break me off (passionately) tbr

to be read

[cb97percent]

「𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚌 𝚗𝚘.𝟷」 · wolf by the tail

❝𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚎.❞

➥ Bang Chan x Reader (f) — 12.1k (~51 min. read)

➥ Prison, Inmate x Doctor, Crazy in Love

⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Bro is spectacularly whipped, heavy infatuation and sexual tension, emotional turmoil, prison violence, manipulation, strong language, explicit sexual content (see masterlist for more)

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌 “𝙺𝚒𝚊 𝙺𝚊𝚑𝚊” 𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔. 𝙸𝚗𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐.

“Kia kaha!”

“KIA KAHA!”

Stay strong, and the rest will follow.

Silver. Silver rings on long, dexterous fingers, silver necklace around the neck that held his head way too high, and silver tongue in his mouth home to all kinds of sins… 

Ask anyone who that guy was, and they would grunt his name due to their raging urge to either kill him or fuck him.

It wasn’t the sheer thrill of breaking the rules that drove Chris to the convoluted world of crime. He let himself ride the waves of his bad decisions to see where it would eventually take him. He ended up crashing his surfboard into the shores of opioids, and he liked it there. Simple as that. No tragic backstory or anything. 

Not only was he great at what he did, but he also possessed exquisite mastery over the arts of the tongue. He could walk right off anything just by talking his way out of it, which made him the singular common denominator unifying their rival clans. He had haters just because he existed, and rightfully so, to be frank.

“They got Jake.”

Now imagine the absolute field day the aforementioned bitter foes had when they heard the shit hit the fan for Crown Street.

Jake. The resident troublemaker aggressively looking up to his mentor and way too impatient for his own good. His sworn protégé. This was the umpteenth time an emergency meeting was taking place to come up with a strategy dedicated to saving his ass.

“What are our options? Give it to us straight,” boss man Oliver demanded from their lawyer.

“Jake has priors. This doesn’t look good,” Johnnie stated bluntly. “If he talks, this time around he’s getting locked up for at least ten years with no chance of parole, if not a life sentence.”

Chris held his head between his hands, utterly frustrated and internally cursing Jake’s ass off for not being more careful. For not being more patient. For having this stupid compulsion to prove himself.

To whom, bro, we all fucking know what you’re capable of!

“Is there nothing we can do?” Chris appealed emphatically. “I’m not gonna let the kid rot in that hellhole.”

Johnnie leaned back in his chair and looked him dead in his eyes, albeit with a defeated expression.

“Hypothetically speaking, if someone else with no priors on paper owns up to it, I can negotiate a deal for as little as five years.” 

“How the fuck is five years little?!” Oliver yelled while slamming his fist on the circular ebony table.

“Under these circumstances, it actually is. You’re lucky we’re not trying to dodge a death penalty here,” Johnnie declared. “All you gotta do is find someone to take the rep. Play nice, and they can get out on parole in a year or so.”

Fascinating thing, loyalty. Things that would never even pop up in your wildest dreams, it would make you do without blinking an eye. What was there to even think about when you knew someone’s fate was lying in your hands? 

Especially if that someone meant the world to you.

“I’ll confess to it.”

“Chris. No.”

“What’s the alternative, huh? He’ll get jumped before 3 p.m. on his first day,” Chris countered immediately. “Johnnie’s always had our back. If this is the lesser of the two evils, I’ll do it. He says I can be out in a year.”

“But what if you can’t?” Oliver implored him to see reason. “This is jail time we’re talking about, mate, not fucking community service.”

He didn’t even have to say anything. One look into his eyes, and Oliver knew what that meant. Once he set his mind to something, it was impossible to talk Chris out of it no matter how obvious the end result was. He was one of those people who had to experience things firsthand, either to brag an ‘I told you so’ or to finally acknowledge what a horrendous mistake he had made.

“You already know I’m well-versed in the arts of surviving, brother.”

That very sentence he formed ended up being the one he had to serve. Luckily for him, it at least had a full stop at the end although it ran on for several pages. He didn’t care. Anything to protect one of his own.

Stay strong.

Kia Kaha.

I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

That was the oath you had taken. Well, you had to because apparently some guy named Hippocrates was extremely triggered by the concept of perjury some centuries ago. So either swear to it and make the unbreakable vow, or rip your fucking diploma in half. That piece of paper had cost you a whole lot of money with a good deal of your sanity in the process, so no, thank you very much.

It wasn’t the sheer nobility of the profession that drove you to become a doctor. If the design of the human body and mind had fascinated you this much, why not make a career out of getting super intrigued by the total length of an average adult human’s blood vessels? Out of all the places you could have picked, you took a job at a maximum security prison as the chief attending physician because, hey, multiple birds with one stone.

I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.

Nobody told you to take on the challenge of serving the most ‘infirm’ crowd available, but you did it anyway. What better setting to practice your craft than a correctional facility after all?

“I’m leaving. Will you be home by dinner?”

“We’ll see.”

Not even a ‘Have a good first day, sweetheart’. Fuck that, not even a curt ‘Good luck’.

The awkward tension between you and your husband wasn’t always palpable enough to cut with a knife. Not that anything specific happened to cause that, but somewhere along the way, something indeed snapped, and you started growing apart day by day. Maybe it was the unbearable heaviness of the mundane, coloring your entire marriage in the bleakest shade of gray. The affection? Gone. The desire? Gone. You were nothing more than two roommates at this point because you didn’t feel like doing anything for him anymore. Why bother when it was one-sided? Why bother getting a gift for someone, imagining how happy it was going to make them when they couldn’t even care less? Why get upset when they didn’t react exactly in the way you pictured they would? No one put a gun to your head to get the said gift in the first place, which meant they didn’t owe you shit, did they?

When it was your spouse in question, it felt like he did. For wasting years of your life, trapping you in a loveless birdcage if not for anything else. Cue the unsolicited commentary and advice from the spectators of your life.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“Get a divorce.”

“You can’t fix him. Just walk away.”

How fucking easy it was to tell someone to make a drastic change in their life in a split second… Would you stop drinking coffee just because someone told you to? Fuck no. You had to believe it wasn’t doing you any good anymore. Everyone’s tolerance to change was different, after all; some welcomed it with open arms, and some avoided it like the plague. In any case, only when you felt confident about your eventual decision, only when you felt ready, then and only then would you make the change. 

Because nobody was going to go through the consequences on your behalf if shit went south, nor were they going to take the blame for your prospective unhappiness with the outcome.

I will not be ashamed to say “I know not”...

It was fine. Your marital bed, which was empty most nights, was not your place of work. Breaking an oath within the confines of your suffocation was not going to harm anyone.

Other than yourself.

Inmate 8MS3HF92. 

That was Chris’ name for the past ten months. Nothing that could humanize him, merely letters and numbers. Another statistic to quote in recidivism reports maybe. 

The only time he would be reminded of his identity was when his prison family addressed him—they were the circle of people showing him the ins and outs of navigating the hell simulator with as little damage and as much profit as possible. To all the guards, to the warden, to everybody else, he was just ‘inmate’.

Not for long, though.

He had only one instruction. Do not beef no matter what and survive, and that was exactly what he had been doing. His itinerary was quite straightforward—he was going to endure this for two more months, go up against the parole committee, be super charming, then get the hell out. He was probably going to return here within his first hour as a free man for beating the shit out of Jake, though.

If he had the balls to press charges against his Yoda, that is.

Chris took particular, not to mention excessive pride in the way he operated. Getting your own hands dirty was for amateurs. If he wanted something, he would talk his way into it. If he detected a threat, he would orchestrate the subtlest of feuds to have someone else get rid of it on his behalf. Obviously, ‘on his behalf’ did not mean that you would do it in full awareness that this was in his best interests. He would pitch it to you in such a manner that you’d have no choice but to believe the threat was actually posed to you.

Prison was like a gangster’s LinkedIn. The most lucrative connections they could possibly have were right under his nose—of course he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to bring in more business to Crown Street. After several rounds of meet and greets within his first month, he had successfully outlined the entire food chain and finally located where the drug ops ran from. Getting himself assigned to any other place was unequivocally out of the question.

“Work detail assignments. Fang, you’re working in the kitchen.”

What a pleasant surprise! Everybody, act shocked.

Smooth talking gets you only so far, of course. Put this man in a room full of his hardcore fans, and he would still manage to make a few enemies. That was both the curse and the blessing of being a charmer. If you didn’t annoy the fuck out of somebody for no reason, then you were doing it wrong.

…which was exactly why the closer his freedom date approached, the more intolerant his fatemates became. That was the tradition of this place. You’d go through the hazing when you were about to graduate, not during the first week of school.

“Fang. A word,” Andrei beckoned him towards the storage shelves right before lunch service.

It was of utmost importance for Chris to stay in the head honcho’s good graces until his hearing. The past ten months had been a very trying test of willpower for having to constantly repress the urge to jump this motherfucker, and patience was not exactly his strong suit. He wiped his hands on his apron and followed suit behind him.

“What’s up, boss?”

“We were expecting a little delivery from the commissary two days ago,” he snarled at him, piercing holes into his forehead with his ice-blue eyes. “What the fuck is up with that, pretty boy?”

“Yeah, about that,” Chris scratched his nape with a look feigning an apology like he was oh so sorry. “We’re experiencing a little hiccup. Should come in no later than Friday, though.”

“That’s not what we agreed upon.”

“I know, but I’m also leaning on other people here. I can’t exactly go out to personally bring in your heroin now, can I?”

Andrei cornered him against a wall and slammed both his hands on either side of him. As if Chris was some white-collar criminal only in here because his lawyer dropped the ball on his tax evasion case. Everybody with common sense would know it took a bit more than that to intimidate Fang.

“Your whore ass gets on my last fucking nerve, you know,” he flashed his half-rotten teeth. “Maybe your goddamn smug face needs some work done, huh?”

“If you think I need work done, you clearly haven’t looked in a mirror recently.”

So much for holding it together…

It was like a blackout that lasted for only two seconds. The words just jumped out of his lips before he could catch them in the air. The loud sound of glass crashing alerted the two guards on the floor, prompting them to dash towards the kitchen. 

“Break it off! Break it off now!!!”

Chris might have managed to dodge getting his throat ripped, but a large piece of glass still made its way to his chest area, cutting a wound open below his left collarbone. A couple of centimeters more to the south, and he would have secured an early parole in a goddamn pine box. He was immediately escorted to the infirmary to get patched up, which he found fucking hysterical. There couldn’t be anything more ironic than nursing someone back to health just so they could rot some more. He was anxiously shaking his legs while sitting on that gurney for someone to appear, washcloth still pressed on the bleeding wound and annoyed out of his mind.

“Yo doc, can we get this shit over with already?” he yelled towards the back of the room. “I kinda need to be somewhere right now.”

“Please excuse the tardiness to your schedule, Your Majesty. We’re a little shorthanded around here.”

Whoa…

Chris briefly wondered whether he actually died of blood loss on the kitchen floor because why the fuck else was he seeing an angel clad in white, not to mention in this soul-sucker den?

“Who the fuc—? I–I mean…”

“It’s fine, I’ve been called worse,” you responded without looking away from the incident report in your hands, then met his eyes at long last. “I’m the new chief attending physician. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Inmate 8MS3HF92 that got jumped in the kitchen.”

“Pretty name, huh? It’s French,” he quickly gathered his wits and grinned in response, “but they call me Fang for short.”

“Fang,” you snorted at the juvenile-sounding moniker. “Because you didn’t get your wisdom teeth out, or…?”

“It’s because you should let the sleeping wolves lie, beautiful.”

You knew what you were getting yourself into when you started working here, and your contract with Hippocrates included one thing in its essence: Help the sick and do no harm. In that particular moment, however, you crassly fistbumped him for blessing you with this Olympian eye candy shamelessly flirting with you for a change. Yes, this was an inmate in front of you, but all your suppressed urges could register was a pair of thick forearms adorned with bulging veins, long fingers pressing on his wound, and thighs spread wide almost invitingly. Telling you… To come closer… Then get on your knees… And then…

Well, if you were anywhere else but a prison, that is.

“Take it off, please.”

Chris felt a hard kick in his chest when you uttered those words, unable to register your request and just looking at you blankly with lips parted in surprise.

“Your top,” you pointed your pen at his wound, “so that I can examine the injury.”

“RIGHT! Of course.”

He removed the clothing as told, but never in your entire professional life did you have to contain something so primitive threatening to rear its head inside you. You bitchslapped your lizard brain pretty hard to remind yourself once again that this was a goddamn patient you had to attend to, not some man you were trying to pick up at a bar.

If only you knew that you weren’t actually alone in this struggle. 

Your perfume… It was November, but you smelled like summer. Chris didn’t have much to hold onto, but you smelled like hope. Your latex-clad hands were running all over his chest, and he didn’t give a fuck that it was on his wound. His touch starvation was at such dangerous levels that trying to control the erection growing between his legs was harder than refraining from murdering motherfuckers in this place. To top it all off, the angel before him looking like that? 

It was an enigma how he managed not to cum in his pants right then and there.

You finished stitching his wound in complete silence as he watched you with his lips slightly parted, and only when you informed him you were done was he able to come back to reality.

“Come back next week, okay?”

And once he managed to snap out of it, Chris instantly wore his other personality on his sleeve as a knee-jerk reaction.

“Say you’re gonna miss me, and I can come back tomorrow,” he smugly grinned. You eyed him from head to toe with brows furrowed in confusion.

“To get your stitches removed, Fang,” you scoffed. “You can go back to your easy bake oven now.”

So you weren’t easily charmed. No matter. He happened to fucking love the chase.

Chris left the infirmary that day with a stupid smile glued to his lips, full-on launching the crescent craters adorning his cheeks and secretly hoping you found dimples attractive in a man. 

One borrowed touch was all it took. He found himself counting down the days to get his stitches removed instead of his parole hearing. All of a sudden, the walls weren’t closing in on him as much anymore. His breathing was still a little irregular, but seemingly for different reasons rather than the humidity crawling in the stone walls.

He was having trouble sleeping no matter how much he forced himself to because his mind just wouldn’t shut up about you. If only… If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.

One day. Three days. Five days. And finally back to the infirmary again. 

God, if that didn’t feel longer than the time he had served thus far…

“Hey, doc!”

You looked up at the unusually chirpy voice that most certainly did not belong to the dismal backdrop of this place. It was the stitches man that looked more like a sculpture with a little chip on it.

“Feeling good today, are we?” you brightly smiled at him at the expense of giving him a mild heart attack while wearing your gloves to check the healing of his scar. “Did you get some good news?”

Chris actually had a snarky comment ready to go, but as soon as your hand brushed against his, he felt a sudden jolt and completely forgot what he was going to say.

“Fish tacos… for lunch.”

You couldn’t help but heartily laugh at the unexpected answer, effectively stopping his heart for about three seconds.

“I take it you’re very easy to please, Fang.”

Yes. Fucking yes. Just let me borrow your lips once, and I’ll die the happiest man.

As you got to work with a pair of tweezers to remove his stitches, Chris watched you completely awestruck as if he was appreciating a piece of fine art, right-click-saving everything he could observe about you into his mind. Your brows that creased whenever you were focused on something, your beautiful lips you licked every now and then, your hair that looked like it was made of pure silk, your skin that most certainly felt like velvet to the touch…

God, you’re like a queen.

“All done,” you smiled again, apparently adamant to kill him before he could even walk out of that door, and got up from the stool in front of him. “Don’t run around with scissors, okay?” 

“Thank you.” 

The gratitude was pretty much redundant since this was your job. You were literally on payroll to take care of people, but it still made your heart swell because the stitches man was the first person ever to thank you for your services.

“I uh… I’ll see you around. I guess…” he stared at his feet by the door somewhat abashed.

“I hope not. That would mean you injured yourself again,” you giggled and gently squeezed his shoulder. “Stay out of trouble.”

Oh, I don’t think so, my queen.

That night, Chris tossed and turned in his bed for what felt like hours to him. The first unprotected touch you shared without a layer of latex between his skin and yours burned like hell on his shoulder. If only… If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.

But he didn’t actually have to wait for that when you were all that he could see whenever he closed his eyes. So he did. He manifested you right next to him on his bed, and his hand moved inside his pants as if it had a mind of its own. 

There you were. Your attention completely on him, your tongue glazing your lips every now and then. Why were you licking them, though? Was it because you also felt your throat getting dry? Was it because you also wanted to press them against his?

Fuck, I’d kill to feel those lips on me.

Your face. The way the corners of your mouth curled when you smiled at him. The way you slightly squinted your eyes when you were focused. Was that what you looked like when you were turned on, too?

I want you. God, I want you bad.

Your poise. The way you carried yourself. Firm steps, determined voice, quite obviously not taking shit from anyone. Grace materialized. A literal queen. His queen that he wanted to dedicate his entire life to.

I wanna be the floor you walk on. Fucking step on me, christ!

Just your sheer beauty. The way you oozed sexiness without revealing any piece of skin. The way you moved. The way you knew exactly what you were doing. Did you also know what exactly pleased you? Did you know all the things he was willing to do just to please you?

“FUCK!”

Chris didn’t even care about the hefty mess he made on himself as he arched on that god-awful mattress. The convulsions rippling throughout his body as he came were a different kind of intense. Up until that moment in his life, he had climaxed infinity times either with the assistance of third parties or all by himself, sometimes manifesting as an unimpressive shiver and some other times mind-numbingly hard.

But not once, never once, did it feel like surrendering his soul to someone.

If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. 

Above all, I must not play at God.

Chris wasn’t aware of what the Hippocratic oath entailed, nor did he have to take it. Ergo, he was free to ‘play at god’ all he wanted whenever the fuck he saw fit. Like when he overheard the Irish circle indulging in a little locker room talk as he was watching TV with his own entourage.

“Have you seen the doctor chick yet?”

“Complete cumdump material. You just know she likes it dirty, sassy-ass bitch.”

Every time Chris felt the onset of a rampage coming on, his mind would switch to autopilot and give him a singular command—fucking remove yourself from the environment if you want to see that parole committee. Yet the loud, sleazy waves of laughter blasting right behind him triggered him so hard that it took the willpower of a temple full of monks not to scatter this O’Connell lowlife’s brains out. God knows he came this fucking close to doing it, and he actually would if he wasn’t repeating the same thing to himself over and over again like a lunatic’s mantra.

Hold it. For her.

For her.

For her.

For her.

For her.

For her.

He could live with burning his parole chances, but not with not seeing you for an entire month if he went to the hole. He clenched his teeth to the brink of cracking them to put a leash around his urges and jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Noah asked him.

“To hit the weights, mate. I’ll catch you later.”

Technically, he didn’t lie. He was indeed going to the gym, but not necessarily because his body craved that post-workout dopamine release. It was two in the afternoon, which meant someone was in the middle of some deadlifting.

“Paco!” he opened his arms like he was greeting a friend coming back from active duty. “There’s my main man.” 

“What’s good, Fang?”

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain,” he walked behind the bench. “Here, let me spot you.”

Chris lent a hand with the presses as if that was the sole purpose of his visit all along and put the weights back in their place once Paco’s loud grunt punctuated the set. He offered a towel to the man sweating like he had been doing soilwork under the scorching sun, then kneeled beside him, speaking in a hushed tone like he was about to reveal top-secret information.

“Listen, you know you’re my brother, right?”

“Damn straight, man. Ride or die.”

“Something came to my attention, so I thought I’d let you know,” Chris glanced over the gym door and turned his attention back to Paco again. “You and I both know the guards didn’t just have an epiphany one day with all that sawdust they have for a brain. Someone ratted you out about the phone thing.”

“And if I find out which son of a bitch…” Paco almost ripped the towel to shreds, but when he saw the knowing grin on Chris’ face, his fury suddenly vanished. “No shit, you know.”

Chris slowly nodded.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but a little bird told me O’Connell cut a deal with the guards,” he tsked in disapproval. “Shit, we all believed it, but turns out he let them beat the shit out of him in exchange for keeping the phone for himself.”

“That MOTHERFUCKER…”

…and score. Now all he needed to do was pour some gas on the fire and start roasting his marshmallows over the magnificent arson he had just committed.

“Everyone is talking on the DL that he is out to colonize your outside resources, mate. I’d put a burner on his ass before he could even plan to do something if I were you,” Chris placed his hand on Paco’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “You know where to go to take back what’s yours. Find me if you need anything, yeah?”

“I owe you one, bro. I won’t forget this.”

Poof! That easy. It was astounding how none of these dumbasses knew how to burn sugar as brain fuel, so nobody ever questioned anything. In Chris’ defense, it took a lot of actual snitching for the ploys to work. Trust needed to be earned first; respect naturally followed. Now he could just sit back, relax, and watch the altercations unfold as the tension between the parties escalated through the roof. 

Because he never got his own hands dirty. And now that this little wrinkle was ironed out, he could channel all his attention to the only thing that mattered.

You.

Chris’ only chance of catching a glimpse of you was to come to you in the infirmary. It wasn’t the fucking yard—of course the guards would never let him leave the wing unless he absolutely needed medical attention, so he needed to get a little creative to put on successful performances. If that meant cutting open some wounds to get some stitches, so be it. If it took standing in front of the ventilation grates right after a freezing-ass shower, so be it. You were worth risking pneumonia, infections, even fucking death. If you’d smile at him just once, he was going to be cured and reach immortality anyway.

“Does it hurt when I press here?” you gently sank your fingertips into his chest after listening to his breathing.

“I can’t tell. Do it again.”

“You realize this is a medical examination, Fang, not foreplay.”

“Says you,” Chris mischievously smiled. “You’re very much getting to second base with me right now.”

You applied pressure to the area right under his jawline sharper than your scalpels to check for swelling, then grabbed a throat swab for a strep test.

“Open wide.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

“Bang…”

“Yeesh! Pulling out the government name and everything,” he raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t be mad, I’ll behave.”

You got your sample for a throat culture and went back to the back of the room to properly label it. Chris sat there in silence for some time and spoke with a soft voice that almost didn’t belong to him.

“I don’t know why the fuck you care this much, but I’m grateful that you do, you know?”

“It’s my job to care,” you responded without looking at him.

“I know, but…” he trailed off and took a moment to find the proper words. “Nobody else ever cared about me unless I was useful to them. You’re the first.”

Unless your eyes were deceiving you, when you looked up at him, you saw something glinting in his gaze in a faint shade of pink, terribly reminiscent of yearning. It was just a glance. It was nothing. It didn’t mean anything.

But it still made something thump really hard in your chest.

He slowly got up to his feet, approached you with careful steps, and placed a chaste kiss on your cheek, releasing one butterfly after another in the pit of your stomach with each second he lingered there.

“I owe you my life,” he gently brushed his fingers on your skin before heading back to his wing again. “Thought you should know.”

This was Chris’ third time in the infirmary within a span of two weeks. How the heck this man even functioned in a cartel while hurting himself this much was appalling, really. 

Maybe he didn’t, and that was what landed his ass in prison in the first place.

“What is it this time, Fang? Tripped on a flat surface?”

“I figured you’d like to see your favorite inmate,” his face lit up like a Christmas tree at your sight. “Is that so bad?”

“Yeah, that’s not a thing, and don’t say that ever again,” you furrowed your brows, mildly nauseated. “What do you have for me today?”

Chris spread his legs wide to show you the cut on his inner thigh, blood oozing from it now dried.

“I wasn’t being careful with the knives during kitchen duty. Gotta be fast to feed so many people on time and whatnot.”

You put on your latex gloves, the supply of which was frequently used for Chris nowadays, and examined the wound closely.

“Looks like a clean cut, but you’ll need stitches again,” you observed, then retorted while preparing the suture. “Just bring a pattern or something next time so I can tattoo it on you. At least it’ll look pretty. Drop your pants.”

Chris was tremendously lucky you were facing away from him as he gulped that thickly, experiencing a sudden case of cottonmouth. He knew the remedy to that was hidden between your lips, of course, but that was neither here nor there, and certainly not to be brought up right that second. On any other Tuesday, he was the most shameless motherfucker that ever walked this earth, but at that moment, he was somehow feeling extremely self-conscious about putting himself on display for you.

His rabid heartbeat was about to choke him to death.

You pulled a stool right in front of him to get to work, your instruments neatly placed on the surface right next to you. When you locked your eyes on your target, you got momentarily furious at yourself for wondering whether his thighs were always this sculpted or if he shaped them out during his time here. Heaving a deep sigh, you penetrated his skin with a needle to proceed with stitching his wound, but that wasn’t when he hissed. 

That sharp inhale manifested itself when you placed your hand on his inner thigh.

“Am I hurting you?” you looked up at him questioningly.

“Nothing I can’t endure.”

Fucking RICH!

Of course he was going to lie his ass off. He wasn’t about to confess to your fucking beautiful face how he was barely enduring the lack of your lips on his on a daily basis. How it made him go so crazy that he was constantly on the brink of killing someone. How that contact just now went straight to the synapse connected to his X-rated inner mind theater and prompted a chain reaction reaching all the way down to his cock. One slip, and you were going to notice it. You were not supposed to notice it. Not yet. Not yet. NOT before he laid the groundwork first!

“A little pussy of you to gasp at a little needle when you’re in a fucking prison, don’t you think?” you broke into a taunting smirk.

“You usually swear this much?” he chortled in slight surprise at your commentary.

“Helps you gangstas check yourselves around me,” you replied with a firm voice, your eyes still glued to his thigh. “Doesn’t seem to work on you that much, though. You keep showing up here like this is a restaurant.”

“So what? Is it a crime to want to be tended to?” he responded with a knowing grin. “I like it when you take care of me. I don’t think that’s grounds for violating my parole chances.”

Like you were the one to talk. You wished you could help the smile he elicited out of you as if you were two people flirting over drinks at the aforementioned restaurant.

Fucking charmer.

“Don’t you think we got a little more than a Hippocratic relationship going on here, doc?”

His words landed like a nuclear bomb in your office, and Chris noticed that pause in your movements even though it didn’t take any longer than two nanoseconds. A sign. The sign he had been looking for all this time. To prove to himself he wasn’t delusional. It was true, wasn’t it? It was true, and this was the indisputable evidence.

“You shudder when you touch me,” he turned it up a notch.

“Bang, stop.”

“Exactly. I make your heart stop, don’t I?” he scooted just the tiniest bit closer. “You know it’s true.”

His voice turned deeper all of a sudden like he was trying to get a message across. It didn’t matter whether that message was in a glass bottle floating its way into obscurity without a proper address attached to it. Extremely lucky for him and to your endless misfortune, however, it indeed made its way to the intended addressee.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m married,” you looked away in panic.

His face dropped ever so slightly, barely noticeable to the naked eye. 

You were… 

Married?

But… But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Otherwise, why would you spend all this time with him, alone for that matter, running your hands all over him and getting fucking goosebumps because of it? Your playing house thing was just a formality, wasn’t it? You had only stated an unprompted fact. Like how it was Tuesday and the weather was bleak and there was tapioca pudding for lunch. That wasn’t an invitation for him to make himself scarce. Otherwise you would tell him to. Otherwise you would yell at him. Otherwise you would strike him in the face instead of getting heart palpitations like what the FUCK?!

“Doesn’t take a genius to conclude it’s not a disgustingly happy one,” he commented in a stoic voice, completely contrary to the violently raging storm inside him turning everything to dust. “Is it because he works so late? Doesn’t cherish you like you should be?”

“It’s none of your business.”

He continued examining your face while you kept stitching him up as if the answer was written there somewhere. Because it was. It always was. 

Nothing told the truth like someone’s averted eyes.

“Or is it because he’s out a little too much? He doesn’t come home for dinner anymore?”

Fuck.

You involuntarily flinched. Of course you did—everyone would when you pressed salt on the wound.

“So that’s why,” he tilted his head and continued, more pleased than he should have been. “Why do you even put up with that when he’s out fucking someone, calling her all sorts of vile things? Do you still let him go down on you with that mouth when he comes home?”

“Maybe it worked out for the best that I don’t need to worry about anyone going down on me with that mouth,” you hysterically laughed in response and handed him the antiseptic, trying to brush away the interrogation over your failing marriage. “Hold this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It fucking means you need to know the taste of something to crave it. Christ,” you mumbled through your clenched teeth, then heaved a deep sigh to calm yourself. “This should heal nicely.”

His eyes widened upon your words as if you had just told him he was getting out the next day. 

“Wait, so you… Like, you’ve never…”

As you were putting your instruments away, you put on an applause-worthy performance, acting like you weren’t even slightly aware of your face burning up to the tip of your ears. Chris, on the other hand, was trapped between feeling somewhat endeared versus some type of weird relief.

And extremely turned on thinking about the noises he would have you make if he dropped to his knees for you right about now.

“Fuck me, you really don’t know what it’s like to get your pussy licked, do you?” he started laughing in earnest.

As much as you were annoyed out of your mind, you didn’t answer and returned to the stool to clean around the wound in silence since nothing intelligible was going to come out of your mouth anyway. So what if no one ever went down on you? What was so funny about it? It most certainly didn’t warrant mocking to the extent of bullying. Would you throw a maniacal laughing fit right at his stupidly gorgeous face if he told you he never got his dick sucked? Where the fuck were his manners? What were you even doing looking for manners from an inmate?

Yet even though his question was rhetorical, he kept pressing for a reaction out of you.

“It’s fucking phenomenal. Nothing quite like it,” he continued his verbal torture. “Especially when you have someone eating your pussy like they’re gonna fucking die if you don’t cum in their mouth. It takes a woman like you to induce that kind of appetite.”

“How would you know how it feels?” you loudly scoffed to ignore the buzzing sensation below your waist. “Do you have a secret clit I don’t know about?”

“I fucking wish, but I have references instead,” he discreetly licked his lips. “They would tell you all about the first-degree murders I committed with my tongue. I can give you their numbers if you wanna confirm.”

He was adamantly painting you this tantalizing picture and forcing you to look at it, infesting your mind with the image of himself between your legs. Slowly killing you with curiosity so that you would snap and find out for yourself if it was really the kind of infernal experience he was making it out to be.

And unfortunately for you, it was fucking working.

“But you’re not terribly upset with me, are you?” he faked a pout which quickly turned into a smirk again. “Because this doesn’t bother you as much as you believe it should.”

You were wondering whether Chris had somehow managed to install wires in your mind, shamelessly narrating your own thoughts back at you. Your heart almost stopped when he touched the stray strands of hair right in the intersection of your nape and your ear.

“See? Why else would you close your eyes when I touch you?”

He placed his hand on your cheek, concerningly warm to the touch courtesy of his relentless flustering attempts. You knew what your rational reaction was supposed to be, and you were desperately looking for the whereabouts of your sanity to fucking act on it, but…

But…

You found yourself leaning into his touch instead, not a shred of courage present in your soul to open your eyes and look at him. You heard a soft rustling sound, then a source of heat approaching your way, and then…

A kiss.

So soft but unbearably intense. So warm but sending jolts down your spine. So tender but lethally passionate. Asking for permission to stay a while longer, begging you to please please not send him away, and it was gaining speed like a plane was about to take off with his fingers getting tangled in your hair. His tongue clashing with yours, your lips consuming his, pairs of hands trying to find their way to the other’s face.

If you didn’t take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.

“No!” you pulled away from him hurriedly as if someone had electrocuted you, panting hard to catch your breath. “Go. We’re done here.” 

“Are we?” he flashed an unconvinced smile.

“You don’t have to come in every time you sneeze. Just… Grow a pair and learn to be fucking careful,” you quickly made your way to your desk to occupy yourself with filling out patient forms.

“I would hold that thought if I were you,” he got up to his feet to make his way back. “This is a prison after all. The only place worse than here would be the third circle of hell.” 

Right before he left, he stopped right behind your chair, leaned in, and breathily whispered.

“When I come in to get my stitches removed,” he placed the softest of kisses on your ear, “we’ll pick this up where we left off.”

Chris was perfectly aware playing doctor with you was not a sustainable plan at all. He had to find a way to position himself around you strategically so he wouldn’t have to remind you of his existence every five minutes. 

And he had to do it fast before he inflicted fucking permanent damage on himself.

“An idea, boss,” he nonchalantly uttered one night, bouncing a ball against the cell wall. “Don’t you think it would be more lucrative if I was in the infirmary instead? It’s literally the stash of this entire fucking prison. Kitchen just ain’t it anymore.” 

“That’s out of the blue,” Noah creased his brows. “Where did that come from?”

“Out of the blue? Have you missed the memo on our feud with the Vices? They want my ass on sight,” he turned serious all of a sudden. “If I’m out of the wing, at least I won’t have to constantly look over my shoulder. It’s either this or I’ll have to hide in the hole, and I’d like to avoid solitary if I can, thank you very much.”

Chris liked to think that he was smarter than most, if not all people, but there was something he wasn’t quite able to conceal from Noah, a family man to two beautiful girls. He could read anyone like the damn book in his hands, and Chris should have known those hawk-like observational skills were a byproduct of being a father, not a veteran gangbanger.

“And you swear this has nothing to do with the doctor lady?” 

He continued with his reading as if he hadn’t said what he just said, stunning Chris hard enough to lose the ability to form coherent sentences.

“It’s… I’m… N–Not rea—”

“Fang,” he immediately stopped Chris before he could even attempt what was sure to be a convincing argument. “Fake it to whoever the fuck else you want. Not to one of your own.”

Chris briefly contemplated whether there was any chance at all that he didn’t have to confess to it. He was either going to get ruthlessly mocked for being so stupidly vulnerable, or get a good beating for having too much time on his hands to waste on teenage crushes. What was even the point of denial anyway? Noah had already caught on to his less-than-pure motives. 

His fingers inadvertently touched the wolf tattoo on his inner left arm, and he heaved a sigh so filled with yearning that it colored the stone walls into an even bleaker shade of gray.

“She seeped through me, mate,” he sighed with a broken smile. “She lives under my skin like a fucking tattoo.”

But that night, Chris learned that when you shared a moment of honesty with decent men, sometimes all you got in return was a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Looks like you grabbed the tiger by the tail this time, brother,” Noah solemnly spoke while pointing at his ink. “Or in your case, a goddamn wolf.”

The guards’ voices echoed in the narrow hallways to announce lights out. As Chris clasped his hands under his nape to spend yet another night staring at the ceiling, Noah put his book under the tremendously uncomfortable pillow and got under the sheets.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he whispered to his right once the guards passed by, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Fucking seriously?!”

“I said don’t get your hopes up,” a loud hiss bounced off the walls. “Try to get some sleep.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Insomnia going strong?”

“When did it ever not?”

“You never know,” Noah turned to his side and pulled his blanket up. “Maybe you should try counting doctors so she’ll come visit you in your dreams.”

Chris wished it worked that way, but even the slightest possibility of seeing you was enough to curl his lips into a smile.

“Fang? What are you doing here?”

It had been a while since you last saw Chris, which meant some banter exchange over whatever klutzery he dabbled in this time was long overdue. Much to your surprise, however, he not only looked very much in one piece for once but also responded with an uncharacteristically straight face.

“Shift in work detail. I’ll be working here from now on.”

No dimple charms cranked up to the maximum. No attempt to aggressively hit on you. A paranoid thought crept up in your head, debating whether someone saw you during… that, and he got reprimanded for it. Otherwise, why would he abruptly distance himself from you?

Why did the stench of disappointment raid the room all of a sudden?

“Doing what?” you kept an equally ‘professional’ composure.

“Helping you?” he shrugged. “Did you forget the day we first met?” 

He was referring to your annoyed greeting when he visited your royal chambers for the first time, and his heart melted a little when you averted your eyes from him. Maybe you’d never stopped thinking about it either. You called him Your Majesty that day, and Chris kept replaying those words in his mind all day, every day ever since then. It wasn’t… It wasn’t what you said but how you said it. Just the thought of being your king, living his life to serve his queen, loving her, cherishing her, pleasing her, and protecting her from all harm in the world…

If only you knew how much he was willing to give up just for a shred of that…

“How you snapped at me because you were shorthanded around here?” he jogged your memory. “Just dump whatever menial labor and paperwork you have on me. I know how to read.”

His originally planned maneuver was to be less aggressive in his advances towards you. He’d figured just being close to you would be enough to keep him pacified for the time being, and he could work his way up from there. Find that rift in your defenses to slowly pour himself into you. Sure, it could take some time, but he was willing to wait it out so that he cou—

Day 3 of breathing the same air as you, and he was on the brink of having to check into a fucking psych ward already.

It was as if you owned the leash to his rotten soul, and he was getting antsier by the minute that someone was going to notice his biggest weakness was carelessly walking around out in the open like that. He had never felt like this before about anything or anyone, having trouble breathing because of some invisible weight constantly pressing on his chest. He didn’t doubt his affection for you for one second, but the more he saw you, the more he heard your voice, the more he was exposed to you in some way, the more the one emotion he didn’t know he could feel started flowing through the cracks of that stone he had for a heart.

The unmitigated shame of how ferociously he was lusting after you. 

One look at you, and he was about to faint. One whiff of your scent, and he was pushed to the limits of his self-restraint. He was thoroughly consumed with the urge to kiss you, to touch you, to hold you in his arms, to taste the salt on your skin… God, he would fucking die if you moaned his name. He would lose whatever remained of his sanity if you said you wanted him back. He knew you deserved pure-white love, and he could never give you that with all the stains he bore, but he could rewrite everything you thought you knew about euphoria. He could make you soar to the heights you never thought were possible. He could love you so hard that you would hear his devotion to you coursing through your veins. He could if you let him.

And he could swear he felt it the day he kissed you. He could feel in his heart of hearts that you wanted to.

If you weren’t the slightest bit interested in him, then you should have immediately pulled out the rejection card, but you didn’t. You didn’t. You kissed him back. For quite a bit. If that didn’t mean your marital status didn’t mean jack shit to you, then what did? Why would it even matter when you were so obviously unhappy anyway? He could make you happy. 

He could make you so happy if you let him.

Five days. Seven days. Nine days. Veiled glances. Stolen touches. Your scent in passerby winds. Craving. Denying. Pretending. Yearning. 

Yearning. 

Yearning.

He forced it to the absolute limit of his patience. Honest. 

But a man in love was just the politically correct way to say a deranged maniac.

“Need a hand with that?” he made his way to the desk you were standing in front of.

“Felt lonely by the file cabinet?” you quipped with a little smirk as you kept labeling documents. 

“Yes.”

You just wanted to bounce snark off of each other to end the tiring day on a somewhat lighthearted note, however lighthearted it could be in a place like this, but the unexpected solemnity in his voice caught you off guard. You stopped trying to cram a piece of paper in a sheet protector and looked at him. 

Chris had been too quiet lately. His eyes were clouded with something akin to sorrow, and it didn’t suit him at all. The only thing fit for that face was crescent moons and the dimples that chipped away at his dangerousness.

Your chest was about to collapse for how hard invisible hands were wringing your heart.

“Did… something happen?” you quietly asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a bit aloof,” you channeled your attention to the papers again. “Like… there’s something wrong.”

“No, everything’s fine.”

You knew he was lying, but you weren’t sure why. Was it just because he didn’t feel like talking to you, or was he…?

He wasn’t trying to shelter you from worrying or anything, was he?

“Are you expecting any visitors?” you attempted to change the topic. “It’s visiting day tomorrow.”

“Not really.”

“Not even your colleagues are coming to see you?” 

“I think you’d also agree that would be playing tic-tac-toe with landmines,” he spoke with an utterly straight face, heaving a longing sigh right after. “It’s not like I can ask for a conjugal visit with my standing, so…”

It felt like you shoved a finger in a socket when he suddenly brought it up. Did that…? Did that mean…?

“You… have a girlfriend outside?” your lips rendered the question before you could press ‘abort’.

“Would you be jealous if I did?” he responded with another question mark, eyes glued to the papers in his hand, but he was so damn amused that he couldn’t help his devilish smile.

“Tsch, why would I be?” you sneered, horribly failing to veil your interest in that minuscule piece of information. “You said you can’t ask for it with your standing, so I assumed there is someone you could ask for if your standing was good.”

When he finally looked up, Chris saw just how deep the creases were between your brows, shoving paper after paper into sheet protectors. Your jaw was slightly clenched, your nostrils were flared, and you were exhaling a bit too loudly from your nose.

Oh, god, you were jealous.

You were jealous. 

Of him!

He was so happy that he thought he was going to die from heart failure right then and there.

“Or I’m just saying shit to test your reaction,” he uttered in a voice filled with the mirth you were used to. 

Only when you saw how smugly he was grinning to himself did you realize how busted you were. You suddenly felt the need to drink a gallon of water all by yourself to put out the fire your embarrassment set on your cheeks.

Why were you this disturbed by the mental image of him with another woman anyway?

“Would you come to the visiting days if we were married?” he nonchalantly asked.

“Who wouldn’t visit their loved ones?” you put on a fantastically convincing performance through your small panic fit.

“Would you ask for a conjugal visit with me?” he continued his questioning, hands still busy with sorting out documents like this was some regular conversation topic over tea, but his smile was slowly fading.

Even a man of his composure had his limits because he was a goddamn human being. A human being with needs taking over his sanity. He wanted to be held. He wanted to be kissed. He wanted to hear sweet nothings in his ear from the woman who committed arson on his soul.

He wanted to be the first to know her taste and keep going until he passed out from fatigue.

“Well, uh… Er erhm, it’s–it’s important for the family ties to—” 

“Fuck the family ties,” he interrupted, visibly annoyed. “I’m asking if you would want to be with me.”

You finally locked eyes. That gaze held so much meaning that you were concerned he was going to hear how you were whimpering inside.

“Yes, I would,” you answered with calm resolve.

“Would you…?”

He took a moment to look for the right words, staring at the papers again. He was turning into this gigantic puppy right before you with how nervous he was, and it was tightening your chest even more.

“Would you miss me enough to…” he acted like how thickly he swallowed was no big deal at all, “...want to touch me?”

Your blood pressure hit berserk levels, but at the same time just why the fuck was he this endearing?

“It’s… only n–natural that… I would miss my husband,” you shrugged it off. “I mean, wouldn’t you want to sleep with me?”

Chris stole a glance from the clock on the wall to call his time of death.

Were you even aware what kind of a fucked up sentence you had just formed?! Him. Sleeping with you. Wouldn’t he want to sleep with… with you? You needed to stop. You needed to fucking cut it out before he dropped to his knees and beg you to crawl into his ribcage.

“You can earn up to forty hours here on good behavior,” he spoke with odd tranquility as if your sheer beauty alone wasn’t burying him alive. “But if we’re alone in the same room for that long, I assure you we’re not sleeping.”

We’re not. Not “we wouldn’t”, he said we’re not. Like you weren’t even talking hypothetically anymore. Like you were actually in that private room with him.

Even a gallon of water couldn’t save you now because the fire had jumped to the highway of your body, and your embarrassment was rapidly morphing into shame. Even shame wasn’t enough to contain this insanity possessing you, mind and heart alike, because something always always burned much more brightly and fiercely than that.

Lust.

“It may not be forty hours, but we’re still alone in the same room for that long, don’t you think?” you carefully stacked the sheet protectors into the red folder in front of you and loudly locked the clip. “Every day, for that matter.”

The chill that licked his spine when he held your gaze made him shudder. Your eyes had fully darkened, and you were looking at him almost daringly. You weren’t smiling, but the way your tongue discreetly swiped across your lips was simply diabolical. You weren’t touching him, but you were choking him to death. You weren’t kissing him, but you were taking his breath away.

He was about to go clinically insane if he hadn’t already.

“Are you…” he narrowed his eyes, fully aware he might be taking his last breath any minute now, “trying to tell me something?”

“No, nothing,” you shrugged, feigning ignorance. 

Oh, please. He knew you meant something. He knew you meant exactly that, but it was driving him up a wall that you just wouldn’t confirm it.

“If we’re not sleeping, then what?” you asked as casually as you could manage, pulling up a new sheet protector. “Do you wanna play checkers or something instead?” 

You sly little minx…

He knew full well that you were trying to get him to say things to you. You weren’t looking at him, just filing away with your attention fully on the documents in your hands, and this was the first time Chris felt jealous of goddamn paper. You were still faintly smiling, though. Why were you smiling? Why were you smiling if your intention was not to drive him crazy, huh? 

God, he was trying. He was really trying to control his urges, but you… 

You were fucking enabling him. 

“Oh, I want to play alright.”

He put down the papers in his hands and slowly walked behind you. Your eyes followed him as he moved, your breath hitching in your throat. You really should have been sitting down instead of standing because your knees were about to give way any second now.

“But being away from you that long, locked up in here… I’m a literal caged animal, you know,” he stood right behind you and put his hands on the desk, trapping your body under him. “I’m so touch-starved, it’s killing me.”

He gently touched the strands of stray hairs on your nape again, knowing damn well what it did to you. Your eyes fluttered close feeling his body that close to you. Close enough to forfeit all control over your reins.

You would kill to feel him closer than your veins.

“Touch me once, and you’ll be lucky if I don’t rip your clothes off,” he whispered into your ear, his voice slowly changing colors as he kept talking. “I’m that feral over you.”

You were getting so wet that the weak ass support your morals were standing on was about to collapse. One move, and you would be resting your head on his shoulder, perfectly putting your neck on display for him to kiss.

“It’s cute that you think I won’t rip your clothes off first,” you reciprocated his serve.

He let out a heavy exhale, growing a lot more excited than he’d be able to control. He had no idea where that courage came from, but… No, actually he did. It came from you flirting back. It came from how you couldn’t keep your eyes open when he was close to you. 

It came from the fact that he knew you belonged with him, and you fucking knew it, too.

He put his hands on your waist, subtly pressing himself against you. You almost let out a moan when you felt how huge he was on your ass. Maybe you didn’t need to be locked up within stone walls to feel how touch-starved you also were. You were touch-starved every minute of every day, wishing the man you were developing dangerous cravings for would just jump the gun, when even the one you were legally bound to wouldn’t. You tried talking yourself out of it. You tried so hard, but him…

Him…

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” he placed a chaste kiss on your neck, “but what kind of a man am I if I don’t take care of my girl first?”

My girl. Take care of. Words you had never heard before. Words you had never heard even in hypothetical contexts, and he was declaring them into your ear like they were martial law.

“She spends all those nights alone in our bed. Touching herself, thinking of the nights I devoured her. Maybe more than once on the nights she misses me a little too much,” he ran his hands up your sides, dangerous enough to make your heart stop. “Which is why, when I finally get in bed with her again, she orders, and I do. That’s why I exist. Anything she wants.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You imagined it. You imagined missing Chris in your bed. You imagined curling up in his remaining clothes to still feel his scent on the tip of your nose. You imagined cumming to that scent. You imagined sending your cum-soaked panties to him as a souvenir. Maybe he could cum on it and send it back to you, and that would be how you wrote love letters to each other.

You imagined a man crazy enough to go to prison for you and asked you to wait for him, but you didn’t have to imagine being in love with him.

“What if all I want is just to tease you?” you leaned into him a measure so you could properly feel his hardness. “Can you handle not getting your release in your caged animal state?”

“If it pleases you,” he reached for your chest and cupped your breasts, “who the fuck am I to say no?”

The breath you let out was so sharp, there was no way you could plead ignorance anymore. He knew you wanted him. You knew you wanted him. And you wanted him to hold you tighter. Harder.

In a chokehold.

“But aren’t you frustrated?” you asked him in a whisper.

Still heavily breathing down your neck, his hands slid down again, this time all the way under the skirt of your dress. Fuck, your thighs were so soft. It was fine if you didn’t let him do anything else; he could make do with just kissing them for hours.

“Frustrate me more if you like it,” he spoke in whispers, but each word came out like a threatening hiss, each one written with kisses on your neck. “I have a thing for that.”

You couldn’t help how hard you swallowed.

His hands were sliding up your thighs now, exploring the neighborhood of the castle he actually wanted to reside in. Every time he got a bit too close to your pussy, you were clenching so hard that he could feel it right on his tip as if you were both naked.

You wanted him, too, he knew. You wanted him, too, and he was forcing himself to remember how to be a gentleman about it because all he could think of was how he wanted you in the worst ways.

“You’re… okay with only taking care of me?” you slightly turned your head to your left.

“Okay with it?” he chuckled, melting you with the caramel notes of his subdued laughter. “You’re my fucking everything. That’s the sole purpose of my entire life.”

You were in complete disbelief over what his mere words were inducing in you, appalled that you would even consider something like this. This beautiful demon with that silver tongue of his… You were trying. You were trying to remind yourself that there were obligations that you needed to fulfill. Professional ones. Marital ones. Both of which were draining the fucking life out of you.

Both of which were making it next to impossible to resist him. 

“Then what if…?” you gulped, breathing unstable. “What if all I want you to do is…?”

He knew exactly what you meant just from the way you couldn’t verbalize it. You were giving him a terrible case of cuteness aggression, making him want to drown you in kisses.

“Then that’s all I’ll do for those forty hours,” he promised, tone nonchalant but intent heavier than your own wedding vows. “I’ll spend it all eating your pussy.”

“Chris…”

Chris. You called him Chris. Not Fang. Not inmate. The one thing, the only thing that he was being deprived of just so he would forget he was a human.

“This is all your fault,” he finally dared to cross the line, very very gently caressing your pussy no matter how hidden it was from him under layers of fabric. “You have this… grip on me.”

And he had this grip on you. 

The softest kisses on your neck. Kisses on your cheek. You were ending his life even though all you did was just exist, and he was afraid to open his eyes and look at you.

“I told you to let the sleeping wolves lie, but what do you do instead?” he pressed his head on your shoulder. “You walk into the den barefoot. You lie down right next to the wolf itself.”

“Then why doesn’t it kill me?” 

He smiled to himself, placing a very soft kiss on your temple as if his intentions were as pure as they could ever be. 

“Loyalty,” he sighed in defeat. “To its master.”

His whispers in your ear felt like they were blasting from loudspeakers, sending an immediate shockwave to your core. Even a woman of your poise had her limits because you were a human being after all. A human being with needs that weren’t catered to for what seemed like forever taking over her sanity, and if you didn’t take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he reached for the waistband of your underwear, “but you need to say it first.”

The exit was collapsing along with all your defenses against him. You were just headed towards the cliff you were going to drive off of. You knew you were.

But you stopped caring.

“Chris…”

Chris. You called him Chris. Not Fang. Not inmate. The only thing reminding him that he was a man, but if he couldn’t breathe the same air as the woman he would burn this world down for, he was nothing.

“Say it,” he caressed the soft flesh of your mound, unable to move an inch more. “Say it, and I’m yours.”

Fuck the exit. 

You slammed on the gas pedal with all your might and drove past it, leaving a trail of dust clouds behind you. 

You turned around and dove right into his lips headfirst. He immediately grabbed your waist and sat you down on the desk, kissing every piece of bare skin within his line of sight. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him tight. He was burning up under your touch. He dragged the bust of your dress down and kissed all over your chest, filling his lungs with as much of your sweet scent as he could. God, how much he had longed for this. This. This. This was the very thing, the only thing that kept him alive. 

“Touch me, Chris.”

JUST WHAT THE HELL WAS YOUR PROBLEM, HUH?!

You grabbed his hand and placed it on your thighs again, asking him to make a move. His eyes widened in disbelief, still unsure if he was allowed to do what he was losing his damn mind over, but when you made him grope you hard, he finally took the fucking hint. He spread your legs as wide as he could and dropped to his knees, groaning like he was in pain just because he was this close to the meaning of his life.

Everything had boiled down to this moment.

He hooked his fingers behind your underwear and slid it to the side, repeating to himself over and over again that he was not a goddamn animal as he stared at your mouthwatering wetness. But maybe he was a little. Weren’t all human beings animals after all? Animals ruled by their instincts. And his instincts were goading him into claiming you for himself for the longest damn time. No, not to own you. Just to mark you. So that he’d know who to eviscerate if they dared to breathe the same fucking air as you.

He buried his head between your legs, and your entire life flashed before your eyes.

A ball of pure fire had formed in your loins, and with each lick on your soaked folds, a chunk of it was being cannonballed into your veins. You were spiking a lethal fever with acute onset lust, delirious with the intensity of the pleasure this man was inducing in your body. Those full, gorgeous lips wrapped around your clit, lazily sucking on you, obscene sounds bouncing off the stone walls every time he slurped on your cunt… It was impossible to stay sane. It was impossible to go on with your life as the woman you were five minutes ago. You put one hand on his head, caressing his hair as he worked his magic, and with each loving stroke, Chris was falling irretrievably in love with you.

You wanted to wreck this prison to the ground when the siren went off in the distance signaling headcount. 

He immediately jumped to his feet, as frustrated as you were for not being able to give you your happy ending, and helped you fix yourself in case a guard would drop by your office. 

“Looks like you got your wish, but I dare you to frustrate me more next time,” he stole a kiss from your lips and made his way back extremely reluctantly. “You owe me forty hours, and I’m gonna collect every… single… one.”

He might not have seen the ending of the movie, but Chris was still on cloud nine that he was there to catch the trailers. He skipped dinner that evening so that your taste on his tongue wouldn’t be laced with anything else, but with every passing hour, his euphoric high was receding, leaving that void to be filled with something else. Something ugly.

Something urgent.

“Hey, I gotta ask you something,” Chris approached Jack after dinner, “but Noah cannot know about it, deal?”

“Is everything okay, mate?” Jack looked at his former bunkmate with concern.

“Does Liv still do custom work?”

Jack’s face changed all of a sudden, half-surprised, half-entertained.

“Bullet or blade?” he grinned.

“Yes,” Chris replied curtly, compulsively checking the gate for Noah. “I have a job for her, but it’s not a message. She has to make it look like an accident.”

This story has a part 2, and I'm about 60% done with it. You can vote for which installment you'd like to read next here.

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「© 2022-2025, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

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[baby-yongbok]

Quicky

⤷ Pairing - Bang Chan x Kim Seungmin x afab!reader • MDNI ⤷ WC - 1.7k ⤷ CW - MxM, slight d/s dynamics (brat!seungmin x dom!chan), voyeurism, overstimulation, edging, handjob(s), slight choking

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

It started as a game. It always did. The two of them didn't know how to operate any other way. One pushes while the other pulls. It's all about reactions. 

Today, it was harmless mocking. A quick game of copycat and then footsteps down the hallway. He didn't know he was being followed until his back hit the wall.

“You're a fucking brat.” Chan purred, leaning in with a smile that could blind the sun. Seungmin didn't move, barely reacted, biting back a smile of his own.

“You take jokes too seriously.” Seungmin pushes half-heartedly, just enough to say he tried. He's pinned back, Chan's thigh slots between his. “There are people around, you know.”

Chan looks around with mock interest, then back, still smiling, still very clearly planning. “Back hallways are always empty.”

“My girlfriend’s here.” Seungmin's gaze drops for a second—just a second—to Chan's lips. He shouldn't have done that. “She'll come looking.”

“And what will she find?” Chan's thigh presses up just enough to put the right amount of pressure on Seungmin’s cock, leaning the way his body favors to catch the tip. “Hm? Will she find you riding your hyung's thigh?”

Seungmin swallows a gasp, lips pressed together tight, but his eyes betray him. They always do. “We can finish this at the dorms. After I take her home, just—hyung.”

Chan's hands slot to Seungmin’s hips, dragging them forward then back. A tease. A taste of what he could give him, a taste of the pleasure burning hot and familiar between them. 

