for the first time.

You try to keep your breathing even, but the feeling of his tongue on your clit is making it difficult. You can feel your body start to shake as the tension builds with each stroke. San's eyes are locked on yours, watching the way your pupils dilate and the way your mouth falls open slightly as you struggle to keep quiet.

"I-It's n-not-" you start to protest, but the words die on your lips as San's mouth finds your center. You grip the leather seat, trying to hold on to some semblance of control as his tongue works its magic. His movements are deliberate and skilled, a stark contrast to the unpracticed fumbling you're used to from your husband.

San adjusts his position, getting more comfortable as he settles in, his strong hands gripping your thighs firmly. He's taking his time with you, savoring every moment as if it's the first time he's ever tasted something so sweet. You try to keep your breathing steady, to remain stoic, but the pleasure is too intense. You're not used to being the one to lose control. You're the CEO, the one who's always in charge, but here, in the backseat of the car with your bodyguard, you're nothing but a woman on the brink of ecstasy.

His tongue swirls around your clit, and you bite your lip hard to keep from crying out. Your nails dig into the leather upholstery as he starts to suck, the pressure building with each pulse. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your body betraying you as it responds to his touch. You're not just letting him do this; you're craving it. Your hips start to rock against his face, and he groans in response, the vibration sending a new wave of pleasure through your core.

"S-San, oh my god," you whimper, your eyes squeezed shut as you feel his tongue swirl around your clit with expert precision. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you in place as he works his magic, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of you. The sound of his mouth on your skin fills the car, mingling with the faint sounds of the city outside.

He pushes your legs further back, your knees almost connecting with your shoulders as he settles into his task. San's eyes never leave yours, watching as the pleasure slowly starts to take over your features. You bite your bottom lip, trying to keep the moans at bay, but it's a futile effort. The way his tongue flicks against your clit, the gentle suction, and the occasional nip with his teeth, it's all too much for you to handle.

Your breaths become shorter, panting as you try to keep yourself from screaming out his name. San's hands are firm on your thighs, keeping you open for him as he explores you with a hunger you didn't know he had. His tongue delves deeper, finding that perfect spot that makes your toes curl, and your eyes roll back in your head. You're lost in the feeling, your mind a haze of sensation as you give in to the pleasure he's giving you.

"Fuck, don't stop, oh my god," you whisper, your voice strained as you feel your orgasm building. San's eyes never leave yours, his focus solely on the task at hand. He can feel the heat radiating from your body, and he knows that you're close. He doubles his efforts, his tongue moving faster, his teeth grazing your clit gently as you start to shake.

Your moans become more frequent, and you can't help but rock your hips against his face. The leather seat is cold against your back as you arch off of it, the tension in your body tightening with each stroke of his tongue. You're so close, so fucking close, and you never knew it could feel like this. You've never been with anyone who's made you feel this way before. San's hands grip your hips, holding you in place as you start to thrash against the seat.

"San-" you throw your head against the window, finally giving up on holding your moans in. You feel your body tighten, your toes curling in your expensive heels. The pleasure is so intense it's almost painful. San's tongue is relentless, flicking and swirling, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You can't believe this is happening, that you're letting your bodyguard of all people make you feel like this. But you don't care anymore. You just want to feel something other than anger and pain.

San's eyes never leave your face, watching as your control slips away. He can see the tension in your jaw, the way your chest is heaving with each ragged breath. His own body responds to the sight of you, his cock straining against his pants, but he pushes the thought aside. Right now, this is about you. He slides two fingers into your wetness, curling them up to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

"Fuck-!" you cry out, uncontrollably grinding your hips up and down against San's face. His fingers delve deeper, hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. He's relentless, his tongue never leaving your clit as he works you closer to the edge. You're a mess of emotions, your anger momentarily forgotten as pleasure takes over.

"San!" and with one final cry of his name, the dam breaks and you come apart, your body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. San doesn't stop, his tongue lapping up your pleasure as your thighs clench around his head. You're a mess of moans and gasps, your hands still gripping his hair tightly as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

He pulls away slowly, giving your sensitive clit a final, gentle kiss before sitting back up, his eyes searching yours for any signs of regret. But all he sees is a look of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. You take a deep, shaky breath, your chest heaving as you try to compose yourself. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes glazed over with lust.

"That was…" you start, but you can't find the words to finish your sentence. San nods, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He can feel his own arousal, his heart thundering in his chest, but he knows this isn't about him. This was about you, about giving you what you needed in this moment.

You stare at the very obvious bulge in his pants, the fabric straining against his hard length. It's both embarrassing and strangely satisfying to see him like this, to know that you're the one causing his painful need. But you don't comment on it. Instead, you lie back against the cool leather, closing your eyes as he continues to kiss and lick your thighs.

"San, um," you gulp. "I need… I want you to, um, be inside of me." You stutter out, your cheeks reddening with embarrassment. But the need is too intense to ignore.

San's eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly regains his composure, moving to remove his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. "Ma'am, are you sure?"

"If I wasn't sure, why would I ask you?" you retort, your voice still shaky from the intense orgasm. San nods, his eyes never leaving yours as he shifts his body, moving to get into a more comfortable position between your legs. He takes off his jacket, revealing the holster that holds his gun and the tight black shirt that clings to his muscular chest.

God, he was so handsome. San's dark hair fell into his eyes as he hovered over you, his chest heaving slightly with each breath he took. You could feel his hardness pressing against your inner thigh, and despite the situation, a thrill of excitement shot through you. You'd never seen him like this before, never knew that he was capable of making you feel like this.

"Listen to me, San," you say, your voice firm despite the tremble in your body. "You're going to do as I say, and you're going to do it right now. Do you understand?"

San nods, his eyes never leaving yours as he moves to the backseat with you. He takes a deep breath, his mind racing with the implications of what's about to happen. But he's seen the pain in your eyes, and he can't stand the thought of you hurting anymore. He'll do whatever it takes to help you find some semblance of peace, even if it means crossing a line that can never be uncrossed.

"Push your pants down and fuck me. Can you do that or are you too dumb to understand? Because you're staring as if you don't get it." You snarled, the words leaving your mouth before you could even think twice about it. San's eyes darkened at your tone, but he didn't argue. He knew you needed this release, and as much as he wished he could take away the pain you felt, he knew that wasn't possible.

San's hands trembled slightly as he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants, his cock springing free. It was thick and hard, and you couldn't help but stare for a moment, the sight of it making your stomach flip. You've seen your husband naked countless times, but somehow, San's body was different. It was like a work of art, sculpted and perfect in every way. He was your bodyguard, but in this moment, he was also your salvation.

He settled between your legs, his eyes on yours as he positioned himself. You could see the want in them, the need that mirrored your own, and it made your heart race even faster. He pressed his tip against you, and you couldn't help but gasp as you felt the heat of him. San pushed into you with a slow, deliberate stroke, filling you completely. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from crying out, your eyes never leaving his as he starts to move.

The first thrust stole the breath from your lungs. His size in comparison to your husband's was laughable. Where your ex had been soft and underwhelming, San was relentless. Every inch of him carved space inside you like he was mapping uncharted territory. Your fingers scrabbled against the leather seat, nails digging in as he set a slow, torturous rhythm. "Faster," you demanded, voice ragged.

He looks at you with something between amusement and concern, like he knows exactly how much you're unraveling, but obeys without hesitation. The next thrust punches a gasp from your throat, your back arching off the seat as he drives deeper. San's hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you steady while his pace turns punishing. The wet slap of skin fills the car, mingling with your ragged breaths.

He places a hand on the door's armrest, the other holding your hips down. His thrusts grow deeper, harder, each one a perfect counterpoint to the ache in your chest. The leather creaks beneath you, the scent of sweat and expensive cologne thick in the air. You hadn't expected this, hadn't expected him, to feel so devastatingly right.

"F-Fuck, wait... slow down," you gasp, but San doesn't comply. His grip tightens as he drives into you with deliberate precision, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each thrust. You can see the conflict in his darkened eyes. Professional restraint warring with raw need, but his body moves with single-minded purpose. The car rocks slightly with the force of his movements, the windows fogging from your mingled breaths.

"You told me to go faster, right, ma'am?" San's voice was a low growl, rough with exertion and something darker. Something possessive. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips as he pulled you harder onto his cock, each snap of his hips making the car's suspension groan.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, stilettos scraping the back of his clothed back. Your husband was never able to make you feel this good with only penetration, but San’s cock had you seeing stars with every thrust. Tears pricked at your eyes, all coalescing into something raw and overwhelming. You dug your fingers into his shoulders, feeling the way his muscles flexed beneath your grip.

"S-San," you whimper, the syllables fracturing in your throat as he angles his hips just so... a merciless twist that sends lightning up your spine. His breath is hot against your ear when he leans down, lips brushing the shell as he murmurs,

"You're taking me so well, ma'am." The honorific shouldn't make your stomach clench, but it does, the paradox of reverence and violation unraveling you further. You shudder from his voice alone, the way it scrapes against your nerves like velvet-coated steel. San's teeth graze your earlobe as he pistons into you, the wet heat between your thighs obscene in the best way. The car's suspension groans with each punishing thrust, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

"I always hoped to have you like this," He breathed against your skin, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His thrusts stuttered for just a second, an uncharacteristic loss of control before regaining their brutal rhythm. You barely registered the confession through the haze of pleasure, your nails raking down his back as he drove into you with single-minded intensity. "I couldn't help myself. When you gave me this opportunity,"

Your fingers tangled in San's hair as his hips snapped forward again, the brutal pace leaving you breathless. The confession hung between you, but neither of you acknowledged it. Not when his cock was buried to the hilt inside you, not when your thighs trembled around his waist.

"If only you weren't married," He sounded desperate as he whispered against your neck, biting down hard enough to bruise. The pain blended with pleasure, making your toes curl inside your heels. His hands moved from your hips to your ass, lifting you slightly to change the angle. Just enough to make you see stars. "But now..." His thrusts became erratic, his control slipping as he chased his own release. "I have you."

"J-Just fuck me," you gasped, your voice breaking as San's thrusts grew impossibly deeper. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, leaving marks you knew would linger. Your stilettos slipped against the car door, one heel hanging precariously as your legs trembled around him.

"You sound so pretty," San murmured against your neck, his breath hot and ragged as his hips pistoned into you with relentless precision. "You're doing so good for me."

San's voice cracked on the last word, the strain in his tone betraying how close he was. He lifted you a little, now placing your legs on his shoulders and sitting up, basically pulling you onto his cock. The new angle forced a choked cry from your throat suddenly, he was everywhere, pressing deeper than you'd thought possible. The leather seat groaned beneath you as San's thrusts turned frantic, his control fraying at the edges.

