Xennial ✴️INFP✴️Dreamer
Masterlist
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♏ Staytiny with Jimin rising
WDYM my bias is showing? 🐈⬛
Hi, I'm Aurora and I love to play - with ideas, music, words and pictures. ----------
This isn't my typical posting schedule or my regular type of piece, instead it was a writing challenge from @awesome_kpop_books over on threads!
Please read with caution as it contains violent scenes and disturbing concepts.
My bias is happily scurrying in the kitchen to prepare dinner for me, but I just caught a glimpse that the “meat” on the counter has a tattoo that exactly matches the one on my own arm.
This was it!
The nerves are fading with every step being ushered along the corridor by a harassed staff member, but Wooyoung is waiting for you beyond that door and you can’t back out now.
When you found out you’d won the fanmeet event you were over the moon, even though you didn’t remember entering. It was comeback time, you’d signed up for numerous GO’s, and were so deep in your overdraft it wasn’t even a joke in the group chat anymore. So it was absolutely believable that in the middle of the night you’d signed up for something attached to a raffle, and just lost track of it in all the chaos.
With a sharp cough the staff member brought you crashing back to reality, pointing to a chair and hurriedly dashing off a list of instructions, do’s and don’ts. Far too fast for you to process and, like a sheep, you just nodded dumbly along. And with a quick shake of their head they retreated back down the corridor leaving you alone with your thoughts.
Dangerous.
<you’ve been here before, waiting outside the door, a combination of excitement and anxiety churning you up inside>
Deja Vu. Your favourite song, it’d be funny if it wasn’t so disconcerting. The door creaks open and you jump to your feet, smoothing down imaginary creases in your skirt, looking up to see your bias watching you with a smile. Your heart does that thing and your breath catches in your throat. He’s even more stunning in real life, how do people work with him everyday and continue to function?
Holding out his hand to you he gives you that smile, yeah you know the one.
<always the same smile, even on his photocards, does he practice in front of a mirror to get it just right>
You take his outstretched hand. This is unexpected, you were sure there’d be no physical contact. His skin is warm, softer than you expected, and no rings. Of course, you berate yourself internally, he’s cooking a meal for the two of you, so hygiene yadda yadda.
<where did that come from? you’d had no information other than a generic fanmeet email>
Pulling you through the doorway he chatters to you non-stop, talking a mile a minute. Exactly what he’s known for, but always in Korean? This is English, but you have to focus to understand what he’s saying, catching the odd word and phrase, and as your brain struggles to put it together, your eyes scan the room. Not a studio, but a real open plan space, seating, dining, and a kitchen on the other side of the counter.
Leading you to a bar stool he makes sure you're comfortable, and you nod again, not trusting yourself to speak without sounding like an idiot. You look around you and realise you’re completely alone with him. There are no other winners here, no members, no managers, no staff. You’re shocked to find him beside you again, drink in hand. He’d been talking to you, and you’d completely missed it.
Embarrassed now, you take a sip, you don’t want to come across as rude. The liquid burns as it slides down your throat and you curse yourself for not checking what you thought was water. The hesitant smile you give him doesn’t even begin to cover your grimace, but his trademark carefree laugh does the job.
“You don’t drink?” he smirks, tucking your hair behind your ear. You can feel the heat in your cheeks at his touch, you just hope your makeup can hold up to the challenge.
“Not much, mostly white wine spritzers.” cringing inwardly at your admission, you try to reclaim some semblance of cultural nuance. “Soju?”
He nods, as he moves back around the counter “Chamisul, you didn’t like it?”
You think about it, trying to remember the flavour before the burn. “I’m guessing it’s an acquired taste.”
His nodding becomes comical as he starts to check the equipment. Chopping board, grater, knives. “Ya, ya, ya. But I’ll find you something else.”
He heads for the fridge and pulls out a bottle of chilled white and an armful of vegetables. Dropping the veg on the board he presents the bottle to you with a flourish. Pinot Grigio, one of your favourite labels. Surprising.
<a flash of a sheet of paper, lists of questions, check boxes, your handwriting filling the spaces>
You shake your head, trying to dislodge the images, and he frowns.
“You don’t like it?” he seems genuinely surprised and you smile immediately to placate him.
“Oh no, it’s my favourite. Thank you.” you dip your head submissively and immediately wonder why. You take a deep draught to reassure him, it’s cool and refreshing after the heat of the Korean alcohol, and find yourself starting to relax.
He’s working on the vegetables, talking through what he’s doing and you’re surprised to see bowls already full of chopped carrots and sliced scallions. Did you zone out? For how long? You sip the pinot and try to catch up with his running commentary. His knife skills are impressive, within seconds an onion is peeled and diced to perfection and he turns away to wash his hands and put the knife in the dishwasher.
<the bowls were blue, full of sliced mushrooms and beansprouts>
Pulling your eyes away from his back, you look at the bowls of prepped vegetables.
White.
With a black spiral pattern around the middle.
You look up to find him watching you intently, “Are you okay?”
You’re not sure, but you don’t want to say anything that will stop this. How many Atiny ever get an opportunity like this? It’s a once in a lifetime event, even though you’re sure some have paid big bucks to increase their chances. Not that you could ever afford to do that, you must have gotten all kinds of lucky. If only you could remember.
Before you can chase the thoughts down you find his fingers pressed to your lips as he slides a sliver of carrot into your mouth. You chew, swallow robotically, his fingers remain close, his thumb swiping across your lower lip as though you’d missed a piece. Your mouth is completely dry and you reach for the glass to moisten your lips.
He pulls away, almost as if he’s suddenly shy, but that can’t be true. Your bias is known to be an incredible flirt with a natural talent for fan service. There’s no way he’d be hesitant around any Atiny, and it would be utterly ridiculous to think that he was actually into you. He’s spent a grand total of, wait how long have you been here? There’s no clock on the wall, you pat your pockets. No phone. Must be part of the event, of course it makes sense. You’ve heard fans get signed polaroids at events like this.
Like this? You’ve never heard of anything even remotely like this before.
<one arm around your shoulder squeezing you reassuringly, his other outstretched to take the photo as you pose. you’re not smiling, tears leaving a trail on your cheeks>
He looks over his shoulder at you as he retrieves a package from the refrigerator, the shyness gone, replaced with his trademark playful smirk. He places the wrapped meat on the counter and goes to select another knife. Thinner. Serrated.
Grabbing a frying pan from the wall rack, showing off more of his skills, he spins the handle on the flattened palm of his hand. You’re hypnotised by the flash of red in the centre of the cooking side and find yourself taking long, deep swallows of your wine as he comes closer. Placing the pan on a hob he flicks the switch causing flames to leap suddenly, you pull back before the fire can catch your hair. With a hissed curse he rounds the counter to check on you, taking your face in both hands as he studies you carefully. His hands are gentle on your skin as he brushes your jaw, making you flush uncontrollably.
<he’s wearing glasses, where did they come from? and his hair was shorter, a deep red?>
“I’m okay, I’m fine.” you scan him, his hair the dark brown you thought it was, no glasses obscuring his face. This whole thing is feeling increasingly surreal and dreamlike. Reaching for your drink, your eyes locked with his, you almost made it. But your fingers just brush against the stem, tipping it forward, the liquid splashing over the meat and the glass shattering on the countertop.
He pulls back and grabs for a teatowel as the wine seeps into the wrapping paper, making it translucent. “Good job we were going to simmer it in wine anyway,” he giggles, scooping broken shards into a bowl for disposal.
You don’t return the laugh, your eyes glued to the image on the meat, now clear through the wet paper. You know that image better than you know Woo’s rose tattoo. Lifting your hand to your face, you compare the image on your left forearm to that on the meat in front of you.
Identical.
“Shibal!” Wooyoung’s voice is suddenly harsh, angry.
He grabs your hand before you can pull away, his slender fingers gripping you like a vice. His smile is gone, his easy, playful manner exchanged for a dark and dangerous vibe. Struggling against him you shriek for help, grabbing for anything you can. He’s disposed of all the glass, the knives just out of reach, your fingers close on the handle of the pan and you swing with all your might. The metal connects with his head with a dull clang, and he releases you.
Scrabbling off the stool, you head for the door, desperate to put distance between you, what the fuck is going on?
<a knife slides under your ribcage, your skin bubbling under a brulee blowtorch, a cleaver chops your hand at the wrist, cheese wire slicing into the soft flesh around your throat, Wooyoung approaching with a grater…>
The images flash through your head, over and over again, the blood, the pain, the fear. You’re frozen in shock.
“Wait!” Wooyoung is standing on the other side of the counter, rubbing the large bump on his forehead. “It’s not what you think…”
You choke on your reply, thinking is so far from reality right now, this is pure adrenaline reaction. His eyes flicker to the side of you and your heart sinks, strong arms wrapping around you, holding you tight, despite your desperate attempts.
Wooyoung wanders over, boning knife in hand. “Good job San. We almost made it this time, stupid mistake, we’ll have to check the meat next time. Add it to the list.”
