#aurora imagines

[auroramirage]

As Christmas draws ever closer, I thought we could have a bit of festive fun today, so how about we play a lil game....

Using the preface 'Winter' - use Pinterest to show me;

❄️ Your bias

❄️ Getaway

❄️ Activity

❄️ Drink

❄️ Bed

Tagging @pixie-felix @c-h-e-r-r-i-e-s @diamondheartyux @daeteez @sam-staytiny888

Looking forward to seeing your seasonal shenanigans 😘

[auroramirage]

Guess Who

Word Count - 4950

Fem x WooSan

CW - 18+ smut: mdni

Tonight it was your turn to play Guess Who.

You should have known something was going on when you turned up with snacks, and they didn't have the TV on.

"I thought we were bingeing that new show tonight?" You dropped the enormous bag of snacks on the kitchen counter and took the shot glass Woo pressed into your hands.

San just watched across the kitchen, the softest, sweetest grin on his face.

"Drink up, you've had a long day," of course you're being encouraged to catch up, there's already three empty bottles of Soju draining by the sink, along with a distinct air of tension.

"What's going on with you two?" Letting Woo strip your jacket and hang it up, you take a drink and start to relax.

With the air of a mischievous teen, San approaches you. He's already doing his cute kitty pout face, so you know this is gonna be interesting.

"You've been working so hard lately, and we never get to see you anymore," you can hear his pout as he moves behind you, massaging your shoulders, his stronger fingers making short work of the knots in your upper back.

Taking another drink, when was your glass refilled? you can't hold back the low moan that slips from your lips.

He really does have a knack, his fingers probing and stimulating all at once.

And then Wooyoung comes back into your vision, his lips pressed firmly together, trying desperately not to smile.

"What you got behind your back Woo?"

You try to shift your head to look behind him, but San’s strong hands have moved up to your neck, gently, but undeniably keeping your head still.

You know there's no point fighting it, or forcing it, you've been here before with them, too many times to count. 

And you always ended up smiling, so what the fuck.

Leaning back against San, letting him know you're ready, you keep your eyes on Woo. And of course he treats it like some kind of performance.

One step closer, two steps back, a twirl and always, always, keeping whatever it is hidden from your view. Until he's right in front of you, smiling down with that little lip bite, oh so coy.

"Menace"

Not a name, or an insult, just a statement of fact.

And that's when he takes a half step away, throwing his head back, and tracing a length of fabric across his eyes. Your stomach flips in the most delightful and desperate way.

Leaning forward, San whispers deep and low, his voice resonating through every fibre of your being.

"Trust us?"

You nod slowly, swallowing your nerves, and your reservations.

Wooyoung leans in close, whispering in your other ear, like some kind of sensual surround sound.

"Good girl!", and he presses the fabric against your eyes, San collecting each end and tying it tightly behind your head, careful not to tangle your hair.

"Tonight we'll be playing guess who!" San announced, as Woo ensured you were truly blindfolded, if you could see the faces he was pulling, you'd be snort laughing in the most unattractive fashion.

Fingers gently gripping your body, rotating you gently, as whispers cascade around you.

"We're gonna take turns teasing you, and you have to guess who it is."

"If you guess correctly, you earn a treat...."

"If not?" The question is left hanging, but sight withheld you have no idea who is saying what, or who is standing where.

It's completely disorienting, and for the first time you feel nervous, your heart rate increases with more than just desire.

But they’re so damn gentle, their fingers caressing you as they put you at ease, seating you on a plush chair, you can't remember ever seeing in their apartment before.

Movement on your left, "Are you sitting comfortably?"

A kiss on your right, "Here we go!"

You have no clue who is who, or where, and then you grip the arms of the chair tight as they turn it slowly. Once, twice, was that three times? You can't tell how far you've turned, how many times. Leaning back you curl your feet under you, resolving to enjoy the experience even if you are completely clueless.

And with a whisper of a breath you feel lips pressing against yours, soft but firm, gone before you’ve even registered it happened. It takes a heartbeat or two for your brain to catch up with your body.

“No fair, I wasn’t ready!” you can hear the two of them giggling together and you roll your eyes behind the fabric.

“Okay, we’ll give you that as a practice round.” San concedes, while you assume it’s Woo approaches, whispering “you ready for this…” then he pulls away, leaving you with just a trace of his fragrance to confirm he was ever there.

Without your eyes, you’re going to need to play this smart. What do you know? Well Wooyoung’s wearing his signature scent tonight, so that’s going to help, a lot. And San? He’s been complaining about his upcoming laser appointment, so you plan to be using your fingers as much as you can.

Hearing the swish of fabric in front of you, you reach out your fingers to connect with what you hope is a face, and they are almost instantly enfolded/encompassed by someone’s soft, warm and slightly moist lips. You pull your hand away, surprised, a little flustered.

They’re quick, too quick, and your instant reaction means you didn’t have time to process.

“Well?” Now you’re not even sure who’s speaking, their voices low and breathy. You can imagine Wooyoung, arms folded across himself with that smug grin, relaxing into San’s firm chest.

“You need to say something. Don’t tell us you give in already!” Definitely Wooyoung stirring it, alright then.

Clearing your throat, pressing your fingers to your lips, you think about it. You would expect San to go for the lips, the neck, maybe even the tip of the nose. And perhaps he would have if you hadn’t been trying to get a hint. Where would Wooyoung go first? Despite all your past encounters, they had you absolutely stumped.

So think. Whoever it was it was a direct attack, right in front of you, probably heading for your face. Simple, to the point, which of them would go straight for the mouth?

“Tick tock, Aegiya!”

“San!” you blurt out, 50/50 and besides you only forfeit a treat if you’re wrong. How much of a treat could it be?

“Dammit, San,” you hear a light smack against fabric “too obvious, you’ve got to be strategic!”

Score! Now if your brain could just remember the feel of his lips? Warm, yes. Soft, check. Succulent, mmmmhmmm.

And you’re interrupted by a hand curling your hair over your ear, making you flinch as lips caress the curve of your jaw. You manage a slow inhale and there it is, even if you didn’t already suspect Wooyoung, his scent gives him away, lingering longer than his lips. You find yourself wishing he’d never pull away.

You’re not going to give them any clue you’ve figured out a system though, you plan to play it out for as long as you can. Cocking your head to one side, you make what you hope is a puzzled face,

“Hmmmmmm, first time was San, so I think I’ll say,” you pause for dramatic effect, hoping to pick up a tell in the background would be nice too. “Woo?”

Making sure to sound as uncertain as possible, even going so far as to bite your lip nervously as you await a response. It doesn’t take long.

“Ha, you got caught out too!” San’s little victorious statement makes you smile, and even with the blindfold and your eyes closed, you can see his smug little smile, you can even imagine the way he weaves his head to and fro, scrunching his nose in that way he does when he’s being too cute.

“I’m two for two here guys, what do I get for winning? What’s the treat?”

An exclamation followed by a snort of a laugh

“You're already being totally spoiled getting our undivided attention like this. What more could you want?” Wooyoung was definitely determined to give nothing away without a fight. Typical.

“You promised me a treat.” two could play at the petulant pout game, and you were just as determined to give both men a run for their money, blindfold or no. Knowing San would cave in a heartbeat the moment your lower lip reached just the right amount of quiver, you gave a little tremor.

And just as anticipated, “Don’t be sad baby, we have some chocolates for you.”

You knew you could count on his sweet nature, and with a little wiggle you get yourself ready. Thinking about it, what more could you want? 

“Open wide” less of a command, more a gentle suggestion, but you indulge him, tipping your head to one side, you part your lips, your tongue curling out ready.

You're not disappointed when a tongue slides into your open mouth dispensing a very small, very dark, incredibly delicious chocolate. With a trace of your lips the tongue withdraws again and you find yourself melting faster than the chocolate on your tongue, leaving you cursing yourself for focussing on the velvety smooth cocoa instead of the scent of the man who was just inside you. 

“Well?” Woo again, but did his voice catch in his throat?

You’re more conflicted than ever, because you KNOW the chocolates were San’s idea! But what if it’s a double bluff? What if it was Wooyoung’s tongue? The thing is, it could have been either of them for completely different reasons. San would have found it unbearably romantic to seduce you using the sweet treat. On the other hand, Wooyoung would relish the opportunity to tease you and leave you confounded. So who would win out? You know who.

“Wooyoung” you declare confidently, and you’re rewarded with a raucous cackle. “What?”

“Wasn’t me!” Wooyoung declares, the giggle spilling out again, “No treat for you this time, here you go San.” the sharp crack of the chocolate makes your mouth water, and you imagine San tasting as good as the chocolate you’d shared. Because of course he does.

And now you have 2 distinct scents you’re ready for. You know you’re going to win this game.

You can’t lie though, the next assault takes you by surprise. A gentle press of lips to your crown. If it wasn’t for catching his scent as he bent over you, you’d have guessed San for sure, but you’re not falling for it.

“I bet San’s still eating those chocolates, right? So let’s say that was Wooyoung.” there’s a distinctive rustle close by, San balling up the chocolate wrappers and hiding it behind his back, you’d bet anything. It’s what you can’t hear that makes you smile though. No Wooyoung crowing about beating you, so you’re 100% right and now he’s sulking.

“Did I win? Chocolate, please.” you curl your legs up under you, lips parted, waiting for San to dispense another drop of delight.

“Ah.” San’s disappointed in himself, it’s obvious from the drop of his voice. 

“Ah?” you sound genuinely devastated, “Ah, San?” you’re almost convinced by your own fake indignation, “They’re all gone? Every last one?” and you have to remind yourself to dial it down a notch, you know how hard he takes these things.

