In which you get into a heated argument with your toxic situationship/fwb Riki "Situationship is a situation to one person and nothing to the other"
001 | 002 | 003 | 004 | 005 | 006 | 007
Content: angstttt, aftermath of unprotected fucking, escalated argument, Riki is highkey toxic!, mentions of Sunghoon, really vulgar language and cursing/swearing included, jealoussyyyyy, possessiveness..have the tables turned?
♡-> mean! Riki × fem! reader
A/n ; I made all this quickly!!..but upcoming parts will take time so enjoy these for now cause i have nothing in mind for the next part..show love <33
this is a work of fiction created for the sole purpose of entertainment with no relation to real life facts.
The morning sea breeze was crisp and cool, carrying the salty scent of the tide as the golden sun barely began its climb into the pale blue sky.
"Hold on, Lix, the cooler is slipping!" you called out, trying to balance two folding chairs and a canvas bag over your shoulder while trailing behind Felix.
Felix didn't slow down, his bare feet sinking into the soft, unblemished morning sand with energetic strides. He was carrying the massive beach umbrella over his shoulder like a lance, his blonde hair tossing lightly in the wind. A brilliant, wide smile was practically glued to his face as he looked back at you, his deep brown eyes glittering with excitement.
"Come on, slowpoke! We need to claim the best spot right by the water before everyone else shows up!" he beamed, taking a dramatic, bounding leap over a gentle sand dune.
By the time you caught up to him, Felix had already driven the spiked end of the umbrella into the sand with surprising strength, opening the broad blue shade over a flat patch of beach. He tossed his woven tote onto the sand and immediately dropped to his knees, burying his hands in the cool, untouched sand.
"Look how quiet it is," he murmured happily, looking out over the endless stretch of sparkling water, where gentle waves were lapping against the shore. "It's perfect today."
"It really is," you agreed, setting down the gear and unrolling your oversized towels under the umbrella's shadow. "Which means we're going to keep it perfect by being smart."
You unzipped the front pouch of your tote, pulling out a brand-new tube of high-SPF sunscreen. Felix immediately let out a dramatic, playful groan, flopping backward onto his back in the sand.
"We just got here!" he whined playfully, squinting up at you through long, dark eyelashes. "The sun is barely even hot yet!"
"Which makes it the best time to apply a base layer," you countered sternly, kneeling beside him and squeezing a cool dollop of white lotion onto your fingers. "Hold still."
Felix sighed, but he sat up obediently, tilting his chin up as you gently smoothed the lotion across his cheeks, over the delicate bridge of his freckled nose, and down his neck. He melted under your touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into your palm, a soft, content hum vibrating in his chest.
"See? That wasn't so bad," you said, squeezing his cheek.
"Fine, fine," Felix chuckled, quickly standing up and shaking his shoulders out like a puppy. "I let you put it on once! Now I'm going in!"
Before you could remind him about re-applying every two hours, he was already dashing toward the water with a high-pitched yell, his bare feet kicking up wet spray as he dove headfirst into the cresting morning waves.
⋆｡°✩
"Lix, seriously, come under the umbrella for two minutes," you called out, squinting against the blinding glare of the sun as you smoothed another layer of SPF 50 across your arms. "You've been out there for three hours. You're going to turn into a lobster."
Felix turned back toward your beach setup, water splashing around his knees as he flashed a brilliant, blinding smile. His blonde hair was slicked back, wet from diving into the waves, and his golden skin glinted under the harsh heat.
"I'm totally fine!" he called back, his voice bright and airy over the rushing sound of the surf. He patted his cheek playfully. "My skin loves the sun. Besides, the freckles are blooming!"
"The freckles are gorgeous, Felix, but UV radiation does not care about your aesthetic," you warned, holding up the spray bottle of sunscreen like a weapon. "Just let me spray your shoulders."
"In a bit, promise!" he laughed, waving a hand dismissively before turning right back around to chase another cresting wave into the ocean.
You let out a dramatic sigh, shaking your head as you sank back into your beach chair. He’s going to regret this so badly later.
⋆｡°✩
By five in the afternoon, the sky had shifted into a bruised palette of violet and warm gold, and Felix’s stubborn confidence had completely, utterly collapsed.
Back in your air-conditioned beach rental, Felix was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but loose cotton shorts, looking like a thoroughly defeated puppy. The golden glow he had boasted about earlier was completely gone, replaced by a deep, glowing, fire-engine red across his shoulders, chest, and the bridge of his nose.
"Don't say it," Felix whimpered softly, his voice muffled against his hands as you walked out of the bathroom holding a chilled tub of aloe vera gel.
"I didn't say a word," you replied innocently, though you couldn't resist a small, teasing smirk as you pulled up a chair in front of him. "How are we feeling, Sunshine?"
"Everything is hot," he whined softly, slowly lowering his hands to reveal his flushed face. His bottom lip was stuck out in a deep, pitiful pout, his big brown eyes practically shining with regret. "My back feels like a heat lamp. Even the breeze from the fan stings."
"Well, that’s what happens when you fight the sun," you cooed softly, your tone shifting from teasing to gentle caretaking as you rubbed a generous blob of cool green gel between your palms. "Alright, lean forward slightly. This is going to be cold."
Felix tensed up in anticipation, bracing himself with his hands on his knees. "Go easy..."
The moment your gel-slicked palms gently touched his burning shoulder blades, a sharp, breathless gasp tore from his throat. His shoulders hiked up to his ears, a tiny, adorable squeak escaping him before the soothing chill of the aloe began to sink into his inflamed skin.
"Shh, easy, I've got you," you murmured softly, using flat, feathery strokes to smooth the gel across his upper back and shoulders.
Slowly, as the cooling sensation took over, the tension in Felix's frame began to melt away. A long, shuddering sigh released from his chest, his head drooping forward until his forehead rested lightly against your sternum, seeking your solid warmth.
"It feels so good," he mumbled into your shirt, his hands reaching up to delicately circle your waist, careful not to press his sunburnt forearms against anything rough. "You were right. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."
"Apology accepted," you giggled softly, pressing a quick, dry kiss to the top of his damp, blonde head. "Though you're stuck on house arrest until this red turns into a tan."
"Does house arrest mean you'll cuddle me and feed me fruit?" Felix asked, tilting his flushed face up just enough to look at you through his long eyelashes, a tiny, mischievous glint returning to his eyes despite his tender skin.
"Only if you promise to let me douse you in sunscreen next time," you countered, gently dabbing a bit of aloe right onto the red tip of his nose.
Felix wrinkled his nose, leaning up to press a sweet, warm kiss to your jaw. "Deal."
series taglist 6/50: @kenia4 @hug4helios @itsraininghyunebuckets @krupskayasfav @honeybunny143 @pixie-felix
note to self: do not fucking fall asleep in jung wooyoung's bed after fucking him
🎤︎︎ wooyoung x fem!reader | college au series, part 15/?
🎤︎︎ 18+ | 7.7k words | reader is the host of a sex podcast, wooyoung is a frat boy whore | smut minors dni, So Much Fucking Kissing, fingering, oral, pinv, dirty talk, choking, multiple orgasms, praise kink, hair pulling, biting condom used, wooyoung sexy, alc consumption?? aftercare is just Them being Them | also my first pov switching without adding a break so Keep Your Eyes Peeled And Brains On
THIS ISN’T YOUR FIRST TIME IN Jung Wooyoung’s bedroom. The first time, you were trying to get Yeonjun to fuck you in his bed. The second time, you showed up with the sole intention of begging him for advice, to help you save your relationship. The third time, you walked in on him fucking two women, a threesome you never wanted to see, a memory you wish you didn’t keep. You’ve been to Wooyoung’s bedroom to have sex, but never in your fucking life did you think you’d come up here to have sex with Wooyoung.
He didn’t say another word after you told him to bring you upstairs, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the living room, up the stairs. He’s still pulling you, his fingers firm around your wrist, his grip intentional. You swear you don’t see a single face on your way up, as if everyone disappeared, or maybe it’s because your eyes are glued to his back, the twin dimples at the base of his spine with every step up.
Heat pools with every step you take, your gut leaden with anticipation. He opens his door, tugging you inside, closing it and locking it with one quick motion, and there’s not even a second before he’s grabbing you by the hips. You brace your hands on his chest, looking up at him, and he keeps his face close enough to share breath, but he doesn’t close the distance.
He asks a question you finally know the answer to. “What do you want?”
“This,” you whisper without thinking about it. You don’t need to fucking think anymore. “You.”
His eyes drop to your lips. It feels slower than it happens, him connecting his lips with yours, soft, careful; like he doesn’t want to cross a line, even after all this time. Your hands slide up his chest, cupping his cheeks, and you surprise yourself by deepening it, parting your lips in a silent command to continue.
When you taste him, beer, vodka, a hint of vermouth, your stomach flips. “Wooyoung,” you whisper into his mouth, and he responds by kissing you harder, faster. His hands tighten in the belt loops of your shorts, pushing you backward, your hands finding his hair as you let him, crossing the room until the backs of your thighs hit something sharp.
“Hold on,” he whispers in your mouth, and you attach your lips again instead of obeying. He bends you backward, the edge you’re up against cutting into your skin, you don’t care. He grins into you, but his order is clear, “Hold on to me.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you quip, but you swing your arms around his neck anyway, gasping as he grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up on what you can only assume is his desk– you’re so fucking drunk on the taste of him you can’t bare to part from him and look.
You hear shit falling, you don’t care, he doesn’t so much as twitch toward it. Your body sways backward with the force of him, his hands sliding up to your waist, fingers tugging at the hem of your top. It’s a blink of an eye, getting your shirt over your head, your lips on his again. It’s messy, a clash of teeth and tongue, tugging at his roots while his hands pull you toward him by the waist, your spine bending.
“Yours, too,” you mutter as your hands find the hem of his tee, tugging it upward. He pulls it over his head by the collar, and it feels like slow motion, the reveal of his abdomen, his chest, the two lines diagonally sinking into his briefs. You curse under your breath, lifting your eyes to him again, and it’s like you’re in sync, the way you grab for each other like animals in fucking heat.
You kick your boots off behind his back before crossing your legs behind him, pulling him toward you, his hips meeting yours, tipped off the edge of the desk. He grits out a rough noise, “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” you whimper at the feeling, his body pressed against yours, his hips digging into you like he’s acting without a brain. He reaches behind you, unclipping your bra with one hand, and you smirk into his mouth, “So easy.”
“Always,” he quips, throwing it to his floor, one hand grabbing your waist again, pulling your chest flush to his. You wish you could muster up an equally cocky rebuttal, but instead you moan into his open mouth, his lips that have already found yours.
You stay there for what feels like forever. Bodies pressed together, your hands in his hair, his fingertips grazing your back, feeling each other like you don’t want to miss even the smallest detail. He’s smooth, as soft as he looked earlier, but so sculpted you can feel every ridge of his abdomen, his chest flexing against you.
He grits out a harsh noise into your mouth, his nails sinking into your sides like he’s had enough. His fingers tug at the belt loops of your shorts as he mutters, “Want these off.”
“Why are you telling me?” You’re no better, immediately untangling your legs from around his back, arms extending behind you, palms flattening against his desk. “Take them off.”
His eyes are low, chest rising and falling rapidly, visibly reaching the point of losing restraint. You don’t think he’s ever been more attractive. Your brows raise just a little, and his fingers work the button of your shorts so fucking fast you barely have time to lift your hips to get them off.
His hand finds the side of your neck to pull you toward him, his other hand slipping between your bodies, and you gasp a sharp sound into his mouth as his fingers press against you, over your panties.
“Gonna make you cum on my fingers,” he tells you, two fingers rubbing tight circles over your clit, the dampness of lace clinging to you. “Then you’ll do it again on my cock.”
“Just twice?” you tease, hips twitching toward him. Your tongue pokes out, running along his teeth, “You can do better than that, no?”
There’s a faint smile playing on his lips before he silences you with his teeth clamping over your bottom lip, fingers pulling your panties to the side. “I wouldn’t say that if I were you.”
“Why n–” you’re cut off by his fingers slipping inside, your slick that soaked your panties welcomes him in without resistance. You choke on a moan, back going rigid, knees twitching upward.
“F-fuck,” you manage to get out, jaw pried open, eyes squeezed shut. His lips find your neck, your head tilts back as his fingers curve into you, finding the spongy spot inside like he can see through your skin.
“So fucking wet,” he mumbles against your skin, his voice a vibration you can feel down to your core.
His teeth graze as his fingers curl, pressing purposely against that same spot, making your moans raise in pitch. You cling onto his shoulders so you don’t collapse on his fucking desk as he picks up speed, sucking on your neck, teeth sinking into your skin, you can feel him smile as your moans grow louder.
You try to say his name as your nails claw into his shoulders, you can’t manage anything more than a measly mumble of syllables as his fingers hook upward. He finds your lips again, kissing your non-responsive lips, the pleasure is overwhelming, too much to focus on anything else.
“Look at me,” he says, and his voice is stern. Your eyes flutter open at the command, and one look at him, the way he’s looking at you, makes you kiss him back. Another clash of teeth and tongue, your spine bends, hips tilting into his fingers even if he can’t fuck into you any deeper. He tries anyway, curling into you with every thrust of his fingers, a perfect pace, perfect rhythm.
You can feel heat spreading, and it barely dawns on you that he hasn’t touched your clit once. Your hips are warm, gut heavy, a slow bleed of pressure building steadily. His other hand stays tight wrapped around your jaw, thumb on your chin keeping your lips open, you’d kiss him if you could. He’s drawn your mind empty, enough pleasure to make your body stiff, you want to cum.
“Please,” you find yourself begging, your voice no more than a pitiful whimper. “Ple– Wooyo– please, please please.”
“Don’t beg,” he says into your open mouth. “Take what you fucking want.”
He doesn’t change his rhythm, his pressure, his pace. Your toes curl, socked heels lifting to try and find leverage against the edge of the desk, it’s too high. Somehow it’s worse, legs dangling, body stiff, the pleasure carves out something vital inside you until you have nothing else to give.
“Woo–” your voice is edged, panicked. He swallows it as he pushes you to the edge, you can’t kiss him back, so wound up with pleasure it takes every bit of focus to allow it to crash over you. It’s a different kind of orgasm, stronger, longer; it begins in your hips, spreading to every limb, every nerve ending, he holds you steady with his hand around your jaw as you convulse, what would be an embarrassing display of pleasure if you could form a single fucking thought.
“Yes, yes,” he encourages, voice coated in awe. “Knew it, fuck, baby, let me see you cum.”
Your thighs are shaking, your body folds, knees lifting up into your clenching abdomen, you don’t know what sounds are leaving you, if any at all. He kisses your unmoving lips, fingers fucking you through the waves of pleasure, the orgasm that lasts so long you can’t remember when the fuck it started.
You whimper as the rush dies down, body still twitching, thighs falling back down to the desk. You kiss him back when your body returns to you like it’s instinct, like you’ve already gone too long without his tongue in your mouth to go any longer without it. You trace the crescents your nails left in his shoulders, you can feel the raised, bumpy lines you left, you don’t remember dragging your nails across his skin, but you don’t care.
He doesn’t slip his fingers out, he leaves them hooked inside, massaging so slowly it’s nothing more than a lingering, steady pressure. Your body rides the aftershocks, he follows each twitch, kissing you until your body softens, melting into him again.
“What–” you finally manage, voice ragged and wrecked. “How?”
“What do you–?”
“You didn’t even touch my clit,” you cut him off, pulling away to look at him, consciousness in your eyes again mixed with genuine confusion.
You cry something sharp as his fingers crook inside you, legs lifting off the desk. He smiles like it was intentional. “Never done that before?”
“I’ve tried,” you whimper, because he’s still fucking fingering you. Your head droops, eyelids fluttering, “S-shit– I’ve tried, but I never– fuck.”
Slower is worse, you’re already overstimulated, and even if it’s not enough to get pressure building again, it’s enough to render you boneless. He grins, lips pressed against your forehead, “I’m sure there’s more than that, too.” Your head picks up. “Plenty of things you had no idea you could do that you can.”
You don’t know how, for a split second there, you forgot who he is. This is the second time now that he’s proving his skill to you, showing you that he can play your body like a well-tuned instrument, that he can make you feel things you’ve never felt before. You want… you want to see him lose himself.
You grab him by his hair, tugging him down to kiss you again by his roots. His fingers glide now, but instead of sinking into the pleasure you reach for them with one hand, pulling them out of you. You lift off the desk, still kissing him as you push him backward, willing strength into your shaky legs. He lets you, much to your surprise, even if nothing about tonight should be surprising anymore.
You want to see what he looks like consumed by pleasure, you want to hear what he sounds like when you’re the one giving it to him. Your nails claw down his abdomen as he meets the edge of his bed, you make quick work of his jeans, his belt, the button, the zipper. His fingers are in his mouth before his ass hits the mattress and you throb at the visual, wanting so badly to crawl on top on his lap and fuck yourself stupid, but you force yourself to stay focused.
You’re speaking as you sink down to your knees, “Wanna taste you.” He says your name softly, as if he means you don’t have to. Your fingers slip into the elastic of his briefs, “Please?”
He stares at you for a second, reading your expression before he mumbles, “Hearing you beg is almost as fucking foul as hearing you apologize.”
You smile, “So, yes?”
He nods, and your body ignites with thrill as you tug on his briefs, he lifts his hips to help you get them down. You don’t even read the fucking tattoo on his thigh as his length springs against his hips, curved, long, red and fucking eager, precum gathered at his tip, your mouth waters at the sight. There’s no part of Jung Wooyoung that isn’t jaw-droppingly beautiful.
You lick your lips, realizing Wooyoung probably receives more head in a month than you’ve given in your entire life. Your cheeks heat up, but your determination outweighs your insecurity. You lift your gaze, “Tell me if I’m doing– if I’m making you feel good.”
“You will,” he nods, cock twitching against his hips. “Get out of your head.”
It’s not enough to get your body to relax, but it’s enough to lean forward, taking his length into one hand. His brows twitch together, lips parting ever so slightly. You watch him as you wrap your lips around his tip, ease barreling into you as he lowers himself onto his elbows, head tilting, face twisting up in pleasure. Your tongue slides against the underside of him as you take him deeper and his head tips backward, a low groan tumbling out in the shape of your name, your thighs clench together at the noise.
Salty, natural, him; you take him deeper, saliva sinking between your palm and his cock, you use your hand and your mouth to form a rhythm. “Fuck,” he grits out, voice rough, chest heaving. You can see his tattoo, unreadable words on his ribs, dark, dainty lettering against his flushed skin. His head lifts up like he wants to see your face, “Just like that.”
It sends electricity through your veins. You use your other hand to push your hair out of your face and he leans forward to gather it as you take him deeper with every bob of your head.
“So fucking good,” he keeps encouraging, you feel like you’re on fire. You swallow around him and his hips twitch, grip tightening on your hair. “Look so pretty like this, full of me. Keep using your hands.”
Your grip tightens, using two hands around his length, lips swirling around his tip as your pace quickens. His breath catches before he moans, and the sound is music to your fucking ears, arousal floods you so thoroughly you moan, too. He holds your hair with one hand, the other finding the mattress, clawing at the sheets like it’s all he can do to stop himself from fucking his hips into your face.
You pull your hands away, clawing at his thighs as you sink down until your nose touches the patch of hair at the base of him, swallowing. He moans again, higher in pitch, almost panicked; he tugs on your hair to pull you off of him, “Gonna fucking cum if you do that.”
You meet his eye for a split second, breathlessly muttering, “Then cum.”
Doing it all over again, his hips twitch up into your throat, making you gag. Your fingers claw into the skin of his thighs as he hisses an apology, “I’m so– Too m– fuck, gonna– I’m gonna cum.”
You don’t let up, your body so consumed with his pleasure, you need to see it through. Your eyes squeeze shut as you take him as deep as you can, moaning around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, stinging your scalp. It’s enough to push him over, and you barely taste it, you can feel him twitch, the warmth sliding down your throat. You can hear the bright, pitched moans as he empties himself inside your mouth, but he’s too deep for you to taste a drop.
He curses roughly as you bob your head again, pulling you off his length by your hair. You’re already smiling by the time you see him, flushed, panting, lips glossy, eyes low and dark. There’s pride in his gaze, surprise, arousal, your grin spreads as soon as you see him.
“Good?” you ask, voice as raw as your throat.
He doesn’t answer, he lets go of your hair, knees spreading to reach for your cheeks with his palms, attaching his lips to yours before he guides you upward. You crawl over him, into his lap, throwing your arms over his shoulders, getting lost in the taste of him all over again. It’s easy when his hands squeeze your ass, sliding up to your chest, thumbs brushing against your nipples, tongue licking into your mouth like he’s trying to taste himself.
“I wanna fuck,” you whisper into his mouth, taking his cheeks into your hands.
He huffs a small laugh. “Ever heard of a refractory period?”
“Didn’t think you needed one of those.” You’re smiling, running your hands through his hair. “I assume your dick is just eternally hard, I think.”
His brows raise, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I don’t think you thought that through.”
“I try not to think about your dick,” you shrug, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. You feed him a short peck, then whisper into his mouth, “If I think about it for too long, I want it.”
You’re kissing between words, smiling into each other’s mouths. “Then why are you just coming to get it now?”
“Loaded question.” Your panty-covered clit catches against his cock, he hisses out a sharp noise. “Your refractory period will be up before I get through half of it.”
He laughs at that, soft, genuine. Then his hands find your hips, “Let me eat you out then.”
“No,” you press your finger against his chest, smiling. “Fuck me.”
He uses his hands on your hips to flip you off of his lap in the blink of an eye. You yelp as your back hits the mattress, still processing the move as he pulls you to the edge of the bed, you almost miss his mumble of, “Too fucking bad.”
He tugs at your panties, marveling at how the lace sticks to your core before getting them down your thighs, throwing them to his floor. Your knees fall apart on instinct, arching when the cool air of his room hits your glistening folds. He stares with low-lidded eyes, and you swear if you look hard enough you can see the saliva forming behind his lips.
“Get hard again,” you order him, reaching for authority you don’t have right now.
He looks up at you through his brows, “One taste and I will be.”
Your grin is lazy, you don’t have a comeback, nor do you want one. He curls his arms under your thighs, bringing his tongue to your slick folds like a dog to a bowl of water. You reach for his hair automatically, a shallow moan falling off your tongue, and he responds with a groan so guttural you want to take back every beg for him to fuck you.
His lips swirl around your clit, tongue flicking over it, and your face scrunches together as something pitched escapes, fingers tightening in his hair. You moan his name, head falling backward, heels digging into his back. His tongue is warm, heavy, but a weapon as it rolls over your clit steadily, building rhythm.
You moan his name again, with more urgency. You want him inside you. He ignores you, eyes closed, blissed out. Like he could do this for hours and not get bored, like he’ll refuse to let himself get tired. You want to sigh, but the sound is stolen from you as his teeth graze over your clit, your body goes rigid, eyes nearly popping out of your skull.
He’s grinning, amused as he stands up. Your brows are furrowed as you bark out, “Did you just fucking bite me?”
“No,” he shrugs, reaching into his bedside table. “But I could if you liked it.”
“Not my fucking clit,” you argue, but you did kind of like it. “Well, at least not like, hard.”
His amusement is verbal as he grabs a condom, ripping the packet open with his teeth. You frown at the foil, an involuntary reaction. He doesn’t look at you as he says, “Don’t even fucking complain.”
“I wasn’t going to!” you defend yourself, voice pitched. Your legs are still spread, the rest of your body relaxed. “Is it so bad that I wanna feel you?”
“Is it so bad that I don’t want chlamydia again?” he asks, brows high as he rolls the latex over his hard length.
Your jaw drops. “You think I have chlamydia?”
“Don’t start an argument,” he holds up a finger. “Not when I’m literally about to fuck you.”
“Fine,” you respond, short. He stares at you with a flat expression. You basically fucking twitch with anticipation, “Oh my god, fuck me. I’ve been waiting long enough.”
A tiny huffed laugh sneaks past his lips as his hands find your knees, pushing them toward your chest. Your breath gets caught in your chest as he holds your shins with one hand, lining himself up with the other. You want it so fucking bad, you want him so bad you’ll fucking cry for it, but nerves ebb their way up your spine, surprising you, unwelcome.
“Wait,” you whisper, knees spreading under his grip. He glances upward, brows already raised, pausing immediately. Your tone comes out uneasy as you whisper, “Come here.”
Keeping you at the edge of the bed, he leans over you and lets you guide him to your lips. One pass of his tongue against yours and you’re whispering, “Okay.”
“You sure?” he mumbles into your mouth.
“Please,” you whimper, kissing him again. He doesn’t say anything else, blindly lining himself up, brushing his tip through your folds, swallowing your breathy noises as he slowly pushes inside. His lips find your neck as your body bends, his cock filling you up thoroughly, curving up against the spot his fingers were abusing earlier.
Your nails find his back, knees up by your shoulders, your face is scrunched in pleasure as you feel him splitting you open. He moans into your throat, his cheek replacing where his lips had been, like he’s too overwhelmed with the feeling to focus on kissing you, either.
“I get it,” you choke out, body tight with pleasure. He mumbles out a curious, questioning noise, like words are too far for even him right now. “Why everyone wants to fuck you. I get it.”
He huffs a laugh into the pocket of your shoulder, “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Yes, I’m fucking–”
Your words are cut off as he rolls his hips, fucking into you sharply. Breath escapes in a wheeze, and he moans as you clench around him, pushing himself up onto his elbows that cage in your head. “Fuck,” he mutters roughly, glancing between your bodies. Then he looks up at you, finding your eyes that are only half-open, “Gonna get addicted to this.”
“To what?” you ask, absentmindedly. He doesn’t answer, rolling his hips, and as he starts moving you’re reminded of every single story you’ve ever been told about him. He’s perfect, you think; the shape of him, how he feels inside you, how he smells, his weight on top of you. It’s very fucking plausible that you might get addicted to this, to him, too.
It’s a nasty, slow grind, his hips fucking into yours, but each thrust knocks more air out of your lungs, brings you another wave of growing, steady pleasure. Your hands find his face, his cheeks, hitting his teeth in a messy, shaky kiss.
He presses his forehead to yours as he steals your hands from his cheeks, “Pussy so fucking tight, baby, gotta stop clenching around me.”
“Can’t,” you cry, shaking your head, your wrists victim to his grip.
His brows are scrunched, jaw slacked. “Swallowing me,” he whispers, almost in awe, like your cries mean nothing to him. His hands cradle your cheeks as he moans out, “Fuuck, baby. So fuckin’ good.”
He’s close enough for your lips to graze, all you can do is make pitiful, strained noises into his mouth. You grab at one of his hands on your cheeks, sliding it down over your jaw, guiding him until his palm is resting over your throat. His brows raise a fraction, a smile tugging at his lips, and your returning grin is lazy like you can read his mind, and he can read yours.
His grip tightens as his hips pick up speed, adding pressure to both sides of your neck, he moans when your eyes roll backward. All you can feel is him, inside you, on you, wrapped around you, every single sense has been stolen by him, and you fucking love it.
“Pussy so perfect,” you can barely hear his muttered words, your ears starting to ring. “Everything so fucking perfect, oh my god–”
Your pulse throbs against his grip, vision going blurry at the edges, the pressure in your belly builds. Warmth spreads quickly, fast enough to make you panic, fingernails sinking into his grip on your throat, he lets go as your nails make contact. You blink, sucking air into your lungs, blood flow returning to your veins. The pressure fades too quickly.
You urge, “Do it again.” He kisses you. You add pressure over his hand, stubborn, whining, “Do it again.”
“Trust me,” he says, barely finishing the words before he’s kissing you again. Trusting him is easy, especially as his hips pick up, fucking into you impossibly harder, faster, angling his hips so his cock hits the same spot inside you over and over. The pressure starts building again.
You moan his name, the following sounds heighten in pitch as you twitch beneath him, grabbing at the sheets on either side of you. “So good,” you moan, forcing air down. “G’na fucking cum.”
He keeps his hips angled, bullying the same spot so aggressively your tear ducts burn. “Little more,” he mumbles, voice tight, eyes focused. Pleasure spreads, your cries turning into babbled words, incomprehensible bullshit you’re sure he can’t decipher, either. As your orgasm approaches, clawing its way up, his hand wraps around your throat again.