"San! Mmh!" Your cry dissolved into a strangled moan as his cock hit a spot so deep your vision whited out. Your dress was bunched around your waist as San fucked you with single-minded intensity. His fingers dug into the backs of your thighs where your legs draped over his shoulders, the bite of pain only amplifying the pleasure coiling tighter in your gut.

Your eyes shut tight as San's thrusts turned erratic. Short, desperate jerks of his hips chasing something neither of you could articulate. The wet slap of skin was deafening in the confined space, mingling with your ragged breaths. One of his hands slid up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head back.

"Uh uh, eyes open." San's command was rough, his fingers tightening in your hair as he forced your gaze to meet his. The intensity in his darkened eyes pinned you in place more effectively than the bruising grip on your thighs. You whimpered, unable to look away as he drove into you with relentless precision, each thrust pushing the air from your lungs. The car's windows were completely fogged now, sealing you both in this humid, desperate space where nothing existed but the slide of his cock and the way your body clenched around him.

"S-San, I'm close," you gasped, fingers scrabbling against the car's door as his thrusts turned punishing. The angle was too much, his cock hitting places inside you that shouldn't exist, your body stretched obscenely around him. San's breath hitched when your walls fluttered around him, his grip on your thighs tightening as he growled,

"Come for me."

You gasp, immediately gripping his arm tightly as the orgasm crashes over you with terrifying force. Your whole body locks up, thighs quivering violently against his shoulders while his name spills from your lips in a broken sob. San doesn't stop, driving through your convulsions with deep, measured thrusts that prolong the pleasure until it borders on unbearable. Tears leak from your eyes. You're not crying, you're just unraveling.

"Breathe," San murmured against your temple, his voice rough with restraint even as his hips kept moving, slower now, dragging out the aftershocks until you whimpered. His fingers traced idle patterns on your inner thighs where your skin still trembled. "Good. Just like that. Let it last."

You tried to blink away the haze, but his voice. His goddamn voice. Low and textured like whiskey-aged sin wrapped around you tighter than his arms ever could. "Breathe," San murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear as your body seized around him. His fingers traced the frantic pulse at your throat while his hips rolled in slow, deliberate strokes, drawing out every aftershock until you whimpered.

"T-t-too much," you choked out, nails scoring down his coat. San's chuckle vibrated through you, dark and pleased.

"No such thing," he murmured, catching your earlobe between his teeth just as his thumb found your clit. "You'll take it. You're too greedy not to." The words shouldn't have sent another bolt of heat through your belly, but they did. Especially paired with the way his cock twitched inside you, like he was savoring the way your walls fluttered around him.

"Will you let me come inside of you, ma'am?" San's voice was a rough whisper against your ear, his fingers tightening against your trembling thighs. You could only nod, your body still shuddering with aftershocks as he pressed deeper, his cock twitching inside you.

"Words," he demanded, kissing your jaw.

"Yes— yes, god—" you gasped, your hips jerking helplessly against his as San's thumb circled your oversensitive clit. His thrusts had slowed to a torturous grind, every inch of him dragging against walls still fluttering from your last climax. The wet sound of your bodies meeting filled the car, mingling with the ragged hitch of your breath when he angled his hips just right.

"Tell me," San's voice scraped against your ear, each syllable vibrating through your oversensitive nerves. His hips rolled in a slow, deliberate circle that made your thighs jerk involuntarily. "Tell me how it feels."

"So good," you slurred, the words thick in your mouth as San's cock dragged against that spot again, the one that made your vision pulse white at the edges. His chuckle was dark, his breath hot against your temple.

"I'm so close, baby." The nickname slips from San's lips without permission, his voice ragged as he rolls his hips in slow, devastating circles. His fingers dig into your trembling thighs, holding you open while his cock drags against every sensitive ridge inside you. "Feel how deep I am? How full you are?"

You nod desperately, fingers scrabbling against his back as San's thrusts grow uneven. His breath comes in short, sharp bursts against your neck, damp puffs that send shivers racing down your spine.

"Tell me you want me to fill you up." San's voice was ragged, his breath hot against your ear as his hips pistoned into you with slow, deliberate strokes. Each thrust dragged against oversensitive nerves, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. You whimpered, fingers tightening in his hair as he angled his hips just right. "Say it."

"I— I want it," you gasp, arching against him when his thumb finds your clit again, the pressure just shy of painful. San groans, his forehead pressing against yours as his rhythm stutters.

San's groan vibrates against your throat, a rough, shattered sound that matches the way his hips jerk erratically against yours. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs hard enough to bruise as he shudders through his release, his cock pulsing deep inside you. Heat floods your core, thick and insistent, and you gasp at the unfamiliar sensation. Your husband had always pulled out after your first child, always kept that final intimacy at arm's length. But San? San fills you completely, his body bowed over yours like a man praying at an altar.

The aftershocks pulsed through you like slow, liquid heat. San's weight pressing you into the leather seat, his breathing ragged against your collarbone. His fingers traced idle patterns on your hip, where your dress had ridden up; the touch was incongruously gentle compared to what had just transpired. The car smelled like sweat and sex, the windows still fogged from your mingled breaths. You stared at the ceiling, acutely aware of the way his softening cock still nestled inside you, the sticky warmth between your thighs.

Neither of you said anything at first. The silence stretched between you, thick with the weight of what just happened. San was the first to move, pulling away carefully. His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted his pants, the quiet click of his belt buckle sounding absurdly loud in the confined space. You stayed where you were, legs still splayed indecently, the cool leather biting into your overheated skin.

He stayed quiet as he began to clean you up with the silk pocket square from his jacket, the fabric catching on your oversensitive skin. You watched him, really watched him for the first time since this began. The way his eyelashes cast shadows on his sharp cheekbones, the slight tremor in his usually steady hands. The silence was a living thing between you, swollen with unasked questions.

"San," you whisper, the name cracking in your throat like thin ice. His hands pause where they're smoothing your skirt down your thighs, knuckles brushing against the damp mess he'd just wiped away. The overhead car light catches the sweat still clinging to his temple, the undone collar of his shirt revealing the rapid pulse at his throat. "Will you... stay with me tonight?"

San's hands stilled against your thighs, the pocket square crumpled between his fingers. His gaze flickered up to yours before he exhaled through his nose and nodded once. "Of course," he said, voice rougher than usual. The words settled between you like a promise neither of you dared examine too closely.

[ateezscupid]

keep an eye out for new works 👀.

[yungistiny]

happy birthday

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

summary: in which your boyfriend wakes up on his birthday desperate, needy and aching

warning: dry humping, consensual somnophilia

genre: smut

pairing: yunho x afab reader

word count: 1.9k

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The room is still half wrapped in night. Soft gray light leaks through the curtains, the kind that comes just before sunrise, turning everything hazy and quiet. The world not really woken up yet. But Yunho has. He’s been lying on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like sleep betrayed him hours ago, arm under your head, numb now, but he hasn’t moved. Doesn’t want to.

Not when you’re curled into him like this. Your leg thrown over his, your face tucked into his chest, breathing slow and deep, completely unaware. And that’s the problem. His jaw tightens slightly as he exhales through his nose, slow, controlled… trying to ignore the heat pooling low in his body. Trying to ignore how aware he is of you. How hard he woke up to.

Because of course this is how he wakes up on his birthday. Hard. Aching. And trapped under the one person he actually wants. Needs. His eyes flick down to you again. You don’t stir. Just breathe, soft and even, lips slightly parted, completely peaceful while he’s there fighting for his life and his erection.

He lets out a quiet, humorless huff, dragging his free hand over his face before letting it fall back to the bed. He tries to focus on literally anything else. The light. The ceiling. The sound of a car passing somewhere far away. Doesn’t work. None of it does. Because the moment he shifts even slightly…. you make a small sound in your sleep and press closer.

His entire body goes still. “Please… don’t do that,” he whispers, like you can hear him. Like you’d listen. Instead, you settle more comfortably against him, your hand sliding lazily across his chest, fingers brushing down without intention… without awareness. But he feels it. Every inch. And his breath stutters, barely there, as his hand tightens against the sheets. “God…” he murmurs, voice dropping, restraint slipping just a little. He can feel precum leaking, staining at his boxers.

He turns his head, looking down at you again, really looking this time. At the way your lashes rest against your cheeks. At how soft you look like this. At how completely his you feel in this moment. And that’s what does it. Not just the heat. Not just the physical ache. It’s you. It’s always you.

His thumb moves before he can stop it, brushing lightly along your arm, slow, careful… testing. You still don’t wake. Just shift again, lips parting slightly as you breathe out against his chest and Yunho swears under his breath. His hand slides a little more deliberately this time, tracing along your side, slower… firmer… watching for any sign you’ll wake up. Waiting. Wanting. Desperately needy…

You shift. It’s small at first, just a restless little movement, but it’s enough. Yunho feels it immediately, his body going still again as you pull away from his chest, turning over with a soft sigh. Your back faces him now, your body curling slightly into the mattress, leaving just enough space between you….

And then not. Because he moves without thinking. Instinct. Desire. Something deeper than both. He rolls onto his side behind you, closing that space again, his chest pressing to your back, arm sliding around your waist like it belongs there. Like it always does. His dick is hard pressed against your lower back.

Every curve of you is now lined up against him, warm, soft, completely unaware of what you’re doing to him. His breath slows, controlled, but there’s a sharp edge to it now. He remembers how a couple months ago, you had woken him up one morning, half asleep, barely aware until he felt you… mouth around, dick buried in your mouth. The way you’d looked up at him, all soft and smug, like you knew exactly what kind of damage you were doing….

Yunho closes his eyes for a second, jaw tightening. If you could do that to him…

His hand tightens slightly at your waist as he shifts closer, pressing in behind you, his body fitting against yours like it was built for this exact position, dick now digging into your ass. The contact makes him suck in a quiet breath. Because there’s no ignoring it now.

You make a soft sound in your sleep. Just a small, breathy noise as you instinctively push back slightly, settling against him without meaning to, wiggling your ass a little unconsciously driving him crazy.

Yunho’s grip tightens. Because that tiny movement? That alone almost ruins him. His forehead drops lightly to the back of your shoulder, eyes closing as he exhales slowly, trying to ground himself, trying to hold onto whatever control he has left. But the idea is already there now. Already taken root. Already winning.

His hand slides slowly along your side, deliberate now, testing again… feeling for any sign you’re waking up. His hand runs over you through your panties, once. You make a light whimpering noise then go quiet again, body relaxing further into him.