Wooyoung breaks in, in his typical inimitable style, “Pshhhh like you’re going to keep guessing right anyway.”

You just sit back, smiling serenely, “We’ll see. Bring it on.”

Three times in a row it’s Wooyoung, and each time you smell him coming, trying so hard not to sigh and give yourself away. He’s not even subtle, his lips finding your flesh each time, lips pressed gently to your forehead (clearly trying to mimic San), his teeth grazing your ear, tongue lapping at your nose. And each time you play it cool, taking just enough time to think, but ultimately you know you’re ahead of his silly game.

“Still think it’s beginner’s luck?” your tongue in cheek response rivals Wooyoung’s own arrogant self assuredness. “What possible treat could you have for me, unless you were to concede defeat?”

“Never! You’re not gonna beat me.” there we go, you knew this whole idea was Wooyoung’s, and San is only in it for the chocolates and kisses. 

"I mean, I could think of a thing or two...." San excitedly offering suggestions brings a smile to your mouth, and quickly you run your fingers across your lips to disguise it.

You're beyond glad to be blindfolded so they can't see the mischief in your eyes when you whisper, "Strip"

The laugh in Wooyoung’s exclamation is immediate, you knew he’d get a kick out of it. You can hear them discussing what to take off, and the rustle of fabric being removed. But you have no clue who has lost what. Would San take off his shirt first? Would Wooyoung go straight for the pants? You try to recall what they were wearing.

Their low murmuring continues, but under that you swear you can make out another sound, subtle but familiar, soft, wet, almost like lips meeting flesh? Your mind goes into overdrive imagining them undressing each other while you’re right here. Taking in the sight and scent of bare skin, enjoying the taste of each other's mouths, as you sit here waiting patiently, completely unaware.

The metallic clink of a belt buckle and a dark chuckle draw your attention back to the here and now, and you realise how fast, how shallow your breathing is as you try to stay quiet. You can feel yourself getting light-headed and you lean your head back into the chair to compensate, forcing yourself to slow each breath, chest heaving with each long inhale.

Focussing on your breathing, you miss the tell-tale movement of the chair as someone leans in close, teeth closing on your lower lip, tugging gently. But it’s not Wooyoung, you can distinctly smell the 80% cocoa on his sweet breath. And then he’s gone.

“San?” the name slips out before you can stop yourself.

Licking your lips, attempting to cover your slip, you mumble something about his generosity in sharing the last of the chocolate. You can only hope that the lights are low, because you know you’re flushed, with more than just arousal. And you can almost make out their hushed whispers. Discussing tactics now? Or working out what comes off next?

Sucking your lip you try to calm your heart rate, you were not expecting that from San, but you want more. Who knew bad boy San was the treat you’d been craving. Just thinking about it makes you want his teeth on you again, the very idea making you unbelievably hot. You shift in your seat, trying not to draw attention to yourself, although you’re sure they must be able to tell how wet you’re getting.

You can sense a shadow right in front of you, and it’s only a heartbeat later, that teeth close on your earlobe, pulling a little harder this time. Oh, you’ve felt that from Wooyoung before, but a deep inhale as your nose slides along his jawline takes your breath away. You realise that, lacking the signature scent, you were wrong.

Yet again it’s San.

And you whisper his name as you exhale against the sensitive skin of his throat, making him laugh softly.

“Ah….” the intensity in that one word sends a shiver down your back and you stiffen, waiting for Wooyoung to continue. He doesn’t keep you waiting for long, “San-ah, come here.”

And for the first time tonight, you feel alone. Raised voices and exaggerated sniffing noises and you realise you’ve been caught out. Oh this is going to be bad, not only is Wooyoung ultra competitive, he has a very strong sense of justice, you KNOW he’s going to consider this cheating of the highest order.

All you can do is await the verdict, play the submissive good girl and take your punishment.

Putting on your best pout, regretting having so much of your face covered, because how are you supposed to appeal to their better nature when they can’t see your glossy, wide eyes, looking so very repentant.

“You knew it was me?” San is kneeling right in front of you, making you jump just a little, and you make sure to bite your lip as pretty as you possibly can.

“I did.” you drop your shoulders, lowering your head in supplication. If you can win San over, Wooyoung will have no option but to let it slide. At least that’s what you’re betting on.

“How?” He sounds so hurt, you instinctively reach for him, stroking your hand against his cheek. Only for him to grip your wrist firmly but gently, pushing you away. Your heart breaks just a little at the rejection, but you know you deserve it. Just a little. You drop your head in a last ditch attempt to melt his heart.

“It’s Woo’s scent. I could smell it.” The admission hangs heavy in the air. San’s deep exhale doing nothing to assuage your guilt, and you can imagine him running his hands through his hair in disappointment. The idea of his pout no longer makes you smile, instead bringing a frown to your own face. “I’m sorry, San….”

The sentence trails off as you realise there’s no way you make it up to him. Not on your own anyway. You angle your head to where you estimate Wooyoung to be, and look at him pleadingly. He can’t see your eyes, but surely he can pick up on your contrition. Bracing yourself, you don’t expect him to make it easy for you, you whisper his name.

“Wooyoung? Please.” fingers reaching out to him, and he laces his fingers through yours as he draws you to your feet, pulling you close. This is it, game over and evening ruined. Well done, mentally patting yourself on the back for wrecking something they’d worked hard to plan. Wooyoung has other ideas as he leans in close to your ear, lips brushing before he whispers the word that will completely change the direction of the evening.

“Forfeit.”

For a moment you’re confused, does he expect you to forfeit the game? Then what, head home and wait for them to forgive you?

“You have to forfeit the same amount of clothing as us,” You can definitely hear the smirk in his voice as he makes his judgement. Trying to calculate mentally how many times you ‘guessed’ correctly, he interrupts you. “which is doubled, as there’s two of us.”

Fuck!

How much is that? How much are you actually wearing? Thinking back to this morning, getting ready for work, do accessories count? You can’t even claim that it’s not fair, cos he caught you out. And if this is what it takes to make things right with San, then of course you’ll play along.

“Tick tock, we’re waiting” It’s not lost on you that he’s dropped the terms of endearment, and you shiver with a frisson of anticipation. You’ve never been the bad girl, things with both men have always been fun, playful, teasing at most. And just like the epiphany about bad boy San, you find yourself wanting more of this.

“Need a little help?” San moves in close behind you, his hands once again on your shoulders, moving down to the buttons of your blouse. You nod, hesitant, but grateful he appears to be softening a little. Maybe even a little closer to forgiveness?

Until you feel him curl his palms into fists, grabbing the fabric on each side, and pulling with maximum force. Buttons pop free, flying fuck knows where. You know your expensive shirt hasn’t survived the assault, but standing there, his breath ghosting your shoulders, you find it hard to care. Heart pounding so hard in your chest, they have to see it.

Sliding his fists down your arms, dragging your sleeves free, exposing your barely covered breasts he groans into you, pressing his lips to your naked flesh.

“One” trust Woo to be keeping score.

Sans hands glide to your waist, fingers undoing your belt, pulling it free.

“Two.” You counter quickly. Just because you got caught cheating, doesn’t mean you're prepared to give him a freebie.

San's strong hands continue their onslaught, unbuttoning your trousers and pulling the zipper down with excruciating slowness. You're tempted to help him out, speed things up. But you know the only way to make things right with San is to let him have total control.

As your trousers loosen, sliding down over your hips, his hands ghost over your ass, tracing your curves. Rising up on tiptoes, wanting to keep his hands on your skin for as long as possible, curving your hips just so. But he pulls away regardless.

Woo steps in closer, taking his place, his hand around your wrists. Unclasping your watch on one side, your bracelet on the other.

“Three,” he kisses you, hot and fierce, leaving you breathless, “Four.” His lips softer this time, lingering for a moment, before lifting your hand to his mouth. His lips close over your finger, sliding down to the simple band where his teeth graze your skin as he pulls gently. Sliding the ring free with the help of his incredibly articulate tongue, he drops it into your now upturned palm, still slick with his saliva.

“Five.” And then he pulls away again, leaving you standing there heart pounding, flesh dimpling in the sudden chill.

And now you stand before them both. Blind, vulnerable, listening, waiting.

You’re not sure how many times you cheated, not sure it even matters at this point, you’ve come too far to stop now. Movement on both sides of you, making you flinch, and there’s a hiss on one side, the huff of a laugh on the other.

“I thought you trusted us, baby?” San is still pulling the pouty princess act, knowing Wooyoung finds the whole act ridiculous. As they maneuver you back to the chair, fingers slide under the waistband of your silk cami knickers, it’s sinful how easily they fall to the floor, pooling at your feet. A deft thumb flicks the catch of your bra, releasing you from your final restraints.

Thanking every deity you can bring to mind for the blindfold, you stand tall, all too aware of their scrutiny and the appreciative noises coming from both of them. Fingertips skimming your flesh, bringing a sensual warmth wherever they land, guiding you once more to the cushioned seat. Lips almost, but not quite, touching you. Their whispers ghosting across your flesh.

But now there’s nothing between the bare skin of your thighs and the plush fabric of the chair. Aware of how exposed you are under their gaze, far from being intimidated, you're more aroused than ever and you need them to do something about it. With a whispered gasp you slide easily down, angling your hips to open yourself up. At the same time you move your hands to cover yourself, with a demure modesty you definitely aren’t feeling, one hand crossing your chest to cover your breasts from view, and the other sliding between your legs.

Except that far from covering your cunt, your fingers slide into position to accentuate what they can almost, but not quite, see.