You don’t know how he keeps fucking into you steadily, your body thrashing beneath him with the force of your orgasm. Your nerve endings sizzle with pleasure, the pressure blowing at a magnitude. Your vision whites out, ears ringing, but never once does his rhythm falter. Never once does he not hit that spot inside you perfectly.
When your hearing returns, all you can hear is yourself. “...Again, again, please, again–”
You don’t know when he let go of your throat, you don’t know when your orgasm ended. He pushes up, pulling out to turn you over, on your stomach. He shoves a pillow under your hips, and you’re still fucking babbling as he crawls over you, shins bracketing your thighs, and slips inside you again.
You claw at the sheets with one hand, reaching behind you with the other, “Wooyoung–”
“I know,” he says, soothing words, grabbing your outstretched hand. “I’m here, baby, you can take it.”
“Yes,” you whimper, nodding. “More.”
“Give you whatever you want,” he seems as far gone as you are, his chest pressing to your back, arm snaking under your body as he picks up his pace all over again. “Keep fuckin’ coming for me and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
You’re nodding as his palm holding yours lands at the base of your neck, splayed across your chest, your thighs pinned together tight enough that every thrust feels ten times deeper. The angle renders you silent, moans caught in your chest, only tiny squeaks escaping with every sharp snap of his hips.
“Did I fuck you stupid?” You can hear the smile in his voice, a nasty smirk. “Did I fuck the words right out of your pretty lil’ head?”
You whimper, a pathetic noise. You can hear the rumble of his chest, the amusement tumbling off his tongue. He kisses the side of your head, “Just lay there and take it.”
“No,” you manage to get out, strained, raw. “Kiss me.”
He uses his arm wrapped around your front to lift you with him until you’re both sitting on your shins, you settled in the space between his thighs, his cock still buried inside you. You twist to catch his lips, and he lets go of your hand to squeeze at your chest, the other sliding down your front, between your thighs.
You bounce automatically, moaning into his mouth, fucking yourself against him as two of his fingers circle your clit. He groans, hips twitching against you, but he lets you decide the rhythm, he lets you fuck yourself as you please. It’s a slow grind, his tongue tangling with yours, fingers rubbing at your clit like every movement is solely to get you off.
Your jaw goes slack, lips unmoving as pleasure blooms. Your head dips, your hand coming up to your chest, fingers tangling with his. He keeps his mouth close to your ear, humming before he asks, “Gonna cum around my cock again?”
You nod, eyes rolling, squeezing his palm. “Uh-huh.”
He bucks his hips into you and you cry out, hips twitching, but his fingers follow, circling your clit. “Cum,” he whispers into your ear, tongue poking out to lightly lick the shell. You shiver, eyes screwing shut, crying out a broken sound, his name, you think. “Cum for me baby, let me feel– wanna feel you cum around my cock.”
His hips pick up when yours fail, following you as you lift onto your knees, fingers still working your clit steadily. One cry bleeds into a long noise of pleasure, a song of an orgasm, your hips convulse as it crashes over you, falling into him, but he fucks you through it until your cries turn to staggered whines.
“So fucking good for me.” With one hand on your hip, he folds you. “Do whatever I fucking want you to.”
Your elbows hit the mattress, knees falling apart, and the speed he fucks into you with is brutal. He’s chasing as you’re still coming down, his other hand splayed at the root of your spine, arching you into the perfect shape for him.
“Wooyoung,” you moan, turning your head to the side, barely seeing him through your wall of hair. You can see his strong thighs flexing with every thrust, the tattoo you still can’t read.
“Pussy so fucking tight,” he says it like a curse, rough and under his breath. “Feels so fucking good, baby, you feel so fucking good.” You moan at the praise, as his fingers sink into the plush of your ass, fucking you against him. “Wanna cum inside, wanna fill you up.”
Your moans grow louder, toes curling. The noise that leaves him sounds like a laugh, maybe a broken groan. “Clenched around me,” he muses, low, ragged. “You want me to? Want me to fill you up?”
You nod, even if you’re sure he can’t see you. “Want it,” you moan. “Do it.”
He grinds out something harsh, a noise that sounds something like restraint. “Fuck, don’t fucking say that.”
“Please,” you moan, fucking back against him. “Wanna feel it inside me, wanna feel you.”
His hips twitch, pace staggering wildly like he’s approaching the edge fast. You clench around him again, wishing he’d take off the fucking condom and do it.
“Holy s-shit,” he grits through his teeth. “Do that again, baby, please.”
It takes everything in you to do it again, but it’s all he needed, a few more strokes and he’s stilling inside you, a choked-out broken moan tumbling off his tongue, followed by a heavy exhale. You can feel the warmth even if it doesn’t spread, it makes you shiver, moaning with him.
“Fuck,” he says after a second, the word rough. His hands soothe your skin, gently running over your ass, the arch of your back before he asks gently, “You alive?”
You mumble something noncommittal, too deep in bliss to form words. You assume he smiles, because he forgoes a response, pulling out slowly, softly. You shiver, whining at the feeling, the loss. He shushes you, using his hands on your body to lower you down to the mattress, laying you down with a touch you didn’t expect. You don’t know what you expected.
“I feel like jelly,” you mumble into the bed, ears still ringing, bones still vibrating. He laughs at that, and you hear the bed squeak, mattress dipping behind you.
“Is that a good thing?” he asks, and you hear him tying off the condom, throwing it in the trash. You don’t even know where the trash is.
Your grin is lazy, fucked out, even if he can’t see it. “Yeah.”
The bed dips again, you can feel his body heat before his touch. He moves your hair out of the way, and you blink at the brightness of the room, at him, leaning over you. “Talk to me, tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Good,” you mumble out, turning over beneath him, wiggling yourself into the small amount of space he gives you beneath him. He’s glowing; tan skin flushed, eyes sparkling like he’s a fucking demon who needs sex to survive. Jennifer’s Body. Wooyoung’s Body. It’s a useless question, but you ask it anyway, “What about you?”
He shrugs, shoulders rising, hands planted on either side of your head. “I feel great, but I’m not the one who just got the life fucked out of me.”
You run your hands over your face, muffling your laugh, you push your hair away from your face and then scoop it from under your neck, laying it behind you. “You did the fucking, though. Should I ask about your bones? Your muscles? Your dick?”
He laughs, head dipping down like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you ever fucking serious?”
You smile, brightness returning to your eyes and Wooyoung swears it might be the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. He can’t stop himself from leaning down, catching your lips in his, kissing you with a softness he rarely uses. You’re everything he imagined you’d be. You’re more than that, he thinks, and he fucking meant it when he said he might be addicted. He might be fucked, actually.
Your soft hands cradle his cheeks like he’s something delicate, your tongue slipping into his mouth like you’re addicted to him all the same. He wonders. He wants to ask. He doesn’t, because he’s terrified of the answer.
He breaks away to rest his forehead against yours, asking the question that’s been bugging him all night. “Are you ever gonna tell me what happened today?”
Your smile falters and he wants to cut his tongue out of his mouth. You sigh, hands falling to your chest, looking to the side for a moment before giving your gaze back to him. “We workshopped a story in class and people were picking it apart, asking me questions and stuff. It just…made me feel seen in a way I didn’t like.”
He watches you for a moment, just a second before his lips tighten to one side. “Do you feel better now?”
“Much,” you mumble, smiling again, pushing his hair away from his face. “Thanks for getting me out of my head, again. You’re weirdly good at it.”
He gives you a close-lipped smile, huffing feigned amusement through his nose before crawling off you. His skin crawls, he doesn’t want to be good at making you do anything other than cum. Or at least he tells himself that to keep his heart rate even. “A favor,” he says, his voice even as he lays back into his bed normally, head finding a pillow. “We’re good at the favor thing.”
“Ooh!” you sit up, eyes wide like you just remembered something. His brows twitch together as you crawl up his bed, laying beside him, your head finding another one of his pillows. “Wanna know what I was thinking about the other day?” He raises his brows, silently saying continue. “I was thinking about your car. What if they can’t fix my car and I have to buy an old, piece-of-shit car? What if it’s manual, and I don’t know how to drive a manual?”
His face morphs into disdain, he should bet money on the next words out of your mouth. “I don’t like where this is heading–”
You sit up on an elbow, pointing at him with your other arm, “You should teach me how to drive stick.”
“How the fuck is your car not fixed yet?” he asks, brows tied together in confusion. “Also, fuck no.”
“Come on,” you pout, brows upturned, pinched together. “Please?”
“You’re going to blow up my transmission by stalling eighty times,” he sighs, sinking lower into his bed, reaching for his duvet. “Don’t waste your breath.”
He pulls it over his body, closing his eyes, waiting for the rebuttal. It doesn’t come. When he opens one eye, you’re staring at him, pouting. He turns his head, closing his eye again.
“Come on!” you whine, and he genuinely can’t believe he’s having this conversation right now. He can’t fucking believe you’re butt-ass naked, talking about his fucking car.
He turns his head, “If I say no enough times, will you stop?”
“No?” you say it like he’s stupid. His face flattens out. “Hi, are we meeting for the first time?”
He groans, folding his duvet over his chest. “I’ll take you out one time, and if you stall it more than three times, you’re done.”
“Yay,” you say, satisfied, laying down on your back, head on his fucking pillow. He looks at you from the corner of his eye, and to his surprise, you grab his duvet and pull it over your body, too. Your head turns toward him, but your eyes are focused somewhere at the foot of his bed as you ask, “Are you going to Jungwon’s tomorrow?”
“If everyone goes, I’ll go,” he shrugs, looking where you’re looking, like maybe there’s something fascinating at the foot of his bed. “Debatable whether or not everyone will be too hungover.”
“I think a whole floor of his home dedicated to sex is a little absurd,” you mumble, under your breath. The laughter starts in his chest before it shoots out of his mouth. You look at him, a little smile on your lips, “What?”
“It is absurd,” Wooyoung nods. “It’s kind of gross if you really think about it. How often do those rooms get cleaned?”
You’re smiling as you add, “How do they get all the stains off that couch?”
Wooyoung’s laughter just gets louder. “The couch is probably what gave me chlamydia.”
You snort, and Wooyoung turns his head to see you laughing into his duvet, shoulders shaking. He smiles at the sight. You lift your head, still giggling, “You think a fucking couch gave you chlamydia?”
“Okay, maybe not the couch, but the people on the couch–”
You shriek, “People?”
His finger slides out from the duvet to hold it up to you. “I’ve cleaned up my act since last year.”
“Oh, cleaned up your act?” you retort, brows raised. “This… you, that I know now, is the Wooyoung that’s cleaned up his act?”
He shrugs, “You complained about the condom, not me. Oh, and let me fucking add that you just basically begged me to take it off and cum inside you.”
You groan, bringing the blanket up to cover your face, voice muffled as you say, “That wasn’t me, that was someone else.”
“That was you,” Wooyoung says, an amused finality to his tone.
“That was me with you,” you argue, and as soon as the words fall off your tongue, your lips snap shut. He stares at you for a second, unblinking, letting the words sink in. You look away, “I don’t act like that with anyone else, you brought it out of me. It’s your fault.”
His insides feel so fucking strange. He hates it. He doesn’t know if he hates it. He looses a breath and pretends it’s relieving. “If it was anyone else they would’ve taken off the condom and busted inside you, so it’s a good thing.”
There’s a moment of silence between you, and Wooyoung isn’t completely sure if it’s comfortable. Maybe he just can't read the room. You break it by asking, “Can you tell me about the couch?”
What the fuck? His head turns, brows tied together, and you look sleepy. Eyes low, duvet tucked up under your nose, lips hidden beneath it. His voice is shallow as he asks, “Why do you want to know about the couch?”
You shrug, the blanket moves with you. “Sounds like a funny story.”
His brows stay tied together, but you don’t budge. So he takes a breath, redirects his gaze to the foot of his bed that has nothing fascinating about it, and begins the story. He did that shit all the time last year, the year before, if he got super fucked up and there was one person on that fucking couch he wanted… He finds himself leaving out details, even important ones, telling a version of one story out of many that made him look the best, the least like an animal.
You already know damning things about him, though, and yet you still ended up in his bed. So why is he trying to make himself sound better?
At the start, you asked a question or two, and then Wooyoung assumed you got locked into the story and wanted to listen. He used his hands as he spoke, pointing out small details, getting side-tracked once or twice, doubling down on things he shouldn’t have been worried about at all. Then his ears catch your breath, even, soft, and when he turns his head to the side, you’re fast asleep.
He stares at you for a minute, maybe longer. You’re asleep, in his bed. His bed. After having sex with him.
He frowns at first, because you probably should’ve peed before falling asleep. Then he can’t believe he’s worried about a fucking UTI, because you’re asleep in his fucking bed after having sex with him. There’s a first time for everything, but never in a million years did Wooyoung think he’d experience this kind of first.
His heart picks up speed in his chest, moisture growing on his palms. Carefully, he peels the duvet off his chest, slipping out of his bed with uneven breath, tiptoeing across his room, pulling a pair of boxers out of his top drawer.
He slips out of his own fucking bedroom like a spy, keeping his eye on you the entire time just to ensure that you didn’t wake up. There’s still a party downstairs. He’s in boxers. He looks to the left and then to the right, running both hands through his hair, grateful that at least there isn’t anyone lingering in the hallway. He goes with his gut, beelining to Yunho’s room, and crosses his fucking fingers that the two of them are in Mingi’s room for the night.
He lets out a breath of relief when Yunho’s room is empty. He crawls into the older man’s unmade bed and collapses, pulling his sheets, his blankets over his body. He stares at Yunho’s anime figures, somehow still visible in the dark, then the thought of them being visible creeps him out, so he forces himself to close his eyes. It isn’t long until exhaustion tugs him into a long, dreamless sleep.
Six hours later, you’re still across the hallway. You remember where you are before you’ve even opened your eyes, and still half-asleep, it brings a sleepy grin to your cheeks. You stretch, arms reaching out on either side of you, just to feel nothing but cold sheets.
Your eyes shoot open. His room is still dim, lighting coating the room in yellow, but there’s no warmth in his bed. He’s not in it. You look toward the bathroom, softly calling out, “Wooyoung?”
His blinds are still closed, your clothes still on the floor. His clothes are still on the floor. You’re still naked. You get up, crawling off the bed, walking on sore legs to the bathroom. “Wooyoung?” you ask again, softer this time as you walk inside the dark bathroom. Your bladder is agonizingly heavy, and as you empty it, you come to the sickening realization that he’s not here. He didn’t sleep here.
Your brain runs through reasons why, but you can’t really come up with anything. He got sick. No, he has a bathroom, he’d be asleep on the floor. Someone else needed him for something. Sure, but why didn’t he come back?
You run your hands through your hair, groaning into your palms. Still on the toilet, you can’t bring yourself to stand up yet. Your head hurts, your stomach feels heavy, your legs are sore. You had arguably one of the worst days of your life yesterday, and Wooyoung was the one who made it better. Wooyoung was the one who made you forget about it, and turned your shitty day into such a fucking good night, and yet he left.
── ۶ৎ after the events that took place in the confinement of Mingi's dorm room he had wanted to believe he had been doing a good job at pretending that nothing was wrong. Yunho and you were trying to convince him of it, too.
content: + 18 MINORS DON'T INTERACT; beloved follower said "evil polycule" and they are right. manipulative and obsessive behaviour, dub non con (not really, but still), not quite cheating, rough sex, manhandling, face fucking, cowgirl, doggy, spitting, small degradation, kissing (trust me I have to put it here too), hair tugging, slight slapping, lingerie fixation, a lot of spit, choking, dirty talk ?), unprotected sex, creampie, (pause for me to wonder what is wrong with me), loser!Mingi, toxic!Yunho
a/n: this sequel only exists because you all seemed to love it so much, so here have a small teaser! <3
[TEASER]
To say things had gone back to normal after that afternoon inside Mingi’s room would be a lie, but Mingi had wanted to believe he had been doing a good job at pretending they had.
Yunho and you were trying to convince him of it, too.
It had been strange for Mingi to meet Yunho after you had left that day, and it had taken him a few minutes until he had found the courage to meet his best friend’s eyes. Despite that, it didn’t come off as weird to him that Yunho hadn’t seem to have the same problem. He hadn’t even thought his questions had been weird either, even when he had been so eager to ask:
“Did she say anything?”
Mingi had shrugged, standing in the middle of Seonghwa's empty room where Yunho had hid himself until you had been gone. Mingi thought it felt tainted by them just standing in it, what they had done on the other side of that wall seeping through it and making this room smell like sex and something so wrong it should remain unspoken, too. He didn’t think it had been Yunho bringing that smell with him: sweat, heat and a dark, sweet lie impregnated on his skin.
“She doesn’t suspect anything” he finally answered, and Yunho was relieved by the way he could tell he meant it.
Yunho nodded, then his lips disappeared into a thin, tense line. He swallowed some of his bitter pride when he asked another question.
“Was she satisfied?”
That was a pathetic question Yunho would have never dared to ask after sleeping with someone. Actually, what he had done, they had done, in that room, to you, to him, couldn’t even be considered “sleeping with someone”. It had been too twisted, too deliciously disturbing he felt himself get hard again, so he adjusted his posture and put one of Seonghwa’s pillows over his crotch. Maybe that’s why he wanted to know.
“Yeah, she looked pretty relaxed”
Yunho’s jaw poped under the skin. He couldn’t tell Mingi you had not finished. That despite all his big talk, he had failed. Maybe he had been right, but he had not gotten what he wanted. He couldn’t tell him that, of course. He didn’t want to admit or thinking about it, either.
“Did it bother you?”
He knew what Mingi would say. Probably deny it
“I wish it could have been me taking her like that. But I couldn’t, I froze” Mingi played with the hem of his t-shirt, before he dared to look into Yunho’s eyes for a split second “Sorry for asking you to do that. And thank you”
For a moment Yunho had been so frustrated, so haunted and consumed by the memory of your tight pussy that he had forgotten he had convinced Mingi this had been his own idea. Right, Mingi had been the one asking Yunho to fuck you. Pleaded him with his fawn like eyes to pound you into his own bed because he couldn’t bring himself to be rough with you.
Mingi was so sweet. Yunho tried to imitate that softness in his friend’s eyes when he looked at him in and said:
“It’s okay Mingi. I’d do it for you any time” he gave him a reasuring smile “I’d do anything for you”
summary: you're pretty sure he hates you. and you know you hate him, until a night out turns upside down.
note: 18+ content, minors DNI. happy kinktober week two!! i'm so grateful for the positive response my first fic of the month received, and i hope you all like this one as well! it's my first time writing jongho like this, so i hope you feel like i captured him well! happy reading x
warnings: non idol!jongho, fem!reader, other members present or mentioned, public sex, exhibitionism, low key enemies to lovers, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), quickies, idiots talking past each other so much until they just have to make out. please let me know if i missed any.
pairings: jongho x reader
genre: smut smut smut
word count: 8.9K
my masterlist || read it on AO3!
At the bar your night starts fine, cocktails in thin little glasses with perfect curls of fruit that cost too much but taste just right. It’s payday, the Friday night ahead of you is long and the hangover tomorrow is already promising to be longer if you keep up this pace. You’re on your third drink, and desperate to find a dance floor when the night turns to shit.
You always find it hard to say no to Nari, so when she knocks back a shot of soju and tells you and Jisoo that her boyfriend and his friends are just down the road at karaoke and you should all go, you say yes. Before she picked up her phone, it really was all going perfectly.
“Come on,” Nari whines, tugging on your arm and dragging you towards the door as you toss the leather billfold back onto the bar, “you love Sannie, I know you do.”
Choi San is not the problem, he’s not the Choi you take issue with.
“Please,” Jisoo rolls her eyes, cutting into the middle of your attempt to communicate very sternly with your eyes to Nari that you don’t want to go. Jisoo hangs off your shoulder as you make it out into the street, “I want to go,”
“You just want to flirt with all of San’s friends again.” You roll your eyes.
“No,” Jisoo corrects, “I want to flirt with Mingi,”
“Right,” You nudge her playfully with your shoulder, “of course, how could I forget.”
Jisoo’s nose scrunches up at your words, “Stop, I really like him,”
“Last month you came home singing someone else’s praises,” You smirk, letting Nari lead you both down the road, “which one was it?”
“Seonghwa,” She sighs, “and I mean, he’s great, look at him for God’s sake.”
Nari lets out a sharp laugh, “Seonghwa likes this girl at his work,”
“That’s beside the point,” Jisoo shakes her head, “no, I actually talked to Mingi last time. He’s kind of quiet sometimes but, I don’t know, I thought we hit it off a little.”
“Oh,” You twist to look at her face, “you’re serious?”
Jisoo, the historically bold flirt, seems to wilt a little under your direct gaze and shrugs, “I like him, okay?”
“Shit,” You stop dead, shrugging of her arm and sighing heavily, “you’re going to give me those eyes until I agree to wing woman you, aren’t you?”
“No,” Jisoo trails off, “but you know, you could just strike up a conversation.”
“And then leave?” You quirk an eyebrow.
“Exactly!” She claps her hands.
“I can’t believe you,” You sigh, “you can talk to every guy except this one?”
“He’s smart,” Jisoo chews her lip, “I always feel like I don’t know what to say.”
“Guys,” Nari groans, “are we going or not?”
Jisoo’s eyes soften, a pleading puppy pout, and you throw up your hands, “Let’s go and let’s sing our fucking hearts out.”
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Jisoo throws her arms around you again, and you tug her along.
“You owe me,” You pat her arm, but you can’t help but smile at her.
Nari looks elated at the prospect of seeing her boyfriend, still in the glowy honeymoon period of the first year, but she is right, you do like San. Out of any guy she’s dated, he’s far and away the best one and looks at Nari like she’s something to be treasured. You may not love all his friends, but he gets a pass for treating her so right.
At the karaoke bar, San meets you out front with a grin and a little haze of alcohol in his eyes, pulling his girlfriend in for a kiss.
“We made it,” Nari grins, “are you ready to be wowed, baby?”
“Always, jagi,” San cups her cheek, and you would roll your eyes at how tooth-rottingly sweet it all is except you know he means it.
“Let’s do this,” You cut in, shaking Jisoo off.
“Hey y/n,” San gives you a grin, “Jisoo, you both look great,”
“Thank you, San,” Jisoo smiles, “now tell me who’s here,”
“Who are you looking for?” San narrows his eyes as he pulls open the door for you.
“Nobody,” She answers immediately.
“Mingi,” You tell him.
“Hey!” Jisoo slaps your arm, “Not cool,”
“If anyone is going to help besides me, it’s San,” You point out.
San laughs, sharp and with a shake of his head, “I’m staying out of this one,”
“Good idea,” Nari leans into him.
San directs you all towards one of the large, private rooms and opens the door, the sound of a packed room immediately greeting you. Your stomach is tense and full of knots, but you follow him in.
For a minute, you think he isn’t here and your shoulders relax immediately. You scan the dark karaoke room and when you find Choi Jongho missing, the night starts to seem a bit brighter.
“Alright, let’s go,” You pull Jisoo by the hand and slot yourselves deftly between Mingi and Yunho as all the guys greet you and offer drinks. Wooyoung is mid-song, so you keep quiet but say your hellos and tune into the performance.
When he finishes with a flourish and there’s a brief break in performances, you nudge Mingi and turn to him, feeling Jisoo paying close attention at your side, “Mingi,” you get his attention, “how’s the album?”
“Ah!” His smile goes wide, “It’s great! Finally almost there,”
“Are you still keeping it locked away or can someone other than Yunho and Hongjoong hear it?” You tease him a little.
Mingi laughs, “No, no, I think it’s just about ready,”
“Hmm,” You smile, “because Jisoo was telling me,”
Light spills into the room from outside when someone opens the door and you know who it is before you can even turn your head, your words dying in your throat.
“Where’s the music?” Jongho says, “I left for five minutes,”
You turn to look and your jaw tightens. He looks crisp and clean like he always does, well fitting trousers and a perfectly cut jacket to fit his broad shoulders. As always, he says hello to the room but doesn’t spare a single glance in your direction.
“You were saying something about Jisoo?” Mingi’s voice drags you back.
“Oh!” You nod, now acutely aware of how Jisoo’s hand is tight on your leg, “Right, I was saying that she was just telling me she really wants to hear your music.”
“You do?” Mingi’s eyes dart to Jisoo’s, and you’re immediately forgotten.
“Yeah,” She grins next to you, “I’d love to hear your work,”
It’s easy now that the ice is broken to step away, and you slip out from between them under the guise of grabbing a drink from the table. You collapse next to Nari, who’s watching San, Wooyoung, and Jongho flip through the catalog of karaoke music.
“Get ready,” You elbow Nari and gesture towards Jisoo and Mingi, who have slid together easily like you were never there, “he’s definitely into her.”
“Oh boy,” Nari grimaces, “they’ll be a pair.”
“If they don’t kill each other,” You note.
“If they don’t kill each other.” She nods, taking a swift swig of her beer.
Music starts, and the attention breaks, everyone shifting around with renewed drinks to see what’s next. Jongho takes the hand mic from San and your teeth lock together. A deep ballad begins, a love song from the late nineties you haven’t heard since your parents used to play it when you were young.
His voice is perfect, which you already know, but it still annoys you every time nonetheless, every honeyed saranghe twisting the knot tighter inside you.
San claps when Jongho begins really singing, a deep supportive shout, “Choi Jongho!” The rest of the boys respond to the call, various hype noises and cheers.
Karaoke is supposed to be fun, and in your opinion everyone should be pretty bad at singing to even the playing field. If you’re as good of a singer as Jongho you’re not supposed to belt it out, you’re supposed to sheepishly agree to take the mic and then do something comedic instead. You’re not supposed to look handsome and talented at karaoke, that’s just not the point.
You knock back a shot of soju, and as the energy in the room racks up higher, he gets more theatrical, turning towards Nari first and taking her hand, singing to her like she’s his great long lost love. San dies laughing at the joke, and Nari plays along, feigning a swoon. As he moves into the second chorus, he crosses the room and sweeps Jisoo up, spinning her with ease like a ballroom dancer until he guides her back to the arm of the sofa by Mingi.
You watch as Jisoo stumbles a little, and Mingi braces her easily with one hand on her back and the other catching her hand. If Jongho were a little less self involved, you might interpret that as an intentional maneuver to get Mingi and Jisoo closer.
You reach for another drink and when he turns to you, extending out a hand and gesturing you towards him, you have the sudden urge to slap him. He’s ignored you for months, so casual and cold, always looking past your eyes to meet one of his friends instead. Embarrassed anger curls in your belly and you wave him off with a tight smile. Jongho’s eyes narrow for just a moment, beckoning you, and you look away. You don’t look up as he drags Wooyoung away from Yeosang’s side to spin him around, still singing passionately and with fervor.
You keep your eyes down, nervous energy flickering under your skin and you bounce your leg as you wait out the end of the song. When he’s done, everyone claps, and so do you, but you keep your eyes away and breath steady through your nose. You really don’t know why he dislikes you so much, but ever since the beginning it’s been palpable. The way he usually avoids your eyes, talks past you and not to you, always finds something to study on his phone instead of participating with you. The way he sang to you feels like a painful dig. If he hates you so much, you can hate him right back.
The night continues, Mingi singing a ballad, and San and Yunho taking a duet. You do your best to be present, and to ignore the way you feel like eyes are boring into you. When Jisoo finally exclaims that what the night needs is dancing, you jump on it, desperate to get out of this tiny room.
In the club you can finally relax, let yourself slip into the crowd and just focus on the music. Nari and San latch onto each other immediately, and you watch as Mingi tugs Jisoo out onto the dance floor too, using the crowded floor as an excuse to sidle close to her back and wrap his arms around her. The other boys move for drinks, spreading out to find dance partners of their own, and you do the same.
Sinking into the crowd, you move to the music.
When a hand coasts up your hip, settling on your waist, you turn your head and find an unfamiliar stranger. He’s a bit taller than you, good looking and well dressed, and it catches you completely off guard.
“Alone?” The man asks, and normally you’d say no. Normally you’d walk away and find your friends, but the tense knot of irritation in your chest changes your mind.
“Maybe,” You smile.
“Need a dance partner?” He steps a little closer, the heat of his chest on the bare skin of your back where your dress parts open.
“Maybe,” You repeat.
He presses against you, his hand sliding further to cup your hip fully and he drops his lips to your ear, “Need a drink, beautiful?”
“That I do need,” You nod.
“I’ll be right back then,” He steps back, “what’s your drink?”
He’s cute enough and charming enough, but there’s not a chance in hell you’re letting any man you just met get you a drink from the bar. You shake your head and smile, “I got it, what’s yours?”
