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Boyfriend!yunho who always likes to pick out your outfits, cooing over how adorable you look to him.

Boyfriend!yunho who buys you a necklace with his initials on it to prove to you that you’re his beyond just skin. He’s claiming your soul too.

Boyfriend!yunho who trails kisses from your ear down to your collar bone, leaving little love bites behind simply to tease himself with. He likes to jerk off at night to the view of them.

Boyfriend!yunho who always tells you ‘we can still do stuff and you don’t have to lose your v if you don’t want to, I just want to please my babydoll.’

Boyfriend!yunho who likes when you sit in his lap so he can slip his hand under your skirt, just to rub your clit through your panties.

Boyfriend!yunho who slowly grinds his hips up against you, burying his face into your shoulder to hide his smirk from hearing your soft whines.

— “Oh, baby. Don’t cry.” “B-but they called you a virgin lover!” “Well…they’re not exactly lying, sweetheart. You’re a virgin, and I still love you. Nothing to be upset about.”

Boyfriend!yunho who comes into the bedroom while you’re curled up in bed reading, gently spreading your legs apart to ‘lay in between them’ but after a while he’ll start trailing kisses up your inner thigh.

Boyfriend!yunho who presses a soft kiss to your clothed clit before pulling them aside and burying his face in between your thighs. Gently sucking on your clit to tease you.

Boyfriend!yunho who slips one finger inside your cunt to help stretch you out a little bit, adding a second for good measure.

Boyfriend!yunho who pulls completely away right before you cum, simply to hear you beg for him while he pulls his pants down long enough to free his half hard cock.

Boyfriend!yunho who doesn’t bother with asking if you’re ready, he knows you are just based off how you’re behaving. So instead, in one hard stroke he bottoms himself out inside you, smirking down at you when he feels you clenching around him.

Boyfriend!yunho who pins you completely to him, giving slow and deep strokes until you both cum.

Noticing his silence for a few minutes, you whisper the spell to pause the reaction and slowly walk up to him. His pale green wings were shining in the sparse sunlight filtering through the canopy of the tree. You stroke his smooth pinkish skin, gently caressing his tiny cheek, he leans into your touch but his frown is still there.

"What happened baby, won't you speak to me?"

He considers your words for a few moments, finally pulling his body away from you.

"You didn't use the flowers I brought, look, they are starting to wilt. Do you know how heavy they were?" He whined.

"Baby, I've told you to drink potus vi before lifting things, haven't I?" you cooed, "You know that I need to dry these flowers to make potus sanatio. I'm not ignoring them baby, and I like wilted flowers, better potency."

He scrowns upon hearing those words, "well, not everything is about potency! Some things can be about love!" He throws his hands up and flies away to sit one of the cabinets near the window.

"You know, maybe sometimes we could talk about something nice! Something ROMANTIC! Other than, ugh, potency!" He loudly complains as he flies all around the room, the small trinkets on his arms and waists jingling softly.

"What do you want to talk about honey, I'm all ears." You turn your head towards him but he flies away, refusing to look at you.

"Hongjoong, my darling, won't you tell me? Hmm." You tilt your head towards him, "come here, sit near me."

He's perched up on your work table, his halds folded over his chest, "Come to me! My wings are tired. You know from lifting those calendulas for you! Which are heavy when fresh, but what's the point, you like them wilted." He shudders as he speaks. "How can you like wilted flowers?!"

You can't help but giggle at his tantrum, he looks so cute, all frustrated, his wings slightly parted, his pink skin reflecting the black of your table, glowing in a murky purple, but your giggling irritates him further. He jumps up and turns his back from you, refusing to talk to you.

He does that a lot, taking advantage of his tiny fairy proportions and oh, his wings, always flying around the hut. He loves to help you by bringing rare materials from tiny crevices of the forest bed for your potions, usually, he drinks potus vi, to increase the strength of his arms and wings but he refuses to use it when bringing you gifts, saying that his hardwork is what makes it a gift, just like he did with those beautiful calendulas.

Its not like that you dont like fresh flowers, you love them, but potion making usually requires wilted flowers, so you had accepted the wilt, even started to like the fading smell of wilted flowers.

You could have used the calendulas he brought you when they were fresh, but you didn't want to. You had wanted to look them for a little longer before you had to sacrifice them to your ever consuming cauldron.

"Baby, I like them, see, they are displayed on my cabinets so that I can see them, even while working! Honey... Hongjoong, look at me." You coo at him and move towards the table on which he stood on.

"Baby, I wanted to look at them for a little longer, that's why I had let them wilt, so they can last longer with me. You know that baby." You say while gently stroking his wings, making him sway with you touch.

"Babyyy...." you whisper bending down to his eye level, he slowly turns towards you, his frown gone.

"You're serious? You are not saying this just because I'm mad at you?" He asks so softly that you could have missed it, only if you two weren't so close.

"Yes baby, that's why I always let them wilt."

"What about your lovely potency?"

"Well, that too."

He lets out a little chuckle, slowly flying to sit on your palm and pressing a soft kiss on your thumb. You pick him up to press a soft kiss on his cheek, your lips engulfing almost half of his face, causing him to huff out a laugh.

"You are trying to suffocate me miss! I'll die from these kisses one day!" He speaks between giggles, he always says that when you kiss his face. His words makes you smile, and he swipes his hands over your face sprinkling fairy dust on your cheeks, the shiny substance settling in your smile lines.

He moves his hands from your face, and after a long moment he says, "I'm tired of sitting in home, aren't you?"

"No, why would I be darling, its our home?"

"But its so dark! No sun! You need sunlight honey!"

"Ugh just say that you want to go on a walk, you know I'll do it."

He smiles cheekily upon hearing that, flying away towards the door, caressing your hair while doing so.

You both cross the garden that surrounds your sweet abode, hidden in plain sight as the result of a few simple spells you had cast. Hongjoong is flying right in front of you, his face towards the sky soaking in the sunlight falling on his shiny skin.

The fairy dust he left on your face is turning pink in the sun, shining brightly. He keeps complimenting how good you look in glitter everytime he sprays fairy dust on you, the pink suits you, he says.

"I like the mauve gowns you always wear, but shouldn't you try something new?" He says still bathing in the sunlight.

"I don't like new, Hongjoong"

"Huh, well falling in love with a fairy is new enough to me."

You sigh upon hearing his words, he always had an affinity towards new experiences, well, its not really a bad thing because that's how you two had met, but it had gotten him in trouble many times, especially his desire to socialise with humans, you warn him that not all humans are like you, they can exploit his magic for their gain.

He knows that too, but his optimism gets the best of him sometimes, one of the worst incident was when another witch, that worked with the scientists, tried to use his wings for experiments. It had taken months for him to recover, even with the strongest doses of potus sanatio.

"Well, lets not try too many new things, hmm?"

He sighs as he turns towards the wild flower bed that he had planted in his favourite part of the forest, a small secluded area surrounded with huge trees and filled with multiple logs covered in long vines of bindweeds, the purple and white flowers also adorning the mossy ground.

He sits on one of the flowers, breathing in its faint scent. You sit next to him, on the log, the moss soft and damp below your long skirt. The fresh air relaxing you, you release out a sigh, Hongjoong flies upto your shoulder and kisses your ears, slightly tickling you. You laugh as you lay down on the log, enjoying the sun on your skin.

Hongjoong lays down on your chest, looking at your relaxed face, smiling as he closes his eyes. You both slowly drift in a sweet land of dreams surrounded by the sweeter embrace of love.

First time writing fluff kinda nervous.

You don’t know when it started.

Maybe it was the first presentation of the semester.

Maybe it was when you tripped on the lecture stairs.

Maybe it was nothing at all.

That’s the worst part.

You never did anything.

But somehow, you became the girl people roll their eyes at.

The girl who gets left out of group chats.

The girl who gets “accidentally” bumped in the hallways.

The girl who is too quiet, too awkward.

You learned to walk with your eyes down. You learned to eat lunch in empty classrooms.

You learned that silence is safer.

And then there’s him.

Jung Wooyoung.

The boy everyone knows.

The boy professors warn about. The boy girls whisper about.

He laughs too loud. Talks back. Skips lectures but still passes. Wears rings and confidence like armor.

You’ve never spoken to him.

You’ve barely even looked at him.

But he sits two rows ahead of you in biology.

And sometimes— sometimes — you feel his gaze flicker back.

You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Until the chair disappears from under you.

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It happens during roll call.

You stand up to answer.

And when you go to sit down —

Your chair is gone.

You fall hard against the tiled floor.

The sound echoes.

Your bag spills. Papers scatter. Your elbow burns.

The lecture hall explodes with laughter.

Heat rushes to your face. You want the ground to swallow you so badly.

Someone mutters, “Clumsy.” Someone else snickers, “So dramatic.”

Your throat closes.

Then—

A chair scrapes back loudly.

The laughter falters.

“What’s so funny?”

It’s him.

Wooyoung.

His voice isn’t playful.

It’s flat. Cold.

He doesn’t look at you.

He looks at the boys standing behind you — the ones who moved your chair.

“Pick it up.”

One of them scoffs. “Relax. It’s just a joke.”

Wooyoung steps forward slowly.

You’ve never seen him serious before.

It’s different. Dangerous.

“It isn’t funny,” he says.

The room goes quiet. The boy shifts uncomfortably.

“Pick. It. Up.”

They do.

They gather your papers.

You’re still frozen on the floor.

Embarrassed. Exposed. Shaking.

Then a hand appears in your vision.

You blink.

Wooyoung is looking down at you now.

“You’re bleeding,” he mutters.

You look at your palm.

A thin line of red across your skin.

You hadn’t noticed.

Your fingers hesitate before you place them in his.

His grip is firm. Warm.

He pulls you up easily. Too easily.

Like you weigh nothing.

The class is silent.

Wooyoung glances around once more.

“Anyone else think that was funny?”

No one answers.

He picks up your bag and sets it on your desk.

Then he sits down.

Like nothing happened.

Like he didn’t just shift the entire atmosphere of the room.

Your heart doesn’t stop racing for the rest of the lecture.

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After that day, things change.

Not for everyone.

Just for you.

Wooyoung starts sitting beside you.

The first time he does, you nearly choke on your water.

“You don’t mind, right?” he says casually.

You shake your head too fast.

He smirks faintly.

“You’re too polite.”

You stare at your notebook.

He leans back in his chair.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

You swallow. “It would’ve made it worse.”

He watches you.

Long. Too long.

“You don’t deserve it.”

Your chest tightens.

You’ve never heard anyone say that.

Not about you.

You nod slightly.

He doesn’t look convinced.

It becomes a pattern.

If someone whispers about you in the hallway, Wooyoung stares until they look away. If someone bumps your shoulder, he bumps them harder.

If someone “forgets” to add you to the group chat, he adds you himself.

“Don’t ignore her,” he says once, loud enough for them to hear.

You don’t understand him.

Why he cares. Why he notices.

Why he always walks a little slower so you can keep up.

Why he always makes sure you’re walking beside him — never behind.

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One afternoon, you’re alone in the cafeteria.

You prefer it that way.

Until someone dumps their tray near you — too close

“Careful,” the girl mutters sarcastically. “Wouldn’t want her to cry again.”

You lower your head.

Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it.

The chair across from you scrapes loudly.

“You done?”

You freeze.

Wooyoung drops into the seat across from the girl.

He doesn’t smile.

“Is there a problem?” she asks.

He tilts his head.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“I’m looking at it.”

The table goes quiet.

The girl scoffs. “Why do you even care? She’s not your type.”

Wooyoung’s jaw tightens.

“And you are?”

You’ve never seen him this sharp.

The girl flushes. He stands.

“Apologize.”

She laughs nervously.

“I didn’t do anything.”

Wooyoung leans down slightly, hands on the table.

“You did.”

His voice is low.

Controlled.

And it scares her.

“Sorry,” she mutters quickly.

To you.

She leaves.

The cafeteria buzz slowly returns.

Wooyoung sits back down.

You stare at him.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts. “I did.”

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

“You need to stop acting like it’s okay.”

You look down.

“It’s easier this way.”

His voice softens.

“Easy doesn’t mean it’s good.”

Your heart skips.

That night, you can’t sleep.

Because you keep replaying the way he looked at you.

Not like you were pathetic. Not like you were fragile.

Like you were worth something.

And that’s terrifying.

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A week later, rumors start.

You hear them before you see them.

“She’s only around him because she wants protection.” “He probably feels bad for her.” “She’s using him.”

Your chest feels heavy.

You try to avoid him that day.

You sit somewhere else. You leave early. You don’t respond to his messages.

Until your phone buzzes again.

Wooyoung: Where are you?

You don’t reply.

Wooyoung: Don’t ignore me.

Wooyoung: Did someone say something?

Your hands shake slightly. You type.

You: It’s fine.

Three dots.

Wooyoung: No. It’s not.

And for the first time since all this started —

You feel something worse than loneliness.

You feel guilty.

Because now he’s involved. Because now they hate him too.

And you don’t know if you’re worth all that.

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The confrontation happens on a Friday.

You’re walking past the courtyard when you hear it.

“She’s dragging him down.” “He used to be fun.” “She’s pathetic.”

Something inside you cracks.

You keep walking.

Until someone grabs your wrist.

“Hey.”

You turn.

It’s Wooyoung.

He looks irritated. And worried.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You try to pull away gently.

“You shouldn’t hang around me.”

His eyebrows furrow.

“What?”

“It’s ruining your reputation.”

He stares at you.

Then laughs once.

Sharply.

“My reputation?” he repeats.

“Yes.”

He steps closer.

“Do you think I care about that?”

You hesitate.

He softens slightly.

“I care about you.”

The words hang in the air. You blink at him.

“Why?” you whisper.

His expression falters.

Like he didn’t expect that question.

But before he can answer—

A voice calls out from behind.

“Wooyoung! You ditching us now?”

A group of boys from his friend circle approach.

One of them looks at you and smirks.

“Babysitting again?”

Your stomach drops.

Wooyoung’s shoulders tense.

“Shut up.”

The boy laughs.

“What? It’s true.”

You pull your wrist from Wooyoung’s grasp.

“It’s okay,” you mumble. “You can go.”

His eyes snap to yours.

“I don’t want to.”

You force a small smile.

“You should.”

Because you don’t want to be the reason he loses everything.

He stares at you.

And for the first time —

You see something like hurt.

He steps back slowly.

“Fine.”

And he walks away.

Without looking back.

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─────────

That night, it rains.

And you don’t realize you’re crying until the drops mix with it.

You tell yourself this is better.

Safer.

He deserves friends.

Fun. Laughter.

Not whispers. Not drama.

Not you.

But when your phone lights up with his name again —

Your heart aches.

Wooyoung: Why are you pushing me away?

You don’t answer.

Because if you do, you’re not sure you’ll be strong enough to let him go.

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─────────

The rain doesn’t stop.

It falls heavy against the pavement, soaking through your cardigan, your hair clinging to your cheeks. You should go home.

Instead, you stand under the weak shelter near the bus stop, staring at your unread messages.

Wooyoung: Why are you pushing me away?

Wooyoung: Talk to me

Wooyoung: Please

You bite your lip.

He doesn’t deserve to get dragged into your mess. He doesn’t deserve the whispers.

The rumors are worse now.

“She trapped him.” “He’s going soft.”

“He used to be fun.”

And every time you hear it, it feels like proof.

Proof that you’re ruining something.

Your phone vibrates again. You don’t need to look to know it’s him.

Then you hear footsteps.

Fast. Familiar.

You turn.

He’s there.

Hair damp. Hoodie half-soaked. Breathing hard like he ran.

“You weren’t answering,” he says.

You freeze.

“You followed me?”

“I asked around.”

His eyes scan your face immediately.

“You’ve been crying.”

You shake your head automatically.

He steps closer.

“Don’t lie.”

The rain hits harder against the metal roof above you. You look down.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?”

“Because,” your voice wavers, “they’re right.”

His jaw tightens. “About what?”

“About me dragging you down.”

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes.

“Who said that?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

You swallow.

“I don’t want to be the reason you lose your friends.”

He stares at you for a long moment.

Then he laughs softly.

But there’s no humor in it.

“You think I care about them more than you?”

Your breath catches.

“That’s not what I—”

“They only liked me when I was loud and reckless,” he interrupts. “You’re the first person who didn’t.”

You look up.

You can see water clinging to his lashes.

“You look at me like I’m not a joke,” he says quietly.

“You’re not.”

He steps closer.

“So stop acting like you’re one.”

Your heart stutters.

“You don’t understand,” you whisper. “They hate me.”

He nods once.

“Yeah.”

You blink.

“Yeah,” he repeats. “They do.”

The blunt honesty knocks the air out of you.

“And I don’t care.”

His hand lifts slowly.

Then brushes a wet strand of hair from your face.

“I don’t care if they hate you,” he says. “I care that you hate yourself because of it.”

The words hit harder than the rain.

Your throat tightens.

“I don’t hate myself,” you murmur weakly.

He gives you a look.

The kind that says he sees through you completely.

“You shrink,” he says softly. “You apologize for breathing. You act like you deserve it.”

You feel exposed.

“I don’t,” you whisper.

“I know.”

His voice is firm.

“You don’t.”

The silence between you fills with rain and something fragile and electric.

“And you don’t get to decide what’s good for me,” he says suddenly.

You blink.

“What?”

“You don’t get to push me away because you think I deserve better.”

He steps even closer now.

“You don’t get to choose that for me.”

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

“I’m not good at this,” you admit.

“At what?”

“Being… wanted.”

Something in his expression breaks.

Softens.

He cups your face gently.

“You’re not hard to want,” he whispers.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not rushed. It’s not aggressive.

It’s warm. Careful.

Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Your hands clutch at his hoodie instinctively.

The rain doesn’t matter anymore.

Nothing does.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“You’re not a burden,” he breathes. “You’re the only thing that’s made this place tolerable.”

Your chest aches.

“I’m scared,” you admit.

“Of what?”

“That you’ll regret this.”

He smiles faintly.

“I don’t regret protecting you. I don’t regret standing beside you.”

His thumb brushes over your cheek.

“And I definitely don’t regret that.”

Your lips tremble slightly.

“You’re really stubborn,” you murmur.

He grins.

“Yeah.”

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The next week changes everything.

Because Wooyoung stops being subtle.

He holds your hand in public. He sits even closer in lectures. He walks you everywhere.

And when someone whispers?

He stares until they shut up.

The rumors shift.

“She’s controlling him.” “He’s whipped.”

“You see the way he looks at her?”

You hear it.

But this time—

You don’t shrink.

Because his fingers are laced through yours. Because when you glance at him, he squeezes once like a silent reminder.

I’m here.

Until the day he almost loses it.

It happens in the courtyard again.

You’re sitting beside him on the steps, going over notes.

A guy from his old friend group approaches.

“Yo,” he calls.

Wooyoung doesn’t look up.

“Busy.”

The guy snorts.

“With her?”

You stiffen.

Wooyoung’s jaw tightens.

“Say what you came to say.”

The guy shrugs.

“Just think it’s funny. You used to make fun of girls like her.”

Silence.

Wooyoung stands slowly.

The movement is controlled.

“Watch your mouth.”

The guy laughs.

“Or what?”

You see it.

The shift.

The way Wooyoung’s shoulders tense. The way his hands curl into fists.

“Wooyoung,” you whisper.

He doesn’t hear you.

“Apologize,” he says flatly.

The guy scoffs.

“Why? She gonna cry?”

That’s when Wooyoung shoves him.

Hard.

Gasps echo around you.

The guy stumbles back.

“Are you crazy?”

Wooyoung steps forward again.

You grab his sleeve.

“Stop.”

He doesn’t move.

“Stop,” you repeat, louder.

His breathing is heavy.

He looks furious.

It terrifies you.

“Please,” you say softly.

His gaze flickers to you.

And immediately softens.

Like someone flipped a switch.

He steps back.

Runs a hand through his hair.

The guy mutters something under his breath and walks away.

Wooyoung doesn’t look at you.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No,” you say firmly. “You don’t have to fight my battles.”

His eyes flash.

“I want to.”

You shake your head.

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

He stares at you for a long moment.

“I’d rather get hurt than watch you get hurt.”

Your heart aches.

He exhales slowly.

“I’m trying not to be that guy anymore.”

“What guy?”

“The one who solves everything with his fists.”

You step closer.

“You’re not him.”

He looks at you.

“I don’t want to scare you.”

You reach for his hand.

“You don’t.”

He squeezes your fingers gently.

“I just hate seeing you look small.”

You swallow.

“I’m trying not to.”

He nods.

“That’s all I need.”

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That night, he walks you home again.

No rain this time.

He stops in front of your building.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For choosing me.”

He smiles.

“I didn’t choose you.”

Your heart sinks slightly.

He steps closer.

“I just fell.”

And then he kisses you again.