You can feel San nod his head behind you, “So now what?”
Beside you, you sense another presence, “We sedate her, then carry on. It won’t be quite as tasty. But still, better than previous team meals.” Yeosang’s soft lisp chills you in a way that has nothing to do with his vocals.
Tears streak down your face as he stands in front of you tapping the air bubbles out of the syringe. “Hold her steady, no need for her to suffer more than necessary, it’ll come through in the flavour.” He shakes his head sadly. “We were really looking forward to this.”
Wooyoung stands behind him, draping an arm casually over Yeosang’s shoulder as the needle slides into your skin. “Let the farm know to start getting another one ready for next time. We need to modify the cloning system, I swear she was remembering”
As your eyes flutter shut for the final time you hear San’s words, “We need Atiny to feed us, so we can feed them. Such greedy fans”
I recently got involved in a challenge to wreck an Atiny in just 250 words using a picture of their choosing.
This is the picture they chose, I hope I did it justice x
Thank you @ladybubbles for the inspiration
“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir”
You couldn’t believe it!
Looking down at your last customer of the evening, you flushed to your roots. He was handsome, dark eyes, dark hair, and clearly not French. Although he had impeccable, and very expensive taste, based on his clothes and menu choices at least.
You poured his wine, a 2000 Pétrus, and with a polite cough you asked if he was aware what he’d just said. For a moment, the wicked smile he gave you had you convinced he was well aware of what he’d said. But a raised eyebrow from you was all it took to make him giggle bashfully.
Patiently you explained the translation, and now it was his turn to blush, his skin glowing in the soft candlelight. You left him to finish his meal, and ponder the perils of propositioning a French sommelier.
---+---+---+---+---+---
2am came and went, and so did your 3rd orgasm of the night.
With his face buried between your thighs, his thumb stroking your clit as you come down from the highest high of your life, you can still see the dark sparkle in his eyes as he looks up at your face, flushed and damp with sweat.
Crawling up your naked body, pinning you beneath his own lean flesh, he arched his back, catlike, giving you a glimpse of his exquisitely sculpted body. His tongue flicked playfully into your mouth, giving you a taste of yourself, as his cock eased deliciously into your cunt.
He's done it again, cos of course he has, he's Wooyoung and he can't help being such a beautiful creature.
So what's a girl to do? All I can do...make pretty pictures of him. Soooooo please forgive me, I was torn between sharing new phone wallpapers, or my random lil snapshots.
And trust there will be Studio Tomboy edited pics coming, because I just can't help myself when it comes to Wooyoung!
They’d all picked a fic and read it out to the others, cracking each other up by doing the voices (Seonghwa), or acting out the motions (Yunho). San couldn’t get through the first page of his, the tips of his ears turning bright pink, and Yeosang read with his head in his hands the entire time, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
Afterwards they voted on a winner, and left a compliment from their burner account.
Surprisingly the writer responded, with a challenge. And even more surprisingly they contemplated it.
I mean, how hard could it be? Between them, they’d read a fair few fics by now, most of them entertaining. Some of them were even halfway decent. They could pull this off for sure! Who knew better what they liked than they did? So they accepted the challenge and set to work creating the greatest masterpiece in the history of fanfics.
Laptop charged, knuckles cracked and then…
Nothing.
Minds went blank. Eyes flicked to the blank screen and away. It was Jongho’s idea to open the Soju, and Mingi suggested watching their fancams to get the creative juices flowing, Hongjoong sat back watching the chaos unfold. It was only a matter of time before someone commented on Mingi’s lip bite and into the fic it went. Wooyoung’s laugh was next, and another bottle of Soju made the rounds. Yeosang ordered food, it was getting late after all. After that chickens had to go in. And if chickens were going in they were back to MIngi again.
Feeling a little targeted now Mingi started to sulk, until Wooyoung decided to add a rabid squirrel to the mix, which cheered Mingi up no end. Seonghwa put a stop to that though, he thought that adding all the Aniteez could get a little risque. San pointed out how many omegaverse fics there were out there, and that Atiny definitely had no problem mixing it up with erm, animal companions?
As one, they all turned to San, mouths agape.
He got flustered and excused himself then. No-one could recall reading any hybrid fics together, clearly San had been doing his own personal research.
Yunho wanted more focus on fingers, Atiny go insane for them he insisted, Wooyoung backed him up, and so in the fingers went. Seonghwa insisted that tongue was a necessity, and again Wooyoung backed him up, which made Jongho roll his eyes and type something incredibly unsavoury at Wooyoung’s expense.
Wooyoung tried to delete it, and it devolved into a wrestling match. Arms swinging, legs flailing, punches almost landing. Yunho and Mingi grabbed Wooyoung and pulled him away, while Yeosang subdued Jongho, whispering who knew what into the maknae’s ears.
And through it all, in his corner Hongjoong continued to watch. Finger to his lips, thoughts running through his head a mile a minute. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and contemplated his squabbling crew.
He coughed. Just once, low and soft. But it stopped every one of them in their tracks. Even San popped his head back round the door and waited expectantly, almost as if he’d been hovering outside waiting for an opportunity to rejoin the fun.
And then Captain explained the plan. They had until midnight tomorrow to write a scene. Whatever they wanted, however they wanted to. And he would put it all together in the way only he could.
Like some sort of Frankenstein’s fiction? suggested one. I like it, smirked another.
And then it was all over, with some murmurs of dissent, and one or two whispered exchanges, he sent them all off to their respective rooms to ponder the plan and their role in it.
By 3am someone had slipped a folded sheet of paper under the studio door. Hongjoong rolled his chair across to pick it up. Random scribblings, with some incredibly graphic detail, scrawled hastily across both sides, but the outline was solid, bold. Interesting. Curiously, he had no clue who had written it, although he could take a guess based on the content if not the handwriting. But this was shaping up to be a fun project all round.
He didn’t even realise he had fallen asleep at his desk again until a short sharp knock woke him just after 6, and a shadow passed across the frosted glass. Dragging himself back into the land of the living, Hongjoong opened the door and scoured the corridor outside. Nothing. Empty. Except an envelope fastened to the front of the door.
With a final glance down both avenues, he returned to the studio and closed the door carefully, quietly. No sense disturbing anyone. Then he sat down to read, which was probably a very sensible thing, considering he almost fell off his seat 3 times whilst reading the typed pages. Someone had taken a great deal of care to paint a picture with words, and it was definitely gallery worthy.
Placing both contributions in a folder, he slid it into his desk drawer and locked it. Time to grab twenty minutes before breakfast and then a full day's schedule.
Waiting for him in the car was a driver, and a sealed envelope, a glossy lip print across the back. He didn’t even have time to ask the driver who had dropped it off, before he was joined by the rest of the crew. Shoving it roughly into his pocket, he resolved to check it when he had a moment alone.
The day passed in a blur of interviews, travelling from one studio to another, trying to coral the crew into the most charming personas despite the previous night’s squabbling. Seating arrangements had to be changed multiple times for the on cam events, and much glaring ensued. He had to have words with all of them at various points, even threatening to ditch the whole plan if they couldn’t play nice together for one day.
Then, during a frosty group lunch, someone let rip with the loudest noise to leave an ass they had all ever heard, and that seemed to break the tension, the group devolving into good natured teasing and banter once more. And when the bill came, he found a screwed up receipt with just a handful of sentences scribbled on it. Catching only a glimpse before thrusting it into his wallet, he didn’t miss the look the server gave the group, aw shibal!
The afternoon’s interviews were much more light hearted, and he was thrilled to see even his two youngest putting on a good show for the hosts.
By the time they got back to the dorms it was dark, and everyone was wiped out. Knowing they were due an early start tomorrow, he was glad to find not one but two separate submissions waiting for him.
He was still waiting for one last contribution, and the deadline was getting closer. Not that he was panicking, but could he really put this together whilst leaving out one vital voice? Absolutely not. Elbows on his desk, ruffling his hands through his hair, he tried not to panic.
8 makes 1 team after all.
And if they weren't *all* involved, then he knew it wouldn't happen. The very idea was unthinkable. He spent the last few moments watching the second hand tick closer and closer to the hour. The pen he was chewing on leaking ink across his lower lip, completely unnoticed.
5...4...3.....2....
Ping!
A notification on his kakaotalk. An attachment. The final piece of the puzzle. His eyes widened as he read, his jaw agape, then dropping completely as he became so engrossed in the intimate, erotic and frankly incredible details contained within the message.
With seven submissions of varying length and detail, it was now his job, as always, to tie it all together.
But first, coffee.
Hongjoong worked through the night, as was his wont. Music on, flicking between tracks, blending, integrating, weaving a spell with the words like some sort of bardic wizard. And as the sun finally sent streaks across the room, making it impossible to see the screen clearly, he had to admit defeat. At least for tonight. Crawling to the sofa he rolled so his face was buried in the cushions, and that’s where manager nim found him 2 hours later, when it was time to leave for costume fittings.
