you’ve been mean on purpose all evening.

left your cup on the table even though he asked you to put it in the sink. answered him with a little attitude when he reminded you about bedtime. kept scrolling on your phone when he was trying to talk to you. small things. deliberate things. the kind of things that always make his brow furrow in that soft, disappointed way.

wonbin sits on the edge of the bed and pats his thigh once.

“come here.”

you go, but you drag your feet about it. when you finally stand between his knees he looks up at you with those gentle eyes and it already makes your stomach twist.

“you’ve been difficult tonight,” he says quietly. not angry. just soft and a little tired. “on purpose. daddy noticed.”

you shrug one shoulder, still trying to be bratty. “didn’t do anything that bad.”

he sighs through his nose. his big hands settle on your waist, thumbs stroking the soft skin under your shirt. the second they touch you something in your chest goes wobbly.

“you know better,” he continues, still so calm. “you know how daddy feels when you’re mean to him for no reason.”

your lower lip starts to push out. you hate how fast it happens. his hands are so warm and so big and they’re being so careful with you even though you’ve been awful.

“…was only a little mean,” you mumble.

“a little mean is still mean.” he pulls you closer until you’re standing right against him. one hand comes up to cup the side of your face. his palm is huge against your cheek. “and my little girl doesn’t get to treat daddy like that.”

the soft disappointment in his voice is what does it.

your eyes get hot almost immediately. you try to look away but he keeps your face turned toward him, thumb brushing under your eye.

“are you going to cry?” he asks gently. there’s no mockery in it. just quiet knowing. “you always get so teary when daddy has to talk to you like this.”

“don’t—” your voice already cracks. “don’t wanna be in trouble…”

“i know, baby.” he leans in and presses a slow kiss to your forehead. “but you were being bad on purpose. and daddy can’t just ignore that even if you look this cute when you’re guilty.”

a real tear slips out. then another. once they start they don’t stop. you try to hide your face in your hands but he won’t let you. he just pulls you into his lap so you’re straddling his thighs and wraps those big arms around you, holding you while you start to properly cry.

“i’m sorry,” you hiccup against his neck almost immediately. “i’m sorry, daddy, i was being mean, i don’t know why—”

“shh.” one big hand rubs slow circles on your back. the other cradles the back of your head. “i know. you’re sorry now. you always get so soft and sorry once daddy’s hands are on you.”

you cry harder. it’s embarrassing how fast you fold. five minutes ago you were rolling your eyes at him and now you’re a messy, sniffly little thing in his lap apologizing over and over while he just holds you.

“i’m sorry i was bad,” you sob. “didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, daddy, i’m sorry—”

“i know, princess.” he kisses your temple, your wet cheek, the corner of your mouth. “daddy forgives you. he always does. you’re too little and too sweet to stay mad at for long.”

he keeps you there until the worst of the crying slows, still rubbing your back, still murmuring soft things into your hair. when you finally quiet down to little hiccups he pulls back just enough to look at your face. his thumbs wipe the tears away so carefully.

“there she is,” he says, almost smiling. “there’s my good girl again. all soft and sorry for daddy.”

you nod, eyes still wet, and lean back into him like you’re trying to disappear against his chest. he lets you. for a while he just holds you, big hands spreading warm across your back, pressing occasional kisses to your hair. then one of his hands drifts lower, slow and questioning, stroking over the curve of your hip.

“can daddy make you feel better?” he asks quietly. “you’ve been crying so much. wanna take care of you properly.”

you nod again, small and sticky against his neck. “please…”

he shifts you carefully so you’re properly straddling him, then reaches between you to free himself from his sweats. he’s already half-hard just from holding you. he doesn’t rush. he just rubs the head of his cock through your folds first, soft and patient, until you’re wet enough that the slide is easy.

“nice and slow,” he soothes, when you start to sink down. “that’s it. take daddy whenever you’re ready. no hurry.”

you take him carefully, arms still locked around his neck, face still buried against him. the stretch makes you let out a tiny wet sound and he immediately rubs your back.

“you’re okay. you’re okay. daddy’s right here. you’re doing so well.”

when you’re fully seated he doesn’t move right away. he just holds you, letting you adjust, pressing soft kisses to whatever part of your face he can reach. only when your breathing evens out does he start guiding your hips in the gentlest rhythm.

it’s so soft it almost doesn’t feel like sex. just slow, deep rocks that keep him buried inside you while he murmurs the sweetest things against your hair.

“that’s my girl. so good for daddy now. so soft and sweet. no more being mean, hm? just my pretty little baby taking what she needs.”

you cling to him tighter, still sniffling occasionally, and he only holds you closer. every movement is careful. every thrust is more of a rock than anything else. he keeps one big hand spread across your lower back and the other cradling the back of your head like you’re breakable.

“i’ve got you,” he whispers. “daddy’s got you. you can cry if you need to. you can hold on as tight as you want. i’m not going anywhere.”

you do cry a little more, quiet and overwhelmed by how gentle he’s being after you were so mean. he just kisses the tears away and keeps the same slow pace, letting you use him for comfort for as long as you need.

when you come it’s with a soft, broken little sob of his name, arms squeezing him so hard your fingers dig in. he follows soon after with a low, warm groan, holding you flush against him as he finishes inside you, still stroking your back and whispering soft praise.

“good girl. such a good girl. daddy forgives you. daddy loves you. my sweet baby…”

he doesn’t pull out. he just stays inside you, soft and warm, while you keep your face hidden in his neck and your arms locked around him. his big hands never stop moving, rubbing your back, stroking your hair, wiping the last of the tears from your cheeks.

“all done being mean?” he asks quietly, after a long time.

you nod against him, voice tiny. “all done. i’m sorry…”

“i know you are.” he presses one more long kiss to the top of your head and holds you even tighter. “my good girl. daddy’s got you. always.”

and he does.

For a split second, there was nothing that could’ve been heard over the sound of the ball being kicked. After the initial impact, all sound was gone. Sungchan watched the ball in slow motion travel through the air. Everyone on the field watched, except for the goalie. Sungchan saw him behind the ball, moving to the other end of the goal. 

Sungchan saw its trajectory. Right below the furthest corner from the goalie. It was going to hit the rim, surely. The goalie was just jumping to the corner for extra insurance. He was going for the ball, gloved hands fully extending. 

Sungchan didn’t hear anything else besides the ball making contact with the net. It was crisp, it filled the air and bounced off the walls in his brain.

A moment later the venue erupted. Sungchan watched, mouth agape. Cheers filled the air around him, barely heard over the blood rushing in his ears. 

That was it. He couldn’t believe that was it. No one on the field believed it. Even the enemy team were stunned, only coming to when the scorer ran towards the crowd to do his celebration. Sungchan had to stop himself from collapsing to the floor. He watched his teammates around him wander the field, trying to figure out what to do next. This had been all of their lives for so long. They didn’t know what to do if they weren’t playing. 

He needs to tell them it’s over. He watched a few of his teammates go back to their spots like the next dribble was about to begin. He felt his chest get tight. Others were standing around, looking at the team and the fans in the rafters. A few looked to him. Sungchan didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t lost to this point. How do losers exit the field? He should know this.

It was the coach that had to call for the players. In the end, two of his teammates had to fetch him from his frozen place at half-field.

In the locker room, it was quiet. No one spoke. In the showers, between the steam everyone hung their heads, mechanical movements as they washed off the game. Sweat, dirt, grass, blood, tears. Sungchan thinks he went over his body eight times with the soapy cloth. Nothing got rid of what he could only describe as the heavy. It loomed over him, stuck to his body like dirt underneath fingernails. Around him the showers turned off, the eerie screech and the sound of rough water hitting tile ceasing. Sungchan was the last one. The steam cloud only hung over him, drifting over the tiled barriers of the individual stalls. 

He didn’t look up from the water and suds slipping past his feet to go in the drain until he was sure he was alone. Only then did he let the water stop beating him. The knob was turned, the water ceased. Sungchan’s fingers were pruned when he wrapped his white towel around his waist. He followed the steps of his teammate who was already on his way out by the time he made it back to the dressing room. His teammate had his duffel slung over his shoulder and was putting on his headphones. They made eye contact neither of them wanted; Sungchan fixed his gaze on his cubby and his teammate only paused for a second before continuing to get his things in order. 

Sungchan grabbed his shirt from the hook. He barely dried his body but he was desperate to get out. He had to leave this stadium. Maybe it would rid him of the tight feeling in his chest if he left the premises. Now he regretted taking so long in the shower. He could’ve been at the hotel by now, trying to forget everything about today.

He was surprised to still feel the presence of his teammate behind him. He lingered by the door, Sungchan could hear the repetitive motion of shoes dragging against low-pile carpet. If he was a good captain he would’ve looked at his teammate and read his mind for him. But he missed the shot that cost them the game and said nothing when they all came into this room defeated.

“Next time,” his teammate started. 

Sungchan gripped the wooden frame of his cubby. He froze, the water droplets at the end of his hair splashing onto his shirt and trailing down the sides of his face. It was like sweat, the pointless sweat he had in this heat that lead to nothing.

Next time hung in the air. It was heavy, and Sungchan felt the binding around his chest pulled tighter. Like the strings on a corset it caused him to lean slightly forward. He was already hunched to grab his things from his cubby, now his head was partially in like he was trying to hide. He felt the sting in the corner of his eye and the stone in his throat. Next time wasn’t the case for all of his teammates. This specific assortment of people: the crew, the medical team, the coaches, the teammates would never be the same. Sungchan needed to be the one to bring them the win. He needed to delegate it. He wasn’t sure if he deserved next time. 

But still, he nodded his head and swallowed. He did not turn around, his teammate did not leave. Sungchan cleared his throat, knocking on the brown wood slightly.

“Next time,” he agreed.

He knew that his teammate had nodded too. Probably stuck his hands in his pockets and was looking around the room for what to say next. Sungchan heard nothing besides the retreating footsteps.

He was lucky to run into no one else on his way out of the venue. There were the staff who cleaned the stadium who couldn’t care less who he was. Sungchan had his cap pulled down tight and his sunglasses on despite it being night. His world was almost completely black as the venue worker drove him to the private parking on the golf cart. Sungchan knew that this worker cared about who he was. He could feel the occasional side-eye, it was quick and failed at being subtle. But in the workers defense every stare or glance or look felt amplified. Sungchan also felt sorry, because no part of him could engage in a conversation with the worker. He continued to stare forward, pretending that he didn’t notice the gaze. 

The cart parked right by Sungchan’s tinted out SUV. He did mutter a thank you, albeit tight-lipped. He thinks the worker said it back before turning the cart around and going back the way he came. 

Sungchan was rounding to the trunk when the chauffeur was already there. He was already touching the button that made the automatic door float. He was reaching for Sungchan’s suitcase, which he pitifully let be taken and put in the back. Some of his other suitcases were already packed in. How convenient he thought. But the automatic door was already coming down as he grabbed his backpack and went to the backseat. He silently opened and closed his own door behind him. Him and his chauffeur both buckled in without saying a word. The car came to life and the radio station was turned off before the host could say a single word about the game.

Him and his chauffeur drove in silence. He also got the occasional look through the rearview mirror.  He pretended to be asleep. He didn’t check his phone to see the pity messages or the inevitable meeting he would have with his managers and the coach. He was avoiding the team’s groupchat all together. He hoped they had stayed silent. Sungchan knew it was his job to say something. There was nothing he could say. He will say sorry personally to everyone during the meeting tomorrow.

“Try to get some sleep son,” the chauffeur said when he handed Sungchan his rolling luggage.

He nodded, feeling the tightening in his chest persist and the feeling of guilt. The relationship he built with his driver over his time in America was surrounding his Korean heritage. The driver told him he should be proud to represent his country. Sungchan knew that every good luck meant we’re counting on you. Sungchan on the receiving end of gently paternal worry made him feel awful. The driver, was also someone he let down.

Sungchan bit back a sorry as he left the temporary parking. He went through the automatic revolving door, going straight for the elevators.

Sungchan passed by the small amount of hotel staff who were already stiff and avoiding contact. He was simply experiencing the fallout of his teammates who walked through this lobby before him. He was sure nobody exchanged nasty words with the staff, he’d make sure of it. But he was sure the staff were walking on eggshells, scared to make the wrong move. Athletes were stereotyped as hotheads, especially if they had the entire nation rooting for them. So he said nothing, neither did the staff. He just made a straight line for the elevators and they all avoided his path.

Sungchan was grateful there was already an elevator waiting for him. He needed this luck earlier. He bitterly thought he needed the talent too as the number climbed up to his floor.

Not a single passenger was picked up on the way either. This was unfortunately the losers hotel. Another team that was already eliminated was lodging here as well. There would be no parties spanning between the floors. No one with champagne glasses or well wishes. No celebrations. Just Sungchan alone, staring at the yellow lights in the elevator through a tint.

The gray doors slid open to his floor. Sungchan immediately started his path. He didn’t stop by his teammates rooms. He went all the way to the end of the hallway where his room was. He was extra quiet too, trying to avoid any of his teammates who may have tried to talk to him. He looked down the hallway while hastily grabbing his keycard and trying to swipe it before remembering it’s a tap.

Sungchan pressed his keycard to the door. The second he heard the lock he pushed the door open. The bedside lamp already being on did not stop him. He was sure room service came through, folded his towels all nice and offered a nice note trying to lessen the load of his loss right next to it. He didn’t even look towards his bed, too busy putting the Do Not Disturb! sign on the doorknob. He locked and dead-bolted the door behind him for good measure. 

He stared at the tinted view of the back of his door. He felt that overwhelming pressure meld into his body. Every safeguard vanished. He was out of the public eye. He felt it eight him down, made a terrible sensation ripple across his body. Like something getting ready to erupt. Pressing his head to the door provided little relief. He took off his cap and did it again. He took off his sunglasses, clutching both of the items in his fist. He had to breathe deep to not crush the items in his hand. He thought about the expensive frames pressing into his skin that was too soft. He thought about the pain, the look of disappointment in his teammates faces. The fans who were let down, the cheers as his team lost. Everyone watching at home, everything was too much. Sungchan let out a shaky breath.

“Sungchan.”

His breath caught in his throat. Blood was roaring through his ears the voice was almost muffled. He thought for a second this was a dream. For half of that he thought the loss was just a nightmare. He was going to wake up and it’d be the morning of the match.

“Sungchan,” the voice called again.

He turned around slowly. Without a tint he saw you, standing next to the bed. Your own suitcase was beside the bed. You must’ve landed only a short while ago. He told you to not even worry about today’s game because he was sure he’d win it. 

You must’ve heard the news. You didn’t run excitedly into his arms like you usually did. You just waited, messing with your hands as you looked to him.

Sungchan thought he was going to crawl on the floor to get to you. His feet turned to brick, scraping across the carpet to get to you. Your arms were wide-open and you closed half the distance. Sungchan instantly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight into him. He felt you squeeze and the rock came back. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Sungchan let it take over. Warm tears prickled his eyes then blurred his vision. He felt the warm trail down his face. He took in a pitiful breath that shook when he breathed it out. You looked up at him, sympathetic tears welling in your eyes. You blinked them away, reaching up to his face to collect his tears.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you repeated.

Sungchan pulled you impossibly closer, feeling that sob rack through his body. You were quick to guide him to the edge of the bed. He sat down when he felt the bed touch the back of his leg. He let just enough space between his knees for you to slot in. One hand went to his shoulder, massaging the tension out while the other went to his hair. He was still a little damp, the indent of his hat still there. You smoothed it out again and again, rubbed gentle fingernails across his scalp just the way he liked. He breathed you in between desperate gulps of air, trying to calm himself.

“Let it all out,” you cooed.

Sungchan still kept his arms around you like you were going to disappear. He pressed his fingers into your back, desperate for proof that you were there. He remembers the look of defeat on his coaches face during that last water break. His teammates refused to look at him as they left the field.

Any words he tried to get out failed in his throat. His leg started becoming restless, already feeling the shame of his loss and crumbling like this. He was supposed to be captain. He was supposed to lead the helm, the voice of reason, a pillar. He was weak, crying in his hotel room clutching to you for dear life.

But you continued to soothe him. Tell him that you know and understand. You emphasized that he needed to let all of it out, even when the weeps turned to tiny hiccups and the tears finally subsided.

Just when Sungchan was starting to control it you used both of your hands to tilt his face upwards. He had seen that a few tears of your own had fallen, despite your voice remaining steady.

“This is your life. I understand that,” you searched his eyes and Sungchan felt the tears welling up again. He held onto your hips desperately, rubbing soothing circles like he was trying to calm himself through you. “please don’t blame yourself. You did everything you could. You gave it your all.”

“My all wasn’t enough,” Sungchan said.

“I’m so sorry,” you empathized, bringing his head back to rest against your stomach. “I watched the game on the plane. Everyone fought like Hell to advance.”

Sungchan couldn’t fault his team. They all gave it their best. South Korea cheered them on with everything. He felt their passion every game and through support online. Another wave hit him right in the chest. He closed his eyes tight and more tears streamed down his face.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for you earlier,” you cooed.

Sungchan tried to tell you it was okay, but the words caught in his throat. He just let tears escape while you rubbed your hands over his head. This comfort was enough. Knowing you wanted to be there for him helped, as much as it pained him that you watched the game.

You were between Sungchan’s legs stroking his hair for the better half of an hour. He talked through his frustrations of the game and with himself. You were there every sentence, listening and providing support. Eventually the tears faded, although they left his cheeks warm and the rest of his face flushed. There were still a few wet marks your thumbs and tissues missed. But Sungchan felt calmer, the strong emotions bubbling to something smaller. The disappointment was still there, but so were you. You said you were unbiased and that was the best game you had ever seen. Other people on the plane, who didn’t know who you were, shared the same sentiment. 

“No matter who they were cheering for, they couldn’t deny your passion,” you said while looking him in the eye. “they respected it. They said that was the whole point of the World Cup.”

Sungchan nodded his head and held your hand tight. He pressed his bitten lips to the back of your hand, giving you a sad smile when you wiped tears from your chin.

“In four years time, you’ll get another chance,” you assured.

Sungchan wasn’t sure if he deserved it. You seemed so sure it made him doubt himself even more. He kissed your wrist next, then the inside of your tricep. He made it to the inside of your elbow when you gently pulled away.

“Want to call it a night?” you asked.

Sungchan nodded his head. He was restless, whether it was from the adrenaline of crying or being with you again or needing comfort, he knew he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon. He would definitely lay down with you though. He was already leaning back on the bed and opening his arms for you to join him when you backed away from the bed. He felt his chest tighten at the thought of you not joining him immediately. He must’ve showed it because you were instantly pointing towards the bathroom behind you.

“I just landed. I just have to change to something comfortable,” you said.

Sungchan was starting to get up from the bed. He loved watching you change. He needed to be close, but you were pressing hands to his shoulders to keep him close to the bed.

“I have to go to the bathroom, too.” Sungchan tried getting up from the bed again, but you pressed your hands to his shoulders again and laughed. “I’ll be right back,” you assured. “just try to relax.” 

Sungchan nodded his head and reluctantly watched you back away from him. You turned on your heel, grabbed something next to the swan he didn’t see and made a crooked path for the restroom. You made a pit-stop on the way there, but Sungchan wasn’t sure what it was. He was too drained to think. He stayed in the spot you left him, only turning to his side to face the swan.

Sungchan laid on the bed running his fingers over the folded wings of the towel-dove. He thought about the effort that went into it. How much practice did it take? How many times did the maid fail before it came out perfect? He pinched the wing and bent it. When he let go it went back to being perfectly upright. He saw the note that you took with you into the restroom. He imagined you were tearing it up into little pieces to flush down the toilet. He didn’t want pity, he just wanted to apologize. He was going to say it until his voice gave out.

The bathroom door cracked open and Sungchan moved up to sit on the edge of the bed. He was right next to the perfect dove, trying to figure out what to say to you after he lost. He didn’t want to know if you watched the game. He knew you came here expecting to spend time in this city thinking he’d win. He rubbed the bottom of his palm over his heart soothingly.

Sungchan watched the door open further and the light shut off. He saw the door open even wider, and he pressed his feet to the ground. Before he could get up from the imperfection he made in the duvet you came out. He was frozen as you came to view, emerging from the dark of the bathroom into the dim lighting of the bedroom.

You walked up to him in his uniform. You repped his country, the red and elements of white against your skin. The arm sleeves coming down, the shorts around your waist too. His lips parted. He wanted to close the distance between the two of you but he was frozen. He was dumbfounded as you came closer, playful smile on your lips.

“I grabbed your bag and you didn’t even notice,” you said playfully.

Sungchan slowly shook his head. He didn’t notice. He didn’t know you were in there getting ready for him. He didn’t know how seeing you in the uniform made the loss not seem so apocalyptic. He found himself almost smiling with you, before the severity of the situation brought him back. But he was restless again. Not in the way he was after the loss, but how he felt kissing up your arm a few minutes ago. He was getting close to comfort, and now his comfort was wearing his greatest burden. The uniform didn’t weigh down on you at all. You stood giggling with that captain armband staring right back at him. 

Sungchan sank from the corner of the bed until he was on his knees in front of you. You didn’t understand the severity in the situation. You were still smiling when you playfully flexed in the uniform

“What do you think?” you asked. “I think I’m ready for the team.”

“Captain,” Sungchan’s perspective of you changed as he slowly sank to his knees. “my captain,” he repeated.

Sungchan watched you smile even bigger. You looked proud. He imagined your face smiling when you’d secure the win easily.

“I was afraid wearing this might make you feel bad,” you admitted.

Sungchan shook his head so fast his hair moved too. His shirt went down to your mid-thigh, he knew his shorts were hanging loose on your waist. He saw his number across your chest, hovering above your knee. You smelled like him, the sweat mixing with you. He pushed his face forward, nose pressing into your stomach as he breathed it all in. He felt your stomach tighten from a laugh as one hand went to his shoulder and the other to the crown of his head. Sungchan turned his face to press his cheek into your stomach. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, interlocking his fingers right underneath your ass to keep you there. He felt lulled by the vibrations of your quiet laugh as it went through the silent room.

“I smell that bad?” you asked.

Sungchan looked up at you shook his head. He was sure his eyes were still bleary because the playfulness turned soft. You rubbed his warm cheek and he leaned into your touch.

“You make the smell good,” he said. The words took awhile to register to you both. He was still recovering from his lack of air  when he swallowed spit gathering in his mouth. “I like seeing you wear this.”

“I’m glad,” you separated from him enough to do a little twirl. Then you posed with your fists balled on your hips and one of your legs bent at the knee. “put me in coach,” you said.

Sungchan leaned back on his haunches and put his hands on his knees. He rubbed them in a small motion up and down. Adrenaline has been coursing through his body on and off all day. For the nth time it was climbing again.

“Show me again baby,” he said quietly.

Sungchan watched you tilt your head playfully before you repeated the motion, spinning around just for him. He watched the captains band on your bicep disappear then come back into view. 

You looked back at him and he reached a hand towards you. Instead of pulling your body towards his he lifted the bottom of his jersey. He lifted the red and white, lifting and lifting until he finally saw your bare skin. He twisted the fabric in his hands until red and white swirled between his knuckles. He tugged at the jersey, not you. He let go and watched it fall on your body again, talking up so much of you. Sungchan’s whole body shook as warmth flooded one part of his body.

He was fixed on your stomach when your hand went underneath his chin. He left his head be tilted upwards, even though you only applied the smallest amount of force.

Sungchan locked eyes with you. The dark room behind you made you appear in a void, the dim bedside lamp made the carnality soft.

“We can fuck like you won,” you say gently. 

Sungchan shivers again as your index finger ran over his lip. He tasted dried sweat and could smell the grass on your hand. He closed his eyes and breathed it in. He was on the field today as a leader. He failed. The armband was too tight on his arm. He kept messing with it the entire match. But when he opens his eyes and follows your hand up it seems to fit you just right.

“You’re the captain,” he said.

His voice was weaker than he expected. He sank a little deeper too, he lost his perfect posture. He saw your smile, then in a split second it turned to a slight pout. You nodded, and Sungchan mirrored you without a second thought. He felt his eyes droop further from the disappointment. His eyelashes were still wet, he could feel them momentarily clump together each time he blinked. 

You pulled your hand away from his face and he followed. His whole body tilted forward after your touch. When he saw your hands go to the bottom of the jersey he shook his head.

“Keep it on,” Sungchan had the bass back in his voice as he looked from the arm band to you. He was panicked and crawled forward to stroke your ankles gently. “please,” he begged.

You let go of the shirt and let it fall back down your body. When the jersey went back you went down too, until you were eye level with Sungchan. He was starting to get teary holding his eyes open in an effort to not blink. 

Your hand went back to his face, but you didn’t stroke his chin or gently touch his lips. You clutched his face with your hands, applying force until his lips puckered. 

“I thought I was the captain?” you asked.

Sungchan tried telling you that you were the captain, but his words couldn’t be enunciated. There was a string of sound, then he felt your hand manually nod his head. He did it on his own volition. His fingernails were dragging against the carpet as he lowered himself even closer to the floor. He ended up on his hands and knees while you went back to standing straight. He tilted his head up only slightly, just enough to see your hands slip underneath the jersey. He could see the indent of your hands through the fabric as they were to the hiked waistband. He could see your thumbs tuck underneath it, then the shimmy in your hip as you pushed them down.