Softer this time. Like a promise.

The hate doesn’t disappear.

But it doesn’t control you anymore.

Because now when someone whispers, you don’t look down.

You look at him.

And he looks back like you’re the only person in the world.

And for the first time since university started—

You don’t feel like the girl everyone hates.

You feel like the girl Jung Wooyoung loves.

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© lcvejjoong, 2026

"Hm," He huffed with a grin, "I like your answers."

"Thank you," you chuckled.

Well, you can't say you liked his next tattoo.

Again, you liked the meaning of it. I AM NEVER ALONE AND I NEVER WILL BE. You cried when he told you what it meant to him before he'd even gotten the tattoo. You supported him, of course.

But this one was a little more visible. When he wore looser shirts, you could see it peaking out from under the neckline below the nape of his neck, and the frown that usually formed on your face was instinctual.

This one was just a lot bigger and louder than the other ones. Of course, you would never express how you felt about it to Wooyoung. As long as he loved it and it had meaning to him, you were all for it.

He could tell you didn't like it, but every time he saw your expression when seeing it, he'd make sure to express his gratitude that you loved him despite it.

And then you had to subsequently remind him that what he did with his body was his choice and that your opinion of it didn't matter, whether you liked it or not. And you reminded him how much you loved him by any means necessary.

It was the latest tattoo that had your mind spiraling.

It was the loudest and most specifically styled one by far. That rose with eight thorns. Again, something that had meaning, but Wooyoung didn't tell you about this one. He just came home one day with his arm taped up and told you not to worry about it until one day he came home and the tape was finally off, revealing the intricate design on his forearm.

Now, fully comfortable and communicative with your boyfriend after being together for quite some time, you didn't hide your dissatisfied expression, and he didn't feel insecure because of it, letting out a laugh as he found your expression cute.

"I know, it's different," he chuckled. "It's fine," you said shortly, though it was obvious that you hated it, "Totally fine."

He pulled away to hold his arm out to you so you could look at it more and you couldn't help but pout.

You were vain, but you especially disliked this one. "I can't see your veins anymore," you grumbled, tracing the slightly revealed blood line, now covered in dark ink.

He laughed, "You have the other arm!"

"But I like both arms," you whined childishly. Your finger traced his tattoo up and down, making him shiver. "You don't like it at all?" he asked with a playful pout.

"No!" you huffed, turning around to pretend to shun him.

Yes, you didn't like it, but your attitude was all light-hearted. He knew you well enough to know that by now. Even though he knew you didn't actually like it, you loved him, and that mattered more to you than his tattoos.

You thought you'd hate that damned rose tattoo forever. It was so visible, your eyes were always drawn to it when he wore short sleeves, or better yet when he'd roll up the sleeves of a button-up the way you liked it. Ugh. It still made your mouth water, but it'd always be paired with wishing that his beautiful golden skin wasn't covered up with the inky black artwork, beautiful as it was.

Then came the baseball game.

Obviously, it was an insane honor to throw the pitch for the Korean National Baseball team before their game with Australia, and Wooyoung obviously brought you along.

It had been some time now, and while you did tell yourself that you'd hate that tattoo forever, for some reason, his vibe today in particular was giving your stomach tingles that hadn't been there before, especially with his tattoo out on display for everyone to see.

Just something about him, how unapologetic he was about being himself and how confident he was in the way he moved. Every part of him was built with intention, even his tattoos.

His tattoo moved with his arm as he threw the first pitch, and you couldn't take your eyes off of it. When he turned to look at you after the pitch, it seemed he could tell. He smirked.

"What are you looking at so intently?" he asked.

"Your tattoo," you hummed, taking his arm in your hand, similarly to the way you had when you'd first seen it.

He frowned, "Don't let it bother you right now."

"No, it doesn't... it doesn't bother me anymore," you said with a grin, looking up at him. "It's an intentionally crafted part of you. The way you are now, the way you act, the way you look, was the way you were born to be, and that's the person I love. I love the person you are and the person you want to be."

Wooyoung looked at you, mouth agape in awe, for once speechless. You chuckled, "Does that make sense."

He pulled you in for a hug, making you laugh as he pressed his lips near your ear. "That was the sexiest thing I have ever heard you say."

"Oh yeah?" you hummed under your breath, "How are we going to commemorate that?"

"Fuckkk, if I didn't want to watch this game so bad, I'd just take you in the car on the way home," he breathed.

"Are you sure you won't be distracted if you don't take care of me right now?" you teased and he groaned, looking around. He then took your wrist as you smiled triumphantly, allowing yourself to be pulled along by him. By the same arm that got you into this situation in the first place.

"Come on, I'm gonna show you just how happy this arm can make you."

It’s too much. The seconds stretching into minutes have now stretched into an interminable period of time. For all you know, no one actually knows you’re here, and you’ll get in trouble.

“Screw this.”

You get up decisively, already reaching for the handle when the door bursts open. You stop dead in your tracks, mere inches from his chest.

The air sits heavy, still, letting reality sink in as your eyes rake over him.

The black cargos catch your attention first as you keep your head down, afraid to look up, but your eyes continue without permission. His black t-shirt falls a little loosely, still tight enough to leave little to the imagination.

Your throat is dry as you continue your journey up, ignoring the way the fabric clinging to his chest moves with every breath. The first thing you see in his face is his tanned skin - you always had a soft spot for it. The second - and the one that has your knees threatening to cave in - is the way his big brown eyes watch you softly, giving you all the time you need. He looks at you the same way he has the past two times that you’ve seen him, and that’s when who he is clicks.

“S-sorry! I didn’t mean to - god I almost ran into you I was in such a hurry… I mean - no! Not in a hurry, you know, just, I didn’t wanna intrude, cause no one knows I’m here. Well not no one, someone took me here.”

“Have dinner with me.”

He speaks softly but you can’t hear it, lost in your spiral.

“Not that I came here behind anyone’s back,” you continue, “I promise! I have this bracelet, see!” You say as you hold up your wrist. “I swear I didn’t steal it, they gave it to me with my ticket, I don’t even know wh-”

“Y/n, have dinner with me.”

His voice comes out a little more firm this time, finally stopping your incessant explanation. Your breath stops altogether with any movement in your body as you realise he said your name.

He remembered your name.

“I’m sorry. W-what?”

“Come have dinner with me tonight, please.”

It’s not your fault that all you can do is blink at him. How are you supposed to understand these words when they come out of his mouth?

“Y/n?”

“Yes?”

The corners of his lips lifts. “So you’ll come with me?”

“Come where?”

“To dinner.” He chuckles, obviously amused by your fumbling.

“Oh! Umm…” You can feel the blush creeping up your neck and angle your head down as you take a step back so the lights don’t give you away too much. “You’ve got schedules, you don’t need to go out of your way for me, really!”

“I was gonna go there anyway, but I’d rather have your company than eat alone.”

You chew on your lower lip, trying to find an excuse, unsure why.

“I don’t think I should. It’s not appropriate, sorry. I-I could get you in trouble.”

He shakes his head, his hand finally leaving the door to grab his coat. “You won't, I promise. We kind of make it our hobby to know the good, quiet places. Comes with the job.” He chuckles.

“So… you’re seriously asking me out to dinner?”

He nods his head, staring into your eyes and you feel the heat on your cheeks come back with a vengeance. God, if he could just stop looking at you with his big brown shiny boba eyes, then maybe…

“O-okay. Yeah, sure.” The words come out before you can think it through. “I’d love to.”

His smile grows even bigger at your words and it takes everything in him to not jump with excitement. His fingers hover over the keyboard of his phone before he locks it and puts it in his pocket.

“I’ve got one of the managers waiting behind the stadium if you’re ready to go.”

You nod hesitantly. You’re really doing this…

He reopens the door, waiting for you to come out in front of him, and you find yourself face to face with San, Yeosang, Mingi, Jongho, and a manager, chatting loudly with each other despite the exhaustion on their faces.

You freeze in your place, obviously. Honestly, what else can you do?

“Oh hey, hyung, you disappeared so quickly I didn’t have time to check with you.” San starts. “Is 8 still okay for tomorrow? Mingi wanted to join in.”

“Yeah if that’s not too much trouble.” The tall blonde asks.

“No, ‘course. I’ll just meet you in the gym.”

San smiles as he takes a swig of his water. “Great! Nice to see you again y/n.”

“Have a good night!” You hear them all say one after the other as they filter into the green room, your eyes glued to where you last saw them as the door closes.

“Did you drug me?”

Seonghwa looks at you with pure shock and concern. “God no! Why would you say that?”

“So… that - that actually happened?”

He laughs, relief flooding through him.

“Come on, let’s not make my manager wait too long.”

You can’t help but look back a couple of times, watching the door grow smaller with every step. Only when you turn the corner do you look up at the man next to you, a barely disguised smile on his face as he feels your eyes burning into him.

The cold wind hits you as soon as he opens the door, but to your relief, the car is right there waiting, as promised.

Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you. You’re still hesitant, but the cold and the promise of good food decide for you as you step into the warm leather air of the car. You shuffle over to the other side to let him in, and when the door closes, the atmosphere feels almost suffocating.

Seonghwa gives some instructions to his manager in Korean, and the car takes off immediately. The silence stretches the whole ride. You don’t even know what to say, and he doesn’t push you. Even his manager doesn’t look at you through the mirror the whole ride. You would know - your eyes have been laser focused on the road so you don’t have to think about the situation you’re in.

The car stops in front of a small establishment, tucked away in a dimly lit street. Alarm bells go off in your brain at first, until you lean forward and see the dainty front, noticing a small handful of people inside.

Your door opens and you almost fall forward from having leant on it - you hadn’t noticed Seonghwa getting out on the other side.

Your cheeks burn bright once more as the pile of embarrassing moments continues to grow, but still step out with a modem of grace and poise, thanking the manager shyly. He offers you a warm smile before you close the door and he drives away, back to the bustling street.

When you turn back around, Seonghwa is holding the door open once again.

“After you.”

His voice is so sweet and comforting… Just two words and your legs are already moving inside.

“Hi, I have a reservation under Mr Park?”

“Yes of course, right this way Sir.”

The waiter takes the two of you to a table a little out of the way in the corner of the restaurant, with a low hanging ceiling light bathing the both of you and the tableware with gold.

The vibe of the restaurant is cosy, like a family place, the traditional sounding music playing softly through the speakers. Even the chairs look old - not in a deplorable way, more rustic, like they’ve got countless stories to tell.

He pulls it out for you, continuing to be the most well mannered man you’ve ever met.

He sits down in front of you and you clear your voice, trying to sound more confident than you are. “You made a reservation?”

“Of course!”

“But… how did you know I’d say yes?”

He gives you an almost shy lopsided smile. “Call me optimistic.”

Then it clicks. “Ah I get it! You said you were coming here anyway, whether or not I said yes.”

He smiles sheepishly. "Actually… I might have lied. I can’t really imagine myself having dinner here with just my manager…”

“Oh…” Curiosity peeks its nose. “What would you have actually done if I’d said no? With your night, I mean.”

He opens the menu, humming as he takes a moment to think. “Probably just gone back to my room and ordered room service, maybe taken a bath. Some of the members will hang out for a bit every now and then, but usually we’re just too tired to do much.”

You frown. “You really don’t have to do this, you know? I mean, the restaurant is super cute and the food looks great - don’t even get me started on the company.” You chuckle awkwardly, making him smile, before yours drops again. “But the last thing I want is to make you even more exhausted than you already are…”

He smirks as he leans forward and you hold your breath. “I’ve got plenty of energy, don’t you worry about that. Besides,” he sighs as he leans back, “I’d very much rather be here with you than alone in my hotel room.”

You blink at him, too stunned to speak, when the waiter comes to take your order.

“I’ll have the house special with the 8” pepperoni pizza on the side, please.” He turns to you. “Y/n?”

His voice saying your name snaps you out of it. “Umm…” You hadn’t even thought to check the menu this whole time, so you open it to the salad page and get the cheapest one.

“The…” You try to pronounce it but the name sounds like you’re going to butcher it, so you opt for showing it to the man instead. “This one.”

“Are you sure?”

You turn to Seonghwa, blushing again. “I didn’t bring a lot of money with me today, I was trying not to overspend on merch again…”

“And? I’m paying. Get what you want.”

“No really, it’s f-”

“Get the salad if that’s what you want, not because of money.”

He holds your gaze for what feels like an eternity and you cave, once more, turning to the waiter as you hand him back the menu. “I’ll have the house special too, then.” You turn to Seonghwa. “If that’s really okay?”

He nods calmly.

The man takes both of your menus back and you’re left alone with Seonghwa, chewing on your lip again.

“You really didn’t have to, you know? It’s so nice but… I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage or anything…”

He smiles at you, tilting his head a little with a fondness that makes your heart flutter with arrhythmia. “You were given backstage passes by me, slightly coerced into dinner with me and taken to a restaurant of my choice. If anyone was being taken advantage of in this situation, it wouldn’t be me y/n.”

“Still, I’m just a f-” You lower your voice a little, conscious of your environment. “A fan, you don’t need to do all this. This is just dinner, and I agreed to come, you didn’t make me.”

He shrugs, a slight blush colouring his cheeks. “Even so, I’m not gonna let you pay anything on a date.”

You choke on your water. Did he just…

“Is that… Are we… Huh?”

His blush darkens to a gorgeous crimson and you do your best to ignore the flutters in your stomach at his display of vulnerability. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. It’s like, a friendly date. I wouldn’t assume… I just felt like you were nice and I wanted to talk to you more and get to know you.”

You can’t hide the slight disappointment in your face as you place your glass back down. “Oh. Yeah, sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed…”

His eyes study you as you avert your gaze. Let’s not kid anyone, of course the idea of this being a date is terrifying given who you both are. But part of you wishes he hadn’t denied it so vehemently.

“Anyways.” You clear your throat in an attempt to move past the awkwardness. “What did you wanna know?”

And so, he starts asking you, well, everything.

Your meals arrive and get devoured whilst you tell him everything there is to know about you - your childhood, your life, family, work, even how long you’ve been a fan - he just couldn’t help himself.

At first, you’re hesitant, but somewhere along the way, the questions stop feeling like questions at all. That is, until he asks you whether he’s your bias. It’s not like your bias is much higher on your list than Seonghwa is. But… he does hold a special place in your heart.

“Come on, I promise I won’t judge you. I’m just curious. Although I’ll warn you now, if you say another member’s name, I can’t promise I won’t be jealous.”

You smile at his honesty and take a breath to give yourself courage. “Keep in mind that you’re, like, so close to being my bias,” you start, and he clutches his chest dramatically at the revelation that he isn’t quite there, “but… my bias is Jongho.”

He waits a second before dropping his head. “Aish… I can’t even be mad at you for that…”

You laugh honestly, a sound that’s like music to his ears.

“I feel like I need to tell you why though.”

He nods his head in encouragement, listening to you with a devastating intensity like he has all night. You found it hard to eat when he kept staring at you like that.

“The first song I heard that made me get into you guys was actually not an ATEEZ song. It was Jongho’s cover of ‘So You’ when he went on Immortal Songs. I just, I don’t know…” You sigh. “It stuck with me. And then a few days later, I decided to check more of him out, and that’s when I found out about ATEEZ, and I’ve been hooked since.” You shrug.

“Now I really can’t blame you for me not being your bias… You know, a few of us cried when we first heard it…”

You lean forward in surprise. “Me too! How does he do that?!”

“I have no idea!” He says, leaning towards you too, admiring the way the light reflects into tiny stars in your eyes. “Before debut he was already doing that, but this one… it’s like he’s casting a spell or something! It’s a good thing he’s the maknae,” he adds, “he’s powerful enough as it is.”

You laugh again. “God, can you imagine?”

His laugh joins yours until the sounds die down, and you’re left staring at each other, a mere few inches separating you. You’re the first one to move back.

“You’ve asked me a lot of questions so it’s my turn.”

He hesitates a moment but motions for you to proceed.

“Why do you remember me, specifically? Like, you remembered me the second day I had send off, and then the third day you noticed I got my hair cut. I didn’t even do anything big either…”

“Well, you dyed it a little darker, it made your eyes a lot brighter.”

You bite your lip to muffle a smile. “R-right. But, come on. Yeah you’re an idol, and maybe you notice these things more. But at the same time, even my coworkers didn’t see the change…”

He opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off, feeling unusually bold. “And you asked for my name. Like, my full name. Which was a little weird to say with everyone listening in I have to say.”

He scratches his head. “Yeah… I didn’t exactly think that one through. In my defence, I really… I was a little sad that I wasn’t gonna see you again, so I really wanted to arrange to meet you after tonight’s show.”

Is your heart tripping and stumbling over itself? Absolutely. That man should not be so smooth.

“Why, though? What did I do that made you so curious?”

He takes a moment to think about what to say.

In fairness, as excited as he’d been at the prospect of meeting you properly, he hadn’t really thought about what you’d want to know, only what he did. But his desire to meet you wasn’t rooted on baseless reasons.

“You have this energy. You were so calm when I first came to sign your autograph. Then I noticed you wearing my skin outfit, and honestly, you’d done such a great job, you really looked great. Then the night after that, I didn’t expect to see you again, but there you were, wearing one of Yeosang’s ‘Legacy’ outfits, and honestly, it looked so cool. I love the way you made our looks fit you, so you stayed on my mind. And then last week, you weren’t wearing any particular outfit, but your face… I don’t know how to explain it, but it grabbed my attention as soon as I got into the room. Plus, like I said, your energy was so calming, so soft, but full of energy, and I… I really liked it.”

You sit in silence, processing each new piece of information. It feels like he’s slowly peeling layers of himself and handing them to you. There’s a vulnerability in his honesty, and you didn’t expect it. You weren’t expecting anything, honestly, but this would have most definitely not been anywhere near your list.

The only thing you can wonder now, is whether he was being honest when he said this was a friendly date. After all, there is absolutely no way that Park Seonghwa, the beautiful, kind, funny idol that he is, would actually have taken you on a real date. But that same beautiful, kind, funny idol just described you like he already knew you, like he’d been thinking about you.

“How did San know my name?”

You probably know the answer, to be honest, but you need to hear him say it.

“I might have spoken about you a couple times. Might have also told them about my plan to take you to dinner…”

His voice trails quieter as the words come out.

Yup, that’s exactly what you thought he would say. The problem is that you wished he hadn’t said that. How are you supposed to react? What are you expected to say?

“I should let you go, it’s late.” You say as you push your chair back, a slight panic washing over you. “I’m sure you’re exhausted after the show.”

Before you can grab your purse off the table, his hand comes to rest on yours. His warmth makes you stop in your tracks, your mind blanking.

“I didn’t mean to scare you away, I’m sorry. Please don’t go?”

Your lips move, but the air is stuck in your throat, preventing the words from coming out. Ever the perceptive man, he notices your internal panic, instantly removing his hand from yours. You feel the loss of his warmth immediately, but your lungs start regaining function.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, b-but…”

“I took it too far, I know. I’m so sorry y/n, I was out of line.”

“No!” You answer faster than you should have, and his surprise is evident. “No, you weren’t. You’ve been so nice all evening, it’s just that, well…”

“You don’t feel the same way, it’s fine.”

The disappointment on his face makes your heart break in a million tiny pieces, and you’re forced to sit back down before your knees give out.

“Actually, I was gonna say that it’s a lot of pressure.” You smile at him, warmly, and his eyes regain a small sparkle. “Think about it: I came to this amazing concert, was told to go backstage to meet my favourite artists - which is so incredibly huge! And then one of these artists invites me to dinner and admits he’s been thinking about me. It sounds so delusional I can’t even believe these words are coming out of my mouth…”

He grabs your hand again and a current flows through your entire body at his touch.

“Did you have fun at least?”

You nod. “Of course. You’re great company.” And not bad to look at either.

A shade of red creeps up his cheeks, making you melt internally as you try to keep your composure. “I did too. You’re so interesting to listen to. And I’m sorry if I ever stared at you, it’s just that you’re hard not to look at…”

His words shoot heat through your stomach and your breath hitches. You wish you could look away from his face but his gaze has you locked in.

You suddenly see all the details you’ve been trying to ignore. The way his plush pink lips are slightly parted, his breath coming through in slightly shorter breaths than before. The dark brown in his eyes has turned almost black as he scans your own face, analysing you in much the same way. His cheeks are still slightly pinker than before, but it doesn’t look like shyness anymore, and you try not to think about the other reason his face could be flushed.

His fingers twitch around your hand, squeezing a little tighter when the waiter comes back.

“Apologies guys, but we’re about to close. Is there anything else I could get for you?”

The snap back to reality is like a cold shower. You instinctively go to take your hand back, but his hold on you is firm, and your composure threatens to break.

“No, thank you. We’ll pay now, please.”