Throughout the day each member came to check on him, there was a nervous energy about them all. He put it down to them worrying about yet another late night. But by the end of the day, when Seonghwa finally approached him, he realised.
“You want to know about the story.” pressing his fingers into his eyes, trying to relieve the pressure build up, he shook his head slowly.
Seonghwa hung his head, guilty, “Joongie, did we? Is it happening?”
It dawned on him then that not one of them had spoken to the others. None of them had admitted to writing something. None of them had compared notes. He was the only one who knew, he had the power to make it work, or he could make it go away. Sure, eventually Wooyoung would bring it up with San or Yunho, and everything would unravel. But he’d seen how they couldn’t meet each other's eyes, they could barely raise their heads in his direction. It could take a while before they realised what he’d done, and by then they were bound to have moved on to something else.
So the options were clear. Be honest with Seonghwa and finish what he’d started, or let one of the members take the blame and pretend none of this ever happened. That’s when he made his fatal error, looking up at his hyung, seeing his boba eyes looking so hopeful.
And he realised, each of them had poured their hearts and souls into what they’d written. And he had been allowed access. They’d all trusted him with something so vulnerable and intimate. How could he betray their trust?
Before he could take it back he reached out to pat Seonghwa awkwardly on the forearm, pulled away, then tapped his shoulder twice.
“It’s done.” a pause “Or it will be. Soon.”
Committed now, he gave Seonghwa a half smile which was quickly returned with a smile so incandescent it almost burnt his retinas. His Star was shining bright indeed. This is going to be good for them, for all of them, he can feel it.
It took another two days of non-stop editing. His studio door was locked, the lights turned low, meals left at his door were mostly ignored. Until finally, eventually, it was complete. Before he could regret it, he messaged the attachment to each one of them. And then, crawling to his careworn sofa in the corner, he slept. It was a deep and dreamless slumber, his face softening as the hours passed him by and the stresses left his body.
He woke more refreshed than he’d felt in weeks, until he saw his phone. Over 300 messages, across various apps. From all but one member. Seonghwa had yet to respond. His heart sank. Skittering down the corridor like a rabid squirrel, he came to a stop outside Seonghwa’s dorm, sneakers squeaking on the laminate floor.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, torn between needing to know and terrified to find out, he backed away, turned to leave then faced the door again. A move to knock, stopped at the last second without connecting.
The door swung open and there stood his hyung, alight in the dark, his computer monitor outlining his slender frame.
“It’s perfect, they’ll go crazy for it.” He smiled gently at Hongjoong, ever the encourager.
Looking up from beneath his lashes he returned the smile shyly, hesitantly. “So you think I should send it?”
“Already done.” Seonghwa whispers as he pulls his Captain into the darkened room and kicks the door shut behind them.
You should have known something was going on when you turned up with snacks, and they didn't have the TV on.
"I thought we were bingeing that new show tonight?" You dropped the enormous bag of snacks on the kitchen counter and took the shot glass Woo pressed into your hands.
San just watched across the kitchen, the softest, sweetest grin on his face.
"Drink up, you've had a long day," of course you're being encouraged to catch up, there's already three empty bottles of Soju draining by the sink, along with a distinct air of tension.
"What's going on with you two?" Letting Woo strip your jacket and hang it up, you take a drink and start to relax.
With the air of a mischievous teen, San approaches you. He's already doing his cute kitty pout face, so you know this is gonna be interesting.
"You've been working so hard lately, and we never get to see you anymore," you can hear his pout as he moves behind you, massaging your shoulders, his stronger fingers making short work of the knots in your upper back.
Taking another drink, when was your glass refilled? you can't hold back the low moan that slips from your lips.
He really does have a knack, his fingers probing and stimulating all at once.
And then Wooyoung comes back into your vision, his lips pressed firmly together, trying desperately not to smile.
"What you got behind your back Woo?"
You try to shift your head to look behind him, but San’s strong hands have moved up to your neck, gently, but undeniably keeping your head still.
You know there's no point fighting it, or forcing it, you've been here before with them, too many times to count.
And you always ended up smiling, so what the fuck.
Leaning back against San, letting him know you're ready, you keep your eyes on Woo. And of course he treats it like some kind of performance.
One step closer, two steps back, a twirl and always, always, keeping whatever it is hidden from your view. Until he's right in front of you, smiling down with that little lip bite, oh so coy.
"Menace"
Not a name, or an insult, just a statement of fact.
And that's when he takes a half step away, throwing his head back, and tracing a length of fabric across his eyes. Your stomach flips in the most delightful and desperate way.
Leaning forward, San whispers deep and low, his voice resonating through every fibre of your being.
"Trust us?"
You nod slowly, swallowing your nerves, and your reservations.
Wooyoung leans in close, whispering in your other ear, like some kind of sensual surround sound.
"Good girl!", and he presses the fabric against your eyes, San collecting each end and tying it tightly behind your head, careful not to tangle your hair.
"Tonight we'll be playing guess who!" San announced, as Woo ensured you were truly blindfolded, if you could see the faces he was pulling, you'd be snort laughing in the most unattractive fashion.
Fingers gently gripping your body, rotating you gently, as whispers cascade around you.
"We're gonna take turns teasing you, and you have to guess who it is."
"If you guess correctly, you earn a treat...."
"If not?" The question is left hanging, but sight withheld you have no idea who is saying what, or who is standing where.
It's completely disorienting, and for the first time you feel nervous, your heart rate increases with more than just desire.
But they’re so damn gentle, their fingers caressing you as they put you at ease, seating you on a plush chair, you can't remember ever seeing in their apartment before.
Movement on your left, "Are you sitting comfortably?"
A kiss on your right, "Here we go!"
You have no clue who is who, or where, and then you grip the arms of the chair tight as they turn it slowly. Once, twice, was that three times? You can't tell how far you've turned, how many times. Leaning back you curl your feet under you, resolving to enjoy the experience even if you are completely clueless.
And with a whisper of a breath you feel lips pressing against yours, soft but firm, gone before you’ve even registered it happened. It takes a heartbeat or two for your brain to catch up with your body.
“No fair, I wasn’t ready!” you can hear the two of them giggling together and you roll your eyes behind the fabric.
“Okay, we’ll give you that as a practice round.” San concedes, while you assume it’s Woo approaches, whispering “you ready for this…” then he pulls away, leaving you with just a trace of his fragrance to confirm he was ever there.
Without your eyes, you’re going to need to play this smart. What do you know? Well Wooyoung’s wearing his signature scent tonight, so that’s going to help, a lot. And San? He’s been complaining about his upcoming laser appointment, so you plan to be using your fingers as much as you can.
Hearing the swish of fabric in front of you, you reach out your fingers to connect with what you hope is a face, and they are almost instantly enfolded/encompassed by someone’s soft, warm and slightly moist lips. You pull your hand away, surprised, a little flustered.
They’re quick, too quick, and your instant reaction means you didn’t have time to process.
“Well?” Now you’re not even sure who’s speaking, their voices low and breathy. You can imagine Wooyoung, arms folded across himself with that smug grin, relaxing into San’s firm chest.
“You need to say something. Don’t tell us you give in already!” Definitely Wooyoung stirring it, alright then.
Clearing your throat, pressing your fingers to your lips, you think about it. You would expect San to go for the lips, the neck, maybe even the tip of the nose. And perhaps he would have if you hadn’t been trying to get a hint. Where would Wooyoung go first? Despite all your past encounters, they had you absolutely stumped.
So think. Whoever it was it was a direct attack, right in front of you, probably heading for your face. Simple, to the point, which of them would go straight for the mouth?
“Tick tock, Aegiya!”
“San!” you blurt out, 50/50 and besides you only forfeit a treat if you’re wrong. How much of a treat could it be?
“Dammit, San,” you hear a light smack against fabric “too obvious, you’ve got to be strategic!”
Score! Now if your brain could just remember the feel of his lips? Warm, yes. Soft, check. Succulent, mmmmhmmm.
And you’re interrupted by a hand curling your hair over your ear, making you flinch as lips caress the curve of your jaw. You manage a slow inhale and there it is, even if you didn’t already suspect Wooyoung, his scent gives him away, lingering longer than his lips. You find yourself wishing he’d never pull away.
You’re not going to give them any clue you’ve figured out a system though, you plan to play it out for as long as you can. Cocking your head to one side, you make what you hope is a puzzled face,
“Hmmmmmm, first time was San, so I think I’ll say,” you pause for dramatic effect, hoping to pick up a tell in the background would be nice too. “Woo?”
Making sure to sound as uncertain as possible, even going so far as to bite your lip nervously as you await a response. It doesn’t take long.
“Ha, you got caught out too!” San’s little victorious statement makes you smile, and even with the blindfold and your eyes closed, you can see his smug little smile, you can even imagine the way he weaves his head to and fro, scrunching his nose in that way he does when he’s being too cute.
“I’m two for two here guys, what do I get for winning? What’s the treat?”
An exclamation followed by a snort of a laugh
“You're already being totally spoiled getting our undivided attention like this. What more could you want?” Wooyoung was definitely determined to give nothing away without a fight. Typical.