Almost as soon as you hear the hushed whisper of fabric against carpet, you feel his skin sliding under your thighs, lifting your ass up off the seat just enough to allow him access to your core. His lips pressing against the inside of your thigh, teeth sinking gently into your flesh, drawing the most salacious of moans from you. And before you can even catch your breath, his tongue laps against you, sliding between your folds, his saliva mingling with your own slick. His fingers curl around your thighs pulling you wider as he presses his mouth harder against you, his deft tongue probing ever deeper.

Dropping your chin to your chest, struggling to control your breathing, you press your heels into his shoulders as his talented mouth teases you, nibbling and sucking slowly all the way to your clit. And when his lips close around you, sucking so gently you cry out, your hands reaching for him, only to have them removed and placed on the arms off the chair. You’re in torment, you need to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin. But you know this is part of the punishment, so instead you slide your hands across your own body in defiance, caressing the parts of yourself that long for their touch.

A hand closes around your throat, fingers squeezing gently only to pull away as you swallow. You whimper at the loss of contact. Between them you know they’ll destroy you tonight, in all the very best ways and you’re longing for it. Fingers lifting your chin, tilting it towards him, before he pulls away again, loving the noises he draws from deep inside you. 

Feeling the tip of a cock pressed against your lips, no force, he slides first one way then the other, circling your mouth, coating your lips in his precum. You dare to flick your tongue out to caress him, licking your smeared lips, relishing the taste of him. He presses again, breaching your lips and pulling almost instantly back again.

At the same time you feel the tongue withdraw and your thighs are released. Clenching on nothing you whine, sliding further down the seat hoping to feel him just a breath away. But no, they’ve both withdrawn completely, and you know, you know they’re standing together, looking down on you now. You have no concept of shame as you move your fingers to your mouth to feel his slick, and down to trace the tender bitemark.

“Not this time.”  Wooyoung pulls your hands away and places them once again on the arms of the chair, stroking your knuckles with the pad of a finger, making sure you stay put.

With a quick caress of your cheek San presses his lips to your forehead and whispers, “Guess who”

He still smells dark and delicious, and you’re desperate to taste him again, but “What?” it slips from your lips before you can stop it.

“Who was who?’ He's so quiet, so hoarse, you can barely hear him, but you can feel the desire coming off him in waves. He wants this even more than you do.

“Or more importantly, who was where?” Wooyoung snaps you out of your reverie, bringing you back to the game once more.

Brushing your hair free of your flushed and heated face, you tip your head up towards his voice, dragging your teeth across your lower lip. “I thought the game was over?”

Sensing movement in front of you, you’re ready when Wooyoung’s scent enfolds you, he’s so close now. If you were to lean forward, even an inch, your lips would make contact with him, but before you can move he speaks.

“Oh so that’s how you see things? You get to cheat, and then we service you? Sounds like a win:win for you.” He pulls away just as you lean in closer, and you almost topple forward.

San’s strong hands catch you, and he presses you back into the seat, “Where’s the punishment there?” Oh you never want this San to let you go free. You struggle in vain, just enough for him to tighten his hands on your shoulders. But your smile gives you away and he releases you again.

“Please.” truly repentant, you need to convince them. You’ve never wanted anything more than to have them worshipping your body the way they promised. Folding your hands together, pressing them to your lips like a sinner in earnest prayer, the tears come. Slowly at first, the self pity is all consuming, but a breath against your skin reminds you of what you were so close to just moments ago and the longing overwhelms you. You need them. “Please, please me…”

The shiver starts at the base of your spine, working its way upwards then out to your shoulders, until you’re shaking all over, sobs wracking your body. It feels like you’ll never be warm again, like you’ve been abandoned and their love was only ever a fantasy, an illusion. You start to babble your apologies, sorry for your arrogance, your wanton behaviour, for taking them for granted, for not treasuring every precious moment they share with you. You’d apologise for existing in their absence if you thought they’d believe you.

Then fingers in your hair, a loosening of a pressure you weren’t even aware of, and then light blinds you, forcing you to clamp your eyes shut tightly as they slide the scarf away from your head. Blinking, keeping your head low, your hair sticking to your tear stained cheeks, you see the soft fabric being wound around your still clasped hands. Over and over and around your wrists, binding your hands together, restraining you.

“Oh no, no need for tears,” San moves into your blurred vision, his thumb tracing the damp skin under your eyes, before slipping it into his mouth, tasting your tears with a gentle smile.

He shakes his head as you resist a tug on your arms. Wooyoung pulls the fabric again, more firmly, drawing you to your feet. “Come on penitent angel, let’s take this somewhere a little more comfortable.” 

---+---+---+---+---+---

[auroramirage]

For Accuracy

Word Count - 3.1 k

CW - smut, 18+ mdni

Fem x Idol

It started as a joke, she was just messing around on social media.

Knowing the lads were now on the same platform as her, she threw it out as a bit of fun before she went offline for her birthday weekend. 48 hours of chilling and partying with her bestie at a spa resort. Strictly no phones allowed.

So yeah, sending an invite for them to read her stuff and give feedback on their technique was just a throwaway post, not really expected to be noticed, definitely not designed to send the fandom into a tizzy.

Getting home late Sunday night she didn't have time to check her socials, and it wasn't until turning her phone back on early Monday morning, she realised that 'throwaway post' had exploded.

25k views, hundreds of replies, even some dm's. Just in two days. And the notifications just kept on coming. It was too much, completely overwhelming, she shut her phone down again and went to work.

9 hours later and she was finally heading home, time to update her friends on what had happened. Trying to ignore the ever increasing numbers, she messaged screenshots to the group chat.

And that's when someone said THE word...

Viral.

Apparently she had started something. She was tempted to just delete everything. Her notifications, the apps off her phone, her whole social media presence.

And then.

Among all the 'EWWw yOUr sO fkN grOSs' and 'love this sm' was a simple picture. It almost escaped her notice, she'd received hundreds of private messages by this point. If it wasn't for the picture attached she probably wouldn't have noticed it at all.

It wasn't exactly a dick pic. Technically there was no actual cock visible. Just a pair of hands hiding what was clearly a crotch.

And one simple sentence,

"For accuracy."

No jewellery, no distinguishing features, nothing to identify the sender. But in an instant she knew exactly who it was. Like other fans she'd spent hours looking at images online. Comparing hand sizes, finger length, slenderness, skin tone, knuckle width. It was embarrassing how intimately familiar with another person's body parts you could get, without ever meeting.

And now it was here.

In her inbox.

On.

Her.

Phone.

She closed the app, mortified.

Opened it again, saved the image and closed it once more.

She opened her gallery and clicked on the image. Nope.

Opening the original app she scrolled to the message and clicked on a very random, very forgettable username, and landed on a bio so bland and prosaic she thought she must have made a mistake. But maybe not?

She knew exactly what fic this was about. She had described in excruciatingly intimate detail how immaculately waxed he was....and this was what? A correction? A rebuke? The dark hair curling softly against his fingers, proved her a liar.

"I'm not changing it!" She sent back, before she could change her mind. She'd spent hours on that fic, honing it until it was perfect, not a wasted word.

Closing the app, throwing the phone into her bag, it must be a joke, a trick. AI, that was it. Someone had gone to great lengths to play the mother of all jokes on her, probably that writer she’d had a spat with earlier in the year. Determined to forget about it, she got on with her evening, made dinner, watched tv, enjoyed a glass of wine, tried not to think about the image burning a hole in her phone, started a second glass of wine.

But the thoughts were buzzing around her head. Did she really see what she thought, or was it just her imagination? Maybe she could do an AI detector search, and possibly even find who really sent it. Besides, her phone probably needed charging by now anyway, so where was the harm?

Plugging it in she saw the notification immediately, New Message! Although she couldn’t recall turning on notifications for that account. Strange. And another attachment. Okay, no. Two glasses of wine and a very unsatisfying episode of a period piece were not the right way to start this encounter.

"For future reference ;)"

Putting her phone face down on the coffee table she returned to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice cold water. This was beyond a joke. She swallowed, long, deep gasps of refreshment, and yet when the glass was empty she still craved more. The thirst, unquenchable.

And yet.

That second image was calling to her.

For future reference? What was that? Did he actually expect her to write a piece based on what he sent her? And in that case, what the hell was it, and what was she waiting for? When in the other room was potentially the most exquisite image she would ever see. She flushed. She could feel the heat rising through her body as she considered her options.

Of course if this WAS all a trick, then she was wasting her time here and should just delete, block and move on with her life.

But what if?

What if it was actually him?

I mean, she owed it to herself to at least check, didn’t she?

And that was how she found herself 3 hours later having scrolled through hundreds of posts the innocuous account had liked, and yet the message remained unopened. She couldn’t bring herself to check. Ridiculous. But she had work in the morning and needed closure otherwise she would never sleep.

Fine!

She scrolled to her dm’s and clicked on the message.

This time the image was hands free. Still recognisably HIS hands, but instead of cupping they were now framing a very cheekily pixelated image. Of him. All of him. Holy fuck was there a lot of him. She caught herself biting her lip and gave herself a mental shake. Pixelated images were notoriously unreliable. And there was still the possibility that this was a big con. AI detectors could be fooled, and there were some incredibly talented photoshopppers out there.

Still, she saved it anyway, creating a private folder and storing both images safe and sound behind a passcode.

And then she went to bed, to be tormented by a combination of both images. All night long.

The next day she woke moments before her alarm went off, eyes swollen, mouth dry and scratchy from the previous late night's drinking. Hopping into the shower, she resolved to put the whole crazy episode behind her. And no more solo drinking. It was a very bad idea, much better to save the drinking for social occasions only, where at least her mind was free to focus on whatever crazy topics her friends came up with, and not the insane situation on her phone.

Determined to get behind this resolution, she decided to uninstall her media apps from her phone. She’d focus on work, arrange meet ups with friends, read a book! And when things had calmed down a bit, she’d revisit things.

