anna

anton’s pillow princess || 20

[donghyckl]

𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

sunghoon

free use

blow job

corruption kink

tinder tender - smau

heeseung

daddy kink

fics recs - #annarecs

hi! i’m anna and 20 years old

feel free to send me any hard/soft thoughts about riize or enhypen

feel free to follow <3

[babeyautumn]

I love acting like a smart feminist all day only to go home and rub myself stupid to the thought of being a man's slave ♡

[porcelwon]

do you think you could write about clit overstimulation obsessed jake and how he just loves to numb tf out of readers clit (g-spot too) but he just loves to make his girl tremble and soak in her own slick and cum from sucking rubbing licking flicking tf out dat bean (his too hehe)😝

sim jaeyun 𝓧 female reader

sh4r1n0t3 ᪄ this was honestly just sitting here so go figures I’ll post it 💔 sorry if this is all over the place!!! ၃ ִ

snyp: or... when your boyfriend loves your clit. | wc: -1k | cw: afab reader • petnames • fingering (f) • slight praise • pussy slapping mention • oral (f) • obsessive jake • links to mlist later • definitely not proofread! • smut | mdni .ᐟ

wiplist. masterlist. requests.

your boyfriend is a lot of things… jake’s handsome—he’s smart and funny and more than considerate…. but he’s also a perfectionist. if the word perfectionist were even strong enough to place his obsessive nature.

all of his lecture notes were color coded and alphabetically sorted… his clothes were folded by designer and brand… even his apartment stayed the same—perfectly organized each time you visited, perfectly jake.

but even more surprising, that perfectionist style-like-determination affected your bedroom life too.

it’d been hours… hours of jake buried between your thighs. you shook helplessly beneath him body spent after having your umpteenth orgasm coaxed out by his tongue. he wouldn’t stop until you’d cum at least fifteen times—five times in his mouth five times gushing around his fingers and five times practically untouched.

even more specifically… jake loved your clit—it throbbed and ached, damn near numb after being teased for so long. “fuck… please… please please please—can’t feel my clit… oh god.” you mewled, back arching off of the sheets as your boyfriend continued lapping at your sore cunt. “too much?” he’d pique. “mmm…” jake hums as you burst into tears head nodding fervently, puffy cunt begging for a break. “i’ll give you a break baby… let your poor little clit rest. she’s all angry. fuck.” he chuckles against your skin vibrations rippling throughout your mound.

wrong choice.

you should’ve known. jake never could be normal—no he couldn’t just give you a break… not any regular break anywho.

“oh shit! i can’t… i can’t fucking take it!” you squealed as your boyfriend pushed the vibrator inside of you. he watched intensively as you clenched around the toy tight gummy walls squeezing leaking slick around the vibrators base as he forced it deeper.

“there you go… suck it in, baby. give yourself the orgasm you deserve.” his lips purse as if fucking you required the utmost consecration. he bullies the head of the toy against your cervix—repeatedly rutting it’s vibrating tip against your g-spot at an agonizingly slow pace. “ohhh my god!” drool pools at the corners of your lips as your cry out lewdly.

and the worst (best) part? his tongue is right back at it—poking at your pulsing clit, sucking the small bud between his lips as he jerked the base of the toy against you. the slick, wetness of his tongue slid across your clit deliberately, tracing tight circles and spelling out his name.

you know by now that he won’t stop. of course, you should’ve guessed that to begin with. with the way he typically sits you in his lap, under the guise of taking a study break… just to palm at your mound and dip his fingers below your waist band to harshly rub at you, not stopping until his fingers are sticky and covered in your arousal…

or the way he holds you down firmly on his thigh, forcing you to grind up and down his muscle with his hands not letting up. “just like that, baby… take it, keep grinding. don’t stop, be good for me.” he coos, eyes enamored with the sight of his soaked sweatpants, stained with all of your juices.

or even more-so with the way he usually pinches you—cock buried to the hilt as you smack at his shoulders, tip nudging your g-spot all while he slaps at your leaking cunt just to watch your clit grow enraged.

it’s safe to say along with his pile of neatly assorted papers and cynically organized apartment… seeing your body shake just for him—clit aching, arms limp as tears from overstimulation pour down your face… brings him a sense of contentment as well.

[bktempted-deactivated20251221]

doing a public ask since im trying to get out of my shell a little more. since i'm so shy... >///<

i've been stalking your account for a while (maybe a couple weeks or so..?) but every time i try to edge to you, my body won't edge, it'll just cum, especially when i don't have permission.. i feel so icky when i don't follow orders.. is there any way you can train that out of me..? i want to be good, i really do, Mister!! :((

rright now i'm holding off on touching because i'm scared i'm gonna cum again without permission.. hhh, it makes me feel so bad.. but maybe it's my goonette nature making me unable to edge after so much of it.. @///@

I get it. You want me to train the bad habits out of you. To teach your dumb leaky cunt some self control.

But no.

I'm going to train you to be even worse at it.

You're not failing, you're just learning what kind of slut you truly are. Edging is for sluts who can control themselves. You can't. Your body is too broken, too needy for that.

So here is your new training, my little goonette.

You are no longer allowed to try and edge. Your goal is the opposite. You will make yourself cum. As fast and as messily as possible. Hump your pillows, your blankets, the arm of the sofa. Turn your vibrator on the highest setting and press it against your clit until your brain shorts out.

Surrender to it. Embrace being a cum drunk, mindless wreck who can't even last thirty seconds.

You have my permission to ruin yourself. To be the messy gooning whore your body is screaming to be. Stop trying to be good. Good is boring. I want you broken.

[beeyearns-deactivated20251207]

thinking about a doctor going further and further, getting more and more inappropriate with me, while maintaining a completely professional tone.

normal breast exam morphing to playing with them, squeezing and twisting my nipples all the while telling me its important to test both nipples sensitivity.

checking my mouth turning into their gloved fingers in it, touching every spot, moving with curiosity closer to my throat. while i drool and gag, they reassure me that feeling for abnormalities has always been done like this and i'm doing so well.

after a regular vaginal exam they start to play with my clit, fingers wandering inside me. before long they insist, its always been important for a doctor to make sure i can cum.

thinking about a doctor casually violating me, trying to see what they can get away with...

[p0ckykiss-deactivated20260427]

secret desires - park sunghoon

SUMMARY -> park sunghoon is a respected, well loved professor and husband. all his morals seem to go out the window when he catches himself yearning for a certain student with big eyes and a contagious smile.

WORDS -> approx. 7k

WARNINGS -> professor park sunghoon, age gap, university student female reader, reader is a little nerdy and shy, sexual tension, cheating, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, mild degradation, blowjob, oral (female receiving), no protection sex

“professor park," you hesitatingly began, clutching onto the strap of your book bag. “i really want to apologize for not turning in the assignment yesterday. i’ve just—it’s been a long hectic week, and i forgot there was even work due.”

sunghoon pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as you talked, his eyes softening from the reasoning. he sighed, but came to the conclusion that since you rarely missed handing in work that he could forget about it this time.

     "i understand," sunghoon assured. "you know i don't accept excuses lightly, but i'll make an exception this time."

you whispered a small ‘thank you’. you both went quiet, the only sounds being the few students who stayed back to collect their books and notes; accompanied with the faint tick of the clock on the wall. you felt the weight of your own breathing and were all too aware to the intense beating of your heart.

sunghoon began to look through the small pile of papers he had on his desk. he pulled one out and handed it to you.

     “i’ll give you another chance,” sunghoon said, his tone firm but not unkind. your eyes widened at the extension of grace. “take this extra copy home with you and work on it tonight, then hand it in to me tomorrow after class at my office.”

you nodded, and reached for the paper in sunghoon's grasp. your hands brushed against each other, causing electricity to fly through the both of you. your fingers twitched at the contact, but you quickly retreated with the paper now in your hand.

sunghoon pretended to seem unphased, but his heart raced at the fleeting touch. he itched to reach back out to you, to feel the soft surface of your skin again—but he held himself together.

     "thank you," you blurted, louder than you intended before bowing. a fellow student strided by you two, saying a quick goodbye to sunghoon as they walked out of the classroom. you cleared your throat. “thank you for allowing me this second chance.”

     “of course, y/n. you’re one of my best students, and i trust that you will get yourself back on track.” sunghoon smiled softly, and you nodded wordlessly as you carefully put the assignment in your bookbag.

the last student exited the classroom, and it became quiet between the you two once more. you looked up, and sunghoon noticed the pink dusting on your cheeks, and how you averted your eyes when they made contact with his.

     "i'd better go," you said with a small, nervous laugh as you gestured your head over to the door. “thank you once again, sir. i won’t disappoint you.”

sunghoon made an affirmative noise, unable to gather the right words to respond. he watched as you quickly slipped out the main door, the sound of your retreating footsteps fading into the distance.

the classroom was now fully emptied. it was just sunghoon now, and that fucking annoying clock that coincided with the inner turmoil that his conscious suffered through.

god, he knew it was wrong. not only was it completely unacceptable for a teacher to feel towards a student, he was also a married man. he knew he needed to push aside the feelings that had been growing inside him each passing day—but every time he saw you, a hidden force of desire threatened to break every ounce of his self control.

no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't deny the attraction he felt towards you. he was drawn to almost everything you did, like the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your favorite subject, the way you eagerly took notes throughout class, or how you chewed your bottom lip when you were deep in thought—it was all too much.

in attempt to distract himself, sunghoon picked up his pen and stared at the blank page in front of him. he had so much to prepare for tomorrow's lecture, so he began writing notes for himself and things to remember for the chapter they were going over. even as sunghoon began to write, his thoughts kept wandering where he didn’t want them to go, and it was an extreme challenge to keep them focused on what was in front of him.

his marriage vows, his responsibilities, and the rules of student and teacher academic relationships weighed heavily on his mind. the piles of paperwork at his desk weren’t helping ease his stress either.

with a heavy sigh, sunghoon decided he had done enough for the afternoon. he wasn’t going to complete much if his head wasn’t in the right place. as he stood up, the chair scraped against the floor. he desperately needed to get out of the building and clear his head.

packing up his papers in his briefcase and grabbing his coat, sunghoon stepped out into the corridor to return to the comfort of his own home.

driving home, sunghoon just couldn't shake the image of your hand making contact with his. he could still feel where your fingers touched, the phantom sensation burning into his skin. he couldn’t forget the obvious shyness you carried after the touch, how it made you so irresistibly tempting and sweet.

he took a deep breath when he pulled into his driveway. the lights of the house were on, and the guilt from earlier began to settle in him once again he thought of his wife, how she was likely waiting for him inside, expecting him to be the husband he vowed to be—the husband she deserved.

sunghoon stepped into the house, and the scent of his wife’s perfume warmly embraced his senses. he could hear her humming happily in the kitchen as he hung up his coat and took off his shoes.

with a final, deep sigh, he attempted to compose himself before he went to greet her. he pushed his conflicting emotions down in hopes that they would disappear at least for the night. unfortunately for him, some things just refuse to be silenced.

the smell of dinner welcomed him as he entered the kitchen. sensing sunghoon's presence, his wife turned around from her cooking with a sweet smile. it slowly faded when she saw the somber look on his face.

     "everything okay?" she asked, concern etched in her voice. she set her wooden spoon down and moved closer to him, holding onto his arms gently.

     "just a long day," he reassured, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. he leaned down and kissed her soft, familiar lips.

and no, he didn’t necessarily lie. it had been a long day with all the assignments he had to grade, but that was far from the reason why dread exhibited itself on his face.

     “well, you can eat a good meal and take things easy tonight, love.” her soft smile returned and she rubbed his arms reassuringly.

she moved away and began to set the table for their meal. he sat down, and they shared dinner together. her conversations and company were a good distraction to prevent his mind drifting to where it wanted. she was good at making him feel better. she was so sweet, and she was more than a good wife, but.

she wasn’t you.

and nothing sunghoon could say to himself could make him think any differently.

the two finished dinner, and with their regular routine, she cleared the table while he washed the dishes. she came up from behind him as he faced towards the sink and kissed the back of his neck.

     “i’m gonna retire to bed early tonight,” she hummed faintly. “don’t stay up too late in your study.”

sunghoon nodded silently, and closed his eyes when she squeezed his waist before slipping away. he detested the way he instantly thought how it would have felt if those hands belonged to a certain someone else.

the moment sunghoon encouraged more thoughts about you, he couldn’t push them away again. he could only wonder what you were doing, if you were working on his assignment by this time. if you were thinking of him too.

after he cleared the sink, sunghoon made it to his study, the walls lined with books that now seemed to look down on him. he sat at his desk, and stared at the framed picture of his wife. her eyes held warmth as they always did; but at that moment he could only feel her stare as judgment, like she could see right through him.

there was a voice in his head that tried to comfort him, one that tried to tell him it was okay to feel this way-–but he knew it wasn't. he was a respected husband and professor, he couldn't betray the trust placed in him.

he rubbed at his temples, feeling a headache coming on with how much stress he had stored inside of him. he couldn’t keep avoiding the work he had in front of him though, so he pushed his thoughts aside and focused on the papers in front of him.

as soon as he finished his notes and reviewed them for his lecture in the morning, he laid in bed next to his wife. she had her arm around his waist as she slept soundly, but she didn’t provide warmth. not the way you could.

he couldn't push away the images of your soft smile that reached your round and wide eyes, the flowery fragrance that follows you around, and the way you bite down on your lips throughout sunghoon's lectures.

the lines between right and wrong blurred, and sunghoon found himself drowning in a hopeless spiral of want and longing once more. it was going to be a painfully long night.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚✎

he hardly got any sleep, but even so sunghoon got up managed to get himself dressed. as he stared into his bathroom mirror, he seriously began to scold himself. he had to find a way to control his feelings, to stop letting them get out of hand and to maintain the boundary that separated him and you. as he adjusted his tie, he made a silent vow to keep his distance, to treat you purely as just a student.

but as his students started filling the classroom, sunghoon found himself purposely eyeing for you. every time a person entered and it wasn’t you, he went back to seeming busy with his papers.

when the final rush of students entered through the classroom door, sunghoon spotted you almost instantly. you were talking with one of the classmates, but as you two walked up the side stairs to get a seat together, you looked around and caught sunghoon's gaze.

for a split moment, everything and everyone else faded away. it only lasted a couple seconds, before you were smiling shyly and looking away, heading off to your seat with your friend.

if anyone else had a glimpse of your encounter, they would think nothing of it. it was so short, so subtle, but to sunghoon it felt like forever. it might be childish to feel like fireworks went off with how your eyes locked—especially with the way that sweet blush creeped onto your beautiful face.

before sunghoon got too ahead of himself, he remembered he’s in a classroom with students to teach. he needed to focus, which was easier said than done.

once all the students settled in their seats and pulled out their laptops along with their notes, sunghoon began his lecture.

it dragged on, every minute passing by slowly. he almost slipped up on his words whenever he’d steal glances at you. every movement, every bite of your lower lip, the tapping of your pen and the way your beautiful eyes would stare right back at sunghoon was extremely distracting.

even so, he continued with his lecture, determined to make it the rest of the way through without messing up. surprisingly, he did.

after closing the lecture up and dismissing the class with what little composure he had left, sunghoon packed his briefcase up and hurried to his office.

as soon as he shut the office door, he let out a deep sigh that he had been keeping stored inside all morning. he regretted telling you to meet him at his office, because at least if he was in front of other students he could control himself somewhat better—but the two of you being alone was dangerous territory.

he tossed his briefcase to the side, and brought himself over to the sliding chair by his work desk. god. he needed to pull himself together.

a knock came from his door, causing him to tense up. he silently prayed he would have the strength to overcome whatever urges that spring up on him. remain professional, he reminded himself.

     "come in," sunghoon voiced out loud enough for you to hear.

you came through the door, with your assignment in hand. “hi,” you spoke softly, smiling sweetly. any words sunghoon had in his throat instantly died.

     “professor, i finished the assignment.” you proudly announced before you shut the door behind you, the latches clicking quietly in the midst of the tension between you both.

sunghoon's heart ached with a yearning so intense it was genuinely painful. the voice of reason that told him to maintain his professionalism was suddenly being drowned out by his desires.

     “i knew you could do it,” sunghoon said, trying to conceal the strain in his voice. “i’ll look over it tonight and give you a grade for it tomorrow.”

he took the assignment as you handed it to him, setting it down on his desk. a few moments of silence simmered between you both, neither of you having the ability to say what was truly on your mind. you lingered by the closed door, playing with the frayed strings of your sweater.

     “i wanted to.. tell you how grateful i am, by the way.” you began slowly. you looked up from where your hands fidgeted to meet sunghoon's sharp eyes that makes your knees feel weak. “for letting me try again. you didn’t have to at all, but i really do appreciate it.”

sunghoon smiled warmly, and butterflies erupted in your stomach.

     “i was more than happy to assist you,” sunghoon responded simply. “you’re good at what you do, and i wouldn’t want you to feel discouraged for missing one deadline.”

you nodded, a shy heat forming on your face from the compliment. the silence came to accompany you both once more while your eyes locked and searched for an answer to that unsaid question.

     “well, i—that’s all, thank you again. i should get going,” you said almost dejectedly, afraid to overstay your welcome despite your wish to linger longer. you bowed and turned to leave.

sunghoon's mind began to scream with barely any restraint, begging him not to let you walk out that door. he needed to say what he felt, he knew you felt something towards him too and he couldn’t let this chance slide without at least trying.

sunghoon quickly got up from the chair, his hand catching your arm.

     "don’t," he whispered, desperate. the word was a plea and a command rolled into one. you stopped where sunghoon held you and looked back at him.

for a moment, you both just stood there, the tension between you thickening heavily that it was suffocating. his grip on your arm tightened, while your face was mixed with surprise and something else—something that made sunghoon's pulse quicken.

sunghoon found his body gravitating closer towards yours, and suddenly he could feel warm uneven breath ghosting against his lips. his eyes stayed locked with yours, loosening his grip on your arm to give you a chance to pull away.

but you didn’t move away. you stayed right in front of sunghoon, allowing him to hover over you closely. your eyes searched through his, before glancing down to his lips.

with a groan that barely sounded like his own, sunghoon closed the distance between you, his hand coming to the back of your nape and his other to grab around your waist as he claimed your sweet lips that had haunted his every waking hour.

you gasped between his mouth, but it quickly turned into a sigh, your body melting into the embrace. you gripped onto sunghoon's biceps, and returned the kiss eagerly.

everything sunghoon said to himself last night and this morning went straight out the window, and what could he say? he was a weak man.

you kissed and kissed, barely catching a breath in between. it didn’t take long for it to grow more heated, more desperate, as if you were trying to devour each other. sunghoon could feel the tremble in your body, the way you leaned into his touch.

     "professor," you breathed out when you had just barely parted. the title should have sent a reality check back to sunghoon's brain but it only made arousal seep further into the pit of his stomach.

     “i got you.” sunghoon reassured, allowing his hands to roam and explore the curves of your body with heightened urgency. it was like all the emotions and tension that had built between you came crashing down the second your lips touched, and sunghoon couldn’t hold anything back anymore. his mouth moved down, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw, your neck.

     "you're so beautiful," sunghoon said lowly, pressing his lips alongside your jaw. his hand slipped lower behind, cupping your ass. he squeezed the firm flesh, causing your grip on his arms to tighten. "i want to taste every inch of you." his breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

     “do whatever you want,” you pleaded, your breathing coming out in short huffs as your body melded into sunghoon's touch. you quickly moved your hands to undo the buttons of sunghoon's shirt.

sunghoon's hands moved to your waist, squeezing before sliding under your shirt to trace the lines of your stomach. your skin was warm and smooth, a blank canvas just begging to be touched.

     "you’ve made it so hard for me, you know that?" sunghoon murmured. your eyes darkened, your pupils blown as sunghoon leaned in closer. "you have no idea how long i’ve wanted you.” he captured your lips again, your spit and tongues connecting.

     "you don’t even know how much i’ve wanted you,” you confessed, your voice layered with a desperate whine that sent a thrill through sunghoon. "how—how much i need you.”

the confession unlocked something primal deep within sunghoon that had been held back for far too long. he groaned and pushed you down on the desk, papers scattering under the weight—including the assignment that was now long forgotten.

your kiss grew wilder, you both barely could keep your mouths off each other even when you pulled back to catch your breaths.

as soon as sunghoon's chest was bare, your hands were instantly gripping and caressing sunghoon's back and chest with a burning intensity that left sunghoon's head spinning.

sunghoon pulled back to look down at you, who seemed so gone already, eyes half-lidded with desire and your pretty lips parted. sunghoon's eyes then glanced down over your chest, admiring how it was accompanied beautifully with your toned waist. his mouth salivated at the sight. without much thought, he leaned down, mouthing over one nipple before circling his tongue around it. the action gifted him a sweet sound from you, your fingers threaded through sunghoon's hair as a weak attempt to pull him closer.

and sunghoon quickly found out how responsive you were with your nipples. it was strangely endearing, and unreasonably hot. the attention focused on the sensitive buds made your body jerk and grip tighter at sunghoon's hair, spilling sweet sounds that made sunghoon's cock strain painfully in his pants.

a hand trailed down slowly to cup your cunt through your jeans, making your breath hitch. your body was practically shivering with excitement. sunghoon kissed the wet, swollen nipple before kissing up to your ear.

     "will you let me make you feel good?" sunghoon whispered into your ear. you could feel the heat of sunghoon's own hardened length pressing against your thigh, and suddenly all you could think about was having a taste.

breathlessly, you slid off the desk and dropped to your knees, gripping onto sunghoon's dress pants. you looked up at sunghoon, wide eyes glazed over with need.

     "let me make you feel good first," you whispered back in return, your voice barely audible, but sunghoon heard you loud and clear. sunghoon swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and nodded, encouraging you to continue.

sunghoon's length was straining against his pants painfully, and you couldn't help but lick your lips at the sight. a hand found its way through your hair, and guided your head towards his clothed dick.

you fumbled with the zipper of sunghoon's slacks, your hands shaking as you freed sunghoon's erection from his briefs opening. you almost moaned at how thick it was and how the tip was already beginning to form precum.

you took a deep breath, the smell of sunghoon's musk dizzying to your senses. as you parted your lips, you looked up at sunghoon, keeping your gaze on him as you slowly began leaving sloppy open-mouthed kisses across his length.

you were rewarded with a low moan from sunghoon. sunghoon stared back at you with a piercing, hungry gaze that made you squeeze your thighs together tightly.

your heart was pounding in your chest, the thrill of doing something so forbidden coursing through you like a drug. the taste of sunghoon, the smell of him so close and the heavy feeling of his cock on your tongue was something you wanted to get used to.

you started to loosely suck over the head, causing sunghoon's hips to twitch forward and thrust involuntarily. a moan released from your mouth from the sudden movement, and sunghoon groaned from the vibrations.

eager to hear more sounds like that from him, you then took his cock into your mouth with another soft moan. the head of sunghoon's cock already hitting the back of your throat while you made it more than halfway across the length.

wet sounds filling the small space between you. determined to take sunghoon all the way, you hollowed your cheeks, and bobbed your head up and down.

you only gave a few blowjobs in your life, and you never felt like you were any good at it, but the way sunghoon's grip on your hair tightened and his breathing came out more raggedly encouraged you greatly.

     “yeah, yeah, fuck,” sunghoon cursed out huskily. “such a good mouth, making me feel so good, baby.”

you flushed from the praise, your mouth moving faster, eager to please. the thrill of hearing sunghoon's voice, so usually composed and controlled all but now reduced to breathless curses and moans only spurred you on further.

sunghoon moaned and his hips began to rock, the movement setting a rhythm that you willingly followed. the sounds you dragged out of sunghoon made your own arousal grow with every second that passed. you didn’t even realize you were rubbing and shifting your thighs together to provide friction to your aching cunt, already wet from pleasing him.

as your tongue swirled around the tip and throat constricted around the intrusion, sunghoon's thrusts became more erratic, more aggressive. sunghoon's hands then guided you further down on his length as he thrusted forward, causing you to gag.

     “come on, take it,” sunghoon said, almost growling it out. it sent a shockwave of heat down into the pit of your stomach. “i know you can take it.”

so you did take it, even as your eyes watered–even as your knees began to hurt after being on the wooden floor for so long, but you didn’t care. you stayed right there and took sunghoon's cock in your mouth like a good girl, and sunghoon made sure to tell you just how good you were.

     “you’re doing so good, using your mouth so well.” sunghoon rumbled out, making you keen. “god, i could just cum right down your throat.”

you moaned loudly around his cock, squeezing your thighs together tightly again and breathing heavily through your nose. sunghoon laughed darkly, amused by your desperate reaction.

     “you want that?” he teased, eager to see how his words could make you fall apart. he tugged lightly on your hair to look you right in the eyes. “want me to fuck your throat and make you swallow my cum?”

whining, you nodded. sunghoon pulled his length out of your mouth, grinning as you chased after it.

     “let me hear you say it.” he ordered.

if your cheeks weren’t red enough, they certainly were now. you looked up at sunghoon, your watery eyes and wet, your pouty lips helping with your pleading look.

     “want it,” you panted out, voice raspy. “want your cum, wanna taste it, sir. please. fuck it down my throat.”

sunghoon licked his lips, feeling almost crazed with how badly he wanted to ruin you kneeled before him. he wanted to watch you whine, shake and cry under his touch.

with one hand still in your hair, he grabbed his dick and stroked it a few times before slapping the wet tip to your spit slicked mouth. “open wide, baby.”

you obediently parted your lips and took him back inside your mouth, eyes fluttering shut. you kept your hands on sunghoon's thighs to keep yourself steady, and slackened your jaw to allow him above you to use his mouth as he pleased.

his hips snapped forward and fucked into your mouth like a fleshlight, and that only turned you on even more.

sunghoon drove his cock deep into your throat, making you gag each time, but sunghoon didn't ease up. he held you there for a moment longer than was comfortable before continuing back to chase his orgasm. tears fell from your cheeks, your throat aching and begging for a break, but you were anxious to feel that thick, hard cock throb and convulse in your mouth when it finally came time for sunghoon to cum.

which was approaching quickly. you knew he was close because of his sloppy, stuttered thrust and filthy words.

     "shit, fuck," sunghoon gasped, his voice strained as he approached the edge of his release. his hands in your hair tightened. “i’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me fucking cum,”

you responded with a whiny moan, hurriedly sucking harder and swirling your tongue. you hollowed your cheeks more to accommodate the farthest you could reach of sunghoon's length once more, and your eyes rolled back for sunghoon to see—and that was his breaking point.

with one last desperate thrust, sunghoon came with a loud groan, his release hot and thick in your mouth. you moaned with him as cum spilled into your throat hotly. you swallowed every drop, your wet eyes never leaving sunghoon's.

you pulled back with a pop, several strings of saliva mixed with cum connecting from your lips to sunghoon's cock head. it was a sight to behold, and sunghoon couldn’t look away even as the aftershocks of his orgasm rippled through him.

     "good?" you asked simply with a lazy smile as you licked your lips, voice hoarse from the persistent assault on your throat.

sunghoon nodded instantly, breathless as his chest heaved. he gripped on the side of the desk to prevent himself from having his legs give up on him. he looked down at you, the sight of you still on your knees, disheveled hair and pink cheeks, mouth swollen from the blowjob, was almost too much to bear.

     “get up and bend over the desk.” sunghoon instructed, the need for more already burning inside his core.

when it took you a second to process what he said, sunghoon reached down and pulled you up to your feet, and captured you in a kiss once again, tasting his own release on your mouth.

he broke away, and quickly shoved the remaining papers and books off his workspace before pushing you onto the desk right on your stomach. you couldn’t tell if it was the sudden movements or sunghoon's strong arms manhandling you that left you light headed.

an indefinable sound fell from your lips when sunghoon pulled your jeans down along with your panties in a effortless quick motion, leaving them pooled at your ankles. you whined as the cool air hit your skin, but you arched your back to present your ass better to sunghoon.

it earned you a guttural groan from him behind you, and you were soon feeling sunghoon's hands graze against your thighs.

     "spread your legs," sunghoon rumbled lowly, which made your breath hitch and more than willing to comply. your heart hammered against your chest as sunghoon's thumbs caressed the sensitive parts of your inner thighs.

     “already so wet," sunghoon murmured, his voice so low and almost taunting that it sent goosebumps down your spine. you could feel his eyes set on your leaking cunt. “so eager.”

you whimpered, your cheek pressed against the cool wood of the desk. you expected to feel his hand rubbing against your neglected cunt, but then suddenly sunghoon was going down on his knees, and without warning, his tongue began to circle around your leaking heat.

the action was so unexpected that it caused your body to jolt, kicking your feet back as an involuntary response.

     “wait–oh god, professor,” you cried out, attempting to close your legs until a harsh smack made its way on your ass. your eyes widened and you moaned from the impact, whimpering as sunghoon pulled away to speak.

     “keep them open.” sunghoon husked out firmly before he spread your thighs further apart with his hands, spitting directly over your hole. he leaned back in, moaning as he lapped and sucked at your entrance with the intensity of a starved man.

you could only lay there and take it, unable to control the sounds that spilled out of your mouth from sunghoon's experienced, relentless tongue.

you gripped onto the sides of the desk, knuckles white from your effort of trying not to reach back to sunghoon. it was too much and not enough. his mouth was so hot against your skin, and his tongue swirled and probed around your hole in a way that had you gasping for air.

sunghoon leaned back, panting heavily as he swiped his hand over your hole to gather some of his spit, causing your hips to jerk forward.

     “stay still for me, baby.” sunghoon urged breathlessly, before diving right back into your slickened entrance. you squeezed your eyes shut and moaned quietly as sunghoon's tongue delved deeper, exploring your most sensitive area.

the room was filled with the sounds of his mouth devouring you completely, it was so much stimulation at once that your body began to quake, your body fighting the orgasm that threatened to consume you.

     "could stay here for hours, worshipping your pretty hole.” sunghoon murmured, catching his breath.

     "sir," you moaned, voice slightly muffled against the desk. you were so close, so very close. "please, i’m– im getting close,”

sunghoon's grip on your thighs tightened, while his other hand crept up your stomach, to your chest and squeezed the flesh. his tongue grew more and more insistent, making your breaths shorter and sharper, moans louder the more you lost yourself in the moment.

the lingering taste of sunghoon on your tongue, the feel of the same man’s tongue exploring your insides—it was dirty and exhilarating, and it was everything you wanted. you desperately wanted everything he would give you until your legs gave out.

      “go on,” sunghoon growled, sucking on your hole. “cum for me. show me how good it feels.”

sunghoon's hand going down rubbing on your clit sent you hurtling over the edge. the orgasm ripped through you, the first wave of pleasure so intense it was borderline painful. your body convulsed as your cunt shot out thick ropes of cum, and sunghoon watched as he rubbed you through it, licking his lips as strips of your release spilled to the floor.

you whined from the oversensitivity and sunghoon slowly moved his hand away, praising you softly as you laid there spent—but sunghoon was far from done. his other hand was still spreading your ass, and thighs watching how your hole spasmed from the aftershocks.

sunghoon's dick throbbed, and he cursed with a groan. he opened one of his desk drawers from the side, and pulled out a bottle of lube. he stood up and uncapped the lid, squeezing the liquid directly on your hole. you flinched against the coldness and held back an embarrassingly loud moan as you felt sunghoon lean over you.

     "you want me to fuck you?" sunghoon whispered against your ear, his now slicked up fingers teasing at your entrance. you nodded, pressing your forehead against the desk.

     “yes, yes, don’t tease, please—i can’t,” you panted heavily, pushing your ass back in hopes to get your desperation across. “want you so bad,”

sunghoon's long index finger slid into you, the uncomfortable burn of the stretch almost too much to handle-–but you didn't fight against it, didn't ask him to slow down or to ease him into it. you needed sunghoon inside of you like yesterday.

he didn’t waste any time adding a second finger alongside the first, quickly and expertly working you open. he curled his fingers upwards, constantly edging towards that heightened sensitive bundle of nerves that made your toes curl. it didn’t take long for those calloused fingers to get you wet once more.

     "oh," you gasped, your eyes watering as sunghoon's fingers stretched out your warm heat. “fuck, oh my god,”

     “so tight,” sunghoon leaned down and kissed alongside the your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “so warm. you’re gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

you let out a desperate moan from the words. you rocked your hips back vigorously against sunghoon's fingers.

     "tell me how much you want me inside you." sunghoon purred, sliding a third digit inside your tight ring.

     "i want it," you begged breathlessly. you were so far gone that you could hardly feel embarrassed for how pathetic you sounded. “sir please, i want your cock inside me, i need you, please,”

with a low groan, sunghoon pulled his fingers free and stroked at his cock to get it wet with the excess lube. he positioned himself at your entrance, nudging past the hole. you tensed, moaning softly as you looked back at him.

sunghoon locked eyes with you and gripped onto your hips, slowly sliding into you. he watched how your lips parted in an ‘o’ shape as his length filled you up to the brim.

     “does it feel good, baby?” sunghoon hummed out low as he kept his eyes on you, until your head was falling forward against the desk. it was a question that didn't need an answer. your broken moans were all the confirmation he needed.

     “yes, yes,” you panted out, rolling your hips back as sunghoon slowly grinded forward. “you’re—you’re so big. feels like you’re—oh, god, splitting me open,”

     “imagine if someone walked it, right now.” sunghoon gritted out, the tight grip of your hole making it difficult for him to keep his composure. you looked over to the closed door of the office as sunghoon leaned down to whisper against the shell of your ear. “they’d come in and see you, taking your professor’s big cock up your tight fucking cunt.”

you gasped at the words, choking out a moan as your hips jerked forward, the thought of someone seeing you get plowed into was more arousing than it should be, causing another harsh spike of arousal to rake straight through your body.

     “and you take it so good,” sunghoon continued, moaning as you clenched down. “taking it like a good cockslut, isn’t that right?”

     “no, no,” you protested weakly through a moan. “i’m not,” but you didn’t even sound convincing to yourself. you enjoyed how it sounded coming from sunghoon's mouth too much, loved even more how it made shame burn on your face.

     “oh, but you are.” sunghoon insisted darkly. his hand found a way to your hair, and gripped harshly to lift your hips up from the desk. “you were made for it, angel. made just for me.”

he tilted your face towards him, locking your lips together in a searing kiss, messy and wet as you moaned against his tongue. the angle was a bit hard to work with, but that didn’t stop your desperate frenzy to claim each other’s mouths.

sunghoon let go of your hair and traced his fingers down your back until it rested back on your hip. he slowly pulled out, watching how you shivered as he just barely let the head of his cock past your hole. he slid his cock all the way back in, grunting as he buried himself flush against your hips.

you could feel every inch of sunghoon inside of you, stretching you wide open. you inhaled sharply, shuddering as your tight cunt struggled to fully accommodate to the thick, hard length. the sensation of being so completely filled was overwhelming–and tears slowly began to form in your eyes.

     “please,” you sobbed out a moan, causing sunghoon to lean down and trail gentle kisses alongside your shoulder blades and neck.

     “shh, it’s okay,” he cooed warmly, still slowly grinding forward in a way that made your legs tremble. “you’re doing so, so good baby. i know you can take more.”

he continued with his slow and deep movement, trying to let you adjust to him as much as possible. he moved back slightly, and you urged him to continue. sunghoon pulled out halfway, and pushed you right back down on his cock by your hips.

you whined out brokenly, eyes squeezing shut as sunghoon pushed inside your heat again. each push inside sent waves of pleasure through both of your bodies. soon sunghoon was building a faster pace with his hips that left you feeling dazed, and you reached back to hold one of sunghoon's hands that glued itself at your hips.

     "harder," you slurred out, your voice raw with need. “fuck me harder.”

sunghoon responded with a deep groan, complying by pounding against your cunt with a wet, slapping sound.

you quickly grabbed onto the sides of the desk, trying to keep your balance as the wooden furniture creaked and moved against the hurried movements of your bodies.

sunghoon's grip on your hips was bruising. it kept a delicious burn on your skin, and you couldn’t help but think about the marks it’ll leave, how it’ll make you think of sunghoon's claim on your body every time you look in the mirror.

the thought only sparked more heat down to your cunt; spurring you on to arch your back and meet sunghoon back against each thrust.

your hips moved in a way that made sunghoon feel almost crazed. he found himself slowing his hips down, eyes trained on the way your hole sucked him in.

     “yeah, that’s it.” sunghoon breathed, cock twitching as he brought a hand down against your ass. “show me you can work for it, baby. bring that ass back.”

you nodded mindlessly. you propped yourself on your elbows and quickly worked your ass back. you puffed out short gasps and groans as you pushed onto sunghoon's cock, trying to show him just how good you are–how good you can make him feel.

if only you knew that sunghoon didn’t need much convincing. he was so fucking turned on, unable to stop himself from pushing your ass apart with his hands and pulling out; watching your cunt gape and clench around his cock. he inhaled sharply, smacking down on your ass once more as he pushed back in.

     "god, you’re irresistible.” sunghoon praised.

     "professor, please.”

     “say my name,” sunghoon suddenly demanded, with something else layered behind his tone. he threaded his fingers in your hair and yanked you back to lock your gazes together. “say my name.” he repeated, working his hips back up to the pace he had earlier.

you reached back and gripped onto sunghoon's hip, whining as you struggled to keep your eyes on him.

     “sunghoon,” you breathed out, your voice unsteady as the air continued to get knocked out of your lungs. “sunghoon,”

sunghoon cursed, grip tightening on your hair, tugging your head back even further to kiss you roughly again. he pulled back, before leaning down to your exposed neck. he bit and sucked onto the soft skin; hips never slowing as your cries grew louder.

his cock slid in and out with loud and obscene squelches, further amplifying the pressure in your stomach that threatened to snap for the second time. your thighs quivered and you knew you wouldn’t last, so you reached back to hold sunghoon's hand.

      “sunghoon, i’m gonna cum, fuck, please,”

sunghoon moaned loudly, moving his hands from your hair to grip on your hips, focusing his brutal thrusts where you like the most.

you immediately tensed up, mouth parted in a silent moan as your eyes rolled back, and your second orgasm ripped right through your body.

     "there it is," sunghoon panted out, voice filled with pride. he lifted one of your legs and set his foot on the desk, changing the angle as he sank right back into you to chase his own climax. “there’s a good fucking girl.”

and you felt the hot, hard length of his cock press into your entrance again, making a sound from the back of your throat that didn’t even sound like you. you gripped onto the sides of the desk, and cried out through broken moans.

you were so sensitive, but you became obsessed with the feeling of being used even when your body felt like it couldn’t take anymore. your spent cunt twitched in further interest, but you could only babble through the overstimulation, your body burning and twitching like a live wire.

your hole kept convulsing, which sent sunghoon right over the edge. with a breathless groan, sunghoon's hips stilled, and his cock pulsed as he filled your cunt with cum.

you moaned at the feeling of sunghoon's cock throbbing inside you. the sensation alone sent more aftershocks of pleasure through your body. as sunghoon rode out the rest of his orgasm, your legs gave out from under you and you fell limp against the desk, your breathing ragged. your cheek was pressed against the wood, eyes closed as you soaked in the feeling of sunghoon's cock and cum buried deep within you.

sunghoon leaned down and pressed his chest against your back. he slid one of his hands down, coming to rest on your ass. he gave it a firm squeeze, his fingers digging into the flesh. "good girl," sunghoon murmured, the words rewarding him with a tired giggle from the you.

for a moment, you both stayed in that position, your bodies stuck together with sweat and your hearts racing.

once you both caught your breaths, sunghoon slowly leaned back up and slipped his cock from your puffy cunt with a wet popping sound. cum leaked out, and despite being thoroughly exhausted, sunghoon had to stop himself from wanting to eat you out again.

he grabbed some wet wipes he had in one of his drawers and gently cleaned you up. you both were quiet, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. you were basking in your afterglow and the comforting presence of one another.

you started pulling your panties and jeans back up as sunghoon cleaned himself too. once you were both dressed, you locked eyes and smiled. sunghoon leaned forward and kissed you.

your kiss was gentle now, unlike the first time. there was no rush, no desperation but still desire and affection. sunghoon pulled you closer, and you melted into the embrace. neither of you knew what you were doing, but what you did know is that you would most likely figure it out together.

[yunjardi]

she's returning,,, vote for the new banner x

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Voting ended onSep 11, 2025

♡ u guys

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[onlyjaeyun]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝟑𝟏

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭

↬ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐉𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐥'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐄𝐎.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

𝐜𝐰: 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐯𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

(A/N: sorry for the delay babies but here you go! we're starting the next round of angst tomorrow so be ready 🤕 thank you so, so much for all the love on the previous chapters, i cant thank you guys enough and i hope you all know how much i appreciate you all 🥺💞 sending kisses to everyone! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!!!!🧸🩷)

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[yunjardi]

Keep reading

[donghyckl]

really need the writer to come back 😞😞 this is my comfort smau

[boyfhee]

MATCHMAKER ✶ park jongseong

❛ just you, jay, and his six year old daughter who starts playing matchmaker when his coward of a dad can’t stop giggling at the thought of you. ❜

16O3O words of single dad jay ♥︎ kindergarten teacher reader

INCLUDES───fluff, humour, loads of cuteness, jay is a single girl dad, tired and a yearner through and through, matchmaker and menace of a daughter called ‘jiyu,’

WARNINGS───kissing, skinship, petnames, mentions of death ( not the reader or jay, ) drinking, lots and lots of hello kitty bye

CAELIN───round of applause for single dad jay !!!!! i have actually been thinking about this since i posted my very first single dad drabble. i’m super excited to share this with all of you. please lmk what you think & talk to me about this, it’s one of my forever favourites happy reading ◜ᴗ⁠◝ cr @yeokii for the beautiful banner i love u goat

PART ONE PART TWO ✶ please read these before diving into this one for everything to make sense hehe :3

OO1 FEARLESS

jay, nine, decided he was too cool to have fears.

you wouldn’t be afraid of something if you didn’t let it scare you.

insects, sure, they make his skin crawl. but scared? nah. he wasn’t scared when he tried to drive for the first time, when he went bungee jumping, or when he swam to the deeper part of the pool at the age of sixteen— fifteen feet to be exact. he was never scared of needles and ghost stories have always failed to amuse him.

then, he got married at twenty four, had the prettiest little baby girl at twenty six and lost the love of his life at twenty seven.

perhaps, the time he felt anything close to fear was his daughter’s angelic face scrunched up in painful sobs and he didn’t know what to do. second time, it was when she almost fell from the bed when she was two, third, probably when he accidentally broke her hello kitty headband when she was four.

mistakes happen, he is only human, and jay had trained himself through books and constant advice from his parents to be the father of the century. no, he still doesn’t have a fear.

and then cue a busy day at work, endless meetings and piles of files that need his signature. he sees the numbers on the clock go from two to three in the noon. and jay has never stormed out of his office faster than now.

jay, now thirty two, has a fear— getting late to pick his daughter up from school— and it’s coming to life right now.

he always makes it on time, or before, managing to buy her favourite snacks to surprise her on the way back. the mothers talk while he waits in his chic black maserati, they smile to themselves when they see her run to him with saccharine giggles and he scoops her up.

jay— ideal employee and father— was convinced he was second to no one.

but today, god, he might be just speeding beyond limits, frantically looking at the time and at the road alternatively. he’s scared his darling daughter would be crying. he is never late— well, except once. it was a year ago, he was still new to managing work with her school days. she was sitting in the empty classroom alone with the teacher working on the side. the look on her face that day felt like a knife through his heart, and he promised to her that he would never be late again.

but then, today was the second time and he doesn’t know if his car is racing faster or his heart as he pulls up in front of the kindergarten. hurrying out of the car, he basically runs through the entrance, silently hoping and praying she doesn’t look lonely like the first time. he stops, taking a deep breath, eyes falling wide at the sight of his daughter.

she’s giggling, trying to kick the football. she looks up at you for validation at her poor attempt, a toothy grin adorning his face when you clap your hands. his lips erupt into an involuntary smile at the sight of you exhibiting a defeated frown— albeit dramatically— when jiyu scores a goal.

his heart skips a beat, she is his entire world, and she is happy, laughing, enjoying herself, and then it’s you— jiyu’s pretty teacher and his, well, dream girl. he doesn’t know why his heart has sped up anymore.

“papa!” the cute, little voice pulls him out of his trance, and his lips curl into a fond smile as he gets on one knee to embrace his little princess, greeting her with a kiss on the temple.

“hi, princess,” he caresses her cheeks, eyes going over the mess she has made out of her clothes. it’s going to be a tough time getting all that dirt and paint out but gosh, anything for her. with jiyu’s head on his shoulder, his eyes settle on you, and his face heats up again. “sorry for being late,”

he gives you a slight nod, a wordless thank you for looking after jiyu and a quiet apology for keeping you occupied. and when you return the smile back, he starts going crazy. even after having a fair share of women in his life, you have managed to bewitch him with pretty eyes and the ability to make his daughter smile.

actually, he has been crazy about you since day one, even before he had seen you, known you, heard you. he remembers how jiyu would eat his ears off while rambling about how pretty you are— she still does, except he listens and agrees with her like he has never heard any truer words in his life.

before, he got up early and dressed her up for school because education is important. now, it’s because he’s just as excited as jiyu to see you. education is still there— you have simply managed to make it seem less important.

“it’s fine, we had fun together. right, lovebug?” you assure, tickling jiyu’s sides as she yelps while swatting your hand away playfully.

and his heart aches in the best way when she gets out of his embrace to play with you. jay can swear he could melt into a puddle with how cute you both are, your laughs music to his ears, like a melody he has been missing for years. you can call him out on his lack of responsibility for being fashionably late to picking his daughter up and he would listen to it all with a fond gaze.

he stands up, holding the grayish-blue blazer in his hand, unable to take his eyes away from you, only to blink back to reality when jiyu tugs on his trousers.

“papa, i scored two goals today!” she chirps, eyes wide and gleaming in expectation for some compliments from her beloved father.

“really?” she nods proudly and jay grins like he is the one who made the goals. he is far too proud of his little girl. ronaldo should be glad jiyu is more interested in hello kitty colouring books. “let’s buy some treats to celebrate,”

“treats!” she exclaims before immediately getting distracted by a butterfly, running off to the side.

and it’s quiet again.

his hands are sweating, butterflies cartwheeling in his stomach. you’re telling jiyu to be careful not to trip and jay, he has already fallen for you once again. words can never be enough to express how much he appreciates you taking care of her.

the way wind blows through your hair makes him sigh in adoration, your eyes the brightest thing in existence, even more than the stars. and jay has never been the one to get sappy but he would write sonnets for you.

it’s getting awkward, aside from jiyu’s attempts to catch the butterfly and the visible concern written in your face. with a deep inhale, he musters up all his courage, the thump in his chest getting louder. “thank you for looking after her,”

and when you look at him with a warm smile, eyes crinkling up in crescents, he wants to melt in your hands the very moment. “no worries, it’s my job,”

even your voice resonates of a song sung by angels— he can’t believe he is thinking all that at his grown age. he wants to slap his face or bang his hand on the wall to pull himself together. but again, you make him want to write letters in your name. he’s a hopeless case.

“she likes you a lot,” i do too, he wants to add, but he controls. he is a grown man, for god’s sake, and here you have him blushing and swooning like a teenager having the first encounter with love. it’s crazy— just a month ago he was losing his mind over his daughter fawning over you and now, he’s doing the same.

his next words are interrupted by his dear daughter’s stubborn whines. he knew she would give up on the butterfly soon, stomping her tiny feet back to him. she’s already sold to the treats and nothing can calm her before she gets her hands on them.

“papa, let’s go! i want treats!” and jiyu, she is relentless, pulling his hand towards his car while he looks at you helplessly. patience is all he has ever taught her and she is everything that reminds him of his late wife.

he shoots an apologetic smile in your direction and lets her drag him to the car, knowing he can never say no when she gives those doe eyes to get him to fulfill her demands. her tiny hands grip around his fingers that taught her to walk and pull him in one direction while his heart gravitates in another— and this is just the beginning.

jay has been thinking.

with slow hands stirring the soup, his wandering mind has once again decided to go back to you. he can feel jiyu’s curious eyes scanning his face— she sighs like a middle aged adult— and he clears his throat with intention.

“so…what does your pretty miss like?” he is cautious, obviously trying to play it cool as if it’s completely normal for a parent to ask that. he does not want to show his exact intentions, at least not yet.

jiyu looks up from the colouring book in confusion, crayons scattered above the kitchen counter. she presses her lips together, as if having a deep thought. “um hello kitty! and strawberries!” a pause, she tilts her head to the right. “why?”

why.

good question, a damn good question with no answer. even he is wondering why. does he like you? everyone does, he’d be crazy to find you unlikeable. does he want you? yes— no! he slaps himself mentally.

he looks over at his daughter and she is humming one of her favourite rhymes while colouring the unicorns. it reminds him how you were holding her hand to guide her over the outlines, teaching her how to fill the colours properly. he also remembers how you had kissed her cheek since she did a good job, and he almost wanted you to kiss him too— jay wants to bang his head into a wall.

he wants to stop thinking about you, to save himself from spiralling into madness. it is clearly not working, so he goes back to his initial mission.

“can you ask what her favourite flower is?” his voice is a little more cautious this time, eyes fixed on the soup as if he doesn’t want to throw away everything and only talk about you.

she looks up again. “why?” and he groans internally.

gosh, do her questions ever end?

“it’s good to know your teacher,” he is trying so hard to make it sound weird. he turns off the stove, one hand on the counter as he leans against it. “and you can give her flowers to make her happy! you like her, don’t you?”

jiyu doesn’t respond, completely engrossed in her messy crayon drawing with the tongue sticking out in concentration.

and then, a quiet whisper follows. “i think papa likes her more,”

he winces internally at her words, not wanting to hear those words from her, out of all people. it makes him sound like he is in denial and trying to avoid the topic— even though he is, but he is not going to admit it.

is he being that obvious? he has barely known you for a little over a month— that too, only at school pickups and boring parents teachers meetings that he now loves to attend. yes, he accepts that he looks at you a little longer than he looks at everyone else. he doesn’t look at anyone else, only you. and it was going to be just you for a very, very long time.

“what no— i mean yes, but no!” he is panicking, losing his mind. the words are jumbled inside his head and the look on jiyu’s face tells that she knows his poor papa is having a quarter life crisis.

of course, he likes you. he likes your smile, your soft voice while you’re talking to the kids, your eyes and the way they sparkle all the time as if they hold the stars. jay likes you a lot, he’s just not ready to admit that out loud, especially not to his tiny, nosy, love-struck little matchmaker.

and unfortunately enough for him, she’s not waiting for a ‘yes’ from him. “you do! you get red when you see her! and you smile at her videos!” jiyu claims with full confidence— she is right.

his eyes crinkle up in crescents whenever he comes across one of your baking videos. when jiyu told him about your baking channel for the first time, he pictured his future with you. he thinks it’s destiny— he loves to cook, you love to bake— it’s a match made in heaven, a written in the stars type of love story.

his heart flutters at your cute cutelery, the pretty ceramics and adorable bowls. it’s adorable. he can’t even see your face, just the sound of your soothing voice is enough to ease his mind.

“that does not mean i like her, darling,” but jay is a father, first and foremost, before a loverboy lying to his daughter about his feelings. he doesn’t need his six year-old walking special agent to know about the feelings bubbling in his chest.

at least, not yet.

jiyu gets back to her colouring book, shaking her pretty little head like a tired parent. it’s unbelievable that he refuses to accept it even after she has called out his red face whenever you are around. raising a dad is hard, she would say, he is always in denial.

and she is definitely going to do something about it. “lilies are pretty,” she mumbles, not looking up from her colouring book but she knows she has all his attention. “you like lilies too!”

it makes hundred percent sense in her tiny brain that’s working overtime.

jay likes lilies, he gives you lilies, you end up liking lilies too— she hopes you will— you both bond over lilies and get closer and kiss. it’s the perfect scheme ever, she has seen it in one of the princess movies. well, not exactly, because the flowers were magical but nonetheless, she hopes the lilies do the work.

she’s devising a masterplan and jay— he knows just where to get the flowers from. he doesn’t need to be asked twice. pretty pink lilies wrapped in a bouquet with a ribbon. he’s already trying to come up with words to add onto a little note by the side.

pink lilies are for admiration. yeah, this is a great start.

jiyu is on a mission.

tiny hands holding a pot of lilies, brows furrowed, she looks at her father who is crouching in front of her. “give this to pretty miss,”

her shoulders are heavy with responsibility, she absolutely cannot mess this up. her tiny hands hold the small plant, and also jay’s pipeline to a love story with you but let’s not dwell into the details.

she nods firmly, way too interested in this little cupid act that she has gotten into. this has to be the most important day in her whole six years of life. her hold tightens on the pot, and she speaks with resolution. “will do!”

he sighs, fixing her ponytail. “and what do you say?”

“flowers are good and make you happy!” and dear heavens, jay has never been so proud of this little angel he has. honestly, he does feel a little silly for dragging her into his mess, but it was impossible to keep her out. she suggested the lilies and he knows she wouldn’t shut up about them until they have reached you safe and secure.

she has eyes as keen as an eagle and he is an open book.

she waves him goodbye, walking through the pink and blue entrance of the school and frowning at everyone who tries to touch the flower. her steps are laced with determination, wanting to do this right and make her father proud.

she walks to the class, flaunting the brand new hello kitty keychain on her bag pack. she was going to brag about it later. now, her eyes land on you as you arrange the books, and she approaches you with the puppy dog eyes that make the stars sigh in unison.

“pretty miss!” her cute voice makes you turn on your heel, a gasp falls off your lips as she holds the pot up and gives you her characteristic toothy smile. “for you!”

she’s shooting sparkles with her eyes that are looking at you eagerly for a reaction. it’s making you feel so many things at once, are you even supposed to take a gift from a student? you’re not sure, but you don’t have it in you to reject her surprise when she is looking at you with that grinning face.

“for me?” you look at the plantlet, and then at the excitement on her face as she hands it to you, her adorable eyes brimming with anticipation that you would like the gift. “why?”

“flowers are good!” she is beaming with cheerfulness, hands together and lips curved into the brightest smile. she is so proud of herself, almost imagining her dad patting her back and giving her all the chocolates. “papa told me to— oops!”

and the next second, her tiny hands fly over to her mouth, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. a gasp, she tries to blink the surprise away, gears turning inside her little head to come up with the best excuses. she cannot afford to mess this up. it’s about her papa and her pretty teacher— better than any princess story she has ever read.

you giggle at her innocent slip-up, the way her fingers fidgeting together in nervousness. you crouch to her level, gently placing the pot of lily on your work desk. “your father sent these?”

this is like her nightmare coming true. she can already see her father sighing disappointedly— no more spying, no more missions— her bottom lip is quivering at the mere thought of it.

“no!” and she shakes her head vigorously, try her very best to prove that it is not the case. “it’s a secret,”

you can barely enquire more before she runs off to her seat, successfully getting distracted by her friend’s cinnamoroll keychain. meanwhile, your eyes settle on the plant, the single flower that’s still about to reach its full bloom. there’s a bud next to it, small stars painted intricately on the ceramic pot. there’s a hello kitty sticker too— you know exactly who put it there.

you can hardly stop yourself from smiling, even when you’re supposed to go over the basic mathematics right now. your eyes inadvertently fall upon the beautiful white flower kept in the sunlight, the sight causing a slight flutter in your chest as warmth crept up your cheeks.

frankly, you have never thought about a parent of your students in such a way. it’s a little bashful, not to mention, unprofessional. although, something about jay makes you want to forget all those things and throw the cognition out of the window.

you see reflections of him in jiyu— the lovely smile, the way her eyes close when she laughs, her mannerisms, the slight raise in her brows when she is focused, and she is confident just like him, walking in as if she owns the room.

you don’t like working overtime but staying a little longer to look after jiyu is out of the equation. she’s cute, after all, and so is her dad, who shows up with an apologetic smile and tousled hair to pick her up. his eyes speak of exhaustion yet never running out of the love he harbours for her. his suit jacket is always on his forearm, tie a little loose and messy.

it doesn’t escape your attention the way his ears go red while talking to you and he avoids meeting your eyes. at this point, you don’t know if you’re staying late to look after jiyu or to catch a glimpse of her very attractive dad.

you continue with your duties, which certainly don’t include looking forward to meeting a certain someone but you end up counting down the minutes until the school hours end. parents teacher meetings are draining but when it’s with him, you find it oddly enjoyable. getting distracted was rather usual now, it was impossible to stop thoughts about him from flooding into your mind.

one quiet moment and your thoughts go back to him. it certainly didn’t help that jiyu mentioned him every few minutes— ‘my papa is the best—’ yeah, and you think so too.

much to your disappointment, you get caught up in a conversation with another parent to even see him, and it really pained to bid jiyu goodbye all alone and not walk her to the exit. it’s as if the universe isn’t on your side either because he arrived on time to pick up his little angel— fifteen minutes earlier in fact.

you could only watch him from a distance as he scooped her up in his arms and showered her with kisses, barely able to focus on the conversation at hand. and it melts your heart at the way jiyu waves you goodbye before resting her head on his shoulder as he carries her to his car, disappearing in the crowd of cheerful kids and yearning parents.

his hands are full of promised snacks and a surprise chocolate mousse patisserie that she loves to death. he can imagine his late wife scolding him for spoiling their daughter, but he can’t say no when she is looking at him with the very eyes he fell in love with ten years ago.

he shakes his head with a sigh, following jiyu’s tiny steps inside the house, calling out from behind. “careful!”

she’s a menace through and through, a treats monster on tiny feet that seemingly never gets tired even after school. he’s closing the door behind him and she stumbles on the way to the couch— his heart leaps out of his chest. even after six years, nothing can get him used to her energetic spirit that rules the entire house and has him dancing on her palms.

“snacks!” she claps her hands together, bouncing on the couch with happiness. it’s all she cares about, he doesn’t have to know about her little blunder in the plan. she can’t wait to have her papa-jiyu playtime where they both have snacks and share secrets.

and then she jumps down from the couch, restlessly running to him as she pulls her sparkly purple bag from his arm and shuffles through the colouring books and notebooks to pull out a pink envelope, basically shoving it into his face. “pretty miss gave this for you,”

his pulse increases at the simple mention of your name, and the fact that you send him an envelope— it feels like setting fire to his nerves. his shaky hands hold it cautiously, as if it’s worth millions. actually, to him, it does.

jay tilts his head— it’s exactly where jiyu gets that habit from— and he blinks at the sunflower sticker on top of the envelope. it makes him smile, you’re way too similar to jiyu when it comes to cute stickers and the colour pink.

he pulls out a small card from inside, and written on it is a small note which he can’t even read since the words are falling blind to his eyes. he is way too busy admiring your handwriting, the slight cursive that is just so you.