He smiles, appreciative, his eyes flicking over you, “Vodka soda,”
“Got it,” You keep it light, flirty.
“Here,” He reaches into his jacket pocket for his wallet and you wave him off.
“I got it,” You assure him, “just don’t run off.”
“Definitely not,” His lip quirks into a smile, “I’ll get the next one.”
“Deal,”
You can feel the way he watches you walk away, and for a minute you thank yourself for wearing this dress. Champagne and satin, the front dipping into a cowl, and the rest of it clinging to your curves in just the right ways. Nari and Jisoo had practically forced you into buying it, but now that you’re here you’re grateful for it.
You squeeze through the crowd towards the bar, trying to locate the right little gap to push yourself through and catch the attention of the bartender. There’s a gap between two groups, tight, but it’ll do and you turn yourself sideways to fit as best you can between them.
The bartender who catches your eye holds up a hand, gesturing for your order as they tip a cocktail shaker back.
“Vodka soda and a gin and tonic,” You order, raising your voice up for the bartender to hear you over the group of loud men to your right.
The bartender nods, shouts out your total, and rushes to the other side of the bar. You turn, still squished between bodies, and fish through your purse for the cash you have tucked into the side.
“Do you know him?” His voice startles you and you jump, “sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Jongho presses closer so you can hear him more clearly over the loudness of the club.
“What?” Your head snaps up.
“The guy you were dancing with,” Jongho clarifies, “do you know him?”
“Not really,” You shake your head, quickly counting bills and snapping your purse closed, “why?”
“You looked close,” He observes, and it’s a little startling all of a sudden how long he’s been holding your eye contact.
A little angry flame sparks inside you, “So?” you bite back.
“I’m just checking on you,” He leans in, “you had a couple of drinks at kareoke,”
“You’re checking in on me?” You can’t even hide the irritated incredulity in your tone, “Why?”
“Hey!” The bartender behind you catches your attention, repeating your total again and you twist away from Jongho to reach over and pass off the bills.
You’re mid-lift of the drinks on the bar when the man to your right stumbles back with a laugh, knocking directly into your hands. The drinks tip instantly, over half of each of them spilling directly down your front. The icy cold hits you abruptly and you yelp in surprise, “Hey! Come on!”
The man barely glances back, and you’re left with nothing but two nearly empty glasses and an incredibly wet front. You drop the glasses back on the bar and reach for a small stack of cocktail napkins but from the sopping wet feeling of the fabric you know it’s fully unsalvageable.
Jongho jumps forward quickly, and you don’t know what he’s doing at first, but he steps close and stands tall, perfectly square with your front, and he tucks you into him. “Here,” He shrugs his blazer off and drops it around your shoulders, “don’t worry.”
As he pulls the blazer over you, you look down and blush scarlet. The dress that was already thin and revealing is now relatively see through, and the cold snap of ice down your chest has your nipples standing hard at attention. “Oh my god,” You tug his jacket closed around you even though you haven’t even put your arms through the sleeves, “this is just perfect.”
“Here,” He wraps an arm around your shoulders, “there’s a restroom near the back sidewall,”
“Thanks,” You manage, the feeling of his hand on your shoulder heavy and warm.
“It’s fine,” He assures, and you’ve never heard his voice so soft in tone, not an ounce of teasing.
Jongho stretches out his other arm to make a barrier, pushing through the tight throng of people and keeping you tucked into his side. He walks with purpose, knowing exactly the most efficient route through and around to get you towards the back restrooms.
“Here,” He says as you make it out of the thickest part of people packed together, “they’re just there,”
You follow the direction of his hand, and you duck out from under his arm to rush forwards, pushing through the door of the restroom. It’s blissfully empty, and you lock the door behind you and shrug off Jongho’s jacket with a heavy sigh so you can assess the damage.
It’s most definitely worse than you even thought a moment ago. Once you see yourself in the wide mirror above the sinks, your blush darkens and you clap a hand over your mouth. The fabric clings to every inch of you, all the way down your front, and you can clearly see the dark shadow of your areolas and even make out the lines of your panties where the dress sticks to your hips.
Checking the door once more to ensure that it is locked and you won’t be interrupted, you pull your dress up over your head and ring it out into the sink, getting as much of the liquid out as possible. Once the fabric is mostly just damp to the touch, you situate yourself in front of the warm hand dryer and do your best. All you can think about while the warm air passes over the fabric is how Jongho had seen you.
It’s embarrassing to say the least, but the way he stepped close to you and kept you from view flickers through your mind. His hand anchored on your lower back to pull you into him until he figured out what to do and gave you his jacket. You’ve never heard his voice so gentle, or felt his touch like that before.
It takes time for the dress to dry, but eventually it’s a little less obviously soaked and just a little damp to the touch, like taking clothes out of the dryer too early. You slip the dress back on, and while it isn’t completely back to normal, it’s less see through. You pull Jonho’s jacket back on and make sure it’s covering the parts of you that are still a little exposed.
When you pull the door open, you don’t expect to see him still here. Jongho leans against the opposite wall, scrolling on his phone, but when he hears the sound of the door his head snaps up.
“Any better?” He asks, realizing you’re still wearing his jacket.
“A little,” You nod, “but not great. Do you mind if I hang onto your jacket for a little longer?”
He shakes his head, “Keep it,”
“Thanks,” You chew the inside of your lip, not sure where to go from here, especially now that he’s being so nice to you.
“Do you want to go back out there? Get another drink?” He asks, glancing over to the dance floor.
“Um,” You honestly can’t think of anything worse at the moment, the tone of the night is completely different now, “not really.”
“Should I take you home?” He offers, taking another step closer.
“You don’t have to do that,” You assure him, “I can just wait a bit for Nari and Jisoo to tire themselves out. I just don’t know that I’m up for dancing now,”
He swallows, tight and a little nervous looking, but finally he sighs and says, “I know a spot that’s a little more quiet if you want?”
“Oh,” You follow the glance of his eyes towards the end of the hall past the restrooms, “sure, I guess that beats sitting at the bar.”
He smiles, wide, his eyes crinkling up and you’re a little struck. He’s never smiled at you like that, only his friends, and you suddenly have no idea what he’s thinking. “Come this way,” He gestures for you to follow, and you do.
He leads you down the dim hall, until you reach a metal staircase cordoned off with a velvet rope, a sign hanging over the front that reads Employees Only. He unclips it with ease, “They haven’t re-opened the top floor since quarantine ended,” he explains, “I don’t think they have the headcount to maintain it, and no one really checks.”
“How do you even know this is here?” You hesitate by the foot of the stairs.
“I used to come here years ago, it was the VIP section.” He says simply, like that’s all the information you need.
Your eyes widen, “VIP?”
“You know how Wooyoung makes friends with everyone?” He gestures for you to fill in the blanks.
“Got it,” You smile, glancing up the steps, “but are you sure we won’t get in trouble?”
“I wouldn’t put you in trouble,” Jongho waves you up, “but if we stand here long enough someone’s bound to see us.”
“Right,” You jog forwards and up the steps, Jongho chuckling behind you as he secures the no entry rope and follows you up the steps.
When you finally hit the landing, you can see why he brought you up here. The landing is long and wide, a full balcony overlooking the club but somewhat quieter and divorced from the bustle below. The lights are dim, probably intentionally kept low since the floor isn’t being used, and rows of long, plush couches and tables line the wall opposite to the railing.
“Nice, right?” He says, drawing you further into the space.
“Definitely,” You agree.
Silence hangs between you, and while Jongho approaches the railing, you keep a bit of distance and sit on one of the couches, watching him as he checks down over the railing and the people below. You’re still cold, especially up here without the warm crush of bodies, and you tuck Jongho’s jacket around you a little more tightly.
“Is your dress ruined?” Jongho asks, his voice still soft as he takes a seat next to you, leaving several inches between you.
“No,” You tell him, “I can get it cleaned, I think.”
“That’s good,” He smiles a little, “it looks very good on you.”
Your stomach flips at his words, “Thanks,”
“Are you cold?” He asks.
The words slip out before you can stop them, “Why are you being so nice to me right now?”
His brow furrows, “I’m always nice?”
“You’re never nice.”
“What?” His mouth drops, “You’re the one who’s never nice.”
“That’s only because you clearly don’t like me.” You state it simply, like a fact.
“I like you,” He responds.
Confusion floods you, a curl of anger deep inside you, “You never talk to me.”
“We’re talking right now,” He counters, an unexpected edge to his voice as he meets your level of tension.
“No,” You shake your head, pushing yourself up off the couch to step away from him, “you talk to people around me. You don’t look at me. You don’t say hi to me, you don’t smile at me, you don’t joke around with me, you basically treat me like I don’t exist.”
“y/n,” His voice is soft, if a little shaky.
“That’s fine,” You press on, “if you and I don’t get along, that’s fine. We can see each other from time to time with friends and you can do your thing and I’ll do mine, but please don’t lie to me and make this awkward. I appreciate you helping me out tonight, you’re a decent guy, but,”
His face scrunches at your words and he stands, “A decent guy,” He shakes his head, “y/n, you’ve got this all wrong.”
“Sure I do,” You sigh, “It’s really not worth it, Jongho, honestly. Maybe I should just get a cab,”
“No,” He grabs your hand as you move to walk towards the stairs again, “no, please wait.”
“What?” You turn on your heel, exasperated.
“God,” He rolls his eyes, “can you just listen for two seconds?”
“I’m leaving,” You pull your hand out of his grip and shrug off his jacket, tossing it to him and turning again, not even waiting to see if he caught it.
As you hit the top stair his words stop you, “I do like you, I don’t know how to talk to you.”
You look back at him, frozen, jacket hanging from his fingertips and a stricken expression on his face. You step back up and hold his gaze, “What does that mean?”
“It means I like you,” Jongho repeats, swallowing hard, “a lot. But you’re loud, and you’re opinionated, and you're very protective of your friends, and I just didn’t know how to talk to you.”
“I’m loud?” You ask evenly, “You like me but I’m too much, is that it?”
“That came out wrong,” He admits, tossing his jacket back on the couch and running a hand over his face, “listen, please,”
“I’m listening now,” You tell him, but you keep your hand on the railing of the stairs, ready to dash down them at any moment.
“You haven’t let a single one of us near you,” Jongho presses, “San and Nari have been dating for months, I don’t know if any of us even have your phone number.”
Your stomach twists up at his words, and you cross your arms over your chest, “I don’t know what that has to do with you being an asshole to me,”
“You’re hard to get close to,” He says, taking another step or two forwards, but making sure he doesn't rush you away, “at least for me. That doesn’t mean I don’t like you, or wouldn’t like to try.”
“I thought you hated me,” You press again.
“I’m sorry for that,” He says immediately, his face softening, “I know I can be cold sometimes.”
“Well,” You were waiting for him to say but, for him to shrug things off, but he’s right. He can be cold, you know that all too well.
“It takes me a long time to warm up to people,” He admits, “but I liked you when I met you. I just didn’t know what to say to you, and then I thought it was you who didn’t like me very much.”
“So, this is my fault?” Your hand slips off the railing.
“No!” He insists, frustrated now, “I’m sorry,” He repeats.
Something he said a moment ago is stuck inside you, like a thorn or a bad song, and you take a step towards him, “I’m not hard to get close to.”
“Harder than you think,” Jongho says, his jaw setting hard.
“If you had just talked to me, or looked at me for a single second,” You step close, getting into his space and looking up at him, “but I think you judged me.”
“And you didn’t judge me?” Jongho scoffs, “I heard you.”
“Heard me when?”
“What was the word you used?” Jongho’s angry now, a moment ago apologetic and ready to let it all be water under the bridge, and he steps toe to toe with you, “Self aggrandizing.”
You remember the moment, a few months ago on the balcony of San’s apartment while you talked to Jisoo. You had thought he didn’t hear you, but as usual, you’re wrong. There’s no turning back now though, while you’re getting it all off your chest, “Well maybe you are.”
“And you’re not hard to get close to,” He shakes his head.
“Why are we even talking anymore?” You bite, “This clearly isn’t helping.” You push away from him, but his strong hand closes over your forearm and pulls you back into his chest.
Jongho catches your jaw with his hand, and pulls you up to secure his mouth to yours. You’re stifling - his mouth hot and your body pressed tight against his now as he stumbles back with you in his hands, kissing you hungrily all the while. Your brain stays frozen, but when he groans softly against your lips and tightens his hand on your hip you crumble into him.
Something else takes over your brain, someone that isn’t you. There’s no world in which you would be kissing Choi Jongho and loving it, but you do, and you are. You lock your hands behind his neck and meet his kisses, his tongue probing yours and you moan sharply when your back connects with the supporting beam behind you.
Jongho’s fingers slide up your back, dipping under the strap of your dress, his mouth moving down your jaw and his breath warm down your throat.
You gasp as he leans further into you, “I thought you were mad at me,”
“Oh, I am,” He says between kisses down your neck, “but you’re fucking killing me tonight,”
A hot strike of need lances down your body and you grip onto his shoulders as he sucks on your pulsepoint, “Tonight?”
“Always,” He says, “but this dress?”
“Fuck,” Your eyes slip closed as he works his way back up to your lips.
“And you looked so fucking gorgeous giving me hell,” He says, diving back to your mouth.
“What is happening?” You mumble against him.
He breaks the kiss with a sigh, and his forehead leans on yours as he catches his breath. His thumb strokes across your neck where he holds you and finally he says, “I said I do like you,”
“Oh,” Your voice is small.
“I don’t know how to talk to you,” He reiterates, “because every time I look at you and even think about opening my mouth I want to tell you how insane you make me.”
“You what?”
His hands hold you close, and you watch his eyes slip closed, “You make me crazy,” he admits, “every time I see you I want to drag you off somewhere and fuck you until you can’t walk,”
Your breath hitches at his words, a rush of warmth through your belly at the thought. “That’s why you couldn’t talk to me?”
“This is the first conversation we’ve ever properly had,” He chuckles, “and listen to me.”
“Oh,”
“Every time you talk to my friends or some guy in a bar,” His hands tighten on you.
Your body moves before your brain, but when his mouth is back on yours, and you pull him closer, it all feels right. “Don’t stop,” You pant against his mouth between kisses.
“Come here,” He dips, reaching down and hoisting you up in one fluid motion, keeping your back pinned on the wall and settling your legs around his waist. You whine at the sudden press of his body between your legs, your dress ruched up around your hips. “Fuck,” He sighs, “I knew you would sound so pretty,”
Your brain is dizzy, foggy and light and you cling onto him, one hand popping the topmost button on his shirt. “Jongho,” You groan, and he presses further against you, his hard cock now nestled tight against your clit.
“Do you want me?” He says in your ear between kisses, “Or should we stop?”
“More,” You nod, your head falling back to the wall.
“Are you sure?” His hand presses up under your dress and cups your backside.
Your hips jerk, rocking against him and he groans, but you pant out, “Yes, fuck,”
“You’re mine, then,” He kisses you fast, and then drops you back down to your feet, not even giving you a second to realize what’s coming next. He turns you with ease, and crowds you forwards against the railing, his lips trailing over your neck again and his hands roaming over your body.
Twenty minutes ago, you really thought you hated him. You were so sure you had him pinned - every little smug thing about him from the way his lip twitches whenever you say anything to the way he crosses his legs and rests his hands on his knee. The way he’s too smart, reads too much, sings too well when all you’re doing is going out for some drunk karaoke on a Saturday night. Twenty minutes ago before he had your legs around his waist, you were pretty sure you’d never, ever let him touch you.
But being sure and being where you are now, are two very different things.
His body presses up against yours, pinning you into the balcony railing, and you’re grateful it’s dark up here because if it wasn’t you’re pretty sure everyone below you would be able to see. Your breathing tightens as he slides his hands over your bare hips, flipping the back of your dress up to give him the access he needs.
“Jongo,” Your voice is breathy and hushed when he cups the curve of your ass in his warm hand, “god, what are we doing?”
“Fucking,” His laps latch onto your bare shoulder, one hand spreading wide over your stomach, “I thought that was clear.”
“Oh my god,” Your body trembles, deep anticipation running through you and now that he’s touching you, you hope he never stops.
“Changing your mind?” His hands still and he lifts his lips.
“What?” You turn your head towards him, slivers of his face light up with every pulsing color that illuminates the dark club.
“What, what?” He locks eyes with you.
“If you want to fuck me, you should just fuck me.” You can’t help but push his buttons, the fight between you fully unfinished.
A smile pulls at the corner of his lips, that look you just hate, hated, a feeling you can’t quite work out now that his hot hands are on you. His fingers hook into the top of your thong and he tugs down, pushing them down so they fall to catch around your ankles. “Be quiet,” He murmurs, and you feel him unbuttoning his trousers behind you, the zipper pulling along the soft flesh of your ass.
He chuckles when you jump in his arms at the cool sensation of the metal, and he repositions himself just far enough so he can slip a hand behind you.
Your core tenses as he maneuvers you with ease, and he drags his hand over the swell of your backside until he reaches under, his middle finger sinking into your folds with expert direction.
“Cute,” He kisses your shoulder tenderly, a stark contrast to his teasing tone, “is this all for me?”
“Shut up,” You groan, but you slide your stance a little wider for him.
“Mm,” He kisses across your shoulders, rocking his hand back and forth, “not yet,”
“Jongho,” You gasp as he presses down on your clit, “we don’t have a lot of time, they’ll notice we’re gone,”
“So?” He murmurs.
“What if they look for us?” Your hands tighten on the railing as pleasure bubbles inside you.
“No one’s going to come up here,” He assures you.
“What if they can see us?” You lean back into his touch, your hips jerking into his hand.
“So let them see,” He pushes your legs open wider, “now stop worrying and let me fuck you,”
Your core flutters and spasms, and you grip onto the railing as you watch the crowd below. Were you friends there somewhere or did they go home? If they glance up at the balcony would they see you? How much would they see? Do you even care?
“Please,” You push yourself back into him, throwing caution out the window and arching your back.
“Perfect,” He sighs, and you’re about to protest when his fingers slip away from your clit, but when his hands lock down on your hips and you feel his tongue sink between your folds, dipping deep into your aching entrance you shudder a groan and drop your head.
He’s on his knees now between your legs, holding you open wide and tilted up so he can lap strong stripes up the length of you.
You moan, tight, losing control as Jongho delivers a strong suck to your clit and you feel a puff of warm air as he sighs into you. He lifts his mouth to murmur, “You taste like heaven,”
You grip the railing, leaning over it now and losing control, your eyes unfocused and only seeing the wash of colorful lights, his tongue lapping at you as the music thrums through your chest. You didn’t know he could be like this at all, always seeming so buttoned up he was almost prudish, but you’ve never been so happy to be wrong.
Jongho separates your folds with his index and middle fingers, his opposite hand kneading the soft flesh of your ass, and he picks up the pace, working you with strong flicks and sucks so expertly that you can’t quite believe who you have between your legs.
“Jongho,” You gasp, dropping your head to your forearms, “please, please,”
Your body grows hotter, tense curls of pleasure bubbling up in your core and you bite down on your forearm to keep from crying out as he feels you start to shake and doubles down. His hand on your ass grips tight, and when his tongue passes over your clit in just the right way and he feels you jerk, he circles his tongue back on the spot and sucks hard.
Heat floods your chests, and with your free arm you reach back and grip his hand where he holds you, silently begging him not to change a thing. With just a little more, you’ll be putty in his hands. Jongho doesn’t falter, listening to your steady pants and whines, and when he presses closer your body snaps apart for him. Your knees buckle in and you hang onto the railing for support as you come hard and shaking, your dress slipping back down over your ass as you ride it out.
Behind you, Jongho quickly fishes a condom out of the inside pocket of his jacket and hurries back to you. As your breathing evens out, he lifts your hips and brings your legs back up so that you’re back in an almost ninety degree position, presented and ready for him.
“Fuck,” He sighs as he pushes your dress back up and caresses your hips, “you’re so beautiful,”
His voice is warm and low, and he drags his hand up and down your back. You’re pretty sure you’ll start to melt if he doesn’t touch you again and you push up to hold the railing and turn your head towards him, “Jongho,”
“Hmm?” He looks up from your body and meets your eyes.
“Touch me,” You push your hips back into him, the head of his cock bumping you, “fuck me,”
He licks his lips and swallows hard, shifting his hands to hold your hips firmly, “Come up a little,” he says, stepping close and you groan as his cock passes over your folds.
You’re already in heels, but his hips are still a little higher than yours, so you press up on your tiptoes, heels rising out of your shoes and leaving your leaning most of your weight on the railing. The adjustment leaves you in the perfect spot, and he settles himself between your legs, guiding his cock to your wet entrance.
“Fuck,” he breathes as he presses himself forwards, slowly sinking his cock inside you, “y/n,”
Your mouth drops open as he pushes in, stretching you perfectly and filling you just right. “Oh my god,” Your head hangs down as you focus on the feeling.
You can feel that he started off with control, but the deeper inside you he moves, the tighter his hands get on your hips and you can hear a groan on his lips. With a sharp jut of his hips he thrusts deeply inside you now, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out.
“You’re so,” Jongho pants, picking up the pace of his thrusts and surging in and out of your tight channel with every rolling rock of his hips, “y/n,”
His hips connect with yours in time with the thrumming bass and you grip down hard on the railing, hands shaking and body aching as you try to hold yourself up for him. “Harder,” you beg him, “more,”
Jongho’s hand claps down on your shoulder, holding you in a vice grip, and he uses the leverage on your body to bounce you steadily on his cock. He pulls you back to meet every forward snap of his hips and you whine tightly in his grip. Where some men hear harder and speed up, Jongho reads your needs perfectly. He keeps his pace but with every move he connects with firm snaps, a hard drumbeat of his hips on yours.
“Yes, yes,” You moan, the expanding knot of pleasure building as his cockhead pounds again and again into the perfect spot inside you.
“I want to feel you,” He pants, “are you close?”
You nod, frantic and with a whine, and when you feel his hand leave your shoulder you’re startled that the pace might change when you’re so close, but it does for the better. He leans over you, reaching around and locking his fingers down onto your swollen clit, rubbing circles fast and hard into your nub as he keeps his hips jutting into you. Your orgasm crests, fast and sudden, and you can feel yourself close to tumbling straight over the edge.
“Don’t stop,” You beg him, “please, please,”
He presses a little harder, “Come on my cock, baby, come for me,”
The music cuts low as a song blends into another and your mouth falls open, your orgasm washing over you at his words. You hold yourself as silent as possible, just heavy breath fluttering out of you while you tighten your hands on the railing, your walls spasming around his hard length.
He pushes into you fully and holds you tight down on his cock, holding you up now as your legs shake, “Shh, shh,” he soothes you, “there you go, fuck, there you go,”
A tight whine leaves you as the music picks back up, “Jongho,”
“Mhm,” His hands coast over your skin, soft and gentle now as you recover. After a moment he slips his cock out of you and you shudder, and he takes the back of your dress and smooths it down to cover you again, “here, come here,”
You’re still collapsed against the railing, but you let him pull you up into him, kissing you softly and caressing your back. He holds you while your brain clears, and you sigh against him, “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you nuzzle into him.
“Us at all or up here?” He glances over the side down at the throng of bodies.
“Both,” You kiss him again.
“Hmm,” He squeezes your arms and nods, “I’m not done with you yet,”
You smile, and shake your head, “It’s my turn,”
“Oh?” He teases.
“Yeah,” You pull away from him, your legs finally solid under you and you push him backwards until his back connects with the supporting beam he had hoisted you up against earlier.
He chuckles at your sudden pushiness and smiles, “Where are we going?”
“Right here,” You shrug, flirting now fully, and you can barely believe that the man who you hated at the beginning of the night has turned out to be the man in front of you now. The man making you come twice in a fast and dizzy rush, the man whose cock was about to be down your throat.
“Mhm,” He murmurs, watching you carefully.
His eyes widen when you slide down to your knees, your hands running down his thighs to steady you. With sure hands you roll the condom off and drop it to the side, taking his hot length in your hand and stroking, getting accustomed to the feeling of him.
“Oh fuck,” He leans back on the beam and runs a hand through his hair, “y/n,”
“Yeah?” You grip him a little more, stroking steadily and letting your hand sweep up and over the smooth velvet of his cockhead, collecting the beads of precum with your thumb to stroke along the bottom of his shaft.
“God,” He mutters, eyes on you.
“Watch me,” You tighten your hands on his thighs, and look up at him as you run your tongue over the head of his cock, soft flicks at first and then a steady drag of your tongue up the length of him.
“Mm,” He leans forward, “wait,”
You rock back, dropping your hands away, confusion flooding you, “What?”
“Here,” He pulls the straps of your dress free, dropping them over your shoulders and revealing your breasts and you watch him bite his lip and sigh at the sight of you.
“Oh,” You smile, “so that’s what you want.”
Jongho swallows, watching you with wide eyes, pupils blown wide and looking hungry.
You slide the straps down and let your dress pool at your waist, naked now from the hips up, and you drag your hands up your sides, cupping your breasts and pinching your hard nipples. He leans back against the wall, watching, and his cock twitches, desperate for something to touch it.
It feels like something’s possessing you, doing this out in the open, a breath away from someone just wondering where you are and looking up to the balcony, but you can’t stop yourself. After months of wishing he would spare you a single glance, you’re starving for the way his eyes stay focused on you, studying your every move. You rock back from your knees and settle on the cold concrete floor, separating your legs wide and easing back onto your elbows.
“Do you like to watch?” Your brow quirks up, and you continue teasing your nipples for his eyes.
He nods, wetting his lips again and bringing his hand to his cock, stroking it slowly.
“You do,” You sigh, dragging the hem of your dress up and sinking your fingers into your wet core, “have you been watching me this whole time?”
He nods again, matching the pace of his hand to yours as you start to slowly sink two fingers inside yourself, bobbing them in and out.
“Why tonight?” You ask, moaning a little at the heat stirring inside you again.
“I don’t know,” He groans, “I just couldn’t ignore it anymore,”
You let him watch you a little longer, alternating between thrusting your fingers and circling your clit, kneading your breast with your opposite hand and panting a little wantonly, just for him. His cock is desperately hard, leaking and red, and you decide finally that it’s time to stop teasing him.
In one fluid motion you push back up to your knees and push his hand away from his cock, wetting your lips as you do and sinking your mouth down over him as far as you can, your nose pressed up against his pubic bone as you take him, his cock heavy on your tongue and bumping the back of your throat.
“Fuck, fuck,” He shudders, “y/n,”
“Mhm,” You murmur around him, gripping onto his thighs as you start to drag your head back and forth, using the pressure of your tongue to tighten the feeling for him.
“Yes,” He urges you, his hands sweeping your hair back and gathering it at the back of your head, holding you steady, “fuck, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,”
A flutter runs through you, his words making you blush and while you work him, you return your hands to yourself, teasing your nipples and making sure he can see as you flick your clit. You’re taking him home, there’s no question. You want him for dinner and dessert, you want him for breakfast, you want him until you can’t stand the sight of him anymore.
“God,” You hear him groan above you, and you up your pace, bobbing your head now at a fast clip and moaning around his cock in your mouth. Hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, taking him deep. His hands grip your hair harder and you feel his hips jerking, and from the sound of his little hissing pants he’s close.
You suck hard, applying more pressure with your tongue and he curses, trying to pull you off him, but you make a noise of protest and sink further down onto him, gripping his thighs and letting him thrust himself into your mouth twice more before he groans and releases, hot and salty down the back of your throat. You steady your breathing, swallowing every drop until you’re sure he’s satisfied and then you let his cock slip out of your warm mouth.
Jongho leans back against the beam, shaking and his hands still locked in your hair, sweat slipping down his temples. You sit back on your heels, his hands falling away from you as do and you watch him above you. It’s the calmest you’ve ever seen him, a small smile on his lips and a serene expression on his face. With a deep sigh he comes back to reality, and drags a hand through his hair to smooth it back into place before pulling his trousers back up and securing his belt.
He smiles warmly at you when he crouches down, kissing you softly and pulling the top of your dress back up to its proper place, “You alright?”
“Mhm,” You assure him, “you?”
“I’m great,” He grins, and his smile sends a fluttering warmth through you.
“Yeah?”