“Fine, you want me to be quick?” Seungmin hums, blinking away his glossy haze. “Maybe a kiss'll convince me.”

Usually there's a fight, some push back, playful denial. Seungmin will try to force Chan off just to be pinned back. On other days, Chan lets himself lose, lets himself be taken. 

There's no fight today. 

Seungmin closes the distance like they've done this a million times—and they have. Tongues slide easily, heads tilt at perfect angles, lips moving with the type of precision you only learn in the dark. In secret. 

One of Seungmin’s hands slips down between them, palming where Chan strains against his sweats. Chan pulls Seungmin’s hips forward, guiding him to ride his thigh while they swallow each other's sounds. 

It's hot. Forbidden. The type of wrong that feels too right. They're members. Friends who know too much about how the other feels. Who knows how hot and tight they get when you kiss them with tongue or stroke just right. 

They're friends. 

But you're not in the same boat. You and Seungmin have been together for months. Long enough for you to be here, at the company to watch unreleased moves with sworn secrecy. 

You've never once suspected what you're looking at. Never once considered that your boyfriend, your Seungmin, would be kissing his leader. Thigh fucking his friend while he fights with his hyung's pants to get his cock out. 

You stand just out of sight. Still. Quiet. Watching. 

“So eager to touch me.” Chan mumbles when he breaks the kiss, forehead resting against Seungmin's just as the younger gets his hand wrapped around the fat length of his cock. “Seung—”

“You said quick.” He's breathy, watching Chan's face twist in pleasure. Chan's grip on Seungmin’s waist loses its bite, the drag of his hips slows. “Can you even be quick? Can you come without feeling some wet hot hole? Don't think you're capable of it.”

He's being a brat again. He's pushing it. He knows. 

Seungmin’s words are paired with the twist of his wrist, fist tight over the fat leaky tip of Chan's cock. His hyung presses his palm to the wall beside his head, fighting back a grunt and closing his eyes. Seungmin knows they're rolling back, he smirks. 

“You're falling apart, hyung”

“You're next, brat”

Your thighs press together. You shift just barely. Quietly. Watching the way Seungmin picks up pace just enough to make Chan grip the wall with both hands. Just enough to have his hyung kiss him again to fight back a moan. 

You're burning hot at the sight. 

“Spit on it.” Chan mumbles against his lips. Seungmin shakes his head, mumbling back.

“You do it.” Chan growls, too loud but not loud enough. His hips cant forward, cock twitches with need.

“Spit on my cock, Seungmin.” It's a dare. A dare to defy. A dare to keep being a brat. 

Seungmin’s smart enough to choose his battles wisely. His lips purse, letting a wad of spit fall, his fist spreads it over Chan's leaky tip, and then he kisses him. Hard. Hard enough to muffle the groan Chan lets out at the feeling. 

Chan's hips buck, fucking into Seungmin’s fist. “Gonna come.”

Seungmin kisses him again, mumbling something so quiet you can't hear it. “Come for me”

That does it. Chan's face is red with the effort of not crying out, muscles flexing in his arms, hands pressing harder into the wall. He comes in Seungmin’s fist, watching himself leak while the younger keeps pumping him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Chan leans closer, one arm bending until his forearm is against the wall. “Seung—fuck, fuck—Seungmin.”

“You never said to stop.” He's being a brat again, picking a battle he knows he'll lose. His fist twists again and Chan's hand is around his throat in an instant.

Seungmin moans. A sound you've never heard before. A sound you've never gotten out of him.

He stops pumping, his messy hand falling away, wet with his hyung's come. 

“You're asking for it.”

“You said quick.”

“And now it'll be whatever I want it to be.”

What happens after that is a blur, a mess. Chan's hand stays on Seungmin’s throat, pinning, squeezing just the faintest bit while his other hand goes for his waistband. The string of his sweats falls loose, Chan's hand dips in, and Seungmin’s eyes roll back with a heavy sigh.

“Look who's quiet now.”

You nearly whimper. You nearly moan at the sight of Seungmin—your boyfriend—bucking into Chan's hand. Clearly lost in bliss.

The tip of his cock is angry red, leaking like a faucet. You can see how much it aches, how badly he needs to come. Seungmin whines, hips dragging back over Chan's thigh.

“Hyung—hyung, please.” You've never heard him beg. Not in a way where he meant it. The sound makes your skin buzz. “Sorry for being a brat. ‘m sorry, please.”

Chan hums a laugh, his hand moves from Seungmin’s throat to his hair, pulling just enough.

“What would your pretty girlfriend say if she saw you like this? Horny and fucking your hyung's fist. Think she'd stay with you?” Chan leans in, lips brushing Seungmin's ear with a whisper, “think she'd join us?”

The thought alone punches a moan out of your boyfriend. Then, he whines, mumbling, tripping over his words. “Yeah. Yeah, she'd join. God—she would—and, and you'd fuck her.”

You don't know when you started cupping yourself over your shorts. You don't know when you started pressing against your clit through the layers of fabric—but you are. You're rocking your hips into your own touch. Watching. Listening. 

“You think about me fucking her, Seung? Fucking both of you.” 

“Hyung—” it's a whimper, low and pathetic. Chan groans at the sound. “Gonna come.” 

Chan closes the gap, kissing Seungmin, licking into his mouth then trailing over the edge of his jaw. His tongue swipes over the sensitive skin, fist still pumping. 

“Ah, hyung, please. Please, please, close. So close.” He's begging to come. Begging for permission like his pleasure isn't his own. Like only Chan can give him the queue to feel euphoria. “Fuck, please.”

“Poor thing can't hold it?” Chan mocks, getting his hit back with a taunt. A quick hint of torture. “Be good for me, baby.”

Seungmin groans, hips bucking up once, then he cries out at the pressure of Chan's thigh against his tight balls. 

“Help me edge you, and I'll think about it.” Seungmin’s messy hand comes up to his own cock, stroking the head with a lewd squelch of Chan’s come mixing with his own. 

Chan moans this time, watching as his fist and Seungmin’s move together up the younger's length, sticky with Chan's arousal. Seungmin’s leaking heavy now. Red red red and ready to fucking bust. 

“Don't fucking come.” Chan growls. 

“Hyung, I can't—I can't.” Seungmin's eyes are glassy. Tearing with desperation. “It fucking hurts. I need it. Need to come for you. I'll be good, I promise.”

“You'll be my good boy?”

“Yes. Yes, yes, I'm your good boy. I promise.” His jaw falls slack with a pitiful sound. “Wanna be good”

Chan watches, waits, keeps pumping him, then he says it. “Come for me.”

Seungmin's knees buckle. His hand comes off his length in an instant. Come spurts hot over Chan's fist, over his forearm, and drips down. Chan keeps Seungmin upright, thigh holding him stable. 

“You fucking flooded my fist, Min.”

You follow right after, back pressed to the wall and hips bucking with a whimper. You come at the sight of Seungmin. At the mess that Chan keeps pumping over his throbbing tip. You're panting, trying to be quiet. You leave before they can see you.

Seungmin comes back to earth eventually, breathing heavily, face red. “Hyung—”

“I think someone heard us.” Chan hums out, nonchalant. Seungmin nods, looking down at the mess between them. His come on Chan's thigh, both of their hands messy with arousal. Both of their cocks out, throbbing, ready for more. 

“I saw her shoe peaking out.” Seungmin takes a breath, looking back up at Chan. “I think she liked it”

Chan smiles, wrapping his messy fist around Seungmin’s semi-hard length again. “Think she'll join us next time?”

Seungmin moans, biting his bottom lip to try and stop the sound. He brings his hand up to Chan's cock, wrapping around it with a squeeze. 

“I think so, yeah.” Seungmin moves first, pumping Chan's fat throbbing length and moaning when his hyung follows his lead. 

They're jerking each other off now. Wet, squelching pumps that threaten to ruin them both. 

“Think you can give me one more?”

Seungmin's breath stutters in his exhale. He nods, humming “a quick one.”

“Yeah,” Chan agrees, leaning in and kissing him. Hard, wet, needy. He mumbles, breath heavy, “a quick one”

a/n - this is my first mxm fic, i think? I actually wasn't going to post this, but here we are. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

• banner credit to @lariesographic

this is a work of fiction and is not meant to reflect the real life relationships of the idols mentioned.

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[nightshao]

OMEGA VERSE MINGYU. RRRRAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➙ Kim Mingyu x f! reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ➙ Every year, unmated Alphas and Omegas are brought to a secluded island for a government-regulated “mating season.” You signed up by accident, thinking it was a summer internship. Mingyu signed up to find his mate. Now they’re trapped in a high-stakes world of pheromones, tests, and temptation.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬 ➙ Omegaverse, ABO Dynamics, Slow burn, Futuristic Sci-Fi, Dyatopian/Experimental Society, Fluff, Slight-angst, Subtle Pinning, Alpha x Omega, Forced Proximity, Attempt of Crack, Smut

𝐖𝐂 ➙ 12.2k + Epilogue (345)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➙ MDNI, explicit sexual content, Omegaverse dynamics, ABO terms, knotting (alpha physically locking with omega), bonding bite (mating), intoxication (pheromones taking over them), explicit language, physical to sexual tension, teasing, mention of alcohol and party, first time x not first time (guess who’s who hahaha), protected sex, marking/bruises, dom. alpha! mingyu, sub! omega! reader, rough sex, lost control, dacryphilia, non-consensual undertone during rut (consent is given, but the rut intensifies uncontrollably; omega experiences pain), hair pulling, high pitch moans (a cry lol), territorial behaviour, pheromones play

𝐀/𝐍 ➙ i’ve been writing for years, but this is my very first attempt at an omegaverse story hahaha oml i hope i don’t disappoint! i’ve honestly been obsessed with ABO universes for the longest time. anywayy this one drained all my energy, kinktober is definitely going to be the end of me (in the best way ;)). enjoy reading, loves!!

navigation ✮ masterlist ✮ guidelines

The helicopter blades tore through the sea air, scattering salt spray and the smell of fuel. You pressed your palms over the thin headset, trying to hear the attendant’s voice over the roar. “We’ll be landing in five! Keep your IDs visible!” Your badge swung against your chest — OMEGA PROGRAM INTERN | Cohort 07.

Intern. The word calmed you. It meant research, not risk. Or at least, that’s what you’d been told. Below, stretched an island that looked too perfect to be natural: dense forest, golden sand, and clusters of glass-and-wood houses reflecting sunlight like mirrors. Banners along the shoreline read THE MATING PROGRAM — FOR A STABLE TOMORROW.

You frowned. That name wasn’t in the email. The orientation materials had said Behavioural Study Internship, something about ‘pheromone analysis and socio-biological observation.’ Nothing about pairing. Your stomach fluttered, nerves, you told yourself.

The helicopter touched down with a sharp jolt. Heat and humidity rushed in as the door opened. Attendants in grey uniforms directed the group down a path toward a checkpoint lined with scanners. Each machine emitted a faint hum, releasing bursts of scent-neutralizing mist as people passed.

Your wristband beeped when you stepped through. Identity confirmed: Omega, Class C. You followed the others across the white-stone courtyard. Most were around your age, though some looked older — composed, confident, almost predatory. A few Omegas lingered near the edges, eyes downcast.

Then you saw him. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair, tan skin, standing just beyond the group like he didn’t belong to it. The sun caught his badge for a moment: KIM MINGYU — ALPHA PARTICIPANT 09. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular, yet there was something about him — stillness, focus, awareness of everything. When your eyes met, it was brief, but something in your chest skipped anyway. He looked away first.

A woman in a lab coat stepped onto the platform. Your voice carried through hidden speakers, clear and authoritative. “Welcome to the Mating Season Program. You have all been selected for a government study on compatibility between unbonded Alphas and Omegas. Over the next thirty days, you’ll be participating in controlled environmental trials designed to measure instinct alignment, emotional stability, and pheromone regulation.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. You blinked. Unbonded Alphas and Omegas? The woman continued, as if it were all routine. “Each Omega will be partnered with one Alpha for the duration of the program. These pairings are based on your registered scent and genetic data. Your cooperation ensures optimal results for the Harmony Initiative.”

Your grip on your tablet tightened. Partnered? Your eyes flicked up to the screen overhead displaying name pairings. The list scrolled slowly — then stopped on yours.

Omega 043 — L/N Y/N

Alpha 09 — Kim Mingyu

Your mouth went dry. Across the courtyard, Mingyu had seen it too. His jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. Then, as the orientation ended and attendants began herding pairs toward their designated cabins, he approached.

“Y/N L/N?” he asked, voice even. You looked up, startled. “Mingyu Kim.” He extended a hand. “Looks like we’re partners.”

Your fingers brushed his, hesitant but polite. His skin was warm. For a heartbeat, something faint slipped past the scent filter — smoke and sandalwood, clean but grounding. He must’ve noticed your reaction because he pulled back immediately, shutting his pheromones down like a switch.

“I thought this was a research internship,” you said, voice low. “Behavioural study, not this..” He paused. She wasn’t supposed to be here, that much was obvious. A clerical error, maybe. Every year, one or two Omegas signed up under the wrong classification and only realised after arrival. If he told you outright, panic would trigger an instinct flare, and the system would intervene.

So he smiled, faint and careful. “It’s still research,” he said. “Just a bit more hands-on than the usual type.” Your brows knit, but nodded slowly. “Ok.”

He wished he could tell you the truth. That the ‘Mating Program’ was less about research and more about control. That y’all were being watched, measured, tested like animals in a new kind of civilization experiment. But for now, silence was the safest option.

Both of you walked together toward your assigned cabin at the western ridge. The structure was small but clean — two narrow beds divided by a glowing sensor line, a kitchenette, and a single desk stacked with rule tablets. You picked one up and read aloud, voice dripping with disbelief.

“Participants must not cross the boundary without consent. Violation triggers restraint activation.” You looked at him. “They sound serious.” “They are,” he said. “Each wristband tracks pheromone spikes. If levels go too high, the staff intervenes.”

“Like a shock collar?” He tried to joke. “More like a gentle reminder to behave.” Your expression didn’t change. Outside, the speakers announced: “Group C, proceed to the mess hall for dinner rotation.”

You and Mingyu followed the illuminated path together. The air smelled faintly sterile, but underneath lingered something rawer — natural pheromones struggling beneath the mist, a constant hum of suppressed instinct. Mingyu could sense your tension with every step; you walked carefully, keeping distance, unconsciously staying downwind from him. Smart. Careful. Entirely unaware that you were being monitored for it.

In the mess hall, rows of tables filled with silent pairs. Observers watched from tinted glass windows behind them. You and Mingyu sat opposite each other, their trays identical, the food looks delicious. He made light conversation — weather, orientation chaos, first impressions of the island. You answered cautiously, then smiled once when he made a bad joke about synthetic protein bars. It softened something in him, that fleeting smile.

By the time you returned to your cabin, the sun had melted into an orange haze and the air was thick with the smell of salt and wood. When the lights dimmed automatically at ten, you lay on your bed, back turned toward the dividing line. Across the room, Mingyu sat against the headboard, scrolling through his tablet though he wasn’t reading.

He could hear your breathing steady, slow. He shouldn’t feel anything. He’d promised himself not to but the faint trace of your scent, hidden beneath your suppressant patch, found him anyway. Clover and Saltwater, quiet but alive.

He looked toward the dividing line, the faint blue glow cutting the room in half. “Soon, you’ll see me differently” he whispered to the dark. Even if you never knew what he was really here for.

—

Morning light seeped through the thin curtains, brushing across your face with a warmth that felt almost criminal in contrast to the controlled sterility of the cabin. You blinked once, twice, and realised you were sharing this small space with someone you didn’t really know. Someone whose scent.. already made your pulse hit erratic speeds.

Mingyu stirred across the sensor line, sitting up on his bed. His dark hair was tousled, one arm stretching across the pillow, and for a fleeting second, you noticed how perfectly normal he looked — how human, not just the perfect Alpha he was supposed to be in this government world. You coughed to cover the thrum in your chest, immediately realising it sounded more like a squeak than a natural sound.

“Morning,” he said casually, not looking at you, voice low, almost teasing in its ease. “Sleep well?” You grumbled. “I would have if the fan didn’t sound like a dying helicopter.”

He finally glanced at you, dark eyes narrowing in mock judgment. “Better a fan than me breathing next to you all night.” Her cheeks warmed. “I would have noticed if you weren’t as quiet as a-” You stopped yourself mid-sentence, realising you might have insulted him without meaning to.

He smirked, leaning back on his bed with a stretch that seemed deliberately slow, as if inviting you to notice. “Quiet as a what?” “Nothing,” you muttered, swatting at him playfully. “I didn’t mean anything.”

He chuckled softly, and it was that sound that made you pause. Something low in your chest fluttered. He didn’t just laugh — it was full-bodied and teasing. And just like that, the tiny lines of mistrust from the previous night softened.

Breakfast in the cabin was a quiet affair. The food, though, was undeniably amazing — fluffy eggs, perfectly toasted bread, and everything smelled like it had been made just for you — yet you barely touched yours. Your eyes kept drifting toward him, toward the way his fingers flexed over the wrapper, the way he stirred his protein shake with slow deliberation.

“You stare too much,” Mingyu said suddenly, not looking up from his breakfast. You froze, mid-bite. “I- what?!” “You were staring,” he said flatly, finally turning those sharp brown eyes on you. “Careful. It’s distracting.” Your heart stuttered, and swallowed hard. “I was not staring!”

“Sure,” he said with a teasing lilt, lifting an eyebrow. “Not staring at the only Alpha I’ve ever met who doesn’t reek of arrogance the second he walks in.” You sputtered, laughing despite yourself. “I wasn’t staring at you, Kim Mingyu. You’re imagining things.”

His smirk widened. “If I’m imagining it, why is your scent spiking near the breakfast table?” You froze. Your suppressor patch. Oh. Right. You had put it on backward this morning. He caught the flicker of panic in your eyes and sighed softly, though his lips twitched with amusement. “Here, let me fix it.”

Before she could protest, his hand hovered over the patch. “Hey! Don’t touch-” you began, but it was too late. The patch clicked into place properly under his careful fingers, and something inside your chest melted at how gentle he was.

“Better,” he said simply, leaning back. His gaze lingered on you longer than necessary, and you immediately busied yourself with the toast, as if rearranging crumbs could erase the awareness of him in the room.

By mid-day, they were led outside to the open training field. The first official test of The Mating Season Program awaited them: a ‘trust and coordination exercise,’ supposedly designed to measure instinct alignment and emotional synchronization. You weren't sure what that meant, but your stomach twisted in anticipation.

The field was circular, with low walls forming a maze-like pattern. Sensors glinted on every corner, and at the centre, a console projected instructions in holographic blue letters. A crowd of Alphas and Omegas milled around, each pair sizing up their partner nervously.

Mingyu kept a careful hand near yours as you were instructed to stand side by side. His scent pressed against you subtly, warm and grounding, and your instincts quivered in response. You swallowed hard, acutely aware of how close he was. “Relax,” he murmured, voice low enough for only you to hear. “We’re fine. Just follow the instructions.”

“I am relaxed,” you whispered back, though your fingers brushed his and you realised you weren't fooling anyone — not even yourself. The first task was deceptively simple: a blindfolded navigation exercise where one partner guided the other through the maze using only verbal commands. You were to wear the blindfold first.

“Your instructions better be good,” you teased, voice sharp with playful challenge. “I don’t trust you.” Mingyu’s lips twitched upward. “I’ve trained for this my entire life. Don’t embarrass me.” You snorted. “You? Embarrassed? That I’d pay to see.”

“Then let’s make it interesting,” he said, leaning closer with that infuriating grin. “Whoever gives the best verbal instructions wins. Loser has to grant one wish. No questions asked.” You raised a brow. “Oh, so we’re betting on who’s better at talking?” “More like who’s better at making the other listen,” he shot back smoothly.

The blindfold went on, and your hands extended in front. Mingyu’s warm presence hovered at your side, soft pressure against your elbow as he guided you step by step. His voice was steady, smooth, teasing when you hesitated: “Two steps forward. Perfect. Left- no, not that far. Lean more on me. There.”

Your heart raced for two reasons: one, because you were genuinely terrified of tripping into the sensors, and two.. because every time his hands brushed yours every time you almost lost your balance, faint sparks shot through your limbs, instincts whispering in ways you weren't ready to interpret.

“You’re.. better than I expected,” you admitted, half-grinning under the blindfold. Mingyu chuckled softly. “Careful with the compliments now, trust me, you’ll owe me later.” Your cheeks heated. “I doubt that.” “Trust me,” he said, voice dropping just enough to make you swallow audibly. “You will.”

Both of you navigated the maze successfully, the sensors registering their coordination. As the blindfold came off, You blinked at the bright sunlight, then up at Mingyu’s unreadable face. He gave you a small, teasing bow. “See? Perfect synchronization. We might actually survive this program yet.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed anyway. “Barely. Don’t think this means you’re winning any points.” “Oh, I’m keeping score,” he murmured under his breath, smirking curling faintly. “And you’re already in the lead.” Your stomach flipped, trying not to look at him too long, trying to focus on anything else — the maze, the sensors, the sky. But something about the way he watched you, amused and calculated, made every step and every laugh feel like a tiny spark building between them.

And you didn’t know if you wanted to resist it.

—

The air between you and him still buzzed from the maze test — heat, adrenaline, and something else that refused to cool. You kicked off your shoes the second they entered the cabin, muttering under your breath. “I said left,” you snapped, untying your ponytail and running a hand through your sweat-damp hair.

“I did go left.” Mingyu shut the door with a lazy shove of his foot. “You said left after the sensor beam, not before it.” “I didn’t need to specify!” He tossed his wristband onto the desk, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re impossible when you lose.”

“I didn’t lose-” you began, whirling around, but he was already laughing. His hair was sticking to his forehead, shirt clinging to his chest. He looked unfairly composed for someone who’d just spent an hour navigating traps and alarms. “You literally triggered a pheromone flare,” he teased, taking off his shirt, that made you look all around the cabin. “The system thought we were about to-”

“Shut up.” You turned away so fast you nearly tripped over your own bag. The faint flush climbing your neck betrayed you. You hated that he’d noticed, hated more that he was right — your scent had spiked a while ago when he caught your waist to stop you from colliding into the maze-wall. Just a second of contact, skin on skin, and your Omega instincts had misfired like static.

The air was thick with the aftermath: the lingering musk of Alpha exertion, salt on skin, faint ozone from the humidifiers trying — and failing — to neutralise the pheromones. You grabbed a towel and started wiping the surface of the table. “You smell awful.”

He raised a brow, sitting down on the edge of his bed, still smirking. “You’ve been smelling me all day. Didn’t seem to bother you then.” “That’s because I was too busy trying not to die in that maze!” you shot back, scrubbing harder at nothing in particular. “Now that we’re safe, I realise you reek of Alpha sweat and ego.”

He chuckled low in his throat, watching you dart from desk to counter to sink, fixing, straightening, aligning. “You know,” he said, “most people would just.. rest.” “You’re dripping on the floor,” you said, gesturing to where a trail of water and mud marked his path from the door. “Rest after cleaning. Not before.”

“Is this a thing you do, or are you just trying to distract yourself from how much you like bossing me around?” Your glare was sharp enough to cut through the humidity. “Excuse me?” He lifted his hands in mock surrender, but the grin stayed. “Nothing. Just saying — you keep giving me orders like I’m one of your research subjects.”

“Then listen better,” you muttered, bending down to pick up a discarded towel near his boots. You didn’t notice him move until you straightened up and nearly collided with his chest. The scent hit first — smoke, musky-woody, warm, and something deep that made your knees feel weaker than you’d ever admit. His hand went automatically to your elbow, steadying your body.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low. You froze, towel half-raised, his breath ghosting over your temple. Too close. Every nerve in your body was screaming in quiet chaos. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, stepping back, but there wasn’t much room. The cabin felt smaller somehow, the air heavier.

Mingyu’s eyes flicked over your face, your flushed cheeks, the damp strands of hair sticking to your neck. “You missed a spot,” he said finally, reaching past you to wipe a faint streak of dirt from your shoulder. His fingers brushed bare skin — accidental, maybe — but the spark that shot through your spine said otherwise.

You swatted his hand away. “You’re not helping.” “I’m trying,” he said, still smiling. “But you keep moving.” “Because you’re bad at this.” “Or you’re just-” He leaned closer, eyes glinting. “Too easy to distract.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out. The silence that fell was deafening. Even the hum of the cabin filters seemed to fade under the sound of your heartbeat. His scent pressed against your senses again, heavier this time, dominant but controlled, deliberate.

Then, mercifully, you broke it. “I’m taking the shower first.” Mingyu blinked, then laughed — loud, genuine, disbelieving. “No way. I carried half the equipment during that test, I go first.” “You’re drenched in sweat-”

“Exactly my point.” “You’ll fog up the bathroom for an hour, you steam machine,” you snapped, pushing past him toward the bathroom door. He stepped sideways, blocking your path, half amused, half challenging. “Say please.” Her jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“Just trying to teach you basic manners, intern.” Your glare sharpened. “Move, Alpha.” The title rolled off your tongue like a threat, not a submission. His expression shifted — subtle, but noticeable. “Careful with that tone,” he murmured. “You might trigger something you can’t handle.”

Your pulse jumped. The air between you and Mingyu thickened again, instincts coiling tight and hot. Neither moved for a full heartbeat — his frame towering, yours unyielding, the invisible boundary of the cabin sensors glowing faintly behind them.

“I said move.” He didn’t. “Make me.” It wasn’t a challenge, not really. It was instinct, a dance of pheromones and pride. You tried to step around him, but your foot slipped slightly on the wet floor — his fault, probably — and before you could catch yourself, his hands were on your waist, steadying you. Again.

Your palms landed flat on his chest. Hard muscle, steady heartbeat, and warmth that sank through your fingers like fire. Neither of you breathed. “See?” he said quietly. “You’d fall apart without me.” “Arrogant,” you whispered back, though your voice came out softer than intended.

He tilted his head, eyes flicking down to your lips for a fraction of a second — so fast you could have imagined it. Then he stepped back, letting the air rush between you again, pheromone scent filters whirring like they were working overtime. “Fine,” he said finally, smirking again to cover the crack in his composure. “Ladies first.”

Your brows furrowed, suspicious. “Really?” “Yeah,” he said, grabbing his towel and tossing it onto the bed. “If I go in first, you’ll just complain I left water everywhere.” “You will,” you said. “Then go. Before I change my mind.” You hesitated just long enough for him to notice, then turned toward the bathroom with forced calm. “Don’t mess anything while I’m gone.”

“No promises.” You closed the door a little harder than necessary. Mingyu exhaled, running a hand through his hair. The scent neutralizers hissed faintly, but the damage was already done.

Because under the sterile air and the hum of technology, the cabin still smelled faintly of clover and saltwater — and Mingyu’s desire.

The filters had worked all throughout the night, humming softly until the air finally smelled sterile again. When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the quiet — the kind of stillness that followed chaos. Then came the faint snoring from the other bed.

Mingyu was face-down, one arm dangling off the mattress, hair sticking up at every possible angle. He was shirtless again — why is he always shirtless!? His towel and some pillows had fallen halfway to the floor, and his blanket was tangled like he’d wrestled with it all night. You sighed, sitting up. “You’re unbelievable,” you whispered. From the other bed, he grumbled, “Morning to you too.”

“You’re awake?” “Was. Until you started judging me.” He cracked one eye open, voice rough with sleep. “You always look at people this early?” “Only when they forget what gravity is.” You kicked his fallen towel toward him. “Pick that up before the cabin humidity mutates it into another species.”

He grinned, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head, muscles flexing in that unfair, casual way that made you instantly look away. “You’re really this uptight before breakfast?” “I’m this uptight because of you.” Before he could respond, the island’s PA system crackled to life. “Participants proceed to Test Center Three for compatibility calibration. Attendance is mandatory.”

You blinked. “Compatibility what?” He yawned. “Oh. That one.” “That one?!” “It’s not that bad,” he said, standing and grabbing his shirt. “It’s just like a scent test.”

“A scent test?” You nearly tripped while putting on your shoes. “You couldn’t have mentioned that before we signed up for the maze death trap yesterday?” “You didn’t ask.” You glared. “You’re lucky there are laws against killing people in controlled environments.”

“I’m sure there’s a loophole somewhere,” he said lightly, heading toward the sink and reaching for a toothbrush. “Brush fast, we’ll be late.” You squinted at him. “You don’t rush brushing your teeth, anyways you’re used to having a bad breath” You joked, trying to offend him

He shot you a mock-offended look, foam gathering at the corner of his mouth. “Wow. You wound me.” “Good,” you said, grabbing your own toothbrush and standing beside him, both of you brushing in silence — except for the muffled noises of running water and the occasional clink of toothbrush against the sink.

It was oddly domestic. Two strangers, side by side, spitting mint foam and pretending they weren’t stealing glances at each other in the mirror. Mingyu rinsed his mouth and flashed a grin, the toothpaste scent replacing the lingering sweat from the night before. “Better?”

“Barely,” you said, even though the clean mint scent actually helped. “Now hurry up before I report you”

He laughed, grabbing the door handle and swinging it open for you. “Come on, intern.”

—

The walk to the testing dome was a hike through controlled wilderness — beautiful tall trees, sensor drones hovering like dragonflies, the faint hum of machinery beneath the soil. The dome itself looked like a glass bubble dropped in the middle of paradise.

Inside, white light bounced off sterile walls. Beta Technicians in pale grey suits moved silently, like they’d been born in laboratories. Mingyu leaned in and whispered, “You’ll be fine. Just breathe normally.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You probably rehearse breathing for a living.” He chuckled. “You’d be surprised.” You heard them calling names — “Participant 0328 Joshua. Participant 0271 Ariana.” — an Omega and Alpha stepped forward all smiles, no single nervous cell at all, unlike you.

When they called both yours and Mingyu’s name, you stepped forward, heart pounding. The scientist gestured toward two adjacent glass pods. “Step in. Maintain composure. The system will measure your pheromone synchronization levels.”

You turned to Mingyu. “Our what?” “Basically,” he said, voice dropping to that maddeningly calm tone, “it’s a test that tracks how compatible our instincts are. Don’t panic.” “Why would I panic?” “You’re already panicking.” You scowled and stepped into your pod before he could tease you more.

The glass door hissed shut. The air inside was warm, slightly humid, carrying a faint trace of synthetic pheromones that clung to your senses like invisible smoke. Your pulse spiked. Across from you, Mingyu stood in his pod, hands behind his back, calm as a statue — except for the way his gaze never left you.

The monitor beside you blinked to life, showing two rhythm lines — one red, one blue — pulsing in sync. “Synchronization: 53%,” a voice said over the intercom. “Sunken baseline compatibility.” You frowned. “Sunken what now?”

Before anyone could answer, the test ended. The pod door slid open, releasing a faint hiss of air. You stepped out, dazed. “That was- weird. Why do I feel like we just participated in a sci-fi dating app experiment?”

“Because you kind of did,” Mingyu said, rubbing the back of his neck. A technician approached, handing him a sealed tablet. “Your pair data, sir.” He nodded, taking it without looking inside. You noticed immediately.

“What’s that?” you asked. “Just stats,” he said too casually, slipping the tablet into his jacket pocket. “You’re hiding something.” “I’m protecting you from boredom.” You crossed your arms. “You’re lying.” He grinned, walking backward as you followed. “Wouldn’t be the first time you accused me of that.”

“I’m not accusing. I’m stating a fact.” “Then we’re both right.” You rolled your eyes, pushing past him toward the exit — though your curiosity buzzed louder than your annoyance. Because you were sure of two things:

One, the machine wasn’t wrong about your heartbeat syncing with his; and two, Mingyu is definitely up to something.

—

Later that night, while you typed your work notes on the cabin’s desk, Mingyu lay sprawled on his bed again, tossing a small stress ball in the air. “Stop that,” you said without looking up. “You’re typing like you’re declaring war.”

“I’m trying to distract myself from the statistics in their synchronization metrics.” “Translation: you’re overanalyzing again.” You glared at him. “You didn’t even read the test results.” “Didn’t have to,” he said, catching the ball one last time and sitting up. “I already know how this goes.”

There was something in his voice — quiet, almost regretful and.. sad. But before you could ask, he smiled again. “You missed a spot on the counter, by the way.” Your pen flew across the room. “Alpha.” He ducked, laughing. “You’re cute when you’re homicidal.”

You pressed your palm over your face. “I hate you.” “You keep saying that,” he said, voice low, grin lazy. “Starting to sound like a lie.”

The PA announcement had come like a gift from the island gods: “Participants are requested to attend the evening social calibration event at the main beach. Attendance is highly recommended but not mandatory.”

You groaned, tugging at your damp shirt and placing your book beside your iced coffee, sitting straight, looking over Mingyu inside the cabin from the balcony. “Social calibration? They literally can’t make anything normal, can they?” Mingyu smirked, moving to the closet, trying to find something to wear. “Relax. It’s basically a party with rules and sensors. We survive, we socialise, we annoy each other.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds.. thrilling.” “Come on,” he said, walking over you, grabbing your arm lightly. “Let me show you what ‘thrilling’ looks like.”

—

The beach was a scene straight out of a movie. Soft waves lapped at the shore, glowing string lights stretched from palm tree to palm tree, and a bonfire crackled at the centre. The sand glowed gold in the firelight, and the scent of salt mixed with faintly synthetic pheromones from the island’s people. Alphas and Omegas milled around, drinks in hand, laughing, shouting, and occasionally bumping into each other.

“You’re- actually kinda beautiful when you’re not trying to kill me,” Mingyu muttered as you stepped carefully over a tide pool. “I wasn’t trying to kill you,” you shot back, brushing sand off your leg. “Sure, sure.” He leaned closer to help flick sand off your ankle, his fingers brushing your skin. Instantly, your pulse spiked. He noticed, of course, but kept his smirk casual.

“Thanks,” you said quickly, stepping back. “You’re dangerous.” “Me? Nah.” His hand lingered near yours a fraction too long. “I’m helpful.” From across the fire, you caught sight of Joshua and Ariana — the partners you saw a week ago from the compatibility test — arms looped around each other, laughing way too loud. Joshua looked in your direction. “Oh, look at them,” he called, nodding towards you and Mingyu.

Ariana suddenly appeared beside you, snatching you away from Mingyu. “So, spill,” she said, leaning in with a sly grin. “How does Mingyu treat you? Does he.. boss you around? Protect you? Or is he all charm and teasing?” “I- uh.. he’s fine,” you stammered, trying to wiggle free. “We were just talking.”

Ariana raised a brow, completely unconvinced. “Talking? Oh please, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Admit it- he’s hooked!” Before you could protest, she started tugging you around the perimeter of the fire, narrating your interactions like a commentator at a sports match. “Notice how he always keeps a hand near you. Watch how he blocks other Alphas subtly. That’s classic possessive Alpha energy! That Alpha wants to bond with you, hundred percent.”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to step back, but she only tightened her grip, dragging you toward the main circle of people. “Ahm.. I don’t think-” you protested, cheeks heating. “I’m not-” “You are! Don’t fight it.”

Just then, Mingyu returned from getting drinks with Joshua. His gaze immediately found you, and something about the way he strode across the sand made everyone else pause. Ariana, noticing, couldn’t resist: “Ooooh, protective much?” she teased loudly, smirking.

Mingyu, without breaking stride, reached out and took your hand from Ariana’s grip. “Never mind them,” he said casually, voice low enough only you could hear, yet sharp with quiet warning. He tugged you a little closer, brushing past any Alpha who might have gotten too near.

Ariana’s grin widened, but now it held a mischievous edge. “Well, since we’re being honest..” she leaned closer, eyes sparkling. “Joshua and I, we already did it.”

Your mouth fell open. “You what?!” Joshua, standing a little behind her, puffed out his chest proudly. “Balcony, baby. The sensors can’t cover everything.” You froze, trying to process. “Balcony? How- how is that even possible with the sensor lines?”

Mingyu chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Why are you even asking that?” he teased, eyes glinting, clearly amused by your flustered state. You blinked at him, cheeks still hot. “Nevermind”

“Calm down, intern” he whispered, tugging you slightly toward the fire. “Let’s not dwell on that. Come on, the party's starting.”

And indeed, the party was in full swing. Soonyoung had claimed the sand dance floor, waving a classic Sex on the beach drink like a banner while flailing wildly. Jeonghan weaved between people, laughing and charming every Omega in sight. Minghao stayed calm, perched against a palm tree, quietly observing, while Seungcheol hovered near a group of guys, half-protective, towards Mila, his own partner in the program.

Mingyu kept you close as you navigated the crowd, his arm brushing yours, body subtly positioning to block any other Alpha getting too close. Each time someone attempted a ‘friendly’ approach, his eyes flicked over sharply, just enough to warn them without causing a scene. You noticed, secretly pleased and secretly flustered by the attention.

The night wore on, drinks circulated, and laughter rose louder. At one point, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the bonfire circle with Hailey, Hansol’s partner, and Mingyu beside you, espresso martini in hand. He leaned back on his hands, smirking lazily. “So, tell me honestly, do you like being teased like that?”

“Teased?!” You spat a sip of your drink in mock offense. “No! Not at all.” He chuckled, eyes gleaming. “Uh-huh. That’s why your ears are red.” “I’m not red! You idiot.” you protested, though your voice wavered.

“You totally are,” he said softly, leaning closer. His hand brushed against yours as he reached for his drink, fingers grazing yours. The accidental contact made your pulse fastened. “So.. you think all the teasing is funny, huh?” You glanced up at him, mock glare in place, but your heartbeat says other wise.

“Very,” he admitted with a grin. “Especially watching you try to act composed.” A few rounds of drinks later, voices louder and movements sloppier, you found yourself laughing uncontrollably at one of Soonyoung’s ridiculous attempts at limbo under a string of lights. Mingyu’s laughter blended with yours, and for a moment, the island, the tests, and all the weird rules melted away.

At some point, he reached over and brushed sand from your arm. “Careful,” he murmured, his hand lingering just a moment too long. The warmth, the scent, the nearness — it all made your own pheromones flare.

You stared at him, a shiver crawling up your spine despite yourself. “Mingyu-” His eyes darkened as he caught your scent, fingers running through his hair, struggling to keep his composure while clearly unraveling inside.

Before either of you could think further, a slow, ridiculous party song started playing. Mingyu laughed, tugging you lightly toward the open sand dance area. “You know.. we could dance,” he said, hands finding your waist in the most natural, casual way possible. Almost touching your bare skin, as you wore a backless dress, his touch sending shivers.

“I- dance? Here? With everyone watching?” “Exactly,” he replied with a teasing smirk. Your Omega instincts screamed: too close, too warm, too him. And somehow, without either of you planning it, your lips pressed together in a brief, electrifying kiss.

“You owe me a wish from a week ago.. kiss me Y/N”

—

Mingyu’s eyes never left you as he guided you toward the open dance area, body moving seamlessly in rhythm with the chaotic energy of the party. He could feel your pulse spike — fast, shallow, trembling in time with his own. The scent hit him again, subtle but undeniable: your scent, sweet and seductive with that faint underlying Omega heat that had been building all evening.

God, he thought, she’s already lighting me up and we haven’t even…

To anyone else, he might have looked like a confident S-class Alpha enjoying a social gathering. But beneath the calm exterior, his mind was a storm. I didn’t come here for fun. I came here to find my mate.

The program, the tests, the chemical-laced air — all of it was designed to pair Omegas and Alphas according to pheromone compatibility and instinct. And Mingyu had known the moment he signed up that this would be his chance to claim what his body had been craving: a bonded Omega.

When he’d seen your scent and compatibility results, the analysis the program provided, he chose to not hand you, he’d hate how other partners already hit their 70%, other 80%, while you and his are only at 53%. The system had recommended certain Alphas for you, ways to bond subtly without overwhelming your instincts. But Mingyu ignored the suggestions, intentionally. He wanted you to choose him, to approach you without pressure, letting your instincts find him on their own.

No protocols. No lists. No instructions. Just us.

Until the kiss already happened.

It started slow, hesitant, almost accidental — your lips pressed to his in a fleeting spark of heat. But the instant they touched, Mingyu’s Alpha instincts flared. He could feel the soft pulse of your lips, the tremor of your Omega nerves beneath his fingertips, and it was intoxicating. He deepened it slightly, not forceful, but demanding attention, sliding one hand from your waist to your lower back, and another hand to your nape, drawing you closer.

Your scent hit him full force, sweet and warm and entirely drowning him, mixed with the faint tang of alcohol. His free hand twitched, almost involuntarily, toward your hair, tucking strands behind your ear, brushing your neck. He could feel your pulse racing against him, every beat an invitation, and the sharp, delicious ache of desire flaring up between his legs.

Damn it, he thought, lips still brushing yours, she’s all I can think about. She’s driving me crazy..

You were trembling slightly, startled at your own boldness yet unable to pull away. Every nerve in your body sang with the friction of proximity, the brush of skin, the subtle pressure of his Alpha body guiding yours without force. Your hands drifted to his chest, not pushing, not restraining, just tentatively pressing, feeling the warmth, the strong steady beat beneath his ribs.

He noticed, of course. Every instinct sharpened. The urge to mark, to claim, to protect — flared beneath his calm exterior — both your pheromones becoming more stronger. His lips moved against yours, teasing, testing, making sure you wanted it too before allowing the kiss to deepen, just slightly, lingering enough to ignite both your Omega desire and his own Alpha restraint.

From the crowd, the sounds of music, laughter, and distant shouts faded. There was only you and him. Your scent, warm and enticing, curling around him, pulling him in. Your heat pools low in your belly, pulse racing, breath hitching in short, uneven bursts.

Mingyu pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and smoldering in the firelight. His fingers lingered on your waist, thumb brushing along the curve as if memorising you. “You taste like trouble,” he murmured, voice low, husky with Alpha hunger.

You shivered, caught between protest and want. “And you taste like danger,” you whispered back, cheeks aflame. His smirk deepened, leaning down so that his forehead touched yours briefly. “And yet.. you like it,” he said, almost a statement, almost an assurance for himself.

Your breath caught. Yes. Yes, you did. But the heat, the tension, the risk. The accidental brush of lips, the lingering touch, the cloudy smell of him — it was a full sensory overload, and you knew neither of you could resist this pull forever.

And in that charged moment, Mingyu’s hand tightened on your waist just slightly, his other brushing a wayward strand of hair behind your ear again. The taste of your Omega pheromones was like fire in his mouth, and though the dance floor was still chaotic behind you, in this little bubble of heat and proximity, the rest of the world could wait.

He was aware of every pulse in your body, every quiver, every tiny movement, and he savoured the quiet knowledge that your instincts were responding to him as strongly as his Alpha desire was to you. For a heartbeat, nothing else existed — just you, just him, and the unspoken promise of what could come next.

And even though neither of you said it, both knew: the game had begun.

“So that’s the pair everyone’s talking about!” Jeonghan shouted from across the sand, grinning wildly. “Better watch that balcony, Minghao and Lily! Their cabin is closest to yours.” He added, laughing. Soonyoung and Seungcheol hooted, waving drinks and laughing. “Don’t let them copy Joshua and Ariana!”

You yelped, breaking apart, cheeks flaming, stumbling back slightly. Mingyu groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I swear.. y’all need to shut the fuck up” “It’s nothing like that” you shouted, brushing sand off your arm, glaring at the group.

He chuckled, leaning close anyway, whispering in your ear, “Next time, say that straight to my face, after letting your pheromones consume me.”

You could only glare and roll your eyes, because somehow, despite the teasing, the sand, and the chaos of the island party.. It was perfect. The kiss is perfect and so is the man, who’s coming home with you.

—

And even in the midst of the noisy, glowing chaos of the beach party, there was only one truth Kim Mingyu couldn’t ignore ever since the beginning: he had found his Omega.

The morning sun poured through the cabin window, painting everything in soft gold. It’s already the middle of third week in the island. You were brushing your hair in front of the mirror when Mingyu appeared behind you, leaning casually against the doorframe. His bare chest glinted in the early light, a towel still draped over his shoulders.

“Morning, intern,” he said, voice low, teasing, but now laced with a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before. You turned, smirk ready. “Morning, Alpha. Still planning to trip me over my own feet today?”

He grinned, stepping closer, hands in his pockets. “Depends. Are you going to make me?” Your cheeks warmed. Something about the way he moved — broader, more confident — made your stomach twist. The kiss from that night lingered in every nerve, every glance. He was no longer just teasing. He was claiming. And he knew you’re being affected by it.

“I said don’t mess with me,” you warned, swatting his chest lightly. “Or what?” he countered, leaning so close that your shoulders brushed. His scent — smoke, sandalwood, warm Alpha dominance — washed over you, making your pulse spike. “You’re already flustered. Admit it.”

“I’m not flustered!” you argued, though your eyes threatened to betray you. He chuckled, a deep, knowing sound, and leaned closer to press a quick, fleeting brush of lips to your temple. “Sure,” he whispered. “Keep telling yourself that.”

—

Later, the PA system crackled to life: “Participants, please proceed to Test Center Six. Today’s evaluation: physical coordination and instinctual response exercise. Pair engagement required.” You glanced at Mingyu. “Physical.. coordination?”

He smirked, grabbing your hand, fingers warm and confident. “Sounds like fun. And by fun, I mean I get to see how well you respond when I’m close.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him. The new test chamber was wide and dimly lit, illuminated by soft lines marking the floor and a series of ropes, pulleys, and platforms suspended above shallow water. What in a world of kinky is this?

An Enigma technician explained, “Pairs will navigate the course together. Balance, timing, and proximity will be recorded. Points awarded for synchronization and instinctive coordination. Physical contact is expected.” You swallowed. Your pulse fastened just hearing that last line. Physical contact, huh? Sounds intimate.

“Great,” you muttered, voice tight. Mingyu’s hand brushed yours again, casual, confident, claiming. “Deep breaths, intern,” he said. “We’ll be fine. Just trust me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Trust you- with what exactly?”

“You’ll see,” he smirked, stepping even closer. His hand hovered near yours, brushing just enough to make your skin tingle. “Physical coordination test. Partnered. Intimate. Hands-on. You’ll get the idea fast.” Your stomach fluttered. “Intimate? Like?”

“Like this,” he said, stepping behind you. The challenge was simple on paper: a mirror challenge. One person mimics the other’s movements perfectly, no talking, just touch and timing. The kicker? You’d be so close that every subtle brush of skin counted.

He leaned against the edge of the platform, close enough that the heat radiating off him made your pulse faster. “I’ll go first,” he said, and raised his arms, slow and deliberate. His hands hovered in front of him, then moved to his chest, down to his hips. You mirrored him, careful, but the moment your arms brushed his, something electric shot through your body.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re already reacting.” “Reacting to what?” you whispered, cheeks burning. “Me,” he said simply, stepping closer so your sides pressed together. “Only to me.”

The next move required a subtle shift: he placed one hand on your waist, the other on your shoulder, guiding you through a slow, synchronized pivot. Your bodies pressed together lightly, hips almost brushing. The tension was unbearable — every nerve in your body screaming awareness.

“Ladies first?” he teased, voice low and teasing. You froze. “Wha-” “You go first,” he said, hand lingering near your lower back. “I’ll follow your lead.” You swallowed, heart racing, and slowly moved, feeling him mirror every motion, every subtle shift of weight. His chest brushed your back, his arm curved naturally against yours. Your breath hitched. This wasn’t just a test — it was a deliberate, intoxicating dance, and you were trapped in it.

By the time you finished, your cheeks were hot, your pulse wild, and your body humming from the mere closeness. Mingyu smirked, eyes dark and teasing. “See? I told you it’d be effective.”

“Effective? You mean torturous,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath while secretly craving the heat of him pressing so close. “Depends,” he murmured, leaning so near your ear that you could feel his warm breath. “Depends how much attention you pay and how much you let yourself enjoy it.”

Your knees almost betrayed you. Your stomach fluttered, and for a brief, dizzying moment, you realised just how much your body craved that closeness — the banters, the steady pressure, the warmth of him.

By the end of the course, drenched in sweat and heat, you were panting, hair clinging to your neck, and heart racing. Mingyu’s fingers brushed yours one last time as you stepped back. His eyes held a glint of amusement and satisfaction.

“You did great,” he murmured, leaning closer, hand brushing the back of yours. “Better than I expected.” You scoffed, trying to push away the flutter in your chest. “Better than you expected? You’re an Alpha, this is your test.”

“Maybe I was expecting to get distracted,” he said, voice low, teasing, hand lingering near yours just long enough to set your pheromones on fire again. Your cheeks burned. “Distracted by what?” “You,” he admitted quietly, smirk tugging at his lips. “Always you.”

“And did I?” You asked and before you even dispossessed the question he already answered “You always do.”

And in that moment, standing sweaty and unsteady, you realised another thing, that the tests weren’t just measuring compatibility — they were letting him explore every reaction of yours. Every shiver, every hesitation, every flinch — all under his control.

The monitor beside you blinked to life, showing two rhythm lines — one red, one blue — pulsing in sync. You’re already used to it, unlike the first time you went into the glass pods

“Synchronization: 94%,” a voice said over the intercom. “Maximum baseline compatibility. Reward unlocked: private suite access. Enjoy your evening.” You froze, heart hammering. “Ninety-four? Now that’s a big jump”

Mingyu’s eyes darkened with something teasing, something dangerous, as he leaned slightly forward on you. “Looks like our little experiment worked out nicely,” he murmured, voice low. Before you could respond, the two technicians stepped in.

“Congratulations,” one said brightly, a tablet in hand. “Your reward awaits. You’ll be escorted to a private suite — no sensor lines, complete privacy. Follow us, please.” Mingyu’s hand brushed yours as you stepped out. The simple contact made you flustered, and he smirked knowingly. “Private, huh? Finally. Just you and me.”

You tried to focus on the walk to the waiting vehicle, but every brush of his fingers, every teasing glance, made your stomach twist. When the sleek car door opened for you both, Mingyu caught your arm, pulling you close enough for your side to press against his. “Trust me?” he asked softly, voice dipping lower. “I think so,” you managed, breath hitching.

He pressed a quick, teasing kiss to your temple, grin curling at the corner of his lips. “Good. I’ll take care of you.” The Beta staff watched quietly as the two of you settled in, giving subtle cues but never intruding, leaving you acutely aware of each other and the heat simmering between you.

As the car pulled away, you realized that 94% wasn’t just a number — it was a promise of what tonight could bring. And both of your desired attractions towards each other.

The car pulled up to a secluded wing of the island, sleek and modern, lights casting a soft glow on the polished metal and glass. As the door opened, the cool night air brushed against you, but inside the suite, the temperature seemed warmer, almost like it was made to hold you both.

Mingyu was the first to step in, his hand brushing briefly against yours again — casual, but deliberate. “Wow,” he breathed, scanning the room. The suite was spacious, minimalist, yet intimate: soft, indirect lighting, a plush couch, and a king-size bed tucked behind a semi-sheer divider. No sensors anywhere to be found.

You wandered in slowly, letting your eyes take it all in. Everything screamed privacy, a little bubble away from the eyes of the program, a space that felt almost sacred. Your pulse was still racing from the pod test, from the walk, from every casual touch he’d given you so far.

Mingyu leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with that sly half-smile. “Not bad, intern? Our little reward.” His gaze flicked over your face, and for a moment it softened. “Not that I’d say no to any excuse to be alone with you.” You let out a nervous laugh, running a hand over the back of the couch. “I- it’s just weird. Feels like everything is moving so fast.”

He took a step closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly, his voice low. “I get that. But I think this is the first time we’ve had a space where we can actually.. just be honest.”

You turned toward him, heart thudding. “Talk like this?” He nodded. “Yeah. I want to talk like this. With you. About everything.” You swallowed, hesitant but trusting. “Mingyu, I’ve never really felt this.. I don’t even know how to explain it. Like, with you, my instincts, my pheromones, my feelings they’re loud. And it’s scary, but also.. right.”

He took another step, closer still, until you could feel the faint brush of his fingers along yours again. “I know,” he said softly. “I feel the same. And I want to be honest with you. About everything I’ve been thinking, feeling since the start.” Your stomach flipped. “What do you mean?”

“Everything,” he confirmed, eyes locking with yours. “I chose you. From the beginning. Even before the tests, before the pods, before I even fully understood my own instincts, I knew there was something about you. Something that made me want more than just, a fling or a game. I wanted a mate. And I realised, it’s you. Always been you.”

Your chest tightened. “Mingyu I don’t understand.” He sighed, pulled you to sit on the edge of the bed, while he pulled a chair to position himself, sitting in front of you, and held your hands “Us, Alphas, are given the chance to choose the Omega we would want to be partners with. Did you really think a summer intern would need a ‘hot picture’ of yours?” He laughed and that made you laugh as well.

He lifts a hand to rest lightly against your cheek. “I’ve spent my whole life.. being the powerful Alpha, trying to control what I feel. The kind who other people hate, just because I’m an S-class Alpha who ‘keeps on seducing their partners.’ I’m always on guard but with you I don’t need to. I want to be honest, with myself and with you. I want to find a mate.. someone I can trust, someone who understands me. I want that to be you.”

Your breath caught, his words sinking into you like warmth you didn’t know you needed. “You idiot- I’ve been hating on you this whole time. How could you even trust me?” you teased, breaking the heavy mood. Mingyu chuckled, the sound low and fond. “I like my woman feisty. Guess that’s part of the reason.” You exhaled slowly, trying to pull the moment back into something serious. “I want to try,” you said softly. “With you.”

His grin returned, small but genuine, eyes glinting with both mischief and something tender. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other, hands intertwined, breathing in the quiet, letting the weight of honesty settle between you. You could feel every beat of his pulse through the connection of your fingers, every heat of his body, and you realised that this — this trust, this honesty, this raw openness — was something worth more than any percentage.

Mingyu’s thumb traced slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you, but the air between you was changing — thickening, warming.

You felt it first: the faint curl of heat spreading low in your stomach, the sharp awareness of every breath he took. His scent started to coil around you like invisible threads. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, pupils dilating, skin prickling. Mingyu’s eyes darkened as he caught your scent shift. “..You feel that?” he murmured, voice deepening.

You swallowed hard, nodding. “It’s not supposed to come today..” He exhaled shakily, leaning closer until the space between you dissolved. “That’s because of our pheromones syncing,” he said softly, though the faint tremor in his voice betrayed his own struggle. “Yours is calling mine, just like how mine is addicted to yours.”

The words made your breath hitch. His scent pressed into your senses, comforting yet intoxicating. You could almost taste it — warm and wild — and it left you dizzy with want. He leaned in until his forehead rested against yours. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he whispered, every syllable rough with restraint.

But you didn’t want him to stop. “Don’t,” you breathed.

The moment you said it, something in him broke loose. His lips found yours, deep and hungry, the kind of kiss that stole the air from your lungs. Every movement carried that unspoken pull — the primal rhythm of Alpha and Omega — and your body trembled beneath the surge of warmth that followed.

His hands roamed, not in greed but reverence, mapping the curve of your spine, the tremor of your breath. You responded in kind, fingers clutching at his shirt as if to anchor yourself through the haze of scent and sensation. Like calling over him to join you at the bed.

The pheromones in the room thickened, palpable, wrapping around both of you like heat made tangible. You could feel your pulse hammering in your throat, the edges of your mind softening as instinct started to slip past reason. “Mingyu-” your voice cracked, your body reacting faster than you could think. “It’s.. starting-”

He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing a tear that had escaped down your face from the overwhelming rush of heat. “I know,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours again. “It’s your heat. You’re okay, you’re not alone.”