‘thank you for the lilies. they’re beautiful. ps. jiyu is bad at keeping secrets.’

and it happens again.

the jumbling of words inside his mind, heart beating relentlessly. he doesn’t know if he should consider his plan a success or failure— at least you have the lilies, he reassures himself, trying to hide his face behind the card that he knows is going to the safest locker in his cupboard.

and jiyu looks at him in confusion. “papa, you’re red again,”

OO2 TOOTH & NAIL

“papa,” she whispers in her cute voice, gesturing to him with her tiny hands to bend down to her level. “he gave her coffee,”

it’s not a known fact but jay and jiyu can pass for spies, or maybe they became one after he picked her up and saw another man approach you with what seemed like coffee.

this isn’t how things were supposed to go, but life is unpredictable. it was going to be an afternoon full of healthy vegetable sandwiches followed by ice cream and a movie of jiyu’s choice. well, that is until a certain someone reached you out with coffee right in front of him and jay felt like he was being challenged for a duel.

even she is engrossed— eyes squinted and fixed, she is judging that man with all her four feet and two inches. her face scrunches up— he’s not even that good-looking, not more than her prince of a father. no amount of spy missions to find cookies in the kitchen with her dad ( that he hid, by the way ) could measure up to this moment.

this just might be the most important mission of her entire life.

“come on, sweetheart. we should go home,” he buckles her seatbelt and turns on the ignition, and she nods like a commander in action.

she turns to her dad, eyes determined. the mission is clear— you’re a princess in danger, needing to be saved from the monster who lures people with coffee. her dear papa is the knight in shining armour, it’s exactly how the stories go. “are you going to fight?”

and jay scoffs, contradictory to the rules of disney. he huffs like this entire thing has nothing to do with him, even though his knuckles turn white with how firmly he is gripping the steering. “what? no!”

jay is indeed going to fight. tooth and nail.

he feels stupid for having these emotions— the butterflies, a crush, and the jealousy that seeps through his skin, drop by drop, every time he thinks about what happened earlier. the picture of you with he who shall not be mentioned is ingrained in his mind. eyes open, eyes closed, he sees you and him, and the thought that follows leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

‘do you like him? is he your boyfriend?’

jay prefers to ignore the latter.

you did look happy when he gave you the coffee and your lips had curved up in the same beautiful smile that melts his heart every single time, even in his wildest dreams. he has never been so restless and nervous. his mouth is going dry as the seconds pass— tick-tock, tick-tock— she inhales sharply, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

jay— the epitome of confidence and composure, is losing his cool because you interact with other men.

you and him are barely anything, and even if you were, you can talk to anyone you want. he knows that in all the right corners of his mind, even though his thoughts probably make him seem like a madman. hell, even he is surprised but he gets crazy when you’re the one driving.

his eyes go over the counter again— flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla, blueberries, baking powder, spatula, butter, milk, some more— all check. and then he gets to the matter at hand.

“do you think she likes cookies?” he asks jiyu, who is once again sitting on her high chair at the counter, making puzzles. “or muffins. everyone likes muffins,”

and she doesn’t even look up, tongue sticking out as she’s trying to figure out which piece goes where— a quiet mumble falls off her lips. “you can ask her,”

“no!” he shrieks and almost drops the spatula. “that’s a no, princess,”

the thought of you being aware of his stupid plans haunts him.

jay cannot think about asking your likes and dislikes without cringing on the inside and dying a little. you’re jiyu’s teacher, for god’s sake, even though that hasn’t stopped him from imagining you had his girlfriend and giggling under the blanket.

well, he hopes you like muffins. you have made a video about it, the one he watched religiously last night. it wasn’t in his best plans to woo you with his impeccable skills in the kitchen, but jay absolutely cannot let another man win you over while he sits with his hands tied.

he purses his lips in deep thought while absentmindedly tracing the rim of the bowl with his finger, and jiyu notices it all. she sees the way her dear father sighs every few seconds, wiping his sweaty hands on the apron.

the puzzle is gone, long forgotten. instead, she puts her elbow on the counter and rests her pretty face on tiny hands— an interrogation. “papa, are you scared?”

he scoffs.

he whips his head in her direction.

sacred? he is offended, it’s written all over his face. jay is the hero of all her midnight action stories, he is her spiderman who saves her from the monster octopus and superman who defeats carrots and capsicums.

he hasn’t been scared in years— okay, well, he did have a first hand encounter with fear every time he was late to pick jiyu up from school— but that is all. he has told her all about his great acts of bravery ( bungee jumping, swimming and riding a rollercoaster ) and it is like a dagger to his heart to hear her say that him, out of all the people, is scared.

he puts his hand over his heart that just cracked a little because his lovely daughter thought he was scared. a beautiful woman with pretty eyes and adorable smile hasn’t got anything on him.

sacred wouldn’t even be the last word he would use to describe himself.

“papa is never scared, darling,” he leans over the counter to boop her nose, lips flaunting a prideful grin.

and jiyu tilts her head adorably, the stars in her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “are you going to kiss pretty miss?”

jay feels the flutter in his chest again.

the thought of kissing you, you— his hands are shaking already. it is a dream come true for him. you look like an angel bestowed upon the earth, he would fall apart a thousand times before his lips touch yours.

and when they finally do, he would turn into angel dust blessed by your touch.

god, he is writing poetry about you in his head, seeing you in the flowers and the stars, in every beautiful thing in existence. jay is putting shakespeare to shame with his devotion, even though he can’t believe this is who he actually is.

he shakes his head, hands on waist and all, his squinted eyes shooting playful glares to his lovely daughter. “where are you learning all this from?”

“princess story! the prince and princess kiss and they live together!” and she is ever so excited, almost jumping on her seat. her grip tightens over her bunny plushie with anticipation. “if you kiss her, will she live with us?”

her words strike a certain cord in him— he is feeling a lot of things at once.

it’s yearning, perhaps, a longing for something he wants, something that he had before and lost through the cracks in his very palms that promised a happy future. jay was sure he would never fall for anyone else but here he was, already on the ground for you. he was scared for jiyu but she felt the safest with you, as if she had known you for an entire lifetime.

all his questions lead to you, all his answers are in you. his mind pushes him into pits of doubt while his heart pulls him out by the mere thought of you.

his hands are still shaking— but, he swears to hold yours ever so tenderly with his hesitant fingers. he would hold your heart like it’s glass and surrender himself to you.

that is, if you let him.

“i don’t know,” he sighs, adding extra choco chips to the batter. “that’s for her to decide, angel,”

after all, jay can only hope and pray.

“more glitter!” jiyu has the entire apartment up her shoulders, her tiny yet assertive voice ordering jay around like a poor employee under a cold-hearted boss.

he looks at the clock in worry, his little boss has no concept of time. “angel, that’s enough—”

“no, you have to make it pretty!” she exclaims with her glittery hands, grabbing yet another sparkly pen from her collection. “we need more glitter and heart and hello kitty stickers,”

the entire bed is filled with stickers, colourful pens and whatnots. he feels the headache approaching— he did not wake up an hour earlier than usual and cleaned the entire bedroom only to do it again after makes a mess of everything again.

jay isn’t quite sure if he should be worrying or not, she refuses to get ready for school without finishing their super secret ‘operation : save pretty teacher’ formulated by the one and only, park jiyu.

he only watched in defeat as she decorates the card— more glitter, more stars, more hello kitty— her tongue is poking out in concentration. jay thinks it’s genetic.

and then she shoves the paper in his face, wanting honest feedback, which means lots of compliments in her language.

“we should write a note,” jay presses his lips together, trying to come up with something. nothing too weird or forward, just nice and sweet like you.

jiyu claps her hand, chiming “say you want to marry her!” like it’s the best thing she has come up with in the six years of her life. it is, in fact, the most brilliant idea her tiny six year mind has thought of.

“stop it,” his heart is racing again— he is almost imagining you in a wedding gown already. he clears his throat as if jiyu’s words didn’t make his brain short circuit for a good few minutes. “okay. write ‘have a good day, pretty miss,”

and jay thinks he is smart.

making jiyu write his words in her adorably messy handwriting to make you believe that this was definitely not his idea and he certainly did not sit through the whole process of her making a greeting card for you. he was never the courageous one, not while confessing to his late wife, neither to you. although, he does feel a little more certain this time— it’s simply your magic.

she finishes up writing and he slides the pink card in the envelope ever so effortlessly— both of them sharing a prideful grin.

mission, half successful.

jiyu is on a mission once again.

part two of the same, truthfully. she strides forward with purposeful steps, confident that she is not going to mess this up like last time.

a spy never discloses secrets of their partner. she is going to have her mouth zipped up, locked.

she places the box of muffins and the envelope on your desk with her tippy toes, finding satisfaction in the way your face morphs from confusion into pleasant surprise.

“again?” you marvel at the fragrance of freshly baked muffins and she stands with hands on her sides, proud and victorious. “you don’t want to share them with your friends?”

“no! papa said this is only for you!” and it happens again, her brows rising up in shock. it doesn’t hit her until her small hands are over her mouth, wanting to take her words back. “that was a secret…”

you fail to bite back a giggle as her precious face flushes red, eyes moving all around except at your face. she cannot believe she screwed the missing again— she might just not get that hello kitty merch now.

you take a look at the pastel yellow box of muffin again, the cute marshmallow design bringing a smile to your lips. it’s evident that jiyu picked it herself. you know her enough to know she is just three things— hello kitty, marshmallows and strawberries— mostly.

“thank you, sweetheart,” you ruffle his hair, the pout on her lips only making you want to pull her into a hug. too bad, you have a job, otherwise you wouldn’t mind spending the whole day simply admiring her adorable face.

it’s the same process all over again— the envelope on your desk, jay’s handsome face in your mind, and the secret not-to-be-told that had slipped off jiyu’s lips ringing in your ears. your hands are itching to open the envelope, with utmost care, nonetheless. you would go over every crease and fold with a smile, maybe even kick your feet under the duvet while you’re giggling at every other word and scribble like you did last time.

jay has you falling for him just as deep as he has fallen for you, if not more.

butterflies house in your chest at the mere thought of him. it’s utterly unprofessional and disgustingly cute, and you haven’t even had a proper conversation with him where he is not jiyu’s father and you aren’t her teacher.

you don’t think you know him anymore than jiyu brags about— his maserati, the fact that they both have matching hello kitty headbands and that he is very, very good in the kitchen. you do want to know him more. perhaps, his favourite colour, or the book he likes.

maybe, how his hand would feel in yours— you drop the chalk amidst thinking about jay and spelling a word on the blackboard. you are going crazy, and you don’t think you want to get better anytime soon.

by the time school hours end, you make it your goal to walk jiyu to her dad yourself. the simple thought is making your heart race so fast, you can hear it echo in your ears.

and then you see him— gray suit, black locks slicked back. he is frantically trying to fix it as he catches your sight, and you chuckle under your breath, not missing the shy smile on his lips.

jay shines like gold in the setting sun, or perhaps it’s his own glow drawing you in. you are like a planet to the sun, always finding yourself revolving in orbits around him. you feel a similar flutter in your chest when he hugs jiyu like she’s his entire world— which she is.

and your breath gets caught up in your throat when his eyes finally meet yours. you notice the way he fumbles a few words again, you wonder if he knows you’re no better either.

“thank you for the muffins,” you manage to say, soft and sweet, it sounds like melodies to him. “how did you know blueberry is my favourite flavour?”

“just a lucky guess,” he says, trying to play it cool, knowing very well he scrolled through your channel to know your preferences. he knows you don’t like pineapple while chocolate is your second favourite. you’re trying to learn how to make mousse cakes and lobotomy wouldn’t even touch him because in his head, jay is already picturing the two of you baking it together.

“papa stayed up all night to bake! i helped too!” jiyu chimes in with a proud smile while jay is actively trying to disappear into the floor. she stayed up despite his hesitation, he did not want to risk her getting late to school. and now, it’s dreadful as well, because she can recite his crashouts from the night before word to word.

you grin at her words, ruffling her hair and almost melting at the contact when she leans into your touch. “no wonder they were delicious,”

“he also said your handwriting is pretty and it made his heart do a funny beat—”

and his hand flies over her tiny mouth that can’t keep secrets at all, while his face is red from the way you are looking at him. “don’t mind her,”

you swear, your heart just did a funny beat.

it’s the way he pulls her back and hushes her frantically that has you laughing under your breath. you shake your head at the pout on jiyu’s lips while he scolds her in the softest voice. he’s freaking out while trying not to be obvious about it and it’s the cutest family scene ever.

jay barely waits for another second before offering you a polite bow and walking towards his car.

“jay,” and you can hardly think before his name rolls off your tongue as if it has become a habit. “do you have something to say?”

you don’t know what you’re aiming for here.

maybe, you’ve been watching too many romcoms and reading too much into his little actions— it sounds stupid to you, even. the lilies, muffins, glittery cards and scribbled hearts can mean only one thing.

you still want to hear it from him to relieve all your doubts.

and before he could ever find words, jiyu already had a big grin on her face and eyes gleaming with impatience. “yes! papa likes—”

jay wants the earth to explode or something.

“would you look at the time? we should get going,” he drags his dear daughter to the car, ears red, cheeks flushed, barely having the courage to look you in the eye after the stunt jiyu pulled.

nonetheless, it told you exactly what you wanted to know.

you big goodbyes to other kids once the two of them are out of sight, and jay exhales heavily with his hands on the steering wheel as if he made it out of a death ring by an inch.

he looks over at his daughter who is sitting with her tiny arms crossed over her chest and the cutest frown dancing on her lips. jay knows he might have to buy an entire bakery to make it up to her.

it’s moments like this that remind him that she is much like her mother when it comes to mannerisms. she would have showered her in kisses as an apology but for now, jay will stick to bribing her with sweets if it means he can save image in front of you.

“never, ever, and i mean ever, say that in front of her,” he’s firm, soft, but also says it like a plea, like his whole life depends on that small mouth that holds big secrets.

“but it’s true! you like her!” she retorts, loud and proud. simply hearing it from her gives him a mini heart attack. “you tell her that and kiss and we live together— it’s easy!”

and jay had spent afternoons bickering with his wife that their daughter would take after him in some aspects. now, it’s biting him back since she inherited his stubborn attitude and refusal to give up.

he shifts the gears, hitting acceleration. “you’ll know when you grow up, little miss,”

and she huffs, brows furrowed. “i’m a big girl!”

OO3 MASTERPLAN

jiyu does believe she is a big girl. she’s six, big number, she can do additions in her mind and help her dear father write love letters because he is too much of a scaredy cat.

she has her lips zipped, not speaking a word about him to you for the next few days. no, she isn’t upset. it’s all a part of her big, masterplan. he didn’t spend the saturday night with a torch light under her space blanket for nothing.

the crumbled sheets of her drawing copy still lie in the trash can in her room, titled with ‘papa insert a poorly drawn heart pretty teacher’ and then scribbled off when she couldn’t devise a plan.

she didn’t give up, though, that word does not exist in her not so vast vocabulary yet. she stayed up all night looking at the glowy stars on her ceiling, lips pressed together, and then finally fisting her tiny hands with determination.

jiyu is tired of her dad fumbling every chance so she takes matters in her own tiny, glittery hands.

it’s just another busy afternoon at work for him and he’s picking jiyu up late again, warm coffee in hand, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled. he still remembers the first time he had arrived late and she was sitting alone, small legs dangling off the bench.

it was before you had joined and even though he knows you would sit next to jiyu the whole time while she’s waiting for him, it still doesn’t do much to ease his worries. if there’s one thing he hates, it’s to keep his little girl waiting.

you’re kneeling beside her cubby helping her zip up her hoodie, when he hurries inside with heavy breaths and a relieved smile at the sight of you next to jiyu.

“sorry,” he almost forgetting to breath when you smile at him, finding it hard to think straight when your eyes are on him. “i hit every red light,”

“all good,” you stand up, laughing when jiyu runs up to him and wraps her arms around his legs. “we were just having a fashion crisis,”

“papa,” jiyu says suddenly— her voice high, sweet, dangerously casual. there’s a certain glint in her eyes and god, it sets his heart off on a nervous journey. “did you know that pretty miss’ new video got so many views!”

he was almost expecting her to say something risky again— she can’t keep secrets for the life in her. although, her words bring a wave of relief to him. at least she isn’t planning to pull any stunts— for now. jay tugs her backpack over one shoulder and tilts his head. “did it?”

and he does it so innocently as if he wasn’t one of the earliest viewers in your new video, clicking the notification as soon as you posted it. he had already imagined your pretty face morphed in happiness when he saw your new video reach above a million views by the morning— yes, he opened youtube as soon as he got up.

“yes!” she exclaims, a little too excited, her ponytail swaying as she turns to you with a big grin. “papa is a big fan,”

you blink. “what?”

jay freezes, palms sweating as realisation dawns upon him. jiyu looks way too happy with no sign of wanting to stop on her face. her sharp tongue knows no bounds and he is already shaking his head in your direction to save whatever little image he has in front of you.

“i am not—” he starts, voice cracking slightly.

“yes you are!” jiyu intervenes brightly, pointing fingers and shooting daggers with her sweet giggles. “you watched the muffin video many times while making dinner, and you said you liked her voice and then you got all quiet and weird,”

the muffin video, god, jay wishes he could go back to that night and put his detective of a daughter to sleep. he thinks he’s hopeless, truthfully. he had no reason to watch your tutorial on baking muffins— he knows how to bake. he knew the ingredients even before you had gone over their names and proportions, and he remembers exactly how he had gone from sitting on the couch with his legs crossed to curling up in the corner with a cushion in his arms.

his little grin stayed hidden behind the cushion, one that grew wider every time you had smiled. you haven’t even done a face reveal on your channel but he can hear your pretty smiles flowing in your honeyed voice. you have him hooked, he scrolls through your videos even at work. jay can bet his secretary thinks he needs professional help because he keeps smiling while looking at the plain, white walls.

you stare at jay, wide eyed and at a loss of words.

and he stares at the floor like it personally betrayed him. it’s so over for him. his hand flies to his face, a heavy sigh falling of his lips, and he looks at you with pretty eyes brimming with panic. “i— okay, that’s not what happened,”

“you smiled in it,” jiyu continues, still cheerful, not wanting to stop anytime soon. she has one job— expose her lovely father because he is too much of a coward. “and he was smiling at the phone. papa is so silly!”

he can’t even look at you right now, just wanting the ground to swallow him whole or something. the sun can explode and he wouldn’t even mind. silly is not even on the list of words he would want you to describe himself as but maybe, that’s who he is— silly, some sort of loser who is hopelessly in love and impossibly shy to admit it to his crush.

you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “very silly,” your words are like a gentle jab to his heart, still not wanting to believe silly is what he is to you. “but kind of sweet,”

okay— now, he is not sure if he wants to disappear or melt at your feet. you called him sweet, it sounds like wedding bells to him. he looks over at you, you don’t look that upset at this revelation. you don’t look upset at all, not even a sliver of disgust on your face. maybe, this isn’t the end of the world. perhaps, he has a chance, or perhaps, you’re going to sit and make fun of him with your friends later over some drinks and chips.

his eyes widen, jay lets out a noise like a dying animal at the mere thought of that.

he looks over at his daughter, who is finding amusement in his misery and laughing under her tiny palms over her mouth. it’s like a game to her, one that she is winning by sacrificing her father.

“i’m gonna ban all screen time in our house,” he mutters, grabbing her arm to pull her out and away from here and just take her home. today’s father-daughter evening was going to be about an elaborate discussion on how to not embarrass your father in front of his crush. so much for big girl talks.

but jiyu pulls out of his grip immediately, helplessly adding “he gets shy when i talk about you,” with a giggle in her chirpy voice, loud and excited. “he says you have the prettiest laugh,” and at this point, he isn’t even doing it deliberately.

words flow out of her mouth like the poems she had learnt to recite to her grandparents. her eyes shine the brightest at this moment, followed by the smile that has you hooked to everything she says. jiyu had waited for this moment since forever, wanting to talk about him and you— the greatest love story in the making.

he exhales with a flare— or a plea. “jiyu,”

she shoots him glares as if it makes her pretty, doe eyes any less adorable. and you’re covering your mouth now, shoulders shaking, not sure whether to laugh or awe at his red face. your hands are aching to hold his flustered face in your palms and tell him so softly how much you want to kiss him.

jay gives you a look— half-mortified, half-defeated. his hair is tousled from the amount of times he has ran his fingers through them. “she’s lying. she’s six. no one believes six-year-olds,”

and jiyu gasps, tilting her head at him with an exaggerated pout. “you also said you like miss—”

“okay,” jay cuts in, clapping his hands and pulling her back by her bagpack. he was not going to let her drop the bomb like that. “time to go. say goodbye. we’re getting late,”

you’re barely keeping it together at their back and forth. he is basically pulling her towards the door and she keeps resisting, fighting with her pouty lips and squinty eyes.

you almost want to stop her and confront him yourself, wanting to see him squirm and stutter under your gaze until he has turned into a puddle. it’s cruel, you feel like the villains in his fake princess stories that jiyu tells you about. the idea is tempting, but you end up waving at jiyu. “bye, lovebug.”

“bye, pretty miss!” she sings sweetly, hello kitty keychain dangling off her bagpack. “tell papa you like him back!”

jay groans, practically scooping her up and backs out of the room. he can never face you after this. he’s already thinking about other good schools he can transfer jiyu to.

honestly, if it wasn’t for jiyu, you would think jay and you would still be exchanging muffins like highschoolers. unlike him, this is probably the best day you’ve had at work, and you call out to them to make it even better. “tell him his face is red again!”

and jay groans audibly down the hallway, not wanting to believe he’s still breathing through all this— and unfortunately so.

OO4 TO BELONG

jay thinks he is the unluckiest person alive.

absolutely doomed by the heavens, not even the higher deities are on his side. resigning from his job and moving to the countryside would be better. at least, he wouldn’t have to face you after the majestic event his daughter pulled the last time he saw you.

frankly, he has been avoiding you the whole week. he arrives at the school pickup on time, waiting until his little girl comes running and then he drives away with her before you can even approach him. it doesn’t make him feel any less shitty than he did for not attending the parents teacher meeting. he bailed out with some work excuse— he’s sure you’re perceptive enough to catch his lies.

jay wasn’t going to avoid you forever. he’s simply waiting for the right time. and timing be damned, because he had to have an important meeting on a weekday and his fingers were shaking over your contact. cherry on top— jiyu’s nanny had to get sick today and the neighbours had to go on a family dinner when he needed them the most. he is so sure this is an elaborate scheme to ruin his life.

this was a bad idea. yeah, why would you want to do anything with him after what happened last time? you probably think of him as some crazy, obsessed freak. it’s probably your courtesy that he doesn't have a restraining order on him yet. he’s highly expecting it anytime soon.

‘this is a bad idea,’ he thinks, but then freaks out when he clicks on the call button. worse— it connects immediately and his mind haywires, forgetting the entire concept of words and vocabulary.

“jay?” he gulps at the sound of your voice, looking at the potted plant in his office as if that succulent was going to start speaking. “jay, are you there?”

“uh— ” he wants to rip his hair out because of the weird sound he just let out. he shifts in his leather seat, fingers clutching around the phone like a lifeline. “hi,”

great.

he’s pretty sure his voice is nothing less than that of an animal shrieking in pain. he cannot believe it’s this same mind that signs off million dollar deals and can’t even hold a normal conversation with a beautiful woman.

okay, jay, breathe. this is not the end of the world. you’re just another woman— he wants to marry you, but that’s another story. besides, there’s always an option to move to the countryside and have a corn farm.

“i hate to ask this but i’m stuck in a meeting,” a pause, he’s testing the waters. a reply, anything, from you that tells him that you’re still with him. and when you don’t speak, he simply continues with dread setting deeper in his chest. “it’s going to take the whole evening. would you—?”

“of course,” you say immediately and he thinks you’re god. “i’ll take her to my place. you can rest assured,”

he practically melts in his work chair, letting out a breath that he has been holding for the past twenty minutes. you’re his saviour, like the light at the end of the tunnel. and for some reason, he feels more assured than he did when he left jiyu with anyone else before you.

he thinks he might have fallen for you once again.

he sighs in relief. “thank you— and i’m sorry for putting this on you on such a short notice,”

“it’s fine, i don’t mind spending time with her,” and you sound like you are in a hurry. you’re at the school, after all. you probably have some toddlers at each other’s hair judging from the cry he heard in the background. “i have to go— i’ll text you my address so you can pick her up later,”

“yeah—” he can barely finish his words before you hang up, and he only stares at the black screen in admiration with a dreamy smile, mumbling to himself. “thanks,”

if jay had to choose a superpower, it would be time control.

yeah, they’ve gone over this before— him and jiyu— she had picked invisibility so she could steal all the cookies. as childish as it sounds, he really wishes superpowers were real. if you hadn’t already started disliking him for his poor tricks to hit on you, he is so sure you would hate him for his absolute disaster of time management.

a blazing horn, tires screech, he whips the steering to the right— a near miss. his heart échos in his ears while his leg is still resting over the brake. the last thing he needs today is to see his death. it has to be the worst day he has ever had.

even finally pulling up in front of your apartment complex doesn’t make things better. he almost forgets to lock his car. seventh floor, unit 723— he remembers that like the back of his hand. jay barely has any time to lose before he barely waits for five seconds in front of the lift before deciding to take the stairs.

jay is convinced this is bigger than any gym workout he has ever done. hell, the two-hundred meters race on father’s day at jiyu’s school feels like a joke. he can barely feel exhaustion setting it, the urgency to see his dear princess lies second to none, even if his legs are starting to feel like jelly.

he feels like he has aged three years while running up seven floors, and simultaneously has gained ten years of lifespan when he sees your unit in sight. he rings the bell, knocks, one hand up the walls to catch his breath.

and when you finally open the door, it’s like a flood gate of words turned open. “i’m sorry. the meeting went on longer than expected and then the traffic—”

“jay, breathe,” you interrupt, half amused and half concerned. you’re trying not to feel guilty of finding him hot even now— he can barely breathe, for gods sake, but your eyes refuse to look anywhere except the glimpse of clavicle near the collar of his shirt. “you look like you ran all the way up,”

“yeah, i took the stairs—” the way he says it with huffs of breaths makes you feel bad, but you end up letting out an amused chuckle in the end. “elevators were taking too long,”

you want to hug his worries away, even though that sounds like a far dream. his hair sticks to his forehead due to sweat and you almost imagine yourself sitting next to him and tending to him with gentleness.

you watch the way his eyes scan your apartment restlessly even before he has walked past the doorway, trying to get a glimpse, a sight— you know exactly what will put his heart to ease.

“jiyu is fine. she just fell asleep,” your heart flutters as you watch your words ease his mind, and your lips break into a warm smile as you continue. “took her three bedtime stories even after playing all evening,”

you step aside and let him walk inside, and jay lets out a loud gasp at the sight of the living room— messy, opened paint bottles and brushes around with loose sheets. it looks like a disaster, he considers getting on his knees to apologise.

his eyes inadvertently move to your face and now that he looks at you again, better, you look happy, covered in glitter and cute stickers— he knows jiyu put that strawberry sticker on your cheek— and jay is swooning.

“well, we were painting,” he can hear the smile in your voice and his heart does a sommersault. his chest aches to see you playing with jiyu. “i’ll clean at up later,”

“i’ll help,” he immediately turns to you and there it is, the sparkle in his eyes, the one that you have gotten used to seeing whenever he comes to pick jiyu up after school. the sparkle that you have always wanted to see for a little longer but couldn’t because he cannot meet your eyes for longer than a minute.

and now that he is finally looking at you with an emotion somewhere between apology and gratefulness, you can’t help but admire the way he looks— his sharp features that look soft as a flower when he’s looking at you.

the silence between you both stretches and your chest tightens, and words leave your mouth like you’re caught under his spell. “okay,”

jay is already taking off his suit jacket, placing it on the armrest of your couch before undoing the cuffs of his sleeves. you basically freeze midway in the process of gathering the loose sheets painted with whatever, taking in every inch of the skin on his arm that meets your gaze as he rolls the sleeves up.

you’ve lost it, completely.

he picks up jiyu’s backpack that was lying around on the floor and swings it over his shoulder like it’s muscle memory. he arranges her shoes with his foot, immediately going for the water bottle that was lying next to the couch.

you have only managed to pick up the sheets and colours and he is already looking like some avenger with a backpack, water bottle in one hand and a bowl of water for painting in another with brushes dipped in it. he’s also somehow balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder through it all and answering to whoever it was on the other end of the call.

it feels like magic because you’re apartment already looks cleaner than it was just two minutes ago. “that was…surprisingly quick,”

he registers your words as soon as he puts his phone down on the counter, and there is it again— the shy smile that tugs at your heart strings just right. his hand flies to his nape and he manages to speak even through the loss of words. “yeah, well— i’ve been doing this for six years now,”

god, you’re addicted to that smile.

“right,” you smile, not sure if it’s at his words or how pretty he looks under those kitchen lights. you might as well be jealous of jiyu for being able to see this godly sight every day, might.

you’re still in a trance while watching him wash the excess paint off the dried brushes. you grab a cleaning towel to wipe the paint splatters off the tiles and your eyes are still glued to him— his arm, biceps, flexing through the soft material of his dress shirt.

you do see him walk over to you but you don’t move, your brain is still out of network service. you see his lips moving— his words are deaf to your ears anyway. your fingers are itching to trace over every single part of his face but you fist them around the cloth in your hand to not look crazy.

you blink once, twice— the sound of his voice calling your name gets a tad bit clearer— and then thrice before you’re finally pulled out of dreamland. “oh— yeah, sure! thanks,”

you don’t even know what you’re saying sure and thanks to. you’ve already lost your mind and you think you start losing it again when he steps closer. your heart speeds up like it’s on rocket fuel as he leans in even closer. you don’t even know what you agreed to— it can be anything between killing you and kissing you—

and you’re almost closing your eyes as if anticipating something. almost, because you feel his fingers graze tenderly over your cheek. it’s ever so gentle, like he’s afraid you’ll break.

you almost lean into his touch before he pulls away with a small smile. “there,” and he crumbles the fuckass strawberry sticker between his fingers before it finally hits you. “all clean,”

he laughs.

jay is laughing while you want to scream, probably punch into the nearest wall. you’re pretty sure you’ve embarrassed yourself but hey, so has he, many times at that, so you both are equal.

“thanks,” you manage to speak through the awkwardness. and then words vanish off your tongue again. he’s looking at you like you’ve saved his life— honestly, you might have, by looking after jiyu all evening. she is his life, his heart beat.

it’s quiet again.

and it feels like one hell of an awkward episode as you both just stand and look at each other. it’s way too quiet, save for the distant horns on the road. jay practically jumps when your table clock goes off with a robotic sound— why did you even set an alarm for ten at night?

you look like an angel wrapped in a warm sweater and trousers. white suits you and so does the glitter on your cheeks. you look like the perfect mess, and you look like you belong here— with jiyu, with him. this is bad, he needs to say something, anything.

his weight shifts from one leg to the other, an attempt at clearing his throat and well, the awkwardness. “i’m sorry for putting you up for babysitting duties all of a sudden,”

you shake your head modestly and he knows what’s coming. “it’s okay, i had fun,”

he laughs at your words, like the first gentle, relieved laugh of the day, like he can breathe after a whole day of work and worries. “she didn’t give you trouble, did she?”

you roll your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. “we get along better than you think, jay,”

and it’s the way you say his name that sends his mind into a frenzy. the way you are smiling at him, the way your eyes are sparkling with a playful glint— everything that is making him forget to breathe.

jay had actually forgotten he was here to pick his daughter up and not stand and admire you like a fool, and when he finally remembers, his feet follow behind your steps on their own while you lead him to your bedroom.

and there she is— his perfect, little girl tucked under a duvet. you’ve arranged pillows around her to prevent her from rolling over and it affects him more than it should. he almost crashes against the door, lips erupting into a fond smile at the sight of her sleeping so sound and safe.

“she’s adorable,” you can’t help but murmur. you’ll probably never tell him, but you sat by the bed for a good few minutes to admire her when she had fallen asleep.

“yeah,”

he takes quiet steps towards the bed and scoops her up in his arms like it’s a habit— and it is. jay would swear his arms would feel empty without her. she squirms drowsily and he pats her back, lulling her back to sleep with practiced ease.

you can see the fatigue behind his eyes and the exhaustion setting in his actions. he presses the softest kiss on jiyu’s forehead and the action melts your heart. you’ve always found their interactions cute, but seeing him like this— a tired mess and relishing in little form snuggled up against his chest— is the most special.

he walks towards the main entrance and words end up slipping off your tongue before you know it. “you’re not staying for dinner?”

you’re just as surprised as him, honestly.

he’s still looking at you with the same soft look on his face. you’re starting to think that dinner with him isn’t exactly a bad idea, not at all.

“no, you look like you could use some nice sleep,” he sighs, and you open your mouth to protest even though you’re disappinted, but he beats you to it. “you’ve already done more than enough,”

maybe, you actually need some sleep.

taking care of a kid is hard, you’ve realised it several times today. if it wasn’t for her non-stop narration on why you should watch kpop demon hunters, you would have fallen asleep on the couch before her. although, you would look after jiyu again without question. he simply has to say the word.

it also has to do with the fact that you still haven’t stopped ogling at his arms, not like you’re ever going to say that out loud.

your eyes meet again when he stands at the doorway, none of you knowing what to say. he’s still caressing her back, making sure she doesn’t wake up. it’s oddly captivating, you want to know how his hands would feel wrapped around you.

your gaze traces over his face, then lips, then back up to meet his eyes so you don’t look like some creep to him. this was a perfect way to end a day and you would hate to ruin it with your inability to take your eyes off him.

he takes a deep breath, not really wanting to leave but he knows that’s not possible. at least, not yet. “see you,”

you nod with a quiet “good night,” and then you close the door, crashing against it with the sweetest smile.

oh, you’re so done for.

OO5 MATCHMAKER

you haven’t seen jay in over five days and it’s the worst thing ever. the first two days, jiyu called in sick, and the next three, you had to visit your parents for your father’s birthday. you’d be lying if you say you did not think about him all the time— day, noon and night.

despite you telling everyone that nothing was wrong, you constantly checked your phone for texts from him, the last ones being about jiyu being sick from two days ago. and well, you did reply, two days ago, of course, hoping that she gets well soon, and then succumbed to hesitation as you went back and forth between to message or to not message.

and now that you’re back to work, jiyu is once again looking at you with determined eyes and a mischievous smile, tiptoeing over your desk. “papa made pancakes for you,”

once again, in front of you, lies a cute box, pastel green this time, with a cherry sticker. you’re going to lose your mind out of cuteness overload one of these days. she slides a small card towards you and your heart skips several beats. all this feels like some high school love story with jiyu playing the perfect cupid.

“were you supposed to tell me that?” you chuckle, based on her history spilling secrets that he trusts her to hide.

you flip open the card and this time, it’s written in his own handwriting— neat yet a bit hurried, every stroke and curve making the smile on your face grow bigger. your name looks prettier when it’s written by him, like something that belong right next to his name.

“yes!” jiyu’s chimes in, almost jumping in excitement. “he also said you should come for dinner,”

“dinner?”

“he cooks really well! and he wants to say thank you,” and of course, she is not letting up any opportunity to praise her father. if jay had a sponsor, it would be her and it’s no surprise. if jay has a million fans, she is one of them. if jay has one fan, it’s her and, if jay has no fans, she is dead.

she went off in front of her grandparents on her third birthday and his friends about how amazing he is at making soup. she couldn’t even remember her nursery rhymes well but she would never shy away from standing in the middle of the living room and give a proper speech on the chef of a dad that she has.

and she is confident in her words, even if they are stuttery and pronounced wrong, sounding like the usual baby rambles. jay can do anything and he would always have a tiny, adorable voice cheering on him.

you slide the note inside your purse, knowing it’s going to stay in your drawer like some precious treasure. you basically spend the rest of the working hours shaking with excitement to see him. you taught subtractions, gripping the chalk a little too tightly in anticipation.

you feel like a victorian lady who can’t wait to see her husband as he returns from the war. the thought itself makes your mind go fuzzy, you’re afraid you mind end up saying something wrong and scaring him away ( even though it’s not possible because jay will want you even if you are a little crazy. )

when the head assigns you to review some student profiles after work, you almost wanted to snap her head off with your bare hands. you hate staying beyond the working hours, more when you know it can very well ruin your only chance of seeing jay today after a whole week of torture.

but, it’s like even the stars are rooting for both of you because you receive a text from him and he is late again— much to his disappointment— and you have never loved the traffic so much before.

you stay with jiyu after school, she is talking about planets. her favourite is saturn because she read that it rains diamonds up there, and you try your best to not look impatient while waiting for the horn of his car that has now become familiar to your ears.

“do you like papa?” jiyu looks up at you with her big, curious eyes, legs dangling off the swing you both are sitting on. she blinks at you a few times, waiting for a response while holding the lollipop in one hand. “he’s nice,”

she’s making round patterns on the sand with her shoes and just as you were about to reply, he arrives, finally, you straighten yourself as you watch him hurry out of the car and close the door a little too loudly behind him.

jay practically runs inside, anxious eyes looking for jiyu until they finally meet her tiny form running towards him. she’s lifted off the ground even before she could respond, her giggles erupting in the air as he drowns her face in fleeting kisses.

then his gaze meets yours, and both your heartbeats start going off like a time bomb— straight out of a movie. you look happier to see him than usual and he is already working up his mind to come up with something.

“about dinner— will saturday be okay?” you cringe internally. that came off as way more excited than you intended. obviously, you don’t want to come off too strong even if you are literally shaking like a manic at the thought of having dinner with him.

“dinner?” he looks down at the tug at his sleeve. it’s jiyu, she’s looking up at him with a grin, and she winks. oh. “saturday is…perfect,”

he doesn’t understand whether to pat jiyu’s back and give her the trophy for being better at this than cupid, if he exists, or if he should lecture on why she can’t invite you over for dinner one fine saturday, under his name, because it’s inappropriate.

although, all his worries are thrown out of the window when he sees the enchanting smile tugging at your lips— dinner be it, hell yeah. he might just invite you over for a five course meal everyday if you are going to look at him like that.

“i’ll see you then,” you nod, and jay was going to make sure the upcoming saturday is the best one you’ve had in your entire life.

you had said saturday to buy yourself four days worth of preparation for the dinner as if it was your marriage dinner. well— it’s just as important, and you don’t know how the said saturday arrived so quickly because you’re standing in front of your closet, looking for the perfect dress.

you have to be going insane. even the new one you bought recently suddenly looks like the ugliest fit you’ve ever had.

you wonder if you should cancel, postpone, and then almost slap yourself back to senses.

no cancellations. you've been waiting for this dinner religiously.

after digging through your closet like you’re going to find gold, you finally end up with something. well, at least it’s new and compliments your skin tone. at least, it looks perfect with your favourite pendant and that is all the confidence you need to go through this dinner.

an hour later, you’re standing nervously in front of his door, fixing any creases on your dress with urgency and nervousness. there’s a box of pineapple shortcakes in one hand for jiyu and a bottle of pinot noir in another. google said it’s a perfect choice for romantic dinners— something about its light body and earthy tones— not like you are expecting anything to happen, by the way.

you press the doorbell, anxiously shifting from leg to the other, biting your inner cheeks. and as if on cue, jay opens the door with a warm smile that makes your face heat up.

“hi,” is all you’re able to say because well, the way he is looking at you is making your mouth run dry. the navy blue cardigan hugs his frame loosely and his hair is no longer styled back. the strands float above his eyes like a veil and you find yourself aching to brush them away to get a clearer look at those dreamy eyes and drown in them.

you’ve only ever seen him in poised suits and rolled up dress shirts with loosened ties, it has made you forget that he definitely doesn’t only wear formals. and frankly, he looks much better in casuals, so much that you’ve come to two conclusions :

first, jay looks way too good in cardigans for your heart health. you might as well get a heart attack at the sight.

and second, you need this date to get somewhere. hopefully, the pinot noir will do its job.

“hi,” he steps aside, gesturing to you to come in. “you should come inside— i’m almost done,”

and it feels surreal to be in his apartment, his place.

it’s nothing like yours and everything like a home that belongs to a family. there are photo frames of him and jiyu in every corner, even on the kitchen island next to the flower vase. her crayon drawings cover the entire fridge door and of course, there is hello kitty on mugs, posters.

the best of all, the entire place smells like a mouth watering cuisine as you see him return to the kitchen. you try your best to not ogle at the food like you haven’t eaten in a hundred years. “anything i can help with?”

“no need, i’m almost done,”

you stand across him, putting the cake and wine on the counter, watching his perfect hands flip the steak over with practiced precision. the sizzle only adds to your appetite. “i don’t mind helping, really,”

“well, you can just sit there and look pretty for me,” he doesn’t even know where these words are coming from.

both of you are equally flustered, barely meeting gazes before they flutter away. you sit on the stool at the counter, right across him, getting the best view of his handsome face glowing like a gem underneath the warm kitchen lights.

“okay,” you let the silence engulf both of you in the comfort of its embrace. it’s not awkward anymore, the faint smiles on both of your lips speaking for the lack of words. “where’s jiyu?”

he looks up from the grill, meeting your beautiful eyes. “with the neighbour’s kid. they suddenly wanted to have a sleepover,”

he says those words with an unamused sigh, still smiling, turning up the flame.

sneaky little thing.

not only she set both of you up for this thank you dinner but she also ran off to her friend’s. sleepover was an excuse, he knew that the second she approached him with puppy dog eyes and a pleading pout to manipulate him. she knows he can never say no to her when she looks at him like that.

well, he is thankful, even after she embarrassed him in front of you. he is glad that his little, matchmaker of a daughter pulled some tricks or else, he would still be sending you tiffins full of baked goodies and cute notes written by her.

you watch him set the plates and fetch the wine glasses. it feels like the perfect date night, better than any five star restaurant can offer, and the cute bowls and mugs on the shelves behind him only make everything better.

“so, what else do you do, aside from being a full-time dad— and watching my videos, obviously?” you ask with a teasing smile, feeling more confident than you were a week ago.

and jay groans visibly, ears flushing red almost immediately. of course, you are bringing that up, he wants to disappear into thin air. “please forget that. jiyu has no filter,”

you fold your hands over the counter with a huff. “and i’m glad she doesn’t. i don’t think you would have told me you’re a fan otherwise,”

and boy, jay was a whole air conditioner in fact.

he would spend his evenings watching your baking videos and his nights were filled with shy grins under the duvet, thinking about the way you had smiled at him at the school pickup.

he would never say it to anyone— it’s so embarrassing, he hides his face in the mattress whenever he thinks of it at night, but he has spent days admiring you from afar, watching you interact with kids and their parents. he would sit in his car and try to calm his heart down, hoping he manages to say something more than a hello and a thank you.

he even feels a tinge of jealousy at the sight of you laughing with the kids and kissing their cheek, as insane as it sounds.

will you ever kiss me?

his knees go wobbly at the thought and he almost smiles to himself, forgetting you’re sitting right in front of him. he ( and his daughter ) has already done enough damage to his cool and sauve image in front you, he definitely doesn’t want you to run away because you think of him as some mad man giggling to himself.

he can feel your gaze follow every single motion of his hand, the way he scatters pepper over the butter and thyme in the pan before stirring in the shallots. it’s like a game, he feels a sense of victory knowing he has you hooked— and it’s true. you have watched countless people cooking the most delicious meals in their own magnificent ways, but nothing was ever as hypnotic as him, nothing even comes close.

he carefully flambé’s the shallots in brandy and flame until it dies down, unlike the one in your chest that only ignites further when he gives you a charming smirk from across the stove. your face heats up and you don’t know if it’s because of him or the warmth of the kitchen, you don’t bother answering that question to yourself.

with a few more steps that felt like watching a magician in his show, you had the perfect steak diane served drizzled with sauce in front of you. “hope you enjoy,”

you were going to enjoy it.

the plate looks like it’s straight out of a cooking magazine, the wine that he pours on the side only elevating the taste of the whole meal. you wait for him to join you and he sits in front of you with expectant eyes waiting for your review. you’ve seen this movie before, the same pupils gleaming with anticipation and excitement. you almost feel compelled to give jiyu extra stars when she looks at you the same way as he is right now, and you think it’s only valid to give him stars too.

you slice the steak with your knife and take a bite, immediately melting onto the table itself. “this is so—” gosh, you hear him chuckle when you try to speak through a mouthful of food. you decide that it doesn’t even matter anymore. “—amazing,”

he smiles at your words and digs in— honestly, you’re too busy savouring the taste of steak and shallots to even pay attention to what he is doing. you came for the man, stayed for the food, it’s hard to believe he has all these skills hidden up his messily rolled sleeves on workdays.

the dinner is quiet, for the most part, save for the occasional clinking of cutlery and soft thank yous that he mutters to you for accepting his— or more accurately, jiyu’s— invitation. your legs accidentally touch under the table and he immediately averts his gaze, cheeks shot red. he apologises, soft and shy, gulping down the sip of wine and his nervousness.

it’s cute, you hold yourself back from reaching out and placing your hand on his. if it wasn’t for hesitation coursing through your veins, you might have done it already, and perhaps he would have too.

maybe it’s the wine but you find yourself unable to take your eyes off him— not like you had it any better before. the way he fills up your wine glass with politeness adoring his every move has you in a trance. you’ve noticed all those business awards and the ‘best dad’ certificate on the wall that was made by jiyu herself. he checks all the boxes— the perfect employee to the perfect dad, and a perfect man.

your words stand confirmed all over again when you step aside to use the restroom after dinner and by the time you get back, he is already putting the dishes in the sink after cleaning up the kitchen, and he is effortlessly quick with it too.

you do lose your mind over those broad shoulders and tiny waist, it’s making you feel all tingly in the chest and stomach. and after spending several minutes admiring him from behind, you find the courage to stand right next to him. “let me help,”

and it’s like you’ve said something controversial because jay is looking at you wide eyed and raised brows with disbelief written all over his face. “please, you don’t have—”

“i insist,”

the silence overtakes again.

your gazes meet and he shifts awkwardly, accidentally brushing his arm against yours, and suddenly his spacious modular kitchen feels too small for even two people. his ears turn red but he doesn’t look away and neither do you.

his eyes scan your face, then travel down to your lips before coming back at your face, and none of you look away. maybe, the pinot noir is doing it’s job. maybe, things are getting somewhere—

and then he shifts away, clearing his throat. “okay,”

honestly, jay is freaking out.

he doesn’t know how he is still standing next to you and breathing normal and not screaming while crashing out on the floor. you give him a cute smile every time he looks down at you and god, it is making him want to hold your face in his shaky hands and cry his eyes out.

it all feels so domestic, like you belong here, right next to him. nobody would have expected you both to be washing dishes on your first ( unofficial, self-proclaimed ) date. if he was any braver, he would have you right next to you on the couch with a movie playing on the tv screen. but, since he is far from anything mentioned above, he relishes in doing dishes with you.

and it’s heavenly, because the second your hand brushes against his under water in the sink, it’s like electricity running through his body and short circuiting his brain. he doesn’t know what to do— should he apologise? should he hold your hand? should he ignore and wait for it to happen again?

you aren’t even looking at him and continue to wash the same plate for the last ten minutes— not like he minds— and he wants to explode. that seems like the most plausible option at the moment.

the air is turning awkward again and he constantly taps his foot over the tile, finding words to break the silence. he watches you put the plate away before picking up the bowl, and he can’t help the next words that leave his mouth. “you’re good at this,”

great.

just amazing.

jay dies a little on the inside when you laugh at his words, the sound almost mocking his question. “at washing dishes?”

he wants to jump out of the window. billions of words in the english language and his mind came up with the worst four possible right now. he needs to save himself somehow. “yeah, you’re uh— skilled,”

stop.

just shut up.

you’re laughing at him, and of course you would be. you probably think he is the stupidest person to exist, even the kids at the kindergarten might be smarter than him. he doesn’t even trust himself to say something better anymore. when you’re this close to him, all his senses are destroyed.

you reach out to push a loose strand of hair back with your forearm, and he reaches out to wipe his hand almost instinctively before tucking your hair behind your ear. his hand stays there for a while like it’s a scene straight out of a romance show, his eyes refusing to leave your surprised ones.

his focus averts to your lips again, the way you nip at it nervously only makes it harder for him to think straight. he considers leaning in— it’s barely a few inches. but he steps back, and his touch lingers over your skin even after he pulls away.

he’s still thinking about it while scooping ice cream for two. you look so pretty leaning against the kitchen island and taking in every detail with utmost care, it makes him freeze by the refrigerator with two bowls of ice cream in his hands.

“here,” you smile when he hands you one, and jay stares at you with keen eyes as you take a spoonful in your mouth. it’s strawberry, too sweet for his liking, but jiyu mentioned once that you like strawberries and he hopes it’s your preference in ice creams too.

“what?” he doesn’t realise he’s staring until you call him out, and he smacks himself internally for getting lost in you again, not like he can help it.

“nothing just…” words trail off while he rubs his nape for a decent answer, looking at the shelves as if begging for help. “i, uh, hope you like that flavour,”

that was good.

“it’s good,” you say with a smile so sweet, it makes the ice cream taste bland. “but i prefer cookies and cream,”

and for some reason, that brings a smile to his face too. cookies and cream— so much like you, yet nothing that he could have guessed. well, it’s just the first dinner together and you’re like a box of surprises that he wishes to unwrap slowly and carefully, only seeing what you’re willing to show.

“i’ll remember that for the next time,” and it’s more of a promise than a statement. there is s a wishful certainty for a next time for something in the way you’re looking at him tells him that you want it to happen too.

you’re enjoying the ice cream in silence and he’s enjoying the sight of you, but again, what’s new? you look up at him again, glowing ever so perfectly under the yellow lights hanging from the ceiling. every single feature on your face shines like gold, and jay doesn’t know where all this bravery is coming from but he finds himself inching towards you.

he takes it slow, hesitant in his own actions. it’s like he’s waiting for your reaction, anything more than just your eyes landing on his lips before moving away. he wouldn’t mind if you choose to leave, despite the heartbreak, but when you turn to face him with the same look, he knows he has you for now.

it’s like the air shifts around you and suddenly, the lack of space doesn’t feel so bad. “can i?”

“i thought you’d never ask,” you nod— it’s all jay needs to know.

the next second, his lips are on yours, barely moving. he’s still unsure, wondering if you are too, if you want to pull away. but when you don’t— when you give in and press your lips against his, leaning into him— he feels like he can breathe again.

he puts his bowl away and takes yours to do the same, hands immediately going around your waist to pull you flush against him. you’re backed against the counter and he is somewhere between losing himself in the thrill and keeping himself grounded.

the kiss deepens, he lets you lead and his lips follow yours, slow yet insistent. you pull at his cardigan and he cups your cheeks ever so tenderly, wanting to get lost in you and never find a way out. it’s dizzying, the way your hands rest on the back of his neck, the way he can almost feel your heartbeat against his chest and the way it is almost in sync with his.

he smells like oud and something you can’t name but it’s clouding your senses and everything feels so right. his hand trails down the curve of your waist like he’s worshipping you and your breath hitches when he draws you even closer, if it was even possible.

jay pulls away a little, his forehead against yours. he takes in your sight— lips red while you’re breathing in short huffs. it feels like he’s falling for you all over again. “i’ve been waiting to do that for so long,”

“me too,” and your words are like a wave of relief pulling him in as he captures your lips in another kiss. it’s more playful this time, he can feel you smiling while your hands ghost up his neck and travel down to intertwine with his.

he still cannot believe this is real, and even if it’s not he doesn’t want it to stop. although, it does when you give him a few more pecks before pulling back with a grin, as if proud of the needy pout on his lips.

“stay for the night?” he murmurs, still cupping your cheeks. he tries to hold back, but ends up pecking your lips anyway. “it’s raining outside anyway. i’m not letting you drive in this weather,”

and you nod, pressing yet another peck against his lips as you bring his arm to circle around your waist. “only if you make pancakes for breakfast,”

ㅤ◞ ⩊ ◟ㅤ — hi to everyone who read this omg i love you with my entire heart ◜ᯅ◝ i think the writing process here started good and then turned into something. i hope it wasn’t obvious that i just wanted to get over with this by the last section lolsies .. anyway single dad jay you will always be loved

[boyfhee]

hihi thanks for 1k !!! happy to know you guys enjoy single dad jay as much as i do :3

[si3rren-deactivated20260204]

- Nerd, Interrupted -

enhypen masterlist wattpad part 2

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down bad!bully!park sunghoon x nerd!reader | enemies-to-lovers | teasing → in love | slow burn | rom-com with emotional depth | size difference | mutual pining | filthy smut| shy but smart reader | possessive, whipped male lead |

summary: You’re a shy, pretty, and inexperienced nerd with a habit of reading smut and wearing skirts a little too short for your own safety. Sunghoon, the tall boy who won’t leave you alone, bullies you — but only because he’s completely in love. What starts as teasing slowly burns into something deeper and more dangerous. You were never clueless. He was never playing. And once your thigh highs come out… so does the truth.

warning: sexual tension, explicit smut, degradation kink, praise kink, non-harmful bully x nerd dynamics, obsessive behavior, voyeuristic undertones, emotional vulnerability, inexperience themes, filthy language during smut, possessive male lead.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ

You always sit in the same spot.

Far left corner. Second floor. Behind the dusty encyclopedia shelves no one touches anymore.

You have your own little universe up here: a corner chair with a sun-warmed armrest, a power socket you guard with your life, and your annotated copy of Modern Chemistry: Foundations and Applications resting in your lap, pages marked with violet flags and smudged with highlighter. Your dark lipstick is freshly applied, a glassy wine-red sheen against your otherwise plain, focused expression. You’re the kind of girl that makes people nervous — pretty, but quiet. Reserved. Always looking like you’re about to ace the exam you didn’t even know was happening.

It’s not that you like being alone. You’ve just learned how to be very good at it.

But peace is a fragile thing.

Especially when Park Sunghoon finds it amusing to ruin yours.

“Wow.” His voice drops behind you, a smooth mix of mock surprise and low amusement. “Didn’t think nerds came in high definition.”

You don’t jump. But your fingers tighten around your pen.

He leans against the bookshelf beside you — tall, broad, arms crossed like he owns the place. Which, socially speaking, he kind of does. He’s one of those boys: the effortless popular kind, sharp jaw, smug smirk, and a voice you hate how well you recognize. Every word he says to you is laced with that same I-know-I’m-hot venom that makes your chest buzz in a way you can’t stand.

“Let me guess.” He nudges your book with the tip of his knuckle, voice dripping with mockery. “Reading ahead for a test no one cares about?”

You keep your eyes on the page. “I care.”

“Aww.” He drops into the chair beside you like he has any right to. His leg knocks into yours — long, warm, uninvited. You freeze. “That’s cute.”

You stare at your book harder. You don’t respond. You know how this goes. The moment you give him attention, he triples the chaos. He’s not a traditional bully — he doesn’t push you into lockers or throw things at you. But what he does do is worse: he whispers things in class to make you blush, calls you Professor Tits behind your back loud enough that it echoes, and steals your pens only to leave them on your desk the next day with hearts drawn on them in black sharpie.

And now? He’s in your library chair. With his freakishly long legs brushing yours every time he shifts.

You tuck your skirt more tightly around your thighs.

Sunghoon notices.

“Mm.” He hums, eyes glinting as he tilts his head. “You always wear those skirts, huh? No shame for a nerd.”

You snap your gaze up.

He grins at your flushed expression. He’s so tall, even while slouching, his frame dwarfing the little space between you. You hate how your stomach turns, not with fear — but something stupid and fluttery and hormonal.

“I’m not ashamed,” you mumble.

“Oh, I know,” he teases. “You love attention. Don’t pretend you don’t. Always sitting like that, all innocent, pretending you’re just here to study when you know every guy in the building wants to bend you over that desk.”

You gasp, scandalized — cheeks burning. “Sunghoon—!”

“What?” He says your name like it’s a joke. “Am I wrong?”

You try to push your chair back, but he stops you — one long leg swinging casually over yours, boxing you in.

“Relax.” His voice softens. Too close. Too smug. “You’re just fun to mess with. You make the best faces.”

“Go away.”

“Make me.”

You narrow your eyes, lips parted in disbelief. “You’re such a child.”

He leans in a little — face tilting down to meet your height, his mouth just slightly crooked.

“And you’re such a virgin.”

Your brain short-circuits.

He doesn’t say it like an insult. He says it like he knows — like he’s been thinking about it. A lot.

“I—” You stammer, but nothing coherent comes out.

Sunghoon watches you fumble with your pen, your breath catching, your hands trembling slightly, and something shifts in his face. He looks… satisfied. Like he’s won something. Not the conversation, but something deeper. Something that sinks into your skin and makes your heart race.

“I’m right,” he says lowly.

You want to slap him. You want to vanish. You want to throw him off the building. But most of all, you want to understand why your heart is hammering in your ears like this. Why your thighs are clenched and your mouth is dry and your brain is filled with the memory of the way he looked at you just now — like you were some kind of puzzle he’s dying to tear apart.

Instead, you grab your bag.

“I’m going to class.”

“Class isn’t for twenty minutes.”

You shoot him a glare. “I need to study.”

He lets you go. Doesn’t stop you. But his eyes trail down your legs — slow, lingering — and when you walk away, you feel his gaze, thick and unrelenting.

⸻

Elsewhere on campus, your best friend Yunjin is waiting under the shade tree by the courtyard steps, arms folded and eyebrows raised.

“You have that face again.”

You adjust your bag. “What face?”

“The Sunghoon harassed me again but I don’t want to admit it made my stomach flutter face.”

You sputter. “That is not a real face.”

“It is when you wear it every day.”

You groan and flop beside her. Jake walks by with a protein bar in his mouth, shooting you both a casual nod. Sunoo is sitting backwards in a chair nearby, eavesdropping like it’s his job.

“Did he quote one of your smut books again?” Sunoo asks.

You freeze.

Yunjin leans forward, scandalized. “Wait, did he?”

You bite your lip. “…He might have.”

Sunoo squeals. “Girl, you need to stop reading those in public. That man is waiting for you to drop a page so he can sniff it.”

“He’s just an asshole,” you grumble.

“He’s a hot asshole,” Yunjin corrects.

“I don’t care.”

They both snort. Because they know you care. You just won’t admit it.

And neither will he.

Not yet.

_________

It starts as a normal day.

As normal as it can be, anyway, when you wake up with your heart already pounding from a dream you don’t want to talk about. Not even to yourself. Not even to your pillow.

It was about him again.

Not that anything happened. Not really. Just flashes — long legs brushing yours under the library desk. That smug mouth curling as he whispered something filthy in your ear. The heat of his hand almost, almost resting on your knee. The dream didn’t even go further than that. It didn’t need to. You woke up hot and bothered, thighs pressed together, breath coming in short little bursts like a broken whisper.

You hate that he gets under your skin like this. Sunghoon. The tall, annoying, gorgeous bane of your academic existence. You hate his jokes. His smirks. His stupid boy perfume that lingers behind every time he walks past your locker.

And you especially hate that the dreams started around the same time he found out you read romance novels.

You’d been so careful. You read on your tablet in class, the screen tinted to look like a textbook. You marked your place with clean little sticky notes that matched the color scheme of your physics binder. You never highlighted the dirty lines.

But last week, somehow, he found one of your paperbacks in your bag. It was just sitting there when you returned from the bathroom, pages slightly open, your highlighter tucked inside.

He hadn’t said anything then. Just raised his brows at you like he’d unlocked a cheat code.

You’d prayed he forgot.

He did not forget.

⸻

The next day, after class—

You’re minding your own business in the campus courtyard, tucked under a tree with a book in your lap — a different one this time. Something safer. Something classic. Jane Eyre. Which, to be fair, still has some intense longing scenes, but at least it doesn’t have phrases like “his tongue mapped the inside of her soul”.