There wasn’t much needed for the shorts to pool at your feet. They were made to be loose, and you stepped out of them like they were nothing. Your bare thighs were exposed, the large jersey being your only form of cover. Sungchan followed the trail of skin as high as it could go, until it was cut off at your mid-thigh by the bottom hem. He debated sinking lower to the ground just to take a glance underneath. Even a shadowy peak would be enough. 

Before he could get any lower you moved your finger in a circle.

“On your back,” you said gently.

Sungchan didn’t need to be told again. He was on his back on the floor in seconds, already prepping himself. He knew what came next. He wet his lips, he flexed his hands at his side. Sungchan watched you lift the bottom of the jersey like it was a dress before you faced the bathroom door.

“Remember the safe word?” you asked.

Red Card—of course.

“I remember,” he said quickly.

You looked down at him with an incredulous look. You laughed a little before putting your feet on either side of his head.

“Very eager Sungchan,” you tsked.

He nodded while looking up at your sex. The air in the room made the hem of the jersey blow. You held it open enough for him to see and you lowered yourself to your knees.

Sungchan was tented underneath the canopy of the jersey. He saw the light from the bedside lamp and something else as you sank down. The tent closed in the smell of you waiting all day for him and the dried sweat from playing. He already had his hands pressed into the top part of your thigh. He was so desperate his fingers dimpled your skin, but he did not pull. He was there as a guide, a support to his captain. He guided you where you go, but he let it come at your pace. No matter how slow, he was already pressing hopelessly against the fabric of his pants when he felt your thighs press against his head. 

There was no light underneath the cover of the jersey. Sungchan was operating on instinct and touch. When he felt wet pressure against his chin he did all the work. His hands went to the underside of your thigh and lifted slightly up. He shimmied his body down to accommodate, he stuck out his tongue quickly to gauge where he was. When he tasted you his hands went back to where they were before, and he waisted as you lowered yourself again.

He was lifting his head off the ground before you pressed to his lips. He groaned out and you let more of your weight rest on him. He took all of it, he urged you to lay even more of it on him. He kept you suspended to lick you top to bottom. He felt you shiver above him. You were reaching for the wooden corner of the bed for stability. Sungchan couldn’t see but he could hear nails scraping against wood. He kept licking, needing you to fill his mouth and coat his tongue before he could keep going.

He prodded your entrance with his tongue and you gasped. He did it again and again, just to feel your little twitches and hear your sounds. Sungcahn let you rest on his face so he could focus on your clit. He was operating in complete darkness, but he knew his way around. He latched his lips to your slit quickly, sucking and flicking gently with his tongue.

Then, he saw the light. You pulled up the bottom of his jersey, quickly. Sungchan had to adjust to the light but he didn’t stop. He was happy to see you so visually wrecked in such a short amount of time. You were already trying to hold back little thrusts, tilting your head to the side as you looked down at him.

“So good for me, Channie,” you praised.

He was too needy right now. He was liable to cum in his pants from the sweet nicknames and the praise. He could barely handle having you like this in your civilian clothes. Now you were dressed like him, biting the fabric of the jersey to keep yourself from recklessly riding his face.

He wanted you to let go. He didn’t mind if you put him on medical leave for a season or two. He believes it’d be worth it. He would without the red card, not stopping until his captain was spent. He could already see your stomach tensing from how close you were to doing it. Sungchan mumbled around your clit. You ran a free hand through his hair splayed out in a soft heap around his head. You casted a glance behind you. Sungchan sucked a little harder. He needed your complete attention

“Take your dick out,” you say.

He hesitated for a moment. What was supposed to be a relief felt like a punishment. You seemed unforgiving for something he wasn’t sure he was doing wrong. But he knew he had to do what you said.

He moved one arm to splay across your thighs to keep you in place while the other hand goes to his jeans. He undoes the button and pulls down the zipper with just one hand. He only cared to push his jeans the minimum amount before letting his dick spring free. It barely had time to smack his stomach before he wrapped his large hand around it. 

He kept it there, holding the root with a decent grip. He focused on letting a tongue full of spit make a mess on your cunt. He made the executive decision to use his hand that was holding you in place down to your clit. 

You sighed and motioned gently towards his dick.

“Jerk off for me,” you said.

Once again, a reward that felt like discipline. He almost struggled to focus on you both. But you were watching to make sure he stroked himself the right way. He felt obligated to take time with himself and you. Only when he picked up the speed did you stop looking behind you to look at him again.

Sungchan looked at you looking down at him. Jersey between your teeth and a hand gripping your chest. Your eyes were unforgiving, so was the bite in your orders. Sungchan was breathing through his nose but was barely getting enough air from the excitement. Each inhale brought more of you in, making the air in the room seem thin. 

He was good at following orders. When you mumbled faster behind the bitten fabric he understood perfectly. His lips were already suctioned around your nub, tongue flicking the sensitive skin. He knew that you meant for his hand to go faster, because you were grinding on his face taking what you wanted at your own pace. He detached from your clit and let your grind against his tongue and lips. Each drag of your hips ended when his nose would bump into your engorged clit. He was happy to see you finally start to twitch, he was doing his job. His hand moving fast was no longer enough. He planted his feet to the ground and thrusted into his hand.

Whatever he did to himself didn’t matter, he was going to get there regardless. Sungchan was dangerously close because you were, too. Your body was beginning to shake, the fierce look in your eyes melted into something weaker. You tilted your head back. The ball of jersey in your mouth was a muzzle now, holding back the sounds you were making from going into the neighboring rooms. Sungchan was making noises of his own, vibrations were absorbed by your skin and noises were muffled into your sex.

You reached a hand back and it landed on his flexed thigh. His strength kept you upright and locked onto his mouth, and he was fucking his hand feeling the coil about to snap. He just needed to see your face. Seeing your stomach move from the grinding was sexy, but he needed to see your face. He needed to know that he was good at listening to his captain, getting you where you needed to go. 

Your head finally looked down at him again. Sungchan felt it coming when your hand went to pinching your sensitive nipple. He could see it peaking through the shirt and you grabbed it perfectly, stroking the erect nub between your fingers.

Right when your sounds started getting higher he felt you rise. He let out a loud, pitiful sound, and had a knee jerk reaction to lock you in place by the arm across your thighs. You rose too fast though, leaving Sungchan with a wet face and chasing after your cunt. His hand was still wrapped around his dick but his legs melted back to the floor. The crash from a near-orgasm was intense, leaving him cold and breathing heavy.

He was only upset that you were the same way. You let the jersey fall back down your body as you looked around the room quickly. You were lost, Sungchan wanted to tell you what the correct play was. But he remembered that you were the captain, and a moment later you were pushing the perfect dove off the bed and climbing onto the mattress. It landed to the floor with a dull thud as you pointed to the headrest. Sungchan was already moving to sit up, wincing at how sensitive he was all over.

“On the bed,” you said quickly, wiping sweat from your forehead. “lean against the headboard.”

Sungchan got up quick, getting ready to climb on the bed. Before he could you put a hand up. He froze in the middle of his action, looking to you immediately. He was sweating seeing the wild look in your eyes, going over what you said to make sure he didn’t mishear anything.

“Take your clothes off first,” you said.

He was so quick taking off his clothes he scratched himself. The scratches along his side throbbed and then a small scratch throbbed down his thigh. He was kicking off his pants, tearing off his socks and throwing them somewhere. 

He was sitting against the headboard, spread out with his heavy dick resting upright against his abs. He had been leaking since the start. His hand was sticky when he balled it into a fist. He felt it rubbing against the sheets, and now he felt the cooling precum against his abs. He was twitching, his whole body was. You were perched in front of him so perfect, your jersey showing your hardened nipples again.

“Baby,” Sungchan whimpered. 

You refused to move. You raised an eyebrow at him, and Sungchan felt the heat fan across his entire body.

“Captain,” he said. He twitched against his stomach and felt his body lean into the headboard. “please.”

That made you move. You stood on your knees and crawled over to him. Your two hands picked up the bottom hem of your jersey, letting Sungchan take the peak. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from your face. You were half-lidded, so warm Sungchan could tell just from looking at you. He was enamored, he could see that you were too. He brought his legs close together whenever your knees straddled his feet. When the fabric grazed against his calves he finally looked down. He let out a whimper beyond his control, reaching out a hand that just ended up falling to the mattress. 

You were even slower walking up his body. Sungchan was forced to grab the. sheets and watch you. Each new indent in the mattress made Sungchan twitch uncontrollably, or let out a sound that was close to a whine. You took it all in stride, not changing speed or giving him something to do to occupy himself.

“Is this what a captain does?” you asked.

Your knees were pressed against his thighs. You were so close to straddling him. You rested your weight on his thighs, Sungchan felt your hot and wet cunt against his muscle. He looked down trying to get a visual but all the was was your jersey pooling over both of your legs.

“Hello?” you asked.

Sungchan blinked several times and brought his gaze back up to you.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly.

“Is this what a captain does?” you ask.

Sungchan nods his head. He slowly brings a hand to rest on your covered thigh, half scared you’ll smack his hand away.

“Yes,” he says. He strokes your skin over your jersey, trying to subtly coax you to continue your way up. “You’re such a good captain.”

Sungchan feels your hips jerk the smallest amount over his thigh. He flexes the muscle.

“Not as good as you,” you say.

Your hip flicks again and you put your hand over his. Sungchan feels you thread your fingers through his. He squeezes to let you know he feels it. But he shakes his head regardless. He knows that he isn’t the captain his team needed. He failed, he couldn’t lead them to victory. You could, the armband fit around you perfectly. Sungchan looks down to your hand over his. You command him so well. He doesn’t know if he could command a room the same way you did.

You squeeze his hand tighter. Sungchan feels your hand caress his cheek gently making him look at you. That gentle look is back. He likes the pity, that you seem truly sorry for him. From you, that’s something he can accept. He finds himself thriving on it. He has your attention but he also needs it elsewhere. He knows he is too selfish to be captain when he wraps his warm hand around his dick. He watches the pity in your eyes fade as you look down. Sungchan watches you watching his hand. He pumps himself, he squeezes around the tip once he makes his way up. He pushes his dick between the gap of his index and middle finger. His head lulls against the headboard when he does it again. He watches you lick your lips and does it faster, until a fresh bead of precum appears.

“Captain,” Sungchan whispers.

He thinks he could cum like this. He goes over you in your jersey again. He will cum like this. 

“Captain,” he whimpers. “please.”

He bites his lip. He reaches forward with his other hand and folds your jersey. He sees your bare cunt and the mess you leave on his thigh. He prays the fabric stays where he leaves it and goes back to gripping your thigh. He pulls you in slightly by the hold. He is grateful you give in. You continue to come closer, you even hold your jersey up so he can see your pussy. 

He strokes himself slower, and when you finally get close enough he guides you up by your thigh. You’re hovering right over him, your hands go to his shoulders. The fabric falls but Sungchan just looks at you. You look at him so tenderly, massaging his shoulders gently.

You sink down at the right spend. He needed it slow, to ground himself again and to feel it all. The moment of resistance as you sank lower. He bumped your clit but he corrected it immediately.  He prodded your entrance and you kept going lower. You sucked him in, your walls warm and pulsing from riding his face. Sungchan’s hands went to your hips when you had taken enough of him. He was gripping you for dear life, he knew he’d be leaving bruises underneath your jersey. Your mouth was still slightly open as you took all of him. When he was fully inside he pressed his forehead to your chest. He pulled you close by your hips, and you wrapped your arms around him.

You two were like that for a while. You pulsing around him, Sungchan twitching inside of you. He liked being connected, he liked having you close and you scratching his scalp. For the second time tonight you brought him so much comfort, and he felt the tears threatening to come out again. 

“I feel so good,” he murmured.

He meant it in every sense of the word. He guided your hips to grind against him just to feel you squeeze around him. Your body didn’t want him to move either. You wanted him to stay sheathed, not pulling out an inch. When he even tried to life you  he felt the panic across your body. He didn’t want to part either. He wanted to be close in this way, he wanted to feel himself inside of you and he wanted to keep it that way.

“I feel good too,” you say.

You start massaging his scalp again. He nestles further into your warmth and your smells mingling together.

Sungchan feels you begin your small grinds. They’re erratic, varying in speed and length. The only thing that is consistent is that you don’t lift your hips. You only grind, if anything you try to press deeper.

“You need it like this, right?” you ask.

Sungchan nods his head against your chest. 

“Look at me, Sungchan,” you command.

Instantly he’s pointing his head upwards. He’s still leaned against your shirt and your chest. He knows he looks pathetic. He can nearly see himself in the reflection of your blown out eyes. He revels in it. Knowing you are seeing him like this makes him throb inside of you, and you’re digging your nails into his back.

“I can feel you,” you say. Sungchan feels your hand tug slightly at his hair. “I can feel you getting even harder.”

“I can’t help it,” he confesses.

“I know,” you coo and pat his head. He feels his eyebrows press together like he’s worried. “I like it. The captain likes it,” you stutter.

Sungchan wheezes out a breath. He throbs again and both of you lull your heads back. Sungchan watches your grinds and you look at him sideways, biting your lip. He knows you want to say something. Your hand in his hair was soothing again and your grinds were  gentle and slow.

“They made you captain but you’re still young,” you said. “one of the youngest on the team.”

You weren’t lying. Sungchan was the third youngest on the team. It was his first time competing in the World Cup. He never had so much pressure on him in his life. He gripped your waist harder, helping your movements stay consistent.

“I have so much to learn,” he said.

“We all do,” you assured.

Sungchan nodded. He you let out a tiny gasp when he flicked his hips to meet yours. He held you and did the same movement again. You struggled to keep eye contact, he saw you fight the urge to close your eyes and ride it out.

“But that doesn’t make you a bad captain,” you continued. Sungchan felt you alternate between gripping his hair to steady yourself and smoothing out the strands to comfort him. “just makes you a captain who’s learning.”

Sungchan looks down where you two meet. He won’t last long like this.

“I lost the game,” he groans.

“It is not on your shoulders alone.” you said. “How can you be a good captain if you can’t show your team how to bounce back?” you ask.

Sungchan can’t think properly. Everything is filled with you, the grass stain on the chest of his jersey and the feeling of you around him. The mattress creaks underneath you when the movements become more desperate. 

“You have four years to train,” you say, going even faster. “come back next time and win it all.”

Sungchan nods his head. He continues to flick his hips in tandem of yours.

“I can’t,” he says.

You pull on his hair and he hisses from the pain. You get rougher with him and add the tiniest lift to your hips. The wet sound fills the hotel room. Sungchan bites his lip to stop the sounds from tumbling out. With the grip you have on his hair you force him to look at you.

“You will,” you command. “you’ll do it as captain too.”

He can’t help that you’re persuasive. He’s nodding along with you, helping you lift off his hips just to come right down. There’s so much wet between the two of you he’s sure everything will be ruined. That doesn’t stop him and it seems to push you to keep going. Sungchan’s thighs are a wet mess and stick to yours as you two keep going.

There are no more words that are exchanged. Sungchan knows what this was, and he does feel healed. He needs to finally catch the feeling he’s been chasing for the past hour. He goes deeper and deeper inside of you, and your body tries desperately to keep him in place. Sungchan feels like he’s being drained and he hasn’t even given you anything yet.

The wet and lewd sounds fill the room. Words of affirmations are replaced with tiny gasps and the sound of lips connecting. Sungchan sticks his tongue in your mouth and when you start sucking he feels the tension building up. One hand leaves your hips and goes underneath his jersey. He rubs on your clit, just the way his captain showed him. 

You break apart to put your head in his shoulder.

“So close,” you whimper. 

Sungchan nods against your head. His other hand wraps around your body, keeping you close. He continues with the revolutions, looking at your face. He can tell your close, he can feel the came before the storm inside of you. Sungchan bites his lip in concentration.

“Cum for me, baby,” he says.

As if that pulled you out of your stupor you snap out of the haze. You start grinding against him again, and your hand stopped pulling so hard at his scalp.

“You gotta cum for me, remember?” you asked.

Sungchan didn’t stand a chance. Hearing you try to hold onto your dominance through a cracked voice made him finish abruptly. He emptied inside of you, coming out in endless spurts. He felt relaxed, his hand leaving your clit to hold onto your body roughly. His jersey twisted in his hands as he moaned, feeling your walls spasm around him perfectly. He was so snug he knew you felt it. 

Sungchan was slouched against the bed frame, eyes already threatening to close when he felt your hips move again. His eyes shot open and he shook his head. You nodded and continued the heavy grinds. You were fully rocking into him causing the bed creaks to sway with you. You were at the helm. Sungchan held onto you out of necessity. He was crying out, body still slouched and lethargic against the headboard. He just whimpered, trying to tell you please stop. The pain hurt so good, he could barely open his eyes through the sensitivity. His shaking hand found your clit, rubbing tight circles while you panted above him.

“That’s right,” you breathed. “I’m so close.”

He was lucky you came shortly after. Your walls closed around him again, which made a few more dribbles of cum seep from your cunt. Sungchan wasn’t sure if he shot blanks or if it was real. He couldn’t piece a full action together. He brought his hands to your waist, but instead of guiding you off of him they stayed there, rubbing tiny shapes. It was you who laughed above him and moved off. You were the one who moved him so he was laying properly on the bed. His chest was still heaving when you settled in the crook of his arm, placing gentle kisses to his cheeks.

“I’m really proud of you, Sungchan,” you said between kisses. “making it this far is a feat in and of itself.”

Sungchan sleepily nodded his head. He was going to tell you in the morning how grateful he was. But the entire day caught up to him at once, and he felt that tight feeling in his chest go away. His eyelids were already heavy before you placed gentle kisses over them. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake for much longer.

“Love you, captain.” he whispered, pulling you closer.

Wonbin held after concert rituals very close to his heart. When the post-show adrenaline attempted to crash down on him and steal his serotonin like a thief in the night he had a few things lined up to keep the good feeling going. He would be on stage with the guitar still in his hands and before the last riff tore through the venue and while people’s screams still rang in his ears, Wonbin was already setting his eyes on his next dopamine rush. 

His following activities for the night post-concert goes as follows, in no particular order:

Sex.

Drugs.

Trashing hotel rooms.

Chain smoking an entire pack of American Spirits.

He gritted his teeth as he brought his hands down the neck of his instrument. A chord rang through the venue as he remembered he was on his second strike—after the previous three—of ignoring the groupie ban. As he walked off the stage he remembered that he was completely out of drugs, and when he ran his fingers over his engraved initials on the side of his metal cigarette case he came to the realization it was lighter than usual.

“Fuck.” 

Wonbin cursed under his breath, already knowing what was waiting for him inside. The venue staff and roadies moved around him as he stood completely still, looking down at his very last American Spirit. The sound of people running around and making sure equipment was being put in the right place drowned out completely around Wonbin. It was just him, the lone cigarette, and the wave of depression getting closer and closer to crashing down on him. Stray bits of tobacco slid from the metal casing and fell until it landed between his black heeled boots. He sighed to himself and clamped the case hard with a singular hand. The case almost sprung back open from the force. A cheap gift from a former lover that was already falling apart. He swore he had more Spirits.

“I’m going outside.” Wonbin spoke from the side of his mouth the cigarette didn’t occupy.

He didn’t care to look over his shoulder or wait for a reply. He’s sure Shotaro and Sion yelled at him to be back on the bus in thirty minutes or he’d send Wendy out there to kick his ass. He only waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder before heading to the door, using the side of his body to open it while he lit his cigarette.

Wonbin didn’t like Wendy too much, she insisted on managing the band like they were a professional act instead of a bunch of sleazy assholes who could hold a tune. Wonbin much preferred starting fights at shows and picking up girls to break their hearts the next day. Now that Wendy was around—and the major record label that was producing their next album—Halcyon was trying to be more classy. That meant no more young ladies in the hotel rooms, no more instigating physical confrontations at shows, and no more illicit drugs or illegal substances. Wonbin was barely able to sneak underneath Wendy’s radar. She watched him like a hawk, the only moments of solace he got was when he’d walk around the venue to take a smoke break. He was lucky she didn’t have much of a taste for the smell of nicotine. Wonbin would never be the one to tell her that a cigarette might help loosen the gigantic stick she had shoved up her ass.

He walked past the venue staff into the muggy night. Gainesville Florida, a disgusting rainy mess of a city that made you feel like you were choking on the humidity. The vibrant rock scene didn’t make up for the thick air that made everyone feel like they were swallowing smoke. Traveling the world was alot less fulfilling than he thought it’d be. Not every destination was a vibrant city with exotic nightlife and attractions. Sometimes it was in the armpit of a country, right in the bible belt wedged between two conservative cities. 

But this wasn’t all bad. Despite being a pessimist, Wonbin knew that shows paid the studio bills, it paid everything. The weather also couldn’t have been too muggy, because he still insisted on putting his cigarette to his lips and inhaling the fumes, even if the fog rested over his body like a damp weighted blanket. 

Wonbin breathed in until embers ignited and he felt that sting in the back of his throat. He should make this last American Spirit last—he really should—but the more he realized this was his last vice for God knows how long he couldn’t stop himself from taking prolonged puff after prolonged puff.

He wandered away from the venue while eating his cigarette, heading towards the side of a building right next to a shady alleyway. He was grateful that word travelled he wasn’t kind to stragglers after the show. He was left alone as he leaned against the wet brick of the building, sputtering up phlegm from singing, the cigarette, and the heavy air around him. Despite the pain he continues to smoke his last dwindling source of dopamine, already imagining the unbearable asshole he’s going to be in the tour bus.

“Looking for something?”

Wonbin looked past the brick wall down the alleyway. It was entirely too foggy here too. Between the shadows of the building and the night Wonbin could barely make out who that was calling to him. The fans after a show never gave Wonbin that much space, and his old flings would’ve been in his face in seconds. His mind briefly went to his dealer, his promise to keep him supplied by his jockeys across America. Wendy made sure to scare them away and to let Wonbin know in the most polished way possible.

“The young professionals that supply your musings will no longer be visiting Halcyon on tour. Any reimbursements will be settled upon our arrival back in New York.”

“Who are you?” 

Wonbin spoke to the shadowy figure at the end of the alleyway. If he knew any better he would’ve never came down this unlit path by himself. He was a rockstar in vintage leather Prada, denim Mugler, and custom made snakeskin boots. Despite his affinity for conflict and violence Wonbin was unfortunately all talk, and he was sure his height and slim frame showcased that. He was at risk of being rundown and not a single soul would know; not a single bodyguard, member of his entourage, nothing. 

But Wonbin was more aware of the fact that it was harder to score these days than it was to die, and if he were to die in an alleyway attempting to do a drug deal atleast he’d go out doing what he loved. So he took another step towards the shadowy figure, his heel clicking on the pavement as he tried adjusting his eyesight in the night. He was going to send Taesan (or was his name Dongmin?—that doesn’t matter) a bouquet of roses. Maybe even name a song on the next album about him. If his jockey would just cut to the chase and emerge from the shadows to give him his vice. Wonbin was already reaching in the inner pocket of his jacket for his emergency drug deal money when he took another step forward.

When the shadow stayed leaned against the wall, Wonbin took another step forward. He even cleared his voice to project it further and moved his cigarette to the corner of his mouth in an effort to speak clearly.

“Who are you?” Wonbin repeated. 

Finally the figure kicked off from the wall and walked towards him. Wonbin didn’t care enough to take a step backwards, even when the figure still said nothing. For a moment fear flashed through Wonbin’s mind at the thought of the person really being a murderer—or worse—a cop. He imagined red and blue illuminating the dark alleyway and the figure would emerge with a badge reading him his Miranda Rights. 

As soon as Wonbin imagined all the terrible endings to this situation the fear and panic was gone. Instead of hearing sirens Wonbin heard chatter of people passing by. Instead of seeing a cop he watched a woman emerge from the shadows, heels clicking against the pavement with each step.

He never remembered the jockey’s ever being a girl. 

Wonbin’s even swore his dealer went on a tirade about how unreliable women are when it comes to drug dealing. Something about how pussy is worst and most addictive drug on the planet, how it always complicates things between the buyer and seller, and some other borderline misogynistic rhetoric. 

(Wonbin found himself nodding along with his eyes trained on the drugs in his dealers hand. Maybe it was a Pavlov reaction to get his drugs, maybe he actually agreed with the points he was making. He never claimed to be a feminist. He is a rockstar, first and foremost.) 

Instantly Wonbin tilted his head in amusement. He recognized your face immediately, he had gotten used to seeing you in the crowd of every show. You were what he called a front row regular, singing along to every song and starting the mosh pits. Wonbin watched you start your fair share of fights, pushing someone into the crowd with a smile on your face as you watched the chaos unfold. Despite being burdensome to the security and wellbeing of others, you were never ousted. Wonbin even got the feeling that you were revered in community, not that he ever cared enough to check. He just knew that you were there in the very beginning, when Halcyon didn’t have a name and it was just him Shotaro, and Sion scouring punk bars looking to make a quick buck.

Wonbin didn’t know you were the type to lurk in alleys after a show. For the most part he believed you were one of his few normal fans. As normal as any fan can be that follows the band across state lines just to see the same show over and over again. 

You two had shared eye contact plenty of times. With Wonbin front and center and you in the crowd, it was bound to happen. But each time he gave you that look that said to meet him after the show you were always nowhere to be found. Each time the lights came on you’d disappear like a figment of his imagination, turning into dust until you materialized at his next show. 