He skilfully takes his card out, tapping it on the machine as he continues to hold your hand, before the waiter wishes you a good night.

He types a few words on his phone before looking at you with a smile that turns you into a puddle on your seat.

“You don’t have to say yes.” He starts, brows drawn together with hope. “But would, umm… Would you like to come back to my hotel? There’s no expectations, of course,” he continues quickly when he sees the look on your face, “I’d just really like it if we could spend a little more time together, getting to know more of you.” His smile is adorably crooked. “You don’t have to s-”

“Yes. I’d love to.”

Oh you’re in so much trouble now, and there’s no way out. You’re stuck, and it’s all his fault - though you could’ve protested a bit more. But how can you, when he looks at you like that, talks so softly, and holds your hand so gently yet, dare you say… possessively?

The way his smile lights up his entire face makes your heart race. Every single thing he does has your body and mind losing control.

“I’ve texted my manager again, he should be here any minute.”

He opens the door to the street and closes it immediately, the downpour suddenly obvious. You were so entranced in your bubble that you hadn’t heard it hitting the windows - nor had you realised the music was off or that you were the last two in the restaurant, come to think of it.

His manager arrives soon, almost invisible through the thick sheet of rain.

Seonghwa runs to the door to open it before coming back to you and putting his jacket over your head.

“Wait, no you’re getting drenched!” You shout over the rain, but he shakes his already dripping head.

“I’m fine, get in the car.”

You oblige, running to the dry refuge of the car, Seonghwa in tow. You turn to him and wince at the sight, desperately ignoring the way his t-shirt clings to him and how the droplets on this skin look like works of art.

“Seonghwa, that was so stupid. You’re in the middle of a tour!”

He smirks shyly, loving your concern for him. “The hotel is only five minutes away, I’ll dry off there.”

His gaze suddenly drops to your hand. You’re leaning towards him and you've been using it to brace yourself on the middle seat. Slowly, he moves his own, entangling his fingers with yours.

You immediately straighten up, looking forward at the road, but not daring to move your hand. In his seat, he gazes out of the window with a barely contained smile, rubbing his face to try and hide it.

Your heart is beating out of your chest, an uncontrollable response to his touch.

This feels so incredibly surreal. You try to contain your smile, biting your lip to hold it in, but how can you when his thumb rubs small circles on the back of your hand as you both look away from each other?

After only a few minutes, the car stops in front of his hotel. You take a second to let it sink in before undoing your seatbelt, and he’s already outside, holding his jacket up for you, getting soaked all over again. You give the manager a polite goodbye again, a little crimson coating the apples of your cheeks, knowing what this looks like to him. He doesn’t say anything though, nor does he look at you in any way - he just smiles at you warmly like earlier this evening.

Once out of the car, you both make a run for the revolving doors. You get to the elevators, and when the doors close, he looks at you and bursts out laughing.

“My jacket didn’t really do much, did it?”

You look down at your clothes. The wind made the rain go past his jacket, and your jeans are sticking to your legs, dripping on the floor. Still, you look up at him softly.

“My face is dry. It didn’t do nothing.”

He moves a stray piece of hair from your face with a smile.

He’s almost too close now. Not too close for comfort - you feel so at ease with him. He’s getting too close for your thoughts to stay rational. He’s getting too close for you to not notice the scent of black coffee and vanilla coming from his perfume. Too close for you to not feel the heat he radiates. Too close for you to not see the-

The elevator dings and the doors open, breaking out of your chain of thoughts - definitely for the better.

You follow him out, leaving a trail of droplets on the laminated floor. The beep of his keycard in the emptiness of the hallway unlocks something in you too, and, as he opens the door for you, you feel something change as you pass the threshold of the room.

Your breathing turns shallow as a slight bit of panic comes over you. What are you doing?

Seonghwa stands behind you with the door left ajar, concern on his face. You jump, startled by his voice.

“Should I leave this open for you?”

You know you should leave, take this opportunity to run, get out of this insane fever dream. But your body betrays you as you shake your head, swallowing through your tight throat.

“No.”

Your voice is breathy, barely above a whisper, and he can’t ignore the way warmth flows through his body with relief. He wouldn’t have stopped you, but he’s glad he didn’t have to fight the urge to.

He lets the door go, shutting automatically with a soft click.

Neither of you moves. There’s no telling what could happen if you do. You could pretend it’s all in your head, but his chest is rising and falling too fast for it to just be you.

“You should change.” You finally manage quietly, afraid to break the moment.

“So should you.”

It almost feels like a relief to hear that he’s just as out of breath as you are.

“I don’t have anything to change into.”

He takes a tentative step towards you, still far enough for your brain to function, but getting dangerously close to autopilot territory.

“I can lend you something.”

“I’m okay.”

He takes a half step further and your brain finally short circuits.

You look up at him under your lashes. He feels so imposing, like something shifted in him. There’s still softness there, but his skin is too hot for him to keep calm.

“I don’t want you to get sick.”

Each word ghosts your face with his breath. He’s too close now. The space between you is growing smaller with every second, like you’re gravitating towards each other.

“I…”

Your mind is blank, the words trailing off your tongue as he tucks your hair behind your ear, this time keeping his hand there.

Oh god…

His eyes keep switching between yours and your lips, his palm searing into your cheek in a way that makes you want him to stay there forever.

You’re frozen in place, unable to move - not that you should.

But he doesn’t want to either. He knows how risky it is for him to be doing this. But he can’t help this all consuming attraction he feels for you. Not just for your beauty, but for you, as a whole. Your laugh is still echoing in his brain, the way your voice grows higher when you get excited about things, the way your smile creates those faint crinkles in your nose…

He meant it when he said there was no expectation for anything. But he forgot every single question he still had for you the moment he felt your frantic pulse in the car. 

The only sound in the room is that of your loud breaths and the rain still hammering on the window. The room feels small, like it’s pushing you towards each other.

Somewhere between tucking your hair and now, you’ve grown so close that even a breeze would be enough to push you and kiss him.

His breath fans your lips, making them tingle with anticipation. His wet hair is still dripping down his face, forming rivulets on his tanned cheeks, but he doesn’t care. Your skin is so soft under his fingertips, he wonders just how soft your blush coloured lips would be.

“Seonghwa…” you breathe, unsure why.

His eyes move back up to yours, and the last of his restraint breaks, finally closing the gap between you.

He’s gentle, only brushing his lips over yours, like he’s asking for permission. You don’t give it to him straight away, afraid of what’s happening, but the faint taste of his lips makes you want more, and you kiss him lightly.

His hand tightens a fraction in your hair, brows drawn as he sighs with relief.

Your purse drops to the floor, allowing you to tentatively place your hands around his waist. It’s like electricity at every point of contact between you. Both of your bodies are on fire, skins prickling with desire.

His lips stay soft on yours, learning you, letting you guide him. The wet fabric clinging to his torso feels like your only anchor to reality, your fingers tightening around it. Droplets glide down your wrists as the water is squeezed out, his hair bleeds down onto your cheeks, his hands smearing the rain on your neck. Even your own clothes become wetter as the space between you disappears fully.

One of his hands glides down your arm, goosebumps erupting in its wake, before he places it on your waist, holding you close - as if you could go anywhere when his touch feels like the only thing holding you together right now.

You continue to tug on his shirt to stop yourself from falling over and he notices, moving his hand to hold your back instead, and you gasp.

Just that small reaction has his head spinning. It’s not just about what your sounds mean, it’s about how they feel like something he didn’t know he was missing.

Without thinking, your fingers travel lower, thumb hooking under the fabric of his shirt against his sizzling skin. It surprises him, his fingers tightening around you, his lips a little hungrier as he sighs.

You’re practically on the tip of your toes now, your back arched into him, like two pieces of a puzzle finding out in real time how to fit with each other.

The tip of his tongue grazes against your lip lightly, tentatively, and your body responds instantly, lips parting to allow him in.

Your taste is intoxicating, the berries from the dessert you shared lingering, mixed with something so uniquely yours, and he can’t stop his fingertips from digging into the soft skin of your waist - just so he doesn’t do anything too rash.

Getting pulled into him further and further, you unravel your other hand from the wet fabric, grazing him slowly, until your fingertips reach his face. You cup his jaw in your palm, a low rumble in his throat reverberating through it.

He pulls away, only a fraction.

Both of your chests are heaving, your lips puffy and glistening. You run your thumb over his lower lip, tracing its shape softly, whilst his eye bore into yours, watching every tiny flicker in your face.

Without a word, he grabs your waist, guiding you backwards slowly until your legs meet the mattress and you sink down on it. He stays standing, towering over you as if joining you would cross an official boundary.

Your eyes stay locked on his as you glide your hands up his waist, hiking his shirt up just a fraction, waiting for any sign of protest, but none comes. He lets you continue to reveal more of his perfectly sculpted body, your mouth getting dryer with every inch of skin you see.

When you can’t go higher, he takes over, passing the wet item over his head, laying it on the chair behind him without looking away from you once.

His skin is glowing from the rain, the soft lights of the room flickering with every inhale. Your breath catches in your throat as you admire him quietly. Your fingers twitch in your lap but you don’t dare touch him. He notices, reaching out to grab your hands and placing them on his waist.

Both of your breaths hitch at the contact.

You graze your fingertips over his skin, creating a map in your mind of every ridge and curve, making sure you can never forget him. His pulse is frantic under your touch, but he doesn’t move - he just continues to look at you, imprinting your image in his mind.

The sight of your lightly parted lips, a pink tinge colouring your skin with need, your eyes, that somehow captured him amongst hundreds of other fans, looking at him like he’s a work of art when you’re the one he couldn’t stop thinking about… Everything about you draws him in, and he can’t help cupping your face with both hands, bringing your lips back to his, your hands splaying out on his lower back to keep him close.

The kiss is more ferocious this time, his restraints breaking one by one with every little bit of you you give to him.

A tiny moan passes your lips at his touch and it travels straight to his crotch, and he thanks his stylist for putting him in oversized cargos. It doesn’t matter that he’s half naked in front of you, the fact that such a small sound has his body reacting this way feels almost embarrassing.

Your fingertips involuntarily dig a little harder into his skin and he grunts, pulling away just enough to be able to look at you, feeling your panting breaths brush his skin.

Hooking his fingers under the collar of your jacket, he pulls it down your arms slowly. When he places it at the foot of the bed, his face gets closer to the crook of your neck and your breath stutters, eyelids fluttering.

Like he was reading your mind, his lips graze your pulse and your whole body shudders. He grabs a hold of your chin gently, tilting your face away as he continues his path on your skin.

“Seonghwa…” you murmur, holding on to his wrist for stability, your other hand on his thigh without realising it.

His response is a low grumble that vibrates down to your bones. His mouth wraps around your skin, sucking and nipping at it with his teeth - not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark.

Heat floods your core with every fresh bruise, and you’re finding it difficult to not move, lest you touch him in a way you shouldn’t. Despite his intoxicating mouth on your neck and addictive fingers on your jaw, you don’t know where he wants to take this, and you’d be damned if you took it too far.

But this is nowhere near where he wants to leave things. He’s trying to be gentle - he really is - but there’s only so gentle he can be. There’s only so much he can hold back.

“I need you.” He confesses low into your ear, the air making you shiver. “Please, tell me I can have you.”

Without hesitation, you nod your head vigorously. “Y-yes. Please.” You swallow thickly.

Something ignites inside of him at those words - like a spark or maybe even closer to a fire. His head is spinning at the mere thought of having you, burying himself inside you, making you feel so good you’ll never want to leave.

It’s his turn to hook his fingers under the hem of your shirt, passing it over your head, and the air gets stuck in his lungs. He didn’t expect to be so mesmerised by your body - or at least not more than he already was all evening. But now, seeing the way your chest moves with every inhale, how soft your skin looks under the low lights, how many goosebumps pepper your skin from the cool air touching you, he doesn’t know if he’d rather look at you or touch you.

Your eyes - the ones that captured him before he knew who you were - look at him with so much lust and anticipation that he knows he needs to touch you. He needs to feel your pulse. He’s only just kissed you, yet he’s already addicted to how your body reacts so effortlessly to him.

“Lay down.”

You oblige without objection, his eyes following your every move, before slowly climbing on top of you. Seeing him there, his necklace dangling in between you, swaying gently despite how still you both are…

It’s hard to describe what it’s like. Never in a million years would you have thought you’d one day find yourself in this position, with Seonghwa shirtless above you. Yet, it feels so natural. You’re giddy, of course, not just because of who he is, but because of the anticipation. And despite that, you’re calm. You know you can trust him. You know you’re safe.

Your hands make their way up his chest to wrap around his neck and pull him to you. There’s no point in hesitating anymore - you’ve both admitted you want this. And god do you want, no, need him.

This time, you’re the one kissing him hungrily. You don’t have it in you to hold back, and he can feel it, his hands roaming freely over your body. His mouth follows, kissing the curve of your shoulder, the dip between your breasts, your breathy moans only fueling his desire for you.

His index hooks under the waistband of your jeans and you lift your hips in encouragement. Within seconds, he’s rid you of them, still making sure to place them neatly on top of your jacket.

When he looks back, a fresh surge of blood rushes through him. Your grey panties are completely soaked, creating a dark grey patch where you need him most. He notices the little silver star gem on the hem and smiles to himself - it’s like you knew.

He pulls your thighs lower on the bed. The closer he gets to your throbbing core, the more he can smell you, and his mouth is already watering at the thought.

“Can I?” He asks, his voice broken with need.

You bite your lip. His constant checking in does something to you you can’t explain. “Yes. You don’t need to ask. I trust you.”

He scoffs, his tongue burying itself in his cheek at just how incredible you are.

“Say Red if it ever gets uncomfortable.”

“It won’t.”

“Promise you’ll say it.”

You nod. “Promise.”

His smile is crooked again, but this time it’s so much darker, the anticipation of what’s to come consuming him.

There’s a moment where the air stands still as he hovers over your centre, the implication of what’s happening sinking in, both of your breaths held. Then, almost hesitantly, he presses his thumb on the dark grey patch, spreading your wetness up to your clit, and you whimper. You didn’t realise how on edge you’d been this whole time, until he touched you, and it’s the most delectable release you could have imagined.

Your reaction was exactly what he needed. His thumb is circling your bundle of nerves now, delighting in seeing the colour of your underwear grow darker with every pass. Every whimper that comes out of you fuels him more. He’s strained in his cargos now, ready to burst at any second, and he hasn’t even tasted you yet.

Too excited, he moves your underwear to the side, revealing your puffy, glistening lips.

“Fuck, 애기…”

His hot breath on your wet cunt makes you bite your lip, humming with pleasure.

His fingers gather some of your slick before he brings it to his mouth, just to taste, but god, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t drink you from the source.

His tongue takes you by surprise when he flattens it against you, licking a stripe all the way to your clit, and your hips buck into him already, making him chuckle. He’s not a sadist by any means, but he loves the idea of you writhing under him whilst his tongue fucks you until there’s nothing left.

Your hand weaves itself in his hair as he continues, pulling on the damp strands whilst pushing his head down. He may not be a sadist, but he might be a little bit of a masochist given how his cock jumps in his pants the moment the tugging stings.

Your head is growing fuzzy the more he laps you up. It’s like he’s kissing you passionately and sucking you dry at the same time.

“Mmh… God…”

“What do you need, beautiful?”

You lift your head to look at him - a huge mistake given how sexy he looks when he’s fucked out drunk on you.

“Fuck, more.”

He teases your hole with his finger. “Like this?”

You nod your head frantically as you bite your lip. “Mmh hmm.”

His eyes stay locked onto your face as he gathers more slick before pushing one finger into you, delighting in the way your eyebrows draw close and your eyes roll back.

The squelching sounds of your arousal mixed with the rhythm of his fingers fills the room. Your cheeks burn a little, embarrassed by how turned on he makes you, but the thought doesn’t linger when he hits that spot. Stars fill your vision, the room fading away until all you see is his outline between your legs.

He can feel your body tense, hungry for your release. He doesn’t need to say anything, he just continues curling and scissoring his fingers whilst his lips lock around your clit, sucking on it perfectly.

The tension snaps inside of you in no time, his name falling from your lips over and over again. His tongue laps up your juices incessantly.

When he feels your spasms stop, he slowly pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, before climbing back over you and kissing your neck with his wet lips.

“You did so good 애기.”

The only response you have in you is a content hum.

His lips continue decorating your neck and chest with soft kisses.

“Do you want to stop?”

You shake your head instantly, making him smirk.

“What do you wanna do, beautiful?”

You grab his face, bringing him up to you. The taste of yourself on his sweet lips sends a fresh wave of arousal between your legs and your hips roll without a thought.

“I want you. Need you.” You bite your lip. “Please?”

A low rumble rises from his throat at your tiny broken pleas.

He’s done. Done waiting, done holding back, done pretending he’s not been dreaming of you for days and exactly how he’d fuck you to make you cry out his name and beg for him to never stop.

He stands up, removing his cargos whilst his dark hooded eyes stay locked on yours, his tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip automatically.

You hold your breath when his fingers hook under the hem of his boxers, the sight making your mouth water. If his length wasn’t enough to make you see stars, his girth and pulsing veins are sure to take you there. You swallow thickly at the thought and a spark of pride flows through him.

He bends down, sliding your own soaked panties down, kissing his way up to your breasts that he gently removes from the cups of your bra. He squeezes them, delighting in your small whimpers, and finally unclasps the garment, leaving you both naked for each other.

He climbs higher on you, his leaking mushroom tip brushing your sensitive folds and you gasp.

“You don’t know,” he starts, brushing the hair out of your face in soothing strokes, “how much I’ve been thinking about what it’d be like to fuck you. Feel you squeeze me, see you leaking all around my cock, screaming my name.” He lines himself up with your entrance pushing in just enough to make you understand what’s about to happen. “I promise you I’ll make it worth it.”

With those final words, he starts pushing in, slowly, but the stretch is enough to send your eyes rolling back in your head. He doesn’t bottom out yet, pulling back and thrusting back in a little more every time, until his pelvis finally meets your hips. You’re out of the breath you didn’t realise you were holding, chest heaving from the simple act of taking him in.

He can’t wait any longer. He pulls out completely, only to push back in with a force that shocks you, knocking the air out of your lungs. He repeats it, revelling in the way your tits bounce with every thrust.

He notices the way your hands fist the sheets so tightly that your knuckles have turned white, and a small snicker escapes him.

“Remember the word?”

You hear sounds but your brain can’t focus on their meaning when you feel so full already.

He thrusts back in a little harder and you moan. “What’s the safe word 애기?”

“R-red.”

His fingers squeeze your thigh, thumb rubbing your skin in approval.

“Good girl. Remember it.”

That reminder is the last thing you remember before his hips start pistoning into you, picking up speed and increasing in force gradually.

If you thought his fingers were perfect, his cock must be heaven.

Every snap is precise, hitting that perfect spot inside of you that has your orgasm building in no time. His body is so perfect too. The lines of his abs as his muscles contract look like a work of art 15th century sculptors could have only dreamed of.

You can’t stop the long, drawn out moan that keeps hiccuping when his hips smack yours.

“F-fu-uck S-seong-ghwa…”

He can’t get enough of you. The way your pussy sucks him in with every thrust is tenfold better than what he imagined, and your moans are the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. A slight sheen of sweat covers your skin and all he wants to do is lick it off. Or bite it. Every inhibition is gone now, and so without thinking, he does exactly what he wants to do.

His teeth sink into your calf and you shriek, the pain mixing with pleasure. He does it again on your neck, licking the sting away, delighting in the salty taste of your sweat on his tongue. He wants to mark you until everyone who sees you knows you belong to him, even if it was just for one night.

The feeling of him both in and on you tips you over the edge with a cry as he fucks your arrousal back into you.

He grabs your ankles, pushing them down to your chest without giving you a second to rest.

The angle gives him the perfect view of your cunt squeezing him and the white ring slowly forming around his cock and he can’t help but whimper.

“Feel so good 애기. Creaming around me, making a mess. Just how like I imagined.”

He leans down to kiss you and the new angle makes you cry out even louder.

Fuck it if anyone can hear you. Let them. They need to know how good he gives it to you.

It’s not like you could do anything about it anyway - he’s fucking you too dumb for any thought to form. You have no control over your body now, you’re at his mercy, and you couldn’t be happier.

A small tear runs past your eye when he bites your lower lip. You know he gave you a safe word, but given how gentle he was all evening, you couldn’t have foreseen just how harsh he could be. Still, there’s no way you’ll make him stop. You’ve never been fucked so good in your life.

You kiss him back with the little clarity you can muster, your whimpers echoing in his mouth, sending him into a fresh wave of desire.

“If you sound like that I won’t be able to stop.”

“Don’t. Fuck don’t st-top. Ever.”

“Yeah?” He whispers against your lips, a bead of sweat dropping onto your face. “Y’want more?”