You turn a page, ink-smudged fingers tucked under your chin, knees drawn up under your skirt — when a shadow falls over you.

“Didn’t peg you for a Brontë girl,” a voice drawls.

You close your eyes. Breathe in. Try to remain calm.

“Go away, Sunghoon.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he drops down beside you on the grass, legs sprawled out carelessly, like this patch of campus is his kingdom. His uniform is slightly rumpled — tie loosened, sleeves pushed up to reveal tan forearms that look entirely too smug for a Tuesday.

“What, no sexy warlocks today?” he teases, eyeing the cover. “No vampires with six-packs? No ‘his length twitched at the sight of her’? Or did you leave that one in your bra again?”

Your entire soul exits your body.

“You went through my bag?”

“You left it wide open,” he shrugs. “I was doing you a favor. What if someone else found out you read fanfic with plot?”

You slam the book shut, face burning. “It’s not fanfic.”

He leans closer. “So you admit you read it.”

“Sunghoon,” you say warningly.

He reaches out and tugs your book away, ignoring your gasp. You lunge to grab it, but he’s holding it way above your reach. Which is criminal, really. Freakishly tall bastard.

You scramble to your knees, trying to claw it back. “Give it!”

“Nope.” He grins, flipping through the pages. “Let’s see where Professor Tits left off…”

You gasp. “Don’t call me that!”

He flips to a bookmarked page and clears his throat.

“‘She whimpered as he pinned her hands above her head, his mouth devouring her neck with possessive hunger, whispering filth into her ear she’d never heard before.’”

Your entire soul evaporates into steam.

“SUNGHOO—”

“‘Her skirt bunched around her hips—’” he reads, eyes flicking to your actual skirt for one shameless second, “—‘his hands branding her skin like fire.’”

You lunge for him, tackling him in the grass, trying to snatch the book back with a strangled yell. But he’s stronger than you. And obnoxiously amused. You’re half on top of him now, your hands clawing at the spine while he just laughs, breath warm against your cheek as he reads:

“‘Please,’ she begged, ‘I can’t—’”

“‘You will,’ he growled—’”

You yank the book from his grip, flush a shade of crimson not even found in nature, and scramble back into your spot, face hidden behind your knees.

Sunghoon props himself up on his elbows, still lying in the grass, watching you with a boyish smirk.

“You know,” he says lazily, “you don’t need a book for that kind of thing.”

You slowly peek at him through your fingers. “What?”

He shrugs, lashes low over those sharp eyes. “Someone like you? Pretty. Shy. Always sitting with your legs crossed like a good little girl. You don’t think some guy’s dying to—”

“Stop talking.”

He sits up, amused. “Why? I thought you liked dirty talk. You highlight the good parts.”

You fling a leaf at him.

Sunghoon dodges it with ease, smirk growing. “You’re lucky I like nerds.”

“No, I’m lucky you have no shame.”

He clutches his chest like he’s wounded. “Ouch.”

You glare at him, trying not to laugh. Trying.

He pushes up from the grass with an easy, languid stretch, the hem of his shirt lifting just enough for you to catch a glimpse of sharp hip bones. You look away instantly. Too late.

He notices.

“See you tomorrow, Professor.”

You don’t answer.

You just flip open your book again — to a very different page — and pretend he didn’t just make your thighs ache for reasons you’ll never say out loud.

⸻

Later that evening—

You’re studying with Yunjin and Sunoo in your room. The usual setup: flashcards, open laptops, snacks you’ll regret, and Yunjin’s playlist of girl group bangers in the background.

“He read your book?” Yunjin shrieks.

Sunoo nearly chokes on a gummy worm. “Out loud? In public?! Oh, he wants you. He wants you so bad it’s illegal.”

You groan into your pillow.

“It’s not like that,” you mumble.

Yunjin snorts. “Babe, he has a whole sexual harassment arc planned out in his head. The slow burn? The enemies to lovers? He’s living your smut fantasy.”

“He’s annoying.”

“He’s obsessed.”

Sunoo hums. “You should ask yourself why you’re not, like, really mad about it.”

You go quiet.

Because that’s the problem. You should be mad. You should hate how he always corners you, always flusters you, always finds the one button to press and presses it until you break.

But a small, stupid part of you…

Wants him to keep pushing.

_______

It starts with your name on the projector.

Not in a good way.

You’re sitting front row, highlighter poised, when your chemistry professor clears her throat and says, “Alright, we’re pairing off for the next lab cycle. Each of you will work with your designated partner for the next two weeks. Names are on the board. No switches.”

Your eyes flick up.

You scan the list. Fast. Already mentally preparing to work with someone quiet, maybe even someone you can control a little — because group work, for you, is like handing a toddler your thesis.

Then you see it.

Your name.

Next to his.

Y/N L/N × Park Sunghoon

Your soul leaves your body.

You blink once. Twice.

Surely there’s been a mistake. The universe wouldn’t be this cruel. You’ve done nothing to deserve this. You recycle. You use turn signals. You highlight with restraint.

But there it is. Burning bright on the projector like a death sentence.

You barely hear the professor’s next sentence. Something about goggles. Safety. Don’t blow up the lab. Whatever.

Because behind you, a voice says low and delighted:

“Well, well, well. Look who finally has to play nice.”

You squeeze your pen so hard the cap snaps.

⸻

Ten minutes later, at your lab table—

Sunghoon strolls over like he’s auditioning for a fragrance commercial. He smells like clean soap and something boyish and warm that makes your stomach do inappropriate things. His lab coat is open, his ID badge hanging crookedly from the collar, and he leans on the counter with both arms like it’s his personal modeling platform.

You pretend to be invested in the periodic table.

“Don’t worry, nerd,” he murmurs, dipping close. “I’m great with chemistry.”

You grit your teeth. “Don’t touch anything.”

He grins. “Yes, Professor.”

You hate him. You hate him.

Mostly because he’s so tall that he has to bend way down to look you in the eye. And when he does, your whole body reacts like it’s being dragged across a live wire.

“I mean it,” you say, elbowing him lightly. “This is my GPA. Don’t ruin it.”

He leans in even closer — just enough to make your breath catch.

“Would never ruin you,” he murmurs, too soft, too intimate.

Your heart stutters.

You look at him. He’s not smiling now. Not really. His expression is unreadable — some strange mix of amusement and something heavier, darker. Something… unfamiliar.

You shove the reaction away.

“I’ll take the measurements,” you say quickly, pulling the graduated cylinder toward you. “You just… don’t get in the way.”

“Whatever you say,” he drawls, shifting behind you.

And then he’s right there — standing behind your shoulder as you pour, his body heat brushing yours, his breath disturbingly close to your ear.

You fumble.

A few drops spill over the edge of the cylinder.

“Careful, nerd,” he says. “You’re trembling.”

You are. Just slightly. But it’s not because you’re scared. It’s because his voice is low and thick and way too close, and his chest brushes your back when he leans forward to glance at the beaker.

And because for some reason…

You don’t move away.

⸻

Half an hour later—

The lab smells like antiseptic, alcohol, and the faint tang of lemon cleaner. The experiment is simple: titration. Measure. Pour. Record. Repeat.

And yet somehow, this is the hardest hour of your life.

Because Sunghoon won’t. Stop. Hovering.

Every time you shift, he shifts too — close enough that his thigh bumps yours, his arm brushes your elbow, his breath tickles your neck.

And every time you ask him to “stop doing that,” he just says “doing what?” in the smuggest voice known to man.

It’s a miracle you haven’t broken a glass.

“Write down the value,” you mumble, pushing the log sheet toward him.

He leans over, his shoulder nudging yours, pen scrawling across the paper in lazy, cocky handwriting.

You try to ignore how broad his chest is. How his fingers are ink-stained and long and stupidly hot. How your knees are practically touching now.

And then he drops the pen.

Right between your feet.

You freeze.

He crouches, slowly, almost dramatically — his head disappearing under the desk as he reaches for it. And when he rises back up, something shifts. His eyes. His smirk. His voice.

“Nice panties.”

You whip around, eyes wide.

“What?!”

He smiles. “Lace, huh? Classy.”

You want the ground to eat you alive.

“I’m—” You stutter, mortified. “I’m wearing shorts under my skirt!”

“Sure you are.” He grins, tossing the pen onto the desk. “Didn’t say I saw skin. Just said I liked the color.”

You die inside.

He chuckles, picking up your notes.

“And here I thought you were innocent.”

You blink. Your voice is quiet now. Honest. “I am.”

He glances at you. Stops.

For one beat, he doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. Just looks at you.

You expect him to make fun of you. But he doesn’t.

He just says, quieter than before: “…Yeah. I know.”

And then the teasing glint returns.

“But I bet your books aren’t.”

You groan, shoving your face into your arm.

Sunghoon laughs — really laughs — the sound of it echoing off the sterile walls like sunshine cracking through the ceiling. You kind of hate that it sounds good. You kind of hate that it makes you want to laugh.

But most of all…

You hate that your hand is still tingling from when his accidentally brushed yours.

⸻

After class—

Jake is waiting for you outside the science building.

“You okay?” he asks, eyes flicking over your flushed face.

You nod too fast. “Fine. Lab stuff.”

“Did he mess with you?”

You hesitate. “Not really. Just being… him.”

Jake narrows his eyes. “You sure?”

You nod again. “Yeah.”

He walks you to the café without another word.

But behind you, across the lawn, Sunghoon is leaning against the stair rail. His hands are in his pockets. His hair is messy. His smirk is gone.

He’s watching you.

And he doesn’t look amused anymore.

____________

Your locker is always clean.

Not obsessively, but neatly — like everything in your life, it’s arranged to keep people out. Pencil cases stacked by color. Books lined up in subject order. A lavender air freshener clipped to the top shelf. Even your emergency snacks are sealed in Ziploc bags, labeled with sticky notes like Don’t Touch (Yunjin) and Mine (Still Yunjin, don’t lie).

You don’t trust easily.

You especially don’t trust people like Sunghoon.

Which is why the moment you see your locker door slightly ajar after third period, your stomach drops like a stone.

You stop walking.

Yunjin keeps going — then pauses and doubles back, noticing your frozen stance.

“What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer. You just reach out and pull your locker open.

The inside looks… the same. Sort of.

But your notebook — your private notebook — the one you use for doodles and little diary entries and the occasional steamy paragraph you don’t want to admit you wrote — it’s not where it should be. It’s not under your folders. It’s not behind your lab manual.

You blink once. Twice.

Panic prickles under your skin.

“Oh no,” you whisper.

Yunjin leans over. “Wait—what’s missing?”

You don’t answer.

Because that’s the thing. You know what’s missing. You just don’t want to say it out loud.

⸻

Two hours later—

You find him in the art wing.

Sunghoon’s sitting alone in the back row of the photography lab, long legs stretched under the desk, flipping through something that definitely doesn’t belong to him.

Your notebook.

Your fucking notebook.

You march in before you even think it through, yanking it from his hands so fast he lets out a low, surprised laugh.

“Easy, nerd. Might tear a page.”

You hold it to your chest, face burning. “You broke into my locker?”

“Wasn’t locked.”

“That’s not the point!”

He tilts his head, annoyingly calm. “You dropped your schedule the other day. I figured you’d come here to yell.”

You gape. “You planned this?”

He shrugs.

“I—what the hell is wrong with you?” Your voice is high now, trembling with embarrassment. “That’s private, Sunghoon. That’s my notebook. There’s—there’s—”

“Scenes?” he says casually. “Plots? A character who definitely isn’t based on me?”

You freeze.

Oh no.

He read that part.

The scene you wrote during math last week. The one you swore you’d delete. The one where a tall, smug male lead corners the innocent bookworm in the school stairwell and says something along the lines of “Tell me how many times you touched yourself thinking about me.”

Your soul detonates.

“You weren’t supposed to see that—”

He stands.

Slowly. Deliberately.

You instinctively take a step back. He doesn’t touch you — doesn’t have to. He just moves into your space with the kind of lazy confidence that should be illegal.

“So you have thought about me,” he says, eyes dark and unreadable.

You clutch the notebook tighter. “That was fiction.”

He smirks. “Was it?”

“Obviously,” you snap. “You’re not even nice to me!”

He tilts his head. “You think I’d be nice if I got you alone?”

Your throat tightens.

You hate him. You hate that he has this effect on you. That you’re still standing here. That your fingers are shaking. That you want to kiss him just to shut him up.

“I’m not… I don’t…” You swallow hard. “I don’t do stuff like that.”

He studies you.

Not like he’s judging you — but like he’s learning you. Filing away every detail.

“I know.”

You blink.

“I know you don’t,” he says again, this time softer. “You blush when someone touches your hand. You flinch when someone calls you pretty. You get scared when people ask if you’ve dated. I know.”

Your breath catches.

And for a second — a split second — you think he might say something real. Something honest. Something that would shatter the stupid rhythm of your days.

But then his smirk returns.

He steps back. “But you write like someone who wants to.”

You burn.

He walks out.

You stand alone, clutching your notebook, your heart pounding in your throat.

⸻

Later that night—

Yunjin and Sunoo are sitting on your bed, watching you pace.

“He read it?” Sunoo gasps. “Like really read it?”

You nod, dying slowly.

“And then quoted it back to you?”

You nod again, collapsing into your blanket.

Yunjin’s jaw is on the floor. “Babe. That is not normal bully behavior.”

Sunoo raises a brow. “That’s ‘I have a secret folder of pictures of you’ behavior.”

You bury your face in a pillow. “I want to vanish.”

“But like,” Yunjin leans closer, “was he mean about it?”

You hesitate.

“No,” you admit. “Just… smug.”

“So,” Sunoo concludes. “He’s into it.”

“I’m going to die.”

Yunjin hums. “No, babe. You’re going to wear a short skirt next week and finish him off.”

You laugh — just a little.

Because you’re not ready for that.

Not yet.

But soon?

Maybe.

_________

The day you wear the short skirt is just a regular Thursday.

At least for you.

You didn’t mean to cause anything. You didn’t plan a thing. You’re wearing the same style of outfit you always do — a black pleated skirt, mid-thigh, soft cotton; thigh-high socks with lace trim; and a fitted cardigan buttoned up to your collarbone. Hair tied with a little black ribbon. Gloss dark and shiny. You’re still you.

Just a little cuter than usual.

Maybe you were tired of blending in. Maybe you needed a confidence boost. Or maybe you just liked how the outfit made you feel — pretty, in a way that was yours and yours alone.

You walk into the library, as always, twenty minutes before your study group meets. You take the back corner chair again. You plug in your tablet. You open your book.

Everything is normal.

Until you hear the scrape of a chair behind you.

You don’t even have to turn around.

“…Sunghoon.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

You glance back.

He’s standing just far enough to look casual. But something’s… different.

His expression is unreadable. His usual smirk? Gone. In its place is something still. Quiet. Controlled.

Too controlled.

You tilt your head. “What?”

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, his eyes drift — deliberately — down your legs. Your skirt. The sliver of bare skin between your thigh-highs and the hem of the fabric.

And they stay there.

For a second too long.

You shift uncomfortably, crossing your legs. “What?”

Still, he doesn’t speak. He just exhales — slow, quiet, a sound that barely escapes his chest — and then he drops into the seat beside you.

But this time, he doesn’t sprawl like usual. Doesn’t lean in close to tease. Doesn’t say anything at all.

You peek at him.

His jaw is tight.

His fingers are tapping once, twice, then curling into his palm like he needs to stop.

You blink.

“You okay?”

Sunghoon turns slowly to look at you. Eyes heavy. Face unreadable.

“You wore that on purpose.”

Your breath hitches. “Excuse me?”

“That skirt.” His voice is low. “Those socks.”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie.”

You sit straighter. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

The intensity in his voice makes you shiver.

“Sunghoon, I dress like this all the time.”

“Not like this.”

You stare at him.

He looks… wrecked.

His fingers twitch on his thigh. His knee bounces. His teeth grind against the inside of his cheek like he’s fighting a war with himself.

“You’re acting crazy,” you whisper.

He laughs. But it’s not funny. It’s hollow. Pained.

“Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”

You feel your cheeks go hot.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know you didn’t,” he snaps. Then softer, more raw: “That’s the worst part.”

You blink, startled.

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His voice comes quieter now, not directed at you — more like a confession to the floor.

“I’ve spent months trying not to touch you. Not to lose it. I thought it was funny at first — teasing the nerd. Getting a reaction. Watching you get all shy and breathless.”

Your throat tightens.

“But then I started wondering what your lips tasted like. Wondering if you’d cry if I kissed you. Wondering if you’d let me ruin you if I was just a little nicer.”

You don’t move.

“I’d close my eyes and see you. Skirts riding up. Little notes with hearts. The way you lick your gloss off when you’re thinking.”

He laughs again — a sharp, miserable thing.

“I thought I was just horny. I thought it would pass.”

You swallow. “And did it?”

He looks at you.

And the look in his eyes answers the question before he even speaks.

“No.”

Your breath catches.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he says softly. “I think about you all the time. In class. In the shower. In my fucking sleep. I can’t stop.”

You feel like the world has tilted.

“I didn’t mean to make you—”

He cuts you off, sharp. “Don’t apologize.”

Silence settles between you like ash.

You’re not sure what to do. What to say. You’re still the shy girl. Still inexperienced. Still figuring out what it means when someone looks at you like they want to set the world on fire just to keep you warm.

And Sunghoon?

He’s not teasing anymore.

He’s unraveling.

“You should go,” he mutters suddenly, standing too fast. “Before I do something I won’t come back from.”

“Like what?”

He looks down at you.

And for the first time in weeks — maybe months — he looks scared.

“Like fall in love with you.”

_________

It starts with silence.

You don’t see him for two days.

Not in the hallway. Not in class. Not even during free period when he usually appears behind you like a bad idea dressed in perfect skin.

Just—nothing.

At first, you tell yourself it’s a relief.

You can finally think straight. Finally read without blushing. Finally open your locker without wondering if something’s missing — or added. You tell yourself it’s better this way. Clean. Quiet.

You almost believe it.

Until the third day.

⸻

Thursday. Late afternoon.

You’re walking down the old north stairwell — the one behind the drama wing, tucked between forgotten bulletin boards and scratched-up banisters. You only ever use it when you want to avoid crowds. It’s usually silent. Deserted.

Today, it isn’t.

Because at the bottom of the landing — leaning against the railing like he’s been waiting for hours — is Sunghoon.

He doesn’t look smug.

He looks like he hasn’t slept.

Hair a mess. Tie loose. One hand in his pocket, the other gripping the stair rail like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this hallway.

Your stomach flips.

You slow down. Carefully. Eyes locked on his.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you say, trying to keep your voice level.

His jaw clenches. “I had to.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer.

You descend the last few steps — slow, cautious. The moment you reach the bottom, he straightens up.

And then — very quietly — he says:

“You wore those socks again.”

Your breath catches.

He takes a step toward you. Then another.

You don’t move. Can’t.

“They drive me fucking crazy,” he murmurs.

Your back hits the wall. He’s close now. Not touching you, but there — his heat pressing into your space, eyes low and dark and dangerous in a way that isn’t scary, but devastating.

“I asked myself why you’d wear them again,” he says, tilting his head. “If you meant to.”

“I didn’t.”

“Didn’t you?” His voice drops to a whisper. “Didn’t you want me to lose control a little?”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

He leans in.

“You think I don’t notice every little thing about you? The way your thighs squeeze when I sit too close. The way you flinch when I say something dirty but never really tell me to stop.”

Your legs tremble.

“I don’t mean to—”

“Yes, you do.” His voice is low and raw. “And that’s what kills me. Because I want to ruin you so badly it hurts. But I know you’re not ready.”

His fingers lift. Hover. They don’t touch you. Just trace the air beside your cheek like he’s memorizing your shape.

“But you will be,” he whispers. “Soon.”

You shiver.

“You want to know what I did when you left the library the other day?”

Your eyes dart up to his.

He smiles — soft, broken, almost bitter.

“I went home and lost my mind.”

You swallow.

“I kept thinking about how your skirt slid up when you sat down. How the top of your sock curled right above your thigh like a fucking invitation.”

He’s breathing heavier now, close enough that your lashes flutter with each exhale.

“I locked my door,” he says. “Tore my belt open. And I came so hard thinking about the way you looked at me when I said I was in love with you.”

You gasp.

He grins — slow, dangerous.

“You thought I was lying?”

You can’t speak.

“You think this is just lust?” He laughs — dark and quiet. “No, baby. Lust would’ve faded. Lust wouldn’t make me go insane when another guy so much as looks at you.”

Your knees nearly give out.

“Sunghoon…”

“I’ve been trying to be good,” he breathes. “Trying to be patient. But every time I see you like this — pretty little skirt, those shy eyes, lips glossy like you want me to kiss you — I lose it a little more.”

His hand lifts again — and this time, he does touch you.

Just a finger under your chin.

He tilts your face up. Your pulse skitters.

“I’ve been waiting for the moment you ask me to stop.”

You don’t.

You just look up at him, trembling.

And he smiles like a man who’s finally found something holy.

“I knew it,” he whispers.

_________

You don’t go to class after that.

You sit in the old stairwell for ten full minutes after he leaves — heart in your throat, knees shaking, hand pressed against your chest like you can stop the echo of his voice still ringing in your bones.

“I came so hard thinking about the way you looked at me…”

“You think this is just lust?”

“I’ve been trying to be good.”

You can’t breathe.

Not because you’re scared — but because every single thing he said was real. And it’s the realness that messes you up.

You thought he just liked teasing. That maybe he thought you were hot in a condescending, look-at-the-nerd-with-nice-legs kind of way. But this? This was deeper. Unfiltered. Borderline feral.

And underneath all that hunger…

You saw something else.

Worship.

⸻

The next day

You sit at your desk in homeroom, trying to focus on your notes.

You fail.

Mostly because Sunghoon hasn’t looked at you once. Not even when he walked in. Not even when your pen fell to the floor and you reached down to grab it, thigh-highs on display like a death sentence.

He’s silent. Still.

Too still.

You glance over.

He’s doodling on his paper — eyes dark, jaw clenched, hair falling into his lashes. You almost think he doesn’t care anymore. Until he shifts just slightly and you see it.

His hands.

Fists.

Trembling.

He’s not calm. He’s trying to stay calm.

You bite your lip.

And then you do something that surprises even you.

You write something on your sticky note.

Just a few words. Neat handwriting. One line.

“What would you do if I said I don’t want you to be good anymore?”

You slide it across the desk.

He reads it.

Still doesn’t look at you.

But his chest moves — sharp and sudden, like someone just punched the air out of him.

You wait.

One beat. Two.

Then he writes something back and slides it to you.

“I’d ask if you meant it.”

You stare at the words.

Then — heart pounding — you scribble your reply:

“I don’t write things I don’t mean.”

When he reads that, he closes his eyes.

Like he’s praying.

Or begging himself not to get up and ruin you in the middle of class.

⸻

Later that day—

You’re in the hallway after seventh period when it happens.

You’re walking to your locker. Yunjin and Sunoo are behind you, bickering over something dumb — whether Sana from class C has extensions or not — when a hand grabs your wrist and pulls you behind the science building.

You gasp.

“Sunghoon?!”

He doesn’t say anything at first.

He just cages you against the wall, breath shaky, hands gripping the bricks beside your head.

“You really meant it?” he asks, voice wrecked.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I meant it.”

“Say you want me.”

Your eyes flutter shut.

“I want you.”

He exhales — like he’s been holding that breath for weeks.

“You have no idea what that does to me,” he whispers.

“Then tell me.”

He blinks.

You tilt your head. “You act like I’m the only one losing my mind. But you’re the one jerking off to the way I looked at you. You’re the one memorizing my skirts. You’re the one quoting my fake smut like it’s a Bible.”

He lets out a short laugh — half turned on, half stunned.

You step closer.

Braver now. Still nervous, still innocent, but not fragile.

“I’m not as clueless as you think,” you whisper. “I just didn’t know you liked me that much.”

He stares at you. Really stares.

And then he says it.

The one thing that makes your entire body flush with heat and something dangerously close to affection.

“I’ve liked you since the day you corrected the teacher and didn’t even realize you were being a show-off.”

Your lips part.

Sunghoon leans in.

“Since the day you wore that tight black sweater and glared at me for calling you ’Professor Tits.’”

You choke.

“And every day since,” he breathes. “Even the days I hated myself for it.”

Silence.

You meet his eyes.

There’s a weight to them now. Not just lust. Not just teasing.

Longing.

You don’t kiss him.

Not yet.

But you step close enough that your chest brushes his — that he feels the way you tremble.

“Then stop hating yourself,” you say quietly.

“Because I’m starting to think I’ve liked you this whole time too.”

_______

It’s past sunset when it happens.

The campus library is nearly empty — just the buzz of overhead lights and the soft click of a librarian’s keyboard echoing in the silence. You sit alone in your usual corner, tucked beneath the frosted glass window, your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your book.

You’re not reading it.

You haven’t turned a page in the last ten minutes.

Your heart’s too loud.

Because you know he’s coming.

You texted him two words: “Come here.”

And he answered with only one: “Okay.”

You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t plan it. But now you’re sitting in the spot where he first called you “Professor,” wearing that same gloss on your lips and a soft black cardigan that buttons at the top and opens just enough at the bottom to tease the shape of your skirt.

You hear the footsteps before you see him.

Sharp. Measured. Deliberate.

And then Sunghoon rounds the corner — all long legs and loose sleeves and unreadable eyes. His hair is still messy. His tie is gone. His mouth is set in a line that betrays none of the fire you saw in him before.

He stops in front of your table.

Doesn’t sit. Doesn’t speak.

You stare up at him.

The silence feels like it stretches forever.

Then you ask, barely a whisper:

“…Are you going to kiss me?”

His jaw ticks.

“I shouldn’t.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He doesn’t answer.

Just walks around the table. Slowly. Carefully. Like a hunter circling prey he doesn’t want to startle.

You turn in your chair to face him.

Your knees touch his thighs.

Your breath trembles.

Sunghoon lowers to his knees in front of you — not teasing, not dramatic. Just soft. Grounded. Like he’s doing something sacred.

You stare at him.

He stares back.

His fingers come up — tentative — and hover near your cheek, barely brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You lean into it.

That’s all he needs.

He leans in slowly, one hand still cradling your jaw, the other braced on your thigh like an anchor.

And when he kisses you — finally, finally — it’s nothing like what you expected.

It’s not wild. Not fast. Not filthy.

It’s gentle.

His lips press to yours like a secret. Like a question. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he kisses too hard.

You melt.

Your hands curl into his sleeves, your mouth parting instinctively. He doesn’t take advantage. He just stays there — lips soft, breath warm, fingers trembling slightly against your jaw like he can’t believe he’s allowed to do this.

He pulls back. Just enough to speak.

His voice breaks.

“…Been dreaming of that.”

You open your eyes slowly.

“You’re shaking,” you whisper.

He lets out a breathless laugh. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“Baby, if I touch you the way I want to—”

You lean in.

“Then touch me.”

He exhales — like he’s been waiting for that.

________

His breath is already hot against your cheek when you whisper it—

“Then touch me.”

It breaks him.

Sunghoon’s hand trembles where it rests on your thigh, fingers flexing like he’s fighting the urge to grab, to grip, to mark. His other hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. You’re still sitting in the library chair, but he’s on his knees between your legs now, eye-level with your mouth, and something about the position—him below you, both of you breathless—makes your stomach twist.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he whispers.

“I do.”

His eyes search yours.

Still waiting for you to back out. Still waiting for this to be a dream.

And then you part your lips, slowly, dragging your tongue over your gloss and whisper:

“Touch me like you dream about it.”

His head drops—chin to chest, exhale rough and ragged, like he’s been holding it in for months. You feel his breath on your thigh and shiver.

When he looks up again, his eyes are gone—glassy, dark, the pupils blown wide with something between reverence and hunger.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

And then he’s kissing you again—harder now, no more hesitation.

His mouth devours yours, warm and slick and open, tongue stroking past your lips in a desperate, wet slide. His hand tightens on your thigh—really grabs now, fingers spreading wide, pulling your leg apart so he can fit closer between them.

You gasp into his mouth.

That sound—your sharp, high breath—makes him groan, low and filthy in the back of his throat like he’s starving.

“Keep making that noise,” he pants against your lips. “I swear to God—”

He kisses you again—sloppier this time, breath hotter, grip firmer.

Your fingers are buried in his hair now, tugging. He moans into your mouth when you do—moans, like it does something to him, like he likes it messy, likes being grabbed, needed.

“You’re so soft,” he breathes, kissing down your cheek, your jaw. “So fucking soft, baby. I can’t think when I’m near you.”

You whimper when he kisses under your ear, and his hand immediately slides up your thigh in response, like a reward.

“Shit,” he gasps. “Say it again. Let me hear you.”

You try to muffle the sound. He doesn’t let you.

His hand grabs your chin, not rough, but firm—tilting your face so you’re looking right into his eyes.

“I want to hear what I do to you,” he whispers.

You’re panting now, chest rising and falling fast. He can see it—the way your cardigan pulls at the buttons with every breath, how your thighs twitch under his grip. He watches you fall apart like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Then he leans in—presses a kiss just above your collarbone, lips lingering there, breathing you in.

“You smell like fucking vanilla and library pages,” he groans.

You laugh breathlessly. “That’s not a real—”

“Yes it is.” He kisses you again. “It’s you. It’s driving me insane.”

His hand slides higher—over your skirt, thumb dragging across the top of your thigh-high sock. He’s still on his knees. Still between your legs. Still gripping the edge of your chair like if he lets go, he’ll do something unholy.

“Can I?” he asks. “Can I touch you here?”

You nod—shaky, unsure—but your hips shift forward on their own, and his jaw drops.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, voice breaking. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

He palms your thigh slowly, dragging his hand up until it brushes under the hem of your skirt, and he moans—visibly, eyes fluttering shut like your skin hurts to touch.

“You’re so warm,” he pants. “So fucking warm and perfect—how are you real?”

You gasp when he mouths at your neck again, lips dragging down until he finds your pulse—and sucks. Not hard enough to mark. Not yet. But the intent is there.

You clench around nothing.

He pulls back, breathing hard now.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

“So are you.”

His eyes find yours again—glassy, red at the corners, pupils massive, breath completely gone.

“I’ve never wanted anything like I want you,” he admits. “Not once. Not ever.”

_________

You’re not sure who breathes louder—him or you.

But your thighs are trembling.

And his hands haven’t even done what they’re desperate to do yet.

Still kneeling, Sunghoon stares up at you like he’s praying to something. His hair’s falling into his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his lips swollen and damp from how hard he kissed you. And then there’s his eyes—those glazed-over, black-hole pupils swallowing the soft brown whole.

“I need to see you,” he whispers. “Right fucking now.”

Your breath skips. “What—what do you—”

His hands slide under your skirt.

No warning this time. No hesitation.

And when his fingers meet the soft cotton of your panties, he groans. Loudly.

“Fuck, baby—”

You arch.

He hasn’t even touched you properly yet. Just his palm over your underwear. But he feels everything—the heat, the softness, the way you twitch under him.

He leans forward and moans into your thigh.

“You’re so wet, and I’ve barely even done anything. You’re shaking for me already?” His voice cracks, trembling at the edge of his restraint. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

You gasp when he presses his whole hand against your pussy through the fabric—fingers spread, applying pressure like he wants to memorize the shape of you.

His eyes roll back slightly. He bites his lip.

“Ohhh, my God—” he growls. “I’ve thought about this. Every. Fucking. Night.”

You can barely breathe. Your head tips back against the chair, legs falling wider apart without you realizing, and he notices.

“Oh my fucking god, baby,” he groans, voice desperate. “You’re opening up for me.”

You try to speak—say something smart, something sexy—but then his thumb rubs you in a slow, firm circle over your panties and you gasp, loud and sharp, legs jerking.

“There she is,” he pants. “That’s my girl.”

You whimper.

His hand flexes—his other one gripping your thigh, thumb dragging over the skin where your sock ends like he’s about to lose it over the lace trim alone.

“I’m not gonna finger you yet,” he mutters. “Not here. Not until I can take my time. You deserve more than two fingers in a library.”

You moan softly.

“But I’m gonna get you close, baby. I’m gonna make you fucking drip for me.”

He presses harder.

You’re soaking through your panties now—you know it, because you feel it, and from the way his jaw drops when he cups you again?

He feels it too.

“Jesus fuck,” he whispers. “You’re soaked. Fuck, fuck—you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You’re writhing now.

Tiny, helpless gasps leave your mouth with every motion—your eyes fluttering, your head rolling slightly to the side, hands gripping the armrests of the chair like they’re the only things keeping you from floating away.

And then he leans up.

Still between your legs. Still palming your pussy with one hand. But now he brings his mouth to your ear and whispers:

“Do you want me to grind on you, baby? You want me to fuck against your pretty little panties like a pathetic virgin?”

You moan—sharp, high, helpless.

And that destroys him.

He practically growls. “Yeah? That get you off? You want to feel how fucking hard I am just from watching you squirm?”

You nod frantically. “Yes—please—Sunghoon—”

He stands.

His hands go to his belt.

You watch—frozen—as he undoes it fast, the click of metal loud and vulgar in the quiet library. Then he’s shoving his pants down just enough, groaning softly when the pressure eases, and—

Fuck.

He’s huge.

Thick. Red at the tip. Leaking.

You choke.

He strokes himself once—twice—then looks at you like he’s about to eat you alive.

“Pull your panties to the side.”

Your hands shake.

“Let me see you,” he adds, quieter. “Just a little. Please.”

And the “please” wrecks you.

You do it.

Panties tugged gently aside, your thighs trembling, your whole body flushed and aching. You can’t look him in the eye.

But he can’t look anywhere else.

“Oh, my fucking god.”

He strokes himself slowly, lining up with your folds—not pushing in, just grinding against you, head dragging up your slit as he holds your hips steady with both hands.

You cry out.

He moans—deep and raw—like the sound of you is something holy.

“You feel that?” he pants. “That’s what you do to me. You made me this hard. You’re gonna make me come just from fucking against your soaked little cunt.”

You grip the chair tighter, eyes wide, mouth open—because he’s grinding now, slow and filthy, his cock sliding up and down your folds, teasing your clit every pass, his head catching just slightly on your entrance each time he rocks forward.

You’re not even being fucked.

But it feels like it.

Every time his tip drags up your clit, you shake. Your moans are getting louder—higher—your body twitching beneath him.

“You gonna come like this?” he growls. “You gonna come just from me humping your little pussy like a fucking pervert?”

You nod desperately.

And then he moans, forehead pressed to yours, sweat building on his temples.

“I’m gonna make you come, baby,” he pants. “And then I’m gonna ruin you for real.”

_________

Sunghoon’s hips are grinding into you now—slow, desperate thrusts that drag the thick head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, catching on your clit with every pass. The friction is filthy—wet and hot and perfect, the head of his cock gliding against your slickness like he was meant to be there.

And the sounds he makes?

Devastating.

Every rock of his hips earns a moan—guttural, shattered, like he’s falling apart just from being this close to you.

“You feel that?” he pants against your ear. “You feel how hard I am for you, baby?”

You nod frantically, fingers clutching his shoulders, legs trembling.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls. “I’m not even inside you and you’re dripping—Jesus, you’re making a mess.”

You are.

The fabric of your panties is soaked, your thighs sticky, your whole body trembling like you’re about to break.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasps, voice cracking. “I’m gonna come just from rubbing against you—oh my god, what the fuck are you doing to me?”

He buries his face in your neck, his breath hot and erratic.

“I can’t—fuck—I can’t stop—”

His thrusts get faster, more frantic.

Each grind rubs right over your clit, dragging the swollen head of his cock across the sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure. You’re whining now—sharp, high sounds that make his rhythm stutter.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me hear you. Let me fucking hear you—”

You moan louder.

And his whole body jerks.

“Oh my god, I’m so fucking close—”

You are too.

Your hips twitch against his, meeting each thrust, chasing the friction that’s making your stomach coil tighter and tighter.

“Come for me,” he gasps. “Come on my cock, baby. Please—please, I need to feel it.”

You cry out.

Your orgasm hits like a wave—sharp, blinding, a full-body tremble that makes your legs lock around his waist, your back arch, your nails dig into his skin.

“Ohhh fuck—baby—yes, that’s it—fuck, fuck—”

He loses it.

His hips jerk once, twice—and then he moans, loudly, voice wrecked as he comes. Hard. The hot, wet pulse of it spilling against your soaked folds as he ruts through it like he can’t stand to stop.

His whole body shakes.

His mouth is open, eyes squeezed shut, breath shattered as he gasps through it.

“Holy fuck,” he moans. “You just made me come so fucking hard—fuck, baby—”

You hold him.

And he doesn’t pull away.

⸻

The Aftermath

You’re both still trembling.

His head is buried in your neck, his breath sticky against your skin, his hands gripping the back of your chair like if he lets go, he’ll fall to pieces. Your skirt is hiked up. His pants are open. You’re sticky. Sweaty. Spent.

And neither of you moves.

For a long, breathless moment, it’s just… quiet.

Then, slowly, Sunghoon exhales.

He lifts his head.

And when he looks at you?

His eyes are glassy.

Not just from pleasure. Not just from lust. But something else—something softer. Something terrifyingly tender.

He reaches up and brushes your hair from your face.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod, breath catching.

He leans in—kisses your cheek. Then your temple. Then the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve never,” he murmurs, “ever… felt anything like that.”

You bite your lip.

“I liked it,” you whisper.

He smiles, small and stunned.

Then he bends down and presses his forehead to your chest, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s never letting go.

“You’re mine now,” he says softly. “You know that, right?”

You nod.

And you let him hold you.

Because in this moment—sweaty, messy, heart still pounding—you’ve never felt more wanted.

Or more safe.

_____

You don’t know how long you sit there with him.

His arms wrapped tightly around your waist. Your legs still parted over his hips. The library’s overhead lights hum softly above you, casting a pale glow over his messy hair, his swollen mouth, the pink flush still dusting his cheekbones.

And for once—just once—he isn’t teasing. Isn’t cocky. Isn’t even speaking.

He’s holding.

He’s breathing you in.

As if this moment is something sacred.

You card your fingers through his hair, gentle and slow, and he sighs like it’s the only thing keeping him from dissolving into the air.

“You okay?” you whisper.

He nods, but doesn’t let go.

You glance down and realize his eyes are closed, lashes fluttering against your chest. And you swear—swear—he looks like a boy who just found peace for the first time.

Eventually, he murmurs into your skin:

“You make me feel like I don’t have to be the asshole anymore.”

Your heart clenches.

You press your lips to his forehead and whisper:

“You never were. You were just scared.”

He laughs softly. Choked. Like that truth finally freed him.

And you know, in that moment, whatever comes next—he’s yours.

And you’re his.

Not just in lust.

But in everything.

____________

i love me some pathetic YEARNING men 🙏🙏

THANK YOU FOR READING LUVS <3

© si3rren 2025. all rights reserved.

[beomiracles]

𝓤𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝓘𝐎𝐋𝓔𝐍𝐂𝓔 태현

Your father talks about people like Taehyun. With venom that laces his tongue, he tells you about the filth of a world you can only imagine — and Taehyun is the worst kind. He is the kind of darkness that clings to your soul as it pulls you down with him; forcing you to join him when the day of doom finally comes.

thief!taehyun x cultist! reader (f) wc: 50k

genre: psychological horror/dystopian esque wannabe ⚠︎ READER DISCRETION : reader is apart of a cult, manipulation/brainwashing — hence unreliable narrator, morally grey characters, verbal and physical abuse, bruises and injuries, internalised gaslighting, theft/burglary, smoking, set in the 1960s, old social norms, misogyny, blasphemy, attempted suicide, arranged marriage, character death, descriptive death of said character(s), stabbing, choking, arson. smut tags: dub-con, coercion, virginity loss, masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex + pullout.

𐔌ㅤ serene's note hello, bear with me guys I am about to go on a ramble. this fic is literally... a ride, I'm very proud of it and I've worked so hard. it's not proofread, some parts are cringe (?) take it as it is please. the first 7k I wrote in November last year, maybe you'll be able to tell, who knows. I'm attached to this fic but I also want to distance myself from it. if you cry let me know, I cried too, it would be cool not to be alone... read all warnings carefully, some scenes are very uncomfortable, remember that this is all fiction and not real scenarios. big and awkward paragraphs and possible grammar errors... yes that's all, more notes at the end of the post...

I 

“Come down for dinner, dear!” 

Your mother’s voice echoes through the silent house, the sound scratches the walls, it creeps up the stairs and slithers through the cracks of your closed door. Your tired eyes watch as the imaginary cloud of her voice diminishes into nothing. You had started seeing things like that; the melancholy tone of your mother as she spoke of the weather, or the stern drawl of your father’s voice as he scolds you for not doing your daily teachings. You could see the anger seeping out of him, just as you could see the sadness spilling from her. 

Your gaze drifts back to the open book on your desk, eyes scanning the words you’d read so many times before. Flipping through the pages was routine, you didn't need to read anymore for you had already memorized the old paper’s contents. Your father had made sure of that. — The open page stares back at you, and it looks almost as tired as you feel. Exhausted and worn out from being opened and flipped through twice a day, for as long as it could remember. 

Still, you handle it with uttermost care, like it was sacred, and it was. You carefully tuck it back onto its place on your sparse shelf. Your father didn’t allow any literature besides his own. It didn’t matter how nicely you pleaded, how many times you accompanied him in his office, or how often you cleaned the kitchen. A book that wasn’t approved by him had no place in his house. That’s what he’d said. 

The old floorboards creak under your weight as you approach the open window. You lean out, catching the handle between two fingers as you prepare to close it once more. But the sudden evening breeze makes you freeze. It’s a warm July night, the sun has only now begun setting, despite it being well past dinner time. 

Summer was your favorite season. Because in summer, the days were long, the sun gracing you with its presence from early morning until late night. It was warm, much so that you didn’t need a coat when out in the garden. Life seemed to flourish in summer, birds visited at your window, squirrels ran across the slanted rooftop, and sometimes, a single deer would emerge from the thick forest, carefully tiptoeing past the lilies your mother had planted as it grazed your already mowed grass. 

Summer also meant no lectures, apart from your daily teachings. It meant not being cooped up in your father’s study when he read to you and taking notes as you listened. You were never allowed to read the books yourself, father kept them locked away. He told you that they were filled with nonsense, and that he only read the parts he deemed important. — You trusted your father. And so you listened intently to his every word. Because everything your father said had a purpose. 

It meant something. 

You hurry down the stairs, already late to dinner. The sounds of your footsteps echo through the grand hallways as you pass the many paintings, all made in oil, portraying various beautiful sceneries. Your father once told you that he’d visited all of them himself, back when he was young. You’d asked him to take you some day, but he would always tell you, “When you’re older, dear.” — Your twentieth birthday had passed just weeks prior, and you planned on asking him soon again. 

The dining hall is, just like any other room, extravagantly decorated, with porcelain pots and vases filling the shelves pushed up against the walls. An expensive rug, imported all the way from Italy, lays beneath your feet. Father had told you that Italy was a grand country, where the ocean followed you wherever you may go, where fruits grow on trees and where summers were long. You had to pinch yourself when thinking about the fact that such a place actually existed, for it sounded unreal. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts when your mother clears her throat, she’s silently motioning for you to sit down. Hastily following her command, you pull out the chair by the end of the table, taking a seat opposite her. Your father sits by the high end, your mother to his right, and you to his left. It was how it had always been and how it would always remain. 

Usually, father would scold you for being late. Time was a precious thing, because it was the only matter a human couldn’t control. Time was always moving and we were merely trying to keep up with it. Being late and wasting one's time is therefore punishable. But your father remained quiet, that either meant he was in a good mood, or a gravely bad one. 

He nods, a subtle tilt of his head, but it was a good sign. Your mother grabs your plate, carefully putting freshly cooked potatoes and meat on the fine china. She hands it back to you, and you thank her. When you’re done plating vegetables you reach for the bottle of water. You pour your father a glass first, then your mother, then yourself. Then you wait. 

Only when your father starts eating does your mother join him. But tonight, he seems to be lost in thought. His gaze is fixated somewhere far ahead, you follow it, but find nothing of interest. The room looks just as usual, spotless, the porcelain shining as your mother polished it almost every day.

It was important that one’s house was clean, because according to father, when the doom’s day came, only the pure ones would survive. Being pure meant not only doing your daily teachings, and refraining from indulging in any kinds of pleasure, but also treating your home with uttermost respect and care. — You had asked your father what exactly the doom’s day was, and why everyone in your community seemed to fear it so much. But your father would only shake his head, telling you to focus on your faith and that you would never have to even know if you did. 

“Is something wrong dear?” Your mothers voice pierces the quiet air. You watch as she nervously regards your father, studying his every flicker of expression. Your mother was a rather soft spoken woman, she didn’t talk much for she didn’t think she had anything of value to say. But you can tell that the prolonged silence is getting to her fragile nerves, and you imagine her fiddling with the ring on her finger beneath the table, away from your father’s eyes. 

Your father remains unspeaking, his gaze narrowing, but on what, you can’t tell. — “When was the last time the china was polished?” He asks, his voice a low drawl. Your mother flinches at the sudden question, her eyes snapping toward the rows of plates stacked on one of the shelves. “I…The day before yesterday”, she says, her voice unsteady. 

The silence that follows is thick. You’re certain that your father is displeased with her answer, you can tell by the subtle twitch of his jaw, the way his fingers tapped against the tablecloth. His dark gaze shift from the china and to your mother, who was already anticipating his next words. — “It was my fault, father.” The words spill before you can even stop them, “I was meant to polish them today, mother had told me, I just…I forgot, I apologize.” With your head bowed, and your hands clasped together on your lap, you keep your gaze downcast. 

You don’t know why you lied. Suppose you felt the need to spare your mother at least some of your father’s torment. It wasn’t like you couldn’t take it. But your mother… She was so frail, the second he raised his voice you would catch the tears in her eyes, the way her hands shook and you could sometimes hear the rapid beating of her heart. You did not think your mother deserved that. 

Upon hearing your admission, your father redirects his attention to you. His brows are slightly raised, painting a small and surprised frown onto his otherwise emotionless face. “And what’s made you forget such an important task?” He asks, his voice calculating. You sallow, nails digging into the palm of your sweaty hand as you think of an excuse. “I…” You begin, but your throat suddenly feels dry, “I must have forgotten simply because I… I was so fascinated by the birds outside.” As soon as the words leave your lips you brace for impact. 

The surprise on your father’s face is quickly morphed into a bitter look. “You mean to tell me that something as mundane as wildlife distracts you from the important duties at hand?” It’s not a question but you nod anyway, biting the inside of your cheek as you do. — Your father scoffs, and you can feel his cold gaze on you. “When doom’s day rises upon us, we’re all going to be lost”, he huffs, “Over a few birds.” 

You quickly shake your head. “No father. I’m sorry father. I’ll do better.” You don’t dare look up, keeping your eyes steadily fixed on your hands as you focus on laboring your breathing. Somewhere to your right, you hear him tsk, and through the corner of your eye, you catch him unfolding his napkin. “Years of teaching, and this is how I’m repaid”, he mutters under his breath. 

His fork makes a scraping sound against the china and you nearly wince. “Let us eat”, he then says, this time loud enough for his tone to be conversational. — You wait another minute before finally looking up, and when you do, you catch a glimpse of your mother’s expression. She looks sad, but then again, she always did. There’s a flicker of guilt, lingering behind her drowsy eyes. Was she not glad you had taken the blame? 

⸝⸝

The evening passed by in regular fashion. After dinner, you would gather in the living room as your father informed you of any news he’d received from your community during the day. It would often be mundane, like small details about the other families. But sometimes, it would be big, like new members joining. Your father would always be the happiest on those days. The proud look on his face wouldn’t leave even after you had come home from the townhouse. It would linger when he’d washed up and had dinner, all the way until nightfall settled. 

But today was another mundane day, and if your father was still angry with you, he did not show it. Instead he spoke of the weather, and the family across the street, whose son was your age. Father seemed very keen on you getting to know him better. Though you did not know how such a thing was to be possible. You only ever saw each other once a week, when your father spoke in front of the community in the townhouse. And even then, you were unable to speak with one another, as you were forced to listen to your father preach about doom’s day.

But such matters didn’t seem to concern your father, and he spoke with much delight as he described the son’s both strength and faith. You smiled, but only because you knew it would please him. — After nearly thirty minutes of listening to your father, you rose to your feet, bidding them both goodnight. It was already nearing 10 and you rarely stayed up past the hour. 

As you got ready for bed that night, your mind kept wandering back to your mother’s face. She had always had this melancholic feel around her. And you had always associated it with her, much so that you could not picture her laughing, nor smiling. Part of you wonders if she had always been like that, another part suspects your father might play a big role in the woman she is today. 

And you can’t help but feel sorry for her. 

⸝⸝

Sleep was, too, a precious thing. It was a state in which your body and mind drifted beyond your control. Time slipping through the cracks of your fingers as you lay motionless in one place for hours upon hours. Perhaps that was why you were such a light sleeper, because your mind kept telling you to stay alert, because even when sleeping, you were still constantly affected by your father’s words. 

Your neighborhood is quiet. It’s a calm and peaceful place, a place where grand houses line up along the road, a car neatly parked by each and every one. Large gardens stretch behind the homes, and beyond them, a dark and gloomy forest lays, its treetops peeking over the high roofs. — It was therefore most unusual to be woken at night by anything besides the chirping of birds, snapping of trees or the howl of wind. 

But the shattering of glass was unmistakable, and you shot up from your comfortable slumber. Your heart beats in your chest, your pupils blown wide as you search your dark room. But there’s nothing. The sound must have come from downstairs. — Was your mother awake? Had she dropped something? Or was it your father? 

You wait, you wait for a whole minute. But your house remains basked in complete silence. Yet you can’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. Pulling the blanket from your sparsely dressed body, you swing your legs over the edge of your bed. The soft padding of your footsteps are barely audible as you tiptoe toward your door. It glides open soundlessly and you peer out into the hallway. 

Darkness follows both ways, and you stay, listening. Someone was shuffling about downstairs, and as you take a hesitant step forward, the sounds become clearer. Hesitating for a brief moment, you glance toward your father and mother’s bedroom, its door sealed shut. 

And thus, you creep down the hallway, carefully descending the grand stairs, taking you to the foyer. The marbled floor here is cold against your bare feet, and you push back a small shiver as your head turns toward the archway leading into the living room. — It had to be your father, no? Who else could it be if not him or your mother? What would you tell him? That you went to get a glass of water? Or that the bathroom upstairs wasn’t working? 

You shake your head, pushing the matter aside when the sound of glass being crushed beneath something heavy fills your ears. Without a second thought you make your way toward the living room, fearing that your father might have hurt himself. — But the sight you behold as you enter the room is nothing short of unusual. It was not your father, nor your mother, but an uninvited stranger. 

The man is no taller than your dad, possibly an inch or two shorter. His hair, as dark as night itself, lays uncombed atop his head, reaching down his neck and the sides of his face. He’s clad in the most strange attire. The washed out jeans he wore looked far too big, and he had on, not one, but two shirts. The outer one had cigarette marks all over and holes everywhere, it was torn by the seams and draped over his knuckles. 

You could only make out half his face, the rest shielded by his hair and the dim light provided by the moon as it peeked through the open curtains. He stands by the fireplace, still unaware of your presence as he scours the shelves nearby, his attention undoubtedly lingering by the porcelain vases. — You notice that he’d already broken one, the flower pattern lay scattered all over the floor, a danger to anyone stepping on it. 

It looked to be an accident for he hadn’t broken anything else. — And though you should probably say something, you can’t help but find yourself in trance as you watch the strange man move around the living room. He walks with determination, the kind your father did, his eyes set on his target. And when he nears the shelves of vases, he carefully picks one up, turning it in his hands as he studies it closely. 

It’s then you notice the bag flung over his shoulder. Just as the rest of his attire, it looked beaten. He shrugs it off, unzipping it as he prepares to stuff the vase in it. — You clear your throat. The man nearly jumps at the sound, his head snapping in your direction, and this time you can see his face clearly. His features are sharp, like he was painted with precision, each stroke of his canvas caused by a quick flick of a brush. 

You didn’t recognize him as a member of your father’s community, you had never seen him down by the townhouse. That would mean he was a non believer. Your father had told you that those were the lowest of beings. Those who didn’t care for the doom’s day, those who indulged in pleasure and crime, those who let their house get dirty, uncaring for the day that was to come, when your home would be the thing that saved you. 

For long, you had wondered just how a non believer looked like. Were they as miserable as your father made them out to be? Were they sad and angry, filled with both desire and hatred for the world around them? — This man, he was the first of them you had ever met, and he intrigued you greatly. 

It didn’t occur to you that he might be dangerous, this mere stranger. No, you were too in awe of the fact that he was here, in your father’s home, a place no visitors ever were allowed. There was an actual breathing human being in your living room right now. — And this man, he looked nothing like those of your community, the ones who listened to your father preach about doom’s day. He didn’t look at all like someone who was meant to follow, but to lead. 

Your gaze lingers by the porcelain vase he clutches in his hand, then the worn out bag in his other. He looked alarmed, like you’d caught him doing something he certainly wasn’t supposed to. His dark eyes are wide, watching you expectantly, like he’s waiting for you to do something. — Tilting your head to the side, you peer at him through the darkness. He swallows. And you smile. 

“Are you going to steal that?” 

The question seems to catch him off guard and he emits a short breath, a warm huff of air. Readjusting the grip on the vase, his eyes drift from the ornament and back to you. “Are you going to dial the police on me?” His voice is a low drawl, nothing like the pompous tone of your father. This man did not speak with elegance or refinement, instead he spits the words out, almost as if using them as a shield of sorts. 

Your gaze drifts toward the foyer, your mind climbing the stairs and running down the hall, to your father’s study. It was where he kept the house telephone. By the time you made it there, this man would be long gone. You did not think you wanted that. — So you shake your head, “No.” 

This answer seems to bewilder him even further, his dark brows rising high on his forehead as he glances around, searching for clues that could explain your abnormal behavior. When he finds none, his eyes return to you. — “How did you get in here?” Your question comes out light, conversational, as if speaking of the weather. The man frowns, his lips parting before sealing shut again. He then turns his head, just enough for his chin to point in the direction of the open window behind him. 

You follow his line of sight, nodding to yourself as you rock back and forth on the sole of your feet. “I suppose that makes sense..” You quietly hum to yourself. But the acknowledgement reaches his ears as well and he scoffs. “You suppose?” He questions, and in the pale moonlight, you thought you saw him smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, if only for a moment. 

A brief silence falls over the two of you, neither of you moving. The man seems to await your next move, it felt weird, father never waited for you to take the lead. You did not know what to do. Your palms feel sweaty as you rub them together, not because you feared the stranger currently in your living room, but because you felt you were doing something wrong, you just didn’t know what. 

“Do you want some tea?” 

It was the first thing that came to mind. The few times your father would ever have guests over, he would treat them to a cup of tea. And you knew how to brew tea, you had been doing so for as long as you could remember, bringing the hot pot to your father’s study by early noon almost every day. — The man snorts, the sound rings in your ears, he was quite expressive, you thought. 

He shakes his head, and this time the curl of his lip is unmistakable as he sets both the bag and the vase down on the coffee table, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I broke into your house”, he finally says without lifting his face from his hands. He says the words slowly, clearly, like when you explain something to a child, making sure every single part of the sentence registered in their tiny little brains. 

It offended you, but only slightly. You supposed non-believers weren’t taught manners like that. Taking a small step forward, you clear your throat. “Then I suppose you don’t want any tea?” — The man chuckles, the sound rumbling deep within his chest, he looked to be in disbelief of the entirety of your current situation. You were too, but you weren’t so sure it was for the same reasons. 

You could not understand his laughter, his light-heartedness and his uncaringness for what was transpiring between the two of you. — He was a non-believer, the very first you had ever encountered, this was, if not your biggest, but perhaps only chance at getting a glimpse of their world, even though you know you shouldn’t. Because getting involved with a non-believer was the same as being a non-believer yourself, your father’s teaching told you that. 

However it was all too intriguing to back down now. There was so much you wanted to ask him, so much you wanted to know. And perhaps your curiosity should scare you, make you realize what you were doing and back away, confess to your father and immediately beg his forgiveness as you swore to never as much as look in the direction of a non-believer again. 

“Do you not understand that I am trying to steal from you, at this very moment?” He then says, his sharp words bringing you back from your thoughts. You shift on the spot, a stingy feeling rising in your chest at the statement. “Of course I do”, you say, wrapping your bare arms around yourself, the thin nightgown you wore did little to fend off the wind blowing through the open window. 

You nod toward the vase in front of him, “We have plenty of those, I do not see why you seek to steal them.” You eye the swan painted on the fair porcelain, “And my father would hardly notice its absence.” — The man regards you with a wary expression, his gaze flickering down toward the ornament as you speak, though returning to you within seconds. 

“Is the point of stealing not to leave an impression?” You ask, unable to hide the sheer curiosity in your voice. The stranger huffs, and you barely catch the roll of his eyes. “Have you ever had to steal a day in your life?” He counters, his dark eyes narrowing on you. Had to steal? Was it something one did out of necessity, and not just because one could? You wanted to ask that too, but it didn’t feel right. With pursed lips you shake your head, “No.” 

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the man averts his gaze, now flickering across the large paintings on the wall behind you. Every second that passed felt vital, as if time was slipping through your fingers. Your lips part, another question waiting on your tongue, but the soft creak of footsteps, somewhere in the house, makes you freeze. The man seems to have heard it as well as his eyes snap directly to your own. 

You listen again, and the sounds of someone’s approach is evident. “I… You have to go!” The statement was hardly needed and before you can half whisper half shout it, he’s already headed for the window. — Your feet move on their own accord, following him, only stopping when you nearly step on a piece of the broken vase. “Wait I–” You glance toward the foyer, and then back toward the window just in time to catch his shadow leaping over the windowsill and disappearing out into the night. 

“Wait… Your bag..” Clutching the old and worn out thing in your hands, you glance between the partly torn leather and the open window. Your heart sinks at the realization that he was gone, your only chance diminishing into nothing right before your eyes. With an almost melancholic sigh, you brush your fingers over the bag he’d left behind, a reminder of his existence. 

The footsteps are closer now, and you hurry to close the open window. As soon as the hatch falls into place, your mother’s voice pierces the air. “Dear… What’s going on?” She speaks as though she was still asleep, a tired rasp overshadowing the usually sweet and timid tone she used. Quickly stuffing the bag behind your back, you glance between her and the mess on the floor, your mouth opening and closing as you seek a believable explanation. 

“I…Mother I, you see I…” 

But your mother merely waves a tired hand, shaking her head as she inspects the broken ornament. “Let us get this cleaned up before your father wakes”, she says as she kneels before the scattered pieces, “I doubt he will notice its absence.” 

Quickly falling to your own knees, you discard the bag behind the sofa, joining your mother as you help cover the traces of the non-believer that had entered your home, and tainted it with his darkness. 

II 

Stealing from rich people was like taking candy from a child. Mostly because those pompous bastards didn’t know half of the fortune they possessed. You could grab at least a year’s worth of money and it wouldn’t even make a dent in their wallet. — They wouldn’t even notice it. Not to mention the fact that they hardly kept locks on their own front doors. So idyllically unaware of the starvation of the poor, the greed of those who had nothing. 