Yunho swallows hard. “Alright,” he mutters quietly, more to himself than anything. His hand drifts lower, slower, careful, like he’s mapping you out all over again, even though he knows every inch by now. His touch is light at first… then a little firmer, just enough to make sure you feel it…. enough to see if you’ll wake. You don’t. Just another soft sound, your body shifting slightly against him again, like you’re reacting in your sleep without fully coming to.

His breathing deepens, uneven now, his arm tightening around you as he presses closer, burying his face briefly against your shoulder. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. There’s still a part of him that’s holding on, barely, telling him to wait until you wake up… to not take advantage of how unaware you are right now. But then you shift again. Just slightly.

Your hips pressing back into him, pushing, wiggling again. And that’s it. Yunho exhales slowly, like he’s trying to steady himself, but it comes out uneven, strained. His hand tightens at your waist, fingers pressing into your skin as his forehead drops against your shoulder again.

His hips shift, tentative at first. Testing. A slow, careful movement, like he’s giving you every chance to wake up, to stop him before he goes any further. You don’t, so he does it again. This time a little more deliberate. Rolling his hips, dick aching, twitching against your ass still covered by the blue cotton panties you have on.

A quiet sound leaves him, barely audible, more breath than voice as he presses closer, his body fitting against yours with no space left between. Humping now. Grinding more. “God…” he breathes, almost under his breath. Your response is instinctive. A small noise. Soft. But your eyes don’t open.

His movements grow a little less restrained, still slow, still controlled, but there’s more intent behind them now. A rhythm starting to build, subtle but steady, like he’s testing how far he can go before you finally come to. His hand slides along your side again, gripping tighter this time, anchoring you against him as he moves, his breathing growing heavier, uneven. He has no idea how you haven’t woken yet with the way he’s thrusting.

His face presses into the back of your neck now, breath warm against your skin, his movements just a little deeper, a little more desperate, full on chasing, dick twitching even more, needing more….

“Yeah… okay,” he mutters under his breath, frustration bleeding into his voice now. “God, you’re…” he cuts himself off with a low exhale, jaw tightening as he presses his face briefly into your shoulder, trying to ground himself as his hand drifts lower, then back up again, restless, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. Like all that restraint from earlier has finally snapped and now he’s just… reacting.

You shift again in response, your body pressing back more deliberately this time, like you’re chasing the sensation even in your sleep, his dick straining in his boxers, the tip nudging at your ass. And that’s it. His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer like he can’t stand even an inch of space between you as he reaches down, pulls his dick from his boxers and moans.

He shuffles a little, drags his length down, snug where your thighs are and starts moving again. The bare contact making his eyes roll…..

You stir. Just slightly. A faint sound leaving you, something between a breath and a whine, your body reacting more clearly now, less like sleep and more like you’re starting to surface. But your eyes don’t open. His movements don’t slow, don’t soften, like he’s already committed, already too far gone to pull himself back now. Like the idea of stopping is worse than being caught.

Your body reacts again, more noticeably this time, your hips shifting, pressing back with more intention, a soft, confused sound slipping from your lips as you hover right on the edge of waking as he holds onto you, the length of him sliding against your thighs, dragging back up and grinding against your ass. He makes a rhythm out of it.

He’s chasing it now. Fully. Desperately. “Yeah… yeah, just….” he exhales, voice low, strained, almost pleading with himself as his movements grow more urgent, less restrained, like he’s running out of time.

His grip tightens at your hips, fingers pressing in as he pulls you firmly against him, his movements losing all restraint now, fast, desperate, thrusting, grinding. He knows he’s about to come…..

“God……. Y/N…” your name leaves him in a rough, broken murmur, barely above a whisper as it hits him. He locks his leg around you as he comes, making a mess against your thighs, staining your panties.

The room is quiet again after. Just the soft sound of his breathing. The faint light of morning stretching a little further across the bed as he exhales slowly, forehead resting against your shoulder, one hand still loosely at your waist…..

A giggle.

Yunho freezes. “What the fuck…” he moves back, looks at you. “Are you awake?” he asks after a beat, voice low, cautious now, like he’s not sure if he wants the answer.

You don’t turn right away. Just let the silence sit for a second longer, like you’re savoring it before you speak. “I’ve been awake since I turned over.” You can practically feel him processing that behind you.

“You’re kidding.”

You finally turn your head slightly, just enough to glance back at him, a small amused smile tugging at your lips. “Nope.”

“And you just… you let me…”

Your smile widens, softer now, but with that teasing edge he knows too well. “Of course I did.” Before he can even respond, you shift, rolling onto your back and then over him in one smooth movement, settling on top of him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His dick is still out, now pressed firmly against you and he realizes how wet you are.

His hands come to your waist automatically, instinctively, like they were always meant to be there as you lean down, pressing a slow kiss to his lips, letting it linger just long enough to make his breath hitch again as you grind down against him now. “I wanted to see how far you’d go,” you murmur against his mouth, voice soft, teasing.

You kiss him again. Softer this time. Then, with a small smile, you reach down, grip him with your hand, nudge your panties to the side….

“Happy birthday.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @seungminniemin @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127 @sannies-tiddies @hannahstacos @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @love--in-stayville @hartsablaze @remi-young @bubbly-moon @fvxyxnh0 @herpoetryprincess @prchiquita8 @dreamgirlevilera @booposaurusrex @onecursedkitty @dvrktvnnel @atinynoona @metalheadatiny @uchihabbynic @eggielix @dodot04lover @thenumberoneangelcollection-blog @navydotz

[yungistiny]

mile high

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

summary: in which you and yunho’s secret isn’t so quiet in the airplane restroom

warning: oral, fingering, unprotected sex, double penetration, creampie

genre: smut

pairing: idol yunho x afab reader

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The airport was loud in that constant, humming way that never really stopped. Rolling suitcases, boarding announcements echoing through speakers, the low murmur of travelers shuffling from line to line.

Ateez stood near the gate in a loose cluster, passports in hand, joking with each other while staff organized the final boarding order. Behind them, a few steps back with the other stylists and managers, you stood quietly with your arms folded, trying very hard to look normal. Which would have been a lot easier if Yunho wasn’t standing right there.

He was only a few feet ahead of you, tall enough that you could easily see over the shoulder of one of the managers to the broad line of his back. And unfortunately…. your brain had a very clear memory of that back. Just a few hours ago. Your fingers tightened around your boarding pass.

Because just hours earlier, you had been in his bedroom, tangled in his sheets, breathless and gasping as you clung to his shoulders while you rode him, him gripping your waist as he pounded up into you….

Your face heated at the memory and you forced your eyes away from him. Unfortunately, they drifted right back. Because the man had the audacity to be wearing that black Diesel top again. The loose knit fabric stretched over his shoulders in a way that should honestly be illegal. The open weave showed just enough skin underneath to make your stomach twist. And then there were the grey sweatpants. Those cursed, sinful grey sweatpants. The same ones the members constantly joked about.

The same ones Wooyoung had once loudly announced during rehearsal that Yunho “definitely does not wear underwear with.” You pressed your lips together. Do not look. Do not…. Your eyes dropped anyway. You were only human. Unfortunately, the fit of the sweats made it very obvious that Wooyoung’s theory, along with many atiny, were absolutely correct.

You swallowed and quickly looked away again, pretending to check your phone. Up ahead, San was saying something animated, gesturing wildly with his hands while Jongho and Mingi laughed beside him. Yunho chuckled softly, the sound low and warm.

Your heart flipped. Because you knew exactly what that laugh sounded like when it was pressed right against your ear as he praised, edged…..

“Try not to stare so obviously.” The voice beside you was quiet. You stiffened and slowly turned your head and met Yeosang’s gaze. He was looking straight ahead toward the members, completely calm. Except the faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. You blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Yeosang hummed. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Because I’m pretty sure you had the same expression on your face this morning when I walked past Yunho’s bedroom and heard him say….”

You elbowed him. Hard and he choked back a laugh, covering it with a cough. “Relax,” he said under his breath. “Your secret is safe.” Your eyes widened slightly. “You know?”

“Unfortunately for you,” he said mildly, “I have ears.”

Your face burned. Ahead of you, the boarding line began to move. Staff motioned everyone forward. The members started filing toward the jet bridge. And right in the middle of them, Yunho shifted slightly. Just enough that you could see his profile.

His hair was still a little damp from the shower he’d taken before leaving his apartment. Your chest tightened. As if sensing your gaze, he turned his head slightly. Your eyes met. For half a second. His expression didn’t change. Not in front of everyone. But his gaze slowly dropped… and then slid right back up to your face again. A quiet reminder that he remembered this morning too.

Your stomach flipped as Yeosang leaned closer to murmur quietly as he walked past you, “You two are not surviving an eleven hour flight behaving like that.”

You exhaled slowly. Unfortunately… he was probably right. The airport noise faded into the more enclosed echo of the boarding tunnel, the air cooler, quieter except for the rolling wheels of carry ons. The members walked ahead of you, relaxed and joking like always.

Yunho was near the middle of them, tall enough that he stood out easily above the others with Mingi. You stepped onto the plane behind the group, greeting the flight attendant politely as everyone filtered into the cabin. The members started finding their seats near the center rows, tossing bags into overhead bins, still talking over each other.

“San, that’s my seat.”

“No it’s not, check the number.”

“Move, you’re blocking the aisle.”

You adjusted the strap of your bag and started down the aisle toward your row. And unfortunately… you had to pass right by Yunho. He had already dropped into his seat beside Jongho, one long leg stretched slightly into the aisle while he scrolled through his phone. As you approached, he looked up. And immediately froze.

For just a second. His eyes slid slowly over you as you walked past. The fitted black pants you were wearing. The oversized blazer you had thrown on over your tank top before the flight. And then… your hips as you moved down the aisle. You didn’t miss the way his jaw shifted. Or the way he bit down on his bottom lip.

Your stomach flipped as you kept walking, trying very hard to act like you hadn’t noticed. Behind you, you heard Jongho snort. “Bro.” Yunho didn’t answer. “Yunho.” Still silence. Then Jongho leaned slightly closer, voice low but not nearly low enough. “You gonna stop staring at the stylist’s ass or do you want everyone on the plane to notice?”

Your heart nearly stopped as you forced yourself to keep walking like you hadn’t heard a word. Behind you, Yunho let out a quiet breath. “Shut up,” he muttered and Jongho laughed softly.

You reached your row and slipped into your seat, sliding your bag under the chair in front of you. Your fingers tightened slightly around the armrest as you could hear Yunho shift in his seat. “Relax,” he said lazily. “I’m just looking.” And Jongho laughed again. “Sure you are.”