Good plan.

Smart.

Grabbing a second coffee on her way out of the door, she opened her phone to begin the purge, and almost choked on the cooling liquid.

“For Parity!”

FOR FUCKING PARITY???

Absolutely not. There was no way she’d be opening this one.

She had to put a stop to this, it was going far too far.

“For fuck’s sake!” she sent it before she’d stopped to think. Shit. He’d probably think she’d opened it and was impressed. Dammit. She exited the app, then messaged her bestie as she finally hopped on the subway, outlining the situation. She waited, watching the dots move, then nothing. Moving again, and then stopped completely. Shit, out of signal. She’d have to wait until they reached the next station.

She couldn't help but wonder, how many other fans had he toyed with....how many had seen what she'd seen and said nothing. How many had seen and fucking wrote about it?

Shit.

As soon as she hit the station she dashed up the escalator, thumbs typing frantically. Logging into her various accounts. she did a search for the type of situation she found herself in. I mean, isn’t this something she would write about? A way to tell, without actually telling. No confidences betrayed, no secrets spilled. Technically?

Still, this was a really fucking risky game for him to be playing.

She wasn't naive enough to think that she was the first.

And the buzz from her phone reminded her of her friend’s on again, off again message. Or rather, essay from the looks of things. Too much. She swiped the screen to remove the notification, she’d give it her undivided attention once she was settled at work.

In the meantime.

The photo…

'For parity' he'd said, sharing a never before seen photo of his immaculate torso, from a perspective no self-respecting photographer would put themselves in. She could read between the lines, knew exactly what he was saying.

Quid pro quo. But how far was she willing to let things go?

He'd already shown her almost everything, and now what, he expected a return on his outlay? At least she had the luxury of anonymity. Fake name, private email, one of millions of fans who rarely shared actual photos of herself online. What the hell, why not. It’s not like they were ever going to meet. And if he shared with the rest of them, well she’d never even know. The idea was kind of flattering.

No time to dwell on that now though. She had a long day ahead of her, and a mini dissertation to read and probably respond to in detail, point by intimate point. More coffee was definitely a necessity, but that would have to wait until lunch, in the meantime it was time to get down to it. To work. She shook her head hard, trying to clear the images floating in the spaces behind her eyes, every time she blinked.

Did she just moan out loud? Glancing surreptitiously around her, she slid a mint into her mouth, giving her lips a reason to stay very firmly closed. No more of this nonsense, now. Focus, she had a presentation at the end of the week to prepare for.

The rest of her workday passed uneventfully, it could have been the most mundane day ever. Were it not for the now allergic reaction she had to her phone. Every time it buzzed she tried to ignore it, kicking her bag further and further under her desk each time she became aware of it’s all-pervading presence. Of course she knew it wouldn’t be him, he’d set a teasing tone, one sentence, one attachment, then he’d left her to stew.

She knew it’d be her girlfriend, and she was already regretting sharing so much information that morning. By the time she got home and checked her phone she was a mess, and if she was going to deal with this, she’d need some sustenance. Whether fortune favoured her not, she wasn’t sure, but the fridge was empty. So it was either order in, or eat out, and yeah, that slow moan was back again. She needed to get her mind out of the gutter.

Luckily help was on hand in the form of her beloved bestie, showing up with wine, takeaway and a look of concern, making best use of the spare key she’d been given, for emergencies.

The conversation went pretty much as she’d anticipated, but she was surprised at how little information she’d actually managed to get across to her friend earlier in the day. Thanking her lucky stars, she glossed over the whole episode, a pushy ex who’d wanted her attention, drunk messaging, topless photos. After some food and comparing notes on disastrous dates, she’d felt a lot better. But resolute. This was going to be her problem to deal with all by herself. And after seeing her friend's attempts at sexy selfies she was also feeling bolder. Although that could have been the very cheap white wine they’d necked.

It would have to be tasteful though. He may be prepared to bare all, but she still wanted to retain a little decorum. She wasn’t ready to burn all her socials if this went wrong. Besides, she did have a couple of online friends that she’d met in real life. There was no way in hell she’d let this spill over into reality. It had already cost her a good night’s sleep and a full day's work. Enough was enough.

It took a couple of days to get things ready, working out how to set up her phone’s camera timer, getting a suitable backdrop, ensuring the lighting was perfect. She took hundreds of photos and then discarded them. She’d finally convinced herself it was a bad idea, she’d never done it for a boyfriend and she couldn’t imagine any scenario where she actually would. Besides, he’d gone quiet. She could only assume it had been a ruse to get her to expose herself, and she was thankful she’d stalled for so long.

Until the video.

Not a tiktok or an instagram reel, and definitely not any kind of official content.

Apparently this was just between the two of them.

She wasn’t prepared. Who could be? Ever? In the whole of eternity?

It was later than usual, and she’d gotten complacent, charging her phone on her bedside table again. When it buzzed, she assumed it was her friend, checking in after a late night work event.

Nope.

The lights were low, the room non descript, but that wasn’t important. It didn’t even register until the fourth, or maybe fifth watch. No, the focus was unmistakable.

Panning down his taut stomach, taking in the delicious v-lines that every right thinking woman had dreamed of tracing with their collective tongues, then zooming in for a close up of his hands again concealing his now clearly smooth and hair free crotch. One hand flexes, fingers slightly spreading, definitely skin visible between them.

“For research?”

And that’s how you kill a fandom.

No way in hell was she going to share this. 

And no way in hell could she just leave it like this.

He had now sent 3 photos and a video clip. Each incredibly intimate. Each now saved to her secret folder.

And she hadn't written back, well barely. In fact she hadn’t written a word since all this started. Dammit, he’d really thrown her off her game. It was time to get back to business.

I mean *she* was going to write about this wasn't she?

Isn’t that what he wanted?

I mean he hadn’t said as much, not technically, maybe he just wasn't a very effective communicator.

Although he seemed to have very clear ideas of what he wanted to see, what he wanted *her* to see.

But surely SOMEONE had fictionalised this, even if they couldn't say it outright???

And once again she found herself searching the internet, late into the night. Nothing. Despite the increasingly insane combinations of words and phrases, she found nothing even remotely similar. Maybe she was the first? Or maybe not, but everyone else had deliberately kept it quiet? Thinking along those lines, what on earth could she witness that would ensure she never, ever EVER wrote about this.

She couldn’t fathom it.

Only one thing could actually officially and legally stop her, and it was insane to even consider it.

And besides, what would be the point of an NDA now, when she’d already seen so……oh. Oh!

There was a lot to unpack, and she wasn’t sure she had the mental capacity, the thoughts flitting through her head at the speed of light. What she DID have was a dusty, neglected laptop and a very unique point of view. Stumbling out of bed, she unpacked her beloved notebook, plugging it in to charge. Then, sitting crosslegged on her bed, she began to write. Fingers flying across the keyboard, desperate to get down every thought, every idea, every possibility. It took four and half hours of non-stop writing, and by the end of it her fingers were numb, and her brain was mush.

Then she emailed work, let them know she was going to be taking a days sick leave, and collapsed into the void.

Hours later she awoke, the sun warm against her face, her throat once again dry and scratchy. Her phone buzzing with notification after notification like a hive of angry hornets.

As the previous night came back to her, a wave of nausea broke over her, rocking her to her core.

Before her lay the laptop and her phone. All of a sudden they both felt a little dark, a little threatening.

What had she done?

Reaching for her laptop, her phone buzzed again, and instead she picked it up, unlocking the screen with one swipe. 

Work. Angry work. Really pissed off work. Her presentation. Shit that was today, and she’d totally spaced on it. But the information was all available on the server, and she was a tiny cog in a giant wheel, and who the fuck even cared when she could have made the biggest mistake of her life. Dropping her phone beside her, she reopened the laptop desperately checking her open tabs. Google docs, file saved. Gmail, no emails sent. Finally, reluctantly, she checked each of her writing profiles. Nothing new posted in the last 24 hours.

Relief coursed through her as her skin flashed hot to cold and back again.

Maybe she was actually coming down with something, she thought, flopping backwards onto her bed, grabbing a pillow and screaming into it at full volume.

A shower did nothing much to put things in perspective, nor did the rancid coffee she made herself. Sitting at the kitchen bar, she scrolled through her laptop, reading everything she’d written in her witching hour frenzy. And it was good. So fucking good, possibly the best she’d ever written. People would go crazy for it.

But.

What if.

What if posting this meant the end of the line for this whole interaction? I mean, he could have gotten bored days ago, it’s not like he was getting much out of it personally. She’d barely responded, two sentences in total, and she hadn’t exactly been friendly. So, why?

Okay, that was a good question, and only one way to find out. So, attaching a link to the fic she messaged, asking him outright.

Then leaving her phone on the counter, she grabbed her bag and headed out for a decent coffee.

+---+---+---+---+---

[auroramirage]

Take Care

Word Count - 250

You'd felt rough all day but pushed through because, honestly, what was the alternative? By the time your boyfriend got home that night, you couldn't even muster a hello, let alone a smile.

You'd taken painkillers which had helped ease things a little, although it also made you all the more aware of the nausea you were feeling.

Even standing over the stove, preparing some seaweed soup, it all just felt too much. And when he slid his arms around your waist from behind, you couldn't help but sink back into his embrace.

"Jagiya? You okay?" He turned you gently around, then pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, hissing at the heat of your skin. You can't even crack a weak joke about how hot he makes you.

Leaning past you he flicked the stove top off, and as you wrap your arms around his neck he lifted you easily, carrying you to the lounge of your apartment, before placing you gently on the sofa.