Your aversion of meeting him backstage had him peg you for the scared type, but you leaned against the side of the building and titled your head. Wonbin wasn’t sure if you were trying to emulate his calm demeanor or if it was your truth; he was still intrigued all the same. 

“Who are you?” Wonbin asked for a third time, the tone of his voice saccharine as he did a shameless once over of you.

He leaned against the side of the building like you did, his hands let go of the money in his pocket and instead rested inside gently. He let go of the sweaty crumpled money and went to his cigarette, pulling it from his mouth.

When you didn’t speak, Wonbin blew the smoke in your face. A cloud of poisonous smog and you weren’t affected one bit. You let it breeze past you with a smirk before reaching in your back pocket. You revealed the substance like it was the bridge of a song, and held it up in the air in front of Wonbin’s face. You still didn’t say a word and even with the offering in your hand Wonbin’s eyes stayed on you. For the first time in God knows how long, Wonbin felt indifferent to substance. The far off words of his drug dealer played in his mind as he stared into your eyes, so innocent and contradictory of what was in your hand.

“Just a fan is all.” You said.

You jostled the substance in your hand for emphasis, like a human showing a dog its treats. Wonbin’s tail would’ve started wagging if he had one when he realized just how much was in the bag.

“Where’d you get that?” Wonbin asked.

“Some weirdo was just here.” You looked to your hand, feigning confusion. “He said this was for you.” You said.

He was already five minutes past Shotaro’s time warning, pulling you from the shadows ate up a majority of his smoke break. The image of his band running around the venue looking for him was fleeting, but he swore he could hear the sound of Wendy calling out his name. She imagined her scouring the streets looking for a groupie or a junkie asking if they knew of his whereabouts. They had a different state to be in tomorrow but Wonbin didn’t care, his interest was piqued by the baggie and you. You didn’t seem to scare as easily as the other girls. You kept eye contact with him, Wonbin could even see the gleam in your eyes like you were considering taking the substance for yourself.

“Why’d he give it to you?” Wonbin asked, still keeping his eyes on you.

“I may have done something for him.” You said.

Wonbin raised his eyebrows. Less than a year as a rockstar and he already had someone willing to do nefarious things just for him to know their name. Did you dirty your hands for him? Were your stockings already ripped or was that done recently? Was your makeup smudged on purpose and was your unkept hair intentional, or the byproduct of something much more demeaning?

Wonbin put his cigarette out on the brick wall and stuck his hands deeper in the tight leather pockets of his pants. Only then did he fully focus on the baggie. He felt his mouth water at the sight, that tug to do bad things deep in his heart. The adrenaline crash was creeping behind him but you were a massive brick wall he was hurtling straight towards. He reached for the bag and grazed your hand purposefully. 

You didn’t even flinch. He smiled to himself.

“What did you do for him?” He traveled his hand down your arm slowly. His knuckles grazed over the fabric of your denim, tracing the stitching all the way up to your shoulder. When he made it to your neck is when he noticed the blossoming mark, already preparing to be angry in the morning. Wonbin looked from the mark to your face and tilted his head to the side. “Can’t imagine you paid him for this shitty stuff.” He said.

His other hand stuck out in front of him as his hand made it to your cheek. You didn’t chase after his fleeting touch, your lips didn’t part in silent want and your eyes didn’t flutter shut. You were stoic as he touched you, impervious to the move that usually had girls falling to his feet. Wonbin suddenly didn’t feel like just drugs tonight. The adrenaline was building back over his body at the sight of you not scaring easily. You refused to give in, you didn’t even put the baggie in his hand. You opened it yourself, putting the white powder on your long pointed acrylic nail before brining it under Wonbin’s nose. 

He looked down to your nail then up to you. The tension built over his body tenfold, his hands retreated back to his pockets like he was debating on indulging himself. He heard Shotaro yell clearly now, and Wendy’s angry quick steps echoing beyond the alley. 

“I can show you, if you’d like.” 

Eunseok looked away from the alley between the two buildings and pressed his head to the steering wheel. The creases of his forehead are smoothed by the ragged synthetic cover of the wheel from years of use. he continues to rub his forehead against the covering just to feel something. He does it to stop himself from falling asleep, hoping that the repetitive motion can act as the rest he should be getting right now.

Eunseok thinks his job should pay him better. If he made wage proportional to the amount of work he does he wouldn’t have to drive around this disaster on wheels. When he closes his eyes for too long he’s forced to remember that he’s one bad ride away from breaking down on the side of the road—or worse in the middle of traffic. He remembers all the times the engine stalled on him and he had to call his bestfriend to come to his aide. Each time Sungchan gave his car a jump or pushed it to get a running start he commented on the abysmal state of Eunseok’s vehicle. He had heard this thing is barely drivable and you are a danger to yourself a million times. Eunseok couldn’t even deny it, he knew his friend was right. He couldn’t even turn up the music in the car without it coming out fractured through the blown out speakers. everything was muffled and the words were crackling fuzz, like pop rocks were in his sound system.

The music crackling through his speakers pulled him from wallowing in his financial situation. He lifted his head and his hand went to the sound dial on instinct. He focused on changing the volume using the tiniest adjustments on the knob. He always tries for the perfect spot on each song, because of course it’s different for each once. Every three minutes Eunseok’s fingers twist and turn the knob. Ironically it takes have the song to find the middle ground, where it’s not too quiet or entirely too loud. 

When Eunseok finds the spot he sighs to himself, forehead going back to his worn steering wheel. He drums along to the beat this time, trying to get himself up and to clear everything else from his mind. 

Eunseok tries not to think about his nerves, or the way he’s going to weave between two cop cars to get inside of the hotel. He thought it was torture surpassing a line of concertgoers to interview the artists. The exclusivity that gave him a dopamine rush turned into a stomachache when all eyes went on him. Their anger was almost always misplaced, mad at someone who wasn’t even taking up space in the general admission nor who was responsible for them waiting in line. But Eunseok knew it was pointless to argue with fans whose eyes were filled with bloodlust visions of the barricade. He only kept his head down and smiled awkwardly to the security before flashing his press badge. 

Eunseok looks up from his spot in the parking lot to the hotel. Two flashing cop cars, neither of them make a sound but they sit in front of the door to block the entrance. Only people out, no one gets in he hears one of the police officers say. There’s a huddle of them talking to someone, his view of them is blocked by their vests and wide stances. On the other side of Eunseok’s car people are gathered in the public area. They are lined on the sidewalk, standing on their tip toes and leaning their bodies like meerkats. Eunseok recognizes the reporters, they view the front of the hotel through the viewfinder of their cameras, just waiting for the perfect shot. Some people are even craning their necks to look into the fishbowl Eunseok calls a car, he can already hear the whispers and fizzled out excitement when they realize he’s a nobody.

He would take a concert over this any day. He would gladly walk past a line of hecklers than be caught in the middle of this. But the clock in his car that is perpetually an hour behind tells him that he told Wonbin he’d be in his hotel room. The ground forming on the outskirts of the parking lot only gets bigger.

Eunseok reaches across the center console of his car to open the glove compartment. The door to the small storage drops open and he reaches in deep to pull out the pack of cigarettes. He smiles when he finds the last one in the pack and sees he has just enough time and a long enough walk to smoke it down to the butt.

Eunseok rolls down the window of his car using the hand crank because of course it only opens from the outside and of course his window is not automatic. He opens the front door and gets out, closing it behind him with his foot. Both of Eunseok’s hands are preoccupied, one blocks the wind and the other tries to ignite the lighter. it’s annoying, and just like everything else in his life the lighter fails to work. he shakes it, he hits the bottom of it against his thigh, he even tilts it upside down hoping to shake up just enough of the leftover fluid to create a flame. He feels his thumb going raw from working the tiny black gear before he finally admits defeat. 

Eunseok goes through the open window of his car muttering about all his bad luck under his breath. he opens up his loose center console and tosses in the lighter before continuing to dig around. he goes through napkins, loose change, and the spare key that Sungchan swore was in Eunseok’s car. he slips the key into his pocket and reminds himself to hide it inside of the apartment later. 

One after taking everything out of the center console does Eunseok find his box of matches, deep in the bottom corner where it was forgotten for god knows how long. regardless, he is so happy to find the matches he almost kisses the flimsy box. 

He backs out of the car through the open window and opens the matchbox. He sees three perfect matches and nearly cries from happiness. His nicotine addiction induced by stress continues to fight for another day.

Eunseok is sure he looks insane to beyond the parking lot. He sticks out like a sore thumb, wearing a business casual outfit to an indie rock bands possible arrest. He tries to salvage what little confidence he has left by leaning on the hood of his car and striking the match. He smiles to himself inwardly when he’s able to successfully light the end on the second try.

Eunseok had always made the deal with himself to let his insecurities run wild until he reaches the end of his cigarette. so as he pulls in the toxic fumes that still burn his throat he lets himself think about how ridiculous he looks. He thinks about his feeble attempt at seeming professional in this scratchy cheap blazer and how uncomfortable his faux suede boots are. They were on the clearance rack in the women’s section, marked down from the already ridiculously cheap price. Eunseok thinks about the people that are looking for their rockstars and instead find a journalist smoking a cigarette in the middle of the night. They must wonder why he gets the privilege to be that close to the hotel, why he has the clearance to go inside. They must know he doesn’t belong here and they must think he don’t deserve a job as cool as the one he has. 

Little do all they know that the pay is shit and Eunseok has had  to spend countless weekends trying to coax answers from half baked artists whose ego is the size of the sun. This job also gave Eunseok the shitty habit of smoking due to the stress, one that he has to cover up with travel sized mouthwash and sticks of gum. He only has the right to be here because he has schmoozed his way to this spot for nearly five years.

when Eunseok finishes his cigarette he removes all negative thoughts from his head. He drops the orange butt to the ground and puts it out with the heel of his cheap—affordable shoe. He goes back into his car and rolls up the window using the crank. Eunseok then clambers over the center console, reaching forward to the passengers seat to grab his messenger bag. He steps on wrappers of of candy and empty bags of fast food to go into the backseat of his shitty—vintage car. 

He gets out through the backdoor and goes to the front. He grabs his press badge that hangs off the rearview mirror. After he makes sure he has everything, he locks all the windows. It’s a whole process to make sure the car is secured, one that Eunseok forces himself to laugh about now.

The first step towards the hotel is the hardest. He has to hold onto the strap of his sling back for comfort and doesn’t look back at the crowd as he wills his feet forward. He can hear behind him people asking who he is, he even sees the shudders of a camera flash in confusion before it ceases immediately. He gets his press badge ready as he heads towards the entrance, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. His chews the two sticks of gum in his mouth vigorously before spitting it onto the pavement. The heeled boots almost sound hollow on the pavement, but it is loud enough to grab the attention of the cops. 

They look at him confused, one of them spreads his arms out to stop Eunseok from walking forward.

“No entry is allowed into the building, sir.” The officer says.

Eunseok is used to careless venue security questioning his credentials. In the presence of an actual badge he feels himself freezing up. He babbles, pulling up the flap of his messenger bag to try and call back whoever called him. He already starts to be herded back towards his car before Wendy turns away from her conversation to the commotion.

“He’s good to go up.” She yells.

Eunseok looks towards Wendy, leaving her conversation with an officer and a girl with a bathrobe and a bloodied face to approach Eunseok. She is halfway between the two conversations, yelling again to get the officers attention. 

He remembers when he first met Wendy. She was a clean cut professional, a titan in her field of managing artists. Before Halcyon she only managed solo pop artists, but with the music worlds preferences changing she went to managing rock bands instead. Wendy had Eunseok’s respect, she had the respect from half of the industry for her bravery when it came to managing the mess that was Halcyon. Sometimes he wondered if she regret her  decision. When she wasn’t wearing her fancy pantsuits or the expensive jewelry she looked tired. Her hair wasn’t managed in the neat bob but instead pulled to a tight ponytail. From here Eunseok could see that she was pulled from her bed the same way he was, he could see she still had her pajama bottoms on. Eunseok had never seen Wendy in sneakers the entire time he’s known her, but she slipped the shoes on and had a jacket thrown over what he assumed to be her night shirt. She looked exhausted. 

She didn’t even have the energy to try and explain what was going on. She only motioned towards the hotel, telling Eunseok that they were waiting for him on the thirty-ninth floor.

Eunseok was shocked when he walked through the lobby and it was completely empty. He had been in his fair share of hotel’s this late into the night, but there was always atleast a concierge behind the front desk. Here it was nothing, only Eunseok walking across the linoleum floors to the elevators. There was a feeling of dread creeping across his body as he waited for the elevator to come back to the lobby. He remembered the bloodied face of the girl outside, how desperate and tired Wendy looked in between talking to the cops and her. Eunseok already knew you had something to do with it. 

Eunseok looks at the elevator that has finally come down to the lobby. He shuffles inside, hitting the top floor and waits for the door to close.

Eunseok has always been forced to wait for Halcyon. When the band experienced overnight success purely from word of mouth and radio play it was hard to reach the group at all. The worst part was that the elusive nature of Halcyon wasn’t by design, it was purely because the group lacked the fundamentals that came with running a band. Back when the band had no manager or record label—even Halcyon wasn’t the official name yet—and they were essentially ghosts occupying the top of charts internationally and domestically. 

Back when Eunseok was struggling even more than he did now he was chasing after the group. He was for some reason more intrigued then by Halcyon. He became an investigative journalist, canvasing the dingy bars the band used to frequent to become a part of the rumor mill. He posed as an interested fan to get background information. Eunseok found out that Halcyon was a two member group, Shotaro Osaki on the drums and Park Wonbin on everything else. The storekeepers were more than happy to retell the stories, all of them claimed that in the back corner or on the small stage was where Halcyon was formed. They were the pride and joy of the rundown punk bars, nothing like the half-baked rock stars that dominated the scene.

Eunseok still remembers the rush of scoring an interview with the band for the first time. That was after Shotaro split for unknown reasons and you became his stand in. Eunseok was brought backstage by Wendy to talk with the two of you before a show. He remembers struggling to keep up with her in his shitty—affordable boots. He remembers swallowing the gum he forgot to spit out and having to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants to dry them. He remembers having to clear his throat constantly and being underneath your scrutinizing twin glares. He had to decipher your questions but still felt the rush when he saw either of your eyes light up from his informed history on the band.

Back then Eunseok was excited to be a part of Halcyon’s world.

Now as the red analog number climbs up to the top floor he feels a pit forming in his stomach. It’s a burning stone, when he takes in a deep breath through his nose he smells drugs burning. He hasn’t even made it to the top floor yet. 

“Front cover.” Eunseok whispered to himself as the number climbed higher. “Front cover, spread, and promotion.” He repeated.

As soon as the elevator opened, Eunseok could smell it. The thick musky smell of weed filled the floor, he swore there was even a haze in the hallway like there was a smoke cloud. He wondered if the person talking to the suits was actually a manager of the building, coming to an agreement or settlement for the damage and disturbance a Halcyon party caused. There was a reason why the band was denied service from multiple hotels, one of them being a lifetime ban from a chain of hotels across the world.

Eunseok grimaced at the strong smell of weed as he passed through one of the open doors. As if a police investigation wasn’t going on downstairs Eunseok looked through the crack in the door to a couple that was engaging in an even stronger substance. There were other people in the room too, some of them doing other drugs and others making a bigger mess of the hotel room. Eunseok saw ripped up sheets and feathers from the pillows, spray painting on the wall. 

Right as Eunseok peered into the room across from it, he saw someone emerge from the room to pound on the door. They paid him no mind, even when he froze in his footsteps. He noticed the ash on the floor underneath the feet of the person banging on the door. His eyes travelled to the burns in the rugs when the door finally opened. Eunseok was only able to get a peak at the trash furniture before the man rushed inside, closing the door so hard it shook the ground underneath Eunseok’s feet.  The deadbolt being turned filled the hallway and Eunseok was finally moved to take another step, despite everything in his mind telling him not to do so.

He could leave right now, take the elevator all the way down to the lobby, get back in his shitty car, and never engage with the band Halcyon ever again. He could just rely on word of mouth, he was also sure whatever happened here today would make its way through the grapevine right back to him. 

Eunseok took another step towards the shut door. At the end of the hallway, just like Wendy described. He remembered the tone of her voice, how it was grave and low like there were unknown horrors behind the door. The only person to make it out of the room was downstairs in a bathrobe with a bloodied face and broken hand. 

Another step.

Was the same fate waiting for him? Why did they think to contact him directly, how were they even able to contact him directly? Eunseok knew that he might’ve been caught snooping around the scene that birthed Halcyon, but he would’ve never thought it’d be paid any mind. 

He makes it to the door entirely too fast. He presses both palms flat to the door as he holds his ear to the wood. He hears nothing, the complete opposite from the other rooms on this floor. He can hear Halcyon’s latest album blast behind the door of one, he can hear screaming behind the other and he prays he’s not hearing what he thinks he hears behind another. He just needs to focus on hearing what goes behind this one.

Just as Eunseok gets an inkling of a sound, the door is ripped open. Eunseok almost falls into the room completely from his sudden loss of something to lean against.

When the door is fully opened he sees the mess you two made. Eunseok has to stand straight to take it all in, his lips part as he’s stun locked in the doors entrance. He heard about your shared tendency to trash hotel rooms, but he never knew it was to this extent. Eunseok looks at the chunks of the drywall ripped straight from the infrastructure of the room to litter the floor in varying chunks. the tiniest pieces are already embedded in the fancy carpeting, pummeled to white dust from the other things that transpired in the room. Every piece of furniture is broken. A chair is leaned on its side and missing all the legs but one. Another chair next to it has the seat cushion smashed in, and the vanity leans the the side completely. 

The queen sized bed in the middle is completely covered by a million things. Torn paper, jostled piles of clothes, balled up sheets. Pieces of drywall rest on the bed and so does one of the chair legs. Eunseok sees the guitar and the bass tossed on top as well. The feathers from the pillow still float around in the air, and only then can Eunseok bring his gaze back up to Wonbin.

Now is reminiscent of the first time he ever saw him. Even underneath the harsh light of the hallway Wonbin’s skin was tan and flawless, complete with beautiful eyes and plump lips. They were bitten and glistening from his tongue that he ran over them as Eunseok took in everything. His hair was newly dyed raven black, the black leftover dye beaded at his wet hairline. His hair still bounced with each turn of his head despite it being weighed down, and it set perfectly the same way it always did. Wonbin stood in front of Eunseok in just his bathrobe, calm and collected despite the scene behind him. He only nodded before flicking his head backwards and leaning in close to Eunseok like he was about to tell him a secret.

“It was her this time, not me.” Wonbin says with a smile on his face.

Only then does Eunseok notice you. Your legs dangling over the edge of the bed as your arms splay out over the sides. Eunseok can see your ripped leggings and your missing shoe, he sees the forming bruises on your legs and your lack of movement worries him. The same time he draws a breath Wonbin follows his gaze backwards. He’s confused at first but then he scoffs, still leaning against the door frame before turning his head to face you.

“Wake up. Eunseokie is here.” Wonbin said.

Eunseok peered past Wonbin to watch you finally move on the bed. When you got up by your arms propping up on the bed Eunseok could make out the red smudges of blood across your face and knuckles, the almost catatonic look in your eyes. Eunseok could see the matching white powder on your black clothes and Wonbin’s robe. He didn’t care to ask if it was the drywall or something else, he convinced himself it was the former. Eunseok was more intrigued by the obvious look of crashing on whatever high emotions you were coming down from, whatever obviously caused this. You seemed unaffected as your feet kicked over the edge of the mattress, you and Wonbin had twin sinister smiles without even realizing it.

Eunseok should’ve stayed home.

“Why am I here?” Eunseok asked.

“Remember when you first met us?” Wonbin asked.

Wonbin pulled at Eunseok’s arm to pull him into the hotel room. Eunseok stayed planted in place, looking over his shoulder towards the elevator. He could make his great escape right now, he could take the elevator down and then sneak past Wendy and go back to his car. He could drive it home and go to sleep, pretending this night never happened. What waited for him in this room couldn’t have been good. But Eunseok kept getting pulled by Wonbin, and the idea of having this exclusive interview prior to your inevitable arrest pulled at him even more. Eunseok sighed heavily and reluctantly let himself be pulled into the mess of the hotel room.

Your feet that dangled over the edge of the bed started kicking in excitement. You watched Eunseok get pulled in by Wonbin, and watched him close the door behind him. He stayed by the closed door as Wonbin walked away, standing next to the place you sat. You watched Eunseok look from Wonbin to you, then he looked from you to Wonbin. He let out a sigh that you two laughed at, and when he went to scratch his eyebrow you and Wonbin looked at eachother. 

“I remember.” Eunseok adjusted the strap on his messenger bag, settling onto the balls of his feet as he tried to get comfortable. He kicked away the piece of drywall that was wedged underneath his foot. Eunseok looks down and continues to drag his foot across the carpet. You see tiny specks of white flick up from the carpet. “I remember when I first met you guys.” He laments.

“What was the question you asked us then that we didn’t answer?” Wonbin asks.

You stop kicking your feet. You watch Eunseok try to remember what happened all those years ago. Truthfully, you two didn’t answer his questions to begin with. Even before the makeshift media training Wendy tried to give you both, you two had the tendency to avoid questions. That first interview Eunseok gave you backstage was a mess. You two derailed constantly, Wendy interjected twice, and Eunseok was such a nervous wreck he stumbled through half the interview. 

Now Eunseok seemed fed up with the band. If you cared, you would’ve felt embarrassed about the common pattern people had in relation to the band. Whenever anyone would first become involved with Halcyon, it was always the same. They would look at you and Wonbin with stars in their eyes, singing praises about the two of you without being prompted. As time would go on they’d get more and more fed up, until they completely avoided the band altogether. At this point, the only person that was consistently in your circle was Wendy, and that was only because she was getting paid an ungodly amount of money to put up with it. 

You didn’t know when it shifted for Eunseok. Maybe it was on his way here. You imagine the wound of remorse had been festering for awhile, he was practically on your payroll while barely reaping the benefits. He was the only reporter you and Wonbin were even remotely candid with, he was at all of your album releases and the big shows behind the stage. But to your knowledge he still drove that busted ass car you’d see broken down on the shoulders of highways. 

“I asked you guys alot of questions then.” Eunseok says.

He’s irritated. He looks around the room at the mess, his eyes drag across everything. You wonder how long he had to drive to get there. 

When Wonbin doesn’t give any more indication of what he’s talking about you watch him look up to the ceiling. You see his face drop at the slanted ceiling fan that was one pull away from falling completely.

“Was it question about you two being lovers?” Eunseok asks.

You almost tilt your head back and laugh at that. You remembered when Eunseok read back the lyrics to a song about lovers meeting in dark alleys and asked if it was about your relationship with Wonbin. Wonbin answered then, without hesitation, Who said we were lovers? Eunseok was taken aback, anticipating that you two would’ve thrown him a bone for being knowledgable about your music. You were taken aback because Wonbin declared his undying love for you only an hour before the interview took place.

“Who said we were lovers?” You say quickly.

There were plenty of things that indirectly explicitly said you two were lovers, or something akin to that. The fact that you two nearly fucked onstage every show, the only thing separating your lips was the microphone caught between you two. The stage lights caught in your eyes as you leaned closer and closer to him, dancing facing him as he did his solo on the guitar. That’s not even to talk about what would happen off stage. Before that interview Wonbin had your back leaned across the hood of his vintage red Mercedes Benz Convertible in the private parking lot, your legs slung over his shoulders as he kneeled on the yellow line of the parking space. You could still smell yourself on his tongue during the interview, and you were able taste yourself after the show too. Groupies fucked him knowing you two were fucking, people in your circles still whispered to this day about your relationship. But of course, if it’s not said, then it’s not true.

Eunseok looks up from the ground to your even expression. Your throat hurts even when you speak quietly, baring the weight of the screaming you were doing an hour ago. Eunseok smiles at you, you don’t know if he smiles at the irony of this answer or the other objectively hilarious things about this situation.

“Your chemistry is palpable.” Eunseok answes.

When Eunseok does a pulling motion at his hair you tilt your head back to laugh. The infamous part during your performances when you’d pull at the hair on Wonbin’s head. The first time you did it was real, a compulsive reaction in response to the constant mess he put you through. After that it was all for show, to play the part of unfaltering love where you needed him close to you by all means. A messy hand tangled in his sweaty hair as you brought him close until your foreheads touched. The hair pull would be referenced throughout your shared careers, something that you two would only shrug your shoulders at. Now it made Wonbin roll his eyes and sit on the edge of the bed to bring attention back to him.

“Not that.” Wonbin clarified. 

Eunseok sighs and brings his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose. You have to bite your lip to hold back the laughter.

“Why’d you two call me here?” Eunseok asks.

Wonbin looks to you. Eunseok looks to the floor and takes in another breath, as if he’s trying to calm himself.

“You did alot of research about Halcyon long before you ever met us.” Eunseok is at the point where he doesn’t care enough to hide it. He simply nods before Wonbin looks over to you and takes in a deep breath. “But there was always the one thing you could never figure out.”

Eunseok scratches the back of his head as he thinks, and when he realizes it his fingers stop in their tracks. Even with his eyes pointed towards the floor you can see them widen before he looks up. 

Eunseok looks between you and Wonbin, hand still in his hair.

“You’re going to tell me how you ended up joining the band?” Eunseok asks.