“You’re perfect,” He kisses you again, “I’m so sorry I was an ass, you’re perfect,”
His words are tender, and so are his hands and you melt under his attention, “It doesn’t matter, I don’t care,”
He chuckles against your mouth and shakes his head, “It does,” he sighs, “but it doesn’t have to tonight,”
He’s right of course, and when the hazy glow of your orgasms clear and you’re back to real life you might feel differently, but right now you want nothing more than to curl up on his lap and breathe in the scent of his cologne. Jongho finally breaks the kiss and looks you over, checking the time on his watch, “We should get back,”
“Jongho,” You catch his hand, keeping him close.
“Yeah?” His eyes are soft, a little hopeful, and you never want him to stop looking at you like that.
“Can you just take me home, please?” You squeeze his hand, “I’ll text them and tell them I wasn’t feeling well or something, can you just…”
“Whatever you want,” He assures you, assuaging your sudden nerves, “here,”
You watch as he finds his phone, sending a series of texts and ordering you both an Uber. He stands, offering you his hands and helping you backup your feet, straightening your dress again and then dropping his jacket back over your shoulders, “Are you hungry?”
“So hungry,” You smile.
“You want to get dinner?” He smooths your hair down and sweeps his thumb under one of your eyes to clear away the smudged mascara, “Maybe we can start over.”
“I think I’d like that,” You murmur.
“Alright then,” He grins. He buttons his jacket around you once your arms are in the sleeves, and then finishes straightening himself out. He grabs your purse that lays discarded on the ground and passes it to you, and then with a laugh he takes your panties that never made it back on and tucks them into his trouser pockets.
Your eyebrows raise and you blush.
He pulls you in, kissing you again and squeezing the soft swell of your ass, “I might want you again, these will just be in the way,”
“Oh my god,” You sigh against his mouth, “why haven’t we been doing this the whole time?”
“I’m an idiot,” He says, like it’s obvious.
“Ah,” You tease, “right, of course.”
“Come on,” He checks his phone and sees the Uber only a minute or two away, “let’s get out of here.”
“Jongho,” You catch his hand as you descend the stairs.
“Hmm?” He smiles back at you, so much more at ease now that the wall of ice between you is broken.
“Let’s order in,”
He tugs you into his arms, kissing your temple as you stumble out into the night air. To anyone watching you’d look like a couple, lovers who can’t keep their hands to themselves, the rest of the world faded away around them. No one would know at the start of the night you’d barely spoken to each other, that the tension between you was so thick you could have cut it. Jongho keeps a hand on you while you wait, through the drive to your apartment, all through dinner, and he sinks back into you the moment it’s done. Now that he’s touching you, it feels like he may never stop, and if you're being honest, you really don’t mind.
the third installment of kinktober will be up next tuesday.... thank you all for reading x
"ON MY NERVES" ── how ateez gets jealous around their crush
ateez ot8┆ reader
another man comes between you and him, and he doesn't know where he stands with you anymore
content: fluff, a bit angsty, and a lot of sulking <3
wc: 1.2k
── ۶ৎ Hongjoong’s jealousy is as consuming as it is silent. It might be hard to notice when he starts letting these feelings get to him because he’ll withdraw and try to stay away from you. Slow, maybe no text backs at all. Unanswered phone calls that only get a "sorry, busy" answer a few hours later. On one hand, he does this to make it stop. Jealousy is loud and invasive and distracting and almost suffocating to him, so he tries to stay away from you. On the other, he wants for you to look for him. He wants you to come to him, notice his absence, ask him why he’s been so distant, all so he can tell you “no reason” with a vague shrug. He wants you to be uncomfortable, feel as inadequate as he did watching you talk to that other guy. It might have been a five-second conversation a few days ago, but to him it had felt line the end of something he hadn't even had the chance to start yet.
You walk into his studio room with silent steps, already feeling nervous. He barely spares you a glance. He knows it's you. He doesn't want you to know how relieved and excited he had been when you had called him and asked if you could stop by.
"Hey" he only answers with a lazy noise "Have you been doing alright?"
"Me? Why?"
"You've felt a bit distant these days. I know you are busy, so I just wanted to check on you"
"That's nice of you" he says, passive-aggressive enough for you to notice the bite in his words, but not enough for you to feel confident enough in confronting him about it "Nothing is wrong"
The problem is, this isn't going to take him anywhere. He enjoys the way you are practically begging for his attention, but nothing is going to change. You just stand there, feeling like you're being punished for doing something he won't even explain to you.
"Okay?" you say, confused and sure that it's a lie. There is nothing else you can do, and so you say "I can tell you are not in the mood, so I should leave"
But he can't let you do that. Not when he has been praying for you to actually come looking for him. Now that you have proved yourself, chosen him, he can bring himself to do his part.
"Do you want to have dinner?" he asks when your hand is on the handle "There's something I want to ask you"
── ۶ৎ Seonghwa is a very kind person who has a tendency to put everyone’s feelings above his, which is why he'd hate the fact that he’s feeling this way. He might, like Hongjoong put some space between you two, but his motives are way different. Seonghwa would need time to rationalize what he really wants to do. He understands you are not together, and he wants you to be with whoever you want to, but also hates the idea of it not being him. You might be surprised to receive a message that reads “would you have time to talk?” after a few days of silence. He’d sit you down at a nice cafe and casually try to pry any information about that other guy.
“What? We are not dating, at all”
“Is that so?” Seonghwa hums, his fingers ever so slightly gripping the coffee mug a little tighter “Do you like him, at least?”
Your face twists in amused curiosity.
“Why are you asking me all this?”
He doesn't hesitate. Eyes boring into yours, calm and sincere.
“Because I like you, and I’d like to know what your feelings are. So I don’t interfere”
── ۶ৎ Yunho is already well known to be quite competitive, but it'd actually take a while until that behaviour truly shows up. He’d become playful, even teasing you about whoever it is taking your attention away from him.
“Ah, are you texting him again? You must really like him a lot”
It’d have to get to a certain point for Yunho to finally start moving. He’s not one for mind games, and he has enough confidence to simply confront you about it if you weren’t to give him a clear answer.
He watches him walk into the room, sees his eyes looking around until he finds you. The wave you send back to him forces you to take a brief pause from your conversation with Yunho, and that's when his chest rises with a sharp inhale.
“Do you like him?”
The sudden question has you batting your eyelashes up at him, and Yunho's jaw tenses.
“Why are you ask--”
“Do you like him or not” he repeats, in a way that almost makes you want to confess to having done something wrong. He's watching him walk towards you two out of the corner of his eye, and he wants your answer before he gets here “Because I like you. So just tell me”
── ۶ৎ San would not waste his time being hesitant or testing the waters when it comes to your feelings. He’d dive right in and try to be present in your life as much as he could, almost as if trying to make it impossible for him to leave your mind. It might hurt him greatly from the get go, though. To San, your attention diverting to someone else would feel like a personal attack, even if it isn’t. His jealousy comes from the idea of getting replaced, the idea that someone he gives such special attention could turn around and give that same kind to someone else. Does he not deserve it? Is he just someone out of many to you? He’ll make it so obvious how he feels, as if begging you to say something.
He stands close to you, in a way that feels possessive and almost territorial. He has been doing that the last few times you've met. It has gotten to the point of his cologne clinging to your clothes without him even having to touch you. No matter the conversation he stares at you so intensely, brows slightly furrowed in a pleading look, as if waiting for your answer to a question he hasn't asked yet.
"That guy you've been talking about. Is he good to you?"
"Who?"
"___"
You stare at him, head tilted to the side.
"What about him?"
"Does he treat you well?"
You chuckle, amused yet confused at both the topic and how intense he's being about it.
"He's just a friend, San"
"I treat you well, even though I'm only a friend" he says, that last word sounding a bit bitter "Right?"
Your cheeks feel burning hot. It's the way his voice has lowered to the point of raspiness. The way he seems to have gotten way closer since this conversation turned into something else without you noticing.
"Yes. You are really good to me"
── ۶ৎ Yeosang might, sadly, do nothing at all. He won’t be hurt right away, and it might actually take him a bit of time to put his feelings in order. Like Seonghwa he will think deeply about the way he feels and how he can navigate it without putting you in an uncomfortable position. However, Yeosang will probably not bring it up to you in such a direct manner. He'd remove himself, keep his distance and overall try to get “out of your way” so you can be happy with whoever you want, like he's not even an option. Deep down however, he hopes you will notice his absence and seek him out, and will be heartbroken if you don’t.
"Hey, stranger"
You go in for a hug, only to feel his arms barely wrap around your waist, hovering. It had taken you so long for him to even hug you back at the beginning of your friendship, the absence of his strong embrace leaving you cold now. It makes the knot on your stomach tighten.
"Can I ask you something? And you'll have to be honest with me"
Yeosang is taken aback, maybe even nervous at the sudden question, but he hides it behind a casual nod and an efusive:
"Yeah, sure!"
"Did I do something that upset you?"
Yeosang's guilt washes over him immediately, mixed with the feeling of defeat that comes with getting cornered by your pleading eyes.
"What makes you think that?"
"You don't text nor call, you stay away from me when we hang out with everyone..." you bit your lip, embarrassed "Don't hug me back..."
"Ah! That..." there's a nervous pause, he thinks for a moment about what to say "I didn't want to make things weird between you and ____. Since you seem to be close together these days"
"What?" you shake your head, confused "There's nothing between us"
"Oh, really?" he tries to ignore the immediate relief that floods through him, the way his shoulders seem to relax right away "He seems to like you, though?"
"So?"
Your bluntness shuts him up, and he can do nothing but stare at you while a giddy grin tries to break into his otherwise easygoing expression.
── ۶ৎ Mingi might have his ego bruised if he sees you give someone else special attention. Actually, no. Any sort of attention given to someone other than him would be taken as a personal attack and his first instinct would be retracting and make it obvious how upset he is. However, if you go up to him and ask him if he's okay, that anger will melt right away and he'll just say "no, it's okay" and go back to bask in your attention. All he wants is for you to look at him, sit close, choose him quietly.
He has been sitting in a corner for the entirety of the event, empty glass in hand and looking around. His eyes dart around the room only to hide the fact that he's stopping over your figure for a second too long than he does with anyone else. When you stare at him mid-conversation, he makes sure to sink deeper into his seat, his brows inching closer over his hardened eyes.
"Hey, you okay?"
The momen you stop in front of him and he looks up at you, his stare softens. He doesn't want to be mad at you.
"Yeah"
You sit next to him, and even though he straightens a bit on his seat, he leaves his leg just where it bruises against yours. He waits to see if you move yours away, and when you don't his body eases into the small touch.
"Why are you sulking over here, then?"
"I'm not, just bored"
"I'm sorry, did my conversation bore you?" you tease, and he finally smiles at you.
"Not your conversation" he mutters. He sees you staring at him, knowing, and he can't help but to smile as his cheeks turn a dusty pink "I mean, he wasn't even talking to me. He was talking to you, so I just left"
"And abandoned me?"
Mingi's wide shoulders rise and fall.
"In case you were interested"
You shake your head, looking away from him.
"You are so furstrating"
Mingi's heart skips a beat.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing"
── ۶ৎ Wooyoung's first instinct would be to let you go. A part of him would think, "you want to give your attention to someone else? Okay, go ahead" He won't stop you. However it'd eat at him that he's "losing" you, and the insecurities that lay asleep deep within him would start to peek their ugly head. He'd be unable to choose between proving his worth to you and telling himself he shouldn't have to. In the meantime, his sudden aloof behaviour might even hurt you.
"Can I ask what your problem is?"
Wooyoung stares at you like he's perplexed and thoroughly confused as to what could have prompted you to ambush him like this. You know he isn't. You can tell in the way he's trying so hard to keep a straight face. His voice is tense and detached when he asks.
"What are you talking about?"
He takes a sip from his drink while holding eye contact. He doesn't even blink, his hard stare unyielding. Defiant.
"If you don't have the guts to tell me why you are mad at me you don't have the right to treat me like shit for it"
You storm off from the bar, pushing through your friend group and piquing the interets of the person who, unbeknownst to you, is the whole reason why Wooyoung has been acting like this. He follows you outside, checking that you are okay. You barely have time to calm yourself and reassure him that everything is alright before you hear the door of the bar open again. Wooyoung approaches you and grabs you by the wrist, dragging you to the corner of the building without even sparing a glance towards the other guy. It makes Wooyoung's blood boil, how he doesn't even seem to try and stop him from taking you away like this.
"Wooyoung, wha--"
He cages you against the wall, way more softly than you'd expect. He steps closer, body close enough to feel its warmth. The tip of his nose brushes against yours for a second before he tilts his head, watching you watching him. There's a few seconds of tense silence, before he wets his lips before saying:
"I'm not good with words"
You blink at him before scoffing at his poor excuse. You are still upset, but you hate how well he works on you.
"You are not good at all, actually"
── ۶ৎ Jongho's jealousy is very calm and quiet, but not really hard to spot. To anyone who knows him the tells are there: curious eyes that linger on you and the other guy who just interrupted your conversation. He stares at him with almost a slight eye-smile: a sharp, incredulous comment at the tip of his tongue he can't really throw at him. Now, Jongho is very self-assured, and he understands there is not much more he can do but to give you a choice. He might walk away for a moment, check, and slightly hope you might make your way back to him eventually, but that's as far as he'll go. He hates mind games and also doesn't want to waste his time agonizing and torturing himself wondering how you feel about him.
"You are back" he says once you walk up to him, his voice calm and amused "He seems quite interested in you"
"Ah, yeah. Sorry he barged in like that, but did you have to leave me alone?"
A smile would tug at his lips, hidden by the rim of his glass.
"Should I have not?"
"I was waiting for you to come back"
The smile would be too bright to hide any longer. His hand would move to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, making sure for the guy on the other side of the room to see.
"EAT YOU UP" ── casual things about you that turn them on
ateez ot8┆ reader
what makes them want to take you aside and fuck your brains out
content: fluff! and also +18 MINORS DON'T INTERACT some of these are suggestive, car sex, mentions of being a bit possessive, praising, public sex ?), one single case of choking, p in v
wc: 2.8k
Hongjoong — possesiveness
All that Hongjoong has ever wanted was someone to match the level of intensity with which he loves. Sometimes he feels like the term "ride or die" falls short, and he's aware it might be a bit unrealistic. He always thought it might be asking too much, too specific of an expectation to have; until he met you.
You stare at him from the corner of the room, watching him speak with a woman you've never seen before. Maybe he has mentioned her, but you doubt it. She doesn't seem that interested in him, but that doesn't really matter to you. Hongjoong can feel the hole you are burning on the side of his head where you've been staring. He can't help but to smile mid-sentence, amused. He knows that will also make it worse, especially with the way the girl he's talking to stares at his lips and gives him a smile of her own. He's psyched when he can feel you moving through the crowd to get a hold on him, watching you out of the corner of his eye.
"Can I speak with you for a second?"
You grab onto his wrist before he has time to answer, leaving the girl to deal with the confusion on her own. He lets you drag him to a quiet corner, a playful smile on his lips as he waits for you to turn around with a scowl and a slight pout. You tug at his arm, your nails digging on his waist as you hold him closer. Hongjoong bites his lower lip in anticipation, dick already getting hard with the possessive way you hold onto him.
"What is it?" he teases "What's the emergency?"
"I don't like anyone that close to you"
He chuckles, endeared and aroused.
"She wasn't that close"
"Close enough"
He bares his teeth in a crooked smile, enjoying the way your eyes harden at the mention of the girl back at the event room. He doesn't even remember her name, but he's so grateful for her friendliness. Now he gets to watch you like this.
"You need to start controlling yourself" he tuts, holding your chin and making you look up at him through your lashes.
You chew at the inside of your mouth, looking away in frustration.
"I can't help myself" you complain "I hate it when I see you with someone else like that"
He really can't help himself either. When you are so cute and greedy like this all he wants is to pamper you and let you have it your way. He pretends he's exasperated, like you are not leaving him any other choice when he drives you both back home and doesn't wait until you get to the bedroom to take you the way you've been begging him to. Lifting the edge of your dress up to your waist, pushing your panties to the side and bending you over the arm of the couch.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asks, voice almost lost between the sound of his hips thrusting into you, the lace of your panties dragging deliciously against his cock "Are you happy now?"
Seonghwa — compliments
He's already giddy when he parks the car in front of your house. Six o'clock sharp, as he promised. He fixes a few strands of hair that fall in front of his eyes in the rearview mirror as he waits. He's about to text you when he sees you approaching the car, his breath catching on his throat when he sees you walk through the doors of your apartment building. He gets a better look when you open the door and come inside. He usually would have come out of the car, greeted you and opened the passenger door for you, but he was too shocked to do that.
A large, beautiful bouquet of flowers rests on your lap as you close the door behind you. He has a hard time deciding whether to look at your beautiful face, or the flowers that sway with every little movement you make.
"Do you like them?" you ask, a bit shy.
Seonghwa's eyes are slightly wide and shinning impossibly bright as he eyes every detail of the gift.
"Of course I like them" he says, an overwhelmed breathy laugh slipping past his lips "But why?"
You shrug and look away.
"Can't I get some pretty flowers for my pretty boyfriend?"
Now, Seonghwa hates arriving late to reservations. Not showing up to them is of course inconceivable for him, that is unless he has a good reason for it. Having your legs spread open as he fucks you on the passenger seat, reclined all the way back parked in an empty parking lot is one of these good reasons. Pants barely pulled down below his ass, low enough for him maneuver in the small space. It's tricky and uncomfortable, his knees and legs struggling to keep steady, but it won't stop him.
"Is it okay?"
The worry laced in your moans makes him thrust harder.
"Don't worry"
He almost feels bad about the beautiful satin dress you had picked for your date, now full of wrinkles. The makeup he can tell you've put so much effort in is now smeared on your face, your gloss making your lips stick to his with the faint scent of strawberry. He does feel bad, but he can't deny the sight makes his cock twitch where it's buried inside your tight walls. You push the strands of hair away from his face, eyes darting around his features, intense despite the fucked-out expression on your face.
"So pretty" you mutter.
An almost pained whine escapes Seonghwa's throat as he thrusts deeper into you, nails digging on the learher seats.
Yunho - clinginess
Some people might be worried about being too much: texting too often, asking to meet whenever possible, calling every day. You don't have to worry about that with Yunho.
He wants you blowing up his phone, calling him every night to tell him about your day. It might not be that obvious at first, but you can feel the shift in his tone if you don't text him that much or insist on knowing when you'll be meeting next.
"I wanted to call you all day, but work has been... you know"
"You must be so tired; are you finishing now?"
"Yeah, just leaving"
"How are you getting back home?"
Usually, you would catch the bus, bearing the dreadful hour-long commute back that leaves you relatively close to your apartment building. There is a silence, and Yunho waits, not as patiently as he likes to pretend he is. He can hear the hesitation in your voice, anticipation seething in his stomach as the seconds pass.
"You said you are off today?" you ask in a small voice and Yunho smiles. He makes an affirmative sound.
After a few seconds of silence, his patience is running out.
"Ask me" his tone is sweet, but there is an edge to it that makes you swallow.
You feel your pulse racing when you finally ask:
"Can you pick me up?"
"Be there in twenty"
He has to wait until you get in the car with him. He does his job as a proper boyfriend first: getting out of the car and trapping you into a tight, comforting hug before opening the passenger door for you. He watches you put on the seatbelt before he leans in and kisses you deeply. You feel the tightness in your shoulders ease at the touch, and he can feel it too.
"Did you miss me?" he asks, a pleased glint in his eyes when you nod "You should tell me"
"I missed you"
He drives you back home with his large hand settled on your thigh, warm and possessive. There is something about the way he holds you, the way he easily manoeuvres the wheel with only one hand that has you clasping your thighs together. He smiles and his fingers flex, digging slightly on the plush flesh of your inner thigh.
"Just a few more minutes. Then I'll take care of you"
San — affection
There's nothing that awakens the warm, not-so-innocent flutter in San's stomach as much as a chaste kiss pressed against the back of his hand. A soft caress on at the base of his nape, knuckles stroking his cheek with a light touch while holding eye contact.
The heated makeout session with hands tugging at clothes and lip biting do work on him, but it's the calmer, slow-paced way in which you kiss him that truly sets his body aflame. The way you leave soft kisses around his face, taking your time to let him feel how much you love him with each one has his heart swelling and feeling like he's about to burst with affection. You guide his lips open, the tip of your tongue teasing his for a second before you break the kiss, diving in for another one right away. Your breath fans on his face and he draws in a sharp inhale when his now obvious bulge presses against your leg. He swallows the moan that slips from your lips with a satisfied groan, his fingernails cratching at your lower back with restrained want. They move upwards until they settle on your face, pressing it against his as close as he can, buckling his hips again to chase that jolt of pleasure whenever they meet your body.
"Can we take my pants off?" he asks, lips still pressed against yours, warm and soft "Please"
Yeosang — obliviousness
Ironically, what some would consider Yeosang's biggest problem is also his biggest weakness when it comes to you. It's at these times that he can understand why everybody finds it so charming on him.
When you ask "Are you okay?" after he's been quiet for a while, placing your hand dangerously close to his crotch. He looks up at you, surprised, only to find genuine, unadulterated concern.
"Yes, of course"
You don't notice how his voice comes out a bit strained and just pat his thigh before going back to the conversation you had been having with Mingi and San.
When you kneel down to tie his laces that have come undone. It is not enough that his heart flutters at the action, but he can also feel the heat crawling downwards when your neckline exposes your lace bra to him from this new angle. You are completely unaware as you look up at him with a fake pout.
"You are a handful, you know that?"
He can feel the blush spreading across his cheeks and how restraining his pants feel all of a sudden. He brings a hand to his mouth, covering the nervous laugh he can't stop from bubbling out of his chest.
"What's that about?" you ask, amused yet confused.
Yeosang waves his hands in front of you, telling you to not even worry about it while he calms down himself. Finally, he grabs your hand.
"Can we go home?"
You tilt your head.
"Already? I mean, sure. Is everything okay?"
Yeosang nods with a throaty, affirmative noise. You suspect nothing on the way home, but when you close the door of your apartment you barely have time to set your keys down before he's got you caged against the wall. He is not aggressive nor hurried, arms wrapping around you in what some people might misunderstand as an intimate hug. But you know better.
"What is it?" you ask, teasing.
Yeosang simply buries his face on the crook of your neck with a shy smile and presses his whole body against yours, hard on pressing against your lower stomach through the rough fabric of his jeans. The sound you let out makes him shudder, and he holds you closer as he humps you right there in the middle of the hallway. There's only the sound of clothes, breathy moans, and dangling keys that you still have in your hand, shaking with every thrust of Yeosang's hips against your body.
"You are so cute..." he breathes against the shell of your ear, and you finally drop your keys.
Mingi — desire
There's nothing that strokes Mingi's ego and makes his heart flutter more than knowing how much you want him. The way your eyes drag across his body, slow and deliberate, drinking up every detail of his stage outfit before going up again and setting on his again. Pink has bloomed on his cheeks and ears, alongside a cocky, yet slightly nervous, toothy smile.
"Do you like it?"
He sees the way you swallow before answering, and it makes him bite at his bottom lip. You are trying so hard to look composed, all while he can see the hunger in your eyes, in the way your body has stiffened at his question.
"You look incredible"
His heart swells at the compliment. Mingi can feel his body growing hotter under your gaze, and the way he can tell you are aching to touch him both pleases and makes him pity you. He wants to give you what you want. Wants you to take what's yours.
After the show, the empty waiting room remains locked, but the truth of what's going on behind it is loud enough to be heard from the outside. Mingi sits on the couch, stage outfit still on while you ride him in a way that has his head titlted back an hands trembling at your sides. His legs are spread wide, pants unzipped, and boxers pulled down enough for you to fuck him. Your hips rut against his at a frantic pace, desperate to feel all of him as your hands travel all over his body.
"You look so good" you praise with a whiny moan "Thank you"
A few more sweet words in his ear, and Mingi doesn't last much longer. But you won't stop, and he will let you.
Wooyoung — understanding
With Wooyoung, it's easy to assume playful banter and laughter might be what he feels attracted to the most. However, when the laughter has died down and he becomes that quiet version of himself that isn't in the mood for jokes or to entertain it's almost like a test. He sometimes retracts in one of his moods, and can't bring himself to be the cheerful version of himself that charmed his way into your life, almost as if chekcing if you will stay.
When he has so much pent-up anger he ends up venting to you for minutes, hands cutting through the air in sharp, frustrated motions before you grab at them, fingers curling around them gently. You listen to him, to his voice that becomes broken and incredibly high-pitched, but you never ask him to lower it. You don't pull away, instead your hand settles on his lower back, drawing slow, soothing circles over his soft skin. That's when he has the intense need to hold you close until your bodies melt together. He wants sweat making your skin cling onto his like hot leather as he rolls his hips against yours, dick buried as deep as humanly possible inside your pussy.
"More" he moans against your neck.
He continues to push forward, refusing to pull out at all and abandon the warmth of your insides for even a second.
"Can't--" you whine undernat him, overwhelmed by the never-ending feeling of fullness. You pull at his hair in desperation "Wooyoung, please move"
But he doens't listen.
"More... more--"
Jongho — bashfulness
For Jongho, it's the way he can see the obvious way he affects you whenever he amps up the romanticism and intimacy, whether it's in public or in private. No matter the place or the occasion, there is always a brief moment in which he can see the way your eyes shy away from him and heat crawls up your face.
"You look beautiful today" he says, squeezing your hand a bit tighter.
You feel yourself melt under his gaze, so soft and yet so charged. You look away, fighting back a nervous smile.
"Thank you"
Jongho loves the effect he has on you, that bashful expression that you show only to him when he makes you feel pretty. Or when he has your wrists pinned above your head and you have nowhere to hide from him. His free hand grips at your jaw, forcing you to face him as he continues to fuck you, drawing embarrassing sounds out of your swollen lips.
"Why are you hiding that pretty face from me, hm?" his fingers slip around your neck, pressing hard enough to pin you in a way that makes it impossible for you to turn your head. You'll have to look at him, with your glassy eyes and embarrassed expression that makes his cock throb inside of you "You know how much I like it. Be good"
pairing. mean dom!hongjoong x 9th member!reader ft. san & wooyoung
warnings. dubcon (reader's consent isn't considered ever), forced dom/sub dynamics, suggestive content, punishments, (very much so) toxic relationship </3, manipulation/gaslighting, hj is indeed mean but it's the kind of unreasonable and borderline abusive mean, pet play, reader gets belittled a lot (esp by san & woo), implied captivity?? like reader's sheltered by hj, he's weird idk. for a request :)
you feel a tad bit anxious walking down the hallway beside hongjoong, glancing his way every five seconds, but never meeting his eyes. he doesn’t look at you, and that little detail is enough to tick you off. your fingers are intertwined together and his palm is bigger than yours, his skin warm in a way that you always find comforting—but all you can feel right now is the anxiety of potentially losing it.
you see the door to hongjoong’s studio getting bigger as you approach it and you can’t help but hold his hand tighter. he takes out his keys and swiftly unlocks the door before pushing it open. a front of cold air hits your body as he guides you first inside the dark room, his hand carefully letting go of yours. the only things helping you see are the colourful lights of his monitor and the light from the hallway.
you turn around to face hongjoong who still hasn’t said a word and who seems almost distant in the way he stands so far away from you, expressionless and cold. there’s a moment of silence where he simply looks at you, hand on the doorknob, expecting something.
you quickly connect the dots in your head, immediately dropping down to your knees. hongjoong slightly nods, finally expressing something that looks like contentment.
“good girl. you’ll stay there for me,” he calmly begins, “nice and quiet. alright?”
that, you don’t understand. your heart accelerates, mouth slowly parting. is this a punishment? have you done something bad? you don’t think so. you haven’t been punished, or lectured, as hongjoong calls it, in a very long time. you don’t need to, not anymore; you’re fully trained, that’s what he said—what they all said.
you crawl towards hongjoong, wanting to close the gap between you, but he makes you stop in your tracks as soon as you put a hand in front of you.