Disappearing briefly, flicking the lights low, he returns with your favourite blanket and Wooyonyang plushie. Making a little nest for you, he stretches your legs out across him, sliding your socks off and caressing your feet.

"Tell me about it," he continues, sliding his hands up your calves, then back to your hot feet again. You murmur into the pillow, nuzzling down into the soft blanket that smells so uniquely of him. And within moments you're asleep, comforted by his mere presence.

[auroramirage]

A little grungy...

Word Count - 6k

Wooyoung x reader

Smut - 18+ minors dni

It wasn’t even that late, but you were already asking yourself if you’d made a mistake. Two hours since you’d got to the club, the music was good sure, the DJ had a great set, but the talent was so fucking thin on the ground. Yeah most of your friends had copped off, but you’d caught a glimpse of their tongue twisters and bloody hell it was a dire situation. At this point, there’s only one thing for it, and the bartender is about to become your best bud.

“Pint of diesel, here” you wave your bra softened notes in his direction, and he expertly flips the taps, reaching behind him for the blackcurrant. Eyes locked on the foaming liquid, he upends the syrup in, then grabbing the glass he sloshes it down in front of you. Grabbing your cash, leaving everything with the obligatory sticky slick, he returns with a handful of equally sticky change. Yeah that’s not going back in there.

“Cheers” you lift the glass to him, then turn to head back to your friends. Picking your way through the crowd, head moving to the beat, skirting the edge of the dance floor. Just as a guy takes a misstep off the platform and staggers down the step.

Whoa, he lurches, grabs you and spins you round, spilling your pint all over you both.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you shove him backwards with your free hand

“Fucking kidding me…..” is he mocking you? Or just that damned drunk? He reaches out his hand to steady himself and you sidestep him, putting your hands up defensively and storming off to the bathroom. Stepping over the obligatory crying girl in the doorway, you take a deep swallow of your drink, before slamming it on the counter and running the taps. Of course the soap is empty and the water merely trickles out, of course you struggle to wash your hands.

And you’ve no-one to blame but yourself, the 90’s night at a dive bar was your choice. And it seemed like a good one at the time. Something new, something different to what you all usually did…..

You push the tap closed and look up at the mould spotted mirror, and there he is standing behind you grinning like an idiot.

“I’ve never been in here before, it’s nice.”

Eyes wide with shock you spin around.

“What the fuck are you doing in here? Get out, girls are…..” you hesitate, you’re hazy, but not that drunk, and this isn’t the topic you want to be discussing with him.

“Girls are what?” he leans in conspiratorially, and hot damn if he doesn’t smell as delicious as he looks. You’d expected sweat, cheap deodorant, even the nasty beer that was liberally spilled all over the cheap carpets. But no, he smells of whisky and cedar, and he’s close enough for you to lick.

Shutting that thought down straight away you pull back, the counter pressing against your back. You’re embarrassingly aware of the harsh lights reflecting all the stains and grubbiness. The sobs of the girl just outside the door, the trickle of someone in one of the cubicles. The smell of vomit and mildew. You wave your hand in the direction of the enclosed toilets.

“Pissing. Girls are pissing in here.”

The cubicle door swings open and a gorgeous, goth girl steps out, pulling a lipstick from her waistband, and pushing between you both to face the mirror. Her reflection raises an eyebrow at you, and smirks in appreciation at him. You wait for her to leave, but before you can turn on him, two more girls come in and head for the far end cubicles, jabbering non-stop about the talent or lack thereof.

“They’re all just so gross, no style, did you see that guy out there? Couldn’t even button his shirt properly, and what was that stain? Ewww”

He looks down at himself, shrugs and smirks.

“Bitch there’s no paper in here, pass some over.” you can hear the sound of an empty reel being spun, and you know they both just made a rookie mistake.

Failing to keep the smile off your face, you catch his eyes in the mirror, and look down, flushed. Grabbing your drink, you take a deep draught, keeping your head down, don’t forget this is the jerk that spilled your pint all over you both. Luckily you’re wearing black, just a little damp and sticky. He on the other hand has a rather unfortunate stain down one side of his already grungy shirt.

You feel him move in behind you, reaching for the tap and giving it an almighty turn, water suddenly gushing into the bowl, splashing up and completely drenching you.

“Oops….” he fumbles with the now slippery tap and only succeeds in knocking your drink all over the counter “my bad!”

He wets his hands and starts patting ineffectually at the stain from your earlier encounter, completely ignoring the fact that he now has you pressed up against the counter with the remnants of your drink and the rusty water mingling, trickling down the back of your skirt, running trails down your leg

The shrill voices break in again, “Let’s bounce, the music’s shit here anyway, all old man whining” 

Cubicle doors swinging wide with a slam, and they strut past him pressed up against you, eyebrows raised, cackling scornfully. You wait for them to leave, then push him away, looking down over your shoulder to examine the mess of your skirt.

“You owe me a fucking drink, and a new skirt.” you pat at the damp patch, as pointless an effort as his. Instead you try wringing it, murky liquid dripping onto the floor between you. He laughs explosively and you jerk your head up to glare at him, it’s all his fault after all, only to discover that his shirt is now unbuttoned to the waist, his deft fingers moving down to the next button. Huh, breath catching in your throat, that’s a new one, and now you so desperately need that drink. Forcing down a swallow, you turn away, backing up to the hand dryer, and trying to angle your ass so it has the greatest impact.

He cocks his head at you as he squeezes the damp fabric of his shirt, his drips joining yours on the dirty floor.

“Genius….” and in one step he’s pressed up against you, squatting slightly as he spreads his shirt across your ass, between you and the dryer. Then has the gall to grin up at you, looking like he belongs on his knees. You shift slightly, and he almost loses his balance.

You narrow your eyes at him, “Ooops!” and put a hand over your mouth in mock shock.

Throwing a hand out to press against the wall, he regains his balance, effectively pinning you into place. The door swings open again, thudding into the wall beside your head, a heavily tattooed girl taking one look at you both before, continuing to the far end, wrenching the window up slightly and lighting a cigarette.

“Don’t mind me” she yells over her shoulder as she flicks the lighter, bringing the tip close to the flame, a smile in the dark.

He starts to stand, easily skimming up your body, until you’re face to face, chest to bare chest. You both look down, and for the first time tonight you’re aware of just how tightly you fastened that corset. And how, even under the stark lighting, his skin is amber, glowing. And it looks warm, so soft, you bite your lip. Clearing your throat, you push past him, just as he moves in closer. And yep, that’s your teeth breaking the skin, blood flooding your mouth.

“Shit!” you can only hiss between pursed lips, your hand cupping your chin to catch the blood dripping, oh so attractively.

Splashing through the mess you’ve made on the floor, you head for a cubicle, knowing already there’s unlikely to be any paper, but what’s the option? Every single stall is a mess, liquid on the floor, paper clogging the bowls, the obligatory graffiti on the walls. Nothing! 5 stalls, no fucking paper, except for shreds on the floor and you are nowhere near drunk enough to…..No!

Eyes closed, deep breath. A tap on your shoulder. Smoking girl holds out all she has, a couple of rolling papers.

“Fankssss” you slur, sounding much more drunk than you feel. You press one gingerly to your lip and consider your options.

Home or another drink?

Fuck it, you only know the answer isn’t in this grotty bathroom. At least in the time it took you to fail to find something to stem the blood, the drink spilling jerk has left the room, water still spilling over the counter. Heading over to wash up at the very least, you're shocked to feel your wrist grabbed firmly, and you’re pulled into the first cubicle, only just escaping a collision with the door. You do however collide with the blood drawing nutter, his shirt now completely removed, bunched in his hand and coming closer to your face.

“What the actual fuck?” you’re completely off balance, and given the tight nature of the space, you stumble against the wall, smacking your back into the empty paper dispenser.

He holds the dirty shirt up to you, one sleeve trailing on the hideously stained floor.

“I thought you were looking for something to clean up with?” he shrugs.

You squint at him, shaking your head, lip throbbing, “And you thought mopping up the shit on the floor would be an ideal start?”

His gaze flicks down and he pulls the shirt up,  the now damp sleeve smacking against your leg, sticking to your fishnets.

“Unbelievable,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes clenched with the pain in your spine. Giggles from outside the cubicle and someone knocks on the door. “Occupied,” you yell, “find another fucking loo!”

Muttering under your breath, “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

His hands are suddenly on your hips as he manoeuvres you around to press you against the opposite wall, then he opens the door wide enough to reach out and grab the glass from whichever random girl was just banging. Slamming the door shut, he braces himself against the battering and takes a sip, grimacing at the taste, then hands it to you.

“Drink up then!” he motions for you to knock it back, and what the hell. With one swig the glass is empty. The alcohol burns your split lip, and mingles with the blood still swilling around your mouth.

“Holy fuck that was grim!” you swish the saliva in your mouth and spit it out into the toilet, dropping the empty glass to the floor and listening to it skittering away to the next stall.

Wiping the back of your hand across your mouth, you look up at him again, “More…”

With a cheeky grin he pulls on his shirt again, tries to fasten a couple of buttons, then heads out again. The drink hunt is on. Right, so now’s your chance to get out of here, make your excuses to friends, head home for the night and write it all off as a bad dream.

And yet, your tongue probes your swollen lip, a wicked smile spreading across your face. There’s part of you that wants to stay, to see what happens, and just how many times. Perching precariously on the broken toilet seat, of course there’s no lid, you reach into your boot and grab your lipstick, using the chrome of the paper dispenser as a mirror.

And then there’s a bang at the door, and you see his big boots underneath, it swings open, slowly this time and he steps in quickly. And now you find your face pressed up against his groin as he leans across you to put an armful of glasses down on the cistern. His jean button tangles in your hair and when he steps back he drags you with him, your face still so close to his….well, close enough to see just a hint of hair peeking over his waistband. You groan, then clap your hand over your mouth, setting your lip bleeding again.