You stared forward, trying to calm your racing heart until a few seconds later… You felt it. That same familiar sensation. Like someone’s gaze was pressing against the back of your neck. Slowly, carefully, you glanced toward the window. Just enough to see behind you. And there he was. Leaning back in his seat. Eyes locked on you. Completely unapologetic.

Your breath caught as he tilted his head slightly. The same look he had given you earlier at the gate. The one that meant he was thinking about things he absolutely should not be thinking about right now. And judging by the way his tongue briefly brushed across his lip… You had a feeling he was remembering exactly what happened this morning again.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

A couple hours into the flight, the cabin had settled into that quiet, half asleep rhythm long flights always slipped into. Most of the overhead lights were dimmed. A few staff had their reading lamps on, soft circles of light glowing over open books or laptop screens. The low, constant hum of the engines filled the space like white noise.

Somewhere a few rows ahead, Wooyoung and San were whispering about a movie they were watching, trying and failing to keep their laughter quiet. Yunho sat slouched slightly in his seat, one arm resting on the armrest, long legs stretched just enough to avoid bumping Mingi’s seat in front of him. Jongho sat beside him with headphones on, half watching something on the small screen in front of him.

Yunho, however, wasn’t watching anything. His eyes kept drifting forward. Your row sat three ahead, slightly across the aisle. From where he was, he could see the top of your head just barely over the seatback when you shifted. He shouldn’t be looking. He knew that. But every time you moved even a little, his attention snapped right back.

A quiet ding sounded as the seatbelt sign flickered on again briefly. You stood from your seat a moment later, stretching slightly before making your way toward the back of the plane. Yunho noticed immediately. Of course he did. His gaze followed you down the aisle as you passed his row, though he tried to keep it subtle.

Jongho didn’t even look up this time. “You’re staring at her ass again,” he muttered, still watching his screen but Yunho ignored him. Several minutes passed before the restroom door clicked open toward the back of the cabin. And then you stepped out. You smoothed your blazer absently as you started back down the aisle.

The dim cabin lights caught the shine of your hair as you walked, your expression calm and relaxed like nothing in the world could possibly be going on in your head. Yunho’s gaze locked on you instantly again. He straightened slightly in his seat without realizing it. Across the aisle, a few rows up, Seonghwa glanced up from his phone as movement caught his attention.

And then his eyes landed on you and Yunho definitely noticed that too. His jaw tightened almost immediately as Seonghwa’s gaze followed you as you walked past him, slow and curious in the way someone looks when they suddenly notice something they hadn’t before. Not inappropriate. But definitely… appreciative.

Yunho’s fingers curled slightly against the armrest as you continued down the aisle, unaware of the two sets of eyes watching you. When you reached Yunho and Jongho’s row, you slowed slightly to slip past Hongjoong adjusting his bag in the aisle. That meant you were standing almost right beside Yunho. Close enough that he could smell the faint scent of your perfume that was always lingering on himself as well lately.

Close enough that he could see the small crease of concentration between your brows as you waited. Your eyes flicked down toward him for the briefest second. And Yunho felt his pulse kick. Your expression stayed perfectly neutral. Professional. But the corner of your mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Then you continued forward toward your seat.

Yunho’s eyes followed you and beside him, Jongho sighed dramatically. “You’re doing it again. And not subtly at all.” Yunho didn’t look away. “Doing what?”

“Staring.”

Yunho finally leaned back again, dragging a hand slowly over his face. Across the aisle, Seonghwa’s gaze lingered toward your row for another second before he returned to his phone. Yunho noticed that too. And something low and possessive twisted quietly in his chest.

Jongho glanced sideways at him. “Why do you look pissed?” Yunho let out a slow breath. “Nothing.” But his eyes drifted forward again anyway. Toward your seat. And the more he thought about it… the more he didn’t like the idea of anyone else looking at you that way.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Several hours later, the cabin had grown even quieter. Most of the lights were dimmed even more now, leaving the plane bathed in a soft blue glow from the overhead panels and the occasional screen still playing a movie. A few slept with their heads against the windows. Others shifted under blankets, headphones on, lost in their own worlds. Mingi was snoring lowly and Hongjoong would have slipped into the isle of Seonghwa had pulled him back into his seat.

The steady hum of the engines had become almost hypnotic. But Yunho wasn’t sleeping. Not even close. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded loosely across his chest, staring up at the dark ceiling of the cabin. Jongho beside him had long since fallen asleep, his head tilted slightly to the side, breathing slow and steady. Yunho envied him. Because every time Yunho closed his eyes…

His brain dragged him right back to that morning. The memory hit him in flashes. Your moans in his bedroom. The soft morning light spilling through the curtains. The way your hair had fallen while you leaned over him, breath uneven, eyes locked with his as you moved against him, clenching him, his dick buried deep…..

His jaw tightened slightly as he scrubbed a hand over his face. It had been four months of stolen moments. Four months of quiet kisses and sex behind closed doors. Four months of pretending like you weren’t his when you did his hair and makeup. And today had been the worst yet. Because that morning had been rushed.

Neither of you had wanted to stop. But you both had to catch the flight. He could still hear the way you had laughed breathlessly when he tried to pull you back onto the bed. He exhaled slowly. Now here you were. On the same plane. Only a few rows away. Close enough that he could walk there in ten seconds. But far enough that he couldn’t touch you. And that was starting to drive him insane.

Up ahead, you shifted slightly in your seat. You weren’t sleeping either. Not even remotely. Your arms were folded loosely across your stomach as you stared blankly at the screen in front of you, though the movie had clearly been playing for a while without your attention.

Behind you, Yunho leaned forward slightly in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes drifted toward your row again. And sure enough… you shifted again. Like you were just as restless as he was.

Yunho exhaled slowly through his nose. Yeah. You definitely were. Because after four months together, he knew exactly what that meant. His gaze dropped briefly before lifting again. And then you stood up.

Yunho straightened slightly as you stepped into the aisle, smoothing your blazer absently before turning toward the back of the plane again. This time… your eyes flicked toward him. Just for a second. And Yunho felt that look straight in his chest.

Not subtle.

Not accidental.

The corner of your mouth twitched ever so slightly. Then you turned and started walking toward the rear of the cabin again. Yunho stared after you as Jongho stirred slightly beside him but didn’t wake. The restroom light at the back of the plane flicked on. And suddenly…. Yunho wasn’t even pretending he was going to sleep anymore.

He sat still for another minute after you disappeared inside the restroom. His eyes remained fixed on the aisle. The restroom light back there was still on. He exhaled slowly through his nose before he shifted forward in his seat, glancing sideways at Jongho. Still asleep. Good.

Yunho stood and stretched casually, like someone just getting up after sitting too long. Totally normal. Completely casual. Then he stepped into the aisle and started walking toward the back of the plane. He didn’t rush. Didn’t look around. Just walked. Most of the cabin was asleep anyway.

Or at least… that’s what he thought. Because as he passed a row near the middle of the plane…. two sets of eyes were very much open. San sat slouched in his seat, one earbud dangling from his ear while he scrolled lazily through his phone. Beside him, Wooyoung was watching the aisle with the kind of attention that meant he had absolutely not been sleeping.

The moment Yunho walked past them, Wooyoung’s eyebrows shot up. He leaned slightly toward San, whispering with a huge grin spreading across his face. “I told you.” San glanced up from his phone just in time to see Yunho continue down the aisle toward the back. Realization dawned slowly across his face. “….. no way…”

Wooyoung sat up a little straighter, trying very hard to contain his laughter. “Oh yeah,” he whispered. “You owe me.” San blinked at him, groaning. “Oh, come on,”

Wooyoung nodded proudly. “Pay up, baby.”

Yunho was now standing right outside the restroom. His hand rested lightly against the door for a second. Then he knocked softly and the door opened almost immediately. And before anyone else in the cabin could possibly notice, he slipped inside.

You were leaning back against the wall beside the sink, arms folded, trying to pretend you were calm. You weren’t. Not even a little. The second the door clicked shut, your eyes met his. That invisible tension that had been building for hours finally snapped.

Yunho crossed the space in one step. Your hands grabbed the front of his shirt at the exact same moment his hands found your waist. And then you were kissing him. Not slow. Not careful. The kind of kiss that came from hours of restraint finally breaking.

His back hit the door as you pulled him down toward you, and Yunho let out a quiet breath against your mouth like he’d been holding it the entire flight. “God,” he muttered softly between kisses as his hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn’t even an inch of space left between you.

Your fingers slid up into his hair, tugging lightly at the strands and Yunho groaned quietly into the kiss, his forehead dropping against yours for a second as he tried to breathe. “I need you,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, breathless. “I noticed.” Your eyes flicked up to his. The heat in his gaze made your stomach tighten. “That look you gave me before you walked back here…” Your lips brushed his again. “Maybe I just needed a minute,” you whispered, teasing him.

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Sure you did.”

Your hands slid down his chest, fingers brushing over the soft knit fabric of his top. “You weren’t exactly behaving either,” you said.

Yunho raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“You kept staring.”

He didn’t even try to deny it. Instead, his hands tightened slightly on your waist, pulling you closer again. “Can you blame me?” Your heart skipped. “You’re the one who left my apartment like that this morning after riding me like you were trying to get first place in a Kentucky Derby.” he murmured.

His forehead leaned lightly against yours again. “You know how hard it was sitting back there knowing you were only a few rows away?” Your breath caught slightly. Because honestly… You had been thinking the exact same thing. Your fingers curled lightly in his shirt. “Yunho…”

His hands slid up your back slowly, stopping just beneath your shoulder blades as he pulled you closer again but before he could do much else, you turned him, guiding him backward until his hips bumped lightly against the small counter beneath the sink. He blinked down at you, surprised as your hands slid down his sides before he could finish the sentence.

Then one of them moved lower and Yunho inhaled sharply. Because your palm pressed firmly against the front of his grey sweatpants, right on the bulge there, him already halfway hard. “You do this on purpose,” you murmured.

Yunho’s head tipped back slightly against the wall behind him, a quiet breath escaping him as your hand remained exactly where it was. “Do what?” he asked, voice lower now as your fingers flexed slightly against the soft fabric. “These,” you said, glancing down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “You know exactly what you’re doing wearing them.”

Yunho huffed out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh as your hand pressed just slightly again, testing and his jaw tightened as your hand shifted again slightly against the fabric, slow and deliberate, rubbing him now.

Yunho closed his eyes briefly. The space was so small that every little movement between you felt amplified. Your knee nudged between his legs as you stepped closer. For a second he just stared at you. Then he leaned forward again, catching your mouth in another kiss. This one deeper and hungrier as you pulled him out of his sweats, the cool air in the restroom hitting him and making him hiss.