“You promised me a treat.” two could play at the petulant pout game, and you were just as determined to give both men a run for their money, blindfold or no. Knowing San would cave in a heartbeat the moment your lower lip reached just the right amount of quiver, you gave a little tremor.
And just as anticipated, “Don’t be sad baby, we have some chocolates for you.”
You knew you could count on his sweet nature, and with a little wiggle you get yourself ready. Thinking about it, what more could you want?
“Open wide” less of a command, more a gentle suggestion, but you indulge him, tipping your head to one side, you part your lips, your tongue curling out ready.
You're not disappointed when a tongue slides into your open mouth dispensing a very small, very dark, incredibly delicious chocolate. With a trace of your lips the tongue withdraws again and you find yourself melting faster than the chocolate on your tongue, leaving you cursing yourself for focussing on the velvety smooth cocoa instead of the scent of the man who was just inside you.
“Well?” Woo again, but did his voice catch in his throat?
You’re more conflicted than ever, because you KNOW the chocolates were San’s idea! But what if it’s a double bluff? What if it was Wooyoung’s tongue? The thing is, it could have been either of them for completely different reasons. San would have found it unbearably romantic to seduce you using the sweet treat. On the other hand, Wooyoung would relish the opportunity to tease you and leave you confounded. So who would win out? You know who.
“Wooyoung” you declare confidently, and you’re rewarded with a raucous cackle. “What?”
“Wasn’t me!” Wooyoung declares, the giggle spilling out again, “No treat for you this time, here you go San.” the sharp crack of the chocolate makes your mouth water, and you imagine San tasting as good as the chocolate you’d shared. Because of course he does.
And now you have 2 distinct scents you’re ready for. You know you’re going to win this game.
You can’t lie though, the next assault takes you by surprise. A gentle press of lips to your crown. If it wasn’t for catching his scent as he bent over you, you’d have guessed San for sure, but you’re not falling for it.
“I bet San’s still eating those chocolates, right? So let’s say that was Wooyoung.” there’s a distinctive rustle close by, San balling up the chocolate wrappers and hiding it behind his back, you’d bet anything. It’s what you can’t hear that makes you smile though. No Wooyoung crowing about beating you, so you’re 100% right and now he’s sulking.
“Did I win? Chocolate, please.” you curl your legs up under you, lips parted, waiting for San to dispense another drop of delight.
“Ah.” San’s disappointed in himself, it’s obvious from the drop of his voice.
“Ah?” you sound genuinely devastated, “Ah, San?” you’re almost convinced by your own fake indignation, “They’re all gone? Every last one?” and you have to remind yourself to dial it down a notch, you know how hard he takes these things.
Wooyoung breaks in, in his typical inimitable style, “Pshhhh like you’re going to keep guessing right anyway.”
You just sit back, smiling serenely, “We’ll see. Bring it on.”
Three times in a row it’s Wooyoung, and each time you smell him coming, trying so hard not to sigh and give yourself away. He’s not even subtle, his lips finding your flesh each time, lips pressed gently to your forehead (clearly trying to mimic San), his teeth grazing your ear, tongue lapping at your nose. And each time you play it cool, taking just enough time to think, but ultimately you know you’re ahead of his silly game.
“Still think it’s beginner’s luck?” your tongue in cheek response rivals Wooyoung’s own arrogant self assuredness. “What possible treat could you have for me, unless you were to concede defeat?”
“Never! You’re not gonna beat me.” there we go, you knew this whole idea was Wooyoung’s, and San is only in it for the chocolates and kisses.
"I mean, I could think of a thing or two...." San excitedly offering suggestions brings a smile to your mouth, and quickly you run your fingers across your lips to disguise it.
You're beyond glad to be blindfolded so they can't see the mischief in your eyes when you whisper, "Strip"
The laugh in Wooyoung’s exclamation is immediate, you knew he’d get a kick out of it. You can hear them discussing what to take off, and the rustle of fabric being removed. But you have no clue who has lost what. Would San take off his shirt first? Would Wooyoung go straight for the pants? You try to recall what they were wearing.
Their low murmuring continues, but under that you swear you can make out another sound, subtle but familiar, soft, wet, almost like lips meeting flesh? Your mind goes into overdrive imagining them undressing each other while you’re right here. Taking in the sight and scent of bare skin, enjoying the taste of each other's mouths, as you sit here waiting patiently, completely unaware.
The metallic clink of a belt buckle and a dark chuckle draw your attention back to the here and now, and you realise how fast, how shallow your breathing is as you try to stay quiet. You can feel yourself getting light-headed and you lean your head back into the chair to compensate, forcing yourself to slow each breath, chest heaving with each long inhale.
Focussing on your breathing, you miss the tell-tale movement of the chair as someone leans in close, teeth closing on your lower lip, tugging gently. But it’s not Wooyoung, you can distinctly smell the 80% cocoa on his sweet breath. And then he’s gone.
“San?” the name slips out before you can stop yourself.
Licking your lips, attempting to cover your slip, you mumble something about his generosity in sharing the last of the chocolate. You can only hope that the lights are low, because you know you’re flushed, with more than just arousal. And you can almost make out their hushed whispers. Discussing tactics now? Or working out what comes off next?
Sucking your lip you try to calm your heart rate, you were not expecting that from San, but you want more. Who knew bad boy San was the treat you’d been craving. Just thinking about it makes you want his teeth on you again, the very idea making you unbelievably hot. You shift in your seat, trying not to draw attention to yourself, although you’re sure they must be able to tell how wet you’re getting.
You can sense a shadow right in front of you, and it’s only a heartbeat later, that teeth close on your earlobe, pulling a little harder this time. Oh, you’ve felt that from Wooyoung before, but a deep inhale as your nose slides along his jawline takes your breath away. You realise that, lacking the signature scent, you were wrong.
Yet again it’s San.
And you whisper his name as you exhale against the sensitive skin of his throat, making him laugh softly.
“Ah….” the intensity in that one word sends a shiver down your back and you stiffen, waiting for Wooyoung to continue. He doesn’t keep you waiting for long, “San-ah, come here.”
And for the first time tonight, you feel alone. Raised voices and exaggerated sniffing noises and you realise you’ve been caught out. Oh this is going to be bad, not only is Wooyoung ultra competitive, he has a very strong sense of justice, you KNOW he’s going to consider this cheating of the highest order.
All you can do is await the verdict, play the submissive good girl and take your punishment.
Putting on your best pout, regretting having so much of your face covered, because how are you supposed to appeal to their better nature when they can’t see your glossy, wide eyes, looking so very repentant.
“You knew it was me?” San is kneeling right in front of you, making you jump just a little, and you make sure to bite your lip as pretty as you possibly can.
“I did.” you drop your shoulders, lowering your head in supplication. If you can win San over, Wooyoung will have no option but to let it slide. At least that’s what you’re betting on.
“How?” He sounds so hurt, you instinctively reach for him, stroking your hand against his cheek. Only for him to grip your wrist firmly but gently, pushing you away. Your heart breaks just a little at the rejection, but you know you deserve it. Just a little. You drop your head in a last ditch attempt to melt his heart.
“It’s Woo’s scent. I could smell it.” The admission hangs heavy in the air. San’s deep exhale doing nothing to assuage your guilt, and you can imagine him running his hands through his hair in disappointment. The idea of his pout no longer makes you smile, instead bringing a frown to your own face. “I’m sorry, San….”
The sentence trails off as you realise there’s no way you make it up to him. Not on your own anyway. You angle your head to where you estimate Wooyoung to be, and look at him pleadingly. He can’t see your eyes, but surely he can pick up on your contrition. Bracing yourself, you don’t expect him to make it easy for you, you whisper his name.
“Wooyoung? Please.” fingers reaching out to him, and he laces his fingers through yours as he draws you to your feet, pulling you close. This is it, game over and evening ruined. Well done, mentally patting yourself on the back for wrecking something they’d worked hard to plan. Wooyoung has other ideas as he leans in close to your ear, lips brushing before he whispers the word that will completely change the direction of the evening.
“Forfeit.”
For a moment you’re confused, does he expect you to forfeit the game? Then what, head home and wait for them to forgive you?
“You have to forfeit the same amount of clothing as us,” You can definitely hear the smirk in his voice as he makes his judgement. Trying to calculate mentally how many times you ‘guessed’ correctly, he interrupts you. “which is doubled, as there’s two of us.”
Fuck!
How much is that? How much are you actually wearing? Thinking back to this morning, getting ready for work, do accessories count? You can’t even claim that it’s not fair, cos he caught you out. And if this is what it takes to make things right with San, then of course you’ll play along.
“Tick tock, we’re waiting” It’s not lost on you that he’s dropped the terms of endearment, and you shiver with a frisson of anticipation. You’ve never been the bad girl, things with both men have always been fun, playful, teasing at most. And just like the epiphany about bad boy San, you find yourself wanting more of this.