When you and Wonbin nod together, you can see that Eunseok’s interest has been piqued. He looks behind him briefly and grabs the stool that was tossed on its side, sitting up on it immediately. You watch him try to balance on the missing leg, slinging his messenger bag to his lap so he can open it. Almost immediately that same spiral journal materializes and so does a pen and recorder. Eunseok doesn’t hesitate to press record.

“On the record?” Eunseok asks.

You and Wonbin both nod, sitting up a little straighter. You nod but Eunseok flicks his head towards the recorder in his hand, a silent reminder that he needs to hear you confirm it.

“On the record.” You confirm.

Eunseok leans forward in his seat, and you can see him already imagining all the stories he’s going to sell. This will get him that front cover he’s had his sights on for God knows how long, but you can see him contemplate on why you’re doing all of this. Two selfish rockstars are suddenly willing to reveal something they have kept under wraps for so long. But he doesn’t want to ask the question. Now that Eunseok has you two os willing to spill the secret, he doesn’t want to lose his chance. You’re lucky he doesn’t pry, and he’ll be lucky if you don’t clam up in the middle and recant your statement. You believe that’s why Eunseok acts fast now. He wastes no time to make sure his pen can write, and he opens up his journal to a page that already has questions written on it. A pair of glasses materializes on his face as he reads the page carefully.

“You both said that you met in an alleyway, but that didn’t lead to you getting put in the band.” 

Eunseok looks up from his journal and you shake your head. After Wonbin mounted you in the back of his tour bus while Wendy and and his bandmates looked for him he denied your request to come on tour with them.

“You gotta leave.” Wonbin buttoned his shirt while you were still laid out on your back in his bed. “No groupies are allowed on tour with us.” He said.

That’s when you pulled yourself from the mattress, ignoring the soreness across your body to be eye level with him. 

“I’m not a groupie.” You said matter-of-factly.

Wonbin stopped buttoning his shirt to look back at you with a smirk etched across his face.

“Oh yeah?” He asked.

Despite the obvious taunting in his voice you nodded anyway. You dug your hands deeper into the mattress, ignoring that sinking feeling that was in your gut. 

“I’m a singer. And I play bass.” You said.

Wonbin looked forward with a scoff while continuing to button his shirt.

“The band is full. We already have a singer and someone that plays bass.” He said.

Despite being told explicitly no, you leaned forward on the bed and shook your head.

“I write too. I’m a better at bass than that kid.” You said.

Wonbin only shook his head at you then. He insisted that he couldn’t take that kid out of the band because that was his bestfriend and he was excellent at the bass. He wasn’t wrong, after his time in Halcyon, Sion went on to be a well loved and revered bass player in the industry. He just wasn’t as good at you.

And he was in your way.

You shook your head at Eunseok to tell him that you were not let into the band that night. You saw the inquisitive look in his eye as he continued down the page, eyeing something written in the margins.

“Sion, the previous bassist of Halcyon said that he dropped from the group after he couldn’t complete the tour. He couldn’t give me the specifics then, and he doesn’t accept interviews now—”

“Good for him.” Wonbin interjects.

Eunseok eyes Wonbin carefully. Wonbin has omitted eye contact with both you and Eunseok, now it’s his turn to look around the room. He is focused on the smears of red wine that stain the wall and the broken glass that litters the floor in front of it. 

“I was wondering if you could enlighten me on his departure from the group?” Eunseok asked.

You knew that Eunseok took his research about the band seriously a long time ago. Back when the circle was small and word made it back to you and Wonbin quickly, you were informed that someone was snooping around the scene and asking about Halcyon. Back when the radio play was new and no one knew your names, there was a quiet man snooping around the places the band used to frequent and asking questions. 

You laugh to yourself and shake your head. Then you thought Eunseok was a cop, and you were scared shitless until you found out he was just a newbie reporter trying to impress his bosses.

“What does that have to do with me?” You asked.

“Well. Sion’s departure opened up a spot for you in Halcyon.” Eunseok pointed towards Wonbin, whose gaze had rotated to the wall behind Eunseok. “Don’t you think he left under strange circumstances?” He asked.

Wonbin only shrugged his shoulders. Eunseok went back to his notepad and wrote something you couldn’t see.

“I just heard her voice one night, and I couldn’t let it go.” Wonbin says.

That earns a big laugh. One that has you tilting your head back and laughing directly to the dangling ceiling fan. You laugh even more when you see Eunseok trying to understand, to connect the bits and pieces of stories he’s heard to match your reaction. He knows it’s no use, that he can only begin to assume why Wonbin turns to watch you laugh with a knowing smirk on his face that only grew with your reaction.

“Oh that’s what that was?” You say, wiping away a tear. 

Wonbin’s confession that he loved your voice was said before he heard you sing. He huffed it into the crook of your neck as his fingers pumped in and out of your heat in the back of the tour bus. After Gainesville, it seemed only right to follow him to Raleigh. You started finding your way to the back of the tour bus before anyone else was there. If Wonbin had half a working braincell or any thought beyond feeling good he should’ve been worried about how you so easily found your way onto the bus. But you found out quickly he only worried about his post-concert rituals, evident in the way he practically crawled to you down the narrow hallway of the bus. 

You waited for him at the very back on his bottom bunk, legs open and propped on the edge of the mattress. The closer he got the slower and lower he went, until he pressed a longing kiss to the area right above your ankle.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asked before placing another kiss.

“I didn’t.” You whispered.

That only spurred Wonbin on more. Despite popular opinion, Wonbin was more of the sheltered than he cared to admit. Before becoming a rockstar he grew up in the suburbs of Queens to a working class family. His proximity to the city lead to him seeing crazy on the subways and overhearing it on the bus, but he never met crazy. He never met someone who carelessly exposed herself  in the back of tour busses, or found a way to break into them by stealing the keys. He never met someone who so shamelessly lead his hand underneath the band of her underwear, or would finger herself if Wonbin wasn’t moving fast enough or doing it right. What type of guitarist doesn’t know how to use his hands? You’d always tease him without second thought, looking down to him when he spent his time looking down on everyone else. Wonbin never met someone who would get lost in him so easily, moaning loudly in his ear as he worked another finger in. 

But he had also never met someone who so clearly always had an ulterior motive. When he was getting lost in you and using you to keep the post-concert adrenaline from killing him you’d lean in close, hand wrapped in his hair before sucking harshly on the skin of his neck.

“Let me in the band.” You moaned.

Wonbin was going to say no before you pressed you palm hard against the crotch of his jeans. He felt your warmth and force seep through the thick fabric and his fingers in you stopped there movement. He only regained his composure when you started grinding your hands against his palm.

“Sion.” You pressed harder. Wonbin pushed his dick against your flattened hand. “Bassist.” He mumbled.

“Mhm. I know.” You licked the side of Wonbin’s face and continued talking directly to his ear as you pressed harder. His hand that was behind you suddenly gripped your waist with a bruising strength. “What if I got rid of him?” You asked.

Wonbin couldn’t see the way you were already thinking about how Sion could be dealt with. He was only paying attention to the way your walls clamped around his fingers and how you preened into his touch. He was so consumed by you that he only nodded his head quickly while digging his fingers further into your waist.

You assumed Wonbin took some of the blame for Sion’s abrupt departure from the band. Leaving in the middle of the tour after a brief stint in the hospital, a spot Halcyon suddenly opened up for you. You didn’t question it, neither did Wonbin. Shotaro was the only one that kept a close eye on you, whispering to his bandmate and not saying a word in your presence. You still remembered Shotaro’s reluctancy to even let you in the band, but you were down a bassist and you knew all the music. Just for a couple stops. Shotaro always made sure to make that clear.

Now you were here and he was not.

“Sion and Shotaro leaving is completely unrelated to me.” You say matter-of-factly. “I don’t think they like to be mentioned in articles these days either.” 

Eunseok digresses. He would love to ask how the group dwindled down to just the two of you but he knows he will be here forever, peeling back layer after layer. He’s also convinced he’s running out of time due to the sound of the other people on this floor yelling about pigs and the sound of doors being busted down. It’s only a matter of time before they seize the illegal contraband that’s in the other rooms and seizes you and Wonbin. So he closes his notebook and leans forward in the broken chair, putting all of his weight on the leg in the front.

“Where were you inducted into the band?” He asks.

“Fukushima.” You and Wonbin answer at the same time.

“Okay well.” Eunseok tries getting comfortable in the chair but its missing leg causes it to lean to the side. He has to keep his foot planted where the missing end would be. “What happened in Fukushima?” He repeats.

The same thing that happened in Fukushima happened in New York. And Amsterdam. And Ibiza. Anywhere in the world where you two were left to your own devices it happened.

Before you even landed in Japan, Wonbin was getting on your nerves. You were getting on his. The both of you were getting on the nerves of your entire team, looming over everyone like impeding doom. You both blamed it on the Asian showcase you were forced to go on. You downgraded from the sold out venues in North America to the crowded and stuffy underground clubs of the rock scene across Eastern Asia. 

The first strike happened in Beijing. Halycon’s studio debut record was snuck to the rock scene on cassette tapes from Hong Kong and Taiwan. Everyone in the crowd dressed like Wonbin, they had their hair touching their shoulders and the same leather jacket he donned. There, they liked him more. They sang his lyrics back to him twice as loud, shaking the floor and causing the windows to vibrate. The cramped stage caused you to accidentally step on the amp of Wonbin’s acoustic guitar, causing the music to abruptly stop. You were forced to perform an unplugged version of a song, making you shine but leaving Wonbin looking like an idiot. He was convinced you did it on purpose, seething at you on the private jet that you were jealous you weren’t a star like he was. You seethed back, telling him that he was nothing but a half-baked rockstar who let praise inflate his ego. 

The second strike was in Hongdae. If Wonbin was the favorite in Beijing, you were the favorite there. There all the men fell to your feet, passing you bouquets and crying anytime you looked in their general direction. They worshipped the ground you walked on, they followed you around the city after the show. You could see the anger on Wonbin’s face when you looked towards him in the middle of the show. You smiled at the permanent scowl, you took it a step further to ask the crowd please make some noise for our guitarist as if it was a charity. Wonbin gave a shy smile and bowed, but at the end of the show he held your hand tight, a silent sign that he was upset. You held his hand towards the  crowd, using his silent threat as a testament to your dedication to eachother.

You enjoyed the instances where you could use his narcissistic tendencies against him. He also performed better when he was angry. You liked when he’d look to you before cursing or inciting a fight in the crowd. People like Wonbin were born to be mad, and you believed you were put on this Earth to stoke the fire. 

When he was angry and it’d come to a boiling point when you two were alone it also meant he’d fuck you better. In Beijing you two made a mess of your hotel room, the bedsheets pulled from the bed and the floors cleared from the sounds you were making. 

That night in Hongdae, when you and Wonbin were at a penthouse party of some millionaire you two found a room away from everyone else. He caught you at the base of the stairs getting unbearably close to a man in a suit, and that ensued a screaming match. The drugs and the alcohol made everyone oblivious to your fight, or maybe the anger coursing through your veins made you forget about everyone else entirely. All you knew was that the fight ending with Wonbin chasing you up the stairs, pushing at you while you threw your limbs back in an effort to make him fall. He was poking and prodding at you, while you corralled him into a room with a lockable door.

“I fucking hate you.” You yelled it before the door even shut. 

Wonbin laughed as he turned the lock with his hands shaking from rage. You felt fire from the soles of your feet getting higher and higher, his sudden calmness only making you more upset.

“I fucking hate you back.” Wonbin sneered.

By the time the music changed downstairs to another floor shaking song you had Wonbin pushed against the door. Your face inches away from his, a permanent scowl etched on your face. An article was released the same day that rock-n-roll was dying and rockstars were all narcissists with anger issues. You stared down the man that refused to let you into the band you were singing and writing for so he could be the only star. Wonbin looked at the girl who got rid of his bandmates so she could secure her spot in the group.

When you and Wonbin looked at eachother for too long everything else started to come to the surface. It was hard to pretend to be an unbothered rockstar when someone who was going through the exact same thing was looking at you so intently. It was hard to fake indifference when the overwhelming weight of performing was becoming clearer and clearer. Why were you two doing this? Nothing was binding you to Halcyon or Wonbin. You could’ve booked a flight home and pretended none of this ever happened. He could afford to stop performing then and there with enough money to sustain his lifestyle.

But you two both knew whatever this was, was more complicated than that. Too avoidant and too toxic to quit, and the money and fame wasn’t too bad either. You two didn’t need an understanding relationship. Happy people made ballads and the stupid pop music that was stealing your radio play and the general public. Rockstars were toxic and they were mean, they are terrible because it’s freeing. So instead of bringing you close and telling you that he’s scared for the future of his band, Wonbin reaches forward and clashes his lips against yours. 

His kisses are angry and they make no sense. His teeth clash against yours and he moves you backwards in the general direction of a bed. You pull at him by a hand wrapped in his shirt and you make tiny sounds at each harsh collision. He was never gentle with you, and you liked it that way. Something had to have been fundamentally broken inside of you, something that would’ve made you want a normal life. Or to feel remorse for your actions that led you to this point. It was hard to believe that the way you behaved was wrong, because it made you money and one of the most famous people in the world.

“On the bed.” Wonbin said.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” You said back immediately.

Wonbin replied by tugging at your chest by your perked nipples that poked through your tee. You gasped in surprise and pain before cupping his dick roughly. The two of you stood next to the bed for a moment, smiling at the pain you were bringing the other. It wasn’t long before the pain turned into pleasure and you both fell to the bed at the same time. 

The next morning you two only woke up because Wendy had called every apartment building in the Hongdae area. As if the night before didn’t happen, like you and Wonbin didn’t relieve the tension through rough touches and markings, you still fought. During the plane ride you two were silent, the start of your mutual meltdowns. Wonbin wouldn’t speak directly to you the whole day, using Wendy and the roadies as an indirect link to conversation. You were just as worse, referring to Wonbin as that guy, stripping him of his name completely. That guy wouldn’t look at you as you did your soundcheck, that guy only sneakily said someone’s flat underneath his breath whenever a note didn’t sound right. 

By the time you made it to your underground Fukushima show you two weren’t speaking to eachother at all. Wendy refused to be involved in your mess and everyone else cleared the room when they saw either of you approaching. You two just let the silence continue, neither of you saying a word until you were about to go onstage. The worked of the club set up the mic stands on the small circular stage you two would be sharing before Wonbin suddenly turned to you.

“Halcyon is just me.”

With your eyes casted forward in shock, Wonbin saw his chance to take the stage. He left you on the other side as he started the concert without you, singing your part as you stood there in silence. You stumbled on stage and through the rest of the concert, hating that he bested you. The smile on Wonbin’s face said it all as he continued playing his guitar and singing your lines. When the show was over and the lights went out, Wonbin was like a ghost. He cleared the stage and the venue quickly, leaving you in the dust and without a place in the band. 

Two bangs on the door interrupted your story. Eunseok nearly fell from his chair at the abrupt sound. The impact shook the ceiling fan and made Wonbin look towards the door. 

You almost looked too, but Eunseok’s hand kept you focused on him. 

“What happened next?” Eunseok said, his voice laced with urgency.

“She came to me and expressed,” Wonbin stayed locked on the door as three more harsh knocks rang throughout the hotel room. “Her desire to be in the band.” He says, motioning to the room.

Eunseok would’ve loved to think that you came by Wonbin’s hotel room in Fukushima with agents and your demo tape, maybe even an audition prepared to show him you could fit into the music for Halcyon. But the way Wonbin smiled slyly and you leaned over and hit his shoulder made Eunseok think different. You two giggled together as you recalled more and more of that night. You only continued to giggle as the police made their presence known on the other side of the door. 

After the Fukushima show Wonbin left you all alone. You paced around in your hotel room as the carelessness in his voice as he denied you being a member of the group once again. You heard from security that Wonbin was down the hall with a girl that stayed behind at the venue. The same part replayed again in your mind. You couldn’t control yourself from leaving your hotel room and storming down the hall. 

You told the same story to Eunseok as the cops continued to beat on the door, the one he heard through the grapevines and the mugshot of you that was lost over the course of time and the lack of coverage of the arrest overseas. You often imagined if the story was relayed the same way back to him, or if the details were muddied by the game of telephone.

Wonbin and his groupie of the night just finished. She was face down on the bed, trying to recollect herself. You know Wonbin was able to go through so many girls and have so many crawling back not just because he’s gorgeous but because he knows how to fuck. Just look at him. Eunseok would’ve had to listen to hours of wishful thinking from girls who would never have a chance before getting to the actual information. You’re sure they left out the fact that you were wearing the same outfit you met Wonbin in, except you had no shoes on your feet. Just running down the expensive hotel lobby barefoot, barely making a sound as you cleared the carpet. 

They would’ve never talked about the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you held your ear up to the door. You could barely hear yourself when you covered the peephole and knocked politely. The groupie was so out of it that she didn’t think twice when someone covered the peephole and said “room service!” in a cheery voice. The girl who was still wobbly-kneed and only wearing a bathrobe called for Wonbin to answer the door. Poor girl must’ve never been to a hotel before. What type of hotel has room service that late in the night? She was nothing fit to be a rockstar. Wonbin thought that he could just replace you by finding another girl at the end of his show, like you weren’t one of a kind. He was too busy running the water for a bath and smoking his post-sex cigarette to be bothered. 

He just said “You can get it,” knowing that crazy bitch was on the other side! 

The retellings of that night never got it right. They never stopped to consider what Wonbin was doing. 

Plenty of people naturally assumed he was naked while this was happening. If he was in the bathroom drawling a bath or simply laying in the bed was always commonly fought about. They didn’t know that Wonbin was sitting on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom wrapped in a robe as he watched the tub fill with water. He was smoking his American Spirit in complete serenity while the fight happened behind him. He had the bathroom door opened, watching the fight with a smile on his face and a canoeing cigarette between his fingers before he turned away completely to deny culpability in case it ended badly. He counted the mustard tiles that lines the bathroom as each punch, scratch, slap, and scream came from the other room. You think afterwards he turned to look at himself in the mirror underneath the warm yellow glow of the light and adjusted his appearance. You imagined he knew he’d be suffering the same fate if he didn’t turn the charm on. 

But you didn’t know what Wonbin was doing exactly. You couldn’t see much besides the girl underneath you. You couldn’t hear anything besides the noises you two were making together. 

When you would entertain the rumors and have them relayed back to you, there were always multiple accounts of the brawl between you and the groupie. What they did get right that one the door was open a crack you kicked it open full force. 

What they got wrong was that the groupie screamed immediately. She did yell when you got on top of her after she fell to the ground, but that was only after the initial shock wore off. Even Wonbin turned away from his cigarette when he heard the impact of the door on the groupies nose. The post-coitus warmth was replaced with something burning when you screamed first.

When the rest of the floor started opening up their doors and seeing what was happening in the room was when the other eye witness accounts started getting messy. Some say the groupie fought back. Some of them said that you kicked the door open so hard it fell off its hinges. The common consensus was that you fucked that poor girl up! then wrote a song about it! 

“Did you listen to the song through your blown out speakers, Eunseokie?” You asked.

Even he was turned towards the door as the police continued to slam into you. You focused on the tape recorder instead, eyes locking onto the two spinning reels as you continued your story.

People didn’t know if the stories inspired the lyrics, or if the stories were spun by people overanalyzing the lyrics. You and Wonbin were the only songwriters on all Halcyon tracks, it was hard for people to not think the music derived from your personal lives. The song couldn’t stop people from thinking you came around that corner into the bathroom with a knife in your hand. The groupie found a way out from underneath you and bolted out of the room screaming for her life with a bloodied face and her tail between her legs. You leaned against the doorframe as Wonbin stared up at you, not even looking at what you had in your hand.

“If you want me to do something for you, you need to use your words.”Wonbin would say. 

Maybe if they listened to the prechorus hard enough they’d know you dropped the knife instantly. But if they listened to the bridge they would’ve thought you waved it around just for show to see if you could scare Wonbin. But by the way he joined you as the backing vocals they’d know he had only looked to your bloody knuckles before taking a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill up the last sacred space in America where you could smoke indoors before offering it to you. He’d still sit on the toilet seat but lean towards the small ceramic sink to show you he wasn’t scared in the slightest. 

You took an even bigger drag than Wonbin did, watching the ember at the end ignite before turning to ash. You’d let out a smoky cloud right into his face, shuddering from the release of tension.

“Was she better than me?” You’d ask after putting out the end on the lip of the sink. 

Black and gray ash smeared against the white surface. You looked from the mess you were making on the sink to see Wonbin wordlessly shaking his head.

“Not even close.” He said without missing a beat.

“I should cut your dick off.” You’d laugh about it, pointing your long nail towards Wonbin’s dick that was twitching against the fabric of his bathrobe.

“Why? So you can keep it for yourself?” He teased.

Once again, this was where things got fuzzy for you. Some secrets are meant to stay between lovers, or whatever this mutually toxic and equally awful thing you and Wonbin had going on. The cops that came through then back in Fukushima were alot more serious than the cops that came through the door here, in Paramus, New Jersey. For Wendy—who followed closely behind the cops here—this would be an easy story to cover up. Another mugshot of yours would be taken and hidden behind lock and key, only getting revealed to people who would spend their hard earnings from work to see it behind dumpsters in alleyways. This night would just be another anecdote in the long line of mysterious lyrics and subject-changing phrases. The only form of proof in a small black and white photo of yourself. Your smiling face covered in scratches, makeup smudged across your eye bags from excessive rubbing, and blood on smeared across your blue and black knuckles that held up the card with your name and which jail held you overnight. You looked down to see that the collar of your black shirt was stretched beyond saving around your neck. 

Even when you looked like that, Wonbin stared at you like you put the sun and the the moon and the stares into the sky. You stared him down, leaving bloodstains on whatever you touched. He stood from his spot on the toilet seat to be eye level with you. 

I hear they fuck like they’re at war. I was sleeping with their bassist and I could hear them from down the hall. 

Wonbin grabbed at your wrist, bring your hand to eye level. You clenched your fist in a last ditch attempt at resisting him, but he’d pull you into his bare chest so fast you’d barely have time to adjust. You settled in embarrassingly fast, giving you the most gentle kiss on your cracked red lips. You couldn’t taste any other girl on him over the smoke. You were burning eachother up, only pulling the other to get closer. At the thought of the other girl in this position you felt the rage bubbling in again, but instead of fighting you only leaned fully into Wonbin, making your shared bodyweight pressed against the tiny sink. 

You and him were reacting in desperation only. His rough hand pulling at your waist underneath your shirt, your hand fisting the material of his clothes. Your shirt was off and your pants were wrapped around only one ankle as you two clambered around the tiny space of the bathroom. She’s one of those new-age feminists, ya know the type that likes to be in charge, even in bed. You pushed him against the wall opposite of the sink, then against the closed door of the bathroom. Anytime he tried to take control your took it back, slipping your tongue into his mouth and tilting his head the way you wanted it to go with your bloody hands. Anytime he tried to do the same you smacked away his hand or pinched his neck. The only thing you allowed Wonbin to do was stuff his hand into your underwear, and the only time you let him guide you was to put your foot on the edge of the tub to open you up more. 

Wonbin is even worse than her though. since he’s so used to getting what he wants. If they were wrong they would’ve guessed he took control back by picking you up and fucking you against the wall or on top of the sink, reeling off the metallic smell of blood while your hands tangled in his inky hair. 

In the end they were only right about the two of you being reckless, just reckless. You two carelessly kicked the knife around, causing the wooden handle to ricochet off the walls on the ground. Even with a spinning blade near your feet you two wouldn’t be deterred. You two wouldn’t separated until a police officer came through the crooked open door with the groupie trailing close behind. 

“That’s her!” She said in a shrill voice as she pointed her finger towards you. 

You only rolled your eyes before pulling away from Wonbin. He put on his robe while you lazily put on your clothes, being pulled away in handcuffs. Even haphazardly clothed on your way to jail you were be unbothered, quickly fixing your mussed hair with blood crusting underneath your fingernails. Only when you heard the whistling of a cop as they guided you out the hotel room would you remember the other reason you came to Wonbin’s hotel. 

Other people waited for you in the hallway. Roadies you couldn’t remember the name of, more cops holding things they will try to put you away to jail for, and Wendy with that look of disappointment on her face. Eunseok trailed close behind, Eunseok still holding the tape recorder close to your mouth.

She looked back to him one more time as the police were leading her out. This is seriously what the cops and what the groupie said she said, word for word. She looked back, hair a mess, blood on her hands and scratches on her face but smiling like a fucking crazy idiot. She started whistling with the cop like she knew the mindless tune or something. Before she rounded the corner to leave the room she spoke directly to him. 

He leaned against the broken doorframe of the hotel room with his arms crossed like an upset Mom watching her kid get walked out. When she looked back at him he smiled like he read her fucking mind or something.

There was some sort of binding vow that kept the recliner safe.

Even if it made no sense, to Anton and to you it felt like doing it on the recliner was better than doing it anywhere else. As though Anton’s dad was all the way in South Korea unknowingly keeping his irresponsible son honest. The terrible conversation they had about safe sex in his home studio lingered in the air and seeped into the recliner through the cracks in the vinyl covering.

Neither of you had a condom but that was okay because the recliner itself was one big condom, keeping you both safe from whatever absolutely couldn’t happen.