Your forehead rested lightly against Yunho’s chest for a second as you stroked him with your hand, thumb brushing over his tip. Then you looked up at him. His hair had fallen slightly into his eyes from the way you’d been tugging at it earlier, strands brushing his lashes as he looked down at you.

That same dangerous look was back in his gaze. The one that had been slowly building all flight. Your hand moved faster for a few seconds, watching the way he reacted. His head tilted back slightly again, hair falling away from his face as he tried to keep his breathing steady. The muscles in his jaw tightened, his hand bracing against the wall beside your shoulder. “Baby….. I need…”

You suddenly pulled your hand away and Yunho blinked, his eyes dropping back down to you in confusion. But before he could saying anything, you shrugged your blazer off your shoulders. The fabric slipped down your arms before you let it fall to the floor. His eyes followed the movement as you stepped back just enough to drop down onto the blazer, kneeling in front of him in the cramped space.

Your fingers rested lightly against the waistband of his sweats again, your eyes lifting to meet his. “You need me, huh…” Your mouth curved slightly as his hand slid into your hair, fingers threading through it as he looked down at you. “Please…”

You dragged his sweats down to his knees, your hand moving to grip him, wrapping around his length, opening your mouth and letting just his tip tap against your tongue. The reaction was instant enough that you almost laughed. He rolled his head back, tongue peaking out as his hand gripped your hair.

One of his hands braced harder against the wall behind him. “God…” he exhaled under his breath as your eyes lifted briefly to watch him. Your hand slid up his side briefly before returning to its place on his leg, grounding yourself in the cramped space before you dragged your tongue along him, tracing his length.

Yunho’s hand tightened gently in your hair before it tightened more and a moan left him as you finally let him sink into your mouth. Your eyes flicked up toward his face, watching the way his head had tilted back against the wall again, jaw tight as he tried very hard to stay quiet as you sucked, hallowing your cheeks.

The reaction clearly wasn’t helping his self control. Not even a little. “Fuck…” he looked down at you and lost it. Both his hands moved to grip your head, holding you there, his dick in your mouth stretched around him. “yeah…. just like that…”

You gagged when he started thrusting, thick and heavy on your tongue as he started fucking your mouth. You moaned, nails digging into his thighs as you held onto him….

You gasped, his dick popping from your mouth as he suddenly yanked you up, mouth on yours again, moaning at the taste of himself on your tongue. The kiss was deeper this time. Messier. Your back met the edge of the small sink behind you as he turned you around in the cramped space. The counter pressed lightly against your hips as his hands settled on either side of you, bracing against the counter as he leaned in again, his forehead dropping briefly against yours while both of you tried to catch your breath.

For a second he just looked at you. Then he leaned closer, his voice low and rough against your ear. “We have to be quick.” Your breath caught. But you nodded anyway. The cramped space forced you closer together as he moved, the counter cool against your back while his hands held your waist firmly. Your fingers tightened in the front of his shirt as the moment finally tipped over that edge you’d both been hovering near all flight.

He made haste unbuttoning your pants, sliding them down, tossing them behind you on the sink. You wrapped your legs around him, one hand gripped your thigh as his other guided himself to you, he groaned as he brushed your clit. “So fucking wet….”

You bit your bottom lip as he thrusted, hands digging into his shoulders as he bottomed out, a moan building, barely escaping you. “Hey,” he whispered quickly, forehead pressing against yours. “Quiet.” You bit your lip again. trying to stifle another sound as your arms slid around his shoulders.

The tiny restroom suddenly felt even smaller. The faint rumble of the plane vibrated through the walls around you, barely masking the uneven rhythm of both your breathing as Yunho gripped your waist and started moving, his forehead resting against yours while he tried to stay quiet himself.

The slow pace only lasted a few seconds because the second you clenched around him, he snapped. Your heels of your feet dug into his ass after you kicked your slides off. Your head tipped back slightly as he started thrusting deeper, faster, a cry escaping you.

Yunho reacted instantly. His hand came up, covering your mouth gently but firmly “Quiet.” He reminded though it was difficult with the way he was now practically pounding into you, the obscene noise of skin on skin starting to grow. Your eyes widened slightly, but you nodded against his palm.

Yunho let out a slow breath, his head dropping forward until his forehead rested briefly against yours again. Your hands slid back up his shoulders, holding onto him as you tried very hard not to make another sound. Yunho’s jaw tightened as he leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You feel so fucking good….” He snapped his hips harder, a gasp leaving you, muffled against his hand as he growled. “Mine.”

You lost it. Your moans were loud against his hand, his palm warm against your lips as he felt the way your breathing had completely lost its rhythm. “Baby…. you’re getting loud…”

You reached up and gripped his wrist, pulling his hand back. “You weren’t complaining this morning…” you smirked, a loud moan leaving you. “or this morning…”

Yunho stopped and stared at you before shaking his head, a breathless laugh leaving him. “Fuck…. I think I love you…” then one of his hands reached down, two fingers circling at your clit before he dragged them lower, kissing you to muffle the cry that left you as he thrusted his fingers in alongside his dick, stretching you more, both of you on the edge….

Your eyes squeezed shut, your forehead pressing briefly against his shoulder as you tried to muffle the sound caught behind his hand again now as he pounded into you, his fingers chasing the rhythm, messy, loud, obscene.

“Yunho…. I’m…” You were whining now, legs tight around, completely gone as your orgasm hit you. You cried out, his hand that wasn’t two fingers deep inside you, slipped from your mouth and gripped your waist as his he started twitching inside you, your walls gripping him…

“Holy fuck….” He buried his face in the crook of your neck as he came, his fingers inside you slipping out as filled you, both of you clinging to each other, breathless, hearts pounding……

Both of you jumped when someone knocked on the restroom door. Yunho’s head snapped up from your shoulder while your eyes went wide, the two of you freezing like you’d just been caught committing a crime. Then came the voice through the door. “Hey.” It was unmistakably Jongho. “You two about done in there? I have to piss.”

Your stomach dropped as Yunho stared at the door in complete disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath as slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to stop yourself from laughing. Because he was still buried inside you while one of his friends and member of Ateez clearly knew exactly what was going on.

“Seriously,” Jongho continued through the door, his voice clearly amused now. “You’ve been in there forever.”

Yunho dragged both hands down his face, clearly trying to process how badly this had just gone. “Don’t say anything,” he whispered quickly to you.

“Oh come on,” Jongho sighed. “Do you think I’m stupid?” Then he laughed. “Wooyoung and San have been arguing over money about the two of you…. we know.”

You stared at Yunho.

Yunho stared at the door. “They…. what?” he said.

From the other side of the door came San’s muffled voice now. “Just open the door already, man.”

And then Wooyoung. Very loudly whispering. “Open the door! I need visible confirmation or San won’t pay me.”

Your face immediately buried itself in Yunho’s shoulder as you started laughing.

Yujin groaned softly as another knock sounded. “Yunho,” Jongho called again. “Bathroom. Now.”

Yunho sighed and leaned his forehead briefly against yours again.

“I’m gonna kill them.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @seungminniemin @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127 @sannies-tiddies @hannahstacos @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @love--in-stayville @hartsablaze @remi-young @bubbly-moon @fvxyxnh0 @herpoetryprincess @prchiquita8 @dreamgirlevilera @booposaurusrex @onecursedkitty @dvrktvnnel @atinynoona @metalheadatiny @uchihabbynic @eggielix @dodot04lover @thenumberoneangelcollection-blog @navydotz

[cobaltaugustao3]

My constant struggle when writing PWP

[tokkibean]

i do not “delete sentences” when they start “hindering the plot” i COPY PASTE THEM into a SEPARATE DOC made just for keeping all my USELESS LINES that i will also NEVER USE so therefore i should JUST DELETE THEM but i DONT because id FEEL BAD if i did

[ateezscupid]

I wrote 3 valentine’s day themed fics for today; only two of them are finished, and only one was edited 😭. but, I’ll post one and if I have time to edit the other I’ll post that one too. third one will be posted tomorrow!

Happy Valentine’s day !!! ❤️❤️

[ateezscupid]

thinking of writing spider-man!yunho smut…

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

so are we all just gonna stand here or are we gonna have an orgy or sum

[ateezscupid]

the people crave for boypussy!woo after your boypussy!hwa fic pls pls pls i beg

─── BUNNY ♡

SUMMARY / He’s been bored out of his mind waiting for you to come back from work. Poor baby is so pent up, he just wants his mommy to touch him.

warnings ✩ nsfw link, ftm!wooyoung, f!reader, some fluff and smut, sub!wooyoung, soft dom!reader, fingering (both), oral (both), strap-on use, choking, praise and degradation, pet names + mommy kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, ejaculating dildo (heh)

word count ✩ 6.66k

tags ✩ request or dm to be on my taglist!

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST

NOTE !! The people get what they want!

3:12.

He’s been staring at the clock all day waiting for you to get back.

"Fuck," Wooyoung muttered under his breath, drumming his fingers against the kitchen counter. The rhythmic tapping matched the second hand of the clock, each tick louder than the last. He'd cleaned the apartment twice, reorganized his vinyl collection, and even attempted to cook. He burned the shit out of the rice, but whatever. None of it helped.

4:37.

The apartment smelled like charred rice and impatience. Wooyoung paced from the living room to the bedroom for the fifteenth time, kicking a stray sock out of his way with more force than necessary. His phone buzzed in his pocket—another useless notification. Not you. Never you when he wanted you most.

5:09.

The key turned in the lock just as Wooyoung was debating whether to text you for the third time in twenty minutes. His head snapped up so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet scrambling toward the door. You barely had time to drop your bag before he was on you, hands gripping your waist like he’d drown if he let go.

"Jesus, Wooyoung—!" You gasped as his teeth scraped your neck, his whole body pressing you back against the wall. Your keys clattered to the floor, forgotten. His hands were already under your shirt, rough and desperate, like he'd been counting the seconds skin-to-skin.

“I missed you,” Wooyoung breathed against your skin, his voice ragged with want. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you flush against him so you could feel exactly how much. “You were gone too fucking long. I was about to explode.”

"That’s what work’ll do to you, sweet thing," you muttered, tipping your head back against the wall as Wooyoung's lips trailed fire down your throat. His hands were everywhere at once—under your shirt, tugging at your belt loops, pressing insistently between your thighs like he couldn’t decide which part of you to claim first. "Okay! Can I declutter first?!"