“don’t.” his mouth is in a straight line, but you see his brows twitching. he’s displeased—hongjoong is clearly not as patient today, he won’t let anything pass. “i’ll put you in your cage if you want to be a brat.” you recoil at that, shaking your head. “so when i tell you something, you do it.”
he stares you down, as though daring you to do something else, but you keep still. that is until he walks out of the room, pulling the door with him, and you crawl as fast as you can across the floor, terrified he’ll leave you there.
hongjoong is already on the other side of the door when you reach it. “joong!” you cry, pulling on the handle, but it’s obviously locked. “joong, please!” you hit the metal with your flat hands, banging on the door. your eyes quickly fill up in water and your throat starts to close. “don’t leave me, please! i’m so sorry!”
you notice the shadow of his shoes moving and you watch him stepping away from you, leaving you alone and helpless in the complete dark. you stand up to switch the light open, but no matter how many times you flick the switch up and down, nothing lights up. you start wondering if this isn’t working on purpose, too.
you sniffle, wiping your tears with the heel of your palm. the last time you were in this situation, you had disobeyed your leader, but also seonghwa—which made it worse for you—by missing your daily check-up. hongjoong is the one in charge of it, though, this time, seonghwa had been the one to do it, if you hadn’t accidentally missed it.
it’d been a long and exhausting punishment. instead of the studio, it was the bathroom adjoining hongjoong’s room. no contact with the members for almost 36 hours, only the incessant buzzing of the lights and the cold tiles that you’d slept on for the night like a mistreated dog.
since then, no punishment has been necessary, you make sure of it—except now.
you almost miss the bathroom—at least, you could look at stuff. hongjoong’s pc is the only thing you can see and the keyboard in front of his monitor. after an hour or two, looking at it becomes boring and annoying. what did you do for him to want to punish you?
sitting on the ground hugging your knees and nearly dozing off, you get startled by voices coming in the hallway. you recognize san’s and wooyoung’s voice, which has you rushing to the door, knocking on it.
“sannie?” you call, hoping for him to hear you.
the voices pause. after a second of silence, san calls out your name, too. “baby? is that you?”
“yes! please, can you open the door?”
your heart beats faster as you hear the lock being turned and the door opens about an inch, the sudden light blinding you. it’s open enough to see you, but not enough to let you out.
“what are you doing here?” wooyoung asks.
you feel your nose stinging, new tears appearing in your eyes at the reminder of how you ended up locked in hongjoong’s studio.
“please, it’s- it’s been…” you don’t finish your sentence, not even sure of how long you’ve been in there. “hongjoong didn’t tell me anything. what’s happening, guys?”
at the mention of your leader’s name, san and wooyoung look at each other briefly before putting their eyes back on you. “we have a meeting in about 20 minutes,” san answers.
you frown. “well, then… let me out,” you say, but with the expression on their faces and the look they shared, something tells you they don’t intend to do that.
“doll, you know we can’t do that,” wooyoung responds, sounding disappointed, like he’s pitying you. “i don’t think joong wants you there.”
you don’t have anything to say in return, you’re speechless. what does that even mean?
“but i’m sure he’ll come back after.” san smiles, though it doesn’t reassure you a lot. what if he doesn’t? will you have to stay here another day?
“please,” you beg with tearful eyes, your voice down to a desperate murmur.
“we’re sorry, baby,” san says, his smile now feeling bittersweet to you. “give us a kiss before we go. what about that, mh?”
you know his request is a way to tell you to not worry your head about it, like you’re too dumb to understand, but you nod your head anyway.
san leans down to your level and you kiss him, wooyoung offering his lips to you just after. soon enough, the door closes back on you and you listen to their chatter until it becomes a distant and unintelligible sound.
a.n.: pls reblog guys if you liked it i would appreciate it so much pls begging on my knees don’t let me flop. it only take 5 seconds ty okay bye
Synopsis: Jongho has had a crush on you for the longest time. the only problem? you don’t feel the same way. he thinks he can live with the burden of that. until one night, he decides that not having you is something he will never be able to accept.
tw: non-con/extremely dubious consent, somnophilia, degradation, dacryphilia, Jongho is mean, cream pie, jealousy, rough sex, possessive behavior. If you don’t like, don’t bother reading or commenting. thank ya!!!
Jongho thinks he’s had a crush on you from the very first time he laid eyes on you. You both were very young back then. Of course, he had no idea why his heart would beat so fast and his palms became so sweaty whenever he was around you, but a few more years down the line, he slowly started to put the pieces together.
Jongho had the biggest, most sickly and disgusting, raging crush on you.
But you didn’t feel the same way.
It was pretty clear that you had no interest in him. You were too busy gushing to Jongho’s older sister about boys from your university, none of them being anything remotely similar to Jongho. You liked boys who were older, much older, and stronger and bigger than you too.
You liked them smart and outgoing. Jongho didn’t see himself as any of those things.
When he first realized he was crushing hard on you back in his freshman year of high school, Jongho was still small and meek, a lanky boy with big eyes and a heart that beat for the prettiest girl in school. He still vividly remembers the first time he popped a boner because of you. He was truly a lost cause from the beginning.
But he was never brave enough to act upon any of his feelings. He thought that just getting to be your friend for now was good enough. everyone wanted to be friends with you anyway. Jongho guesses that having his sister be your best friend came to his advantage in a way.
But as the years passed, and things started to change, the one thing that remained unmoving was how you made Jongho feel. What used to be an innocent little crush that would make him swoon became something that started to intoxicate him.
Jongho’s mind had long since strayed from innocent thoughts of getting to hold your hand and ask you out on cute dates where he’d kiss you on the cheek and tell you how beautiful you are.
Jongho was not a little boy anymore. His high school days are over. He’s grown a good few inches since then. His body is strong, with broad shoulders and thick thighs that would make any girl swoon.
His cheeks have lost their softness, jaw chiseled and more defined now instead. His speech is no longer quiet and slurred. His voice is deep and his words are much more calculated.
His thoughts changed drastically too. He looks at you with hunger behind his eyes.
The hands he had once dreamed of intertwining his fingers with were now the ones he imagined trapping in his grasp, pinned above your head. The waist he had once longed to wrap his arms around and hold close was now one he imagined digging his fingertips into, leaving deep purple bruises in their wake.
The lips he thought of gently kissing he now pictures red and puffy from his teeth biting into them.
Everything about Jongho changed. He now desires you in a much more carnal way than ever before. but despite all that, you still won’t look at him.
It’s started to make Jongho beyond frustrated. having to see you come over and talk to his sister about every boy you’ve been seeing or hooking up with, when he’s the one that’s been pining after you for so long. it’s simply unfair and it makes Jongho want to pull his hair out.
He hates having to see you dressed in skimpy little outfits, prancing around their house and getting ready, only to go out to clubs with his sister where other men would get to have their eyes and disgusting hands all over your body.
Everyone else but Jongho got to have a taste of you and he was slowly starting to despise you for that. Having to see you so often became too overbearing when he realized you would never return his feelings. You would never look at Jongho the way he looks at you; with lust.
All that you see him as is your best friend’s little brother. That’s all he’ll ever be in your eyes.
Jongho fucking hates that thought with a fiery passion.
It’s not uncommon for you to sleep over at their house most days. Jongho knows you prefer being here rather than with your own parents, since they’ve never really been good to you. Every time his sister and you go out clubbing, you’re guaranteed to come back to their place and sleep over.
Lately, it’s become a much more frequent occurrence for you to come back by yourself, after Jongho’s sister ends up ditching you at whatever party you were at, for any guy she decided to leave with that night. Which left you to come back to the house alone.
Where the only one waiting was Jongho.
Most nights he’d sleep through the sound of the front door slamming and shuffling inside the house. But something made him startle awake this time around. Jongho is by no means a light sleeper, but today the sound of kitchen cabinets opening and closing rouse him from slumber, and the constant hiccups and loud steps padding through the living room wouldn’t let him go back to sleep.
It’s like that for a good ten minutes. The commotion keeps him awake, staring at the ceiling of his room with a scowl etched between his brows, until it stops. The house falls silent again, almost as if it’s just him and no one else. But Jongho knows he’s not the only one in the house anymore, and since he didn’t hear his sister’s bedroom door opening, he knows she must not be the other person inside the house either.
After another five minutes or so of silently staring into the darkness, he finally decides to kick the blankets off his body and get out of bed. The floor creaks as he walks and the tiles in the hallway are cold beneath his feet.
He wishes he had put some socks on.
Coming to a stop behind the living room couch he glances over at the tv that’s playing some sort of horror movie on mute that he knows he didn’t leave it on before going to bed. With a sigh, he walks closer and peers over the back of the couch.
Of course, lying pretty, with hair splayed over the cushions and lips pouted outwards, is none other than you. Dressed in nothing but a tiny top and a skirt that rides halfway up your thighs, your shoes not even off your feet.
“Sweet,” Jongho comments dryly, pursing his lips before walking around the couch to crouch before you. Shamelessly, he lets his eyes rake over your body, lingering on your exposed thighs, making his brows pinch together in sudden unreasonable frustration.
Of course you had to come in here, looking like a beautiful disaster, smelling of sweet perfume and cigarette smoke, with glitter clinging to your lids and cheeks, most likely drunk off your ass.
“You’re a mess,” Jongho scoffs. He doesn’t know why, but he reaches for your ankles, untying the laces that he can tell you must have struggled with, only to give up on. He slips the shoes off and starts to grow more frustrated by the second.
“Had fun, Y/N?” he smiles bitterly with no genuine joy behind it. He doesn’t even look at you as he speaks. “I’m guessing not since you came back all by yourself.”
You stir in your sleep, mumbling something incoherently before you quiet back down. Your hands are clutched into tiny fists by your head and your knees are bent up, curling into yourself. You look annoyingly adorable and Jongho can’t understand why he’s so angered by the image.
“Probably let yourself be groped up at the party, didn’t you?” He spits with malice. “Let everyone just use you right then and there, didn’t even wait for someone to take you home.” You don’t make a single sound, only breathing evenly as you keep on sleeping peacefully.
“Pathetic.”
Jongho knows he has no right to do this. To say these words to you. To see you as a slut even though you’ve given him no reason to perceive you as such. But it’s the fact that you want everyone out there.
Everyone else but him.
He doesn’t even think twice before his eyes zero in on where your skirt has lifted enough to offer him a perfect view of your underwear. The light coming from the tv is also doing a good enough job of letting him get a better look.
He shouldn’t. He’s disgusting. He’s cruel. He should feel ashamed.
He flips your skirt up.
The sight of pink lace makes his hands squeeze into fists and his mouth water involuntarily. Pretty, soft, delicate skin. Unmarked. Unclaimed. Right before his eyes.
Jongho is going to either gouge his eyes out or get his hands all over your unconscious body in front of him.
He opts for the latter.
It’s with a cautious move that he lets his palm run down the swell of your ass. Your skin dips ever so slightly underneath the pressure of his touch. The fat springs back into place when his fingertips dig in and out. Jongho bites his bottom lip until he draws blood.
Of course every part of you just has to be pretty and irresistible.
Jongho is positively seething at this point.
“No one deserves you YN,” he mutters lowly, letting his hand trail down to the back of your thigh, digging his fingertips into the plumpness of it firmly enough to make you whine in your sleep and flip over onto your stomach, offering him easy access.
“But i do.”
Jongho hooks his index underneath soft lace. His eyes drift briefly over to your face, before he focuses right back. The anger is still present. It’s finally time, he decides. Time to take what is rightfully his.
He’s waited long enough.
“I deserve this.”
Of course you’re still infinitely pretty everywhere. Even where Jongho’s never seen you before. He stares intently at your pussy that’s completely bare and smooth and inviting enough for him to part and expose your hole with two fingers.
You’re all soft and pink, glistening beautifully before his eyes. He wants to slap his palm right on top of your cunt just so he can punish you for being so perfect even where you’re not supposed to be.
He circles a tentative finger around the tight opening instead.
It’s clear as day why anyone would want to get a taste of you. You’re far better than any of Jongho’s wet dreams. Every time he’s imagined himself with his head buried between your thighs, it didn’t even come close to how good you looked in real life.
“Look at that,” he whispers, scooting closer and using his other hand to keep your panties pushed to the side. “How many cocks got to sink into this sloppy cunt, hm?” he tugs so hard that he thinks he can hear the lace slowly starting to rip in his hold.
“Who did you whore around for before finally getting to me, Y/N?”
Of course you didn’t “get” to him willingly. If you hadn’t passed out drunk on the couch and if Jongho wasn’t such a disgusting pervert, this would’ve probably never happened.
But alas, it did.
And there’s no going back now.
The feeling of moisture against his fingertips takes Jongho aback and it makes his jaw clench. Of course you’re wet from the faintest of touches. Pretty and responsive. Could things get any better?
Jongho’s hand is shoved inside his sweatpants before he even gets to blink twice. He’s uselessly fisting at his cock that is now undeniably hard, knowing that what he needs in order to alleviate the ache is to sink it right into the cunt he’s been ogling at.
Rising up to his feet, he tugs his pants low enough for his dick to spring free and bob into the open air, hot and hard to the touch. His eyes are locked onto your face, watching as you still sleep soundlessly, without a single clue about what’s about to occur next.
His knee props up on the couch cushion right next to your head. With one hand he takes a hold of himself and with the other he smooths your hair off your face, tilting your chin back.
“Pretty girl,” he sighs, circling the tip of his dick around your puckered lips. “All mine. just like you were meant to be.” His head prods at your mouth until it finally opens, lips suckling as if it was a pacifier. Jongho grits his teeth and tries his hardest not to slip his entire length down your throat. He lets you suck gently on the tip and drink up all the precum that’s being offered to you.
“Fucking cock slut. Look at you.” Jongho’s thumb pushes at the corner of your mouth, encouraging you to open it further. “So eager to have something in your mouth even when you sleep.” You whimper weakly, eyelids starting to twitch. Jongho pays it no mind, guiding his dick little by little inside your mouth, engulfing himself in warmth and wetness, making his balls constrict.
The sight of you sleeping so blissfully unaware with your pussy out in the open and your mouth stuffed with cock makes him almost shoot his load right then and there. Before he realizes it, Jongho has slid far enough inside your mouth to make you gurgle. Your eyes flutter open in confusion.
Strings of spit still cling from your lips and onto Jongho’s shaft, the sight utterly obscene. You cough, hand reaching forward to weakly paw at Jongho’s thigh, fingers grasping at the material of his sweatpants.
“What the fuck-“
It takes you a little while to be able to focus enough on the sight in front of you. You blink up weakly. “Jongho?” Your eyes need a few long seconds to adjust to the darkness, but when they do, they look as if they might pop out of their sockets when you take notice of Jongho sitting before you with his dick out in the open, hard and wet with your spit. “W-what’s going on?”
“Go back to sleep, Y/n,” Jongho’s tone was gruff and unwavering. A slight threat.
Your face falls. Your eyes take in the scene in front you much more clearly, face becoming overtaken by fear.
“What are you d-doing?” you ask, trying to scramble back. Jongho is quicker, though. His fingers wrap around your chin in a bruising grip before you can get too far. You stare up at him in pure horror.
“For once, just let me have this,” Jongho grits, watching as your mouth parts, but seemingly not knowing how you should reply.
“Don’t speak.”
“Jongho,” you whisper, squirming uncomfortably and still trying to scoot back when you see him grab a hold of his dripping cock, “Y-you can’t do this.”
“Why not?” Jongho scoffs, leaning in until he’s speaking right in your face. “This is all your fault, you know?” he spits, watching your eyes grow bigger. “You made me like this. Had me running after you like some sick puppy, only to kick me away like a stray every single time. You left me no choice.”
Your bottom lip starts to tremble, a yelp escaping from the back of your throat when Jongho grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you closer until your foreheads press together. “Why don’t you ever look at me?” Jongho asks, hurt evident in his voice. “Why don’t you like me?”
“I-I do like you!” You cry out, trying to pry his hand away with your weaker ones, but it’s to no use.
“Not the way I want you to.” He shakes his head, as though what he’s about to do has been decided long before this moment. The certainty in his expression makes your heart pound with fear. He releases your hair, only to seize the nape of your neck instead, his grip firm enough to keep you exactly where he wants you.
“Not the way I like you.”
“This is wrong Jongho, please!” You desperately plead, trying to kick your feet, but to no use. It doesn’t deter Jongho in the slightest.
“It is,” Jongho nods his head. He knows it’s wrong. He knows he should stop. But you owe him this. “I’m sorry.”
Before you have the chance to scream, the breath is knocked out of your lungs as Jongho manhandles you, flipping you onto your front. Your skirt is still flipped up, underwear hanging crookedly over your hips. It’s relatively easy for Jongho to reach between your thighs and cup you right on top of where you’re warmest.
“No, stop!” You struggle uselessly, cries getting more frightened by the second as Jongho continues on unbothered. “Jongho, get off, seriously!”
Jongho can tell you’re still drunk. Your movements are sluggish, your speech slightly slurred. You kick your legs weakly and try to scoot away, but you’re far too slow for someone who supposedly doesn’t want this. He uses that as an advantage.
A sharp slap lands against your cunt, making you squeak as your body stills instantly. “Let me have this,” Jongho grits out, anger roughening every word. As though this is somehow your fault. As though you’ve done something to wrong him.“Stop refusing me.”
“Please, please, please…let me go,” You hiccup weakly, trying to shift your hips away, but it’s no use. Jongho is already dragging your underwear down your thighs with one hand, the other holding your hands tightly behind your back.
“Why does everyone get to have you but me?” Jongho asks bitterly, like he can’t make sense of why you insist on denying him. “Look at this,” he scoffs incredulously, running a tentative finger through your folds. “How many people got to have a taste of this cunt before me?”
You gasp wetly, falling stiff as a board, as if all your fight or flight instincts have suddenly left. You can do nothing but breathe heavily as Jongho’s fingers start to run up and down through your parted folds. The first press to your clit has you yelping and trembling, as if a button had been pushed inside of you. Your body reacts against your own will, hole slicking in an instant. When Jongho’s fingertips come back sticky he chuckles darkly.
“Of course you’re wet,” He presses down even more punishingly on your clit, making your legs flail, mouth falling open. “You don’t even want me, yet your little cunny is gushing at the slightest touch.”
A shudder of humiliation goes through you. You think you should definitely be fighting a lot harder than are. Your high pitched mewls are not doing much to help you in your current predicament.
“W-wait, stop,” You gasps at the first hint of a finger near your opening. “Please!” Your pleas fall upon deaf ears as Jongho easily sinks two fingers down to the knuckle. He grunts. You feel snug and warm—like you’re trying to suck him right in.
Jonghos wondered for so long how you would feel inside. He can’t believe the day in which his questions are being answered has finally come. “Fucking tight,” he grunts, fingers scissoring inside your cunt mercilessly, adding another alongside the first two.
It’s a tight fit, but your gushing hole accepts it greedily. “Love your slutty body.” Your hands try weakly to slide out of Jongho’s grip. So weakly it can’t even be considered an actual attempt. Jongho wants to laugh at the futile attempt but he focuses on thrusting his fingers harder instead.
"Could probably break you right in half.” It’s not a lie. You looks so small and fragile underneath him right now. The words, although they don't sound like a genuine threat, are far from false. "Fuck you so hard that you'd ache for days on end."
You sob pitifully, face splotchy with tears and mouth overfilling with spit that dribbles down the corners of your mouth. This already feels like too much and Jongho hasn’t even gotten his dick inside of you yet. “You’d like it too,” Jongho continues to speak. He curls his fingers causing you to release a choked sound. “I know you would.” You try to shake your head no, but your neck aches too much in your position.
“Filthy little slut.”
A whine escapes you when the fingers inside of you suddenly pull out without warning, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing, still wet and throbbing in the chilly air of the room. You take that as a chance and desperately struggle to push yourself up when your arms get released. Jongho is on you in an instant, having climbed up on the couch behind you, hands forcefully holding your hips down. You sob softly as you grip onto the couch arm uselessly, blunt fingernails digging into the velvety material.
The breath gets knocked out of your lungs when you feel something prodding at your entrance. “I’m going to fuck you,” Jongho says without a hint of doubt. No hint of hesitation. Jongho wholeheartedly means what he says and you know that. Which is exactly why you’re absolutely terrified, heart now stuck in your throat.
“N-no, Jongho, please! I’ll do anything! Y-you can take me out—we’ll go on a date, and we can do whatever you want. Please!”You desperately try to reason with him.
On any other day, Jongho might have considered your proposal. He wishes it didn’t have to come to this for you to finally entertain the idea of going on a date with him. Jongho lets out a heavy sigh. “You’d do anything?”
You nod frantically. “Anything!”
Jongho pretends to think it over. He ponders with a hand holding his dick and the other pressing down on the small of your back, keeping you in place.
“Then sit still,” He finally grunts followed by a sharp thrust of his hips. A painful wheeze rips straight out of your lungs when he shoves himself inside your outstretched cunt, bottoming out in one go. Fat tears instantly roll down your already sticky cheeks, your frail body getting jostled forward from the powerful thrust.
“Shit,” Jongho grunts at the same time as you whisper another “please” that goes unanswered. “Always knew you’d have the tightest pussy.”
Your stomach stirs as Jongho begins to pull out, the drag feeling searing against your walls, only to push right back in twice as powerful. You think you see white for a solid moment.
“Oh God,” you moan, gripping tightly onto the couch as you get mercilessly plowed into. The worst part of it all is when it starts to feel good. You can’t deny how deliciously heavy Jongho feels inside of you. How well he’s pounding you right into the couch, making you feel small and helpless underneath him, completely overpowered.
You gush around his cock so much you’re sure you made a puddle underneath yourself. “Mine,” Jongho growls, lowering down enough so he can nip on the back of your neck. “All of you belongs to me, Y/n. This pretty little body of yours,” You cry out when your front gets lifted enough for Jongho to sneak his hands underneath your chest and cup your breasts over your top, “These fat tits,” you positively sob when your bra is pushed down and your perky nipples get exposed to the air of the room, twisted by skillful fingers, “This tight little cunt.” the statement is accompanied by a powerful thrust that you feel all the way in your tummy. “Mine, Mine, Mine. You’re all mine.”
You can do nothing but keep on moaning as you get fucked within an inch of your life, filthy words being continuously grunted in your ear as you unwillingly hurl towards an orgasm, screaming as you cum and let go all around Jongho’s cock.
“God, you really are just the perfect whore,” Jongho’s hips piston into you, making your ass jiggle with every powerful thrust, painfully overstimulating your sensitive hole as he pounds you with purpose. Before you can try to recover, and get a grasp on reality, Jongho is cumming hotly inside of you, making you keen high in your throat as you feel how deep he shoots his load.
You’re unable to do anything else but slump down with a defeated whimper.
“Good, so good. Did so well,” Jongho practically purrs, pressing kisses over your shoulder blades, still holding you down. “I knew you’d like it.”
You want to scream. To tell him that you didn’t like it. That it was wrong. But that would clearly be a lie. The only thing you can do is whine.
“Shh, don’t worry,” Jongho leans forward so he can reach your face, kissing your cheek tenderly. “I’m not done with you yet.”
You lost the power to protest long ago.
Jongho sits behind the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cornflakes when his sister walks into the house at the crack of dawn. She seems surprised to find him awake so early in the morning. Quickly scanning the room, she realizes it’s just the two of them.
“Where’s Y/n?” she asks, furrowing her brows as she tosses her purse onto the couch.
Jongho shrugs. “Dunno.”
She yawns loudly as she clumsily slips off her shoes. “Whatever. I’m going to bed. Don’t wake me up.”
Jongho rolls his eyes, but a slight smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. He wouldn’t even dream of it. When the door to his sister’s bedroom shuts loudly, he deems it safe to get up and places his bowl in the sink before retreating to his own room.
The sun has just started to rise, and his room is engulfed in a weak yellow glow.
Jongho thinks there is nothing more beautiful in the world than the sight of you lying in his bed in the warm glow of the sunrise—naked and bruised, completely debauched and cum stained.
“Hi, pretty baby.” He smiles widely as he locks the door behind him. You whine from behind the makeshift gag Jongho tied around your head and shoved inside your mouth. “Guess what?”
You whine weakly as Jongho stalks toward you, carefully climbing onto the bed and hovering above you. When he frees your mouth and lets you catch your breath, he speaks the words you don’t know if you’ve been dreading or somehow excitedly anticipating.
“I get to have you for the whole day.”
You don’t even have time to respond before he’s kissing you again. And again. And then again, until the world around you disappears, until you melt into the mattress and into Jongho’s arms.
Where you belong.
A/N: I’m not happy with this but I couldn’t leave yall hanging. I’ll do better on the next fic I post. Thank you for reading though 🫶🏽
You were having second thoughts. You loved the man you were to wed, but you still weren’t sure if it was the right move for you. Logically, it made sense to marry him. He loved you, you loved him, your families got along… There were other things on the list, but your brain kept stopping there.
Okay, when he got down on one knee and proposed to you, that’s when things changed. You thought your proposal would be more heart fluttering— and he did his best to make it as romantic as possible, but your heart was not in it. You agreed to marry him because it was the best thing to say in that situation, and other than you being not mentally prepared to marry him, there was no other reason to say no.
So, you married him. You pushed through those second thoughts of yours and just did it. You were happy. Yes, you were happy with the man by your side because you knew that he would always make sure you were happy.
The second thoughts returned as the two of you sat side by side on a couch in front of the photographer. You were taking pictures with your wedding guests, and you had the same smile plastered to your face in every picture because you were spacing out to the point where you were having an out of body experience.
“Y/N?”
You were still in your head when the person called your name, and it took a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder for you to return to reality. You looked to the source of the squeeze and saw a man you had never met before, yet you felt like you knew him from somewhere. He shot you a small smile and asked softly, “Are you okay?”
“Y-Yeah!” you responded, the fake smile plastered to your face once more. “I’m sorry… Who are you? Have we met before?”
“Oh, I’m Jongho,” the man responded. “I work with your husband. And, no, we’ve never met before.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jongho. I hope you continue to work well with my husband in the future.”
“I know I’ll work well, the question is will your husband?” he chuckled.
“I want to say I have full faith that he will, but considering how often he dashed out of work to meet me for dates, I doubt it,” you couldn’t help but laugh as well.
“Honestly, who wouldn’t want to rush out of work? Especially when it’s to be with someone beautiful?”
Your heart fluttered. You were sure he was saying that in the way that people called the bride beautiful, but hearing that word out of his mouth had much more of an effect on you. You wanted to thank him, but the words were stuck in your throat. So, you bowed your head and hoped that he wouldn’t see the blush rise to your cheeks.
With another shoulder squeeze, Jongho stood right behind you and alongside a couple other people your husband worked with, and for that specific photograph, you had a genuine smile on your face.
That should’ve been the end of that. You never thought you’d meet him again, but fate has a funny way of working.
Your life was great. One year into your marriage, and everything was great. You had an amazing husband, an amazing house, an amazing career— everything was great; even the sex was great (even if he demolished your body every time you fucked). Yet, something was off. You couldn’t figure out what it was, but there was a little nagging feeling in the back of your head that never seemed to leave.
“Don’t forget, we’re hosting the dinner tonight,” your husband reminded you.
“How could I forget?” you mumbled, your anxiety already beginning to sky rocket. “This is the first party…”
“And it’ll go great,” he immediately reassured you. “I’ll come home early to help out, okay?”
“Alright.”
With a kiss on your cheek, your husband took off for work, and moments later, you did as well.
You could barely focus at work. You were nervous as hell for this dinner. Apparently during a work party one day, your husband and some of his work friends decided it would be nice to get together on a Friday night, and it was decided that you and your husband would host the very first one of these get-togethers.
By the time you got home, you were exhausted. Your husband said he would come home early to help, but he texted you saying that he was going to be late, that “Wooyoung fucked something up again” which meant he was stuck at the office until he fixed it.
You started preparing for the dinner when the doorbell rang, and when you answered the door you saw Jongho holding flowers and a bottle of champagne.
“Oh! Hi, Jongho,” you greeted, immediately recollecting his name from the time you met him at your wedding.
“Hi, Y/N. May I come in?”
“Of course!”
“San told me he was going to bring Wooyoung, Wooyoung’s fiancée, and Mingi after they fixed up the thing Wooyoung messed up,” Jongho explained.
“Was it really that bad?” you asked.
“Let’s just say if this doesn’t get fixed tonight, Wooyoung’s pretty much done.”
“Yikes… Okay, well, you’re still pretty early, so have a seat and get comfy—”
“No, Y/N, I came to help you. San said that he was going to help you, but he’s stuck at the office, I offered to come help.”
Your heart skipped a beat. Perhaps it was the way Jongho phrased it, but the way he was talking was as if he wanted to help rather than San asking him to help.
“Well, I don’t see why not,” you said with a smile and a shrug. “Wanna help me prep the vegetables?”
Just like that, time flew by. You didn’t realize that you and Jongho were in the kitchen for three hours— you were waiting for your husband and his coworkers for three hours— because you were so busy talking the whole time. He kept telling you stories about his past, and you were sucked into them because he was just so good at storytelling.