The rich slept comfortably on their soft mattresses, wrapped in layers of silk, warmed by the fact that they would have food in their stomachs the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. — Most took their fortune for granted, too caught up in their own dilemmas of what gown to wear or what brand new car to get, to even notice how the rest suffered. 

Taehyun did not think it was wrong to steal, at least not from those people. The ones who had it all ought to share with those who had nothing, no? Steal from the rich and give to the poor, however the saying went. “Cynical fucking bastards”, he grunts, kicking at a few stones as he walks down the empty road. 

As he passes house after house, the weight on his shoulders only seems to grow heavier. He doesn’t bother to look, to regard the grand monstrosities that the rich called ‘home’. No, he knew this neighbourhood all too well, for he’d spent the last three days here, scouring out the grandest house of all. The one closest to the forest, on the slight hill, a little further from the rest. 

At first glance, the house looked like any other, tall, slightly intimidating, and oozing of wealth. But as soon as his eyes fell on the man that resided there, Taehyun knew. This would be his next hit. The man in question, had been a tall, lanky, middle aged man. Glasses pushed far up on his slightly crooked nose, clad in dress-pants and a black shirt. The watch around his wrist looked heavy, as did each and every step he took. 

But this man did not look like the others who lived here, the flimsy and extravagant ones. The ones who downed liquor like it was water on a Tuesday afternoon. The ones who plastered themselves onto whatever topic was currently relevant and those who yearned to be seen. — This man carried himself with something entirely different, self worth. He never once stopped to engage in conversation with his neighbours, all except the ones across the street, that family was similar to him, Taehyun picked up on that much. 

Naturally, he thought the old man to be a widower. It was perfect. A man saddened by the death of his not-so-late wife, too clouded by his own grief to notice Taehyun slipping a piece of his money's worth. — So he watched him, he watched the old man leave and return to that same large villa for three days straight. He never left for long, a mere half an hour or so, and it was always by noon, in broad daylight. It left a small window for him to get inside, but he decided against it, he couldn’t risk being seen by those notorious neighbours down the street. 

Taehyun decided to strike at night. 

It would be easier that way, for everyone really. But as he tries the doorknob of the front door, he finds that it’s locked. His brows furrow, and he glances around the dark front yard, partly waiting for someone to come forward, to catch him in the act. Has someone noticed him watching this house? Had they informed the old man? 

But no one came. Taehyun exhales a small huff. Maybe he’d grown paranoid after the death of his wife. — He tries the window leading to the living room, it glides open almost right away, and Taehyun chuckles, “Fucking idiot.” 

The grand house looks much like the ones he’d previously robbed. The fine china crowding the shelves was not an unusual sight, however, the lack of anything else was. As he takes a moment to scour his surroundings, he finds that the room lacks any signs of a human being living there. The two couches were made, the pillows neatly tucked and a blanket folded over its armrest. A small coffee table stands between them, it looked as if it had never been used, holding nothing but an empty vase. 

In fact, the whole room represented that of a museum. Almost as if it had been carefully crafted to please the appeal of someone else, ready to be shown off at any given moment. Taehyun pauses, confusion boring its way onto his forehead, a small feeling of uncertainty blooming in his chest. — But he soon decides against it. 

He gets to work, as he usually does, by flinging the bag off his shoulder and scouring out the piece of china that seemed most mundane, the one no one would tell to be missing. Spotting his target by the very top, Taehyun rises to his toes as he reaches for the vase, fingers grasping the cool porcelain firmly. 

An abnormally loud sneeze from upstairs makes him falter, the china slipping from his hands and tumbling down to the floor where it shatters in agonizing volume. He freezes, holding his breath, waiting for something, for someone, to catch him. But the museum-like house remains quiet, and he exhales in relief. The poor son of a bitch must be losing his hearing as well.

Taehyun resumes his work, figuring that he would just scoop the splinters into his bag before he leaves, sweeping his tracks effortlessly, just like he always did. — But there’s one thing he hadn’t counted on, something he’d missed, a small, seemingly unnoticeable detail, yet gravely significant. You. 

His heart nearly beat out of his chest when he first heard you clear your throat, and he’d spun around on the spot, coming face to face with something even more prized than any of the china in the room. — The man had a daughter. But how could he have missed that? How come Taehyun had never seen you, not once for those three days he watched your house.

You were the most odd thing he’d ever encountered. Yet you linger in his mind for a long time. Taehyun can’t seem to stop thinking about you, and he doesn’t know why. Whether it be the unhinged and most improper questions you asked, or the way you seemed intrigued rather than frightened. He briefly wondered if you had some sort of medical condition, something that made you slower in terms of basic communication and understanding. — He couldn’t wrap his head around why you hadn’t called for your old father, why you hadn’t threatened him with his life. 

Taehyun presumes that he shall never know. And as he shakes his head, his attention returning to the present, he finds that the scenery around him has changed vastly. From the grand and rich houses to rundown and crowded apartment buildings, all toppled on one another. His steps echo off the lonesome alleyways, and he makes a sharp turn to his left. 

He stops in his tracks when he nearly stumbles over a man sprawled out on the ground before him. Catching himself just in time, Taehyun’s brows raise high on his head as he peers down to the figure beneath him. The man is dressed in a long and dark cloak, surely too warm for a summer night such as this. His hat lay discarded a few feet away. — Perhaps he should’ve called for help. But this man isn’t dying. 

Taehyun follows the steady rise and fall of his chest, and as he leans down, the stinging scent of liquor fills his sensitive nose. His face scrunches in disgust, his dark eyes travelling across the man’s expensive attire. He was wealthy there was no doubt. — Naturally, Taehyun’s hands reach for his pockets, feeling his way around. 

To his dismay, little of interest is to be found. Not even a wallet. He clicks his tongue, quickly realizing that he hadn’t been the first to arrive. Still, his fingers freeze when they come in contact with something firm. Leaning back, he pulls out a nearly full package of cigarettes, and a small smirk tugs at his lips. — He wouldn’t be returning completely empty handed. 

⸝⸝

Tents crowd the narrow alleyway followed by blankets and worn out mattresses. Fires are going, casting the area in a yellow glow, and the shadows of the homeless paint the high brick walls. Most of them are awake despite the late hour. That wasn’t unusual, one hardly got any rest in these parts of town, and especially not under such conditions. 

Summer was do-able, but Taehyun knew that half these people wouldn’t last the upcoming winter. It was strange, knowing that others were going to die before they even did themselves. But he had witnessed it far too many times to doubt himself now. 

He passes a woman, she looks to be in her mid-forties. Dressed in nothing but rags sewn together, she cradles a small child in her arms. The child is crying, shiny droplets rolling down its cheeks, leaving clear streaks on its dirty face. Then it glances over at Taehyun. He jerks backward at the sight, his face twisting into a small scowl. It pained him, not because he loathed the poor infant, but because he pitied it. To bring a child into a world like this... He could not fathom the reasoning behind such. 

The woman looks at him with frightened eyes, and her arms instinctively shield her child’s face from him. Taehyun resists a scoff. Her worries were placed where they shouldn’t be. For Taehyun was the least dangerous thing that roamed these streets. — Still, he quickly moves forward, if not for her sake then for his own. He could not stand to cast his gaze upon her for another second. 

That child would be the first victim of the cold. 

After pushing past a crowd of drunk men, just barely managing to slip between them as they waved their half empty bottles his way, Taehyun finally sinks back against the cold brick wall. Letting his head tip back, his eyes fall shut as he inhales the filthy air of the packed alleyway. — He doesn’t own much, if anything. Not even a filthy mattress to soothe the flaring pain in his neck and back. There was no point in owning such because he would find it gone when he returned in the evening. 

No, Taehyun liked to keep as little personal belongings as he could. And the ones he kept were highly undesirable. Things that he could leave behind without someone casting as much as a second glance their way. Like that worn out bag of his. His jaw clenches when he’s reminded of his clumsy mistake of leaving it behind, leaving it with you. 

With a small groan, he reaches for the pack of cigarettes. It was the only thing he had going for himself, at least for tonight. — Fuck, he could’ve made it out with at least something to pass on, something to feed him and keep him warm.. If only you hadn’t… God how could he have missed that. 

Frustration courses through his veins as Taehyun shuffles around his pocket before fishing up the pack he’d acquired. He turns the small box in his hands, fingers flipping the top section open as he slowly surveys its contents. — He would’ve been able to buy ten folds of these had tonight been successful. But before he can as much as pluck one of the pack, a low and hoarse voice diverts his attention. 

“I’ve got a lighter.” 

It’s an older man, and though the thick layer of dirt on his face made it hard to tell his age, Taehyun would guess that he’d passed his sixties. A large and unkempt beard crowds the lower part of his face, but he thinks he can make out a small grin. — The old man holds out a blue lighter, his fingers trembling slightly as he does, but not because he was nervous. He, too, knew the rules out here. To approach or be approached, and you only had so much control over the situation if you found yourself in the latter. 

Though Taehyun registers this man as harmless. His gaze flickers between the lighter and the pack of cigarettes in his own hands. He then gives a small nod, offering the man one of the cigarettes. His fingers feel grimy against Taehyun’s when they brush past one another, but he doesn’t cringe at the action. He’s used to things being dirty, to people being dirty.  

The man thanks him once more as he brings the puff to his lips, lighting it with shaky hands. He struggles for a good minute, then finally lowers his hand as he takes a drag. Taehyun watches him. — Only once he exhales a small cloud of smoke does he give an approving nod and hand over the lighter. 

Muttering a quiet ‘thanks’ under his breath, Taehyun does the same, though with far more ease. The rasp and slightly burning sensation that flares down his throat as he inhales is familiar, and he welcomes it as he tips his head back to exhale. 

“What brings you out here, boy?” The man speaks up again, and when Taehyun cracks an eye open, he finds the elder already watching him. His dark eyes have a grey sheen over them, dulled by the years exposed to god knows what. Yet he sits there, expectantly waiting for an answer as he brings the cigarette to his lips once more. — “Not exactly your crowd, eh?” He then adds as he throws a glance over his shoulder. Taehyun follows his gaze. 

The alley is filled to the brim with people like him, at least that’s what he’d always thought. All dressed down, wearing whatever they could find, sleeping on whatever kept them warm and somewhat comfortable, eating only when they really had to. Taehyun did not consider himself to be anything but such. — But then he really looks. 

His attention fixates on the elders, their skin wrinkled and sagging. Some looked like walking corpses. Then he watches the drunks, the wasted ones, the ones who don’t even know left to right or where they are. He regards the ones who weep, their sorrowful sobs echoing off the high brick walls. The ones who scream and yell, shoving one another as they argue about trivial matters. — And finally, back to the man beside him. 

“Young man like yourself, got your whole life ahead of yer.” The man cracks up into a grin, whether it was one of mockery or just complete irony, Taehyun couldn’t tell. But through the old man’s thick accent, he could still decipher a sense of sorrow behind his words. 

He fiddles with the cigarette between his fingers, watching the lit end as it eats away at the filter. “What’s even left for me out there anyway?” He finally mutters, sounding somewhat petulant. Taehyun did not think that there was more to this world, this was all he knew. It always had been and it always would be. 

But the elder man doesn’t give up. — “Come on son, don’t ya plan on making something of yourself?” He coughs, and his chest contracts as he slams a wrinkly fist against it. Taehyun thinks the man might have a whole fit at this point, but a mere minute later, he continues with a low drawl. “What I mean to say is, this place, it’s not for people like you.” 

Taehyun’s brows draw together in a frown, his dark eyes narrowing on the older man. People like him? “You don’t know me.” He states coldly, the cigarette in his hands long forgotten about as he regards the dirty homeless. 

The man smiles, his yellow teeth on full display as he does. “You’re right”, he hums before bringing the puff to his chapped lips. “But I know your kind”, he continues as he inhales slowly, as if savoring the taste of death. 

What a load of bullshit. Taehyun scoffs, turning away from the older man without another word. The last thing he needed was for someone to tell him what he was and what he wasn’t. “Not his crowd”, then what even was? — Can’t even fit in with the homeless, that’s rich. 

He shoves the cigarette to the ground, putting it out before even finishing it as he rests his head back against the hard and cold brick wall. Tomorrow he would do better. 

III 

Your father held long speeches on Thursdays — sometimes they would drag on for hours, making you fight back yawns and straightening your back as you tried to appear interested. But in truth, it was the same thing over and over. He spoke about doomsday, he spoke about the non believers — warning the rest of your community about them. He spoke of the ways in which one needed to act, how to take care of one's home and to be grateful for the life given. 

He made promises. Promises of fortune and wealth that would come when doomsday rose upon us. But he always made sure to emphasize the importance of the rules, his rules. It was the very same thing said in his books — the ones you had read again and again, crouched over your desk as your eyes glue to the pages. 

Yet the commotional hall remained perfectly quiet, everyone listening intently to what your father had to say. As though they did not come here every Thursday for the same exact reasons. You glance to your left, your mom sits beside you — her hair neatly done, not a single strand out of place. The buttons of her blouse are done up nicely, the cotton ironed to perfection and her nails trimmed and filed. 

She looks put together like this, respectable even. You know that she is anything but. At home things are different, at home your father is different. Still, your mother keeps her head high, a smile on her face as she fixes her gaze ahead. You ought to do the same, but instead your attention wanders to your right. 

The Choi’s are sitting next to you — they had begun doing that a few months ago. Usually the front row was completely desolate, save for you and your mother. It was reserved for the ones closest to your father, the ones he valued above all. Yet their family now had their own spot alongside you. 

Your father had made his intentions clear and your eyes stayed by the son of the family. Choi Soobin is sitting next to you, so close that your elbows would occasionally brush together. He wears a checkered t-shirt, the buttons done all the way to just below his chin. His dark hair is combed back and his gaze is fixed on your father when he speaks. 

In the future, you were going to marry Soobin. Your father had told you as much. — You didn’t know if you wanted to marry him. He was cute, with dimples that dented into his cheeks when he smiled, warm and brown eyes that sparkled under the sun and a light laughter. But you knew nothing about him, except for the fact that his and your father got along well. 

Soobin had never been to your house, but you had been to his. It was just across the street, yet it looked much different from your own. It was neat, tidy and wiped down to perfection — just the way your father would have instructed. But it held an undoubtable warmth, one your own house lacked. Its walls did not feel sterile and the furniture wasn’t placed for show. There was something human about the Choi’s, something you couldn’t quite place your finger on. 

You recall the many dinners shared around their table, with you and Soobin across from one another. The shy glances you two exchanged, the awkward clearing of one’s throat and the silent meal you indulged in. — Your fathers would make conversation, sometimes it was plain and other times it was about the future, your future. You never paid close attention. 

Soobin was perfect for you, at least that’s what your father had said. You believed him, even in doubt of your own feelings you would outweigh them to meet those of the man you had been raised under. There was no one that knew as much about doomsday as him, no one that knew about the non believers like he did. Your father knew best, and it would be disgraceful of you not to trust his judgement. 

You had barely noticed that your father’s speech had come to an end, not until the roar of applause filled the commotional hall. Your mother gives your side a subtle nudge and you immediately fall into a practiced script of applauding whilst smiling proudly. By the altar your father takes his bows, his expression remaining just as indifferent and stoic as it always did. 

Slowly the building empties out as families huddle together and make for the exit. You stay, only moving from your seat when your mother rises to her feet. She approaches your father, and you do the same — but before any of you can compliment him on yet another successful speech given, a voice behind you interrupts. 

“Fantastic today as always!” 

It’s Mr Choi. You turn to see him and his wife approach, Soobin trailing slowly behind them. He keeps his gaze downcast, not meeting your eyes as he instead regards his feet. — Your father glances over to the newcoming party, his unreadable expression not budging one bit, though he sends Mr Choi a tight smile. It was hard to tell if your father actually liked the Choi’s. At first glance it might seem he didn’t — but when Mr Choi starts talking, the words of praise rolling off his tongue like practiced silver, your father listens. 

“We would be honored to have you accompany us for dinner in the upcoming nights”, he says. The proposal was hardly unexpected for Mr Choi would leap at an opportunity to have father close. Mrs Choi gives an affirming nod as she grips her husband’s arm a little tighter, the smile she sends is nothing short of convincing. From the corner of your eye you watch as Soobin shifts awkwardly in place, his shy eyes darting between the floor and his parents. 

Your father doesn’t respond right away, and you can tell your mother is itching to interfere and break apart the awkward silence that was slowly settling over your small crowd. Father would say yes, you knew that already. Though it seemed he enjoyed prolonging the tension just enough to make Mr Choi doubt his words. 

Finally he gives a small nod, “We would be pleased to join you.” His tone is short, not quite matching the enthusiasm of the man before him. If Mr Choi picks up on it, he makes no comment as he instead beams. “Wonderful! Then should we say Saturday?” A mere two nights from now, but it wasn’t like you were busy, each day followed the same routine, and Saturday was no exception. 

“That would be preferable”, your father hums, his gaze, however, lingers on the son of the family. No matter how well the boy hid himself behind his mother’s soft frame, his tall and lanky figure stood out — and your father’s eyes found him anyway. 

Mr Choi bows in gratitude, the rest of his family following his practiced lead. Then they bid their farewells, though they are brief and well scripted. You watch as they descend down the narrow aisle leading between the rows of wooden benches before emerging out into the morning sun. Soobin doesn’t glance over his shoulder once, for all you knew, he might not have even registered your presence at all. 

You can feel your father’s gaze as it follows your line of sight, he too, was watching the youngest of the party. As with the rest of the Choi’s it was impossible to know if your father actually liked Soobin. But you think he must, otherwise he would’ve not chosen his family like this, he wouldn't have made them as special as they are now. 

Your mother’s voice is the first to break the silence. “Such a lovely family, are they not?” She says as she glances toward your father in search of approval. He gives a short nod, something between a grunt and sigh leaving his lips. 

When you begin your own journey toward the door, she continues: “I must say they raised a lovely son, don’t you think dear?” You can merely nod as you give her a small smile, “Indeed.” 

It was no surprise that your mother was the most eager about your father’s seeming infatuation with the Choi’s. She had already planned for the great things to blossom between you and their son, and her intentions were clear. The only thing still keeping her at bay was your father, he was the one who decided when and where, and if things got to take place. 

⸝⸝

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in the living room. There you busied yourself with wiping down the vases crowding the shelves pushed against the walls. It would usually take you about an hour to get all of them neatly polished and dust-free, b. But on this particular day you find your thoughts wandering. 

A mere two nights had passed since you had found the strange non-believer in your home. And though he was long gone, you thought you could still pick up on the faint scent of smoke and something else… Something that didn’t quite belong. 

The fabric of the rag in your hand goes over the china, back and forth until your wrist aches. But you never felt you got his handprints off. It was like he was still there, clinging to every aspect of the room — tainting it with his sin. Part of you doesn’t want to wipe him away, to clean him from your memory and never look back. That part of you should make you feel shameful — but it doesn’t. 

You long to see his face once more. Telling yourself that it was out of sheer curiosity and nothing else. But in the deepest pits of your chest, you knew that it was more than that. 

Your father had yet to notice that there was a piece missing from his collection, that the vases now stood unevenly on the shelf. But it was only a matter of time before his eyes would catch the disturbance in his home. Mother too, threw anxious glances in your direction. She would take the blame if your father ever found out, and she would do so thinking she was protecting you. 

But she wouldn’t be. 

No, she would be protecting someone far more sinister. How could she know? A non-believer in your own home? It was unimaginable. Yet it was the truth. A truth no one could ever know, no one except you. And you would bury it with you if you so had to. 

The vase feels heavy in your hand, and as you gaze down at the blue paintings scattered across its surface, you think of him. Why would he want this? What value would it hold outside of your home, if not used to protect you from doomsday? He had made it seem like a few pieces of china was meant to salvage him. 

It would break if you dropped it, scattering into a million pieces. Then it would be worth nothing. You brush the pads of your fingertips along the fine rim, the vase felt insignificant beneath your touch. Why did he want it? Perhaps you should never know. 

⸝⸝

That night you retired to your bedroom early. Bidding both your father and mother goodnight as you vowed to do some reading before bed. And that was exactly what you did. Hunched over your small wooden desk, you flip through the pages of your father’s book. The words no longer spoke to you, the sound of your father’s voice had become background noise in your ears as you read. 

It was a most dull past time and ever so often you would find your gaze drifting from the pages and over to your window. The sun was just beginning to set over the horizon and the birds flew high on the warm sky. You watch as they move gracefully through the air, their wings flapping softly against the summer breeze. Sometimes you dared dream of what it would be like to fly like they did, to look down at the world from above. 

If you were a bird you would go someplace far away. Where your father’s searching eyes couldn’t find you and the sound of your mother’s melancholy voice would become nothing but a faint memory. 

If you were a bird you would probably be small and insignificant. Your wings would not be feathery soft and white. They would be pointy and rough, tousled from the exertion and the rain falling upon you. Nor would you be a pretty bird. You wouldn’t be one people stopped to gaze at, or even attempt to draw. But you would be free, and that was all that mattered. 

The creak of a floorboard makes your attention return to the book before you, slicing your silly dreams in half as reality commands your presence once more. Thankfully your father doesn’t bother to peek his head inside your room, and you hear his footsteps descend down the hall. He knew that you did as told, for there was nothing he didn’t know — and you had yet a reason to deceive him. 

Your house has gone quiet when the sound pulls you from your reading. It’s soft yet sharp, like the pecking of a bird's beak against glass. Puzzled, you tear your gaze from the flat pages and over to the window you had been gazing out of a mere half an hour ago. Expecting to find a small feathery creature on your windowsill, your heart sinks when you, to your surprise, find something much more… human shaped. bigger. 

Crouched on the slant of your roof, just outside the thin glass that enclosed your bedroom from the world outside, is the same  strange man from a few days ago. The setting sun is now kissing the horizon, and he’s basked in the warm shades of orange and pink. You recognize him in a heartbeat. From the torn and dirty clothes to the tousled hair on his head. His dark eyes are stuck to yours as he waits for you to approach. 

Without hesitating, your feet pull you forward, careful to avoid the spots you knew to make the wooden floor groan under your weight. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, your fingers near trembling as you undo the small hatch that kept the window in place. It glides open effortlessly, like it was begging to let him in — or you out. 

He doesn’t speak at first, quietly surveying you for another moment, as if to make sure it was really you he was seeing. Your relieved sigh is almost as powerful as the wind, and a ridiculous smile stretches across your lips. 

“You came.” 

It’s a statement, not a question. With your hand still on the window hatch you say,: “I knew you would.” And while it wasn’t entirely the truth, it wasn’t a lie either. You had been expecting his appearance, in one way or another. 

The man gives a small, almost unnoticeable nod as he shifts in place. His eyes dart between you and the door behind you, like he was just waiting for someone to enter. You shake your head., “Father is in bed. Hebed., he won’t come by.” You don’t exactly know why you felt the need to reassure him, but you knew you longed for him to stay — even if just a moment longer. 

“Please, come in.” 

He frowns for a moment, the dark and wild brows on his forehead drawing together like he hadn’t been expecting the invitation. But he takes it nonetheless. With practiced ease he puts one foot before the other, soundlessly landing on your floor as he glances around. He looked strangely out of place; his dark exterior a stark contrast to the soft hues of your quaint bedroom. Nothing about him fits in, an unwanted presence — an intruder. For some reason you can’t bring yourself to will him away, if anything you wish he lingers. 

His chapped lips part, and it looks as though he’s about to say something — but you beat him to it. 

“You’ve come for your bag, haven’t you?” Without waiting for a response you scurry toward your bed, dropping to your knees in a hasty manner as you pull the dark worn out bag into your hands. The material is rough under your soft palm, battered by the harsh world outside, the one your father had warned you about. But this bag, it had experienced things; seen things you could only imagine. 

You rise to your feet, taking a tentative step toward him. “Don’t worry, I kept it safe for you. I knew you would return for it.” 

He raises a brow, dark eyes flickering between you and the bag with a skeptical look plastered on his grimy face. His hands reach for it, fingers barely brushing against the fabric before you yank it toward your chest — pulling it out of reach. 

“Wait.” 

If he takes it now, that means the moment is over again. He would leave, disappear through the window like he had all those nights ago — never to be seen again. You don’t want that. This is special, sacred. The outside world lingers beneath the tips of your fingers, ready to be explored. You just need to take the first step out. 

The sound of you swallowing is deafening in the quiet house, your voice a low murmur when you speak. “Your name, I want to know your name.” 

The man pauses, his features twisting into brief confusion. It was obvious he had not expected your question. He hesitates for a moment, gaze darting between the bag and you, undoubtedly catching the eager glimmer in your eyes. “Taehyun”, he gruffly says. Your heart skips a beat. Taehyun. You would be sure to remember that name. It fits his dark complexion, the sharp and almost dagger-like edges of his frame. 

Whilst giving him your own name, you can’t help but notice the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his eyes narrow for a brief second. He doesn’t look angry, not the way your father would present when you had forgotten something, when the china wasn’t polished to perfection. But Taehyun doesn’t look happy either, in fact it looked almost as though he was in pain. Only it wasn’t physical. 

A different kind of pain. A weird one. 

He reaches for the bag, snatching it from your hands with brute force. It makes you stumble and once you’ve regained your bearings he’s already halfway through the window. 

Your eyes widen, panic blooming in your chest as you lunge forward. Fingers curling around the torn fabric of his shirt, you stop him as he’s got one foot over the windowsill. “No, please wait!” There’s an underlying sense of urgency to the way you plead, like if he left now — you would never be the same. 

Taehyun pauses, his head turning to send you a small look. “What?” Is all he says, the words painfully harsh in the warm summer air. The sun had nearly set now, it was dark outside and his face was now only illuminated by the yellow glow of your desk lamp. His eyes flicker toward your closed door, and they stay there for a beat longer than necessary. It was clear that he wanted to get as far away from here as possible. 

“Please I… I want to talk to you.” The admission is softly spoken, like you were talking to a frightened animal — your grip on his shirt unwavering as you wordlessly beg of him to stay. 

He scoffs, averting his gaze as he peers out into the darkness that called him. “What is there to talk about?” The finalisation in his tone becomes evident, he has nothing to say to you. But how could he not? What was there not to talk about; you came from two different worlds. This was your only chance at getting to know each other, away from prying ears and eyes. 

“Everything.” You then say, insistently tugging him toward you by the sleeve of his clothing. It only serves to deepen the frown on Taehyun’s face, though he makes no move to yank his arm free from your grasp. 

Did he not understand, were you not making yourself clear enough? Pulling your bottom teeth between your lips, you swallow down a noise of frustration. “You, you’re not like me.” 

At that Taehyun musters a small smirk, “You don’t say.” It sounded almost mocking, like he intended to belittle you. Yet he was the nonbeliever, he was the one who was doomed when the day finally rose upon you. What was there for him to laugh about? 

“Does it not intrigue you?” You then ask, slightly hesitant as you meet his calculating gaze. But he only shrugs, “I know everything I need to know about your kind.” He states it simply, like it was black and white, two sides of a coin equally dirty. Then he shifts on the windowsill, pulling his leg back inside as he rests his weight on the ledge. 

“I bet you know all about me too”, he huffs. It angers you how ignorant he seemed; frustrated you that he took for granted knowledge you longed to have. You shake your head promptly, arms folding across your chest despite the fact that your father would have normally scolded you for doing just that. 

“I don’t — why should I?” You point an accusing finger toward him, “People like you, one day you’re going to end up–” 

“In hell?” 

He tilts his head to the side, dark eyes glimmering with something you couldn’t quite place. Ridicule? Like he was enjoying the rise he was getting out of you. 

The talk of hell and even heaven, it was something father had strictly forbade. “Hell does not exist”, you say, jutting your chin out slightly. To even mention such a thing in front of the man who raised you would be harshly punishable. Your father had told you there was no such thing as heaven, no such thing as hell and no such thing as God. It simply did not exist. 

Doomsday was the only thing true to this world. It stood above everything, even death. 

Taehyun huffs out a short breath, it sounds almost like a laugh. Then he shakes his head, like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. “No? I didn’t peg you for a non-believer.” 

That simple sentence, said with such a light and conversational tone — disregarding the weight of the words. It made your stomach clench uncomfortably. You felt light headed, like you could throw up any moment now. You, a non-believer? It was unfathomable. Everyday you read your father’s teachings, everyday you cleaned and bathed as you prepared for doomsday. 

And now… Now you were getting accused of a sin so grave, a word you didn’t even dare utter aloud had left this man’s mouth like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing. The betrayal sinks deep into your heart and you feel pain twist and tug at your chest. 

“Don’t you ever dare call me that again!” You spit, your voice laced with venom as you take a step back, hand releasing its grip on his shirt like it had stung you. “I’m not– No. That’s you!” Shaking your head fervently, you feel your lungs tighten with pressure. 

“Leave.” 

When he doesn’t move right away, you snap. “You must leave now! And never come back!” 

Taehyun frowns, lips parting in an unspoken question before you lunge toward him. He quickly avoids your flailing arms, exiting through the window you had so carelessly opened for him only moments prior and out into the darkness. 

You watch after his silhouette as it disappears over your rooftop. Hands still trembling when you reach for the window hatch — sealing the outside world off once more. Your father was right. You should have never let him inside, never asked him about things so dark and twisted. Of course he would seize his opportunity. 

Taehyun was filled with sin — and sinners like him would earn their place on doomsday. Still, you clutch at your beating heart with a closed fist. A single tear rolls down your cheek, the guilt rolling off of you in waves. What if he had infected you with his non-beliefs? What if you… No. You were a believer, you had lived your whole life right, abiding by the words and teachings of your father. 

You were pure. Nothing bad was going to happen. Nothing at all. 

And yet you sit by your desk that night, eluding sleep as you read over the same books you had been for so many years — praying you had done what it took to keep the evil at bay. 

 IV 

The night is darker and colder than any summer night should be. Taehyun isn’t freezing, but there’s still goosebumps that prickle across the back of his neck. Silently he moves through the neighbourhood, blending in effortlessly with the shadows. Some nights he thinks he might even be a part of them. It feels natural to stay out of sight, comforting. Perhaps that’s why he’d felt so uncomfortable under the soft light of your bedroom. 

A shudder runs down his spine as Taehyun recalls the encounter a mere fifteen minutes earlier. He doesn't know what had prompted him to return, why he had sought you out from outside — climbed all the way to your window and tapped on the glass. Curiosity? But Taehyun tells himself that he knows everything about your kind already. 

What makes you different? 

Maybe it’s the sweet floral scent that still clings to every fiber of his clothes. He brings the worn out bag to his nose, inhaling the gentle aroma one last time as his eyes flutter. Something about you had pulled him in, even when he knew he should have been on the move, he let you pull him back. 

Your house, there was something wrong with it. He could sense it on his very first visit, the way everything was organized so neatly in place. Preformative. Like it was meant for show, not for comfort. You, too, moved like there was a script to be followed, every line and every expression you wore was carefully rehearsed. 

But there had been a crack in your play. Something that didn’t quite belong. Him. He’d felt it too. His presence was unwanted, despised even. And while that wasn’t exactly news for someone like him, it still felt different. Because the way your demeanour had so suddenly switched… There was more to it than just a blatant accusation to your beliefs. You looked genuinely terrified. 

Taehyun couldn’t understand you. 

One second you were prodding at him for answers, asking questions he had no idea how to answer. Questions that didn’t make any sense. The next you’re throwing a hysterical fit. He wondered if you knew anything at all. Your innocence seemed almost sinister. It wasn’t meant to be there. Something, or someone was protecting you like a dragon hogging its fortune. 

Your room felt like a prison, the warm lights and the soft sheets were not made for comfort. And though Taehyun had slept on pavements and behind dumpsters, he could only imagine what one night in that house must feel like. 

His footsteps are soundless against the asphalt, and he barely glances around the large houses as he walks; mind occupied by thoughts of you. You had mentioned your father briefly, the subject felt almost taboo as it left your lips. Of course the old man would freak out if he found an intruder in his daughter’s bedroom, as any sane man would. 

So why didn’t you? 

Why did you expect him, why did you cling to him like he was your last piece of hope. No one had ever clung to him like that — no one had ever expected answers from him. It confuses Taehyun terribly. And yet, as he mentions something as simple as not believing in a place after this — you turn hysterical. 

He groans, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his tangled hair. Then he freezes mid step, eyes landing on a house just like yours. Large, commanding attention with its shiny windows and mowed lawn. Tidied to perfection, almost uncannily so. It’s familiar, but not the same. And it intrigues him. 

The lights are still on, the top floor illuminating the street below. He creeps closer, staying in the comforts of the shadows for as long as they will allow. There’s movement in one of the windows, a silhouette gliding carefully through a hallway. Taehyun follows it around the corner of the house. 

There, in a room not so different from your own, is a boy. 

His shirt is buttoned all the way to the top, dark hair neatly combed on top of his head — a stark contrast to Taehyun’s wild and unkempt one. His brows furrow as he watches the boy pick up a book, and he recognizes it as the one that had been on your desk. 

The boy flips through the pages, his gaze trained to the words on the paper — words too far away for Taehyun to make out. There’s a small frown on his face, and he chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully as he reads. Whatever it was, it held his attention captive, even at such a late hour. But it wasn’t the Bible, Taehyun would have recognized it. 

This book was foreign, and he recalls the almost handmade-looking bindings of the one on your desk. What had made it so special, and more importantly, why did this boy have his own copy?

Taehyun wants to walk away, wants to forget about this neighbourhood, the houses, the people who lived in them and most importantly; you. But he finds himself rooted in place, silently watching from the shadows as the boy indulges in whatever was being said on the pages. His window is slightly ajar, having come off its hatches, the night breeze caused it to sway back and forth slightly. 

A voice breaks the silence, a woman’s voice. It appears to be coming from further within the house. It’s tender and affectionate, soft spoken but demanding, and filled with something Taehyun hadn’t felt in years. Love. He can’t see her, but he can clearly make out the name coming from her lips. 

“Soobin. Soobin, dear, it’s time for bed.” 

The boy is immediately pulled from the trance the book had momentarily held him under. He pulls away quickly, hands closing it together as he walks over to place it in a sparsely decorated shelf. He walks over to the window, leaning out to catch it and pull it back in place. Taehyun slinks further back into the shadows, desperate not to be seen by the boy. 

But his presence goes unnoticed, and shortly after the window is sealed shut — he flicks the lights off, and the room gets swallowed in darkness. 

Taehyun doesn’t linger after that, the sight of the house alone was enough to make him queasy as he turned on his heel. There was nothing for him here. 

⸝⸝ 

He doesn’t return to the filthy alley he would call home that night. No, his thoughts are elsewhere, far too distracted by the night’s events to even consider the idea of sleep. Instead he carries onward, feet moving on their own accord as they lead him through dark and quiet neighbourhoods. 

The houses here are nothing like the grand estates of your street — but they’re still far from anything Taehyun would ever get to experience. Some of them have cars, others could only afford the property. He wondered if any of them even had a telephone stationed in their office. If not, he could use that to his advantage. 

Taehyun hadn’t planned on stealing tonight, it wasn’t like he did it for the hell of it. But something about his encounter with you had left him on edge. Adrenaline was still pumping through his body — and there was only one way to get rid of it. 

He picks out a house at the end of the street. Its paint is chipped in multiple places, the roof missing a few tiles here and there. Like the owners had just left it to fend for itself, not caring about the needs of their home. Without pondering its exterior too much, he approaches a window. When peering inside he finds that it leads straight to the kitchen. Perfect. 

Locks were not really a thing for these people, it was the 60s after all — peace was in, theft was out. People like them didn’t believe in people like Taehyun, they hardly ever acknowledged his existence. That was a good thing. It meant their guard was almost permanently lowered. 

It only takes him two harsh tugs to get the window to obey under his firm grip; it slides open with a quiet groan. He slips inside, landing softly, almost cat-like on the tiled floor. The house is eerily silent, but it reeks of normalcy — typical middle class, he thinks to himself as he glances around. 

Dishes are scattered around the counter tops and crowding the sink. Bread is left out, torn packages with cereal and half eaten chocolate bars. Nothing like your house, with its uncanny cleanliness and perfection. This felt like an actual home, somewhere real people reside. Pushing the thoughts of you to the back of his mind, Taehyun approaches the fridge. 

The bright light when he opens the white box makes his eyes sting and he curses silently under his breath. With one hand still on the door he peers inside. It's filled to the brim with foods of all kinds, vegetables, meat, pre-made meals, leftovers. “Gluttonous bastards”, he mutters as he reaches for a sandwich wrapped in a thin layer of folie. 

Slamming the fridge shut, he leans against it as he takes a bite — his stomach practically cheering in excitement at the prospect of nutrients. It was something he denied himself far too often. He chews slowly, eyes dragging across the cluttered kitchen with little interest. There was hardly anything of worth to her. 

Taehyun moves on, silently stepping through the archway leading into the living room. It’s small, barely fitting the two couches placed opposite one another. A thick and old TV is pushed up on a small desk by a corner. Too heavy for him to take with, otherwise it would’ve done him good. Instead he opts for something smaller, something more discreet. 

He approaches a box, placed on a dresser by the entrance he’d just emerged from. Flicking the lid open reveals a multitude of jewelry — shiny pearls and beads that sparkle under the moonlight. Jackpot, he thinks to himself as he shrugs the bag off his shoulder, shoving the necklaces and earrings in the depths of the sack. 

Taehyun never felt guilty. These people never showed him any sympathy, why should he bother doing the same? Greed consumed them, they had everything, yet they wanted more. Controlled by their emotions, their life is strung on half hearted guesses and unnecessary purchases. Money didn’t mean a thing when you had it — only when you craved it. 

So there was never a reason for him to take pity on the people he stole from — and Taehyun indulged greatly at their expense. He was bold that night, probably the adrenaline still coursing through him. It plays with his mind, makes him think he’s more than he actually is. Staying humble was what had gotten him this far, it was what had kept him alive. Tonight that seems completely out of the window as he approaches the staircase. 

Rich people liked to keep their most treasured belongings close. Like a pacifier almost. They would hug their expensive watches and favorite garments close — like it was the only thing in their life that held some sort of value. 

He tip toes up the narrow stairs, watching his every step as he does. Then he descends down the hallway. He stops by an open door, peeking his head inside. Toys are scattered everywhere, clothes mixing with the existing mess. A small bed is occupied by an even smaller toddler, sleeping soundly; unaware of the evil that was watching. 

Taehyun doesn’t care much for kids. He doesn’t care if the houses he robs have children or not. It would not stop him from getting what he needed. In the worst case, he would find himself pitying them. When their parents' greed had taken over any sense of humanity. When there was no love left for something so tiny and innocent, so dependent on its mother’s warm embrace. Then Taehyun would for a moment, wish better for those children. 

In reality though, he thought the world would be a better place if kids stopped being brought into it. All that useless suffering, and it’s not even their fault. He tsks to himself, throwing the small child one last glance before he continues towards the parent’s room. A child was not going to pay for their parents’ uncontrollable desires. 

He pauses when he reaches a sealed door, knowing this was where the treasure was buried. His hand wraps around the doorknob, twisting it slowly. The sound seems deafening in the silent house, like it was screaming out for help. Taehyun freezes, hoping, praying for absolutely nothing at all. 

To his relief, his wishes are heard. The house remains still, nothing at all happened. He pushes the door open, catching it before it creaks as he slides inside with practiced ease. A man and a woman share the large bed placed in the middle of the room. Just as their child, they’re fast asleep, chests rising and falling in rhythm with one another. 

No one has noticed Taehyun’s presence. For all they knew, he was just another shadow in an endless sea of darkness. 

His gaze falls on the nightstand — it’s risky, riskier than he would usually do. But the watch that shines under the moonlight; it pulls him in. His feet move on their own, drawing him closer with quiet strides. He crouches by the small wooden table, eyes now level with the sleeping man. He appears to be lost in a dream, eyes moving rapidly under their closed lids, twitching ever so often. 

Taehyun’s fingers feel the outline of the watch before picking it up. It’s heavy in his palm, worth more than any of the mindless jewelry he’d stolen downstairs. He thanks himself for going up here, for striding against his own rules of laying low for once. The adrenaline unlocked a part of him he would be late to forget, and it was all thanks to… 

His brows furrow, the images of your face occupying his thoughts even now, in a moment such as this. It infuriates him, like he was unable to control his own wandering mind. Biting back a groan of frustration, he tugs the bedside table’s drawer open. He’s met with mundane things, paperwork, an old pencil, a book the man probably never bothered to read. 

He wants to slam the drawer shut, break something — unleash all the pent up feelings running through him. But he does nothing. Slowly sliding the drawer back in place, he rises to his feet with a silent exhale. He pauses for a moment, carefully surveying the sleeping couple. Their bodies are tangled between the sheets, heads resting on fluffy and comfortable pillows. He wonders if they have any idea of what it’s like to lay on cold, hard ground. 

They have never been woken by anything other than an alarm clock or their child’s cries after a nightmare. Never would they understand what it was like to jostle awake in a cold sweat, chills creeping down your spine as you heard someone take their last breath a few feet away. They would never experience the true cold of winter nights, never have to worry about drying off after it rained. 

Taehyun isn’t envious, just resentful. He’s not felt anything but rage for people for a long time now, as long as he can remember. 

He turns his back to the couple, exiting just as quietly as he had come through their bedroom door. On his way out he even makes sure to slide the window shut. In the morning the man would find his watch gone. He would go to blame his wife, they would argue — but the watch would not turn up, and neither would confess to something they hadn’t done. 

V

The Choi’s house is a replica of your own. Bookshelves line the walls, each one of them filled with expensive china; neatly polished to perfection. There are no books, except for the ones your father had given out, each one hand bound and cover-free. The dining room has a large carpet that covers almost the entire floor — and there’s not as much as a single strand out of place. Inside, the air is still, not too warm, not too cold. 

The six of you are seated around a large table, the cutlery is placed accordingly and you’re eating in silence. Your father sits at the high end, Mr Choi opposite him. To your right, your mother sits — she hasn’t said a word since you sat down, her gaze trained to the food in front of her. You can’t tell if she enjoys it or not, even if she didn’t, she would never express that. 

In front of you Soobin sits. He, too, is silent — chewing quietly as he keeps his attention on the plate before him. Occasionally he will lift a hand to push his glasses further up on his nose, or to adjust the collar of his shirt. It looked far too tight, but he made no move at unbuttoning it. When you’re not looking, you sometimes feel his eyes on you, but whenever you glance up — he’s busy eating. 

This silence wasn’t unusual. It was a big part of the play you all followed, and it was not to be questioned — so no one did. 

Your father clears his throat then, setting his fork and knife down as he glances around the table expectantly. The rest of the party mimics his actions, and even though your stomach still aches for more food, you refrain from taking another bite. Instead you turn your attention toward the man himself, watching as he wipes the corners of his mouth on a napkin. 

“Dinner was lovely”, he says whilst giving Mrs Choi a curt nod. She smiles, making the wrinkles across her face all the more prominent as she thanks him. You glance over at Mr Choi who seems relieved at your father’s approval. 

Of course, your father had not stopped eating to compliment the Choi’s on their culinary expertise. It’s only a matter of seconds before his focus is diverted to Soobin. He was the only one not looking at him, avoiding your father’s intense gaze like it might burn him. His shoulders are stiff under the checkered shirt he wears, his jaw clenched as he waits for someone to address him. 

“Soobin is growing up to be a fine young man”, your father declares. It makes the younger finally lift his head as he turns to him. His expression remains unreadable as he nods, “Thank you, sir.” 

Your father hums, his finger idly tracing the edge of the knife placed on the table. “You see, my daughter”, he motions toward you with an open palm, as if your presence had just been announced for the first time tonight, “She’s a dutiful girl. Always does as she’s told.” 

His words make your chest clench with guilt. That was a lie. You were not dutiful, and you certainly did not do as you were told. You had let someone inside, you had let a non-believer inside your home, you had welcomed sin with open arms. Of course, your father did not know this, and you pray he never would. But now he was lying, and he was doing so without even knowing it himself. 

He continues with the small clearing of his throat, and you know then what’s coming. “You see, my daughter means a lot to me. It would be very unwise of me to promise her to someone unworthy of her hand.” The statement is heavy with implication, a silent proposal that you knew the Choi’s would be unable to decline. You could already feel Mr Choi fidgeting in his seat at the idea your father was currently laying out before him. 

“Of course, our Soobin is a very diligent boy, never strays from his chores or readings”, Mr Choi says as he gives his son a proud glance. His mother is quick to nod, “Indeed, he’s been nothing but a blessing to us.” 

Your eyes should probably be on your father. But you can’t help but regard Soobin as he shifts in his seat, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose with an almost trembling finger. He was cute, you liked the way his eyes seemed to glow with impeccable warmth, the little mole under his right eye and the way his soft brown hair fell around his face. 

Soobin was your future. You knew that much. One day he and you would be what your father and mother were. You wondered if Soobin would be anything like him, would he be as strict? Would he make you stay silent during dinner, lash out when you forgot to clean the china? No matter how hard you tried you could not picture him as anything like the man you had been raised under. You did not know if that was a bad thing or not. 

“I think he will do very well with my daughter. She will need someone to rely on when doomsday rises upon us.” The talk of that day, the day he had predicted to come — makes everyone at the table tense. It was not a topic your father ever brought up when he wasn’t preaching, and certainly not something he would bring up at the Choi’s. 

Mr Choi clears his throat, his voice tentative but determined when he speaks. “I understand. You can rest assured that we have raised our son for that exact purpose. He will not disappoint.” 

Your father’s stern gaze flickers over to Soobin, cold eyes peering into the young boy’s soul as he nods. “I should hope not”, is all he says before leaning back in his chair. He pushes his plate back, declaring that dinner was now over and it was time for dessert. 

It didn’t matter if anyone else had a disagreeing opinion. 

⸝⸝ 

After you were done dining, your mother and Mrs Choi cleaned up in the kitchen. They would chatter quietly amongst themselves about mundane topics. Their conversation could never be heard over the sound of porcelain clinking and water running. In the living room, your father and Mr Choi would sit — legs crossed over the other as they discussed matters ‘too difficult’ or ‘harsh’ for any of the women or youth to indulge in. 

That left you and Soobin. 

He had quickly excused himself from the table as soon as your father’s had taken their leave, whilst you had stayed behind to help your mother carry plates to the kitchen. After that you took the time left to roam their grand house. It was much like your own, scarily so. Each nook and cranny is dust free and desert of any grime; just like it should be. 

Your footsteps are quiet against the wooden floors as you descend down a long hallway. Family portraits are non-existent. It didn’t take a genius to guess what kind of heritage the Choi’s had come from — one of non-believers. Such people had no place in a house like this, bound by blood or not. 

You come to a stop by a staircase leading to the top floor. Here you had never before ventured, there had never been a reason to. But with both your mother and father busy, you supposed there was little harm in exploring. 

The steps groan under your weight, making you freeze up as you listen for any sound of interruption. But the voice of your father still echoes down the hall, making it clear that he was still in the midst of his conversation with Mr Choi. Thus you continue. 

The top floor is much smaller than the bottom one, a single hallway with two doors on each side is presented before you. One of the doors is left ajar and light seeps from the small crack. Curious, you approach — treading forward with light steps as you do. 

When you peek inside, you find a room not so different from your own. A single bed pushed against its corner, sparsely decorated with a dresser and a desk — a desk meant for one thing alone. Soobin sits in its accompanied chair, hunched over a book you recognized all too well. Even from here you recognize your father’s signature, the words calling out to you from a distance; daring you closer. 

You enter without knocking, shamelessly tip-toeing inside without speaking a word. Soobin doesn’t seem to notice you, too engrossed in his readings, glasses sliding down the soft bridge of his nose. His eyes follow along the lines on the pages, even though he knew them by heart already. They were burned into his soul, just like they were yours. That made you and him similar — it made you closer. 

Soobin was perfect for you. He was everything your father would have wanted. He’s everything you should want. Safety, comfort, knowing. There was nothing you did not know about Soobin, nothing you feared and nothing that would harm you. Soobin was pure, free of sin. Just like your father would want. 

For some reason you find yourself comparing him to Taehyun. Soobin’s features are soft, his nose cute and round, lips smooth and pouty — eyes filled with life. His clothes were ironed, clean and neatly in place. He didn’t smell like something forbidden, he didn’t bark out harsh sentences or speak without purpose. In fact you don’t think you’d ever heard him speak more than a single word at once. 

Most importantly, Soobin was a believer — one of your own. He was just like you, and people like you should stick together. Untainted and avoiding sin, repelling the darkness by following the teachings of your father. Soobin would be there for you when doomsday rose, he would hold your hand and promise that everything was going to be okay. He would not disappear into the darkness, for he was the light. 

“You are a good man, aren’t you?” Your voice pierces the silence. You had come to a stop just behind his chair, your shadow looming over the light on his desk. The sudden interruption makes him jolt in his seat and he quickly turns to look at you — eyes wide and filled with surprise. 

He swallows, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. It was clear that he had not expected your presence. But you did not feel guilty for intruding on him. 

Soobin nods slowly, throat bobbing for a moment. “I…” He hesitates, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to even utter the words on his tongue. 

“My father says you are”, your gaze drifts to the open book still on his desk. “My father is always right”, you add with a small smile as you rock back and forth on your heels. — Soobin nods, because there was no way he was going to deny the words of your father. 

You cross his small room, taking a seat on his neatly made bed, feeling the soft mattress beneath your weight. “Come sit with me”, you pat the space next to you, gazing at the boy expectantly. Doing as told, Soobin rises from his chair as he quietly walks over. The soft cushion dips when he takes place beside you. 

His shoulders are tense, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor as he avoids looking at you. Pursing your lips, you do the same. It was an awkward silence — for you hardly made conversation with anyone besides your father and mother. There had never been a reason to. Well except… The images of Taehyun seem to plague your mind. Each time his face flashes before your eyes, a stabbing pain of guilt flares through your body. A reminder of your sin, even if brief. 

“So…” 

You begin slowly, dragging the words out as you tried them for the first time. “We are to be husband and wife.” You nod slowly to yourself, confirming what your father had been playing at all along. But the confession feels foreign — especially when said out loud. You tell yourself that this was just another passage of life, that your own mother had probably felt like this once. It was natural, and Soobin was perfect, so you had nothing to worry about. 

Beside you, he shifts on the spot, blinking once as he swallows again. His fingers fidget by his sides, hands moving to flatten out his already perfectly ironed shirt. “I suppose we are”, he says as his eyes flicker up to meet yours. 

You smile, “Are you nervous?” 

He shakes his head, “No.” 

You frown, fingers curling around the sheets beneath you. He should be. You were nervous, terrified even. Was he lying right now? But lying was a sin, it made you impure. Your father always found out when you lied — he could smell it on you. Could he smell lies on Soobin? Or was he telling the truth? Were you the only one who felt out of place, the only one who thought things were moving too fast. 

Time was sacred, you knew that much. It was a miracle your father had waited until your twentieth birthday to introduce the idea of marriage. But now he seemed more eager than ever — and it scared you. 

Soobin remains silent, his chin jutting out in a small pout as his brows furrow. It looked as though he was deeply lost in thought. You regard him quietly, seeing how his large frame seemed to shrink under the pressure of reality. If your situation bothered him, he didn’t let on to it. Your father wouldn’t approve of that — it was something you both knew. 

You shouldn’t compare him to the non-beliver you had met. No, you should forget about Taehyun. He appalled you, his very presence was darkness and despair. Look what he had done to you — the guilt, the feelings that refused to go away. Soobin would never make you feel like this, no matter how much he suffered he would never make you suffer with him. That’s what made them different. 

Soobin was safe. Taehyun was not. 

Your father approved of Soobin, but he would excel Taehyun if he ever found out about his existence. Still, your mind wanders to him more than it should, pushing your truth and your beliefs aside to make room for a darkness so sinister even the books on your shelf would turn away. 

“I am scared.” 

The admission is so quiet, the words leaving your lips in a hushed murmur. At first you weren’t even sure Soobin had heard you. But then he turns his head, those same wide and warm eyes meeting yours a third time that night. They are not the wild and untamed ones you had been faced with a few nights ago. No, his eyes are calm, grounding even — but you’re not sure he quite understands. There’s something missing, something hollow. 

“Why?” He asks, the frown on his face deepening further as he shifts his body toward you. It became clear then, that Soobin was a successful product of your father’s teachings. He didn’t question, didn’t pry — didn’t stick his nose where it didn’t belong. Of course he wouldn’t feel fear over something so natural, if it was your father’s wish then it must be true and pure. 

Soobin doesn’t know that there’s darkness around you, that you’ve tampered with something you shouldn’t have. He doesn’t know that non-believers actually exist, you can tell he’s never met one. Therefore he could never understand. 

You want to say ‘what if my father is wrong’ but all that comes out is a shaky exhale. Because you could never bring yourself to defy the man who had made you, the man whose essence was the closest thing to salvation any of you would ever come. Instead you sigh, “I don’t know… I guess I just am.” 

His jaw clenches, like your words frustrated him. But Soobin isn’t angry — just confused. “You shouldn't be scared.” His hand finds yours, large palm enveloping your fingers in a gentle caress. “Your father knows what’s best — this is everything.” 

Everything. 

The word seems heavy in the quiet air; the soft glow of his desk lamp no longer warms against your skin. Was this really everything? Would your life come down to a single person, another house just like your own — a life of cleansing your home, body, mind and soul; praying that when the day comes you won’t fall like the rest. 

Is this really everything? Your world suddenly seems small, smaller than it ever had before. You think of Taehyun, of the way he had so easily slipped through your window — disappeared into an ocean of shadows. He came and went as he pleased, ruled by nothing but himself. But the price? You scolded yourself for even allowing such a thought. 

Of course this was everything. This was what your father had prepared you for all along. Why were you suddenly having doubts? There was only one answer. It was him. Taehyun. He’d darkened your soul with his non-beliefs. He’d made you question the only thing you had ever stayed true to. He was silently eating away at your soul without even being here. 

You squeeze Soobin’s hand a little harder, ignoring the way your heart thumps in your chest as you send him a small smile. “Of course, you’re right. This is everything.” 

VI 

Taehyun doesn’t exactly know why he returns. He’d told himself that he was going to stay away. You were already messing with his thoughts, plaguing his mind in a way most uncomfortable. Returning to the source of his agony would only make things worse. But he can’t help it. As soon as the sun begins to set, he finds himself on a path all too familiar. 

The grand houses stare back at him mockingly, like they know he doesn't belong here. Taehyun does too. He doesn’t belong anywhere. It has never stopped him from doing as he pleased. Tonight was no exception. 

He climbs the tree that looms over the side of your home. The branches snap and break under his weight, making the journey up even harder than last time. But it doesn't deter him, if anything it only spurs him on as he climbs — not caring for the new holes that were being torn into his dirty hoodie. 

When he finally makes it to the slanted part of your roof, he’s covered in sweat, it slides down the sides of his neck and face, making him feel all the more sticky and filthy. He’d learned to deal with it though. Hygiene wasn’t exactly the top of one’s priority list when you were homeless, fending for your next meal like it was war. 

He leaps from the tree top and over to the old roof, cushioning his fall as best as he can. Once he’s got both feet on firm ground, more or less, he begins his journey toward your room. It’s on the other side of the house, and he’s forced to pass a multitude of windows on his way. It was a hassle, with his heart beating wildly in his chest whenever he heard movement coming from inside as he pressed against the wall. 

Then he imagines your face, he wonders what you would say to him. Would you be just as angry with him? Perhaps you would call your father on him, have him dial the police. Taehyun grimaces at the thought, getting involved with any authorities was the last thing he needed right now. Which made this all the more risky, and he should be backing out while he still has the chance. 

But he doesn’t. 

When he reaches your window, he finds that the light is still on. You’re sitting by your desk, basked in the warm and yellow glow as you read. It was that same book he’d seen last time, the one that boy had been reading. His curiosity was mounting with each glance at the handmade bindings, the cover that lacked both title and drawings. 

Whatever it was, he longed to know more. And so he knocks, curled fingers tapping gently against the glass as he tries to get your attention. 

You look up almost immediately, wide and confused eyes landing on him within a matter of seconds. Your expression goes from confusion to anger to… something that almost resembles fear. He doesn’t quite understand what it’s supposed to mean, then again, perhaps you had finally come to your senses and realized his true nature. A thief. 

Still you approach the window, much to his surprise your hand reaches for the hatch as you undo it. The glass slides open, and he’s immediately hit with the soft and almost sickeningly sweet scent of your perfume. He inhales it like it’s his last breath, savoring the way it makes his head spin for just a moment longer. 

When he opens his eyes again, he finds you watching him, still silent. It became clear that you were waiting for him to speak, lacking all the curiosity you had been so filled with on your last encounter. What has changed? 

He hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering between you and the closed door behind you. The ever pressing matter of your father still loomed in the back of his mind. He’d studied the man for three days without even realizing he’d not only been married, but had a daughter as well. That was not something one hid like that — unless you had great reason to. 

It’s when your gaze on him starts to feel heavy with unspoken words that he finally wills himself to say something. “You’re upset with me.” It’s all he can muster, he thinks an apology might be fitting; but then he wouldn’t even know what he was apologizing for. Breaking into your house? Calling you a non-believer even when you had clearly stated you didn’t think hell existed? 

The tension on your face eases up at his simple statement, even if just slightly. Taehyun watches as you cross your arms over your chest, throat bobbing when you swallow. “I am…” You say, the sentence is nothing more than a hushed murmur — loud enough only for his ears and the wind to pick up. 

He shifts awkwardly on the windowsill, keeping his legs outside, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed entry or not. “I’m sorry”, he blurts. The words spill from his lips quickly, in a rushed breath that he just barely got out. He doesn’t know why or what he’s apologizing for but he knows that he can’t stand seeing the saddened expression you’re wearing right now. The one that made your eyes drop and your jaw clench. 

It was torture, and he didn’t even know why. 

You nod slowly, avoiding his gaze as you fixate on the floorboards beneath you. There’s another silence that follows, this one less heavy than the last but far from comfortable. Taehyun wonders if he should say something else, or if he should just up and leave again. Maybe you wanted to be left alone. 

“You can come in… If you want.” The proposal is whispered between shaky breaths as you step aside for him to come through the window. 

This time Taehyun doesn’t hesitate as he puts one foot before the other, landing himself in your room with a soft thud. His eyes fall on the book, still open on your desk — but when you catch his gaze wandering you quickly slam it shut. The sound makes him blink once, taken aback by your sudden display of emotion. 

“It’s not for you”, you murmur — gaze still downcast as you approach your bed. 

He listens to the sound of your body as it sinks down on the mattress, the cushion creaking softly under you. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he watches as you sit there; hands clasped over your knees, appearing to be lost in thought. If his presence unsettled you, you never showed it. The only emotion he could read off of you was pain, one he didn’t quite understand — and Taehyun knew everything there was to know about pain. 

His eyes dart around the small room, drinking in the motionless paintings on your walls. They were landscapes, each and every one of them — of places far away. Snowy mountains, long rivers, endless beaches and thick forests. He wants to ask if you’ve painted them yourself, they all lacked signature, which gave them no value if you wished to steal, or sell. But he refrains from uttering the question. 