You tried to steady your breathing, but every inhale was laced with him. His scent, his warmth, his voice — it all burned together until it was impossible to separate what was yours and what was his.

And then you felt it: the answering shift from him. A low growl echoed in his chest, barely restrained. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing ragged. “You’re triggering my rut,” he said, voice thick and hoarse. “You smell too good, love.”

Your heart raced at the way he said it — half a warning, half a confession. He caught your trembling hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the inside of your wrist. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll take care of you,” he murmured again, that same promise from the car but now burning with raw sincerity.

You nodded, unable to form words. The air was shimmering with pheromones, the temperature of the room rising with every exhale. When his mouth found yours again, it wasn’t a kiss this time — it was a vow, a very, very dirty and hungry one.

He moved slowly, reverently, pulling you closer, guiding you down onto the soft sheets. Your breaths mingled, uneven and desperate, and the world shrank down to just the rhythm of his heartbeat and the sound of your name falling from his lips.

You didn’t need words anymore. Every look, every trembling breath said everything: trust, want, connection.

Mingyu’s hands moved slowly, as he slid fabric away from your skin. Every brush of his fingers felt like a spark, heat blooming wherever he touched, as if the fire building inside you was spilling outwards. His mouth never left yours, the kiss deepening, hungry but controlled, even as he stripped away the barriers between you one by one.

By the time the last piece of clothing slipped from your body, you were trembling under the weight of his touch. He finally drew back just enough to look at you — his chest rising and falling, eyes dark and unblinking. I could stare at you all day — before tugging his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. You couldn’t help the shaky laugh that escaped you. “You’re so expert at this,” you teased, trying to ground yourself.

The corner of his mouth lifted, a flash of heat and something softer. He popped the button of his pants but leaned in to press another kiss to your lips, trailing it up to your ear where his breath came hot and low. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever touched,” he whispered, his voice like velvet laced with gravel, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to take care of you.”

He pulled back again, eyes locking with yours, and slid his pants and briefs down, baring himself completely. For a heartbeat you forgot to breathe. He was — bigger than you imagined, every inch of him radiating the power of an S-class Alpha. No way in heavens that will fit in me!

Your gaze flickered down involuntarily, and his fingers caught your chin, tilting your face back up to his. His thumb stroked the corner of your mouth, his smirk dark but teasing. “Eyes on me first, love,” he said softly, a command wrapped in a caress. “You can stare all you want later when I’m already moving inside you.”

“Condom,” you said, trying to sound bold — though the tremor in your voice only made Mingyu’s grin widen. He reached toward the nightstand, rifling through the drawer until he pulled out an entire box, lifting it with a teasing tilt of his head that perfectly mirrored your cockiness.

You were about to laugh, but then the change hit you — sudden, scorching. Heat pulsed through your veins like wildfire, your skin too warm, your body too aware of every brush of air, every inch of him standing too close. You feel too hot, it’s starting to burn you. The only thought that made sense was the one that slipped out in a whisper. “Hold me…”

For a moment, he froze — caught off guard by the softness of it — then his expression melted into something darker. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he drew you close.

“I will,” he murmured, voice roughened with no restraint to be found anymore. “My needy omega.” “I am- Mingyu, it hurts,” you managed, breath shaking.

“Shh,” he soothed, thumb tracing your jaw as he studied you like you were something sacred and dangerous all at once. “You don’t even know how beautiful you are like this, crying and begging for me.” He leaned in again, pressing butterfly kisses across your face, your temple, the corners of your mouth — each touch softening the ache that was building between you.

“Mingyu..” you breathed, “I should tell you, I’m not- this is not new. You’re not my first.” He stilled, jaw tightening, eyes lowering for a heartbeat before lifting again, his pheromones thickening in the air, heavy with unspoken instinct. The atmosphere shifted, charged and magnetic, his control flickering at the edges, his scent fully suffocating you, like a spell to make you go crazy for him.

“Then,” he said finally, voice deep and deliberate, “It’s my goal to make sure you won’t even know it’s my first.”

“You’ll forget anyone else ever existed”

He said as he moved with a single, decisive motion — enough to draw a sharp gasp from your lips, your hands clutching at his back as though to anchor yourself, nails digging into his skin while the air between you shattered into heat and breathless sound — as he shoved his length inside you in one push.

“God- you feel so tight, you feel so heavenly, love.” Mingyu started moving slowly, giving you time to adjust. His eyes were closed, while yours rolled back, both of you feeding into your heat and his rut. When he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, his pace quickened, completely giving in to his hunger until it was finally satiated, his desire finally breaking free.

“Ugh- uhh, Mingyu. Yes! I love that! Deeper.” Words couldn’t describe how completely full and alive you felt. It was as if you could see both heaven and hell at the same time. You had never experienced anything like this with any other partner before — Mingyu was doing an incredible job of making you feel this way.

Mingyu’s breath hitched as the room thickened with heat. The air seemed alive — charged — both your pheromones curling together like smoke, saturating every breath, every heartbeat.

You could feel his pulse through every point of contact, every thrust, every movement, every time his cock reaches something inside you, even other Alphas couldn’t — the tremor in his hands, the warmth radiating from his skin, the way his body moved against yours with barely contained restraint. His scent, deep and heady, clung to your senses until you could taste it.

Your own pheromones responded, blooming like wildfire. You tried to speak, to say something that wasn’t a gasp, but the words dissolved before they reached your lips. Mingyu’s voice was low, almost reverent. “Breathe, love. Just breathe.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, grounding you both even as the action between you blurred the line between pleasure and instinct. “Fuck, if this is what sex feels like- I’ll gladly make love with you everyday.” Every shift of his body drew another sound from you — loud, helpless, caught between surrender and need.

The world beyond the suite vanished. There was only the rise and fall of breath, the press of skin, the steady hum of connection in between your legs growing heavier and heavier until it was almost unbearable.

“Y/N, moan my name louder” his voice cracked, being consumed by his rut slowly. You looked up at him through the haze, eyes glassy. “I can’t- Mingyu! It’s too much. Ahh- shit!” You screamed echoing in the suite, your nails scratching his back, your legs wrapping his hips, while his hand remained on your neck and hair.

The Alpha in him took over, movements guided more by instinct than thought, his scent darkening, his body trembling with the effort to stay gentle. He’s not gentle at all and I like it.

He kissed you again — deeper this time, desperate, and a lot of saliva, but still with care. Every movement felt like a promise: steady, patient, reverent even as the air burned hotter between you and his thrust in your cunt.

When he pulled back slightly, his breath trembled as his cock twitched. “You’re mine,” he whispered, not as a command, but as a truth he couldn’t keep buried anymore. “I’m coming.” You barely said, feeling totally weak, like you lost your capability to speak anymore.

“Then come.. wet my cock, love. Make it all sticky, you’re doing God’s work by making it easy for me to pound on you.” He said while smirking, his eyes are lost and deep. As if he’s not the typical Kim Mingyu who holds you, this is Kim Mingyu, an S-class Alpha who shows possession and territorises his own Omega.

“AH!” You screamed, your voice hitting a pitch you’d never reached before, straining your throat and voice box. The sensation burned sharply inside you, a deep, piercing sting. That’s when you realised what Mingyu had done — he had stopped moving, leaving himself deep inside you, twitching and swelling. “Mingyu! It hurts!”

But Mingyu was long gone. You couldn’t even make out his eyes, and his scent alone was enough to make you ache, wetting yourself without any further motion, his cock completely claiming and ruining you.

“Did you just-” you barely managed to say, completely overwhelmed by pain. Mingyu leaned in, capturing your mouth in a fierce kiss, as if every part of you existed solely for him to satisfy his hunger. You are solely a hole for him to push through his dirty desires.

The pain between your legs intensified, and his cock grew even harder. “KIM MINGYU!” you cried, tears falling not from pleasure, but from the sharp sting that finally pulled him back to his senses. His eyes softened, and he loosened his grip on your hair, gently wiping away your tears. “Fuck! Love.. shh, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry shit!”

You continued to cry, lightly slapping his chest, but your strength failed against the pain. He cupped your face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry… you feel so good, I got carried away. I’m sorry I- I knot you,” he said, trying desperately to calm you, to ease the pain.

“Take it out!” you screamed. “I can’t, love- shhh, it’s okay. The pain will go away, ok?” he murmured, holding you steady. Giving you featherlike kisses to distract you.

You continued to cry, and it scared him, but what could he do? When an alpha knots an omega, there’s nothing to be done — neither can pull away until both muscles loosen, until blood moves freely and both alpha and omega have finished. That’s why Mingyu did what he thought would help distract you.

He kissed you. Hard.

Whispering words meant to reassure you, to make you feel better — soft murmurs of “I’m sorry” and “I love you” spilling from his lips. His words stirred something deep inside, reigniting your desire and lust, and you moaned in pleasure again, tears still glistening in your eyes, that only adds up into Mingyu losing control again, but remember your cries awhile ago, he controlled it.

“You look better,” Mingyu chuckled. “Fuck you,” you snapped, making him laugh. Slowly, he started to move again, and you jolted in surprise — realising the pain hadn’t completely left yet.

And when he finally leaned in, burying his face against your neck, his teeth grazed your skin in a way that made your entire body go still. His lips brushed over the sensitive spot once, twice — asking silently. You met his eyes, nodding once.

The bite came soft, deep, and claiming — an anchor that tethered you to him, sealing the space between Alpha and Omega, between choice and instinct. You gasped at the sharpness, then melted at the warmth that followed — his lips soothing the mark, whispering your name like it was something sacred.

It wasn’t just pheromones anymore. It was trust. It was bond. It was the quiet truth that no test or percentage could measure.

And when he finally pulled you close, coming at the same time, holding you until your breaths synced again, you felt it — the unshakable certainty that you’d found the person your instincts had been calling for all along.

—

The room was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and the sound of your breathing slowly falling back into rhythm. Mingyu had already cleaned you both up, moving with surprising gentleness for someone who’d just looked like he’d lost himself to instinct. Now, the two of you were tangled in the sheets, bare skin against bare skin, his arm slung loosely around your waist and his thumb lazily tracing circles against your hip.

You shifted, your head resting against his chest where his heartbeat thudded steadily under your palm. “You’re warm,” you murmured, voice still hoarse.

Mingyu huffed a soft laugh into your hair. “You’re the one burning up. Your pheromones still haven’t calmed down yet, I can smell you.”

“I can smell yours too,” you admitted, wrinkling your nose. “It changed.. you smell more sweeter, instead of sandalwood, it smells more like musky, hot, honeyed sugar.. and mint?” He chuckled, his fingers sliding up to stroke the back of your neck. “That’s the bond. Once the bite sets, our scents mix differently. You already smell different too”

You raised your head, facing him, which made him surprised a little, worried. “What’s wrong?” He asked, caressing your shoulders. “My smell changed?” He only nodded, “What does it smell? What if you hate how I smell now?” Panic arose that made Mingyu tilt his head, he pressed a soft kiss in your mouth.

“You’re officially mine now. Your smell..” he stopped mid-sentence, acting as if he’s inhaling your scent, “strawberry, with a hint of clover still and salt.. will always be addictively good”

You tilted your head to look up at him, eyebrows raised. “That’s how you’re gonna say it? ‘Officially mine’? You sound like you just adopted a cat.” “I basically did.” His grin widened, dimples showing. “Except this one scratches harder.”

You groaned, smacking his chest weakly. “Kim Mingyu.” “What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying — you’re my omega now, and I’m your alpha. It’s not just lust. It’s us.” His expression softened as his fingers tilted your chin up. “I know it sounds possessive, but the bond doesn’t mean I get to own you. It means I get to protect you. Choose you. Every time.”

The words settled over you like a blanket, warmer than the sheets. You swallowed. “And after all this? After the program ends? What happens to us?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb still stroking your skin. “That’s what I wanted to talk about,” he said finally, voice low. “When the program’s over, we’re free again. No handlers, no schedules, no tests, no sensor lines — which is my favourite. We can leave the island. We can choose what we want to do next. Together.”

“Together..” you echoed softly.

“If you want.” His eyes searched yours, serious now. “I don’t want this to be just a heat-season thing for you. The bond doesn’t vanish after the program ends. It stays. It’s permanent. But you still get to choose if you want me there when it’s all over.”

You stared at him, something tight curling in your chest. “You’re asking if I want you after the island?” “I’m asking if you want us,” he corrected gently. “Outside of this, outside of the pods. Just you and me. Normal life.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. The sheets shifted as you moved, turning onto your stomach so you could prop your chin on his chest. “You’re so dramatic for someone who just tried to eat me alive,” you said, the teasing edge in your voice breaking the tension.

Mingyu snorted, eyes crinkling. “I was not trying to eat you alive. I was passionate.” “You were insane,” you shot back, but your lips twitched. “And you liked it,” he said, grinning down at you. You bit back a laugh, heat rising to your cheeks. “Shut up.”

“No, say it.” His grin softened, eyes glinting. “Say you liked it.” You buried your face against his chest with a muffled groan. “I hate you-” He laughed, the sound low and warm, his arm tightening around you. “but I do like it.” You continued that made his jaw dropped a little, making you laugh loudly and him pouting.

He looks like a puppy.

You looked up at him again, containing your laughter, catching the shift in his gaze — the way the teasing flickered into something earnest. “So- after the program,” you said slowly. “You’re serious. You’d want to keep this?” “Yeah,” he said simply. “More than anything.”

The weight of it settled between you, but instead of feeling heavy, it felt steady. Real. Like the air after a storm. You exhaled, fingers tracing idle shapes against his chest. “I don’t know what’s waiting outside. But I know I want you”

He smiled then — not the cocky smirk, but the quiet one you’d only seen glimpses of. He dipped his head, pressing a kiss to your hair. “That’s everything for me, my intern” he murmured. “And you’re my everything, my Alpha”

For a while, you just lay there, tangled together, breathing in each other’s scents as they finally began to calm, no longer sharp and wild but warm and familiar. His thumb brushed slow lines along your arm; your leg hooked over his. You felt safe, in a way that surprised you.

He chuckled, eyes half-lidded. “You smell so good, my rut is coming back..”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah. You are.” He kissed you and went on top of you once more. And in the private suite, it felt like, for the first time, the program wasn’t running you. You were just two people, bonded by choice, planning something that wasn’t in any script in The Mating Season Program.

𝐀/𝐍 ➙ and that’s a wrappp!! i hope you enjoyed my very first omegaverse story. personally, i’m in love with this plot, though i’m not sure if i wrote it exactly like it played in my head hahaha. feel free to comment or reblog your reactions, i’d absolutely love to hear them. and of course, i’ll leave you with this scene to end things: 😋

The air smelled like salt and flowers. Not rule-tablets, not sterile cleaners — just the sea breeze coming off the coast and the scent of white peonies tucked into the chairs lining the aisle. You stood at the edge of the small garden by the water, fingers tangled with a bouquet.

It was a simple ceremony. No handlers, no scientists, no data clips. Just a handful of friends from the outside world, a few family members who’d chosen to show up, and a quiet officiant. No cameras except the ones held by people you trust.

Mingyu was waiting at the end of the aisle in a soft beige suit, his hair swept back by the wind. There was no badge on his wrist now — just a thin band of gold around his ring finger.

When you reached him, he took your hands without hesitation, thumbs brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had that same softness you’d seen the night he asked you what you wanted after the program ended. “You look like a dream,” he murmured, low enough for only you to hear. “You’re not allowed to make me cry before the vows,” you whispered back, trying to smile through the blur in your eyes. He grinned — the real one “Too late.”

The officiant’s words blurred around you: about promises, about choosing each other beyond instinct, about building something ordinary and extraordinary all at once. When it was time, you slipped the band onto his finger, and he did the same to you.

“I chose you then,” Mingyu said softly, eyes locked on yours. “I choose you now. I’ll keep choosing you.” The applause came when you kissed, but for a moment it was just him — his hands on your waist, your arms around his shoulders, the two of you standing on grass instead of sterile floors. The ocean hissed against the shore like a quiet blessing.

You leaned into him, the wedding ring catching the sun. For the first time since the program, there was no staff, no countdown, no end date. Just a beginning.

⋆˚࿔ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @blssble @astraleaa @kwonxy @k4trinabluu @ateez-atiny380

Feel free to let me know if you want to be in my taglist, please do dictate if you want to be included on the permanent taglist or Kinktober taglist only.

PLEASE make sure your age is on your bio, MDNI

[woncheollies]

this is so good i could honestly read a whole series. i love their dynamics <3

[softjeekies]

Waiting After The Rain - 19

Pairing: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: a/b/o, violence, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory, cursing, not beta read, SUGGESTIVE

A/N: thank you so much for your patience and kind words <3 after the insanely long wait, coming in at 6,020 words total making this my longest chapter yet, here is chapter 19. enjoy ;)

previous chapter // next chapter(coming soon)

This morning is better. You don’t feel like you’d been beaten up, you’re back to just the usual pregnancy aches and pains, and that’s a win in your books. When you head down to breakfast you notice Minho sitting in Jeongin’s usual spot next to your normal seat. You look over to see a pouting Jeongin so you take it upon yourself to greet him first. The younger alpha immediately holds you close, burying his face into the fabric of the hoodie covering your stomach. He places a sweet kiss on your middle before looking up at you with the most adorable puppy dog eyes, which just scream at you to kiss him; you can’t say no to that. The kiss is short and sweet, you give a gentle squeeze to his hand before heading to your seat, where Minho already has a plate ready for you. As you sit down you take notice of who’s missing.

“Where’s Channie and Jisung?” You hum.

“Hyung was up really late, he's probably going to sleep in. Jisung is eating breakfast in the nest, he’s got a headache. Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.” Minho smiles sweetly as he urges you to eat your breakfast, but if you weren’t worried before, you are now. Not only did Minho usually get upset when you didn’t all eat together, but he was being sickly sweet right now. After what you overheard outside the office the other night, bright red lights went off in your head. You didn’t push though, not wanting to upset the alpha you ate breakfast without an issue.

You spend a while contemplating checking on Jisung. Even though Minho had asked you not to, claiming he didn’t want you to get sick but your chest aches. He’s your omega, your baby boy, even if he is older than you. So when the smell of the sweetest chocolate cake fills your nose followed by a soft knock at your bedroom door you jump up, to the best of your ability given your current state, without any hesitation. You open the door but before you can even open your mouth Jisung takes your wrist, guiding you down to the pack den. He’s quiet and gentle, which is not like him at all. The older omega lays you down gently in the middle of the nest before crawling in next to you, practically wrapping his body around you like a koala. Subconsciously, you melt into his touch, and in turn, he scents you heavily. His scent is sweet; if it were any other omega besides your packmate, you’d probably be sick.

“Minho said you didn’t feel good, is everything okay Sungie?” You coo at the omega, eager to help the omega feel better, if his illness was affecting his scent and his behavior this much it could be pretty serious.

“I’m in pre-heat. I have been for a couple of days.” He blurts it out. It wasn’t supposed to come out like that, he wanted so badly to ease you into this but his mind is so fuzzy. His omega clawing at the surface for control he doesn’t even understand why he said that. Your heart drops at his words, heat… he’s in heat. Sure they all had sex with you in the house, but this is different. Heats are so much more intense. Your mind races at the thought. No one had had any conversation with you about what to expect or what to do. How did they even handle their cycles? Are they synced up? Many times they’ve all assured you they weren’t jealous of each other but ruts were different, god especially if they’re synced up any alpha in their rut would go feral for a fertile omega in heat laying in front of them, you doubt they’d be able to share then. You shake your head trying to focus, you have to be there for Jisung. The only way for an omega to get relief is from an alpha, you have to do something.

“If you’re in heat you need an alpha! I’ll go get someone for you.” Your voice is so panicked that it makes Jisung grimace, his omega growls at him for not keeping you comfortable.

“Please don’t! If anyone finds out all the alphas will come and then you’ll have to leave because once my heat starts, everyone else will follow. I know you’re probably really scared of the alphas’ ruts but I just want to be here with you.” Jisung’s voice is whiny, even worse than it usually is.

“I- fuck! Jisung I can’t help you, and if they find out I’m keeping you away from them they’ll be so upset.” Your voice is panicked which only makes Jisung panic. The omega pulls you closer to him, resting your head directly on his scent gland, praying his scent can calm you.

“I don’t need help.” He growls softly. “I just need you, my sweet omega. Just want you and puppy.” His words border on babbling the further he gets into the sentence, his nose stays firmly planted in your hair, inhaling your scent as if it’s the most addictive drug on the planet. A vital realization seems to hit you, heats are an omega’s most vulnerable state and he wants you here with him. Your mind begins to fuzz as your omega takes over. While your movements are soft but instinctual, scenting him so heavily that the room smells like there’s a giant chocolate cherry cake in the middle of it. The older omega doesn’t protest when you fret over him, making sure the nest is to his liking, placing soft soothing kisses to his plush cheeks. He’s but all too focused on your bump, caressing and cooing at the curve of your stomach. After you’d gotten your phone you did a lot of research into pregnancy and pack dynamics during it. It took you a whole month but eventually you worked up the nerve to click the article on how a pregnancy could affect the packmates’ cycles. It’s a given that a pregnant omega would have effects on alphas but bonded omegas are worse, in the eyes of their omega that pup is theirs too, that combined with the power of any omega bond it’s the perfect recipe for Jisung to be all over you and your bump as he settles into his pre-heat.

Much to your surprise it takes hours for anyone to come looking for either of you. The sound of the basement door opening makes your heart drop. The smell of soft fresh roses gives away that it’s just Hyunjin, no alphas. Jisung’s really out of it now, so when the loudest omega growl you’d ever heard rattles against your eardrum, safe to say you’re shocked he’s coherent enough to do that. The omega pulls you closer to his chest, turning your head away from who he sees as an intruder.

“Sungie.” The beta’s voice is as soft as a hand defusing a bomb, a delicate omega bomb. All he gets is another growl in return, but no explosion, not yet.

“My love, I know you want them with you, but we didn’t talk about this. You didn’t even ask if she wanted this.” The broken whimper that comes from beside you hurts, but Hyunjin is right. You can’t spend his heat with him, not yet. Maybe if it was just him but the idea of being with the whole pack makes anxiety bubble in your chest.

“Get Minho,” you speak firmly, you can’t see Hyunjin but the way his rosy scent spikes you can imagine how your words shocked him.

“Y/N, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. He’s-“

“I said get Minho.” Your voice is pointed but not cold. Being a beta, Hyunjin can read you like no other. He knows you have both yours and Jisung’s best interests in mind so he obeys.

The cinnamon scent is almost suffocating now, much stronger than it was just this morning. Minho walks slowly, stopping shortly after each step towards the nest. Jisung’s interest is immediately piqued, pulling you closer and growling once again but you do your best to push out more of your milky scent to ease him. Minho kneels down next to the nest, he’s close enough that you can see the slight haze that takes over his cat-like eyes. His hands rest in his lap as he waits for you to speak, a clear sign of his submission to you.

“I can’t stay with Jisung.” You blurt out, your voice shakes. Your fears are only confirmed when Jisung lets out the most devastating whine imaginable. Your omega begins to cry, begging you to change your mind.

Mate needs you. Protect mate from alpha.

“I know,” Minho whispers. The room is silent for a moment before you look back up at Minho.

“You have to promise me you’ll take care of him. He’s gonna be so hurt that I’m not here and everything in me is screaming at me to protect him from you.” Warm tears fall down your cheeks with your words. Minho’s eyes widened before softening again, he’d do anything for his omegas.

“You have my word. If anything happens to any of you, you can kill me yourself.” The alpha bows at the side of the nest, determined to show you how much he means his words. You maneuver yourself around to face Jisung, it’s a little hard given his grip and your bump but you manage. The older omega’s eyes are hazy and full of fresh tears, it just breaks your heart. Over the months you’d been with the pack Jisung had become your puppy, you love spending your days babying him and giving him as much attention as possible. God did he eat it up too, he’d say you were one of the best things to ever happen to him but you’d really say it’s the other way around. You feel like you’re betraying him as the back of your hand softly glides across his cheek, desperately trying to not only comfort him but your own omega as well.

“I love you so much Ji, and I’ll be waiting for you as soon as it’s over yeah? Maybe if at some point you’re up to it you can come see me upstairs in between some of your spikes. I promise we’ll both be okay.” Your teary-eyed smile leaves Jisung speechless, he just reaches his hand to lay it flatly against your bump.

“We’ll both be waiting for you okay? I’ll have so many cuddles saved up for you.” You giggle sadly, before leaning in to plant a kiss on his soft lips. He’s practically putty in your hands now, you’re able to lay him down in the nest softly before leaning down to pepper his face with sweet kisses. With one final kiss and a deep breath, you leave the nest. You give Minho one final look, one that lets him know how serious you are about him taking care of your omega, before you leave the den one last time before their cycles end.

When you emerge from the den Jeongin is waiting behind the door, and the alpha immediately pulls you into his embrace.

“I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, I wish I could fix it.” The alpha’s voice is strained, even if you hadn’t seen his wet eyelashes you’d know he’d been crying.

“It’s okay, I promise I’ll be fine while you all… handle yourselves.” You hum, your head nestled into the crook of his neck. His scent is earthier, he must be starting soon as well.

“I can stay up here with you if you want, I promise I can behave! I just don’t want you to be alone.” You want to respond and tell him that’s not necessary, you want him to enjoy his rut with his pack, but Chan speaks before you have the chance.

“Actually I’ll be staying up here with her.” Jeongin whips his head around, ready to protest his pack leader but Chan cuts him off.

“I’m the one with the most control during my ruts. I already talked to Felix and Han and they were okay with it.” Chan’s not just speaking to Jeongin now, he’s speaking to you too. A pack alpha missing their omegas’ heats is unheard of, but he’s willing to do it for you. Your mouth falls open as you look between the two alphas. Jeongin pulls you back into his embrace, taking in your scent. He pulls away for a moment, leaning down to be at eye level

with the curve of your stomach.

“I love you princess.” He places a sweet kiss before

coming back up to see you. Without another word, he takes your face in his hands.

“And I love you so much. My ruts don’t last long, I will come see you the second I feel better.” The alpha seals his words with a kiss. It’s hungry, but still

full of his love for you.

With that the youngest alpha retreats to the den, fighting an internal battle you may never understand. Your eyes wander away from the closed basement door to Chan. He’s always been bad at hiding his emotions, not just in his scent, but in his face too. You can see the mix of determination and fear lingering on his soft facial features. His scent is basically filling the entire room, it’s got a sour edge to it but overall it’s strong and steady.

“I will stay in my room, I will only bother you to check on you, and if you need me for anything.” His voice comes out more confident than you thought it would, it eases your nerves just enough for you to breathe.

Chan stays true to his promise, he’s been in his room for over two days now. You didn’t think deeply enough about how much you’d miss the pack. Luckily you’ve been able to see Hyunjin and Seungmin a couple of times. Betas don’t have heats or ruts but they are extremely important to the pack in times like this so you don’t feel hurt that they’re down there instead of up here with you. They both try their best to alternate and come up to see you whenever they have the chance.

You’re finishing up cooking dinner when Hyunjin comes up, shocked to see you in the kitchen.

“You know Minho prepared a bunch of dinners and put them in the freezer right?” The beta’s voice is much smaller than you’re used to, he’s walking on eggshells. It almost annoys you because you don’t need that. You don’t want that.

“I wanted to do something nice. It’s done now so you can take some with you when you go back down there. Take that bag with you too, it has a bunch of my clothes worn and scented.” You don’t look at him when you speak instead you point to the bag that sits on the floor next to the basement door before going back to plating the food you made into containers. Hyunjin walks over to you, his movements are soft and calculated. His long arms wrap around you before he places a kiss on your cheek.

“Thank you, I know this is hard for you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, I’m just taking care of my pack.” Your words are confident in a way that Hyunjin has never heard from you before. It makes his beta purr, deeply satisfied with your newfound behaviors.

“If you need anything, we’ll still be here, please don’t forget that.” The beta hesitates for a moment, choosing his words wisely.

“Chan will never hurt you. But goddess forbid, if anything happens, you shout for us. Doesn’t have to be loud, we’ll know.” There’s something layered to his words that you don’t quite understand but you appreciate them nonetheless.

“That won’t happen, but sure, I will. I promise.” You smile, giving him a final kiss before sending him on his way with the food and your clothes.

You contemplate whether you should bring Chan his food, he’d told you he’d make his own food but you refused to leave him out when you made enough for everyone. Maybe you could leave it on the counter and send him a text? Something inside you pushes away that idea, your omega coming to the forefront to beg you to bring the food to him yourself. If you had to guess he probably started his rut sometime this morning, maybe he’s not that bad yet. He seemed pretty coherent during his preheat yesterday, you’d be okay to just drop off some food right? With a deep breath, you take the bowl, waking up to the alpha’s room with slow calculated steps. You stand outside his door for several minutes before you gather the courage to knock. You hear a soft approval to come in from the other side, it takes a moment but you bring yourself to enter his room.

“I made you some dinner.” Your words come out more shaken than you had intended. Chan is lying in his bed, in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, ones you weren’t even his. Your heart aches at the thought that he might be struggling with being away from his mates right now, and it’s all your fault.

“Aw, thank you Y/N. You can just leave it here.” The alpha manages to push out one of his big dimpled smiles for you but you can see the way he grimaces behind it. Your mind lights up like a Christmas tree, telling you to leave the food and go but your omega just can’t do that.

“I can feed you, if you’re not feeling well.“ You blurt out causing the alpha to look at you a little shocked.

“Baby, you don’t have to do that, did you even eat yet?” No you haven't, you just want to take care of them.

“I haven’t.” You frown, afraid he may kick you out now.

“So we’ll share.” He smiles scooting over in his bed to make room for you. Your head tilts cutely before you make your way to the bed. When your skin touches his you notice how hot it is, it almost burns you. You don’t bring yourself to comment though, not wanting to ruin this. You fall into a pattern, you feed Chan a bite then yourself, and so on until the bowl is empty. Your heart aches knowing this means you’ll have to leave the alpha again, you just wish things were different, that you were different.

“Is it hypocritical that I don’t want to leave?” you pout. Chan’s eyes widen at your words.

“When I said I’m the one with the most control, I meant it. I wouldn’t even touch you without permission right now.”

“I know. You’re such a good alpha Chan. I wish I could be a better omega.” you frown looking away from the alpha contemplating leaving the room.

“Please let me hold you.” The alpha pleads causing your eyes to widen.

“Chan-“

“You can’t just say something like that and not allow me to comfort you.” You look at him for a moment, looking for any trace of something not genuine. You find none. So you hesitantly nod, crawling into the alpha’s lap. He immediately wraps his arms around you, rocking you only slightly, one of your favorite habits of his.

“Baby, you have given us everything. You allowed us to take you in and fall so deeply in love with you. You’re even giving us our first pup, that alone is worth its weight in gold.” You can’t see it but the alpha is smiling ear to ear, thinking about how perfectly you fit into his pack.

“I can’t be there for any of you during this vulnerable time, just because it makes me stupidly anxious.” You huff, frustrated with yourself.

“Your trauma isn’t your fault my love, and we sure as hell are not entitled to your body or even your presence.” He places a soft kiss on your temple.

“But I’m keeping you away from your omegas.”

“You’re also my omega, my very pregnant omega. I cannot stress enough how much being with you calms my rut brain” You turn to look up at him, confused by his words.

“I’m not even doing anything to help?”

“My wolf is fully satisfied when my omega is sitting in my lap, pupped and safe. Of course, I miss the pack and want to be there for them through this but this is the easiest rut I’ve ever had and it’s thanks to you.” The alpha voice is barely above a whisper. You now both share a matching blush at the revelation. It becomes hard for you to find the words to say and you end up a little lost in your own thoughts, but Chan is right there to pull you back.

“Have you ever heard of fated mates?” Chan doesn’t know why he said it, why he wants to have this talk now but he’s already dived headfirst and there’s no going back

“Uh, I only know a little bit from movies and stuff.” You frown.

“It’s okay, I’ll explain it to you,” Chan speaks sweetly, giving your arms a soft squeeze of reassurance. “It’s rare but some wolves are born with a bond attached to them, to the person they are destined to spend their life with. Our pack is special because we all share that bond with each other. We can feel each other’s emotions, even when we’re apart.”

“But can’t all mates do that?” You whisper.

“No, not in the same sense. Typical mates are more in tune with their mate’s emotions and existence but we can feel each other. I know when Jisung finds out he ran out of his favorite snacks. I knew when Jeongin fell in love with you. I even knew what happened on Christmas.” A deep blush spreads across your cheeks.

“That’s a little weird no?” The alpha lets out a hearty laugh.

“Okay, it’s not like how you’re thinking. I feel everyone the most intensely as the leader, Seungmin and Hyunjin are a very close second though as betas the bond holds them to a higher ranking because they need to know how we feel to be able to help the pack. Think of me like the epicenter and everyone is connected to me but also to each other. I couldn’t exactly know for sure what you two were doing but I could feel that Felix was, well horny.” His laugh turned into a more awkward one at his confession.

“But I’m not a part of that bond…” You trail off looking away from the alpha, this feels like a kick in the gut. Why would Chan bring this up now? This is just another reminder of your failures and why you feel like you shouldn’t stay with the pack some days.

“That’s the thing, we feel you. When Changbin found you, he told us he felt like the air had left his lungs. Everything in him screamed that you’re his. All of us later had similar reactions once we met you. We always had this dull ache in the bond, which means that someone was missing, and now we are certain it’s you. We can’t sense you fully yet because we aren’t mated but that pull? It’s undeniable.” You nod your head slowly, trying to process the bucketload of information you just got.

“I thought I was greedy. The way my omega staked her claim on you all, I thought maybe I was just being clingy and desperate. You’re saying this pull, it means something?” Chan’s eyes widened at your words, the pack had long given up on the idea of you feeling the bond before mating. They’d heard you nonchalantly mention little things about feeling drawn to them but they shook it off as you just falling for them, afraid maybe your many years of repressing your omega had also repressed the bond.

“Yes baby, it means everything.” Chan’s eyes sparkle as he looks down at you, a whole part of his world rests in his lap, his to protect and love, and cherish.

“So we’d have to mate to initiate my link in the bond?” Your voice is low, trying to get everything straight in your head. You feel a pang in your chest, the idea that you’d have to wait so long to feel the bond fully, and it hurts.

“I want to talk to you about something, but I want you to understand that everything is on your terms, don’t consider anyone but yourself, got it?”

“You’re scaring me just a bit, but okay, I understand.”

“I was doing some research. There’s not a ton out there on this, but there are some studies that say fated mates can mate outside of their cycles. I even looked into it in relation to the omega being pregnant and most of the research is in relation to pregnant omegas because that’s when people use this method most. In all the studies with pregnant omegas, no harm has come to the pup or the dam.” Chan sounds so cool and confident in your burning ears. You think for a moment maybe he’s lost his mind, maybe this isn’t Chan you’re talking to. The leader who makes and follows every rule, who strives for the protection and safety of his pack by any means necessary.

“The rest of the pack doesn’t know I know this.” Yeah, he’s actually lost it. Chan won’t even buy a new kind of ramen without asking the pack first. Yet here he is researching and making plans on how to mate you sooner.

“Chan, I think it’d be best to talk to the pack about this in a few days.“ You frown, of course, you want to be mated, that’s the only thing you want, but you can’t help but think of the what-ifs.

“The pack wants this just as much as we do. It’s not guaranteed to work, but as far as we know, there’s no reason not to try.” The way he says we instead of referring to just himself isn’t missed on you. He’s right, you do want this, so bad.

Thinking usually comes so easily for you, your mind is always overthinking at any chance it gets. Now it’s hard. You want Chan’s bite more than anything in this world. To finally be a permanent part of this pack, if there’s even a five percent chance you could have it, you want that. The way your scent sours jumps Chan into action. Gently turning your face to look at him. The feeling of his fingers on your cheek sends chills down your spine, knocking you back into reality.

“My love, look at me. Like I said, nothing happens without your permission. Listen to your instincts, nothing else.” The alpha places a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I want it. I want your bite and everything that comes with it.” Chan searches your eyes for any sign of hesitation, but there is none. You’ve never been so confident in something in your life.

“And I want yours.” The alpha smiles before moving to lay you down on the bed. Soft fingertips graze over your torso, your arms, all the way up to your face.

“You’re such a gorgeous omega, I’m the luckiest alpha on the planet.” His voice is barely above a whisper before he places a passionate kiss on your lips. One of his hands rests on the side of your head while the other grips your hip.

“Chan…” You trail off, your voice is breathy and sickeningly sweet to the alpha’s ears. It drives Chan near insane.

“Shhh don’t worry, we won’t do anything you’re not ready for. Just want you to know how loved you truly are before I claim you. I would always love you with or without this claim.”

The alpha admires your neck, now free from the disgusting bite that monster left on you. The perfect canvas for his bite. He hated seeing that mark on you every day, when he found out it wasn’t a complete claim and it would disappear now that the monster was gone, he was thrilled. Chan makes work kissing every inch of your body he can get his lips on, a few hickeys left behind from moments he felt his alpha wanting to take control. When he gets back up to your neck he places multiple soft kisses over your scent gland, almost drinking in your milky cherry scent.

“Are you absolutely certain?” The alpha tilts his head to look up at you, adoring the dazed look on your beautiful face.

“I love you, Chan. Please, make me yours.” You mewl.

For once the alpha doesn’t hesitate, with one swift movement he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck. Your body tenses for a moment and Chan almost rushes to pull away but you immediately melt in his arms once again, easing any worry he had. The alpha softly licks at the fresh wound cleaning it up. Once he’s satisfied he pulls back admiring his work with a smile before he sits up, checking over you to make sure you don’t feel any negative side effects.

“For the bond to solidify, you need to bite me as well. You can do it right over my other bite marks, it won’t affect my bond with them at all.” Chan coos, rubbing his hand up and down your arm soothingly.

“Okay.” You nod confidently, moving to sit up on your legs in front of the alpha. He immediately holds your hips using his thumbs to rub comforting circles against them.

“Last chance to turn ba-“ He’s cut off by the feeling of your teeth sinking into his scarred neck.

It’s instant. The feeling of the ninth branch of their bond lighting up and solidifying itself. It worked, you’re their final puzzle piece. Chan’s thoughts are cut off by the feeling of you resting your head on his shoulder causing him to panic.

“Y/N? You okay?” He holds you up in his arms, rubbing soothingly over your arms.

“It’s a lot, so many feelings. So loud.” Your voice is small. Chan can’t help but think maybe this was too much, maybe you weren’t ready. Before this moment he would have panicked, overthinking about everything you could possibly be feeling, but now he can feel it. He feels the underlying sense of peace and happiness coursing through your bond and he could cry just thinking about it. He can finally say for certain you’re okay, just overwhelmed.

“I know baby, I know, let's lie down yeah?” The alpha happily guides you to lie down in his bed, pulling you into his arms softly. He pushes out his scent in hopes to help you settle so in turn the bond could settle.

“Thank you Channie.” You hum, curling up into his chest. Chan wants to respond but he’s interrupted by his door flying open.

“What the fuck did you do?” Seungmin shouts, the beta rushing over ready to take the omega away from Chan. The pack alpha lets out a warning growl, not to deter his beta but more to tell him to calm the hell down. Seungmin pauses for a moment, body automatically reacting to the growl but he’s quickly back to fussing over you. It’s weird, you can feel Seungmin’s anger and fear, and a part of you now aches at the feeling. You reach your hand up to smooth over the beta’s cheek giving him a smile that makes him stop in his tracks.

“I’m okay, a little overwhelmed but you coming in here yelling isn’t helping that is it?” You coo at the beta desperately trying to calm at least one of the intense feelings you can feel right now. Seungmin just sighs and turns back to Chan, his voice now significantly calmer.

“What were you thinking? Were you even thinking? How did you even get the bite to take?” Seungmin sounds stressed so you sit up taking his hand to give him a gentle reassuring squeeze.

“I did research. You have to trust me that I read every single article I could find on this. I didn't expect it to happen today, but it just felt so right Seung. She wanted me to talk to you guys first but I know we all wanted this so bad, and now it’s real.” Chan pleads with the beta, like a desperate child looking for their parent’s approval.

“We all felt her solidify in the bond. Everyone is down there confused and some are upset, I have to get back to them. This isn’t finished. We want the entire story as soon as this is all over. Then we can decide how to proceed.” With a soft kiss on your temple and a glare sent in the pack leader’s direction Seungmin retreats, frantically making his way back to the den.

“Things are going to get a little overwhelming once they’re able to leave the den, I just want to warn you.” Chan melts back into the mattress, smoothing his hand over your hip to guide you down as well.

“I know. I’m ready for whatever comes with this mark.”

For once your breathing is even, you’re not scared. You’ve never felt safer in your life. It’s overwhelming to think about how many years you spent believing a claim mark would be the worst thing to ever happen to you, when your fated mates were waiting out there to change all of that for you. So much has changed in the past few months, and yet every day it still feels like there’s another obstacle or something you have to learn or unlearn. Though these big victories don’t feel any less significant even when every day there seem to be little ones. When the pack first found out, you never imagined you’d be able to lie in bed with Chan, let alone be claimed by him. Now you have both. Of course, Chan still notices the way you hesitate and the worries you hide, he’s your alpha he has to notice. Now he’ll be able to feel them too, knowing you on the deepest level possible. He won’t mention it, not now at least, but he will spend every day of his life loving you until all the hands that have ever hurt you mentally or physically are distant memories and he will continue even long after that.

You never thought you’d be able to sleep so peacefully next to a rutting alpha but your omega whines at the idea of you leaving the alpha’s arms right now, no matter how badly you need to use the bathroom. Chris isn’t much better, whining like a puppy when he feels you start to peel yourself out of his grip, but he immediately backs down the second you explain you just need to go to the bathroom. Caring more about your needs than his stupid alpha instincts.

After your bathroom adventure, you suddenly have a craving for some of Felix’s brownies. Chan won’t mind if you’re gone just a bit longer. You quietly make your way down to the kitchen, it’s almost like a sleuth mission. Felix hid these brownies especially for you to have while he was in heat and couldn’t make you any, you doubt anyone would come up from the den now that it’s well past midnight but you never know. You happily munch on the delicious treats before hiding them once again. The mission is a success. As you clean up the crumbs of your delicious endeavor the sound of soft footsteps padding towards the kitchen and stopping in the doorway causes you to look up. Your eyes widen at the sight.

“Innie?”

[daengtokki]

part two 🏵️ sugar baby!Seungmin x sugar mama!reader

wc: 6.6k rating: mature/explicit/mdni contains: sex/oral sex, drinking/drunkenness, shy subby seungmin, softer than initially intended reader because min is too cute to not get his way, sometimes dialogue heavy as they figure each other out~ comments: part 2 was almost twice this length, so I'm splitting it up (๑⸝⸝⸝๑ " ) ( @lashaemorow I almost forgot you wanted to be tagged ♥️)

🏵️ PART 1 (requested by @lillymochilover) 🏵️ MASTERLIST

“Huh? Do I…yes.” The invitation brings him closer and closer, and waiting for permission makes sitting at the edge of his orgasm feel so much more intense. Is that what he’s going to wait on, your permission? “Can I?”

—

Seungmin stares at the box at his feet, filled to the top with his most important things, but there’s still more to pack. Luckily, Jin isn’t home to nag and question him about what he’s up to, but he needs to be quick. Just the necessities for now, and he can come back tomorrow for the rest.

The money you promised still sits on his bedside table, still sealed in the envelope because he watched you slip a stack of twenty and fifty dollar bills in there. Cash for now, you told him, but I can transfer it in the future. He grabs it and feels the weight in his hand, rips it open, and counts…

Two hundred dollars in twenties…1, 2, 3…14, 15, 16. “This is a thousand.” He counts again to make sure. Between today and last night, you’ve given him $1,100 for taking off his clothes and letting you suck his dick. His legs are still a little weak from that. You took your time, reminding him of the contract clause he definitely read but didn’t think much of at the time: Nobody touches you but me. It makes sense, because the contract also says you’ll offer him the same courtesy. His copy is folded neatly and tucked into the same envelope, and your signature is just below his.

His phone buzzes, and he thinks it might be you—Seungmin expects you to take advantage of him being on call 24/7. And he’s right.

“do you like to eat out?”

Is that an innuendo, or a food question? Another text comes through.

“Where, I mean…for dinner”

He struggles on his last trip up the staircase, suitcase dragging behind him. Apparently he has and needs more clothes than he thought, and he brought nearly everything with him. A month is a long time, and he forgot to check for a laundry room when he was here.

“I could have helped.” You shout up softly, but Seungmin doesn’t stop and look back until he reaches the landing. It takes him a moment to catch his breath, and now you see the two other boxes he brought. “l can still help.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“I wanna make sure you’re comfortable. And you didn’t reply, so I also came for your answer.”

Forgetting to text you back is probably not a good look. That thousand dollars is sitting heavy in his pocket right now. “I’m sorry, I’ll be better at answering. I promise.”

You ignore that and meet him at the top of the steps. “There’s a Japanese restaurant not far from here I’ve always wanted to try.” Silence. Seungmin is searching for the key you gave him hours ago with no luck. “Unless you prefer Korean. I’m not picky.” You pull yours out and slide it in the lock.

“I think I left it at the apartment.”

“That’s okay. We’ll get it later.”

He’s failing miserably at earning his money so far, and even if he wasn’t being paid, he wouldn’t have you carry his things for him. Seungmin was raised to treat women like delicate creatures, and though he knows that it's not always necessary, it’s a hard habit to break. It was also drilled into him that he, the man, should be the one making money and caring for his wife. You clearly don’t want that. “I haven’t had good Korean food in a while.” His stomach grumbles loudly at the thought, and you laugh when you hear it.

“Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”

“Oh, I think you gave me too much money earlier.” He lowers his voice, as if someone is around to hear about the transaction. “You said nine hundred, and—"

“I gave you a grand? Yeah, I know. That was a little bonus.”

“Bonus for what?”

Your eyes drop to his hips, “it’s worth more than that, but we’ll work that out later.”

“I got extra for my…” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he looks down at himself. “You’re paying me more because I have a big dick?”

His smile is the widest it’s been since you met him, and it’s a good look. You’re confident he’ll stick around when he gets a taste of what you can give him. “I’m providing you with a better incentive to stay, because you have something I want.”

So you like him because of his size, or you just like him more? Will you feel the same if he doesn’t satisfy you in bed? Seungmin isn’t sure he can take that hit to his ego, because he isn’t very experienced. You sound all business between cute comments and offers to help, so if he doesn’t do his best, he may only have the month if you decide he’s not the right fit. Big or not, he has to use it well. Now he’s nervous.

“Is that a problem?”

“No! It’s not. Thank you. I’m…uhm—” Glad you like it? It almost comes out. Seungmin doesn’t know what the appropriate response is to a compliment like that. He looks at you—you’re smiling, but you look a little impatient and ready to head for the door. “I’m glad you like it.” He whispers.

“Looking forward to it.”

You turn and leave before he can respond, and ten minutes later he decides he’s as ready as he’s going to be. For the first time in a while, not counting the night before, he’s scrutinizing everything in the mirror. His posture (he stands up straight and does a spin, just like he did for you earlier today), his skinny arms, and the tiny red spot growing on his cheek. There might be some pimple patches in his bathroom box, if he’s lucky. Does his hair need re-styled? No, maybe just a tousle. Is this shirt okay? It’s fine. It’s plain, but it’s relatively new and clean. Good enough for dinner.

You’re waiting patiently, wiping down the bar and chatting with an employee when he finally descends the steps. He can’t make out the conversation, but the two of you are close and giggling about something. The idea that it’s about him and what’s going on between his legs pops into (and then out of) his head immediately—he doesn’t think you’re that immature, and there’s an entire section of your contract about keeping this between the two of you.

“Hey, you ready?”

“Yes.” He nods curtly because he doesn’t want the nature of his sudden appearance to be too obvious. But he did just walk down the stairs from your apartment.

“This is our new upstairs tenant.” He hears you say casually. “Seungmin, this is the lead at this location. You’ll probably see her in passing a lot.”

“Hi. I’ll apologize now for Friday and Saturday nights.”

“I’m sure I’ll get used to it. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m gonna show him the area…laundromat and all that. I might see you later tonight.”

A convincing little fib, but you probably planned ahead for a few accidental interactions. The girl just nods and smiles before getting back to prepping for a slow Sunday night, and Seungmin follows behind you without another word.

“Did you decide what you want for dinner?”

“There’s a place called Somaek I haven’t tried yet.”

“Somaek it is.

You swirl your glass and hold it up to your nose. It’s a habit you can’t break when it comes to food and drinks, but Seungmin doesn’t bat an eye at it. In fact, he lifts his glass and does the same. “Do you want an orange slice? I can ask for one—sillyehabnida…”

He gets the servers attention easily. You start to wonder if he doesn’t get much opportunity to speak Korean being abroad, and what little he did speak was with his former roommate.

“Orenji jogag jom jusil su issnayo?” The server nods and turns, and then Seungmin smiles at you. Now that the moment has passed, he wonders if it was too forward…but, you smirk right back at him. “Deo joyonghi haeya halkka? Gunggeumhaeyo.”

“I don’t know a single word of Korean, but I like hearing you speak it.”

“I was wondering if you’d prefer me quiet. Less forward.” He says softly.

“Not at all. You can take the lead here. I want you to order for me, whatever you think I might like.”

Seungmin grabs an orange wedge and squeezes it into your somaek. “Have you ever eaten Korean food?”

“Nothing very authentic.”

“It seems authentic here. Do you like spicy?”

“I do.”

He had a feeling you might. “Okay, I’ll order us some banchan to start.”

“Ban…chan?”

“Side dishes. A few of those, and then our main dish.”

You lean forward, slide your palms across the table, and your fingers stop just short of his. The silver ring on his middle finger shines as he fidgets, probably wondering if you’re going to move closer and touch. You’re taking him back to your apartment after this, you’ve decided, but you still don’t know exactly what will happen. He might end up being the real main dish, because you intend to cash in on this first week as soon as possible, but playing it a little bit safe might help in the long run. The blowjob made you want more, though, and he liked it. “Sounds good. And I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Seungmin throws back several drinks tonight, but he still seems sharp after three and a half somaeks. It must be all the rice and pancakes…panjeon, soaking it up. He’s an enthusiastic eater, and he’s taken care of most of the two shared entrees he’s ordered. “We can take some with us. Do you want to order lunch for tomorrow?”

“Oh, you mean order more to-go?”

“Sure. We’ll probably get through all of this, but since you still need to get some groceries, I can at least make sure you have something good to eat tomorrow.”

“I forgot I need groceries. And you haven’t had much, I must look so greedy eating all of this.”

He flinches when you slide your foot against his shin. You don’t want to admit to him how tipsy you’re feeling, but you’ll have to when you call a ride to take you home. “No, you’re hungry and probably miss good Korean food. Eat as much as you want.”

“I am getting pretty full.” He swallows down the last of his drink and sighs. “I ate too much.”

“Feeling sleepy?” Hopefully not. By the time you get home the drink will have faded away, and maybe he’ll have successfully digested some of what he ate. Tipsy feels nice, though. You might have another drink when you get back. Seungmin smiles sweetly and shakes his head. “Would you like to come back to my place for a bit? I understand if you’d rather get settled in, so you can tell me no. No pay cut.”

It is still early. There’s plenty of time to settle in tomorrow, seeing as how he has no tutoring sessions to worry about. “No, I’ll come with you.” If he spends some time with you tonight, most of tomorrow might belong to him. Seungmin has no regrets about signing your contract, but it’s a relief that he has a month to test this out. “I’m ready when you are.”

You probably don’t look drunk, but Seungmin doesn’t question you leaving your car behind. He watches you closely as you drop your keys on the table, slide off your shoes, and then your jacket. He does the same, and doesn’t say a word, just follows you closely into the living room where you stop and open a small cabinet door. The alcohol is still holding on, making his head light, and his limbs heavy, but it’s fading fast.

Out comes a small bottle of alcohol, maybe whiskey, and you take it into the kitchen. Seungmin keeps following, suddenly feeling like a helpless puppy with no direction.

“Do you want another drink?”

“What are you having?” He asks, still following along as you fill your glass with ice. “Whiskey and coke?”

“Am I already that predictable?”

“Yeah, I’ll have one.”

Before you make his, you find a shot glass and fill it just before it hits the rim. It disappears down your throat, and then you fill it again. “…if you want.”

Seungmin throws it back quickly. There is no pressure, but his somaek's faded quickly, and he thinks being a little tipsy would be good right now. He’s nervous about how the night will continue to play out. Nervous, curious, and a little excited.

“Did you get everything moved? It didn’t seem like you had much.”

Seungmin sips his drink before the bubbles settle, and then takes two big gulps. “Most of it. I’ll get the rest tomorrow.”

Silence takes over. All that’s left is the sound of sipping, and the clink of glass on the marble countertop. You’re not sure if you want to break it yet, but you do want to reach out and touch him. Fingers tap gently against your glass instead, maybe anxiously…but you don’t admit that to yourself. No, you just push through it. Once things are set in motion, they’ll just keep going. “Seungmin…”

“Yes?” He answers quickly and waits for your response.

“You’re only here for a semester, right?. Where in Korea are you from?”

“One, maybe two. I grew up right outside of Seoul, but I go to school in Busan. I like it there. Are you from here?”

“No, you might notice I lack the accent. I stuck around after graduating.” He prepares to speak, and you think you know what he’s going to ask. “I didn’t graduate from your school. I’m not sure how I ended up catering to rich Ivy League kids, no offense.”

“Oh, none…taken. Everyone does seem to be very comfortable here. With money. I’m not sure how I was allowed in.”

Seungmin lets you top his drink off, and you do the same for your own. “Because you’re smart. Smart and hardworking, that makes them look good.” It’s getting more difficult to hold back, and he’s looking better with each passing moment. The hair he carefully styled is starting to break loose and sweep across his forehead, and every time he shakes the strands away, more falls out of place.

“It’s rough.” He shoves both hands in his hair to push it away from his face, and then he stretches. The vision of him shirtless returns to you; his chest, his shoulders, his back as the muscles flexed. The second strip; his warm skin, long legs…

You close your eyes and wait for the right moment. “I’m sure.”

It’s coming. Maybe Seungmin is remembering how much work it takes, or how much it used to take. That’s not the case now. Finally, you reach out and take his hand in yours. He leans in and laughs softly when your lips touch his knuckles, and when he squeezes back, you wonder why you put this damn counter between you. You move without thinking, round the corner with his hand still gripping yours. His lips part ever so slightly to let his tongue poke out, but he smiles when he realizes and tucks it back in. Next comes the subtle consent, because you can only have fun if he is too, so you ask him with your eyes—a slow blink, a glance toward the cracked bedroom door. Seungmin stands. Despite his average height and the softness he so easily exudes, his mien says 6’3, ready to lift and throw you onto the bed.

As soon as he’s on his feet, he can feel the whiskey move to his head, so it takes a moment to focus. Now…now what? Am I doing this, or are you? Either way is good, but he needs to know. You are really cute, he thinks with a smirk, thoughts and hesitancy flying in and out of him so fast he can’t pin anything down, and then without waiting for a complete, sober thought, Seungmin leans down and kisses you.