During dinner as well, you found yourself wanting to talk to Jongho more than your own husband. There was just something about him, something about his laugh, his smile, his energy— he was so different from your husband to the point where you almost found it refreshing, as if after one year of marriage somehow made your relationship go stale.
“You seemed to enjoy the dinner a lot tonight,” San commented as you got ready for bed.
“R-really? I hadn’t noticed,” you said, your nerves starting to prick at you for absolutely no reason.
“And you were so nervous about it too,” he laughed. “See, I told you it’ll go great, and it did. Thank God Jongho was there to help you otherwise I know you would’ve set the kitchen on fire.”
“Yes… Thank God,” you murmured. “We should thank him.”
You got into bed and got comfortable under the covers, and immediately, San’s arms reached out for you, and he brought you into a hug. He buried his nose in your hair and sighed deeply, happily. You thought you were going to be able to sleep that night peacefully, but San has other plans. You felt his waist roll into yours, a little grunt escaping the depths of his throat.
He wanted to have sex. You? Not so much, but when it came to sex, San was an unstoppable force. It wasn’t like he was forcing you, but rather you were trying to reciprocate and serve your purpose in this marriage.
This time, however, you were able to because all you could think about while your husband made love to you was Jongho.
You were grateful for these parties that your husband and his work friends came up with. They were a great way to unwind after a stressful week at work, and you got to see Jongho.
Every time you saw Jongho, your heart skipped a beat, fluttered, raced— it reacted to him and only him. Even when you were in bed with your husband, you couldn’t get into the mood with him unless you were thinking about Jongho and what it would be like if he made love to you.
It got to a point where you even considered divorcing San just to be with Jongho, but you instantly felt horrible even thinking along those lines. If you left San for his coworker, that would ruin everything. So, you had to settle for fleeting moments and stolen glances while hoping that the feelings would fade sooner or later.
San started working late every single day at some point. He hated that he was leaving you alone for so long and would complain to his coworkers about it, and Jongho used those days where San would be buried in work to visit you and keep you company so that you weren’t all alone in your big house.
The more time you spent with Jongho, the stronger your feelings got, and you knew that you were definitely falling in love with him. You had feelings for him that you never felt for your husband, which finally made you understand what you were missing in your life— and as cheesy as it sounds, it was true love.
One night, you and Jongho were having dinner together when you got a call from San. You excused yourself and went to your bedroom to take the call, not wanting Jongho to hear the conversation between you and your husband.
“Hi, Sannie,” you forced his nickname out of you as you sat down on your bed.
“Hi, my love,” San sounded exhausted on the phone. “I have no idea when this will get resolved… I think I’m going to crash at Wooyoung’s tonight.”
“Alright, don’t work yourself too hard,” you told him.
“Thank you. I love you.”
You choked on the words. Your eyes flitted to Jongho, who was standing under the door frame, an unreadable look on his face as crossed his arms over his chest he leaned against the door. You bit your lower lip before uttering out the words you had to say but didn’t mean.
“I love you, too.”
San hung up first, your hand slowly lowering to your lap as you heard the beeping of the call ending. You sighed softly and raised your eyes to make eye contact with Jongho once more.
“Y/N,” he uttered. “It hurts me to see you lie like this…”
“I have no choice.” You lowered your gaze and looked at the wedding band on your finger. “He’s my husband.”
Jongho approached you and sat on the bed next to you, his hand reaching for yours. You should’ve stopped it, but your body craved his touch even in the most minimal way.
“You need to stop lying to yourself,” Jongho whispered. “You need to say those words and actually mean it, not just to keep up an act.”
“It’s not so simple, Jongho—”
“You need to relearn the meaning of those words. You need to know what it’s like when someone you actually love says those words to you.”
“Please don’t—”
“I love you.”
You didn’t want him to say it because you knew the second he did, your heart would be his, and the second he did, your heart yearned for him. Your heart begged to tell him the words back, but your mind wouldn’t let you.
“Jongho…” your voice wavered.
“I seriously am in love with you, and I can’t deny my feelings for you any longer. I don’t think you can either.”
He held your hand and laced his fingers with yours as he leaned towards you and tucked your hair behind your ear, his fingers tracing a line along your jaw and tilting your chin up.
“Let’s stop lying to ourselves…”
“I can’t…”
“Y/N…”
“Jongho…”
The look in Jongho’s eye and the way he was holding you was enough. You overruled the logic in your brain and leaned into him, his lips meeting yours feverishly. His hand moved to caress your cheek while the other one moved up your back slowly, his fingers gliding over the satin fabric of your dress shirt.
You sighed softly as his lips left yours and traveled down your neck, his fingers nimbly unbuttoning the buttons of your blouse, revealing your skin little by little. He slipped the shirt off you completely then swiftly removed your bra, his lips trailing kisses down until he reached your tit. He latched on and sucked hard, your arms quickly wrapping around him as you moaned lightly.
“J-jongho,” you whispered, your hand cupping his cheek.
He looked up at you with the softest eyes that nearly made you cry. Seeing the tears beginning to prick at your eyes, Jongho immediately pressed his lips against yours. He cupped your face and kissed you softly over and over again as he pushed you back slowly until your back was pressing against the mattress and your head was on top of the pillows.
Jongho straddled you and sat back onto his heels before slowly removing his shirt, his toned muscles glistening under the moonlight as he moved forward. He placed his thumb lightly on your lips and tugged your lower lip down as his other hand got you out of your bottoms and panties. His thumb continued to play your lips while his other hand stroked your folds, your back arching as electricity ran through your body just with his simple touch. You held onto his shoulders as you whimpered softly, your toes starting to curl into the sheets the longer he teased you.
“Jongho, I need you inside me,” you whispered as you looked at him through hazy eyes.
He responded by kissing your temple and giving you a tiny nod. “Protection?” he asked.
Leaning over, you pulled open the nightstand drawer and grabbed a condom. Jongho ran his fingers along your arm sensually to take it from you. Without a moment to lose, he rid himself of his pants and underwear before he tore the packet open and rolled the condom on, his cock twitching as it anticipated entering you. He lowered himself so that he was pinning you down, his hand positioning his cock at your entrance.
Jongho cock was thick— so thick, in fact, that you thought he was going to tear your pussy. You pushed your head into the cushions and moaned loudly, your hands grabbing onto his arms for support. You heard him groan as he shoved his thick cock all the way inside you, your walls clenching as you tried to adjust to his girth. He dropped his head into the nook of your neck and let out another groan, his cock staying in place.
In the time you had known and spent time with him, you never noticed the little freckle on his neck. Now, seeing his neck up close, you got a beautiful view of it, and you were entranced. You traced your nail lightly along his neck, making the man look at you with the most gentle eyes you had ever seen.
“Beautiful,” you murmured.
Jongho blushed slightly upon the compliment, his cock bulging in you as it also responded to the compliment. When he moved his hips away, the pleasure only increased, making you want him more desperately. You reached for his neck and brought his face to yours, your lips briefly brushing against his before you pressed your forehead to his, light gasps leaving the two of you as Jongho started to properly move.
You honestly had no idea the amount of power Jongho had until he started to fuck you for real. He went from tenderly rolling his body into yours to fully ramming his cock deep inside you, the force of his waist against your ass pushing you backwards. Before your head to could hit the headboard, Jongho placed his hand on the top of your head and left it there as he continued to thrust powerfully.
When he dropped from his hand to his elbow, his cock changed angles, and he was rubbing along your G-spot over and over again to the point where you felt euphoria coming at you like a truck. You wrapped your legs around his waist and bit your lower lip to keep your moans to a minimum, but you failed when your vision went white and your cunt convulsed.
“Fuck,” Jongho grunted as he felt your walls squeeze him so hard he felt like his dick was about to break off. “I’m cumming.”
Running your fingers through his hair, your brought his face to yours once more and kissed him sweetly before he released his load in you, his cock throbbing and getting bigger some how as his cum spurt into the condom.
Jongho remained inside you as he dropped his head into the nook of your neck, his nose rubbing gently against your skin and his hot breath tickling your collarbone. He hugged you tightly, your arms wrapping around him in response, the two of you laying side by side as your pants returning to normal breaths. He then pushed your hair away from your face and left a fleeting kiss on your lips.
“Oh God, Y/N… I love you. I love you so much…”
You shouldn’t have said it, but he was right— you had to stop lying to yourself.
“…I love you, too, Jongho.”
The two lines on the test sent a chill down your spine. You were pregnant, and it just had to be San’s child because you and Jongho used protection. There was no way it was his kid. Hands trembling, you dialed Jongho’s number to give him the news first.
“Jongho… We made a huge mistake,” you started crying the second he picked up.
“Y/N, what’s wrong?”
“I’m pregnant… San and I are expecting…”
Jongho immediately knew what that meant. He stayed quiet on the line as you quietly sobbed. He sighed and said sadly, “Well, it’s a good thing I took this promotion, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got promoted. I’m transferring to another branch. I… I’ll be in another country.”
You covered your mouth with your hand and choked back more tears. There were too many emotions swirling around in your head, and you couldn’t bare the thought of vocalizing any of them.
“Congratulations,” Jongho whispered. “I wish you and San all the happiness in the world.”
“Jongho, wait—”
But it was too late. Jongho hung up. He made his decision, and subsequently decided your own future as well. It was done, and the only thing you could do now was focus on your marriage.
You broke the news to San a couple days later. You went to the clinic just to really make sure you were pregnant before deciding to tell San, and seeing the results on paper just made the whole situation much more real.
“San,” you said quietly as you sat across from him at the dining room table, the papers from the clinic tight in your grasp. “I have news.”
“Yes?”
You unfolded the papers and timidly slid them across the table. You and San had talked about kids in the past, but you had no idea how he was going to react about you being pregnant at this stage in your lives.
Out of all the reactions he could’ve had, though, the one he actually had was not one you were expecting at all. You watched as all of the light from his eyes faded and his face grew grim and dark. He looked up at you, glaring at you as his lips pulled into a tight frown.
“Is this real?” he asked, his voice lower than you’ve ever heard it before.
“Yes.”
“Who’d you fuck? Jongho?”
Your eyes shot wide open. Your jaw dropped, and you tried to pull yourself together before stammering, “W-what do you mean, San? I haven’t—”
“Yes, you did. So tell me. Who the fuck did you sleep with?”
“Do you really thing I would—”
“I know you cheated, Y/N,” San cut you off, his anger growing.
summary: jongho not-so-secretly yearns for you but you’re 🫵 in denial
wc: 4,2k
content: lowercase intended, smut w/ plot, friends w/ benefits but he falls hard, alcohol consumption, sex while intoxicated, praise + a hint of degradation, body worship, p in v: no protection (pls take necessary precautions if u Ever do this!!), manhandling, impact play, oral (reader!rec), u get cummed on, pet names used (baby, pretty, royalty, kinda), begging (jongho!rec), multiple orgasms, u get a little desperate at one point LOL
notes: this was mostly inspired from sweat by haiden henderson!! but it kinda spiraled off on its own.. “____” instead of y/n. reader is afab (sorry) but gender isn’t specified.
any + all interaction(s) are super appreciated!! <3 hopefully i can get this up on ao3 as well!! will update when i do!!
you try to steady your breathing, unconsciously matching it with the man next to you. you felt so thoroughly spent, used— yet, satisfied. despite the sheen of sweat covering your body, you tug up the blanket on your bed, snuggling happily in it. the man next to you had gotten inside it as well, immediately snuggling against your naked body.
you pout playfully, weakly turning to face him, and gently pushing his shoulders, “jonghooo! you can’t keep getting away with this!!” you giggle softly as he hugs you a little tighter.
“mmm… just five minutes…” he mumbles into you, rubbing your back a little.
you sigh, giving in. it was hard to resist him when he was just so cute and cuddly! leagues different from how you saw him day to day.
you and jongho had met late into university, meeting through mutual friends. neither of you could deny how quickly the two of you clicked with each other, or how charged the air felt after a few drinks. it was no surprise when jongho ended up in your dorm room, lightly teasing you as he fucked you until you could no longer form coherent sentences. at some point, you had lost count of the amount of bruises he left on you, and the amount of times you had cummed for each other.
the morning after the hook up, and a small discussion later— neither of you felt ready, or compelled really, to jump right into a relationship. the commitment of it all appealed to neither of you. instead, you proposed that you’d remain friends with benefits. jongho couldn’t argue with that, especially if that meant seeing you more than most people.
there were only two rules for your arrangement; no cuddling, and to have fun. other than that, anything else was fair game, even people knowing about it was on the table.
the last couple years have been filled with raunchy, and downright sinful texts, many late night escapades, and the two of you knowing the layout of each other’s home as if it was your own.
now, jongho was breaking the very first rule… you rest your head on top of his as he lays soft kisses along your collarbone.
this wasn’t the first time he’s broken the rule. it was slow, but steadily over the last year, he would stay a little longer, his friendly touches would linger, and he would look at you kind of… weirdly. almost as if you were something he couldn’t have.
which wasn’t entirely wrong. you were friends first, fuck buddies second. you enjoyed the friendship you shared— the hours you’d ramble on about a new interest, him playing league of legends and forcing you to watch, (he wanted you to feel included), and the karaoke nights you felt he was made for. it’s rare for you to jell so well with someone, and you’re afraid to lose that if you were to ever cross a line.
there were nights where he would jokingly ask if you had a partner yet, knowing that you’d still see other people from time to time. and when you’d say no, he’d look away for a moment before saying, “well, that needs to change. it’s a good thing you and i are both single..”
you push his arm playfully, laughing lightly in your tired state. he laughed, too, wearing a blush of his own. he was joking, of course, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of him was being sincere.
sometimes you played with the idea, though: imagining the two of you on dates together, going to couples only events, whispering sweet nothings to each other.
you stop your daydreaming when imaginary you says i love you for the first time.
you would shake your head at yourself, a little frustrated with how easily you let yourself get carried away.
even now, you shake a mental fist to yourself, as if telling yourself to get a grip. jongho makes you feel good in more ways than one, sure. but loving him… like that…? that felt almost too much for you to bare.
what a lively night tonight was: you had only been at the local bar for a few hours, and everyone seemed hammered. the music was loud, the drinks were constant, and the people were rowdy— it definitely felt like a saturday night.
you had came with your friends to let off some steam from an especially tiring work week. it seemed like each and every one of you were put through the ringer at your respective jobs. but it was finally the weekend! and you all planned to drink and dance to forget what’s to come monday morning (work! again!). you had been using the buddy system up until now, your buddy being spurred off by a beautiful stranger some time ago. you made sure to keep an eye on them, though, even in your buzzed state.
you were waiting for your drink of choice to be made, choosing to stay close to the bar. you drew little circles onto the wooden surface as you waited, your mind seeming to forget you had your phone to occupy you.
in this moment with yourself, you reflect on the last three hours; there were a few people you had recognized that came out tonight, none that you felt especially close to. there was a group of men that had came in sometime after you that had caught your attention. all of them were stupidly attractive— there wasn’t a single one of them that had you thinking otherwise. it felt impossible to witness, but you were suddenly grounded in reality when you recognized a few of them, especially jongho.
you had seen pictures of him with his friends, but seeing them in person? it had you staring when they first came in. when you still had a buddy, you had gone up to jongho to say hello, even chatting a little bit before parting ways. you had said polite hellos to his friends, although not staying long to chat. your focus had been on jongho, who seemed to fit in perfectly with such a beautiful group of men. sometimes you would try to find him in the crowd, finding him downing shot after shot with enthusiastic vigor. he was definitely in his element.
the bartender slides you your drink with a smile before moving on to the next patron. you just barely touch the glass before you feel a hand graze the small of your back. you whip around, an insult on the tip of your tongue before sighing and relaxing fully.
“god, jongho!” you punch his shoulder lightly before grabbing your drink, “if you were anyone else, i would’ve cussed you out!!” you laugh a little, still trying to shake off the spike of adrenaline that shot through you.
jongho holds up his hands defensively, laughing lightly with you, apologizing, “i thought you would! you looked like you wanted to slap me, actually.” he’s never seen you look like that before… he makes note never to do it again.. lest he be slapped.
he stands next to you instead, almost shoulder to shoulder with you, “did your friends abandon you, too?”
you scoff a little, yet unable to hide your smile, taking a small sip from your drink. yummy!
“no, they’re just… preoccupied, is all.” you say with a wave of your hand, now looking out into the sea of strangers. jongho follows it, elbows propping him onto the bar, “it looks like they’re with my friends…”
you chuckle softly, back resting against the bar. he was right— each one seemed to have found their handsome stranger. you chance a glance at jongho: even in the dark, you could see the rosey hue his neck and face have taken. you’re a bit surprised with how sober he seemed, but he’s always been able to take his alcohol well.
“what brought you over here, though?” you ask with a slight tilt of your head.
he shrugs a little, “i wanted to dance with you.”
you feel your face flush a bit, instantly deciding to blame the alcohol. “and you didn’t think to ask me like a normal person?”
jongho laughs heartily, as if that’s the funniest thing you’ve told him, “no, i actually thought of dropping down on one knee, taking your hand and asking ‘would you do me the absolute pleasure of entertaining me this fine evening?’” he muses mockingly, his voice twinging into a posh accent. you giggle with him, rolling your eyes a little, “if you did that, i’d definitely say yes.” you joke as you sip some of your drink.
jongho’s gaze on you narrows a little, then looks away with an almost devilish smile.
he swiftly plucks your drink from you, almost spilling it. before you protest, he takes a couple gulps from it before setting it back down on the bar, taking your colder hand in his and leaning in closer. “would you do me the absolute pleasure of dancing with me, ______?” even with the music blasting, you could hear the faint rasp in his voice. his eyes were eager, pupils blown wide. you almost crumple under his gaze— his intensity sending a shiver down your spine. you nod almost too fast, forgetting you had a drink in the first place.
jongho’s smile inches wider, now pulling you towards the dance floor.
once on the dance floor, a sensual, but upbeat song starts to play, instantly making you sway your hips to the music. you feel entranced into the beat as jongho stands across from you, his hand barely grazing your waist. your body moves on its own— sensually dragging your hands across your body with a newfound confidence. your eyes lock on jongho’s as he dances with you, matching your energy.
you knew he had moves, but it seemed like he was enticing you with how his body moved, inviting you to get closer to him…
by the end of the song, you were on each other— your back pressed to his chest as he stood behind you, hands running along your sides and the front of your legs with your hands settling on top of his forearms. you felt sexy— desirable with jongho. he was the only one who could bring this side out of you so easily. the alcohol definitely helped, though.
your dirty dancing continues for a few more songs before you finally grip the collar of jongho’s shirt, crashing your lips with his. you pull away, letting his bottom lip go from your teeth. your lips graze his ear when you lean in, rasping softly, “let’s go and take care of this,” you grind your thigh against his hard on, earning a low, surprised groan from him, “my place or yours?”
“mine.” he mutters back with a giddy grin you couldn’t quite see. you link your hand with his as he takes you off the dance floor, hooking your arm in his once you’re out the door of the bar.
his bedroom door slams open, the tangled mess of you two landing harshly on the bed with a bounce. jongho detaches from you to quickly shut the door while you readjust yourself on the bed. you were about to take off your outer layer of clothing until you were stopped, strong hands on your wrists.
“let me do it.” he says, but it comes out as a command. your hands settle on the bed as jongho starts peeling off your clothing. he was slow, and deliberate with each article, running his hands along newly revealed skin as if it’s a blessing that he’s seeing it.
you snort a little at his silent praise, “you’ve seen me hundreds of times jjong.. what’s so different now?”
he looks up at you with an unreadable expression. he almost looked.. serious.
“am i not allowed to appreciate your body?” answering a question with a question.. classic. his hand runs over a bruise he had left from a previous session, kissing it, “every part of you deserves to be worshipped. otherwise i shouldn’t be here.”
you blush, feeling the sincerity of his actions and words. your gut feeling was telling you that today would be different than the other times you two had sex.
once he had you down to your undergarments, he pauses, admiring your physique. you squirm, somewhat restless. jongho notices, humming out a chuckle as he gets off the bed to get on his knees, grabbing you by the hips and making you yelp a bit when he pulls you to the edge of the bed. “alright, alright, i’ll stop admiring your perfect self and just go straight into fucking you.”
your eyebrows furrow in confusion, his demeanor change throwing you for a loop. when he pulls down your underwear, you wonder what exactly has gotten into him. usually, he was meaner, and rougher with you. he’d call you all sorts of names and make you beg for his dick. even with the cold air causing you to shiver, you wonder what else jongho was hiding.
jongho’s tongue darts out, licking his lips at the sight of you. he squeezes your thighs before spreading them open to fit comfortably in between them. he hikes one over his shoulder as he spreads your lips open. he couldn’t help the groan that left him, sounding as if he was dying of thirst.
“goddamn, i missed your pussy.”
your thighs twitch, wanting to close but can’t. “you just saw it a few days ago.” you quip instead.
with his thumb, he swipes a stripe up your slit, “don’t care. i would eat it every day if you’d let me.”
your teeth catches your bottom lip as he seeps his thumb into your folds, making wide circles around your clit. you finally lay down, your hands tangling into his hair as his circles become more precise.
he knew just how to get you going— you moan softly, unintentionally bringing jongho’s head a little more forward towards your cunt. he lets out a warm laugh before teasing your entrance with his middle finger.
“you’re already so wet for me, ______. i could slip into you so easily.” was he talking about his fingers or dick..?
“then why don’t you?” you look down at him, trying to act nonchalant, but clearly trying to steady your breathing.
jongho smiles that gummy smile you’ve come to adore, although this one felt menacing.
“i like to take my time, baby.” the circles on your clit become faster, your back starting to arch off the bed. “but it’s also fun to watch you squirm.” he adds before sliding two of his thick fingers inside you, the base of his fingers hitting against you with a small bump.
“fuck— finally!” you’re almost relieved with the somewhat sudden change of pace. he fucked you with a strength you were familiar with, but never got tired of. you cry out and moan out his name as you grew closer to your climax, your legs starting to squeeze around him.
jongho leans in and flicks his tongue over your clit, giving it quick kitten licks as he drove his finger into you. it didn’t take much longer for you to unravel, feeling that familiar snap has you cum on his fingers. jongho laps up what he could, but continues to thrust his fingers into you.
you reach down, trying to push him away with a soft whimper, “that’s— it’s too much!”
unfortunately for you, he’s sturdy, and has no plans of stopping. in fact, he seems to be going harder, sucking on your swollen bud to entice another orgasm out of you.
the grip you had on his hair was sure to give him a headache later, gripping it as if it was a life line. he groans and grunts against your pussy, the vibrations from it bringing you closer and closer to your second orgasm.
“c’mon, cum. i know my pretty baby wants to.” jongho briefly pops up to say before stooping back down, curling and pounding his fingers with a ferocity you hadn’t felt for a while. his pet names didn’t go unnoticed, either. it made your heart swell— it felt like you belonged to him, in someway. his kind praises almost felt better than his degrading ones.
almost.
“jongho, i’m gonna—!” you see stars as yet another orgasm is ripped from you so quickly. they dance in front of your eyes for a bit before fading away.
jongho takes the opportunity to finally pull out his fingers, licking his very well coated fingers. he unbuckles and unbuttons his pants, kicking them off with his boxers as he goes over to his night stand.
“no..” you call out weakly, shakily propping yourself up on your elbows.
he looks at you, almost concerned, “no?”
“it’s fine..” you mumble. it wasn’t like you to go without a condom, but tonight, you felt a little adventurous. you crawl over to him and tug at the hem of his shirt, “you forgot something…”
his worried look fades, returning to a more lighthearted one, “i was going to take it off,” he slips onto the bed, straddling your waist, “but someone stopped me.”
“i did not,” you huff up at him, the buzz of the alcohol and overall tiredness creeping into you, “i’m actually reminding you to take it off.”
jongho scoffs a little with a chuckle, “shut up and flip on your stomach.”
you let him shuffle down some before you flip over, ass up. jongho grins to himself— you weren’t even his, yet he’s trained you so well.
he gives your ass a resounding smack, a cry comes from you that immediately melts into a moan. this was the jongho you were used to seeing. he firmly grabs both cheeks, slapping the other with just as much force as the first. you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escapes you, now gripping at the bed sheets.
jongho smooths his hands over your ass, squeezing a few times before kissing its curve. he peppers kisses down your back and at the base of your neck, squeezing your ass still. he nips at your ear before muttering into it, “do you like it when i’m nice to you? when i treat you like royalty?”
his hand finds your folds once again, gripping your hip with the other, “or should i just use you as my cock sleeve? ‘nd make you beg for my cock?”
you shiver under him, despite the immense warmth you also feel. both sides of jongho were doing numbers on you. plus, it didn’t help that you were still buzzed, it being hard to make a sound decision. as your mind scrambles for an answer, jongho bites at the base of your neck, making you moan softly.
“..both,” you finally say, “i like both sides of you.”
he licks over the bite with a soft chuckle, “mm, my, aren’t you a greedy little thing.” he sits up, grabbing his dick and rubbing its tip along your slit, “if i didn’t know any better,” he presses the tip inside you, without warning, “i would think that you wanted all of me..”
you bite your lip, trying to suppress some of the moan that bubbled out of you. it felt like it took forever, but you were finally getting what you so desperately wanted.
“please.. jongho.” you beg, almost pathetically. “i need you— more of you.”
he lets out a soft groan, feeling you tighten around what little was in you. all he really wanted to do was pound into you until you couldn’t speak anymore— where the only thoughts you had were of him and how good you were making him feel. and, secretly, that you and him were meant to be together.
he grabs one of your cheeks as he pumps his tip in and out of you. “the ______ i know can beg a hell of a lot better than that.” he squeezes the cheek he’s holding, “beg like you mean it, ______.”
you couldn’t help but groan frustratedly, “god— jongho, you’re right there!!” you try and shimmy your hips down on him, but receive a smack in reply, making you wince. you feel tears pricking your eyes, your selfish need to be fucked senseless was overwhelming.
“please, please, jjong. i need your cock— your dick— you, i need you so, so bad! i’ve been so good, fuck—” you feel a sharp pain shoot through you before it fades into pleasure, nearly lurching forward into jongho’s headboard.
he bottomed out immediately, face absolutely flushed, but wore a proud smirk. there was no way anyone else was making you feel this good.
he lets out a satisfied sigh as you clench around him, adjusting to him. without a condom, he could feel how deliciously you kept him inside you, and the slickness of your walls.
jongho pounds into you at an ungodly pace, messily, but with power you felt you haven’t experienced in a while. you cling helplessly to the bedding as he uses you, consistently brushing up against your g-spot. your lewd sounds mixed with his, creating a synchronized harmony that neither of you had anticipated.
you force yourself on your elbows, looking over your shoulder— the sight of him has you clenching around him impossibly more: his typically well kept hair was jostled—messy beyond recognition, his skin glistening in a thin sheet of sweat, his right hand adorned with a watch grips your hip, while the other stays on your ass. you feel yourself arch your back more, your orgasm already building up to its peak.
before you could even announce that you were coming, jongho pulls out and flips you on your back. grabbing the back of your knees, he picks them up, and bends you into a mating press.
“hold them.”
you follow his command instantly, holding your legs slightly wider as well.
he settles his arms in between you, them being at both sides of your torso, then slips into you once again with practiced ease. your eyes roll back from the depth, at how delicious it was. his hips slammed into yours with such intensity that you were almost scared that he’d snap his bed in two. or, more importantly, you.
your grip on your legs tighten, moaning out jongho’s nickname loud enough for his neighbors to hear. he leans down, kissing your collarbone before going ‘fuck it’ and crashing his lips into yours. the two of you making out was messy and uncoordinated, but passionate without a doubt. it spurs him to go impossibly faster, exploring your mouth as he reaches down, pressing hurried circles on your clit.
this was so much— you almost can’t take it.
“jjong, i—“
“do it.” his voice sounding hoarse. “cum for me, baby.”
on cue, you cum, nearly screaming his name. jongho hastily pulls out, your name on his tongue as he cums all over your chest and stomach.
you go limp, and jongho wants to join you. instead, he rolls off of you, grabbing his boxers, “i’ll be right back, ______.” he reassures you with a smile before leaving the room.
you lay there, exhausted and somewhat dizzy. you weren’t sure why you didn’t want to use a condom, or why jongho was acting different, but you were glad that it happened.
jongho comes back a few minutes later, giggling softly at you.