Wooyoung let out a frustrated groan, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as you pushed him back just enough to wiggle out of your coat. "Mmh no," he whined, fingers immediately hooking into your belt loops to drag you close again. "Declutter later. Me now." His breath hitched when you arched an eyebrow, unmoved, and he squeezed his eyes shut like a kid denied candy. "Please, mommy."

"Uh-huh. Coat first." You shoved him back again, this time with enough force that he stumbled a step, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout that would’ve been comical if his eyes weren’t so dark with hunger.

You shrugged out of your coat, hanging it neatly on the hook by the door like the slowest possible torture. Wooyoung made a wounded noise in the back of his throat, fingers twitching at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from grabbing you again.

“Aw, bunny,” you cooed, reaching out to pinch Wooyoung’s flushed cheek while he glared at you. His hand shot up to grab your wrist before you could pull away, his grip tight but not painful, just insistent, like he needed the contact to breathe.

“You’re so fucking mean,” he grumbled, but the way his thumb rubbed circles into your pulse point betrayed him.

"Mean?" You smirked, letting him drag you closer by the wrist until his chest bumped yours. "You're the one who nearly broke the door down when I walked in."

Wooyoung's grip on your wrist tightened just enough to make your breath catch. "You like it," he muttered, lips brushing the inside of your palm before he nipped at the skin there, sharp enough to sting. You hissed, but the sound twisted into a laugh when he immediately soothed the bite with his tongue, eyes flicking up to yours like a challenge.

"You're such a brat," you sighed, but the way your fingers curled into his hair gave you away. Wooyoung grinned against your palm, all sharp edges and smug satisfaction, before suddenly dropping to his knees with a thud that made you jump. His hands slid up your thighs, slow and deliberate, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants like he owned them.

“Oh—okay, in front of the door. That’s cool,” you muttered, but Wooyoung was already tugging your pants down your hips before you could finish the sentence. His teeth grazed the inside of your thigh, biting just hard enough to make your breath hitch, and you barely had time to brace yourself against the wall before his mouth was on you, hot and wet and relentless.

“Woo—” Your protest died in your throat when he sucked hard enough to make your knees buckle. He tugged at your underwear with his teeth, tongue dragging across the fabric and creating a noticeable wet patch.

His fingers dug into the backs of your thighs as he yanked you forward, nearly knocking you off balance. You barely caught yourself on the wall, fingers scrambling for purchase as Wooyoung’s tongue licked a hot stripe through the fabric.

“Jesus—Woo, the door,” you gasped, half-concerned about neighbors, half-distracted by the way his teeth scraped against your clit through the soaked material. He ignored you, peeling your underwear aside with his thumb, mouth already moving like he’d mapped out every inch of you in his head while you were gone.

The wet sound of his mouth working against you was obscenely loud, the noises leaking into the hallway past the open front door, and you bit your lip hard enough to taste copper when Wooyoung groaned against your skin, the vibration shooting straight to your core.

His fingers dug bruises into your thighs as he yanked you closer still, his nose bumping against your clit with every messy lick like he was trying to drown himself in you. “Fuck, mommy,” he panted against your skin, lips slick and swollen, “you taste so good—fuck—”

The hallway air was thick with the sound of skin and desperate breaths, your fingers twisting in Wooyoung’s hair hard enough to make him whine, not in protest, but encouragement. He lapped at you like a man starved, his tongue flat and broad as it dragged up your slit, slow just to feel you twitch against his mouth.

"S-Shit," you hissed, your hips rocking forward, chasing the heat of his lips. He chuckled, the vibration making your thighs tremble, before sucking your clit into his mouth.

You glance at the door. Jesus, if he hadn’t’ve trampled you like that, you would’ve been able to close it. You reached toward it, your fingers stretching, and then he growled into your skin, sucking hard enough to make your vision white out.

“You started this with the door—” You moaned when he sucked harshly on your clit. “—s-still open!”

Wooyoung’s fingers dug harder into your thighs when you tried to reach for the door again. “Leave it,” he mumbled against your skin, tongue flicking over your clit just to feel you jerk against his mouth. His lips were slick with you, spit-smeared and glistening, and the sight of him kneeling there. His eyes locked on yours made your stomach twist.

Your fingers tangled harder in his hair, hips jerking forward when Wooyoung’s tongue curled just right. "Someone’s gonna—" you started, cut off by his teeth grazing your clit. The groan that ripped out of you echoed louder than you intended. Wooyoung’s smirk was palpable against your skin.

Your noises bled into the hallway, but didn’t care. Wooyoung’s tongue was relentless, his nose pressed tight against you as he sucked your clit like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Your thighs trembled, knees threatening to give out. “Fuck—” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair.

“I’m close,” you whimper, voice cracking as Wooyoung’s tongue fucks into you faster. The words barely register, he’s too busy humming against your skin, drunk on the way you clench around his mouth.

The door creaked louder than your gasp when Wooyoung shoved two fingers into you without warning. His mouth never left your clit, sucking harder as your thighs clamped around his head. “Fuck, Woo—!” You jerked against the wall, heels skidding on the hardwood.

Your fingers twisted tighter in his hair, hips jerking forward when his tongue curled just right. "Oh my god, please—" The words dissolved into a choked moan as Wooyoung's teeth grazed your clit. The sound bounced off the hallway walls, too loud, too shameless. His smirk burned against your skin.

Without warning, your legs started to tremble. You grip onto his hair, your knees buckling as Wooyoung licks into you like a starving man. His fingers curl inside you, pressing deep, just the way you like it.

“Fuck, I’m cumming—!”

Your thighs clamped around Wooyoung’s head like a vice, the heel of your foot digging into his back as your orgasm ripped through you. His tongue didn’t let up, if anything, it got worse, licking into you through the tremors until you were shoving at his shoulders with a whimper. “Too much—fuck—”

Wooyoung didn’t let up, his tongue still working you through the aftershocks until your thighs shook too hard to keep him trapped. You slumped against the wall, breath ragged, fingers limp in his hair. He licked his lips, chin glistening, and grinned up at you like he’d just won something.

“You’re evil,” you panted, legs still shaking as Wooyoung licked his lips like he’d just finished dessert. His grin was all teeth, smug and satisfied, even as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.

Wooyoung stayed on his knees, breathing hard against your thigh. His fingers flexed where they still dug into your skin. "Not evil," he mumbled, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your knee. "Just hungry. And I missed you."

You push yourself up, shoving him back with your foot as you push the door closed finally. The click of the lock echoes louder than it should, like punctuation to the mess Wooyoung just made of you.

“Bedroom. Now.”

Wooyoung didn’t need telling twice. He lunged off his knees so fast the floorboards creaked, hands already grabbing at your waist before you could take a full step. “Fucking finally,” he growled, teeth scraping your earlobe as he half-dragged, half-carried you toward the bedroom. His grip was bruising, fingers digging into your skin like he was afraid you’d vanish if he eased up for even a second.

When you made it to the bedroom, Wooyoung was already pulling his shirt off with a reckless urgency that made you laugh until he turned around and you saw his chest heaving, his skin flushed pink from collarbones to waistband.

“You look hot like that,” you murmured, watching Wooyoung’s chest rise and fall like he’d just run a marathon. His pupils were blown wide, lips still wet from you, and the way his fingers trembled as he fumbled with his belt buckle was almost endearing. Almost. You clicked your tongue, stepping forward to bat his hands away. “Let me.”

Wooyoung’s breath hitched when your fingers brushed his stomach, his hips jerking forward instinctively like he couldn’t help it. You smirked, taking your time unbuckling his belt while he whined under his breath, fingers twitching at his sides like he wanted to grab you but didn’t dare.

“Mommy,” he groaned, voice cracking when you dragged his zipper down painfully slow. “C’mon, please,” You ignore him, pushing him back against the mattress.

You noticed the wet patch in his underwear, the way his hips twitched forward whenever your fingers brushed his waistband like a dog begging for scraps. "God, you're a mess," you murmured, kissing alongside his happy trail.

Wooyoung whimpered when your fingers finally slipped past the waistband of his underwear, his hips jerking forward to meet your touch before you’d even fully touched him. “Fuck—,” His voice cracked, raw and wrecked.

“My baby’s so wet, isn’t he?” Your fingers tap his clit ever so gently, watching his legs shake as you trace lazy circles. Not enough to push him over, just enough to make him whimper. His hips jerk forward, chasing your touch, but you pull your hand away with a tut.

Wooyoung makes a wounded noise, forehead dropping onto your shoulder as he grabs onto your arm. “No fair,” he slurs against your skin, breath hot and uneven.

"You did this to yourself eating me out when the door was still open. This is your punishment, bunny," you murmured, pressing a kiss to Wooyoung's trembling jaw while your fingers traced idle circles just above where he needed you most. His breath hitched, hips jerking forward in a futile attempt to grind against your hand, but you held him still with your other palm flat against his stomach. "Patience, baby."

Wooyoung whined high in his throat, fingers twisting in the sheets like he might tear them if you didn’t touch him properly soon. You smirked, dragging your fingertips just under the swell of his clit. Close enough to tease, far enough to torture. His hips jerked off the bed, chasing your touch with a desperation that made your stomach clench. “Mommy, please,” His voice cracked, ragged at the edges like he’d been begging for hours.

Wooyoung’s fingers clenched into the sheets, knuckles white with the effort of holding still. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, every inhale catching when your thumb brushed just beneath his clit—not quite touching, but close enough to make his thighs tremble.

“You’re so mean to me,” he whined, voice cracking as you leaned down to nip at his earlobe, your breath hot against his skin.

All you do is chuckle, finally tugging his underwear down his hips in one slow, deliberate motion. Wooyoung kicks them off the second they clear his thighs, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he watches your fingers trail back up his trembling legs.

“So impatient,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly over his inner thigh just to watch him shiver. His hips jerk off the mattress again, but you press him back down with a firm hand on his stomach. “Stay.”

Wooyoung’s breath hitched when your fingers finally brushed his clit, feather-light, just enough to make his thighs tremble. “There you go,” you murmured, watching his hips jerk off the mattress like he couldn’t help it. His hands fisted the sheets, knuckles white, but he didn’t dare move, not when you’d told him to stay. The obedience made your chest warm, even as his whine cracked the air between you. “Good boy.”

You lean down, kissing the inside of his thigh just to feel him tremble. Wooyoung’s breath comes in ragged bursts, his fingers twisting the sheets tighter with every inch your lips drag closer to where he needs you most. When you exhale against his clit, hot and slow, he lets out a sound that’s half-sob, half-laugh — like he’s both overwhelmed and desperate for more.

“God, you’re too pretty like this,” you murmur, nipping at the soft skin of his inner thigh just to watch him squirm. His hips jerk forward, but you press him down again with a firm hand on his stomach, your thumb rubbing slow circles into the dip of his hipbone. “Look at you. So wet for mommy.”