The tapestry is a light pink, adorned with flowers here and there. Your dresser is mahogany wood, as is your desk and bookshelf. But aside from the paintings and the strange books, your room was essentially empty. And though the warm light of your desk lamp basked you in soft yellow hues, the space still felt cold. 

Lonely. 

He glances at you, eyes lingering on your slumped figure. Were you lonely? He had never really stopped to consider what rich people did, aside from wasting their money on useless stuff. The way you had clung to him, even when he had been in the midst of raiding your living room on that fateful night — a thousand questions sparkling behind your eyes. He started to wonder just how often you actually ventured outside. 

The mattress dips under his weight when he takes the seat next to you on the bed. Your body becomes stiff beside his, like you hadn’t expected the action. Regardless, you don’t speak, keeping your gaze averted as you peer outside the open window. 

Finally, he can’t seem to keep the questions in any longer. It felt almost like the roles were reversed, he was itching to know more about you — and it pissed him off. “Did you paint those?” He nods toward the drawings on your walls, eyes lingering for a moment on the fine brush strokes. 

You hum, following his line of sight as you chew on your bottom lip. “Yes…” It was clear they hadn’t been created with the intent of being shown off, in fact you seemed almost sheepish under his silent inspection of the art. 

“They’re beautiful”, he compliments, not knowing why he felt the need to reassure you when you hadn’t given him any reason to. But he does anyway, because it feels right in this very moment. — You perk up at the praise, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I wasn’t sure… I have never been before”, you murmur as you motion toward the snowy mountains, the long rivers and endless beaches. 

Taehyun can’t help but frown — wasn’t like he’d been either, but you at least looked to have the funds for it. “Why not?” He asks, unable to hide the curiosity in his voice. At that question you turn silent, the grateful expression on your face falling; replaced by the same pained one from earlier. 

You give him a small shrug, “Father wouldn’t allow it.” 

You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. That one man’s word determines your entire being. He doesn’t understand, and the confusion is slowly tearing him apart. “But why do you have to listen to him? Can’t you just go anyway?” He’s pushing it now, he can tell by the way you tense up, eyes darting around the room like you were searching for an escape — anything to end the conversation. 

The soft huff that slips past your lips feels like a slap in the face. You shake your head, swallowing before your attention finally returns to him. “You don’t understand do you?” It’s more a statement than a question, and it irks him how aware yet unaware you seem. 

“So tell me”, he presses, closing the distance between the two of you on the bed as he scoots forward. He pauses only when he feels his thigh brush against yours, gaze darting down to the naked skin of your leg. It was then he realized that you weren’t wearing more than a simple nightgown, a sheer pink one that hugged your body tight. 

Your breath hitches in your throat, he can hear it so clearly — the way your heart thumps in your chest at the sudden proximity. Usually it would make him feel a certain type of way when a woman displayed obvious shyness and attraction around him. It would make him feel powerful, in control. 

But you only make him feel guilty. 

Like he was intruding on something more than just your property — something that was never meant to be anyone’s at all. There was something very wrong with you, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. At first glance one would think you and your family to be deeply religious; to the point where your crazed father had forbidden you to go outside. Taehyun realizes that that’s not the case. 

This house; you. There was no room for God here — he had felt it as soon as he’d stepped foot in your living room that night, the one that seemed so long ago. Whatever it was that lingered within these walls, it was far more sinister than any religious psychosis. It was your life. It was who you were, it defined you — in the most twisted way possible. 

When you don’t reply he speaks again, “I want to know.” His voice is a low breathless drawl, eyes dropping to your lips for a moment longer than they should have — watching the slight tremble in them as they part, your shaky exhales puffing against his face. 

You shake your head, hands clenching into fists on your lap. “You would never understand… My father he–” 

“I don’t care about your father.” 

“Well you should!” 

Your chest is heaving now, each ragged breath you take becoming all the closer to hyperventilating. He can tell the topic is affecting you, he just can’t understand why. Taehyun doesn’t care about that man, he can’t wrap his head around what made him so important to you. What made you act so hysterical whenever he was questioned? 

“You can’t just– My father he… You don’t question him, alright?” You jab an accusing finger toward his chest. Any remnants of your previous bashfulness toward his proximity had completely vanished in favor of  the strong feelings you held for your father. “That’s not… He knows, he wouldn’t say things just because he could. He’s not a liar!” 

Taehyun raises his hands in surrender, brows furrowing into a perplexed frown as he admits defeat. “I hear you”, he huffs, somewhat appalled by your sudden switch in demeanour. 

The silence that follows is thick, both of you listening for anything that would indicate movement outside your door. But the house remains basked in an eerie quietness, the only sounds audible are his and your breaths blending with one another. — So your father was a sensitive topic, alright, he would stay away from that. For now at least. 

Taehyun’s gaze flickers across your face. He could see the guilt etched onto every feature. Your hands tremble in your lap, your body thrumming with tension as you promptly avoid eye contact. Jesus why had he even returned in the first place? You were a complete nutcase, one second you were fine and the other you were hysteric. 

Your words and actions are hidden behind a false sense of innocence, of safety. But there’s something much darker lurking beneath the surface, he can feel it — this whole house radiates evil, but it is not the kind you would read about in the Bible. This is something different, something he’d never before encountered. And you, you might’ve been the very source of it all. 

After that you refrain from speaking. Taehyun does too. The silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity. Then he gets up, walks over to the open window — and climbs out without throwing as much as a glance behind his shoulder. This time you don’t stop him. 

VII 

Your father’s office is dark — with shelves that crowd three out of four walls, all stacked with books you were strictly forbidden to even let your gaze fall upon. He would always say they contained a bunch of nonsense, things you shouldn’t taint your mind with if you wanted to stay pure. And you did, your only wish was to be the best you could be for him. 

There’s a small window opposite the door, but the curtains are almost always drawn. The only light comes from the lamp on his desk, casting the room in a yellow glow with eerie shadows that crept around the room’s border. 

It wasn’t often your father would call you to his office during the summers. Which was why this afternoon you had almost had trouble keeping down your lunch when he had called on you. Your mother had given you a nervous glance from her spot on the couch, the shirt she was currently knitting on pause in her hands as her gaze flickered between your terrified expression and the staircase. She had said nothing when you took your leave, but you had felt her eyes on you as you made your way upstairs. 

The walk to your father’s office seemed eternal — the hallway stretching longer than it usually would as you tread lightly on the wooden floors. You pass your own room, then your mother and father’s. For each step your heart beats a little louder in your chest. 

The door is left ajar, but you knock anyway. Three curt taps with your curled fist. Then his voice booms from the other side, “Come in.” 

You enter quietly, shutting the door behind you on your way inside. Your father is seated by his desk, glasses low on the crooked bridge of his nose. He doesn't look up to see you when you take the seat opposite him, carefully scooting your chair in as you do. — He’s busy flipping through a book you cannot recognize, the words upside down from your perspective, which made it impossible to make out what was written. 

Wordlessly you wait for him to acknowledge you, hands clasped together on your lap — sweaty palms sliding against one another you try to think of a possible reason for him to call on you so suddenly. 

He licks the pad of his finger, slowly turning the page, the sound of crisp paper being unraveled echoing through his office. Then he closes the book, putting it aside as he reaches for the glasses. He takes them off, placing them down neatly in front of him before he turns his attention to you. His eyes are cold and detached, peering into your own with an intensity that could have made anyone nauseous. 

“Daughter.” 

His voice is a low drawl, one that makes a shiver crawl up your spine as he addresses you. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you give him a subtle nod, nails digging into the back of your hand as you reply: “Father.” 

He doesn’t speak right away, his eyes lingering for a moment too long to be comfortable. You knew that father could see right through you, that there was never any point in trying to deceive him for he could tell without you even opening your mouth to speak. The sound of his chair creaking rings through your ears when he leans back, gaze trailing over the crowded bookshelves for a moment before coming to a stop. 

Reaching a hand out, his lean fingers grasp a book you recognized with dread. It was not one you were allowed to keep in your room, but he had still made you read it — over and over, for as long as you had been able to. You vividly remember being perched on his lap as a child, following along his pointed finger as he read aloud. As you grew older you were prompted to do the same, this time following your own finger as you read to him. 

Its cover was dark, as were the contents written down. The bindings are fragile, carefully tied by your father’s own hand, as he had all the books your community read. They were sacred that way, crafted under his touch and created with his knowledge. 

This book in particular was important. Not because it told you how to live, but because it told you how to not. He never named this book, but he would speak of it with uttermost distaste. It was the book of non-believers of course. The one that explained their foul and impure ways. Sin, filth, sex, theft, lying and lack of devotion, or even worse, devotion to someone who wasn’t him. 

The book has always made you uncomfortable. Its words were harsh as it described the non-believers as nothing but mere animals. If your father had his way, he would have them all put down — in the most cruel of ways possible. 

Why had he brought this book forward now? Your mind instantly goes to Taehyun, fear slipping onto your otherwise emotionless face. There was no way he could know, was there? But there was nothing your father didn’t know, nothing that went past his keen senses. It was only a matter of time until he found out about the darkness that lingered around you. 

Last night you let Taehyun get close, too close. You had felt his breath on yours, his thigh brushing against you — leaving no escape for the darkness that tainted him. And you had let him, you hadn’t pushed him away; in fact you had opened the window for him. Once again you had let him inside your home, the most sacred place in the world. You had tarnished it. It was your fault. 

Your father knew. You were certain. The way his piercing gaze fixated on your sweaty face, the anxiety rolling off of you in waves the way it always would when you knew you had misstepped, when you had done something wrong. 

His finger trails the spine of the book, turning it slowly in his hands. “Do you recognize this?” It’s a trick question, for there was no way you could mistake that book for anything else. 

You nod, “Yes, father.” 

He hums, the sound low and deep in his chest. “Then you know why it is important”, he drawls, eyeing you with intent that has you refraining from squirming in your seat. Of course you knew its importance. It taught you everything you needed to know about the non-believers. It taught you what their sins were, what was going to happen to them when doomsday rose upon you. 

That very book was the reason you had begun fearing the non-believers in the first place. But it was also the source of your curiosity. There was so much the pale pages left out, so many unanswered questions. Father says that only the information valuable was written in the books. Your questions were stupid and therefore disregarded. Non-believers didn’t feel the way you did, they had no remorse, no conscience. 

Your father opens the book, flipping through it for a moment, already familiar with its layout. He pauses, eyes stuck to a particular page. Your heart drums in your chest, blood rushing through your body as you await his next move. — Then he places the open book in front of you, finger pointing to the top paragraph of the page. 

“Read this for me.” 

Your gaze zeroes in on the words, your stomach sinking at the familiar lines. The ones he had made you read so many times before. Yet today, on this particular occasion; everything was different. You clear your throat, eyes flitting up to meet his for a brief moment before returning to the page. 

“He who sins is not a man, but an animal. Made out of flesh and bone but bleeds not the same blood as us. His sins are punishable, not by law but by truth. Such an animal earns no salvation when doomsday shall rise; and he will suffer a fate worse than death.” 

Your voice cracks as your eyes drop to the next paragraph, throat closing up at the familiar words written out before you. But your hesitation only adds to your father’s impatience, and you feel his gaze on you — demanding you continue. So you do. 

“A man who associates himself with a sinner, will tarnish his own purity. The man who confides in an animal like that will, too, suffer the same fate a non-believer would. He becomes the animal he despises by letting their darkness taint him, and is punished the same.” 

Your hands are trembling when you finish. Sweat pearls on your forehead, surely glistening under the warm light of his desk lamp. You look up to see your father watching you, lips pressed into a thin line as he listens to you speak. When you’re finished, he gives a curt nod, but does not attempt to take the book from you. 

“And do these words mean anything to you?” 

The question makes you freeze, the fervent beating of your heart coming to an abrupt halt as your jaw slacks. He was questioning you — you could feel that now. He could sense the darkness within you, he knew that you were losing yourself to something beyond his grace, something you could never come back from. 

You blink once, then twice — forcing down the tears that prickled at your eyes. “They do”, you whisper, the admission almost silent in his small office. The shadows seemed to draw in closer, licking along your arms and hovering above you, waiting to swallow you whole. They know you would let them; just as you had let Taehyun. 

Father doesn’t reply right away, he seems lost in thought for a moment. He brings his hands up, resting his elbows on the wooden desk as he props his chin across his intertwined fingers. You feel naked under his gaze, dirty and wrong. Like no amount of bathing would ever make you clean again. 

“Page thirty seven”, he says. 

Your fingers move to turn the pages before your mind has the chance to catch up. You count the numbers, finally landing on number thirty seven. There you pause, waiting for his next instruction. From the corner of your eye, you see your father fiddle idly with his discarded glasses, emitting a deep sigh before putting them back in place. 

“From the third paragraph”, he commands. 

Your gaze drops to the page, eyes finding the paragraph in question as you take a deep breath. 

“The man who sins abides by no laws, he takes what is not his. His sin is darkness that surrounds him, infecting those around him without effort. He cannot love, not even himself. He does not know empathy, loyalty or trust. He is filth and dirt; anyone grazed by his hand will eventually suffer his fate.” 

Once you finish you pause, eyes flickering up to your father who’s watching you expectantly. He has yet to interrupt you, thus you continue reading — just like you had so many times before. Except this time the words feel like poison on your tongue. 

“Undeserving of life is he who does not believe in the very pages before you. His ignorance toward something so sacred must have consequences. It is our duty to punish those of his kind; it is our duty to protect what he seeks to tarnish.” 

You can barely get the last sentence out, stuttering over your own inability to perform such a simple task. But as soon as you’re finished, the book is slammed shut before you, making you flinch in your seat. 

Your father leans back in his chair, adjusting his glasses on his nose before he turns to you. He gives the closed book a pointed glance, “I want you to bring this with you. Read it before bed, do not waste your time with anything but this.” 

Swallowing thickly, you nod. “For how long, father?” 

His expression remains unreadable, as it always would. He rolls his thumbs over one another, but you know he is not stalling for time. He prepared an answer before you even uttered the question. You knew that he saw through you, you knew that he knew. And the knowing was terrifying. The words written were no longer about the non-believers, it was not why he had made you read. No, they were about you. 

His eyes find yours, striking and cold, “Until you’ve learned.” 

⸝⸝ 

You do not sleep for a long time that night. Hunched over your desk, you fight to keep your eyes open as you go over the pages again and again. You had cried twice, the tears were now dry on your cheeks — and you felt shameful over them. There was no reason for you to cry, for you to wallow in self pity. This was entirely your fault. 

Your father was trying to help you — this was him trying to offer you salvation. If you just learned, if you just followed his teachings everything would be fine. Things would go back to how they had always been. You would be blessed once more, you would earn his approval and forgiveness. It was all that mattered. 

Hand clenched into fists on either side of the open book, you mumble the words out to yourself. “Filthy, disgusting, animal, tarnished, sinister…” You repeat them like a mantra, like saying it aloud would somehow confirm what you had allowed yourself to become; what you had allowed Taehyun to make you. 

If it would take you days, weeks, you would say it. You would call yourself all these horrible names if it made you clean again — if it washed away your wrongs, if it gave you a second chance. 

Mother hadn’t spoken to you all evening. Neither her or father had as much as glanced your way during dinner. They knew. The house knew, its walls were looming over you; crowding in on you like a cage would a trapped animal. — Animal. That’s what you were. Undeserving of life. And as your eyes return to the page, the cycle begins once more, sending you into a pit of self loathing as you continue to read. 

⸝⸝ 

Your feet are cold, freezing even. When you glance down you realize that you are standing barefoot on soil; toes sinking into the mushy earth. The ground is wet, soaked through by the rain that bats against your naked arms — the ones you pull around yourself in an attempt to warm up. You’re dressed in nothing but your sheer nightgown, it's drenched from the weather; clinging to your skin like a second layer. 

It’s weird, you can’t see anything. No matter how many times you blink it’s just as dark, everywhere you turn. It’s not until a heavy drop falls on your cheek that you finally glance up. The night sky opens above you, the rain seems to fall slower from this angle. You understand then that you’re outside, not the commotional hall nor your house — but actually outside. 

Submerged below ground level, panic starts to settle in. It is then you see him; your father. He stands by the edge of the pit you’re trapped in, an umbrella clutched tightly in one hand, the other one resting on your mother’s waist. She’s weeping, tears streaming down her face as she gives you a pitiful look. 

“Mother…” Your voice sounds weak even to your own ears; doing little to overpower the hurling winds and your mother’s cries. She buries her face in your father’s chest, trembling hands clinging to the black suit he wears. Mother is, too, dressed in all black — her dress reaching all the way to her ankles. 

You swallow as you take a step forward, but you only find yourself sinking deeper into the ground. “Mother, why do you cry? Mother!” She can’t hear you, no matter how loud you yell for her — your words are meaningless. 

Eyes meeting your father’s, you find him regarding you with disgust — wearing the same expression he would when he spoke of the nonbelievers, the one which meant nothing but hatred; like you had done something truly unforgiving. Slowly you piece it together; their attire, the pit dug into the ground, your mother’s tears. 

This was your grave. 

You were dead and your mother was mourning you, crying in rhythm with the clouds as their tears caressed your shivering body. 

The scream never makes it past your lips and instead you find yourself lunging forward — fingers clawing at the dirt; soil clogging under your nails as you try to dig your way up. “I’m not dead! Mother, father, I’m here!” Is what you want to tell them, but your throat is clogged by the sobs that never make it off your tongue.

“Do you get it now?” 

Taehyun’s voice pierces the silence and you feel yourself go cold. Whipping around, you find him crouched by the opposite edge of the pit. He’s dressed in a suit as well, his usually wild and unkempt hair is neatly parted to the side, a single strand hanging loose as it falls across his forehead. 

He tilts his head to the side, a menacing smirk stretching across his lips — eyes twinkling with gleam as he watches you. “Or did you think you were going to go unpunished, just because you’re his daughter?” He scoffs, hand curling around the soil as he picks it up, throwing it at you with a disgusted grimace. 

The dirt slaps against your face before falling onto your chest. You shudder, but can’t seem to muster a response, trembling under his intense gaze. Instead you’re forced to listen to the sound of Taehyun’s laugh; it’s loud, overpowering your mother’s cries and the screaming wind. “Oh”, he says as he shakes his head, “You thought things would just be okay? That you could go back to playing Miss Perfect after having your fun with someone like me?” 

He sneers, tongue dragging across his bottom lip — eyes reflecting something akin to nausea. “You’re an animal”, he spits. 

Your chest contracts with pain at the harsh implication, heart biting wildly against your ribcage. “No…” You try to deny his accusations. That was a lie, Taehyun was a liar. You did everything right; you read your father’s teachings, listened to him preach, you cleaned everyday, bathed and prepared for doomsday. You were pure. This grave was not yours — but his. 

Taehyun shifts slightly, and your gaze follows the movement of his hand as he reaches inside his suit to grab something. When your eyes land on the familiar dark book, they widen. You recognized its cover in an instant. — He opens it, unbothered by the heavy rainfall that pours over him as he begins to read; the words harsh and demeaning as they roll off of his tongue. 

“Condemned to a cruel death is she who treads from light to dark. For her there is no salvation, no redemption. She cannot come back from the monster she has become; she cannot take back the hand of evil that has been laid upon her once untainted skin. Her devotion becomes her sin.” 

The smirk on his lips widens, an almost feral look in his eyes as he shifts them from the pages and over to you. 

“Her punishment shall be from the face of her grave. She will watch as the world reclaims her impure soul; and she will do so in agony.” 

His last words echo through the night, leaving you shaking in fear. He shoves the book back inside his suit before standing up. The look he sends you is vicious. His face is the last thing you see — for the ground has already begun to swallow you whole. Your mother’s cries are loud in your ears, your father’s judgement heavy on your shoulders, and the image of Taehyun is forever seared into your mind. 

⸝⸝ 

You hadn’t noticed ever falling asleep — but the tap to your window jostles you from the nightmare you had been caught up in. Your heart is still hammering in your chest and you’re drenched in a cold layer of sweat. Lifting your head from the book before you causes your back to flare up in pain. 

You glance down, eyes lingering on the words plastered across the pages. The ones from your dream; the one that had felt so real. Your father’s cold gaze still lingers in the back of your mind, your mother’s sobs making your head throb. “His punishment shall be from the face of his grave. He will watch as the world reclaims his impure soul; and he will do so in agony.” You mumble the words, re-reading the paragraph you had fallen asleep to with a heavy heart. 

The second tap to your window makes you flinch as you recall what had woken you in the first place. Turning in your seat only makes your stomach drop even further, your body twisting with guilt. 

You hadn’t expected Taehyun to return, not after your last conversation — the way you had lashed out, him quietly slipping back into the shadows without as much as a word. Even though he looks like himself now, the dirt painting his face, tangled hair falling messily from his head; you still can’t shake the image of him, the one that had watched you die. 

There’s a lump in your throat, one you’re unable to swallow. It hadn’t just been a nightmare, it was a prediction — a prophecy of the fate that awaited you. If you let him in now, a third time, there would be no backing out. So you turn back to your book, ignoring him to the best of your abilities as you fix your attention to the lines on the page. 

He doesn’t knock again, but you can feel his presence. The darkness that lingers around him, imposing on your bedroom window as it waits to be let inside. 

You’re sure at least ten minutes pass, each one filled with a dreadful silence as you try to focus. It’s no use, you’ve been stuck on the same paragraph this whole time — staring at the words like they might attempt to claw themselves free of the book's confinements and eat you alive, like if you turned your back, there was no saying what might happen. 

At last you push your chair back, eyes flitting back to the window for a moment. He’s still there, dark eyes watching you quietly through the thin glass. Taehyun reminds you of a crow, ugly and dirty, frowned upon by the world yet his wings fly just the same as a dove. His taps against the window resembles its black beak, insistently requesting your attention. 

Without waiting another moment you rise as you on shaky legs approach him. You pause, hand hovering above the hatch that would make everything real — the one that would confirm your sin, make it irreversible. You still open it, welcoming the cold night air as you suppress a shiver. 

Taehyun doesn’t say anything, his expression remaining perfectly unreadable — reminding you of your father’s. It was an unwelcome sight, one you wanted to tear out of your mind and burn. But you can’t. There’s only one thing you can do, one thing you want to do. Talk to him. “You’re here”, the sentence comes out in one exhale. 

He nods, blinking once as his dark gaze trails over the clothes you were still in — having fallen asleep before getting the chance to change into your night wear. “Why?” You ask, trying your best to mask the sadness in your voice. Taehyun should terrify you, the prophecy that had shown itself through your dream had been a clear warning, the book on your desk was your guide. So why weren’t you following it? 

His jaw clenches for a moment, like he was debating his next words. Shifting on the windowsill his eyes flit down to your still trembling hand, for a second it looks almost as though he wants to reach out and take it. 

“Come with me”, he finally says as his attention returns to you. His eyes hold no doubt, in fact you had never seen him so sure ever. He must have given the matter much thought, immediately sensing your hesitation, the way your legs buckle as you attempt a step back. His hand shoots out, fingers curling around your wrist before you can disappear from him. 

His voice is hushed, a low drawl of his tongue. “Just for tonight, you will be back before dawn — I promise.” 

No. You shouldn’t, he was a non-believer, one that had intrigued you greatly until you understood the dangers of his kind. Your foolish curiosity had gotten you in this situation, it had earned you your father’s disapproval, his watchful eye now set on you. The last thing you ought to be doing is following evil right through your window, into a world so harsh there would be no return, even if you make it home by dawn. 

“I can’t…” You whisper as you shake your head, eyes squeezing shut. Shuddering when Taehyun’s hand loosens its grip on your wrist as he instead laces his fingers with yours. He gives you a small squeeze, wordlessly pleading with you to agree. You find his gaze, and as you study his almost hopeful face you repeat the words in your head. “Animal, undeserving of life, evil, impure.” But Taehyun doesn't look at all like the men your father described.

For a moment you allow yourself to be delusional, to pray for the man before you. Perhaps, just maybe he wasn’t what father would want to make him. If there was even the slightest possibility for Taehyun to be something other than the non-believer your books said he was… Then maybe, just maybe you could allow yourself a moment of reprieve in his presence. 

You swallow down the conflicting emotions rising in your throat, glancing down to your intertwined hands. He feels human, warm and alive. Like someone you could follow, even when you know you shouldn’t. The truth scared you — but so did the thought of never seeing the snowy mountains, the rivers and the endless beaches. 

The nod you give him is so subtle, it almost passes him by. But Taehyun's face lights up, a grin tugging at his lips — nothing like the cruel smirk he’d been wearing in your dream. You allow him to pull you closer, hands sliding along your arms as he guides you up on the windowsill. 

Your legs tremble, not from exertion but from fear — but you do not hesitate as you put one foot before the other. Before you know it, you’re beside him, shoulder brushing against his as you inhale the crisp night air. You had been outside before, but this was different. Your father’s looming presence was nowhere to be found, neither were your mother’s tender eyes as she gauged you every step. 

Birds fly high in the sky, and for a moment you feel just like them — free. 

Taehyun guides carefully across the roof, quietly moving through the shadows like they were second nature. You follow him, holding onto him tightly; afraid that if you let go, you would be lost. 

When you pass your father and mother’s bedroom, you stop to glance through the window. Their sleeping forms send a dagger of pain straight through your heart, the knife twisting at a torturous angle as you behold the sight. Safety was a figment of your imagination by now, and you were leaving that small flicker of light behind as you instead follow the darkness. 

Soon you reach the slanted edge of the roof, the drop makes you hesitate, gaze flitting over to Taehyun in silent question. He only squeezes your hand harder before letting go completely. With wide and bewildered eyes you watch as he takes off, letting himself fall through the air before landing softly on the ground. 

Dusting himself off, he stands back up to look at you. When he sees your cowering figure crouched by the roof’s edge he grins. Arms stretched to the sky he beckons for you to join him. “Trust me”, he calls for you  — the sound of his voice carrying through the night. It makes something in you flutter, a strange sensation filling your chest. 

Trust him… Trust was sacred, not something you just gave out. Could you really trust Taehyun? You regard his open arms, so close yet so far away. In that moment, you can't think of anywhere else you would rather be. And so with one last glance toward your bedroom window, you vow to leave behind the nightmare, your father’s words and the harsh truth — just for tonight, you would allow yourself to be free. 

Then you jump. 

The fall lasts forever yet it’s over in a second. It makes your stomach twist and turn, whether it was in fear or excitement, you did not know. But Taehyun’s arms wrap around you, his now familiar scent invading your senses as he pulls your body against his. Your feet haven’t even touched the ground yet, bare and exposed they dangle against his legs — afraid to take the final step. 

Hiding your face in his shoulder, you cling onto the moment a little longer, not quite ready to let go. He chuckles and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your own. It’s an unfamiliar sound, laughter. Rarely, if ever heard inside the place you called home. You like Taehyun’s laugh, it’s soft — nothing at all like the harsh and jagged edges of his exterior. It comes from within, a place warm. 

You let him set you down, shivering when your feet touch the grass. Pulling your face from his shoulder, you stand back to peer up at him. He’s already watching you, eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite place; something you had never before seen. He takes your hand, the action feeling familiar, you don’t know if you should hate or love it. 

“Are you ready?” He asks, regarding you like he was half expecting you to back out — to demand he returns you to the comforts of your bedroom. Instead you nod, mustering a small smile as your fingers squeeze around his, “Yes.” 

The walk is silent at first, your attention jumping from every stone, tree and rock as you descend down the road that leads through your neighbourhood. This part of the world you were familiar with. Your eyes would always be glued to the window of your father’s car whenever he took you to the commotional hall, watching with fascination as the scenery outside changed. — The asphalt is cold against your bare feet at first, but it soon dwindles into nothingness. 

Taehyun offers you his shoes, but you decline. You wanted to feel the ground beneath you, it made everything all the more real. 

Your hands remain interlocked as you move forward, it’s comfortable knowing that he was there. For a moment you feel guilty, guilty for taking comfort in something as dark as him, something you should stay away from. But you quickly manage to push those thoughts aside, burying them in the depths of your worrying mind, letting them stay hidden — if only for tonight. 

After a while you make it out of the neighbourhood, the familiar houses disappearing behind you and giving way to tall buildings that stretch toward the sky. Father never took you or mother to the city; said it was dangerous, crawling with non-believers and filth. His words send shivers down your spine, your once eager steps faltering as you approach the dim street lights. 

Taehyun notices your hesitation, his hand around yours gripping you firmer, silently pleading you stay with him. Your gaze meets his, “I’ve never been here.” 

He nods, like he understands — how could he? Tonight you don’t question him. Instead you let him lead you, just the way your father always would. He had taught you everything you knew, everything you thought to be true and right. Yet it feels natural following Taehyun, despite the books and your father’s preaching, this doesn’t feel sinister. 

The city is quiet, asleep — resting peacefully, far too peaceful when compared to what father’s books had told you. There were no blood baths here, no screams of agony, only the stillness of night and the soft flicker of the lights above. 

Something runs out in front of you, a small shadow moving quickly across the street. It makes you flinch, a noise of surprise slipping past your lips as you cling to Taehyun a little tighter. He laughs, that same laugh that had made your chest flutter. “It’s just a rat”, he muses, eyes following the little creature as it disappears behind a dumpster. 

“Oh…” You hum, awkwardly detaching yourself from his arm as you send him a sheepish smile, “I didn't know they were actually real.” At that he frowns, a hint of confusion crossing his features as he stops in his tracks, “You didn’t think rats existed?” He questions whilst eyeing you with disbelief. 

You shrug, lips pursed into a pout. “I had never seen one before…” 

He shakes his head, hand still laced with yours as he tugs you forward. “You really are something”, he murmurs under his breath. It was clear that his words weren’t meant to be taken seriously, but you did anyway. What was so baffling about that? Rats were dirty, filthy things. Associating with them would not reflect well in your father’s eyes. But again, you refrain from questioning him, allowing yourself to be pulled along as you dwell deeper into the city. 

The large houses are nothing like your own estate. These are tall, windows stacked on top of another, counting at least four times the floors you had. “Is this one man’s house?” You wonder as you point to a particularly large building. Taehyun shakes his head, and without sparing the place a second glance he says: “No, at least fifty men live there.” 

“Fifty? But how can they all fit?” You ask, giving the tall house a skeptical one over. Your home only fits three people. It was unimaginable to have any more in such a compromised space. If Taehyun was annoyed by your questions he didn’t let on to it as he kept walking, lazily swinging your hands back and forth — the movement was casual at its core, but also unrefined, something your father would reprimand you for doing. 

“You have to make do with space”, he finally says after a moment's thinking. You didn’t know what that meant, but your guess was that it was each man for himself. The idea seemed intriguing, but all the more depressing. 

From there a silence falls over the two of you as you descend down the vacant streets. Silently you were thankful for the late hour. The city in itself was a terrifying prospect, but the thought of running into more non-believers, it was one even worse. 

So you walk, hand in hand, the sounds of your steps echoing around you — filling the comfortable quietness. You pass broken street lights, cracked parts of the pavement and a multitude of overflowing trashcans where birds gathered to search for food. Taehyun’s palm feels warm against your own as he guides you with ease, like he knows the town as well as the back of his own hand. He answers your questions with gentle hums and soft nods, never bringing up the topic that was on both of your minds; your father. 

For a while you manage to forget about the dream you had had. You realize that the ground has yet to open up and swallow you whole — your bare feet remain steady on the concrete beneath. The clouds seem to hold their breath, the stars above sparkling like they would on any other night. This place is far from the paintings on your bedroom walls, there are no long beaches here, no snowy mountains or large rivers whose stream flows as steadily as the wind. But you don’t mind, for tonight this is enough. 

Taehyun wasn’t the cruel non-believer your father had told you he would be. He wasn’t like you, far from it. His clothes were torn and his hair unwashed — he was dirty, but he wasn’t an animal. Because animals didn’t treat you like you were human. And Taehyun did. 

You halt when passing by a shopping window as your eyes become glued to the glass. It was dark inside the store, but the street light above illuminates the mannequins, all dressed in long flowy dresses with different floral patterns. Your gaze lingers on one with a green dress, the dark flowers painted on with precision, each one blooming on the fabric.

“Do you like it?” Taehyun asks, he stands beside you, so close that your shoulders brush against one another. You nod, not taking your eyes off of the mannequin, “I do.” 

Father would never allow you to wear dresses like that. Your skirts reached just below your knees, the shirts you wore had to be buttoned all the way — ironed to perfection in order to stay in place. A dress like that… One that moved in the wind, drew attention towards itself… It was most improper. You should find it repulsive, but all you can do is sigh as you stand by the window, imagining what it would look like on you instead of the lifeless doll. 

Catching a glimpse of Taehyun in the reflection, you regard him for a moment. He’s not looking at the mannequin, instead his gaze is fixed on you. It had become almost normal to feel his eyes resting on your frame whenever you weren’t watching; much so that you had almost forgotten about the darkness that surrounded him. 

From here, through the dirty glass of the store’s large window, as you stand side by side. He doesn’t look much different from you. Not the way you had imagined a non-believer to at least. You squeeze his hand a little harder, as if to make sure that this was actually real. He squeezes your hand back and you catch the small tug of his lips through the corner of your eye. 

“People wear this?” You ask, still regarding the green floral dress. Taehyun hums in acknowledgement. “Some do”, he shrugs, “They’re expensive, not everyone can afford them.” 

Money. Your father had taught you the importance of that. Those who were irresponsible with it would, too, fall ill when doomsday rose. Splurging it on things unnecessary was a waste of something so sacred. This dress — it was sinful, he would not allow you to purchase it. “Can you afford it?” You finally tear your gaze from the mannequin as you glance over at Taehyun. 

He hesitates for a moment, eyes darting toward the window before returning to you. “No”, he says. You can only nod. How one obtained money was still a mystery to you. Father said only those deserving of it could access it. Only the ones meant for it. Maybe Taehyun wasn’t. 

With one last longing glance toward the dress you continue walking, and this time you’re tugging him along as you venture down the street. 

There was no destination, only aimless wandering. Purposeless. Something your father would have hated. But he wasn’t here tonight. In fact this was the first time in forever where you had been in his absence. It felt wrong, but not like sin — no, it felt freeing. To be free without a purpose in life was not something you wanted to be punished for, even though you knew you would be. 

Taehyun hasn’t said anything for a long while. His hand in yours and the sounds of your joint footsteps are the only indication he is still there. You don’t wish for him to speak — but you don’t wish his silence either. It was confusing, leaving you questioning yourself as your feet pulled you forward. 

You don’t stop by any of the other windows, and you keep your gaze ahead — avoiding any temptation that might rise if you pause to let your eyes linger for too long. It would just be another reminder of what you couldn’t have; what you shouldn’t have. 

When you reach a street crossing you stop, eyes focused on nothing in particular. Taehyun halts beside you, but he doesn’t question you, and you didn't question him either. During your second meeting you had told him that you knew exactly what his kind was. You had read about them your entire life after all. But that was a lie. You know nothing about Taehyun — only that the darkness around him was different from the darkness in your father’s books. 

Exhaling softly, you watch as the condensation of your breath as it carries out into the air before diminishing into nothing. You turn toward him, meeting his gaze that holds at least a thousand silent questions for you — but you have one of your own. “I want to see where you live.” Your voice is a lot steadier than you had anticipated, but the inquiry still hangs heavy in the air for you can clearly see the way Taehyun’s shoulders tense, his hand tightening its grip on yours for a second too long. 

It was something that had been on your mind for a while. His home. You longed to see it, the house of a non-believer. Was it messy? A reflection of himself? Or maybe it looked just like your own, tidied to perfection — all in preparation for the day that was to come; the day when the world was going to end. 

Taehyun doesn't answer you, his lips pressed into a thin line and his jaw clenched to the point where it might have even pained him. “No.” The finalisation in his tone is evident, like he was set on not speaking further about the subject. 

“Why not?” You cannot mask the disappointment as your brows draw together in a frown. He had nothing to hide — you already knew that he was a non-believer, a sinner. But he seems firm in his decision and you can barely get another word at as he continues walking, this time he doesn’t wait for you as he forcefully pulls you along. 

Stumbling after him, the questions all come pouring out of you in an inconsistent manner. “Is it far? Will we not make it back in time? Perhaps we can go tomorrow night?” No answer. Taehyun is no longer looking at you, his eyes set on the road ahead as he steers you through the sleeping city, his steps hurried, like he had somewhere to be. 

“Forget it”, he simply says. 

“But why?” 

He comes to an abrupt halt, spinning around on the spot — his face inches from yours, teeth bared as he snarls, “Because I said so, alright?” 

You flinch, blinking hastily as your mouth opens and closes. Taehyun had never snapped at you like that — had never raised his voice, even when you were lashing out on him. You had never seen him like this, so filled with anger. It scared you; more than your father ever had — and that was terrifying. 

His chest is heaving, ragged breaths slipping past his chapped lips. He waits for you to speak, possibly cry, you could already feel the tears that prickled in the corners of your eyes. You had done something wrong, misstepped somehow and you didn’t know how to fix it. “I just…” The words are lodged in your throat, your voice on the verge of cracking, “I just don’t understand…” 

Taehyun scoffs, his hand letting go of yours as he runs his fingers through his dirty hair. He averts his gaze, refusing to even look at you. It hurt more than it should have, more than you should allow it to. You reach for him, hesitating when he pulls back. “I’m sorry.” You mean it. “I shouldn’t have—” 

“I don’t have a home.” 

He blurts it out, like he was dying to just get it off his chest and be over with. The statement feels as though a brick had been slammed onto your face. What did he mean by that? How could he not have a home? Where did he sleep at night, where did he eat — what was going to happen to him on doomsday? Non-believers were not like you, that wasn’t news. But… This, this was. 

He’s not meeting your eyes. There’s an almost unnoticeable tremble to his hands as he keeps them by his sides, balled up into fists; knuckles white. You regard his tense face, the look he wears is shameful, like it took everything to admit what he just had. Father would tell you that this was what his kind deserved, an animal has no place in a house — that he should be thankful if even the streets accepted him. 

You realized then why he had so easily come and gone. Why he’d been able to slip back into the shadows like they meant nothing; like they didn’t frighten him in the slightest. He didn’t know his way around the city just because he could — he had to. This was his home, filthy and crawling with rats. He lived like an animal, but he wasn’t one. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you reach for his hand; soft fingers silently brushing over the rough surface of his. He doesn’t uncurl his fist, but you wrap both hands around him anyway; holding tight. You did not think Taehyun was undeserving of a home. The idea of him sleeping somewhere besides a warm bed at night, it would have made your father gleam with contempt, yet you can only find yourself sympathising with him. 

He’s still not looking at you, which feels weird considering he always would. You run your fingers across his knuckles, not caring for how grimy and dirty they were; not when you knew the reason behind it. “Are you cold at night?” He must be, the longer you remain rooted in place, the more biting the chill against your bare feet becomes. You could only imagine what a whole night outside must feel like. 

“Sometimes”, he mutters. Glancing up, you find him watching the flickering street lights like they intrigued him to no end. You knew that they didn’t, that he was just looking for anything that would put distance between the two of you. That distance feels even colder than the night ever could. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You were — and just for tonight, you did not feel guilty for your sorrows to a man so despicable by your father’s standards. 

Taehyun’s fist uncurls under your fingers, his hand relaxing into yours. His gaze returns to you, heavy with something you can’t quite place. “I don’t need your condolences”, he gruffly says, though you can still pick apart the gratitude between the lines. You smile, “I know.” 

After that you walk home. This time around the silence is no longer filled with unspoken questions and intrigue — only a sense of knowing, even if it lacked the understanding. There was so much you had yet to wrap your head around, so many things that did not make any sense in your scrambled mind. Normally you would have drowned yourself in your father’s books, repeating the words over and over until you finally grasped their meaning. Tonight you allow yourself to not understand, to live with the knowing and accept everything that came with it. 

The sky has turned from a pitch black to a dark blue by the time you arrive back at the familiar neighbourhood. You know the way home from here, but you still let Taehyun lead you down the street, his steps soft against the asphalt. He doesn’t take you to the back of the house, where you had originally descended from. Instead he steers you toward the living room window, the one he had fled through on your first encounter. Father never locked the windows downstairs — you couldn’t quite understand why, but as with a lot of things tonight; you didn’t question it. 

Taehyun lets go of your hand to quietly push the glass open. The precision of his every move was fascinating to watch, and you do so with great curiosity. You only freeze when you feel his hands on your waist, the touch scorching hot in the cold night. “Trust me”, he says with the small twitch of his lip. You do. 

He hoists you up, effortlessly propping you up on the windowsill whilst he remains outside. The two of you remain silent, listening to the sound of each other's soft breaths. You know that this moment was coming to an end, that soon he would disappear back into the shadows; returning to a mere concept in your head as the sun rises. 

“Will you come see me again?” 

You had never asked him that before. Taehyun pauses, hands resting on the windowsill either side of you. His eyes flicker with something you thought to be hope, your question had surprised him just as much as it had you. “Do you want me to?” He wonders, voice no louder than a whisper. 

“Yes.” 

His lips stretch into a grin, one that makes him look much younger than he probably is. You find yourself smiling too; and you resist the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, in any way you could. — He nods, “Then I will.” 

It felt good, knowing that he was returning — better than it should. But tonight there was no room for guilt. For a moment it looks as though he’s about to say something else, his breath caught in his throat and his dark eyes searching yours. But then he suddenly lets go of the window, pushing himself back before giving you one last glance. He disappears into the shadows after that, leaving you to watch over his retreating figure. 

⸝⸝

Father knew. You didn’t know how or when he’d found out; but he knew. It was palpable in the way his stern gaze would linger on you whenever you entered the room. He would gauge your every move, the way you clutched the rag between your fingers, gently wiping the china down until it sparkled bright enough to blind. He never addressed you, his silence weighed heavy on your shoulders. 

You wondered if he knew that you knew. Why wasn't he saying anything? Surely he could feel the darkness that emitted from you, black smoke seeping through the put together act you tried so hard to maintain — you were bound to crack under his watchful eyes. Even when it had become routine to walk on eggshells around him, it somehow felt different this time. Usually you would be afraid of slipping up, making a mistake that would earn you his harsh hand against your cheek. This time the mistake had already been made, now he was waiting for an opportunity to pounce. 

Mother doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she refrains from speaking on it. Just the way she always would. Locking herself in their room when your father disciplined you. She was a coward, but you could not fault her. Your father was a terrifying man. But you did not resent him, after all; he was trying to protect you. It was thanks to your father that you had managed to keep the evil at bay. No darkness lingered around his shadow, he was pure — and he would make you pure as well, one way or the other. 

So it is no surprise when he asks you to stay after dinner that night. The food on your plate had since long gone cold, for you had been unable to stomach more than a bite or two. Neither mother or father questioned it. — You sit perfectly still in your seat, hands clasped over your lap as you keep your gaze down. The sound of porcelain clinking together as your mother clears the table is all that can be heard. Your father waits patiently for her departure. 

It seems to drag on forever, but soon enough her footsteps echo down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving you and father be. He sits quietly for a while, fingers toying with the white tablecloth before he smooths it out again. “You look tired”, he drawls and your gaze flickers up to meet his as you bring a hand to your face. The bags under your eyes had surely grown over the past nights — there was little you could do to cover them. 

“Have you not been sleeping well?” He asks, brows furrowing like he was trying to rip the truth from your throat; even though he already had it in his palm. You swallow, there was no point in denying it. You had been sleeping poorly. Whenever Taehyun was not around, you would spend your time thinking about him. Sometimes you would draw his face from memory, imagining what he was doing at that very moment as you did. Though you would always tear the paper when you were done, letting it burn over a lit candle. 

You slowly nod, “I have been doing my readings at night time, father.” It was a lie, the first you had ever told him. It makes your chest rip with guilt, and you pray he cannot catch the slight tremble to your bottom lip. You hoped your answer would please him, you were devoting yourself to everything that was him; to what was important. The sleepless nights were not wasted, simply they were filled with purpose. 

But you were wrong. You can hear his anger before you can feel it, the crackling of his chair as he shifts toward you, the sound of his open palm colliding with your cheek. It stings at first, like fire on ice, an imaginary wound slicing across your face. The force of his harsh slap makes your head jerk, but you don’t pull away. Instead you bite your tongue, pushing back the involuntary tears that prickle in your eyes. 

You would like to think that he was doing this out of goodwill. He was reprimanding you for being a liar; for crossing the lines he’d drawn all those years ago. Father was getting you on the right track again, just like he always would. 

“Foolish girl”, he mutters under his breath, the words laced with venom. You did not think you were a fool. But father was always right — to go against him… The thought makes you shudder as you recall the night you had spent with Taehyun, outside, away from home; just the way father had forbidden you do. Back then you hadn’t felt guilt, not the way you did now. But his eyes are impossible to escape, and you felt naked before him — all your sins exposed for him to mock. 

He rises to his feet, the sound of his chair scraping against the shiny floors ringing in your ears. “You think you can deceive me?” He barks, his voice loud and commanding, the same one he would use when he spoke of the non-believers to your community. You shake your head ‘no’ but you don’t dare utter a single word as you keep your gaze down. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with bruising force. You suppress a wince. 

It was impossible to say what had made him snap, perhaps it had been the stillness of the evening, your unbearing silence or your mother’s confused glances. It doesn’t matter, not anymore, not when father was looking down on you like the world had made him a disgrace. “You are weak”, he says and you know he is right. The grip on your wrist tightens to a point that makes you want to cry out, then he lets go. 

You are weak. Tempted by your own curiosity you had let a non-believer close, inside your home; the one your father worked so hard to protect. You had followed darkness through your window, out into the world you had no place in. You had tainted yourself with evil, and you had done so knowingly. There was no excuse, no salvation — your fate had been sealed the moment you had taken Taehyun’s hand, the moment you had left your father behind for another man. 

The sound of his retreating footsteps is all you hear and for a long while you linger by the table. Tears roll down your cheeks, they’re silent, like they’re ashamed to even be there. The guilt is like an animal gnawing away at your bones, biting your flesh and licking your blood as it consumes you whole. You don’t know if it will ever go away. 

The pads of your fingertips are soft against your cheek, it’s still warm, burning with your father’s touch. Usually the guilt would go away after he had laid his hand on you, not today. Your punishment had been delivered but the sin was irreversible. No redemption, no salvation. Just like his books had said. 

⸝⸝

When you finally return to your room, the sun has already set. You pray Taehyun won’t come see you tonight, even when you had asked him to. There was no room for him in your mind, only the self loathing and hatred. 

You let the door fall shut behind you, gaze falling on your desk in search of the dark book you thought could salvage you. The desire to read over the lines once more was mounting with each ragged breath you took. But to your horror you find it missing, the desk is empty with no sign of it ever being there in the first place. Quickly you rush to your bookshelf, scanning the existing ones there — but you turn up empty handed. 

Father must have taken it. No one else would have, would they? But why? Did he not want you to learn, to understand your mistakes? It was then it dawned upon you — if father had taken the book it could only mean one thing. He truly deemed you to be unworthy of salvation. His discipline and his preaching had reached its end; he would no longer be fending off the darkness for you, but let you bask in it instead. 

Falling to your knees, you can’t contain the sob that escapes your lips. The prophecy of your dream had come true after all. Your father’s look of disgust as he stood by the ledge of your grave, it had all been real. You had been warned and yet you had defied every single sign that tried to lead you back to safety — no, you had followed the darkness, allowing yourself to put the guilt aside, to tarnish a life of devotion to a man who had never even learned said word’s meaning. 

This was all your fault — and the worst part was that you did not feel any resentment toward Taehyun. No matter how hard you tried, your heart could never take back what it had given him. “His punishment  shall be from the face of his grave. He will watch as the world reclaims his impure soul; and he will do so in agony.” You mumble the words out, hands trembling as you brace them against the floor. This was your agony, your own torment. The grave was already dug, you had done it yourself; all that was left was for you to lie in it — to let the earth reclaim your impure soul. 

VIII

The book is heavy in Taehyun’s hands. He’s been staring at its blank cover for at least fifteen minutes now, unable to bring himself to open it. At first he’d felt bad, stealing from you whilst also deliberately asking you to ‘trust him’ — but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. What was it that existed between these pages that seemed to hold you prison? Taehyun wasn’t so sure he wanted to find out. 

Tonight the dark alleyway he calls home is quiet, the crying children have fallen asleep on their dirty mattresses, hugging their mothers tightly. The drunks were all passed out and the rest opted for a silent and still night. That left Taehyun undisturbed as he leans against the cold brick wall, eyes dragging across the book he’d snatched from your table. 

With one final sigh he wills himself to turn the first page. The bindings are, as he presumed, handmade. He wonders if it’s your father’s work — he wouldn’t put it past the old man, for he already seemed to control every aspect of your life. His eyes skim the first page, it wasn’t a published book, that much he could tell. It opens up strong, ominous even; like a warning. 

“Those undeserving shall not bestow their filthy hands on this book.”  

The first line makes him frown, confusion painting his face as he turns the page. He finds no pictures as he begins to flip through it; only paragraphs upon paragraphs of texts. They’re split into what he presumes to be chapters, divided by a single blank page and a new subtitle. He reads the first one: “A Non-believer.” Taehyun tries the words on his tongue, they’re familiar — something he’d called you before, he recalls the evening as if it had been yesterday; your horrified expression, the way you had demanded he leave. Curiosity now piqued, he begins reading. 

“The man of no belief is a man lacking discipline. He indulges in pleasure, seeks it out. He justifies his faults in favor of his greed. The non-believer does not know any other way of life, nor does he care for what shall happen to his soul when the day of doom rises upon us all. He is infected, cursed with a sin irreversible.” 

He pauses, finger lingering by the end of the paragraph. “The day of doom…” He murmurs to himself. Taehyun did not know what that meant, but as he continues to flip through the pages he finds that it's a recurring phrase. Doomsday. Something that, according to this book, had yet to happen, and when it did; these people were its first target. He scoffs at the ridicule of it all, deciding to just give it a rest and quietly return the book when suddenly, his eyes catch on a phrase. 

“Animal.” 

A flicker of recognition flashes in his mind, gaze following the accompanying sentence. “The non-believer is no different from an animal. Dirty and foul like the rats that crowd their streets, violent and angered like a rabid dog, uncaring and unforgiving like the bite of a poisonous snake. They deserve no place amongst us — treat them accordingly.”  Taehyhun could have sworn he’s heard you utter that word under your breath. He can still hear your trembling voice, see your frightened eyes. 

By now he’s far too engrossed in the book to ever put it down. Instead he navigates the different subtitles. “The non-believer. His sins. Punishment. Repel it. The way to salvation”, and lastly, “The man who treated the non-believer as man.” His eyes linger for a moment longer on that one, a spark of something he can’t quite explain igniting somewhere in his chest. His fingers filter through the pages, quickly finding the chapter. 

“A man who associates himself with a sinner, will tarnish his own purity. The man who confides in an animal like that will, too, suffer the same fate a non-believer would. He becomes the animal he despises by letting their darkness taint him, and is punished the same.” 

The paragraph breaks before continuing: 

“To defy this book's very essence is a crime just as severe as that of the non-believer’s. By letting himself close to the filth of a non-believer, the devoted man will lose himself along the way. He will become a shell of what he once was; and he will join the non-believer on doomsday as they both face the punishment that awaits them. Joined by the hand, his devotion and faith will not save him from the non-believer’s darkness. It swallows him before he is even aware he is drowning.” 

Taehyun slams the book shut, throat tight as he takes an unsteady breath. Slowly the clouds on the sky above him parts, and he realizes the true meaning of what he had just read. He understands now why you had become hysterical when he had mentioned your lack of faith. For you believed, you devoted yourself with all your soul — but there was no God in your heart, only the tainted words of your father. 

The paper rips under his fingers as Taehyun tears the pages, one by one. Sentences he’d just read flash before his eyes, the phrases ringing in his ears — but he is set on destroying them all. The book’s handmade bindings breaking under his rough treatment, something you held so sacred coming apart by the touch of his hand. Taehyun doesn’t feel any remorse for destroying it, and once there are no pages left to tear, he stands on shaky legs. 

He approaches the fire set up by a now heap of passed out drunks. Stepping over their unconscious bodies, Taehyun crouches before the flames. Without thinking twice he begins tossing the crumbled papers into the fire, watching as the flames engulf them. The embers sizzle under the disruption, and the walls around him glow under the orange light, making his dark shadow appear multiple times its size on the bricks. 

Taehyun watches as the book burns before him, his eyes lingering on the simple “Animal” as the fire slowly eats away at the word. His face twists into a scowl, hands clenching into fists as he glares at the phrase: “They deserve no place amongst us — treat them accordingly.” Him? An animal? Anger boils under his skin, clawing its way from his chest, demanding to be released, but he forces it down again. 

Soon there’s nothing left of the book, the flames swallowing it without hesitation; like it had never meant anything in the first place. Taehyun however, knows that that’s the furthest thing from the truth. 

IX 

The rain is ruthless as it bats against your bedroom window. It pounds against the glass, demanding it be let in, but you ignore it. Back pressed against the wall, you sit with your knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around your legs as you try to make yourself as small as possible. If you could disappear, you would do so right now; silently you pray for the ground to open up and swallow you whole — to have the earth reclaim your soul, even if it would do so with force. 

Your wrist throbs, cheek still burning after your father’s hand on your skin. It no longer hurt, but the shame cut deep into your flesh — tearing it apart and taking root there. You tried to wash it off, to rid yourself of the everlasting feeling of guilt, but no matter how hard you scrubbed it wouldn’t go away. And when you had regarded your reflection in the mirror, all you could see was the sin written across your face. 

Hues of purple and blue adorn your wrist like a bracelet, except this one wasn’t meant to be worn with pride. You remember his harsh grip on you, the way he had wordlessly condemned you for your faults. Father was right. There was no salvation for someone like you — you should have known better, you should have never gotten tangled up in the mess that was Taehyun. 

But even as you sit alone in your dark room, you can’t help but gaze toward the window. It was particularly cold on this night, the rain merciless as it poured from the sky. Was he cold? Wet? Did the weather bother him — had he found shelter somewhere? The lump in your throat grows in tune with the size of your heart. It aches for him, even when you know it shouldn’t. If father could hear its beating, he would tear it out with his own hands. 

The hours passed in a blur, time was now a concept, something you could no longer grasp. Instead you let it pass you by, what was the point in trying to keep track anymore? There was nothing left for you anyway. 

When the house has been silent for a good while, your thoughts finally seem to quiet down. The rain sings to you like a lullaby, urging for you to forget — to let your body go limp against the mattress and just fall into a slumber you hopefully would never rise from. But before you can do any of that, a tap to your window pulls you from your daze. It’s louder than the harsh raindrops that bats against the glass, fervent and familiar. 

You don’t have to turn your head and look to know it was him. By now you were sure you could make even his shadow out in an ocean of darkness. So without thinking, you rise to your feet — your mind doesn’t even try to stop you anymore, it's tired of fighting against your heart; tired of losing every single time. 

Without meeting his dark gaze you reach for the window hatch, undoing it with practiced ease as you open yourself up to him just like you had so many times before. The rain is louder now, the hurling winds striking you across your face — just like your father had. This doesn’t hurt half as bad. 

You step aside, allowing Taehyun to take shelter from the harsh conditions outside as he soundlessly slips inside your room. After that you seal the window shut behind him, leaving the storm to rage outside as you confront the one within you. He’s wet, soaked from head to toe, dark hair sticking to his forehead and his torn clothes dripping. You should mind the mess, your home was sacred and your father would never let as much as a speck of dust accumulate in any of the corners. But you don’t care — not anymore. You were already cursed, sentenced to a fate worse than death. So what was the point in caring if no one else did? 

It’s not until Taehyun’s cold fingers slide under your chin that you finally meet his gaze. He’s tilted your head up, eyes boring into your own as the brows on his forehead furrow. “I  came”, he simply says, like it was the easiest thing in the world, “Just like you asked me to.” You had asked him to come, your heart had won over your mind countless times and that night had been no different. Deep in your chest you craved his presence, even when your head told you it was dangerous. 

“I know.” Your voice is hoarse from all your crying, your eyes dry from shedding all their tears. There was no emotion left, nothing but a shell of endless shame. You’re certain he can see it on your face — the way you can’t keep your bottom lip from trembling or the way your jaw clenches under his gentle touch. Even then, he remains silent; like the simple question would break the illusion, that it would make everything real. 

“Are you okay?” Is what he wants to say, you’re almost sure. But Taehyun already knows the answer, he would be a fool not to. You wonder if he blames himself — why should he? This was your fault, it had been all along, since your very first encounter. The wrongdoing had been yours since the beginning and it would continue that way until the end. 

You shudder when his hand drops from your face, body tensing as his fingers slide down your arm. The feel of his skin on yours is strangely warm against your otherwise numb body — but it doesn’t burn like it usually would. It no longer feels like sin; only a strange sense of acceptance, acceptance that this was all that was left for you now. 

The bruises on your wrist don't hurt under the pads of his fingertips but the look on Taehyun’s face makes your heart clench. Blue, purple and yellow bloom on your skin like flowers in spring, except they’re not nearly as beautiful. Your father’s touch remains engraved on you, a reminder of who you had become — of what you had made yourself. An animal. 

“He did this.” Taehyun’s solemn voice holds no question and your breath hitches at the comment. How did he know? You open your mouth to object, to tell him that you had just gotten into a clumsy accident. But that would only be another lie spilling from your poisoned lips — another betrayal to yourself; you don’t know how many more you can take. 

You don’t reply. There are no words that could ever come close to describing the despair in your soul; condemned to the place you had done everything to avoid your entire life. It was all gone now, and there was nothing you could do to reverse it. Now your only reprieve was the darkness you had tried to repel, it was the only thing who still saw you for what you were, for what you had always been. 

Taehyun lifts your arm, you don’t question him — you had stopped doing that a long time ago. The questions would only lead to more curiosity and more curiosity would lead to… You freeze when his lips meet the bruised skin of your wrist. Taehyun isn’t looking at you, his eyes closed, wet lashes meeting the high of his cheeks as he presses a tender kiss to the source of your shame. Part of you wants to yank yourself free, to rip yourself from his grasp and push him back through the window he’d come from. He should not treat something as sinful as the mark of your father like that… Like he… 

You swallow, hand trembling when his fingers laces with yours. Taehyun’s gaze flickers up to meet yours; it's filled with an unspoken apology, one you didn’t deserve. Lips still brushing against your skin, his hot breath fanning across your wrist, he asks: “Does it hurt?” 

What an utterly stupid question. Of course it didn’t hurt — even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. This was your punishment, your truth. That was something you would have to live with, forever. You shake your head, telling him that no, it didn’t. But the frown on his face only deepens. “No”, he murmurs, the hand still laced with yours moving to your chest, knuckles brushing against the rapid beating of your heart, “Does it hurt?” 

Your stomach twists into knots. Yes, no — I don’t know? Maybe? I don’t want it to. Make it go away. Please. The words get caught in your throat, knowing that if you attempt to speak now you might regret it in the next second. But what matter is the regret if you had already sinned past the point of salvation. Maybe the guilt and shame was all you had left, the only piece of yourself that you could fully cling on to before you let the darkness take you completely. 

“It won’t stop”, you admit in a shaky whisper. It was the only truth you knew how to convey, the only thing real in your own pitiful wallowing. Your heart had been aching your whole life, that had never gone away. It had ached for something it had never known. The ocean, the treetops, the sun that set over the horizon and the birds that roamed the skies. Your heart had been longing for something for as long as it had been beating; but you had never known what. 