“you look like a starfish..”
you turn your head to look at him, eyes narrowing but held no malice, “yeah, because someone shot their load on my chest! i didn’t want any of it to get on the bed.” you had tried to swipe up any droplets while he was away.
his smile softens, turning into an appreciative one, “how considerate of you..”
you huff, returning your gaze to the ceiling, “remind me never to be nice to you ever again.”
jongho pouts, coming over to you with water, snacks, and a warm, but damp hand towel in hand, “but, you were so nice for me earlier!”
you blush a bit, averting his gaze, “you shoulda thought about that before you called me a fish..”
he chuckles warmly, setting the snacks and water on the nightstand, starting to wipe you down with the towel, “you would be the best, most attractive starfish there ever was.”
you roll your eyes, pushing jongho’s shoulder playfully, “you play too much.”
“your reactions make it worth it.” he smiles, almost proudly to himself. you couldn’t help but scoff, grabbing the water from the nightstand.
it didn’t take long for the two of you to clean up and get cozied up into each other. you ate and drank all the snacks jongho brought, now cuddling, much to your dismay. jongho was persuasive, as always.
you got to be little spoon today, curling yourself up impossibly close to him. his arms wrapped around you: one wrapped around your waist, and the other under your head. he nuzzles himself into the back of your neck, sighing softly to himself.
“you okay?” you ask gently, the exhaustion finally settling in.
“yeah..” he mumbles into you, pressing a light kiss on the back of your neck
a moment or two passes by before he speaks up again, “hey, ______?”
“yeah, jjong?”
another moment passes before he whispers, “i love you.”
your eyes shoot open, sitting up and turning over to see a passed out jongho.
please do not attempt to edit, repost, copy, or feed my work (in)to ai. translating can be negotiated, permission is needed. again, will possibly repost to ao3 once i get the invite! if there’s a way to make my work more accessible, lmk!
ᯓ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊.ᐟ SYNOPSIS: After shooting down Grim Reaper Yang Jungwon's ego, he made sure he would never see you, a Soul Bearer, again. However, when the land is infected with freak accidents that seem too much like murder, everyone around him suggests following the centuries-old prophecy. It would be no problem if it didn't include uniting with the very person that he loathed──You, and taking a life-altering gamble just to solve who is taking innocent lives. As much as you and him hold a grudge against each other, will duty keep you apart or will they see past each other's differences, and create a spark?
ᯓ. ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ WARNING: death, murder, eventual smut (but only 2 scenes lmao and nowhere in the beginning. Individual warnings will be given in the chapter), politics, arranged marriage, lots of angst if I'm honest, MAGIC. MDNI 𖹭.ᐟ
ᯓ. ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ NOTES: The first chapter is out!!! I took too long to write this but, forgive me, I was deadass having the FATTEST writer's block. And I genuinely don't like some of this chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it. I got inspired by that one picture, and I decided it was TIME to write a hot, angry Jungwon. Some of the stuff about souls and stuff is based on my own upbringing, but some of it i MADE IT UP. I am going on holiday, but I will try and write the other chapters, too!! ENJOY <3
ᯓ [DREAM LIBRARY] °❀⋆.ೃ ᐟ.ᐟ
⌗ .ᐟ M.LIST >>
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YANG JUNGWON HAD NO TIME FOR PETTY CIRCUMSTANCES.
Not before and especially not now, when everyone in his path repulsed his figure and became one with the walls of the courthouse.
And Yang Jungwon found it was the bare minimum if he wasn’t so pissed about today’s agenda.
Yang Jungwon was a Grim Reaper. Not just any Grim Reaper—he was the heir to the highest-ranking Lineage of Grim Reapers.
Jungwon’s bloodline assembled the first-ever ancestors that held Death in the palm of their hands and delivered disconnected souls to a place far away. As one can imagine, descendants arrived, they became Reapers and gained top rank by the time other Death Lineages were introduced into the past century.
The lethal reputation was carved into stone, gifted everyone a deep fear around Reapers, and eventually created an expected division among those who didn’t have a gifted Lineage.
Alas, Reapers had to do what they had to do.
As the newer century passed, the Grim Reaper Association—GRA—had formed in hopes of organising and documenting the deaths taken, any prompt for investigation, or for court trials.
Yang Jungwon had the last one—the least exciting option.
The last thing he wanted to do was debate whether he could do his job of taking a soul. His whole life revolved around knowing when a body was ready for death, not for battling it. Jungwon could read a fading heartbeat when close, so getting a court case was an insult to his work.
In the case, a middle-aged man had a terrible accident and sustained injuries all over, enough for him to fall into the fragile hands of a coma. Six months was the monitoring period for a body to be observed, but after that? Grim Reapers would get involved.
Jungwon had his head straight and was happy to take the soul and gain a rank. But then, a dispute had landed in his office, infuriatingly so.
An abominable dispute challenged his objective. It meant having to go to court and contest whether to pull life support or keep the man steady in sleep.
It dampened his whole week.
Even now, as he left behind the crowd cursing him out at the front, Jungwon strolled by the court walls like it was his crafted path, knowing exactly where to go. The public meant nothing to him because, to them, he was a heartless monster that fed off people’s souls.
Of course, Jungwon didn’t feed off souls. He had no care for who he took and what happened once he closed the doors, so he really felt all those insults bounce off his back.
He trained for that. Every acidic remark thrown, he learned to wash it off before it could ever burn. He had to. When being the heir to taking over the GRA, it was key to tune out everyone’s useless opinions and go with his gut. And his gut was where his duty was shaped.
His father, Yang Jihoon, taught him that. He ingrained it in Jungwon’s head. And he was supposed to be here.
The hallway was filled with several court officials talking among clients, but none were his father. Despite the push to learn punctuality, his father never practised it.
Whatever. Jungwon sauntered to his assigned courtroom and pushed the doors open to the grand, brown interior.
There was a raised platform at the front for the judge, two long tables parallel to each other from opposite sides of the room, and the lower gallery consisted of seats arranged in rows until it hit the main door. The upper panel had glass windows to accommodate more secretive observers.
It wasn’t empty. Among the lower gallery, a woman who matched the victim’s age sat with her shoulders hunched, eyes cloudy with grief. She looked as if she was curling into a seated, dejected ball. Beside her was an elderly couple, whom he only assumed to be the parents. In a mirroring figure, they leaned on each other, frowns anchored with apprehension.
Jungwon paid them no mind as he sat down, finally setting his eyes on who dared to dispute his claim. Except he paused the stream of thoughts when he saw you.
You sat with perfectly aligned shoulders controlled beneath the smoothest white shirt he had ever seen. Those were tucked into the baby blue skirt reaching the top of your knees. The pleats looked strictly ironed and straight. And he almost scoffed at the white stockings with matching pale blue bows delicately atop your knees like you were pulling attention in the little ways. Your shoes weren’t dramatic. They were reserved flats that probably swallowed sounds before they made one.
You didn’t stop writing. Your pen flew across the paper, writing some nonsense, he imagined, and didn’t take a break. Not even to look at him.
Jungwon slowly frowned a fraction, his own index finger tapping the table methodically as he processed the strict line of your lips and how your eyes simply followed the flow of the ink. It felt unnerving. So, he tapped into your heartbeat.
Easygoing pace with a slight hitch, as if it knew it was being spied on. Jungwon couldn’t spot the nervousness on your face if that was what your heart was translating. It confused him, so he glanced to where your right hand was adorned with a spiral of gems coloured baby blue and pink before it shaped a heart, and extended into rings that hugged each finger.
Jungwon tilted his head. On his own fidgeting hand, there was a metal cuff, running with black runes beneath that spoke of the deaths it aided. His own cuff grew out, extended into rings for each finger. It was where his scythe stayed when he didn’t want it present. It gravely helped with walking around in public without conjuring fear.
The only difference between him and you was that you were a Soul Bearer.
The exact opposite to who he was.
Instead of taking life, they delivered them; instead of scanning heartbeats, they sensed emotion through the ripple and weight of energy; they also boosted souls and encouraged them back into bodies, bringing colour to cheeks again.
Jungwon loathed them because they brought him here. To this arid courtroom where it reeked of tears and bad news.
It didn’t disturb you in the slightest. Uninterrupted, you kept scribing whatever nonsense, possibly breaking down whatever hurdle he was about to chuck your way. As if you knew.
How stupid.
Jungwon halted the finger tapping and opened his laptop, beginning to open his notes and read them with burning eyes. This particular time, he felt like he was going to have to recite everything verbatim to break through that stoic shield of yours.
Eventually, court officials lined the benches, had their notepads out, and the writers were organised. The judge had her glasses on, making everyone rise before it all commenced.
A flicker brewed in Jungwon’s nerves, making his fingers dance again. Cooling it down, he stood and walked around to present his argument. Only then did you meet his gaze.
Oh, you had this stupidly sweet gaze, scanning him so thoroughly as if he was a dream all in your head. But his feline eyes were heavy with his own judgement as it carved into your skin, taking in your features for memory. Finally, you surrendered back to rewriting the ink on your paper.
Jungwon refrained from a smug smirk and faced the judge instead of the grieving family. He learned the hard way that facing the gallery earned a strong tide of glares as a Grim Reaper.
“I will repeat the rule for everyone that the hospital has set forth,” Jungwon said, not bothering to face you, who probably knew this fact already. “The hospital has a six-month period where the patient is monitored while comatose. After that, Grim Reapers are allowed to take the soul once it reaches six months.”
Someone sniffled in the room, and pens scribbled on paper.
“Under the Grim Reaper’s Association, I argue that keeping him in the hospital will not benefit him any further.” He cast a final look at the judge. The heartbeats around him practically hammered with disagreement and hidden insults, but Jungwon sat back down and let his words sink in.
Logical and curt. His very way of working.
The counterargument started with you. The flats made no sound, gaze drifting to the crowd rather than to him. A tactic he found didn’t work in his favour. For you, however, the elderly couple and wife had a sparkle in their teary eyes. In your hand was a pen, thumb repeatedly rubbing the lid to occupy your nervous tick.
Your heartbeat, he found, was still being restrained with great effort.
“Mr Kim suffered several injuries in the car accident,” you began, the cadence of your voice reserved, a practised path with no gaps between. “However, over the months, he has displayed great improvement. His wounds are healing, and his vitals are stable.”
Repeating the case—also another strategy you put forth to remind everyone why you weren’t the ‘bad’ one here.
“His soul, as Reapers and Bearers can see, is still connected to him. Keeping him alive is a perfect opportunity to encourage his soul to return to the body. We have a specialised ward for it, which my family primarily work in,” you explained, growing more firm. Then, you finally hooked your attention on him, your thumb now harshly digging into the ridge of the pen lid.
His gaze was obsidian and endless, and staring would only lose your train of thought. Apart from his subtle frown, you squared your shoulders a little and faced the contempt sewn into his brows.
“I agree that six months is the observational period; however, with Mr Kim’s improvement, he can gain a sense of his soul again. It is the last step,” you said, trying very hard to stay on his gaze. It was like a black flame that you had never seen before, but you were too afraid to explore.
Jungwon didn’t move to make a note. He was too busy dealing with your hidden audacity to spell this case out for him with baby steps. He understood all of this, of course, but keeping a corpse in a ward was hardly productive. The thought was cruel and strict, but he knew nothing other than that.
“For patients that do not improve, it is another situation entirely. For Mr Kim, it is a chance. And, I think his family would be pleased that this last step is the one to take, and the one that could break his coma.” You finally swerved gazes to the judge, smiling a little before sitting down.
Jungwon felt like your argument wasn’t even much. It was a few sentences bedazzled with empathy before being given to the gallery and court officials to write.
His heart began to drum with animosity. It was a speed he couldn’t chain back, and it ran against his ribs. Not because you were better, but because he felt as if everyone else was going to side with you. There was no jury, but he had a gut feeling that wrapped ivy around his spine.
No. He shoved that whole feeling beneath soil and mentally stomped on it. You were just a glorified empath.
As the minutes ticked on, you and Jungwon were heaving arguments back and forth. You, however, had thorns gradually growing in your tone. Each piece he gave, you returned it with another sharp counterattack, and you were growing sulky, even. He had focused too much on the sunken brows that aided your frustration with him, and the way you met his gaze head-on with a crash when talking back to him.
That initial restrained heartbeat was slower now, but burned strong with annoyance.
“If he wanted to come back to his body, his soul would’ve returned and awakened him.”
“A wound does not heal so easily either.”
“There are no specific steps to bring a soul back except by healing. And there is no guarantee there either.” Jungwon’s gaze narrowed.
“Lord Yang, what benefit does taking a soul away do other than giving you an increase of rank?” You glared at him, all soft fury with a tone that skidded against his ears. Your heartbeat fluttered, sinking once more with the light downturn of your lip.
Jungwon had his comment ready. Leaning forward with those feline eyes full of hollow understanding, he spoke.
“Lady Sim, I would love to give a lecture on my job and how it helps our nation, but the hour is coming to an end. All I have to say is that I abide by the rules given.” He sat back with his relaxed, intertwined fingers on his lap, smug. “That is the strongest argument one can give.”
That last comment forced you to avert your burning eyes to the ink on the page, recalling the calm strokes you had written before getting all worked up.
Recess arrived shortly after that. It was a thirty-minute period that allowed Jungwon to sit in a room with bare, cream walls, a few couches, and a huge window broadcasting bobbing flowers and a trickling fountain in silence.
All too idyllic for such a place adopting stress, he thought.
The door opened behind the armchair he rested on.
“Son!” His father’s voice flinched him from the calm petals.
“Father.” Jungwon nodded. Jihoon was slightly taller and wore the routine blue blazer and pants with a jolly stroke of colour on his face. His features were a frame for innate joy and twin dimples.
“Soul Bearer case?” Jihoon asked, sitting down opposite Jungwon.
To that, he nodded, the initial exasperation filling his head with aggravating smoke. “A waste of time, really?”
“She’s just doing her job, Son.”
“Taking up hospital beds with corpses is not productive in any sense,” Jungwon corrected, flexing his cuffed hand as if he could imagine his scythe’s hunger for a soul. Calming that pang into a gentle ache, Jungwon sighed, staring once more at the silent nature outside.
“Don’t be envious, Won. It is not a good sight on you.”
“I always look like this.” Jungwon raised a bitter brow.
“Exactly.” Jihoon raised his brows in return, making Jungwon realise that his parental figure was not so serious about this. Jungwon wished he could be as loose, but that was all before when expectations weren’t premature, and when duty had a schedule.
“I was watching,” Jihoon added impishly.
“You did?” Jungwon inquired. That didn’t help alleviate the pressure to win.
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, face turning a little brave as he spared a glance at Jungwon. “And, I must say, she is quite a match—”
“Father,” Jungwon said with a deep, contemptuous sigh. “Not this again.”
Jihoon pursed his lips, trying very hard to choose his words without it blowing a fuse in the process. “I never said anything about the prophecy.”
“You were thinking it,” Jungwon exclaimed, gesturing wildly with a single hand. “You made that face.”
“I did not.”
“You did. You did that stupid thing with your lips,” Jungwon pointed out, eyes shiny with pins of refusal. Jihoon broke into a sigh.
“Can you blame me? You are the heir to the highest-ranking Death Lineage, and Lady Sim Y/n happens to be the highest-ranking Soul Bearer,” Jihoon explained, voice lowering from that joy to something stern. “I did my research in the session.”
Jungwon wasn’t having it as his cuffed hand flexed into a fist, determined to cling to his refusal. “You are depending on a centuries-long prophecy that has barely come to fruition. What makes you think it is me and… her?”
“You two are alike,” Jihoon countered.
“We absolutely are not!” Jungwon argued, suddenly on his feet. It was probably getting late. Desperate to escape his dad, he glanced at the clock and walked with relief when he noticed that recess was coming to an end. He yanked the door open.
“I need to go, Father. The Judge would have declared a verdict now.”
“I will come with you,” his father said, already on his feet and out the door before Jungwon could blink.
As Jungwon watched his jolly father walk further away, he prayed that he would win.
── ⋮ ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ˎˊ˗ ✿
JUNGWON LOST.
The Judge kept going with his announcement. Jungwon was sure he hadn’t heard it right, but then he glanced at the family cooped in the one row flooded with relief. They had burst to their feet, rushed to the barrier, and began to thank you profusely.
A heavy denial wedged in between his ribs and stayed like a sore thumb. However, he had the habit of watching.
You smiled gently at the family, shaking their hands. Underneath, your heartbeat was a swift flutter of disbelief and happiness all at once. It began to soar while Jungwon’s heart found the common, raging rhythm, bumping with that wedge of incredulity that the verdict stabbed him with.
You dipped your head to the family, barely glanced at Jungwon, and then smiled at the Judge. As quick as that, you slipped through the staff door, disappearing like smoke after setting his whole mind on fire.
What just happened?
Jungwon hadn’t failed ever since his first trial. And that was when he was of age—eighteen. Back then, he had been under the brunt of every learned rule, every cold emotion at his first trial. Ultimately, the lack of balance had tipped him off the scale, making his delivery messy.
He had learned from that. The mistakes were studied, then erased from history because he didn’t lose one after that. Some trials consisted of investigations rather than tangling with the public’s hearts. Regardless, he had a vow.
He never lost.
Now, it was unravelling because of you. A crack in the canvas.
Jungwon stormed into the hallway, pins pricking his spine that made him want to swallow a cigarette so he could numb his blood. His father appeared by his side, matching his furious pace.
They reached the glass exit to the sprightly city where, beyond the tree line, the city bustled under a clear, blue sky. People wandered in or out of the courthouse, navigating their own proficient jobs and lives.
Jihoon stopped Jungwon from abusing any more of the floor by hooking a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You are taking this too harshly.”
Jungwon loathed that tone. It was bubble wrap for delicate situations, but Jungwon was not that. He preferred it if his father told him off for losing. He needed that lash of discipline.
“It’s not a success, is it?” Jungwon asked, sardonic as he met his father’s searching gaze.
“It was not totally useless,” Jihoon said, resigned. Jungwon glared at his father’s gabble.
“You are hopeless. This prophecy—”
“Are you saying it is fake?” Jihoon raised a brow.
Jungwon stayed silent, his jaw clenching gradually, teetering between telling his father off or being respectful. Then, he thinned his lips, glancing outwards again.
“I didn’t say that.”
The prophecy his father was infatuated with was made by a man centuries ago, claiming that two opposites would unite. Specifically, it was Life and Death. And when they did have a union, it would unlock a secret ability.
What that ability was—nobody knew.
So, it was a dangerous gamble.
“I just think that being too optimistic about something so old will do no good. Save those prayers for useful things. It could have been for my trial, but that did not come true,” Jungwon said, tilting his head with knives glinting in his eyes.
Then, before his father could stop him, Jungwon descended the stairs to where his car pulled up. Black and sleek with tinted windows when the sun was too much.
“You never know!” Jihoon said, chasing after him.
Jungwon entered the car and closed it in his father’s face.
── ⋮ ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ˎˊ˗ ✿
“A little birdie told me you won against Death himself.”
Your brother, Jaeyun, was following around with sparkles for eyes, fluffy hair, and a bright smile. However, you had no time for him right now.
Currently, you were working a shift in the Healer’s ward of the hospital, holding your tablet at the reception counter. It was fairly quiet for now, but you knew someone was bound for an emergency, and you needed your mind set before it happened. It was a trait grown through months of doing this profession.
Jaeyun wasn’t helping when he was constantly reminding you of that court trial. It was such a dream. Sure, you had delivered a stitched explanation, but beneath the mask, you were made of loose seams and tattered explanations. Usually, doing court trials didn’t bring erratic nerves, but Yang Jungwon was a star in the universe of court trials. So, finding out you were against him had forced all your thoughts to be shot clean.
“Don’t ignore me, Y/nie,” he said, leaning on the counter next to your tablet.
“Who was your birdie?” You asked, sparing a swift glance, but scrolling harder on the screen, barely reading the words.
“My husband,” Jaeyun answered with a pearly smile.
That halted your scrolling, shooting a bewildered gaze at your brother. “Please stop calling Heeseung that.”
Jake grinned, adjusting his glasses. “Nope! Heeseung is my friend, brother, and husband—”
Your brows sank with a thousand confused questions. “Brother and husband?”
“Trust me. Heeseung wouldn’t even mind,” Jake affirmed before his gaze was over your shoulder, eyes lighting up with recognition.
Heeseung had burgundy hair flopping around his sweet, doe-brown eyes where starry thoughts were born. He wore the same, neutral uniform, white and baby blue, and his wand, which had been in his hand, began to crumble into a magic mist and slither back into a cuff atop his wrist. He leaned on the same counter your crisis was short-circuiting.
“I heard my name,” Heeseung said, leaning beside you. You frowned.
“You told Jake about my trial? You were there?” You asked sulkily.
“I was actually in the upper panel. I told them I was a past client that felt too grateful to skip a trial,” Heeseung said proudly, brows raising. Jake was easily impressed, but you scoffed, nudging Heeseung with a soft palm.
“You could have told them you were my friend?”
“I like the back story—the flair it gives me,” he replied, chuckling. Both men laughed at either side of you. It was disgustingly romantic.
“Fine. I battled Lord Yang,” you began quietly, remembering the dips of anxiety you had fallen into through the court session.
“You make it sound like he tried to take you out with his scythe,” Jake mused, impish.
“It felt like it,” you shot back, nudging Jake away as he grinned like a daisy.
“You actually did really well. I couldn’t tell you wanted to die,” Heeseung commented casually. He recalled the sediments of control fueled into your straight posture, the tone of metal certainty, and your perfect reasoning. It was a win, he thought.
While you could tick the good points of the whole thing, Jungwon’s midnight glare distanced you the whole time. In fact, you were glad your skin was still intact after the whole thing. Mainly because you had lost the anxious edge in the last quarter of that argument. The rage shielded it.
Getting that exact verdict had switched the apprehension back on. You had never packed so quickly in your life.
“I never want to do that again. Nor meet him,” you admitted, rubbing the side of your head to erode the memory.
Heeseung made a sound of disagreement, crossing his arms like he just pulled a memory back into vision. You and Jake both glanced hastily.
“What?” You said, a twinge of horror twisting in your voice.
“Senior Lord Yang, his dad, by the way, was sitting across me in the upper panel. And he kept looking at you, Y/n,” Heeseung explained, eyebrows wiggling suggestively with a goofy grin.
This was going somewhere awful already. “So?”
“Don’t you know who Dada Yang is?” Heeseung asked, brows furrowed in a sudden second.
“Don’t call him that, Seung.” You grimaced.
Jake completely ignored you. “Dada Yang is the top Lord of Death. Lord Jungwon is his only heir as of now. And he is of age.” He glanced at your increasingly gloomy face. “Lord Yang Jungwon is twenty-two.”
“And you are twenty-one,” Heeseung said like clockwork. This just went downhill easily.
Their talk made your smile stiff, the appreciation for their stupid facts dying on the spot. “Guys—”
“You could be the one—” Jake tried to say.
You slammed a tempered hand on the counter, flinching both Jake and Heeseung out of their seesaw of a conversation. Both turned with bewildered gazes, clearly lacking your perspective. You straightened with locked shoulders and exasperated brows.
“No. I am not the ‘one’, okay?” You began quietly. “Quoting something so old and ridiculous is out of the question. You sound like our parents,” you chastised Jake, picking up your tablet.
It completely flew over Jake’s head. “Y/n, you can’t deny that this could be real. We deliver souls to pregnant women with wands. I don’t think anything is too ‘ridiculous’.”
“How many times have Soul Bearers and Grim Reapers tried to come together, only for the lineages never to come to fruition?” You asked them, tablet held with paling knuckles. When you received silence, you resolutely continued. “Right. There has not been any circumstance like that. Because of that, there was never a successful union.”
Heeseung and Jake stayed silent, slowly deflating from their sky-high ideas. Mischief, however, danced in Jake’s eyes as he leaned on the counter. You sulked.
“You never know!”
“Jake!”
He put his hands up in surrender. “I’m saying the truth!”
── ⋮ ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ˎˊ˗ ✿
THE PARKS WERE A CONSTANT PRESENCE IN JUNGWON’S MANOR.
Specifically, Park Jongseong, who was witty and goal-oriented; those qualities clashed with his premature trigger that would act before he fully thought.
With him were his parents. Lady Somin and Lord Sehyun were a constant force existing throughout his life. For as long as Jungwon could remember, the Parks were a second set of parents from another tree. They were so closely entwined with the Yangs that they lived only yonder from the Yang Manor, separated simply by a cobblestone path.
Today, everyone gathered for tea in the Yang garden. It was behind the glorious manor that stood like a palace, underneath a cream marquee where manicured foliage was shaped up pillars, and where petals learned to keep off the path.
There was no use in these mundane tea moments. So, he was looking through some documentation on his tablet, still boiling from the court case from a week ago. He hadn’t seen you again, and hoped it would stay like that.
The tablet was suddenly snatched out of his arms. Jungwon jumped momentarily before snapping his eyes up, only to soften when he saw his beamy mother.
“Won Bon, you know there is no work talk at tea time,” she chastised gently, her voice the weight of petals. She faced the tablet down on the table.
Lady Jiwon, his kind and sensitive mother, was someone he couldn’t defy.
“Sorry, Mother,” he murmured. Jiwon smiled a sweet thing before sitting next to him. He could never get anything past her these days. Not even work.
Tea time was a sacred time where family bonded. It was her routine to gather everyone around this white-clothed table and talk about the most recent treasures of their lives. But the treasures were boring life events.
The glass doors to the garden opened, revealing Jihoon talking to the Parks with troubled voices.
Lord Sehyun wore something casual and meaningful, with his clean shirt and pants; Lady Somin wore her smooth gown with pin-straight black hair; Jongseong’s hair was loose, wearing all black, like Jungwon.
“Somin, was my husband keeping you late again?” Jiwon doted sweetly with a pearly smile.
Somin scoffed, subtly jabbing a thumb in her husband’s direction. “It is not all yours. My husband and Son are the same. They talk about work everywhere.”
“Just like Won Bon!” Jiwon exclaimed, nodding at Jungwon. The nickname was embarrassing despite being a source of warmth. He never told her off for it anymore. The last time he told her not to, she did it again in the next breath.
He acknowledged the Parks with a casual, murmured greeting. Then, everyone sat down in their designated spaces, letting maids pour beverages into ceramics before being left alone. His father’s frantic heartbeat was chasing something unknown, too panicked to be about something unserious. The tension tangled his father’s brows, and Jungwon couldn’t quite figure it out.
“What happened?” Jungwon asked first.
Jongseong quirked a half-impressed smile. “As diligent as ever.” He leaned in, some of that amusement draining away. “There have been bodies found near the border. And, I’m seeing a pattern.”
There had been a few souls he himself picked up before the GRA collected the body, but all that was on his confiscated tablet. From memory, the people that died had done so in freak accidents: a crushed skull here, an impaled body somewhere else, and all away from the heart of the city to where rurality made most of the location.
“I remember recording such,” Jungwon said, lifting his gaze thoughtfully. “I thought they had normal causes, non-suspicious, that is.”
“I know.” Jongseong hummed. “But all of them are near the borders. Suicide, accidents—but they all died near the same place.”
Good observation. The only detail was: where was Jongseong leading with this?
“What are you suggesting? Murder?” Jungwon asked, incredulous almost.
“It’s what the evidence dictates,” Jongseong affirmed, tension slithering into his brows. Another detail stabbed Jungwon out of the ludicrous conclusion.
Most of the people who died had nothing special to their name. They were people who barely belonged to a magical Lineage—were normal workers. They weren’t from the top of the economy or society.
“Those who died had completely normal lives. Who would want to murder them?” Jungwon let the question break the ‘no-work’ talk and displease his mother. She had gone quiet, but distaste radiated out of her tightly crossed arms.
“If it is murder, we need to investigate,” Jihoon said, tone dipping with worry.
Jongseong’s eyes gleamed with an idea. “I could ask the foreign bordering land,” he suggested. Jungwon hadn’t even processed it before Somin was nodding enthusiastically.
“That is smart. I have researcher friends on the other side. Fire Lineages,” she said, laying down the plan. “I have been meeting them a lot. They would happily house you, Jongie.”
Jungwon had one tiny protest. That proposition was based on no leads, motive, or even victims, as dark as it sounded. It was crossing a road blind for an inevitable car crash before the investigation even began.
“Before that,” Jungwon interrupted the Parks’ shared epiphany, “we need to check the areas and find clues. If it is a cause for concern, we can get the court involved—”
“Speaking of court,” Jongseong said, whipping his eyes towards Jungwon with mischief. He leaned forward, grinning in a way that made Jungwon rub his one temple. “You lost it against Soul Bearer Lady Sim!”