“Yeah—,” Wooyoung’s voice cracks, halfway between a whine and a plea, hips twitching helplessly under your palm. His clit pulses under your thumb when you press down just slightly, just enough to make his breath stutter. You watch the way his stomach tenses, the way his thighs shake when you drag your nail lightly over the swollen bud. “Fuck— fuck, please—“

“You smell so good, bunny.” Your voice was low, teasing, as you pressed your nose against Wooyoung’s inner thigh, inhaling deep just to feel him shudder. His hips jerked off the mattress, a whine caught between his teeth, but you didn’t give him what he wanted, not yet. Instead, you dragged your tongue up the crease of his thigh, slow and deliberate, savoring the way his breath hitched like he’d been punched.

“So fucking pretty,” you murmured, lips brushing his clit just enough to make his legs shake. “All spread out for me like this.”

“Mm, mommy can’t wait to taste you.” The words dripped from your lips like honey, slow and deliberate, just to watch Wooyoung’s thighs twitch. His breath hitched when you blew a cool stream of air over his clit, his hips jerking off the mattress in a silent plea. You smirked, dragging your teeth lightly over his inner thigh.

“I bet it hurts, huh?” you coo, pressing a kiss to the trembling skin just below his hipbone. “Good things come to boys who wait.”

Wooyoung's entire body arched off the mattress when your tongue finally—finally—dragged a slow, flat stripe up his clit. The sound he made was halfway between a sob and a curse, his fingers ripping at the sheets like he might tear them apart.

"Fuck!" His voice cracked, thighs trembling violently when you sucked him into your mouth without warning, your lips tight and relentless around his throbbing clit. His hips jerked forward on instinct, but you pinned him down with a firm hand on his stomach, your nails digging into his skin just enough to remind him who was in charge.

Wooyoung’s back arched off the bed, a broken cry tearing from his throat as your tongue flicked over his clit in quick, punishing circles. His thighs trembled under your grip, slick with sweat where your fingers dug into his skin. “I-It feels s’good, mommy—” His voice was raw, ragged at the edges like he’d been screaming for hours. You hummed against him, the vibration sending a violent shudder through his body, his hips jerking helplessly against your mouth.

You lift his legs and rest them over your shoulders, burying your face deeper between his thighs just to hear the way his voice breaks. Wooyoung claws at the sheets, his back arching off the mattress as you suck his clit into your mouth, lips tight and insistent. His hips jerk forward, chasing the pressure, but you pin him down, your forearm across his stomach now.

Wooyoung’s fingers twisted into your hair, not pulling, just holding on like he’d float away otherwise. His thighs trembled against your shoulders, every ragged gasp punched out of him as your tongue worked him over with slow, deliberate strokes. The taste of him filled your mouth, and you groaned against his skin just to feel him jerk like he’d been electrocuted.

Wooyoung’s thighs clamped around your head, his heels digging into your back as his entire body tensed like a bowstring. “G-Gonna—fuck—” The warning dissolved into a strangled cry as his orgasm hit, his hips stuttering against your mouth while you drank him down, slow and relentless.

His fingers twisted tighter in your hair, pulling just enough to sting, but you didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, not when he was shuddering and gasping above you like a man drowning.

Wooyoung was still trembling from his first orgasm when your fingers trailed down his stomach, tracing idle circles along his belly button. His breath hitched, hips jerking forward instinctively only for your palm to press him firmly back into the mattress. "Stay," you murmured, nipping at the inside of his thigh just to hear him whine.

Wooyoung whimpered when your fingers traced lower, teasing the slick heat between his thighs. His legs twitched, still sensitive from the first orgasm, but he didn’t pull away, just arched his back in silent invitation. You smirked against his skin, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh before dragging your tongue up his clit again, slow and deliberate. His breath hitched, hips jerking off the mattress, but you pinned him down with your free hand, fingers rubbing lazy circles just above his entrance.

Your fingers teased his entrance, pressing in just enough to make him gasp before retreating again. Wooyoung whined, hips jerking forward in a futile attempt to chase your touch, but you held him down with your forearm still firm across his stomach.

"So greedy," you murmured against his inner thigh, biting just hard enough to leave a mark. His fingers twisted in your hair, tugging sharply to anchor himself as your tongue dragged another slow, torturous stripe up his clit.

Your fingers traced lazy circles around Wooyoung’s entrance, just barely dipping in before retreating, enough to make his hips jerk off the mattress with a whine that bordered on pathetic. “Mommy,” he gasped, fingers twisting in your hair like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or shove you away. “I-I’ve been so good, pleaseee—”

Your fingers press into him without warning, curling deep just as your tongue flicks over his clit again. Wooyoung's entire body bows off the bed, a ragged scream tearing from his throat as his thighs clamp around your head like a vice.

"S-Shit! Shit, oh my god—" His voice cracks, hands scrambling for purchase in the sheets as you crook your fingers just right, rubbing that spot inside him that makes his vision blur. His hips jerk forward uncontrollably, fucking himself onto your fingers with a desperation that would be embarrassing if he had the capacity to care.

Wooyoung’s breath came in ragged, punched-out gasps as your fingers worked him open with slow, deliberate strokes. His hips twitched helplessly, riding the rhythm of your hand while your mouth stayed glued to his clit, sucking just hard enough to keep him teetering on the edge.

“Fuck—ah! Fffuck!” His voice cracked, fingers clawing at the sheets as you crooked your fingers inside him, pressing against that spot that made his thighs shake. You hummed against him, the vibration dragging another whine from his throat, his back arching off the mattress like he was trying to escape the pleasure.

Wooyoung came with a sound like glass breaking—sharp, sudden, and utterly beyond his control. His back arched off the mattress so violently the headboard slammed against the wall, his thighs clamping around your head hard enough to bruise.

You didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, not when his entire body was shuddering apart beneath you, his hands scrabbling at your shoulders like he was trying to push you away and drag you closer all at once. His clit pulsed against your tongue, swollen and oversensitive, but you kept licking, kept sucking, until his whines turned to sobs and his hips stuttered in aborted little jerks against your mouth.

“M-Mommy— please, please, please— I-I can’t—” Wooyoung’s voice shattered into a sob as his hips jerked uncontrollably, his body taut like a bowstring about to snap. You didn’t let up, fingers still working inside him, tongue flicking over his oversensitive clit with ruthless precision.

His thighs trembled violently, slick with sweat where they pressed against your shoulders, and when he came again, it was with a sound so raw it barely resembled human speech—just a choked, guttural noise ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

Spurts of liquid landed on your hand and arm, even on your face. His back arched off the bed so sharply you worried he might hurt himself, his fingers scrabbling at the sheets like he was trying to claw his way out of his own skin.

Finally, you pull away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as Wooyoung collapses against the mattress like a marionette with its strings cut. His chest heaves, skin flushed deep red from his collarbones down to where his thighs still twitch involuntarily. A thin sheen of sweat makes him glisten under the dim bedroom light, and when you drag your fingers through the mess between his legs, he whimpers.

“Aw, bunny. I’m not even done with you yet,” you cooed, watching Wooyoung’s eyelids flutter as he fought to stay conscious. His chest still heaved, his skin sticky with sweat where your fingers traced idle patterns over his hipbones. When you pressed your thumb against his clit again, just a featherlight touch, his entire body jerked like he’d been electrocuted, a broken noise tearing from his throat.

Wooyoung barely had time to catch his breath before you were sliding off the bed, leaving him sprawled and twitching on the sheets like a discarded puppet. His fingers scrabbled weakly at the mattress as he tried and failed to prop himself up on trembling elbows.

“W-Wait—where—” His voice cracked, raw from screaming, but you were already across the room, rummaging through the dresser drawer with single-minded focus.

Wooyoung blinked dazedly at the ceiling, his thighs still twitching with aftershocks as the mattress dipped with your absence. The room spun slightly, or maybe that was just his vision blurring, but he managed to turn his head just enough to watch you stride toward the dresser. His breath hitched when you yanked the bottom drawer open with a careless jerk, the wood scraping loud enough to make his oversensitive nerves flinch.

The drawer screeched open, your fingers closing around the familiar silicone harness before Wooyoung could even process what was happening. His breath hitched audibly when you turned back to him, the strap dangling from your grip like a promise.

Wooyoung barely had time to whimper before you grabbed his hips and flipped him onto his stomach, his cheek smushing against the damp sheets as his legs instinctively spread wider. His breath hitched when you dragged the harness straps through your fingers with deliberate slowness, watching the way his back arched in anticipation—like a cat stretching before pouncing.

“Up,” you ordered, tapping his ass until he lifted his hips with a shaky exhale, his thighs trembling from the effort.

Wooyoung barely had the strength to lift himself onto his elbows, his thighs still trembling from the aftershocks. But the second your fingers dug into his hips, he obeyed, rolling onto his stomach with a shaky exhale. His chest pressed flat against the mattress, arms folding beneath his head as he arched his back instinctively, presenting himself like a goddamn offering.

"This what you’ve been waiting for? Hm?" you chuckle, smoothing your hands down Wooyoung's trembling back as you lined up behind him. “For mommy’s cock to be deep inside you?”

His breath hitched audibly when the tip of the toy pressed against him, still loose from your fingers but twitching tight with anticipation. "Look at you," you cooed, dragging the dildo in slow circles just to watch his hips jerk. "Already dripping for me like a good boy."

Wooyoung's breath hitched when you pushed into him in one slow, unrelenting stroke, his chest lifting off the mattress like a live wire, fingers scrambling for purchase in the sheets. "Fffuck, i-it’s so…” His voice cracked, raw and wrecked, as you bottomed out inside him, hips flush against his trembling ass.

"So good for me," you murmured, dragging your nails down the sweat-slick curve of his spine just to feel him shudder. "Taking me so deep like this, baby. Perfect. God, I bet it’s so deep, huh?”

The first thrust punched the air from Wooyoung’s lungs—hard enough to send his face smacking into the mattress, his fingers twisting the sheets into knots.

“Jesus—!” His voice cracked, spine arching like a bowstring as you bottomed out inside him, the stretch bordering on too much after how thoroughly you’d already wrecked him. You paused, grinding deeper just to hear the wet, punched-out noise he made, his thighs trembling violently against yours.

"Mmmh, look at you," you murmured, one hand gripping Wooyoung's hip hard enough to bruise as the other smoothed up the trembling curve of his spine. He shuddered violently when you pulled out almost completely, just to slam back in with a wet snap of skin against skin that echoed off the bedroom walls. His choked moan dissolved into a whine when you didn't let up, setting a relentless pace that had his thighs quivering within seconds. "So fucking perfect for me, bunny. Taking me so good—you feel that? How deep I am?"