“Need a little help?” San moves in close behind you, his hands once again on your shoulders, moving down to the buttons of your blouse. You nod, hesitant, but grateful he appears to be softening a little. Maybe even a little closer to forgiveness?
Until you feel him curl his palms into fists, grabbing the fabric on each side, and pulling with maximum force. Buttons pop free, flying fuck knows where. You know your expensive shirt hasn’t survived the assault, but standing there, his breath ghosting your shoulders, you find it hard to care. Heart pounding so hard in your chest, they have to see it.
Sliding his fists down your arms, dragging your sleeves free, exposing your barely covered breasts he groans into you, pressing his lips to your naked flesh.
“One” trust Woo to be keeping score.
Sans hands glide to your waist, fingers undoing your belt, pulling it free.
“Two.” You counter quickly. Just because you got caught cheating, doesn’t mean you're prepared to give him a freebie.
San's strong hands continue their onslaught, unbuttoning your trousers and pulling the zipper down with excruciating slowness. You're tempted to help him out, speed things up. But you know the only way to make things right with San is to let him have total control.
As your trousers loosen, sliding down over your hips, his hands ghost over your ass, tracing your curves. Rising up on tiptoes, wanting to keep his hands on your skin for as long as possible, curving your hips just so. But he pulls away regardless.
Woo steps in closer, taking his place, his hand around your wrists. Unclasping your watch on one side, your bracelet on the other.
“Three,” he kisses you, hot and fierce, leaving you breathless, “Four.” His lips softer this time, lingering for a moment, before lifting your hand to his mouth. His lips close over your finger, sliding down to the simple band where his teeth graze your skin as he pulls gently. Sliding the ring free with the help of his incredibly articulate tongue, he drops it into your now upturned palm, still slick with his saliva.
“Five.” And then he pulls away again, leaving you standing there heart pounding, flesh dimpling in the sudden chill.
And now you stand before them both. Blind, vulnerable, listening, waiting.
You’re not sure how many times you cheated, not sure it even matters at this point, you’ve come too far to stop now. Movement on both sides of you, making you flinch, and there’s a hiss on one side, the huff of a laugh on the other.
“I thought you trusted us, baby?” San is still pulling the pouty princess act, knowing Wooyoung finds the whole act ridiculous. As they maneuver you back to the chair, fingers slide under the waistband of your silk cami knickers, it’s sinful how easily they fall to the floor, pooling at your feet. A deft thumb flicks the catch of your bra, releasing you from your final restraints.
Thanking every deity you can bring to mind for the blindfold, you stand tall, all too aware of their scrutiny and the appreciative noises coming from both of them. Fingertips skimming your flesh, bringing a sensual warmth wherever they land, guiding you once more to the cushioned seat. Lips almost, but not quite, touching you. Their whispers ghosting across your flesh.
But now there’s nothing between the bare skin of your thighs and the plush fabric of the chair. Aware of how exposed you are under their gaze, far from being intimidated, you're more aroused than ever and you need them to do something about it. With a whispered gasp you slide easily down, angling your hips to open yourself up. At the same time you move your hands to cover yourself, with a demure modesty you definitely aren’t feeling, one hand crossing your chest to cover your breasts from view, and the other sliding between your legs.
Except that far from covering your cunt, your fingers slide into position to accentuate what they can almost, but not quite, see.
Almost as soon as you hear the hushed whisper of fabric against carpet, you feel his skin sliding under your thighs, lifting your ass up off the seat just enough to allow him access to your core. His lips pressing against the inside of your thigh, teeth sinking gently into your flesh, drawing the most salacious of moans from you. And before you can even catch your breath, his tongue laps against you, sliding between your folds, his saliva mingling with your own slick. His fingers curl around your thighs pulling you wider as he presses his mouth harder against you, his deft tongue probing ever deeper.
Dropping your chin to your chest, struggling to control your breathing, you press your heels into his shoulders as his talented mouth teases you, nibbling and sucking slowly all the way to your clit. And when his lips close around you, sucking so gently you cry out, your hands reaching for him, only to have them removed and placed on the arms off the chair. You’re in torment, you need to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin. But you know this is part of the punishment, so instead you slide your hands across your own body in defiance, caressing the parts of yourself that long for their touch.
A hand closes around your throat, fingers squeezing gently only to pull away as you swallow. You whimper at the loss of contact. Between them you know they’ll destroy you tonight, in all the very best ways and you’re longing for it. Fingers lifting your chin, tilting it towards him, before he pulls away again, loving the noises he draws from deep inside you.
Feeling the tip of a cock pressed against your lips, no force, he slides first one way then the other, circling your mouth, coating your lips in his precum. You dare to flick your tongue out to caress him, licking your smeared lips, relishing the taste of him. He presses again, breaching your lips and pulling almost instantly back again.
At the same time you feel the tongue withdraw and your thighs are released. Clenching on nothing you whine, sliding further down the seat hoping to feel him just a breath away. But no, they’ve both withdrawn completely, and you know, you know they’re standing together, looking down on you now. You have no concept of shame as you move your fingers to your mouth to feel his slick, and down to trace the tender bitemark.
“Not this time.” Wooyoung pulls your hands away and places them once again on the arms of the chair, stroking your knuckles with the pad of a finger, making sure you stay put.
With a quick caress of your cheek San presses his lips to your forehead and whispers, “Guess who”
He still smells dark and delicious, and you’re desperate to taste him again, but “What?” it slips from your lips before you can stop it.
“Who was who?’ He's so quiet, so hoarse, you can barely hear him, but you can feel the desire coming off him in waves. He wants this even more than you do.
“Or more importantly, who was where?” Wooyoung snaps you out of your reverie, bringing you back to the game once more.
Brushing your hair free of your flushed and heated face, you tip your head up towards his voice, dragging your teeth across your lower lip. “I thought the game was over?”
Sensing movement in front of you, you’re ready when Wooyoung’s scent enfolds you, he’s so close now. If you were to lean forward, even an inch, your lips would make contact with him, but before you can move he speaks.
“Oh so that’s how you see things? You get to cheat, and then we service you? Sounds like a win:win for you.” He pulls away just as you lean in closer, and you almost topple forward.
San’s strong hands catch you, and he presses you back into the seat, “Where’s the punishment there?” Oh you never want this San to let you go free. You struggle in vain, just enough for him to tighten his hands on your shoulders. But your smile gives you away and he releases you again.
“Please.” truly repentant, you need to convince them. You’ve never wanted anything more than to have them worshipping your body the way they promised. Folding your hands together, pressing them to your lips like a sinner in earnest prayer, the tears come. Slowly at first, the self pity is all consuming, but a breath against your skin reminds you of what you were so close to just moments ago and the longing overwhelms you. You need them. “Please, please me…”
The shiver starts at the base of your spine, working its way upwards then out to your shoulders, until you’re shaking all over, sobs wracking your body. It feels like you’ll never be warm again, like you’ve been abandoned and their love was only ever a fantasy, an illusion. You start to babble your apologies, sorry for your arrogance, your wanton behaviour, for taking them for granted, for not treasuring every precious moment they share with you. You’d apologise for existing in their absence if you thought they’d believe you.
Then fingers in your hair, a loosening of a pressure you weren’t even aware of, and then light blinds you, forcing you to clamp your eyes shut tightly as they slide the scarf away from your head. Blinking, keeping your head low, your hair sticking to your tear stained cheeks, you see the soft fabric being wound around your still clasped hands. Over and over and around your wrists, binding your hands together, restraining you.
“Oh no, no need for tears,” San moves into your blurred vision, his thumb tracing the damp skin under your eyes, before slipping it into his mouth, tasting your tears with a gentle smile.
He shakes his head as you resist a tug on your arms. Wooyoung pulls the fabric again, more firmly, drawing you to your feet. “Come on penitent angel, let’s take this somewhere a little more comfortable.”
Today's writing set up: emotional support Hannie acquired, and Hyunjin is touching grass (thank you @auroramirage for your inspiring gift 🥰🤣)
Chili made these photocards! I have a whole bunch that I'm gonna post but for *fic reasons* I'm holding back... Anyways yes this is a shameless plug to encourage you to go to @baby-yongbok's Etsy and treat yourself to some pretty boy paper 🥰
I'm writing, I'm writing....I'm making infinitesimally small amounts of progress on more than 25 fics on a regular basis. Some of them are ABSOLUTELY follow ups to previous fics, but I'm curious,
Which of last year's fics would you like to read more of?
Deathslinger (DbD)
First Time (Anonymous Fun)
In Your Fantasy (TW)
Another fic (please share)
Voting ended onJan 28
Maybe you read something that I hadn't even considered people might want to read more of, and you are desperate for more. I dunno.....a girl can dream!
I know the concept photos have absolutely destroyed all my Atiny besties, but I couldn't help myself. I just had to make a couple of phone wallpapers cos.....I guess I'm just wired up that way?
Anyway, if you like em, feel free to use em x
Yours,
Aurora Mirage x
p.s. this was supposed to post 2 hours ago, so I'm not entirely sure what happened!