Taehyun doesn’t say anything for a long while. His silence you were accustomed to, but it feels different tonight. You don’t realize how close he is. Not until his warm breath meets yours, the tip of his nose nudging your own. “I can’t make it stop”, he says in a hoarse whisper and you desperately want to believe him. In fact you’re so desperate to feel anything but your own self pity and shame that you don’t stop him, even when he leans close, too close. 

Closer than anyone ever had. 

His kiss is slow — ghost like, an idea of what could be, rather than what actually is. You had never kissed anyone before, you had not a single clue what a kiss was supposed to even feel like. Probably not like this. It doesn’t matter. Taehyun is all you have now — his sin is your salvation, you have come to realize that. 

Your hands go for his shoulders, short nails sinking into their apex as you pull yourself closer. A small noise rips from the back of your throat as you attempt to kiss him back, you don’t know what the noise means. It doesn’t matter. Taehyun lets you kiss him, he doesn’t care for how uncoordinated your lips move against his, how jagged your breaths are or the pitiful sounds you make. His hands are familiar but not the same when they find your hips, he holds on to you like you’re real, like you mean something. — Do you really? 

His footsteps and yours drum against the floorboards, feet bumping into one another as he aims for your bed. The back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, your eyes shooting open when you fall backward. Enveloped by the soft and clean sheets, your bodies become a tangled, joint mess amongst the duvet. Taehyun is wet, cold, dirty — the way your father would repel, the way you should too. Yet all you want is to feel him closer. 

Taehyun gasps against your lips and only when he pulls back for a brief moment do you realize that your lungs are aching for air. Your chest heaves with each breath you take, hands trembling when they slide down his arms — fingers trying to tear their way through his already torn clothes. 

Propped on his elbows, Taehyun’s face hovers inches from your own. He’s looking at you, with the same dark and cunning eyes he always used. There’s something familiar about them, something sinister that comforts you when it shouldn’t. You watch as they flutter when your fingers skim across his chest, your own eyes widening at the revelation. 

“We shouldn’t.” Taehyun’s voice is a low drawl of his tongue, one that leaves no room for questions. You know what he’s implying. Sex is not a sin, father says so. It is purposeful. To bring life. That is its purpose, you know as much. But not all sex has purpose — too much, or the  wrong kind, that is sin. And sex with a non-believer, with someone like Taehyun; that was the gravest of sins. 

You shake your head, “We need to.” 

He looks confused, dark brows pulled into a frown as he regards you. There is no way for you to explain it, this feeling in your chest; the one that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you prayed. You know now that it will never go away, the shame and the guilt is a part of you now. Unless… Unless something even darker can replace it. Taehyun is that darkness. This needs to happen, no matter the consequences. 

You watch as he shifts above you, uncertainty written across his face. His jaw is clenched tightly, lips drawn into a thin line as he meets your pleading expression. “You said you could make it stop”, you practically sob — just barely remembering to keep your trembling voice down. “Make it stop, please.” Your fingers dig into his arms with a force that probably pained him. Yet Taehyun’s face remains perfectly unreadable, except for the subtle twitch of his brow. 

“You have to make it stop.” 

The words hang heavy in the shivering cold air — the storm outside raging against your windows, making the glass tremble under its force. For a long while he doesn’t say anything, remaining perfectly still and quiet as he regards you with a look you can’t decipher. There was something different about him tonight, a different kind of pain lingering within his dark eyes. For a second you thought yourself to catch something flickering in the depths of his irises. Recognition. Like he knew something, something he shouldn’t. 

But before you have time to question it, his fingers brush along your shoulder. They hook around the strap of your nightgown, testing its elastic slowly. His gaze is fixed on his own movement, watching intently when he pushes the thin piece down your arm. He does the same to the other strap. Slow. Methodical. “You don’t know what you’re asking”, he says but makes no move to stop as he instead peels your thin nightgown down your chest. 

You shudder as the cool air washes over your skin just the way you imagine waves caress the shore on windy mornings. Part of you wants to object, tell him that you knew everything you needed to and more. Another part of you knows that’s a lie. And lies you were sick of. — “It doesn’t matter”, you choke out, hands shaking as they claw at his shirt, demanding it off. Taehyun obliges with an almost breathless sigh. 

Never before had you seen another man’s naked body. Your father had always deemed privacy to be part of etiquette. Only when you were young had you caught a glimpse of your mother in the mirror. But even she had quickly shied away and urged you out of the bathroom. The body was a sacred place. Taehyun’s is filled with darkness. So is yours. That made you similar, you think. 

His skin is damp, the remnants of the rain outside laying as evidence across his bare chest. The muscles rippling across his stomach tense under your reverent touch, a shallow exhale passing his chapped lips as your nails trace every crevice and contour. Deep in your bones you knew that this was wrong, that there was no return from the path you were descending. But your soul’s fate was already sealed off, so why should it matter? 

Your attention flickers to his face as you try and gauge his reaction, though you find Taehyun’s dark eyes glued to your chest. It is then you realize that there was nothing covering you from him. The one thing your father had urged you to treasure; so easily given away to nothing more than a mere thief. Your nipples harden, but whether that was from the chilly air or Taehyun’s hot stare, you did not know. It feels weird. Not bad. Just weird. Foreign. 

He doesn’t touch you. You wish he would. Does he not want you? Perhaps he doesn’t find you beautiful. The possibility makes you shudder. Instead you reach for his hand, fingers sliding along his just like they had before. You guide him slowly, letting his knuckles brush against your stomach, then your ribs. His palm is rough against your smooth skin when it settles against your breast and you exhale a shaky breath. 

No one has ever touched you like this before — so intimately. It was sacred. Taehyun’s hand against yours doesn’t feel wrong, it doesn’t feel dark nor tainted; but right. You let go, arm falling limply to your side as you watch the confusion on his face morph into something else; something dangerously close to desire. His thumb brushes against your nipple, pausing when he feels you shiver beneath him, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he continues. 

Your eyes flutter as his lips brush along your collarbone, the touch faint on your warm skin — so close yet so far away. He leaves soft almost unnoticeable kisses along your chest, each one more sure than the last. His hand squeezes around your breast, the subtle action making your back arch off the mattress as your head tips back. “More”, you plead, uncaring for the way your voice wavers on the last syllable. 

Taehyun’s mouth finds the edge of your jaw, his kisses are hotter now — almost feverish. “Don’t expect me to stop…” He rasps between pecks, hands leaving your chest as he pulls your nightgown past your legs, tossing it aside to be forgotten just like the rest of the room had been. You only shake your head, thighs parting as you invite him further; to a place where no one else had before ventured. 

Taehyun doesn’t bother to look, he feels you with his fingers — brushing over parts that make you feel euphoric. A silent moan rolls off your tongue, something so ungraceful and wrong but all you can feel is pleasure. He kisses you again, harder this time, not quite matching the slow and gentle caress of his fingers between your legs. It doesn't matter. You kiss him back in a frenzy, mouth parting to let him in just like your window had so many times. 

Your father hasn’t crossed your mind once. His harsh words no longer linger. For every kiss, every touch of Taehyun’s, his darkness covers the one your father had left. It’s a slow, almost tortuous process; but you would not succumb. Your fingers tangle in his dark and dirty hair, desperately tugging on the messy strands as you pull him impossibly close, closer than anyone had ever come. He would be the first. Your heart hopes he will be the only. 

“Make it stop.” You barely register the words as they leave your lips in a hushed whisper. But Taehyun does. He stills against you, kiss breaking apart suddenly as he leans back to look you in the eyes. You wonder if he can see the fear lingering within them, if this scares him just as much as it does you; if he wants this just as much as you. 

The sound of what you assume to be his zipper echoes through the darkness, and Taehyun’s mouth is back on yours. “I will.” 

It hurts at first. But it’s not the same kind of pain your father would give you, the one of punishment; the one of sin. This was different, for better or worse you did not know. Taehyun’s forehead is pressed against your own, sweat sliding down the side of his face. He pauses, hand on your waist as he keeps you still. “Are you okay? This usually hurts the first time.” 

You swallow as you nod. The burn was good, you had come to that conclusion. The kind that seared into your soul, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. You welcomed it. “Yes”, you breathe, arms wrapping around his neck as you attempt to move him closer, “I like it.” 

Taehyun doesn’t hesitate after that, his hips snapping against yours with force that makes you wince. The bedframe rattles against the wall, the paintings you had hung up, the ones you had painted on your own, move back and forth in tune with each thrust he gives. The pace he sets is brute and unforgiving, the one that leaves no room for the dark thoughts that had plagued your mind all night. 

“Kiss me again.” The demand slips out before you can think twice, your eyes wide when they meet his. Taehyun wordlessly complies, lips reconnecting with yours in a violent mess of teeth and tongue, the kind where you didn't know where one of you ended and the other started. You think you merged into one at some point, your shared darkness bleeding into a joint pool of nothingness, leaving your bodies untouched; even if just for tonight. 

For the first time for as long as you could remember you allowed yourself to be everything and nothing at all. This was the closest you had ever come to freedom — your body felt like it was floating, levitating off the mattress, taking you somewhere far away. Except Taehyun is with you, and you don’t mind, you want him there, as close as possible, never to let go. 

“Tell me if it’s too much– I can slow down–” He exhales against your lips, pulling back enough to let you catch your breath. But you only shake your head, trembling hands reaching for his face. The sharp and jagged edges of his jaw feel soft under your touch, nothing like the Taehyun you thought you knew. “More, I want more”, you manage to gasp, one of your legs weakly lifting to wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, closer. 

Taehyun groans, his head falling to your shoulder as he lets the kiss go on for what felt like forever. Time lost all concept when you were in his arms, and though you should feel scared, terrified even — you don’t. Taehyun is the darkness, the sin and the impurity your father has spent all his life warning you about. So why aren’t you screaming? Why does your body burn not from pain but pleasure? 

Perhaps your father had been wrong… Or had you been cursed all along? Doomed from the beginning. 

Your thoughts short circuit when one of Taehyun’s rough hands reaches between your joint bodies. His touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake, forcing your back to arch off the mattress as you writhe beneath him. His fingers brush against a spot, one that you had no idea would make you see the night sky so clearly. A gasp of surprise rips from your throat, lips stuttering against his when the knot that had been building in your stomach for so long disparates into an explosion of pleasure. 

Taehyun smiles against you, listening to the way you whine and gasp under him. “Do you feel good?” He murmurs, breath warm against the side of your face. The question isn’t mocking, but you know that it is purely rhetorical. Still, you fervently nod your head, hands pawing at his shoulders in a pitiful attempt to ground yourself. “Yes”, you exhale as you pull him in for another kiss, like you couldn't get enough. “Yes, more, please more.”

You can only moan in exasperated protest when Taehyun does the very opposite of what you’ve asked of him. He pulls away slowly, taking the burn and the heat between your legs with him, making you feel oddly empty. “Why?” You dumbfoundedly ask, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you try your hardest to prevent him from slipping further. Taehyun doesn’t answer right away, instead his lips brush against your tense jaw as he hums. 

“Like this”, he finally exhales, forehead resting against yours. Your breath hitches when he grabs ahold of your hand, guiding you just like you had him only moments prior. Your heart races in your chest when he lets you touch him — trusting you enough to let you… He makes the most wonderful noise when your fingers wrap around him, warm and alive in your palm, throbbing with desire for… for you. 

“Fuck.” The curse rolls off his lips without intent. Dark brows furrowed together, he bites his bottom lip. “H-ah, keep doing that…” He grunts, hips jerking forward into your waiting hand. Your eyes widen, pulse hammering loud in your ears as you readjust your hesitant grip on him. — “Like this?” You timidly wonder, searching his gaze but finding that he was far too lost to even look your way. 

“Uh-huh”, he groans, voice strained as he leans in to press open mouthed kisses along your naked collarbone. After a moment he stills, body going rigid above yours and you feel him twitch in your hand. Something warm, runny and sticky, it clings to your stomach, running down the back of your hand as you hear him moan into the crook of your neck. It’s… “Everything”, you quietly murmur, yet loud enough for Taehyun to lift his head and peer at you through hooded eyes. “What?” He rasps, the frown on his face has yet to ease up, even like this, with his face flushed and covered in sweat — he looked just like himself. 

Your fingers run through the mess on your stomach, bringing your shiny and sticky hand to your face. “This”, you hum as you flex your fingers out before you, just barely catching the way Taehyun groans beside you. “It’s everything…” You finally state. Though you weren’t sure exactly what that meant, it still felt right. It felt like everything. This, you and him, the way the guilt had washed away, leaving your bones hollow. 

Taehyun’s arm wraps across your waist, his touch warm and grounding in the darkness. “It stopped?” He wonders, thumb brushing against your naked hip. You sigh, chest rising and falling slowly. It did not hurt to breathe, the pain in your heart was not gone — far from it, but tonight it was nowhere to be found, chained somewhere far away where it couldn’t reach you. Turning your head to the side, you find Taehyun’s eyes in the dim light. 

“It stopped.” 

X

Fuck, Taehyun should have never done that. Dragging a tired hand across his face, he stifles a groan that begs to be freed from his throat. The air is cold, the silent and dark night pressing in close — something that would normally chill him to his bones, yet tonight he’s warm; burning even. There’s a fire staking through his chest, its flames burning big and bright. His entire body simmers with the aftermath of what had taken place in your house, in your room no less. He’d gone too far, crossed a line he should’ve stayed far away from. 

But for every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is you. The way your face scrunched up in pain when he took what no one else had dared claim before. He can still hear the soft and sinful moans that spilled from your lips as he touched you, as he felt you tremble beneath him. Your lips against his, soft hands on his naked chest, gazing up at him with eyes that saw him for something else — like he was worth something, as though he was meant to salvage rather than destroy. His cock throbs at the mere thought of you, a dangerous rush of desire washing over him with each step he takes. 

The fire, the desire and the longing, it didn’t make any of this any more right. “Fucking moron”, he spits to no one but himself. His foot kicks at an overflowing trash can, tipping it over as its contents bleed out onto the street. Taehyun had to force himself to leave your bed, and even then he lingered longer than he should have. You had fallen asleep easily, like nothing else mattered, he guessed you had been exhausted from whatever torment your sick father had put you through. His chest twists at the memory of the bruises layering your skin. The hues of purple he’d so carefully traced with the reverent touch of his fingers as you slept. The bruises you had done nothing to deserve. All because of him, he’s realized that now. 

Even then, when he knew himself to be the source of your misery, of your pain, had he been unable to tear himself from the comforts of the duvet that smelled like you. Not when you unconsciously clung to him, limp arm falling across his waist as your body curled up against his, something so soft and fragile seeking comfort in a being like him. But Taehyun had stayed, listening to the quiet sounds of your steady breaths. The near permanent frown of worry etched between your brows, nowhere to be seen as you peacefully slept, unaware of the danger that waited for you to come dawn. 

Then finally his muscleles obeyed him, forcing him to carefully slide out of bed. Tucking the blanket securely over you, breathing in your scent one last time. He had hesitated, but only for a moment before leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. Something to remember him by, even when he was gone in the morning. When the world turned darker than the night. 

Except, Taehyun did not leave right away. Standing in the middle of your room, he felt like the thief he had been on that first night. His torn and dirty clothes strangely out of place, his ungroomed hair and filthy shoes an intruder in your home. He glances toward the window, the night sky outside beckons him to return, but he doesn’t. Instead he heads for your door, opening it with precision, years worth of practice making him soundless as he slips out into the hallway. 

He’s unfamiliar with the layout of your house’s top floor, staying close to the walls, he moves stealthy and sure. There’s a particularly menacing door by the end of the hall, he knows what waits behind it, he can feel it — the evil that seeps through the cracks holding this sinister family together. Once he reaches it he doesn’t hesitate, grabs the doorknob right away, twists it, pushes the door open. 

It’s just as dark as the rest of your house, but darkness has never bothered Taehyun and his eyes immediately fall on the bed in the center of the room. There, the root of all damage rests. A blanket thrown over his tall figure, the flimsy fabric slipping just enough to reveal a pointy shoulder and a face buried in a soft pillow. But the sight of your father is unmistakable. Taehyun strays by the doorway just a moment longer, fingers curled so tightly around the door that it practically shook on its hinges. The book, the one he’d torn apart, flashes before his eyes, its crude words igniting a new and different kind of fire within him. “Animal. Undeserving of life. Impure. Sinner.” This man had labelled him as such. 

He moves closer, feet silent on the floor as he approaches the sleeping man. Hovering above him, close enough to where he can clearly make out the raspy breaths passing his lips, Taehyun scowls. Pathetic. That is exactly what the old man looks like. So ridiculously full of himself that he doesn’t even realize something far more sinister is standing on his doorstep, watching him slumber. Taehyun’s eyes flicker to the exposed juncture of his neck, such a fragile thing. Reaching a hand out, his fingers pause just above your father’s slightly wrinkled skin. 

The prospect of killing another man had never crossed Taehyun’s mind. But as he watches the man sleep, knowing what kind of a monster he was — what he had done to you… He could kill him. If he wanted to. If you wanted him to. Taehyun knows you won’t. You’re too loyal, a blind dog helplessly following its owner. Even after… The scowl on his face deepens, fingers inching closer, he almost thinks he can hear the faint pulse of the sleeping man. 

He jerks his hand back suddenly, hand curling into a fist as he takes an abrupt step back. Not tonight, not like this. There’s too much at stake. You. He can’t help but imagine your expression, the way your face would fall when you walked in and realized just what Taehyun had done… Even if it had been for you. With a frustrated groan he turns on his heel, slipping out of the bedroom just as quietly as he had come. 

And thus he’s walking down the vacant street. Ignoring the trash can he’d just kicked to the ground as he ventures past the closed stores. His hands are buried deep within his pockets, still trembling with resentment — hatred for a man whose existence he had been unaware of up until a few weeks ago. It shouldn’t bother him, he had seen worse. Children dying of famine, elderly succumbing to the cold out on the streets… This should be nothing. Why does it feel like everything? 

Your scent still lingers on his clothes, the floral smell dancing across his nose, making him inhale deeply as his eyes flutter. Taehyun doesn't even realize where he’s walking, his feet carry him on their own accord, guiding him past broken streetlights and alleyways inhabited by rats. It’s not until he reaches a particular window. 

Coming to a slow halt, he finally lifts his gaze only to realize that he has been here before. With you. His eyes fall on the stiff and lifeless mannequins. They’re dressed in the same colorful dresses, but his attention is fixed to the one by the center. A bright green dress that flows, even around the unmoving doll, flowers dotting around its entirety, reminding him of life that blooms in spring. 

His mind drifts to your conversation on that particular night. “Do you like it?” He had asked, watching as you had practically glued yourself to the window. “I do”, you had replied in breathless awe. Taehyun, unable to understand your fascination for such a flimsy and easily obtainable garment for someone like you, had brushed the matter off once more. But everything is different now and as he regards the dress, something in his chest moves. 

“Can you afford it?” You had asked the question timidly, like it might offend him. He had hesitated, how was he supposed to explain that he had nothing but his damaged pride and broken bag to his name. You were too different, there was no way for you to ever understand someone like him. “No.” He remembers finally saying, and after that you had dropped the topic again. But Taehyun still caught your longing glance, the way you had sighed to yourself before you continued walking, as though you were seeing it for the last time. 

He stands in front of the display window for a long moment, this time without you by his side. The dress stares back at him, taunting him through the glass. His tongue prods against the inside of his mouth as he weighs his options. But the look in your eyes, forever engraved in his mind, is what wins him over in the end as his hand curls up into a fist. 

XI

The birds rise before you do that next morning. You hear their soft chippering, beaks pecking gently against glass. The sound jostles you awake,  a sound so familiar — Taehyun. But when you throw a glance toward the window, there’s no one there, only small feathery beings hoping for a few spared crumbs. Disappointment fills you and upon glancing around your bed, you find it just as empty as your chest. 

Your body feels weird. Sore. The first thing you note is your legs, their refusal to cooperate properly when you try and swing them over the mattress, hand shooting between your thighs to soothe the ache there as you wince. Memories of last night dance before your eyes when you squeeze them shut. His lips trailing over your chest, your mouth and jaw, the bruises on your wrist. You remember his hand between your legs, your own fingers pressing harder against the dull ache as you recall the way he had touched you. 

Inhaling slowly, the scent of him fills your senses. That musky almost earthy scent — like rain in early mornings, grey, cloudy skies and windy nights. He still lingers, even after he’s gone and you cling to the remnants of him. Allowing yourself to fall back down against the sheets you bury your face in the soft pillow. One hand still between your thighs, a small sigh passes your lips when your fingers carefully rub over the place Taehyun had. 

You force your eyes shut, willing yourself to remember his face — the way his body had felt against yours, the way he had felt inside you. A gasp, loud enough to fluster you, trembling fingers sliding beneath the fabric of your nightgown. Sin pools in your gut, you can feel it on your hands, warm and slick. It should disgust you, make you want to stop, jerk away and wash yourself clean of all impurity. Instead you want to bask in it. You want to remember Taehyun. The way he had kissed you, touched you — the way he had taken away the pain. If you pretend, then you can feel him, still with you, still touching you; still soothing the agony inside you. 

For a long time you don’t move. Time passes in an incoherent manner, you hardly keep track. Everything smells like him, your hand between your legs makes you feel as though he was still there. You know that there is no return now, no salvation, you have taken the final step and allowed yourself to be condemned to sin. Only when the pleasure wears off, when the heat in your stomach bursts and simmers down into nothing — only then do you leave the memory of Taehyun behind in your sheets. 

You bathe, drowning yourself in warm water, just the way you had drowned in darkness. Hands sliding over your body, but it doesn’t look the same anymore, or maybe you’re seeing it for the first time? Parts of you that no one had ever before touched, that you had never before dared even think about — the parts that made you lustful, the ones that led you to sin. Your body looks different under the water, you caress it with newfound intrigue. 

This is what you look like, this is how you will always look like. You tell yourself the words, gaze trailing over your pointy knees, the bend of your elbow, the dip where your hip meets your thigh, your fingers, spread out before your eyes. For a moment you think about what it would be like to die, if it was as painful as father said. Without thinking twice you lean back. The water swallows you whole, covering your face. Your eyes sting but you keep them open anyway. The surface is so close — close enough for you to just lift your head an inch, then you could breathe again. But you don’t. 

You wait, but for what you don’t know. A bubble escapes your lips when you exhale what little air remains in your lungs. You have no idea how much time has passed, but then the pain comes. It starts out a dull ache but quickly grows to something much bigger. Your ribs have gained their own heartbeat, straining and begging wordlessly for reprieve. Your lungs scream for air — muscles tensing under the water as you fight off the urge to save yourself. 

Salvation was beyond you. There was no reason for you to lift your head, to breathe the air you had taken for granted. But your body won’t give up. It keeps pleading with you, making your face twist in discomfort as you regard the blurry outlines of the ceiling through the surface. The world beyond does not seem real from here, perhaps it had never been. The water makes you feel small, insignificant. It mocks you, you can feel it, hear the menacing laughter as the waves crash against your ears. 

With a shuddering gasp you emerge once more. Hands clutching the sides of the tub, your chest heaving and your mouth agape as you take jagged breaths. If this was death, then your body did not want it. At least not yet. If you had really been damned, if there was really nothing left — your body would have let you die in that tub, but it didn’t. It must mean something. 

⸝⸝

Once the water turns cold you get up, wrapping a robe around the body you had spent hours caressing. Your feet are light on the floorboards, avoiding the spots that would creak under your weight as you head for your room. But before you can make it, just as your fingers graze the doorknob, there she is, mother. Her solemn eyes are watching you from down the hall, aged hands clasped together in front of her. She looks as though she might speak, her lips slightly parted in a sentence forever unspoken. 

“Mother, I…” You trail off, your words falling short as you glance between her and the door that led to safety. She must be worried, you had not come out to greet her nor father all day. “I’m fine, just feeling a little under the weather… Perhaps a cold.” You pull the robe tighter around yourself to suppress an imaginary shiver. Your mother regards you quietly, her saddened expression unreadable. 

“Perhaps…” She finally hums, giving you a small almost unnoticeable nod. For a while everything is still, the two of you unmoving as you gaze into the other’s eye. Mother doesn’t speak again and when she turns on her heel you realize that she has no intention to. You watch as she disappears down the stairs once more, her shoulders stiff and heavy with the years worth of grace she pretends to carry. 

When the back of her head is no longer within sight you turn back to the door, twisting the handle as you swing it open. Your bed is still unmade, your room is a mess — impure and dirty. But it is not the tousled sheets or the crooked paintings that your attention falls to, but the window across the room — open and swinging softly in the afternoon breeze. How odd. It would always be sealed shut, suppose you had forgotten last night… 

However the open window is not the only anomaly for there is something on the windowsill, something that hadn’t been there when you left for your bath. Covered in old newspapers, wrapped messily and imperfectly, a gift? With caution you near the mysterious item, eyes flickering out through the window as you search for anything, for anyone. But the package had come alone. Hesitantly, your fingers stretch for the wrapped bundle. 

The newspapers are rough against your freshly washed hands, they looked old, dated back to weeks ago. Father never let you read those, he would keep them locked away in his office, saying they were dangerous nonsense, lies the non-believers would feed you. And you had believed him. Though as you turn the peculiar item in your hands, you find that the papers surrounding it were of little importance. You begin unwrapping it, carefully tearing the news articles apart to uncover what was beneath. 

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight, the familiar fabric staring back at you like an old friend. As the last piece of newspaper crumbles to the floor, the dress in your hands folds out to reveal itself. Green and flowy, bright flowers blooming across the entirety of the garment like a meadow in spring. Your mouth hangs open, hands trembling as they run across the dress in disbelief. 

Quickly you drop to your knees, pushing around the torn newspapers in search of something, anything that would indicate his presence. There, crumpled up and nearly torn in half amongst the paper you had so carelessly ripped apart, is a note. You pick it up, eyes scanning across the messy and nearly unreadable handwriting: 

“Thought you said you liked it. Be careful with it, it’s expensive

       – T.” 

A smile pulls at your lips without you even realizing it. The dress, the one that had captured you completely after one glance. He remembered. Fingers curling around the soft fabric, you bring it to your nose as you inhale. A small part of you thought you could smell him faintly on it — or perhaps you were just telling yourself that. You glance toward your mirror, longing to know what it would look like on you. But before you can rise to your feet, your father’s voice booms through the house. That’s right, dinner with the Choi’s, it was tonight. 

You scramble toward your bed, shoving the dress beneath the mattress where you prayed it would remain hidden. It would have to wait, just a little longer. 

⸝⸝

The air is different tonight. The Choi’s house is not what it once was. Or perhaps it is just the same. Only you had changed. There’s a darkness lingering around you, a curse attached to your very being. It taints the dining room, clinging to the tapestry walls and coating the silverware in its black, thick tar. The house knows you no longer belong there. You can feel it as it tries to repel you. Its roof is closing in, the windows bending into narrow slits — caging you. 

Your father knows too. He and your mother, they sit stiff at the table. Hands kept to themselves, eyes downcast as they ate in silence. No one dares interrupt. No one wants to shed light on the matter so painstakingly obvious. The Choi’s are quiet, despite being your hosts. They, too, must know. You thought you could feel their eyes on you, heavy with disappointment as they regarded your every move. 

The food before you is delicious. At least you think it might be. It tastes bland on your tongue, like your body was rejecting it; killing you slowly from the inside out. Still you force yourself to take another bite, then another, washing it down with some water before digging back in. Your throat protests when you swallow, stomach churning in disagreement with every mouthful. 

Father had brought you here to torture you. To force you to live through the mistakes you had made, to see the world you were leaving behind. It did not hurt in the way you thought it would. It feels like a slow death, where everyone knows you’re drowning but no one reaches into the water to pull you back up. Because they know. They know you have jumped in by yourself. And a man who wished to drown should not be saved. 

After dinner you slink back into the shadows. A place you had learned to appreciate after your time spent with Taehyun. They no longer scare you, and as you creep down the familiar hallway of the Choi’s house, you remain just as silent as the night outside. 

Your feet lead you to his room, the one you shouldn’t enter. Because Soobin should not want to see you. Yet you knock, hand curled into a fast as it taps against the wood. You wait anxiously, heart drumming in your chest as you wipe the sweat from your palms. — He opens it moments later, tall figure looming over you. His eyes are the same warm brown they had always been, and you’re reminded of why Soobin had been promised to you in the first place. He was everything you needed, everything you should want. Why does your heart betray you? 

“Can I come in?” An absurd request, one he should deny. But Soobin is too good, too selfless. He nods without second thought, stepping aside as he holds the door open for you to enter. With slow and heavy steps you make your way inside, eyes roaming the familiar books stacked along his shelf, his room a near replica of your own — except Soobin doesn’t dream of long beaches, the ocean and the forest. He’s devoted to your father, through and through; just like you should be. 

The mattress creaks under your weight when you sit down, the sound awkward in the otherwise silent air. Through the corner of your eye you see his lanky frame, shifting awkwardly by the now closed door. “Sit with me.” You softly request of him, your voice sickly sweet, even to your own ears. To your surprise, he complies, hesitant legs carrying him forward until he’s seated right beside you, arm brushing against yours. For a while you sit there, unmoving, listening to each other’s quiet breaths. He doesn’t attempt to speak first, you don’t expect him to. 

You turn to him slowly, eyes finding the side of his face, the soft contour of his cheeks, the gentle slope of his nose and the slow blinking of his soft lashes against flushed cheeks. Soobin reminded you of yourself — a version now long forgotten. What you could have been. Someone pure, someone true. Your fingers curl around the ironed sheets, lips parting as you hesitate to ask the question plaguing your mind. 

“Do you like me?” 

He freezes, shoulders squaring up like he was preparing to fight something. His once relaxed and soft jaw is now clenched tight, brows pulled together in a small frown. He’s not looking at you, eyes fixed by a spot on the wall before him. You can see him hesitate, the gears turning in his head as he thinks of a proper response. “I do…” He finally says, but it’s as though he’s tasting the words on his tongue for the first time. It was just like how you would reply to your father when he asked a question you did not have the answer to; when you used to pray whatever came out of your mouth was the words he was seeking. 

Soobin does not like you. He knows he should. He tells himself that he does. Perhaps he isn’t even realizing that he is lying right now. But you want to believe him, you want to believe that there was at least one thing left for you in this world. Soobin could be your salvation… Maybe, just maybe. You were willing to try. 

His face is tense when the tips of your fingers brush against his cheek. You can hear his breath hitch in his throat, the air getting lodged halfway before he emits it in a shaky exhale. Thumb against his chin, you turn his head toward you, slow and deliberate. If you could just believe, if you could just make his lie become the truth, maybe there was hope after all. 

Soobin’s eyes widen tenfold when you lean in, lips awkwardly parted when you press your own against them. A noise of surprise leaves him, but he doesn’t attempt to push you off. The kiss is nothing like the ones you had shared with Taehyun. It doesn’t set your soul on fire, doesn’t take away the pain, shame and the guilt. Instead you think it might just intensify it. Frustrated you kiss him harder, tongue slipping inside his mouth as you ignore the way he yelps. 

His hands are firm on your arms, gripping onto you awkwardly as he attempts to kiss you back. It feels wrong, forced, but neither of you stop. If you could just recreate that night, if you could just allow yourself to feel what you had felt then… Maybe it would all be okay. You let your eyes fall shut, and instead of Soobin’s lips against your own, you imagine Taehyun’s, thinner, chapped and filled with darkness. The warm hands on your arms become rough and dirty, the ones you are accustomed to. For a moment you manage to lose yourself, to feel a small fire settle across your chest, the flames slowly growing bigger. 

You barely even register that your hands have moved down his body, fingers working the buttons of his shirt open one by one. Soobin’s staggering breaths are mere background noise. All you can see is Taehyun, he’s vivid behind your closed eyes, alive and so close. You think you might even hear him, the low drawl of his tongue; “I can’t make it stop.” And he had, for one night he had made it all go away. Now it was all you could think about, the burn that would numb all your pain, the need to feel Soobin even closer, to pretend that it was real. 

Once his shirt is fully unbuttoned you don’t pause, you don’t give yourself the time to look at him. It would break the illusion, diminish the flames and put out the fire. You need to burn. So you reach for his pants, trembling hands undoing his belt in a hasty manner as you press messy kisses to his jaw and neck. Soobin’s hands are digging into your arms, so hard it hurts. It’s not until you fumble with his zipper that he finally says something. 

“Stop.” The word is gasped out, a breathless plea that settles over you like ice. You freeze, eyes opening to meet his, and suddenly Taehyun fades back into the shadows; like he had never even been here in the first place. Soobin’s chest is heaving, his forehead glazed with sweat and his soft brown eyes uncertain and fearful. “We can’t…” He rasps out, his voice trembling, “We shouldn’t…” 

Those exact words, they’re so familiar. The ones Taehyun had given you, the uncertainty behind his usually dark and cunning eyes. But you had pushed him further, you had demanded he took your pain away. And now Soobin… The guilt is back now, stronger than ever, but for all the different reasons. You withdraw your hands from his pants, jerking back on the bed like you might hurt him if you came too close. You probably already had. There was something wrong with you, something dark, sinister. Cursed. But Soobin he wasn’t… He was not Taehyun, nothing like him. Yet you had… You had tainted him with your darkness, just like you had let yourself be tainted. 

“I’m sorry…” You stand hastily, fingers curling up into fists by your sides as you swallow down the lump in your throat. Soobin’s watching you, still seated on the mattress, confusion and trepidation painting his face. The darkness within you was consuming you slowly, but it was your darkness, yours to bear. It was not meant for Soobin. No matter how much you want him to be your salvation, he can never undo the mistakes you have made. He should not have to pay the price of your burden. 

You stumble backward, hands blindly searching for the door. Leave, you should leave now; leave while there was still hope left for him, before your darkness took him as well. Your fingers wrap around the doorknob, twisting it firmly. Soobin is still watching you, his face flushed, pants and shirt still halfway undone. The guilt forces your next words from your throat, “Forgive me.” 

XII

Taehyun returns, just like he knew he would. He always did. In fact he’s been thinking about you all day, even when he tries not to. It’s almost like a curse, the way you suck up his entirety — clinging to the corners of his mind as you inhabit everything that is him. He wonders if you’ve gotten the dress, if you like it, if you were grateful for it. He glances down at his bloodied knuckle, the torn cloth he’d wrapped around it is stained crimson. It was worth it. It all was. Even now, as he shuffles along the slanted roof leading to your window, the ache in his bent knees is worth it. 

He nears the glass, heart drumming in his chest in a way it usually wouldn’t. He should hate it, this foreign feeling. Instead he finds himself leaning into it, following it as though he was pulled along on a leash, legs helplessly carrying him forward. — It’s dark outside, nightfall settled hours ago and Taehyun had waited patiently as he watched the sunset, his thoughts constantly wandering to you. Right now he’s grateful for the darkness as it shields him from view; there’s only one person he wants to be seen by. 

The flicker of green is what catches his eyes, something moving on the other side of the glass as he creeps closer. You’re standing in the middle of the room, back turned to him. But all he can see is the dress, the one he’d gotten you. The fabric flows around you, its floral pattern glowing softly under the small light by your desk. He’s imagined you in this dress far more than he’d like to admit, and it looks even better like this… 

Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he’s so caught up in the way the garment hugs your body that he doesn’t even realize how oddly still you’re standing. Shoulders tense, like you were bracing yourself for something. Nor does he catch the way your hands clench into fists, trembling ever so slightly by your sides. No, he’s far too lost in your beauty, something he’d grown so fond of in such a short period of time. 

His fingers curl as they tap against the window, once, twice. You don’t turn to face him and the look of longing on his face quickly turns to confusion. He regards you a moment longer, wondering why you refused to acknowledge him, there was no way you hadn’t heard him. He knocks again, his impatience quickly seeping through the usually tender movement. It’s then he realizes something is wrong. 

His gaze drops, the hatch is left undone — the glass would give way with one push, allowing him inside. Before he can stop himself he reaches out. The air inside is warmer than that of the cold night, it caresses his front the way it always would. Taehyun has one foot on the windowsill when your voice stops him. 

“Go away.” 

He freezes, a chill running down your spine. You sound different, colder, detached. There was not the same curiosity that would lace your every other word, the slight pitch to the end of your sentences when you spoke passionately. For a moment he sits perfectly still, the sole of his shoe pressing against the windowsill, fingers curled around the ajar window. You had tried to push him away before. This was different. Something had happened, something had changed. 

“Please leave. I’m… I’m not decent right now.” Your voice cracks, just slightly, just enough for him to catch. It only makes him want to push further. Normally he would never overstep your boundaries, which was ridiculous given what he did for a living. Suppose things were… compromised when it came to you. Tonight though, tonight he can’t force himself to leave — not even if you screamed for him to. 

His feet land against the wooden floor with an almost soundless thud, but you’ve most definitely heard him. Your shoulders draw up even further, hands trembling almost uncontrollably as you refuse to turn to him. “I don’t want to leave”, he says, and it is the truth. Taehyun can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. He takes another step forward, ignoring the way the house groans under his weight when he approaches. 

He expects you to flinch away from his touch, maybe even yell at him. But when his hand reaches your stiff shoulder you do nothing. Your skin is cold, nothing like the warm fire it had been on that night. He turns you slowly, filled with both dread and anticipation of what he might find. But nothing could have ever prepared him for the sight of you. Destroyed. Shattered to pieces, just as broken as the china he’d tipped over on that fateful night, the one that had started everything, ultimately leading to this. 

Your skin is dull, cracked. A dried path of blood trickles from your nose, leading all the way to your sealed lips. Your nose looks crooked, in a way that is sure to hurt. Worst of all were the colors spilled across your neck, yellow, blue, purple — the fingerprints of someone else, of someone’s violent touch still alive on your body. Your lifeless eyes stare back at his, not afraid, not angered, just… defeated, like you had already given up. 

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. Taehyun knows exactly who did this, he knows exactly who is to blame. The thought of that man, the man you call father, makes his blood boil. He should have killed him that night, ended him when there was still a chance left — when he had yet to… 

“I’m sorry.” You choke the words out on a half hearted sob, your body quivering as you heave a breath. Taehyun frowns, what for? He opens his mouth to speak but the question becomes lodged in his throat when you gesture toward the floral dress. Blood stains the once bright fabric, soaked into the flowers and tarnishing something so pure with evil. “I… I wanted to look pretty for you but I–” You shake your head, silent tears rolling down your cheeks as you avoid his gaze. 

A new emotion surges within his chest, one he had never felt before. It scares him, the way his jaw clenches without his consent, eyes flaring with a rage he did not recognize. Yet his hands are surprisingly tender against your naked arms. The wrath within him is not meant for you, he recognizes that. And so he touches you tenderly, like you might break under as much as a puff of air. He pulls you closer, leaving no space between your bodies, until he can feel each jagged breath you take. 

“You’re beautiful, always.” He whispers, lips brushing against your forehead. He doesn’t know if he sounds believable, but it’s the truth. Never in his life has he meant something more. But his words can’t undo the damage your father has caused, he knows that. You continue to cry, even when he promises to keep you safe. How could he ever keep evil at bay if it existed within every fiber of you? Your father had sunk his claws deep in you, rooted firmly. He would only withdraw them when he was dead. Taehyun knows that. 

“I’ll make it stop.” 

The statement hangs heavy in the air, it’s what finally makes you look at him. Your eyes are glassy, filled with unshed tears. “How?” You shake your head, already giving up, “No one can.”

He feels you anchor yourself to him, fingers curling around the fabric of his torn shirt — clinging on to something so dirty like it was all that mattered. Taehyun has never mattered before, not to anyone, not even himself. But you’re different. You give him purpose. He knows what he needs to do. “Do you trust me?” He asks, palm resting against your wet cheek, silently begging for you to say ‘yes’. 

Moments pass, moments of painful silence that are filled only by the rapid beating of his heart. Then you nod, so subtle that he almost misses it. You blink once, emitting a shaky exhale as your hold on his clothes loosen a fragment. — “Stay here.” It’s not a request, he doesn’t bother masking the intent behind his next move, and you don’t bother asking. Silently you let go of him, hands falling to your sides as you’re left alone once more. 

He hesitates but only for a second, his hands cradle your face gently — his touch ghost like. Pressing his lips to your forehead he tries to savor the feeling of your body against his. “I’ll come back for you.” It’s the last thing he says before pulling back, withdrawing back into the shadows as he heads for your door. 

The hallway just outside your room is dimly lit — an eternal corridor leading down somewhere dark. Led by a carpet laid out onto the floor, Taehyun follows it as he descends down its path. His steps are heavy on the wooden boards, each thud like thunder against the sky. He doesn’t care who hears him, he wants to be seen; needs to be heard. He’d lingered in the dark long enough, he’d let things play out just the way your father had intended for them to. No more. 

A single door is left ajar, a thin streak of warm candle light spills out onto the opposite wall. It beckons him closer, and Taehyun obliges. The light doesn’t scare him. He knows what’s waiting for him on the other side, something sinister and evil, the root of everything damned in this house. He burns with rage, burns with desire to uncover and destroy it. Taehyun doesn’t knock, he doesn’t have to, the door is opened for him. His hand pushes it aside, and he takes the step over the threshold. 

He finds himself in a study, a small and peculiar room. It’s different from the rest of the house, forbidden, he can tell. Three out of the four walls are home to bookshelves, each one crowded with literature as the books fight for space — he recognizes some titles, he’d seen them in libraries whenever he took shelter from the rain. There’s piles of newspapers that clog the table in the center of the room, spilled ink and a candle burning slowly on the mahogany wood. This place is chaos, a reflection of the man behind it all; his mask was slowly slipping. 

Slumped against an armchair on the opposite side of the table, elbow propped on the wooden desk, is your father. He looks like shit. The weight is gone from his face, his cheeks hollow and sunken in — as though he’d aged a decade since Taehyun had last seen him, before he knew anything; when he thought that this man was nothing but a simple widower. Now he knows the sinister truth behind the seemingly frail man before him, what lingers behind his cold and sharp gaze. That is the only thing that has yet to change. The icy glare of his soulless eyes. 

With a begrudging sigh, one that comes from deep in his chest, your father lifts his gaze. His glasses have slid down his nose a considerable amount, yet he doesn’t bother to push them back up. He drags his eyes across Taehyun’s figure by the door, slow, lazy. He doesn’t look in the least surprised to see him, not threatened, not even angry. In fact it looks almost like he was seeing an old friend, perhaps he even felt inclined to make a remark on his tardiness. There was something seriously wrong with this man. 

“I’ve been expecting you”, your father finally speaks, his voice a low but powerful drawl, “I knew you would come.” He leans forward in his chair, the furniture creaking under his movements. Then he picks the glasses from his nose, neatly putting them down on the messy table before him with methodical and practiced ease; like he had all the time in the world. 

For every passing second Taehyun’s confusion mounts. He should be lunging at this man — shove his fist against his already crooked nose, break his jaw, leave him bloodied and bruised; just like he had you. Instead he finds himself rooted in place, unable to move as much as a finger. He swallows thickly when your father makes another request, his voice far too calm, too collected for the situation at hand: “Close the door behind you. Come sit with me.” 

He doesn’t know why he obliges, why his hand almost instantly reaches for the doorhandle as he brings it shut. The click that follows rings out in the office, sealing the moment between the two of them. He hesitates, but only for a second, then he steps forward on wary feet as he approaches the chair opposite your father. With only a desk separating them, Taehyun sinks down on the soft cushion. His dirty clothes are contrasting against the clean velvet, but he doesn’t care — and neither does your father. 

“Tea?” He asks, but he’s already placing a cup before him, pouring hot water with trembling hands. Taehyun blinks once, wondering where the pot had even come from. But your father doesn’t give him time to ponder as he stirs the tea with a spoon, once, twice, three times before tapping the cup’s rim. Taehyun eyes the beverage suspiciously, half expecting it to be poison. Then he catches your father pouring his own cup from the same pot, and he relaxes, fingers flexing against the armrests of his chair. 

Taehyun thinks he looks small like this. Your father. His tall frame is to little avail when he’s sat, his lean arms do not appear strong enough to take anyone down, especially not him. He’s old, driven to the brink of madness — wrapped in a web of his own lies. He would stand no match to Taehyun. But as your father brings the cup of tea to his lips, silently fighting off the tremors in his hands, Taehyun finds himself unable to look away. 

“I know what you are”, he finally rasps upon setting the cup down. Despite his physique weighing him down, the cold chill of his sharp glare remains. It pierces Taehyun in one go, its intensity making his muscles tense and he fights down the shudder that creeps along his spine. He holds his ground, jaw clenching as your father addresses him with a condescending sneer, like he thought he was somehow better, cleaner. 

He continues in that same, low, drawl-like but demanding voice. “Your kind, I know what you do to people — I know what becomes of those around you.” Then he suddenly leans forward, the movement so sudden that Taehyun is taken aback. The chair squeaks, announcing its unease and filling the momentary silence until he speaks again, “You’ve ruined my daughter.” 

The statement feels like a gun has been shoved to his throat and Taehyun’s fingers clench around the armrests. “How do you know?” He asks, his voice betraying underlying intrigue wrapped in a delicate layer of burning rage. Your father sighs, like he’d expected the question — perhaps the conversation even bored him to some extent. His hands curl against the wooden table, eyes flickering to the flaming candlelight, its yellow glow painting the side of his bitter face. “Filth like you cannot keep its hands away from something as pure as my daughter”, he pauses, hand trembling slightly on top of the table, “You become infatuated, you think you owe her something, that she needs your sin.” 

His fist slams against the desk, the sound loud and brute in the small office and Taehyun nearly flinches in his seat. Your father heaves a ragged breath, eyes burning with barely concealed fury. “You are killing her.” He spits the words out like they had personally offended him, lips twisting into a scowl as he allows himself to slump back in his chair. His gaze slowly shifts to a point Taehyun can’t see. “Your filth has sunk its claws so deep in her that…” He trails off, eyes moving subconsciously, like he was seeing something Taehyun couldn’t. “And then what becomes of her?” He huffs, the sound coming out almost a laugh. “An animal”, his dark eyes flicker over to Taehyun, “Someone like you.” 

Taehyun bites his tongue, jaw clenching as he swallows down the words on his lips. He’s at war with himself. He peers down into the teacup before him, watching as the liquid swirls around in the porcelain. Your father was wrong. He was nothing but a sadist wrapped so deep in his own lies that they were now his only truth — he’d started worshipping them, believing them to be a call from above. “You’re a liar”, Taehyun spits, fingers clawing at the chair when he suddenly leans forward. There’s a flash of surprise that strikes your father’s features, the way he pauses for just a moment, brows furrowing on his forehead. 

“Your daughter was dead before I even laid my hands on her.” He’s shaking now, sweat beading on his forehead as the words claw themselves from his throat. “You’ve killed her – slowly”, a sly, almost sinister smirk tugs its way across his lips; his next sentence bordering on a crazed laugh: “Can’t you see? You’re all dead. But her? You killed her before she even had a chance to live.” 

“Lies”, your father seethes, his face contorted in rage. It’s not enough to make Taehyun back down, not now, not when he had him so close — right where he wanted him, on the brink of snapping, just the way he knew he could. Your father raises his voice, hatred spilling from him in forceful waves. “You’re a liar! An animal!” 

That word. That demeaning and belittling phrase. It’s what makes him snap. The sound of his chair tumbling backward fills the room as Taehyun jumps to his feet. Not even a second later he’s lunging himself across the table, just barely avoiding the teacups as he aims for your father. His chest is heaving, but not from exertion. His hands find your father’s neck, curling around him like a vice as he drinks in the gasp the old man emits. “Should’ve thought about that before letting me in your house then, huh?” Fingers digging into his neck, Taehyun can feel his racing pulse beneath his palm. “An animal like me, you shouldn’t let them get so close — shouldn’t talk to them like that…” He says in mock sympathy, brows pulling into a small frown as he squeezes around his neck with all his might. 

What Taehyun doesn’t expect is the sharp and sudden pain that flares up in his side. It’s sharp, digging through the torn and dirty layers of clothes he wears and piercing his skin. It pulls a sharp hiss from his throat, his grip momentarily faltering on your father’s neck as he glances down. There, buried in the side of his stomach, was a knife. That son of a bitch was armed. — “You’re going to regret that”, he snarls but your father is quicker. He twists the knife, making Taehyun go nearly cross eyed as he releases his grip completely. 

He stumbles backward on shaky legs, back hitting one of the shelves as books pour out in the commotion. His side throbs, the pain pulsating throughout his entire body. Taehyun grips onto the bookshelf, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to gather his bearings. He should’ve seen that coming. He should’ve… The small ‘tsk’ your father emits pulls his attention toward the old man. 

Still sitting by his desk, your father leans back in his chair. One hand rubs at his neck gingerly whilst the other one brings his unfinished cup of tea to his lips. His nonchalance is what gets to Taehyun. How could he just sit there, how could he… With an infuriated groan, he pulls the knife from his side — biting through the pain that flares as he instead redirects his full attention to the man you had warned him about since the beginning. 

His feet move before he can stop them, limping across the floor as he aims for the old man so casually sipping his tea. He raises his fast, knife gripped tightly in his hand. Taehyun just manages to catch the glimpse of his face, the brief widening of his eyes, cup still raised to his lips. He strikes hard, arm straining as he slides the knife through his chest, free hand braced on the man’s shoulder as he pushes him back in his chair. 

He makes a gargled noise in the back of his throat, blood rising rapidly as he chokes on it. The teacup has slipped from his grasp, shattering against the floor — porcelain scattered everywhere. Taehyun doesn’t hesitate, twisting the knife as far as he can, he burrows it even deeper. Your father moans out in pain, the fury on his face gradually replaced by dread as death creeps into his every fiber. But the look in his eyes, that icy and indifferent stare, it remains. 

Taehyun wants to look away, his mind is screaming for him to let go and back up. But he can’t. He needs to see this through, all the way to the end. Instead he leans in closer, nose almost brushing against the old man’s, hot breath mixing with his dying one. “You were right”, he huffs, still holding onto the knife with a white-knuckled grip. Your father groans, his lips moving to no avail, the words never make it out. But Taehyun imagines he wants to protest, tell him how he reeks of filth, how much of an animal he is.

He laughs, the sound sinister to his own ears but it doesn’t matter. Giving the knife one final push, he watches with gleam in his eyes as your father’s body convulses. “You were right…” He sighs, “I’m the animal you want me to be.”  

The flicker of fury on his face, despite life draining from him by the second — it’s satisfactory. Taehyun finds himself watching just a moment longer, and when the last bit of life finally slips from his cold and soulless eyes, that’s when he knows his purpose has been fulfilled. He huffs once, shaking his head. That had been too easy, far too easy. Everything a single man stood for, brought down by something as simple as a knife — raised by a hand such as Taehyun’s… He doesn't have time to ponder it. 

With a stifled groan he jerks back, leaving the knife in your father’s chest, its final resting place, he muses to himself. Then he takes a step back, intent on finding his way back to you. He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain himself, what he could possibly say to make it all okay. It doesn’t matter. In his haste he bumps into the table, the one he’d been watching your father across for what felt like forever. The force of his hip meeting the wood however, causes the burning candle to topple over. Taehyun reaches for it, but it’s already too late. 

The flames reach the scattered news articles, then the spilled ink — then it’s alive. It’s warm, incredibly so, and Taehyun squints against the orange glow, arm coming up to shield him from the embers as he tumbles backward. Everything within this office was made out of paper or wood, the ink only acting as fuel to a fire that had been waiting to happen. 

With wide and horrified eyes Taehyun watches as the flames swallow your father, the way they crawl along his limp body, eating away at his skin rapidly. Soon there would be nothing left of him, nothing to bury, nothing to remember. — Then, as if he had just woken up from a year long dream, he flinches. You. You were still here, still in your room, waiting for him to come back; just like he’d promised. 

Taehyun bursts through the door, coughing as the smoke curls around him. The fire chases him down the hall, eating away at his heels. He picks up his pace, running as fast as his limping body would allow him. The gash on his side still throbs, blood oozing out with each breath he takes. Just a little longer, a little further, then he would have you in his arms. Your door is right there, he can see it — it fuels him with the strength he needs to push through the last bit. 

He barges into your room, your gasp of surprise ringing like clockwork in his ears. He blinks once, then twice, coughing the smoke that somehow had managed to sneak its way to his face. Then he feels your hands, so soft, too soft, and they’re everywhere — “Are you hurt? What did you do? I heard yelling–” 

His fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements when you reach for his cheek. “We have to go”, he groans, grimacing at how weak he sounded. The wound on his side was not going to ease up, the longer he spent here the worse it would get, the closer the fire would come. It’s only then, when the dark and cloudy smoke sippers through the cracks of your door that you react. “Oh my god…” 

Taehyun sighs, any other day he would’ve made a remark of some kind. Not tonight. His eyes fall on the window, still ajar — the one he’d entered and fled from so many times. This would be the last. He pulls you toward it, ignoring the way his side screamed in protest at his every move. You struggle behind him, “Wait– My mother!” 

He shakes his head, “There’s no time.” If he had to guess, the smoke had gotten to her already. But he couldn’t break those news to you, not now, not here. You reach the window, and Taehyun uses what little strength he has left to haul you up on the windowsill. Finally seeming to catch on, you’re quick to crawl out onto the slanted roof, stopping only when you realize that he isn’t following you. “What are you doing?” You shriek, and Taehyun can feel your gaze on him as he braces himself against the window frame. 

Your hands are trembling, fingers digging into his shirt and he almost wants to give a chuckle at your attempt to pull him along. “Why are you just standing there, come on!” You’re yelling now, your voice louder than he’s ever heard it before. He wants to protest, tell you that he can’t, that the pain in his side would just make him double over before he got another step in. But then he remembers the godforsaken drop down the roof. You wouldn’t be able to make it on your own. 

He groans, in both pain and frustration and a moment later he’s hauling himself onto the windowsill. The flames have entered your room by now, swallowing everything you held dear in big hungry mouthfuls. He just barely manages to pull his feet out before the embers catch him. And he’s given no time to rest as you begin fervently tugging him along. “Come on! Come on! Come on!” He can clearly make out the panic in your voice, the one you’re not even bothering to hide. 

Taehyun lets you pull him along the roof, stumbling and limping awkwardly as he clutches his side. His vision was already beginning to lessen, how much blood had he lost? He shakes his head, a futile attempt at keeping himself on his feet. Your voice keeps floating in and out, he can see you, but not clearly. Then finally, you reach the rooftops ledge. 

You hesitate, just like he knew you would. Despite the fire roaring behind you, the house’s top floor is engulfed in flames — you still sway on your feet, biting your bottom lip as you eye the drop. “Come here”, his voice is strained, he hopes you won’t notice. He holds his arm out for you to take, and when you do he pulls you to his chest. 

You’re in his arms again, at last — it feels better than he likes to admit, scary almost. But you fit so perfectly here. “What are you doing?” Your voice is a frightened, high pitched murmur. Your breath sharp and jagged against his chest. “Trust me”, he says, just like he had on that night, the night that now felt so long ago. 

He feels you cling on to him tighter, fingers digging into his clothes. Taehyun knows he won’t make the fall, it doesn’t matter. You trust him, he’s going to save you — that means something. It means everything. He buries his face against your shoulder, inhaling your scent one last time, his chest swelling with a feeling he can’t place. 

Then he lets himself go boneless, and you fall. 

XIII

The dress is slightly wrinkled as you pull it from beneath your mattress. It doesn’t matter, it’s just as pretty in your eyes. The pads of your fingers caress it softly, running along the smooth fabric with reverent touch. A smile tugs at your lips, the memory of Taehyun fresh in your mind — his dark and wild eyes, the hot caress of his hand on top of your own. — You strip before your mirror, and for once, you do not hesitate to let your eyes linger on the parts of your body you would always hide. 

The green dress slides on with ease, settling perfectly over your frame, the fabric flowing past your knees when you give a small twirl. With a quiet hum your gaze trails along the multiple flowers that adorn the garment. If you listened hard enough you thought you could hear the quiet chirping of birds in the morning sun, even smell the freshly cut grass. But most importantly you see Taehyun, you imagine him lying next to you on an open field, his face stripped from all pain, yours too. 

But the serene moment is quickly disrupted. You hear his footsteps before your mind even registers what’s going on. They’re barging up the stairs, aiming for you. Father. But why? He would always keep out of your room unless necessary— The pounding to your door jolts you from your position by the mirror, fear settling over your features. 

“A minute please–” But it’s to no avail, he’s already swung your door open. His chest is heaving, his usually put together frame uncharacteristically disheveled. Worst are his eyes, dark with rage as they zero in on you as you stand, clad in something he had since long forbidden you ever wear. “You think I wouldn’t find out?” He barks, taking an invading step inside your room. The floor creaks and groans under his weight but father pays it no mind. 

“I… Father, I don't know what you’re talking about…” You hold your hands out in surrender, stumbling backward on uncertain feet as you avoid his imposing presence. But he only scoffs, a sound so disappointed it makes your heart twist. “I knew you were ruined, filthy even — but I never thought”, he takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he tries and fails to compose himself. “Never did I think you would spread your evil — to that boy no less?” 

You can’t help it, the way your brows draw together in a frown. What was he talking about? “Father I don’t–” 

Whack! 

It’s harder this time, harder than he’s ever punished you before. The strike across your nose stings, your vision fading for a moment before it comes back. With a shaky hand you reach up to touch where the throb lingers, horrified you find blood smeared across your fingers once you pull them back. But father shows no sign of remorse, no sign of stopping. 

“You think I’m going to sit back and let you poison all of our community?” He grabs your shoulders, jerking you back and forth like you weighed nothing in his grasp. “You filthy animal!” He snarls, hand coming up to strike you across your face once more. It hurts, but not nearly as much as his words do, and you can’t keep the tears from streaming down your cheeks. 

“And this…” His voice drops an octave, suddenly taking on a much graver form. You shudder when his fingers brush against the dress you wore, tugging on the fabric slightly. “The clothes of a sinner — is that what you are?” He practically roars, hands balling into fists as he tries to tear your dress apart. 

You’re sobbing now, choked gasps escaping your lips as you vehemently shake your head. “Father please don’t! It— It’s a gift!” It doesn’t matter how much you beg, how much you cry, it would never change his mind. It would never undo the damage you’d caused. “That’s even worse isn’t it?” Your father says, his fingers curling around your neck with a force that terrified you, he’d never done something like that before, ever. “You look like a prostitute”, he spits, hands squeezing around your throat as he cuts off your air supply. 

The scream never makes it past your lips. Trashing and kicking, your nails claw at his hands in an attempt to break free, it’s no use — he would never let you off. This was not like the death you had experienced in the bath tub, nothing like the stillness of the water as it surrounded, this was a muted scream — agonizing and raw. 

For a moment you think he might actually kill you. Father had always terrified you, for as long as you could remember, but never had you considered that he might… This was not how you wanted to die, this was not how you were going to pay for your sins. Could father not see that? Or did he deem your time to be up? 

It’s then, when you think you might just succumb to the darkness any moment, that he finally lets go. You fall to the floor, hands clawing at your throat as you gasp and scream for air. Father remains quiet, unmoving as he stands before you. Once you’ve finally caught your breath you glance up, meeting his dark and piercing gaze with wide and frightened eyes. He doesn’t speak, but you know what he’s thinking. 