No matter how Anton felt about you, he was convinced that nothing would ever come of it. Not only was he a responsible and dutiful son, he promised his dad he wouldn’t do reckless things to save his mom the trouble. He would also never do anything because the mere thought of holding hands made his palms sweaty. He didn’t even really know how to have sex, much less with someone he’s friends with and has been dating-but-not-really-dating for the last year. You once described the relationship as something that had to do with close proximity and your shared taste in nerd-rock bands everyone else thought were shitty. Even if he did share that kiss with you in Park Wonbin's sweaty basement for no reason and you two did hold hands, you weren't together. You two were open and honest but you got defensive once when Anton brought up anything regarding your relationship. So because of that, the thought of having to speak or touch you even if he wanted to, and you never had any complaints when he did, made Anton’s mind overflow with all that could go wrong.

But he was in the chair. This was better than laying missionary on the bed, or being on the floor. This was different than whatever you were going to do when you finally got the courage to take off your underwear and close the difference between you and him. 

You stood in front of Anton, watching him in just his boxers and a white shirt. His hoodie was taken off and thrown onto his small bed, his sweats were bunched at his feet. This scene had to be degrading, him with his pants down and staring at you waiting for what you were going to do next. You were wearing more clothes than him. You told yourself you couldn’t take off your layered shirts for his sake, not because the thought of being completely naked felt embarrassing. Anton was with you through your terrible nu-metal phase and even humored you and listened to the mixtape you burned for him. There was nothing worse than that but still, you stayed in your bra with your undershirt, the long sleeve, and the short sleeve band tee on top. Anton was still your bestfriend, and he could take back that he wanted to do this at any moment. 

There was also the fear that his mother and brother could come back. You two had lost track of time because you started awkwardly kissing immediately once you heard the front door close. Anton eventually found the strength to pull you onto his lap after sitting criss cross to accommodate you. Once you were there and your hands were on his shoulders bringing him closer, the seconds started turning into minutes, minutes turned into hours, so forth. You forgot when you even started and looking at the time was useless. 

All of this was ironic, because Anton’s mom had recently become wary of leaving you two alone. She had developed the habit of trying to snoop on your conversations while talking to his dad over the phone. She would stand in the kitchen, holding the phone close to her face while standing on her tiptoes to see over the upstairs banister into Anton’s room.

“Is he taking a liking to it?” Anton’s dad asked it over the phone when she described the scene to him. He was elated with the idea of the recliner going in his sons room. He saw it as some sort of compensation for missing more formative years in his life. He was happy imagining his son sitting in his old recliner, rocking back and forth on the creaky springs maybe even thinking about him. “He always favored that chair.” 

“It’s hideous,” Anton’s mom whispered it into the receiver, recalling the sight of it in Anton’s room. “Even in Anton’s mess of a room.”

The brown fraying recliner did not match Anton’s shining gold trophies and medals that hung on his wall. It didn’t match his old race car bed frame he couldn’t bring himself to replace. The way the recliner sat made Anton’s cluttered room an even tighter fit, and the growth spurt he had last summer made it so he had to bend his legs if he wanted to sit on the floor.

The reclining chair from his father’s studio was replaced with leather imported from overseas. The shipment came from Italy and stood on sturdy wooden rings with a detached ottoman. The new recliner was minimalist and smelled like a new car. The old one was clunky, the lever was sentient, and the vinyl started peeling off years ago. Anton’s brother said it was disgusting and his father said himself that he was due for an upgrade. 

Anton tried to remain indifferent to the old chair but when his mother asked for help to put it on the curb he found himself suddenly advocating for it to stay in the house. There was no reason for it to be downstairs in the studio where the new sofa was, and his mother would be damned putting it in the living room where anyone could see it. By the end of the day Anton was clearing out a place for the recliner in his room. Junyoung made that face of disgust and their mother tilted her head to the side. 

He already had a beanbag he rarely used and a million other things that cluttered his room. Anton’s mother told her son this gently, but he had already set his mind to it. He “cleared” a space—pushed a pile of unfolded laundry and stuffed animals from one side of his room to the other—just to make a brand new home for the disgusting sofa. Junyoung and him carried the heavy recliner up the stairs, bumping into the banister as his mom watched and told them to be careful. 

“He has a better use for it than I do.” Anton’s father said over the phone. Anton’s mom shook her head remembering her son’s promise of cleaning up his room. She also remembers that it felt like the entire family was in the room if she counted the chair. “Does he like it?”

“He likes sitting in it to do homework.” Anton’s mom from the kitchen peered up the stairs. From where she was she should be able to see directly into Anton’s room. She readjusted herself on her tiptoes, becoming more and more distracted as she tried to see what was going on. “But the one who’s really taken a liking to it is his friend.” 

Before her husband could say your name back to her in a titled voice Anton’s mom put her hand over the receiver of the phone and projected her voice.

“Kids.” She spoke sweetly, including an endearing term for everyone to seem inconspicuous. She pretended like she was talking to Junyoung through his closed door. She waited for a moment, until she could hear the sound of Anton calling back to her. “Are you guys hungry?” She asked.

“No. You just made us lunch.” Anton spoke barely above a normal talking volume back. 

Sound unfortunately carried easily even through half-shut doors. Anton’s mom had no reason to tell him to open the door all the way so she could snoop to her hearts content. Still though, she tried standing on her tiptoes again, desperately trying to see what was going on upstairs in her son’s room without prying.

“Lunch was really good by the way.” You said, even gentler than Anton’s.

“I can bring you guys up some snacks if you’d like?” She said back.

“Mom, we’re okay, really.” Anton’s voice told her that he knew what she was trying to do. She went back to the balls of her feet, trying to remember who was on the other side of the line. 

“You don’t have to bring us anything, you already made us lunch.” Your sweet voice followed afterwards, a cute pitch that neither of her sons had.

“Okay.” She let go of the receiver, trying to get one last look into Anton’s room. When she only saw the tip of his head she finally gave up, letting go of the receiver and bringing the phone back to her face. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you Mom.” 

“You bother them too much.” Her husband was amused on the other end of the line, even if his voice came out tired through the speaker. About seven thousand miles and fourteen hours separated them. “But do you think he’ll finally get furniture that matches?” He added.

His mother wasn’t completely against the idea of the recliner in Anton’s room. When her son looked back and for approval she nodded, and her approval made Junyoung follow suit. She liked the recliner because she hoped it would make Anton realize how juvenile the rest of his room was. The ill-fitted race car bed was from when he was a preteen and he’s amassed a collection of stuffed animals since he was a baby. The accolades from swimming was the most mature thing in her son’s room, even if there was a trophy from his little league days. Maybe the aged recliner would make Anton get things that accommodated his age. He could keep the gundam figurines because robots and guns are normal for kids his age, but not the colorful squishmallows. 

When his mother followed up the steps she had to breathe in before telling Anton that he needed to declutter his space. She said it to the stuffed animals spilling out from the hammock fastened to the wall and the barely closed doors of his closet she didn’t dare to open. She looked at the gundam figurines lining what was supposed to be his school desk and unfolded laundry resting at the foot of his bed.

The recliner could also be a stand-in for his father. She figured that in some weird way the recliner filled the void while he made music overseas. Next time she’d reprimand her son she already envisioned casting a glance towards the chair, like her husband was there backing her up. 

“Your mom definitely thinks we’re doing something we’re not supposed to.” You spoke while looking at your homework, settling deeper into the bean bag. Anton looked up from his notebook settled in between his bent legs. “She wants to come up here so bad.”

“What do you think she thinks we’re doing?” 

Anton asked the question just to pull you from your assignment. He knew the answer already, he picked up the desperation in his mother’s voice and the way she gently reminded Anton to keep the door open before you came over. He liked acting clueless because you always shot him the look that asked if he was stupid and deadpanned the answer. 

“She thinks we’re like,” Before the words could roll off your tongue you pause. It’s covered by the quiet mix coming through Anton’s CD player, but the way you avert your eyes and start picking at the corner of your paper makes it obvious. Anton looks back to his assignment too, trying to help you cover up the pause in your words. “kissing or something.” You finish.

Truthfully, what his parents think you two do when you’re left unsupervised is much worse than kissing. So much worse that Anton was sat down by his parents to have a terribly awkward safe sex talk. He didn’t know what he was doing in his dad’s home office or why they started the conversation with how you two met. 

Anton already knew that you became friends when you were freshmen, pushed to the outskirts of your grade’s caste. Your shared niche taste in media brought you two close together at the cost of any chance at being popular. He already knew that his only other opportunity to make friends was through forced proximity of his teammates on the swim team, and you still had your friend from childhood. She was the complete opposite of you—and she made fun of Anton any chance she got—but she was nice. She was the only popular kid that actually seemed to engage with people from other cliques.

But Anton already knew that it was you and him against the world. He didn’t know why his mother implemented a rule that the door had to be open when you two are in his room. Anton was confused by all this because one day his parents viewed you as his one and only friend and the next day you were viewed as a girl that he could possibly be romantically involved with. 

The way his parents acted around you made Anton look at you differently. He came to the conclusion that you were still the same, you still wore your baggy clothes and cursed almost every sentence and listened to the same music you always have. Anton had to tell his parents that you were still the same girl—and you were still only friends—even if you were seemingly getting prettier by the day. He had the moment of clarity when you two were in this exact position, where you were looking up at him asking what the answer was to a question on science homework. He came to the conclusion that him seeing you in a different light was based on technicality. Even if there was that girl on his swim team that asked him to the formal it made sense that you would be the subject of Anton’s dreams because you were always together. 

But maybe it was the chair. Both of you assumed that Anton’s mom realized how ridiculous she was being, and that there was nothing her responsible son and his unassuming friend would do. She was also trying really hard to get you both to come with her to the store, but once you both lamented how responsible you were trying to be studying for an exam she left you be. She wrangled Junyoung instead to be her companion on the trip grocery store run, said a prayer, and then left. 

With just you, Anton, and the CD playing in his room it was quiet. You mentioned the kissing or something to hide the fact it was all you ever thought about. Being left alone with him was harder these days. After your garage band was dissolved because Eunseok was visiting his grandparents for the rest of the month there was an extremely different air surrounding you two. Being partners for class projects was one thing, being alone in his room in an empty house was another.

There was no segue into you two kissing. One moment you were asking about that girl on Anton’s swim team and he was asking you about the boy from your English class. You told him that he was just a boy and Anton said she was just a girl. There was a stare that lasted too long and you holding your pencil so hard in your hand you thought it would break. When the silence became too much you reached forward, planting a kiss on the corner of Anton’s mouth. He hesitated, then he reciprocated, trig homework still bunched in his lap. 

The kisses started off slow and awkward, neither of you knowing exactly what to do with all of eachother.  The very act of crawling into Anton’s lap was humiliating for some reason, the sound of the notebooks and assignments being pushed to the side was embarrassing. Anton’s perpetually dry lips pressing to yours was slow, the overwhelming anticipation made first contact just feel like a regular touch. Anton was too nervous to ask you if you wanted to stop, and that was good because you were too embarrassed to tell him to do it again. Anton just silently stretched his legs fully until they pressed into the beanbag and he pulled you fully onto him, basically cradling you. 

Lack of communication made you two just slip through the motions. You both just continued pressing your lips against eachothers while your faces heated up from embarrassment until contact started feeling like something more. You think it changed when Anton tilted his head slightly to one side and wet his lips. When he went back in after that it made you tilt your head to the other side, and then it felt like something was actually happening. Anton’s hand that kept you still on his lap went to your head when it was obvious you weren’t going anywhere. You felt his hands grip the back of your neck. 

The hesitation from Anton to go into your hair made you gain your bearings long enough to finally create some distance. Anton’s hands left your body completely the second you moved, and you stood up immediately. You were dizzy from moving too quick and the view of Anton from above. His lips already looked different, plump from constant contact and wet from your shared spit. His tongue was peaking out before he let it go back into his mouth. His hands were pressed into the ground on either side of his body, and he looked so cramped in the small space between his bed and the wall. You looked from him to the recliner, trying to calm your racing heart. Each time you looked back to Anton he was already looking up at you, eyes wide and not moving an inch.  

You two should’ve definitely talk about whatever was happening. Silence has served the both of you well up to this point. Anton started moving slowly backwards until he could sit in the recliner. It rocked back from his weight when he reached for his sweater, and Anton kept his fingers there. He didn’t move fully until he saw you kick off your slippers and reach for the button on your cargo pants.

Anton’s mom was currently shopping, Junyoung went with her because you and Anton needed to focus on studying for the Trigonometry exam in two days. Instead you two were engaged in a silent standoff, one staring at the other while you tried to figure out what to do next.

Anton moved first. When his room got too dark from the evening he reached to his bedside table quickly, pulling the string on his Yoshitomo Nara table lamp to light the area. Your bare thighs were suddenly illuminated, your body casting a shadow on the wall behind you. Your cargo pants were bunched behind you, leaving you in your stripped crew socks and your baggy shirts that left too much to the imagination. When Anton turned on the light he realized he could be seen clearly too. He hoped he looked good sitting on the recliner in front of you. Like a boyish Adam Yauch or another rockstar you were always talking to him about.

You moved second. You don’t count the tremor that wracked through your body but you counted your hands finally leaving your sides to reach for your waist instead. You looked from Anton’s face to his hands, you watched them clench as you tried willing yourself to loosen up. You were supposed to be calmer than Anton was. You were supposed to be breaking through the tension with a joke at Anton’s expense and he was supposed to laugh to lighten the mood. But both of you were silent, trying to suppress the clues that you simultaneously panicking. 

You let out a deep breath, and another shake that was hidden underneath your layers of shirts. Your hands went to the waistband of your underwear, fingers going underneath the wrap around the elastic waistband. You’ve done this a million times, the setting and the audience were different but the motions were the same. You repeated that to herself over and over as you pulled your panties down, until you had to bend over to get them the rest of the way. 

When you came back up Anton’s hands were no longer balled up on top of his thighs. They were gripping the armrest now, and he was getting that leg bounce you always teased him for. You didn’t say anything this time because you watched him try to stop it. He wiped his hands on his legs until he reached his knee. He grasped around the joint and held tight until his knuckles became white. 

You had a handful of your underwear with cherries on it, still not taking a step towards him. That table lamp was expensive but it was never very bright. You thought about what Anton could see, if his eyes kept on darting down to her your because he didn’t like what he was seeing or because he couldn’t see it at all. 

You stepped forward and Anton leaned back into his seat. You took another step and he leaned forward. The third step left him awkwardly between the two positions, and his leg started bouncing again. You did feel bad, like you were playing with him without meaning to. You and Anton had built up a rapport centered around you lightly bullying him and him taking it. You couldn’t remember the last time you two were in complete silence like this, or when you two were so sincere and so lost. But this was cruel for you too, because up until twenty minutes ago you thought that Anton wasn’t interested in you at all. Now you’re walking towards him thinking about how this could ruin your friendship forever, or if he became your friend solely at the prospect of getting in your pants. You knew the situation was unlikely because Anton was your friend when you didn’t want to be kind to yourself, but the more you think about it the more it makes sense why there’s so much hesitation.

You’re in front of the recliner now. Anton pulled his legs together until his knees touched, making his large body small so you could have the most space possible. It was a kind gesture, but you were too busy being completely silent to acknowledge it. Anton looked between your legs up to your face, leaning back so much the chair tilted back with him. You casted a shadow on his face, but you could still make up the way he was looking at you through it. He offered his hands on the armrest of the recliner, giving you a place of stability if you wanted to take it further. Anton only looked at your chest in passing, not pressing further even if all you focused on was the center of his white shirt. He leaned forward to take the shirt off too, tossing it in the same place his sweatshirt was. 

Anton let out the smallest tremor. You looked at his silver necklace first, too afraid to look at his toned stomach. You could only get the courage to look at his broad chest, the way he looked against the back of the recliner. You had your hands on his shoulders when he pulled you onto his lap but looking at them now doesn’t make sense. You had seen the pictures of him with his shirt off, you’ve been to his swim meets before. Seeing him like this with no one else there was different. You couldn’t believe that this was the same guy who was lanky and bumping into everything the first time you met. This was a social outcast like you, someone who stayed in swim and orchestra because he wouldn’t have friends any other way. The same one who burned CD’s of nerd rock bands and idolized his father too much. 

When Anton’s hand that was on the armrest went palms up you quickly put your underwear there. He was surprised, taking his attention away from your face to his hand. His hand went rigid underneath the fabric and Anton was still staring at it, he didn’t move until your hands went to his shoulders for leverage. Like he couldn’t touch you with the hand holding your panties his other went to you, stabilizing you as you straddled his lap on the creaky recliner. 

For a moment it’s just you and Anton like that. Chest to chest, you hovering above his lap. Your eye level with him for what feels like the first time in your life, and the least amount of clothes separates the two of you. Even if you have on an undershirt, a long sleeve, and a band tee on it feels like your bare against Anton’s chest. Your hands stay on his shoulder and his arm stays on the lowest part of your waist that’s covered by clothes. His other hand closes around your underwear.

“I like that band.” 

Anton said it still looking into your eyes. You looked down like you didn’t know what shirt you were wearing. You and Anton actually went to the show together, you both forgot earplugs so you spent a portion of the opening act stuffing toilet paper into eachothers ears. 

You should've reminded him of that moment like he would've forgotten what you looked like looking up at him with worrying vocalizing concerns about toilet paper becoming permanently stuck in your ear. But instead you played with the chipping leather on the seat and nodded your head.

“I like them too.” You respond.

Another chance to talk about what’s happening dissolves in the air as you two settle into another bout of silence. Anton brings your underwear into your line of sight, a silent offering that for a split second you think is rejection. When you take it back you try to get off of him, but instantly both of his hands are on your waist keeping you in place. 

He experiments, letting his hands slide further and further down until his hands are on your bare skin underneath all your shirts. Your skin is flaming and his hands feel like ice, you stiffen and Anton gets a better grip on you. You’re in the palm of his hands and your underwear is wedged between his shoulder blade and your hand. He keeps eye contact with you and applies the lightest force downwards. You give in immediately, and you feel the area you couldn’t bring yourself to look at before. Anton’s bulge is hard against your bare cunt, your combined heat overwhelms you. Already you can feel sweat lining your body underneath your shirts, and you can feel embarrassing wetness seep from you onto his boxers. 

There’s barely anything separating the two of you. All Anton would have to do is pull down his waistband or reach into the fly of his boxers and pull himself out. Maybe he shouldn’t. You always imagined you’d lose your virginity in college when you'd miraculously become hot enough to bang, or when you got married and someone was contractually obligated to find you sexy. Everyone else in your grade seemed to be doing this but you and Anton prided yourselves on being different. You didn’t not imagine losing it to him, he was the first real boy that you ever thought about kissing when he got really handsome over the summer two years ago. But this seemed wrong, like you were doing this wrong. Even if it felt so good that your combined slick and his precum made the thin layer of his boxers wet, this felt wrong. Feeling the ridge of Anton’s dick shouldn’t feel so nice, and you shouldn’t want more. The anticipation shouldn’t feel so nice that nothing feels like it will be enough.

Even if you’ve convinced yourself that this is all wrong, you still drag your hips forward in the smallest motion. Suddenly the creaking from the recliner while you two were trying to find a comfortable position stops. The silence is so loud, it somehow overpowers the music playing in Anton’s room. His hands freeze on your waist, your blunt nails dig into his shoulder. You look down at where you two almost are so close to meeting. You can see the discoloration on his boxers, and if you really focus you can see yourself glistening. When you glance up quickly Anton is looking down too, even if his hands on your hip are still unmoving. He doesn’t look up from your hips, and then you grind against him again.

The third time you drag your hips on his is when the first sound leaves his lips. A quiet moan, a quick sound that’s almost muffled by his closed lips. You focus on Anton’s neck, watching his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. His hands dig a little more into your waist, and you drag your hips again. Without looking at Anton you move forward slowly, until your chin is resting in the crook of his neck. You have enough leverage now to apply more pressure, dragging your bare cunt on his clothed dick.

His hand left your hip when you let your first sound slip out. He went to pressing his hand to your lower back, then as though he was waiting for you first more sounds of his own started slipping out. You stayed focused on his Adam’s apple, the way it moves in his throat with each sound. You’re driven by watching it move, you purposefully drag your hips rougher against his, just to see the movement.

“Oh my God.” Anton’s hand creeps up under your shirt until you can feel his large hand pressed between your shoulder. “That feels so good.” 

Anton’s voice is barely above a whisper. He does better than you, because you’re still completely silent, only nodding as you drag your hips on his again. 

Beyond Anton’s comment that floated around in his cluttered room, you two went back to being silent. Just pitiful noises swapped between the two of you, trying to be silent while also seeing what the other liked. Anton gripped you a little tighter when you whimpered and your lips would press against his neck, and you liked feeling his moans ring through his chest. 

“Should I—“ Anton moved, trying to offer something that got stuck in his throat “Do you want me to—”

The gesture towards your exposed bottom half made you shake your head on instinct. When you tried to pause his hand over your shirt kept you moving, tiny swivels against him. You were making a mess on his boxers, grinding on him like a dog in heat. You never heard about this being so embarrassing. You know it’s painfully obvious you’ve never been touched this way before. 

“I hear it helps.” Anton’s fingers dig into your shirt when you pause again. “And I’ll try to make it feel good for you.”

Anton’s hand is already drifting down when you nod your head. He leaves your waist and settles between your legs, cramming his long fingers through the space where your hips meet. Both of you let out a sigh at the same time, even when it’s just his inexperienced hand bumping into your clit. You still coat his fingers and he repeats the same awkward motion.

“You’re so wet.” Anton whispers. 

You say sorry even though you've never apologized for anything in your life. You sound so sincere it makes Anton shake his head.

"Don't apologize." He says quickly, repeating the motion.

He lifts his head from the recliner to look down, watching his fingers disappear as you continue your tiny grinds. He experiments with you. He scissors his fingers against your folds, he pushes a finger between them and glides down. He is operating off terrible guesswork and the sounds you make, when you try to stifle something by biting your lip or shaking your head slightly. 

You know Anton wants you to tell him what to do. At some point his gaze moved to the side of your face, intense and burning while he continued doing something with his fingers. You were figuring it out too, what you liked. Bossing Anton around was easier in different circumstances, but now he was beginning to pout when nothing he was doing was working. When you hear a whimper bubbling in his throat you take a chance, leaving your crumpled panties draped over his shoulder to drop your hand down.

You press two fingers to your clit and look at Anton’s chest, trying to find that place in your room on top of your bed where you did this the most. 

“Like this.” 

You say it quietly, soft motions that make you bump and grind on his hand. He keeps his hand still for you, and you continue grinding on the side of his hand. The slick sound replaces the silence in the room, only interrupted by the sound of your bodies moving on top of the fraying cushion.

Anton watches you for a moment, nodding like he’s the one touching your clit. You have to give him some credit, because he’s takes the leap to reach his hand from your waist to replace your fingers with his. 

You don’t know how to deal with the fact that Anton is bringing you pleasure like this. There’s something that creeps on you, burning on your cheeks as you start huffing into Anton’s neck. He tries his best to make it feel good for you, and he does it well. He’s attentive, learns too fast and continues to go when your hands would’ve started cramping. 

“Ton.” You whimper.

“Am I doing it right?” He asks. 

You grind on Anton’s hand and the other works your clit. You’ve never felt the extent of stimulation like this, grinding on something desperately while having another thing on your clit. There’s also never been someone but yourself doing this for you. 

The more you pathetically grind on Anton’s hand the hotter your cheeks feel, and then you feel sweat lining your body underneath your shirts.

You know something else is going to happen when Anton gets quiet again. He’s too nervous to ask what to do next and you’re too busy chasing after something to tell him. But you feel his hand go to your ass to lift you, and his hand that was on your clit goes further and further down until he presses into your entrance. 

Your fingers take him in too fast. You sigh into his neck, and your hands move to press into Anton’s chest. Your underwear is caught between your hand and his body, the wrinkled fabric against him.

You start grinding against his fingers inside of you. With your chest heaving you pull away from Anton’s neck, trying your best to hide how scared you are to look up at him. You find comfort in the fact that his cheeks are flushed and tinted red too, and that sweat is making hair stick to his forehead. You find enough courage to look at Anton directly, and you chase after that feeling you were trying to suppress. 

Anton is pressed into the recliner watching you bounce on his fingers. He keeps his fingers the same for you, not daring to move an inch while he watches you. His chest is heaving watching you. How far gone Anton is could be bizarre, but you’ve been in similarly gone thinking about him in this situation. His fingers feel just as good as you thought they would, and he’s so insistent on getting you somewhere he’s silent, not saying a word so he can focus completely on you.

“I can handle it.” You say it quickly. The first time you feel Anton’s fingers move inside of you is when your words register. Now it’s you reaching for Anton’s dick, an unsteady hand sticking right through the fly in his boxers. When you feel him heavy and sticky in your hands you pulse around his fingers “Let’s do it.” 

“Are you sure?” Anton asks the question purely on technicality. Both of you have already made it this far, not thinking about the consequences. You don’t even know what you’re sure of, besides the fact that Anton is twitching in your hand and a sigh racks through his entire body when you pull him out through his boxers.

There’s only hesitation when you felt Antons’ tip prod your entrance. You held onto his shoulders tight, keeping yourself suspended above him. The music stopped at some point, leaving you two with the creaky wood and springs in the recliner and your tense breathing.