He looks down at you, no hint of embarrassment, “Having fun?”

Trying not to shake your head, you’d like to keep your hair intact tonight, you fumble with one hand to untangle yourself from his jeans. Raising your other hand you snarl at him, “Drink me…”

He could help you out, but instead he presses a hand to his bare chest, and plays the shocked southern dame.

“You know what I mean,” beckoning for a glass, “pass me a drink, fuck’s sake. It’s not like I can grab one for myself, is it?”

“Pick your poison” he holds 2 small glasses down, one on either side of your head and you grab the left hand drink. Your right hand is still trying to loosen your hair, but it just seems to be getting worse. And now he has a free hand to help you out, but instead of helping he undoes the top button of his jeans, baring even more flesh and oh yeah, he’s going commando. Because of course he is!

At least you can pull away a little now, far enough to get your lips around the glass, and holy fuck do you need this drink. You don’t know where he got them from, but it’s a damn sight better than the last one, and goes straight to your head. Although that could be the proximity of, well something other than alcohol. His fingers tangle in your hair, stroking across your scalp, working forward to where you are connected.

For a situation so distinctly, so absolutely, not sexual, it bothers you to realise you’re getting hot, like really turned on. It’s ridiculous how wet you are, and when he places his other hand on your head, moving you sideways, you lean into it. His fingers are long, strong and not exactly forceful, more like irresistible. And then with just a twist of his wrist, you’re free and you didn’t realise you’d been pulling back until your head connects with the cistern.

He grabs the remaining drinks to rescue them, but you’re seeing stars and you start to loll forward. Making a choice, no right answer in this situation, he drops a glass and grabs your head to keep you from reconnecting with his crotch. And now you’re covered with a heady mix of lager and lime, fan-fucking-tastic! You drop your head into your hands, shoulders shaking with laughter, weak from the whole ridiculous night.

He rearranges the glasses on the dirty toilet top, then leans down to cup your chin. “Let’s have a look at you. Can you stand?”

You’re not sure, and yet as you watch him through the now messy strands of your hair, you find yourself rising at the slightest pressure from his fingers. You sway, oh so slightly, but with one hand on your waist, he has no choice but to tighten his grip around your throat to keep you steady. And, oh yeah, turns out you really like that, the rolling moan you let out as filthy as the stall you’re occupying. And when he releases those long fingers, you actually whine.

You have never whined for a man in your life.

Never.

Ever!

Brushing your hair out of your face, you desperately try to compose yourself. You are absolutely not some pissed up, dizzy teenager. But when his hand brushes your forehead to free the sticky strands, one finger sliding down your cheek, it’s like some dark electricity has crackled up your spine and brought you to life. And you snap your teeth on that finger.

You’re not sure who’s eyes are wider, but something has definitely shifted now, and as you release him, he leans in closer, searching your eyes for something. Signs of concussion possibly? You reach behind you and grab a glass of whatever's left standing. This one is tall and narrow, bubbling brightly, with a soggy straw in it. Discarding the straw, you take a quick swig.

You press your fingers to your mouth lightly, stifling a burp, “I'm so, so sorry, I don't know what came over me.” You take another drink, then hold the glass out to him, an act of contrition. 

He takes a long, slow swallow, his throat pulsing with each gulp, then his mouth is on yours hungrily, the liquid remnants dribbling messily from his mouth to yours. His teeth drag on your lower lip and you hiss as the blood starts to seep again, but before you can respond, his mouth is moving lower, hot and hungry devouring your throat before exploring lower still. One hand caressing your neck, his thumb pushing your chin up, fingers curling behind your head, his other hand slides down to the front of your corset.

He hesitates, twisting the ribbon around his fingers, and you have no idea what’s going through his head. He could be drunker than you, that’s incredibly likely given the circumstances. Second thoughts, maybe, but he’s been pretty bold so far, and he didn’t have to come back with more drinks. Shy? you’re not buying that for a second, his lack of underwear doesn’t come across as demure or mindful, the snapshot of his barely covered crotch flashes in your head again.

You flush at the vision.

No, this guy is a tease, he likes to play games, to see how far he can push it, just what he can get away with. The beast inside you stirs, cricking its neck and curling its claws. He tugs the ribbon, unravelling you, just a little. Then has the gall to look up at you from under his scruffy hair, biting his lip and reminding you that yours is still stinging. You run your tongue across the pain, tasting the metallic tang, and as he swoops up to take your lips in his, he tugs the ribbon again. Harder.

So, stopping? Oh absolutely the fuck not.

Tonight will end up with you screaming, one way or another.

As you break apart for a breath and to share whatever is left to drink, you make your mind up. Passing the last glass between you, you slide your hand along his collar and down the front of his shirt, unbuttoning him between sips. And when the last of the drink is gone, so is your restraint. 

“Okay”

One word, but it needs to be said. You’re not stopping now, not with those lips centimeters from yours, his eyes dark and full of desire. You were never interested in the gentlemanly types anyway. Grabbing the front of his open shirt you pull him in closer, and lick from the delicious hollow between his collarbones, all the way to the tip of his chin, feeling a light dusting of stubble, just there.

Completely careless now, you put one boot up on the broken toilet seat and hop up onto the cistern, smashing the glasses into the bowl beneath. Tugging his waistband, pulling him closer, you reach for his buttons.

“You want to do it in here?” He looks around at the mess you’ve both already made, on top of the state it was already in, his nose scrunched in disgust.

“You want to do it out there?” Looking incredulous, you motion to the cubicle door and beyond, the bass thudding through the walls.

He shrugs starting to unbutton his jeans, but before he gets even halfway your legs are wrapped around his waist. Your hands sliding over his shoulders, running through his hair as your mouth reconnects with his throat. His groans fill the space as you raise yourself off the toilet, grinding against his hands trapped between you.

The outer door continues to slam, girls coming and going, their non-stop chatter a back drop as he slowly slides his hands free. His thumb brushes against you with what must be serious intent, sending shockwaves through your core as his lips find yours again. His cock is still constrained, but oh so hard, and pressed up against you fiercely.

You twist your fingers in his hair as payback, pulling maybe a little rougher than is necessary. But he returns the favour when his fingers slide under your skirt, gripping your ass as he spins you round, slamming you maybe harder than is necessary against the door. Giggles on the other side of the door, followed by three sharp bangs and a round of cheering.

“Wait.” He whispers roughly, trying to unbutton himself one handed, the other bracing against the door, keeping you both upright. “Turn around” 

Sliding your legs down, you touch the floor, and in one fluid motion he spins you to face the toilet again, and steers you forward. With one leg on either side of the toilet, he pushes you towards the wall, the cistern digging into your stomach. He leans in from behind, his breath warm on your neck as his teeth close on your ear, tugging gently, and then harder. He pulls away, licking up your neck like a cat, panting in your ear as you lift your skirt for him. Drawing back, he looks down with a groan before roughly yanking your drenched knickers down, one suspender snapping free in his haste. His hands follow the curve of your ass, pausing for a squeeze and a spank, before he undoes the last of his buttons. 

Sliding his fingers easily between your legs, he can feel just how wet you are, and of course he’s loving this. His teeth nibbling your shoulder as he brings his slick fingers up in front of you as if to insert them into your mouth, but instead leaning forward to take them into his own mouth instead, so unbelievably, fucking slowly. The noises he makes as he tongues his own fingers are obscene, and yet so insanely satisfied. His eyelashes flutter against your neck as he takes his time sucking your juices from his flesh, before pulling them free with a wicked grin.

“Yummy”

Fucking yummy! You’re about to shag a total stranger in the filthiest bathroom stall you’ve ever seen and you’re yummy? He moans with pure lust as his fingers slide down again, probing deeper into you this time, and you feel your cheeks burning as he plays with you, making you ache for him. Holding your chin firmly he finally presses his fingers against your closed lips, despite you shaking your head.

“Open mind, open mouth.” Part question, part command, completely fucking outrageous! You can hear the smirk in his statement, and you can’t help but smile, giving him just enough of an opportunity to slip his fingers in your mouth, tips followed by knuckles, delving ever deeper.

Tasting your own juices mingled with his spit drives you into an absolute frenzy, nothing else you’ve tasted this evening has even come close, and you give in to it, sucking him so hard he has to fight to pull his fingers free. You look back over your shoulder at him, eyes wild and reckless with a wanton desire.

“Don’t start something you’re not gonna fin….” stopping short as his fingers scratch down your spine, and catlike you arch your back to his touch.

One arm around your waist, squeezing you so tight you can hardly breathe, he sinks onto the toilet seat, pulling you back onto his face. And for the first time in your life, you have a guy eating you out whilst sitting in a bathroom that would make Tracey Emin proud. Granted, the blood and broken glass was your contribution but, oh fuck you can’t possibly focus as he slides his tongue along your cunt to brush so barely there against your clit.

Releasing your waist, he runs his hands over your ass, kneading the soft flesh, pressing your cheeks together. Then he gently pries you apart as his tongue chases his nose almost all the way to your ass, making you shiver with anticipation. The outer door swings open with a bang, and familiar voices suddenly fill the space.

“...she is. This was her idea after all. Do you think she left already?” your friends sounded so much louder when you weren’t part of the conversation.

“Last I saw she was at the bar, looking well pissed off.” and you thought you’d been hiding it so well.

“Look at the state of this place, what a shithole.” you tense up as you realise they’re not enjoying the evening as much as you’d hoped. And possibly sneering at the mess you’d left outside.

Risking a glance behind you, ensuring the door is firmly closed, you realise he’s stopped licking and is smirking up at you. He points his thumb over his shoulder, the conversation still ongoing.