A kiss? Idiot. That’s not what she’s standing here waiting for. The ache between his legs reminds him of where this should be going, but he can’t just pull back now. He doesn’t have to. You kiss back as if you were waiting for it, open mouth, tongue dancing contentedly with his. Seungmin releases you, but lets you pull him in for one more kiss before that lost puppy feeling returns.

His new confidence completes this. You knew he was getting more comfortable, but this is what you hoped for; eagerness, excitement…a very obvious erection pressed against you. A gentle tug on his shirt, and he’s following obediently toward the bedroom. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him pulling off his first layer. “Let me…” you slide both arms around his waist, and when he smiles, you lift his t-shirt up, slowly, admiring the soft lines of his waist and chest as he’s revealed to you again.

Seungmin’s hands fall to the waistband of his jeans, but he stops himself, crosses his arms over his stomach, and laughs nervously. If he gets too nervous now, tonight won’t go at all how you expect it to. He has a vision of you kicking him out, shredding the contract, and pretending this never happened. No, just breath…in and out. You want this, too. He does, and the ache of his erection is proof of that. Nerves or not, it’s still there, ready for whatever you want to do with it. Your hands are warm on him, and maybe you’re nervous, too, because they feel damp against his skin. It’s a relief—it slows him down just enough. A kiss on his chest, and then a laugh as you fumble with his button put him even more at ease. “I can help.” He whispers, and you laugh again.

“I got it.”

The slow pull of his zipper, his jeans loose around his hips, and then his thighs…you’re too busy touching and admiring his cock to finish undressing him, but Seungmin is patient. This feels good, and he lets you know. “How do you—” His voice strains from the touch. “Uh…like it? How do you want me?”

“Oh, good question. Better question is…how do I want it first?”

He’s so cold when you release him and walk away, but there’s no need to rush. Seungmin has to remember—it’s Sunday, he’s on the clock, and the thought almost makes him laugh out loud.

“Let’s try this one.”

The pull of the fabric and the release of his dick makes him groan again, and the act of you gently rolling the condom onto him makes his legs shake. He needs to get a grip, but your soft touch takes him back to your office a few hours ago. The warm squeeze of your throat, your fingers kneading into his thighs as he watched your head move back and forth so smoothly. Seungmin has never had anyone suck his cock so hungrily, or so well. He’s never lasted that long, and he’s never finished so embarrassingly loud as he did for you.

“Now, first...” You back away, but keep your eyes fixed on his as you begin to undress and find the edge of the bed. “Get over here.”

It doesn’t take much to figure out what you want, naked and flat on your back, knees bent, but opening and closing very casually…putting on a demure act. He looks over your naked body—the curve of your ass and hips, the pull of skin over your ribs as you stretch your arms above your head. He can see the faint stretch marks on your thighs when the light hits them, and he briefly wonders if you don’t like them. He hopes not, but shakes the thought away as his knees sink into the mattress. You open wide enough for him to slide between your legs, and his heart starts pounding again. His cock twitches at the sight of you, swollen and hungry, when your thighs open even wider.

“Can I…” Seungmin grabs them and holds you open. His tongue swipes the corner of his lips, and he disappears between them the moment you nod.

“Good.” You purr and roll your hips against his tongue as it circles your sensitive clit. Too sensitive—this boy is making you too horny, and you’ve barely gotten started. “You already know what I like, don’t you baby?”

He groans and bats his eyelashes when he looks up at you, lips soft as he gently explores. Seungmin flattens his tongue and laps up the arousal he’s getting out of you, and it tastes good. He wants more, and you squirm like you want it, too, but his cock is desperate for your attention. There is no protest when he pulls away, but you watch intently as he readies himself, slides his head between your wet, silky lips, and pushes in slowly. The heat and the pressure makes him buck his hips forward, but the sound you make is a cry for more. Still, he’s patient as every inch slides in, and he’s not just concerned about your comfort. Seungmin hasn’t had sex in a while, and every toy he’s tried in the last few months is nothing compared to this. He can feel you squeeze him even tighter when his hips finally meet yours.

“That’s it…nice and slow.”

“You like it slow?” He whispers. Good. Nice and slow is exactly what he needs, and hopefully what he can give. But control might be difficult, because you’re taking his cock just as easily as your mouth did. “How’s that?” Seungmin can see the grip you have on him as he pulls out, and each slow push makes him dizzy with pleasure.

“Mhm…I like…you.”

You like him, yeah, and you like his pretty face, but your eyes drop to his dick as it disappears, inch by inch, and Seungmin loves you watching. You jump and whimper when he pushes deeper, using his new grip on your thighs for leverage. He doesn’t ask if it was too much, but he is more careful with each stroke. And each stroke is faster and faster until he’s not sure he can hold on much longer.

“Get on your back.”

Hhe obeys without hesitation. Whatever you want from him. Seungmin pulls out and carefully crawls to the empty space next to you, and for the brief moment you’re side by side, shoulder to shoulder, you let out a satisfied laugh, and it feels romantic. The thought is pushed away, just a little, as you straddle him and wrap a hand around his cock. You’re going to ride him, and he’s going to make you come like this, because the moment you slide onto him, he knows he’s hitting you in just the right spot.

Your moan is low and deep as you start to move. “Mmm…I like you…so much…so fucking good.”

Seungmin licks his thumb and grazes your clit, making your clench around him and move faster. You’re ready—he can see the want in your eyes as you stare him down, panting between words and whimpers.

“Aah fuck…god…don’t stop…feels so fucking—" Your eyes roll back as you arch and grind into his fingers. "...so good."

Even as you slow down, his thumb keeps moving, and his hips lift to fuck you as you come down from your orgasm. The wet, messy sound your bodies make as they meet, the grip on his cock, the desperate sounds as you start to bounce again…maybe he can make you come one more time before he can’t hold back any longer. “More?”

"yes… yes"

He can barely hear you through the moans and ragged breaths, yours and his. But he can’t come yet. You first, and second…it’s only fair—but it’s almost impossible holding back when he sees what he’s doing to you. Seungmin has never fucked anyone so enthusiastic, so quietly loud. Your cries and moans are just for him. Even if it’s a little bit of an act, he still likes it. If he’s making you feel half as good as it seems, then he’s doing a damn good job.

“You wanna come?”

“Huh? Do I…yes...” The invitation brings him closer and closer, and waiting for permission makes sitting at the edge of his orgasm feel so much more intense. Is that what he’s going to wait on, your permission? “Can I?”

You slow down as soon as he asks, pull away, and let yourself fall next to him again. Both of you are out of breath, sweating, panting, eyeing each other in the darkness. The bed shifts as he gets between your legs for a second time, but he doesn’t wait for any more direction. The slick push of his cock still sends a twinge of pain through you, but it’s gone just as quickly. He touches softly, and the second orgasm pulses through your clit. This one is somehow better than the first, deeper, more intense, and despite your choked, restrained whine, you can see the knowing in his smile.

His is quiet, too, but you can feel it in the roll of his hips. The grip on your thighs could draw blood, but he eases up and sighs with so much relief. The tension in his body is gone, and all that remains are a few more lazy, satisfied pumps as he finishes emptying himself.

“Sorry.” He pants, but you’re distracted by the flex of his stomach as he catches his breath. “I can usually last longer, I’m sorry.”

“Seungmin…” His glossy eyes shoot between your gaze and the slow movements of him pulling out. “I’m good for two, sometimes three before I get a little overstimulated…so that was perfect."

“It was.” a tipsy sounding laugh answers for him, but he still searches for the right word. “Can we do it again?”

The walk back to his new apartment is a quick one, but his hips and thighs burn the whole way there. He felt silly asking to go another round, especially after you told him how quickly you get overstimulated, but you obliged anyway. You didn’t have to, and he knows you would have no problem denying him if you’re no longer in the mood.

Seungmin gets down next to you again and waits for an answer, heart and cock still pulsing with blood, face warm and probably bright red. “We don’t have to.”

“No, no…”

He’s relieved when you speak, and when you turn on your side to look at him. One round cheek is squished in the hand propping you up, and Seungmin thinks you look even prettier post-sex, but you go quiet again as you study his naked body. What are you thinking? Do you like it? He hopes you do, even though he sometimes hates looking in the mirror.

“I’m good, but sometimes right after sex, I’m…kind of over sex. Especially after a good orgasm.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not you, it’s just me...post-nut clarity, or something. It's stupid.”

Seungmin does his best to not sound personally offended when he laughs. “No, I think I get it.”

“I start feel distant from the person in bed with me afterward, like they saw too much and now I need to hide myself for a while.”

A moment of understanding hits, and now what you’re getting at is making more sense to him. “You’re feeling that now?” This is likely not something you would talk about after a random one night stand, he realizes that.

“No. But not feeling it right now is a little strange, I guess.”

The blanket is draped around you, though, and even if you’re not feeling distant or strange from baring everything to him, you are obviously a little uneasy. The urge to ask something very personal is strong, but Seungmin holds back for now.

“Why don’t you go take that off, clean up…and come back.” You nod toward the spent condom still hanging onto his softening erection.

He laughs at himself as he unlocks his new front door (there was a moment of worry that the key wouldn’t work), shuts it behind him, and sighs as he looks at the mostly empty room. All he expected tonight was food and sex, which wore him out plenty, but dwelling on the rest is what’s really wearing him out.

The t-shirt you throw on is a few sizes too big, and the hem reaches your thighs…just enough to hide your body, but as soon as he hits the bed, you’re all over him. “How do you feel?” Seungmin can’t stop rolling your words around his head. He hopes you meant it when you said you weren't feeling distant.

“Good. Lay back.”

*

Crawling under the blankets after a very long shower is one of his favorite things, and the new bed linens are freshly washed and so much nicer than the ones he left behind. Seungmin wonders if you did that in anticipation of him, before you even knew he’d sign the contract. The bed is bigger than his previous one, enough for him to stretch his limbs corner to corner, and it’s so calm. Despite there being a club beneath him, everything is quiet. It’s more quiet then his old apartment, because if it wasn’t his roommate making noise, it was the neighbors above, or next door. Finally, some silence…privacy, and just as he feels the urge to reach beneath his shorts (three times today apparently was not enough), his phone vibrates beneath his pillow.

“Where are you?? Did you leave?”

He didn’t see his roommate today, and while it did occur to him to let him know he was moving out, he didn’t want to answer questions. Now he has no choice. How the hell is he supposed to explain this without breaking his contract? Jin knows he can’t afford anywhere else in the city.

“Hey, yeah…temporarily”

It closes that message thread and opens yours.

“Sorry if you’re sleeping, but I have a question”

The read receipt pops up a moment later, and then you start typing…

“Still awake. Everything okay, sweetie?"

You kept him at the door a few extra seconds, fingers tight around his wrist, and told him not to hesitate if he needed to call or text for any reason. You also asked him to let you know when he got home, and he forgot.

“Yeah, all good. I just don’t know what to say to Jin…he’s asking if I left the apartment.”

Your response takes a little bit longer this time.

“I see. I bet you’re no good at lying (and I don’t mean that negatively). Are the two of you close?”

“I guess, more than I am with anyone else. I don’t have many close friends.” Seungmin sends it, and regrets the wording immediately. It’s true, but it sounds a bit pathetic. “I feel bad leaving him with my half of the rent.”

“I’ll take care of that so you can stay on good terms with him. And maybe you can tell him you found a cheaper place and a new roommate?”

More money, but it really is solving all of his problems. “I am really bad at lying, you’re right, but I think that should work. I’m sorry I’m so expensive.”

“Don’t be…worth it so far”

His stomach flips when he sees that text, and it keeps spinning as he reads it over and over. Is that just a line? It has to be, because he’s definitely not worth $1,850 in a single day.

“Sleep well, Seungmin”

“잘 자다”

A few seconds later, after he assumes you translate his message, a little heart pops up next to his good night. He closes his eyes, thinks about skipping classes tomorrow (and realizes he probably doesn’t have it in him), and quickly dozes off.

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is the time on his phone—11:25. He missed both of his classes anyway, and it’s because he didn’t double check his alarm. You distracted him, but he’s not mad about it. The second thing he sees is a text from you, sent two hours ago.

“Morning. I know I don’t get you until the afternoon, and I also want you to have time to unpack, but meet me at Coco’s around 1.”

Coco’s. That’s a coffee shop, a bakery…both. He’s never been there, but he’s passed it a few times, and it always looks and smells very tempting. It’s also close to the main campus, which is where you think he is.

He watches you from the window before going in—admires you from afar, in a way. You always stare hard at him, and with no shame, so he hasn’t many chances to stare back without blushing and turning away. Each time he sees you, you grow on him a little more. Your hair is pulled back into a clip, but a good portion is escaping and covering your face; what he can see looks very serious, very locked-in to whatever you're doing. There’s an open journal in front of you, and he only has to wait another few seconds before you pick up your pen, run it across your lips, and start to write. The page you’re on is full, and he can see it a little clearer as he quietly sneaks up on you.

“Sorry I’m late.” Just a few minutes, but it’s because he obsessed a little more than usual over how he looked. Your smile tells him he looks perfectly fine, though,

“No, you’re not late. Do you want something?”

“Sure. I haven’t had any coffee yet. I didn’t set my alarm, I guess, so I missed my morning classes.”

“Oh, you got some rest then. I’m glad. Iced coffee?”

Seungmin nods. Did he tell you his coffee preference before? He watches as you get up and head for the counter, and then closes his eyes to keep from reading the open notebook. What he did catch as he sat down was the date at the very top in small, neat writing, and in dark green ink. Are you journaling about him? Is it strictly financial stuff? Considering what you spend on him, keeping track of things is probably important. Maybe you want him to look, because why else would you leave it open and alone here with him? His eyes open, but then move down to his fidgeting hands. It could just be a test to see how nosy he is.

Just as he closes them again, you’re back…

“Here ya go. Still tired?”

He hears the notebook close as he looks at you. “No. I slept really well. I hope you did, too.”

“I did. And I’m sorry I dragged you out again. I just have one thing I’d like you to do, but you’re free to say no without repercussion.”

“You’re very forgiving, considering.”

“What do you mean?”

Maybe he should be working on his obedience, but this is the second time you told him he could say no without worrying about a pay cut. “Uhm…uh...”

“It’s okay, we’re still figuring this out. This is new to you, and you’re new to me."

“I just meant that you’re paying me a lot, and I agreed to do what you say…and I want to do well.” Your smile sets him at ease again, but his first sip of coffee makes him grimace, which makes you laugh, and he finds his attraction growing even more.

“Do you want some milk to cut the bitterness?”

Seungmin shakes his head.

“No? Here…try mine.”

“Yours does look good.” He sips the small, frothy drink, and then sips again.

“Have you ever had an STI test?”

“A what?”

“Have you ever been tested for STI’s…sexually transmitted infections?”

He’s surprised by the timidness in your voice. “Oh, no I never have. Last night was my first time in a long time, but I’ve always used condoms.”

The book opens again, and it seems like you thought of something that needed recorded before it left your head. A single sentence, and then it’s closed again. “That’s good. I want you without one, so I’d like you to get tested. I’ll do the same.”

“No condom? What about…” the word completely escapes him for some reason. “Uh, what if…I get you pregnant?”

“You won’t.”

He doesn’t press it. Seungmin decides to trust you. If you can’t have kids, that’s your business until you decide to tell him. “I can get tested.” But he’s very curious.

“Oh, I almost forgot, how much do we owe your roommate?”

He’s afraid to say it. Seungmin has to ask you for another chunk of money. “My half is $700.” He mumbles.

“That’s all?”

“Yeah, he cut mine a little because he took the bigger bedroom.”

“I can Venmo you, if that’s easier than cash.”

Seungmin wonders why you chose to give him cash yesterday, instead of a transfer. He doesn’t want to ask because it’s not very important, but he thinks giving him tangible money might have been more meaningful to you; symbolic in a way. More real for him...real money he can hold in his hands, not a number on his phone screen. “Thanks.”

The rest of the day is his, and he plans on using it, but he feels a little guilty not giving you more of his Monday. He’s getting $45 an hour while he’s with you, and that was a little more than four hours—you sent him $205 (of course you rounded up) just a few minutes ago, and Seungmin is starting to feel dizzy from the number in his bank account. You barely even touched this time, but you did both come out of the clinic clean; no positive results, no need to worry about passing anything to each other. He’s also starting to wonder just how wealthy you are. This apartment is modest, and so is your house, your car, and your demeanor. You’re a little bit strange to him, even without the contract.

The phone buzzes, and he expects you, but it’s Jin again. “Thanks for the rent. Where did you move? I don’t believe you found a roommate better than me, so it must be a great deal.”

“It was a good deal, and I couldn’t pass it up.” True, not a lie. “I’m sure it won’t take you more than a month to find someone to split with.”

“Where did you move?”

No lying, and no divulging sensitive information. “Not far from that club you took me to.”

Jin reads it, but doesn’t reply, and Seungmin is relieved to let the conversation die for now. Keeping this a secret might be tougher than he thought, but he didn’t want to disappoint you. He opens your text thread and thinks. “Are you busy today?” Feels like a desperate puppy no matter how he reads it back to himself.

“Unfortunately. I have a few errands to run that I forgot about, and then a big party at the other location tonight. Everything okay?”

That explains why you didn’t keep him longer, so he shouldn’t feel guilty. But he does. “Yep, I’m okay.”

“You lonely?”

There’s plenty of studying and homework to do, but he can’t help but want to follow you around on your errands. Spending that much time together in public might be a bad idea, though. Running into Jin or another teammate while he’s with you could break the contract, and if Jin does find another roommate, he’ll be homeless. Seungmin has been too confident about signing on again after this month ends. “Maybe a little, but I should be studying .” He’s used to spending time alone, anyway, so what’s the big deal? Being all alone in this apartment, no neighbors upstairs and beside him, is a different type of isolation, especially after last night.

“I’ll come by later…I have something for you”

[sturnaisa-deactivated20260531]

Make up sex-car

Jackson Wang!

cw: sex car, make-up sex, discussion, jealousy, gaslighting, penetration, quickie.

At 10 pm after a rainy period, a heart was forming on the other side of your car window. You could see his finger compressing gently as he did so, and then blowing against the fogged glass to make the drawing clearer. That face.

You automatically sulked. And checked again if the car locks were closed.

Seeing this, Jackson pouted on the other side. Even though you had said in the message that you didn't want to hear from him, he replied that he would see you anyway, no matter what. There's the proof. Now he was there because he knew you would go to your favorite restaurant when you were mad, that you wouldn't use the things he gave you, neither the jewelry nor the perfumes, that your silence was greater than your words, that you would send messages to his friends to know where he was and not to him.

He knew you. That was the problem.

“I miss you…”

He wrote, the long part of the Y falling down sliding wetly below.

You sucked your jaws in as much as you held your pride in. You weren't going to give him any reaction.

“you are my everything”

“can we talk?”

He tried again. His furrowed eyebrows in a pleading tone. Scoundrel.

When you looked back at the glass, he was drawing something else. A tic-tac-toe game. He was using this tactic to draw your attention to things you liked, like this game. He circled an O where he wanted. And you reached your hand out to the glass.

Just to scratch a huge X over the drawing and write Go away, with no exclamation points. A sad face emoticon was his answer.

You don't remember needing to be so rude as you are right now. In fact, you wouldn't be treating him like this if he had simply respected your request. It was so simple! Not taking shirt off on stage, not showing abs even if asked, not being sensual! As silly as it was, over time it consumed you, and the feeling of sharing your man with the world was actually bothering you. People around you could judge all they wanted, in the end, he was yours. And you knew how you wanted to be treated in a relationship and no hotman like Jackson would make a fool of you.

Either he broke up with you, or he dealt with it.

He would never accepted a breakup, so he promised to behave. Bullshit.

Now you two were where you were.

A white light along a notification sound shone through the darkness— it was your phone. Jackson was texting you from an unknown number, since the communication attempt didn't work before. Typical.

“What do I have to do to make you forgive me? Seriously, I don't know what to do anymore.”

You looked to the side and he was typing, leaning against the car door.

“You always say that communication is key but the first time something serious is happening you avoid me and treat me like trash.”

Your pride is hurt. How dare he tell the goddess of patience, maturity, and observation of human behavior that she's being immature? No?! You're just prioritizing your feelings because you're right?? He's so obnoxious sometimes.

You respond that they were different things. He was disrespectful to you the moment he broke the promise he made and still blamed his marketing management; as if showing himself to the world was an excuse because it's his job. If you had done the same thing, he would be outraged too.

The dots he was typing about immediately appeared.

“Yes, I would be a little jealous, I admit.

But I would soon understand that this is your job

And that you also feel free doing this cause not everything is fucking about sexualizing yourself and wanting to be treated like a sexdoll to people.

Sometimes this is just my fun, have you thought about it?”

Should you dare say he clocked you too?

No, you'd never admit it. So you stared at your phone screen, thinking of a much better argument. You finally responded by saying that his fun wasn't yours, and that you didn't want him to stop being himself, you just wanted him to tone it down a bit. Did he ever think about that? That it was kind of embarrassing to see your boyfriend acting like a striptease?

Contrary to what you imagined, he laughed.

You were left speechless for a few seconds until a good feeling filled your chest. Relief, perhaps?

“Let me in so we can talk better, please.”

You knew that if you let the wolf in, there would be no turning back. It was either get that delicious scent back or keep the crown of pride. Well, actually, you didn't think much and opened the car door.

Jackson eyes soon sparklers and he entered in like a kid getting a surprise birthday cake. He automatically went for your lips but you dodged him, making him completely surprised.

“Love, c'mon”.

“Talk first.”

It was like that, after a lot of agreements and a very serious conversation – in addition to kisses on the shoulders that Jackson showered on you during – that the two of you had the best sex in a long time.

Jackson held your hand and pressed it against the car window as he thrust into you from behind, making the vehicle rock. You both moaned so loudly it felt like you were gasping for air, it was so muffled, so sweaty so good. He bit the back of your neck every time he picked up the pace, and you reached for and grabbed his hair every time you felt yourself coming. It was love and hate together, intertwined in the adrenaline rush of your bodies.The feeling that the two of you would come to a conclusion in a way only the two of you could understand. And you loved understanding.

Like you loved it when your clit rubbed against his shaved pelvis as you rode him, his abs all glistening with sweat and that hot breath on your face.

God, now you knew you were missing something. And that was it.

“I love you, don't angry anymore at me, ok?” He said with a miserable face as he wrapped his arms around your waist, guiding you along just as his cock was wrapped n deep around you. You increased your steps just out of anger and lust. Which made him tilt his head back on the bench. Yes ma'am, he got it.

The two of you finished with you moaning his name sweetly and sometimes switching to his nickname, which made his head spin. Your pelvises were all wet, and you were sweating profusely. When you were more relaxed, he grabbed your cheek and gave you a big kiss, with tongue and all, you returned it with the same passion, forgetting all the trouble from before. That was the effect of loving too much.

The other day you were surprised by an internal report that he had attacked a paparazzi that taked a photo of you two on that day.

When you asked him if it was true, he carefreely confirmed it, cutting slices of an apple with a knife and handing them to you on a plate, then a kiss on your head saying that he were going to work.

[makeitworse]

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

EMMIE’S HAUNTED MANSION 🔪

── jeongin’s devotion to you runs deeper than you’ve ever fathomed. but when a snooping sleuth unearths old ghosts, you start to question whether his love knows any limits at all.

♬ : obsession - gdragon tags : f!rea x ghostface!jeongin ･ 8.2k wc ･ thriller, smut. 18+ cws : yandere!jeongin, reader matches his freak, descriptions of murder & violence, codependency, smut scene with unprotected sex, begging, just innie being crazy whipped.

notes : emmie and i are a package deal so yk i had to rise from the tomb for this 😛 apologies if the plot isn’t cohesive, i was trying to keep this from getting longer than it already is… idfk how it got here either don’t look at me be sure to check out the rest of the fics as they release! ( dividers by @kodaswrld )

𝓣HE SHRILL RING OF THE DOORBELL SLICES THROUGH YOUR FOCUS. the whisk nearly slips from your grip, the bowl spinning from your hands on the counter. heart thudding against your will, you steady the bowl and blow out a breath.

you move to wash your hands, startled to say the least. it’s sunday morning. too early for visitors, or unwelcome surprises.

as the water runs over your palms, you consider whether to wake jeongin and ask if he’s expecting someone. you file that thought away in favour of letting him sleep in — he looked so peaceful curled up in the sheets, hair spilling across the pillow. besides, you were planning on surprising him with breakfast in bed anyway.

it could just be a salesman, you reason, forcing a smile as you pull open the door.

the man standing there is clad in a button-up and a coat slung over his shoulders. he’s got dark hair, eyes crinkling from a smile. his hand gleams with gold; a badge that certainly does not belong to some salesman. he pulls it away before you can get a good look at it, burying it into his pocket as he states your full name with a polite voice. your greeting dies in your throat.

“detective bahng,” he bows his head. “sorry to bother you at this time. hope i haven’t caught you in the middle of anything.”

it takes a beat to gather yourself before you wave it off. “of course not.”

“i’ve got a few questions. do you mind if i come in?” against your instinct, you nod, leading him into the living room. he settles into the reading chair perched by the couch.

“could i get you anything? a coffee?”

“that’s okay, thank you.” he gestures for you to take a seat right across from him. “please.”

you do, though it feels strange being directed in your own home. the presence of the detective seemed to tilt the air off-kilter — the comfort of your morning gone in smoke.

“i hear you’ve only been here a few years,” he starts, flipping open a small notebook from his coat pocket. “moved from a small town just after high school, is that right?”

“yes. with my other half.” you manage a smile, mindlessly playing with the ring on your finger like it might bring the comfort of his presence.

you’d had a good streak of not thinking about that chapter of your life. you swallow down the less than pleasant memories from that period of time as they itch their way to the surface.

“ah, yes. yang jeongin, correct?” you nod again. detective bahng goes on. “i won’t take much of your time. i just have a few questions about your coworker, jay hong.”

you slide the ring up and down on your finger, stilling your mind from leaping to the worst. “what about him?”

“there’s no easy way to put it.” bahng sighs. “he’s been missing since thursday. his family has grown quite worried. i’m just here to ask around and see what people know.”

“oh my god.” you say despite yourself.

you recall jay no-showing at work on wednesday morning. your boss’s irritation, missed calls and ignored messages only further escalating the gravity of his unexplained absence. you retell what little you know, and bahng listens intently, nodding.

“i hadn’t heard anything until now,” you admit, fidgeting with the fabric of your pajama pants.

“no?” he leans forward, intrigued. “strange. i was told you were… friends.”

you force a smile. seeing him five days a week, eight hours a day had you on friendly terms at best. ‘friends’ was too kind of a word for someone like jay. but you keep such thoughts to yourself.

“not exactly. we’re coworkers, that’s all. i don’t really have male friends as is.”

the last part was meant to shut this vein of questions down, but the detective’s head tilts at the admission, eyes narrowing slightly.

“why is that?” he treads lightly. “would.. does jeongin not like it?”

your gaze flicks instinctively to the ceiling, toward your bedroom where jeongin’s still sleeping soundly. your skin prickled. you refused to speak of your fiancé like this in his absence.

“i’m sorry, mr. bahng, but i don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“of course. my apologies.” his retreat is gentle, but you know he’s filed the answer away.

you stand with an abrupt need for distance. “i’m making myself a coffee, if you don’t mind.”

you mind when he rises with you, an uninvited shadow at your back as you pad into the kitchen.

“how have you found it living here? i can’t imagine it was easy, leaving everything behind. and so soon after graduating.”

if he’s trying to pass that off as his idea of small talk, you’re not the slightest bit convinced. you couldn’t get what possible interest he had in old news, but you couldn’t just shrug him off. especially not as the police asking to be invited into your home. 

“it wasn’t easy,” you answer coolly, pulling down your decorated mug from its spot on the shelf next to jeongin’s identical one. “but i had jeongin.”

“engaged already,” bahng comments, eyes trained on your ring as your fingers flick the kettle on. “you’ve been together a while?”

“yes,” you reply, though your throat feels tight. it feels like you’ve been toeing eggshells with every answer, even for something irrelevant to the pressing matter at hand.

getting engaged sooner than most might didn’t phase you. it’s always been jeongin for you — he’s been your best friend before you could spell the word. in fact, you used to scold yourself for not dating him sooner and wasting your precious teenage years. but you remind yourself to not dig up old skeletons.

the kettle begins to rumble, but detective bahng isn’t invested in you making your coffee anymore. his eyes drift over the surroundings: the forgotten breakfast ingredients scattered across the counter, the strips of photos pinned to the fridge with magnets, before settling on the knife block. lingering.

“how many came in that set?” he asks, hands buried in his coat pocket.

you follow his gaze. every slot was filled except for one. the largest, meant for a chopping knife. your stomach dips. when had it gone missing?

“it broke a while back,” you lie smoothly, forcing yourself to keep scooping coffee grounds. “i threw it out. keep forgetting to replace it.”

bahng hums, but you can’t help but wonder if he even bought it. 

there’s an unmistakable creak of the staircase — both of your heads cutting to the source.

jeongin stands at the top of the steps. his hair’s mussed from sleep, glasses crooked on his nose, matching pajama pants hanging low on his hips. he looks handsome, and drowsy. except for his eyes.

they’re blown wide, flitting between you and the stranger standing an arm’s length away from you in your kitchen, charged with a sharpness that makes your pulse skip.

you open your mouth to fill jeongin in, but bahng speaks first — yet it’s to excuse himself rather than introduce. he eyes your fiancé keenly as he moves to leave, thanking you for your time. 

jeongin watches him leave with unblinking focus, descending the stairs slowly, each step deliberate. his expression is flat, unreadable — except for the flicker of something burning just beneath his skin. it almost unnerves you, until your body remembers it’s just your jeongin.

“morning, love,” you sigh, trying to break the tension as he starts towards you. “i didn’t want to disturb your sl—”

you’re cut off by his hands cupping your face, his mouth stealing yours in a kiss. it’s rough, almost bruising, and you nearly gasp at the hold he’s got on your jaw. when you’re sure he’s stolen your breath, jeongin pulls away.

“who is he?” his voice is low, gravelly from sleep and something else.

“the police,” you manage.

jeongin doesn’t even flinch. to the untrained eye, there’s almost no reaction. though you catch an almost imperceptible flicker in his eyes that’s as gone as quick as it came. 

“and what did he want?”

“he was asking about jay from work,” you answer, pulse fluttering. “apparently he’s missing.”

jeongin’s mouth twists faintly at the name. “doesn’t explain why he needed to come into our home.” he grumbles, hands sliding down to squeeze at your sides. he’s only just woken up, yet he was acting restless.

“i didn’t ask him to, he just—”

another kiss cuts you off, softer this time. his thumb swipes your cheek gently like he’s smoothing the tension away. “i know, baby. it’s alright.”

he turns his gaze to the counter, taking in the half-prepped breakfast.

“was gonna surprise you,” you mutter, a little self-conscious.

jeongin’s mouth curls in a smile. “okay. then get your ass back up there.”

his hands slide to your waist, hoisting your feet off the floor with ease.

“jeongin—!” you laugh, batting at his chest as he tries to sling you over his shoulder.

“you think i’m letting you cook on your day off? not happening.” his demeanour is playful now, face bright with a boyish grin.

you both settle on you laying on the couch, stretched across the cushions and sipping your coffee as you watch him finish what you started in the kitchen. you’ve had a long enough morning apart from him.

jeongin hums under his breath as he works. you’ll never get over having him like this, soft and domestic in the home you own together.

you doze off listening to the sound of dishes clattering and jeongin humming, and your mind drifts back to the detective.

there seemed there was more he wished to say. his continued attempts to steer the conversation to jeongin, the heated gaze they shared before the front door shut behind bahng, the missing knife he was eyeing like he knew something you didn’t — it all left a foul taste in your mouth.

you force yourself to let it go when jeongin returns to your side, plates in hand, his smile warm and lovely.

you spent the rest of the morning sprawled on the couch with your fiancé. jeongin held you from behind as he scrolled mindlessly on his phone. you dozed off in his arms, the show playing on the TV forgotten and reduced to a hum in the background.

your eyes flutter open as he calls after you with a soft “baby.” you hum, shifting in his hold, realising how his hand had now tightened around your waist.

“the detective from earlier,” he starts lowly, “did he say he was with the police?”

you chew the inside of your cheek as you think back. honestly, you’d been disassociating for most of the encounter from how on edge you felt. even if his questions weren’t outright damning, you felt as though your answers weren’t what he was really there for.

“i don’t know.” you admit softly. “he had a badge.”

“did you get a good look at it?”

you shake your head. jeongin props himself up behind you, and you can feel him staring intently at you from above.

“did he ask you for our names? or did he already know who we are?”

your face felt hot from rushing blood. this intensity from him flustered you, even if it wasn’t directed towards you. he states your name when you don’t immediately answer, and you resist the urge to curl into him and ask him to leave it alone.

“he already knew.” you mutter. jeongin huffs above you, arm sliding infinitely tighter around your waist.

“if you see him again, don’t give him the time.” he tells you sternly. you give a meek nod, and his face juts towards yours. “i’m serious. don’t believe anything he told you. okay?”

“okay.” you reply easily, tone nearing frustration. jeongin backs down when he notices. he presses a soft kiss to your ear.

“i’m sorry, baby.”

“i know.”

his hand dips down to your tummy, fingers skimming under the waistband of your pants as his lips trailed along your jaw — intent on proving how sorry he really is.

the office is cloaked in a timid silence in the days following the official police statement announcing jay hong as a missing person. conversations thin out when you enter a room, glances flickering your way with a fresh edge to them. your coworkers have been particularly curt, their clipped tones making it clear they’d rather keep distance.

you try not to take it to heart, or at the very least not clock out with grudges. if you carry it home, you might cave and tell jeongin again, and that isn’t an option. not when you’ve been trying so hard to avoid acknowledging how he reacted the last time you fessed up to him about an issue with a coworker.

this isn’t the time.

when the clock ticks over to your lunch break, you rise from your desk and head toward the break room. passing by jay’s empty cubicle felt grim. his desk sits barren, stripped of the clutter and steel nameplate that once made it his. you pinch yourself when you start to feel like his absence isn’t an unwelcome one.

you shouldn’t think that way. he’s missing. he’s a man with a family who loves him who’s missing. and yet, for the first time in months, you can walk past his corner of the room without feeling eyes burning into you from behind, even if your body still braces itself for the impact of words that never land.

you push the thought away before it can settle.

ten minutes later, you’re perched in the break room, blowing across the surface of your noodles when your phone buzzes against the table: no caller id.

you hesitate, then swipe to answer. maybe it’s a scam. maybe, bored as you are, you’ll get some human interaction that your icy coworkers have neglected you of.

the muffled voice on the other stating your name has your stomach dropping the instant you recognise it.

“this is detective bahng again. apologies for calling you like this, was i okay to take a minute of your time?”

you swallow down the what the fuck burning your throat. out loud, you stammer, “uh, i really can’t—”

“i won’t be long. promise.”

you nod meekly, even though he can’t see it. relief flickers that at least you answered here, away from home. you don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if jeongin had picked up instead.

you try to ignore the voice in your head reminding you of your last conversation with jeongin concerning the man on the other line. it’s not like you can just hang up on the police, right?

bahng continues, unhurried. “i take it you haven’t seen any of the news yet?”

your hand stills over your lunch. “…no.”

“alright. may i ask where you are?”

“in the break room. at work.” you reply skeptically, glancing around you like you might find a hidden camera he’s watching you through.

“okay. i don’t mean to alarm you, but i need to see you again for further questioning. preferably as soon as possible.”

a shiver crawls over your spine. “are you— will you be at my house again?”

he chuckles lightly, like you’ve said something amusing. it confused you even further. “i won’t ask that of you. i could come to you after your shift. whereabouts is your workplace?”

you want to ask why these questions can’t be a conversation over the phone like this, but you tell him the address and when your shift ends anyways, albeit with reluctance. 

“great. i’ll see you then. thank you for your time, again.”

the line goes dead.

you stare at the screen, baffled. you didn’t even know police had the right to just call you like this and request to see you. your first instinct is to tell jeongin. but the thoughts you’ve been wrestling with, the thoughts you don’t want to name, demand your silence.

instead, you open your browser and type it out with shaking fingers. jay hong.

the results make your blood run cold.

articles and headlines stamped only minutes ago. breaking news reports plastered with official police statements.

jay was no longer missing — he was pronounced dead. murdered. 

you scroll frantically, the room around you whirring into a blur as the words from the glowing screen burn into your brain.

descriptions of the state of his body you wish you hadn’t read. butchered, one outlet had put it. found pale and wafting through a creek. insides turned out, skin sliced up like meat. a brutality that you’d seen once before — old, uninvited memories clawing with jagged talons in your head.

your hands shake so hard you nearly drop your phone. trembling, you wrap your arms around yourself, and your thoughts find their way back to your happy place, your safety net. your anchor and the love of your life. the one person you couldn’t afford to think about in this context.

you had told jeongin last week. the levies you’d built around your suffering had broke — months of suppression flooding out in tears to your fiancé. you finally confessed how jay had been acting towards you at work. lingering looks at your body, muttered words as you passed by his desk, even daring to brush his hand against your backside once.

you kept telling yourself it wasn’t enough to complain over. that you had to take it on the chin if you wanted to stay respected in your workplace, to maintain a good bond with your team. even if his presence ripped beneath your skin like barbed wire.

you kept telling yourself you didn’t want to burden jeongin with that knowledge. for him to think less of you for putting up with it.

but really, it was to smother what you knew in your soul — that you didn’t want to witness what he’d do in retaliation.

it’s been a while since you’ve seen jeongin like that. you were no stranger to glimpses of the raw anger that churns inside of him. like back in your youth, when altercations with his father left bruises on both sides and he’d climb through your window, knuckles sticky with blood. when you had to beg him not to beat some sense into your cunt of a boyfriend back in highschool after he’d catch you crying over him. when anytime a man would even look your way twice out in public while he’s at your side, his body would brace for a fight.

“no one can get away with treating you like that.” jeongin had spat out. his eyes read bloody murder when you told him about jay’s behaviour through tears.

now, you think back to the way he looked standing on the stairs days ago, watching you and the detective from above. the stillness of his face, the cracks where the rage seeped through.

jeongin is gentle and silly and he is yours. he’s protective of you, at times scarily so, but you’ve never known him to be violent — and you’ve known him for the better part of your entire life.

but that could just be by design. he’s been careful to never let the blood touch you, but the thick black has pooled at your feet, now for the second time since you started to call him yours. and it’s getting harder to look at the man you intend to spend your life loving with eyes wide shut.

but you can’t think about it. you literally can’t afford to keep thinking about it.

if chris asks more questions, if he even dares to steer them toward jeongin, you need to be cool, collected. the lovingly unaware fiancé.

so you shove the thoughts down, down, down. you bury jay’s death alongside the memories of the halloween night in your senior year highschool, even as the fist of the restless past bangs on the coffin lid. you bury the relief you feel even further down. you shovel dirt over all of it until it’s all gone.

you nearly scold bahng for waiting right out the front of your workplace, leaning against the hood of his car like he’s in no rush. the words were on the tip of your tongue before you remembered he was a man of the law.

you had insisted to jeongin on taking the train home instead of him coming to pick you up, coaxing him into respecting your decision when you told him you had a few stops on the way and needed some quiet time to decompress after work. still, you don’t doubt he could’ve showed up and waited for you anyways, especially if he caught something was off. evidently, he didn’t, thank god. 

you bite back a cuss and clutch your bag tighter as you walk past bahng. he dips his head in a greeting and apology, falling into step beside you. you don’t offer where you’re headed, but he follows anyway. the two of you wind up on a narrow side street, quiet and tucked away from the late-evening foot traffic.

you stay standing. so does he.

bahng clears his throat. “i’ll be transparent with you. i’m questioning you as a witness, not a suspect. your history, in particular your highschool years, matters to this case.”

your jaw tightens. “what about them?”

“the halloween night that made headlines for such a small town,” he says carefully, pressing into a bruise that has yet to fade after all these years. “the victims back then. one of them was your ex-boyfriend, and the rest his friends, no? that same night, there were reports of a masked person spotted at the party they were last seen alive. someone wearing a ‘ghostface’ costume. that part never made it to the news.” you bite your tongue til you taste copper. “that same mask was discarded and retrieved nearby the creek authorities found jay’s body.”

you blink, the words jolting you like ice water. then you scoff, crossing your arms. “what exactly are you insinuating? that i— what, that wherever i go, people just happen to wind up dead?”

“i’m saying,” he reiterates sternly, “there is an obvious connection that can’t be ignored. both cases had the same brutal manner of death, victims butchered with a knife. same signature — that ghostface mask. and the victims both closely connected to you.”

you go quiet, before something hot and sharp claws its way up your throat. “do you even realise what you’re saying to me?” you jab a finger at him. “you’re dragging up a nightmare i haven’t wanted to remember for years, and for what? to imply i’m some kind of psycho magnet?”

bahng doesn’t flinch. “i’m saying it’s a pattern. undeniably so.”

you snap, jeongin’s words to you flashing hot in your blood. “and i’m saying you’re out of line. can you even expose details like this? you’re telling me outright that you’re digging into my past, implying that there might be a serial killer following me. if this really is an active investigation, why the fuck are you revealing your cards?”

he watches you, calm but alert.

your voice drops, bitter. “what do you really need me for? are you..” you gulp, recalling all the questions he steered towards your fiancé, that look he shot him on the stairs. “..is this to accuse jeongin? that’s it, isn’t it? you’re using me to get to him.”

silence stretches. your tongue pokes your cheek, and you scoff, pulse quickening.

“show me your badge.”

“…pardon me?”

“i want to see it. right now.” you punctuate by pointing at the ground, daring to step towards him. “or maybe i should just call the station and ask if they even have a ‘detective bahng’ on record.”

there’s a heavy pause. then, almost regretfully, he says: “you wouldn’t find me there.”

you want to spit in his face.

“i’m not with the police,” he admits. “i’m a private investigator. i was hired to look into you.”

you scoff, glancing away. was it someone from work? from jay’s personal life? surely they must’ve known he was harassing you. they should be apologising on his behalf instead of digging into your business.

“what i’ve found has been too damning to just ignore. while i can’t put you on the record, a testimony or an eyewitness account could change everything. tie the cases together. get justice for jay, for your ex and his friends. for you.”

your glare hardens. “you’re insane if you think i’ll help you with this.”

he takes a step closer, and you step back in turn when his breath hits your face. “i have a younger sister. if she were in your place, i’d want anyone to step in, working with the law or not. even if it meant bending the rules. what happened to the victims is a clear-cut case and you’re at the centre of it.”

you swallow, furious and rattled. “i don’t want to see you again.”

his mouth quirks, but there’s no humour in it. “or what? you’ll tell your fiancé? would be a funny coincidence if i went missing afterwards, huh?”

you stare him down, incredulous at the unspoken threat. “that would be none of my business. have a good life, mr. bahng. i wish you well.”

you turn and walk away before he can reply.

the confrontation leaves your chest tight, unsettled to the marrow. but you’re not afraid. something electric curls in your stomach. something closer to.. excitement.

you can recall the pinpoint moment you realised you wanted to spend the rest of your life with jeongin.

it wasn’t that fateful halloween night before you had learned of the horrors that occured, though that was a close second. 

for years, jeongin had been crawling through your window whenever he ran from home. it became a habit — you’d stay up all night together for the sunrise and see him off before your parents could catch him.

one time, your mother went to wake you for school, only to find him curled up beside you, bloodied tissues scattered on the floor.

your parents learned pretty quickly that it was easier to let you both get your way when they had tried dragging jeongin back to his father’s house. you screamed at them through tears, and jeongin was none the quieter.

they had to accept his presence in your life, as much as they wanted to keep their daughter away from the chaos his home life so often brought. but he needed someone, and they were even crazier to think that you’d ever leave him. 

that halloween night of your senior year, he knocked on your window again. this time when he climbed in, he was quiet, eerily so.

he usually didn’t offer much words after a fight, but you’ve known him long enough to tell that this was different. his father would have been passed out drunk by now, yet jeongin was covered in fresh crimson, reeking of sweat and the sharp tang of blood. there was too much of it to be his own, and his clothes, clean but obviously thrown hastily over his body, didn’t help to mask anything.

you’d spent the night at home crying yourself. your boyfriend, mark, had broken up with you a few days prior. the relationship had been nothing but pain and a steady stream of tears at his hand. still, his absence left you gutted. you laid in bed alone while the rest of your grade was partying for the holiday.

but not jeongin.

he sat silently on the edge of your mattress, careful not to stain your sheets. you reached for tissues or a towel to help clean him up like you’d grown used to doing, but he caught your wrist in a firm grip, raising his head up with a hard jaw. when you met his eyes, he looked as if he might die.

“did you mean what you said?”

your breath stills. you want to tell him that he’s worrying you. but you listen. 

“you said you wished it was me.”

you had. the night mark dumped you, jeongin was the first to know. you shared a bottle of rum (more so jeongin took sips between your hurried gulps), and before long your words were sloppy and tumbling out without thought.

you’d told him that you wish you had dated him instead. that maybe he wouldn’t have left you like this. it was among a dozen other things, that you’re grateful he’s in your life and you love him more than you’ve loved anyone. you hadn’t thought twice about it, but jeongin retells your words like they’ve been keeping him from falling apart.

“did you mean it?”

your lip trembled. tears urge their way to your waterline, clumping in your lashes. “of course i did.”

you climbed into his lap, and his hands found your waist to hold you there as if on instinct. his eyes flit all over your face, pleading.

“you know i meant it.” you whispered. “it’s always been you, innie.”

his gaze lingered at your lips, his voice rough. “i’m serious about this. i’d do anything for you, just to be yours. you’re never getting rid of me.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it.” you carded your fingers through his hair, and he sighs softly. “i wouldn’t leave you for anything.”

whatever he was looking for, he found it — because he kissed you. hard, desperate; like a drowning man gasping for air.

when you took him into your bed that night, you weren’t just kids anymore. you kissed him like he was yours. he touched you like he’d been waiting years. and when you woke the next morning, you belonged to each other, in a way that was new and yet had always been.

jeongin was there to hold you when you learned of the news and broke down the following day. the town you spent your childhood in reduced to horror stories in headlines, mark and his friends nothing but nameless victims to a massacre.

you cried until your throat ran raw, grief clashing with the sickening relief of never having to be tormented by them again.

jeongin’s reaction was chilling in its nonchalance. in fact, it seemed he was masking his satisfaction to not disrespect your grief. he often reminded you of all the things they’d done to you — the jokes about ‘sharing’ you, the name-calling and the touches so brief you thought you were going crazy. and that’s only the things you actually told jeongin. 

he spoke like it was justice without stating the word. and maybe it was.

you both knew you had to leave town, leave all of it behind once you were free of highschool. you found a job in the city shortly after graduating, and since jeongin was intent on following you to the ends of the earth, it seemed out of the question to turn down the opportunity. to start over together.

one afternoon, you were helping pack jeongin’s bedroom into boxes while he’d gone to get you both takeout lunch as a treat. you spotted a shoebox at the back of his closet, among the stuff he told you not to worry about touching and that he’d do it. but you had time to kill, and curiosity got the better of you as you reached for it.

your blood ran cold when you took the lid off. 

inside were small things you instantly recognised. a pen dropped, a forgotten scrunchie, paper notes passed in class — your stuff that had gone missing over the years. but at the bottom sat something else. a black and white mask carved into an endless scream, dried blood speckling its edges.

you remembered the rumours: classmates retelling your ex and his friends whispering about someone at the party watching them in that same mask. they wanted to confront him. they never got the chance.

you sat there for what could’ve been an hour, holding the mask in your trembling hands. and when you hear the front door creak open, you quietly put it all back right where you found it. 

“baby?” jeongin called. you stepped into the kitchen, where he set a paper bag of takeout food on the counter. he looked up, smiling faintly. “what’s wrong? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“there was a cockroach.” you lied.

“oh, did you kill it?”

his smile faltered when he caught the glassiness in your eyes. he stepped closer, cupping your face with gentle hands. you nodded, tears prickling.

“it’s okay,” he murmured. “one less of them in the world isn’t hurting anyone.”

the words lingered long after. he didn’t seem to have any more remorse for mark and his friends’ deaths. nor your coworker jay. as if they were all nothing but pests the world could use less of. 

and instead of recoiling, you found yourself conflicted. not because of what he’d done. but because of your own indifference.

if he had been killing for you… you didn’t mind. in fact, the thought excited you. that kind of devotion — absolute, unwavering — belonging to you alone.

anything, he said he’d do for you. anything, you said you wouldn’t leave him for. 

and you haven’t. even when you realised he had murdered your ex and his friends. even when you learned of your missing coworker and instantly knew jeongin’s old habit had reared its head.

you both meant your promises. and the presence of some private investigator sticking his fingers into your history sure as hell wasn’t going to waver your unconditional love for jeongin.

in fact, it’s only further proven what you already knew: that you were born for each other.

as the door clicks shut behind you, jeongin’s already rushing over from his spot on the couch like he’s been waiting since you clocked off hours ago. his hair’s mussed from where he must’ve been tugging at it, worry etched deep into his features.

“where were you, baby? what took so long?”

you walk past jeongin without answering, and he trails you quietly as you slip onto the couch — his hand brushing and reaching to catch yours. you let him lace his fingers with yours, a small reassurance that you’re not upset at him for whatever reason, but you don’t meet his eyes.

he calls your name softly, followed by a gentle “baby.”

“can we… talk about it?” you murmur.

“about what?”

“jay.” you swallow. “and mark. all of them.”

his jaw works, tightening and loosening as he stares at you, your face still. “what is there to say?”

you keep your stare down at your joined hands. “the detective… he came to me again.” jeongin exhales gruffly. you go on. “he thinks the cases are linked. that i’m a part of it.”

at that, jeongin’s body stiffens, his expression storm-dark. but it’s not about the fact that he’s prying into your past.

“he’s been bothering you again?” his voice drops into something coarse. “why didn’t you tell me sooner? if i’d known, i would’ve—”

“—it’s okay,” you cut him off. “i can handle him.”

jeongin backs down at that, only at your word. you breathe in, steadying yourself.

“my coworkers… they’ve been treating me differently since he went missing. like i was in on his death and i’m the only one who doesn’t know about it. like jay wasn’t the one who—” you chew your lip, stifling that thought. “it’s like he wasn’t guilty first.”

jeongin’s face hardens, eyebrows knotting together and mouth in a firm frown. “then they deserve death as much as he did. for knowing the truth and treating you like you’re at fault. it’s not like you’re the one who killed him.” he practically spits.

you stare at him, unsettled. “so what, you think the whole office should die? just like he did?” to the same person? you ask in your head.

his silence isn’t an answer, but it’s enough of one to worry you. he’s dead serious.

“i don’t want that.” you admit. “i don’t want anyone else dying because of me.”

it’s close enough to outright asking jeongin not to murder again without actually telling him that you know. he eyes you closely, tossing your words over in his head.

“why do you think they died because of you?” he asks, unnervingly still.

“i’ve just… i’ve been thinking alot. about what the detective’s been saying, about what happened back then.”

“what has he been saying?” jeongin speaks up, his grip on your hand tightening until it almost hurts. “they had it coming, baby. it’s not your fault. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“i know it’s not.” you affirm. that catches him off guard, and his hold loosens. “i meant, i think they all died because of what they did to me. that maybe i have luck in the most extreme way possible, or maybe.. there’s something out there protecting me.”

you trail off at his silence, deciding not to elaborate more. you sigh, shaking your head. “i know i sound crazy—”

“—what if someone has been?” his voice slices through your protest.

there’s a raw, unflinching intensity of his gaze that pins you into place. you had worries jeongin might try to steer you away from what you were suggesting — gently coax you into thinking it was all just a coincidence. and maybe he could have convinced you it was all in your head.

but with the way he’s looking at you right now, you realise you’ve just awakened whatever he’s had lurking in the depths of his soul. what’s been killing him to hide from you.

what if someone has been killing for you, he asked. not something, like the vengeful spirit of an ancestor or a guardian angel with extreme methods. a person.

“i… don’t mind,” you whisper. the truth behind it rattles you both as it leaves your mouth. “i think i’d.. thank them.”

jeonghin shifts to face you fully, knees brushing yours. his mouth’s parted in shallow breaths, eyes shaded over and restless.

“pretend that it’s me.” he utters. your heart stammers in your chest. “what would you say?”

“innie…” your fingers twitch on his, body jittery under the weight of his dark gaze.

“i’m serious. you’ve thought about it, haven’t you?” he asks, and you can’t even get out a nod. “then let it out. tell me what you’d say to their killer.”

you’re near shaking from the adrenaline and anxiety, though you’re not afraid. you felt exposed and bare in an entirely new way, and it’s the most nervous you’ve felt in all the years you’ve been with him.

not once have you considered confronting him about it, even after you found the bloodied ghostface mask in his closet. it’s not like their souls hang over your head and torment you. it’s been years since you’ve even remembered that halloween night until detective bahng came knocking at your door.

and you know jeongin would never hurt you. you know of the bruises he’d inflict and the blood he’d spill in your honour, and not once have you worried it’d ever turn on you.

it’s not like he was an active killer — you thought it was a once off decision, charged by impulsion and the rage of his teenage years, as well as witnessing your tears time and again.

you just hadn’t thought it was something worth talking about. they didn’t deserve to take up any more space in your life, and you promised each other you’d leave everything behind when you moved to the city together. without exception.

not once had you pictured yourself talking about it with him. especially not like this. still, you slip into the part he’s coaxing you to play — though, neither of you are pretending anymore.

“…thank you,” you whisper, taking his hand to your chest and holding it there, letting him feel the thrum of your heart under his palm. “for protecting me. for giving those bastards what they deserved.”

jeongin’s other hand comes to cradle your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone with a startling tenderness.

“i don’t know how to show my gratitude,” you add, breathless.

“you don’t have to.” he lays you down on the couch cushions, his weight pressing you into the fabric. his lips ghost a kiss over yours. “i just do what’s right.”

his hand skims up your blouse and over your tummy, heat blooming where his touch trails. you tense, taken aback. “innie, are we still—”

he cuts you off with a kiss, ferocious and demanding, stealing the rest of the question from your tongue. you wonder if he’s even trying to put a front up, or perhaps this is his way of revealing it all to you. you know it would’ve been killing him inside to keep anything from you all these years, especially such an extreme act of devotion. you’d felt it just as much.

his nails bite into your waist as he pulls you flush against him. a whine from you rumbles down his throat when you feel his hips jolt at the contact. jeongin was fired up within seconds, grabbing at the curves of your sides and your chest as if it’s been years. and in terms of being intimate with him after he’s spilled blood, it has been.

“fuck,” he growls against your mouth, shoving his hand beneath your bra and rutting his hips into your thigh. “tell me what else you’d say. tell me, please, i wanna hear it.”

you whimper at the force of his movements — the pad of his thumb swiping over your nipple, the hard line of his arousal straining against his pants; incessantly bucking like he’s already inside of you.

his name leaves your mouth in a broken whine as his other hand fumbles at your zipper, haphazardly tugging your fly open and slipping under your waistband without patience. his fingers find you slick, earning a pulse of his dick that has you rolling into his hand.

he groans out, gathering the wetness at your hole before swiping upwards to the bundle of nerves that’s been aching for relief. jeongin’s heaving as he watches you, your face scrunching beautifully below him as your nerves flare up — his fingers drawing little circles onto your clit with practiced ease. you keen into his touch, delirious, earning another low cuss from him.