“I’m really glad you’re here.” Anton says it like you haven’t spent almost everyday after school at his house for the past three years. His hand is still holding the base of his dick, his bicep flexing with each moment. You sink just a little deeper. His fingers couldn’t compare to this, because you’ve already felt yourself seize up again and Anton is letting out a tense breath at how tight you already feel. “But if you want me to stop, just say so.” 

“I want to keep going.” You say it, but you still are in the same place above his dick. Feeling his tip makes you lightheaded, and having him wait for you to move makes you want to crumble into him again. You can feel Anton let out a choked gasp when you sink a little further. You’ve made it past his tip, swollen and twitching inside of you when you retreat back to his neck. “Help me the rest of the way.”

You feel his head nod against yours, and then you feel his hand leave between your two bodies to wrap around your waist instead. He readjusts his grip on you, and you can feel your soft skin peaking through the space in his fingers. Anton has felt your frame underneath your layers of clothes, you feel tiny compared to him. You feel weak too, because Anton starts pulling you down slowly on top of him.

“Try to relax.” Anton croaks into your ear when you seize around him. “You’re too tight.”

Selfishly, you start making loud noises in Anton’s ear to try and relieve some of the pressure. He lets out a strained sound back to you, slowly working you down the rest of the way. He’s too big, the stretching from his large fingers did nothing to stretch you out. He’s a tight fit, and you’re getting tighter the more you think about how there’s somehow more of him to go.

Just before you curse into his ear, you feel yourself sitting on his lap. Anton is fully inside of you. Your hands are pressed to his chest and you feel like your body is melding into the recliner. Anton’s hands on your waist twitch and grasp at you. When you seize around him Anton pitches forward head hung low. You can see him scrunch his face, his eyebrows knitting together in concentration. You get used to him fast. From the very beginning you wanted more, and when your nails dig into his shoulder you finally get enough leverage to lift yourself on his lap.

Anton pulls in a deep breath fast and holds it. You do all the work, going up as high and you can before you can drop again. You repeat the motion, waiting for Anton to bring up his hanging head or to make a sound. He seems so helpless, almost shaking his head as his hands on your hips gets more desperate. You want to pull his head up manually so he has to look at you, but you can’t bring yourself to say a word. You grind on him when you sink fully down, feeling him writhe in your gut. You start hanging your head too, unable to find the strength to lift yourself up again.

Despite begging inwardly for Anton to lift your head, when he finally finds the strength to do it, you press your cheek to his. Physically touching is the contact you need, and not being able to see his face keeps you from burning up. The contact was what Anton needed to, because when your flushed cheeks smushed together he let moans slip from his parted lips louder. You were whimpering against his cheek, looking out the window behind the recliner to his yard. 

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Anton whispered it directly in your ear, fanning the side of your face with his quick breath. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling your clothed body against his bare chest. Your hands move to the back to the recliner and it tips backwards from the added weight. “I’ve—I’ve thought about this for so long.” He adds.

Over the top of the recliner you could see the backyard. During that summer before Anton’s dad cleared out the garage your band used to play there. You never would’ve thought that being in the backyard would lead you hear. The recliner creaks when Anton’s hand move underneath your ass, lifting you up slightly to bring you down. 

“I’ve thought about this too.” You say it even quieter than Anton did, nodding your head against his. His skin is so soft against yours, you keep moving your head just to feel his skin catch on yours. You start working with his strength to lift yourself on your knees.

The rhythm you and Anton build up is messy. The inclination of knowing music is out the window, the two of you lack pattern chasing after something. Anton can’t figure out if he wants to hold you tight by your waist or keep a tight grip on your ass. You can’t will away the burn working in your thighs, and you can’t work with the small space you have on the recliner. The chair tilts back and forth, screaming from the extra weight. 

The louder you and Anton get the louder the recliner gets too. When you curse and say tell Anton that you’re close the chair is almost louder than you.

“I think I’m close too.” Anton’s hand works up your back, ending with his large hand over the back of your neck. He squeezes and your body reacts by squeezing him tight. You make Anton’s next moan come out strained, his sentence is cut off when he experimentally squeezes the back of your neck again. “Does that feel good?”

You know his question comes from a genuine place of worry. He’s had a reputation of being so gentle with you it was unbearable at times. You wore baggy clothes and hung out with the boys in an effort of becoming one of them. Everyone seemed to know that except for Anton, always treating you like you were liable to break. Even when you know he wants to continue chasing after that feeling and bring you down on his dick faster he’s gentle, letting you set the pace and just helping you when your legs fail. He clenches the back of your neck a third time, and it feels like his concerns become dirty talk. You want him to ask you if he’s too big for you in that same worried tone, or too ask you if you’re sure you’re close. 

“Feels good Anton.” The chair continues to creak underneath you too. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on one thing. He’s unknowingly overstimulating, despite the fact that he’s quiet and gentle with you. You’re filling in the gaps, letting your imagination run beyond you two and this recliner. You think about your shared time together as friends, like the moment at the rock show when Anton’s hand gripped you the same way they do now. Like he doesn’t want to let go of you, like you’re his and he’s yours. “I’m really close.”

“Can I look at you?” 

Anton asks the question in between the recliner creaking and him bringing you back down on his twitching dick. He offers you the chance to ignore him, but you’re slowly nodding your head against his again.

With the gentle grip on the back of your neck Anton brings your face away from his. The split second you summon your remaining courage, following his gentle pull. You’re face to face with Anton. The recliner seems to get a little quieter, both of your hips falter when you make eye contact. Anton’s pupils are blown wide, his lips are parted and swollen. You see his tongue peak out, running over that place he always touches with his fingers. His hair falls in front of his face, bangs almost covering his eyes completely. You push his bangs out of the way quickly, both of your hands still cradling his face. You run your thumb over his cheek for a moment and Anton’s hand kneads your skin.

The second time you go in to kiss Anton is different from the first. Instead of closing your eyes and lurching forward it’s deliberate. You keep your eyes open until Anton closes his, squeezing his cheeks a little harder when you finally feel his lips press to yours.

Anton’s hand on the back of your neck moves to your face. You’re tilting your head and then he’s tilting it for you. You can hear your lips moving against eachother, then the feeling of his tongue poking your bottom lip. You open your mouth slow, and then it’s Anton’s tongue pressing flat against yours. You curve your tongue and mix spit, overextending the gap in your mouth to get a better taste. 

The action is messy, Your spit is smeared along the perimeter of Anton’s mouth when you start riding him again. It’s a simple motion, that’s closer to grinding than actually fucking yourself. But it’s enough to get Anton to hold your face still and separate your lips from his. Anton brings your head together until your foreheads touch. He’s breathing heavily as you continue grinding against his lap, just repeating the small motion. You can feel Anton’s body bumping into your clit, and you hear his breathing turn into his chest heaving. 

You don’t stop grinding, you open your eyes and see Anton looking through half-lidded eyes right back at you. You whimper and continue grinding, and one of his hand’s leaves your face to hold your ass. He speeds up your hips, and you hear the terrible creak in the recliner. You’re sure something will give out any minute, and right before the chair can rock all the way back Anton freezes underneath you. His words are caught in his throat, you think you hear him curse for the first time in your life before he leans his entire body against the back of the recliner. You continue riding him, and both of you become louder than the recliner. You’re cursing back at Anton, digging your nails into his skin and balling up your underwear in the palm of your hand. 

“Baby.” Anton moans, pathetic and loud. He projects towards the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut. His grip on your waist is bruising, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Your moans turn into loud grunts, and your grinds turn into flicks against his skin. “Too much. Too much.” He whines.

You nod your head quickly, flicking your hips three times before you finally feel relief. You let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding, and your whole body starts to collapse. You heave out each breath, your chest shaking. You have to breathe in deep to center yourself, and you seize around him each time you try to ground yourself. Anton is shaking his head against the back of the recliner. With each breath you get closer and closer to Anton, until your chest is pressing against his and his arms wrap around you to pull you in for a hug. 

When you move again Anton hisses right in your ear. You playfully grind against him again, and Anton weakly lifts you up until his dick slides out of you. He’s still half hard, landing against his stomach with a wet slap. He lets you lay back down on him, and you shiver when your bare cunt rests on his dick.

You’re laying against Anton’s chest for awhile. You can hear his heart rate finally start to slow down. His hand creeps underneath your layer of shirts, rubbing his hand on your bare back. Like it’s the most intimate thing you’ve done in the past hour he’s awkward, only continuing the massaging motion when you sigh contently against him.

Your shared sweat starts mixing with Anton’s welding you both to the peeling vinyl. You already feel disgusting against underneath your shirts, and the cold sweat from Anton that seeps through to you.

“Your mom will be back soon.” You murmur. 

You feel warmth seep out of you and you shiver again. You hum against his chest, feeling your eyelids get heavy.

Anton’s mom came through the door with Junyoung behind her. He had a handful of grocery bags, walking past her to go to the kitchen. She was busy standing on her tiptoes, and the moment she saw the closed door to Anton’s room her heart dropped. Junyoung was already going back outside to get the groceries when she said out loud she was going to get Anton.

Up the stairs she was contemplating on what to do Should she stomp up the stairs a little louder to give you two fair warning? Should she sneak up and try to catch you two in the act? Junyoung came back inside with more bags in his hands. He complained about wanting help before going back out, whispering under his breath that he was leaving the heavy stuff for Anton. 

His mom cleared the stairs and walked across the landing to her sons door. She held her head to the door first, trying to pick up on anything. At the sound of the recliner creaking loudly she knocked and opened the door in one go, preparing for the worst.

When she opened the door she found Anton in the recliner, in his white shirt and sweatpants. He was alone in the room, looking up from his assignment to his mother standing in the doorframe. Anton stopped rocking in the chair, the loud creaking coming to an end. She scanned the room quickly, trying to remember the reason why she came up here.

“She had to go home before it got to dark.” Anton said, answering her question.

“I’m making dinner, I would’ve given her a ride home.” 

Anton shrugs, clutching something in his hand. She sees that his pencil is on his bedside table. She really shouldn’t press the issue any further. She already stormed into her son’s room expecting to catch him in the act. She’s guilty, she lets go of the doorknob and almost turns around without saying another word. She sees Junyoung come inside again, more bags of food clutched in his hand. 

“Can you help your brother with the groceries?” She trades the order for a suggestion, trying to compensate for the intrusion in her room. Anton nods and shifts in the recliner, causing it to creak. He looks back down to his paper. “Whenever you finish what you’re working on.” She adds quickly.

“No it’s okay, I was done anyways. I’ll be down in a little bit.” Anton says and gets up from his chair. She leaves the room completely, her husband saying she needs to leave her son alone playing in her mind again and again. 

his fingers hooked into the waistband of your microscopic black pleated skirt, tugging it roughly down your thighs. you were wearing a tiny, cropped white t-shirt that barely covered anything, leaving your midriff completely bare. you had been about to step outside to grab something from the convenience store down the street, entirely forgetting that his group members were hanging out in the main area—and that sungchan was pathologically possessive.

"i was just... going to the store" you whispered, trying to turn your head away from the heat of his face. "sungchan, let go, the guys are literally right outside—"

"i don't give a fuck who's outside," he snarled softly, his dark eyes boring into yours as he trapped your smaller frame against his body. his large hand slid from your waist down to the meat of your thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a mark. "you think you're walking out of my apartment looking like a total slut? showing off your legs, your stomach... you wanted them to look at you, didn't you?"

"no! i didn't think—"

"exactly. you don't think" he cut you off, his breath hot and ragged as his anger quickly bled into pure, unadulterated lust.

he didn't waste another second. sungchan unzipped his pants with a heavy, metallic rasp that made your heart drop into your stomach. he grabbed your hips, lifting your small body effortlessly until you were forced to wrap your legs around his waist, sitting right on his thighs as he hovered over the edge of the desk.

the position exposed you completely. your tiny skirt was pushed up past your hips, and your underwear was ripped to the side with a single, violent tug of his long fingers.

"sungchan, please, they're gonna hear" you begged, tears prickling your eyes from the sheer panic of getting caught.

"then you better keep your fucking mouth shut" he growled.

without a single hint of preparation, he lined his thick, pulsing shaft against your opening and slammed into you in one blunt, unyielding motion.

the sudden, massive invasion made a choked-out shriek rise in your throat, but sungchan instantly clamped a large hand over your mouth, muffling the sound against his palm. your eyes went wide, tears spilling over your cheeks as your tight walls were forced to stretch around his immense size.

he didn't give you a second to breathe. he immediately started moving, his hips rolling in a heavy, punishing rhythm that made the wooden desk groan under your combined weight. every time his pelvis slapped against your thighs, the wet, heavy sound felt deafening in the small bedroom.

"fuck" sungchan choked out, his head rolling back as your tight muscles gripped him like a vice. his free hand moved under your cropped shirt, his palm heavy against your bare skin as he squeezed your waist, anchoring you to him.

"you feel so fucking good. look at you, crying and shaking just because daddy's taking what's his. you think you can dress like this for anyone else?"

you could only shake your head against his palm, sobbing silently as he kept pounding into you with zero mercy. the friction was overwhelming, burning hot and deep, hitting your sweet spot with every single brutal thrust. through the thin walls, you could hear the faint sound of one of the members laughing at the TV, making the risk and the pleasure blend into something completely dizzying.

sungchan noticed the way your eyes drifted toward the door, his grip on your waist tightening until it hurt.

"look at me" he commanded, his voice dropping into a harsh register that made your stomach flip. he slowly pulled his hand away from your mouth, replacing it with a sloppy, dominating kiss that tasted like iron and raw heat. "don't look at the door. focus on my cock ruining you. you wanted to show yourself off, right? take it."

he sped up, his thrusts becoming shallower but incredibly fast and frantic as he reached his limit. your fingers clawed at the fabric of his black shirt, your body bouncing violently against him with every rough stroke. you were a total mess, completely overstimulated by the intense speed and the constant fear of the door opening.

"cum for me" he groaned against your lips, his tongue tangling with yours. "clench around it, baby. show me how much you love getting punished."

a jagged, broken sob escaped you as your body completely shattered, your walls clamping down in a violent, crushing climax. the sudden pressure broke sungchan completely. he let out a low, guttural growl, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he delivered three deepest, unyielding thrusts, bottoming out entirely against your womb.

he came hard, filling you up with heavy, hot pulses of semen, his entire massive frame shaking as he emptied everything he had deep inside your core.

he stayed buried inside you for a long minute, his chest heaving against yours as he panted, his sweat dripping onto your bare stomach. finally, he pulled out with a wet, heavy pop, the fluids immediately leaking out onto your thighs.

sungchan quietly adjusted his clothes, his expression turning cold and satisfied as he looked down at your trembling, ruined form on his desk.

you whine softly, leaning into his touch, your small hands gripping the lapels of his black jacket as his fingers trail upward, capturing your waist. he loves seeing you like this, looking so small and immaculate under his heavy body, but the soft adoration in his eyes quickly starts to darken with pure, hungry need. his hands slide down to the hem of your dress, bunched up around your hips, and he doesn't even bother trying to take it off—he just pulls the fabric up out of the way, exposing your dripping, aching pussy to the cool air of the room.

"i'm not taking it off" he growls, his teeth grazing your earlobe as his long fingers slide down pushing your lacy panties aside to find your slick opening, instantly testing how wet you are for him. you let out a sharp gasp, your thighs trembling as he pumps two fingers deep inside you with a wet, sloppy sound. "i want to fuck you right into the mattress while you're wearing it. i want to see your pretty little frills bouncing while i take you."

he unzips his pants with a heavy, metallic rasp, his thick cock springing free, already leaking pre-cum. sungchan lays you in bed and positions himself on top of you, his big hands grabbing your hips to hold you perfectly still, and then he drives himself inside in one slow, unyielding motion.

the sheer size of him stretching you out makes your eyes roll back instantly, a broken, high-pitched scream tearing from your throat. "oppa— wait, it's too deep—" you sob, your nails digging right through his shirt into his shoulders as his pelvic bone slams hard against your clit.

"shh, just take it, baby. take daddy's cock" he groans, his pace immediately turning rough and punishing, completely discarding the softness from before. he's rolling his hips in that heavy, relentless rhythm, burying himself to the hilt over and over until your core is burning and swollen from the friction. the contrast is insane—you look so sweet and innocent in your pretty clothes, but underneath him, your legs are spread wide, your pussy clenching desperately around his thick length with every wet, sliding thrust.

sungchan leans down, his heavy chest flattening your breasts through the fabric of your dress, his dark eyes wide and completely obsessed as he watches your face break. "fuck, look at your reflection in the window. look how small you look under me. look at my girl getting ruined in her favorite dress."

he shifts his grip, grabbing your thighs and pulling them open even wider, his thrusts turning shallow and incredibly fast, pounding right against your sweet spot until you're a sobbing, shaking mess. you're babbling his name, your head tossing on the pillow as your climax hits you like a wave, your core clamping down on him so tight it breaks his control entirely.

"yeah, clench around it. hold daddy tight," he pants, his voice hoarse and desperate as he drives himself all the way in, holding his weight fully against you as his body goes rigid. he growls into your neck, his entire frame shuddering as he cums deep, pumping a massive, hot torrent of seed straight into your womb. you can feel every single pulse of him filling you up, the thick warmth overflowing and leaking out around his cock, dampening the fabric of your dress.

"you're so heavy, baby" anton murmured, though his big hands immediately came up to cup your hips, anchoring you tightly against him. his voice was deep and raspy, thick with sleep and an underlying laziness that always made your stomach flip. he didn't mean it as a complaint; he loved the weight of you. he loved knowing you were completely resting on him, letting him carry you. "so soft. look at how perfectly you fit right on top of me."

you let out a soft whine, nuzzling deeper into his neck, your thighs twitching against his sides. the friction of your bare skin rubbing against his sweatpants was starting to drive you crazy, a dull, heavy ache settling deep in your lower stomach.

anton chuckled, a low, vibrating sound in his chest that you felt more than heard. "impatient tonight? hm? daddy's girl is so needy."

he didn't wait for you to answer. his right hand caressed your hip. you were completely bare beneath him now, your heat radiating against his stomach.

anton kept his hand right on top of you. his large, heavy palm rested against the outside of your thigh for a second before his index and middle fingers slipped to find the slick, swollen heat between your thighs.

the moment those two long fingers slid over your drenched slit, your head snapped back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

"fuck, you're so wet for me already" anton groaned, his eyes darkening as he looked up at your flushed face. he used his index and middle fingers to slowly part your lips, smearing your own wetness all over you. "look at you. just laying on daddy and you're already dripping."

you tried to hide your face back in his neck, but anton brought his other hand up to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair to keep you looking down at him. he wanted to see every single expression.

slowly, his index and middle fingers started to pump against you. he kept the pressure steady, sometimes going back out, his two fingers sliding up and down your wet slit targeting your swollen clit. with every upward stroke, his fingers applied just enough pressure to make your hips jerk uncontrollably on top of him.

"ah— anton, please—" you sobbed, your fingers gripping his shoulders so tight your knuckles turned white. your knees dug into the mattress on either side of him as you tried to press yourself harder against his hand, but he kept his pace agonizingly slow.

"shh, take it" he whispered, his voice incredibly gentle but unyielding. his index and middle fingers kept up that steady, torturous rhythm, sliding through the thick creaminess you were producing. "you're doing so good for me. such a good girl, just taking it. let daddy make you feel good."

the contrast between his massive, heavy hand on top of you and the precise, burning friction of his two fingers was too much. you started to roll your hips, trying to force his hand to move faster, your cute socks sliding uselessly against the sheets as you thrashed.

"no, don't move" anton commanded, his grip on your hip tightening to pin your lower body completely still against his. "just lay there and let me do it. look at me while you get ruined."

you forced your eyes open, tears blurring your vision as you looked down into his dark, obsessed gaze. he looked so calm, so completely in control, while his index and middle fingers continued to slick over your clit, creating a wet, squelching sound that echoed loudly in the quiet bedroom. he was completely coating you in your own moisture, his fingers moving in a rhythm that knew exactly how to break you. pumping his fingers inside at times with a slow agonizing pace but curling them just right.

"that's it, watch me" anton murmured, a soft, proud smile finally breaking his calm expression as he saw the desperation in your eyes. "you look so beautiful when you're crying for daddy. so pretty and cooperative."

the friction build-up was becoming unbearable. every single stroke of his two fingers felt like a spark of electricity shooting straight to your core. your chest was heaving, your skin covered in a light sheen of sweat as you melted completely against his broad torso.

"i'm gonna— anton, i'm close, please—" you babbled, losing all your words as the tension in your thighs reached a breaking point.

"i know, baby. let go for me" anton whispered, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register. he finally sped up the movement of his index and middle fingers, his free hand flat and heavy on your lower back while those two fingers worked you into an absolute frenzy. they rubbed over your sensitive peak with a punishing, heavy rhythm that left no room for escape. "give it to me. let daddy feel how hard you clench around my fingers."

that broke you. your entire body going rigid as the orgasm crashed over you. your walls pulsed violently against his hand, your inner thighs shaking so hard you couldn't even keep your balance on top of him. you collapsed completely onto his chest, sobbing as the waves of pleasure ripped through you.

anton didn't stop. even as you were coming, his index and middle fingers kept moving, thrusting through the intense wetness to milk every last drop of the orgasm out of you.

"fuck, you're so tight" he groaned, his own hips twitching slightly underneath you as he felt the aftershocks of your climax. "look at how much you're shaking. such a good, sweet girl."

finally, his hand slowed down, though he didn't pull his fingers away. he left them resting gently against your soaked skin, keeping you grounded. his other arm wrapped entirely around your back, pulling your trembling body as close to his chest as physically possible.

he began to rub your back in long, soothing strokes, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses into your hair, your temple, and the corner of your damp eyes.

"you did so well" he murmured, his voice completely soft and full of affection now that the tension had broken. "so beautiful for me. just rest now, baby. daddy's got you."

divider @ suupersonic

you hum along to the song blasting from your earbuds and tap your finger to the beat, looking out the window and enjoying the city view.

you were moving to the big city, forcing a new chapter in your life hoping it will do you some good. and although you were at constant war with your own brain because of this decision, it was too late to turn back now.

you had already found a place to stay, with a roommate.

living on your own would be much too expensive, you browsed and browsed looking for a hidden gem, but nothing. up until you found an actual affordable apartment, with the perfect location on top of that!

you didn’t think to care about the space of the actual apartment, what mattered is that it was a place where all your favorite spots were in close distance, and it was nearby your potential future job, there was just one extra add-on.

you didn’t necessarily want a roommate, the process seemed too complicated, people are too.. weird.. it’s easier to struggle alone, not having anyone around to accommodate, but this opportunity was too good to pass up, especially considering the split was in your favor, it being much lower than one might expect.

so you took the deal, messaging the person to set things up with dread in your heart.

and what made the feeling even worse was that this roommate was a guy.

of course.

but.. he seemed nice, you two chatted over the phone, of course planning the move, and met when you visited the place.

as expected it was small, actually smaller than you envisioned—2 bedroom 1 bath, but you're sure it’ll all be fine. sungchan, the roommate, seemed okay, too much enthusiasm for your liking but it’ll do.

though the meet ups were.. awkward. obviously your fault, but you can’t help it, the timid feeling just always creeps up on you when hanging with other people.

you hated it, but it’s not like you can control it. since being a kid you were always the stereotypical ‘shy’ one, never able to hold eye contact and quick to end conversation. it was frustrating, and even made you feel pitiful, but maybe with this move something could change for the better.

you met with sungchan a few times to move all your stuff in, him being kind to move the majority of it for you and trying his best to create conversation, but it always failed. god you couldn’t even look into his eyes when he was looking, always fidgeting with your hands to keep you calm.

thankfully he never seemed too annoyed about it, never pushing you too much and knowing when to stop, if only you could verbalize your gratitude.

anyways, it was finally time for you to kiss your hometown goodbye for the last time as you sit on this subway with your last suitcase snuggled in your lap, clutching it for comfort as you continue to tap your finger along with the song.

you knock on his door and he practically opens it immediately, your grip on your suitcase becoming tighter already. “hey y/n! you were making me nervous for a second, it’s pretty late” sungchan smiled, holding the door wide open for you.

“uh yeah.. sorry..” you nervously chuckled as an attempt to be ‘normal’.

“do you need any help?”

“no no i’m fine, thanks..” you quickly replied as you swiftly headed to your room. before you got the chance to shut the door fully, sungchan said, his voice similar to a shout, “are you sure?”

you can’t even utter words this time, only just giving a thumbs up with a meek smile then almost slamming the door shut.

the very next morning you got up bright and early hoping you had a chance of avoiding your new roommate, but luck was never on your side.

as soon as the sun hit, you got ready to grab some groceries, not only as a ‘thanks’ but also because the man had nothing appetizing in the fridge.. but when you quietly opened your door there he was standing outside of his in a fitted tank top and baggy sweatpants.

you awkwardly froze seeing him, his room being right next to yours was quite unfortunate. “oh hey y/n! what are you doing this early?”

you clear your throat, forcing your eyes to hit the ground, “nothing really..” you mumbled, swiftly walking away to the living room to grab the extra key.