There it was. Jungwon exhaled something close to snapping as the Parks practically leaned over their spaces, gasping with too much curiosity for their own good. The avalanche of questions hit him instantly.
“I have heard of Lady Sim,” said Sehyun.
“She was impressive against our Jungwon,” his father rejoiced with celebration.
“Won Bon did well,” his mother chimed with glittering praise.
“Someone as powerful as her matches—” Jay had tried to say before Jungwon abruptly stood, eyes of oblivion icing each of their excited interjections into a stunned silence. Then, he slowly exhaled again.
“We are not going to talk about the prophecy.” Jungwon stabbed a stare into each person. “We are going to have tea and forget this conversation ever came up.”
He was embarrassed to say the least. His ego had taken a step down a huge ladder, and that was enough to crumble his sense of duty.
Jiwon slithered over the icy defence and tugged him back to his seat. Obedient, he did, but her lips were in a slight pout.
“Won Bon, we can not reject that prophecy. It is important. A tradition almost,” she explained, voice somehow flattening the jagged refusal frozen in his chest.
“I know,” he said with a sigh. “But centuries have passed, and nothing has flourished from it. Quite frankly, I am beginning to deny it.”
The table became smoky with a suffocating silence that drifted from his brittle confession. In that moment, Jiwon sent a desperate plea to her husband via their gazes. Jihoon exhaled, leaning forward with steepled fingers on the table.
“Look, Jungwon, it may not come true. I know. But if tension rises and we need a new ability, then it is going to have to be an option,” he declared in the voice that directed junior reapers to be merciless. Jungwon felt the small part of him shrink under his gaze.
He was of age. He always shaped himself for whatever form duty came as. But, marriage? To the person who sliced his ego within hours? It was a disturbing revelation he couldn’t settle with.
Marriage itself scared him. Having to care and tend to someone other than himself. The furthest he doted on someone was his mother and father. If anything happened to them, it would be a failure of his whole existence.
The prophecy sat on his mind, perched like a crow ready to pick at him at a ready moment.
── ⋮ ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ˎˊ˗ ✿
IT HAD BEEN NINE DAYS SINCE YOU WON AGAINST JUNGWON IN THAT TRIAL.
Ever since then, you were working shift after shift. That had only been because there was an influx of bodies coming in, and then dying a few hours later when no one could save them. Grim Reapers came and went, and that had been the reminder of what you had won, and who you had shot down.
It was normal for Reapers to come to the ward you worked in, but there had been a cluster at the beginning of the week, discussing in a secret huddle before departing the Healer’s ward again. Not a single word to you. And even your parents were sceptical as to why they kept coming and going.
Today was a Sunday and still an awfully productive day.
The Healer’s ward had pale blue walls, warm lights sprinkling down the rooms, and beds kept together with a curtain separating each other. The beds had referred, unconscious patients sleeping on them, their souls on a clear display for Bearers.
One man had just been wheeled into the curtain section, and you were there, scrolling on your tablet, examining his details. The man was in his twenties, had a clean-cut wound to his side, which was thankfully stitched up before the man’s condition deteriorated, and he was very much passed out.
But not dead. His soul, in your eyes, was a flickering ball of smoke that glowed silver and blue, floating over the man like it was confused. It connected to the main by a wispy string that emerged from his chest.
Placing the tablet down, you conjured your wand from your right hand, the bracelet shifting colours until it formed. Your wand was pale blue and pink, bedazzled with shimmering gems climbing the wood until it hit the core. There, two clear bands spanned to a heart shape, which had wisps shifting within them. At the centre of the heart, a pink mist gem glowed with life even in shadows.
You had just about clutched it when a cold prickle suddenly arose at the back of your neck. In an instant, you whipped around and flinched as Jungwon appeared like lightning.
In all his glory, he stood over you with broad shoulders fitted in his charcoal Reaper attire, silver adorning his torso in small chains. His hair was wavy, falling just above his feline gaze where obsidian sat heavily with scrutiny, taking you in wholly. He held a scythe as tall as him, sharp-bladed and curved at the top, while the snath had a glassy texture with shadowy storms shifting underneath.
You swallowed, clutching your wand like a weapon at your tight chest. “Lord Yang?” You forced your shoulders to deflate.
Jungwon didn’t blink as he tried to match your initial encounter to the one right before him. Except, he was confused because they didn’t match at all.
“Lady Sim.” He nodded once without straying from the scrutiny.
He was still judging you, you noted.
“Can I help you with anything? You are in the Healer’s ward,” you said, steadying your voice from the initial icy anxiety. Jungwon raised an amused brow as he noted your nervous tics that jumped into your heartbeat.
How did he lose to you, he wondered.
“Yes. I assume you noticed the bodies coming into the hospital?” He asked, gaze travelling over the man behind you, and past the curtains, counting the exact number in this room alone without seeing them. His scythe was practically fuelling the innate urge to take the souls already.
Jungwon was a Grim Reaper—he couldn’t be blamed.
You nodded, trying to connect the dots. “Yes. I assume you know something?”
“There have been a few accidents recently. All around the border and without explanation. They died without witnesses and under abnormal circumstances,” he explained, nudging his chin to the man over your uniformed shoulder. The soul, to Jungwon, was a sphere carrying dark, shifting mist that he could gauge the weight of. More weight meant the soul bore too much to stay alive.
Jungwon wished it was, but you were right there with sympathy that he couldn’t be bothered to understand.
“So, are they victims of the same crime?” You asked curiously.
“From what I can see, possibly. Lord Jongseong and I are in charge of the case, but there hasn’t been much progress.” He stepped closer to the man, and you followed until you and he faced the victim. “I can never seem to get an actual statement. A very empty file, you could imagine.”
“You want to question him, then?” You inquired, wand already gleaming in your palms. Jungwon stood just at your shoulder, scythe distanced, and gave a simple nod for the go.
The tip of your wand levelled with the flickering, misty sphere, connecting to the threads of magic reaching your fingertips. The soul flickered again, hooking onto the wand’s core as you steadily guided it towards the man’s chest. The light disappeared into him, colour flourishing through his skin once more as you retracted your wand. The heart monitor was stable. You watched the man’s face intently for the slightest action.
After a few seconds, the man’s eyes fluttered open to the hospital ceiling with a foggy gaze. You were a blob of colour above him, shifting back to give him space. That movement itself exposed Jungwon and his friend. The mist left his vision when the dark, metal scythe undeniably came into view like an unsaid threat.
His eyes shot wide with panic, screaming.
Jungwon’s brows sank with offence. You gently pushed the man back into the bed, trying to hush his terror from reaching the other sleeping patients.
“Sir, you’re in the hospital,” you said over his pitchy breaths. He sputtered, pointing a shaky finger in the same direction, and you realised he was terrified of the scythe.
Jungwon was stony, not seeing the problem. You shot a desperate look.
“Can you put that away?” You asked deftly, shoulders deflating.
Jungwon sighed at the hindrance, but let the scythe fall to dark dust that ran up his fingers and formed the cuff again. Crossing his arms, totally unimpressed, he approached the cowering man hiding behind his blanket.
You rolled your eyes. Empathy wasn’t one of Jungwon’s pillars.
“Lord Yang is only here to question you,” you assured the man, peeling the blanket back a little. Instantly, he pulled it back to his chin, staring with wide, unbridled fear at Jungwon.
“So… I’m not dying?” He croaked.
“No, I’m not here for that,” Jungwon spoke, his voice a low tone of ridicule. “I need a statement from before you passed out.”
The man swallowed hard, eyes fluttering profusely as he sorted through the memories. Even then, there was a foggy confusion in place as he slumped into the bed. His anxiety practically rippled over your skin like a tide.
“I was taking a walk. I l-live near that path. I always took that path. And then, I felt something cold when I was about to enter the forest area.” He shuddered, eyes screwing shut as he relived the pain. “Something hit me from behind. And then… I woke up here.”
An attack, clearly. Aside from his initial theory of string suicides, this was the first person with an alternate reason. He wasn’t exactly relieved because if someone were having it out for random civilians, then fear would erupt from every corner of the land. On the other hand, keeping it a secret was just as dangerous.
“We shall let you rest, Sir,” you said softly before picking up your tablet and exiting his space. You drew the curtain shut behind Jungwon as he followed.
It was just you and him now.
His hand flexed, gaze drifting to the rest of the curtains within the room. A soul was dying. He knew you could feel it too. For you, it was a spark switching off in the circuit of your chest.
Jungwon glanced with a tinge of mockery. “Can I take the soul for death?” He asked, tilting his head in this infuriatingly smug way.
“Yes, you can,” you replied, voice sharpening. “I do, however, think you are a bit salty, Lord Yang.”
Your brief boldness stirred something in his hollow gaze. Straightening to his height, Jungwon returned your haughty stare with a burning one of his own. “Salty? No, I just want to do my job, Lady Sim.” He leaned in slightly, making you tip your chin to follow his mirrored stubbornness. “You wound me.”
Before you could react to his vain words, he walked past like a shadow, leaving you there with your own breath caught in the web of your chest.
What an asshole.
── ⋮ ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ˎˊ˗ ✿
THE PARKS DID NOT HAVE GOOD NEWS.
“Lady Yunah threatened you?” Jungwon sighed, trying to decrypt what Lady Somin was doing. His fingers dug into the side of the armchair, anxiety brewing in small doses. Methodically, his index finger tapped the fancy fabric. “I thought it was a friendly talk?”
Somin sighed, sitting opposite Jungwon and his parents. “It was. But, you know how impulsive Jay is,” she explained with prickling guilt. It wasn’t good enough. He jeopardised a whole route Jungwon planned, and now, he had to craft another as if the week wasn’t busy enough.
“It sounded like an accusation, I have to admit,” she said, fiddling with her Reaper cuff snug on her wrist. She was here alone since Jongseong was still in the foreign land of fire and water, out for investigations.
Jungwon didn’t bother to focus on that. What he was focusing on was how the foundations of this murder case were already crumbling before he started.
Jiwon, beside him, tutted despite the softness brimming in her eyes. “Somin…”
“I know. They did not appreciate it, obviously, and denied having anything to do with it,” she explained, gaze dipping with worry.
“So, we have gotten nowhere,” Jihoon clarified, voice also flooded with exasperation, rubbing his one temple.
It was nothing. After a week of potential murder victims, the only scrap Jungwon collected was the short statement that added nothing to the bigger picture. He had dust in his case file. Nothing was coming together.
The talk went bad as well. Tensions were arising. Jungwon felt the proposition ghost over the room before anyone said it. His guts twisted.
“We still have the prophecy,” Somin reminded meekly.
There it was. Exhaling with denial bolted into his words, he spoke. “There must be other options other than diving straight into marriage?”
“Jungwon, what else can be done?” Somin interjected the way a mother would scold a child and harshly steer them in a direction. The sympathy was a feather in her gaze, and it reached his parents, tickling them into a contemplative silence.
He tensed, disbelief striking his spine into a straight pin.
“Mother, Father, you cannot be considering marriage—”
“Son…” Jihoon began in a tone that corroded the walls of his confidence. “It has almost been two weeks since the murders have arisen in the city, and there is not one lead. Most of the victims are dead, there are no witnesses, and CCTV were absent in all places.”
Jungwon’s refusal and panic intertwined into a tight noose as he saw the direction of this. They were agreeing with Somin and the drastic jump to such a resolution. Contempt pricked him like shards. They always had to let the Parks have a say in a decision and colour the bigger picture where Jungwon didn’t need them.
“What if you had a union with… Lady Sim, and unlocked an ability to help solve this?” Jihoon suggested, creeping into territory that had Jungwon clenching his jaw.
“It is a gamble, Father,” Jungwon interjected, exhaling another stream of trapped protests.
“I know that, Son. But what if it worked? It would not be so bad,” Jihoon remarked with a softness that was overridden by Jungwon’s flaming disagreement.
Jiwon softly touched Jungwon’s arm, rubbing encouragement into his elbow. Jungwon’s gaze dipped before he could burn his family to ashes.
“Even if the prophecy does not work, you are of age, Jungwon,” said Somin. Jungwon chained his curt gaze to the table rather than the Park sitting before him, trying to convince him that this was normal. “And those bodies can be stored in my husband’s freezer at the GRA mortuary.”
Jungwon nodded on the outside. On the inside, he wanted to die, but unfortunately for him, Grim Reapers held an inhuman strength that shielded them from Death.
“Won Bon, don’t be so upset. Lady Sim could introduce a whole new perspective to you. And I would get a daughter!” Jiwon assured, smiling gently. Jungwon stiffened at those words. Ice hammered into his ribs, making it harder to breathe as he shut his eyes in the silence. Until his sternum cleared, he swallowed hard as it passed.
Jungwon had a duty, and this was his next one.
—
YOU WERE RUNNING.
Running from your parents, that was.
Through the winding hospital halls and bewildered patients, you just about made it to the reception when your mother snagged your elbow. It sent you yelping as she hauled you to the counter. On your other arm, your father steadied you and didn’t let go. Both were breathing hard, disbelief staining their usual understanding.
“Sim Y/n! How dare you run from your own parents?!” She exclaimed, thoroughly out of breath as she placed a hand on her chest.
“It is not my fault when you are chasing me with an absurd proposal!” You frowned, shooting both of them an exasperated look. You tried to keep quiet, but your panic was clearly crossing the boundaries. “Of course, I am going to run!”
“The Yangs contacted us—”
“And?” You retorted sharply, tugging at your arms, but they were stuck. “You are listening to them over your own daughter?” You scoffed incredulously.
Both of your parents sighed in unison. Your mother was the one to huff. “You are worse than Jaeyun at listening.”
You gaped. “I am not—”
“The point is, Y/n, you are of age, the prophecy exists, and they sent us a proposal to meet,” your father interfered with your useless argument.
“Depending on a prophecy is a silly reason to wed. This is my life,” you bristled, voice dropping into deep lament, eyes desperate. It wasn’t fair that they were unleashing this on you.
Your mother released your arm with a sigh to tuck a strand behind your ear. “I know, my love, but you are the highest-ranking Soul Bearer of age. I would advise Jake, but…” Your mother trailed off, giving an uncertain sideways glance.
“He likes Heeseung?” You sulked.
“Yes, he’s hopeless.” Your father sighed. “He must have been bewitched—”
“Yoon Darling,” your mother chastised with a sideways glare. Your father nodded, but that thought was still clouding his mind.
“Just give it a chance. Meet him, see if there is something, and if there isn’t, then we’ll let it go,” she explained, doing nothing to convince you. The anxiety still lingered around your chest, prickling you with everything that could go wrong.
Then came the thought that you weren’t just a daughter anymore. You also had to act your part of the duty no matter how much you didn’t want to. It was just that marriage was a level up from where you were now.
There was nothing you could do. Not when your parents were still stringing along this expectation so you could follow. Well, if meeting Jungwon, who was too salty for his own good, was the solution, then you had to try.
── ⋮ ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ˎˊ˗ ✿
THE YANG ESTATE WAS TOO BIG.
It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before. Your own home was lavish and generous with its high ceilings and comfortable warm tones, but this was another level of luxury.
Jungwon’s home was different shades of golden and cream.
You and your family were sitting in a huge lounge with yellow patterned walls, with five floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the noon sunshine. The room was adorned with drawers and tables of delicate little knick-knacks that probably were touched once in their entire lifespan, and the camelback couch you were sitting on had pillows softer than a single feather.
You could feel it behind your back right now. Under your ivory dress with green embroidered leaves on the bodice, you marvelled at how soft everything was here. The dress you wore had fluttering sleeves that rippled down your legs, intricate lace details drawing attention to you like a cloud lone in a blue sky.
You didn’t want to wear something so… formal and extravagant, but your mother ignored you and paired emerald earrings with a long chain to the back of your half-tied hair. In summary, you felt overdressed for such a meeting.
Your mother was on your right, your father on your left, and Jaeyun was sitting alone on another couch.
Thinking it over now, you wondered how you ended up here. You weren’t great at talking to people. Your closest friends were Minju from your school life, and Heeseung, who had sunshine for a personality.
Heeseung would have beamed at you in this gown, and told you to go all in for the opportunity. He saw no wrongs in a situation, and found positivity in anything. Heeseung was as shy as you, so connecting was easier than with anyone else you had met. Other than the two of them, your own mind chained you away from socialising freely.
It was why, even now when Jungwon was imminent on entering the same space, you felt the steel anxiety drill into your joints, making it momentarily hard to move. You tried to sit straight. Then, you kept your eyes ahead and then dropped the strings when it felt too real like this.
“You look like you are about to shit yourself—”
Your mother glared at Jaeyun. “Language.”
“I was just saying.” He sheepishly smiled, fluffy hair already disobeying the earlier hair brushing. He was as serious as a marshmallow. You couldn’t find comfort from him.
In the posh peace of this lounge, it hit you like thunder that you were about to meet with Death himself. You almost flinched back to reality.
The door handle jostled and opened at the thunder in your back. Entering was Lady Jiwon in a navy gown, Lord Yang Jihyun in a matching blue suit, and the main root of all your anxiety.
Jungwon wore pure charcoal with shimmering grey swirls woven into his blazer, with a fitted waist jacket that had a chain dangling delicately from the small breast pocket. A black tie nestled at the base of his honey throat, accentuating his stupidly broad shoulders.
It was his eyes beneath wavy hair that forced a memory of your first encounter into vision.
They were so dark, sitting like obsidian atop your face, like he wanted to carve the judgement into your skin. You had absolutely no idea what he was feeling in the void behind his irises.
His mother, you recognised as Lady Jiwon from surface-level research, approached with the most pearliest smile.
“I am so delighted everyone made it,” she exclaimed happily. Much more joyous than Jungwon. She brought Lord Yang forward, hands interlocked. “My husband, Jihoon.”
Jihoon bowed his head a little, smiling with a dimple. Did Jungwon have a dimple? “Pleasure to meet everyone.”
“We are honoured,” said your father, getting up to shake Jihoon’s hand firmly before sitting. “I am Yoon. My wife here is Mei, and Jaeyun is our elder son.”
A fluffy smile slipped past Jaeyun’s lips like instinct.
Then, Jiwon brought Jungwon forward with a small, frantic wave of her hand. Obliging to her, he slowly walked forward and bowed his head in greeting.
“Nice to meet everyone,” he murmured with a voice gripping onto control.
At your time to stand, Jiwon’s eyes sparked into fireworks as she smiled. She took your hands, thumbing over your knuckles. “You must be Lady Sim Y/n, the one my Son met in court. You are such a beauty!”
Warmth hit your cheeks. Jihoon smiled. Jungwon, on the other hand, looked like he was verifying that last bit when his eyes dragged slowly over your features.
“Thank you.”
Everyone sat down in their designated space, waiting as maids brought tea in expensive, untouchable ceramics and pastries made for display. You hadn’t moved an inch, focused on itching the anxiety out of your thumb.
You were too focused on whether you were sitting straight or slouching. Or if Jungwon was waiting for you to do that. His gaze was practically carved into your face.
Jaeyun sent a discreet smile behind his teacup, wiggling his brows that conjured a violent wave in you from his deceptive facade.
“As you know, there has been an influx of murders around the borders,” Jihoon began after a sip, dampening the atmosphere.
“Yes, Y/n told us some of it,” Yoon said, his tone dissipating from that initial joy. Silence from your end as your gaze stayed locked on the table.
Jungwon sensed the hitch in your heartbeat. It was a constantly rapid pace ever since you got here. The meeting was well past brief impressions, so he knew it wasn’t targeted at that. No. This pace had been troubling you for a while. Jungwon narrowed his investigative gaze as he sipped his tea.
In your place, your mother cleared her throat. “And, when we got the proposal, we were all…” she gave a subtle sideways glance at your sulky, lowered eyes, “… very pleased.”
Jiwon grinned. “I am glad. Won Bon—”
“Mother,” Jungwon grumbled, making Jiwon smile sheepishly. You caught the distaste when you briefly met eyes. Sheepishly, she smiled in a way that smoothed the anxious knots in your spine.
“My Jungwon is so work-oriented. It took a while to convince him,” she said gently, ignoring Jungwon’s shrivelling nonchalance. Pink dusted his cheeks in a way that almost made him look… shy. You wanted to question how someone like him could do that.
“Oh, we had to chase our daughter down,” Yoon added impishly. The room erupted in small laughter as you stiffened at the memory. Jungwon, from the other side of the couch, slowly raised a brow, trying to imagine you running away. Warmth drowned your cheeks again as his gaze dragged over your face with flames.
You turned back to your tea.
“Jungwon is just as stubborn. When he lost the court case—”
Jungwon straightened, gaze whipping to his father. “The Prophecy… please.”
Jihoon smiled, expecting it. “Right. We proposed this because of the well-known prophecy. Currently, there are no leads, no evidence indicating a clear direction. We hoped unlocking the ability would possibly help solve it all,” Jihoon explained, too serious for the denial homed in your head.
“Even if the ability doesn’t help the murder cases, it is still special if it is known to us,” Jiwon added with a signature smile.
None of this made sense to you. The protests were already burning your tongue, observing how they must have already made their decisions. It was unfair. However, you had to people-please everyone.
Delivering what they expected of you to gain a shred of validation. Working in the hospital as a Soul Bearer and handling the delicate packages of life meant no mistakes. The fragile version of yourself you crafted for them was nothing without being right. Soul Bearing made it clear that it shouldn’t even be a scenario in your head.
The conversation droned on about union possibility, about working together, and new perspectives. Each one had you holding your voice as fate was strategised in front of you. Jungwon was silent as you were, his hand flexing momentarily because the whole thing strengthened his sense of duty again.
One more level for both you and him.
“We shall let you two converse,” Mei said, squeezing your shoulder softly in encouragement. You felt anything but that.
Jihoon sent a look to Jungwon that said to “be kind”, and then was the one to close you and him into the lounge.
The door clicked shut. Silence hung between you since it was much more comforting than to confront whatever was going to happen in the near future.
Discomfort invaded your nerves and forced you to trace the neatly-cut portraits and sunlight peeking through the fluttering curtains. He was still probing your face from afar.
“Do you like summer?” Jungwon asked in a low voice, following your gaze to his sunny windows. He leaned back, a leg crossed over the other, a head tilted with increasing interest.
“I think so. However, I do not like it for so long.” You glanced away from the intense void sitting in his eyes. He raised an inquisitive brow.
“Strange words,” he commented dryly.
“Meaning?” You returned, gaze narrowing.
“Meaning what do you like then?” Jungwon crossed his arms, capturing your eyes within one second. A skip flashed through your heart at his attention.
You glanced at the glass windows once more. “Every season, but not for a long period. Except Spring. It rains too much.”
Jungwon’s lips twitched in amusement at your absurdity, but he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be laughing at you like a comrade. He was still petty over the lost trial, and that alone smoothed his emotions straight.
“I like Spring,” he stated, blinking in a way that was far too serious. “I like the rain.”
Your smirk was subtle and swift. “Of course you do.”
“What do you mean by that?” Jungwon now remarked quietly, his small glare carving into you.
“Spring rain never goes away. Like your grudges, Lord Yang,” you answered, letting go of decorum now. His face fell, nonchalance unravelling right before your eyes as he leaned forward, as if he could physically dig into your mind.
“The Spring rain is a transitional period where the blooms are born after a hard winter.” Jungwon steepled his fingers.
“How poetic.” You cracked the smallest, incredulous smile before reality pulled at your chest once more. This wasn’t some enjoyable meeting with Death. It was a negotiation for marriage.
You hesitantly met his eyes. The hostility wasn’t as present anymore, but there was still a boundary stopping you from seeing his emotions on the other side. He was staring too. There was no hiding about it.
“How are we supposed to fulfil something almost imaginary?” You asked quietly, fingers digging into your lap.
“I don’t know,” he replied after a few quiet seconds. It was a gamble, and he knew you knew it too. Some common ground there.
“Then, what does it entail? To… make this prophecy true?” You asked carefully. Your parents never told you in full how one connected to it. All you knew was that a wand and scythe were needed for it.
His gaze wandered a little before landing on you like he was trying to creep into the territory without scaring you. “My parents have said it a few times…” He got to his feet, cautiously approaching with a generous slowness. “We need to let the wand and scythe touch, and they say you fall into a ‘trance’…” he stopped for a contemplative second, searching.
You spared a look at his shadowy cuff that shone. “Or?”
“Some say in bed,” he stated casually.
“What?” You exclaimed with pinched brows.
He shut his eyes regretfully before opening them. “Not like that. I mean, in a sleep state in bed. You know how sleep works, right?”
“When we sleep, our souls are detached from the body.” You nodded.
“That means, outside the body, our souls can interact. That is one of the ways.” He watched as you stood and began to saunter to the big windows. Following, he scanned the curve of your waist, how your hair draped flawlessly behind your back, and the delicate jewel sat in the sea of your strands.
He strolled along until he lingered behind you.
You realised how stupidly tall he was. “What happens when you… take a soul for death?”
Jungwon was surprised at your interest, considering you wanted to burn holes into his head the other day, but he looked past your face and to the florals bobbing by in the wind outside.
“When I’m delivering them to death, I go to this specific place. Death Meadow is what I call it. Dark, vast—a field, and it’s where Reapers go,” Jungwon replied, recalling the dim skies and the long grass brushing his knees.
You frowned. “Is that all it looks like?”
“Did you expect a castle?” He mused, his deep voice rippling down your spine.
“A field is hardly exciting,” you mumbled, crossing your arms almost in defence. He chuckled curtly.
“Death is hardly exciting,” he said back quietly. Your profile exposed the curve of your nose, or your lips, which, he had to admit, complemented your… facial harmony.
“I know,” you muttered back, sighing. After a few terse seconds, you rolled out your right hand, letting the bracelet morph into the signature wand. “We should try, shouldn’t we?”
Jungwon’s chest swelled with the anticipation of it. If there was something, though he didn’t know what, then a marriage was inevitable. A wedding. A life with you. The person he had nearly cursed out loud sixteen days ago. Thinking back to it, maybe he was overreacting, but then the thought crumbled as his ego ached.
You watched his face shift with thoughts, probably knowing how real this all was. The finality hammered through your chest until breathing felt tiring. This was it. And there was only one way to find out.
Wordlessly, you inched the wand forward towards his scythe, ignoring the apprehension twisting violently in your guts.
You shared a look that he mirrored: this would seal their fates into one path.
The scythe touched first. Blade met gem, and instantly, a heavy wave rippled from your chest to the base of your spine, activating some other part within you had no experience with. It thrummed in your ears and smoked the space behind your eyes. Bewildered, you glanced at Jungwon and froze when his irises glowed.
No void. His eyes had a corona of something white that haunted his now brown irises. He looked personal. Human. Normal.
Jungwon’s breath hitched as blue slithered and lit your own eyes homed the mist that felt as if they had always been there in the shadows. Inside, his body rattled like fabric shifting over one another, creating friction and warmth that was too energetic to handle.
You departed first, wand clutched to your chest with ferocity. Jungwon’s scythe fell back into a cuff, catching his curt breath that escaped his control. The silence was a sentence on both you and him before Jungwon sighed.
“You felt that, did you not?” He asked, eyes averted.
You nodded once. “Yes.” Your tone was eroded by anxiety.
“And you know what that means?” He glanced at you again, where acceptance was absent from your stance. Your shoulders were stiff when you tentatively returned his gaze, which was a void once more. “My parents shall talk to yours. For a union.”
He turned, ready to walk out, but your uncertainty followed after him a few steps. “Do you want to get married?” You couldn’t help it. This whole thing had to be turning his axis too.
That made him stop, shoulders shifting beneath like he was preparing a practised answer. It was a second late. A second of hesitance you spotted in yourself. You thought he would be real for a second, but he straightened like a stone wall again.
“I don’t have to want to. I need to,” he answered in a resolved tone before continuing his stride towards the closed doors. His heart protested in angry stomps, which he ignored.
You felt it, however. His worth anchored his shoulders, fragile as it was huge on him. It curled, a monster he efficiently tucked away.
That was enough to tell you he wasn’t going to back out.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱‧₊˚━━━━━━━━━━━━━
── .✦ [NOTES]: okay, did yall like this? You can tell I gave up in the end with proof reading this. Also, I am on holiday, but I had no wifi for a bit, and now I do. So, I haven't written anything LMFAO. But, even then, I hope you guys liked this! <3