“words.” he reminds you, though he’s no more composed himself — precum smeared at the front of his pants from his mindless bucking into your thigh.

“i… almost felt happy when i heard they died,” you admit in a shuddering whisper, forcing the words out between the moans urging their way up your throat. his mouth moves to your neck, biting and sucking the skin that’s all his to take. “that’s so fucked up, right? i know i shouldn’t feel that way.”

“it’s not,” he rasps, breath hot on your skin. “they deserved everything they got for fucking with you.”

his teeth sink in, sharp enough to make your body jolt under him before he’s licking the spot within the next second to soothe the sting. “mine.”

jeongin continues to ravage your neck with his mouth, teeth scraping and tongue soothing as his fingers stay circling your clit.

“innie, i’m—” you gasp out, that familiar tightness coiling in your stomach far too quickly. “i want—”

you barely know what you’re trying to communicate yourself, but jeongin gets the message through your scrambled whines, his fingers slowing their pace to keep you from toppling off the edge, but not yet halting.

he presses a kiss to your jaw, cooing: “i know, baby, i know.”

you’re almost aching with how empty you feel. you reach for him, grab at the meat of his biceps and the planes of his back through his shirt, earning a low chuckle from jeongin as his hand finally pulls away.

“i’m not gonna take long either,” he breathes. heady, your eyes trail their path to his waistband, where he tugs both his pants and boxers down with his free hand — the other coated in your slick coming to wrap around himself. jeongin hisses as he drags his fist up over his length, your arousal mixing with the precum beaded at his tip.

impatient, you hike your hips up and tug your own pants down, jeongin watching with bated breath as you roll your soiled panties down your thighs — cock twitching in his hand once you’re laid bare from the waist down below him.

he sinks further into the couch as he lines himself up, tip prodding at your core. it’s an effort for jeongin to still himself and not fuck into you like this is his dying breath. his hand cups your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes: swallowed in black with pure want.

“never you.” he urges, thumb stroking over your cheek. “you hear me, baby? i’d never hurt you. i’d kill myself before i’d even think about doing that.”

your lashes flutter, and you whisper, “i know.”

“say it.” his voice is hoarse, less a demand and more a plea. he steadies himself with a hand sliding beneath your shirt, fingers grazing your ribs and sending goosebumps racing across your flesh.

“i know you would never,” you say, and you mean it. “you only hurt the people who hurt me.”

a low noise rumbles in his chest. “that’s right. that’s fucking right.” jeongin presses his forehead to yours, breath hot and uneven as the head of his cock inches forward into your wet heat. since he’d been too worked up to wait to prep you on his fingers, you gasp out at the splitting feeling, grabbing at his tense shoulders.

“you’re the only good thing i’ve ever had. the only reason that this life even matters.” he’s near rambling, holding back on his own moans as he buries his length to the hilt inside of you, cunt fluttering around him. “fuck, everything i do, ‘s for you, only you.”

when he bottoms out, you gasp together — jeongin’s lips crashing onto yours within the next second. his tongue sweeps in and you melt into him. his cock drags out agonisingly slow as if he’s reluctant to part from you, but a quick snap of his hips has him plunging deep into that spot that has you seeing stars.

jeongin sets a relentless pace from the start. you’re still teetering on the edge of orgasm, and you know he’s no better from how he’s heaving above you, his laboured breathing concealing all the little whines slipping out from his mouth between kisses.

“what if it made me happy, huh?” he manages out, his fingers fumbling to part your folds and slide the pad of his thumb over your clit. “cutting their fucking skin up when they thought they could touch yours. that they had any right to even look at yours like i don’t already belong to you.”

you gasp as his pace quickens with a newfound vigour, cockhead ramming into your g-spot with every determined thrust, thumb swirling tight circles on your poor clit.

“innie, oh my— fucking god—”

“aren’t you glad it was me?” he swallows a strained sob that leaves your throat as your hips jolt, your body racing to the finish line. “tell me. please, say it.”

his other hand palms at your breast, pinching your hardened nipple between his fingers. he’s everywhere, overwhelming you, setting every nerve end on fire and yet there to catch you when you start to free fall. you’re so fucking close to ecstasy, but you work the words out of your throat — it might just kill jeongin to not hear the approval he’s practically begging you for right now.

“i am.” you manage between a noise that’s half moan, half sob. “i am glad, innie. i’m so fucking grateful you did it for me.”

his answering groan is guttural, and it’s the last thing you hear clearly before you’re plunging into the deep end — your orgasm seizing you, jeongin working you steady through it before he permits his own to happen.

your nails leave crescent moons on his shoulders, legs wrapped tight around his waist as you clamp down impossibly tight around his cock. jeongin spills hot ropes inside of you with one last fateful moan.

jeongin drops his forehead to your shoulder. habitually, your fingers come to brush through the strands of his hair, the only sound of the room being his panting at your ear.

you speak up before the silence can convince him you feel any different.

“i will never, ever leave you.” you press a soft kiss below his ear, and he shivers under the contact. “there’s nothing that could change my love for you.”

jeongin makes a strained noise in the crook of your neck, and you wonder if he could cry from hearing those very words. he must have spent years spiralling, wondering if you’d hate him for what he’d done to mark. if you’d report him and watch him rot behind bars. or worst of all, if you’d wrench away the only thing he cares about in this life, by leaving him.

but you won’t. not for some men who had it coming. not for some detective who’s next if he doesn’t mind his fucking business. not when he’s the only one in this world for you, who’d light it all on fire just for you to feel his warmth.

M.LIST ⋮ TAGLIST

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @strhwa @orphicarchive @lunaryoongie @pinkpunkdynamite @hydeonysus @velvetmoonlght @shinygubbins @ateez-atiny380 @sunnysidesins @nervousaggressive @estella-novella @felixlsworld @my-neurodivergent-world @jinniesgirl @havennz @deepestmusickid-blog @tirena1 @zealouscookierebeltrash @skyearby @kirazkiii @arkive78 @hanniebvnnie @geni-627 @eyes-ofhell @madebybec @rebelmooon @emmiesoverthemoon @bbokaricentral @skzophreniic @breakmeoff @starlostjisung @skzfflovers @angel-writes-skz-here

[softjeekies]

Waiting After The Rain - 18

Pairing: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: a/b/o, violence, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, suggestive, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory, cursing, not beta read

A/N: it’s been too long, thank you for your patience!! i am so excited for the next chapter so i think that one will be out quicker <3

previous chapter // next chapter(coming soon)

You feel like you’ve been hit by a truck. To be fair your emotions are just that heavy, like a truck sitting on your shoulders at all times, and now it’s crushed you. It takes you a moment to open your eyes. You try to sit up, but strong arms pull you back down.

“Shhh don’t push yourself.” That’s Hyunjin’s voice but you’re in someone else’s arms. Once your eyes open fully, you look up to see Jeongin looking down at you, his face twisted in a mix of concern and adoration.

“Hi,” you mumble.

“Hi princess, you really scared us.” Your face warps into shock at his confession.

“What? How long have I been asleep?” You look around at your packmates.

“You went into a sub-drop… yesterday,” Chan says.

“Oh!” You’ve been out for an entire day, in a sub-drop no less. You didn’t think it was that bad; you just felt a little sad and wanted some cuddles with your packmates. How could you have dropped?

“You would make noises or say a word here and there but you’ve been out for well over twelve hours, if you didn’t come back tonight we probably would have taken you to the hospital,” Chan says, his words betray his worry for you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you all out.” You hum, embarrassed at the fuss you caused.

“Hey don’t talk like that, it’s never your fault for dropping, it's our job to make sure you are taken care of, this would have been prevented if we did our job.” Jeongin coos running a soft hand through your hair.

“No. You guys take amazing care of me, I’ve just been super anxious recently. I looked it up and it’s probably just my hormones, but it’s making me overthink things really badly. I just wasn’t having a good day.” You take a deep breath, as if you want to say more, to explain what had happened right before the drop, but the words get caught in your throat.

“Take your time.” Felix soothes.

“I-I wanted to see Minho, I wasn’t feeling good and I got it in my head about it so I changed my mind and decided to look for an omega but I ended up finding both of you… When I got to the door, I heard you guys…” You trail off, a crimson blush spreading across your face. Minho and Felix’s eyes widen at the relaxation, their faces quickly fall, soon realizing that they were behind your sudden sub-drop.

“Oh sunshine, you should have still knocked, we would have stopped and taken care of you!” Felix coos moving to be closer to you.

“I’m not a child. You guys should be allowed to have sex without me getting in the way, you’re mates! I just got so irrationally upset, it was so stupid.”

You let out a deep sigh. “I felt abandoned.” You couldn’t bear to look at each of your packmates but the way their smells soured you knew your words had affected them.

“Y/N… baby, we would never abandon you. You’re our mate, fate brought you to us.” Felix looks like he’s about to burst into tears and this only heightens your packmates’ concern. You don’t respond, you can’t explain how you feel, it doesn’t even make much sense to you.

“Talk to me.” Jeongin leans down to place his forehead against yours.

“I think my hormones and not having a mating mark are really getting to me, it doesn’t help that we aren’t even intimate yet.” You let out a sigh.

“Is that something you want?” God, it’s not that simple. None of them gets it do they? Nothing good has ever come from you being near a horny alpha. You’ve spent most of your life being told what to do for others, and you've never been given the chance to think about what you would want.

“I don’t know. God Jeongin, I don’t fucking know! I don’t really have any good experiences when it comes to stuff like that. Part of me knows I want to, with you guys, but it terrifies me.” Your raised tone shocks the alpha, the rest of your pack too. Jeongin croons, pulling you back against his chest,

“Whenever you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

The air remains heavy but nobody says a word. It takes a while for you to be coherent before anyone lets you leave the nest. Chan is adamant that he checks you over and gives you a proper scenting before you're allowed to go back to your life outside of the pack den. Minho immediately rushes to make you breakfast, sitting next to you completely ignoring the rest of the pack while he eats with you. It’s clear that everyone is a little on edge, they hover but never push, yet it’s still making you overstimulated. So you seek out the one packmate you know won’t bullshit you, Seungmin.

“Come in.” Is the response to your knock on his door, of course you oblige.

“Hey.” You mumble, closing the door behind you. Without another word he puts down his book, patting the bed next to him. Once you’re curled up into his side, it’s easier to breathe again. Betas are magical like that.

“What’s wrong pup?” Seungmin’s voice is calm, it’s warm and welcoming, everything you need to hear right now.

“Do you consider me to be a packmate?” Seungmin looks at you like you're stupid, you kind of are.

“Do you consider yourself to be a packmate?” He cocks an eyebrow at you.

“I’d like to think so. I mean I accepted your courting right? Ugh, it’s stupid forget I asked.” Your voice doesn’t give the impression that you’re certain about that, but Seungmin knows. The beta is well acquainted with the tug his heart feels towards you, the way his wolf howls for you, and he’s well aware that the whole pack feels it too, those guys do not shut up. He’s also aware of the ninth link that is almost silently humming within the pack bond, but that’s a conversation they were leaving for Chan to have with you. He knows they’ve all hinted at it, some less subtly than others but you don’t seem to really get it, unless you have and just don’t say anything. That thought terrifies the beta, it seems unrealistic that you’d reject the bond but, sometimes he just can’t shake the thought. So he’ll just have to wait anxiously for Chan to fully dump this on you.

“Well, I can assure you, you’re just as much of a pack member as I am. Bite or no bite.” The beta says as though it were common sense, and to him and the rest of your packmates, it is. He knows deep down within you, you know too, you just wanted some reassurance and he will always be here to provide it.

Everyone had taken the day off in anticipation of you possibly not waking up so you can’t go many places in the house without running into a packmate, a packmate that wants to dote on you and ask how you’re feeling. It’s daunting to think about so you’re extremely cautious as you sneak around the house looking for Chan. He’s in the office, the door is open slightly, this would typically help him notice you were at the door but from the sound of the conversation he’s having behind that door, you’re not surprised he doesn’t notice.

“I’m just, fuck, I’m worried about her!” It’s Minho, you’ve heard him sound frustrated many times but this was different, this was about you. Minho loves his pack, he would easily kill for any of you but much like a mother taking care of a pack full of pups, the pack gets on his last nerve, but never you. Minho is soft but for you especially so, he’s fed you, and

coddled you, he’s even offered to bathe you. He’ll swear he hates you all equally but you will always have a soft spot in his heart. You know this, but still your mind stirs with nasty thoughts. Is he mad about your drop? Why would he be worried? You’re better now, right?

“Babe freaking out is just going to speed up the process, you have to relax.” Chan’s soothing voice does things to you even when it’s not directed at you.

“How do you think I got here? We should have had at least another month, after what happened on Christmas, I just thought things would be settled by then. But she dropped and I got so stressed and after things calmed down this morning and I was finally able to breathe, I felt it. Then I smelled Jisung, and we all know what happens now.” Minho sighs, you can’t see it but he’s pacing the room running his hands through his hair, so close to ripping out strands. Chan takes his mate’s hands and pulls him into his chest.

“I promise you I will handle everything, none of you needs to worry about a thing.” The older alpha places a kiss on his mate's lips before pushing away, preventing it from going further.

“Go relax, I don’t care how you do it but please just calm down babe.” and with a huff Minho obeys, leaving the office only to run into you.

“Oh! Y/N! How are you feeling?” Minho hums awkwardly trying to regain his composure.

“I’m feeling better, I just came to see Chan.” The alpha gives her a soft smile, his alpha cries for him to hug her and scent her thoroughly but he shakes off the thought leaving you standing in the hallway confused and alone. He just hopes you didn’t hear anything. You stand there frozen for a moment before taking a deep breath. Maybe you shouldn’t go see Chan, he’s probably super busy with whatever Minho needed, why bother him more? Something is clearly happening, but what? Sure Minho is one to fret and get annoyed but he was rarely ever concerned in such a way. Clearly, this is something serious, and it involves you. Before you can walk away Chan opens the door to the office, and he doesn’t look shocked to see you.

“I thought I smelled you out here.” He whispers awkwardly, his hand resting on the back of his neck.

“I haven’t been here for long, I was just bored. If you’re busy I can go.” Chan’s wolf grimaces, because he can feel that you aren’t telling the whole truth but he can’t know, not without a completed bond.

“Never too busy for you baby.” The alpha pulls you into his arms. The knuckles of his right hand smooth over the side of your bump. It’s a cute habit Chan had picked up recently that you’d never seen anyone do before but you could never question him. You both stand there for a few moments basking in each other’s presence and scents.

“Something about your scent just makes everything better.” You hum absentmindedly, but this makes Chan want to explode. His wolf howls in his head, begging and pleading with him to state what he already knows and wishes you did too. He’s your alpha, of course his scent in particular has effects on you. The rest of the alphas are also your alphas but with Chan, as the pack alpha his omegas will always have a special connection to him. He wishes you understood this side of being a wolf, it’d make it so much easier to tell you. The many times the pack has tried to breadcrumb comments about fate bringing you to them you never flinched or went on a rant about how that’s impossible. You never rejected them. But how can they know what you’re thinking? What if you do know and you just don’t believe in it? How could they even prove it to you if you don’t know anything about fate? He knows you feel some sort of connection but either you don’t know what it means or you can’t feel it the way they can because they are all mated, and you aren’t. His alpha whines at the reminder of your lack of a bite. Your confession earlier broke his heart. He knows how badly a sense of rejection from not being mated yet can hurt omegas, he doesn’t want you to feel that kind of pain. Especially since your communication skills aren’t the best, you will bottle it all up until you drop, just like you did last night. All these thoughts make the alpha’s head spin.

As Chan places a kiss on your soft lips sending you on your way to bed he wishes he could join you but he has a lot of work to do. The cute thing about Chan is that once he gets something in his head he has to follow through. It’s what makes him such a good pack alpha. Over his many years, he’s heard things, whispers and random articles, recently he’s been looking into it but a few more articles and forum posts wouldn’t hurt right? He’d say an all-nighter spent putting in this work, for you, is a night well spent. He can sleep when he fixes this.

You have a lot to think about too, so that’s how you’ll spend your night. Your nest is safe, that’s where you’ll hide. Not completely though, your door isn’t locked and if someone knocked you’d let them in but for now you just need time in your nest to think.

[slut4kwon]

follow at your own risk pt.2

pairing: kwon jiyong x fem! reader

synopsis: following the morning-after rules jiyong set to keep you safe, the tour became a constant game of push and pull; him breaking his own boundaries, while you’re left to enforce them. the tension built quietly; tangled in stolen glances, subtle touches, and one nickname you never meant to take seriously…until halloween night.

warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content | oral (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, daddy kink, dom!jiyong, brat!reader, power play, semi-public sex, begging, teasing, praise kink, multiple orgasms, light overstimulation, consensual rough sex | age gap (legal), slow burn, angst, workplace power imbalance, swearing, idol/fan dynamic, jealousy, pushing boundaries, generational humour differences.

author’s note: happy kinktober!! i am so excited to be participating in this event with so many amazing and talented writers! i figured, what better way to start off the month than with the part two that everyone has been begging for, along with some gdaddy content 😈 if you haven’t read part one, i’ve linked it below for some context on their relationship dynamic! i am super happy with how this turned out, and i hope that you all enjoy it as much as i do!! i love you all ♡

part one | part two

sunlight pushed weakly through the curtains; enough to nudge you awake, but not enough to demand you move.

your cheek was pressed to jiyong’s shirt, the steady beat of his heart filling the quiet.

his arm was heavy around your waist, holding you there like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep with you tangled across him, but also hadn’t let go once he did.

zoa and iye had taken the other side of you, their small bodies warm against your back.

his fingers were already in your hair. slow, barely-there touches that felt more instinctive than conscious.

memories from yesterday started to collect, hesitant at first.

the early morning meeting. your boss hating you. the job offer. the studio. the boys. his penthouse. him.

the smaller details followed in fragments.

what it felt like when he kissed you. how possessive his hands had been. the way he held you like he meant it, even though it made no sense.

he hadn’t even known your name yesterday morning.

now, not even a full day later, you were in his bed, curled into his chest, in his hoodie, with his fingers threaded through your hair like they belonged there.

you stirred without thinking, inching closer into the warmth of him. your leg drifted higher, slipping over his and settling just above his hip bone.

his hand paused when you moved, just for a moment, before settling back into the same slow rhythm through your hair.

“morning, trouble,” jiyong spoke softly, his voice still rough with sleep.

you shifted against him, one hand drifting up to rub the tiredness from your eyes.

when your gaze found his, your smile followed without hesitation.

there was a softness in your eyes, still glazed with sleep, like your heart had already recognized him before your mind could catch up.

“hi,” you whispered, voice cracking from disuse as you let your head drop back onto his chest, eyes closing like the morning had already asked too much of you.

he hadn’t been prepared for this version of you; sleepy and quiet, melting into him like you’d done it a thousand times before.

he brushed your hair away from your face without thinking, pressing a quiet kiss to the top of your head.

“how did you sleep?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“like a baby,” you mumbled, voice muffled where it pressed into his hoodie.

he let out a soft breath of laughter, warm against your hairline.

“figured,” he said, thumb brushing lightly over the curve of your neck. “you drooled on me.”

your head lifted fast, eyes wide with sleepy offense. “no, i didn’t.”

“you did.” he grinned as he tapped the fabric of his hoodie with his pointer finger. “right here.”

“that was probably zoa,” you muttered, weakly pushing at his chest before hiding your face in it again.

his chest shook beneath you with a quiet laugh. “also,” he added, dragging the word out, “did you know that you talk in your sleep?”

you cracked one eye open. “excuse me?”

“mmhm,” he said, the grin on his face already forming. “clear as day. ‘kwon jiyong, i swear to god—’”

a laugh burst out before you could stop it, your hand flying to cover your mouth. “shut up. no way.”

“way,” he said, laughing as he rested one of his hands on your thigh. “you were dead serious. sounded like i owed you money or something.”

you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “what else did i say?”

“hard to say,” he shrugged, shifting just enough to try and catch your expression. “the rest was mostly gibberish…but i’m almost positive you said ‘don’t test me’ at one point.”

your eyes narrowed as you looked up at him, chin still resting on his chest. “what the hell did you do to me in my dream, kwon?”

his brows pulled together, caught somewhere between amused and alarmed. “me?”

you nodded, stone-faced. “don’t act so innocent. if i was threatening you in my sleep, you obviously did something.”

he blinked hard, like you’d just accused him of a felony. “okay—but like, how would i know what happened in your dream?”

“i don’t know,” you said, poking his chest. “but my subconscious clearly clocked some shady behavior. you were up to something.”

he let out a short, confused laugh. “you’re actually blaming me for something dream-me did?”

“oh, i’m not blaming dream-you,” you said, eyebrows raised. “i’m blaming you-you. dream-you is just the whistleblower.”

jiyong stared at you, mouth opening slightly like he wanted to protest, but couldn’t find the words.

“i was literally half-asleep,” he said finally, dragging a hand down his face. “right next to you.”

“which gave you access!” you argued, sitting up slightly like you were presenting evidence to the jury. “you probably infiltrated the dream.”

he let out a sharp laugh, throwing his head back onto the pillow for a second before looking at you again. “you’re insane.”

“you’re deflecting,” you replied, squinting at him. “that’s textbook guilt.”

he groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “oh my god.”

you didn’t flinch. “apologize.”

“for what?!” he asked, voice cracking a little. “something dream-me did?”

“no,” you said sweetly, “for whatever real-you did to make dream-you act like a dickhead.”

he let out a long, suffering sigh as he closed his eyes. “i’m sorry for infiltrating your dreams, or whatever you said earlier.”

“that didn’t sound very sincere,” you said, scrunching your nose.

one of his eyes cracked open, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “alright—i formally apologize for dream-me being a asshole. real-me takes full responsibility for causing you emotional damage in an alternate reality.”

you nodded, satisfied. “see? that wasn’t so hard.”

“i hate it here,” he grumbled, but his thumb never stopped moving on your thigh.

you hummed softly, triumphant, and let your head fall back to its place on his chest.

the grin on your lips still lingered, but your eyes had softened; fluttering shut as his hand resumed its slow drag across your thigh, his thumb moving absentmindedly over your skin like muscle memory.

the room went still again.

not completely silent, thanks to the hum of the heater and the muffled sounds of the city, but the kind of quiet that only settles when something else is waiting beneath it.

jiyong didn’t speak, but his fingers continued to move. he threaded them through the ends of your hair, carefully untangling knots that weren’t even there.

it was comforting. addictive. the kind of intimacy that was too easy to get used to.

you didn’t say anything either.

you just lay there, suspended in that weird, quiet space between sleep and whatever came next.

and maybe you could’ve stayed like that.

maybe, if you stayed still long enough, he wouldn’t say what you knew was coming.

but when he inhaled a little deeper, you felt it.

the way his chest lifted beneath your cheek. the way his fingers slowed in your hair. the subtle shift in the air.

“y/n?” his voice was softer now. careful.

you swallowed. “hm?”

he hesitated for a moment. “can we talk?”

your fingers curled slightly against his shirt. “you’re already talking,” you mumbled.

he huffed, a quiet breath through his nose. “don’t be annoying.”

you smiled, just barely. “speak your mind, ji.”

he didn’t answer right away.

he kept tracing through your hair, each pass slower than the last; like if he just kept his hands busy, the truth of it all might stay buried a little longer.

“i’ve just been thinking,” he eventually said, voice low and a little rough around the edges.

you didn’t answer. didn’t even blink.

just kept your head on his chest, eyes fixed somewhere in the space between his collarbones.

his throat moved beneath your cheek as he swallowed. “about…this.”

your hand twitched slightly where it rested against his side; barely a flinch, but he felt it.

“last night. this morning. all of it,” he went on, a little quieter now. like the words were still forming, even as they left his mouth.

you gave the smallest nod, almost imperceptible.

you weren’t surprised. some part of you had been bracing for it since last night.

since the moment he whispered ‘we’ll figure it out’ into your skin like a promise he never planned to open.

you hadn’t expected the conversation to come this soon.

not while you were still wrapped in each other. not with your leg draped over his hip and his hand tangled in your hair.

but deep down, you knew it was inevitable.

it lived in the quiet between his words.

in the way he’d held you a little too tightly afterward, like he already felt the clock ticking.

in the way your chest tightened every time you remembered that none of this was simple.

not you, not him, and especially not the world you were about to step back into.

“you’re gonna be with me,” he said, slower now. “working by my side every single day.”

he didn’t have to spell it out. you knew exactly what came with that.

“people are gonna notice,” he continued, eyes fixed somewhere past you. “they’ll talk. twist things. make it a whole thing before we even figure out what this is.”

his hand was still in your hair, but his voice had gone soft; measured in a way that told you he’d been thinking about this all night.

“you already know how it gets,” he said. “they’ll dissect everything. turn you into a headline for just…being near me.”

the wall beside his bed blurred slightly as you stared it down, gaze locked like you could keep the moment from moving forward if you just didn’t look at him.

“i know you’re tough,” he said softly. “but that doesn’t mean that you should have to be.”

his eyes searched your face, like he was hoping you’d stop him; give him an excuse not to keep going.

“i just…” he hesitated, breath catching slightly. “…i still feel like i have to protect you.”

you didn’t answer. silence felt safer than risking saying the wrong thing.

instead, you shifted closer, as if the warmth of his body could shield you from what you already knew was coming.

“i just think we need to draw a line,” he said, each syllable steady and deliberate. “no more…this. not while we’re working. not when other people are around. it’s smarter that way.”

your cheek stayed pressed to his chest, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall beneath you. the sound of his heartbeat filled your ear, steady and unflinching, even as yours stumbled.

“okay,” you said quietly, your voice steady in a way that almost convinced you too. “if that’s what you want.”

the steadiness of your words only made him ache. it was the kind of calm that didn’t belong to you; the kind that almost sounded like retreat.

you remained still, swallowing down the lump in your throat, forcing the ache back far enough that it wouldn’t show.

“hey,” he whispered, brushing the side of your face with his fingers, coaxing you to look at him.

you let his hand guide your face, your eyes lifting to his despite the sting gathering at the edges.

his gaze softened instantly, guilt etched in every shade of brown that looked back at you.

“this isn’t because of you,” he murmured softly. “i like you. way more than i should, considering we just met.”

you gave a small shrug as you let your head fall back down onto his chest. “i know,” you replied calmly. “we can do whatever you think is best, ji.”

his hand stayed tangled in your hair, waiting for the lean-in that never came.

“we can still be us,” he said quickly, trying to fill the silence. “joke around, hang out. i’m not asking you to stop being you.”

“sure,” you answered, your voice clipped but light.

his thumb brushed against your temple, restless, as though the motion could hold your attention. “i just mean…” his words dragged, uncertain. “no more kissing. no more hooking up. no touching when people are around.”

“okay,” you breathed, as if it were the simplest answer in the world.

he studied you in the quiet that followed, thumb still restless against your temple.

“y/n,” he said finally, your name breaking low from his chest.

“i’m good,” you murmured, lifting your head just enough to meet his eyes. the smile you gave him was bright, practiced, like it cost you nothing. “boundaries are healthy.”

his brows knit together, suspicion flickering. “you’re being weird,” he said slowly, as if naming it might pull the truth out of you.

“i’m being reasonable,” you argued, breaking your gaze away from his once again.

his eyes narrowed, studying you. “reasonable doesn’t look like this.” he muttered. “you’re shutting me out.”

you let out a weary breath. “i’m just agreeing with you, ji. that’s all.”

“you won’t even look at me,” he whispered, his voice coming out softer than he meant it to.

your eyes flicked up just long enough to catch his before slipping away again. “i’m just tired,” you said quietly, as if that explained everything.

he breathed in, unsteady, the rise of his chest uneven beneath you. “y/n…” he said again, softer this time, almost careful.

“what?” the question slipped out with more bite than you’d planned. “you want me to fight you on it?”

he let out a short, embarrassed laugh. “yeah,” he admitted, shaking his head. “part of me did want you to fight it. which is stupid, considering i’m the one who’s supposed to know better.”

your lips curved, though the ache in your chest didn’t ease. “maybe,” you teased lightly, “but you’re also the one making the rules. if this is what you want, i’m not gonna argue with you about it.”

he sighed, a soft laugh caught in it. “the worst part is, i don’t even want the rules. i just…feel like it’s the only way to keep you from getting hurt.”

you looked up at him, a smile tugging at your mouth despite the tightness in your throat. “that’s the thing, ji. you don’t actually believe in your own rules.”

his thumb lingered in your hair, guilt shadowing his eyes. “maybe not. but i believe in protecting you.”

you let your head drop back against him, your laugh quiet, almost fond. “then you’ve gotta make up your mind. either we have boundaries and you keep them, or you stop pretending like you can.”

he chuckled, the sound rough in his chest. “you make it sound so simple.”

“it is simple,” you said, smirking up at him. “you just like to complicate things.”

his mouth curved, but before he could answer, you tilted your head. “actually…wait. if i’m not allowed to date you, does that mean i can date seunghyun instead? since he’s, you know…” your grin widened, “sort of the deluxe version of you.”

his head jerked back like you’d slapped him, eyes wide. “deluxe version?” he repeated, scandal dripping from every syllable.

you bit down a laugh, nodding solemnly. “mhmm. taller, older, deeper voice. seems like an upgrade to me.”

“upgrade?” he sat up half an inch, staring at you in disbelief. “yah—are you out of your mind?”

you bit your lip, eyes glinting as if you’d just discovered the best game in the world. “don’t act so shocked. everyone knows seunghyun’s got that whole…broody, mysterious, man-of-few-words thing going. total bonus features.”

he scoffed so loudly it made your chest shake with laughter. “bonus features? what am i then—basic model?”

“exactly,” you teased, patting his chest like you were confirming it on a receipt. “starter pack. great for beginners, but eventually you wanna upgrade.”

his jaw dropped, disbelief painted across his face. “starter pack? yah, you’re unbelievable.” he pushed a hand through his hair, muttering half under his breath, “deluxe version, my ass…”

your grin only widened, delight bubbling out of you. “hey, don’t be mad. these are your rules, remember? no kissing, no cuddling, no you. so technically…nothing’s stopping me from going after him.”

his head whipped back to you so fast you thought he might hurt himself. “nothing’s stopping you—” his voice broke into a disbelieving laugh. “you’re actually insane.”

“i’m just following your boundaries,” you sang sweetly, resting your chin on his chest like the picture of innocence.

he pointed a finger down at you, eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward. “you’re evil.”

“mm.” you smiled, smug as ever. “but at least i’m respecting the rules. can’t say the same for you, mister ‘no more touching’ with your hand still in my hair.”

his hand stilled instantly, caught red-handed. “…shit,” he muttered, dropping it to his side.

your laugh rang out, triumphant. “see? you can’t even last five minutes. how are you gonna survive an entire world tour?”

“easily,” he shot back, smirking like he believed it.

he did not survive easily.

in fact, he barely made it ten feet into the airport before he broke his own rule.

the tour hadn’t even started, and already the crowd was swallowing him whole; fans screaming his name, camera shutters clicking like machine guns, staff waving badges and shouting updates into headsets.

it was the kind of chaos he knew all too well. the kind he could usually drown out.

except today, his focus refused to stay on anything but you.

you were walking beside him; noise-cancelling headphones on, phone in hand, scrolling through the pictures you’d just taken while humming whatever throwback song you were currently obsessed with.

with you running his new instagram, 88llow88llowme, it wasn’t unusual for your eyes to be glued to your phone, capturing little moments of him into frames only you knew how to find.

however, this meant that you were everywhere he was; in the chaos, in the quiet, documenting every angle of a life most people only saw in pieces.

you were so absorbed in your gallery that the noise around you blurred into the background. every swipe seemed to pull you further into your own head, a half-smile tugging at your lips as you lingered over each shot.

somewhere between steps, you started to drift.

it was barely noticeable; just a quiet shift as your steps pulled you a little sideways.

but he noticed. of course he noticed.

you didn’t look up until a familiar hand landed at your waist, guiding you back without a word.

your hand shot out immediately, smacking his away like a reflex. it wasn’t hard, just enough to make a point.

“kwon jiyong,” you said, sharp with mock-offense. “boundaries.”

he turned his head toward you, eyes shimmering. there was laughter tugging at the corners of his mouth already. “you were about to walk into jaeho.”

your eyes lifted, scanning ahead. jaeho was a good few steps in front of you, fully in his lane, looking unbothered and unaware.

“sure,” you nodded slowly. “blame the innocent man just doing his job.”

jiyong bit his lip to keep from smiling, but failed spectacularly. “i was helping.”

“you were breaking your own rules,” you countered, voice light and smug.

he sighed like the world had wronged him. “you’re never gonna let this go, are you?”

you gave him a sweet, unbothered shrug. “nope.”

he laughed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. “unreal.”

his hands disappeared into his pockets as he fell back into step beside you, close enough to brush shoulders but just out of reach.

you narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.

he met your gaze with wide, innocent eyes. “not touching,” he said, all fake sweetness. “see? i’m learning.”

you snorted under your breath. “sure, ji. we’ll see how long that lasts.”

it didn’t last long at all.

barely a day into the tour, you felt the weight of his head tip onto your shoulder during the morning briefing.

everyone was crammed into the hotel lobby, half-awake and pretending to care what the tour manager was saying about call times.

you didn’t even look up from your phone.

“ji,” you said calmly, tilting your shoulder just enough for his head to slide off.

he made a wounded noise. “why are you like this.”

“why do you act like i’m the one that made the rules,” you replied sweetly, still scrolling.

he muttered something about regrets and betrayal and stomped off dramatically, tripping over a suitcase on purpose just for dramatic effect.

two days later, you found a rare pocket of quiet backstage and wasted no time claiming it.

you stretched out across the greenroom couch, earbuds in, phone balanced on your stomach as you sifted through photos from the last show.

you barely registered the sound of the door before you felt a sudden weight drop onto you, knocking the breath from your lungs. “oh my god—”

jiyong dropped onto you without warning, chest-first and sprawled out like you were the couch. his chin pressed to your shoulder, one arm flung carelessly across your side.

“what’re we watching?” he mumbled, voice muffled by your hoodie.

you yanked out one earbud and glared at him. “my life flashing before my eyes.”

“cool, cool.” he shifted slightly, just enough to rest more comfortably. “seems cinematic.”

you stared at the ceiling, defeated. “you are literally suffocating me.”

“just tryna bond.” he craned his neck to peer at your screen. “oh, that’s a good one. save that.”

you didn’t dignify him with a response.

instead, you rolled your hips to the side with one sharp twist, and his balance gave out instantly.

he slipped right off and hit the floor with a dramatic thump.

“ow—” he yelped, clutching his side like he’d been shot. “you’re so violent.”

you propped yourself up on your elbow and gave him a look. “you’re so touchy.”

his eyes narrowed. “you used to like that about me.”

“used to,” you nodded solemnly, voice flat. “back before you had rules.”

he groaned from the floor, flopping onto his back in defeat as he flipped you off.

you smirked and slipped your earbud back in, already returning to your edits.

“love you too, by the way,” you added, just loud enough to make sure he heard.

he didn’t respond, but you caught the small grin tugging at his mouth before he turned his head away.

the next week passed like every other since the tour started; long days, late nights, and jiyong still breaking his own rules like they were suggestions instead of boundaries.

he touched your waist in crowded hallways. rested his chin on your shoulder during van rides. threw his arm across your chest while you were napping, like he was your personal seatbelt.

every time, you called him out.

every time, he pretended to be shocked.

after the show earlier that night, you’d barely made it back to your room before collapsing face-first on the bed, half-scrolling your phone, half-dozing off, when a knock rattled the door.

“nope,” you called, not even lifting your head.

“yes,” came his voice, muffled but smug.

you groaned. “you’re not invited.”

“i just wanna hang out,” he said quickly, knocking again. “i swear. nothing illegal.”

“illegal?” you laughed, sitting up. “you’re thirty-six. everything you do with me is illegal.”

“yah,” he sounded offended, but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “don’t start.”

“i’m serious,” you went on, smirking as you padded to the door. “this is textbook harassment. i should call hr.”

“i am hr,” he shot back. “open the door.”

you cracked the door just enough to look out.

he was leaning against the frame, hair pushed back like he’d already decided to cause trouble.

the grin on his face confirmed it.

“hm,” you squinted at him. “i’ve seen that look before. nothing good ever follows it.”

“i don’t have a look,” he shot back immediately, as though you’d accused him of a crime.

you tilted your head, already easing the door shut. “uh-huh. keep telling yourself that.”

his hand shot out, slapping against the door before it closed, and the next thing you knew, your feet were off the ground.

“what the hell is wrong with you?!” you shrieked, kicking as he threw you over his shoulder. “put me down, you asshole!”

he adjusted his grip, laughing as your fists pounded his back. “not a chance. this is way easier than arguing with you.”

“easier?!” you yelped, fists thudding uselessly against his back. “you can’t just pick people up when they don’t agree with you!”

he chuckled, shifting you higher on his shoulder. “worked, didn’t it?”

“worked?!” you twisted, trying to kick free. “you’re deranged! this is harassment!”

the commotion carried down the hall until jaeho stepped out; his eyes flicking from you, dangling upside down, to jiyong’s smug grin.

“help me!” you cried, reaching dramatically towards him. “he’s abducting me!”

his mouth twitched, fighting back a laugh, and with a small shake of his head, he slipped back into his room.

“unbelievable!” you yelled after him, smacking your palm against jiyong’s back. “i thought i was your favourite!”

jiyong’s laugh cracked, loud in your ear. “see? no one’s buying your victim act.”

you twisted, glaring at him from over his shoulder. “that’s because you’ve got everyone brainwashed!”

he let out another laugh, carrying you the last few steps before shoving his door open with his hip.

he barely cleared the doorway before tossing you onto the bed, grinning like he’d just pulled off the heist of the century.

“that’s better,” he said, brushing his hands off.

you shot upright, outrage written all over your face. “better for who?”

“for me,” he replied, not missing a beat.

before you could even respond, he grabbed a towel off of the chair and slung it over his shoulder, already moving towards the bathroom.

“excuse me? where are you going?” you asked, eyes tracking him across the room.

“to shower,” he answered casually.

your jaw dropped. “are you kidding me? you couldn’t have showered before coming to kidnap me?!”

“obviously not,” he shot back, glancing at you with a shameless grin. “had to leave the option open in case you felt like joining.”

your laugh came out sharp and disbelieving as you grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at his head. “you’re disgusting.”

he caught it with ease and immediately tossed it back at you while still laughing. “it was worth a shot.”

the pillow landed back in its place as you flopped back onto the bed with a dramatic groan. “unbelievable.”

he was still laughing when he backed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

you sighed, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling for all of ten seconds before boredom won.

your phone was within reach, so you grabbed it, scrolling with lazy flicks of your thumb.

one clip caught your attention; slowed concert footage of him dragging a hand through his hair before snapping into the beat, hips rolling like he owned the stage.

you watched it twice before forcing yourself to open the comments, already laughing at what you might find.

you didn’t even make it past the first comment before you cracked, laughter spilling out so hard your stomach hurt.

‘ok g-daddy we see you’ it read, racking up almost as many likes as the video itself.

you were still gasping for air with tears forming at the corners of your eyes, when the shower cut off.

the room went quiet except for your laugh echoing against the walls.

“yo,” jiyong’s voice floated out through the door. “what are you laughing at?”

you tried to smother the sound of your laughter with your sleeve, but failed miserably.

“seriously,” he called again. “what’s so funny?”

you cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice casual. “nothing, g-daddy.”

the silence that followed was deafening.

you buried your face in the pillow, shoulders shaking, tears slipping out as you tried to keep the laughter quiet.

“wait—wait, wait, wait—what the fuck did you just say?” his voice cracked out.

you bit your knuckle to keep yourself from laughing, which only made it worse.

the bathroom door slammed open a second later, steam pouring out behind him like a stage entrance.

he stumbled out in a cloud of heat, towel barely hanging on,

you were already doubled over, clutching your stomach.

his steps were erratic, like he couldn’t decide whether to flee the scene or interrogate you with his entire soul.

“g-daddy?” he choked, practically wheezing. “did you just call me g-daddy?!”

you nodded through your laughter, eyes sparkling. “it suits you, don’t you think? has a nice little ring to it.”

he stared like you’d grown a second head. “no. no, absolutely not—”

“g-daddyyy,” you repeated, dragging it out this time, just to be annoying.

“no,” he cut in, voice cracking again. he pointed at you like he could physically reverse the words. “you are not calling me that.”

you were already laughing too hard to speak. “you—you did this! this is my revenge.”

his eyes narrowed. “revenge for what?”

“for your stupid boundaries,” you cried, turning the screen to him. “they’ve been calling you g-daddy all week. how have you not seen this?!”

he stepped closer, squinting at the video. his mouth opened. closed. opened again.

you caught the shift in his face before he could hide it; the split-second ‘oh no’ that flickered behind his eyes.

your grin turned slow and dangerous. “wait,” you said, sitting up straighter. “oh my god—you like it.”

he scoffed. “what? no.”

you tilted your head, narrowing your eyes like you were solving a puzzle. “you totally do.”

“do not psychoanalyze me right now,” he warned, towel slipping lower as he tried to gesture vaguely at your phone. “that’s not what’s happening.”

“mm,” you mused. “sure it’s not. you’re bright red.”

“that’s sweat,” he said too fast. “from the shower. obviously.”

you leaned forward. “is it?”

“shut up,” he said, one hand flying up like he was trying to block the soundwaves. “you’re being annoying on purpose.”

“me?” you gasped, mock-offended. “i’m just a humble staff member trying to document your legacy, g-daddy.”

“stop saying it!” he cried, pacing toward the dresser like the movement might save him. “this feels like a hate crime.”

“you’re the one with a daddy kink,” you called after him, biting your lip.

he stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body stiffening as though your words reached a part of his brain that he’d been actively avoiding.

“excuse me?” he said, voice climbing several octaves. “i do not have a daddy kink.”

you propped yourself up on your elbows, brows lifted. “oh, okay. so i guess the be-a-good-girl-and-beg-for-it energy was just a coincidence?”

he turned around slowly, needing to see your face to make sure you were being serious.

he looked traumatized.

you, however, were having the time of your life.

“you—” he sputtered, eyes wide. “that was—i was being—dominant. not…” he trailed off, expression contorting like the word itself betrayed him.

you nodded solemnly, biting back a grin. “sure. because telling your much younger employee to beg for it is just normal workplace dominance. nothing to unpack there.”

he looked violated. “don’t say it like that. you make it sound—”

“like a daddy kink?” you offered, fully smiling now. “that’s because it definitely is.”

“okay, no. nope. shut it down. i’m not doing this with you.” he said, pulling open the dresser like finding pants would save his dignity.

you propped your chin in your hand, still grinning. “so what now? just…parade around half-naked until i forget what i said?”

“no,” he muttered, yanking a pair of sweats from the drawer. “i’m just getting dressed.”

you squealed, immediately rolling onto your stomach, face buried in the blanket. “boundaries! hello?”

“are you serious?” he cracked up, tugging them on. “you’ve literally seen it all.”

“that was private!” your voice came out muffled against the comforter. “this is workplace harassment.”

“workplace harassment?” he repeated, still laughing at your ridiculousness. “need i remind you, you’re in my room.”

you peeked up just long enough to glare. “you dragged me into your room, which makes me the victim here.”

“oh, please,” he dropped onto the mattress beside you, water still dripping from his hair onto your arm. “you are not a victim. you live for this.”

you rolled onto your back, smirking up at him. “what i live for is enforcing the rules you made.”

“i hate those rules,” he said, though his grin gave him away.

“good,” you shot back. “that means they’re working.”

he leaned closer, bracing one arm on the pillow beside your head. “one kiss,” he murmured. “just one. no one would know.”

your pulse skipped for just a second before you shoved his face away, laughing. “nope. that’s a violation. i’m filing another complaint.”

he laughed into your palm, catching your wrist and pressing it flat against his chest. “complaint denied. i’m the boss.”

you pulled back with a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. “that’s cute. kind of hard to take the boss seriously when he’s this desperate.”

he groaned dramatically, collapsing back onto the hotel bed with a grin. “you’re gonna break eventually.”

“maybe,” you said, sliding off the mattress with your phone in hand. you tugged your hoodie straight and headed for the door. “not tonight though, g-daddy.”

his laugh cracked, boyish and helpless. “i hate you!” he shouted after you, voice breaking from how hard he was laughing.

you stopped at the doorway, half-turned with a smirk. your wink was quick and smug. “love you too, g-diva!”

you pulled the door shut behind you, leaving him sprawled in his sheets, groaning like you’d just ruined his whole life.

the next few days passed in a haze of flights, late nights, and too little sleep.

by the time any of it registered, you’d landed in australia for the final show before a much needed break.

soundcheck was already underway, bass rattling through the empty arena as jiyong moved under the lights.

you sat cross-legged on the floor at the side of the stage, phone in hand, snapping pictures between scrolls.

every so often, he glanced your way, a quick grin flashing before he turned back to the mic.

it was a habit by now; something he always found himself doing when you were around, and somehow, it tugged a smile out of you every single time.

your phone started to ring mid-photo, the name ‘seunghyun’ flashing across the screen.

your eyebrows shot up, and a grin spread before you even answered.

you scrambled to your feet, clutching your phone tight as you wove past the speakers and ducked further backstage.

when the noise finally dulled to a manageable level, you swiped the screen and lifted it to your ear.

“hello?” your voice came out a little too bright, betraying the grin you couldn’t hold back.

“rookie,” he drawled, warm and amused, just like how he always sounded when he called just to bug you. “tell me you’re coming to the party.”

your brows knit, confusion flickering across your face. “party?” you echoed. “what party?”

“the halloween one we’re hosting. don’t tell me jiyong didn’t—” he cut himself off, the disbelief clear in his tone. “yah, you’re joking. he never mentioned it?”

you blinked, forcing a laugh that came out lighter than you felt. “nope. first i’m hearing about it.”

“really?” he questioned, his voice filled with surprise. “that’s so weird. i figured he told you right away.”

your chest tightened as possibilities tumbled over each other.

maybe he’d just forgotten. maybe it slipped his mind in the chaos of tour.

it wasn’t long before other possibilities pushed their way in; ones that you didn’t necessarily want to unpack.

maybe it wasn’t an accident. maybe he didn’t want you there.

maybe he already planned on showing up with someone else; someone who wouldn’t spend the whole night throwing his own rules back at him.

the thoughts knotted tighter the longer you stood there.

against your better judgement, your gaze slipped back towards the stage.

he was already looking at you.

the smile he’d been wearing slipped the moment he registered your expression, his eyes darting to the phone pressed to your ear before settling back on your face.

his brows pulled together, worry flickering across his face. his eyes stayed on yours like he wanted answers, but the track carried on, pulling his focus back to rehearsal.

the moment his attention shifted, you let a breath and steadied your voice.

“guess not,” you said into the phone, leaning back against the wall, twirling the drawstring of your hoodie between your fingers. “but if you want me there, i’ll come.”

“of course i want you there,” seunghyun said easily. “what kind of party would it be without you?”

the tightness in your chest eased, just a little. “smooth,” you let out a laugh, quiet but real. “you always talk like that, or is this special treatment?”

“only for you,” he teased. “seriously though, the boys miss you. i miss you. it won’t be the same if you’re not there.”

you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your mouth gave you away. “fine. only because you asked so nicely.”

“nicely? rookie, that was me begging,” he laughed. “don’t let it go to your head, though.”

“too late,” you teased. “what’s the dress code anyway? do i have to match you guys or something?”

“as long as it’s a costume, you’re fine,” he said easily. “though sexy is always a bonus.” he added with a grin you could practically hear through the line.

your laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “a bonus for who, exactly?” you teased, raising your brows even though he couldn’t see you.

“for everyone,” he replied without missing a beat. “but let’s be real—we all know you’re ji’s girl.”

you huffed out a laugh, heat creeping up your neck. “i am not his girl.”

“uh oh,” seunghyun jumped in right away, dragging it out like he’d been waiting for this. “sounds like somebody’s mad she didn’t get the invite straight from him.”

your mouth fell open, a laugh slipping out of you. “i’m not mad!”

“sure,” he teased, voice smug. “you’re practically foaming at the mouth.”

“okay, okay,” you shook your head, grinning despite yourself. “maybe i am a little annoyed, but that still doesn’t make me his girl.”

“sure, sure,” he said easily. “so if you’re not his girl, that means you’re fair game, right?”

“fair game for who? you?” you questioned, already knowing what his answer would be.

“obviously,” he responded without hesitation, the grin in his voice unmistakable. “i’m taller, cooler, less bossy. i’d never make you follow dumb rules.”

your laugh burst out before you could stop it. “that’s literally what i said! i told him months ago that you were the deluxe version!”

seunghyun broke into full laughter on the other end, so loud you had to pull the phone back a little. “no way. you actually said that to his face?”

“of course i did,” you said, grinning as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “he looked like he wanted to strangle me.”

“oh my god,” seunghyun managed between laughs. “this is why i love you.”

“careful,” you warned, biting back another laugh. “say stuff like that and people might actually believe it.”

“good, let ‘em.” he shot back, still chuckling. “see you at the party, rookie.”

you shook your head, smiling as you said your goodbye and ended the call.

when you glanced back toward the stage, jiyong’s eyes were already on you, once again.

the confusion from earlier hadn’t gone anywhere. if anything, it was sharper now; threaded with something you couldn’t quite name.

you forced a small smile in his direction, hoping it was enough to smooth over whatever he thought he saw.

his mouth twitched like he wanted to return it, but the music pulled him forward before he could.

you slipped your phone into your pocket and headed for the dressing room, not bothering to stay through the rest of rehearsal.

the couch welcomed you like it knew the weight you carried, the soft cushions swallowing you as you tugged your hood up and leaned back.

the ache in your chest clung on, quiet but insistent, no matter how many times you told yourself you didn’t care.

the door cracked open a little while later, the hinges giving the faintest groan before it shut again.

before you could even look up, his voice cut through the silence.

“who called you?” he asked, steady on the surface, though the edge underneath gave him away.

your head snapped up. “seriously?” you shot back, hood still tugged over half your face. “so it’s fine for you to keep secrets, but i have to give you a play-by-play of every call i get?”

his mouth opened, then closed again, confusion flickering across his face. “what are you talking about? i just—i wanted to know—”

“it was seunghyun,” you cut him off, a little sharper than you intended.

he stilled mid-step. “…okay?” he tried, cautious. “why’s he calling you though?”

you tilted your head, feigning confusion. “why wouldn’t he?”

he blinked, caught off guard. “i mean, he doesn’t usually—he could’ve just…i don’t know—” his words tangled, shoulders shifting like he couldn’t quite find his footing.

you didn’t bother answering. instead, you sank deeper into the couch and unlocked your phone, scrolling like the conversation was over.

his brows knit, confusion tugging at his features as he watched you ignore him. “…what did he want?” he asked finally, the caution in his voice making it clear he was still trying to figure out what he’d walked into.

you hummed like you had to think about it, eyes still on your screen. “oh, nothing important,” you said at last, casual enough to sting. “just wanted to know if i was coming to the halloween party.”

he froze. “…the party? in seoul?”

you finally looked up, gaze sharp. “yeah. apparently everyone knew about it—well, everyone except me.”

his mouth parted, words stumbling out before he could shape them. “i was gonna tell you. i just…things have been—”

“don’t say crazy,” you cut in, tossing your phone aside. “don’t say busy, either. we spend every waking moment together, and somehow i’m the last to know? come on, ji. that’s not an accident.”

“i didn’t think—” he started, shifting his weight like he couldn’t decide whether to step toward you or back off.

you let out a sharp, humorless laugh, pressing a hand to your forehead. “yeah, no kidding. do you know how embarrassing that was? him sounding shocked, like, ‘yah, you’re joking, right?’ and i’m standing there looking like an idiot because you ‘didn’t think.’”

his jaw clenched, teeth pressing together hard. “you’re not an idiot. you know i don’t see you that way.”

“then explain it,” you fired back, your chest tightening. “because either you didn’t want me there, or you already planned on taking someone else. which one is it?”

“it’s neither,” he bit out, the pitch of his voice rising before he forced it lower again. “you’re twisting it—”

“i’m not twisting anything!” you snapped. “if i mattered, you would’ve told me. it’s as simple as that.”

his mouth opened, and quickly shut again, like he couldn’t line up a defense. “it wasn’t about that,” he managed finally. “i wasn’t hiding it from you.”

“right,” you muttered, arms crossing tight. “funny how seunghyun thought to ask me, though. at least he thought i was worth telling.”

his expression faltered, your words hitting him harder than you meant them to. “…so what? now seunghyun cares more about you than i do?” his voice rose, sharper than before. “that’s not fair.”

“what’s not fair,” you argued, heat rising in your chest, “is you making me feel like some afterthought. you knew for weeks, ji. weeks! and you said nothing. but god forbid i get a phone call when you aren’t around—and suddenly i have to explain myself?!”

his brows pulled together, confusion twisting into something tighter. “that’s not what this is—”

“isn’t it?” you asked, leaning forward. “you get to make all the rules, pretend like you don’t want me too close, but the second someone else gives me the bare minimum of attention, you’re looking at me like i’ve done something wrong!”

something in him cracked at that, his jaw tightening before his face shifted; hurt flashing first, frustration chasing close behind. “jesus, do you even hear yourself? you’re acting so childish—”

you froze, breath catching sharp in your chest. “childish,” you echoed, soft but trembling underneath, like you couldn’t quite believe he’d actually said it.

it wasn’t just his words that stung; it was what they implied.

you’d always believed he looked past the years between you, that he saw you standing beside him rather than behind.

the thought had been a comfort, something you clung to in the quiet moments when the gap felt too wide. now, it pressed against your ribs like a bruise, leaving you feeling much smaller than ever before.

regret washed over his face so fast it almost looked painful. “wait—no, that’s not what i meant,” he rushed, words tripping over themselves. “i didn’t mean it like that, i just—”

you let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking your head as you grabbed your bag. “don’t bother. you clearly meant it enough to say it.”

he moved toward you, hands half-raised, like he could undo it if he just explained fast enough. “y/n, please, i didn’t—”

“save it,” you cut him off, yanking the strap over your shoulder. your voice cracked once before you forced it steady. “if that’s how you see me, then fine. but i’m not gonna sit here and be talked down to by the same guy who can’t even decide what he wants from me.”

he flinched, almost like you’d hit him, but you didn’t give him the chance to recover.

“get someone else to take your stupid fucking pictures tonight,” you added, brushing past him hard enough that your shoulder clipped his.

he was on your heels the second you reached the door. “you can’t just leave—you’re working—”

you didn’t so much as look back. “then fire me,” you snapped, the words flung over your shoulder as the door slammed hard against the frame.

you tugged your hood further down your forehead as you walked, hoping the shadow it casted was enough to hide the sting in your eyes.

the door behind you flew open almost instantly. “y/n!” his voice ripped down the hall, cracked and desperate, almost like he thought sheer volume might drag you back.

his footsteps followed quickly behind you, each one hitting the floor harder than the last, until they cut short in a scuffle.