“sorry to bother you, morning gym guy you know, starting the day off right” sungchan sweetly clarifies, him already in your vicinity again.

a heat wave embarrassingly starts to raise, burning your face the closer he gets. all you could do is hum in response and shove the key in your purse, jiggling the front door knob open with pace.

he walks out right up behind you, locking it up with ease so he could remain close, “you need a ride?”

“that’s okay, thank you” your voice so quiet you’re shocked he even heard you. “are you sure?” “y-yeah yeah um have fun..!” you at least try to speak with confidence before picking up the pace, waving him off without even turning to look his way.

“you sure you got it?” your uber driver asked as you had all the bags tautly lined up on each arm. you wanted to be honest, the extremely heavy plastic bags basically cutting off your circulation, but your head was already shaking no.

“i’m fine thanks..” you huff. the driver didn’t hesitate, accepting your answer and immediately driving off. you were out for an hour and a half, maybe doing some over shopping, not thinking you’d actually have to take these bags all by yourself.

you weakly walked to the apartment entrance, thanking god his unit was on the ground floor, practically dragging yourself through the hallway.

you let the bags hit the floor, sliding down against the wall to rest once you reached his door. you sit there for a moment, catching your breath and messaging the red lines appearing on your forearms.

you didn’t know how long you were relaxing for, but it was obviously for too long as you turned to see sungchan coming around the corner, him on his phone with headphones on, key swinging in hand—sweat drenching his entire shirt.

you quickly tried to get up before he could notice, but the speed made you half trip over the groceries, stepping on what sounded like a cardboard box, it making a crunch sound, “shit..”

sungchan looks up and immediately picks up his pace, moving the headphones down to his neck, “are you locked out?”

“no no, just..” you breathed out as you were trying to pick up all the bags again.

“let me see,” he says, grabbing most of the bags without your permission. “you could’ve told me you were shopping, i would’ve helped”

you didn’t respond, the timid embarrassing feeling making you mute. he unlocks the door and pushes it open with his back, him standing there waiting for you to enter first. when you realize, you quickly rush past him, “sorry..”

you both lay the bags on the kitchen counter, sungchan immediately pulling things out and putting them in their proper places.

did i mention this place was small?

there was no way to walk around him. in this extremely narrow kitchen there he stood tall between the counter and the fridge, blocking your chance of leaving without asking.

to avoid your nerves from taking over, you just copy him, making the process quicker.

“what happened” he chuckled, holding a crushed box of cereal. the box busted at the bottom, half of the product in the plastic bag.

“i um.. i don’t know” you almost whisper, feeling his burning stare on the side of your face.

he doesn’t push, leaving the box in the bag and throwing it away, finishing with stocking the kitchen. he finally leaves and heads to his bedroom.

when his door clicks you let out a sigh, feeling lightheaded from practically holding your breath, he looked so good all sweaty.. you push your thoughts away, quickly uploading your last bag before sprinting to your room.

but of course, before you fully emerged, sungchan walks back out again, making eye contact with you.

you immediately divert your gaze to the floor, watching his black shoes squeak on the hardwood, “gonna use the bathroom real quick, okay?”

you just nod and smile, shutting the door and finally relaxing your shoulders.

you didn’t chat with him for the rest of the day, hearing his movements all around the place as you rotted in your bed, doom searching through your laptop, thinking about him..

unexpectedly you hear a light knock on your door, making you notice it was getting late, almost 10PM.

you scurried off the bed and opened the door with a crack. “you okay?”

“yeah..” you nod, then allowing your head to immediately drop, noticing his change of clothes. he wore dark flared denim and slightly chunky leather shoes. you could guess it cost him a lot for those pair.

“well i’m gonna bring a friend over, is that fine with you?” you frantically nod, giving him a ‘mhmm’ as a response. the both of you continue to stand, you awkwardly waiting for him to leave or do something, but he just continues to stand there.

you know he’s staring, but your brain won’t allow you to look up. you were unable to picture his expression, hoping he wasn’t annoyed..

finally you see his body move. “see ya.. text me if you need anything” sungchan murmured as he leisurely walked away. you close the door quickly, finally able to breathe.

gosh.. when he said he was going to bring a friend over you didn’t think he’d be gone for this long. you’ve been avoiding leaving the room, afraid that he’d come with his ‘friend’ while you’re out, but it’s already been over an hour and you haven’t even showered yet.

you took a chance and sneaked to the kitchen to grab fuel first, your stomach practically eating itself, but once you got there you were taken aback.

a fresh new box of cereal sitting pretty on the counter, the same brand you tragically killed that morning. the flustered feeling only lasted a second before the front door knob started to jiggle. of course.

you took the box and darted to your room, making it just in time. sungchan’s footsteps were heavy and irregular, sounding as if he’s continuously stumbling and stopping, his friend doing the same, but their footsteps have more of a ‘click’ noise.

as they get closer to around your door you hear it, kissing, oh god..

you quickly turn to switch your lamp off, hoping he’d think you’re already asleep.

they open his door and you can assume they’re in his room, but it doesn’t matter, you hear everything.

the thin wall between the bedrooms doesn't muffle a single sound. and to make matters worse his bed is right up against yours, the frames might as well be touching.

you move underneath your covers, covering your face with the blanket hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t.

god! what roommate does this??? they might as well be moaning and groaning in your ear.

but.. your brain can’t help but to focus on sungchan.. his groans are low, and he sounds rough—the woman making no effort to be quiet.

a pang feeling forms in your stomach, your thighs involuntarily pushing together.

the bed creaks as he speaks dirty, his voice so low you can’t hear everything he’s saying with the girl's whines overpowering. oh to be her..

you swear your mind is playing tricks as you start to fantasize, desperately needing to be in her position.

you couldn’t resist anymore, your hand reaching down and pressing against your embarrassingly soaked panties. you close your eyes, sighing at the pressure, almost immediately giving in and pushing past them, letting your fingers run through your folds.

you circle your clit—the louder they get the faster you go, imagining you were the one beneath him, feeling his hands all over your body.

you let out a soft yet guttural moan before quickly slapping your hand over your mouth. then something weird happens.

immediately after you slip up, the girl's sounds get muffled—either sungchan’s hand covers her mouth or her face is against a pillow—which makes his noises much more prevalent.

you don’t think much of it, too busy trying to get off as his voice becomes more raspy, his moans becoming more desperate. the sound of his rough thrusts almost taking you there, your mind becoming careless as you let muffled moans escape.

but they stop.

the girl letting out one final cry while sungchan hits one last thrust, the bed screeching at their body weight as they fall.

so you stop immediately. your stomach drops and the harsh feeling of guilt and embarrassment overpowers as you listen to the sound of their pants—ultimately turning you off.

how embarrassing.. you think as you immediately jump off the bed. he won’t take a shower right now, right? you take the risk anyways and sneak out your room, sprinting to the bathroom and locking it shut.

you sigh, disappointed at yourself, wanting to scrub your fingers till they were squeaky clean.

the very next day after a long restless night sleep, you finally got up, a pretty late start for your day but when does it matter.

you peak through your door to assume nobody is around, complete silence filling the space.

you head to the kitchen, putting the cereal you didn’t even get the chance to eat last time on the counter, opening it.

at the sound of the cardboard opening, a figure moves on the couch and you freeze. the girl.

she had swiftly gotten off the phone and sat up straight, only relaxing when she saw the sound was coming from you.

“oh hey!!” the blonde barbie says while getting up, then she walks towards you, “you must be the new ‘shy’ roommate he keeps talking about”

you stay silent for a minute before forcing yourself to greet, “yeah um.. that’s me”

“wow you really are awkward,” she giggles sweetly, “i won’t bother you anymore, i was just about to leave” she says as she walks behind you to open the fridge, grabbing a drink then heading to the front door.

“you’re very pretty by the way!” she beams before yanking the door open.

“t-thanks, you too!” your voice shakes but the sincerity is there. the girl smiles and giggles softly before closing the door shut, leaving the apartment.

when she leaves your face frowns, the guilt brutally coming back.. but you try your hardest to let it go, that won’t ever happen again, right…?

wrong.

you didn’t even get to see sungchan that day. you went out to do your duties and came back just to hoard yourself away in your room again, hearing his movements through the place once he finally got back.

you showered ahead of time to avoid complications, spending the rest of your time just rotting.

when it became night, he knocked on the door, but the embarrassment of the memory wouldn’t allow you to open it this time.

“y-yes?” you speak through the door, standing right behind it. “you alright?”

“yeah..” you can see his shadow through the gap from the bottom of the door, he doesn’t move.

“thanks..” you utter, wondering why he was still here. “for?”

“the um.. the cereal.. t-thank you” you tried to speak as loud as you could, but the results were quiet, pathetic.

“anytime, night” he says before finally moving to his room. every time you spoke with him it was like swallowing needles.. how embarrassing.

you let out a frustrated sigh and rub your face with both hands, then jumped into bed, swiftly turning the lamp off.

you lay on your side, tucking your hand underneath the pillow and pushing your knees closer to your chest, forcing your eyes shut. but you can’t fall asleep, your mind kept getting easily distracted.

sungchan’s movements are hard to ignore, especially when he’s been on your mind all day..

you hear the rustle of the sheets and his exhausted breaths, the frame hitting the wall every time he switches positions.

his breathing seemed so loud, as if you’re both in the same bed, your brain imagining what it’s like to feel his body heat next to you.

you were never a strong soldier, temptation always consuming you, a slave to your desires—so you let your hand slide down and slip underneath your panties, immediately stroking your hot core lazily.

you were so desperate—trusting into your own hand needing to release this, tiny pathetic whimpers slipping out. “fuck..” you curse to yourself, trying to muffle yourself with the pillow, but you were too concentrated to be 100% aware of how loud you might've been.

but it didn’t matter, unfortunate minutes went by and still nothing. so you stop, letting out a defeated sigh, embarrassment making your face heat up as you get up, needing to desperately scrub the slick off your hand.

the following morning, sungchan didn’t go to the gym, leaving him to spend the day rotting on the couch. you just had to go grab something to eat, your stomach cramping from hunger, so you sucked it up and swiftly went to the kitchen, trying to go unnoticed.

but he noticed, even with the loud tv muting your steps.

he was too enthralled with his movie to look back at you, but he still spoke—his elbow resting on the arm of the couch while his hand held his face, “how is your morning”

“okay” you took a minute to reply, pouring you a bowl and swiftly moving towards your room. but his voice stops you again.

“sorry if i was loud the other night” he finally looks away from the screen, leaning his head back on the back cushion, forcing eye contact with a sly look.

you quickly divert your gaze, your face getting hot, “um i-i went to bed right after you left..” you practically squeaked.

he just hums, then smirks, then lifts his head, finally looking back at the tv.

you stood there for only a moment, feet glued to the hardwood before rushing back to your room, ignoring sungchan for the rest of the day.

the past couple of weeks have been a repetitive cycle—a constant effort to avoid sungchan, him bringing the girl over twice a week to fuck, going into work every morning after somehow getting through the final interview, and every night feeding into your guilty pleasure..

hearing what he does, how he sleeps, how he fucks.. how are you to resist when the knot in your stomach gets tighter as the days go by, your core aching every time you feel his presence.

but there was no point in weakly giving in, because you could never ‘get there’.. always feeling embarrassed for even trying.

and with that, the guilt got worse every day. it ate at you, making it more debilitating to even acknowledge sungchan’s existence whenever he’d ask simple questions.

and today, the turmoil was really bothering you.

you get off of a tiring day of work at 3PM, feeling a bit overwhelmed this time by it. and seeing sungchan of course didn’t help at all.

you try to walk to your room fast but he says something, he always does, “you okay?”

tears start to fill your eyes, but you don’t allow them to fall. you just nod and keep walking, maybe closing your door harder than you’d like.

when the door clicked, the tears finally fell, all the insecure emotions taking over you, the regret and homesickness feeling the worst they’ve ever felt.

you try your hardest to suck it up after hearing a soft knock, but the water won’t stop flowing.

“what’s wrong y/n..? is it work?” he spoke softly through the door, sounding a bit hesitant. you try to play it off, but you’re a terrible liar, “i-i’m okay! it’s fine..”

you stand, back pressed against the door, breathing yourself calm for at least ten minutes, now desperately needing to unwind in the shower.

you get the usual, clothes etc before opening the door and almost walking out before you stumble over your own feet, genuinely shocked to see sungchan still there, the closeness causing him to tower over you.

when opening the door your head shot up, looking directly into his eyes with your teary ones. you both stare at each for a moment, you even more shocked to realize you’ve been holding eye contact, but you soon jump back into reality, the intimation getting you.

you tense up, looking down hoping he’d just move, but he doesn’t, instead speaking cautiously, “are you okay..?”

you nod, now getting the urge to shut the door.

“well i am here for you y/n.. even though we still don’t know each other haha..” he chuckles awkwardly, the corny attempt at comfort causing you to breathe out a laugh of your own.

“i really like having you around y/n.” the statement makes you feel nervous, but weirdly not in a bad way. you look up just for a second and nod, putting your head back down and forcing yourself to respond, “thanks.. same with you. or- uh i-i feel the same.. about.. you being around..”

your face gets hot, even hotter when he chuckles again, “well it is my apartment, but i’ll leave you alone”

sungchan opens his door and walks away. you can only make your way to the bathroom when his door is completely closed, you almost running to the next door over.

later that day you did the same as always, bed rotting till midnight struck. you’ve been hiding in your room all day but was there any point? you hadn’t heard sungchan’s movements at all, confused whether or not he was still here or left during your midday shower.

but you were too scared to check, so you rolled into bed and switched off your lamp.

but you’re alert. unable to sleep. watching the hours go by.

you tossed and turned, trying every sleep position, but nothing worked. the complete silence making you uneasy.

you eventually even put your ear to the wall, trying to listen inside his room, but it sounded so unusual, so silent.

you listened hard before something startled you out of your focus, the scare making your heart pound.

and even though you were extremely uneasy, you still felt a bit comforted to hear a knock on the door. you walk to it apprehensively, holding the knob for what felt like forever before finally opening it.

there he was, standing tall in a regular off white tee and dark colored sweatpants. his hair looked a bit damp, you wondering where he went to take a shower if not here.

before speaking he just stares with an odd unreadable look, causing you to of course let your head fall.

“did i wake you?” you shake your head no and wait. and wait. and wait. he doesn’t say anything else but his feet still stand, not moving a single inch.

you slowly raise your head, confused and timid, wondering why he’s even here.

you grip onto the door knob for comfort, your eyes going everywhere as his dark glare continues to steadily fixate on you.

“so why are you still up?” sungchan finally noted, taking a step closer, a wicked grin slowly growing.

“uh n-no reason..” you try to take a step back but with every step taken he just gets closer, unable to get distance.

his aroma was faint but noticeable, mixed with a girly body wash and alcohol.

“why aren’t you doing it tonight?” he raises a brow, looking a bit humored at your expression. your face feels like it’s going to melt off, your eyes dropping to the floor feeling the need to cry from the embarrassment. “i- uh.. i don’t..”

“do you think i’m fucking stupid?” he cuts into your desperate attempt to respond, chuckling right at you, “don’t pretend like you didn’t know.. so fucking whiny through that thin wall.. fucking yourself at the thought of me.”

tears flow down your face, god why is this happening.. you practically tremble where you stand.

sungchan puts a hand on your chin, forcing it up so you can see his dark lustful gaze. the height difference was almost scary, his broad body the only thing in your vision. your tearful eyes continued to drop.

“god you’re so pretty when you cry..” he breathes out, his eyes going from your tear stained cheeks to your quivering lips.

he forces a kiss on you, his tongue immediately pressing past your barrier making you taste the faint alcohol as he slides his hand to your tiny neck, adding pressure, his thumb dragging up and down. his other hand grips onto your waist, pulling you flush against him, you stumbling over your feet at the force.

you grip onto his shirt for support, a moan slipping out of you, quiet and desperate as he practically eats your face—sungchan takes his time at it, forcing his tongue deeper after every slow kiss, always letting it linger.

“say it right now and i’ll give you what you need,” he whispers against your lips while resting his forehead on your, “tell me you want it.”

you somehow cling onto his shirt even harder, tugging it lightly with your eyes closed. “say it.” he repeats, sounding more demanding than before. you try to force it out, but your nerves are everywhere.

“i.. i- shit..” you put your head down, squeezing your thighs together hard.

he moves both his hands to your shoulders, shoving you down into your bed and quickly crawls on top of you, your hands landing on the sides of your head, “it’s fucking pathetic you can’t even speak for yourself, you know that?”

“ ‘m sorry..” your voice almost inaudible, your thighs clenching even harder, more tears escaping without your command.

“do i have to force words out of you from now on?” sungchan growls, his lips darting for your neck.

whimpers flow out of your mouth, your brain fuzzy, unsure if this is actually happening. he sounded so nice.. his breathing and noises that land on your ear really could make you cum on the spot.. something that you’ve been trying to achieve for the longest.

a hand moves underneath your shirt to grip your bare boob, palming it, it fitting so perfectly in his hand. “god this is the most desperate you’ve ever sounded..” he muffles into your neck while squeezing your nipple, your soft whine becoming more louder.

the hand slowly slides down your body, him teasing with the waistband of your pants. “say it y/n.”

you huff, your voice trembling as you try to concentrate, “i need..”

you sigh as his hand fully slips underneath your pants, his fingers hovering over your slit, “i’m waiting.”

“i-i need you.. pl-please..”

his fingers press onto your clit over your drenched panties causing you give a high pitched moan. he circles through the wet fabric with perfect rhythm, his other hand tangling into your hair, gripping it.

he lifts and hovers his face right above yours, watching your contorting face with pleasure, “my poor baby needed this huh..”

you nod maybe a bit too eager, biting your lip as you try to muffle your sobs. your hips start to move against him, your temptations making you do the brave act.

“so fucking needy.. fuck..” he huffs into your face, his pace getting faster. the puddle somehow grows even more, your chest heaving at the contact.

“you wanted me to come and fuck you huh, fuck you like the attention seeking slut you are..” he slips his hand past your panties and immediately pumps two fingers into your core with no hesitation. you couldn’t resist anymore, letting all the cries and moans slip out as you sink into the bed, your body lightly shaking at the pleasure.

with every hit his pace increases and he gets deeper, curling his fingers perfectly. you cry out his name while arching your back, your head tilted back pressing against the mattress.

your hands dart to grip his shoulders hard as a rippling feeling shot through your spine. soft whines and squelching noises filled the room as you tensed up, your walls tightening around his fingers, his pace never slowing as he finger fucks you through it.

sungchan breathed out words in your face with a smug look as the overstimulation was getting to you, your whines getting even louder and your body tightening up, your legs quivering as he just kept going, enjoying his view.

“i can’t believe you actually thought i’d never hear you weeping every night.. getting turned on every time i fucked my girl.. rushing to the bathroom after failing to get yourself off.. can you do anything for yourself?..”

sungchan finally stops, showing you mercy when he finally takes his fingers out, you gasping at the loss, “you don’t have to worry about doing things by yourself anymore y/n..”

he pushes you farther into the middle of the bed than grabs your shirt, pulling it over your head for you and tossing it next to you. he quickly does the same, throwing his shirt on the floor.

he darts to your breast, taking one in his mouth while kneading the other, his tongue swirling around your nipple. his hot breath sends shivers down your spine, your pussy already aching again.

he alternates continuously, adding sucking and occasionally nips, practically toying with your tits. as if the overstimulation wasn’t already enough, you were starting to feel overwhelmed, the constant feeling of sensation making you tear up more.

sungchan rises from your chest and lets both his hands travel down your pants and panties that are still laid soaked against you, the wet fabric hugging your skin. he shoves the clothes down your legs and disregards them as well, leaving you completely bare.

you almost immediately cover your face with your arms, nervous of what he’ll say and how you look.

he stares at your body for long seconds before moving both hands to the sides of your waist, squeezing it then massaging it up and down.

he then lowers again as his hands slithered up to your arms, pushing them away then pinning them above your head, “why are you crying?”

he doesn’t even give you the chance to answer—not like you were going to anyways—kissing you soft, letting you breathe between each one.

he starts to grind against you, his sweat still on though you can feel how hard he was, finally noticing that he couldn’t be wearing boxers, his length making your breathing slightly erratic.

“you know when i fuck her i think about you..” he breathes out as he interlocks his hands with yours, your thighs trying to clench together again while he continues to hump slowly.

finally, he lets one hand drag down to his pants, quickly springing out his cock in a swift motion to let it kiss your clit, dragging himself to mix his pre cum with your wetness.

your breathing pitches, soft moans slipping through as you try to stifle them, you humming at the contact.

he teases your entrance, pushing the tip in and out, the movement very deliberate, “i’ve been thinking about this all day..” he voice low, sinister.

unexpectedly, he pulls away then completely flips you on your stomach, forcing your hips high then presses your face deep into the mattress, cheek against the blanket, a hand wrapping around the nape of your neck. he lines himself swiftly then without hesitation slams into your sopping pussy.

you grip the blanket as hard as you could, the stretch making you see dots, your sob getting muffled because of the position. you immediately clench around him as he keeps thrusting hard, not super fast but not gentle.

his other hand digs into your hip as he guides and controls you, fucking you deeper and deeper, the angle unforgiving. you weep and moan, more and more tears breaking through, tiny puddles forming by your face.

“you’re so small.. so tight.. f-fuck..” he murmured, his speed picking up. he slides his hand from your neck to your hair, grabbing a hand full and yanking it, forcing your head up.

you wince and sob more from the pain, your stomach getting tighter. the sound of sungchan’s heavy pants and the wet slaps bouncing off the walls making you want to release.

you cry out curses, your brain trying to form a coherent sentence, “sun-.. sh-shit.. ’m gonna..”

he gives you one last hard thrust before stopping, gripping your ass before pulling out completely, turning you over back on your back.

“fuck you’re so pretty..” he pants as he pulls your weak legs up over his shoulders, a hand wiping your tears, caressing your face.

you can’t stop whimpering, even without the feel of him inside you.

he grabs your shirt and quickly balls it up, shoving it in your mouth. he lines back up, the sensitivity causing you to tremble bad. a hand holds onto your ankle while the other finds support on your neck, his large hand wrapping around and squeezes it just perfectly all before sliding into you again.

his rhythm stayed consistent, hitting deep and hard while progressing the pace. you let out all your cries, not holding back since the shirt muffles your voice—the shirt getting a wet spot from the saliva.

sungchan stares hard onto your teared stained face, more escaping through your wet lashes, a light red color spread across your face. he groans, his voice shaky, “feel good..?”

you quickly nod, not caring anymore how eager it may looked.

“let me feel you baby.. do it..” that’s all it takes for your body to grip onto him, eyes rolling shut, you going stiff as your legs twitch against him. this second orgasm was so much more intense than the first, your moans getting caught in your throat while your vision was going white, dizziness and exhaustion taking over.

but he keeps pounding his hips against you, getting close to his own high.

he groans loudly and curses when he feels your grip, his rhythm finally becoming unsteady, “fuck y/n.. y/n.. such a fucking slut on my cock.. fuck you’re so pretty like this..”

sungchan finally gives you one last slam before holding, letting a whimper out as he fills you with a warm wave of cum. the grip on your neck gets tighter as he concentrates, making your vision even whiter.

after he comes down he lets go, moving his hands to rub down both your legs before moving them down. he takes out the shirt from your mouth for you and tiredly gets on top of you and lays on you, his head finding comfort in the curve of your neck, his arms caging your head—he never pulled out, cum overflowing around his cock.

your both are a breathing mess, your body limp, the sensitivity and exhaustion making you not care about his body weight crushing you.

he starts to stroke your cheek gently, kissing your neck while speaking, “i can help you with anything you know..” his voice horse, slurred, almost like he’s about to fall asleep, “stop being so shy.. i can take care of you..”

i appreciate you for your time and i love all the support ive been getting on my stuff thank you ILY ( ∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩) have a great day/nightᝰ.ᐟ

you sat on the bench of your family’s church, your gaze fixed on the preacher as he delivered a sermon on the virtues of unwavering faith. the air was thick with the scent of incense and the murmurs of the congregation, but your mind was somewhere else.

you yearned for that deeper connection that seemed difficult within the confines of your sheltered life.

the preacher’s words washed over you, a familiar passage that you heard countless times, yet as you listened, a growing sense of unease grew inside you.

—

you traced your fingers on the worn spine of the bibles and other religious books that lined your family’s bookshelf. a lifetime of devotion, you paused on a passage that spoke about the importance of submission and obedience. your brows furrowed, you began complementing the weight of the words and the impact on yourself and those around you.

you turned to your journal and wrote what you longed for, a deeper connection, any sense of authenticity beyond what the preacher and bible mentioned.

as the night washed over, you found yourself drawn to the window, your gaze watching the distant lights of the city beyond your quiet suburban neighborhood.

—

college, a place where adults break free from the shells they were once given. the strict rules, religious principals, and conservative values no longer held the same weight they once did before. away from watchful eyes and the set expectations, it was chance to be your true self.

which is why you find yourself at a bar with your roommate.

the bar was dimly lit, the air thick of cigarettes and cheap beer. the smell alone was overwhelming and intoxicating. your eyes scanned the crowd of bodies only to land on him.

the bassist.

you watched closely as his fingers strummed wildly. his eyes were filled with passion as he preformed. your eyes locked with one another, his gaze was intense and unwavering.

“y/n!”, your roommate called, you breaking you out of what felt like a trance. she followed your eyes back to the bassist and laughed. “that’s wonbin and luckily for you, we’re able to meet them”, she gave you a quick wink. your eyes broke contact with yuta’s to see your friend smiling at her recent ‘confession’. “wait what?”