“Mmh yes yes yes.”

His chuckle ends in a low whine as you clench around him, and an idea pops into his mind. He pulls out of you, quickly turning you around on your knees to face the mirror on the headboard, before thrusting back in - all in the space of a few seconds.

He doesn’t know why he didn’t think of it before. Seeing your fucked out face as he pounds into you could have him cumming in seconds, though he does his best to hold out. He’s nowhere near done with you.

He bends down to your ear, nibbling on it before grabbing your jaw with one hand, his other guiding your hips back.

“Look at you. How could I not think about those eyes?” You gasp at a particularly harsh blow. “Dreamiest fucking thing.”

Speaking of dreams, you might be in one, judging by the complete improbability that a man that looks like him could even begin to think of you like this. And yet, the feeling of his veins grating your walls with every thrust as his tip hits your cervix reminds you that this is happening. If not because of that, then the feeling of the cool metal of his team ring pressing into your skin does it.

Another tear falls from your eye onto his hand, making him smile.

“Look so pretty when you cry.”

He wants more. Wants to see how many tears you’ll shed for him.

He slides his hand down from your jaw to your neck, squeezing a little, testing. Your eyes glass over and he grunts. How can you be so perfect? You’re his perfect little doll right now. You’re a doll he wants to take care of every day and destroy with his cock. At least tonight he got to do a little bit of both.

“Wantcha to cum again 애기.”

He squeezes your throat a little tighter as his other hand moves around your waist to play with your nipples, your orgasm breaking like he pressed a button. This one is longer, more intense, your entire body shaking in his hands which help you stay up on weak arms.

“Argh fuck so tight.”

“H-Hwa.” Your voice comes out broken, still hiccuping from your orgasm as his cock continues to bully your insides. “Too m-mu…”

He tilts your face up in the mirror until you finally look him in the eye, his thrusts slowing down slightly.

“What’s the word?”

It’s on the tip of your tongue. You feel so sensitive, almost raw, but…

He smiles, kissing your shoulder. “Just a lil more, ‘kay?”

You nod weakly and he resumes his thrusts, tears flowing freely down your face now. You feel on fire where his hips keep hitting yours, but at the same time, that same oversensitivity is helping you feel him even more fully than before.

The sweat coating your skin is sticking your hair to your neck, his touch feeling like a burn from your joined body heat - but when you look at his face in the reflection, none of it matters.

You’ll let him do anything if he can look at you like this.

You grab onto his wrist, the one holding your neck, trying to feel closer to him, and he pulls you to his chest in response. His lips devour every inch of your skin it can touch - your face, your neck, your shoulders and upper back - but he never loosens his grip. If anything, it’s tighter, even more possessive.

His thrusts are starting to be more erratic, his high getting closer, but he knows he can take you there again - your body one touch away from combusting.

He turns your face towards him, your half lidded eyes almost crossing from the proximity and his heart skips a beat.

“Where d’you want me 애기?”

“In.” You manage, and his chest swells at the thought.

No, he doesn’t know you that well, it’s true, but the thought that you’ll be dripping with him for a while makes him tremble.

Feeling himself grow almost too close to release, he captures your lips with his as his hand squeezes tighter and the other rubs your clit frantically - and as expected, you come apart under him. The feeling of your walls fluttering around him tips him over too, ropes of white shooting out inside you. You feel yourself getting fuller with every twitch of his cock, moaning endlessly in his mouth as he whimpers in yours.

His thrusts slow down until he stills, completely spent, forehead resting against yours. You catch your reflection in your peripheral vision and turn your head to take it in.

His fingers have moved, leaving slight purple marks where he squeezed, a few imprints of his teeth creating a necklace on your skin. His tanned skin against yours, the veins in his arms glistening with sweat, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths against your back. His lips are leaving a trail of soft kisses against your ear and your cheek until the corner of your mouth, before he looks up slightly and smiles.

“Like what you see?”

You nod, swallowing past your dry throat, and lay your head back onto his shoulder to try and catch your breath.

“Me too.” He whispers.

---------

It wasn’t always like this. Harsh thoughts, even harsher stares. Whispers of curiosity and sly disgust. Questioning how you had a in that most girls would be fighting tooth and nail for.

There were moments, mostly when you were young, when life was simple, peaceful even. But now, as you ran through the crowded halls, no club, no place, no status to help you, you slowly started to come to a sense of acceptance that you were going to be invisible forever… a bookworm amongst the elite.

“Come on, one night.” You groan as you hear your best friend since childhood, Jongho, grumble through your phone. You were currently lying on your comforter, textbook after textbook scattering across the tops of your desk and bed. As you prep for… well, nothing really. Exams are over for the season. ‘I’m just getting prepared for next term,' you’d say, more to yourself than your friend… 'Can't be too ready…' Okay, now you were pushing it…

“Come on, it’ll be fun. The guys love having you around… No overly loud party. Just us all celebrating the end of exam week.” Jongho’s buttery voice made your insides turn. ‘Love having you around' the words replied in your head a thousand times. They probably only “like” you because they have to put up with you for Jongho's sake.

You hated how right your thoughts sounded right. You hated how you fell for their sirened words every time.

“Fine.” You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t win a fight with your teddy bear of a friend.

“Yes! Also…” His voice vibrated your ringing ears. “Seonghwa got you something.”

“Seong—” Your voice cuts off into a choking fit, saliva betraying you as you try to breathe. “H-hwa.. got..why would he..—Shit can't talk now. I'm about to go on, I'll see you later.”

And just like that, his goodbye was quicker than his hello, and you were stuck in the silence once more. Only this time you were stuck with the looming thoughts, Why did Seonghwa get you something and more importantly… You thought he hated you.

The walk over to the frat house was long and cold. The campus felt like a ghost town now that everyone had cleared out from the game earlier. The last play of the season, with some of the boys from ATZ frat house coming out on top. You've only ever been to one. When Jongho finally convinced you to show up for it to cheer him, Mingi, and Yunho on. But that soon led to you being cornered behind the bleachers by a group of popular girls that were determined to know how you were so close to all the ATZ boys.

How you… could possibly have anything they don't. They were all drop-dead gorgeous, tall with long thin legs, and had perfect faces that matched their perfect styles. They were the object of everyone's desire. People either wanted to be them or be with them… except you. You were nothing.

You didn't wear heavy, flawless makeup. You didn't wear tightly formed clothes. You weren't the it girl or the talented cheerleader… You were just… you.

The sidewalks that are normally filled to the brim with caffeinated, no-sleep, most likely on some sort of medication students were now mere echoes of your footsteps right up until the scuffs of your boots at the base of the frat house steps. You stared at the door for what felt like an eternity, questioning if you should just ditch and go back to the safety of your dorm surrounded by text books and fantasy novels…at least they wouldn’t judge you.

“You gonna stay out here all night, sweetheart. Or are you gonna come in.” The deep, almost sultry voice catches you off guard. It was only when you refocused your eyes that you noticed San leaning against the small porch fence with a lit cigarette in hand. His eyes were piercing and his smile subtle—being here for performing arts and a modeling/Image consultant program—he most certainly fits his major. "Well, are you?”

Heat flushed as you realised you had been staring at him for a little too long for your liking. “Y-yes. I’m coming.” … His smirk grew intensely.

Wrong choice of words idiot.

You huffed out a breath before walking straight for the front door, leaving Mr Perv outside to tend to his smoke. Upon walking in, you took in the strong stench of weed and liqour.. The gathering, as Jongho put it, must have started early. "Aye, there's the sweetest sweetheart!!" Mingi hollers from the couch as you rounded the corner.

“Hey.” You whisper out, holding your sides while your arms stay firmly crossed together.

“You need a drink. Let me get you a drink!” Mingi tries to sit up, but he stumbles, already half drunk. Hearing a crash, both Yeosang and Wooyoung come rushing out of the adjoining kitchen, one firmly holding a pot lid while the other holds a spoon.

"What's the damage?” Wooyoung shouted, thinking something was broken… Again. You couldn't help but crack a smile, watching the boys fumble and flail to get Mingi back on the couch.

“Only Mingi’s pride…” A smooth, roaring presence shifted behind you. His voice almost as dark as his slight smile. You knew it was him before you saw him. Shifting your head slowly, your gaze drags up, long elegant legs draped with loose black sweats, matching compression-T on the slickest waist before landing on piercing eyes. Eyes that made you hot. Eyes that made you go mad.

“H-hi Hwa.” You mentally cringe at yourself for using the nickname you always hear the boys use. It wasn’t something you called him. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Seonghwa seemed to notice your uncomfortability instantly, his pupils expanding at the idea of watching you squirm. So like normal Hwa fashion, he digs for more.

"Hey, Sweetheart.” That nickname... One that all the boys adopted for you and one you’ve grown accustomed to hearing. But when it slipped from Seonghwa’s lips, it was different. You knew it was because he wanted something. He only used it when he wanted something. He would rather use your name than slip into the sweetness of a pet name, and last time he called you that, you spent hours after helping him study. Or the time before that, you went with him to the library because he didn't want to go alone. As he put it. He knew he made you melt and he knew he could get anything he wanted if that one little innocent name slipped off his tongue.

“Y-you have something for me?” You hesitated while the taller man's eyes studied you. Only for a moment, never long enough to warrant warning. But just enough to have you redder than Wooyoung’s freshly dyed hair.

He leant down slowly, his lips barely scraping your ear. “Come with me.”

And just like that he was off, heading towards the staircase. You quickly followed behind, noting each door you passed. Yunho’s and Mingi's shared room, Jongho’s and Yeosang's…a bathroom. San and woos… He stops suddenly, almost making you bump into his broad back. You couldn't help but let out a quiet yelp, making Seonghwa turn his head slightly over his shoulder. "S-sorry..."

Your murmur was not unheard by Seonghwa, but he didn’t respond, instead, he smirked to himself slyly before slipping into the room he stopped abruptly at. You followed suit, trying to rub off the embarrassment off your face, but before you could shed away the redness, it only grew darker as your eyes landed upon the perfectly made grey bed in the centre of the small but cosy bedroom…

Seonghwa’s bedroom.

You’ve never been in his room before, heck, you were well aware of how much he hated others in here. Always saying others would make it messy. And from the last time San came into it, having his way with ruining the cosy sheets, Seonghwa officially made it clear that no one goes into his room unless he permits it.

"So... What was…” Before you could finish your sentence, Seonghwa quickly opens and closes a jewellery box that sat nicely tucked away on his desk. The voice made you silence yourself as you watched him turn around to finally fully face you.

“The guys and I have been wanting to get you a gift.” He rubs the soft velvet bag between his fingers while his eyes never left yours. “Something to show our appreciation. And we… Well, I came up with the idea to get you this.”

He pulled out a thin necklace with an unfamiliar-looking symbol hanging off it. The pendant was dark red, the gems in it gleaming in the small orange lighting of Seonghwa’s bedroom… it almost looked like a compass?

“It would mean a lot if you wore this.” You've never heard Hwa sound so soft before. His natural brooding nature always made him sound cold to everyone other than his brothers. But now, in his moment, he sounded like liquid sin. Honey mixing with all roses. He held the necklace, silently asking if he could put it on for you.

Of course, you listened. You always listened if Seonghwa asked. Holding your hair up, you turned around, giving Seonghwa access to your neck. His long arms wrapped around you as he unclasped the necklace, letting it lie coolly on your collarbone.

“I knew you'd say yes.” Seonghwa's voice was a whisper now, the feeling of his hot breath against your neck making you shiver. You had no idea how long you stood like that, just feeling him closely behind you. But when a booming voice echoed from downstairs, you knew it was probably a little too long for comfort.

“Dinner’s ready!” San’s shout cut through the quiet. You turned to face Seonghwa, and of course, his expression was anything but readable. Unlike yours, which you were sure was covered in pink, with wide eyes and a shallow breath.

“I—LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!!” Mingi’s enthusiastic bellow cuts off your words before you could even speak them. A wave of sound crashing against the moment you and Seonghwa were experiencing.

Seonghwa stepped aside, gesturing towards the door. “Go on. I'll be down soon.”

You walked past him for the door, taking in the lingering scent of his cologne. A mixture of sweet vanilla, coffee and something faintly spicy. He smelled intoxicating. But you shook your thoughts, heading for the stairs, your fingers naturally gravitated towards the foreign object around your neck, feeling the cool metal settled snuggly against your collarbone.

I knew you’d like it.

His soft words played on loop in your head. The way he stood closer, the way you swore you could hear his heart beat quicken along with your own. The words swirled in your mind, a deciphering puzzle you couldn’t quite place. Yet, a warmth bloomed in your chest, a quiet satisfaction that the boys had thought of you, that Seonghwa had thought of you and felt the need to give you a gift personally… Maybe he wasn’t such a brooding bad boy like everyone lets out to be.

The night unfolded in a blur of loud chatter, liquor and food everywhere and a rhythmic thump of music that sits in your chest like it was born to be there. This wasn’t an average frat party by any means, there wasn’t a crowd of drunk people, minus Mingi, and an overwhelming amount of mistakes being made that many people would either regret or not remember by the morning. No, tonight was… intimate, filled with board games, competitive video games and casual conversations ending in bursts of laughter.

It almost felt domestic in a way.

Having Hongjoong lean against you, shoulder to shoulder on the couples' couch. Or helping Yeosang and Wooyoung finish up dinner before serving it to the hungry beasts known as your friends. The initial awkwardness melted away from this morning, having been replaced by a comfortable camaraderie. You’d never admit it, but Jongho was right.

“Alright, who’s ready for a real game?” Wooyoung’s voice sliced through the relaxed atmosphere, a mischievous glint in his foxy eyes. He held up a strange, circular board, adorned with colourful squares and cryptic symbols. You couldn't help but tilt your head in confusion. “Truth, Dare, or Strike.”

“What's strike?” The thought slipped from your tongue before you could think. And oh how the smile only grew wider on Wooyoung’s face as he picked up the dice.

“So, you roll,” he explained devilishly. “Move your piece. Land on truth or dare, you pick a card from each pile.” He gestured to the purple and green stacks, letting you watch as Yunho and Yeosang shuffle them. “But if you land on strike…” He taps the board, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.

“You pick a black card…” Seonghwa’s voice made you jump as you turned slightly to see him and Hongjoong come back from the kitchen after clearing the table. His voice was buttery and suggestive, sending shivers down your spine. But before you could loom with any unnecessary thoughts, Jongho picked up the dice and rolled, letting the game finally begin.

Jongho landed on truth, admitting he had a secret drawer of sex toys that the card had suggested. San, on a dare, did a surprisingly and gracefully tame handstand... Most cards you found weren’t all ‘bad’ or ‘raunchy’ but more classical truths and dares. Well, what would you even class as basic truth or dare? You don’t know. But Mingi was the first to pull a strike card, having to make out with the person next to him. Yunho to be exact… which he did a little too eagerly. You squirmed when you watched the two giants fight for whose tongue went in whose mouth… it shouldn’t have been that erotic, watching your two friends go at it… But…

“Your turn.” Jongho nudged you a little, making you snap out of your thoughts. Your eyes widened as you looked next to you, god you were staring, and you didn’t notice. You felt yourself grow pinker than Hongjoong’s pretty drink as you gulped.

“I uh… Let me just refill my drink. I’ll be right back.” You stood a little too quickly and fled to the kitchen a little too promptly, but you didn’t think too far as you slipped away from prying eyes. Once in the kitchen, you spotted San leaning against the counter, nursing a glass of something dark as he waited for something in the microwave. You ignored him at first, looking in the fridge for something stronger than your normal stuff. Just something to take off the edge, you know, something a little more…

“Having fun?” San’s voice was a deep whisper that you only barely heard over the music that still played in the empty lounge room on the forgotten TV.

“Uh yeah.. Yeah I’m having fun..” Your eyes never left the shelves in front of you, looking at all the rows of liquor.

“More than you expected, hmm?” San poured something into a glass before walking over to the fridge, his chest grazing your back slightly. This made you stiffen as he moved you aside, reaching for the freezer door and opening it. Neither of you spoke for a moment. Just simply watched as the man dropped a few ice cubes into the crimson drink. “Here.”

You took the drink in hand, ignoring San’s knowing look. How he was able to read people's minds still beats you. But nonetheless, you took it. “Don't tell Jongho. But yes, he was right.”

The sly smirk on San’s features beamed as he took a sip of his own drink. His eyes never left yours as he watched you take a gulp of your own, noticing you grimace slightly at the strong taste. “What the actual fuck is this?!”

"Damn, sweetheart, didn't think you'd react like that.” San laughed, a full belly laugh. It was deep in his throat as he covered his mouth with his hand. “You wanted something stronger, right? Doesn't mean it'll taste better.”

“Fuck me.” You choked, looking for some water in the fridge to wash it down. But San stopped you, reaching for a pink bottle of alcohol, he wiggled it in your face. “What now?”

Your groan made San's smile grow as his eyebrow cocked. His head tilting to the side slightly like a cat, “Shot this, and if you do…” he leant down to your ear, his lips grazing your lobe, “I'll tell you a very important secret.”

Your interest suddenly peaked as you eyed the bottle. “One shot?"

“Just one.” He clarified.

You thought for a moment, watching his dark expression twist with a hint of something you couldn't quite pick out. “Hmmm… Deal.” Nodding your head, you eyed him as he grabbed two shot glasses from the cabinet. This was gonna be interesting…

While San is perfectly distracting you, Hongjoong, on the other hand—with a devilish smile playing on his lips—swiftly flicked through the cards on the table in front of him. Yunho and Jongho joined him as Yun grabbed the truth and Jong the dare pile. Their fingers were nimble and quick, shuffling all the piles, replacing a few at the top with very specific cards. Hongjoong exchanged a knowing glance with Seonghwa, a silent understanding passing between them. The boy's plan was simple really… They had this idea for months now, long night discussions and other nights filled with a little more heated activities led to all the men here wanting one thing…

You.

It was only going to be a little push, a nudge even, that’s all they needed. Just to see if you'd actually break. See if you were on the same level as all of them. To see if you truly would be theirs. "Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Wooyoung’s voice was cheeky as he gazed at the cards Yunho and Jongho picked. The boys knew where you were standing on the board, you'd most likely land on Dare or Strike with your roll. But just in case you roll a really low number, Yunho took the liberty to look for a perfect truth card.

All three men were quick at finding what they wanted before placing the decks back as if they were never touched. Ironically, this was just as you finally walked back into the dining room, the clinking of your cup against the glass bowl filled with popcorn announcing your presence. San was close behind, and his stare was caught quickly by the two older men. Hongjoong nodded slightly, not enough for you to notice but enough for San to know the plan was going perfectly.

You sat down next to Seonghwa, not noticing he swapped spots with Jongho. Picking up the dice, you note the almost complete silence, like there was anticipation in the air for what you might roll. “Are you all holding your breath, or has the alcohol finally hit me?” You tried to give a little cheek, but you could have sworn all the boys were darker, more… predatory than normal…

“We are just curious what you might land on, sweetheart.” Mingi suddenly sounded way too sober for your liking. Your hand didn’t stop the shaking motion as your eyes narrowed at Mingi, but you chose to let the dice fly despite the odd feeling brewing in your stomach. They tumbled across the board, clattering to a stop…

"Six," Jongho casually announced, his expression never changing. But there was something, like the room let out the breath she thought it was holding, and as her little pawn landed on the square, she swore she heard a groan.

“Dare…”

A collective gasp—as if they didn’t just plan all this—quickly followed by a chorus of excited chatters filled the room. But your stomach only lurched, suddenly nervous at what the card might suggest. And if it was anything like the previous two cards… you were most likely done for. Reaching for the pile, your fingers trembled slightly. The card felt too cool, too smooth, too… heavy. You flipped it over away from prying eyes.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull when you saw the card. “Nope. Absolutely not. I am not doing that.”

The group chuckled, half of them saying it can't be that bad while the others were curious what the card said. Jongho took the card from you, and what he read made his ears turn red. “Strip in front of the crowd.”

“Oh fuck yeah.” Mingi couldn’t help but hiccup out. Making your face deepen in the crimson that already pained it.

“No! I’m not getting naked!” You huffed with a slight twang of laughter. You loved your boys, yes. But getting bare in front of eight very hot men was not on your list tonight.

“Alright. You can pass, Sweetheart.” The crowd went quiet as Hongjoong spoke. “But that means you gotta pick up two strike cards this time.” It was like Hongjong's prayers had been answered, given he put the more... Harsher cards on top of the strike pile.

You go to grab the two cards, but the orange-haired male stops you. “But once you take these two, you can't undo it. You’ll have to do these cards.”

For a moment you questioned if getting naked in front of the boys for a moment was better than what these two cards could entail… but after another breath left your lungs, you knew you were willing to risk it. “I’m good.”