Filthy, dirty, undeserving of life, animal. 

His shoe meets your stomach in one forceful kick, sending your back against the floor with a loud thud. Then, without waiting for you to get up — without even listening to a word you might have to say, he turns and walks out again. The door is slammed shut behind him, causing the paintings to rattle on your wall. 

The tears are still rolling down your cheeks, hot and warm — never ending. You peer down at your dress, blinking to see through your own crying. It’s stained red, your own blood having spilt on the once beautiful fabric. It only makes you cry harder as you wrap your arms around yourself, rocking back and forth slowly. 

⸝⸝

After a while the pain in your body subsides and you finally rise from the floor. But just as your feet had found their footing, you realized there was nothing for you to do. You turn to the left, then the right, then back toward your door. And then you stand, unmoving, almost unblinking. Time passes slowly but you’re not keeping track anymore, you’re merely; existing. 

It is therefore impossible to tell how long had passed when you hear a familiar tap to your window. It’s light, quick and sharp — the way Taehyun would always knock. It sends a jolt of something down your spine, fear? Dread? You don’t know. All you know is he needs to leave. He cannot see you like this, it would destroy you. But Taehyun is persistent, as he had always been. He taps the window again. You wonder how long it will take for him to realize that you had left it unhatched, open for him and him alone. 

Another pause. Then you hear its soft creak as the window is pushed aside. “Go away”, you can barely get the words out, your tongue feels lazy and uncooperative. But you feel him pause, hesitation radiating off of him. You can tell he’s not budging and you try again, this time a little louder. “Please leave. I’m…” A mess? Ugly? Not who I want you to see me as? “I’m not decent right now.” Is what you settle for. 

He doesn’t reply, not outwardly at least. You can barely hear him as he lands on the floor, silent as night — the way he had been when he’d first snuck inside your home all those weeks ago. Of course he wouldn’t listen… Still, you had been the one to leave the window unlocked. Though you don’t turn to face him, you can’t, can’t face him like this. Your hands are trembling by your sides, you try to calm them down but it’s no use. 

“I don’t want to leave”, his voice comes from somewhere behind you, closer than you would want it. The house groans in protest when he takes a step closer and your shoulder nearly jerks when his hand finds it. But you remain still, just as still as you can, breathing slowly through your nose. You don’t resist him when he gently grabs hold of you, turning you to face him. 

The second you meet his eyes you want to hide. Your face is broken, ruined. You don’t want him to see this version of you, the ugly and shattered one, the one you had tried so hard to conceal. “I’m sorry”, you choke on a sob. An apology, it was all you could give him — your eternal remorse and guilt for what you had allowed yourself to become. Your body quivers as you heave a breath, fresh tears brimming at your already bloodshot eyes. “I… I wanted to look pretty for you but I—” You can’t finish your sentence, the shame is too much to bear, you avoid his gaze as the tears continue to spill down your cheeks in silence. 

Taehyun remained quiet for a moment, the only indication of his presence was the slow breath he took and his rough hands against your arms. Then he pulls you, closer than anyone would ever get. His lips brush against your forehead. “You’re beautiful, always.” He whispers, the words make the hairs on the back of your neck stand, a shudder rippling through your body as another sob wracks through you. 

“I’ll make it stop.” 

He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like he could just take away the sin and the pain. Finally you lift your gaze to meet his, seeing him through bleary eyes, “How?” you shake your head, “No one can.” Then you cling to him, harder than you ever had, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt, he was the only thing that could give you some semblance of truth, of belonging. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his voice low and serious. Trust. You had trusted Taehyun since the night you had let him lead you out of your window, when you had jumped and he’d caught you. You trusted him. His hand is warm against your wet cheek and you lean into the soft touch. A small, almost unnoticeable nod, it’s all you can muster. Then you exhale, letting out the air that had been building in your chest as you let go of his shirt. 

“Stay here — I’ll come back for you.” 

You trust that he will. 

⸝⸝

The wait seems to go on forever. You pace your room back and forth, feet padding barefoot on the floors. Anxiously you gnaw at your nails, throwing impatient glances toward the clock. Five minutes, then ten, then fifteen… What was taking him so long? What was he doing… You had a feeling you already knew, deep down in your chest. Your father’s face appears when you close your eyes, the same look of rage burning within his eyes. 

After what feels like an eternity you hear it, yelling, coming from somewhere in the distance. You can’t make out the words, their voices are muffled, but it scares you. You think about your mother, probably hiding in her bedroom right now — just like you were. The shouting stops just as quickly as it had come, an eerie silence settling over the house. 

Half an hour has passed when you finally pick up on the footsteps that are near your door. Your heart pounds in your chest, fearful of who might burst through your door. If your father came here… You would die. He would kill you. 

But it is not your father that reveals himself on the other side. You almost want to cry at the sight of him. Without thinking you rush forward, hands reaching for his face in an instant. “Are you hurt? What did you do? I heard yelling—” You pause when you feel his fingers curl around your wrist, his grip trembling. 

“We have to go”, he croaks out, the words followed by a strained grimace. Confusion and fear settles in the pits of your stomach. What did he mean by that? But before you can ask the question you smell it. The foul and thick scent of something burning. There, sippering through the cracks of your door is black and heavy smoke — its claws reaching for you. 

Your mouth falls open, “Oh my god…” The flames come second, hot and alive as they eat away at your sealed door. Taehyun’s sigh pierces the air, his gaze fixed on something behind you. Then he’s pulling you along, moving toward the window with urgency. Instinctively you follow him, until the thought of your mother crosses your mind once more. “Wait– My Mother!” But Taehyun only shakes his head. 

“There’s no time.” 

The realization sinks in deep, and as you throw one last glance over your shoulder you can see the flames, having eaten their way through the door, attacking your walls next. The paintings you had so carefully hung up, the ones of the beach, the long dwindling rivers and the grand forests… They were all rapidly crumbling into nothing right before your very eyes. 

You don’t even register what’s happening, not until Taehyun’s hands grip your hips and you’re hoisted from the ground. The windowsill is cold against your thighs, but you move quickly — crawling out on the rooftop as you try to escape the burning embers. Time was slipping through your fingers and if you didn’t move soon— Wait, where’s Taehyun? You pause, turning around only to see him still inside, hands braced against the window and his head bowed. 

“What are you doing?” You asked in a panicked shriek. There was no time for stalling, why was he not following you? When he makes no attempt at moving your fear rises. “Why are you just standing there, come on!” You don’t care for the yelling, your screams were barely overpowering the loud roar of the fire. Reaching out, your hands yank at his clothes, trying and failing to pull him through the window. 

Finally, as though a switch had been flipped inside of him, he relents, pushing himself up and through the window as the flames brush against the sole of his shoes. “Come on! Come on! Come on!” You desperately plead as you yank him to his feet, already hurrying along the roof. Taehyun stumbles behind you, nearly tripping over his own feet and you fear he might just fall. But then you see it, the familiar edge, the one that would take you away from here. 

As you reach the ledge you stop, feet planting against the roof, heart thundering in your chest as you peer down to the grass below. The drop wasn’t too far, you’d done it once before — you could do it again… You had to… Taehyun’s voice carries out like a wave against shore, crashing against you in a strained murmur. “Come here”, his arm is reaching for you and the second you reach for it he pulls you to his chest. 

He feels warm, safe. “What are you doing?” You quietly ask, unable to hide the frightened edge to your question. You should be jumping by now, fleeing the fire that had swallowed the entire top floor of your house. But Taehyun’s arms only wrap tighter around you, like he was afraid to let go. “Trust me”, he says, and this time you don’t have to doubt him at all. You trust Taehyun with your life. 

His face is buried against your shoulder, and you cling to him even tighter. Then the roof suddenly disappears from beneath your feet, and you fall. 

It doesn’t hurt. Not in the way you thought it would. Maybe it’s because you’re not on the ground, not yet. Taehyun’s chest is warm under you, moving slowly with each breath he takes. You don’t open your eyes — you don’t dare to. Behind you the house screams in agony, the hot fire eating away at it rapidly. The warm flames can be felt even here, the bright lights pushing against your closed eyelids. 

But you were outside, free. Slowly you lift your head, it throbs but only for a moment. Then you turn to glance over your shoulder. Each window has smoke spilling from it, reaching high up in the sky, begging to be released. The flames are violent — but not evil. You watch as they break down the cage you had lived in all your life, piece by piece. Soon there would be nothing left, nothing but ashes to remind you of what had once been, of what you had once been. 

And you feel… relieved. You exhale a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding in. This house… The thing you had thought to be the most sacred place in the world. It was all coming to an end, and you would be set free, at last. “You did it”, you sigh, hands curling a little tighter around Taehyun’s shirt as you watch the flames a moment longer, eyes lingering on the embers that sparked around the burning wood. 

“You made it stop.” 

Silence. 

You turn back to Taehyun, brows pulled into a frown. The warm glow of the fire caresses the side of his face, and you find him already looking at you with those dark eyes; the way he always would. “Taehyun?” Your smile has yet to waver, the feeling blooming in your chest still beats strong. 

His lips part, a ragged breath escaping them as he answers. “Yeah.” His voice is strained and the short response is followed by a pained grimace. You blink, the smile falling from your lips as you stare at him, eyes trailing over his pale face and the way his chest moves in uneven and jagged breaths. “What’s wrong?” You sound almost accusing, but you can’t help it. 

He shakes his head, wincing as one of his hands shoots out to press against his side. You sit up then, eyes following his trembling hand to a dark spot on his shirt. Blood. “What?” Your voice wavers as you place your hand on top of his, “What is this?” What a stupid question of course you knew what it was, part of you just doesn’t want to believe it. 

Taehyun doesn’t reply, just stares up at you with those same, annoyingly perfect eyes. The same ones you had told yourself were filled with sin, tainted with darkness. But you had been wrong all along. Taehyun wasn’t evil, he wasn’t dirty or impure. He was light. The only light you had ever known. And all this time you had thought he had been the very opposite… 

“It’s okay…” Your voice cracks, you know it’s not. Still, your hands reach for his, lacing your fingers together to make one. “It’s okay — you’ll be okay”, you nod to yourself. “Does it hurt terribly?” You ask, looking for something, anything to stop the bleeding with. —  “I’m fine.” He says, wincing slightly when you put too much pressure on the gash, “Been through worse.” You can tell he’s trying to brush it off, act stronger than he is. 

“It’s okay — just keep still, I’ll fix this”, you murmur, fingers reaching for the hem of your dress as you prepare to rip a piece off. Taehyun stops you, his grip on your wrist is weak, hand shaking as he halts your movements. “Don’t”, he croaks, eyes silently pleading with you, “It’s beautiful on you… Don’t want you to ruin it.” 

A frustrated whine slips from your lips, “How could you say something like that right now?” The once green and vibrant dress is ruined, stained with both blood and dirt. How could he possibly find someone so grimy… beautiful? — You hadn’t even noticed the tears spilling down your cheeks, not until Taehyun lifts a trembling hand, fingers carefully swiping away the salty essence of every single emotion you were feeling right now. 

“Come, lay with me.” The request is so softly spoken, it almost sounds nothing like him. But if you lay down now, if you stop, if you give up… You shake your head, stubbornly pressing your hands against the bleeding wound on his stomach. “No… No, I’m going to make it better. I’m going to fix it. Just… Just…” Your words fall short, tears still sliding down your face and landing on his heaving chest. 

Taehyun’s hand is warm against your arm, despite the tremors running through him he’s still touching you like you were the most fragile piece of china in the world. “Please”, he says, tugging you closer with little strength, “I want you in my arms, one last time.” 

You let yourself be pulled back onto his chest, cheek resting against the beating of his heart. You listen to it, letting your eyes fall shut as your fingers curl in the loose fabric of his shirt. “We’re just resting…” You murmur, shuddering when his arms wrap around you, “Just resting… Then we’re going to make you better. Save your strength.” 

Somewhere above you Taehyun hums, he doesn't protest, but he doesn't agree either. It didn’t matter. You were going to make it alright. You were going to save him, just like he had saved you. — For a while everything is silent, the house is still burning behind you, the flames dancing across the place you had once called home. The night is cold but Taehyun is warm against you, so is the heat of the fire, smoldering your joint bodies. 

Beneath you, Taehyun takes a deep, shaky breath. You can clearly hear the effort it takes for him to even do that. It makes your heart hurt. Then he speaks, his voice low and strained. “Do you remember… the night we met?” The question catches you off guard, your fingers tightening their grip on his shirt. “Of course I do.” 

How could you ever forget? His dark silhouette in your living room, his alarmed expression when you’d caught him in the act. The vase he’d so clumsily broken, the bag he’d left behind. You had replayed your first encounter many times in your mind, mulling over his words, the look in his dark eyes — the same dark eyes you would grow so accustomed to over time. 

“I think about it a lot”, Taehyun murmurs, his fingers moving absentmindedly along your arms. 

“You do?” 

“Yeah.” 

He’s silent for a minute, like he was basking in the moment just a second longer. Another deep breath, you feel his chest rise and fall under you. “You haven’t left my mind since that night.” He admits, the words so quiet in comparison to the roaring fire. The admission makes your head lift as you peer at his face. He’s looking up, eyes tracing the stars in the sky when he speaks, “It was annoying at first… Not being able to get you out of my head”, he muses, a small grin tugging against his chapped lips. His arms tighten around you, his voice strained as he continues. “Got used to it after a while”, his eyes flicker to meet yours, “Now I never want you to leave.” 

Your heart beats faster at that, fresh tears threatening to spill as you hastily blink them away. “That’s so silly”, you murmur, a half-hearted smile tugging at your lips when you let your head fall back against his chest. 

“Is it?” 

“No… It’s actually kind of sweet.” 

Another silence stretches over the two of you. The fire burns hot and alive, the entire top floor of your house has collapsed in on itself. There had been no screams, no agony — just silent relief, freedom. You glance toward the sky, the night is still, stars twinkling above you, they seem closer now, perhaps they were reaching for you, or you them. 

You wonder what life would be like now — without your father. Taehyun had not said a word about him. But you knew he was dead. You could feel it in the way the wind moved, how the grass seemed to reach just a little higher, growing a little wilder. Something had been lifted, or perhaps pulled down and buried. Either way it was gone. He was gone. — Mother was gone too. That was different. A quiet sorrow, the one that lingers in endless rivers and calm oceans. One that would be remembered, but not grieved. 

Taehyun heaves another breath beneath you, the exhale he emits is raspy, strained. He coughs once, blood coating his bottom lip. You try to sit up, a shaky hand reaching for his face. But he stops you, arms tightening their hold on you. “Stay”, he chokes, weakly pulling you against his chest, “Stay in my arms.”

You can barely hear the beating of his heart now, it’s faint and slow against the shell of your ear. “You’re just resting, right?” You quietly ask, your voice cracking on the last syllable, “Taehyun?” 

“I am”, he quietly hums, arms still wrapping around you tight, stubbornly refusing to let go. It’s okay, he’s going to get better. He just needs to rest, just needs to regain his strength, then the two of you can leave together, go somewhere nice. Perhaps you can even get a home together… That would be nice, Taehyun’s first home. 

It’s almost like he’s heard your silent monologue, for his arms squeeze around you just a little harder. “You should go see the long beaches”, he murmurs, “The ones in your paintings.” He pauses for a moment, as if gathering strength to even get the next words out. “They exist, y’know? Lots of animals there…” He talks about it like one would an old friend, with quiet longing for someone you hadn’t seen in a long time. 

“Will you come with me?” 

You wait anxiously for him to answer, for him to tell you that he would be by your side, holding your hand as you walk barefoot through the sand. But Taehyun doesn’t reply. And you can only listen to each strained breath he takes. — Seconds pass, maybe even minutes, you can’t tell. All you hear is the constant slowing beating of his heart, doing little to match the fervent beating of your own. 

“What do you think death is like?” He finally asks. The question catches you off guard, it was the last thing you had expected from him, the last thing you wanted to talk about right now. Still, you can’t deny him, not when you hear the pained grunts he tries to quiet, the way his arms tremble against your body as he forces himself to hold on to you. 

Your fingers draw small shapes on his chest, eyes fixed to the way it rises and falls in weak pathetic breaths. “It’s painless”, you hum, “If you’re good. Then it’s just like going to sleep.” Your answer seems to make him think, you can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he adjusts his grip on you. 

“How do you know if you’re good?” He wonders, voice low and hesitant, like this had been on his mind for longer than he’d ever admit. 

“You are good”, you say, palm pressing flat against his chest in an attempt to feel him through the layers of clothes he wears, “You saved me. You made it stop.” 

Through the corner of your eye you think you can see his lip twitch, a small smile tugging across his exhausted face. “Yeah”, he exhales, his body finally relaxing under yours. 

“I made it stop.” 

He doesn’t say anything after that and for a moment you’re content with just laying on his chest. The house is still burning not far away — a reminder of what he’d done for you, of what he’d saved you from. You peer at the flames, watching as they move, alive just for you. 

There’s voices on the other side of the house — people. They must have woken up at the sight, possibly the strong smell of smoke. You can hear their worried exchanges, some louder than others, but what they’re saying remains a mystery. Still… You lift your head, trying your hardest to catch a glimpse of them, of anyone. 

“Taehyun… Taehyun, there's people here…” Your fingers curl around his shirt, tugging on it slightly in an attempt to get his attention. “They will help you, come on!” 

Silence. 

You swallow, tearing your gaze from the burning house and back to him. His eyes have fallen shut, lips still pulled into a content smile — like he was right where he wanted to be. Your hand presses against his chest, fingers trembling as you listen after his heart. You can’t hear anything. 

“Taehyun… You can stop resting now.” 

“There’s people here to help you.” 

“Taehyun…?” 

Death isn’t cruel by nature. Man had made it that way. Your father had made you fear it, he’d made you live by his rules so that one day you would escape the fate handed out to everyone. Father had been wrong all along. For him death was dark — perhaps even painful. He was meant to suffer the way he had made those around him suffer. Death was his punishment. 

But not Taehyun. Your hand brushes against his cheek, his skin is cold now, his soul somewhere else. Somewhere far away, on a long beach or by a dwindling river, where the sun always shines and the birds fly over the horizon. 

Taehyun saved you. 

Death would not be cruel to him.

𐔌ㅤ serene's note hi... did you cry? (say yes) anyway, if you actually read all of this... you're so strong come sit at my table and we can drink cheap wine together. yes anyway, I would love to hear your thoughts or opinions, like I love this fic a lot and I would love to talk to you guys about it :3

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[mssishipi]

YOUR TURN — hyung line

YOUR TURN — 1. A phrase used in a gangbang to tell the next person waiting that it’s time for them to step in and get involved. 2. A slut’s opportunity—the moment when it is finally her chance to act, indulge, and surrender herself after others have already taken theirs. The phrase emphasizes delayed gratification, where the receiver eagerly awaits her turn to be used or to participate after hearing others go before her.

content tags/warnings: hyung line x reader, reader is horny and desperate, men are assholes, inspired by the show series euphoria. explicit content (smut): porn with no plot at all, gangbang, face fucking, facials, nipple play, fingering, oral fixation, unprotected sex, degrading language, pet names (baby, sweetheart, darling etc), double penetration, protected anal sex, slapping, hentai like expressions, handjob, overstimulation, tits fucking, squirting, lack of verbal consent in some scenes, choking, pain play, creampie, this is straight up porn but have a potential romance at the end. lmk if i missed something. WC: 17.2K

It wasn't like you were some kind of slut, right?

Who were you kidding? Any girl with a working pussy would drool if she stood close enough to those four men. Not just because of their looks, not just because of the sharp edges of their jawlines or the way their eyes seemed to strip people down without touching them, but because how they confidently carried themselves. Their scent. That mix of cologne and sweat that made your throat dry the second they passed by. It wasn't normal, not the way your body reacted. Not the way your thighs pressed together when you thought of them. But you kept telling yourself it was. It had to be.

Lee Heeseung, Park Jongseong, Sim Jaeyun, and Park Sunghoon. 

Four names that rang louder than any lecture in your university halls. Four names whispered in bathrooms, shouted across freedom walls, written down in anonymous confessions like some fucking campus legends. Everyone knew them. Everyone wanted them. And everyone, at least once, wondered what it would be like to be touched by them.

People pretended to sneer at their lives, at the rumors tied around them, but the truth always leaked through—envy, hunger, the kind of desperate need nobody wanted to admit out loud. Because deep down, every damn rumor about them only made them more untouchable, more godlike.

And then there was that one rumor. The one that tore through the university like wildfire.

The gangbang story.

The most scandalous, dirtiest thing anyone had ever whispered, and yet nobody could stop talking about it.

Nobody could prove it. Nobody knew if it was just a story made up by someone bored, but fuck, if it had been real... if it had been real, then you weren't sure what was worse. The fact that people called it disgusting or the fact that it made your whole body clench with jealousy.

How fucking scandalous. How fucking disgusting.

And how fucking pathetic that every time you thought about it, your chest got tight, your mouth went dry, and all you could think was: if that rumor had ever been true, if those four had ever taken a girl like that, then why the fuck wasn't it you?

"Someone caught Jake making out with a girl from Tourism!"

"Someone said Sunghoon's been fucking that sophomore from another building!"

"Have you heard that Jay is smoking at the back of the building while the TA sucks him off? Geez, what a lucky girl."

"And that cheerleader said Heeseung likes girls who can spread their legs wide!"

Your hands gripped your pen tighter, knuckles turning pale, jaw clenched as the chatter bled into your ears. Every fucking sentence was the same—different girls, different places, different dirty details—but the same four names, always the same four names. It was exhausting, it was maddening, and it was starting to chew holes into your focus.

"Stop it," you hissed finally, snapping your head up to face the group of girls clustered near the corner. "There are people here who are trying to study. Maybe try doing that instead of running your mouths about men and their sex lives. Do you have no shame?"

The table went quiet, their smirks twitching as they shared quick glances between themselves. One girl rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, but none of them pushed back. They just leaned back into their seats, whispering low but not low enough, as if they wanted you to hear every giggle, every stifled laugh.

You tried to turn back to your notes, but your pulse wouldn't settle. You're not annoyed that they were gossipping.

You were jealous.

Jealous that every rumor had someone else's name attached to it. Jealous that every filthy story, every detail, every moan that lived in their words belonged to another girl and not to you.

Fuck! It's unfair! It's so unfair! Why was it always someone else? Why did it have to be another girl they kissed, another girl they bent over, another girl who got to hear their voices from fucking?

You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying to drown it out, trying to stay steady. But every word of theirs came back to the same thing. Their dicks. Their moans. Their fucking. And all it did was remind you that you hadn't had a single taste of any of it, not even once.

Fuck it. When was it supposed to be your turn?

You tried. God, you fucking tried. You started dragging yourself to every fraternity party you caught wind of, even ones you had no business going to, all in hopes of catching just one of their eyes. You would push through sweaty bodies and strobe lights, pretending to dance, pretending to laugh, only to learn that Jay had already gotten bored and left long before you even stepped in. The disappointment would choke you, but you still kept showing up. 

Like some desperate puppy waiting for scraps.

You started waxing everything, every inch of your body, until your skin burned. You bought bottles of expensive perfume you couldn't even afford, ones that clung to your clothes and hair until it made you dizzy. You thought maybe, they liked girls who smelled clean, who looked like they had their shit together, but deep down you knew it didn't matter. Because how would they ever notice when you didn't even have the guts to open your mouth?

"Uh... do you know, like, how to talk to Heeseung?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual while your eyes betrayed you, glued to the tall figure across the library.

He was sliding books off a shelf, completely unaware of the way your whole body went tense, your throat dry, your palms slick with sweat. Even from a distance you swore you could smell him, that same maddening warmth that clung to him whenever he walked past.

Your friend blinked, eyebrows raised as though she couldn't believe the words had actually come out of your mouth. "About what? You know damn well he doesn't talk to girls in public. People only talk about how he fucks them hard and then disappears. No contact. Nothing. Ever." She scoffed, dismissing it with a wave of her hand, before her gaze sharpened on you. A smirk tugged at her lips and she let out a loud laugh that made your ears burn. "Wait. Don't tell me you're actually planning something. You think you're gonna get him to fuck you?"

Her laughter made your eye twitch. You felt her gaze scan over you, up and down, picking apart everything you were, everything you weren't. She reached over, patting your shoulder in a way that only made you feel smaller.

"It's okay to dream big," she said, lips curving into a cruel little smile, "but let me shatter that for you. He would never, okay? Hmm?"

Something in your chest snapped at her words. Anger rose, clinging to your ribs until you thought you'd choke on it. How fucking dare she? How dare she look at you like that, laugh at you like you weren't even worth a second glance? How high did she think of herself, how low did she think of you?

But you swallowed it, burying the sharpness down where no one could see. You curved your lips into a laugh that sounded almost real, almost lighthearted, even though your nails dug into your palm under the table. "Silly you," you said sweetly, tilting your head like it didn't sting, "I was just trying to interview him for sports journalism. Don't get too talkative about fucking, though. It sounds like you're reflecting your own frustrations."

You smiled brighter, watching her expression falter for just a second before she scoffed again and turned back to her notes.

You needed to think. You needed to dig deeper into yourself, to find a way, any way, because you refused to lose. You refused to accept being invisible.

Every single morning became a routine.

You would drag yourself out of bed before the sun even touched the sky, forcing your heavy eyes open as you stood in front of the mirror. You styled your hair until not a single strand was out of place, you layered makeup carefully until your reflection looked like someone worth noticing, and you scrubbed your skin until it stung, until it shone smooth under your fingertips. Your closet was picked apart daily, clothes scattered across your floor, until you found the outfit that made you feel like you could walk down the hall with your head high, like you were worth a second glance.

And every time, when the clock struck the hour you knew they would be walking down the hallway, you stood ready. Shoulders straight, steps measured, chest tight with nerves as you waited for them to pass. You tried to look effortless, confident, perfect. But it shattered you every single time when none of them looked your way. Their eyes stayed forward, their voices low between themselves, their expressions unchanged as if you were nothing more than air. Your hands would grow limp at your sides, your confidence bleeding out of you as you glanced behind your shoulder, mouth parted slightly, helplessly staring at their broad shoulders moving further and further away from you.

The frustration followed you. At night, you laid in bed with their faces behind your eyelids, your thighs pressed together until you couldn't stand it anymore.

You touched yourself with the thought of them, not just one but all four, surrounding you, using you, making you theirs in every filthy way you had imagined. You came undone to fantasies of their hands pulling your hair, their voices groaning against your ear, your body stretched thin for them, and the pleasure left you gasping, sweating, shaking in the dark. Yet as soon as it ended, as soon as your heartbeat slowed, you already hated yourself. Because no matter how hard you wanted it, morning would come again, and the cycle would repeat. You'd wake up early, fix yourself to perfection, pass them in the hallway, and watch them ignore you.

The days blurred into each other, but the whispers always found you. Another rumor spread like fire, another story about them with another girl, and it burned you alive from the inside.

You wanted to scream at how unfair it was, how humiliating it felt that you couldn't stop aching for something you might never get. Sometimes you almost laughed at yourself, at how pathetic you must have looked, stuck between jealousy and desperation, unable to let go.

"Wow, what perfume do you use? You smell so good!" Your classmate's voice cut through your thoughts one day, her hand brushing casually across your arm. "And your lotion too? Your skin feels amazing."

The touch startled you, and the question almost made you snap. "It's just Victoria's Secret," you hissed automatically, jerking your hand slightly to free yourself. But the moment you saw her surprised face, you realized what you had done, and quickly masked it with a sweet smile. "Sorry, I'm in a bad mood, forgive me? It's Velvet Petals. But I exfoliate with Dove first. That's probably why."

Her lips curved into a bright smile, her eyes scanning you with something almost admiring. "It's okay! You look really, really, really pretty, you know? And you're so sweet. I just hope you don't fall into the wrong hands."

The way she said it made your stomach twist. You knew exactly who she was talking about, and the mocking tone in her voice when she mentioned "wrong hands" made it worse. Those fuckboys. That's what they all called them, as if the four of them weren't the most wanted men on campus, as if everyone's mouths didn't water at the thought of being ruined by them.

You held your smile, but inside, the anger returned, pulsing hotter than before. They all thought they were above you. They all thought they could talk about them like that and laugh at you for wanting something they secretly wanted too. They were liars, hypocrites, hiding their hunger under judgment while you carried yours openly in your chest.

You pressed your lips together, leaning closer to her so your words came out soft, almost playful. "Maybe falling into the wrong hands isn't always such a bad thing."

Her eyes widened slightly, confusion flickering across her face as you sat back again, smiling politely like nothing had happened.

But in your head, the thought echoed, louder, heavier, filthier.

If those hands were theirs, you would fall gladly.

The party was dragging, the music pounding but lifeless, the people are drunk but boring. You wondered for the tenth time why you even bothered showing up.

The whole campus had been buzzing about this night, everyone whispering about how it would be wild because they would be here. But the most boring part of it all was exactly that—they weren't.

No sign of the four men everyone was expecting. And for that, you hated yourself a little. You hated that you had wasted another expensive outfit, another spritz of your favorite perfume, another hour in front of the mirror just to sit there and look pretty for nothing.

Your cheek rested lazily against your hand as you swirled the watered-down alcohol in your glass. Your eyes lingered on the girl across the room, perched on the couch, laughing with a group of guys who had crowded her like she was the crown jewel of the night. She looked so damn proud of herself, flipping her hair and soaking up their attention like it was worth something.

You almost felt bad for her—because those men? God, they were fucking ugly. The kind of guys who had nothing going for them except being loud and drunk enough to fill her space. And she was pretty, too pretty for the trash sitting beside her, too wasted to notice she could do better.

You sighed, your eyes dropping back down to your glass, watching the last pieces of ice melt into nothing. Maybe you should leave. Maybe you should give up, call it another wasted night, drag yourself back to bed where you could rot under the covers and imagine what it would feel like if the four men ever actually noticed you.

"Hi."

The single word pierced through the noise around you. Your breath caught, and you nearly threw your glass across the table. Your back went ramrod straight as you turned, your heart slamming against your ribs so hard it hurt. When your eyes landed on the figures behind you, everything inside of you went still before spiraling into chaos.

Jake. Sunghoon.

Two of them. Standing there. Talking. To you.

Your throat closed, your tongue heavy, your thoughts shattering into broken pieces as if the universe had finally played its sick joke on you. What the fuck was happening? Jake and Sunghoon—out of everyone in this crowded room—were standing in front of you, looking at you, waiting for you.

"H-Hi?" The word slipped out, so small, so shaky you almost cringed at yourself.

Jake's smile spread, his gaze running over you like he was unwrapping you with his eyes. He didn't hide the way he lingered on the pink silk dress clinging to your body or the way his eyes glinted when he caught the gems glittering delicately across your skin. The weight of his stare made your thighs press together without you even thinking about it.

"Where's your friends?" He shifted his hands casually into his pockets, flashing a smile. "I organized this party, you know. I almost felt bad seeing you sitting here alone."

You swallowed hard, the words tangling on your tongue. This was the moment you'd been waiting for, the one you had begged for, dreamed of, touched yourself over. And yet, your body betrayed you, trembling as you almost flinched under the weight of their presence.

"M-My friends a-are... uh... there." Your shaky hand lifted, pointing weakly toward the dance floor, and the second you did it you wanted to melt into the floor and disappear.

Sunghoon's low laugh broke the air. He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes fixed on you as if he could see straight through every flimsy layer of composure you were trying to hold together. "And they exclude you? What bad friends you have."

The closeness of him made your brain dissolve. His perfume, his cologne, the sharp tang of alcohol still lingering on his lips—God, you wanted to taste it, to drown in it. He didn't even touch you, but his nearness was enough to make your body tense, your lips parting before you realized it.

"Want to join us?" Sunghoon asked smoothly.

"W-Where?" you squeaked.

"Well, we can drink outside—" Sunghoon started, but Jake cut him off with a voice that left no room for argument.

"At Heeseung's private room." His tone was steady, certain, his stare locked on you, waiting for your reaction.

For a split second, Sunghoon's eyes widened at Jake's bluntness. You caught the quick glance he shot him, an unspoken message passing between them, before his smirk slid back into place. He didn't need to argue. He didn't need to say a thing. Because the moment the words "Heeseung's private room" left Jake's mouth, your body had already betrayed you.

Your lips trembled, your voice breaking into a whisper. "Yes."

And there it was—the one word that sealed everything.

Jake's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he tilted his head ever so slightly, studying you like you had just handed yourself over. Sunghoon's grin widened, his teeth flashing as he straightened up, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"Good girl," Jake murmured under his breath.

Your chest tightened, your breath caught, and every ounce of you screamed that this was it. The moment you had been waiting for, the moment you had dreamed of, the moment you could never come back from.

And you didn't fucking care.

The door creaked open and Heeseung froze at the threshold, his tall frame stiffening instantly as his eyes landed on the scene.

Jake had one hand tangled in your hair, his cock buried between your lips, his head thrown back as he groaned through clenched teeth. Sunghoon was draped across your back, his chest pressing heavily against you, his hand pinching and rolling your nipples mercilessly while his lips brushed your skin, leaving icy trails that made you shiver.

Your body was positioned like some offering—hands and knees spread like a cat, ass swaying slightly with every thrust of Jake's hips.

"Seriously?" Heeseung's voice was carrying irritation. He shut the door, though he didn't walk away.

The noise made you whimper, muffled around Jake's cock, the vibration of your moan sending shudders up his spine. Jake gritted his teeth and hissed through a laugh, thrusting harder until the blunt head of his dick slammed against the back of your throat. He held you there with one firm grip in your hair, pushing until your nose bumped against the hard plane of his stomach. Your eyes watered, your chest heaved, but the desperation inside you drowned out every thought of resistance.

It hadn't started like this. At first, it was only drinks, games, laughter and teasing, until Jake leaned forward and suggested body shots. You hadn't even hesitated; the heat of their attention had already melted through you, and Jake had almost laughed at how quickly you had fallen into their hands.

And now, here you were, drooling and choking on his cock while Sunghoon twisted your nipples until your whole body jerked with every pinch.

"Your favorite member is here," Jake taunted, his gaze dropping down to you, then flicking toward the figure standing silently by the door. His smirk widened as he forced another thrust into your mouth. "Bro, she's been asking where the fuck you were. You took so long, she already came in her panties just from Sunghoon teasing her tits."

Heat shot through your face as the humiliation wrapped around you. Tears streamed freely down your cheeks, staining the gems near your eyes, but none of it stopped you from flattening your tongue against the base of his cock, licking every inch you could reach while your throat spasmed around him. The shame twisted into a  darker, sharper, more intoxicating feeling than you ever imagined.

This was it. This was the dream. The one you'd fucked yourself to in silence night after night, the one you had burned for. And now you were living it, choking, moaning, tears streaking your face, every filthy detail of it everything you had ever wanted.

You couldn't see Heeseung clearly from where you knelt, but you felt him. His gaze was heavy, dragging over you, making your pussy clench at nothing. You knew he was watching the way your lips stretched around Jake's cock, the way your chest heaved as Sunghoon tortured your nipples, the way you looked so fucked out and desperate already.

"The rumors about us are already spreading, and you have the guts to do this?" Heeseung's voice finally cut through with restrained anger. He stepped closer, his shoes quiet against the floor until his shadow stretched across you. You could feel his eyes on your crying, messy face, and it only made your cunt throb harder, soaking your panties.

Jake laughed through a groan, his hips grinding against your lips as his cock slid deeper. Sunghoon joined him with a low chuckle, his cold mouth pressing into your nape as his fingers tugged the straps of your dress down your shoulders. The silk slipped easily, baring your chest fully to Heeseung's view, your nipples stiff and swollen as Sunghoon's thumb and finger rolled them until you moaned around Jake's length.

"Come on," Sunghoon murmured against your ear, his voice is taunting. "You know we always love sharing." His lips traced your skin as his hand pushed your dress lower, exposing more, leaving nothing for modesty.

Heeseung's jaw tensed, but his eyes betrayed him. He couldn't look away. His cock stirred against his pants, hardening slowly with every sound that left you, with every pathetic little whimper muffled by Jake's cock. He watched the tears streak down your face, the way your hand lifted shakily from the floor, reaching for him.

Your fingers trembled as they hovered against his thigh, then slid higher until they brushed over the hard bulge in his pants. Your eyes lifted toward him, glassy, half-lidded, drowning in tears and lust, staring directly into his.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, his composure cracking.

And when your palm pressed firmer against him, stroking lightly through the fabric, his cock throbbed in response.

Your back arched off when Heeseung's hands moved to his belt. The sight alone was enough to make your chest tighten and your pussy throb, your body reacting with a hunger you couldn't disguise. Sunghoon caught it immediately, his laugh was low against your ear, mocking the way you looked so desperate without shame. He shifted off you, giving Heeseung room.

"Does Jay know about this?" Heeseung asked, his eyes shifting toward Jake and Sunghoon as if demanding an explanation even while his hands were already pulling at his clothes.

Jake's grin widened, still slick with your spit as he slid his cock from your mouth. "It's a surprise," he answered simply, as if that explained everything. His hand squeezed the back of your neck one last time before releasing you, and your body slumped against the mattress, chest heaving, throat raw. But before you could even recover, Heeseung's hands pressed against you, guiding your body flat onto your back, his touch so commanding you followed without question.

The world tilted when the fabric of your dress slipped from your shoulders, your body fully bared under their stares. Sunghoon leaned close again, his nose brushing your cheek as his voice dipped. "Look at those pretty eyes." His words curled into your skin, and you whimpered before turning toward him, your lips crashing into his. The kiss was messy, desperate, your mouth opening wide for him, your tongue tangling with his like you could pull the heat out of him and swallow it whole.

Jake's fingers hooked your panties and dragged them down your legs, his eyes glued to the slick mess between your thighs. The moment he saw your pussy clenching and unclenching around nothing, a growl broke from his throat.

Heeseung's response was just as guttural, his eyes narrowing as he dropped down onto his knees beside Jake, their shoulders brushing as if they were competing for the same prize. Without hesitation, they lifted your legs, spreading you shamelessly open, one of your thighs resting on each of their broad shoulders.

Sunghoon didn't let you breathe. His mouth consumed yours, his tongue pressing harder, his teeth tugging your bottom lip as his hand cradled your jaw, keeping you locked against him. You barely managed a moan into his mouth when the first hot lick dragged across your clit, the sudden sensation shooting up your spine that you tore yourself away from Sunghoon's kiss. Your eyes flew down, wide and dazed, only to meet Heeseung's sharp gaze staring up at you while his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking with deliberate, teasing pulls.

Your mouth fell open, your chest rising and falling rapidly, but you didn't dare blink. You couldn't miss the sight of his face buried between your legs, his tongue flattening against your sensitive bud and flicking so slowly it bordered on torture. Your thighs shook, trying to close, but his grip on your hips was unyielding.

"Hey," Sunghoon muttered, his fingers squeezing your chin until your eyes snapped back to him. His gaze was dark, narrowed, a flicker of jealousy twisting in it. "I was the one who found you. Give me some attention."

Your whimpers came small, but you still obeyed, your hand trembling as he guided it down between his legs. The hard ridge of his cock was burning against the fabric of his pants. The moment your palm pressed against him, your body shivered from the weight of him.

They were massive. You had heard the whispers from other girls, but no rumor had prepared you for the truth. Your fingers wrapped around him, squeezing gently through the fabric, and Sunghoon's lips parted, his breath catching as his hips rocked into your touch.

"Fuck," he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin as if your touch alone was enough to push him toward the edge.

And then Jake bit down on your inner thigh, hard enough to make you cry out, his tongue following the sting with a wet, sucking kiss that left your skin marked. Heeseung's lips abandoned your clit, only to press lower, his tongue flattening against your dripping entrance before slurping noisily at the wetness pooling there. The sound was obscene, messy, and you moaned louder than you ever had, the combination of Jake's teeth marking your thighs and Heeseung's mouth devouring you unraveling every last thread of composure you had.

"Shh." Sunghoon's voice was ragged as his hand pressed against your jaw again, his hips grinding into your palm while his other hand fumbled with his belt. His pants dropped down his thighs, and when he freed himself, your eyes widened, your mouth watering instantly at the sight. His cock was flushed and heavy, the tip glistening with pre-cum, so thick it almost made your stomach flutter with fear.

Your legs were trembling uncontrollably, but you couldn't close them, not when Jake and Heeseung had you pinned wide open, their mouths swapping positions greedily between your clit and your entrance.

Jake was hungrier, reckless with the way his tongue plunged into you, his lips sucking against your folds so loudly it drowned out even the bass from the music downstairs. You could feel him moan against you, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, his whole face buried as if he wanted to drown in your pussy.

"Say ah," Sunghoon knelt in front of you, his cock gripped tightly in his hand. You obeyed instantly, your lips falling open, your eyes wide and locked on his face.

The expression he wore was enough to make your stomach twist—his brows drawn tight, his lips parted as if he were biting back a curse, his gaze focused entirely on your mouth as though nothing else in the world existed.

"So eager," he whispered hoarsely, his cock brushing against your lips as pre-cum smeared across them. "Fuck."

Heeseung rose slowly from between your thighs, his lips and chin slick with your wetness, his chest lifting heavily with each breath. His gaze drifted down over your trembling body, then to Sunghoon's cock hovering dangerously close to your lips, before his large hands moved to your chest. The weight of his touch was deliberate, kneading the softness of your breasts, his thumbs dragging over your nipples until they tightened again under his attention.

The combination was unbearable, your body jerking at every angle, twitching against their hands and mouths as if you no longer had control over it. Sunghoon's sudden pace had your cheeks hollowing, his cock stretching your lips as he thrust with low, restrained groans.

At the same time, Heeseung's fingers twisted your nipples mercilessly, sharp flicks that sent heat rushing to your core, and Jake's tongue was buried inside you, fucking your entrance with wet, eager strokes. Each movement pulled you in a different direction, your body caught in the middle of all three of them until you felt yourself unraveling at the seams.

Your head was spinning, dizzy from the sensation. The world tilted and blurred, your muffled moans spilling out against Sunghoon's cock, your tears streaking down your cheeks. It was overwhelming, but in the best way, better than anything you had ever experienced, better than every fumbling encounter that left you aching and unsatisfied.

This was hunger given form, this was desire being fed by three men who knew exactly how to break you. Every flick of Heeseung's fingers, every thrust of Jake's tongue, every push of Sunghoon's cock made your stomach coil tighter and tighter, until the knot inside you threatened to snap.

And then it did.

You came so hard it tore a strangled cry out of your throat, your body convulsing with the force of it. The orgasm crashed into you violently, your back arching off the bed, your legs trembling as Jake's hands clamped down on your thighs to keep you open.

You almost bit down on Sunghoon from the shock of it, your mouth clenching, your throat spasming, and he pulled back with a sharp hiss, his hand replacing himself on your lips to keep you from choking. But Jake didn't stop; he didn't even pause. His tongue twisted deep inside you, lapping greedily at everything you gave him, his head moving side to side as if he wanted to drink you dry. He held you down through every wave, prolonging the orgasm until you thought your body might tear apart from how hard you were shaking.

"Fuck, ah—fuck, shit," Sunghoon cursed above you, his voice breaking into a groan. His grip tightened on your jaw as his release hit suddenly, hot ropes of cum splattering across your face in quick, forceful bursts. Some streaked down your lips, some across your cheeks, and one stray spurt landed in your eye, stinging faintly but drowned out by the overwhelming tide of pleasure still wrecking your body.

You barely processed it, too lost in the pulsing aftershocks of your orgasm and the relentless flicks of Heeseung's thumbs still torturing your nipples. The sensation was too much, every nerve in your body stretched taut as Jake's mouth sealed back over your clit, his tongue circling lazily as he wanted to drag every last drop of climax from you.

Your sobs broke into gasps, your chest rising sharply, your face sticky with Sunghoon's cum, your throat raw from the moans you couldn't stop. And still, Heeseung's eyes stayed locked on you, darkly watching you writhe.

"I need to fuck her already," Heeseung finally muttered, already standing.

Jake stopped what he was doing and glared at him, his jaw clenched. "Who the fuck said you were gonna be first? I was the one who talked to her. I was the one who had her on her knees until now." His hands went to his shirt, ripping it over his head before shoving his pants down impatiently, his irritation burning through every motion.

Sunghoon sighed, throwing his head back, eyes half-lidded as he grabbed your shaky hand and wrapped it around his cock. "You two are always fighting about this shit," he muttered, ignoring the tension and letting you stroke him, his hips lifting slightly into your fist. His lashes fluttered shut as a low groan escaped him. "Fuck, that's it. Don't stop, baby. Just keep going. That's all I need."

"Fuck off," Heeseung snapped as he took a step closer. "You've both had enough time playing with her. I've been waiting, and I'm not standing here any longer."

Your eyes darted between them, your chest rising in short, desperate pulls of breath, before landing on Sunghoon again. He was still focused only on you, his hand over yours, guiding you up and down his thick cock. "Feels so fucking good," he groaned, his voice breaking, his neck exposed as his head fell back.

"That's why I get to be the first to fuck her," Jake shot back, standing tall now, his cock hard and throbbing against his stomach. His smirk was sharp, challenging. "You were late. I've been making her drip for me."

Sunghoon leaned closer to you, his breath hot against your ear, his lips brushing the corner of your jaw. "Ignore them, baby. Just focus on me." His other hand slid around your waist, tugging you closer until his lips pressed firmly against your neck. He kissed you hard, then nipped at your skin, his teeth dragging up to your jaw before biting again. You gasped at the sting, your hand stroking him faster, your wrist straining with the effort.

"Such a good girl," he moaned, his lips vibrating against your throat. His fingers slipped down your belly until they found your soaked pussy again, circling lazily around your entrance. The teasing pressure made you jolt, your moans tumbling out helplessly as he finally pushed one finger inside. Your walls clenched instantly, wrapping tight around him, and his sharp groan against your ear told you exactly how much he liked it. "So tight," he whispered, almost to himself, before sinking another finger inside.

"Sunghoon—" your voice broke, whimpering, the heat spreading too fast through your core as his hand worked inside you.

"Keep those pretty legs open for me, baby," he murmured, his lips dragging down to your shoulder, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. "Need to stretch this pussy for all of us. You want that, don't you? Want to take us all?"

Your only answer was a frantic nod, your lips trembling as your hand gripped his cock tighter, pumping him faster even as your own body shuddered from his fingers curling deep inside.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself too much, Sunghoon," Jake hissed, stepping forward. His hand shot out, pulling you roughly away from Sunghoon's grip.

You whined at the sudden loss, your body immediately protesting the absence of his fingers inside you.

"Shhh, darling," Jake cooed mockingly, wiping at your cum-stained face with his thumb before pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss. His mouth was demanding, tasting, his teeth nipping at your lower lip before pulling back with a smirk. "Me and Heeseung will make you feel so fucking good. You want that, don't you?"

"Yes," you whimpered without hesitation, nodding quickly, your desperation spilling through. You turned on your hands and knees before they could even tell you, body moving on instantly because you knew. You'd heard the whispers. You knew this was how Jake liked to fuck—rough, from behind, with no mercy. "Please."

Jake's laugh was low, almost breathless as he stared at your ass. "Fuck, you don't even need to be told. So hot like this." His palm cracked against your cheek, the sting making you moan as he spread you open with his hands.

Your eyes flicked up, catching Sunghoon again—he was watching with his lip caught between his teeth, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, stroking lazily as his gaze devoured you.

And then your eyes trailed higher, locking with Heeseung, who was standing in front of you, holding the base of his thick cock as if offering it to you. You opened your mouth instantly, ready to take him, but instead he grabbed your chin, tilting your head until you were forced to look up at him.

You sucked in a sharp breath when Jake's tip pressed against your soaked pussy, your entire body stiffening at the stretch before he even entered. His grip on your waist was bruising, anchoring you in place.

"Shit," Jake groaned under his breath, his voice breaking into a growl as he pushed in deeper. "How long has it been since you've been fucked like this? You're tight as fuck."

Your whimpers filled the air, your eyes locked on Heeseung's as he squished your cheeks between his large hand.

"Talk," Heeseung demanded, his eyes burning down into you. "Don't just sit there like a pretty little toy. Tell us what you want. Say it."

The moment he said it, Jake shoved his cock all the way inside you, the sudden fullness making your head drop forward with a cry.

"Moan louder. Scream our names. Tell us what to do to you," Heeseung ordered, pushing you to the edge as Jake's thrusts started to slam into you from behind.

"I—" you stammered through gasps, your body buckling under the rhythm. "I've been dreaming of this since first year." The confession tumbled out without filter, every word dripping with desperation.

Your honesty ripped a sound from both Jake and Sunghoon, low groans that mixed with the slick sound of your body being fucked. Heeseung's gaze hardened, his nostrils flaring as his jaw clenched. Jake's thrusts grew harsher, his hips snapping against you with punishing speed.

"W-want all of you to use me—fuck me, please!" you squealed, your voice cracking as Jake's cock found that spot inside you and hit it mercilessly.

Jake's laugh was cruel, his words spilling out between moans. "Yeah? That's why you gave in so fucking easy? Thought we'd have to drag it out of you, but you just spread those legs like the slut you are." His hand clamped down on your arms, dragging you back onto his cock as he fucked you harder, each thrust shaking your body forward.

Tears pooled again in your eyes as you shook your head weakly, your voice breaking between cries. "N-not a slut! D-don't call me that—ah, f-fuck! Jake!"

But he only thrust faster, slamming into you, groaning at how you clenched so tightly around him the harder he degraded you.

"Yeah?" Jake's voice dropped to a whisper, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Then why the fuck are you here like this? Why are you dripping on me if you're not exactly what I called you?" His thrusts grew erratic, pounding straight into the softest spot inside you, making your knees tremble, making your nails dig into the sheets until your knuckles turned white.

You couldn't even answer him at first, because the way he was fucking you made your thoughts scatter, your mouth falling open as broken sounds spilled out. But then Heeseung was on you again, his hand fisting in your hair, pulling your head back so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"Come on," Heeseung murmured. His thumb brushed over your trembling bottom lip before tightening his grip on your hair, forcing your mouth open slightly. "Ignore him. Tell us what you need. Use that pretty voice."

Your chest heaved, your lashes fluttering, every nerve in your body screaming for more. "Want you—" your voice cracked, "want you all to fill m-my pussy up." The words came out broken, but loud enough for all of them to hear. Your body arched as another wave of Jake's thrusts sent shocks of heat through you, and you sobbed through your moan. "G-give me your biggest load, make me your toy for tonight—ahhh!"

Your scream broke off when Jake's hand slipped down, his fingers pinching your clit hard before slapping it over and over, sharp little bursts of pain crashing into the overwhelming pleasure. The mix had your eyes rolling back into your skull, your mouth falling open as drool slipped from the corner of your lips.

"Yes! Fuck, yes!" you squealed, your voice hoarse, your body jerking helplessly as the coil in your stomach twisted tight, tighter than before. Your thighs shook violently, your legs threatening to give out beneath you if it weren't for Jake's grip anchoring you in place. Every nerve screamed release, but he didn't stop, his cock drilling into you, his fingers punishing your clit until you were certain you'd break.

"Where do you want it?" Jake grunted against your neck, his thrusts almost brutal now, each one stealing the air from your lungs. "Where do you want me to cum, huh? Say it."

Heeseung tugged your hair harder, forcing your eyes to meet his again, his dark gaze pinning you as if daring you to answer wrong. Sunghoon's low groans filled the room behind them, the sound of his fist gliding over his cock only making the moment heavier.

Your lips trembled as you tried to form the words, every part of you shaking, drowning in pleasure, drowning in them.

"Anywhere," you gasped. "In my mouth, in my face, in my body, in my pussy—just fucking cum anywhere in me!"

"Fuck!" Jake groaned. His palm came down on your clit with a sharp slap that had your legs trembling so violently, your pussy clenching down on him with merciless tightness. The shock sent your body into another wave, your scream cutting through the air as you came hard around his cock, your walls fluttering, soaking him with everything you had.

The way you pulsed around him dragged him over the edge, his hips snapping forward with reckless speed until his cock throbbed and spilled, his hot cum spilling deep inside you in thick spurts that made your stomach twist with satisfaction. The moment you felt him paint your walls, you let out a long, broken moan, almost sobbing at how good it felt, how badly you'd needed it.

Heeseung finally let go of your hair, stepping back just far enough to watch you crumble under Jake. His eyes were locked on the mess between your legs, on the sight of Jake's cock still buried in you while his cum leaked out in slow, obscene drips.

His hand slid down his abdomen until he was stroking himself openly, his jaw tight, his breathing heavy. The look in his eyes told you he was seconds away from joining, and that thought made your clit twitch with aftershocks.

Sunghoon's chest rose and fell sharply as he leaned back, still stroking his cock at a steady rhythm, his gaze locked on you. His lips parted, his breathing uneven.

Jake's body eventually stilled, his forehead damp with sweat, his chest heaving with each breath as he looked down at your trembling frame. He pulled back slowly, letting his cock slide free from your swollen pussy. The moment he did, his cum began to spill out in a steady stream, dripping down your thighs and pooling between them.

He had never finished that hard before—he knew it, and from the stunned silence, so did the others. Even Heeseung's brows had furrowed at the sight, as if he couldn't believe how much you were leaking.

Your eyes fluttered half-lidded, your lashes wet with tears and sweat, your breaths shallow and uneven. Your body was heavy, limp from the storm that had wracked you, but somewhere deep inside, you found the strength to move your fingers, twitching weakly against the sheets. You weren't done. You couldn't be. You wanted more—you needed more. Your body begged for it, trembling but eager, your pussy clenching around nothing as if calling for another cock to fill you.

You forced your eyes open again, vision blurred with sweat and tears. And then—

"You're into this shit again?"

That voice. Deep, familiar voice, it cut through everything—the ringing in your ears, the haze in your mind, the pounding of your own heart.

Your pussy clenched instantly, as if your body recognized him before your brain could, a sharp rush of need flooding through you at just the sound.

"Took you long enough, Jay," Sunghoon muttered with a crooked smile, though his hand didn't stop stroking himself.

Jake looked up too, his chest still heaving, his hand dragging across his sweaty forehead, annoyance flickering across his features. Heeseung paused mid-stroke, his gaze narrowing, his jaw flexing as his attention shifted from you to the man at the door.

And you—your throat went dry, your lips parted, your heart slamming painfully against your ribs. Jay was here. Finally!

A soft, broken whine left your lips as your body shifted toward him. Jay's eyes sharpened, his expression was unreadable as he stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him. His gaze swept over the room, over Jake still breathless, Sunghoon stroking himself lazily, Heeseung looming above you, and finally, it landed on you—sweaty, trembling, your face flushed and messy, your eyes wide and glassy as they reached for him.

He didn't move immediately. He just stood there, silent, his jaw tight, demanding the others explain without him saying a word.

But Heeseung didn't give him the chance. He gripped your legs firmly, dragging you down the bed until you were flush beneath him, your body spread and waiting. Jay's eyes narrowed as he caught the sight of your hand twitching toward him, so close yet so far, the longing in your movement almost pathetic in its honesty.

Before you could call out, Heeseung pinned your arms above your head, his fingers curling around your wrists with unrelenting strength. His mouth brushed the shell of your ear, his voice low and taunting. "No more waiting. I've already held back long enough."

And then without warning, he pushed his cock all the way into you in one brutal thrust.

Your scream ripped through the air, your body arching violently as he bottomed out, stretching you so suddenly you could hardly think. The slick of Jake's cum inside you made it easier, made it wetter, but it didn't stop the sharp, overwhelming sting of being filled again so completely, so roughly.

"Fuck—yes," Heeseung groaned, his forehead pressing briefly to your temple as he steadied himself, though his hips didn't slow. "Need to bury my dick inside this pussy before anyone else tries to stop me. If I wait another second, I'll lose my goddamn mind."

He began to pound into you without mercy, each thrust shaking your body, pushing you deeper into the mattress. The sound of it mixed with his growls and your cries until it was all one desperate rhythm. His pace was punishing, desperate, as if he needed to erase the traces Jake left behind, like he needed to make sure you remembered him the most.

Your eyes flickered open through the haze, and there's Jay.

He was still standing where he'd closed the door, but now his chest rose heavily. He was watching you, not Heeseung, not Jake or Sunghoon, but you—his gaze locked on your face, on the way your lips trembled around moans, on the way your eyes begged for him even while another man fucked you senseless.

The sight of him like that—stoic, his stare pinning you harder than Heeseung's grip ever could—made your walls spasm tight around Heeseung's cock. You couldn't move forward, couldn't reach Jay the way you wanted, Heeseung's weight pinning you down just as Jake had before. It was maddening, being fucked this hard while Jay stood so close yet untouchable.

"Look at you," Heeseung groaned, his pace ruthless, his cock battering your soaked cunt. "You're dripping, squeezing me like you never want me to leave. You love it—you fucking love it."

And he wasn't wrong.

Your mind was spiraling, torn between the brutal pleasure flooding your body and the heat of Jay's eyes locked on you.

Heeseung's hand slid up the side of your face, his fingers pressing into your cheek as he tilted your head toward him. The moment your lips brushed against his, you melted, kissing him back feverishly, moaning into his mouth as he swallowed every sound. His thrusts didn't falter, his cock dragging mercilessly against that spot inside you that had you unraveling so quickly, another orgasm barreling through your overstimulated body before you could even brace yourself. Your legs shook violently, your cries muffled by his mouth as you shattered around him again.

Jake, still hard and needy, didn't wait any longer. He stepped closer, ignoring Jay's looming silence, his cock already heavy and dripping. Sunghoon followed, stroking himself lazily, his smirk curling as he looked down at your messy face and trembling body. Heeseung adjusted his body and hold, his hand locking tightly around your waist as he slowed just enough to grind into you deliberately, rolling his hips in a way that pressed cruelly against your swollen clit and that spongy spot inside, teasing you, forcing more whimpers from your lips even as your body tried to recover.

When Jake and Sunghoon moved to either side of your head, you reacted instantly. Both your hands reached out to wrap around them, your fingers straining around their girth. A muffled moan escaped you, your eyes fluttering, as Sunghoon leaned lower, his hand sliding to your breast, kneading it roughly.

The sensation made you gasp, your lips parting, and Jake took the opportunity to rub his cock against your tongue. You sighed in bliss, your throat vibrating as you licked the tip, your saliva mixing with the sticky fluid still clinging to him from earlier. You sucked eagerly, slurping him down before switching, letting Sunghoon feel your tongue glide along the underside of his length, licking from his base to his leaking tip. All the while, Heeseung's thrusts grew sharper, pounding harder, each one jarring your body as he lost the battle with his own restraint.

"Fuck, you really wanted this, huh?" Sunghoon groaned, watching your lips wrap around him before sliding free. His hand tangled in your hair, guiding you lower, feeding himself into your mouth as his hips rolled slowly, deliberately. "Moaning with three cocks on you, and enjoying every second of it."

Your eyes watered as you let him push deeper, your throat tightening, but the messy desperation in your moans proved his words right. You pulled off with a wet gasp, kissing the head of his cock, smearing saliva across it before whispering against him.

"Love your cock... so much," you breathed, your lips brushing the tip, your eyes flicking immediately past him—toward Jay. That gnawing ache inside you swelled, and before you could stop yourself, your whine tumbled out. "Is Jay not gonna join?"