And then he bares his teeth, dragging them across your ass before nipping your flesh gently. Slapping a hand over your mouth to stifle a moan, you feel the sting as your lip starts to seep again, and you bury your face against your forearms as he continues his assault with teeth and tongue.

“She just needs to get laid, pass the mascara, a good hard fuck will put a smile on her face again.” You groan into your chest as you listen, trying to muffle the words, knowing all the while that he can hear it too.

And then you squeal as his tongue slides slyly into your ass.

The conversation outside stops and you imagine your friends, surrounding the door, pushing it wide and seeing you - legs spread, ass slick with his spit, his face buried in your cunt. You press your lips tightly together, determined not to make any more noise, but he has other ideas. Getting to his feet, he runs his fingers across your pussy one last time, before he drops his pants, and lines himself up against you.

“You okay in there?” your friends knock tentatively at the door.

He pushes slowly, stretching you out, and you realise you haven’t even seen what you’re letting yourself in for yet. Not a disappointment so far, as he pulls out, then slides in deeper. You manage to contain the animal howl that threatens to burst free, but you won’t be able to stay quiet much longer, and he knows it.

Sucking your lip you look over your shoulder at him, then heel toe heel, you widen your stance, spreading your legs further.

“Hey,” more knocking, “Want us to get someone for ya?”

The outer door slams yet again and more voices join in the conversation. He takes the opportunity to lean forward over you, unlacing the front of your corset with one hand, while the other caresses your clit.

“Scream for me.” he whispers in your ear. You shake your head, blood pulsing in your ears

“Are they still at it in there?” The smell of cigarettes, smoking girl is back and about to drop you right in it.

You try to shush him, but he thrusts into you, hard enough to knock the cistern loose. A collective gasp from outside the stall masks your sharp exhalation.

“Is she okay in there though?” can your friends just stop being so fucking considerate of a stranger and leave, please, you just want to enjoy his hand sliding down the front of your top, massaging your tits as he drives into you again. And again. And you are gripping the cistern lid for dear life, trying to stop it from smashing to the floor with the rest of the detritus, as he presses his lips to your ear again.

“Give in to it,” he bites his way down your neck to your shoulder and draws his teeth across your skin. “Scream. I know you want to.” and you do, you really do, but still….

“Fuck off!” you hiss back at him, shrugging your shoulder to shake him off, but he’s having none of it and strokes his nose up the back of your neck, purring at you like some feral alleycat.

A sharp bang on the door “Can you just let us know you’re okay in there or something? We can go get a bouncer.”

Your heart sinks and you know you’re never going to live this down. Lifting your head you brace yourself to respond, only to feel his breath on your neck again.

In a voice so low, you could almost have imagined it, he taunts you, “Open the door, show them you’re okay.”

You whip around so fast your head nearly collides with his, which would be a real finale to the show. Imagine knocking you both out and having to get carried out of here. Thrusting your ass backwards into him, hearing him groan, you reach your arm back over your shoulder and pull a fistful of his hair, forcing his lips to meet your skin and smother his incessant teasing.

“Shut up and fuck me up.” you curse, getting so very close now. Maybe there’s a little of the exhibitionist in you after all.

Your burning face is pressed against the cool ceramic of the cistern, as he slowly, leisurely, torments you, driving deeper and deeper into your cunt, no holds barred now. His fingers bruising your soft flesh, lips grazing your neck as he nips and sucks you to oblivion. There’s no muffling your whimpers now, each strong thrust, drawing cries from your very core.

“Okay, yep that is definitely some good sex sounds right there.” A gentle tap on the door, “Enjoy babes x” And with a final door slam, it all goes quiet outside.

“Chicken…” he growls, his hand sliding under your thigh, lifting your leg, so one foot is raised high, braced against the cistern, giving him access to go deeper yet again. And yeah, you may not have seen his cock yet, but you can feel it, holy fuck can you feel him. He’s making sure of that, his fist in your hair, pulling your head back and exposing your throat. Shame he’s behind you and can’t make the most of it. Although…

You push tentatively against the cistern with your foot, pressing back into him, and he murmurs in your ear, “Fuck. You’re gonna kill me.” so you push again harder this time, and he staggers back just a little. “You’ll take us both out,” he warns.

Absolutely deadpan, you shoot back “Chicken.” pushing against him, one last time.

But he’s ready for your little game, and slides back out of you, sidestepping you, pinning you face first against the stall wall.

“용납할 수 없는 행동”, biting your ear so hard it brings tears to your eyes, but you don’t resist when he turns you and takes in your whole dishevelled state

Lowering his mouth to your exposed chest and yes, oh fuck yes, his tousled hair brushing your shoulders as he dips his head to your breasts again, running his tongue across your hardened nipples, and your let your head roll. His hands stray to your throat, so gentle at first, lightly stroking then pressing firmer, fingers curling around you possessively. He wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up easily, lowering you down onto his still hard cock, of course you have to watch as he sinks deep into you, your cries echoing his, as he rocks you against the wall.

Squeezing your throat rhythmically he thrusts into you, his eyes locked on yours, making you see entire galaxies. He runs his thumb roughly against your torn flesh, and you open wide for him as he slides his tongue into your mouth, teasing you, tasting everything you’ve both drunk tonight, his lips closing gently on your own swollen lip. You’re drunk on the potent contradiction of his soft kisses and his fierce hold on you, making you so much bolder than you normally would be. Finally sliding his shirt off his shoulders and onto the trashed floor beneath you, you drag your nails across his skin, so much softer than you anticipated,

The thudding of the music matches the pounding of your bodies against the cubicle walls as he thrusts, desperately panting in your ear. You match him moan for moan as the beat intensifies and he pulls at the ribbons - finally unlacing you, ripping your corset open, feasting on every inch of your bare flesh. It’s like someone turned the boiler up to 11 and you can’t bear to have anything but him touching your skin.

And he does.

Every-fucking-where.

Until his eyes widen, and his hips jerk as he comes inside you, an unholy growl escaping his lips. What can you do but tighten your legs around his waist and hold on for dear life, your fingers gripping the top of the stall as he gets slower, slows, then stops, holding you closer than close. It’s like he’s inhaling the essence of you, his own breath rasping against your skin, until he releases you, and before you realise what’s happening he’s pulled away, dropping to his knees, amongst the broken glass, the stained paper, the puddles.

His tongue slides into you once more, no permission, no apologies. He knows you haven’t come yet and he’s determined now to make it right, and one last time your head rolls back, eyes flickering like the cheap bulb above you. Lifting your thigh over his shoulder, you brace your foot on the broken seat, feeling it shift as he buries his face in your cunt.

Running your hands through his messy hair, pulling it back so you can see his head between your thighs. Your breath catches as he looks up at you through loose strands, lifting his eyebrows at you suggestively before he leans in again, his mouth so warm, so wet, and he reaches up blindly to close your hands into fists. So that’s how he likes it? You tug him backwards, pulling him away from you ever so slightly making him whimper in response, tongue curling, fighting to get back into position. Oh this man is going to be the death of you. So you pull him back in, his arms wrapping around your thighs, hand sliding behind you to grab your ass firmly. He’s not going to let you do that again, but when his lips close around your clit you know you don’t want to stop him.

Instead you pull him closer still, grinding down onto him as he begs beneath you.

“Scream for me, pretty please” his fingertips are almost embedded in your flesh and you can feel your body responding to him in the most primal way.

His hand slides up your stomach, snaking across your waist then higher to grasp your breast, squeezing it tightly, as his other hand grips your ass. And cue the next stop on the accident aspect of the evening, destination destruction. As you brace your foot against the toilet seat, it gives way and your leg slides forward, wrapping around his neck, pining him under your pussy. Lucky his strong arms keep you from doing any serious damage to either of you and it doesn’t seem like he’s too mad about it either, the way his tongue curls around your clit, sucking it into his mouth like it’s a fairy satin.

And that’s when you snap, with his lips pressed tight around you, tongue flicking your tip, his hands all over you, pinching, squeezing, crushing you and you can’t even call out his name. So you scream the only thing that seems appropriate.

And with that your legs finally give out and you sink to your knees on his shirt, collapsing into his arms as his filthy tongue corkscrews into your mouth, sharing the taste of you both, fucking intoxicating.

“허용되는 행동”

Hot fucking damn!

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[auroramirage]

La Parisienne

I recently got involved in a challenge to wreck an Atiny in just 250 words using a picture of their choosing.

This is the picture they chose, I hope I did it justice x

Thank you @ladybubbles for the inspiration

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir”

You couldn’t believe it!

Looking down at your last customer of the evening, you flushed to your roots. He was handsome, dark eyes, dark hair, and clearly not French. Although he had impeccable, and very expensive taste, based on his clothes and menu choices at least.

You poured his wine, a 2000 Pétrus, and with a polite cough you asked if he was aware what he’d just said. For a moment, the wicked smile he gave you had you convinced he was well aware of what he’d said. But a raised eyebrow from you was all it took to make him giggle bashfully.

Patiently you explained the translation, and now it was his turn to blush, his skin glowing in the soft candlelight. You left him to finish his meal, and ponder the perils of propositioning a French sommelier.

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2am came and went, and so did your 3rd orgasm of the night.

With his face buried between your thighs, his thumb stroking your clit as you come down from the highest high of your life, you can still see the dark sparkle in his eyes as he looks up at your face, flushed and damp with sweat.

Crawling up your naked body, pinning you beneath his own lean flesh, he arched his back, catlike, giving you a glimpse of his exquisitely sculpted body. His tongue flicked playfully into your mouth, giving you a taste of yourself, as his cock eased deliciously into your cunt.