Picking up both cards, you stared at them. And in bold, stark letters it read. “Spit take and…Seven minutes in hell.” Your breath hitched.

A sly murmur bubbled under Wooyoung's breath as he whispered out, "Oh, these ones..”

Yeosang had to kick his foot slightly to get him to shut up. Luckily your shaky sigh covered up the young man's words, making him go unnoticed by you. You already knew what the first card was asking you, and that required you to roll to see how many people would participate. But it was the second card that had you more intrigued… “Go to a secluded room with the person to your left. And for seven minutes, they can do whatever they want to you.” with a little note on the corner, a smiley face with a speech bubble that says ‘remember consent is key’... as if that was the problem at hand right now.

Your shaky gaze suddenly snapped to Seonghwa, seeing him seated calmly beside you. And even though his expression was unreadable… His eyes were a different story. They were intense, dark and as they met your own, you noticed the lust dripping from them. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, almost like a silent promise. And in that moment, you knew. This man, with his quiet intensity and unsettling charm, was about to completely ruin you.

“Roll.” Was all Seonghwa said as he stood, picking up his beer to take a swing of it as he walked to the archway of the dining room. You froze for a moment, not really registering what was going on. It wasn’t until Jongho’s soft, warm hand squeezed your thigh that you finally focused your eyes and looked around the room.

“You okay?” His voice was whispered, but you simply nodded your head, standing up abruptly before snatching the dice off the table.

“I’m good.” You gave your best friend a smile before rolling the red dice, letting them skate across the table, but as they came to a halt, the numbers they landed on were almost too good to be true.

Five and three….

Everything passed like a blur as Seonghwa extended his hand out for you to take. You didn’t even hear the hollers and chants from the other men as your fingers intertwined with Hwa’s soft ones. San had whispered something into the older man’s ear as he passed, and you vaguely heard Jongho say they’ll do the rest of your challenge when you come back…

But all you could think about right now was how you let Seonghwa pull you through the house. Your legs felt strangely heavy as he guided you towards the studio just opposite the kitchen and dining room. He stepped inside first, holding the door open so you could slip in besides him. The soft lamplight cast his features in shadow, making him appear even more mysterious in the reddish, purplish lighting. The studio wasn’t small by any means, supporting a large desk, couch and even a mini fridge. Hongjoong spent most of his time here, the others rarely entertaining themselves with all the electronics that Hongjoong had set up meticulously. But now the room was going to be used for something other than soundboard production. It was going to be used for something far more… erotic.

You hesitated at the threshold, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you… anticipation, a hint of nervousness, and a strange, undeniable thrill of what-ifs and maybes. What could the Park Seonghwa possibly do in seven minutes?

“Come on,” he urged, his voice a low invitation. “Time starts now...”

You crossed the threshold, the door clicking shut behind you with a soft thud. And for a split second you thought you heard the lock. But you paid no mind as you felt the air thicken in your lungs, making it harder to breathe as you took in every detail of the room around you. All the while, Seonghwa never took his gaze off of you. Taking a swig of his beer, and his back facing the door, his burning presence filled the cramped space so much your body, soul and mind felt like they were oozing him… You could hear the way his throat worked as he swallowed more of his drink until he was empty, setting the bottle down on the edge of the deck with an anticipatory thump.

“You seem nervous…” He whispered, stepping closer until his chest grazed your back. “Why are you shaking, hmm?”

"I'm not shaking." You lied through your teeth, your voice trembling slightly. "It’s just… cold in here."

“Ah.” Seonghwa said softly, reaching out with his fingers to brush his knuckles gently across your neck. The contact felt like a jolt of electricity had suddenly coursed through your veins. “You know… Liars get punished in this room.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you whispered, not taking your eyes off the blank wall in front of you. Not daring to look back. To look at him.

Seonghwa stepped closer, his feet pushing yours apart so he could almost put his knee between your legs as his chest became snug to your shoulder blades. He leant down, his lips only just ghosting over the shell of your ear, and then you felt the hotness of his breath as he spoke, “Don’t play dumb now, sweet bunny.”

Oh, that was new…

The pet name sent shivers down your spine as his voice turned sweet, almost melodic. “I see the way you look at me. The way you clench your perfect fucking thighs whenever you're around here. You act all shy, but I bet there's a slut somewhere inside begging for relief. Did you think that necklace only meant we were friends?"

“I…I thought.”

“What? You were in some sort of safe zone? You aren’t what we want because you’re Jong’s best friend.” Seonghwa interrupted your words as you felt his hand move to the nape of your neck, his thumb pressing gently on your windpipe. "There’s nothing safe about the way we think about you. I’ve spent weeks imagining exactly what I’m going to do to you in this very room. And now, the rules say I can do anything."

Did he just say we?

“S-seonghwa what… Ah!” You gasped before you could even protest any thought or feelings, letting yourself feel his teeth latched onto your shoulder and hand tighten around your neck. He began to kiss you, slow and agonisingly soft, his tongue tracing the line of your ear, to your jaw, down to the patches of skin on your neck his hand was not covering.

"I’ve been so patient…” He practically moaned your name in your ear. “We’ve watched you walk around this house in those cute little outfits. Pastels, cotton. Argh… “ He groaned, rutting his hips against your ass. “You always look so soft, such a pretty bunny. You knew exactly what you were doing to us. Did it make you feel powerful, hmm? Knowing we’re all starving for you?"

Your brain was no longer processing what he was saying, no, all you could think about was how he held you. How he was touching you. How you could feel the outline of his straining cock on your backside and how he growled and begged behind you. “S-seonghwa, please.”

"Please, what?" he asked, stepping a little away, letting you feel slightly empty. His hand loosened on your windpipe before swinging you around until you were facing him. And oh, did his expression make you want to melt. His eyes blown out, his jaw clenched as he awaited you to finally answer him… finally give him something. Anything!!

“Do. Not. Stop.” You punctuated every word, letting him read each one from your lips. His mouth crashed onto your feverishly.. It wasn't a gentle kiss. No, it was an invasion. He tasted like a devilish mixture of bitter hops and lust. His tongue pushing past your lips to claim you with a desperate hunger. Holding you steady by your jaw, he tilted your head as he stood up straight, making you fight to keep your lips latched. He wanted you to feel what he had been feeling for months. Being so close to touch… but not close enough to call you his.

Any sweetness you thought might come out of the usually calm man vanished, leaving a new version of Seonghwa that made your skin burn for more. And just like that he pulled completely away from you, breathing hard. “Couch. Now.”

"What?"

"I said get on the couch. Legs open. Now." Gone was the cheeky darkness in his tone, now being replaced with something almost sadistic. A shiver of fear and excitement trickled down your spine.

You obeyed.

Your movements, ever clumsy as you scrambled onto the leather. The material was freezing against your fiery skin, but the heat radiating from Seonghwa was far more overwhelming. He did not wait as he moved into action. No, warning, not words. The thud was deafening over the music beyond the door as he fell to his knees. He was acting like a starved man on a mission, and nothing was going to get in his way with his reward.

Moving between your knees, his hands grabbed a hand full of your thighs, forcing them wide without a second thought. You felt his fingers dig into flesh and nails threaten to draw blood. Maybe starved wasn’t the word for the way Seonghwa acted in this moment… No, he was more like,

Insane. Drunk. Fanatical and fixated.

"Oh, look at you," he hissed, his gaze fixed on the dampness already staining your underwear that hid so prettily beneath your skirt. "So ready for me. After all that acting, all this being shy… you’re dripping like a whore."

He didn't waste time with more words. Not leaving any room for even a little yelp as he yanked your soft cotton panties to the side, exposing your aching cunt to the cool air of the room. He didn’t use his fingers first. He didn’t tease or linger. No, your head fell back as soon as you felt his thick nose push against your clit, letting him bury his face into your heat. The first lick was a long, broad stroke that made your back arch almost right off the couch. You’ve never felt such a feeling, something as delicious as someone's tongue lapping you up like it was their favourite meal. And you were his. As you let out a strangled cry, your fingers knotting in his hair, Seonghwa knew he was done for. He would eat you out every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner if you let him.

"You’re so sweet," Seonghwa mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled. "I’m going to eat every drop of you. I want to taste how much you’ve been wanting this, sweetheart." He became a man possessed. His tongue was relentless, flicking over your clit with a precision that was borderline cruel. Sucking on you intensely, his soft hums created the perfect vibration that made your toes curl and vision spot. The tension in the room changed with each jagged breath. The wet, rhythmic sloppy sounds of his tongue against your folds, the sharp gasps you couldn't suppress, and the heavy thud of your hearts against each chest were enough to make you both spiral.

"Open wider," he growled, pulling back for a second to slap your inner thigh as you tried to close them around his head, the sound echoing in the small room. "Keep them open for me, bunny. I want to see everything."

"I-It's too much," you gulped air in as you spoke, your head tossing back and forth as your eyes screwed themselves shut. “Seonghwa, I can’t.”

"Yes, you can," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register that made your cunt clench. And that's when you felt it, the sudden intrusion making you yelp. He shoved two fingers tightly inside your wet hole as he began pumping them hard and fast, his thumb never leaving your clit. Your hips bucked without a second thought, almost having a mind of their own, chasing pleasure your body was so desperately desiring. "I want you to squirt for me, sweetheart. I want to see you lose control completely.”

"I... I’ve never done that," you panted, your voice breaking as you took in each thrust of his long digits. "I don't think I can."

Seonghwa’s gaze snapped up at you, a predatory smirk painting his features as his fingers seemingly became more frantic inside you. “Never?.. Oh, bunny. What am I going to do with you?”

He sat up straighter, his whole body towering your bent one. His lips grazed your ear, letting you hear the soft panting from him over the squelch sound. “I guess I'll have to be the first one to make that happen, huh? I'm not letting you off this couch until you're dripping all over me. Got it."

You couldn’t help but nod, letting him have his way, as he went back to his couched position. His tongue licked a strip up your cunt before settling on your clit. His fingers hooked deep, finding the spot that made your hip jerk and high pitch higher. He was relentless, abusing your sensitive flesh with a focus that was terrifying and utterly arousing. You could quickly feel the foreign tension build, a pressure in your lower abdomen that felt like a dam about to burst. Trying your best to settle your breathing, you glanced over his broad shoulders, and that's when you noticed the digital clock on the desk. The numbers glowing crimson in your spotted vision.

“H-hwa.” You choked out, your voice barely above a whisper as moans filled the void. “The time… Time. Fuck. Seven minutes is over.”

Seonghwa didn't even look up. He just growled low in his throat, his teeth grazing your inner thigh before he went back to devouring you. "Do I have to be blunt with you too, bunny?" His voice thick with lust, it sent a shiver down your spine. "And here I thought you were smart.”

Your eyes widened in shock when he looked up at you, his mouth and nose already glistening from your juices. You wanted to feel embarrassed, but Seonghwa’s tone was quick to distract you. “The clock doesn't matter. I decide when we’re done. And we are nowhere near done."

He sped up. His fingers were a blur, the sound of air being pushed out of your soaked pussy with every thrust creating a wet, slapping noise. He was punishing you now, his movements rough and demanding. He wanted… Needed you to let go. To feel everything all at once. To feel nothing but him.

"Come on, baby. Give it to me," he commanded. "Squirt for me, you little slut. Show me how much you want the rest of us. Want me."

The unfamiliar sensation brewing in your gut finally snapped, leaving a white-spotted explosion to cloud your vision. Your body convulsed, your legs locking around his head as a torrent of fluid erupted from you, splashing across his face, his chest, and the leather of the couch. You sobbed, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as a long, high-pitched sound erupted from your chest.

Seonghwa didn't move. He stayed there for a long moment, letting your tremors subside while his face still pressed against your core. When he finally did pull back, though, he was covered in you. Your scent was heavy in the air, musky, sweet, and metallic. He wiped a stray drop from his lip and licked it off his finger, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. He looked hypnotised, completely consumed with the idea of you.

"Look at that bunny," he whispered, his voice dark as he massaged your thighs. "Look what you did for me."

Feeling accomplished, Seonghwa stood abruptly. You went to follow him without a thought, but he quickly reached out, landing a playful but sharp slap on your clenching cunt. The sting of it brought you crashing back to reality… Only slight. Watching him step away, leaving you shivering and vulnerable on the couch.

"Stay." Was all he said as he walked over to the desk.

Picking up his beer bottle, he took a long, slow swing of the last of his beer, eyes tracking the way your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. He looked down at the bottle, then back at you, a slow, cruel idea forming in his expression.

Your eyes never left him as he watched you. It made you feel hot, feel… seen. From always being the one to never be looked at. You not having a good enough status in school. Being the forgotten kid. Or the nerd, the outcast. The list goes on, from what you've been called in your life… but right now. All of Seonghwa's attention was on you. The Park Seonghwa. It made you feel desirable. Made you feel powerful.

"You like being watched, don't you?" he asked as if he were reading your mind, walking back towards you painfully slow. "You like the idea of being wanted, hmm? Want by me… by us?”

There it was again, the hinting of the other boys, only just a few feet away from this very room. It made you remember what San had said in the kitchen only twenty minutes ago.

"What kind of game, San?" You leant against the countertop with your arms crossed, still feeling the burn of the shot you just took. “If this is some kinda of floor shot again. I told Wooyoung a million times. No.”

San laughed, the sound vibrating against you while he stayed standing so close to you that your elbows were touching. "No, no… nothing like that….Without trying to freak you out."

“You're already freaking me out."

"Okay, okay.” San’s tone suddenly became serious. “There's a reason for that.” He points to the necklace on your neck. “And Seonghwa is gonna teach you later what the reason is. I just want you to know…”

San moves before you could think, hands on either side of you, caging you between his large body and the tabletop. “We all care for you. And we all want something. But trying to tell you has been difficult. We don't want to scare you away.”

You suddenly felt completely sober as you stared up at the man in front of you. Was he trying to say what you think he was? Did you just drink too much and now you're misinterpreting his words? "San… what are you trying to say?”

"Just be open-minded… Know that we all love you.” San leant down to your ear, whispering the last bit of his sentence, letting you smell the bourbon on his hot breath. "And the studio is soundproofed. No one hears a thing once that door locks.”

“I…” Your mouth became tacky while your mind drew a blank. This was what San was talking about. What he meant by all of them loving you…

“Tell me the truth, baby. Did you ever think about me while you fuck yourself on those pathetic pieces of plastic? Or maybe more than just me? What about the others? Ever thought about your best friend, huh? Dreamed of Jongho’s cock in you just as much as I dreamt of tasting this perfect pussy?"

You turned your head away, your face flushing a deep crimson. "I... What…."

Seonghwa has gone mad, not liking your answer. Gipping the neck of the beer bottle, he chuckled… a cruel, dark vibration from the pit of his chest. “I asked you a question, Sweetheart.”

This time the pet name that rolled off his tongue wasn't filled with any hint of sweetness. No, this time it was filled with nothing but mockery. He wanted to get under your skin just like you have him. Without a word, he took two large steps towards you before nudging your legs further apart with his legs.

“Answer me.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper as he began ripping at your clothes until your lower half was completely bare and your shirt was discarded, leaving you in your soft pink cotton bra. His free hand gripped your ankle, spreading your legs open further to let him press the cold, rounded rim of the bottle against your wet entrance.

"Seonghwa, w-what are you doing?" You asked, your eyes widening as you felt the cold glass begin to slide inside you.

"I'm making sure you're paying attention," he replied bluntly. Pushing the bottle deeper, you could feel the cold sensation of the glass contrasting sharply with the heat of your overworked wall. "Does that feel good? Or is it too cold? Maybe you’d prefer something warmer. Something human, hmm?”

He began to move the bottle in and out, the glass creating a suction that made a distinct, wet popping sound every time it almost slipped out. The feeling was… bizarre, invasive and oh so fucking erotic. You were too focused on the sensation of the bottle to speak. It was stretching you the way you needed, filling you in a way that felt foreign and overwhelming in the best way. You let out a soft moan, your eyes fluttering shut. Seonghwa's expression darkened. Letting go of your ankle, he ripped your bra down, letting your breasts spill free. He watched them move as his pace quickened before giving them a harsh slap, the impact making you yelp in surprise and pain.

“Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.” Your lips finally fell loose as your legs hugged tightly around Seonghwa’s firm hips. Leaning down, Seonghwa's teeth were bared on your neck, making sure he marked you anyway he could. Whether it was teeth marks, hickeys, or blood being drawn, he needed it all.

“So tight, filthy little bunny.” He hissed as he quickened his pace, his wrist growing almost tired at the odd angle of how he was holding the foreign object. “I bet you’re imagining it’s my cock, huh? Or maybe someone else's? Do you want all our cocks, baby? Come on, you can tell me. Don’t be shy now. Be a good girl.”

“H-Hwa… I.” Tears stained your face, stinging your red cheeks. You didn’t want to admit anything, your heart ached while your mind felt dizzy. The push and pull Seonghwa gave you was almost strong enough to give you whiplash.

“You can do it, bunny. Scream it out, let the others know exactly how you feel.”

And even though you shook your head no as he sank the top of the beer bottle deeper, pressing his thumb to your clit for firmer, you felt a fire brew in the pit of your stomach. Because you knew, he knew your answer. Like he could read your every thought. You weren’t just interested in the broody frat boy…. You were interested in his whole fraternity.

"YES!" You finally screamed as he gave your tits another love tap. The confession burst out of you like a physical weight as you squirted all over the beer bottle and Seonghwa’s hand. "I think about all of you! I want all of you! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Seonghwa froze—the bottle still buried deep inside your abused cunt—a slow, terrifying grin spreading across his perfect features. There was a hint of warmth to it. Maybe even a slight show of sympathy. But over all that, he looked like an animal who had finally trapped his prey where he wanted.

"All of us," he repeated, his voice like velvet over gravel. "Good. That’s what I like to hear… But there is now one little problem...” He pulled the bottle out of you, throwing it somewhere in the room. If you weren’t so focused on Hwa your eyes would have checked to see if the glass would break, but luckily it landed on the carpet and no shatter followed. “You’ve been keeping a secret since we’ve been here…"

"What secrets?" you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"San," Seonghwa said, his eyes narrowing. "He told you something, did he. Fucker can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

You couldn’t help but bite your lip, the guilt written clearly on your face. "San told me, you wanted to… teach me... About the necklace. But what was it, I promise.” The silence in the room was absolute. The only sound was the faint hum of the equipment and the distant, muffled beat of the music from outside. You could see the way Seonghwa tensed slightly… he didn’t believe you. Not entirely anyway. His eyes were ice cold, focused with rage that made you want to shrink into the leather beneath you.

“Did you know I’d fuck you tonight?” He said so bluntly that it almost gave you whiplash. “Did he tell you we all like you?” The words came out slowly and dangerously. “What about that we rigged the cards so one of us could break you enough that you’d finally understand you are ours…”

“I…No..” Your mouth went dry as you tried to speak, but Seonghwa cut you off anyway.

He stood up, his breathing ragged, his chest heaving with fury. “Did he think this was a game? We had a plan.” Seonghwa passed for a moment, leaving you to worry. But before you could say anything, he grabbed you by the arm, his grip bruising as he hauled you off the couch, shoving you toward the mahogany desk.

"Hands on the desk," he commanded. "Now."

"Seonghwa, wait, what I—"

"I said hands on the desk!" he roared. You obeyed, your palms slapping against the cold, polished wood. You were trembling violently now, the reality of his anger settling over you. You heard the sound of a zipper, the rustle of fabric and something like ripping plastic... Then the heat of him was behind you, pressing against your backside intensely. “I’m gonna have words with him later. But right now…”

His lips grazed the shell of your ear. “I need you to take a deep breath.” He didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need to, grabbing your hips, with his fingers digging into the bones, he drove himself into you with one single brutal thrust that had your vision blurring. You let out a sharp cry, tears already staining your puffy cheeks as your head leaned back onto his shoulder. Seonghwa was so thick compared to the beer bottle. He seemed to stretch you beyond your limits. Well, that's what it felt like. He didn't give you time to adjust as he began to fuck you with a primal aggression. His body slamming into your pussy with a rhythmic, meat-on-meat thud that if you weren’t so turned on, you’d be embarrassed.

“You are even more perfect than I imagined,” he growled into your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. "I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name. I'm going to mark you so everyone down the hall knows who got you first.”

His declaration made your head spin. The knowledge that this was not just a one-time thing. That this was just the beginning of something you couldn’t even explain… and that everyone down the hall was just dying to join in. He was relentless. Every thrust felt like a challenge, a violent reassertion of dominance, of possession, that even though there was an agreement, he was going to show off what he could do for you. The desk creaked under the weight of your bodies, and the sound of your skin slapping together and panting breath filled the room. You could feel the friction building in the pit of your stomach, the raw, unpolished sensation of his cock deep inside you, driving you towards the edge. But something was missing… You needed something else... Something more.