Pairing: Wooyoung/Reader
Rating: Explicit (language, sexual content) MDNI
----------------------
You were never an unruly passenger when you flew, no matter how bad the situation got. You had handled screaming toddlers, people puking into blue bags as they sat next to you, even an angry Russian threatening to take the plane down with his off brand Nike sneaker thanks to a psychotic break.
All of that would change today.
You woke with a killer migraine, but would be damned if you were missing your flight. You had finally booked the perfect getaway with your man and you weren’t giving it up regardless of your brain oozing out of your ears.
But pain culminated into the perfect storm when a middle aged Karen demanded you trade her your window seat. You politely declined, putting your headphone back in. Karen gratingly tapped your shoulder until you ripped your ear bud out, insisting that you give up your seat. You told her in the kindest words possible to go fuck herself.
Karen huffed and buzzed for the overhead attendant sign. A gorgeous man with dark hair and a freckle under his eye showed up.
“How can I help you today?” he asked, his customer service voice on full display.
“This foul woman won’t give me her seat,” Karen barked, crossing her arms over her sagging chest. You exhaled through your nose, attempting not to use every four lettered word, and every variation there of, at the woman a seat over from you.
“I paid for the window seat. I’m not moving,” you said through gritted teeth. The throbbing in your head reached an all time high.
The man between you looked terrified at the situation, like he was living his own personal hell and not you. Karen huffed again. “Surely there’s something you can do.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the young man replied. “All passengers are to sit in their assigned and paid for seats.”
With that, he walked away. Karen glared at you. You flipped her the bird and resumed looking out your window.
You hadn’t even taxied yet.
Eight hours was set to be the longest flight of your life. And you had flown sixteen hours to Korea before.
Take off and leveling went off without further hitches. Suddenly, a toddler began to wail. You dug into your purse, frantically looking for the pain medicine that might save everyone on board’s lives. You located them in a bottle in the bottom of your purse, and shot two down the back of your throat. You dry swallowed out of desperation and sighed. They tasted like chalky shit, but as long as they worked, you wouldn’t complain.
Shortly after take off, the young man returned, offering drinks. You took a Dr. Pepper and rinsed the after taste of the pills from your throat. Karen baulked at the lack of diet Pepsi (on a Coke branded flight). You rolled your eyes and turned up your music. Hopefully the sweet lull of divorced dad bod rock would put you in a better mood.
Halfway through the flight, the Dr. Pepper and your morning coffee hit in full force. You squeezed past your fellow passengers with an “ Excuse me” and relieved yourself in the narrow bathroom near the front of the plane. As you returned to your seat, you found it occupied by none other than Karen.
“I’m back, so move over,” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. Karen gave you a scathing grin.
“Looks like it’s my seat now. Guess you shouldn’t have moved,” her voice came out like sugar. The man next to her widened his eyes.
Your migraine finally got the better of you.
“Bitch, if you don’t get your fat ass out of my seat, I will rip you out of it by your poorly permed hair.”
The cabin grew incredibly quiet. Then Karen let out a blood curdling scream.
“She’s threatening me!” she hollered. She flailed her arms wildly, nearly smacking the man next to her.
“I haven’t even begun to threaten you,” you seethed. A light tapping only our shoulder had you turning with a murderous glare. The flight attendant from earlier stood behind you looking mildly concerned.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, looking between the two of you.
“She’s in my paid seat,” you answered, as though the problem was obvious. Karen began to cry crocodile tears. You rolled your eyes and looked back at the attendant.
“She’s gonna kill me!” Karen wailed. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes. You slowly counted to ten.
It didn’t work.
Her faux crying triggered you. “You know lady, I might just!”
The flight attendant tapped you on the shoulder again. You turned to face him again, your hands balled into fists.
“What?”
“Ma’am, we have to take any threats on the plane seriously. I’m going to need you to gather your things and come with me.”
You looked at him incredulously. He couldn’t be serious.
“Please ma’am,” he repeated. “Gather your things.”
Karen’s tears miraculously ceased as you reached between her legs to grab your stowed away bag and purse. You muttered for her to fuck off and die as you lifted your head, leading her to gasp. You gave a mischievous grin as you stood, aware that the attendant had heard nothing.
You followed him to the front of the plane, and stowed your bags beneath a seat next to his. He asked you to hold your hands out. You complied, your eyes widening as he pulled zip ties from a drawer.
“You cannot be serious,” you hiss whispered. He gave you a sad smile and bound your hands together.
“Any deemed threat, remember?”
“Can you at least put my headphones in?” you asked, tugging against the zip ties. The attendant sighed and shook his head.
“No special privileges for the incarcerated.”
That was it.
You were opening a door and jumping the first chance you got.
The attendant left you alone, zip tied in your seat, to make rounds on the cabin, along with his fellow crew. As they made their way around the isles, the overhead speaker sounded. The Captain of the plane came on overhead speaker.
“Sorry folks, looks like there’s some dangerous storms in our path,” he began. You felt your heart plummet. “We will have to change course, adding another three hours to the flight. We apologize for the delay.”
You slammed your head back against the galley wall. This was fixing to be the worst day of your god damned life.
The attendant returned, and asked you if you wanted the chicken or fish. You glared at him from your tiny, uncomfortable chair.
“Okay,” he drawled out. “We’ll put you down for chicken.”
You looked away, the rage evident on your face. You watched the back of his annoyingly perfect head as he began to work in the galley, heating dinners.
“What’s your name, anyway?” you spoke up. He turned and looked at you with a grin.
“Wooyoung.”
“And exactly how will I be eating, Wooyoung?” you asked, holding your bound hands before you. Wooyoung’s smile widened.
“I will feed you, of course.”
You looked at him in disbelief. He couldn’t be serious.
Right?
“Don’t worry, I have a kid brother. I’m used to feeding others.”
You groaned and tugged against your restraints. “I’m not being fed like a fucking child.”
“You will or you will go hungry,” his smile dropped. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
After disseminating dinners amongst the full flight, Wooyoung returned and microwaved your dinner. The urge to tell him to fuck off was incredibly overwhelming, but you managed to bite your tongue. Instead you conceded, furrowing into yourself in the seat. Wooyoung sat beside you and opened the chicken dinner. He cut it into small bites and blew on the pieces of food before guiding them to your mouth. You couldn’t even look at him as he fed you.
But you listened closely as he rambled on about how he would change inflight dishes to be more appetizing. His skills in the air were obviously wasted when he should be in culinary school. You told him as much and he gave you a bright smile.
Once the dish was empty, he opened another Dr. Pepper, put a straw in it and offered it to you.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked. You took a large swig of the soda before replying.
“I honestly want to die right now.”
Wooyoung frowned, and set the soda on the counter next to you.
“I didn’t burn you, did I?” his tone was worried. You shook your head.
“This is fucking degrading.”
Wooyoung sighed and offered you another drink. You took it without hesitation.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered so that only you could hear. “Company policies can be a real bitch. I would have loved to watch you drag her out by her hair.”
You barked out a laugh, startling the other attendant who had stepped into the galley. Wooyoung laughed along with you. He reached down between your legs and grabbed for your purse. He easily found your phone and headphones, and placed the earbuds into your ears. You eyed him, questioningly.
“I won’t tell if you don't," he winked. He pressed play on your phone and the crooning of a middle aged man (plus your migraine medicine) had you dozing off to sleep, even in your shitty chair.
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇
You woke up an hour later due to severe turbulence. While the plane had subverted most of the storms, a few outliers were causing the plane to bump in the sky. Your half drank Dr. Pepper immediately spilled onto your lap. You swore as your jeans were drenched.
Wooyoung began lightly patting your upper thighs with paper towels to no avail. Heat pooled in your lower belly at the intimate touch, your thighs involuntarily clenching.
“We might have better luck in the bathroom,” he offered. He pulled you to your feet, leaving your phone and attached headphones in his seat. He shimmied you both into the unoccupied, small bathroom cubicle. Once the door was locked, he had you pressed up against the wall.
“I thought I would never get you in here,” his voice was rich and had deepened several octaves. “Did you really have to pick a fight?”
His lips latched onto your throat, and began peppering the long column with kisses.
“It’s been eight weeks since you were home last, Woo,” you groaned, pressing against him. You hissed as your hands slammed painfully against the small sink. “How else was I going to get your attention?”
Wooyoung grabbed a pair of safety scissors from his pocket and cut your zip ties free.
“Sorry, baby,” he uttered before his lips crashed into yours. Your aching hands came up to intertwine in his hair as your tongue mapped his mouth. His hair had grown longer since you had last seen him. You knew he enjoyed his job most days, but his home times were spreading out longer and longer. “You know I hate keeping you waiting.”
“Stop talking,” you quietly snapped, nipping at his bottom lip. “We don’t have long."
Wooyoung spun you, his hands landing on your hips. He immediately reached around with deft hands and quickly undid your pants button. He eased your jeans down your thighs, along with your panties. His fingers slipped between your folds, finding you sticky but not wet.