“jiyong,” jaeho’s voice came firm, his grip closing tight around jiyong’s arm.

“let me go!” jiyong roared, twisting against him, his voice breaking as he shouted again. “y/n! please!”

heads turned as you passed, a hundred questions written across their faces. curiosity, pity, judgment; all of it clung to your skin with a weight you couldn’t quite shake.

you didn’t give any of them the satisfaction of meeting their eyes, choosing to fix your stare on the floor instead, praying that if you just kept moving, they’d eventually look away.

behind you, jaeho’s voice cut through the noise, steady and immovable. “enough, ji. don’t make this worse.”

“i said let me go!” jiyong’s voice broke, rough with desperation as jaeho dragged him back.

his shoes scraped hard against the floor, fists jerking like he still thought he could fight his way free, but the older man’s grip didn’t budge.

your name ripped out of him one last time, echoing down the corridor, before the door closed behind them and cut the sound in half.

by the time you reached your hotel room, your phone had been buzzing non-stop in your hand with calls and text messages; everything lighting up the screen faster than you could swipe it away.

the moment the door shut behind you, you let your bag fall wherever it landed and threw yourself face-first onto the bed.

the mattress dipped hard under your weight as you buried your face into the comforter, a muffled sound ripping out of you before you could swallow it back.

you kicked your feet once, twice, sharp little bursts of frustration that made the bed jolt.

your phone wouldn’t stop, the vibration rattling against the nightstand like it was mocking you. you didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

you rolled onto your side, arm flopping out blindly until your fingers found the screen. the messages blurred together as they filled the display.

jiyong: where are you??

jiyong: i’m sorry.

jiyong: i didn’t mean it like that.

jiyong: please answer me.

the screen lit up again before you could even finish reading through all of the messages, his name flashing across the top.

you declined the call without a second thought and tossed your phone face-down onto the bed, but it wouldn’t stop; buzzing again and again, as if he wasn’t going to stop until you finally caved.

it went on for what felt like hours, breaking only when he was pulled onstage. for a while, there was quiet; long enough for you to almost believe he’d finally given up.

but after the show, it started again. call after call, message after message, each one more frantic than the last.

the only pause came when you realized he wasn’t on the other end of your phone anymore, but on the other side of your door.

first, it was his voice; low and hoarse from the night, coaxing, apologizing, begging you to just say something.

when that got no response, everything went quiet.

no more calls flashing across your screen. no more words piling up in bubbles you refused to open.

the silence should have been a relief, but it wasn’t. it pressed in heavy, filling the room until it was impossible to ignore.

he was still there; you could feel it, as if his presence seeped through the walls, steady and unrelenting, a quiet vow that he wasn’t leaving.

you lasted only a few minutes on the bed before the pull became too much. eventually, your steps carried you across the room, slow and unwilling, until you sank down in front the door.

you didn’t make a sound. you couldn’t. you didn’t want him to know you were there. still, being this close, separated by only a sliver of distance, dulled the ache just enough to let you breathe.

at some point, exhaustion pulled you under. you stayed curled against the door, cheek pressed to your knees. the position was uncomfortable, but the faint comfort of knowing he was still there on the other side kept you from moving.

when you opened your eyes again, morning light was already seeping past the curtains. the knock that came wasn’t his this time, but staff, reminding you that it was almost time to leave for the flight back to seoul.

the rest of the morning blurred. you packed without thinking, every motion stiff and mechanical, your chest still heavy from the night before.

he didn’t knock again. didn’t try to stop you in the hall. didn’t say another word.

still, you felt him. in the car to the airport, on the walk through the terminal, even on the plane.

his eyes lingered, his gaze thick with regret, but you gave him nothing; keeping your attention locked on everything but him.

by the time you landed back in seoul, the weight of everything hadn’t lifted. if anything, it only grew heavier when the terminal doors opened and the chaos flooded in.

cameras. voices. fans pressed shoulder to shoulder. flashes of light cutting across your vision.

you stayed back instinctively, your hand already reaching for your phone. “i’ll call someone to come get me,” you told jaeho quietly, in an attempt to avoid jiyong all together.

but before jaeho could answer, jiyong was already there.

his arm hooked over your shoulders, pulling you in tight, his hand steady at the back of your head to shield you from the swarm of bodies and flashing lights.

“i don’t care how mad you are at me,” he said, voice rough but steady against the noise. “i’m not leaving you alone in the middle of this airport.”

his words left no room for argument.

every step he took angled your body into his, his hold a shield against the swarm of fans and cameras until the car door finally closed, cutting off the noise.

his arm slipped reluctantly from your shoulders, the heat of his palm still lingering at the back of your head.

you leaned towards the window, eyes fixed on the blur of lights, even as you felt him watching you.

he stayed quiet for a long moment, head bowed, before finally speaking. “i should’ve told you,” he said, voice rough. “about the party. about all of it. you deserved to hear it from me.”

you exhaled sharply, your forehead pressing against the glass. “yeah. i did.”

his hand dragged over his mouth, restless. “it wasn’t on purpose. i wasn’t hiding it. i just…kept putting it off, and suddenly it was too late.”

your head tilted toward him, eyes narrowing. “too late? ji, we spend every minute together. you had a hundred chances to tell me. you just didn’t.”

he flinched, guilt flickering clear across his face. “i know. and i’m sorry. i hate that i made you feel like you didn’t matter.”

your throat tightened, words catching before you forced them out. “it’s not just this, though. it’s those stupid fucking rules. you set the boundaries, not me. and i’ve tried to respect them, i really have. but you’re always the one breaking them—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head.

his chest rose with a shaky breath. “i know it’s not fair. i don’t mean to confuse you. i just…” he stopped, searching. “i don’t know how to want you without risking everything. but i don’t know how to stop wanting you, either.”

you turned fully then, your eyes locking on his. “i can handle the risk. what i can’t handle is feeling like an afterthought, or like this is something you can switch on and off whenever it scares you.”

his gaze broke first, dropping to his lap. he sat there for a long beat, jaw tight, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find a single word that didn’t make it worse.

“you’re not an afterthought,” he said finally, his voice low and raw. “you’re the only thing i ever think about.”

“if you really mean that, then prove it,” you spoke quietly, the fight finally slipping out of your voice, “stop making me feel like i’m something you have to resist.”

he nodded once, slow, like the weight of your words landed heavy in his head. his fingers tapped restlessly against his knee, the silence thick between you.

“are you still going tomorrow?” he asked after a pause, cautious, almost like he was bracing himself for the answer.

your arms folded across your chest. “yeah. i told seunghyun i’d be there.”

his head turned, eyes sharp even in the dark. “what are you wearing?”

you leaned back toward the window, a faint smile tugging at your lips even as your chest tightened. “you’ll find out tomorrow.”

you hadn’t spoken to him since.

after everything that was said in the car, you thought he might reach out. a knock at your door. a half-hearted excuse. maybe even a real apology, if he was feeling brave.

instead, there was silence.

you didn’t let it bother you. at least, not enough to let it ruin tonight.

the bow tie was still loose around your neck when your phone lit up on the counter. the buzz carried through the quiet hum of the bathroom, breaking your focus for just a moment.

seunghyun: car’s downstairs. told the guys you’d be on time. don’t embarrass me, rookie.

your mouth curved, soft at the edges.

you clipped the bow tie into place, fingertips brushing over the satin until it rested perfectly against your skin. it was the smallest part of the costume, but somehow it pulled everything together.

you wouldn’t be a real playboy bunny without it.

the rest of the outfit framed it perfectly; a black corset pulled snug at your waist, a skirt so short it felt more like suggestion than fabric, fishnets mapping clean lines over your legs, and heels that raised you three inches higher than you were used to.

you picked the ears up from your dresser and settled the band over your hair, nudging it into place with careful fingers.

your eyes lingered on the mirror longer than you meant them to, and the longer you stared, the easier it was to let the confidence sink in.

a small smile curved at your mouth before you finally turned away, slipping your phone into your purse and pulling the strap over your shoulder as you walked out of your apartment.

by the time you reached seunghyun’s house, the front steps were scattered with people in costume; some smoking, some laughing, most of them unfamiliar.

a few faces stood out, ones you’d grown up idolizing, but that didn’t make walking through them any easier.

you slipped your phone from your purse and opened jiyong’s chat without thinking. it was a habit by now; texting him the moment you arrived, knowing he’d meet you outside so you wouldn’t have to walk in alone.

but when you opened the thread, there was still nothing waiting.

your thumb hovered for a moment, but you didn’t type anything. he hadn’t said a word all day, and you were definitely not about to be the one to change that.

with a quiet sigh, you backed out of the thread and opened the group chat instead.

y/n: i’m here.

you tucked yourself against the edge of the front steps, just outside the swirl of bodies moving in and out of the house.

daesung: omg finally!!!

youngbae: door’s open, just come in.

your eyes flicked towards the entrance, catching flashes of movement and loud voices as more strangers pushed through the door.

y/n: i’m not walking in alone. absolutely not.

y/n: i think someone just barked at me???

y/n: i’m too sober for this.

you shifted your weight from one heel to the other as you waited for a reply.

daesung: bark back and assert your dominance.

a laugh slipped out before you could stop it. you shook your head, already typing a comeback when another message popped up.

seunghyun: i’ll come get you, scaredy cat.

the door cracked open a moment later, and seunghyun stepped into view dressed in dark jeans, a fitted tee, and a worn cowboy hat that somehow made too much sense on him. he spotted you insantly, that same easy grin lighting up his face.

“i guess you’re not a scaredy cat,” he called out as he strolled toward you, “you’re a scaredy bunny, apparently.”

you groaned. “i hate you.”

“no, you don’t,” he said, stopping a few feet in front of you. his gaze dragged from your heels to your collarbone with no real attempt at subtlety. “rookie, what the hell are you wearing?”

“what?” you looked up at him, feigning innocence. “you don’t like it?”

he let out a short laugh. “i didn’t say that.” he leaned back slightly, giving you another once-over, slower this time. “you look really hot, actually.”

you rolled your eyes, trying not to smile as you crossed your arms over your chest. “you’re ridiculous.”

“says the girl in ears and a bowtie,” he shot back, still keeping his eyes locked on you. “you really went full playboy, huh?”

you smirked. “you sound surprised.”

“i’m not.” he said, head tilting just slightly. “i’m honestly impressed. you might’ve just saved halloween showing up like this.”

you bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. “oh my god.”

“i’m serious.” he gestured vaguely down your body. “i should’ve brought you one of those little trays. you could be walking around with shots on it right now. men would be on their knees.”

“you would be too, don’t kid yourself,” you said, poking at his chest.

he held up his hands in mock surrender. “i never said i wouldn’t be.”

your eyes flicked to the drink in his hand, and without a word, you plucked it from his fingers and knocked it back like it was yours to begin with.

“unbelievable,” he said, watching you with a mix of disbelief and amusement. “do you ever get your own drinks?”

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, smug. “why would i? yours always taste better.”

he shook his head, laughing under his breath. “you’re actually the worst,” he muttered, nudging you gently with his elbow. “come on, bunny. we’re getting you your own drink before you rob anyone else.”

you let him lead the way, following closely as he pulled the front door open. the air shifted instantly; thick with heat and sound, the bass pulsing through the floorboards like a second heartbeat.

bodies pressed in from every side, voices echoing down the hall as the party spilled deeper into the house.

you hooked your fingers lightly around his arm without thinking, just to stay close. he didn’t seem to mind. if anything, he shifted a little, making room for you as you moved through the crowd together.

“is jiyong here?” you asked, ducking your head toward him so only he could hear.

he glanced sideways, raising an eyebrow. “what, you miss him already?”

you shot him a look. “don’t be annoying.”

his mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh. “he’s here,” he said, way too pleased with himself.

your brows pulled in. “why do you sound like that?”

“i don’t sound like anything,” he said, way too quickly.

you narrowed your eyes, but he was already steering you towards the kitchen.

“you’re gonna need this,” he muttered, grabbing a glass off the counter and filling it without waiting for your input.

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you asked, giving him a look.

he didn’t answer. just turned, lifted the drink towards your mouth, and tilted it ever so slightly until you had no choice but to take a sip.

“trust me,” he added, fingers still wrapped lightly around the glass. “you’ll thank me later.”

you swallowed, eyeing him over the rim as he finally let go. “you’re actually insufferable, sometimes.”

“probably,” he said, already nudging you out of the kitchen. “but you’re about to be real glad i did that.”

you didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant by that.

the music pulsed heavier as you followed him down the hall, the crowd thinning just enough to move without bumping into every person in your path.

still, the occasional shoulder grazed yours, causing you to tighten your hold around seunghyun’s arm for balance.

“they’re over there,” seunghyun said, tipping his chin towards a cluster of couches near the window.

you spotted them just as they spotted you.

“finally,” daesung called, already pushing to his feet. “what took you so long?!”

youngbae stood too, a grin spreading across his face as his eyes flicked over you. “rookie, you look insane,” he said, pulling you into a quick hug before you could even answer. “definitely worth the wait.”

“seunghyun made me stop for a drink,” you answered as daesung pulled you in for a hug of his own.

this side of the living room was a little calmer. the smoke still hung in the air, curling lazily toward the ceiling, but it wasn’t as dense. the music bled in from the hallway, bass heavy and slow, muffled just enough to make voices easier to hear.

groups of people lounged across the couches, plastic cups balanced on their knees or cradled in their hands. the lighting here was low and violet-toned, soft enough that everyone looked a little hazy around the edges.

daesung leaned back, still grinning as he looked you over. “wait, where’s your drink?” he asked, glancing at your empty hand.

you shrugged. “finished it already.”

“damn,” he laughed, reaching behind him to grab another off the low table. “guess that means this one's yours now.”

you took it before he could change his mind, raising it in mock salute. “you’re a good man, dae.”

“i try,” he said, flashing a grin.

youngbae hadn’t taken his eyes off you. his head tilted, gaze narrowing a little like he was trying to line something up in his mind.

“wait,” he started, the words dragging out slowly as he glanced over his shoulder. “did you and—”

“yo, ji!” someone shouted from one of the couches beside you. “one of your little bunnies are here!”

the words sliced right through the loud music, causing a few heads to turn your way; including his.

he shifted from where he was standing and turned towards the noise, a lowball glass dangling from his fingers.

the movement was casual until his eyes landed on you.

everything around him seemed to blur out. the smoke, the music, even the girl standing beside him. none of it mattered anymore.

his fingers tightened slightly around the glass in his hand, but he didn’t move. not right away.

he just stared, eyes dragging down the length of you like he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you muttered, eyes drifting over the silk robe slung low over his shoulders, the dark shirt half-unbuttoned beneath it, and the pipe on the table next to him.

he was dressed as hugh hefner. of course he was.

beside you, seunghyun’s low laugh was almost a whisper. “told you you’d need a drink,” he muttered, his mouth close to your ear.

you lifted your drink to your lips in acknowledgment, taking a slow slip as if that might dull the heat crawling up the back of your neck.

he still hadn’t looked away.

for a second, you thought maybe he wouldn’t move.

maybe he’d stay exactly where he was; frozen in place, trying to blink you into something less dangerous.

but the moment the alcohol touched your tongue, he took a slow step forward, then another, weaving between shoulders and couches like nothing else in the room existed.

he stopped a few steps in front of you, not quite close enough to touch. his gaze dragged over your outfit again, much slower this time, before returning to your face.

“you made it,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

you gave the smallest nod, not knowing how to respond to him.

“you look…” he started, only to trail off mid-thought.

“smoking hot,” daesung offered casually.

“drop-dead gorgeous,” youngbae chimed in with a grin.

“absolutely lethal,” seunghyun added, deadpan.

jiyong exhaled, jaw flexing once before he finally cracked a smile. “yeah,” he said, nodding slightly. “that.”

you tilted your head the slightest bit, letting the silence stretch before answering.

jiyong flicked a look at the boys, not subtle in the slightest, a silent order to give the two of you space.

to your surprise, they actually listened, peeling off towards the kitchen with the worst attempt at casual you’d ever seen.

“you look good too,” you said, voice deceptively light. “hugh hefner, though? really?”

his lips twitched, eyes flicking down for a second. “wasn’t my idea.”

“sure it wasn’t,” you replied, arms loosely crossed over your chest. “it’s very on brand.”

he raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “how so?”

you took a slow step closer, your mouth curling at one corner. “old. rich. dramatic. craves attention…” you paused, leaning in just enough for only him to hear, “it’s all very g‑daddy of you.”

his body went still, so subtle anyone else would’ve missed it, but you caught it.

the flicker in his eyes. the way his breath dipped for half a second. how his grip on the glass tightened.

his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, eyes dragging over your mouth like he was already imagining it parted around his name.

“you’re not playing fair,” he said, voice rough.

“i’m not here to play,” you said softly. “you know that.”

he stepped closer. not quite touching, but close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off of him.

he let out a quiet, rough laugh, almost more breath than sound. “you’re gonna be a fucking problem tonight.”

you didn’t flinch. instead, you lifted your chin, eyes locked on his like you were daring him to do something about it.

the space between you barely existed now; one breath, one slip, and you’d fall right into him.

“funny,” you murmured, voice low and deliberate, your words curling between you like smoke. “i thought that’s what you liked about me.”

his eyes darkened instantly, like you’d hit a nerve he’d been trying to keep buried.

he leaned in just enough that your noses nearly brushed, voice low enough to vibrate through your chest.

“i like a lot of things about you,” he said, each word thick with restraint. “but that mouth might be my favourite.”

his voice rolled through you, low and deliberate, like it knew exactly where to land.

your body reacted before your mind caught up; heat curling in your stomach, a slow throb of want that settled deep in your bones.

you smothered it before any of it could reach the surface.

your lashes lifted with calculated ease, gaze locking on his like you were reading every filthy thought behind his eyes, and choosing not to act on a single one.

you lifted your drink with slow, measured simplicity, letting the rim graze the edge of his skin on the way up; a fleeting, but deliberate touch.

his muscles tightened in response, subtle but unmistakable, like the slip of control had caught him off guard.

you tipped it back and finished the rest in one long swallow, allowing him to watch the movement of your throat.

his gaze tracked every shift — your lips, the curve of your neck, the rise and fall of your chest — devouring you without the slightest hint of shame.

when the glass came down, your lips were damp, parted, and just inches away from his.

you didn’t move. neither did he.

his eyes lingered on your mouth for a beat too long, almost like he was weighing the consequences of closing the gap between you, or maybe fantasizing about all of the ways he could make you beg for it first.

“i’m gonna get a refill.” your words brushed his mouth more than his ear, soft enough to be mistaken for a promise.

you stepped past him slowly, your fingers skimming the back of his hand.

before you disappeared into the crowd, you looked back once, shoulder turned, eyes gleaming with something that wasn’t quite innocent.

“try not to miss me too much,” you added sweetly, with a smile sharp enough to draw blood.

you didn’t wait for his reaction.

the crowd swallowed you in seconds; music pulsing, bodies everywhere, and heat pressed from all directions, but none of it compared to what you’d just walked away from.

you didn’t make it far before familiar fingers wrapped around your wrist, halting you so abruptly your breath caught mid-step.

you didn’t have to look to know it was him.

his fingers tightened just enough to make you stop. heat rolled up your arm a second before his chest brushed your back, his breath ghosting the side of your neck like a warning.

“upstairs,” he said, low enough that only you could hear. “now.”

the words cracked through the noise, quiet but absolute. it wasn’t a request.

you felt the tug of his hand before your mind caught up. the crowd parted for him without a glance, his grip steady as he pulled you through it.

his hand stayed locked around yours as he cut through the party like it wasn’t even there. shoulders and cups brushed against you, a blur of faces and smoke, but no one tried to stop him.

your pulse matched the bass underfoot, hard and fast, even as the sound dimmed with every step up the stairs.

your heels barely hit the landing before he was unlocking the last door at the end of the hall; seunghyun’s in-home studio.

the room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of a red interface light.

you barely had time to register the space — the cluttered desk, the low hum from the equipment, the scent of wood polish and smoke still clinging to the walls — before his grip shifted.

his hand moved from your wrist to your waist, and in one smooth, unrelenting motion, he turned you.

your back hit the door hard enough to make it slam shut behind you; the sharp, echoing click of the latch sealing the room, and sealing you in it.

your gasp caught on his mouth before you even realized he was that close.

his hands bracketed your hips, wide and possessive, fingers digging in like he was daring you to move.

his chest pressed flush to yours, keeping you pinned with nothing more than his body and the heat rolling off of it.

he didn’t say a word. didn’t give you a second to breathe.

he kissed you like he was starving; the kind of kiss that knocked the breath right out of your lungs and left your knees weak.

you moaned against his mouth, a sound he swallowed eagerly, hands already sliding under your ass.

“jump,” his voice was low, wrecked, and demanding.

you obeyed without hesitation, legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck.

he caught you easily, palms spreading over the back of your thighs as he pressed you back against the door, like he needed every inch of you flush against him.

his mouth dragged down your jaw, hot and open, and your head hit the wood behind you, causing your bunny ears to fall to the floor without either of you even noticing.

“fuck,” you gasped, breath hitching when he rocked into you.

he was already hard, and already so far gone.

“you’re such a fucking tease,” he growled, biting lightly at your neck. “walking away from me like that—”

his hand slid up your side, fingers grazing the edge of the velvet corset. “—acting like you didn’t want me to do this.”

he didn’t wait for a response.

his hand gripped your waist, steady and hard, anchoring you in place as he rolled his hips into yours again, rougher this time, like he wanted to hear you break.

your breath caught, the moan slipping out before you could stop it.

“you wore this just to test me, didn’t you?” his breath was hot against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “knew i wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

your legs flexed tighter, forcing him closer. “don’t get too cocky now, kwon,” you whispered, nails dragging lightly along the back of his neck. “not everything is about you.”

he let out a short breath, eyes still fixed on yours like you were the only thing in the world.

“you’re right,” he said, voice rough and edged with amusement. “it’s about you.”

his hands slid higher, up your thighs and under the hem of your skirt.

he pressed you harder into the door with the weight of his body, growling something low and nearly incoherent when your fingers gripped onto the back of his hair.

“you’re really not gonna say anything now?” he muttered, voice wrecked and laughing against your jaw. “mouthy all night, but the second i touch you—”

your hand fisted his shirt, yanking him back to your mouth.

“shut up,” you breathed against his lips. “you talk too much.”

his laugh was low against your mouth, swallowed almost instantly by another kiss. this one was hungrier, his lips parting yours like he’d been waiting his whole life for this.

you met him with the same heat, nails still dragging along the back of his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left to take.

his grip under your thighs tightened, lifting you higher with a sharp tug. your gasp spilled into his mouth, legs squeezing around his waist.

the shift tore your back from the door, your weight settling entirely into his arms as he carried you.

you barely realized where he was taking you until the edge of the desk pressed up against your hip.

his arm swept across the desk in one quick motion; monitors, mics, and cables crashing to the floor in a violent clatter. the sound rattled the room, sharp and jarring, but he didn’t flinch.

you jerked in his arms, laughing in disbelief. “holy shit, ji—” your voice broke on a gasp, eyes wide. “do you have any idea how much that shit costs?! it’s not even your—”

his mouth crashed against yours before you could finish.

the kiss was chaotic and hungry, his teeth catching your bottom lip before his tongue soothed the sting.

your laugh dissolved into a moan, hands clawing at his shoulders, pulling him closer even as you tried to catch your breath.

he pulled back just enough to smirk, lips brushing yours as he spoke. “you think i give a fuck about seunghyun’s shit? i could buy him a new studio by tomorrow,” his grip on your thighs was bruising, forcing you higher against him. “the only thing i care about right now is you.”

heat flickered low in your stomach, enough to shake your smugness for a beat. you pushed it down fast, tilting your chin like you still had the upper hand.

“mm,” you hummed, soft and teasing, though your pulse betrayed you. “that almost sounded sweet.”

his mouth twitched; not quite a smile, more like a warning. “almost?”

your lips curved, eyes glittering with defiance. “guess you’ll have to work harder if you want the full compliment.”

his laugh scraped low against your lips, rough enough to vibrate through your chest.

in the same breath, he shifted his hold, lowering you onto the desk in one smooth motion until the cold wood pressed into the backs of your thighs.

“is this how you’re gonna act all night?” he asked, eyes burning into yours.

“depends,” you murmured with a shrug, eyes gleaming.

his eyes narrowed, the amusement in them razor-sharp. “lay back.”

you stayed where you were, lips twitching like you might say no just to see what he’d do.

his grip slid higher on your thighs, fingers pressing hard enough to drag a gasp out of you. “i said lay back.”

the command rippled through you, leaving no room for argument.

still, you dragged it out, easing yourself down slowly across the desk, just to test him. the cool surface pressed into your back, your legs dangling until he pushed them higher, heels landing on the edge of the desk.

he crowded closer, breath hot against your mouth, hands prying your thighs wider until you couldn’t fight the heat pooling in between them. “that’s better.”

your laugh came out shaky, teasing, the sound skating along the tension. “bossy tonight.”

his mouth grazed your jaw, hot and claiming. “you like it.”

your pulse stuttered, the curve of your smile faltering slightly, but holding just enough to keep your game. “maybe i do, daddy.”

his head tilted, eyes narrowing like a predator catching movement in the dark. “you still think you’re in charge, huh?”

your smile only widened, the brat in you refusing to back down. “a little.”

his mouth hovered just above yours, his words scraping against your lips. “last time you thought you were in control, i made you beg. do you remember that, baby?”

your breath hitched, the memory flashing hot in your mind, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crack. “vaguely,” you murmured, tone dripping with fake innocence.

“if you want to come tonight, you’re gonna behave,” he murmured, voice so calm it made your pulse stutter harder. “because if i even think you’re trying to play me again, i’ll keep this pretty pussy begging all night. you understand?”

your lips curled, smug even as your chest rose too fast. “i guess i’ll behave,” you murmured, tone feather-light like you were humoring him.

his eyes narrowed, the warning in them flickering darker. the grip at your waist shifted, palm sliding higher until his thumb brushed the edge of your corset.

“be good and say it right,” the words came out rough, scraping against your lips like a spark waiting to catch.

your pulse jumped, but you dragged it out, lashes lowering like you might make him wait. the look in his eyes warned you against it.

your throat worked once before you let the words slip out. “okay, daddy…i’ll behave.”

his approval roughened his voice, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “good girl.”

his hands slid down the curve of your thighs until they hooked into the fishnets. the sound of fabric tearing split the air, harsh and unforgiving.

your eyes widened, a shocked laugh breaking free before dissolving into a shiver. “ji—” his name caught halfway between disbelief and a moan, your hips already lifting into his grip.

any thought of protest evaporated under the rush of heat roaming through your body, leaving nothing but want.

his hands didn’t hesitate. the ruined edges of the fishnets curled against your skin as he shoved your panties aside, his fingers sliding through the heat of you like he’d been waiting all night for it.

a ragged sound left your throat, sharp and needy, heels digging into the desk as your legs spread wider for him.

your skirt had already ridden up, bunched high on your hips, and the air felt cold against your bare skin compared to the burn of his touch.

he dragged his fingers over you again, slower this time, like he was remembering every slick inch before pressing two of them deep inside of you.

your back arched, a choked gasp breaking free, your head tipping back against the desk.

“fuck, daddy—” your voice cracked when his thumb circled your clit in a steady rythym. your heels scraped uselessly against the desk, the sharp click of them hitting wood echoing in the small room.

his gaze never wavered, locked on your face like he was memorizing every flicker of you unraveling. “look at you,” he rasped, voice low enough to scrape down your spine. “already so desperate for me.”

he bent without warning, dropping to his knees at the edge of the desk. his palms spread you wider, forcing your thighs open until the arch of your platform stilettos braced hard against his shoulders.

“keep ‘em there,” he ordered, gaze flicking up once. “don’t you dare move.”

you barely had time to nod before his mouth replaced his hand, tongue hot and unrelenting as it dragged through your folds.

the moan that ripped out of you was raw and shameless, hips jerking up into his face like you’d been waiting for this all night.

“oh fuck—daddy, oh my god,” your moans broke free like a plea, wrecked and unplanned, your heels digging into him harder as if you could lock him there.

his laugh vibrated against your clit, smug and rough all at once. “that’s it, baby. feels good, huh?”

your answer dissolved into a gasp. “y—yeah—”

he dragged his tongue once more through your slick before pulling back, the heat of his breath ghosting over you. his two fingers slid back inside, quick and deep, until your spine arched against the desk again.

“not yet,” he murmured, voice rough, his thumb still circling your clit without pause. “you don't come until i say.”

your nails scraped across the wood, the desk creaking under your grip. “daddy, i—” your voice broke into a moan. “i'm try—trying—”

“hold it,” he ordered, pace quickening, the wet sounds obscene in the small room. “you can take it, baby.”

your legs trembled around his shoulders, thighs taut, heels digging into his shoulders. “it’s—fuck—it’s too much—”

his gaze flicked up, steady and dark. “good. that's the point. stay with me.”

his fingers curled deep, pressing the same spot again and again, while his thumb continued its relentless motion on your clit.

“please” you gasped, chest heaving. “please, daddy, i can't—”

“yes, you can,” he snapped quietly, his rhythm never faltering. “don't you dare let go.”

your hips jerked anyway, your body betraying you. “i—i can't—oh god—”

“wait,” he said, calm as ever, while driving you harder into the desk. “you wait until i tell you.”

you shook your head, breath breaking into sobs of pleasure. “i can't hold it—”

the orgasm ripped through you before you could stop it, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your whole body clenched around his fingers.

he didn't let up, dragging every tremor out of you until you were squirming under his hold.

when he finally pulled his hand free, slick glistening down his wrist, his eyes stayed locked on yours.

he stood slowly, the height difference suddenly overwhelming as he loomed over you, your back still pressed to the desk.

your chest heaved, every nerve still buzzing, the desk cool beneath your back.

he slid a hand beneath your back and pressed firmly, coaxing you upright.

your legs wobbled as he guided you to your feet, stilettos clicking unsteadily against the floor. your body leaned into his without thinking, still weak from the force of your release.

his palm came up to your jaw, firm but not rough, tilting your face until you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. “you didn’t listen,” he said, voice even and unshaken. “you told me you’d behave. you lied.”

your throat tightened, the sting of his words hitting harder than his touch. “i’m so—sorry,” you breathed, shaky and soft. “i didn’t mean—”

he cut you off with his mouth, the kiss rough and punishing. you gasped against him, tasting yourself there; the filthy reminder making your body jolt with a mixture of shame and want.

“sorry doesn't fix it,” he said evenly. “you lied to me. and now you don't get a thing until you earn it.”

before you could reply, he spun you in his grip and bent you forwards, pressing you down against the desk until your cheek met the wood.

your skirt bunched higher at your hips, fishnets torn wide between your thighs, but his hands left you there — completely untouched.

the silence dragged, your pulse pounding loud in your ears. you shifted your hips back, searching for him. "really?" you muttered, breathless but taunting. "you're just gonna make me stand here like this?"

"that's exactly what i'm gonna do," he said, voice low at your ear. "until you remember how to be a good girl and beg properly."

your stomach twisted, heat pulsing low. you had begged before, exactly the way he liked it, and you knew that's what he was waiting for.

still, the stubbornness in you didn’t let up. “i thought you liked it when i misbehaved, daddy,” you said, words edged with a shaky laugh.

his hand pressed between your shoulder blades, firm enough to make your chest flatten against the desk. "don't play dumb. you know better."

your lip caught between your teeth, pride buckling under the ache between your legs. "please," you breathed. "please, daddy..."

"not good enough." his tone sharpened, the grip at your back unrelenting. "say it right."

you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliation and want tangling hot in your chest. "please, daddy, please fuck me. i need you—need your cock. i'll be good, i swear."

his breath ghosted over your ear, voice low and rough. “there we go, that’s more like it,” he murmured, using his foot to nudge your legs a little further apart. “good job, baby.”

you barely had time to breathe before the rasp of his zipper filled the silence.

he stepped in close, pressing the thick head of his cock against the mess between your thighs, dragging it slow along your slick folds just to hear you whimper.

“are you gonna behave now, hm?” he asked, voice still even but edged with threat. “be a good girl?”

“yes—” your answer broke into a moan as your hips rolled back without permission. “yes, daddy, please—”

his fingers dug into your hip, pinning you still. “i didn’t say you could move.”

your breath hitched, your cheek still pressed to the desk, hands clawing at the edge. “i’m sorry—”

he lined himself up at your entrance, one hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you down, the other still gripping your hip. “stay right here, baby.”

before you could catch your breath, he drove into you with one hard push, burying himself to the hilt in a single thrust. the sudden stretch tore a cry from your throat, the sound splintering as it left you.

“oh—my god—” the words stumbled out, raw and uneven, caught between shock and the rush of pleasure.

he gave you no time to recover, driving his hips forward in a ruthless rhythm, every thrust slamming you harder against the desk.

“daddy—fuck—too much—too—” the fragments tumbled after, broken and desperate, every syllable dragged from you in pieces.

your breath came in sharp gasps, eyes fluttering shut as you tried to adjust to the sudden intrusion.

he didn't allow you the chance to catch your breath, setting a punishing pace that had the desk creaking beneath you. “fuck, you're so tight,” he grunted, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks. “you like it rough, huh?”

you could only moan in response, your body stretching to accommodate him.

every thrust sent sparks of pleasure racing up your spine, your walls clenching around his thick length.

he leaned over you, hot breath ghosting over your ear. “that's it, baby. take my cock like the good girl you are.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine, your toes curling in your heels. you arched your back, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts.

“please—” the word tore from your throat, high and uneven. “please, daddy—i—oh fuck,”

he pulled out slow, almost to the tip, drawing a shudder from you, then slammed back in hard enough to skid your palms across the desk.

a broken moan escaped you, catching on a sob.

“you’re going to take every inch,” he murmured, his thrusts steady and brutal, “and stay right here until you’re shaking for me. understand?”

“y-yes—” your answer cracked into another moan. “yes, daddy, i understand—”

he let out on a rough exhale, the sound laced with possession. “that’s my girl.”

he didn’t falter, every thrust deliberate, drawing you higher, winding you tighter with a rhythm that left no room to breathe.

each stroke carried an intent you couldn’t escape, knowing exactly what your body would cling to, what would push you closer and closer to the edge.

“daddy, please,” you gasped, voice breaking under the strain. “i'm so close—please, let me—”

his fingers clamped harder into your hips, his answer a rough growl. “not yet. you lost it too soon last time—this time, you hold it.”

your breath stuttered, head shaking. “i can't—i can't hold it—”

“yes, you can,” he cut in, steady and unrelenting. “be good for me. prove that you know how listen, and maybe i’ll let you come.”

a helpless whine tumbled out from your lips, your whole body trembling, trying to hold back the unrelenting pressure of pleasure.

“that's it,” his voice rasped, rough but laced with praise. “you can do it, my girl.”

his rhythm faltered, breath catching, every word strained with control.

“now,” he growled, sharp and final. “now you can—come for me, baby.”

you broke with a cry, nails scraping the desk as your legs gave out slightly beneath you.

his groan followed, low and guttural against your back, his grip holding you firm as he drove through the last waves of his release, leaving nothing but the sound of the two of you unraveling together.

for a long moment, neither of you moved. the bass from the party was still thudding through the floorboards, but it was too faint to belong to the world you were in now.

he pulled out of you with a rough exhale, causing you to hiss at the sudden loss; your body still raw from the intensity of it all.

his hand moved quickly, tugging your underwear back into place, the torn fishnets stretched clumsily over the evidence he’d left behind.

it wasn’t a careful gesture, but more like a claim; a quiet way of keeping you his, even in the smallest details.

he let you go just long enough to yank his pants back into place, the harsh scrape of the zipper cutting through the muffled bass that rattled up from downstairs.

before you could move, his hand was on you again, gripping tightly at your hip like he had no intention of letting you go twice.

“we’re leaving. now.” he said, each word bitten off like he could barely hold them back.

you blinked, still bent against the desk, a laugh bubbling out of you, light and mocking. “leaving? we’ve been up here, what—twenty minutes? the boys are gonna wonder why hugh hefner disappeared with his bunny so fast.”

“let them wonder. i don’t give a fuck.” his words came fast, urgent, like he couldn’t get them out quick enough. “i can’t stand another second of this party, not with you like this. i need you out of here. with me.”

you pushed yourself upright on unsteady legs, turning to face him, your body swaying until you were pressed flush against his, the air between you gone before you even realized it.

“what if i say i want to go back downstairs? grab a drink, dance a little?” you teased, testing just how far you could push him when he was already strung so tight.

“always running that mouth,” he muttered, his breath brushing yours, eyes burning into you as he shakes his head. “trouble. you’re nothing but trouble.”

the laugh slipped out of you instantly, soft and breathless against his lips, your smirk curling as you tipped your chin higher. “mm, but you can’t get enough of it, can you, daddy?” you murmured, daring him to deny it.

his grip tightened, dragging you even closer, your chest pressed hard against his. his reply came fast, every syllable pronounced like he was hanging on by a thread. “you’re right—i can’t. that’s why we’re leaving.”

you opened your mouth to argue, or maybe to make another smart comment, but paused when he took a single step back.

without a word, his hands moved to the collar of his robe, sliding it from his shoulders in one slow, practiced motion.

“ji,” you started, confused, “what are you—”

he stepped in close again, though something in him had shifted.

the intensity that had driven every touch just minutes ago had softened; melted into something quieter, like the hush that follows a storm.

he reached for you without a word, settling the silk robe over your shoulders with a touch so careful it made your chest ache. his fingers ghosted along your collarbone as he adjusted it, smoothing the fabric down like he never wanted to let you go.

“covering you up,” he murmured like it was obvious. “your skirt’s riding up, and your tights are…” he let the sentence trail off with a breath. “yeah.”

you laughed, shaking your head at the memory of him aggressively ripping them a few moments ago. “and whose fault is that?”

his eyes met yours, something softer flickering behind the usual fire. “mine,” he said simply. “that’s why i’m fixing it.”

the robe was warm from his body, smooth against your skin, smelling faintly like cologne and something expensive you couldn’t quite name.

it settled heavily over your shoulders; not in weight, but in meaning.

you turned around, the fabric shifting with you, and spotted something of yours that was left on the floor earlier.

your bunny ears.

you walked towards the door and picked them up, turning back to him with a grin. “since i’m taking your clothes,” you said lightly, holding the ears up between you, “it’s only fair.”

before he could protest, you reached up and placed them on his head, adjusting them with exaggerated care.

he blinked at you, bunny ears crooked on his head, looking both ridiculous and completely unbothered.

“seriously?” he asked under his breath, shaking his head with the faintest smile.

you smiled, leaning up without thinking to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. “you love it,” you whispered, just close enough for him to hear.

his grin came boyish and lopsided, like he knew you were right and had no intention of pretending otherwise.

his hand found yours a moment later, fingers lacing tight with a grip that carried more urgency than words ever could.

“let’s go,” he said, already tugging you towards the door.

you followed, stepping over the mess he’d made; seunghyun’s monitor flat on its face, the mic stand snapped clean in half, the mix table halfway under the desk.

“you’re telling him about this,” you said, eyes sweeping the wreckage.

jiyong barely looked back. “he likes you more.”

you gave his hand a squeeze, shooting him a look. “that’s not how this works.”

“sure it is,” he grinned, tugging you along. “i cause the damage, you soften the blow. it’s a team effort.”

you were both laughing by the time you hit the hallway, hand in hand, trying not to trip over each other or the sheer chaos that the two of you had left behind.

the closer you got to the stairs, the louder the party became; bass thudding through the walls, voices bubbling up the stairwell, laughter spilling over the music.

you were almost halfway down when the three of them came into view.

seunghyun, youngbae, and daesung stood clustered at the bottom landing, drinks in hand, mid-conversation. their heads turned at the sound of footsteps, and all three sets of eyes landed on you instantly.

youngbae blinked first. “wait—what are you wearing?”

“is that his robe?” daesung tilted his head.

“why are you wearing her bunny ears?” seunghyun asked, genuine confusion laced in his voice.

jiyong didn’t even pause. “she gave them to me.”

the three of them froze, eyes flicking between you and jiyong like they were piecing together a puzzle they weren’t sure they wanted solved.

seunghyun seemed to be the one who connected the dots first, his gaze narrowing, cutting straight through the two of you.

“you better not have fucked in my bed,” he said flatly.

you didn’t even blink. “we didn’t,” you said, voice light with innocence.

for a moment, it almost worked. seunghyun’s shoulders loosened. youngbae raised a brow. daesung looked like he might believe you.

“but,” you added, like it was an afterthought, “he does sort of owe you a new studio.”

“studio?” youngbae echoed, full alarm now.

“what studio?” daesung asked, leaning forward, already grinning.

seunghyun’s voice went flat. “my studio. what the hell happened to it?”

“nothing happened,” jiyong said quickly, his hand tightening around yours as he started nudging you towards the door. “absolutely nothing. we’re leaving.”

“leaving?!” daesung shouted, stepping slightly in front of you. “you just got here.”

“you’re not even drunk yet!” youngbae added, almost offended.

“i made you a drink,” seunghyun said, holding out the glass like a peace offering. “a good one.”

you took it from his hand without missing a beat. “perfect. for the road.”

jiyong looked like he was about to combust. “baby—please.”

you grinned at the boys as you backed towards the door. “love you all. invest in locks for your doors, oppa. they would have saved you a lot of money tonight.”

“what did you do—” seunghyun shouted, but jiyong had already dragged you outside before you could answer.

the car door had barely shut behind you before he exhaled hard, hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

you turned towards him, the buzz of chaos behind you replaced by something softer. “you okay?”

he didn’t answer right away. his eyes stayed fixed on the dark stretch of driveway ahead, the crooked bunny ears still clinging to his head like some sad attempt at comedy.

you reached across the middle console, fingers brushing his temple as you straightened them. “you look ridiculous.”

he let out a small breath, barely more than a sigh.“you look better in that robe than i ever did.”

the words came quiet, almost offhanded, but something in his tone made you pause. there was no teasing behind it; just honesty, laid bare.

your hand lingered near his face before falling to your lap, fingers curling slightly.

the shift in energy was subtle, but it settled heavy between you. whatever rush you'd both been riding earlier had finally begun to settle into something slower. something real.

you caught the way his jaw moved, slow and tense, like he was chewing on something he didn’t know how to say.

“what’s going on in that head of yours?” you asked gently.

he exhaled again, slower this time. “i just keep thinking about that night.”

you stayed quiet, allowing him the space to open up.

“the night of the concert,” he clarified. “when you left.”

your stomach turned. not from guilt, but from the way his voice shifted; like it physically pained him to think about it.

“you ignored every call. every text.” his eyes stayed on the driveway, unfocused. “i kept checking the side curtain like an idiot. like maybe you’d just walk back in.”

you swallowed, heart thudding against your ribs.

“i was supposed to be working. performing. everyone was screaming my name, and all i could do…” his hand lifted like it might explain something, but dropped again. “all i could do was stare at the empty spot where you should’ve been standing.”

you turned a little more towards him, silk pooling at your elbows, the scent of his cologne rising with the shift.

he still wouldn’t look at you.

“i don’t ever want to feel that again,” he said, his voice so low it barely reached you. “not the silence. not the distance. not you walking away like that. it felt like i lost the other half of me.”

his hand flexed where it rested near the gearshift, fingers twitching like they still remembered reaching for nothing. “i don’t care who’s watching, or what it looks like from the outside, or how messy it gets. i don’t care anymore. i just can’t lose you like that again, y/n.”

your chest ached in the quiet that followed. his words didn’t feel rehearsed; they felt scraped out from somewhere deeper.

honest. tired. a little scared.

you reached for him again, your fingers brushing his before lifting up to his face, coaxing him to look at you.

“you didn’t lose me,” you said gently. “not that night. not ever. i was mad, yeah. a little hurt too.”

his gaze stayed fixed on yours, searching for something in your expression.

“when you were outside my door that night,” you said evenly, almost like you’d been waiting to get the words out, “i heard you. every word. the knocking. the way you kept saying my name.”

you squeezed his hand, your thumb tracing slow over his skin. “i slept on the floor that night,” you admitted, “right up against the door—because it was the closest i could be to you without actually opening it.”

his gaze lingered on you for a moment, before a quiet laugh escaped him. “you’re so damn stubborn,” he said, shaking his head, though the fondness in his voice betrayed him.

the sound loosened something in your chest, and you couldn’t help but smile. “maybe. but you stayed out there too.”

“of course i did,” the words came sure, without a flicker of doubt.

his thumb kept moving over your knuckles, slow and absent, like he couldn’t stop touching you now that he’d started..

“i’m done pretending,” he said quietly, the words steady but stripped bare. “done acting like you’re not the best thing in my life. i don’t want pieces of this anymore. i want the real thing. mornings. nights. shows. silence. all of it.”

your chest pulled tight at the certainty in his tone, a slow ache rising under your ribs. “so what does that mean for us?” you asked, your voice barely above a breath.

he didn’t waver. not even for a second. “it means i want everything,” he said. “whatever it takes. however messy it gets. i just want you.”

you leaned in until your forehead touched his, your breath mixing with his in the small space between you. the bunny ears on his head brushed against your hair, ridiculous and perfect all at once, like a quiet promise neither of you needed to name.

“good,” you whispered, a smile curling at the edge of your lips. “because you’ve got me.”

he raised your hand slowly, brushing his mouth over your knuckles with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

your smile tugged softly at first, but it shifted as you leaned back into your seat, mischief sneaking into your voice. “now drive, g-daddy,” you said, biting back a grin. “round two’s not gonna start itself.”

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[skzdarlings]

heart and mind ; chan x reader ; omegaverse ; one-shot

masterlist.

You don’t want to share your first heat with just anyone.  You want someone good, someone protective, someone who respects you, someone who can laugh with you. 

You want your alpha.  You want Chan.    

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: friends2lovers, omegaverse, omega!reader in heat, alpha!chan, explicit sexual content. the leather jacket and lace shirt did a number on me, man. anyway, omegaverse dynamics, heats, ruts, knots, pheromones, scent-marks, first times. biting, choking, claiming, piv, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, some possessive behaviour. it's fairly affectionate and sweet overall tbh. but they do get down nasty.

word count: 3500 words

enjoy ; )

-

You wake in pain.  First, just a general stiffness, sharp in your neck and pinching your lower back.  You fell asleep in the hallway outside his apartment door, slumped against the wall, so that figures.  Then, the other pain.  The one that brought you to his door in the middle of the night. 

Your body feels like an echoing cavern, the ache reverberating in that great hollow space, so desperate to be filled.  Your thighs clench together instinctively, even half-awake. 

You blink your eyes open.  At the sight of him, a wave of relief washes over you, numbing some of that horrible pain.

“Chan,” you whisper.    

“Hey there, sleepy,” he says in a soft, smiling voice.  “What’s all this?  Why you out here, huh?” 

As you wake a little more, you realize he is wearing cologne.  It is subtle, just the faintest hint of something woodsy to underscore his natural pheromones.  He isn’t due for a rut, not for a while, as alphas only rut a few times a year, but that subtle scent is always there.  An alpha’s scent-mark is in their wrist, on the tender underside just above their pulse, similar but different to the omega scent-mark on your neck, thrumming above your pulse there.

He is touching your face, palm cupped over your cheek as his thumb strokes the rounded curve of it.  It puts his scent-mark so close to your nose.  Of course you can smell him, heady and rich and familiar, your best friend, your protector, your most trusted person.  Your alpha.

Yes, you think, as much with your omega hindbrain as anything else, yes, my alpha, mine. 

Your eyes are locked on his, his gaze so affectionate, making you feel so warm.  You look at his face like it is the first time seeing it, as if you haven’t known each other for years, since you were gawky teenagers awkwardly developing into your new presentations.  He’s still that goofy boy inside, though he looks like a man now and he so embodies his presentation.  He is sturdy and strong, confident and competent.  His dyed hair is blonde and long, framing his handsome, made-up face, one soft with smiling affection. 

You blink to realization when you lay a hand on his shoulder and feel leather.  You look down, breath catching at the sight of him: the not-so-modest lace black shirt under leather, the dark pants, the whole stark effect with his fair hair and dark eyes. 

“You look so nice,” you say, and you mean it, but you pout regardless.  “Why do you look so nice?  Where were you?  It’s so late, Channie.” 

You would not usually ask.  Well, you would not usually be curled up outside his apartment in the first place.  You would not have rushed over in the middle of the night, forgetting your phone and spare key, your fuzzy brain having no need of such things because you assumed he would be home.  

It isn’t your business where he went, of course, because he’s a grown man and you’re a grown woman and you’re best friends, nothing more, sweet and close but cordial and so polite.  And if he wants to go out, if he wants some other person curled up in his lap with their hand on his leather lapel…

That thought bleeds into red as jealousy consumes you. 

You breathe hard, closing your eyes, trying to eradicate that horrible image. 

“I just went out,” he says, brushing some hair off your face, probably mistaking your closed eyes for sleepiness.  “Didn’t really wanna, yeah?  But the guys were kinda on my case about always staying in.  I didn’t know you were here.  Should’ve called me, love.”

“Did you get lucky?” you ask, eyes open but fixed on his chest, tracing the pattern of lace across his skin.  You are still breathing hard. 

“Uh, no, wasn’t really… trying…  Are you okay?”  He gently lifts your face to meet your eyes, his brows furrowed with concern. 

You don’t blame him.  These aren’t the questions you usually ask and this isn’t the way you usually behave.  But you don’t have it in yourself to care.  Besides, you could never feel judged with Chan.  It is why you don’t feel insecure even though he is so handsomely done up but you are not.  No, you are just yourself tonight, unadorned and simple. You pulled a long coat over your nightdress and your face is bare under his attentive regard. 

“I need to tell you something,” you say.   

He drops his hand and looks at you expectantly.  He is crouched, balancing on his heels, his arms draped over his knees.  His expression is rapt and fixed on you. 

You feel overwhelmed, just being looked at by him. His gaze is so affectionate.  Your lips part but your voice is caught. 

He tilts his head, still concerned. 

“Oh, Chan,” you whisper. 

You move forward so you are kneeling.  You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and guide his face to your throat. 

He loses his balance, falling from his crouch to his knees.  His arms are thrown out to his sides and his breath catches.  He is probably about to laugh or lift his head, probably about to look at you with bewilderment, but then he freezes. 

You feel the moment he scents you, his face so close to your scent-mark, because the line of his broad shoulders goes stiff. 

His arms freeze, still out at his sides, practically held out in surrender. 

You cling to him and close your eyes. 

“You…” he starts and stops, his breath fanning over your scent-mark. 

He presses his nose against your throat, breathes you in.  Some of that tension melts away, his arms slowly lowering. 

Your heart is absolutely hammering.  You can feel yourself getting wet, so, so wet, just from his breath on your scent-mark, just from the proximity of his lips to your throat. 

“Why do you… smell like you’re…”  he starts and stops again, breathes you in again. 

You know your scent is familiar to him.  It is woven into threads of borrowed hoodies, embedded in his couch cushions, even his bedroom pillows.  He smells it when you throw your arms around him for a hug.  He scents it when you rush past him and it carries on a breeze.  He knows it better than his own scent. 

It should be familiar.   

Tonight it is different. 

“Are you…” he tries again, hands getting a little closer to your body.   “Love,” he says gently and you start to tremble, “You’re not…?” 

You have been on suppressants since you first presented in adolescence.  You are something of an anomaly among omegas, one not envied by others.  Your heats are debilitatingly intense and last longer than average.  Your doctor recommended suppressants for your teenage years, until your body developed and could better tolerate it without falling ill. 

When you matured out of adolescence, you were simply used to suppression.  You have had a few relationships but nothing so intimate as to compel you to share your heat with them.  You know it doesn’t have to be a big deal, that sex is sex at the end of the day, and the same birth control works on or off. 

But it seemed the longer you put it off, the more important it became in your mind. 

You don’t want to share your first with just anyone.  You want someone good, someone protective, someone who respects you, someone who can laugh with you. 

You want your alpha.  You want Chan.    

You went off suppressants last weekend, expecting it would take a month or so to stabilize and trigger an episode, maybe longer considering how long you had been on them.  You thought you would have time to adjust.  You thought you could talk to him properly, to see if he would be willing to see you through this.

Apparently, the length of your suppression had the opposite effect.  It only took a week for your heat to come on, powerfully and all at once.  It is not how you wanted to do things but the omega instincts that usually whisper guidance have commandeered utter control of your senses.    

“I am,” you whisper. 

Your temple is pressed to his, so you can’t see each other’s faces.  It is all scent and feeling, all laboured breath and racing hearts.  There is a bare inch of space between your kneeling bodies. 

“Oh,” he says.

He is frozen another breathless moment. 

Then he moves.  You make a soft noise as he wraps his arms around you, so completely and tightly, pulling you right against him.  He buries his face in your neck and opens his mouth to fully breathe you in.  You feel every hot exhale, the pounding of his heart in his chest, his hands possessive on your body.

“You smell so good,” he says, voice suddenly deeper.  “So fucking sweet… God, I could eat you up.”

A remark like that should make you laugh.  He probably said it for that reason, something teasing to break the tension.  But his tone and flirtation, to say nothing of his strength, makes you sigh sweetly. 

You are already feverish and wanting, pushing your curves into the harder planes of his body.  You gasp when you feel him against your middle, hard and getting harder, and the surprise makes your hips twitch backwards. 

He pulls you against him again, so you can feel it.   

“Please,” you whisper, can’t manage more than that.  “I – I want it to be you.  I’m sorry, I wanted to – to talk – but maybe we can in a few days – for now, I – I need –”

His hand curls around your throat, angling you so your scent-mark is easy to access.  You exhale and it is a shuddering release.  Your whole body goes soft and pliant.  Such vulnerability could be frightening under the wrong conditions. 

The stroke of his thumb, the caress of his breath, the teasing swipe of his nose against your jaw –

His scent, woodsy and warm and familiar –

This is right and your body knows it.   

You offer your neck in sweet submission and he wordlessly accepts.  He presses a soft kiss on that aching, vulnerable scent-mark, the collective source of heat pheromones that must be intoxicating him.  He groans with deep, ardent pleasure, lingers just a moment with his mouth open and his breathing laboured. 

Then your back arches as he bites that sensitive place in a claiming, hard, animalistic bite. 

You see stars.  You cling to him, grappling, scratching across the leather as he uses his last moments of coherent sense to scoop you into his arms and carry you into his apartment. 

You don’t get much farther than the entrance.  The door slams shut and he grabs your face, pulling you in for a kiss that is all teeth and tongue.  You whimper at the demanding passion, opening your mouth to him.  He kisses you dizzy, seems to swallow every gasp then give your breath back to you. 

Your jacket hits the floor.  Your shoes come off in your mad backwards scramble.  

He grabs the front of your nightdress and tears it right down the middle.  You squeak with surprise but not embarrassment, too hot and needy for that.   You let the fabric float to the floor as he puts his hands back on you. 

The length of your naked body presses to his clothed one.  You moan, every inch of you sensitive to the sensation of leather and lace. 

His hands cup your sides and slide down, down and around, guiding your back into an arch.  His hand slides further, covers your ass and squeezes a curve like it’s always been his to do so. 

He kisses you the whole time. 