"Please," you sobbed, your fingers clawing at the wood of the desk, leaving scratch marks in the varnish. "More. Seonghwa, please, give me more… I need..."

"What do you need, baby. Tell me what you want?" His voice was so soft compared to before, there was a caring tone lacing each word, and it only made you melt more.

“I want to feel you… I need to feel you when you cum in me.” You had no idea how you were speaking so freely, stocking it up to alcohol and the blindness of sex that made you throw your filter out the window. But it was the truth, you were craving to have him use you completely.

He reached back and slapped your ass, the sound sharp and echoing as he chuckled. The sting only fueled your desire more. And he did it again, harder this time, leaving the red imprint of his hand on your skin before pulling out for a moment. "Is this what you wanted? Be claimed. Be filled with me…"

He tore off the condom, showing it somewhere in the room, before completely trapping you against the desk, pushing off items he did not even bother to note, so he could make a perfect clearing just for your perfect body. “I told you there was a slut deep down somewhere. She just needed the motivation to come out.”

He didn't hold back this time. He increased the pace until he was a blur of motion on top of you, his cock slid in and out with a wet, squelching sound that filled the room as he hit right where you needed every time. You felt your vision spot and your throat itch from the screaming. But it was when he reached around and gripped your neck, pulling your head up so he could see your face as he destroyed you, that you swore you saw stars.

“Look at you, sweetheart.” He growled, “I want to see you. I want you to know exactly who’s doing this to you. Not San. Not any of the others yet… just me and me alone."

His mouth latched onto you, biting into your shoulder hard. His teeth sank deep into the skin, leaving a jagged, purple bruise. He moved to your neck, avoiding his hand as he sucked and bit until you were completely covered in hickeys that would take weeks to fade and be a bitch to cover. He was marking his territory, claiming every inch of you with a violence that was as much about possession as it was about pleasure. You felt his free hand leave your hip and snake between your legs before landing on your oversensitve bud. The friction was becoming intense, the heat between you nearly unbearable. And as Seonghwa felt your walls flutter around his aching cock, he knew you were done for.

“Come on, bunny. Be a good girl and come on my cock…” His tongue licked a strip of sweaty skin on your neck, “I’ll only empty my load into this cunt once you cum.”

"Seonghwa!" you aren’t even sure if you screamed, cried, or whispered. Your mind was so far gone as you felt your orgasm take hold. It was more intense than the first few ones this evening, a rolling wave of pleasure and pain that made your legs give out entirely. He followed you a second later. He delivered a final blow of his hips, stilling himself deep inside you as his body vibrated with the effort. Letting out a low, guttural moan as he filled you with hot, thick pulses of cum. You felt it all, the way it settled in you, the way it began to drip around his cock and down your dangling legs. It felt heavenly. He held you there for a moment, pinned against the desk, his weight crushing you as you both struggled to breathe.

The room fell silent again, but this time it was soft. Calm. and gentle, only leaving space for the sound of ragged breathing and the distant, ever-present bass from across the hall. Seonghwa didn't pull out immediately. He stayed buried inside you just a little longer, his head resting on your shoulder, his sweat dripping onto your back as he slowly kissed your shoulder blades, then your spine, and neck. When he finally did move, it was slow and deliberate. He withdrew with the sound of his cock popping out of your soaked pussy. He eyed the way his cum dripped out of you and the way you lay on the desk limp, your muscles twitching and your skin covered in his marks.

To him, you looked absolutely perfect.

Seonghwa stood over you, adjusting his clothes, while letting you take a moment to breathe. And then he looked down at you again, once he was done collecting your clothes he had thrown around the room, his eyes still dark, but the burning rage had been replaced by a quiet, smug satisfaction.

He had you, and he couldn’t wait to see the looks on the others' faces when they saw you completely and utterly ruined.

©Ja3hwa. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

₊˚⊹ SEVEN: don't stand so close to me. — 9.2k

₊˚⊹ EIGHT: his favorite student. — 9.1k

₊˚⊹ NINE: black baccara. — 12.1k

₊˚⊹ TEN: the opera cake. — 12.2k (18+)

₊˚⊹ ELEVEN: almost. — 6.5k

₊˚⊹ TWELVE: people you may know. — 8.4k

₊˚⊹ THIRTEEN: no new notifications. — 12.8k

₊˚⊹ FOURTEEN: north hall, room 117. — 10.1k

₊˚⊹ FIFTEEN: parasite. — 8.0k

₊˚⊹ SIXTEEN: a little encouragement. — 10.6k

₊˚⊹ SEVENTEEN: blue velvet. — 10.5k

₊˚⊹ EIGHTEEN: 나만 봐. — 12.1k (18+)

₊˚⊹ NINETEEN: a language we both know. — 12.0k (18+)

₊˚⊹ TWENTY: in the daylight. — 12.3k

₊˚⊹ TWENTY-ONE: 여자친구. — 14.2k

₊˚⊹ TWENTY-TWO: frequency indicators. — 16.9k (18+)

₊˚⊹ TWENTY-THREE: the jacket. — 8.6k

₊˚⊹ TWENTY-FOUR: man in the mirror. — 9.8k

₊˚⊹ TWENTY-FIVE: 소중한 거예요. — 13.3k

₊˚⊹ TWENTY-SIX: ???

₊˚⊹ TWENTY-SEVEN: ???

₊˚⊹ TWENTY-EIGHT: ???

₊˚⊹ TWENTY-NINE: ???

₊˚⊹ THIRTY: ???

You smile when he finally notices. The tips of his ears turn pink, and he flinches, shy beneath your gaze.

"What's your name?"

When Mingi finally works up the courage to ask, he laces his fingers together, eyes lifting just long enough to study your face before they dart back down again.

You answer back softly with your name, every movement calm and effortless. Plucking an olive from your martini, you slip the toothpick between your lips and pull it free with practiced ease.

“I’m Song—”

“Mingi,” you finish for him, flashing a toothy grin.

His brows lift. “Oh... do you know me?”

Your dark eyes linger on him, impossible to read. A slow smile curls at your lips. “Something like that.”

You lean forward just enough for the movement to feel intentional. He whips his head to the side, throat bobbing when he stared at the way your tits pushed together for a second too long. You arch a brow before continuing.

“But I’ll know you even better if you come home with me tonight.”

He chokes on his Sprite, sputtering as the soda sprays across the table.

The guy beside him jerks upright with a curse, eyes bulging as he stares at Mingi.

"Dude—what the fuck?"

Mingi looks seconds away from dying of embarrassment. "...I am so fucking sorry."

The guy just shakes his head, muttering under his breath as he heads for the bathroom.

"Sorry," you say lightly. "Too forward? You can say no."

Mingi's head snaps up. "Oh, God. Please take me home with you."

The words tumble out before he can stop them.

His eyes go wide. A slow, crimson blush spreads across his face as he realizes he'd been a little... too eager. "I mean—" He squeezes his eyes shut. "Fuck."

You sit in silent victory for a couple of seconds before raising your credit card.

"Check, please?" Handing it over smoothly, you add "And I'm paying for his too."

When you make your way to the taxi with Mingi trailing behind you, you're grateful there's no moon tonight. If he'd gotten a better look at your face, he would've seen the unnerving smile etched across it. There was only one thing you had in mind:

Song Mingi, I'm nailing you to the fucking bed.

𝜗ৎ

High school was a cliché down to the T.

Boys poked and prodded at you with all the contradictions of adolescence. You were either too ugly to acknowledge or someone they wanted to sleep with in secret.

And Song Mingi stood at the forefront of it all.

He never bothered to remember your name. Instead, he'd go out of his way to laugh at you in the middle of class, just to hear everyone else join in. Crumpled balls of notebook paper bounced off the back of your head. Snickers followed you through the hallways. He'd always call you a little freak.

It wasn't just Mingi. Almost every boy in school seemed to have it out for you. You never really understood why—all you knew was that it was rarely kind.

On the better days, though, Mingi would scratch the back of his head in frustration before quietly leaving a carton of juice on your desk when you were too scared to eat in the lunchroom. One time, he shoved a guy for cornering you in the hallway.

Those moments almost felt like apologies.

Awkward and gangly, just like him. But even then, it never stopped.

When you were younger, you tried to understand him. You really did. During your self-help phase, every audiobook insisted people were more than the worst things they'd ever done. That forgiveness made you the better person.

You wanted to believe that. But you were way too fucking pissed.

From there, your life became the kind of rags-to-riches story people loved to tell. You went to college but still carried that adolescent rage with you. Every man you slept with became an emotional punching bag—a place to dump every humiliation, insult, and wound high school had left behind.

By the time you graduated, you were unrecognizable.

Confident—a little shameless, even. Years later, you stopped hiding behind your hair. For you, revenge wasn't getting even. It was becoming prettier and successful enough to look down on everyone who'd ever tried to make you feel small—from an empire you'd built with your own two hands.

And then, one day, you met the right kind of man. The kind who begged for your spit and paid you for it.

It was good money. Still is.

And quite frankly—you can't wait to show Mingi what the years have done to you.

𝜗ৎ

"You know—it's funny," you say, gaze drifting up to the ceiling with a soft sigh. The tasseled paddle taps against your palm in a lazy rhythm, like a metronome while you think.

Mingi's a mess beneath you. Spit drips in wet lines down his bobbing throat, pooling in the hollow of his twitching chest. His soft pants try to escape around the gag, strangled and useless.

He'd taken to it more readily than you expected. When you waltzed into your condo earlier that evening, you gave him the rundown fast and sharp—I don't bottom, I call the shots, here's the safeword—and tossed him the harness to see if he'd flinch.

He didn't. Just ran his thumb over the leather and asked if you had something in his size.

The harness you cinched around him earlier does exactly what it's meant to—squeezes his chest together, keeps him taut and presented. His eyes have rolled back, tears gathering at the edges of his long lashes. Strands of soft platinum blond hair cling to the sweat on his cheek, plastered there like silk against glass.

You press the button. The cock ring underneath his underwear kicks up a notch and Mingi lurches forward, hips jerking, only to be snapped back by the ropes. The restraints bite into his skin and he groans, the sound vibrating against the ball gag.

You smile.

It's enough to cut through the haze—Mingi forces his eyes open, struggling to focus on your face. You lean forward, hands braced on your knees, dropping to his eye level.

"You used to call me a little freak," you say, almost conversational. "All the time in high school."

The words hit him like cold water. It's frighteningly sobering. Mingi jolts, genuine surprise cutting through the pleasure-drunk fog.

"But look what we have here?" You tilt your head, letting the paddle trace a slow line down his sternum. "Song Mingi, the biggest jackass of my entire high school career... turns out to be the dirtiest fucking freak of them all."

His eyes roll back: hips thrusting forward on pure instinct, rutting into empty air, back arching in a sharp curve as another groan tears from his throat.

Your eyes widen, jaw dropping—and then you're laughing, bright and delighted.

"Ha! Did you just—" You lean closer, delighted. "Did you just have a dry orgasm?"

It's cute. Everything about him is so unbearably cute.

Then, all at once, a sick little epiphany settles over you.

Maybe this is what all those overpriced self-help journals had been trying to tell you all along.

Finding someone to be so pathetic can feel like forgiveness.

And now, he looks so pathetic, you adore the way he looks when he's ashamed.

You reach forward, fingers finding the buckle of the ball gag. It comes loose with a soft click, and you pull it free—a thin line of saliva trails after it, glistening in the light before you toss it aside. It hits the floor with a wet thud somewhere behind you.

You're still straddling him, knees bracketing his hips. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the rise and fall beneath your palms, the heat of his skin through the harness.

"So," you say, quiet now. The edge in your voice has softened to something almost gentle. "Tell me, Mingi. You want to stop?"

You've had your fun. If he safeworded right now, walked out— you'd let him. No strings.

He stares up at you, eyes wide and glassy, tears finally spilling over to track down his temples. His breath hitches.

"N-no." His voice is wrecked, raw from the gag. "Please. Let me stay."

The smile that curves your mouth is genuine this time. "What a good boy."

You lean down, pressing your lips to the sharp line of his jaw, then higher—his cheek, the corner of his eye. You pepper kisses across his eyelids, tasting salt.

"Still wanna stay and fuck the girl you bullied?"

He sniffles, and the sound is almost laughable coming from someone his size—big, broad-shouldered, built like he could break you in half. But he looks so angelic and soft right now.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I liked you."

You go dreadfully still. "The fuck do you mean you liked me?"

Mingi swallows hard, trying to compose himself. He doesn't look at the way your thighs are pressed against his hips, the damp patch on his abdomen where you've been grinding against him.

"I didn't know how to..." He exhales shakily. "I didn't know how to deal with it. Liked—liking when people treated me a certain way."

He pauses, gathering the words like they're heavy stones.

"You probably don't remember this. But the first time we actually met wasn't homeroom."

"Sophomore homeroom, first day." you say automatically.

He shakes his head slowly. "No. Last day of freshman year. You were—some guys were messing with you in the hall. You ran into me after, literally ran into me, and you were furious. Called me a piece of shit." He hesitates, throat working. "Spit on me, too."

Your brow furrows. You don't—

"And I got hard," he confesses, voice barely audible. "Right there. Couldn't... after that, I couldn't get off to anything else. Couldn't stop thinking about it. About someone—about you—degrading me like that."

He finally meets your eyes, desperate and bare.

"So I started treating you the way I wanted you to treat me. I was shitty to you because I wanted you to be shitty back. I wanted—" He breaks off, jaw tight.

You stare at him.

"That's..." You sit back, processing. Your hands are still on his chest, but they're lighter now, almost hovering. "That's fucked up, Mingi. That's genuinely atrocious."

You shift your weight, thighs pressing harder against his hips. Your hand finds his jaw, thumb brushing the mark your slap would leave. "Safeword check. Remember what I told you?"

"Kitty." The word comes out rough, immediate. He's still locked in, pupils blown wide.

"What's your red? Your no goes."

"I don't..." He swallows. "Don't like being choked. Or spanked."

"Slapping?"

His breath catches. "Green."

Your hand moves before your brain catches up—palm cracking across his cheek, snapping his head to the side. The sound is sharp, obscene.

"You liked me?" Your voice drops, dangerous and low. You grip his chin, forcing him to look at you. "You couldn't even fucking recognize me, sick fuck."

"If you really mean it," you say, "then show me."

Your thumbs hook into your underwear, sliding them down your thighs. You step out, kicking them aside, then move over him—knees settling on either side of his head, lowering yourself until you hover just above his mouth. Close enough that he can smell you. Feel your heat.

"Then fucking eat."

Mingi doesn't hesitate. He surges up, mouth finding you with a desperation that makes your breath catch—thick lips closing around your clit, suction immediate and hungry. He drags his tongue upward in one long, flat stroke, pressing firm so he can taste all of you, everywhere, the broad muscle working relentlessly against you.

You're soaked. A thin line of wetness escapes, trickling down to his jaw, pooling in the hollow of his cheek before he swipes it away with another pass of his tongue.

He flicks the tip of his tongue rapidly against your clit. The sensation zips up your spine like current as you roll your hips, pressing down harder, grinding against the bridge of his nose until you feel the bone.

The view from above wrecks you.

Mingi's pupils are blown wide, eyes rolled back to crescents of white, lashes fluttering. The rope has bitten deep into his big arms, the skin there flushing an angry, bitter red. His platinum hair spreads across the wet sheets in tangled strands, darkening where sweat and spit have soaked through.

You have to force yourself to breathe.

Below, his hips piston upward in empty thrusts, rutting against nothing. The thin black jock you gave him strains tight, a dark, spreading patch blooming at the front where he's leaked through the fabric, desperate and untouched.

Finally, you take a closer look. Pausing your grinding almost curiously—thoroughly impressed.

"You act like such a fucking pussy," you breathe, rolling your hips down harder. "But you're hung like you could actually break me. Might snap me in half before I get the chance to break you in."

You sink lower, settling your full weight over his mouth and nose. His breath hot against your thigh.

Mingi doesn't panic at the weight of you. He doubles down, mouth working frantically beneath you, lapping and sucking like a man on a mission.

You feel him still beneath you—muscles tensing, heels digging into the mattress with a groan. Mingi tries to lap at you, almost languidly.

You reach down, fingers sliding under the jock's band, and tug him free. He's hot in your palm, throbbing, and you roll the ring off in one quick motion.

and when he cums, he cums hard.

His head snaps back, a ragged sound tearing from his throat, and he comes in thick ropes that stripe his heaving chest, his trembling stomach—one landing high enough to catch the edge of his parted lips, his flushed cheek.

You don't give him time to recover before your mouth is on him, cleaning off the excess still dribbling down the ridge of his cock.

"Sit up." You instruct.

You shift off him and move to his wrists, unbinding the ropes with practiced efficiency. Mingi flexes his fingers, opening and closing his hands to chase the blood back into them.

"Is this all you wanted?" You arch a brow, voice dropping soft. "Some attention?"

You smooth a strand of hair from his forehead, tuck it behind his ear. Your palm curves along his jaw, thumb dragging across his lower lip—pressing, testing. "Open."

He parts his lips slowly, tongue easing out in offering before flattening, stretching down toward his chin. Submissive. Empty—waiting.

"All those years acting out..." You trace his mouth with your eyes. "And this is what you were after."

Your index and middle fingers slide onto his tongue, pressing down against the wet heat of it. He's salivating already, slick gathering against your skin, salt mixing with salt.

His eyes well up—glossy, desperate—and you swear you've never seen anything this pretty. Not when his brows curve down in that perfect blend of pleasure and ache as your fingers prod the back of his throat. Not when his moans vibrate against your palm, when everything is wet: your hand, his lashes, his jaw, rivulets of spit trailing down to pool in the hollows of his collarbones.

"Or is this what you wanted?" You push deeper, feeling him gag softly around your knuckles. "My hand down your throat?"

He sits before you, hands braced on your hips, staring up with something almost puppy-like in its devotion. He nods—shameless, earnest.

"All I ever wanted." His voice is husky, worn thin with exhaustion and lingering need.

"All that effort," you laugh, "just to be used like a little toy."

You grip his cock—still slick and firm before giving him a few rough strokes. Then you lift your hips and sink down onto him in one motion, sheathing him completely.

His eyes roll back.

You pause. Five full seconds of mercy, feeling him throb inside you, watching his mouth fall open. Then you begin to move—slow, intentionally brutal of your hips against his. Your fist reaches to tighten in his hair.

Mingi stutters out a sound, half moan, half embarrassed cry that catches in his throat. "S-shit!"

It burns—his girth stretching you wide, delicious and punishing, throbbing like it has its own pulse. Your ass smacks against his thighs with every downward stroke, the skin there flushing red from impact. His whole body shakes beneath you, oversensitive and overwhelmed.

You lean down, tongue tracing the column of his throat, then hover above his mouth.

Your spit falls between you.

Mingi's lips part. His tongue catches it, heavy-lidded and delirious. He swallows slow, forcing his eyes to stay open—locked on yours, asking without words: See? Aren't I good for you?

You spit again—except this time, it falls directly between your tits. Mingi licks up your sternum, eyes still locked on yours.

Your hips roll, rise, and fall with fatal precision. Your tits bounce with the force of it.

He's fucking huge. Taking him feels like being pushed to your absolute limits—every throb and twitch forces you to accommodate him inch by inch, your body yielding to the sheer weight of him. It's a feat in itself just to fit all of him.

But then something shifts.

Mingi tilts his head back, eyes closed, offering himself up in a silent plea for the kiss he's too scared to ask for.

You answer by catching his bottom lip between your teeth, biting just hard enough to leave indentations before releasing. He sighs into your mouth as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close until your chests flush together. You flinch at the sudden contact—the leather of his harness, still warm from his skin, brushes against your nipples.

His tongue sweeps against yours, jaw loosening to take you deeper.

“Fuck," he breathes, hands sliding to your hips to pull you down against him. It’s urgent—hot in ways you can’t say you expected riding Mingi after years of hating him would be.

"If you cum in me, I'll kill you."

"Mhm. Fuck—" He hisses against your mouth, breath ragged as he drives you down on him. "Yes ma'am."

His palms spread over your ass, gripping tight and rocking you in a rhythm that has you gliding up and down effortlessly.

He looks over your shoulder and spreads you wider, staring down at where your bodies meet. When he pulls out to watch you gape open, you can't even summon the energy to be annoyed—you just shove him back down and ride him. Hard.

His hands grip your waist, admiring the way you bounce on his cock, the soft give of your body. He looks at himself, at the white mess coating his shaft. "So fucking creamy."

You grab his face, pinching his cheeks until his mouth puckers, then slap him—sharp—and shove two fingers past his lips, gripping the wet heat of his inner cheek as you slam down on him.