—

the band finished their set with no hiccups, your roommate dragged you backstage. you were hesitant, feeling out of place again. your heart pounded in your chest, your mind raced with endless thoughts of what could possibly go wrong and you hated it.

your roommate was well known with the band, she looked like she belonged there. it wasn’t long before she left with the drummer sungchan. the feelings of isolation washed over you. before you could be swallowed by your thoughts a tap on your shoulder interrupting your thoughts, there stood wonbin, his eyes shining with curiosity and wonder.

“so what brings you here tonight?”, he asked, his eyes searching for yours once again. you felt your cheeks heat up, unsure how to properly respond. “my roommate kind of dragged me here, i’ve never been to a place like this before.”, your voice was soft and timid, mentally punching yourself for the insecurities that leaked the more you spoke.

a spark of interest lit up in wonbin’s eyes. “really? well i’m glad you joined her, it’s always nice to see someone new every once in awhile, especially someone as beautiful as you.”, his flattery made your cheeks burn even more. you found yourself unable to break the eye contact once again.

your throat went dry as your mind raced to find an appropriate response, something your mother would approve. “i should find my friend.”, you managed, turning towards the door she’d disappeared through.

his hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. his grip was firm but not painful. “i’m sure she’s still busy and i’m not done with you”, the contact sent a jolt through your body that felt like sin. you pulled your hand away, the heat lingering on your skin. “i don’t think this is appropriate.”

wonbin laughed, a deep rumble that vibrated against your skin. “baby we’re backstage at a rock show, appropriate left the building hours ago”, he crowded you against the wall, his arms caging you in. “let me guess, good christian girl never been to a bar, definitely never been fucked against a wall.”, your breath hitched at the vulgar words. “that’s disgusting.”

“is it?”, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “or im just being honest, i saw the way you looked at me on stage.”, tears of confusion began to fill your eyes. this is exactly what your parents warned you about, the devil’s temptation.

“i should go.”, you whispered, but your feet were glued to the ground below.

“stay.”, he murmured, his lips now tracing the line of your jaw. “let me show you a good time, how does that sound?”, his hand slid down to cup your ass, pulling you flushed against him. your knees went weak, no boy has ever touched you this way before. part of you was screaming to run, to pray and cleanse yourself of the unholy cravings that plagued your mind. but the other part is curious of what could happen.

you shook your head, too confused to form words. you stumbled away, your body humming with sensations you’ve never experienced before.

—

the silence in your dorm room stretched thin, each passing second threading to snap. your roommate leaned against her desk, arms crossed. her gaze was intense, making your skin prickle with goosebumps all over.

"something happened", she finally said. it wasn't a question, but an answer. she pushed off her desk and crossed the small space. "you've been weird since we left the bar.", you felt your throat tighten up. you shook your head, refusing to speak. "don't give me that, come on what happened?", she sat on the edge of your bed. "wonbin cornered you backstage, i saw the way he looked at you. almost like he wanted you."

your fingers twisted into the fabric of your skirt. the memory of his voice echoed in your mind. the devils temptation, promising you pleasure you had only read about in books your mother kept locked away. "he was just being friendly.", you whispered, but the lie did nothing to relief the stress you felt. your roommate laughed. "wonbin is never just 'friendly'.", she paused. "did he hurt you?"

you shook your head again, more forceful this time. no, he hadn't hurt you. he had awakened something you never thought was possible. "good.", she stood up, walking to the side of her room, rummaging through her bag. "because i'm going to give him your number."

your head snapped up. "what ? no you can't!", she rolled her eyes. "i can and i will!", her fingers glided across the phone screen. "he's been texting me nonstop since we left, he wants to know if you're ok, if he scared you off, if you're seeing anyone", she glanced up, a smirk plastering her face. "he's hooked, and honestly you could use a little rebellion in your life."

the protest died down in your throat. she was right, and the admission sent a wave of heat throughout your body. years of following the rules, of being a good daughter, the perfect student, the devoted Christian and in one night. an encounter with a bassist made you question everything. "there.", she slide her phone back into her purse. "done, now you have to decide what to do when he reaches out"

your phone buzzed on your nightstand, the sound echoed in the quiet dorm room. you stared at it, your heart hammering in your chest. it couldn't be him already, she just sent him your number. "answer it!!", she urged, her voice softening. "or at least send him a quick text message."

your hands trembled as you reached for the phone. the screen lit up with an unknown number, and beneath it, a message that made your breath catch in your throat.

'i'm sorry if i came on too strong tonight i'd really like to get to know you so coffee tomorrow?"

you read the message again and again, each word sent a jolt of excitement through you. this wasn't the same man that whispered sinful promises, this was someone entirely different.

'well?", she questioned, leaning over your shoulder. "what did he say?", you showed her the message, your hand shaking slightly. her eyebrows rose. "huh? maybe he's not the guy i thought he was", she paused. "or maybe he's smarter than i think he is" the words sent a shiver down your spine, but not entirely from fear. "are you going to respond?', she asked.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, letters blurring into one another, tears welling in your eyes. everything in your body screamed no, this was wrong, a dangerous path that can lead you to hell. but another part wanted to know more. this was your chance to finally experience what you've yearned for.

before your nerves could take over you sent him a quick text.

'okay'

the reply came almost instantly.

'great i'll pick you up at 11 where?'

you gave him your dorm address, you set your phone down, your hands trembling so badly you had clasp them together. your roommate squeezed your shoulder. "it's just coffee, nothing will happen."

—

the next day was a blur of silent panic. your closet, usually a simple collection of modest blouses and jeans, nothing felt right. everything felt like a costume for a girl you no longer wanted to be. you finally settled on a soft grey sweater and your darkest pair of jeans. at 11 am sharp, a knock echoed on your door. your heart began pounding in your chest, your roommate shot you a look of encouragement. you took a breath, the air felt somewhat suffocating, but you opened the door.

he stood there, not in the leather get up you once saw him in. his hair was slightly messy, and when his eyes met yours, there was a small genuine smile. "you ready?", he asked. his voice vibrated though you. all you could do was nod, grabbing your bag and following him out.

the drive to the coffee shop was filled with a low instrumental playing in the background filling the silence. he didn't push a conversation, just quick glances at you every now and then. a look of patience and understanding that helped calm you than any words could have.

the coffee shop was small, tucked away on a quiet street. you chose a small table in the corner, and as you talked the awkwardness began washing away. he asked about your classes, your major, things that felt normal, almost like a lifeline to you. you found yourself opening up about your love for old literature, the way you loved well crafted music and he listened while his gaze was fixed on you, almost intoxicating.

as the conversation deepened, a knot of anxiety washed over you. you stared at you latte, "i've never done this before", you blurted out. your hands were trembling in your lap, you clenched them together to stop the shaking. "gone on a date. gone for coffee... with someone like you." you glanced at him. "it made made me scared it still does it's uncomfortable."

wonbin's expression didn't change to pity or annoyance, but understanding. he leaned forward, his voice dropping even lower than before. "i'm sorry.", he said. "i came on too strong it's... a defensive mechanism." he paused, "i was in a relationship for a long time she... she cheated on me and it ended badly publicly", he let out a sigh before continuing. "i swore i'd never let anyone get that close again it's easier to be that guy everyone wants but no one can have."

he looked up, his gaze making your breath catch. "but then i saw you standing in the crowd looking like you didn't belong in some mosh pit you weren't trying to get my attention you were just there and i wanted to get to know you not the rockstar not the performance just me and you.", he let out a self deprecating laugh. "i'm messing this up what i'm trying to say is, you're different and i want to see where this goes, but only if you want to."

the knot in your stomach loosened, replaced with a new warmth. you took in a deep breath, finally looking up at him. "okay", the same words from the text but this time it felt heavier, more significant. "i want to."

a slow smile spread across his face, the air between you both shifted to an unspoken understanding. you talked for what felt like hours, the conversation flowing easily, after the new form of vulnerability.

—

he walked you to the car, the silence comfortable. he stopped besides the passenger door, turning to face you. the space between you two felt electric. "can i kiss you?" you couldn’t find your voice, so you just nodded. he leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away yet you stood there. the first touch was clumsy, noses slightly hitting each other, it was awkward, nothing like the perfect kisses you read about. but then his hand came up to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

he sighed, a soft sound of contentment, against your mouth, he titled his head deepening the kiss just slightly, still gentle. the awkwardness melted away and turned into something sweet. he lingered for a moment after it ended, his forehead resting against yours like he was cherishing this moment.

—

the months that followed the kiss felt like the books you've read about, each date felt like a new chapter of your life. he learned to map through your anxieties, slowly chipping away at the walls you had built for yourself. you learned the man beneath the rockstar was someone who was full of love and patience. tonight the trust you'd built into quiet certainty. you were ready.

wonbin had planned everything. he picked you up, a soft smile on his face as he took in the white dress you'd chosen. the date was perfect, a quiet rooftop candle lit dinner. it was so overwhelmingly perfect your throat tightened. no ne has ever treated you this way before.

he pulled out your chair, his gaze never leaving yours. throughout the meal, he talked about everything, but nothing at the same time. it made you feel like you two were the only ones in the world. as he poured you a glass of wine his fingers brushed against yours, which sent a jolt of electricity. the air grew thick of tension and desire, a silent promise.

the date ended, the ride back to his apartment was silent. your nerves began to swallow you whole. his hand rested on your thigh, a warm heavy weight that helped slightly snap you from your thoughts. you didn't speak, you placed your hand over his, lacing your fingers together. that was all the confirmation he needed.

inside the apartment, he finally spoke up, his expression was serious and soft. "are you sure", he asked, his voice barley over a whisper. you simply nodded, your heart hammering in your chest. he leaned in, the kiss was different than all the other kisses you shared, which made your knees weak. his hand cupped your face, his thumb stroking your cheeks as he deepened the kiss, exploring your mouth.

he lead you to the bedroom, undressing you with slowness. his fingers were careful, like he was scared to break you. your dress pooled at your feel, he laid you back on the bed, his eyes taking in your body. he kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, your collarbones, between your breast. his mouth found your nipple, you gasped. your back arching into his touch, a wave full of pleasure washed over you. he paid attention to the other nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud.

his hand slid down your stomach, his fingers dipping into your wet folds. you were already soaked, your body humming with desire. a feeling you never knew existed beyond the books you hidden from your mother. "please.", you whined out. he moved lower settling between your legs, he looked up at you all you could do was hide your face. "are you sure?", he asked full of concern. "of course."

the first touch of his tongue against your folds caused your jaw to drop. he licked and sucked, his hands holding your hips steady as you bucked against his face. he devoured you his tongue fucking your hole, his nose pressing against your clit. you let out a cry, trembling in his touch. "more..", you cried out, bucking your hips to meet his mouth. "i'm going to add a finger is that okay?", you nodded. wonbin added a finger, the stretch burned slightly , but you enjoyed every moment.

your body trembled, on the edge of your orgasm building in your core. wonbin noticed, adding a second finger, scissoring and stretching them. "cum for me, baby.", wonbin whispered, sucking harder on your clit. with a muffled moan, you came.

you were still trembling as he moved back over you, his body covering yours. you watched him as he removed his boxers, your breath catching in your throat a the sight of his size. his cock nudged at your slick entrance. he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "relax for me.", he murmured, kissing you softly.

he pushed forward, the stretch was intense, a sharp burning sting that made you tense up, he stilled immediately. "breathe.", he whispered against your lips. you did forcing yourself to relax, he pushed forward. inch by inch, filling you up completely until he was buried deep. the pain to fade, only to be replaced by a deep desire you felt the night you first met. he started to move, his strokes were slow and shallow, letting you adjust to the feeling.

the rhythm was built, a slow rocking that grew faster and deeper. "you feel so fucking good, so tight, so perfect.", your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. the room was filled with the sounds of pleasure, the slap of skin on skin, your breathless moans, and his deep groans. the pressure built again in your core, tighter and more intense than before. "wonbin!", you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulder. "i'm.. i'm gonna."

"cum for me", he commanded, his voice a low whisper. "let me feel you.", his words caused you to come undone. your body clenched around him as another orgasm washed over your, making you cry out his name. a few more thrust and he had followed, his boy going stiff as he buried himself deeply in you.

you lay tangled together, basking in the aftermath, your bodied slick with sweat, the air thick of the scent of sex. he pulled out gently seeing his cum mix with yours before pulling you into his arms.

your head rested on his chest, he titled your chin up and kissed you. a soft sweet kiss that tasted like you. he looked into your eyes, his express open and unguarded. "i love you.", he said, with no hesitation. your breath hitched, the words settled into the air. all your fears and hesitation, melted away. you reached up, cupping his face in your hand. your thumb stroking his jaw.

divider @ suupersonic

you’ve been in a pissy mood lately. you couldn’t help it, you were intensively working 30 hours a week while simultaneously focusing on finishing school—but the downside effects really started to show. the sleep deprivation and loneliness was really creeping up, and your emotions came out uglier than you expected.

you tried your best to keep it cool—going home every night to the sweetest boy who was nothing but supportive and loving helped, but you still had your moments where you’d snap. the one sided quarrels would never last long, but they became very frequent. the exhausting nothing arguments always ending with sorrys all around, it made you feel terrible, being so mean towards wonbin for no reason other than personal problems you put yourself in, but it made you wonder why after all this time, he stayed. he was always there, waiting like a loyal animal, ready to take on what you had going on, okay with being a personal punching bag. and although your guilt was always there, a part of you felt nice seeing that sheep look in his expression, timid and helpless.

you two had been together for a while now, first meeting during the previous summer, one drunken night at a party. he was a bit more reserved compared to the crowd, sticking out from the rest, but when you both bumped into each other, you found an unexpected sweet yet silly personality. that night you took him home, and that started a relationship.

you guys would have sex often, at least as often as you could, though, it may have been a bit more on the harsh side of the spectrum. you could get a little rough.. but he never opposed, always letting you steer. you believed you never went too far, staying in the realm of ‘reasonable’, but today was a day.

the day starts at 4AM, the daily fatigue follows as you get ready to head off, grabbing a quick meal then attending classes. you were working on a crucial group project, but to your surprise, the group had found empty files in an application. after seeing the backup system fail, your group discussed with the instructor on what to do, but the instructor insisted on starting all over again on the missing files. with the situation, you extended your school work time until you had to show for work, leaving zero break in between. work was busy. it was always busy, but today, the body count in the building seemed to be amplified, the stress causing you to feel overwhelmed, but you pulled through. and in the end, you were extremely exhausted but eager to head home. when you drive, it was maybe a bit faster than usual, but you were not speeding at a deadly number. but of course it doesn’t matter anyways, a police officer pulling you over to give a 350$ ticket. god. your blood was boiling. today the world had a target on your back, and seeing wonbin’s face was not soothing the anger, especially when he didn’t follow through with your request.

“beautiful!” he greets in a warm tone, going in to wrap his arms around you. you leaned into the hug, your head snuggled against his chest, sighing at the first comforting moment of the day, but you don’t hug back, too tired to raise your arms. a while passes and he slowly pulls away, resting his hands on your shoulders, circling his thumbs to give a light massage. your eyes were closed, savoring the brief period of calm for as long as you could. you finally speak, words coming out sluggish and low, “hi binnie.. how was your day”, “you know, the same”. you chuckle, shaking your head slightly. your eyes open, they traveling to his welcoming eyes then his heartwarming meek smile, you reciprocate, giving a similar smile back.

a yawn escapes you as you move from his touch, kicking your shoes off to head towards the kitchen, but you stop in your tracks before you fully enter. a brown package with a note laying on top sits in the same position you had left it in this morning, staring at you from the counter. you involuntarily clench your fist, jaw now forward, blinking continuously in disbelief as the package you specifically told him to drop off at the postal somehow is still in your vicinity. you didn’t want to start, but you temper was shorter than short, “what the fuck wonbin.”

he was already leisurely following behind you, but his footsteps were now even more slow after hearing he was in trouble. you turn, biting your cheek, staring deep into his soul, “what the fuck did i tell you last night?”. his face goes pale when he notices the reason why you’re upset—you can tell he’s feeling embarrassed. “answer me.” you commanded, stepping closer towards his direction. he tenses, averting his gaze, “i-i’m so sorry i completely forgot.. i was rushing this morning, i’m sorry..”, “can you say ANYTHING else?? can’t follow a simple fucking task and sorry is all that comes out of your fucking mouth. IT NEVER CHANGES ANYTHING WONBIN. god damnit!..” you exploded with no remorse. wonbin’s lip trembles slightly, wetness in his eyes, exhaling softly before rushing to speak again, “i know it was important and i’m sor-“ his sentence cut off by a powerful blow, the sound bouncing off the walls. you freeze at his wince, you’ve never hit him during a fight, and you’ve never hit him that hard before.

his hand shoots to his cheek and he holds it for a couple seconds before breathing. he slowly turns to look at you, your expression finally showing a little grief. it’s silent. it’s crushing you. so, you’re the first to disrupt the quiet, your breath a little shaky, “i-im so- um.. i didn’t mean to do that.. i-i didn’t mean for it to..” you’re thoughts sputtering as you try to form a full sentence. the look on his face wasn’t helping, it was completely unreadable. your eyes wandered down nervously, expecting your gaze to hit the floor until you noticed. there was a visibly taut area in his pants. as you stare, every notion you had about the situation was thrown out the window. wonbin’s body shifts, causing your eyes to reach back up to his. you cross your arms and shift your weight to slightly lean on one of your hips, the guilt in your expression immediately fading. with fast pace, wonbin moves his hand from his cheek to the front of his pants. “what’s the point in trying to cover something i’ve already seen” you say out loud with confidence. you pause to see if he’d respond, when he doesn’t, you speak again in a tone that presents more authority, “what’s that about.” he fix’s his posture, clearing his throat, “i don’t know..”, you’re battling off a small smirk from showing on your face, but you couldn’t hold it off much longer.

it’s silent again, although this time the vibes have completely shifted. he sighs, this time choosing to speak first, “i.. don’t know why that happened.. i’m s-“ as soon as he sounded out the first letter you gave another slap before tucking your hand back below the pit. he stumbled to the side, quickly catching himself, the wince this time sounding more whiny. “you like this don’t you park wonbin” your voice sultry, “just say that.”

he keeps his head down until you order, “look at me.” he shouts up to meet your gaze, a light rosé color starting to appear. “say it.” you persist while he refuses to speak. his breathing is heavy, his length still pressing hard against his pants. you step forward to close the space, roughly grabbing his face from below his chin with one hand to squish the lower half of his face. when you see the forced puckered lips, you can’t help but to kiss, forcibly moving your tongue past any border. he doesn’t shy away, instead leaning into it, allowing you to devour his face as he whimpers in response. you eventually move both hands to his shoulders, pushing the broad figure back hard to break the kiss, “say it binnie.” you say ever so teasingly. he stumbled back quite a bit, but you move forward to regain closeness. quiet as a mouse he says, “what..”, before quickly receiving another hard slap. “stop acting like a fucking moron.” you lashed with bruteness. “i-i like it..” he finally admits, the harsh color slowly growing deeper, the wetness his eyes carried becoming tears.

you return your hands to his shoulder and push him backwards, leading him a couple steps to land in the living. once you reach the couch, you push him down to sit, his eyes never leaving you. “you like it huh?” you tease, “you like when i hurt you?”. you see a slight nod, a move he probably did subconsciously as you straddle his lap, the skirt you had on lifting, your underwear against him. you move your hips forward, moving your arms to reach the back of his head, gripping his hair to yank his head back. a moan escapes him, his eyes slammed shut. you repeat, loosening the grip and moving back, just to grind forward again, pulling his hair harder—rewarded with a shakier moan.

“open your eyes.” you still, your head hovering over his. he obeys, blinking at you with a desperate look, then you grind again. he shuts his eyes at the sensation only to receive another blow on the cheek that hasn’t been hit, “open your eyes.”. he whines, blinking away wetness as his hands grip your hips hard. you stare for a moment, taking in the pitiful scene–god he was sexy like this. the desire was antagonizing, your mind cleared from any misfortunes as they were pacified by the docile man beneath you.

you crash your lips into his, moving your hands down his torso to fiddle with his belt. the makeout was intense, you gave him no time to breathe as you finally unbuckled his belt. your hands travel up again, each one landing to sandwich his face, never breaking the kiss. you lightly caress the reddish soft skin causing a huff to escape his lips.

you give him a break, resting your forehead on his with a shit-eating grin plastered across your face. “is it too much?” you whisper. he slightly shakes his hand no, but you like to tease, “speak binnie.”. he locks eyes with you, softly exhaling, preparing himself to use his words, “..no”. “no what?” you grind forward again, moving your hands back to where they were, yanking his hair, now planting kisses on the side of his neck. he weakly exhales, moving his hands up to your waist, applying rough pressure. “mommy…” wonbin falters, his voice quiet, sounding as though he’s suppressing his whimpers. you give him only a few more kisses before sitting up straight, moving to rest your hands on his shoulders before whacking him across the face, “don’t say it like a fucking loser,” you whack again, he moans, “be proud of how pathetic you are.”. his chest is heaving, breath unsteady as he looks up at you with deer-like watery eyes, “y-yes m-mommy” he starts still meekly. “try again”, “yes mommy,” his tone more sure but his breath still uneven, “i’m sor-“ you whack him again, “is that the only word you fucking know?”.

he bites down hard on his lip, slamming his eyes shut allowing a tear to escape. his head was tilted from the impact and he doesn’t move to fully face you yet, the evidence on the side of his face looking right at you. you raise a little to stand on your knees a bit, his hips in between you. you move his chin so he can face you, “move them down for me?” you requested in a more sweeter tone. he obeys instantly, taking the pressure off your waist to shove his pants. you look down to see a wet spot on his underwear as you bite back a devious smile, letting your eyes travel back to his while you quickly lower before he could take the second layer off.

you hum, really feeling the pressure now, the length making you feel the butterflies even through the layer of cloth. it caused you to quickly unbutton the first two studs of the fitted collared shirt you wore to expose your cleavage before moving your hips, this time at a slow but steady continuous pace. “fuck.. yes..” wonbin whines, rising his hands once more to cup the side of your boobs, unable to contain himself. you couldn’t control yourself either, letting the softest moans slip out, “you’re such a good boy you know that?” you breathe out, moving your hands to his neck. your hold is firm, but not hard enough to cut his airway, but tight enough for him to know his place as you press your lips against his.

you up the pace, wonbin’s noises becoming more loud and desperate, whining in between each kiss as he continues to breathe out the same word over and over again, “mommy.. mommy.. ah- fuck.. keep going.. yes mommy.. fuck..”. “are you close?” you whisper in his mouth, receiving an immediate nod—so you stop.

you add slightly more pressure to his neck, “you’re so fucking disgusting you know that?” you say, pausing before lifting one hand off his neck to give another unexpected strike across his face. he shuts his eyes hard and lets out a loud groan, his body going stiff. “is that really the longest you can last, huh?”, he furrowed his brow, trying to hold back. there’s a short pause until wonbin’s voice comes out extremely shaky, barely audible, “i-i’m sorry..” you slap him again and immediately force his face to face back at you, squeezing his cheeks from below his chin, “do i need to beat that word out of you?”, he almost cries out, “no mommy.. fuck....”. his body shifts again, the grip on your side boob getting harder, his short nails somehow digging into your skin through your shirt.

you slowly rise to stand on your knees one last time. this time, you move your own hands to reach his boxer briefs, pushing them down slightly closer to his knees the best you could and immediately wrapping one hand against him, slightly circling the tip that is covered in his own slick. “god.. please..” he bursts out, his body looking as though he’s pushing himself against the couch. “pathetic.” you grumble low, watching him break down before you—he can’t even open his eyes, yet tears stream down as he begs, “please.. please.. mommy please..”

you move your underwear to the side for a second, lowering again and inviting his cock to sit snugly against you, then covering it by moving your panties back. you huff in his face, the butterflies fluttering faster from the contact as you move up and down against him. he chokes on his sobs, his voice cracking at every movement, “please.. please mommy i-i’ll do anything.. please i-i’m.. i’ll be a good boy.. oh god..”. your pace is consistent, never slowing down no matter how much he begged, and the wet sounds making you moan in his face. he couldn’t take it anymore, with a long series of whiny whimpers, his body locks, hot cum filling up your underwear as you continued to ride him through his high.

wonbin looked a mess, his face contorting, the redness extremely noticeable along with a layer of sweat glistening on him. you couldn’t stop, you were close and you couldn’t help yourself, the beautiful scene making you do it—giving him another slap to add to another layer of rosé, “god, you have no self control huh..” you say, voice coming out similar to a whisper, before crashing your lips on his, holding his tender face with both your hands.

it finally hits you, the knot in your stomach unraveling causing you to rapidly slow down until you hit a complete stop, moaning loudly in his mouth. wonbin was trying to catch his breath, both your heavy panting syncing as you rested your forehead on his for a while. when the intensity passes, you tilt your head to lay soft kisses on his face, “are you okay?” you cooed sweetly as though nothing happened. his breathing is still unstable, but he nods a yes and drags his hands to reach your back, then gives a tight hug, “i love you.. i’m sorry”, you giggle, then bite onto his earlobe at that word.

i appreciate your time!! was this okayyy?? TELL ME ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