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[auroramirage]

Frankenfic

Word Count - 2000

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It had started as a joke.

They’d all picked a fic and read it out to the others, cracking each other up by doing the voices (Seonghwa), or acting out the motions (Yunho). San couldn’t get through the first page of his, the tips of his ears turning bright pink, and Yeosang read with his head in his hands the entire time, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Afterwards they voted on a winner, and left a compliment from their burner account.

Surprisingly the writer responded, with a challenge. And even more surprisingly they contemplated it.

I mean, how hard could it be? Between them, they’d read a fair few fics by now, most of them entertaining. Some of them were even halfway decent. They could pull this off for sure! Who knew better what they liked than they did? So they accepted the challenge and set to work creating the greatest masterpiece in the history of fanfics.

Laptop charged, knuckles cracked and then…

Nothing.

Minds went blank. Eyes flicked to the blank screen and away. It was Jongho’s idea to open the Soju, and Mingi suggested watching their fancams to get the creative juices flowing, Hongjoong sat back watching the chaos unfold. It was only a matter of time before someone commented on Mingi’s lip bite and into the fic it went. Wooyoung’s laugh was next, and another bottle of Soju made the rounds. Yeosang ordered food, it was getting late after all. After that chickens had to go in. And if chickens were going in they were back to MIngi again.

Feeling a little targeted now Mingi started to sulk, until Wooyoung decided to add a rabid squirrel to the mix, which cheered Mingi up no end. Seonghwa put a stop to that though, he thought that adding all the Aniteez could get a little risque. San pointed out how many omegaverse fics there were out there, and that Atiny definitely had no problem mixing it up with erm, animal companions?

As one, they all turned to San, mouths agape.

He got flustered and excused himself then. No-one could recall reading any hybrid fics together, clearly San had been doing his own personal research.

Yunho wanted more focus on fingers, Atiny go insane for them he insisted, Wooyoung backed him up, and so in the fingers went. Seonghwa insisted that tongue was a necessity, and again Wooyoung backed him up, which made Jongho roll his eyes and type something incredibly unsavoury at Wooyoung’s expense.

Wooyoung tried to delete it, and it devolved into a wrestling match. Arms swinging, legs flailing, punches almost landing. Yunho and Mingi grabbed Wooyoung and pulled him away, while Yeosang subdued Jongho, whispering who knew what into the maknae’s ears.

And through it all, in his corner Hongjoong continued to watch. Finger to his lips, thoughts running through his head a mile a minute. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and contemplated his squabbling crew.

He coughed. Just once, low and soft. But it stopped every one of them in their tracks. Even San popped his head back round the door and waited expectantly, almost as if he’d been hovering outside waiting for an opportunity to rejoin the fun. 

And then Captain explained the plan. They had until midnight tomorrow to write a scene. Whatever they wanted, however they wanted to. And he would put it all together in the way only he could.

Like some sort of Frankenstein’s fiction? suggested one. I like it, smirked another.

And then it was all over, with some murmurs of dissent, and one or two whispered exchanges, he sent them all off to their respective rooms to ponder the plan and their role in it.

By 3am someone had slipped a folded sheet of paper under the studio door. Hongjoong rolled his chair across to pick it up. Random scribblings, with some incredibly graphic detail, scrawled hastily across both sides, but the outline was solid, bold. Interesting. Curiously, he had no clue who had written it, although he could take a guess based on the content if not the handwriting. But this was shaping up to be a fun project all round.

He didn’t even realise he had fallen asleep at his desk again until a short sharp knock woke him just after 6, and a shadow passed across the frosted glass. Dragging himself back into the land of the living, Hongjoong opened the door and scoured the corridor outside. Nothing. Empty. Except an envelope fastened to the front of the door.

With a final glance down both avenues, he returned to the studio and closed the door carefully, quietly. No sense disturbing anyone. Then he sat down to read, which was probably a very sensible thing, considering he almost fell off his seat 3 times whilst reading the typed pages. Someone had taken a great deal of care to paint a picture with words, and it was definitely gallery worthy.

Placing both contributions in a folder, he slid it into his desk drawer and locked it. Time to grab twenty minutes before breakfast and then a full day's schedule.

Waiting for him in the car was a driver, and a sealed envelope, a glossy lip print across the back. He didn’t even have time to ask the driver who had dropped it off, before he was joined by the rest of the crew.  Shoving it roughly into his pocket, he resolved to check it when he had a moment alone.

The day passed in a blur of interviews, travelling from one studio to another, trying to coral the crew into the most charming personas despite the previous night’s squabbling. Seating arrangements had to be changed multiple times for the on cam events, and much glaring ensued. He had to have words with all of them at various points, even threatening to ditch the whole plan if they couldn’t play nice together for one day.

Then, during a frosty group lunch, someone let rip with the loudest noise to leave an ass they had all ever heard, and that seemed to break the tension, the group devolving into good natured teasing and banter once more. And when the bill came, he found a screwed up receipt with just a handful of sentences scribbled on it. Catching only a glimpse before thrusting it into his wallet, he didn’t miss the look the server gave the group, aw shibal!

The afternoon’s interviews were much more light hearted, and he was thrilled to see even his two youngest putting on a good show for the hosts.

By the time they got back to the dorms it was dark, and everyone was wiped out. Knowing they were due an early start tomorrow, he was glad to find not one but two separate submissions waiting for him. 

He was still waiting for one last contribution, and the deadline was getting closer. Not that he was panicking, but could he really put this together whilst leaving out one vital voice? Absolutely not. Elbows on his desk, ruffling his hands through his hair, he tried not to panic.

8 makes 1 team after all.

And if they weren't *all* involved, then he knew it wouldn't happen. The very idea was unthinkable. He spent the last few moments watching the second hand tick closer and closer to the hour. The pen he was chewing on leaking ink across his  lower lip, completely unnoticed.

5...4...3.....2....

Ping!

A notification on his kakaotalk. An attachment. The final piece of the puzzle. His eyes widened as he read, his jaw agape, then dropping completely as he became so engrossed in the intimate, erotic and frankly incredible details contained within the message.

With seven submissions of varying length and detail, it was now his job, as always, to tie it all together.

But first, coffee.

Hongjoong worked through the night, as was his wont. Music on, flicking between tracks, blending, integrating, weaving a spell with the words like some sort of bardic wizard. And as the sun finally sent streaks across the room, making it impossible to see the screen clearly, he had to admit defeat. At least for tonight. Crawling to the sofa he rolled so his face was buried in the cushions, and that’s where manager nim found him 2 hours later, when it was time to leave for costume fittings.

Throughout the day each member came to check on him, there was a nervous energy about them all. He put it down to them worrying about yet another late night. But by the end of the day, when Seonghwa finally approached him, he realised.

“You want to know about the story.” pressing his fingers into his eyes, trying to relieve the pressure build up, he shook his head slowly.

Seonghwa hung his head, guilty, “Joongie, did we? Is it happening?”

It dawned on him then that not one of them had spoken to the others. None of them had admitted to writing something. None of them had compared notes. He was the only one who knew, he had the power to make it work, or he could make it go away. Sure, eventually Wooyoung would bring it up with San or Yunho, and everything would unravel. But he’d seen how they couldn’t meet each other's eyes, they could barely raise their heads in his direction. It could take a while before they realised what he’d done, and by then they were bound to have moved on to something else.

So the options were clear. Be honest with Seonghwa and finish what he’d started, or let one of the members take the blame and pretend none of this ever happened. That’s when he made his fatal error, looking up at his hyung, seeing his boba eyes looking so hopeful.

And he realised, each of them had poured their hearts and souls into what they’d written. And he had been allowed access. They’d all trusted him with something so vulnerable and intimate. How could he betray their trust?

Before he could take it back he reached out to pat Seonghwa awkwardly on the forearm, pulled away, then tapped his shoulder twice.

“It’s done.” a pause “Or it will be. Soon.”

Committed now, he gave Seonghwa a half smile which was quickly returned with a smile so incandescent it almost burnt his retinas. His Star was shining bright indeed. This is going to be good for them, for all of them, he can feel it.

It took another two days of non-stop editing. His studio door was locked, the lights turned low, meals left at his door were mostly ignored. Until finally, eventually, it was complete. Before he could regret it, he messaged the attachment to each one of them. And then, crawling to his careworn sofa in the corner, he slept. It was a deep and dreamless slumber, his face softening as the hours passed him by and the stresses left his body.

He woke more refreshed than he’d felt in weeks, until he saw his phone. Over 300 messages, across various apps. From all but one member. Seonghwa had yet to respond. His heart sank. Skittering down the corridor like a rabid squirrel, he came to a stop outside Seonghwa’s dorm, sneakers squeaking on the laminate floor.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, torn between needing to know and terrified to find out, he backed away, turned to leave then faced the door again. A move to knock, stopped at the last second without connecting.

The door swung open and there stood his hyung, alight in the dark, his computer monitor outlining his slender frame.

“It’s perfect, they’ll go crazy for it.” He smiled gently at Hongjoong, ever the encourager.

Looking up from beneath his lashes he returned the smile shyly, hesitantly. “So you think I should send it?”

“Already done.” Seonghwa whispers as he pulls his Captain into the darkened room and kicks the door shut behind them.

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[auroramirage]

Last Pinterest game of the year!

As 12 midnight approaches ⌛

Share with us the following search results;

🎆 Bias

🎆 12 Midnight

🎆 Kiss

🎆 Bias reaction gif

Hopefully it'll tell us all a wonderful story about how your 2025 will finish up, and how you'll start 2026 😘

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Ima tag 3 peeps that I hope will share the love 💝

@pixie-felix @c-h-e-r-r-i-e-s @auxiny