"Shit—you feel so good," he whines, long blonde hair falling into his eyes. "Wait, I'm cumming—"

His face goes panicked, puppy-desperate. You smile softly. “Mhm. You can cum on my tummy."

You fall back, working your clit to finish yourself off, fighting the urge to pull him deeper and cave to your (covert) need to have him cum inside do you.

His large body shadows yours as he buries his face in your neck with a cry, once you rub the tip of his cock with the palm of your hand.

"Clean it," you manage, barely audible.

Mingi drags his tongue across your hipbone, down the soft curve of your stomach, licking himself off you with something like tired worship. He finds your hand, sucking at your palm, sliding wet kisses between your fingers.

He lies flat then, face buried in your thigh, and spreads you open to taste what's still dripping from you.

Wordlessly, you pull him into your arms and cradle him against your chest.

You brush his hair back from his forehead, cupping his face as your thumb gently wipes the sweat from his temple.

“…I really did like you back then,” he mumbles, his face still buried between your breasts.

You let out a quiet hum. “Oh? Did you now?”

He groans into your chest. “God… fuck high school. Truly.”

His arms tighten around your waist.

More than anything, he hopes high school Mingi hasn’t completely ruined things for the version of him that finally might get the girl.

fin.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: sub mingi in the year of our lord. a quick writeeee + bonus photos of what mingi looks like in dirty little freak :3

You were halfway through a yawn when you turned the corner into the narrow hallway and smacked face to chest first into Mingi. “Oof…shit, sorry….” he muttered, stepping back as your breath caught in your throat and your hand shot out to steady yourself against his chest. Bare chest. Warm and solid and way too close. His skin was still damp from a shower, short messy black hair sticking up everywhere, a towel slung over one shoulder, and he was wearing nothing but… boxers. Black Calvin Kleins. Low on his hips. Hugging his thighs like they were painted on. You’d seen him like this before. So many times. Post showers. Late nights. Early mornings. But lately? Lately, it was driving you crazy. His eyes dropped to where your hand still rested against his chest and your fingers twitched as if suddenly aware of the contact making you jerk your hand back like you’d been burned. “I didn’t think you were up yet,” you said quickly, voice still rough with sleep. He grinned, lazy and unbothered. “Didn’t think you were awake either. You usually don’t roll outta bed until after you threaten your alarm like it owes you money.”

“Rude,” you muttered, stepping past him to the bathroom, careful not to brush against him again. But Mingi didn’t move. He just stood there for a second, eyes lingering on your legs, bare beneath the hem of that shirt. That shirt he recognized, because it used to be his. You didn’t look back, but you felt it, his gaze on your thighs, on the way your hips shifted as you moved. You turned on the faucet and closed the bathroom door a little too fast and leaned on the counter, heart thudding in your chest like it knew something your brain was still trying to deny.

By the time you remerged from the bathroom, hair damp and wrapped up in a towel, the apartment had settled into its usual late morning rhythm. The AC hummed through the vents, the coffee machine gurgled in protest as it brewed something criminally bitter, and from the living room, the low buzz of the TV drifted down the hallway as you padded barefoot into the kitchen, now dressed in light blue scrubs that hugged in all the wrong places when you were running late. You grabbed a travel mug from the drying rack and poured what might have been coffee and might have been battery acid. Then you saw Mingi laid out across the couch like sin in sweatpants. Still shirtless. Still glowing from his shower. Still smug as hell. His long legs were stretched out, one ankle hooked over the other. He had a half smoked blunt pinched between his fingers, resting on his stomach like it belonged there. His hair had started to dry in messy. On the TV, some loud anime was playing, subtitles on, volume low as he looked over at you like he always did. Like he didn’t even realize how unfair he was being just by existing. “You look cute in blue,” he said casually, eyes dropping to your chest for a beat too long before dragging back up.

“Shut up,” you muttered, trying to sip your coffee like your face wasn’t burning. “What?” he grinned. “I meant it.” You rolled your eyes and turned back to the counter, pretending to dig through the junk drawer for a pen that wasn’t there. You needed to breathe. You needed to not look at his abs. Or his chest. Or that faint little glimpse of a happy trail disappearing under the…. “I don’t get why you work mornings,” he said through a cloud of smoke. “You’re always dead inside before noon.” You rolled your eyes. “Because not all of us can grind three nights a week and come home with enough cash to pay rent and buy overpriced cereal,” you fired back.

“Jealous?” he teased, voice low and smoky as you glanced over your shoulder…. mistake. He had his arms behind his head now, which only made the cut of his biceps more obvious. The blunt dangled from his lips as he smirked around it and you had to turn back around, muttering, “I hate you.” He laughed, so sure of himself. “No you don’t.” You didn’t answer. Because he was right. And if you stayed any longer, you were going to say something stupid, like how much you liked the way he smelled in the mornings, or how the sound of his voice saying good girl during one of your dreams last week had woken you up in a sweat. So instead, you grabbed your keys. “I’m gonna be late,” you said, tossing him one last look on your way out the door. “Don’t burn the couch.” He waved you off. “No promises,” he called after you, grinning with the blunt still between his teeth.

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The hospital was already buzzing when you arrived, nurses huddled over clipboards at the station, the smell of antiseptic biting at the back of your throat, and call lights flickering like a Christmas display gone rogue. You clocked in, grabbed your patient sheets, and headed to the break room to caffeinate before the chaos could fully begin. Seonghwa was already there, perched on the edge of the worn sofa like he didn’t have a single bone in his body. Dressed in his usual scrubs. black, fitted and unfair, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a medical drama, not elbow deep in bedpans and IV drips like the rest of you. He looked up the moment you walked in, smirk already forming. “Late night?” You sighed. “Hardly,” you grumbled, pouring your second cup of coffee for the day. “I just had to deal with Mingi being shirtless and smug at seven in the goddamn morning.” A knowing look formed in his eyes. “Ah,” Seonghwa said, amused. “So a normal Thursday.” You shot him a look over your shoulder, and he laughed, swinging his stethoscope around one finger. “You know,” he said casually, like he wasn’t about to drop a conversational grenade, “I’ve known Mingi for three years now. Worked with him every Friday night at Velvet Inferno. And I still don’t get how you’ve never seen his show.”

You stiffened. “I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, reaching for the coffee creamer like it would shield you. “For three years?” Seonghwa scoffed. “I work weekends sometimes.” You argued as he tilted his head. “You had last weekend off.” You stirred your coffee too hard, spilling a little. “Maybe I just don’t want to see my best friend grinding on strangers in leather pants.” Seonghwa arched a perfect brow in amusement. “Strangers? Or you?” You froze, fingers tightening around the mug as he leaned forward, voice lower now, teasing but not unkind. “Look, I’m not judging. Honestly? I think it’s kind of sweet. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. And I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think I’m not watching.” You opened your mouth, ready to deny everything…. but nothing came out. Because what could you say? That the idea of seeing Mingi dance…. seeing him like that…. scared the hell out of you? Because if you did, everything might change. Seonghwa smiled, leaning back. “Just come this Saturday. Just once. You don’t even have to tell him. I’ll put you in the back. No pressure. But I think you need to see what everyone else already knows.” You swallowed hard, heart thudding in your chest. And you hated that a tiny voice in your head whispered you wanted to go.

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The sun was dipping low by the time you pulled into your usual spot in the apartment complex lot, the air thick and heavy with the scent of summer rain still lingering from earlier. Your body ached, shoulders tight, feet on fire, and your brain running on its last ounce of caffeine and spite. All you wanted was a hot shower and silence as you dragged yourself up the stairs to your apartment and pushed the key into the lock just as the door opened from the inside. “Whoa… oh hey,” Mingi said, stopping short when he nearly walked right into you. “Timing.” You blinked up at him, a little stunned. He was in his usual off duty gear: oversized black tee hanging loose over baggy sweats, worn Vans on his feet, a crossbody slung over his chest. His hair was damp and tousled like he’d just showered, and he smelled like cedarwood and laundry detergent. Comfort and home to you. “Heading out?” you asked, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as he nodded, stepping aside to let you in. “Yeah, club night. You good?”

“Long day,” you said, toeing off your sneakers, “one guy tried to bite me. That was new.” Mingi let out a breathy laugh, keys jingling in his hand. “Your job’s wild.” You snorted. “Says the guy whose job title might as well be professional panty dropper.” He smirked. “Exotic dancer, thank you.” You rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged up at the corners as he glanced at the clock on his phone. “I gotta run or Hongjoong’ll give my slot to San.” You waved him off. “Go shake your ass for the masses.” He saluted you as he walked out the door. “Always do.” And just like that, he was gone, door closing softly behind him leaving you standing there for a minute, the silence settling around you. Then, as you made your way to the kitchen, you paused, eyes drifting toward the living room where his hoodie hung over the back of the couch.

You’d known Mingi danced. You’d joked about it, teased him about it, supported him in theory. But you’d never actually seen him at work. Never seen what he became when the lights hit him, when the music started, when the shirt came off. You didn’t even know what he wore onstage. Just the vague idea that it was… not much. And now? Now the curiosity had claws as you opened the fridge and muttered to yourself, “What the hell does he wear?” The curiosity stayed with you as you settled in. The movie you picked was already thirty minutes in, something easy and familiar you’d seen a dozen times before. It played low on the TV while you lounged on the couch, fresh out of the shower now and buried in a hoodie that still smelled a little like your favorite fabric softener. Your legs were tucked under a throw blanket, but your mind wasn’t anywhere near the screen. It was with him still as you stared blankly at the movie, but your brain kept chewing on the same question you hadn’t let yourself fully ask until now. Why haven’t you gone to see him perform?

He’d been working there for over three years. Seonghwa did Friday nights. Hell, he’d had even joked once about how you were the only person in Orlando who hadn’t seen Mingi shirtless under a spotlight. So why? Why had you avoided it like it would ruin you? Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket. Because you knew exactly why. It wasn’t about the fact that he danced. It wasn’t about the teasing, or the way he’d wink when you told him to shut up, or how he’d come home at 3:00 am still buzzing with energy, collapsing on the couch to eat cereal straight from the box. No. It was because you’d already seen it once. Not the stage lights. Not the show. But close. A year ago. You had just gotten home late from your first overnight shift. Quietly unlocked the door, trying not to wake him. But the second you stepped inside…… you heard it first. Low moans. Gasping breaths. The unmistakable rhythm of someone getting absolutely wrecked. You hadn’t meant to look. You really hadn’t. But you turned your head anyway, and there he was….. Mingi, shirtless and flushed, sweat slicked and panting, one hand braced against the back of the couch while the other gripped the thigh of the girl riding him.

You remembered her, she used to come by a lot. A regular at the club, you’d later find out. Gorgeous, confident, the type of girl who knew what she wanted and went after it. And she had Mingi wrapped around her like he was hers. You’d frozen in the entryway. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He didn’t even notice you. Too far gone. Eyes dark, jaw slack, letting out a low groan that made your knees buckle. You’d backed out the door like a ghost, quietly closing it behind you. He never found out you saw. And you never told him. But that night had haunted you. Not because he was having sex. But because for the first time in your life, you realized how badly you wanted to be the one underneath him. And ever since then? You’d kept your distance. In all the ways that counted. Because if seeing him like that from across the room nearly broke you… what the hell would happen if you watched him onstage, knowing that, for three nights a week, Mingi wasn’t just your best friend anymore. He was fantasy. And worse? You weren’t just craving the fantasy. You wanted the real thing.

The movie had long since faded into background noise, the credits rolling over a dramatic orchestral swell you didn’t register as you sat curled on the couch, blanket tucked around you, bowl of popcorn untouched in your lap, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. You were thinking about him still. Of course you were. The way he looked earlier, casual, smiling, smelling like shampoo and cologne. You’d bumped into him like it was nothing, like he wasn’t your best friend, like he didn’t get up onstage hours later and become someone else entirely. Someone you’d never seen. Someone the rest of the world paid to see. And you? You kept pretending like you didn’t want to know what he looked like under those lights. But God, you did. You tossed the blanket off your lap and stood, pacing without realizing it. Every logical part of your brain was screaming don’t go. That this was a terrible idea. That seeing Mingi in his element…. seeing him be seductive, powerful, untouchable… wasn’t going to fix anything. Maybe it would even break something. But your heart had already made the call. Fuck it.

Maybe if you saw it for yourself, really saw it, you could finally snap out of this stupid crush. Put it to bed. Get over the fantasy. Even though every part of you knew that was a lie. You grabbed your phone off the charger and opened your messages, thumbing through the chaos of your shift notes until you found the thread with Seonghwa and let him know you wanted to go tomorrow night and then locked your phone and stared at the wall for a long time while in your chest, your heart thudded a little too loud, a little too fast, as you whispered to yourself, “This is probably gonna make it worse.”

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The street outside Velvet Inferno was packed, black ropes, velvet lined doors, sharp dressed people waiting with anticipation and lip gloss, some hoping to get in, others already drunk off the idea of it. But you weren’t waiting in line. Not tonight. Not when you were with Seonghwa, who nodded at the bouncer with a smirk and tugged you gently by the wrist. “Still time to run, you know,” he said as he led you down the side alley toward the back entrance. His tone was teasing, but there was something else in it too, like he wasn’t sure if he should be dragging you in or dragging you away. “I said I was coming,” you murmured, adjusting the off shoulder sleeve of your black corset top. “And I didn’t think you meant it,” he shot back, glancing you up and down. “Not looking like that, anyway.” You ignored the warmth creeping up your neck. Your outfit had taken a solid hour of second guessing. Corset laced, form fitting black top. Wide leg dark jeans studded along the seams. Towering platform shoes that made your legs look unreal and your presence even taller than it already felt.

The hallway behind the club was dimly lit and smelled like fog machine residue and cologne. Seonghwa tapped a few beats on the staff door and the guy working security cracked it open, giving him a nod before letting you both slip inside. The dressing rooms were just ahead. Music pulsed faintly through the walls, heavy bass, muffled cheering, the rush of a crowd already half lost in the show. Mingi was somewhere in there. Completely unaware. Seonghwa led you out from the back and into the main heart of the club, bringing you towards the bar. He just grinned, lounging back as a server dropped off your drinks and you took a slow sip of yours, trying to act cool, trying not to let the rising hum in your chest give you away. Because any second now, Mingi would be on stage. And you had no idea what you were about to see. You’d only ever known him in hoodies and backwards hats, baggy sweats and sleepy eyes. That was your Mingi. But this? This was his world. And for once, you were stepping into it…..

Backstage at Velvet Inferno was a whole world of its own. Dimly lit mirrors flickered with rows of bulbs, costumes and props scattered across hooks and benches. The air was thick with cologne, sweat, body glitter, and ego. Music from the stage thumped through the walls like a second pulse, and somewhere out front, the crowd was already screaming. San was stretching, shirtless and grinning like a menace. His routine was up next. Yeosang sat on the bench nearby, buttoning a tight, sheer black shirt over his bare chest, his movements slow and precise, like every inch of him knew it was being watched even back here. Mingi was in the corner, half dressed, tugging on a pair of tight black jeans, shirt still slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t on for another two sets, but he liked being ready early. And then there was Wooyoung, draped over the bench like a cat in heat, groaning into the crook of his elbow. “God, I’m so horny,” he whined, flopping dramatically. “San and I need a third. I’m tired of rotating amateurs.”

“Maybe stop scaring them off,” Yeosang muttered, sliding on his rings and Wooyoung sat up, eyes gleaming, completely unfazed. “You know what? We should ask her.” Mingi looked up. “Who?” Something was telling him he wasn’t going to like what Wooyoung was about to say. “Your roommate,” Wooyoung said with a grin. “What’s her name again?” Mingi blinked, jaw clenching a little. “Why?” Wooyoung better not fucking say it….. “She’s hot,” Wooyoung said easily. “And if she’s lived with you this long, she’s probably used to the lifestyle. San and I need someone who can keep up. Emotionally, sexually, spiritually…. like, we light candles and everything.” Yeosang answered without looking up. “Y/N.” Wooyoung snapped his fingers. “Yes! Y/N. That’s her name.” Mingi stared at him, jaw tight. “No.” Wooyoung blinked. “No?” Mingi glared now. “No.” Wooyoung tilted his head, smile curling. “Why not?” He was antagonizing him now. “Because,” Mingi said, yanking his shirt on roughly, “she’s not like that.”

“Ohhh…” Wooyoung’s grin spread, slow and sharp. “Ohhh.” Yeosang raised a brow, glancing over. “Here we go.” Wooyoung was like a shark and Mingi’s emotions were like blood to him right now. “You like her,” Wooyoung said, pointing like it was a mic drop. “You like like her.” Mingi rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.” Wooyoung laughed, giggling and clapping his hands together. “That’s why you’ve never invited her here. That’s why you don’t talk about her. That’s why you looked like you were gonna commit a crime when I said she was hot.” Mingi didn’t say anything as Wooyoung leaned in, elbows on his knees, smug as hell. “Dude. You’re in love with her.”

“Wooyoung….”

“You gonna make a move?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Mingi’s jaw flexed. “Because she’s my best friend.” Wooyoung made a dramatic face. “That’s the best kind of person to ruin your life with!” Yeosang snorted as San popped his head in, fully dressed for his set in leather pants and a harness. “Did Wooyoung start the polyamory evangelism again?” It wouldn’t be the first time. “He tried to recruit Y/N,” Yeosang said and San grinned. “Oh damn. She’s hot.” Mingi threw his towel at the nearest locker with a loud clang and Wooyoung just laughed. “Better hurry up, lover boy. A girl like that doesn’t stay single long.” Mingi didn’t answer. Because deep down, he knew Wooyoung was right. And he also knew something Wooyoung didn’t. Y/N was the one thing he could never afford to fuck up.

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You were adjusting your top when the lights dimmed and a hush rippled through the crowd as Hongjoong’s voice came through the speakers, smooth, sultry, trained like velvet over whiskey. “Put your hands together, ladies and gentlemen… for your favorite little devil…. SAN.” The spotlight hit center stage and the room exploded. You nearly spilled your drink as the crowd screamed, shrill and feral, as San sauntered out under the lights. Shirtless, with a harness of course. Leather pants hugging him like they were scared to let go. A black choker glinting under the lights. Smirk full of sin. “Oh my God… “He’s really……” you whispered. “Yep,” Seonghwa replied, sipping his drink without flinching. “He’s their chaos demon.” On stage, San dropped to one knee and rolled his hips like he was summoning something dark and holy. Women screamed. Someone threw a bra and you couldn’t stop staring. Not because of San. But because Mingi was going to walk out there soon. And you had no idea how you were supposed to breathe when he did.

You sat there frozen, drink half forgotten in your hand, as the man you’d only ever seen as Mingi’s ridiculously sweet coworker turned into something else entirely under the lights. San prowled across the stage like he owned it, like he’d built it himself. His leather pants clung to every curve, every flex of his thighs as he stalked toward the front, bathed in red light like sin incarnate. The bass pounded. The fog machine kicked. A woman in the front row stood up in her seat and screamed like she was being exorcised. Seonghwa leaned toward you, voice close to your ear. “You’re lucky you missed his firefighter set last month. He had a damn hose.” You choked on your drink. San’s body was shimmering under the lights, abs flexing with every roll of his hips. And then… he jumped down off the stage and stalked through the crowd like a panther, grabbing the arm of a woman in a rhinestone dress and guiding her onto a chaise lounge at the edge of the floor. She looked like she might faint but San didn’t give her a second to recover, just climbed up beside her, straddled the seat, and slowly rolled his hips down against hers, one hand braced beside her head, the other dragging up her thigh like he was checking the strength of his own self control.

“Holy shit,” you muttered and Seonghwa just smiled, sipping his drink. “Told you.” San leaned in like he was going to kiss the girl, but stopped just short, lips hovering a breath away. Her hands were everywhere, chest, arms, back, and San let her. Even encouraged it, grinding slow and deep while the crowd screamed and tossed bills. It was chaos. It was art. It was sex with a lighting designer. And you couldn’t stop watching as San got off the lounge and winked as he pulled the woman up to her feet, gave her a playful little slap on the ass that made the whole table behind her screech, and guided her back to her seat like a gentleman. Then he walked back to the center of the stage, arms out, chest gleaming, a grin on his face that said I just wrecked your soul and I’m not even winded and then bowed as the house lights dimmed and the stage went dark. He came strutting offstage, chest gleaming with sweat and bills sticking out of the waistband of his pants. He grabbed a towel off the rack, wiped his face, and tossed it onto the bench like it owed him money.