“C’mere,” he says against your mouth, like you aren’t already pressed against him, your arms around his neck, your bare breasts rubbing against his barely-there shirt. 

Then you realize what he means as he closes the last important distance, his hand sliding down your front and between your thighs.  You gasp against his mouth as his fingers slip through all that wet desire. 

“That’s it,” he says.  “That’s my girl.  You can open your legs for me, just like that, yeah.”

You step apart.  He puts his booted foot between yours, nudges them even further apart.  You tip your head back and thrust your hips forward, riding the rhythm he starts with his hand.  It is just a surface touch, just stroking you, just letting you soak his hand as your body opens up for him.   

“Just like that,” he says.  His other hand is on your lower back, keeping you steady.  “I got you.  You can come for me.  I got you, I got you.” 

You know it’s true.  The truth of that promise has been a constant for years.  You are his and he will take care of you. 

You come with another swipe of his fingers.  He holds you upright, taking the brunt of your weight as your legs get weak. 

You are still shaking, still coming down from that high, when he twists his wrist and slides two fingers inside you.  It is an easy touch, your body so ready and open, but it still makes you gasp.  You clench around him like your body is desperate to pull him in, like it needs him there more than anything. 

“Mhm,” he says, his mouth against your scent-mark, kissing and licking and sighing.  He sways a little, almost like he’s drunk, but the only scent on him is a raging arousal pheromone and that masculine cologne and leather.  And, despite the swaying, he stays planted on his feet, and his hand never ceases its thorough, pounding touch.  “Can take it, can’t you, love,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your scent-mark in a dizzying sensation, “Show me, sweetheart.  Show me, yeah?  Show me how you’ll take my cock, hmm?”

You aren’t even trying, your body is racing ahead of you, clenching sporadically around him as he takes you apart with a few flicks of his wrist.  He knows when he has you, takes you right over the edge then moves his hand as wet gushes between your trembling thighs. 

You cling to his shoulders, all but sobbing as the intense orgasm washes over you in a tidal wave.    

“Aha, that’s my girl,” he says, and bites your scent-mark again. 

If your voice was not already shot, you might have screamed with the pleasure of it.  As it is, your mouth opens and your chest heaves with every deep breath.  He leaves a bruising bite mark on your throat, one that will tell every alpha who so much as breathes too close to you that you belong to him. 

He keeps rubbing his fingers between your legs to prove it. 

“Chan,” you whine, “I can’t – I can’t—”

“Oh, love,” he says.  “Trust me, you can.  We’re just getting started.” 

He makes you come a third time in a matter of moments. This time, your legs fully give out, but he anticipates it.  He swings an arm under your knees and smoothly sweeps you off your feet.  You nuzzle against him, eyes closing, breathing hard as he carries you into the next room. 

His mattress is soon under you.   He has placed you in the middle of his bed and is standing there, looking down at you with a dimpled smile.  He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts your head back.  His next kiss is sweet, tender warmth suffusing your body. 

You lean back on your elbows while he finally pries that leather jacket off his shoulders.  He tries to unbutton his shirt but then you inch your legs apart and his gaze is irrevocably drawn there.  He hesitates only a moment before tearing through his shirt too, tossing the scraps on the floor.  He doesn’t even look at the boots as he pries them off, then he practically flies onto the bed, crawling over you, his dark pants tented obscenely. 

He is an intimidating bulk of power, making you throb with desire, but also making you instinctively close your legs.  It’s like your body wants the game, knows how to speak the alpha inside him, beckoning him with every tip of your head and tease of your thighs. 

He makes a low noise, almost a growl, then his hands are on your knees and he is pushing your thighs apart.  He fits himself between them, lays you down flat, his teeth at your throat as he grinds against you. 

“Don’t get shy,” he says, just short of a command, making you swallow.  “Not with me, yeah?”

You nod rapidly.  “Yes,” you say.

He grabs your throat, guides you, makes you look at him. 

“Yes?” he asks, a dark brow lifted. 

“Yes, alpha,” you rasp, staring back into his eyes.  His grip is not mean, not really choking, just possessive, just tight enough you feel him wrapped so soundly around you. 

Your eyes, gazing back at him so devotedly, softens his face so much.  He is all yours, your best friend, your alpha, your Chan, and he smiles that dimpled smile even with his far less innocent hand on your pulse. 

“Wanted you for so long, love,” he says. 

Somehow, that is the remark that makes you squirm the most, clawing at the bedsheets under you, lifting your hips against him.  You can’t move much farther than that, even though you are desperate for more action and less talking.  He has you completely at his mercy. 

As he always has, and reveals how much he knows it.

“Even on you suppressants,” he says, “You know when I’d go into rut, you’d react every time, like you knew before me?  Would be standing in my kitchen… wearing my hoodie… standing there in your little shorts… and you’d stretch up on your toes to reach for something and I’d come up behind you to help… and you’d scent it, wouldn’t you, love?  Because your hips would pitch backwards like your pussy was looking for my knot even while your mind was suppressing it…”

“Mmffph,” is the noise you make, the only noise you are capable of, as you rut your hips against his bulge. 

Your eyes feel huge and wide, staring into his.  Despite his words, his gaze is still affectionate, his smile still soft. 

“Stop squirming,” he says, giving your throat one more squeeze before he gets up and kneels between your spread legs.  He finally pries open his belt and opens his pants while you arch your back.  “I said no squirming,” he repeats, grabbing your hips.  “Want you to hear my words, love, you know why?”

You shake your head, breath stuttering as he gets his pants down his hips.  Your eyes go his cock, to his hand stroking the full length it, wet at the tip, back up again, and down…

He reaches with his other hand, grabs your chin and makes you meet his gaze again. 

“Because,” he says, “your heat will end sooner or later, yeah?  But what I’m telling you right now?” 

He leans over you, guides your hands to his bare shoulders and hovers his mouth above your scent-mark.  He is hot and hard between your thighs, so close, so close, so close— 

“Those words are me fucking that pretty mind of yours,” he says. 

And you gasp as he slams inside you in one hard thrust. 

“And you’ll remember them,” he says, fucking you with every word, “every – fucking – time – you – look – at – me.  And every time you think about it…” He licks over your sore scent-mark, making you clench around him again and again. “Every time you look at me, I’ll be fucking you all – over – again.” 

You come with another spasming wave, legs and arms wrapped so tightly around him while he fucks you through it.  His words register somewhere deep inside you, further even than where his cock is hitting so hard and deep. 

You know, even in your heat-brained animalistic state, that he is right:

He’s inside you now, and you’ll never be able to go without him again. 

“Oh, Chan,” you say, sighing his name in the most worshipful, loving voice you can muster. 

He returns all that affection, kissing you deeply, spreading your thighs, and swelling inside you.  Your body opens for him, clings to him, pulls him deep inside and keeps him there, his knot hard and pulsing. 

He kisses you softly, then kisses your scent-mark too.  You squeeze him tight in your arms. 

Then he lifts his head.  You look at each other, breathing hard, bodies joined as thoroughly as your hearts and minds. 

You smile.  He smiles back, that friendly smile you know so well, only it softens with a new kind of affection. 

“My love,” he says.   

“My alpha,” you tease. 

His smile deepens and leans down, kissing you again.  You gasp when he thrusts a little, so swollen and huge inside you, and your brain gets dizzy again. 

“Told you already, love,” he says with that dimpled smile.  “We’re just getting started.”   

[skzophreniic]

Let's not go official, we can keep the "you and me" Don't ask, "What are we?" Ooh, ooh, I like it, baby !

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, profanity, alcohol use, secrecy/NDA, emotional distress (arguments, crying, breakdown), physical aggression (Seungmin shoves Jisung), toxic dynamics, heartbreak/angst, idol/industry pressure.

notes: in which you (a rising actress) and kim seungmin hook up the first time you meet — and things spiral from there

this was super hard for me to write, I really don't know why. it took me like a month lmao. but happy happy birthday to @havennz ! I hope you have another amazing year ! Thank you for including me in your event :) <3 also, this is not proofread so there's definitely mistakes in here 😭

The hotel room smells faintly of champagne and cologne, the leftover hum of the afterparty still buzzing in your ears. His mouth is already on yours when you hit the mattress, the kind of kiss that feels like he’s trying to catch up with a thought he shouldn’t be having in the first place. You taste alcohol, mint gum, the lingering sweetness of whatever cocktail he’d pressed into your hand hours ago.

You’re not surprised it happened this way. From the moment you’d met him—Kim Seungmin, the one with the sharp tongue and sharper gaze—you’d felt the edges of something dangerous pulling you in. The industry event had been a blur of camera flashes and meaningless conversations, but he’d stood beside you at the bar, made a dry remark about how your dress matched the stage lights, and suddenly you’d been laughing instead of fidgeting.

Now his hands are on your waist, tugging you closer, fingers splayed like he doesn’t quite trust himself to grip too hard. His body is warm, solid, pressed flush against yours as his hips roll against your stockings with a rhythm that feels both impatient and unintentional. He’s still in half his suit, shirt rumpled, tie loose around his neck. You pull at it until it falls away, and he lets out a quiet laugh against your throat.

His laugh is a low thing, muffled against your skin, and it sends a shiver crawling down your spine. You don’t think he meant for this to happen—his grip, the way his breath catches when you arch up against him, the way he bites his lip like he’s trying to swallow down something dangerous—but you can feel him unraveling all the same.

You hook your fingers under the hem of his shirt, tugging it up, and he obliges by lifting just enough for you to shove it higher. The fabric clings for a second before sliding free, baring pale skin that’s already flushed. His muscles shift under your hands, lean and tense, like he’s not used to being touched this way.

And then he’s kissing you again—harder, needier, his mouth sliding against yours until you’re gasping. His hips grind into the space between your thighs, the pressure sharp, the heat impossible to ignore. You feel him straining against the fabric of his slacks, hot and insistent, and the realization that this is Kim Seungmin—the idol you’d only known through screens until tonight—makes your stomach flip.

He pulls back just enough to search your face, chest rising and falling fast. His voice is hoarse when he asks, “You’re sure?”

You don’t answer him with words. Instead, you push at his chest until he falls back against the mattress, surprise flashing in his eyes before it melts into something darker. You straddle him in one smooth motion, settling just behind his groin so your weight presses into his thighs. His breath hitches, the sharp sound cutting through the hush of the room, and you can feel the way his cock strains against his slacks, pulsing for attention.

Your hands make quick work of his belt, tugging the leather through the buckle until it slips free with a hiss. His lips part like he wants to say something—maybe a warning, maybe another question—but the words dissolve into a groan when you grind down, deliberately brushing yourself over him.

“Fuck—” His head tips back, jaw tight, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

You lean down until your mouth hovers over his, your smile wicked and shaky all at once. “Does that answer your question?”

His laugh is breathless, the sound caught between nerves and want. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice rough, hands finding your hips at last, fingers digging in like he can’t help himself. “That’s pretty clear.”

You free him from the confines of his slacks, tugging fabric down clumsily until his cock springs against his stomach, flushed and leaking. He curses under his breath, the sound so low and honest it sends heat sparking down your spine.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, teasing, letting the head of his cock drag against the damp spot on your underwear. His grip tightens, knuckles white where he holds you in place, but he doesn’t force anything—just lets you set the pace, breathing hard through his nose as if restraint is the only thing keeping him together.

“Please,” the whine rips from his throat, the word raw, dragged from somewhere deep in his chest.

The plea lingers in the air, trembling between the two of you, and for a moment you think he might snap and pull you down onto him just like this. But instead, his hand flies to your thigh, gripping hard enough to still your movements.

“Wait—shit—” he pants, eyes squeezed shut as though the effort of stopping himself physically hurts. “Condom.”

You blink, dazed, hips still rolling just faintly because you can’t help it. His breath shudders, another curse spilling from his lips as he half-lifts you off him, fumbling blindly with his free hand for the nightstand drawer.

It’s clumsy, desperate—the scrape of wood, the clatter of something falling, his frustrated groan when his fingers come up empty. He twists, reaching again, this time managing to fish out a foil packet that he tears open with more urgency than grace.

“Sorry,” he mutters, cheeks flushed crimson as he rolls it down over his length. His voice cracks on the word, almost self-conscious. “I just—fuck, I need you so bad, but—”

The rest is lost in another groan as you sink back down, teasing the head of his cock against your soaked entrance. The condom is barely in place before he’s clutching your hips again, eyes flying open to watch the way you guide him in.

The stretch is slow, hot, dizzying. His jaw goes slack, a broken sound punching out of him as you take him inch by inch, your nails digging crescents into his chest for balance.

The stretch makes you gasp, every inch of him filling you until your thighs tremble around his hips. He’s thick, deeper than you expected, and it takes everything in you not to collapse fully against him as your body adjusts.

“Jesus—” The word rips from him, raw and shaky, his head tipping back against the pillow. His fingers twitch on your waist, gripping like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”

Your breath stutters, chest heaving as you sink the rest of the way down. The moment he’s fully inside you, you can feel his restraint unraveling—the way his hips twitch up helplessly, the way his lips part around a groan he can’t swallow.

You grind in small circles, testing, and the sound he makes nearly undoes you: a sharp, broken whimper dragged out of his throat. His hand flies up, covering his mouth like he’s embarrassed to have let it slip, but you catch it, pulling his wrist away.

“Don’t,” you murmur, breathless against his jaw. “I want to hear you.”

That cracks him open. His next thrust is shaky but hard, his breath hissing through clenched teeth as he drives into you from below. Your moan mixes with his, your nails biting red into his chest as you ride him—slow at first, then faster, chasing the slick drag of him inside you.

Every bounce makes the head of his cock hit deeper, sharper, the friction sending shocks of heat ricocheting up your spine. You rock down hard, and he breaks again, gasping your name like he’s praying.

“Fuck—please, don’t stop—” His voice is high and desperate now, every word tumbling out ragged. His hands guide your hips but never force, just urging you to take what you want, to keep moving until both of you are dizzy.

Sweat slicks your skin, your stockings torn at the seams where his fingers had tugged too roughly earlier. The air is thick with the wet slap of skin, the low creak of the bed, the frantic sounds neither of you can hold back.

When you lean down to kiss him, he meets you halfway, mouths crashing, teeth scraping. The kiss is messy, almost clumsy, but his tongue is hot and insistent, the taste of him addictive enough to make your thighs clench tighter around his waist.

“Gonna—” he chokes out against your lips, eyes screwing shut as his hips snap up hard, “—gonna lose it if you keep—fuck—”

You roll your hips just right, and the sound he makes—half-groan, half-whine—tells you he’s already on the edge.

Before you can answer, he suddenly surges up, catching you off guard. In one fluid, desperate movement he flips you onto your back, his body covering yours, his cock never slipping free as he drives you deeper into the mattress.

The breath whooshes out of your lungs, a startled moan tumbling into his mouth when he kisses you again—rough this time, needy, like he’s been holding himself back too long.

“Couldn’t—” he groans, hips snapping forward with a force that makes the headboard knock the wall, “—fuck, couldn’t take it anymore.”

You arch under him, nails clawing down his back as he sets a relentless pace. Every thrust is sharp, perfect, hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your vision blur. The stretch feels obscene, toeing the line between too much and just right, and all you can think is how no one has ever filled you like this.

“Seung—oh my God—” The words dissolve into a cry, your legs trembling as you hook them tighter around his waist. He grunts at the pressure, drives in harder, deeper, until you’re gasping with every stroke.

You’re gone, wrecked, nothing but the sound of his breath hot against your throat, the sweat dripping from his temple onto your chest, the way his cock pounds into you with ruthless precision.

Best you’ve had in a while? No—possibly ever.

The thought flashes through your mind between ragged moans, and you almost laugh at the absurdity of it—laugh if not for the way your body clenches around him, dragging another raw sound from his lips.

“You feel so fucking good—” he groans, the words muffled against your skin. “Don’t think I can—fuck, don’t think I can stop.”

The mattress squeaks with every snap of his hips, the sound of your slick, the slap of skin echoing in the dark room. You’re gasping, whimpering, caught between begging him to slow down and begging him not to dare stop.

When his teeth catch your jaw, when his thrusts grow rougher, deeper, more frantic—you know he’s close, and so are you.

Your nails bite into his back, desperate for something to hold on to as the coil inside you winds impossibly tight. Every thrust sends shockwaves through you, pleasure bordering on unbearable, the kind that makes tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Seung–min” you gasp, broken and high-pitched, “I’m—mm-m, I’m so close—”

“Yeah?” His voice is wrecked, all low growl and ragged edges, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he chases it. “Cum for me—please—fuck, please.”

That last word is what shatters you. The plea, rough and desperate, sends you crashing over the edge, your body clenching around him so hard it drags a strangled moan from his throat. White heat floods you, waves of pleasure rolling sharp and endless, your cries muffled into his shoulder as you shake beneath him.

He follows almost instantly, hips snapping once, twice, before he buries himself deep and stills, trembling with the force of his release. His groan is guttural, raw, his forehead pressed hard into your neck as he spills into the condom, every muscle in his body tight with effort.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The only sound is your tangled breathing, the faint hum of the air conditioner, the frantic thud of his heartbeat against your chest.

Then, slowly, he softens against you, his weight heavy but grounding, his lips brushing your collarbone in something that feels almost like an apology—or maybe a thank you.

You thread shaky fingers through his damp hair, tugging lightly until he lifts his head. His cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark and glazed in a way that makes your stomach twist. He looks at you like he can’t believe what just happened, like he might already be thinking too hard about the consequences.

But he doesn’t pull away. He just kisses you again, softer this time, lingering, his hand sliding from your wrist to lace through your fingers as if holding them will keep him steady.

It feels too intimate, too much like something it isn’t supposed to be. And you know—tomorrow morning will remind you of exactly that.

The room is quiet when you wake, the champagne haze gone, replaced by the faint throb of a headache and the ache between your thighs. The sheets are tangled around your waist, still damp with sweat, still smelling like him—cologne faded, clean soap from his shower lingering faintly in the air.

He’s not in bed.

You push yourself up on shaky elbows, blinking against the thin wash of sunlight spilling through the curtains. Your dress from last night lies crumpled on the floor, stockings shredded beyond saving. Across the room, Seungmin sits at the hotel’s small desk, hair damp, hoodie pulled tight like armor.

In front of him: a neat stack of papers. A pen placed deliberately on top.

You know before he even turns, before the words leave his mouth.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice careful. His gaze flicks to you, then back to the papers. “I, uh—there’s something I need you to look at before you go.”

The dull twist in your stomach doesn’t surprise you. You’d been expecting this—hell, you would’ve been more shocked if it hadn’t come. Still, the way he says it, like it tastes bitter on his tongue, makes you pause.

Sliding from the bed, you tug the sheet up around yourself and cross to the desk. The header on the first page confirms it: Non-Disclosure Agreement.

You let out a short breath, something that could almost be a laugh. “Not my first NDA.”

His head jerks, eyes widening just slightly, but then he looks down again, embarrassed. “Company rules,” he mutters, fingers drumming against the desk. “It’s not—it’s nothing personal.”

You pick up the pen, twirling it once between your fingers. He hesitates then, blurting too quickly, “It’s good for you too, you know. Protects your name. If anyone—if anything ever got out, it’d be… messy. For your career.”

The words hang between you, practical, clinical. A favor dressed as an obligation.

You arch a brow, lips curving into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Relax. You don’t have to spin it like you’re doing me a kindness.” Your voice is flat, but not unkind. “I get it. You’re Kim Seungmin. I’m not about to run to Dispatch with a story.”

He winces, lips pressing into a thin line, but doesn’t argue. He just watches as you scribble your name across the line, hand steady like you’ve done this before.

Sliding the papers back toward him, you offer a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “There. Officially sworn to secrecy. Your reputation’s safe.”

Something flickers across his face then—something small and almost soft, gone as quickly as it came. He nods, shuffles the papers into a tidy stack, but you catch the way his throat bobs when he swallows.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air feels heavier than it had last night, the silence louder.

Finally, he clears his throat. “There’s coffee, if you want.”

You glance toward the counter, where a paper cup from the lobby café waits, steam curling faintly from the lid. It feels absurd, surreal—coffee after a contract, like the two belong in the same morning.

You tug the sheet tighter around your chest and lower yourself back onto the edge of the bed. “You always this romantic?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, just barely. “Only on Sundays.”

The joke is dry, but it pulls the tension thin enough that you take the cup when he passes it over. Your fingers brush, fleeting but warm, and you feel it all the way up your arm. You sip, the bitterness grounding you, the silence between you less jagged than before.

He lingers by the desk, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands restless in the pocket. For someone who’d been ruthless last night—driving into you until you couldn’t remember your own name—he looks uncomfortable now, like he doesn’t know where to put himself.

“You, uh…” he starts, then falters, eyes dropping to the floor. “Last night. I didn’t mean to—”

You cut him off with a laugh, sharp but not cruel. “What, fuck me? Don’t worry, I was there too.”

Color rushes to his ears, and he ducks his head, the boyishness of it catching you off guard. He scratches at his jaw, mutters, “That’s not what I meant.”

But he doesn’t finish the thought.

Instead, he moves past you, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. “I’ll call you a car.”

And that’s how it starts.

It doesn’t happen all at once. It drips, slow and steady, until you’re drowning without realizing it.

It doesn’t take long before it becomes routine. Not official, not defined—but routine all the same.

The first time after the hotel, he texts you at 1:17 a.m. You up? The two words light your phone in the dark, and even though you know better, your thumb hovers, then types back before you can stop yourself.

He’s at your door twenty minutes later, baseball cap pulled low, mask still clinging to his face. He doesn’t say much, just slips inside and kisses you like he hasn’t slept in days. You let him. You want to let him.

After that, it’s a rhythm: nights stolen after his schedules, mornings where you leave before sunrise, slipping back into your own world with hair mussed and skin still buzzing from his touch.

He keeps it careful, compartmentalized. No dinner dates, no coffee shops, no walking down the street beside each other. His rules are clear, unspoken but ironclad.

But then there are the cracks.

A late-night call where he doesn’t ask for anything, just talks—about a book he started, about how his members won’t stop teasing him, about how the stage lights are hotter than hell. His sarcasm is sharp as ever, but softer at the edges, like he’s forgetting to keep the wall up.

A night at his apartment where he insists you take the bed, grumbling that he’s “fine on the couch,” but you catch him lingering at the doorway, hair sticking up, hoodie drowning his frame. You tell him to get in, and he does—on the far side, stiff at first, then rolling closer until his hand finds yours under the covers.

But his apartment comes with rules, too—specifically, that you’re only ever there when his roommate, Felix, isn’t home. You’ve learned to slip through side entrances, keep your voice low, leave before sunrise. Once, you weren’t fast enough. Felix’s keys jingled in the hall while you were still pulling on your shoes, and Seungmin nearly shoved you into his bedroom closet until Felix wandered into the kitchen instead. The adrenaline had you both shaking with laughter once the coast was clear—but after that, Seungmin was stricter about the timing.

A string of songs sent to you at odd hours—midnight, 3 a.m., 7:46 a.m. after a flight. No captions, no explanations. Just links. You listen to all of them, and you know what he means without him saying it.

And then the sex. Always urgent, always a little messy, but threaded with something that doesn’t fit the NDA on his desk. He kisses you too long after, lets you tug his hoodie over your head before you leave, watches you put it on like he can’t decide if he should stop you.

You start catching yourself thinking in dangerous ways—about the way his laugh feels like yours to earn, about how he chews ice when he’s restless, about how his voice dips when he’s tired and doesn’t bother hiding the warmth there.

It’s not just sex. You know it. He knows it.

But every time you let the thought surface, he reminds you of the line.

Like when you half-joke, “So what are we, then?” one morning, his arm still heavy across your waist. His whole body tenses, the silence stretching until he says flatly, “We’re smart. That’s what we are.”

It should sting more than it does. Maybe because he pulls you closer after, presses his nose to your shoulder, breathes you in like he’s memorizing you.

It keeps you caught. Between the NDA and his rules, between the sweetness and the secrecy. Between wanting more and knowing you won’t get it.

And that’s how weeks turn into months—your name always lighting his phone after midnight, his hoodie always waiting folded on the chair when you leave, his voice always lingering in your head long after the door shuts.

It’s been almost a year since that first night, and somewhere in the blur of NDAs, 1 a.m. texts, and hotel rooms, you caught feelings. You don’t say it—you can’t say it—but you know. The ache in your chest every time you leave, the way your thumb hovers over his name just to see if he’s online, the way you linger over interviews where his smile is real. It’s there.

Your own career has shifted, too. That tiny indie film that first put you on the circuit landed you a string of auditions, and now you’re the “up-and-coming actress” with a press tour under her belt. It should be the most important thing in your life. And it is, mostly. But when you land back in Seoul after two weeks of interviews in London and Tokyo, your first thought isn’t sleep—it’s him.

It’s his birthday, and the only “celebrating” he’s done was the livestream his company forced at midnight, grinning at fans while half-asleep. You know he doesn’t expect anything more. So you make it happen yourself.

A friend in scheduling owes you a favor, and with a few careful tweaks, Seungmin’s last meeting of the day reroutes him to a practice room no one uses anymore—dusty corners, scuffed mirrors, hidden away on the top floor. You slip in first, setting the small cake on the floor with a single candle, a wrapped box beside it. Your heart beats wild at the risk, but the thought of him walking into an empty room on his birthday feels worse.

When the door clicks open near midnight, his face is already tight, jaw working like he’s about to complain about the schedule. But then he sees you.

The change is instant. His whole expression cracks wide, eyes brightening, mouth tugging into the kind of smile you don’t get to see on camera. “You’re—” His voice hitches, disbelief catching in his throat. “You’re back.”

You barely have time to set the cake knife down before he’s crossing the room in long strides, pulling you into his arms. The hug is quick, almost frantic, his hand splayed between your shoulder blades like he’s making sure you’re really there. You smell shampoo and sweat, the edge of exhaustion clinging to him, but beneath it all—relief.

“Press tour ended yesterday,” you murmur into his hoodie. “Surprise.”

He leans back, still holding you, and that’s when he notices the table. The cake, the little box, the tiny “Happy Birthday” candle you’d stuck in like an afterthought.

His whole body goes still.

“Wait—” His he shoves you back–gently–his voice low and sharp, eyes darting to the corners of the room as if someone might crawl out of the shadows. “What the hell are you doing here? What if—what if someone sees?”

You press a hand to his chest, steady. “Seungmin. Nobody uses this room. I checked. Twice.”

He searches your face, lips parted, breath uneven. For a long beat, you think he’s going to walk back out the door, leave you standing with your ridiculous cake and your stupid heart in your hands.

But then he exhales, shoulders sagging, and a tiny laugh escapes him. It sounds almost like surrender.

“You’re insane,” he mutters, but the corners of his mouth curve anyway.

“Maybe,” you admit, tugging him toward the table. “But you’re stuck with me now. So sit.”

He does. Reluctant at first, then softer, letting you light the candle with a stolen pack of matches. You sing off-key, your voice echoing around the empty studio, and he watches you the whole time like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

When you finish, he blows out the flame with a single breath. “That was—” He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “God, that was stupid.”

You grin. “But good stupid?”

His gaze lingers, warm and unreadable, before he nods. “Yeah. Good stupid.”

You cut the cake, hand him the first forkful, and when his fingers brush yours, it’s clumsy and unplanned. But he doesn’t pull away.

And in that moment, in the glow of a candle stub and stale practice-room lights, you think: if this is all he’ll give you—half-secrets and stolen nights—you’ll take it. Because somewhere along the way, against your better judgment, you’d fallen.

And you’re not ready to let go.

The night that you’re caught changes everything.

You hadn’t expected to be here, not like this. It was close to 2 a.m., the company building quiet except for the low hum of lights in the hallway. Seungmin had tugged you along with a rare, restless energy, baseball cap pulled low, hand warm around yours in a way that made your chest ache.

“I just—” he muttered as he keyed the door open, glancing behind you once more before pulling you inside. “I want you to hear this. It’s rough, but… I don’t know. I think you’ll get it.”

The studio smelled like coffee and cables, faintly of cologne that wasn’t his. The screens glowed pale blue in the dark, track stems lined up like heartbeats across the timeline. He moved immediately to the chair, hitting play, and the room filled with the pulse of a song still half-born—layered vocals, a stripped-down piano, his voice threading raw and honest through the draft.

You sat on the couch, hugging your knees, listening as he hummed along under his breath, head swaying slightly, lost in it. There was no audience here, no performance—just Seungmin and the thing he loved most.

When the track faded, he turned, cheeks flushed in a way you knew wasn’t just from the music. “So?”

You grinned, heart tumbling over itself. “So… you’re brilliant. Obviously.”

He rolled his eyes, but you saw the way his lips twitched. “Not finished. Chan’s been helping me—he says it needs more layering.”

“I don’t know what that means,” you admit, crossing the room until you perched on the arm of his chair. “But it’s still beautiful.”

Seungmin ducked his head, shaking it like he could brush off the praise, but you caught the faint pink blooming at the tips of his ears. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” you teased, nudging his shoulder with yours. “But I’m also right.”

His laugh was soft, unguarded, and you felt it like a hook in your chest. He leaned back in the chair, spinning it lazily side to side, and you let yourself slide down from the armrest until you were half in his lap. His eyes flicked up in surprise, but he didn’t move you away.

“I know how critical I am,” he says, the way his thigh brushed yours betraying his nerves. “I worry I’ll hate it again tomorrow.

You tilted your head, studying him from this close, the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his hands toyed restlessly with the hem of his hoodie. “Then I’ll just remind you tomorrow,” you said simply.

His lips quirked, but he didn’t look at you. Instead, his gaze stayed fixed on the screen, on the flickering track stems. “Dangerous offer. You’ll get sick of me.”

You scoffed, leaning in until your temple brushed his shoulder. “If that was possible, I’d already be sick of you by now.”

The chair rocked as he exhaled, shifting like he didn’t know what to do with the warmth spreading across his face. You felt the tension in him, the tug-of-war between keeping the line and wanting to cross it.

And then he let himself slip—just a little. His hand came to rest on your thigh, tentative at first, like he was waiting for you to flinch. When you didn’t, when you leaned closer instead, he pressed harder, thumb drawing idle circles through your jeans.

The intimacy of it hit harder than the sex ever had. Quiet, steady, almost domestic. You swallowed hard, trying not to let it show on your face.

“You’re… way too good at this,” he murmured.

“At what?” Your voice was careful, but his thigh pressed more firmly against yours.

“Messing with my head.”

You snorted, trying to cover the way your pulse leapt. “Messing with your head? Seungmin, please. You’re the one keeping me up at 2 a.m. to listen to your demos.”

“Well.” His voice was low, edged with a kind of daring he rarely let out. “And you came.”

You opened your mouth, ready with some quip, but the words caught when his thumb dragged slow across your thigh again. He was watching you now—really watching, gaze dark, unreadable. Your breath stuttered.

It was reckless, the way you leaned in, reckless the way he didn’t stop you. His lips brushed yours once, tentative, like a question. Then he kissed you properly, breaking whatever line he’d drawn in his head.

It wasn’t the rough, frantic hunger of that first night—it was something quieter, something heavier. His mouth moved against yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of it, like he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance. Your hands curled into his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he let out a low sound that made your whole body shiver.

The squeak of the chair was loud in the still room, but neither of you cared. Seungmin’s hands tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him, his breath hot against your mouth as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he’d been starving for this. The world narrowed to the slide of his lips, the taste of him, the way his chest rose sharp and fast beneath your palms.

So focused that you didn’t hear the door at first. Didn’t notice the shift of air, the faint click of sneakers against the linoleum floor.

Until—

“Oh!”

The startled exclamation snapped you apart instantly. You froze, heart plummeting as your head whipped toward the doorway.

Han stood there, hair messy from a hoodie yanked hastily over his head, earbuds dangling loose around his neck. His eyes went wide the moment they registered you in Seungmin’s lap, your shirt askew, Seungmin’s hands still clamped around your waist.

“Shit,” Seungmin hissed under his breath, pushing you gently back like distance could undo what Han had just seen. His face drained of color, panic flaring sharp in his gaze.

Han blinked, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t decide if he should apologize, laugh, or demand answers. “I—I was just—wanted to get a headstart ‘cuz I couldn’t sleep—” His words tangled into an awkward knot, one hand flying up to cover half his face, though his eyes kept darting back in disbelief. They land on you, his lips twitching into an awkward smile, and he thrusts his hand out. “Hi! I’m Jisung.”

“Get out.” Seungmin says, voice flat and so cold you can’t help but shiver. Jisung’s smile drops.

“I was ju–”

“Out.”

The silence after Jisung left was unbearable. You could still hear his surprised oh! ringing in your ears, your stomach dropping every time you replayed the look on his face.

Seungmin was pacing, hoodie tugged over his head like it could hide the panic stamped across his features. He couldn’t stay still—hands in his hair, tugging at the drawstrings, shoving them back in his pockets, only to yank them out again.

“This is bad,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “This is—fuck, this is the worst thing that could’ve happened.”

“Min,” you tried, voice soft, careful. “It’s just Jisung. He’s not—”

“You don’t get it.” His voice snapped sharp, but when he turned, his face wasn’t angry. It was scared. Scared in a way that hollowed you out. “It doesn’t matter if it’s Jisung or anyone else. It’s the fact that someone saw. That someone knows this is more than what it should be.”

You stood, heart thudding, forcing him to look at you. “And what exactly is this, Seungmin?”

His mouth opened, closed, like he’d been cornered. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “It’s… it’s not supposed to be anything, okay? That’s the point.”

The words landed like a blow, but you bit back the sting, refusing to look away. “Not anything? You drag me into your studio at two in the morning to show me the song you’re most proud of and that’s nothing?”

He flinched.

You pressed forward, your voice trembling now. “You hold me like you’re scared to let go, you kiss me like it’s the last time, you— you’ve been in my bed for months, Seungmin, and you still want to call it nothing?”

His jaw clenched. He stepped back. “Don’t twist it. I like it—” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair, eyes frantic. “I like this, okay? I like you. I like being with you. But that’s all it’s supposed to be.”

Your throat tightened. “Stop.”

His voice cracked, louder now, desperate. “Yeah. Supposed to be fun. A game. Not real. Because the second it’s real, people get hurt. Do you know what they’ll do to you if this gets out? They’ll crucify you. Do you get that?”

You felt the words like barbs under your skin. The chemistry that had pulled you together, the late nights, the laughter—it all twisted now into something fragile, something he was trying to hold at arm’s length.

“You think pretending it’s not real protects me?” Your voice rose before you could stop it, raw with the weight of everything you’d been biting down for months. “Newsflash, Min: it already is. I already—” 

“Don’t.”

The word cracked out of him, sharp enough to stop you cold. His eyes were wild, glassy, his hand lifting like he could physically shove the word back into your mouth. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

Your lips parted, stung into silence. The air between you pulsed, hot and fragile, his chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon.

“If you say it,” he went on, voice lower now but no steadier, “it changes everything. And I can’t—” His throat worked, words breaking apart as he forced them out. “I can’t give you more than this. I’m sorry.”

You blinked at him, breath catching, your heart slamming against your ribs. Then the rage settles in.Your lips trembled, but the tears never quite fell. They just burned hot at the edges of your vision as your chest heaved, fury and heartbreak tangled so tightly you couldn’t tell them apart.

“You’re a dickhead, Kim Seungmin.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, but once they were in the air, you didn’t want to take them back.

He froze, shoulders stiffening like the sound of his own name in your mouth had struck something raw.

“You—” your voice cracked, and you spun away before he could see the tears spill over. “You dickhead.”

Your fists curled tight at your sides, nails biting into your palms. You wanted to throw something, to scream, to shake him until he admitted what you both knew—that this wasn’t casual, wasn’t nothing. That it had become everything.

Behind you, his breathing faltered. You could feel his panic pressing against your spine like heat, but he didn’t move closer. Didn’t even try.

Because he knew he’d plunged the knife called mercy into your chest. Knew that and knew that if he pulled it out now it would stop looking like mercy and a lot more like cruelty—the two were constantly in a state of orbit, circling and circling and circling and sometimes they spun so fast you couldn’t distinguish which was which.

Your throat was raw, scraped hollow by everything you couldn’t say. You turned toward the desk, toward the chair where your coat hung over the back, and snatched it up with trembling hands. The weight of it nearly buckled your knees, though you knew it was just cloth, just fabric. It wasn’t the coat that was heavy—it was him.

“Where are you going?” Seungmin’s voice cracked, low and hoarse, but he still didn’t step toward you.

You shoved your arms into the sleeves with jerky movements, blinking hard against the burn in your eyes. “Away from here,” you managed, your voice wobbling but firm. “Before I say the thing you’re so afraid of hearing.”

His jaw worked, muscles tight, hands clenching and unclenching uselessly at his sides. He looked like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to drag you back into his chest and keep you there—but he didn’t. He just stood there, suffocating in the silence he’d built.

“Y/N, it’s late.” He said it softly, like the hour mattered more than the wreckage between you. Like logistics could tether him when everything else was slipping.

You laughed—a sharp, broken sound that scraped your throat on the way out. “That’s all you’ve got? It’s late?”

He flinched. His eyes darted anywhere but you: the floor, the blinking cursor on the monitor, the crumpled lyric sheets. Anywhere that wasn’t the tears he was trying not to acknowledge on your face.

You tugged your coat tighter around yourself, armor against the way his voice still cut straight through you. “You could tell me to stay, Min. Just once. You could tell me I matter.”

His lips parted, breath trembling like he might actually say it. But then he swallowed, the words dying before they reached the air. His silence was answer enough.

Your chest ached like it was caving in. You nodded once, sharp, decisive, even though your knees shook beneath you. “That’s what I thought.”

You turned for the door, every step heavier than the last. Behind you, his whisper cracked the air, fragile and almost broken. “I do like you.”

You froze, hand on the doorframe, but you didn’t turn around. Because like was the knife he kept twisting, and love was the word he refused to let you say.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving him alone with the silence he’d chosen.

The door had barely clicked behind you when the silence swallowed him whole.

Seungmin stood there, frozen in the middle of the studio, staring at the chair where your coat had been, at the faint ripple of sound still looping from the speakers. His chest heaved like he’d just run miles, but the room was still, suffocating.

For one dizzy second, he thought he might throw up.

Then his body moved before his brain caught up. He slammed the stop button on the console, grabbed his hoodie tighter around himself, and stormed out into the hall. His sneakers squeaked sharp against the polished floor as he tore down the corridor, rage and grief blurring into one unbearable rush.

He knew exactly where Jisung would be. And when he found him—head bent over a laptop in the lounge, Chan slouched in the armchair beside him—something in Seungmin snapped.

“You motherfucker.”

The words ripped from his throat before the door even shut behind him. Jisung’s head shot up, eyes wide, but Seungmin was already on him, fists in his hoodie, slamming him back against the wall so hard the laptop clattered to the floor.

“You ruined it,” Seungmin snarled, spit flying, voice shaking with rage. His hands bunched tighter in Jisung’s sweatshirt, knuckles white. “You ruined everything!”

“Min—what the hell—” Jisung choked out, eyes darting frantically to Chan, but Seungmin shoved him harder, the crack of his back hitting plaster making Chan bolt upright.

“Seungmin!” Chan barked, voice booming, but Seungmin didn’t stop. His whole body shook, forehead pressed nearly to Jisung’s, tears burning hot at the corners of his eyes. 

“Do you get it? Do you have any idea what you did?”

“Min!” Chan’s hand clamped around his arm, yanking him back, but Seungmin fought, snarling, his nails dragging at Jisung’s hoodie as if letting go would kill him. 

“Enough!” Chan growled, dragging him bodily off Jisung, who stumbled forward, clutching his chest and coughing.

And then the fight drained out of Seungmin all at once. His knees buckled, his hands slipped uselessly to his sides, and the tears finally spilled.

He collapsed against Chan’s grip, chest heaving with sobs he couldn’t swallow anymore. The sound was raw, animal, torn from somewhere deep inside him. “It’s over,” he gasped, the words dissolving in his throat. “Its over. It’s over.”

Chan tightened his arms around him, one hand braced against the back of his head like he could hold him together by force. Jisung stood there, stunned and pale, guilt flashing sharp in his eyes as Seungmin’s cries filled the lounge.

Chan held him firm, his own jaw clenched tight, eyes flicking once to Jisung in a silent order to stay back. But Jisung didn’t move anyway. He looked rooted to the floor, hoodie twisted from where Seungmin had grabbed him, Adam’s apple bobbing hard as he swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“I didn’t—” Jisung started, voice cracking. “Min, I swear I didn’t mean—”

Seungmin’s cracked inhale cut him off, sharp and jagged, his whole body trembling in Chan’s grip. His fists beat weakly once against Chan’s chest before curling uselessly into the fabric of his shirt.

“You don’t get it,” Seungmin choked, the words garbled. “She’s gone. She’s fucking gone because of me. Because you—because I—” His voice broke completely, the rest lost in another shuddering cry.

Chan shushed him softly, the gentleness in his tone at odds with the way his own face was set like stone. “Min, breathe. Just breathe, alright? You’re not making sense.”

“I ruined it,” Seungmin rasped, forehead pressed against Chan’s shoulder now. His voice was muffled, but the devastation in it was plain. “I ruin everything.”

The lounge was thick with silence after that—except for his sobs. The kind that rattled through him, tearing out of his chest in a way neither of them had ever heard before.

Jisung rubbed a hand down his face, guilt flickering across his features like lightning. “I didn’t see anything,” he muttered weakly, his voice barely carrying. “I mean, I did—but I wouldn’t have said anything. I swear. I wouldn’t—”

Chan looked at him in the gentle nature only a leader can make firm. “Not now.”

Jisung’s mouth closed with an audible click. He shifted back a step, eyes burning with something complicated—regret, confusion, maybe even pity—as Seungmin clung tighter to Chan, unraveling in a way he’d never allowed himself to before.

Seungmin’s sobs quieted only enough to let air scrape back into his lungs, broken and uneven. Chan kept him pinned there, one arm braced firm across his back, the other hand steady at the base of his skull like he was anchoring him to the earth.

“It’s not his fault,” Chan said at last, low and deliberate, the words directed at Seungmin though his eyes flicked briefly toward Jisung. “You know that, Min. You’re just… you’re looking for somewhere to put the hurt.”

Seungmin shook his head violently against Chan’s shoulder, but he didn’t argue. His chest still hitched with silent aftershocks, his fingers curled so tightly in Chan’s shirt they’d gone bloodless.

Jisung swallowed hard, guilt heavy in the lines of his face, but he stayed silent this time. He knew better. He could feel the weight of Seungmin’s grief pressing the whole room down.

“Breathe,” Chan murmured again, softer now, rocking him once like he was steadying a child. “Just breathe. We’ll figure the rest out later. Right now you’ve got to stop tearing yourself apart.”

Seungmin didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He just let the sobs ebb into harsh, shallow breaths, his forehead still pressed to Chan’s shoulder, his body sagging like the fight had been wrung clean out of him.

The room was still, heavy, save for the faint hum of the air vent and the echo of everything that had just unraveled.

Finally, Chan shifted his grip, hauling Seungmin gently toward the couch. “Sit,” he ordered, his voice brooking no argument. And Seungmin did, collapsing into the cushions like gravity had doubled, his hands still trembling as he dragged them over his face.

Jisung lingered at the edge of the room, eyes darting between them, words itching at his tongue but none of them safe. Chan met his gaze, firm and final. “Leave it. Just give him space.”

So Jisung nodded once and slipped out quietly, the door shutting soft behind him.

Seungmin stayed there, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his palms as Chan sat beside him in silence.

His breaths were still ragged, but not as wild, not as consuming. His hands dragged down his face, leaving his eyes red-rimmed, lashes clumped with the remnants of tears. He glanced sideways at Jisung, who hovered awkwardly near the door, hoodie still skewed from where Seungmin had shoved him.

The words scraped his throat raw, but he forced them out anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Jisung blinked, startled. His mouth opened, then closed again, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard right. Seungmin let his gaze fall to the floor, voice low and strained. “I shouldn’t have—” His breath faltered, heavy with shame. “I just… needed somewhere to put it. And you were there.”

For a beat, silence hung thick, until Jisung finally gave a small, careful nod. “I know.” His tone was softer than Seungmin expected. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. The tension still burned in the corners of the room, clung to the walls and to the weight pressing on Seungmin’s chest. Chan let out a long sigh, clapping Seungmin’s shoulder once—firm, grounding. “You’ll get through this,” he said simply. Not a promise, not a platitude. Just quiet certainty, the kind Chan wielded like a shield.

Seungmin only nodded, his throat too tight for anything more. He leaned forward again, elbows digging into his knees, eyes burning as he stared at the floor. The storm inside him was quieter now, but the wreckage it left behind was undeniable.

And in that silence, with Chan steady at his side and Jisung lingering like a shadow, Seungmin felt something shift. The grief was still there, sharp and suffocating—but underneath it, another edge began to harden. A resolve.

If this was the cost of letting himself feel, then he couldn’t afford it. Not anymore.

So he inhaled once, slow and deliberate, and let the last of his sobs settle into silence. By the time he finally lifted his head, the decision had already taken root.

Three days, when he’ll call you, he’ll let himself hear your voice one last time.

The days after the studio felt like you were moving underwater—everything heavy, everything muffled. You threw yourself into work, press junkets, rehearsals, anything that would keep you from replaying the way Seungmin’s voice cracked when he told you he couldn’t give you more.    

So when your phone buzzed past midnight, his name glowing across the screen, you almost didn’t answer. But your hand moved on its own, thumbing the call open before your brain could catch up.    

“Hey,” his voice came through, low and hoarse. Like he hadn’t spoken all day.    

You swallowed, throat tight. “Hey.”    

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. You listened to his breathing on the other end, steady but uneven, the quiet static between you stretching like it could snap.    

Then, softly: “Did I wake you?”    

“No.” You curled tighter into the couch, knees drawn up, a blanket clutched against your chest. “I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”   

“Mm.” A pause. “Me neither.”       

You pressed your cheek into the cushion, closing your eyes like that would make the call feel less unreal. “What are you doing?”            

There was the faint rustle of fabric, the creak of a mattress. “Lying down,” he said after a moment. “Staring at the ceiling. Trying not to think too much.”         

A shaky laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “How’s that working out?”        

“Terribly.” His voice softened, wry but small. “That’s why I called.”     

Something tightened in your chest. You turned onto your back, staring up at your own ceiling like maybe you could meet his gaze through the airwaves. “I didn’t think you would.”         

“I almost didn’t.” He exhaled, the sound rough in your ear. “But then I thought… if I didn’t hear you tonight, I wouldn’t at all.”    

Your breath caught. The line was too close to something dangerous, too raw, but neither of you acknowledged it.

Instead, you asked quietly, “So what’d you want to hear?”

“You,” he said simply. Then, softer, almost embarrassed: “Just… you.”     

The silence after was thick, fragile. You clutched the phone tighter, heart aching, throat burning with everything you weren’t allowed to say.     

So you filled the space with lighter things. You told him about the press tour—how one host had mispronounced your name three different ways in the same interview, how you’d worn heels so high you thought you might snap an ankle. He laughed, low and genuine, and for a moment you could almost pretend you hadn’t left him in a studio three nights ago with your heart bleeding on the floor.       

He asked if you’d been eating properly, if the food on set was still as bad as you always complained it was. You teased him about being nosy, and he told you your voice was scratchier than usual, like you hadn’t been sleeping.      

The conversation wound itself into that dangerous space between comfort and longing. You remembered why you’d fallen in the first place—because even in silence, even in fragments, he felt like home.      

“Do you remember,” you asked softly, “that night you dragged me into the convenience store at three a.m. because you wanted to see if I’d actually try those weird instant noodles?”      

He chuckled, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “And you hated them.”      

“They were disgusting.”      

“But you still ate half the cup just to prove you could.”         

You smiled faintly into the dark. “I didn’t want you to call me a coward.”    

“You’re not a coward,” he said, quiet but firm, as though it mattered that you knew.      

Your chest ached. It was too much. Too tender. Too easy to imagine the “what if.”   

Minutes bled into hours, the two of you weaving in and out of memories, teasing and confessing in small, unthreatening ways. It almost felt like nothing had changed. Almost.      

At some point, the conversation slowed. The laughter thinned, replaced by the soft rhythm of his breathing in your ear. You thought maybe he’d fallen asleep, until his voice came low, careful.  

“We’re leaving soon.”

Your smile slipped. “…Leaving?”  

“For tour,” he said, a beat too fast, like he could hide the weight in the words. “A long one this time.”

You went still. The silence stretched long enough that he almost filled it, almost gave you an out, but instead you whispered, “That means you’ll be too busy to call?”   

It wasn’t a question so much as a verdict.    

There was no answer at first, just the faint catch of his breath, the sound of his sheets rustling like he’d turned away from the phone. Then, slowly, voice softer than you’d ever heard it: “Yeah.”   

Your throat closed, heat stinging behind your eyes. He didn’t have to say more. You both knew what it meant. No calls, no late nights, no tangled mornings. No you.    

It hung between you, unsaid but understood, like you were both speaking in code. Like saying it outright would make it too real.    

You curled deeper into the couch, clutching the blanket to your chest. “Thank goodness” Your voice cracked, so you forced a faint laugh, flimsy armor. “I won't have to listen to you nag me about eating.”   

A breath of air left him that might’ve been a laugh, might’ve been a sob. “And won't have to listen to you making fun of my ramen choices.”       

It was nothing, ordinary words, but your chest splintered with how final they sounded.   

For a long while, neither of you spoke. Just the faint hiss of the line, the soft echo of his breathing. If you closed your eyes, you could almost believe he was right there, lying beside you in the quiet.    

Finally, your voice broke the silence, barely audible. “Seungmin?"   

"Yeah?"   

"Seungmin, I–” Your tongue curls into the roof of your mouth, refusing to unfurl, refusing to say what you're thinking. Seungmin I'm not ready for this to end. Seungmin I miss you. Seungmin I need you. Seungmin I, Seungmin I, Seungmin I—

The words stalled in your throat, dammed by fear and pride, by the weight of everything he’d begged you not to say. They pressed against your chest, desperate to break free, but your tongue refused to move, refused to turn your ache into sound.    

On the other end of the line, his breathing hitched. He knew what you wanted to say. You know he knows and he knows that you know that he knows. You hear the rustle of him shifting on his bed. "You what?"     

He's not stopping you. Not this time.   

  IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouI---  

"I hope your tour goes well."     

The words landed flat, brittle, nothing like what had been clawing at your chest. You forced them out evenly, like they weren’t tearing you apart, like they weren’t a stand-in for everything you couldn’t say.        

“Right,” he said, voice hoarse. “Thanks.”    

You closed your eyes. It was such a small word, useless against the storm, but you clutched at it anyway. "And...and I understand. Why you did it."  

On the other end, you heard the rustle of sheets again, the drag of his breath like it hurt to pull it in. For a long moment, he didn’t answer.  

Then, quietly—so quietly you had to strain to hear it: “I didn’t want to.”  

Your heart clenched.  

“I know. But I understand."  

 "Yeah?" You can hear his voice crack.   

 "Yeah."

The line went quiet again, except for his breathing—uneven now, shuddering faintly like he was trying to keep it steady. You pressed the phone tighter to your ear, wishing you could reach through the static, wishing you could catch his face in your hands and keep him from splintering.

“And you’ll… you’ll eat well?” His voice came out small, almost rushed, as if he had to push the words past the lump in his throat.

You blinked, swallowing hard. “I’ll try.”

“You promise?”

You shut your eyes. “I promise.”

There was another pause, softer this time, filled with the sound of him breathing through his nose. Then, quickly, like he couldn’t hold it in: “And you’ll sleep? At least sometimes?” His breath caught again, the words trembling. “I don’t—I don’t like hearing your voice all scratchy. It means you’re not sleeping.”

Your throat tightened. “Yeah, Min. I’ll sleep.”

“Good,” he whispered, and you could hear the break in his voice. There was a wet sound on the other end—a muffled sniff, a sharp exhale—and your throat closed around the realization: he was crying. 

Your own eyes blurred, your chest aching with the fragile desperation in him.

“And you’ll keep calling your mom? You said you’d been bad at it.”

“I will.”

“And… you’ll keep laughing. At dumb things. Even when I’m not there.” His words faltered, falling apart at the edges. “You’ll—” He stopped, breath stuttering, then finished softly, “—you’ll be okay without me, right?”

The question hollowed you out. Because you both knew the answer, and neither of you wanted to speak it.

So you whispered, “I’ll be okay, Seungmin.”

An inhale. “Okay.”

You shut your eyes. “Okay.”

You both stay on the line in silence after that. You’re not sure who falls asleep first. All you know is that when morning comes, the line is dead. The call ended sometime in the night, but you don’t remember it.

The morning light is thin when it finds you, spilling pale across your couch. Your phone lies slack against your chest, the screen black, but you swear you can still hear him there in the quiet—like the echo of a dream that clings too long.

You sit up slowly, blanket sliding to your lap, and press the phone to your lips once, gently, like it might carry across the distance you couldn’t close.

Then you set it down. You stand. You breathe.

Because the call may have ended, but the truth remains: for all the ways you loved him, for all the ways he loved you back without daring to say it, some things can’t be spoken. Some things only live in silence, in the space between words, in the echoes of a midnight call that felt like forever and goodbye all at once.

And that is where you leave him.

[yoongihan]

hi hi! Can I ask for a drabble with Seungmin and the prompt "Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now?" and "I can't hold back anymore" as friends to lovers? Thank you 🥺

pairing: seungmin x femreader

genre: smut, fluff, f2l (as requested :D)

rating: M for light smut

word count: ~2k

warnings: smut in the form of a hand job (m. receiving), making out, implied other happenings, some cursing, name-calling (it's seungmin, what do you expect), I don't think there's much else, honestly.

a/n: sorry this took so long @multiland. also a huge thank you to @jl-micasea-fics for brainstorming this dynamic with me. my first time writing Seungmin and I had a lot of fun! also, I probably missed some typos/mistakes...apologies.

original request post here

99% Idiot

The things you do for friends. 

Especially the things you do for Seungmin (who is definitely just a friend).

“Are you bored?” he asks when you let out a big sigh the moment he turns away to peruse his paraphernalia. 

“I mean, holding still while you overthink is actually really stimulating, Min.”

He side-eyes you while still glancing over his array of palettes. “I am not overthinking. I’m considering what might be best.”

“Overthinking,” you sing-song at him. He turns, holding one of the brushes he has gathered for this experience. 

“You’re a brat.”

“But I’m still right.” You smile at him, intent on making him smile back. “My face is your canvas, and makeup remover exists. So stop playing chess.”

There it is. The little quirk of his lips. You point at it.

“What?”

“You smiled.”

“Did not.” The serious student is back but his eyes sparkle, so you know…you totally win. “Stay still.”

You drop your hand, fake-pout before trying to keep your face neutral. Seungmin has been really worried about this assignment in his Creative Makeup class. 

“Something new. That’s the assignment! Create something new!” he complained at you two days ago.   “Like that’s just easy. So much has been done before. How can I even–” He looked at you then, frustration etched on his face. 

“My face is at your disposal.” Because what else could you say? You aren’t a creative like him. You aren’t nearly as diligent a student as him. You know so little about makeup (you stopped trying to enhance yourself with makeup the moment Seungmin asked why you owned blue eyeshadow with that horrified expression of his) that the only thing you can offer is yourself.