Your hands slither up his back, one grabbing his neck and pushing him into the mattress. Wooyoung whines into the sheets, the sound muffled but no less desperate, his hips twitching back against you instinctively.

"Such a good boy," you murmur, your voice dripping with honeyed praise as you roll your hips forward in a slow, grinding motion that has his thighs shaking.

His breath hitches, fingers clawing at the sheets when you pull back only to thrust in again, deeper this time, until his back arches like a drawn bowstring. "You take me so good every time."

"Fuck, look at you," you growled, tightening your grip on Wooyoung's hips as you snapped forward without warning, burying yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. His scream shattered against the mattress, hands scrabbling at the sheets like he might tear them apart. "Taking me like you were made for it—god, you’re perfect." Your praise dripped from your lips between ragged breaths, each word punctuated by another punishing snap of your hips that drove him deeper into the mattress.

"You love this, don't you?" The words were a growl against Wooyoung's ear as your fingers tightened around his throat, cutting off his next whimper before it could escape. His hips jerked back against yours instinctively, his body moving on autopilot even as his breath stuttered under your grip. "That's it—fuck yourself back on me, baby. Show mommy how much you need it.”

"Greedy pussy sucking me in—" The words punched out of you between thrusts, your hips slamming into Wooyoung's trembling body with a rhythm that sent the headboard cracking against the wall like a gunshot. Your fingers tightened around his throat, cutting off his next whimper before it could escape, and the way his thighs jerked told you he loved it. His hips stuttered, oversensitive and shaking, but he still pushed back against you with a desperation that made your stomach clench.

"Fuck, baby—look at you," you groaned, snapping your hips forward in a brutal rhythm that had Wooyoung's thighs slapping against yours with every thrust. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, fingers twisting the sheets into knots as you piston into him without mercy.

"M-Mommy—, ah!" Wooyoung's voice shattered into a sob as you pistoned into him faster, your hips snapping forward with a brutal rhythm that left no room for mercy. You didn't slow down, couldn't slow down, not when he was so tight and wet around you, his body arching back into every thrust like he was starving for it.

"Tell mommy how much you needed," you growled, one hand tightening around his hip while the other dragged nails down his sweat-slick spine.

Wooyoung's entire body convulsed when your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head back sharply and forcing his spine into a cruel arch as you drove into him with relentless precision. His mouth fell open in a silent scream, drool spilling down his chin as his vision blurred at the edges.

“N-Needed it so bad," He groaned, a bit of saliva dribbling down his chin. “Can’t—I can’t.. ‘m close,” The warning dissolved into a wet, guttural moan as his hips stuttered wildly, his feet kicking up behind you as he neared orgasm.

Wooyoung's fingers scrabbled uselessly against the sheets when you abruptly flipped him onto his back, his legs hooking around your waist before his brain could catch up. His chest heaved, lips parted in a silent gasp as you loomed over him, his hair a mess and sweat dripping down your collarbones. The raw hunger in your eyes punched the air from his lungs. "Mommy—" His voice cracked, hands fluttering against your thighs like he wasn't sure whether to push or pull.

Wooyoung’s head tipped back against the mattress as you slammed into him, the angle deeper no. His hands flew to your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to leave crescents in your skin, but he didn’t push you away. His hips jerked up to meet every thrust, his breath coming in ragged, punched-out gasps that dissolved into whimpers when your thumb brushed his swollen clit.

Wooyoung's back arched violently when your thumb pressed down, a rough, unforgiving circle that sent sparks shooting up his spine. His mouth fell open in a soundless scream, fingers clawing at your thighs as his hips bucked wildly, desperate for friction, for release, for anything.

"P-Please—" The word shattered into a sob as you snapped your hips forward, the harness dragging against that sweet spot inside him with brutal precision. His vision whited out for a second, his entire body locking up like a live wire.

Wooyoung’s entire body went rigid, his thighs clamping around your waist like a vice as his orgasm ripped through him with a violence that left him gasping—raw, shattered sounds punched from his chest with each stuttering thrust you didn’t let up. His clit pulsed under your thumb, oversensitive and twitching, but you kept rubbing, kept fucking into him, until his whimpers dissolved into sobs and his hands fluttered weakly against your hips like he was trying to push you away.

“Fuck, you’re so hot cumming around my dick, baby! You want me to fill you up?” You laugh, breathless, as Wooyoung’s thighs clamp around your waist, his whole body shuddering like a leaf in a storm as his orgasm rips through him. His fingers scrabble weakly at your hips, his hips jerking in aborted little thrusts as you keep rolling into him, slower now but relentless, dragging out every last aftershock until his whines dissolve into wet, hiccupping sobs.

“You want me to cum in you, huh? Mmmh, you’d look so pretty full, bunny.”

Wooyoung’s breath hitched in a wet, broken gasp when you slowed your thrusts to a torturous grind, the harness pressing deep inside him as you leaned down to lick a stripe up his sweaty throat.

His fingers twitched against your thighs, weak and uncoordinated, but his hips still jerked up instinctively, like his body couldn’t stop chasing yours even when he was oversensitive and shaking. “M-Mommy,” His voice cracked, raw from screaming, and you nipped at his jaw just to feel him shudder.

Wooyoung’s thighs trembled violently when you pulled out almost completely, only to slam back in with a wet, filthy noise that had his toes curling into the sheets. His breath hitched in a broken whimper, oversensitive and wrung-out, but his hips still arched up instinctively, chasing the drag of the harness inside him like he couldn’t help himself.

"Greedy," you murmured, dragging your nails down his sweat-slick chest just to watch him jerk. His clit pulsed under your thumb, swollen and red, and when you pressed down hard, his entire body locked up, back bowing off the mattress like he’d been electrocuted.

“Fuck, I’m cumming baby,” You moan, hips stuttering against Wooyoung’s ass as the harness pulses inside him, the silicone tip releasing a warm gush of liquid that makes him whimper. His thighs twitch violently around your waist, oversensitive and trembling, but he doesn’t pull away, just arches his back higher, pressing himself deeper onto the toy like he’s trying to milk every last drop.

“Gonna fill you up so good,” you growl, grinding deeper as the harness releases another spurt.

The harness pulsed inside Wooyoung with another warm gush, the liquid trickling down as he shuddered violently beneath you, his body arching into each spasm like it was wired to take everything you gave him.

"Oh my god," His voice cracked, raw and ruined, fingers scrabbling weakly at your hips as you ground deeper, milking the last of the harness's release into him with slow, deliberate rolls of your hips. You smirked at the way his stomach twitched with each pulse, his clit swollen and oversensitive where it rubbed against the base of the harness.

Wooyoung’s body went slack beneath you, his chest heaving as he stared dazedly at the ceiling, his lips parted and skin flushed from his collarbones down to where your fingers still pressed against his trembling thighs. The harness pulsed inside him one last time, and he whimpered, a weak little noise that cracked halfway through. You leaned down, licking a stripe up his sweaty throat just to feel him shudder. “Still with me, bunny?”

Wooyoung blinked up at you, his eyelashes fluttering like he was trying to focus through a haze. His lips parted and his throat bobbing as he swallowed weakly. His fingers twitched against your thigh, too weak to grip but still trying, like his body hadn’t gotten the memo that it was utterly spent.

“M’here,” he slurred, voice wrecked and syrupy-slow, his hips giving a feeble jerk when you shifted slightly inside him. A thin trickle of liquid seeped from where the harness pressed into him, and his breath hitched, oversensitive and trembling.

His eyelashes fluttered when you pulled out slowly, watching the way his thighs instinctively squeezed together as if trying to keep you inside. A shudder wracked his body as liquid spilled onto the sheets beneath him, his breath hitching when your fingers trailed through the mess, spreading it across his trembling stomach.

"Fuck," he laughed weakly, voice shredded beyond recognition, his hips twitching weakly when you rubbed on his abdomen.

“Are you okay?” you laugh as you begin to unstrap yourself, sitting it down beside you two. You run your hands up and down his legs.

“Yeah, I just…” His thighs twitched when you brushed a thumb over his hipbone, his eyelashes fluttered like he was fighting to stay awake. “I need a minute,”

“Okay, bunny,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his damp forehead before sliding off the bed. The sheets rustled as you grabbed the discarded towel that was nearby, dampening it with warm water from the bathroom sink before returning to his side.

The damp towel was warm against Wooyoung’s flushed skin as you dragged it over his trembling thighs, wiping away the sticky mess between his legs with slow, deliberate strokes. He whimpered at the first touch, his body oversensitive and twitching, but didn’t pull away. His fingers curling weakly into the sheets like he was anchoring himself to the bed.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of his knee when his leg jerked involuntarily. His skin was fever-hot under your lips, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the air as you cleaned him with careful hands.

You reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. "Drink," you murmured, pressing the rim to his lips, and he obeyed with a sleepy whine, his throat bobbing weakly as he swallowed. Half of it dribbled down his chin, his coordination shot to hell, but you wiped it away with your thumb before he could even register the spill.

Wooyoung blinked up at you, his lashes sticky with tears, lips swollen and parted as he struggled to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven hitches—each exhale trembling like he might shatter apart if you touched him again. But when your fingers brushed a damp curl from his forehead, he leaned into the touch instinctively, his cheek pressing into your palm like a cat seeking warmth.

Wooyoung's fingers twitched weakly against your thigh, his body limp and spent, but his lips still curved into a drowsy smile when you pressed a kiss to his forehead. "M'good," he slurred, the words barely audible as his eyelashes fluttered shut.

You laughed softly, tucking the blanket around his shoulders before sliding off the bed, your own legs shaky from exertion. “Want some food?”

“Please,” he chuckled, turning to his side and sighing.

The room smelled like sex and sweat, the air thick and humid, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Not when Wooyoung was sprawled across the sheets like a satisfied cat, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.

“I love you, Wooyoungie,” you tease as you stand in the doorway, holding onto the doorknob.

“Mmm, love you too.”

[ateezscupid]

Idrk if your requests are open rn so ik sorry 😭 But thots on riding a whiny and subby yunho??

I fucking LOVE subby yunho. warning: nsfw links

omg, like, imagine going up to him while he's doing god knows what and you sit on top of him making it hard for him to focus on whatever he was doing. and you know he can’t resist you so you ride him with all you’ve got and he gives up and gives you all his attention :(((

(guys this was old. like, march 2024 old. I decided to post it anyway since it was technically — done? I guess? I replaced the link to something a little more recent so lol enjoy)