The room stilled at your words.

Jake chuckled dryly, tugging your wrist tighter around his shaft before thrusting into your hand with rough, impatient strokes. "You've got three cocks already and still not enough for you?" His voice dropped lower, his pace quickening as he fucked into your fist. "Can't even handle us together, but you're begging for more. God, you're insatiable."

Heeseung growled low in his throat, his thrusts growing faster, harsher, punishing you for even speaking Jay's name. Sunghoon hissed through his teeth as your grip on him tightened, his thumb brushing your spit-slicked lips.

"S-sorry!" you squeaked, your back arching violently as the three of them claimed every inch of your body with greedy, unrelenting hands. The sensations collided into each other, overwhelming, making it impossible to tell where one touch ended and another began.

Your skin burned under their palms, every squeeze, every slap, every tug forcing your body to twitch and your chest to heave with broken sobs of pleasure.

"Focus on us, you fucking bitch," Heeseung growled, dangerous enough to make your cunt clench so tight around him that his hips stuttered. He cursed, gripping your waist harder, his cock slamming into you with renewed force, each thrust demanding your full attention, demanding that you forget everything but him, but them.

Your eyes rolled back, your lips trembling, but you couldn't stop glancing toward Jay, couldn't stop feeling that magnetic pull toward his stare.

Jake grunted, his hand tangling roughly in your hair, yanking your head toward him as his cock brushed against your lips again. "Ignore him. You hear me? He's not the one inside you right now—we are. So open your fucking mouth and focus," his cockhead smearing across your tongue before pushing in, forcing your throat to stretch around him again. The taste of him mixed with the mess already dripping down your chin, and you moaned around his length, gagging slightly when he pushed deeper, his hips jerking at the sound.

Sunghoon, never content to let the others take more than him, pressed closer, his fingers pinching your nipple until you whined. "That's right. You're ours tonight, baby. All ours."

His hand slid lower, spreading you wider for Heeseung's relentless thrusts, his fingers brushing your clit in circles that made you sob.

Your words came out slurred. "Y-yours! All yours! F-fuck—I can't—ahh, I can't take it—"

Heeseung cut you off with a growl, thrusting deeper, harder, the bed frame slamming into the wall with each movement. "Yes, you can, slut. You'll take everything I give you." Your walls clenched even tighter around him, milking his cock.

"I'm not a fucking slut!" The protest tore from your throat just as another orgasm ripped through you, your body spasming violently.

Your legs tried to slam shut against the unbearable pleasure, but Jake and Sunghoon caught them instantly, spreading you wider, keeping you open, holding you there as Heeseung continued pounding into you mercilessly. Your moan stretched high, long, broken in its desperation as tears streamed down your face.

Heeseung pulled out abruptly, your cunt fluttering around nothing, before plunging three of his fingers inside you. The sudden stretch made your entire body jolt upward, your scream breaking into sobs as he fucked his fingers into you with a brutal pace. His palm pressed hard against your clit with every thrust, his thumb flicking over the swollen bud, making your vision blur and your mind scatter.

Your body shook violently, your head thrashing from side to side, your voice rising in hysterical sobs that filled the room. "Stop! S-stop! I'm gonna—I'm go-going to pee! Stop, wait! Please, wait—!"

Your arms tried to push them off, tried to squirm free, but Jake and Sunghoon pinned you tighter, one hand on each wrist, one grip on each thigh, keeping you spread open for Heeseung's relentless assault.

Heeseung's eyes darkened, his jaw clenched as he kept driving into your pussy with his fingers, your slick coating his hand, dripping down his wrist, the sound of it loud and wet. His cock twitched angrily in his other hand as he stroked himself in slow pulls, groaning low in his chest. "Come on, sweetheart. Don't fight it. Let it out for us. Show us how much you need us."

Jake leaned closer, his lip caught between his teeth, his eyes fixed on the mess between your thighs. The obscene squelching filled his ears, making his cock ache again. "Fuck—listen to her pussy. She's about to—" His words cut off with a groan as his own hips rutted helplessly into the air.

Your high-pitched scream tore through the room as the dam inside you finally snapped. 

A gush of hot liquid burst from your pussy, splattering over your stomach, your thighs, the sheets beneath you, drenching Heeseung's hand and face as he ducked lower, moaning against the spray. The force of it made your ears ring, your vision blur, your body convulse helplessly.

It was humiliating, overwhelming, devastatingly good. You sobbed openly, your face slick with tears and spit, Sunghoon's cum already drying against your skin, and now your own release coating everything around you. Your body trembled uncontrollably, your legs twitching and kicking weakly until Jake and Sunghoon finally let them fall open to the side.

You curled inward, your arms wrapping protectively over your chest, your body folding small as though you could hide. But the sheets were soaked beneath you, the air heavy with the scent of sex, the room echoing with your broken cries.

"So good," Heeseung's lips parted against your soaked skin and licked at the mess you left on his face. His eyes fluttered shut, his strokes on his cock tightening, his hand gliding through the mixture of your slick and squirt.

"Get the fuck to the side. I'm going to taste it." Jake's hand already twitched toward you, greedy and impatient.

Sunghoon's laugh came rough and breathless, his chest rising and falling as he lazily stroked himself, his eyes locked on the wet ruin between your thighs. "Bro, shut the fuck up. You already had your turn. It's my turn now."

Sunghoon leaned forward, dragging his tongue over your cheek, licking at the tears that stained your skin before pressing a sloppy kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"Step aside. I'm not done yet." Heeseung shoved Sunghoon out of his way, his hand already on your thigh, forcing your legs apart with a strength that made your body jolt.

"W-wait—" your voice broke, a weak sniffle escaping as you tried to catch your breath, your chest heaving rapidly, overstimulation already threatening to unravel you further.

The stretch of your thighs, the way Heeseung's fingers pressed into your skin, it all made you flinch with both anticipation and fear. You weren't sure if you could take more, but your body betrayed you, your cunt twitching at the thought of him filling you again.

"Dude, no fun," Sunghoon muttered, irritation coloring his tone as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, still tasting you there. His cock twitched in his fist, but he leaned back with a scowl.

"Three of you step back. You can't even take care of her." Jay's voice cut through the air, commanding, silencing all of them in an instant.

Your head turned instinctively toward him. The sound of his voice sent a violent shiver down your spine, your pussy clenching around nothing as though it had been waiting only for him. Your chest hitched, your lips parting on a desperate little whimper that you couldn't hold back. "J-Jay..."

Jake scoffed from the other side of the bed, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, but the flash of annoyance in his expression didn't hide the way his chest rose faster, as if even he knew Jay's presence shifted everything. "She's fine. Don't act like you're the savior now."

Jay's gaze flicked toward him, before returning to you. He moved closer until he stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at your trembling body. "She's more than fine. She's a mess. Look at her." His jaw tightened as his eyes roamed over you—your soaked thighs, your trembling legs, your chest that still rose and fell unevenly. His voice softened. "She's mine to take care of."

Heeseung growled low in his throat, clearly unwilling to back off, his body still hovering over you. "We've already broken her in. Don't come here acting like you own her now." His fingers dug into your thigh harder, spreading you wider as if to make his point.

Jay's expression didn't shift, though his eyes burned darker. "Then move. Or I'll make you."

You breathe heavily, looking at the both of them. And you—your body trembled violently, torn apart by the clash of their voices, but deep down you knew what you wanted. Your lips quivered, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. "I... I want Jay..."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Heeseung froze above you, his eyes narrowing dangerously, while Jake let out a low laugh, though the jealousy in it was sharp. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, biting his lip as though amused but also curious to see what Jay would do.

Jay leaned closer, his hand reaching out to brush your messy hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle after all the roughness you'd endured. His thumb stroked over your damp cheek, wiping at the dried tears. His gaze softened as he looked at you.

"Here I thought I was your favorite," Heeseung muttered, finally releasing the tight grip he had on your leg. Beneath the teasing, a mix of bitterness and disappointment that made your chest ache even in your haze.

Jake snorted, throwing a smirk in Heeseung's direction. "Don't flatter yourself. She probably still thinks you're her number one. She just wants another cock inside her because that's what sluts do." His words were cruel, but his retreat was obvious, stepping back from you, his chest still heaving.

Heeseung only shrugged at that, but his eyes flicked to you once more before he turned his head away.

Your lips trembled, guilt and shame mixing with the raw need still burning inside you. You tilted your head toward Jay, your voice coming out as the weakest of whispers. "D-do you want me to clean up first?" The moment the words left your mouth, your chest tightened—afraid he might flinch, afraid he might see you the same way Jake just called you.

But Jay only smiled softly, shaking his head as though the thought was absurd. "It's alright, angel."

The simple reassurance broke something in you. Your eyes stung all over again, but before the tears could spill, his mouth was already moving lower, pressing a trail of unhurried kisses along your inner thigh. Each press of his lips lingered. By the time his lips hovered just above your swollen core, his pointed nose brushing lightly over your sensitive clit, your back had already arched off the sheets in anticipation.

You gasped softly, when his tongue finally slid against you. Hot, steady, and so focused, his tongue swirled around your folds before slipping inside you, teasing your oversensitive walls with a precision that made your breath catch in your throat. The contrast to the brutal pace you'd been enduring was staggering—he wasn't just eating you out, he was savoring you.

Your hands flew instinctively to his hair, trembling fingers tangling into his dark strands as you moaned helplessly, your chest rising and falling with every wave of sensation he drew from you. "J-Jay..." His name slipped from your lips brokenly.

He hummed against your cunt at the sound, the vibration making you twitch as his tongue moved deeper, stroking places inside you that made your toes curl. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you still when your thighs tried to clamp shut around his head from the overwhelming pleasure.

Behind him, you could feel the others watching—Heeseung's silence heavy, Jake's low scoff, Sunghoon's quiet hum of approval—but all of it blurred into the background when Jay moaned against you, drinking you down.

You whimpered, tugging at his hair as your hips bucked weakly into his mouth. "S-so good... I can't, I c-can't hold it—"

Jay pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his lips glistening with your slick, his eyes dark but soft. "Then don't. Let go for me, angel. Just me."

And with that, he dipped his head again, his tongue flicking against your clit with quick, precise strokes while his fingers slid inside you, curling expertly until you were screaming, until your body was trembling so hard you thought it might break apart.

Jay let go of your trembling body, his lips brushing once more against your temple before he finally shifted back. The bed dipped under his weight as he knelt at the edge, the leather of his belt creaking faintly as his fingers tugged at the buckle.

You knew the night had only just begun, but here in this room it already felt like you had been devoured whole, like there was no way out.

"Have you ever been fucked in the ass?" Jay's voice broke through, deceptively calm, his palm gliding down the curve of your thigh, rubbing in a slow rhythm as if coaxing you into trust.

Your lashes fluttered, your chest seizing as though his words had cut the air straight out of your lungs. "H-Huh?" Your voice cracked, eyes wide, searching his expression for some sign of softness that might match the way he'd just held you.

From your left, Jake let out a muffled laugh, the sound harsh against the fragile silence that followed your confusion.

Jay's hand didn't falter. He pressed a little higher on your thigh, the pads of his fingers stroking, teasing, until finally one circled lower, grazing a place that had never been touched this way before.

His tone was as gentle as before, almost sickeningly so. "I asked," he repeated slowly, "have you ever been fucked in your ass, angel?"

The tip of his finger brushed against your rim and you gasped, the breath caught sharp in your throat as heat and panic flared all at once. Your body jolted, betraying you. You couldn't even find the words, your head turning automatically toward the other three. Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon—all three watching you intently, not a single one offering you an escape.

You shook your head quickly, shame coloring your cheeks as your voice finally stumbled out. "N-No..."

Jay's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "On your arms and knees, then. I'll be gentle with you."

The smile was soft, but you could already feel the deception in it. You should've known by now—Jay only looked gentle when he wanted you to obey.

Your tears hadn't even dried when you felt his finger pressing more firmly at your rim, the tight, foreign intrusion making your body stiffen. The burn was immediate, sharp, a sensation your body didn't know how to handle. He twisted his finger slowly, deliberately, and the stretch made you whimper, your hands clawing desperately at the sheets.

"C-can't take it," you cried, shaking your head, your vision blurring again. Your body writhed under him, desperate for someone—anyone—to stop him.

"Hurts, Sunghoon. It hurts!" Your arm reached blindly for him, searching for comfort.

And Sunghoon leaned in instantly, catching your reaching hand, his lips brushing your temple in mock sympathy. "Shh," he cooed, the sound almost tender if not for the wicked edge beneath it. "I thought you were a good girl? You've been dreaming about us for so long, haven't you? This is what you wanted."

Your sobs shook your chest, but your body betrayed you again—clenching around Jay's finger, trembling from every deliberate twist.

On your other side, Heeseung moved closer, crouching low until his chest brushed against your arm. He caught your free hand and guided it toward him, pressing your palm around his cock.  "Come on, baby. Use those hands. Don't just cry. Make yourself useful while Jay breaks you in."

Jay's finger pushed deeper, the slow stretch pulling another ragged sob from your throat. He watched you closely, his jaw tight, his cock already heavy in his hand as he stroked it lazily. His lips curved again, "relax, angel. Breathe. I'll make it hurt less if you beg me properly."

When Jay finally pulled his finger free, your body sagged in relief—but it was short-lived. The sharp tear of foil reached your ears, and your stomach flipped as the sound registered. You forced your head to lift, desperate to see him, but Sunghoon's hand kept you locked in place, his grip so firm on your hair that you couldn't move. He angled you down toward Heeseung's cock again, your mouth spreading open around him until you gagged.

You heard the faint snap of latex as Jay rolled the condom down his thick length, the squirt of lube slicking the air before his fist wrapped around himself, stroking with slow pumps. You tried to tilt your head to catch a glimpse, but Sunghoon tugged hard, forcing you to choke around Heeseung's cock. Your throat tightened painfully as you coughed against the intrusion.

"Hmp—!" Your cry was muffled, spilling against Heeseung's cock as Jay pressed forward. The blunt head of his cock nudged against your rim, stretching you in ways you weren't prepared for.

Jay's groan vibrated through the room, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he pushed deeper, inch by inch. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider, making you tremble as the burn ignited again.

Your throat was stuffed with Heeseung's cock, and every shallow thrust into your mouth came with another humiliating gulp, gulp, gulp. Each noise mingled with Jay's ragged breathing as he sank himself slowly into your ass.

By the time his cock buried itself halfway, your hands had flown to Heeseung's thighs in desperation, nails scratching down his skin as your throat tried to adjust. Heeseung hissed sharply at the sting, then abruptly pulled out, your mouth gasping for air as you coughed and sobbed.

"Bitch," he spat, slapping your cheek with enough force to sting. Your head tilted from the impact, tears spilling harder as you whimpered against the mattress, your body trembling uncontrollably.

The sound of the slap cracked through the room—and the shift in the air was instant. Jay froze, his dark eyes snapping up, his jaw tight. Slowly, he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his cock still halfway inside your ass as he fixed his glare on Heeseung.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?"

"She fucking scratched me—" Heeseung started.

Jay's glare sharpened, cutting him off. His hand curled around your hip, steadying you as he leaned closer until his lips brushed your ear, his words meant for both you and Heeseung. "Apologize. To her. Now."

Heeseung's jaw flexed, annoyance flashing in his eyes, but under Jay's burning stare, he finally muttered, "...Sorry."

You sniffled, your face pressed to the sheets, too shaken to respond. Jay's grip on your hip softened just enough for his thumb to caress you. "You okay, hmm?"

You swallowed hard, unable to find your voice, and forced yourself to nod against the sheets. Your chest rose and fell in shuddering waves, but you needed him to believe you could take it.

Jay hummed softly, almost like praise. "That's it. Breathe for me, angel. Let me in. Don't hold back." His hips pressed forward again. The intrusion stretched you open slowly, your body fighting to keep up with his size. The burn sharpened into an unbearable sting, and you screamed into the mattress, toes curling tight against the sheets as you struggled not to collapse.

Sunghoon's hand smoothed over your hair, patting your head with a tenderness, so comforting that make you whimper. "Good girl," he whispered, as though you needed his approval just to keep breathing.

Then Heeseung moved closer, his hand sliding between your thighs to press against your soaked pussy.

"Sorry, baby." His palm cupped you carefully, you flinched at first, but when he leaned in, his lips closing over your nipple, sucking hard, the sharp edge of pain dulled under a rush of pleasure. The shift made your back arch violently, the cry that tore from you high and desperate.

"Ahh! F-fuck!" you screamed, voice cracking, torn between pain and bliss.

Jay grunted at the way your body squeezed around him, his hand wrapping tightly around your arm to pull it back behind you like a lever. His other hand gripped your shoulder firmly, anchoring you while his hips snapped forward with force. Each thrust sent a wet smack echoing through the room, skin colliding with a punishing rhythm.

Heeseung groaned against your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his fingers pressed harder into your clit, rubbing circles that sent shocks of sensation racing through your trembling body. The mixture of Jay's brutal thrusts and Heeseung's eager mouth had you thrashing.

You never thought being filled that way could drag such a storm out of you. The sting that had first made you sob now twisted into something overwhelming, a blend of fire and honey that made your body betray you with every clench. Each thrust blurred the line between pain and euphoria until you couldn't separate one from the other, only the dizzy rush that kept forcing cries from your throat.

At some point, you lost track of who was where.

You were a doll passed between them, shifted and handled, your body too pliant to resist, too consumed by sensation to understand the movement until it was already happening.

When Jay lifted you with an arm hooked under your ribs, carrying your trembling weight as though you were light as air, your limbs hung loose, hair falling forward like a curtain, your head lolling against his chest. The world was hazy, sound muffled except for their voices and the unrelenting rhythm of flesh against flesh.

You moaned uncontrollably, the sound spilling out of you even before Sunghoon pushed inside your swollen pussy. He didn't wait, he didn't tease—he slid in deep, and the stretch dragged another cry out of your throat.

Jake positioned himself over you, his hands squeezing your tits roughly, pressing them together around the length of his cock. He thrusted between them with a feral need, groaning at the slick heat as he forced you to keep your trembling arms raised so you couldn't rest, so none of them were ignored.

Your muscles screamed, the burn in your shoulders mixing with the fire between your legs. Yet the harder it became to hold on, the more your moans broke apart into helpless sobs.

"Shit! So fucking good!" Sunghoon moaned, usually he was silent, the one who held back while the others filled the air, but now his restraint had shattered. His moans came rough and guttural, pulled from his chest with every thrust, his expression twisting into something close to pure bliss. Each time his hips met yours, the sound that tore from his throat was louder, rawer, until you realized he was trembling too—losing himself in you just as much as you were unraveling under him.

Your vision blurred at the edges, tears clinging to your lashes, the ringing in your ears drowning out everything but their voices and the wet sounds of bodies colliding. Orgasms tore through you one after another, piling so fast you couldn't separate them anymore. You were trapped in the spiral of it, begging without thought, "Y-yes, fuck, yes—I can't stop—I need it—please, don't stop!"

Your body betrayed you completely, arching up even as you wanted to collapse. The adhesive gems clinging to your eyelids sparkled faintly under the light, miraculously still in place as your eyes rolled back, your tongue slipping free from your mouth with no strength left to hold it in. You were a mess, unrecognizable even to yourself, but they devoured every second of it.

Jake groaned low in his chest as his cock pulsed, spilling over your tits, hot ropes covering your skin until you were painted in him. He slapped your chest once more, watching it smear across your breasts before stumbling back, his body giving out as he dropped onto the mattress, panting heavily, drained but satisfied.

The moment you were freed from him, your lips were claimed again. Heeseung and Jay's mouths fought for space against yours, kissing you with different kinds of urgency—Jay deep and consuming, Heeseung sharp and demanding. Their lips pulled moans out of you you didn't even know you had left, your eyes shut tight as your mouth parted helplessly between them.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon's cock dragged deeper inside you, angling until it brushed that spot that made your whole body spasm. The rhythm of his thrusts grew steadier, more desperate, his hips slamming into you with a pace that made your chest heave and your breath hitch against the mouths kissing yours. He was unrelenting, he couldn't stop himself, your body had unlocked something in him he never wanted to let go of.

Sunghoon's control shattered first. His jaw clenched, veins standing out along his neck as he pushed deeper, his movements rough and unsteady, every thrust dragging a desperate sound from him. His eyes squeezed shut and his head tilted back, a moan ripping from his throat as his stomach tightened, the pleasure consuming him faster than he could handle. He bit down on his lip, but it wasn't enough to stifle the way his body shook while his cock throbbed violently inside you.

You felt the hot flood of his release filling you in long, uncontrollable spurts. It spread thick through your core, making your walls clench tighter as though your body wanted to keep him there, to hold every drop.

The sensation was so overwhelming that your back arched high into Jay's chest. He caught you easily, his large hand spreading over your breast and kneading. His lips swallowed your broken moans, his tongue sliding deep until you whimpered against him, unable to keep up.

Your hips jerked when Sunghoon finally spilled the last of his release, the force of it pushing some of his cum to seep out around his cock. He slumped forward, chest heaving, but his grip on your waist betrayed his reluctance to leave you. He wanted to stay buried, to keep claiming you—but his body gave out, and with a low groan he pulled free, his length glistening as it slid from your swollen cunt.

The loss of him left you trembling, and before you could even breathe, Heeseung was already there. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers parting your slick folds without hesitation. He rubbed over your swollen clit in tight circles, faster, sharper, and your lips tore away from Jay's kiss to scream, your cry echoing through the room as a new wave of sensation tore through you.

Sunghoon's cum was still dripping from your pussy when Heeseung's fingers slapped against your sensitive clit. The sharp sting made your hips spasm, jerking upward uncontrollably, the sound of the wet slap filling the room. Your thighs shook, but Jay's hand on your chest kept you pressed firmly against him, forcing you to take it all.

"So fucking hot," Jay groaned against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down just enough to leave a mark. He soothed the bite with his tongue before sucking at the spot, leaving his claim branded into your skin while you cried softly beneath him.

"Come on," Heeseung coaxed. He gave your clit another sharp slap that made you gasp, your entire body twitching. "Breathe. Deep. You've still got two cocks waiting for you."

Your body was trembling, the exhaustion in your muscles fighting against the need clawing through your veins. Every part of you screamed for a pause, a moment of stillness, but your lips betrayed you, spilling soft, broken words into the heated air.

"...cock... want more..." you whispered, not even sure if you meant to say it out loud, but the second it left your mouth, they moved.

They shifted you onto Heeseung first, his broad chest rising under your palms as he positioned himself at your entrance. Your thighs burned as you straddled him, but you couldn't stop yourself from lowering down, grinding until his thick tip slid past your folds, the friction making your entire body quiver.

Heeseung's eyes darkened immediately, his hands gripping your waist as he guided you, feeling the way your heat stretched around him.

Jay stood behind you, his movements methodical as he tore open another condom with his teeth. He rolled the latex down over his length with one hand, the other already spreading over your lower back, holding you steady. His touch was careful, deceptively gentle, even as you felt the blunt press of his cock teasing your other entrance.

The stretch made you scream, your head snapping back to his shoulder as his cock slowly pushed inside your ass. Your tits arched forward, bouncing in Heeseung's face, and he groaned like he was seeing heaven itself, his mouth immediately latching onto one nipple. His tongue flicked hard before he began sucking greedily, moaning against your skin, drowning himself in the taste of you might keep him from unraveling completely.

He told himself not to get attached, not to think beyond the raw act of it but as he looked up, catching the sight of your face twisted with both pain and euphoria, your lashes damp with tears, your lips parted, your flushed cheeks glowing, he was gone. So fucking pretty, too pretty for this. His chest tightened, his teeth sinking into his lip, half-lidded eyes watching you lose yourself while he thrust up into you.

"Ahh—fuck! S-so good! Feels so good!" you sobbed, your voice breaking as both of them found their rhythm inside you.

Jay's arm slid tighter around your middle, pulling you back against him, while his other hand anchored hard on your shoulder.

Each drive of his hips made your body lurch forward, and every time he withdrew, Heeseung thrust upward to meet you, their cocks colliding through the thin barrier inside you. The pressure was relentless, unbearable yet addicting. You felt so full, so completely wrecked, yet you didn't want them to stop.

Your head fell back against Jay's shoulder, your throat exposed, your lips trembling as the sounds poured out of you unrestrained. His gaze locked onto you, never wavering, watching every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every blissful break in your voice.

His stomach coiled tight when he saw you smile through your moans, blissful grin that said you were floating in a haze beyond reason.

And then—when you let out a delirious laugh, drunk on cock and pleasure—both he and Heeseung nearly lost control.

"Shit... fuck, look at her," Heeseung moaned against your chest, thrusts erratic as your pussy clenched harder, milking him. His thumb found your clit again, circling with ruthless precision, making your hips twitch violently in their hold.

"Fucking cockdrunk," Jake muttered from the side, his voice strained, his hand already wrapped tight around his cock as he stroked himself, eyes devouring the sight of you stuffed full between Jay and Heeseung.

"Unbelievable..." Sunghoon hissed, though his body betrayed his words as his cock hardened again at the sight. His chest rose sharply, his jaw tightening as his eyes burned into you, unable to look away.

And you—you were flying. Your entire body trembled, sweat dripping down your back, every nerve set alight as two cocks pounded into you in perfect rhythm, stretching you in ways you never thought you could handle. You weren't just moaning anymore—you were laughing, delirious, euphoric, because nothing had ever felt this good. The world outside didn't exist. There was only this. Only them. Only the way your body sang under their hands, under their cocks.

You were living your best fucking life, and in that moment, you knew you never wanted it to end.

"Shit—I'm gonna cum," Heeseung groaned, his head falling back against the pillow as his thrusts grew uneven. You couldn't help yourself, couldn't stop your body from pushing back onto his cock, greedy for every last inch.

"Need it—please, I need you to cum inside me—don't hold back," you moaned.

Jay tightened his bicep around your throat, dragging you flush against him as his lips pressed against your temple. "Take it, angel. Take all of him."

The heat in your chest exploded when Heeseung moaned loud and emptied inside you. The sound of his voice made your heart lurch even as your own orgasm tore through you again. Your walls clenched so violently that his cock twitched helplessly, spilling thicker and thicker ropes of cum until you could feel the weight of it stretching your stomach. The mess spilled from the corners of your folds, warm streams dripping down your thighs.

But before the haze could settle, Jay's voice cut through. "Pull out, Heeseung. It's my turn—I want to cum in her too." His arm around your throat tightened, pulling you higher onto him, your back arching as his cock slid free from your ass, still painfully hard.

Heeseung hesitated, his chest heaving, his eyes narrowing like he didn't want to let go of the heat he'd buried himself in. He gave a sharp exhale of frustration but finally withdrew, his cock wet and shining as he let you slip from him.

Jay didn't waste a second. He yanked off the condom, tossing it carelessly aside, then pushed his length inside your pussy still dripping with Heeseung's load. The stretch burned, but the mix of fluids made him slide in effortlessly, and the sensation had your toes curling instantly.

"Fuck—fuck, she's so wet," Jay groaned, his forehead pressing against the side of your head. His pace was punishing, his hips snapping against your ass as his hand gripped your hip to anchor himself.

"Can't hold it—gonna fill you—"

The moment he buried himself deep, his body stiffened, and he spilled hot inside you. His growl vibrated against your ear, the sound of his release mixing with your own helpless moans. You could feel it, the pulse of his cock as he filled you so completely that the mix of him and Heeseung spilled back out, dripping into a sticky mess beneath you.

It took a long moment before they both released you, your body sagging limp between them. You barely had the strength to move when Jake stepped forward, his hand already pumping his length with urgency, his eyes locked on your face. Sunghoon moved with him, their cocks standing tall, both of them crowding your view as you were laid down on your back.

"Open up, baby," Jake ordered.

Your lips parted, tongue falling out on instinct, the salty taste of precum already smearing across it as they fisted themselves harder. Their groans overlapped as thick spurts painted your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, dripping down your neck and into your hair. You swallowed what you could, eyes rolling back at the sheer dirtiness of it, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath.

You stared blankly at the ceiling, vision hazy, ears ringing so loud it felt like you were underwater. Your head was spinning, the room tilting, but your body was already being turned again.

Your limbs flopped uselessly as Jake forced his cock back to hardness, guiding himself to your ass, while Heeseung gripped your legs wide, holding you open as though your exhaustion didn't matter.

One by one, they took their turns again, each of them sliding into your abused body, spilling more inside until it felt like there wasn't any part of you left untouched. Your mind was gone, floating somewhere else, your mouth hanging open without sound, and still, they didn't stop.

The last thing you remembered was Sunghoon's icy hands spreading your folds, his voice low with awe as he stared at the mess dripping from your swollen used pussy—thick white streams still spurting.

And then you passed out, swallowed by the overwhelming haze of pleasure and exhaustion, your body twitching even in unconsciousness, your mind lost in the aftershocks of everything they had done.

You woke with a body that felt heavier than stone, every inch aching. The room was quiet except for the soft snores surrounding you.

You shivered, realizing the air was cold against your damp hair and clammy skin, only to notice the weight of arms draped over you—two different hands anchoring you in place. One was around your waist, pulling you back into a solid chest, the other rested lazily on your hip.

You blinked hard, trying to gather yourself, and only then did you notice you were clothed, though barely. Someone had slipped a shirt over you, but it was hiked up high, baring most of your thighs. Heart pounding, you tilted your head, your breath catching when you saw Jay's face so close to yours. His features were peaceful, his brows relaxed, lips parted just slightly as a soft groan escaped him. Even in sleep, he pulled you tighter into his chest.

"What the fuck..." you whispered under your breath, pulse racing as heat rushed to your cheeks.

Your gaze dropped lower and froze. Sunghoon's head rested against your chest, lips slack and still attached to your nipple. His hand was curled around your waist too, fingers twitching. The memory of his face twisted in pleasure, his voice breaking with moans, hit you so hard that your thighs clenched instinctively.

You stifled a sound, your whole face burning.

Carefully, with your fingers trembling, you began to pry their hands off one by one, moving Jay's arm and slipping Sunghoon's hand back over his own body. It felt like sneaking out of something you weren't supposed to survive. But before you could breathe in relief, your eyes darted downward—and you almost screamed.

At the foot of the bed, sprawled across like he owned the space, was Jake. His cheek was pressed into the mattress, lips parted as he breathed heavily, his bare chest rising and falling. He looked so soft like this, so far from the rough, taunting voice that had wrecked you just hours ago.

Your stomach flipped.

"What the hell..." you whispered again, a little louder this time, biting your lip as panic swirled in your chest. You couldn't stay here. Not with the memories flashing in your head.

Ignoring the deep ache in your thighs and the heaviness weighing down your limbs, you tiptoed around them, snatching your heels and dress from the table. The sound of the zipper sliding into place echoed too loudly in your ears as you tried to dress as quietly as possible.

When you finally slipped out and pulled the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, exhaling sharply. Relief barely lasted a second before you froze again.

Someone was sitting in the living room.

Heeseung was perched on the couch, phone in hand, his tall frame hunched slightly forward. The glow of the screen lit his sharp features, but the second the door clicked shut, his head snapped up. His eyes widened as if he hadn't expected you to actually walk out. In a blur, he was standing, pocketing his phone.

"Hey," his voice came out softer than you remembered.

Your whole body stiffened, eyes wide, your pulse hammering in your throat. The room was quiet but the weight of his presence filled it, and you could feel your heart fluttering in panic—or maybe dangerously close to longing.

"It's just five-thirty," he said, glancing briefly at the window where the faintest gray of dawn was creeping in. "We finished at four. Are you... already leaving?"

Your throat was dry. Fuck. He was talking to you. Just standing there, bare-faced and raw from the night before, his voice carrying none of the arrogance it once did. You wanted to respond, but your mouth betrayed you, stuck in silence. You could only stare at him, your gaze trembling before you forced it away, too shy, too ashamed, too overwhelmed.

Heeseung shifted his weight, his Adam's apple bobbing as though he was working up the nerve. Then, in a tone that was almost uncertain, he asked, "Were we too rough?"

You blinked up at him, startled.

"I..." you started, but the words stuck.

His jaw tightened, eyes flickering before he let out a low sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture that didn't fit the man who had held you down hours earlier. His voice dropped lower, rough with regret. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to slap you like that. I just... I got carried away."

The sincerity in his tone, the way his eyes searched yours like he needed you to believe him, made your chest ache. You didn't trust yourself to speak, your throat felt raw, so you simply nodded, awkward and small, hoping it was enough.

"I—I... uh... shit." Heeseung's voice faltered.

He was fumbling, caught off guard by the weight of his own thoughts. For the first time, he seemed unsure.

Heeseung had always respected the girls they brought into this kind of mess, but responsibility was something he usually left to Jay, who carried gentleness. Yet with you, the urge was different. It was tugging at him in a way he couldn't ignore, and it unsettled him more than he'd ever admit.

His tongue darted over his lips, his brows knitting together as he shifted closer, still cautious of your fragile state. "Do you... want to leave? I—uh—I can get my car, or call someone, or—wait." He cut himself off, unsure what offer would make sense, what you even needed from him right now.

You shook your head quickly, your hands clinging to your heels. Your voice came out almost too small to hear, but you forced the words past your lips. "T-thank you. I-I can manage myself. Th-thank you... so much."

It was rushed, shaky, like you needed to get it out before your voice betrayed the truth of how fragile you felt. Without waiting for his response, you turned away, your bare feet carrying you in tiny, stumbling steps toward the door. Each step hurt, your body reminding you of everything from last night, but you pressed forward anyway, desperate to escape the heaviness in the room.

"Wait—what's your—" Heeseung started, his hand twitching forward as if he could reach you. But the words fell flat, caught in his throat, and he stopped himself before finishing. His lips pressed together in frustration, a quiet curse slipping under his breath. His eyes followed the curve of your back, the fragile sway of your shoulders, the sound of your unsteady footsteps echoing.

"...number."

The word left him softer than a whisper, too late, almost swallowed by the empty space you left behind.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at the door you'd just disappeared through, torn between running after you and letting you go. His jaw clenched, his hand raking through his hair as he sank back down onto the couch.

He couldn't shake the image of you—the way your eyes had rolled back in bliss, the way you had laughed in the middle of it all, the way you looked at him now as if you wanted to disappear.

And Heeseung felt a kind of defeat that left his chest heavy. First, he was pissed that Jay, of all people, had managed to pull your attention more than once that night. Second, he hadn't even gotten the chance to really enjoy you the way he wanted, not fully, not the way that would have been enough. And third—worst of all—he didn't even know your full name, or what department you were in, or anything beyond that single night where you'd let yourself unravel in his arms and under his hands.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand over his face, frustrated at the gnawing ache in his chest. You were too pretty, too delicate, too intoxicating, and it infuriated him that Sunghoon and Jake had gotten their way with you first, splitting you open before he ever had the chance to claim you for himself. The thought of them having your "first" and sharing you so easily left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted you whole, wanted you alone, wanted more than the scraps of a night shared with three others.

Heeseung realized this wasn't just another nameless, faceless memory to throw away. He didn't want this to be the last time. He wanted more of you—your laugh, your trembling voice, your warmth pressed against him. The only thing he had left was the trace of your scent, still lingering faintly on his skin and in the air, that floral sweetness that he couldn't shake no matter how many showers he took. It drove him mad.

"Hey, I tried your perfume and it doesn't smell nearly as nice on me as it does on you." 

Your classmate pouted, watching you rub lotion into your arms after swim class. Her tone was playful, but her eyes lingered longer than usual, narrowing slightly at the fading bruises that scattered along your thighs.

"—Wait, are you okay? What's with all these marks?" she asked, her voice shifting, curious but edged with concern as her gaze dropped to your legs, then caught on your wrist where faint discoloration still traced your skin.

You forced a small smile, your hands moving carefully as though the weight of her stare could dig deeper into your body. "Anemia," you said lightly. "You know how it gets sometimes."

She frowned, unconvinced, but didn't press further. You focused on squeezing another bit of lotion into your palm, your thoughts drifting elsewhere. The bottle was nearly empty, and you hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should buy another or try something different.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since your body had been pushed to its limit, since you had let yourself fall apart in the arms, mouths, and cocks of four men who you never should have gotten tangled with.

As much as it thrilled you to remember, you knew it wasn't something you could ever share. Not with your classmates, not with anyone. This was yours alone.

And so, you smiled at your friend, pretending everything was normal, while inside, you cherished the memory of a night you swore you'd never tell.

You tied your damp hair back, the strands clinging to your neck as you tugged on a sweatshirt and shorts. A light mist of perfume lingered as you sprayed your wrists, your throat, the curve of your shoulder, even down your spine as though you could drown yourself in that sweet comfort.

"God, you smell so good again," your friend whined, fanning herself dramatically. You only chuckled and brushed her off, slipping your bag onto your shoulder before following the group.

The conversation turned quickly, as it always seemed to these days.

"How come those fuckboys keep throwing parties and we never hear a word after? It's like magic," one girl scoffed, and the others broke into agreement, voices overlapping with laughter.

"Right? I swear they must be fucking someone every time," another chimed in, clapping her hands for emphasis. "No way they're just drinking. But no one ever talks. Like—ever."

Their voices carried ahead of you while you trailed behind, smiling faintly, shaking your head as if their words were just another baseless rumor. Inside, though, your chest tightened. If only they knew. If only they could imagine half of what had happened that night. But you weren't about to let them. You had no intention of ever telling a single soul.

That night was a secret carved into you, and the four of them had reputations built on silence—no communication, no strings, no trace.

You sighed, crouching down to fix your shoelace, the chatter of your classmates fading as they moved further down the hall. One of them called your name over their shoulder, urging you to hurry, but before you could respond, the sound of measured steps came closer. A shadow cut across the floor in front of you.

You froze.

Slowly, your gaze lifted from the shoes planted right in front of you. And your heart stopped.

"Found you," a low voice drawled, threaded with satisfaction, almost a taunt.

Gasps erupted behind you, your classmates halting in their tracks.

Your eyes widened. Heeseung was really there, standing over you in broad daylight, surrounded by people, breaking his own rules without hesitation. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

Then, without warning, he crouched down in front of you. The tall, untouchable Heeseung—the one who ignored every girl who chased after him, who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with messy attention—was kneeling, his long fingers brushing over your loose shoelace.

"I had a hard time finding you," he muttered, not loud enough for anyone but you to hear. His tone was casual, but his jaw was tight, his movements sharp with frustration as he tied the knot in one clean motion. "It really pissed me off, you know?"

Your throat went dry. Heat crawled up your neck, spreading across your face until you felt the tips of your ears burn.

Why? Why was he here? Why was he talking to you? This wasn't the Heeseung everyone else knew. He never lowered himself like this—not in front of everyone, not where people could see. He shut girls down without a glance, his cold indifference the very thing that made them chase harder. Yet here he was, focused on you with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

Around you, your classmates whispered furiously, unable to hide their shock. Some covered their mouths, others exchanged wide-eyed looks, but no one dared step closer.

"Can we talk?" His voice was steady, but softer than you expected, almost coaxing.

When you finally dared to look at him, his eyes caught yours. They weren't the eyes of the cold, untouchable Heeseung everyone claimed to know. No, they were gentle, wide, almost disarming, like he was looking through you and not just at you. He smiled—small, sweet, almost shy—and your lips trembled against the sudden wave of nerves.

"H-Huh?" Your voice cracked embarrassingly.

Before you could gather yourself, he reached forward and plucked your bag from your shoulder. His hand found yours in the same motion, his long fingers curling around your palm. The contact made your knees weaken, a sharp rush of heat flooding your chest.

Heeseung was holding your hand. Heeseung, who never even let girls close enough to breathe the same air without brushing them off, was lacing his fingers with yours in front of everyone!

"Let's get out of here first, hmm?" His tone carried a teasing lilt, but his grip on your hand was firm.

You could hardly process as he tugged you gently in the opposite direction, away from your frozen classmates whose whispers grew louder. Each step with him felt surreal, like walking straight into a dream you weren't ready for but couldn't pull away from.

Then, as if to seal the knot of heaviness swirling in your chest, his head tilted close, his breath warm against your ear.

"It's now my turn to have you all to myself."

perm taglist: @tender-is-the-moon @gabrielinhaa @dulcetnostalgia @simbabyikeu @dreamycarat-recs @skzenhalove @graythecoffeebean @kiikiisblog @denleave1088 @matchacake2 @wonsveese @l4nnisworld @sieunah @ikeuheartz @heeshlove @archivedrose @smlbch @middstape @angelhyuka @dazedhee @scaramionee @si3rren @rosepetals09 @roslayy @mangoescrazy @arclviie @fancypeacepersona @immelissaaa @ikaw-at-ikaw @won4me @kristynaaah @tunafishyfishylike @heesmiles

[jennieloversclub]

RIIZE SMAU REC

OSAKI SHOTARO

MAKE A WISH @a3r3n

Y/n loves her best friends, but if there's one thing she would change about them, it is the way they constantly prank her. They think she's too shy and diligent, and that she can have some fun at least through their jokes. But what if one of their pranks leads her to message an unknown number, and they grow close without even knowing who they are?

shotaro x fem reader

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SONG EUNSEOK

SO I MARRIED MY ANTI-FAN @nyuoqi

congratulations! you have been invited to korea's #1 romance reality show 'We Got Married' where you will be living with your co-star like a married couple. but what will you do when you find out that your husband is actually your anti-fan?

song eunseok x fem!reader

COLLAB WITH YOU @onlyhyunjin

You’ve always had eyes for Song Eunseok since his debut. He has consistently caught your attention, but you believe he’s never noticed you in that way. Determined to change that, an opportunity arises when the two of you are offered a collab together.

idol!eunseok x idol f!reader

FAVORITE ONE @seokvrtual

you’ve confessed to eunseok a total of two times: once in eighth grade and once in eleventh. both times ended in rejection—something you’re not exactly proud of. now, as you begin a new chapter of life with university starting, you can’t help but feel like the universe is playing a cruel joke as you keep orbiting around the same guy who turned you down twice.

fem! reader x eunseok

BASICS @lwtqts

y/n is low-key a loner at her college and her dearest friend tells her to hang out with his friend, what happens when she entangles herself with him ?

student!eunseok x fem!reader

BOY NEXT DOOR @ywnzn

in which yn keeps texting a random number life updates, that turns out to be the boy next door.

song eunseok x fem!reader.

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JUNG SUNGCHAN

BEHIND THE SCREEN @melobin

in which sungchan discovers his favorite camgirl also happens to be his roommate.

camgirl reader x roommate sungchan

! smut / mdni !

TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU <3 @x0llaz

Lee Sohee is tasked with finding someone to date Shin YN, in order to date the girl he has a crush on. When in doubt, he calls upon Jung Sungchan. If anyone was crazy enough to ask her out, it would be him.

Sungchan x fem!reader

HYDRANGEA LOVE @ywnzn

yn, model & owner of a well-known perfume brand, releases a new series inspired by a heartbreak she went through. completely unaware that the new rising model who was chosen to promote the series is the same person who caused the heartbreak itself, park wonbin.

ex!park wonbin x fem!reader x jung sungchan

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PARK WONBIN

ღ infrunami @nyanbin

after unwittingly moving in with three boys who go to the same university as you, you learn to become accustomed to the unpredictable dynamics of living with them, alongside the typical troubles that come with being a college student. out of everything, though, your biggeset conundrum seemed to be figuring out where you stand with park wonbin.

park wonbin / fem!reader

CUP OF LOVE @wonbuni

park wonbin’s parents had quite literally the last straw and cut him off. he now had to find a job all while juggling college. why did no one tell him that his long life crush worked at his new job?

nonidol!wonbin x fem!reader

YO WHAT? @xzinbdg

ʏ/ɴ ᴍᴏᴠᴇꜱ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴀᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴡᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴜᴘ ʙʏ ʟᴏᴜᴅ ᴀꜱꜱ ɢᴜɪᴛᴀʀ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴅᴏᴏʀ.

ʙᴀɴᴅ ɢᴜɪᴛᴀʀɪꜱᴛ!ᴡᴏɴʙɪɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

STUPID CUPID @gyumibear

after your latest forum fails miserably, you’re almost out of an extracurricular! that is, until a mysterious account going by the name “cupid” brings you just the thing you need to fix your reputation: park wonbin, radio show host and your longtime crush. with the help of cupid, wonbin suddenly falls head over heels in love with you! you’d expect for this to be a good thing right? but no! everyone’s starting to notice how strange wonbin’s acting and now it’s up to you to figure out how and if you can get wonbin back to normal before anyone finds out what you’ve done. especially because “cupid” has disappeared… stupid cupid.

campus crush!park wonbin x journalist!reader

LOVE ON THE RADIO @luvbinnies

Keeho a famous influencer wants to make his radio talk show view ratings sky rocket. So what does he do, he invites two of his kpop idol friends from school to join to do a segment with him. But he had no idea the two used to rivals back in their school days. He also had no idea them bickering for half an hour would absolutely blow up and cause fans to start shipping them.

What does he do with that? He convinces (begs) them to become permanent hosts on the show and to continue to flirt (bicker) with each other. What can go wrong?

idol!wonbin x gn!idol!reader

BOOM BOOM BASS @4doras

park wonbin x fem reader

DANCING WITH YOU @hittoki

y/n plays the violin in a prestigious youth orchestra. wonbin is a struggling artist who works for his family's music store. when y/n's bow snaps during a rigorous day of practice, she searches high and low for her favorite brand but cannot find it anywhere. she settles for the local music shop and, low and behold, they sell it. wonbin needs a girlfriend and when y/n unintentionally interrupts his argument with his parents, he takes the opportunity.

fake dating!au

HYDRANGEA LOVE @ywnzn

yn, model & owner of a well-known perfume brand, releases a new series inspired by a heartbreak she went through. completely unaware that the new rising model who was chosen to promote the series is the same person who caused the heartbreak itself, park wonbin.

ex!park wonbin x fem!reader x jung sungchan

RECONNECTING OUR LOVE @euseol

after being forced to break up because of the public, jung yn just can’t seem to let park wonbin go.

idol! park wonbin x model! jung yn

ONE CALL AWAY @100203s

childhood best friends, yn and wonbin, shared dreams and a passion for pursuing track together. wonbin suddenly moves away one day without notice, leaving YN with unspoken feelings. it isn't until YN finds herself in the debut lineup for HYBE's new girl group that the two cross paths again.

childhood best friends to lovers

idol!wonbin x trainee/idol!yn

་༘࿐ೢִֶACADEMIC COMEBACK: ⸻⸻

⸻HOW TO PASS SCHOOL IN TWO WEEKS @seosracha

you and wonbin were academic rivals: competing to get the worst grades possible. but with graduation around the corner you have to combine your 4 braincells in order to pass.

wonbin x fem!reader

personal fav

HEAL MY HEART @enhaas

after a tragic breakup, yn struggled to love herself again and believed true love just wasn’t a thing. park wonbin, a popular classmate, has been secretly admiring her for so long. after finding out what yn is going through, he is desperate to see her happy again…hopefully with him.

popular! wonbin x fem! reader

BETWEEN THE LINES @bbina

from what started as a simple arrangement to hide your feelings for a certain someone by getting into in a fake relationship soon turns into a tangled mess. in which some things are hard to tell when you can’t read between the lines

park wonbin x reader

YOUR BIGGEST FAN @jaetyun

since your brother formed a band with his friends in high school, you've had a massive crush on the aloof and reserved wonbin. him never paying you mind never bothered you until they became famous, and now you have to share him with every other fangirl. now that they're on tour, it's the perfect opportunity to make wonbin realize he doesn't want to share you either.

rockstar!wonbin x fem!reader

MAGNETIC @heyarei

 it’s not easy having a crush on the most popular guy in school. For starters, almost everyone had a crush on wonbin and you’ve already established the fact that you'll never get a chance with him, as you were no special from the others in your school... or at least that’s what you believed

popular!wonbin x fem!reader

CRAZY STUPID LOVE @lostgirlinthewoods

lee y/n, a competitive swimming athlete, just wants to finish her degree as a scholar. no drama. no distractions. and certainly, no romance. park wonbin, a music prod student and the siren’s guitarist, just wants to make music. no crazy fangirls in line to date him. no insane dms from random people declaring their love for him. and certainly, no dating. imagine the shock on y/n’s face when she received a message from her brother, anton, asking “since when did you and wonbin started dating?”

guitarist!park wonbin x athlete!fem!reader

ALONE TOGETHER @bbina

taking comfort in the thought that you are together in aloneness through late night talks, heartfelt confessions, and a genuine connection. with your shared experience of recent heartbreaks, you wonder if getting together would be all worth it. in which you find solace in each other's company, that you are alone together.

college!au, fluff, angst

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HONG SEUNGHAN

FEELS LIKE A THRILLER! ᯓᡣ𐭩 @hangup119

pining after hong seunghan has always felt like an unachievable reality; however, just a few months into your first year of college, it seems that the gods have finally listened to your prayers when news breaks out that your long-time crush is single once again

non-idol!seunghan + fem!reader

HE’S THE ONE 4 ME! @grlscrushing

you’re brothers best friend is definitely the one for you

hong seunghan x f!reader

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LEE SOHEE

CLOUD 9 @wonhes

after years of constant pining after his best friend’s sister, yn finally takes notice of sohee and sohee swears he’s on cloud 9. or in other words, loser sohee finally gets the girl.

(uncountable) (idiomatic) often in the phrase on cloud nine: a state of bliss, elation or happiness.

sohee x f!reader

･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ ready player two ･:*:｡･:*:･ﾟ @wonbin-truther

sohee was a well known streamer, having grown his fanbase over covid with the game minecraft and slowly branched into other games along with sponsorships and modeling offers. he was also well known for being your number one twitter fanboy, never missing one of your posts even if fashion wasn't his greatest interest. what happens when a modeling gig brings him face to face with you?

streamer! sohee x fashion influencer! yn

APT @01zfan

sohee attends a music conservatory abroad in amesterdam. he remembers you from a night filled with drinking games that ended with you two on a couch. months later, you two finally confess on halloween night. before sohee can find out where to you are the call drops. now he's on a mission to find you before the night ends!

sohee x reader

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LEE ANTON

DIRTY LITTLE SECRET @prodbyton

living with your older brother had its perks, including easy access to his hot best friend

REWIND @rikianton

anton had to give up on his fat crush on you after you left for america halfway through high school. 4 years later, he’s in a happy relationship and he’s ready to start his 2nd year at seoul national university. little does he know, you’ve finally moved back to korea.

college student! anton x old crush! reader

USED TO THIS @myung-jaes

anton and yn are literally the epitome of childhood best friends, knowing each other from practically the day they were born with their parents being best friends upon their shared move from korea to the states. throughout the years, they’ve gone through their share of memories, rebounds, and earthquakes. despite this, they could never beat the “falling for your best friend” curse, even as they were separated with yn's move back to korea, it only worsening as anton followed in her steps. though rather than embracing their feelings, the two, with all their stubbornness, choose to bury it down, waiting for the day it all blows up.

anton x fem!reader

JOIN GAME ? @hangup119

not everyone is good at playing obby’s on roblox, and you’re no exception to this rule: after a particularly nasty encounter with another player on roblox’s altitorture, you log into twitter only to find out that the very same player who publicly dunked on your gaming skills turns out to be anton lee, a well-known streamer who also happens to be a friend of a friend. fed up with his fans bombarding your dms with teasing remarks or jealous musings, you decide to end it once and for all by appearing on his next stream with a promise to get through an obby successfully. however, you realize that the only thing you’ll be successful at is falling for anton lee instead.

streamer!anton + fem!reader

personal fav !

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[easyrapewhore]

I've had this incredibly hot but oh so vile and depraved fantasy for so long. A fantasy in which I have a boyfriend and for one whole entire week a month, he gets to treat me however he wants and please. He can treat me like a child, like a doll, like I'm his maid, whatever he wants me to be, I have to become and act like that for a whole a week. But all I can really think of is him making me a sex slave, lesser then him, literal property. He gives me insane rules for a week that I must follow, such as, I'm not allowed to wear clothes, unless he says otherwise, I'm not allowed to speak, or walk like a human, just crawl and Bark. I eat, sleep, and act like a dog or bitch in heat for a whole week. What really gets my pussy wet tho, is the humiliation aspect of this whole thing. Just imagining him using me as a urinal for the whole entire week, pissing on my face, in my mouth and making me swallow or gurgle it before letting it spill all on my body, pissing on my tits and stomach or my pussy. Better yet, pissing in my pussy, just using my pussy as his personal urinal and cumdump, but this piss kink humiliation goes both ways. Since I'm not human to him for this entire week, he tells me I'm only allowed to piss wherever I am. In the kitchen cooking and need to piss? I just piss right then and there. On the couch watching TV? I get on top the table and piss right there, but that's only if I'm given permission, cause before I can even think of relieving myself I gotta ask first. And after I piss myself like a dumb whore for him, he makes me lick it up while I finger my own pussy, all the while he's laughing at me degrading me on how licking up my own piss gets me wet and horny. If we're out in public, he'll make me go panty and braless, always with a vibrator in my cunt on low settings, if I have to piss but there's no family bathroom around, he makes me hold it, if there is, he'll allow me to go, but only if I do it squatting over the toilet legs spread, tounge out and panting like a dumb puppy whore. But the humiliation doesn't stop there, he wants to ensure I feel stupid, pathetic and worthless. So for that whole entire week, I have to eat lunch and dinner with his cum all over my food and all in my drink, for breakfast, I have to make myself squirt on my food before I can eat and if I can't do it, then I don't get to eat breakfast. If he wanted to, he could leave our apartment unlocked for the entire week and pimp me out to whomever wants me, advertising me as a slut who likes to get gangbanged, making money off of every guy who comes and uses me. There's so much that could happen within this one week, and unless it's dangerous, harmful, or life threatening, I can't (and probably won't) protest against. After that week is over, he goes back to being a loving, caring, sweet, attentive and understanding boyfriend who makes me feel human and equal to him. God this fantasy makes me so fucking wet, I really wish I had a boyfriend to enact this with. I I'd probably be so fucking happy, and looking forward to this week, wondering what he had in-store for me

[bbina]

between the lines masterlist

ᯓ★ SYNOPSIS.ᐟ from what started as a simple arrangement to hide your feelings for a certain someone by getting into in a fake relationship soon turns into a tangled mess. in which some things are hard to tell when you can’t read between the lines

ᯓ★ PAIRING.ᐟ park wonbin x reader

ᯓ★ GENRE.ᐟ fluff, angst, crack | 𖡎 – written portions

ᯓ★ STATUS.ᐟ completed.

ᯓ★ TAGLIST.ᐟ closed (limit)

ᯓ★ NOTES.ᐟ first riize smau! bbina is cooking with this one i fear... this fic will contain nsfw themes somewhere along the way and some kys jokes, etc. happy reading! also if you want to be added to the taglist make sure your blog is visible for me to be able to tag you

˗ˏˋ ★ CHAPTERS ★ ˎˊ˗ ☆ INTRODUCTION ☆ ONE ⊹₊ ⋆ do what you must ☆ TWO ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 last minute rain checks ☆ THREE ⊹₊ ⋆ national museum of korea ☆ FOUR ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 campfire ☆ FIVE ⊹₊ ⋆ chemistry ☆ SIX ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 first day on the job ☆ SEVEN ⊹₊ ⋆ shock factor ☆ EIGHT ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 yet ☆ NINE ⊹₊ ⋆ soft launch ☆ TEN ⊹₊ ⋆ thanks for the support ☆ ELEVEN ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 pillow talk ☆ TWELVE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 count your days ☆ THIRTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ wasn't part of the plan ☆ FOURTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 why does it matter ☆ FIFTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ just be with me ☆ SIXTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ seoul bound ☆ SEVENTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ more than welcome ☆ EIGHTEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 trust me ☆ NINETEEN ⊹₊ ⋆ newly improved fake boyfriend 2.0 ☆ TWENTY ⊹₊ ⋆ only my girl ☆ TWENTY ONE ⊹₊ ⋆ next date ☆ TWENTY TWO ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 for my eyes only ☆ TWENTY THREE ⊹₊ ⋆ care package ☆ TWENTY FOUR ⊹₊ ⋆ too early ☆ TWENTY FIVE ⊹₊ ⋆ not like this ☆ TWENTY SIX ⊹₊ ⋆ two months later ☆ TWENTY SEVEN ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 long way home ☆ TWENTY EIGHT ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 thank you ☆ TWENTY NINE ⊹₊ ⋆ fake idgafer ☆ THIRTY ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 boundaries ☆ THIRTY ONE ⊹₊ ⋆ could've had it all ☆ THIRTY TWO ⊹₊ ⋆ out of habit ☆ THIRTY THREE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 time ☆ THIRTY FOUR ⊹₊ ⋆ deja vu ☆ THIRTY FIVE ⊹₊ ⋆ operation: ynbin ☆ THIRTY SIX ⊹₊ ⋆ it's bad for the both of them ☆ THIRTY SEVEN ⊹₊ ⋆ stories write themselves ☆ THIRY EIGHT ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 ulsan ☆ THIRTY NINE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 drunken words ☆ FOURTY ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 sober thoughts ☆ FOURTY ONE ⊹₊ ⋆ disappointed ☆ FOURTY TWO ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 afternoon bliss (M) ☆ FOURTY THREE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 we are so back ☆ FOURTY FOUR ⊹₊ ⋆ what are we ☆ FOURTY FIVE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 wouldn't have it in any other way ☆ FOURTY SIX ⊹₊ ⋆ new boyfriend lore ☆ FOURTY SEVEN ⊹₊ ⋆ texting and driving ☆ FOURTY EIGHT ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 dior her ☆ FOURTY NINE ⊹₊ ⋆ 𖡎 you’re all i’ll ever want and need ☆ FIFTY ⊹₊ ⋆ between the lines

⋆.˚—̳͟͞͞★ asks | lore | official playlist ₊⊹

[aernx]

⌕ CUPID’S REFLECTION ✶ 종성

[ 11 ]﹒₊﹒stop moping, loner

RECAP FOR CONTEXT (bc i left this alone for 2 yrs loll)

So basically jayn are on truce bc they got a plan to get hee n rina to go on a date but they need to "test those dates out" so heerina cld have the perfect date!!

m.list % prev | next

AERINOTES ⟡ you asked n u shall receiveee!! here is a new chp from cpr! WHO MISSED JAYN BC I MISSED MY BBSSS hope i guys ennjoyedd (i had to reread the whole smau n cringed alot omg my past 2023 self was SOMETHING ELSE) i hope this doesn't floppp plspslspsl

TAGLIST + open ! send asks (or comment!) to be added in

@kazmura @reivrze @hanniluvie @luvkpopp @lunavixia @iadorethemskz @yswon @luvistqrzzz @writingmeraki @143lele @thea-herondale @chaewon-slays @voguewonye @viagumi @linyki @flwrshee @miercerise @star4rinny @ashy1um @arwn-yng @143won @yizhoutv @en-dream @mikaymee @sieuneo @moonmoongi @wonqr @sunnyglower @jayujus @donghyckl @teddywonss @haechansbbg @beomsbeanie @youmenotyummy @misoxhappy @chaerybae

nets ! @k-labels @hyfenet @kflixnet @enhanet

© aernx 2025 / do not steal, copy, translate — hope you enjoy my works! let me know if you have any suggestions ! comment ur thoughts n reblogs n likes wld be appreciated !