Um, your face. Not like all of you. Body and soul to Kim Seungmin. That would be…a bit much. 

He’s doing something to your eyebrows currently. He plucks one hair and you wince.

“Ow.”

“Baby.”

It’s an insult. You know that, but the name-calling is a little too sweet-sounding for your overworked and repressing brain. 

“Tyrant,” you respond.

He grins widely at that. Of course, he would be flattered by an unflattering title. 

Why are you friends with him?

He’s leaned in to brush something on your cheeks and you wonder how wise volunteering to be his guinea pig (where does that even come from? Why guinea pig? Were they the first volunteering rodent out there?) when his face is that close. 

He’s such an interesting version of beauty. No one looking at him would think him anything but attractive, but it’s not a ‘smack you in the face’ kind of beauty (you picture Seungmin’s friend Hyunjin who regularly smacks you with his hotness and it’s hella intimidating and you kinda want to run away). Seungmin is a subtle beauty. Thoughtful eyes, amused lips, fluffy hair. He’s lanky, but he did beat you in arm wrestling. Which isn’t anything to write home about, but he is stronger than he looks. 

His face is sweet, though some would argue that he is not, he really is. He’s just not overt about it. He mocks you regularly, but you don’t think he would if it actually hurt your feelings. He’s soft with Felix, who is the most sensitive of your friend group. When you try and wrap your arm around his shoulders, he ducks away. When Felix does it, Seungmin just takes it.

You’re not jealous of Felix or anything. 

“Where’d you go?” he asks, jolting you back to the present. He’s cocked his head to the side, staring at you. 

You don’t take it seriously. He’s doing your makeup for fucks sake. Even if the scrutiny is a bit much for your composure.

“Somewhere where my face isn’t being looked at like a science experiment.” 

He rolls his eyes before holding your chin in his hand. “Lips.”

You really are an idiot 99% of the time. 

You pucker them exaggeratedly and he huffs at you. 

“Slightly parted, pabo.”

That’s one of his nicknames for you. But he calls Jisung that too, so it’s not special or anything.

You ‘slightly part’ your lips, trying to pretend that having him this close, touching you, laser-focused on your mouth is all normal and cool.

He paints your lower lip with a tiny brush, meticulous. His thumb touches the bottom of your lip to keep it from moving too much. 

“Your face is red.”

“Guess you did a shitty job, then,” you retort. One corner of his mouth turns up and his eyes meet yours just for a second before he returns to the job at hand. 

He works on your top lip before speaking again: “I do appreciate this.”

You are now speechless.

He laughs when you raise your eyebrows. “I do. I do a lot on my own face, but I know the contours of everything so well now. You’re…you have different contours.”

“Is that a compliment?” You mean to sound cocky, but the thready quality of your voice ruins that completely. 

He shrugs, before reaching to smooth something at the corner of your lips. “It’s not not a compliment.”

Your turn to roll your eyes as he holds out a hand mirror in front of you. 

You see the reflection’s eyes widen. He’s literally made you look not like you. Your eyes seem bigger, nose narrower, cheeks higher, and lips fuller.

When you look at him over the mirror, he snaps a photo on his phone.

“Hey, I wasn’t ready.”

He makes a dismissive sound before taking another. “What do you think?”

You look back at the mirror. “I think I could be a spy if you were in charge of my disguises. I do not look like myself.” And maybe you’re fishing. “I look…pretty.”

He groans and takes the mirror out of your hand. “Fuck off, you are pretty.” He starts to angle your face and takes a few more photos. “Eyes closed please.”

You shut your eyes, your heart a little fluttery at the disgruntled compliment. 

“Thank you Seungmin.”

When you open your eyes, he’s about to use a makeup remover wipe on your face. 

“What? Why?”

“You think that’s it?”

The groan you let out makes him giggle.

You have no idea how many minutes or hours pass, but your face feels very abused and he’s tried four looks on you. 

“My face has lost like seven layers of skin,” you whine when he wipes your face again. 

“Unlikely, but skin tends to grow back pretty easily so just skip classes for a few weeks.” He rubs the cloth over your lips as you pout, laughing when your lower lip makes a noise as it bounces back into position. 

“I hope you fail this assignment.”

“No you don’t,” he answers easily before coating his hands in something then putting it on your face. “Lotion. Face lotion. I stole it from Hyunjin.”

“Well, if it’s Hyunjin’s then I guess it’s good.” You don’t question why he’s doing it when you have two perfectly good hands. It’s kind of nice. He’s actually gentle. Your eyes close when he massages along your jaw. “Does this mean you’re done torturing me?” You open your eyes to see him staring at you oddly. He drops his hands and turns back to his plethora of makeup and skincare. 

He dabs something on his finger before returning, this time to your lips. You make a sound at the contact and he freezes, eyes darting to yours.

You’re not used to Seungmin looking out of his depth. 

“I…your lips too,” he says, swallowing before drawing his finger along your bottom lip. “They need moisture.” He presses his own lips together as he rehydrates your top lip. He doesn’t pull back immediately, his finger still lightly touching. “Better?”

You don’t know how words work anymore.

His face is flushed now, cheeks pink and his ears almost red. He mumbles your name, as though to prompt you to say something, but all you can focus on is how his hand is finally drawing away and you’re sort of following. 

“Your face is red,” you whisper. He shrugs but doesn’t make eye contact. “Min…”

That’s when he looks up, eyes that are usually full of mischief and are just wide and concerned right now. 

You really are an idiot 99% of the time. 

But it’s the 1% (you hope) that speaks up:

“Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now?”

You watch as his eyes fall to your well-moisturized lips then back to your gaze. 

You’re going to take that as a ‘yes’.

When you tug him close by the collar of his windbreaker, his hands find purchase on your jean-clad thighs before your mouths meet. You have thought previously of what it might be like to kiss Seungmin, and you thought he might be just as logical and rational about kissing as he seems to be with everything else.

You were wrong. 

You forgot about how passionate he is about things that matter to him. 

His tongue seeks yours almost immediately, you hear his sharp intake of breath at the way you return the kiss, mouth open and your hands nearly pulling him out of his seat. He stumbles a bit, before settling onto your lap, his hands now at your hips. He squeezes them before pulling at your t-shirt to untuck it from your jeans. When his hands touch your skin, you bite his lower lip and he jerks back to look at you. 

That’s when you realize you are still holding on to his collar with a death grip. You loosen your fingers before cupping his face in your hands, your thumb soothing where you’ve just bit. 

He’s panting, those eyes still wide, but much darker now. You lean in, gauging his response before brushing your mouth on his. He moans softly, kissing you back, his hands trailing up your sides until he reaches your bra. When he lets his fingers drift over the cup, tickling your breast, you jolt right against him. 

In case you weren’t sure if he was into it, feeling how hard he is sets your mind at ease. 

When you press your hand there, he lets out another moan before his face drops into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck you,” he whispers.

“I mean,” you begin, trying to get your own breath back. “I think that’s what you’re wanting to do.”

You feel a nip on your skin and you shiver. You stroke a little harder through his sweats and he rocks into your hand.

“You feel so good, baby.” He lifts his head to meet your eyes. “Baby,” he repeats, when you smile at him. He kisses your nose then lips again. “You keep doing that…I can’t hold back anymore…”

“You threatening me, Kim Seungmin?”

He kisses you again, grinding before you slip your hand past his waistband. He trembles. 

“Yes,” he groans. “I promise to torture you next…” You feel his fingers tighten their hold on you and it’s honestly the best thing you’ve ever done. 

He comes in a matter of what feels like seconds, slumping against you. You carefully tuck him back into his pants, dropping a kiss to his cheek. He raises up to glare at you before kissing you back. It’s languid, the slow strokes of his tongue, one of his hands returning to your breast. When you shudder at his touch, you feel his chuckle more than hear it, his mouth leaving yours to trail to cheek then ear. One nibble on your earlobe has you making a sound that you know he’ll mock you for eternity about.

“Didn’t you already torture me? The whole makeup thing?” you ask, mild pleading in your words. 

He slides off your lap and takes your hand. “You make a good point.” He pulls you off the chair and down the hallway as you stagger behind him. “Guess I better thank you properly then.” He whirls you into his bedroom and shuts the door behind him. 

The things you do for friends. 

Especially the things you do for Seungmin (who is no longer just a friend).

--

© yoongihan 2023. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

[jj-one]

LIKE SUGAR ON MY TONGUE !

pairing: nerd!kim seungmin x f!reader genre/tags: smut, oral (f. receiving), fingering, squirting, nerd talk, idk what this is man

[ note. ] — this is hella short fwkdjdks but i’ve had this in my drafts for a hot minute and felt like posting it so ;p

you’re not even sure how you got here— splayed across seungmin’s creaky dorm bed, thighs pinned back by his scrawny arms, while he’s halfway buried in between your legs. his dorm smells faintly of coffee and the plastic tang of electronics, textbooks stacked haphazardly on his desk with highlighted notes spilling out of them. his glasses slide down the slope of his nose everytime he moans, but he doesn’t bother fixing them, too entranced by what he’s doing.

your skirt is hiked up to your waist, panties hanging somewhere forgotten on the floor, and seungmin looks like he’s studying for an exam he’s desperate to ace. his messy dark hair keeps tickling the insides of your thighs, dampened by sweat and your slick, and you swear he’s drooling more than he ever does over the ramen cups piled up by his nightstand.

“fascinating,” he mutters, licking a slow stripe up your slit, his voice low like he’s reading observations into a recorder. his nose nudges your clit until your hips jolt violently against him, and you can hear the way he breathes heavier at the reaction. “your body responds to direct pressure here at… what? less than three seconds? consistent stimulus equals immediate twitch reflex.. interesting.”

you choke out his name, your face burning, embarrassed heat flooding you from head to toe. “seung- god- stop talking like that—” you croak halfway through because his tongue is right back on you, unrelenting.

“control group would disagree,” he deadpans, like he’s actually defending his thesis. his tone is clinical, but the way he seals his mouth over your clit is nothing short of feral. he sucks, flicking his tongue in precise little circles, and your gasps makes his eyes flutter shut. the corners of his glasses misted instantly, and he slightly pulls back only to come up for air, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your drooling cunt.

“the data is clear. you taste… fuck—” his nerdy facade cracks, shredding into something guttural, a raw groan punching out of him as his chest heaves against the mattress, “—sweet as sugar.”

the sound of him moaning while saying it is humiliating and addictive all at once. his hands grip your thighs tighter, knuckles pale as if he’s holding you open for dissection, except he’s the one falling apart. he pushes two fingers inside without warning, the intrusion sharp and sudden, curling them ruthlessly until you’re keening. your hands fly up to his hair, yanking, but he only groans louder at the twinge of pain.

“see?” he pants, and you realize with horror and arousal that he’s still narrating, voice shaking with exhilaration but steady in its nerdy cadence. “every contraction around my fingers is another point of evidence. repeated pattern. measurable. predictable.” his pace is relentless, the thrust of his fingers perfectly angled as if he calculated it ahead of time, tongue and lips locking you down at the same time.

you feel your orgasm wash over you before you can even warn him, your whole body convulsing, and wetness gushes down his wrist in a sudden torrent. his eyes go wide, lips shiny, glasses completely fogged up. he stares at the mess you’re making with the awe of someone witnessing a chemical reaction for the first time.

“hypothesis confirmed,” he pants, and the smugness is ruined by the cracked, wrecked edge of his tone. his fingers are still fucking you open as you squirt again, testing the limits of your body. “multiple consecutive releases are achievable under consistent oral application. remarkable. oh my god—”

he moans low, like he can’t help it, tongue latching back onto your clit just to prove his point, dragging you through another wave until you’re sobbing his name into the stale atmosphere of his dorm. every thrust of his fingers hits deeper, rougher, and your legs are trembling so hard you feel like you’ll split apart.

he only pulls back when your thighs can’t hold still anymore, shaking too violently, threatening to knock his glasses clean off. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, spit and slick smeared across his chin, his lips red and puffy from working you over. cheeks flushed a tint of pink, chest heaving, he stares at you like you’re the most important discovery of his life.

“conclusion?” he murmurs, sounding rougher than you’ve ever heard him before, “you’re the best experiment i’ve ever run.”

[leriexoxo]

Truths Are For Pussies

Enemy! Changbin x Reader

Tags: smut, enemies to lovers, sexting, nudes, public groping, size kink, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), Dom Changbin, rough sex, breeding kink, soft aftercare

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: A drunk dare. One obscene nude you should’ve deleted months ago. You send it to the loudmouth classmate you hate most—Changbin. What you don’t expect? His filthy response. Or how fast it spirals into late-night thirst traps, voice notes, and him promising to fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You didn’t even want to go out that night.

It had been one of those weeks—back-to-back deadlines, sleepless nights, and that argument with Changbin during Tuesday’s group presentation that had left you pacing your room afterward, teeth clenched, cheeks hot.

He was too much.

Too loud. Too confident. Too all over the place.

Every class, every group chat, every hallway you tried to exist in—he was there. Smirking. Teasing. Rolling his eyes at your notes, talking over you during discussions, always finding ways to get under your skin like it was a personal hobby.

But your girls had insisted. “You need a break. You need tequila.”

So you’d gone.

Lip gloss, crop top, shots lined up like soldiers.

By midnight, the living room was a haze of heat and laughter. Someone had started a game of truth or dare with twisted rules. Everyone was half-drunk and full of bad ideas.

You should’ve seen it coming. The moment your turn came and the bottle pointed at you, a few smirks lit up around the circle like a warning.

“Okay,” Layla grinned, “truth or dare?”

You hesitated. Truth was safe. Predictable. But everyone had been choosing it all night, and you’d mocked them for it. Now it was your turn to be bold.

“Dare.”

Layla didn’t hesitate.

“Send a nude to Seo Changbin… or run a full lap around the football field naked. With a suction dildo stuck to your forehead.”

The room howled.

Someone immediately got up to rummage in a drawer. “I have the dildo!”

Your stomach dropped.

You tried to laugh it off, eyes wide. “Are you fucking insane?”

“You’ve got beef with him, right?” someone snorted.

“This is perfect.”

“You’re always bickering, it’ll shake him up.”

It wasn’t the nudity that scared you. It wasn’t even Changbin.

It was what was already in your camera roll.

A photo you’d taken months ago during a particularly filthy night, when you were feeling reckless and painfully needy. The lights had been low, your skin warm, your thoughts wicked. You’d spread yourself wide open on the sheets, wet and glistening, lips parted, your own fingers pulling at your skin. Your face was in it. Your expression ruined.

You had stared at it afterward, thinking: This is too much. No one can ever see this.

But you hadn’t deleted it.

And now… your hand hovered over it. Over the send button. The whole room was watching you, waiting.

You felt drunk. Braver than you should’ve been.

So you said, too calmly, “Fine.”

And tapped send.

It only took thirty seconds for regret to sink in like poison.

What had you just done?

He was going to lose his mind. Or worse, not react at all. He could ruin you. Show people. Mock you in class. Bring it up next time you tried to speak during a lecture.

You curled into the couch, face hot, eyes burning from the alcohol and the humiliation chewing through your stomach. Your phone buzzed once.

Then twice.

You turned it over.

Changbin 💢:

Did you mean to send that?

You stared at your phone like it had grown teeth.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Every possible answer felt wrong. You almost typed “ignore it”, but deleted it. Then you typed:

“It was a dare. Just forget it.”

Another ping.

Changbin 💢:

That’s not the kind of photo you send as a dare.

You swallowed.

Your face was burning. All the background noise in the living room—the music, the laughter, the clinking glasses—faded to a soft murmur. The heat of the dare was starting to wear off, replaced by a sick rush of adrenaline and humiliation.

Changbin 💢:

Jesus fucking Christ.

I… I didn’t know you looked like that.

You’ve been walking around class with that between your legs?

You tightened your thighs instinctively.

You typed:

“It was a stupid dare. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

But he wasn’t letting it go.

Changbin 💢:

You already had that pic?

That wasn’t a selfie. That was planned.

You took that for someone. You were gonna send it eventually.

You bit your lip.

“It’s old. I never sent it to anyone.”

Changbin 💢:

That makes it worse.

You paused.

“Why?”

Changbin 💢:

Because I’ve never wanted to fuck someone I hate more than I do right now.

You looked so good. So fucking wet. Like you needed someone to take care of it.

You blinked.

Your stomach flipped. The burn between your legs sharpened. You weren’t sure if it was arousal or pure nerves—probably both.

“This is insane.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re still the asshole who makes me want to throw things in class.”

You deleted it all.

Instead:

“You’ve seen it now. Can you just forget it?”

The reply came back instantly.

Changbin 💢:

No fucking way.

Changbin 💢:

You’re seriously gonna act like you didn’t send that on purpose? Like you don’t want me thinking about it?

Changbin 💢:

You want me hard for you, don’t you?

“No.” “Fuck off.” “Stop.”

You didn’t send any of those.

“You’re full of yourself.”

Changbin 💢:

Nah, princess. You’re the one dripping in that pic, not me.

You closed your eyes.

He was unraveling you.

The way he talked in person was always irritating—too loud, too smug. But here? In text? At 1:03 a.m.?

He was… different. Sharper. Controlled. Bold in a way that went straight to your core.

“You’re lucky I’m drunk.”

Changbin 💢:

You think I need you drunk for this?

I’d still be hard for you even if we were sober in the library.

You bit back a noise.

Your thighs rubbed together involuntarily.

Changbin 💢:

You want me to send something back? Would that make it fair? Even the score?

Your fingers twitched.

“You’re bluffing.”

Changbin 💢:

Try me.

Your pulse quickened.

“You’re not actually going to—”

Ping.

The photo loaded slowly.

Dark sweatpants. No shirt. His abs were tight, skin glowing with a warm amber sheen like he’d taken the pic right after a workout. His hand tugged the waistband down low, and the bulge beneath was unmistakable—huge, thick, pressed to the fabric like it was dying to be freed.

You inhaled, sharp.

The outline of his cock was ridiculous. Heavy. Thick at the base, curving up. The tip clearly outlined. The kind of size that made your body react before your brain caught up.

And his caption?

Changbin 💢:

Now you can imagine what’s gonna fill you the next time you talk back in class.

You didn’t realize your mouth had gone dry until you swallowed hard.

Someone from the living room called your name. “Babe! Your turn!”

“I’ll be right back,” you called, voice strained.

You grabbed your phone, pushed off the couch, and disappeared into the hallway. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere you could breathe.

And think.

And maybe—just maybe—look again.

Because for the first time since you’d met him, you weren’t sure if you hated him… or if you just didn’t know what to do with how badly you suddenly wanted him.

—

You thought you could outlast the tension.

After the photo he sent—the dick print, the way it looked too big to even be real, the caption that made your thighs clench—you told yourself it was just late-night chaos. That once the sun came up, you could pretend it hadn’t happened.

You left him on read.

Muted the conversation.

Avoided every look in class, kept your expression cold, distant.

But Changbin?

He was different now.

Quieter. Sharper. Dangerous.

He still joked with the guys. Still sat in the same row as always. But whenever your eyes flicked up, he was watching you—really watching. Like he could still see that photo of you spread open and dripping every time you bit your lip or crossed your legs.

And when your professor assigned a partner project and called out his name alongside yours?

You knew it was over.

Later that afternoon, the library was quiet. Too quiet. The air between you was thick with something unsaid as you stood beside where he sat, laptops open, pretending to focus.

You tried not to look at him.

Tried not to remember the outline of his cock stretching grey fabric. The way he’d said “what’s gonna fill you next time you talk back in class.”

Your body hadn’t forgotten.

You’d touched yourself to that image more times than you were ready to admit.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, eyes on the screen.

You didn’t look at him. “I’m working.”

“Right.”

“That’s what you were doing the other night too, huh? Working?”

You stiffened.

“I didn’t take you for the type to keep that kind of photo in your phone. Or was it just waiting for someone better to see it?”

You finally turned. “Are you done?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, smirking—but something darker hid behind his eyes. He leaned in towards you, low and quiet.

“No. Not even close.”

You didn’t notice when he stood. But you did feel it when he moved behind you.

At first, it was just his hand brushing your shoulder as he leaned to peek at your screen.

Then he didn’t move away.

Instead, you felt the heavy press of his chest behind you. His palm slid slowly—casually—over your back. Lower. Resting at the curve of your waist.

And then he shifted—just slightly—and you felt it.

The unmistakable weight of him.

Hard. Thick. Pressed right up against your ass.

Your breath hitched.

“Miss me?” he whispered.

Your cheeks burned. “You’re disgusting.”

“Am I?”

“Because this…” his hand flattened against your hip, pulling you subtly back into his body, into his cock—“says otherwise.”

You should’ve shoved him.

Should’ve snapped, slapped, screamed.

But your body betrayed you.

Your thighs clenched. Your breathing went shallow.

And when his fingers brushed the hem of your skirt, you didn’t move away.

If anything—you leaned back.

“You liked it,” he murmured, lips just behind your ear.

“You liked knowing I saw you like that. That I wanted to fuck you from the second that photo lit up my screen.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, hungrier. “But your body doesn’t agree.”

His hand slid lower, palm resting on your ass now—really grabbing, squeezing, like it was his already. He rutted against you once, slow, just enough to let you feel the size of him again.

You gasped, barely holding in the noise.

“Poor thing,” he whispered.

“Trying so hard to act like you don’t want this cock stretching you open.”

You closed your eyes. “We’re in a fucking library.”

“And you’re soaked,” he growled. “Aren’t you?”

You were.

You hated him for it.

But God—you wanted more.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice a low rumble in your ear.

“Tell me you don’t want me pushing these panties to the side and sliding in right here.”

You didn’t say anything.

And neither did your body.

Because for the first time, you weren’t sure who was in control—him, or the ache between your legs screaming for more.

His grip on your waist didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened—fingers flexing into the curve of your hips like he wanted to memorize the way you fit under his hands.

You told yourself to move.

To snap out of it.

To shove his cocky ass away and slap the heat off your face.

But instead… you shifted.

Barely. Subtly. Almost like a breath.

Your hips arched back just the tiniest bit—and you felt him twitch.

Big. Hot. Hard against you.

And god help you, you did it again.

This time, he chuckled. Low and raspy.

“Keep doing that and I’m gonna take it personally.”

His voice buzzed against the shell of your ear, warm and wicked.

“I can swear you’re wet.”

“I’m not,” you breathed, barely able to form the words.

“No?”

One of his hands slid from your hip, slipping lower, slow and deliberate. Your skirt offered no protection—his fingers eased beneath the hem with practiced ease, knuckles brushing your thigh.

“Then you won’t mind if I check.”

You gasped. “Changbin—”

But it was too late.

His hand slid up. Under your skirt. Under your panties.

And then—his fingers paused.

Right at your slit.

Slick. Dripping. Heat soaked through cotton and flushed onto his fingertips.

He let out a quiet groan, something dark and pleased.

“Fuck me…”

You froze.

“You’re soaked.”

You should’ve died of embarrassment.

Instead, you whimpered—barely, breath catching in your throat. Your thighs twitched, instinctively trying to close, but his hand was already there, slipping further, middle finger pressing through the wetness and parting you open.

“Look at that,” he muttered. “Fighting me in public, dripping for me in private.”

“You can’t—” you whispered, but your voice cracked halfway through.

“I can,” he said. “And I am.”

His fingertip circled your entrance, not quite pushing in. Just enough to tease. To test how badly your body wanted him.

And it did.

God, it did.

“All this just from my picture?” he murmured. “You really are a dirty little thing.”

“Changbin, we’re—someone could—”

“Then stay quiet,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “Be a good girl and let me feel what you’ve been hiding from me.”

You squirmed against him, helpless. His hard-on grinding into your ass. His hand between your legs. Your body betraying everything your mouth refused to say.

But then—he pulled back. Slow. Measured and wicked.

“Not here,” he muttered. “Not yet.”

You let out a shaky exhale, unsure if it was relief or frustration.

“You’re not ready.”

He said it like a promise. Even more like a plan.

—

That night, your phone lit up before midnight.

Changbin 💢

You touching yourself right now?

You swallowed, heat curling in your stomach.

“No.”

A lie.

You’d been thinking about his finger, barely there, slicking through your folds. The way he pressed against you like he could fuck you through your clothes. The restraint he showed—pulling away just when you were about to lose it.

Changbin 💢:

Liar. You were dripping earlier. You think that goes away?

Changbin 💢:

You want help?

Your breath caught.

Then another message.

📷 An image.

A mirror selfie. Taken low. No shirt. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. But this time… no filter, no teasing.

His cock was hard. So obvious. Thick and curving up in those grey sweats, the head visibly straining against the fabric. His hand was wrapped around the base, gripping himself through the material.

Your core clenched.

Changbin 💢:

You made me like this. Do something about it.

Another ping.

🎧An audio file.

You hesitated… then tapped.

His voice—low, breathless, filthy—filled your room.

“Wish you were here right now. I’d be in you already. So deep you’d cry. Want you moaning my name with your thighs wrapped around my waist.”

You bit your knuckle.

“Bet you’re wet again just hearing this.”

You were.

And you knew damn well… this was only the beginning because it was obvious that you knew you should stop.

Mute the chat. Turn your phone off. Go to sleep.

But instead, you hit play again.

Changbin’s voice filled your room for the second time, low and unsteady.

“Wish you were here right now. I’d be in you already. So deep you’d cry. Want you moaning my name with your thighs wrapped around my waist.”

Your hand had already slipped under the waistband of your shorts. Shame curled hot in your chest, but it wasn’t enough to stop you.

Not with his voice saying things like that.

Not when your body was still aching from what he’d done in the library.

You typed, hesitant:

“You’re a menace.”

Changbin 💢:

And you’re quiet. You touching yourself again?

“No.”

Changbin 💢:

You’re such a bad liar.

Another ping. Another message.

Changbin 💢:

Say my name once, and I’ll show you the real thing. But let me hear how down bad you are first.

Your legs squeezed together.

He wasn’t letting up.

Not just the teasing — the control. The way he peeled you open without even being in the same room. It was like he’d figured out every weakness you had and was pressing on all of them at once.

You typed:

“You want me to say your name?”

Changbin 💢:

Just once. Out loud. Right now.

I know you’re touching yourself, i just want to hear you.

Your heart pounded. You stared at the audio reply button. Your thumb hovered.

“I’m not sending you a voice note.”

Changbin 💢:

Why not?

You’re already soaked. Already picturing it, aren’t you?

Changbin 💢:

Me pulling your legs apart. Spitting on your pussy.

Sliding in nice and slow while you beg me to ruin it.

You let out a shaky breath.

Changbin 💢:

C’mon, baby.

Be a good girl and let me hear how badly you want it.

The words good girl punched straight through your resolve.

Your finger hovered over the record button.

You didn’t overthink it. Didn’t script it. But at the back of your mind, you knew shouldn’t have done it.

You knew the second you hit record—you were crossing a line you couldn’t uncross. But the heat in your stomach, the ache between your legs, the way Changbin’s voice still echoed in your ears? It all left you trembling.

So you moaned. You whimpered.

And you said his name.

“Changbin…”

You sounded so fucking needy. So shameless and desperate.

Exactly how you felt.

You hit send with your heart in your throat, thighs clenched tight around your own hand. And then you waited—seconds dragging, breath caught in your chest.

Then: ping.

🎥A video.

No caption. No warning.

You hesitated, pulse in your ears, then tapped it.

The first thing you saw was skin—his hand, wrapped tight around the base of his cock. Thick. Hard. Heavy. His head was a darker shade of his skin, glistening with precum, veins running thick along the shaft.

The next thing you heard?

His voice. Ragged. Strained.

“This what you want, baby?”

He was filming from above, cock in his fist, his abs flexing as he pumped slowly, steadily. Each stroke was loud and wet. His hand moved like he was imagining you were already wrapped around him—tight, dripping, ruined.

“Been jerking off since you moaned my name,” he growled. “You sound so fucking pretty when you’re begging.”

You bit your lip so hard it almost bled.

“Wanna cum in you so bad,” he panted. “Wanna watch it drip out of you. Want you to feel it for days.”

And then—he grunted. Shuddered.

And came.

Ropes of it. Thick spurts shooting across his abs, the head of his cock twitching violently in his grip.

“That’s all for you,” he breathed, voice wrecked.“Next time, I’m doing that inside.”

The video ended, but you were done for.

You stared at your screen like it had punched you in the stomach. Heat licked down your spine. Your hand had slipped between your legs again before you even realized it.

You replayed the video.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

You wanted to taste it. Feel it. Be under it.

Then your screen lit up again.

Changbin 💢:

You still there?

Your fingers trembled. You didn’t even overthink it.

You typed:

“I need you.”

[📍Location Shared]

And hit send.

—

You barely had time to think.

One knock. That’s all it took.

You opened the door and he was on you—mouth crashing into yours, body pinning you flat against the wall like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

He kissed like a man possessed.

Like your voice note had ruined him. Like your moan had carved something primal into his chest and he couldn’t shake it loose.

His tongue slid past your lips, rough and greedy, tasting you like he had to claim you first.

“Fuck,” he growled against your mouth. “Took you long enough.”

You barely had time to respond—his hands were already under your shirt, palming your tits like they were his, thumbs flicking your nipples until you whimpered.

“This all for me?” he asked, breath hot.

“This pussy been soaking since the second I sent that video?”

You gasped as he shoved one leg between yours, grinding up against your clothed heat—his cock already hard, pressing through his sweats like a weapon.

“God,” he groaned. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Can’t wait anymore.”

He picked you up like you weighed nothing, carried you into your own apartment without breaking the kiss, and dropped you—hard—onto the kitchen counter.

Before you could speak, your shorts were yanked down and off. Your panties, too. Ripped aside with one rough pull.

“Fucking knew it,” he muttered as he spread you open. “Look at this wet little pussy. So damn ready for me.”

“You’re such a—”

“Say it,” he snarled, two fingers sliding through your folds, circling your clit just right.

“Say it while I ruin you.”

You choked on a moan, hips jerking up. His fingers dipped inside—thick, slow, curling—testing you.

“Tight,” he hissed. “So fuckin’ tight already.

How the hell you gonna take my cock, baby?”

You looked down—and froze.

He’d pushed his sweats down just enough, and there it was. All of it.

His cock was thick. Long. Veiny. Angry-red at the tip, already leaking. You’d seen the outline. You’d watched him stroke it on video. But up close?

It was fucking terrifying.

And you wanted every inch.

“I’m gonna mess you up real pretty.” he whispered, dragging the head through your slick folds.

“You’re not walking tomorrow.”

You whimpered, thighs trembling.

“Changbin—fuck—”

“What’s that, princess?” he smirked. “You scared of this cock now?”

“Shut the fuck up and give it to me.”

That was all he needed.

He lined up and slammed in—

The stretch was obscene. Your back arched, a broken cry ripped from your throat. He didn’t wait. Didn’t tease. He bottomed out in one brutal stroke, hips snapping forward until his balls slapped against you.

“FUCK,” he growled, head dropping to your shoulder. “Tight little cunt’s squeezing the shit outta me.”

You clawed at his back, desperate to breathe, but it felt too good. The way he filled you—so deep, so thick—you felt him in your stomach.

“Took it all, huh?” he rasped, pulling back just to thrust in harder. “Greedy little thing.”

He fucked you like he meant it. Like he was punishing you for every time you rolled your eyes in class. For every time you told him to shut up.

You were moaning like a pornstar—loud, shameless, wrecked—as he pounded into you on the kitchen counter, sweat dripping, his abs flexing with every thrust.

“You were made for this cock,” he groaned. “Fucking built to take it like a good girl.”

He pulled out suddenly, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you into the living room.

“Bed’s too far. Couch. Now.”

You stumbled, legs shaking. He bent you over the armrest, slapped your ass once—hard—and buried himself inside again with a brutal snap of his hips.

“This ass…” he groaned. “You know how many times I’ve stared at it in class?”

“Wanted to fuck you bent over all the damn desks.”

Your moans were broken now—choked sobs of pleasure every time his hips slammed into you.

He wrapped his hand around your throat, not too tight—just enough to own you.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growled. “Big cock splitting you open. My hand on your neck. My cum dripping out of you.”

“Yes—fuck—yes, Changbin, please—”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop.”

His grip tightened. His thrusts turned savage.

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he warned. “I want it leaking down your thighs when you go to class tomorrow. I want everyone to know this pussy’s mine.”

You clenched around him—hard—and he lost it.

“Fuck—fuck—baby—”

He came deep inside you, groaning like he was unraveling from the core. Hot spurts filling you up, cock twitching inside your walls.

You collapsed forward, shaking.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out, flipped you onto the rug, and dropped to his knees.

“Need to taste you.”

His tongue went straight to your core, licking up his own mess, spreading it across your folds as he devoured you like he’d starved for days.

“Not leaving till you cum on my face.”

And you did.

Screaming his name. Shaking. Barely able to think.

Your first mistake had been sending that photo.

But your biggest mistake?

Letting him in.

Because now?

You’d never get him out.

—

You couldn’t move.

You were sprawled out on your back on the rug, blinking at the ceiling, your entire body throbbing with the aftershocks of what he’d just done to you. You felt wrecked in the best, most glorious way.

And yet—somehow—Changbin was the one panting like he’d just gone through hell.

He lay beside you, arm thrown over his face dramatically.

“I’m filing a formal complaint,” he groaned. “Your pussy should come with a fucking warning label.”

You wheezed out a laugh.

“Says the guy who just broke my uterus.”

He turned his head, looked at you.

And melted.

The shift was instant—his gaze softened, mouth twitching into the tiniest smile. He scooted closer, propped himself on one elbow, and brushed your sweaty hair off your cheek.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle. “Like… really okay?”

You nodded. “More than okay.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for ten years. Then leaned in and kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheekbone—everywhere but your lips, like he was saving those for dessert.

“I swear I didn’t mean to fuck you like a caveman,” he mumbled. “I blacked out. You made that sound and I was just—gone.”

“You were terrifying,” you whispered, smiling. “In the hottest possible way.”

That made him grin.

He reached over for the hoodie he’d left slung on the chair and helped you into it—actually helped, like lifting your arms, guiding it over your head, kissing your shoulder once it was on.

Then he grabbed a warm towel, knelt between your legs, and started cleaning you up with the softest, most careful touch.

“Can’t have my girl leaking all over the carpet,” he murmured.

“Your girl?”

He looked up with a cocky smirk.

“You just let me raw dog you and you screamed my name for the neighbors, baby. Don’t play shy now.”

You tried to glare, but he leaned forward and kissed your knee. Then your thigh. Then higher.

“Next time,” he said, “I’m taking you slower. Gonna edge you until you’re crying.”

Your stomach flipped.

“You’re already thinking about next time?”

He glanced up at you with a boyish little shrug.

“I think about you all the time.”

Your heart stuttered. Because it didn’t sound like a line. It sounded real. Raw. Like the truth.

He saw your expression shift and leaned in, his lips brushing your temple.

“Not just the sex,” he murmured.

“I think about you when you fight with the professor. When you tie your hoodie strings in knots. When you roll your eyes at me like you always do.”

“Binnie—”

“I like you,” he whispered.

Simple. Honest.

And it hit you harder than any orgasm.

You buried your face in his chest. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, one big palm cupping the back of your head like he could hide you there forever.

“You hungry?” he murmured.

“Starving.”

“Good. I got us pizza and fried chicken.”

You looked up. “You really ordered food while I was moaning your name?”

He smirked. “Actually did it on my way here but I can multitask baby.”

You laughed into his chest, and he kissed your head again.

When the food arrived, you sat curled in his lap, eating from his chopsticks while he kissed sauce off your lips between bites.

Later, when you were tucked into bed and halfway to sleep, he whispered:

“You were fucking perfect tonight.”

“I’m gonna be addicted to you now.”

You didn’t say anything back. You just pulled his arm tighter around you and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.

Because you already were.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Its been a hot minute without a Binnie smut 💪🏻 How are we liking this cute little enemies to lovers?? 🤭❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar @shxdowofdarkness @aeyla @annyeongffs @beppybeesnuggets @iamwritteninyourstars @crisle19 @stxysakura @ocean-glacierblue

[fangirlfied-deactivated20250920]

I don't know why is it that I find the best fics at almost 5 a.m, man...The Bang Chan one, the Seungcheol one....and now this one! Why can't I find these fics at 1 a.m like any normal person would!?

Amazimg fic, honestly....I've always had issues with Stray Kids because I'm a bit older than them (born 1995) and followed them since their debut, back then obviously they were little babies, they kind of still are but I don't know what happened with 3RACHA this year that they have me not just questioning everything but also, Changbin made me realized I probably have a size kink and THAT'S INSANE BRUH

[hanniebaeee]

The Illusionist

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

Genre: Fantasy au, strangers to lovers

Summary: A mysterious circus arrives in your town. You are mesmerized by it and totally captivated by the Illusionist.

a/n: I wrote at last 🥹 I feel like um writing for the first time again, but I tried. Please forgive me for any mistakes. Enjoy!

The circus arrived out of nowhere.

It appeared overnight with tents of black and gold spiraling into the sky, strung with fairy lights that glimmered like the stars. The air thrummed with something alive and magical, making the townsfolk whisper of it over their morning coffee.

Your tiny little seaside town was drenched in fear and fascination. How did no one hear a single thing? Those elaborate tents obviously needed some work being set up. Didn't it?

There were no posters or fliers. It was just… there.

You wanted to go witness what lay beyond the gates of black and gold. You asked your mother, and she dismissed your excitement, calling you childish. But then there was Minho.

Minho worked for your mother, helping her manage the family business. And you knew that at some point in your life, you'd be marrying him. It was an unspoken fact. Your family grooming him to take over the family business, and including him in literally every family event was proof enough.

He treated you like a friend, but you knew that he obviously felt more. Unfortunately, you didn't. But today, you were desperate.

So, you begged Minho to take you. He’d frowned, his brows knitting together in that way that made him look older than his age. But he relented when you pouted, and your eyes filled up with unshed tears.

The night was heavy with mist as you stepped into the ventured past the good and black gates, Minho’s hand warm on your lower back. The air was thick with the scent of caramel and smoke and something floral.

You wore a simple dress, pale blue with tiny little daisies. You followed the crowd into the main tent, taking a seat close to the stage, your eyes wide with awe.

Then he appeared.

The Illusionist stepped onto the stage, his black suit hugging his frame, the golden embroidery catching the light in a way that made him seem less man, more…magic. His hat, tilted just a little, shadowed his eyes, but you could feel them - dark, piercing and completely holding you in his grip.

His movements were liquid, each gesture deliberate, as if he were weaving spells with his hands. Golden ribbons turned into doves. Doves turned to confetti. And confetti bloomed into a rose dusted with gold.

The crowd gasped as he made things happen with a flick of his wrist or the snap of his fingers. But you? It was like you couldn't breathe. Your eyes clouded, as if under a spell. Your chest felt tight as the illusionist’s gaze flickered to you, just for a moment. As if he were seeing you for the very first time. As if he didn't just perform just for you. As if he didn't wait his entire life… for you.

He saw the hunger you didn’t even know you had. The hunger he had buried deep inside him as he searched crowd after crowd for you. He'd finally found you.

He smirked, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips, letting you know that he saw you, and a flick of his wrist, had the gold dusted rose landed on your lap, ending the show.

The crowd spilled out into the night and you let Minho lead you away, his thumb brushing your knuckles as he told you that he'd be traveling in the morning. You nodded, but your mind was elsewhere. Back in that tent, under Illusionist’s spell.

What you didn't see was the shadow that lingered at the tent’s edge. Hwang Hyunjin, the Illusionist, watched you go, his hat tipped low, his eyes glinting like a predator’s in the dark.

The next night, you resisted the urge to go back. It clawed at you from the inside, stubborn and insistent. But you stayed in your bed. And it may have been the most difficult and painful night of your life.

But the next night, you caved. You didn't understand what it was, but if you didn't go, it felt like you'd die.

Minho was still traveling, and your mother wouldn't take you. So you waited for everyone to go to bed, before jumping out of your window, and running towards the circus. It called to you, its pull stronger than you could explain.

You realize that the illusionist's act was already done for the night. You couldn't help but feel disappointed as you stepped into the empty tent. You felt silly all of a sudden.

You turned to leave, but stopped still. You felt him before you saw him. You turned slowly, fully expecting to see him, but yet, your breath hitched.

He emerged from the shadows, and seeing him up close - his high cheekbones, full lips, and those eyes…it completely disarmed you.

“You came back,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his eyes taking you in, the way you were panting. “Did you run all the way here just for me?”

You swallowed, your throat dry, but you lifted your chin, defiant despite the heat flooding your cheeks. “I wasn’t planning to come,” you said, but the words felt hollow.

Hyunjin laughed, a soft, wicked sound that made your skin prickle. He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell him - smoke and something sweeter.

“Liar,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “You couldn’t stay away.”

Your heart stuttered, but you didn’t step back. His fingers brushed your wrist, light as a feather, and you shivered, your body betraying you.

“Who are you?” Ok, so it sounded silly as soon as you said it.

“You know I'm an Illusionist,”

“I don't think your mother named you that.”

“She named me Hyunjin,”

“What do you want from me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, something hungry.

“What do I want, Y/N?” He leaned in, his lips so close to yours. “I want to see what happens when you stop fighting it. When you let go of this life you’re pretending to love.”

You stared at him, your heart literally struggling against your ribcage to burst out as he said your name. Because you wanted to say yes to everything he said. But you thought about Minho. You knew he liked you.

“There is someone -” you started, the words sounding weaker than you meant them to.

Hyunjin’s smirk didn’t falter. He stepped back, just enough to give you space to breathe.

“You don't love him,” he stated. “Tell me, darling, does he make your heart race like this?”

He reached out, his fingers grazing your collarbone, before settling right over your heart, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “Does he make you crave him?”

You couldn’t answer. But honestly, you didn’t need to. The truth was written in the way your body leaned toward him, in the way your lips parted, aching for something you couldn’t name. He saw it, and his smile, triumphant.

“Would you believe me if I told you I've been looking for you?” He asked, his voice low. “Crowd after crowd after crowd. I've searched for you. Across oceans. Everywhere. And now you're here.”

“Hyunjin -”

He closed his eyes, as if hearing you say his name physically hurt.

“Say it again,” He demanded.

“What?”

“My name. Say it again -”

“Hyunjin,” His head tipped back, and you could see what appeared like strands of gold glow in his neck.

You didn't know what you were seeing. You didn't know what to do, but when he looked at you again, you knew whatever he asked you next, you'd say yes.

“Do you trust me?”

You shouldn't. You didn't know this man. But you trusted him with your life. So you nodded.

Hyunjin raised his hand, and you froze when frim his fingertips came golden threads, as fine as spider silk. The glow filled the room as they moved like they were alive, slithering through the air and wrapped around your wrists and neck. You gasped as they sank into your skin, painless but warm, threading through your veins like liquid fire.

You felt them, pulsing under your flesh, all through your body - a connection so intimate. Your eyes widened as the glow around Hyunjin’s neck dimmed. And the threads running from Hyunjin's fingertips to your body merely went invisible rather than cut or separated.

“What did you do?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and intrigue.

He stepped closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Binding you to me,” he said softly, his eyes glinting with possessiveness. “You feel it, don’t you? Me, inside you.”

And you did. The threads weren’t just on your skin—they were deeper, woven into your very being, binding you to him completely. You could feel his heartbeat, faint but steady, echoing alongside your own. His emotions - hunger, need…love?

It was overwhelming, like he’d slipped into your soul and made himself at home.

“Why?” you managed, your voice barely audible.

“Because you belong with me.” That's all he said.

He raised his hand again, and the threads tightened, not painfully but enough to make you gasp, your body arching toward him instinctively.

You could clearly feel his desire coursing through you. It was intoxicating, to say the least. It made your arms and legs feel heavy. Your vision blurred. Hyunjin had his arms open when you fell into them, unconscious.

When you woke up in your bed the next morning, the threads stirred within you, a warm, teasing ripple that started at your wrists and spread like wildfire. You gasped, your body tensing as the sensation deepened, like invisible fingers tracing the curve of your spine.

You knew it was him, teasing you. You could hear his voice, a soft raspy whisper, “You feel me, don’t you?”

“Stop it,” You hissed, humiliated at how much you wanted it. With a huff, you were off the bed. You busied yourself with your household chores, determined to not give into him so easily.

But Hyunjin was relentless, his magic now lived inside you, coaxing shivers from your body that you couldn’t suppress.

By night time, you had decided not to go to the circus. Not tonight. It was your rebellion, your desperate attempt to claw back some control from Hyunjin’s spell. But the threads stirred under your skin and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him. His wicked smirk and his teasing gaze.

It was late and you were curled up on the couch with a book you couldn’t read. The words blurred, your focus stolen by the threads, which seemed to hum with a quiet irritation, like they knew you were defying him. You told yourself you were stronger than this, stronger than him. But Hyunjin didn’t take rebellion lightly.

It started as a ripple, a soft tug at the threads. You froze, your breath catching as the sensation grew, warm and teasing, like a fingertip tracing the curve of your neck. You set the book down, your hands trembling. Ok, so this was a bad idea.

But the warmth spread, curling low in your belly, igniting a heat you’d never felt before. Your body tensed, a soft gasp escaping your lips as the sensation sharpened, like invisible hands sliding up your thighs.

“Hyunjin,” you whispered, your voice shaking. The air grew heavy, the candle flickering wildly as the sensation shifted, no longer teasing but demanding. It was like his hands were on you, mapping every inch of your skin. Your dress felt too tight, your skin too sensitive, and you pressed your thighs together, trying to tame the ache building inside you.

But he wouldn’t let you.

The threads pulsed again, and it was like he was there, his breath hot against your ear, his fingers ghosting over your hips, your waist, lower. You arched against the couch, your head falling back, a whimper slipping past your lips as you felt him down your folds and your clit.

Your hands clutched the cushions, your body trembling as the threads worked you.

“Stop fighting me,” his voice whispered from inside you. “Close your eyes, feel me.”

The words pushed you over, and the pleasure crashed through you like a storm, blinding you. You cried out as the orgasm tore through you. It was too much, too intense, leaving you shaking and breathless. Your skin glowed, flushed and damp with sweat.

You collapsed back, panting, your heart pounding so loud. The threads fell quiet, but their presence didn’t fade.

You didn't want to fight it anymore. Hyunjin was inside you, in every pulse, every heartbeat, and the thought both terrified and thrilled you.

You wanted him. You wanted him so bad.

And he was waiting.

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @sammhisphere @soona-huh @princesskrystix @thecutiepieme @kenia4

[chrizzztopherbang]

Cute, but pyscho

pairing: dom!felix x sub!fem!reader genre: smut, dom/brat word count: 1.5k

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

warnings: dom!felix, rough, public, free use, finger fun, felix has daddy tendencies, unprotected p in v (wrap before you tap), you're a brat

a/n: this was supposed to be posted DAYS ago.... but i got sick from work and have been on my deathbed, so yeah i'm really sorry about that!

Everyone knew Lee Felix as the sunshine of Stray Kids because he was fluffy, smiley and cute. He also had a loud, weird laugh and was a huge dork, with a voice so deep it vibrated in your ears.. But nobody knew him like you did. Being together almost a year, you now know his dark side, the one that appeared when he was horny or pissed off and you loved it.

Before you officially started dating, you sat in on a dance practice one day. Hyunjin sits next to you on the floor after their first take, and nudges your shoulder, "Hey, I hope you can handle him y/n". You chuckle as you watch Changbin pick Felix up, hearing him giggling and kicking his feet in protest, his whole face beaming. "Who? Lixie? Of course I can, he's super cute. Look at him!". Chan walks over, catching the end of the conversation, "Yeah, cute but psycho". You brush them off and wave at Felix, not believing for one second that the little ball of fluff could turn.

-

Five months into your relationship, you were waiting by the door of your home, to be picked up for date night. You see Felix pull up, and begin to smile watching him get out of the car, dressed in all black. To your surprise, he slams the door shut, storms straight up to you, and kisses you desperately. He’d kissed you before but never like this. It made your heart flutter.

Ignoring your stumbles behind him, Felix grabs your hand and drags you inside the house. The next moment you knew you were being pressed into the closest wall, his mouth capturing yours. He hurled your clothing across the room, scooped you up over his shoulder, and walked into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. That night you saw the other Felix, and since then he’s never been hesitant to let the psycho out.

-

Just before your one year anniversary, you both decide that it was time to meet your parents. You were nervous but Felix is a pillar of calm. “It’ll be okay baby, parents love me!” he said with a wide smile, kissing you on the forehead.

You arrive at your parents’ house, walk up to the door, and ring the doorbell. When the porch light comes on, you tuck one side of his bright blonde hair behind his ear, and straighten his tie in a panic. He swats you away, telling you to calm the fuck down. Your father opens the door, with your mother standing closely behind him, “Come in! Come in!” he says, ushering you into the house. You smile, and walk inside with Felix holding your hand.

Felix talks and laughs with your father, whilst you help your mother prepare dinner. “He’s a lovely young man, isn’t he? Very handsome too” you mother whispers. You roll your eyes and laugh, but inside you were thanking the heavens that they all got along.

An hour later, dinner is ready. You all sit around the small, round dining table: Felix sits next to you on one side of the table, and your parents sit across from you on the other. “So tell me, what do you do for work Felix?” your mother asks.

Before he could answer, your dad cuts in and answers for him, “He is an entertainer, darling. He sings and dances in a group. They tour all over the world, selling out arenas!” Felix just smiles brightly and nods, while you cringe at your dads over-excitement.

Dinner was going smoothly, it helps you to relax more and more. That was until you felt a hand on your thigh. You tense up straight away and turn your head slowly to look at your boyfriend, who was still talking to your mother as if nothing was happening. He lightly traces circles and gently strokes your thigh with his fingers, then slowly moves up your skirt and hooks a finger in the hem of your panties. The action makes you shiver and you could feel the burning sensation in the pit of your stomach expanding. You glare at Felix to make him stop, but he simply turns his head and winks at you, resuming his conversation.

His hand never leaves your lower half, constantly teasing you with his fingers ghosting over your panties, and gently rubbing you. It drove you crazy. As soon as everyone finishes eating, you shoot up from the table and nervously exclaim, “I’ll clear the table, Mom!” Your mom looks at you curiously, opening her mouth to protest. “It’s fine, you go rest” you say with a smile, almost falling over the table. You grab the empty plates and bowls and hurry to the kitchen. Felix smirking at you the whole time.

On your last trip into the kitchen, you place your hands on the sink and take some breaths to calm yourself down. After a few seconds, you felt ready to go back in until two hands snak their way around your waist.

You jump a little, but don’t have time to be frightened as Felix begins to plant kisses along your neck, sucking and biting along the path he kissed. “Felix, not here…my parents… they’ll hear..” you manage to breathe out.

“Shh baby, they won’t hear us if you don’t make a sound" he says in between kisses, one hand finds its way around your throat, while the other travels down your stomach and into your panties. “If you make any noise, I’ll stop. But if you’re quiet, I'll let you cum” he whispers in your ear, you nod in response because you didn’t want to disobey him, especially when it meant a lost orgasm.

He presses you against the sink, still teasing you with his fingers–rubbing your clit with varying pressure and suddenly stopping, only to start up again. You drop your head back on his shoulder and pant, “Felix… please… please…” You feel him smile against your skin.

Without warning he slips two fingers inside you, making you gasp from the shock. His hand flies up to cover your mouth. "What did I say to you, little love? Do you want to cum or not?” he growled softly, while stopping the movement of his fingers.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

"You're sorry?" he asks, his voice dropping dangerously to warn you that you were about to cross another line.

“Yes I'm sorry.. I'm fucking sorry, just please..” you practically moan, drawing out the last word and, satisfied with your response, Felix resumes movement, fucking you with his digits. You’re about to cum when

“Y/N, are you okay in there?!” your mother’s concerned voice rings through the air.

You put on your calmest voice and call back, “Uh yeah, Mom! I’m fine, just washing up!” For good measure, you turn on the faucet. You effectively snap out of your bliss, and pull away from Felix, finally remembering where you are.

“What the fuck, Lix! We can’t do this here, okay? Just wait until we get home,” you snap at him, hushed but serious.

Felix looks at you and raises his eyebrows. He grabs you by the arm and pins you face down on the counter. He bends over you so that he is level with your ear and whispers, “Not sure if the wine has gone to your head brat, but let me remind you, that I give the orders around here.” He flips up your skirt, rips down your panties, unzips his pants, and begins to rub his hard cock over your lower lips.

“Please, fuck me..” you desperately keened.

“Oh? Someone's change their tune. Why should I fuck you when you’ve been so bad?" he mused, a growl underlying his voice, as he continues to slide his tip against your wetness.

“Please,” you whimper, “I’m-” Your sentence is replaced by a silent scream, your whole body shivering at the feeling of Felix filling you.

With one hand keeping you still and the other wrapped firmly around your mouth, he moves his hips. Consistent grunts and curses leave him each time his skin connects with yours. You lift your body up a little so you are standing on your toes, angling your hips downward allowing him to sink deeper inside with every thrust.

Your sweet release neared and you were ready for it; Felix feels your body’s signals, and at the expense of prolonging his own, he wanted to make you squirm just a little more.

He immediately slows his pace and leans down to your ear. “Don’t..” he thrusts hard to emphasize his point and continues to do so after every word he spoke, “you.. ever.. fucking.. speak.. to me.. like that.. again.. because you know what will happen.” After the last word, he resumes his high-tempo, hardcore thrusts that have you clawing at the smooth counter until your orgasm hits. Felix follows you closely behind in his own release, biting your shoulder to stifle his groans.

Your body trembles, you’re sweaty, tired and aching. You want to lay there forever but you can't, so slowly stand to dress yourself. fixing your hair and skirt before stumbling to the sink to turn off the faucet. Felix stops you on the way out of the kitchen, and pulls you close to his chest, holding you as he kisses the top of your head.

The gentleness of his actions makes you smile, and nestle into him. He was rough, but he was always gentle with you afterwards. “Lixie, can we go home? We can just make up some excuse,” you say sleepily with your eyes closed.

He began stroking your back and peppering kisses on your head before murmuring, “Yeah, of course we can, baby. I still need to give you your punishment.”

a/n: this will have another part! i'm not 100% sure when, but within the next 2 weeks for sure. btw everyone thinks lix is a cute lil baby (which i think he can be for sure) BUT i think that he could switch up very easily, and destroy you.. he definitely has it in him.. even if it's way deep down.

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if you would like to be added/removed from my taglist, please let me know!!

[slut4kwon]

Hi love! Can you suggest one of the smuttest fic that you ever read? About big bang or gd. Thank you 💘

hihi! i did my best to remember some of the smuttiest fics i’ve read recently, and i linked them all below for you!

hang you from the heavens • choi seunghyun

compress, repress • kwon jiyong & choi seunghyun (it’s a series, but the smut is top tier)

burnin’ for you • ham daegil

still hate me? • kwon jiyong

hands that ruin, hands that hold • kwon jiyong

greenlight • choi seunghyun (another series, but it’s all smut)

shut up • choi seunghyun

follow at your own risk • kwon jiyong (not to boost my own ego but this is the best smut i’ve ever written)

there are definitely way more that i’m forgetting (and i feel so guilty about it), but i always reblog the fics that i read & recommend!