“Fuck,” he muttered, before turning you again. He hiked you up onto the small sink before dropping to his knees. His face was already perfectly aligned with your core.
He began to lick and lave at your center like a mad man. His tongue licked a stripe from your cunt to your clit, and he relished in the way you reached down to tug his hair. He repeated the action before taking your clit between his lips. He began drawing designs on the tiny bud until you were keening, your hips grinding against his face in pleasure. You whimpered against a fist so that no one outside would hear you. A particular twirl of his tongue had you seeing stars.
A hand snuck up your shirt and began to roll a nipple between his fingers. Your chest was heaving as he toyed with your body, playing you like an instrument only he knew.
Wooyoung released your nipple and pulled away minutely, slipping two fingers into his mouth. He eagerly sucked on them, coating them with spit. Then he lined them up with your cunt.
He slid them into you as he resumed ravishing your clit. You groaned as his fingers dragged against your walls, spreading you for what was to come. It had been so long since you had felt his guitar calloused fingers that you almost forgot how fantastic they could feel. Wooyoung made quick work of reminding you of how much better he felt compared to your vibrator.
With his fingers buried in your twitching cunt, and his tongue suckling your clit, you came with a silent cry. Wooyoung smugly pulled you off the counter, and spun you to face the sink and mirror. Your reflection already looked completely fucked out.
Wooyoung eased himself from his tight, black pants and slid his cock between your legs, gathering the juices that were running down your sticky thighs. Placing your hands on either side of the mirror, you barely canted your hips. It was just enough of an angle for Wooyoung to bury himself in you. His hand clamped over your mouth as he groaned into your hair, the heat of your core completely enveloping him. He held your mouth closed as he began to rock his hips, slowly pulling himself from you just to slide back in.
“I can’t go this long without you again,” he mouthed against the shell of your ear. You whimpered against his hand, pushing your hips back against his. He slammed into you, pistoning his hips to make the experience short but ensuring you got off. His deep, pointed thrusts had him hitting your g-spot repeatedly, while his free hand searched out and rolled your swollen clit. You came around his cock, your eyes slamming shut as you tried to scream. Wooyoung shushed you as your thighs quivered and your cunt clenched around him.
With a swear, his hips faltered and he came deep within you. You felt heat pool in your lower belly as he filled you to the brim. Eight weeks hadn’t just been too long for you. You swore it was enough cum that it would out do your birth control and he would knock you up right there on the plane. Your core twitched again at the audacious thought, milking him even more.
With a grunt, Wooyoung pulled himself from between your thighs and tucked himself back into his pants. He helped you shimmy your clothes back up in the small confines of the room.
You turned to face him, fixing his hair as best as you could. He cradled your face and slotted his lips against yours. His forehead came to rest against your brow.
“I can’t wait to see those perfect tits when we get to the Cayman’s,” he said against your kiss swollen lips. You quietly whimpered against him, your body already rearing to go again. A rap at the door let you know your time was up.
“Sorry we couldn’t clean those better,” he said loudly as he unlocked the door. You made your way back to your “prisoner’s seat,” your mood and head both much improved. You were immediately re-zip tied, and you playfully glared at your boyfriend as he did so. Wooyoung boldly laid a hand on your thigh for the rest of the flight. A fellow attendant winked at you as she passed to disperse another round of drinks.
As a “criminal” you were forced to deboard first. Wooyoung recut your zip ties before giving you a chaste kiss.
“Thanks for all the help, sir,” you emphasized the last part. Wooyoung smirked at you.
“Thanks for flying American,” he chuckled. “And enjoy your stay in the Cayman’s.”
“Oh, I will,” you countered, still playful. “Enjoy your time off with your girlfriend.”
“I intend to thoroughly enjoy every second,” he winked before stepping back into the plane.
You laughed to yourself as you walked down the tunnel connecting the plane to the airport. You had an entire week with that man, getting to celebrate your four year anniversary. And there wasn’t a single Karen who could ruin that for you.
It started as a joke, she was just messing around on social media.
Knowing the lads were now on the same platform as her, she threw it out as a bit of fun before she went offline for her birthday weekend. 48 hours of chilling and partying with her bestie at a spa resort. Strictly no phones allowed.
So yeah, sending an invite for them to read her stuff and give feedback on their technique was just a throwaway post, not really expected to be noticed, definitely not designed to send the fandom into a tizzy.
Getting home late Sunday night she didn't have time to check her socials, and it wasn't until turning her phone back on early Monday morning, she realised that 'throwaway post' had exploded.
25k views, hundreds of replies, even some dm's. Just in two days. And the notifications just kept on coming. It was too much, completely overwhelming, she shut her phone down again and went to work.
9 hours later and she was finally heading home, time to update her friends on what had happened. Trying to ignore the ever increasing numbers, she messaged screenshots to the group chat.
And that's when someone said THE word...
Viral.
Apparently she had started something. She was tempted to just delete everything. Her notifications, the apps off her phone, her whole social media presence.
And then.
Among all the 'EWWw yOUr sO fkN grOSs' and 'love this sm' was a simple picture. It almost escaped her notice, she'd received hundreds of private messages by this point. If it wasn't for the picture attached she probably wouldn't have noticed it at all.
It wasn't exactly a dick pic. Technically there was no actual cock visible. Just a pair of hands hiding what was clearly a crotch.
And one simple sentence,
"For accuracy."
No jewellery, no distinguishing features, nothing to identify the sender. But in an instant she knew exactly who it was. Like other fans she'd spent hours looking at images online. Comparing hand sizes, finger length, slenderness, skin tone, knuckle width. It was embarrassing how intimately familiar with another person's body parts you could get, without ever meeting.
And now it was here.
In her inbox.
On.
Her.
Phone.
She closed the app, mortified.
Opened it again, saved the image and closed it once more.
She opened her gallery and clicked on the image. Nope.
Opening the original app she scrolled to the message and clicked on a very random, very forgettable username, and landed on a bio so bland and prosaic she thought she must have made a mistake. But maybe not?
She knew exactly what fic this was about. She had described in excruciatingly intimate detail how immaculately waxed he was....and this was what? A correction? A rebuke? The dark hair curling softly against his fingers, proved her a liar.
"I'm not changing it!" She sent back, before she could change her mind. She'd spent hours on that fic, honing it until it was perfect, not a wasted word.
Closing the app, throwing the phone into her bag, it must be a joke, a trick. AI, that was it. Someone had gone to great lengths to play the mother of all jokes on her, probably that writer she’d had a spat with earlier in the year. Determined to forget about it, she got on with her evening, made dinner, watched tv, enjoyed a glass of wine, tried not to think about the image burning a hole in her phone, started a second glass of wine.
But the thoughts were buzzing around her head. Did she really see what she thought, or was it just her imagination? Maybe she could do an AI detector search, and possibly even find who really sent it. Besides, her phone probably needed charging by now anyway, so where was the harm?
Plugging it in she saw the notification immediately, New Message! Although she couldn’t recall turning on notifications for that account. Strange. And another attachment. Okay, no. Two glasses of wine and a very unsatisfying episode of a period piece were not the right way to start this encounter.
"For future reference ;)"
Putting her phone face down on the coffee table she returned to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice cold water. This was beyond a joke. She swallowed, long, deep gasps of refreshment, and yet when the glass was empty she still craved more. The thirst, unquenchable.
And yet.
That second image was calling to her.
For future reference? What was that? Did he actually expect her to write a piece based on what he sent her? And in that case, what the hell was it, and what was she waiting for? When in the other room was potentially the most exquisite image she would ever see. She flushed. She could feel the heat rising through her body as she considered her options.
Of course if this WAS all a trick, then she was wasting her time here and should just delete, block and move on with her life.
But what if?
What if it was actually him?
I mean, she owed it to herself to at least check, didn’t she?
And that was how she found herself 3 hours later having scrolled through hundreds of posts the innocuous account had liked, and yet the message remained unopened. She couldn’t bring herself to check. Ridiculous. But she had work in the morning and needed closure otherwise she would never sleep.
Fine!
She scrolled to her dm’s and clicked on the message.
This time the image was hands free. Still recognisably HIS hands, but instead of cupping they were now framing a very cheekily pixelated image. Of him. All of him. Holy fuck was there a lot of him. She caught herself biting her lip and gave herself a mental shake. Pixelated images were notoriously unreliable. And there was still the possibility that this was a big con. AI detectors could be fooled, and there were some incredibly talented photoshopppers out there.
Still, she saved it anyway, creating a private folder and storing both images safe and sound behind a passcode.
And then she went to bed, to be tormented by a combination of both images. All night long.
The next day she woke moments before her alarm went off, eyes swollen, mouth dry and scratchy from the previous late night's drinking. Hopping into the shower, she resolved to put the whole crazy episode behind her. And no more solo drinking. It was a very bad idea, much better to save the drinking for social occasions only, where at least her mind was free to focus on whatever crazy topics her friends came up with, and not the insane situation on her phone.
Determined to get behind this resolution, she decided to uninstall her media apps from her phone. She’d focus on work, arrange meet ups with friends, read a book! And when things had calmed down a bit, she’d revisit things.
Good plan.
Smart.
Grabbing a second coffee on her way out of the door, she opened her phone to begin the purge, and almost choked on the cooling liquid.
“For Parity!”
FOR FUCKING PARITY???
Absolutely not. There was no way she’d be opening this one.
She had to put a stop to this, it was going far too far.
“For fuck’s sake!” she sent it before she’d stopped to think. Shit. He’d probably think she’d opened it and was impressed. Dammit. She exited the app, then messaged her bestie as she finally hopped on the subway, outlining the situation. She waited, watching the dots move, then nothing. Moving again, and then stopped completely. Shit, out of signal. She’d have to wait until they reached the next station.
She couldn't help but wonder, how many other fans had he toyed with....how many had seen what she'd seen and said nothing. How many had seen and fucking wrote about it?
Shit.
As soon as she hit the station she dashed up the escalator, thumbs typing frantically. Logging into her various accounts. she did a search for the type of situation she found herself in. I mean, isn’t this something she would write about? A way to tell, without actually telling. No confidences betrayed, no secrets spilled. Technically?
Still, this was a really fucking risky game for him to be playing.
She wasn't naive enough to think that she was the first.
And the buzz from her phone reminded her of her friend’s on again, off again message. Or rather, essay from the looks of things. Too much. She swiped the screen to remove the notification, she’d give it her undivided attention once she was settled at work.
In the meantime.
The photo…
'For parity' he'd said, sharing a never before seen photo of his immaculate torso, from a perspective no self-respecting photographer would put themselves in. She could read between the lines, knew exactly what he was saying.
Quid pro quo. But how far was she willing to let things go?
He'd already shown her almost everything, and now what, he expected a return on his outlay? At least she had the luxury of anonymity. Fake name, private email, one of millions of fans who rarely shared actual photos of herself online. What the hell, why not. It’s not like they were ever going to meet. And if he shared with the rest of them, well she’d never even know. The idea was kind of flattering.
No time to dwell on that now though. She had a long day ahead of her, and a mini dissertation to read and probably respond to in detail, point by intimate point. More coffee was definitely a necessity, but that would have to wait until lunch, in the meantime it was time to get down to it. To work. She shook her head hard, trying to clear the images floating in the spaces behind her eyes, every time she blinked.
Did she just moan out loud? Glancing surreptitiously around her, she slid a mint into her mouth, giving her lips a reason to stay very firmly closed. No more of this nonsense, now. Focus, she had a presentation at the end of the week to prepare for.
The rest of her workday passed uneventfully, it could have been the most mundane day ever. Were it not for the now allergic reaction she had to her phone. Every time it buzzed she tried to ignore it, kicking her bag further and further under her desk each time she became aware of it’s all-pervading presence. Of course she knew it wouldn’t be him, he’d set a teasing tone, one sentence, one attachment, then he’d left her to stew.
She knew it’d be her girlfriend, and she was already regretting sharing so much information that morning. By the time she got home and checked her phone she was a mess, and if she was going to deal with this, she’d need some sustenance. Whether fortune favoured her not, she wasn’t sure, but the fridge was empty. So it was either order in, or eat out, and yeah, that slow moan was back again. She needed to get her mind out of the gutter.
Luckily help was on hand in the form of her beloved bestie, showing up with wine, takeaway and a look of concern, making best use of the spare key she’d been given, for emergencies.
The conversation went pretty much as she’d anticipated, but she was surprised at how little information she’d actually managed to get across to her friend earlier in the day. Thanking her lucky stars, she glossed over the whole episode, a pushy ex who’d wanted her attention, drunk messaging, topless photos. After some food and comparing notes on disastrous dates, she’d felt a lot better. But resolute. This was going to be her problem to deal with all by herself. And after seeing her friend's attempts at sexy selfies she was also feeling bolder. Although that could have been the very cheap white wine they’d necked.
It would have to be tasteful though. He may be prepared to bare all, but she still wanted to retain a little decorum. She wasn’t ready to burn all her socials if this went wrong. Besides, she did have a couple of online friends that she’d met in real life. There was no way in hell she’d let this spill over into reality. It had already cost her a good night’s sleep and a full day's work. Enough was enough.
It took a couple of days to get things ready, working out how to set up her phone’s camera timer, getting a suitable backdrop, ensuring the lighting was perfect. She took hundreds of photos and then discarded them. She’d finally convinced herself it was a bad idea, she’d never done it for a boyfriend and she couldn’t imagine any scenario where she actually would. Besides, he’d gone quiet. She could only assume it had been a ruse to get her to expose herself, and she was thankful she’d stalled for so long.
Until the video.
Not a tiktok or an instagram reel, and definitely not any kind of official content.
Apparently this was just between the two of them.
She wasn’t prepared. Who could be? Ever? In the whole of eternity?
It was later than usual, and she’d gotten complacent, charging her phone on her bedside table again. When it buzzed, she assumed it was her friend, checking in after a late night work event.
Nope.
The lights were low, the room non descript, but that wasn’t important. It didn’t even register until the fourth, or maybe fifth watch. No, the focus was unmistakable.
Panning down his taut stomach, taking in the delicious v-lines that every right thinking woman had dreamed of tracing with their collective tongues, then zooming in for a close up of his hands again concealing his now clearly smooth and hair free crotch. One hand flexes, fingers slightly spreading, definitely skin visible between them.
“For research?”
And that’s how you kill a fandom.
No way in hell was she going to share this.
And no way in hell could she just leave it like this.
He had now sent 3 photos and a video clip. Each incredibly intimate. Each now saved to her secret folder.
And she hadn't written back, well barely. In fact she hadn’t written a word since all this started. Dammit, he’d really thrown her off her game. It was time to get back to business.
I mean *she* was going to write about this wasn't she?
Isn’t that what he wanted?
I mean he hadn’t said as much, not technically, maybe he just wasn't a very effective communicator.
Although he seemed to have very clear ideas of what he wanted to see, what he wanted *her* to see.
But surely SOMEONE had fictionalised this, even if they couldn't say it outright???
And once again she found herself searching the internet, late into the night. Nothing. Despite the increasingly insane combinations of words and phrases, she found nothing even remotely similar. Maybe she was the first? Or maybe not, but everyone else had deliberately kept it quiet? Thinking along those lines, what on earth could she witness that would ensure she never, ever EVER wrote about this.
She couldn’t fathom it.
Only one thing could actually officially and legally stop her, and it was insane to even consider it.
And besides, what would be the point of an NDA now, when she’d already seen so……oh. Oh!
There was a lot to unpack, and she wasn’t sure she had the mental capacity, the thoughts flitting through her head at the speed of light. What she DID have was a dusty, neglected laptop and a very unique point of view. Stumbling out of bed, she unpacked her beloved notebook, plugging it in to charge. Then, sitting crosslegged on her bed, she began to write. Fingers flying across the keyboard, desperate to get down every thought, every idea, every possibility. It took four and half hours of non-stop writing, and by the end of it her fingers were numb, and her brain was mush.
Then she emailed work, let them know she was going to be taking a days sick leave, and collapsed into the void.
Hours later she awoke, the sun warm against her face, her throat once again dry and scratchy. Her phone buzzing with notification after notification like a hive of angry hornets.
As the previous night came back to her, a wave of nausea broke over her, rocking her to her core.
Before her lay the laptop and her phone. All of a sudden they both felt a little dark, a little threatening.
What had she done?
Reaching for her laptop, her phone buzzed again, and instead she picked it up, unlocking the screen with one swipe.
Work. Angry work. Really pissed off work. Her presentation. Shit that was today, and she’d totally spaced on it. But the information was all available on the server, and she was a tiny cog in a giant wheel, and who the fuck even cared when she could have made the biggest mistake of her life. Dropping her phone beside her, she reopened the laptop desperately checking her open tabs. Google docs, file saved. Gmail, no emails sent. Finally, reluctantly, she checked each of her writing profiles. Nothing new posted in the last 24 hours.
Relief coursed through her as her skin flashed hot to cold and back again.
Maybe she was actually coming down with something, she thought, flopping backwards onto her bed, grabbing a pillow and screaming into it at full volume.
A shower did nothing much to put things in perspective, nor did the rancid coffee she made herself. Sitting at the kitchen bar, she scrolled through her laptop, reading everything she’d written in her witching hour frenzy. And it was good. So fucking good, possibly the best she’d ever written. People would go crazy for it.
But.
What if.
What if posting this meant the end of the line for this whole interaction? I mean, he could have gotten bored days ago, it’s not like he was getting much out of it personally. She’d barely responded, two sentences in total, and she hadn’t exactly been friendly. So, why?
Okay, that was a good question, and only one way to find out. So, attaching a link to the fic she messaged, asking him outright.
Then leaving her phone on the counter, she grabbed her bag and headed out for a decent coffee.
vaporwave
kaledo-art
turnnoffyourmind
blakekathryn
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