The dressing room was a blur of movement, Yeosang doing last minute checks in the mirror, Wooyoung adjusting his earrings, Hongjoong’s muffled voice echoing the last of San’s name through the speakers. But San? He had tunnel vision right for Mingi who was sitting on the edge of a bench, elbows on knees, fully dressed in his performance gear now, black jeans tighter than sin, a mesh shirt hanging loose over his chest, and his hair styled spiky. He was scrolling through his phone, earbuds in, probably blasting his pre set playlist to ignore Wooyoung. Until San kicked his boot. “Yo.” Mingi looked up, pulling out one earbud. “How was it?” San just grinned. Too wide. Too smug. Like he’d just won a bet no one else knew about. “Set was great,” he said. “Crowd’s wild tonight. I swear someone tried to lick my abs.” Mingi snorted. “Not surprising,” he muttered, standing to stretch. “You’re a menace.”

“Guilty.” San didn’t move. Just stared still grinning which made Mingi raise a brow. “What?” San grinned wider. “You’re not even curious who’s in the audience tonight?” Mingi grabbed his water bottle. “I don’t need to be. It’s the same as every week. Bachelorettes. Drunk office girls. That one lady with the glitter cane who tips like a goddamn queen.” San licked his lips, still grinning. “You sure?” Mingi paused, staring at him suspiciously now. “What?” San just tilted his head, leaning against the lockers like a man with secrets. “You really don’t know she’s here?” Mingi frowned. “Who?” San laughed then, shaking his head. “Y/N.” Mingi froze as San’s grin widened even more. “Seonghwa’s here too, but I wasn’t exactly looking at him.” Mingi blinked in denial. “Y/N’s not here.”

“Oh, but she is,” San said, stretching his arms up behind his head like he didn’t just casually nuke Mingi’s entire night. “Sitting in the third booth off center. Black corset top, jeans with studs. Platforms. She looks good. Like someone who absolutely should not be watching you do what you’re about to do.” Mingi’s mouth went dry. “You’re messing with me.” San smirked. “Am I?” Go look.” Mingi didn’t move. Just stood there, every muscle in his body coiled like a wire pulled tight. San patted him on the shoulder as he walked past, towel slung around his neck. “Good luck out there, lover boy.” And then he was gone. Leaving Mingi in a storm of adrenaline, nerves, and something dangerously close to hope.

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The lights dropped low again. The bass thudded once, deep and resonant, followed by a rush of fog spilling out across the stage like the start of a storm. Hongjoong’s voice purred over the sound system, dripping with anticipation. “You’ve been waiting for him… and he’s ready to ruin you.” The crowd screamed. “Give it up for the man who makes fantasy look easy…. your headliner tonight… MINGI.” You couldn’t breathe. Not when the spotlight hit the center of the stage and he walked out like he was made for it. Not when the cheers around you turned primal. Not when the bass dropped and the music started. Because there he was. Mingi. But not the one you saw every morning in his hoodie, grumbling about cereal and half asleep on the couch. This version? This version was lethal. Tight black jeans that looked like they’d been sewn onto his body. A cropped mesh shirt unbuttoned all the way down his chest, the fabric clinging to sweat slick skin and teasing every dip and plane of muscle. Thick silver rings flashed on his fingers. He moved with slow confidence, every step perfectly timed to the thump of the beat. Not rushed. Not overdone. Like he already knew he owned the room. And God, he did.

The screams rose as he reached center stage, his hand sliding down his chest as the first switch in the music hit, a slick remix of something dark and sexy, all bass and breathy vocals. You couldn’t move or look away. And Mingi? Mingi was trying so hard not to look for you. He’d known the moment the curtain parted. He felt it like gravity. The shift in his breath. The hum in his chest. The way his heart slammed once, hard, like it recognized you before his eyes even did. But he didn’t turn his head. Not yet. He started slow, hips rolling in time with the music, hands skimming down his own body like he wasn’t teasing the entire room. His movements were smooth but controlled, like he could go harder but was choosing to drive everyone mad instead. And it was working. Women screamed. Money flew. A few already stood at the edge of the stage, reaching as Mingi dropped low into a crouch, legs spread wide, one hand dragging up his thigh to his chest. His lip curled into a smirk as he popped his hips once sharp. Then again slower. But still… he didn’t look.

Your hands were clenched in your lap, knuckles white. Your drink sat untouched. Your pulse? Absolutely fucked. Seonghwa leaned closer, whispering into your ear with a grin, “You breathing?” You didn’t answer. Because just then Mingi stood and turned, his eyes sweeping the crowd. Searching. Trying to pretend he wasn’t. Trying to stay smooth. Sexy. In control. But the moment his gaze landed on you? He stopped. Only for a second. But it was enough. Enough for you to know he saw you. Enough for him to forget the choreography for a half beat before snapping back in with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. You felt it. That flicker, real Mingi, underneath the performer. And in that moment, the game changed. Because now he wasn’t dancing for the room. He was dancing for you.

He’d always been good on stage. Controlled. Smooth. A slow burn with a fuse he could light and kill at will. He could flirt without touching, seduce without a word, tease until the whole room was ready to explode and then walk off like it was nothing. But tonight? Tonight was not a normal night. He wasn’t sure what came over him. Maybe it was the way you looked, corset laced tight, sitting back like you were trying to disappear, but your eyes were locked on him like they were chained. Maybe it was the memory of all the nights he’d come home from this stage and found you asleep on the couch, unaware of what he became after dark. Or maybe it was just that he’d waited too long to know what it would feel like to really perform for you. So he stopped holding back. He turned away from the crowd, letting the music climb into a filthy, distorted drop, shoulders rolling once, twice, before he grabbed the hem of his mesh shirt and yanked it off in one smooth pull and the screams that followed shook the walls as he tossed the shirt offstage and ran a hand down his chest, slow, like he was savoring it before he turned back around and met the crowd head on. And you.

There was no mistaking it now. He was performing for you. No more playing it safe as Mingi strutted forward, bare chest gleaming and dropped into a low squat near the front of the stage, spread his knees wide, and rolled his hips up, a deep, obscene grind that had a woman near the edge drop her drink and scream and he smiled. Then came the pants. He didn’t rush it. Oh no. He turned, showing off his back, hands sliding low over his waistband. Then…. pop, the button came undone and he dragged the zipper down slowly before he bent forward and rolled his hips. And then stood again in nothing but black briefs stretched dangerously across his thighs, low enough on his hips to make your throat go dry and the room lost its mind. Bills rained down like confetti. San’s name had gotten cheers. Mingi’s got worship. The lights followed him as he walked back down the runway, body pure heat and precision, muscles shifting under skin like he was carved to be stared at. He grabbed one of the poles, spun once, and dropped into the floor with his knees spread and thighs flexed so tight you thought you might pass out. Your nails dug into your thigh as he looked right at you as he did it and held your gaze as he popped his hips again. And again. And again.

You could feel your breath catching in your throat, your body burning under his stare. You didn’t even realize you were leaning forward slightly until Seonghwa whispered beside you, “He’s gonna destroy you.” You didn’t answer. Because right then, Mingi climbed back to his feet, chest rising and falling like a man on fire and he smiled. Smug. Sinful. Targeted. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Like he didn’t care if you were ready. Because you were already his.

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You weren’t sure how much time had passed since Mingi left the stage. Minutes? Hours? Your concept of time had evaporated somewhere around the third hip thrust. And Seonghwa had been absolutely insufferable since. “Drink some water before you pass out,” he said casually, pushing a glass toward you while lounging in the booth like he hadn’t just watched your entire soul leave your body. “I’m fine,” you muttered, eyes still half glazed. “Oh yeah? You haven’t blinked since he took off his shirt. Do I need to check your vitals, Nurse Y/N?” You took the water purely so you wouldn’t dump your drink on him. Wooyoung had performed next, of course, and it was exactly the chaotic firestorm you expected, leather pants, fire visuals, and a lot of tongue. Yeosang followed, graceful and untouchable, a sharp contrast that left the crowd breathless. But you? You barely saw them.

Your mind was still spinning from Mingi. From the way he looked straight at you. The way he moved like he knew what he was doing to you. And worst of all…. the way he smiled right before the lights went out. Smug bastard. And now the Hongjoong’s voice came booming back through the speakers, and the lights shifted, soft pinks, warm reds, the kind of glow that signaled one thing and one thing only. Audience participation. “Alright, alright, alright,” he purred, grinning as he walked across the stage. “You’ve seen them solo, but what if I told you there’s more?” The crowd screamed. “Oh, I know we’ve got some special people in the house tonight… where’s our bride to be?” More screaming as a spotlight snapped toward the left, landing on a girl in white with a tiara and glitter down her arms. She was losing her mind as Hongjoong grinned. “I think she deserves one last sin before the ring, don’t you?” Another round of unhinged cheering. “Ladies and gentlemen, for our bachelorette tonight… the Velvet Inferno All Stars!”

The lights dropped. The bass hit. And the entire team came out. San, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and, of course, Mingi, now in a sleeveless black tank and ripped jeans, hair still wild from earlier. He wasn’t even trying to perform yet. Just walking. And somehow still ruining your life. The crowd was feral as the guys spread out across the stage, moving in sync, just a taste of choreography, enough to tease, before they surrounded the bachelorette’s chair like lions circling a meal. “Now,” Hongjoong grinned, “you get to pick who gives you the lap dance of your dreams.” The bachelorette looked like she was about to ascend as San leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. Then Wooyoung dropped to his knees in front of her with a wink. Yeosang stood back, arms crossed, smug and untouched. And Mingi didn’t even approach her. Not at first. Because he was scanning the crowd again. Looking for you. And when he found you? He smirked. That same dangerous smirk he’d worn earlier. But this time? He winked and your stomach dropped.

Seonghwa leaned in. “You’re not getting out of here without at least five more people knowing you’re in love with your best friend.” You didn’t answer. Because on stage, the bachelorette finally picked her dancer. But Mingi’s eyes never left yours as the crowd erupted. San let out a dramatic, fake gasp. Wooyoung fell to the floor clutching his chest like he’d been robbed. Yeosang clapped, deadpan as Mingi just grinned. Slow. Sharp. Like he’d been expecting it. He strolled forward with that lazy, lethal confidence, towering over her like a fantasy made of smoke and basslines. The bride squealed, half standing before Hongjoong gently pushed her back down into the chair at center stage. “Stay seated, sweetheart,” he smirked. “He’ll do all the work.” Seonghwa sipped his drink beside you, not even pretending to hide his smile. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.” Your soul left your body again as the music kicked in, something filthy, heavy and slow. It wasn’t choreographed like the main sets. This was freestyle. Improvised. Raw. The dancers were encouraged to push the envelope. To read the room. Or in this case…. read you.

Mingi circled the chair once, eyes never leaving the bride. But you could feel it. His awareness of you as he straddled one leg of the chair and bent low, arms braced on either side of her shoulders, mouth brushing her ear as he whispered something that made her slap a hand to her mouth and giggle like a teenager at a sleepover. Then he dropped to his knees and placed his hands on her thighs, spreading them slowly, obscenely, before dragging them back up to her waist. She was losing her mind. Laughing. Squealing. Gripping the sides of the chair like her life depended on it. And then he climbed into her lap and you almost stood up. Instinct. Jealousy. Something primal and embarrassing that you tried to crush before it showed on your face. But of course Seonghwa noticed. “Ohhh no,” he whispered, clearly delighted. “You’re suffering.”

You ignored him as Mingi started grinding down into the bride’s lap, rolling his hips in slow, punishing waves that had women throwing money onstage like it was a religious offering. He leaned back, arms behind his head, chest on full display, eyes closed for a beat…. then he cracked one eye open and looked right at you. Still moving. Still in her lap. But his gaze? Locked. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t wink. He just stared, slow and steady, while he kept rolling his hips. You couldn’t breathe as the bride squealed again when he leaned forward and brushed his mouth along her jaw, not quite kissing, just enough to make her sob laugh and fan herself as the other dancers hyped the crowd. He stood a moment later, still grinning, and backed away as the MC brought down the lights and pulled the bride up for a round of applause. You barely clapped as Seonghwa leaned in close, eyes glittering. “He’s going to be insufferable after this.” You didn’t even wait for the lights to come back up. The second Mingi stepped offstage, you turned to Seonghwa with wide eyes and a tight jaw. “I need a drink.”

Seonghwa didn’t argue. He just grabbed his jacket and his phone, tossed a few bills on the table, and followed you without a word as you slipped past the last wave of screaming fans and out into the thick Florida night air. The sidewalk was quieter out here, but your head was still full of him. Of the way his hips moved. The smug weight of his gaze. The grind in that girl’s lap and how you could still feel it on your skin even though he never touched you. You needed something cold. Strong. Preferably on fire. “There’s a place down the block,” Seonghwa said as he fell into step beside you, not even out of breath. “Divey but not gross. Some of the guys go there after shows.” You didn’t care, you just nodded. “Perfect.” Two blocks later and you were both stepping inside a bar that was comfortably dim, the kind of place that didn’t demand conversation. The music was low, the hum of quiet voices around you almost soothing. Your drink was half empty. Your walls? A little more than that. Seonghwa didn’t push. He never did. He just sat across from you, nursing his whiskey, eyes steady as you stared at the table for a long time before you said it. “He’s my best friend.”

It came out small. Honest. Like you needed to remind yourself. Seonghwa looked at you, but didn’t speak. “I mean… he wasn’t dancing for me. Not really.” You swirled the ice in your glass with a fingertip, watching it spin. “If anything, he was messing with me. Teasing. He knows I’ve never seen him perform. He probably just wanted to make me squirm a little. Mission accomplished.” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “You don’t actually believe that.” You kept going like you didn’t hear him. “I mean…” you laughed, short and hollow. “Don’t you think if he actually saw me like that…. saw me the way he sees those girls in the crowd, or the ones he brings home sometimes… he would’ve made a move a long time ago?” Seonghwa’s glass clinked softly as he set it down but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight. “I’ve been living with him for five years,” you said quietly. “I walk around in his shirts. I do his laundry half the time. I know what cereal he likes and what side he sleeps on and that he cries during sad movies when he thinks I’m not looking. And nothing’s ever happened. Not once.” You looked up finally, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach. “That means something, right?”

Seonghwa didn’t speak right away. He just watched you before finally, softly, saying, “Yeah. It means he’s an idiot. He’s also your best friend,” Seonghwa added, tone even. “Which means he probably thinks you don’t see him like that. And knowing Mingi? He’d rather suffer in silence than risk losing what you already have.” You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Because a small, stupid part of you wanted to believe he was right. But the louder part? The part that watched Mingi grind into a stranger like she was the only woman in the world? That part couldn’t help but think…. if he wanted me… wouldn’t he have said something by now….. the bell over the bar door chimed. You barely registered it at first, still caught in the haze of what you’d just said. Still chewing on the weight of your own words, feeling them echo in your chest like you’d carved them into your ribs.

But then Seonghwa’s eyes flicked up and something about the way his posture shifted made your stomach twist. You turned and there he was. Mingi. Laughing. Loud. Glowing. Still flushed from the stage. Black jeans. Flannel shirt that clung to his chest in all the worst ways. Silver chains catching the low bar lights. His hair a mess, like he hadn’t even stopped to cool down. Right behind him, San and Wooyoung pushed through the doorway like they owned the building, talking with their hands, both laughing about something Wooyoung said way too loudly as Yeosang trailed after, calm and unreadable as always, already scanning the room. They were a unit. A storm. A problem. And they saw you immediately. Wooyoung spotted Seonghwa first, and his grin bloomed like trouble. “Ohhh shit, look who finally came out to play!” San followed his gaze and his eyebrows lifted when he saw you. Mingi was still scanning the bar casually, mid laugh, until his eyes landed on your booth and stuck. His smile didn’t drop. Not quite. But it changed. Like a curtain had lifted and he was aware now. That you were still here. That you hadn’t run far enough.

Seonghwa exhaled, drained his drink, and muttered under his breath, “Brace yourself.” Too late. The guys were already heading straight for you. Wooyoung got there first, sliding into the booth beside Seonghwa without asking. “Didn’t know this was a post show party. You guys should’ve told us you were coming here.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes as Yeosang stood at the end of the booth, nodding to you with that unreadable expression. San pulled up a spare chair, flipping it around and straddling it with ease. And Mingi hovered for a second before dropping into the seat right beside you. Close enough that his knee brushed yours. Close enough to smell his cologne. His sweat. The faintest trace of whatever body oil was still on his skin from earlier. “Didn’t expect to see you again tonight. Figured I’d get home and you’d be passed out.” he said, voice low and a little rough. You turned to him, blinking slowly. “We just wanted a drink.” His gaze dipped to your lips. “Yeah?” You nodded, trying to stay calm. “That’s all.”

He hummed. “Did you enjoy the show?” You opened your mouth then closed it. Because how the hell were you supposed to answer that? You looked away as Mingi leaned back in his seat, grin pulling at the corner of his mouth as he turned to Wooyoung like he hadn’t just gutted you in one line. But you could feel it. His knee still brushing yours. His fingers resting just close enough to yours on the table to make your skin buzz…… Wooyoung slammed his hand on the table. “Tequila shots. Extra lime. We’re celebrating.” Seonghwa opened his mouth to object, but the server was already nodding and disappearing as San leaned over the back of your chair, draping his chin on your shoulder with all the innocence of a man who had just dry humped on stage thirty minutes ago. “You stayed for all of us, huh?” You gave him a tight smile. “Regretting it.” He grinned “You loved it.” He backed off just as the server returned with a tray of shots and a grave warning about their strength. No one listened as Wooyoung handed them out like a bartender on his last shift, one for each of you, no hesitation. Then he turned to you, raised his glass, and said with zero warning, “You know, Y/N… I asked Mingi if San and I could get you to be our third and he looked like he wanted to murder me.”

You choked on air. “What?” you asked, eyes going wide as Mingi tensed beside you and San coughed into his hand, failing to hide a grin. Wooyoung? Absolutely shameless. “Our third,” he repeated with a smirk. “Like… in bed. Between us. On top of us. Around us. You get the vibe.” Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I…. what the hell, Wooyoung?!” Seonghwa was straight up wheezing across the booth. Even Yeosang finally cracked a smile behind his glass as San lifted his shot like it was a toast. “For the record, I supported the idea.” You looked back and forth between him and Wooyoung. “You two are feral,” you snapped, flushing hot. “And yet,” Wooyoung sang, tilting his head at Mingi, “he said no. Real fast. Like he was ready to throw me through a wall.” You turned to Mingi who was staring into his shot like it had betrayed him personally. “Mingi,” you said slowly. “Did you actually threaten Wooyoung?” He didn’t look up. “Not explicitly.”

“He snarled,” Wooyoung added helpfully.

“I did not snarl.”

“He made a noise. It was primal. Hot, if I wasn’t scared for my life.”

You just sat there, blinking. Because what the fuck. What did that even mean? Why would he care? And why did that tiny part of you, the one curled up deep inside, drunk on heat and nerves and years of tension, feel something dangerously close to hope? Wooyoung, never one to let go of chaos, spun his empty shot glass between his fingers with a devil’s grin. “I’m just saying, Mingi told me you weren’t into that kind of thing.” You froze as more shots arrived. Seonghwa snorted under his breath. San went suddenly quiet, eyes flicking from Mingi to you with a little too much interest. Yeosang leaned back, his face unreadable, but you swore his brows ticked up a fraction as your gaze snapped back to Mingi. He wasn’t looking at anyone. Still just sitting there, jaw tight, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed hard on the table now like he could physically will this conversation into the void. And something in you cracked.

You reached out, grabbed your shot glass, clear tequila sloshing near the rim, and turned your stare back to Wooyoung. “He has no idea what I’m into.” The whole table went still. Like someone had yanked the volume knob on reality. Wooyoung’s mouth opened into a perfect O. San actually whistled. Seonghwa pressed his lips together to stop a smile. And Yeosang murmured, just once, “Oof.” But Mingi? He finally looked up. Slowly. Eyes sharp, wide, locked on you like he’d just seen you for the first time. There was something in his expression you couldn’t place. Like your words had knocked the air out of him and he wasn’t sure whether to get angry, get flustered, or get closer. You didn’t break the stare. You just tipped your shot back and slammed the glass down like punctuation. “Cheers,” you said and San immediately grabbed his own, grinning like this was the best night of his life. “To wild revelations and poor self control,” he toasted. You didn’t look at Mingi again. But you could feel him. Watching. Burning. And you knew, without a doubt, that something had shifted for real this time.

The rounds of shots had cracked something open at the table, walls lowered, filters slipping, everything a little too loud, a little too easy. Even Yeosang was smiling now, and that almost never happened without money involved. Everyone had another drink in hand, courtesy of Wooyoung, and the conversation had swerved somewhere between sex, injuries, and unhinged post show stories. Naturally, it was only a matter of time before the chaos god himself struck again. Wooyoung turned to you and Seonghwa, chin in his hand, eyes gleaming. “So… be honest. You two ever get hit on at work? Like, emergency room drama plus sexual tension? Feels like it happens.” You rolled your eyes with a laugh. “You have no idea. Hwa once got hit on while treating a girl’s dislocated shoulder.”

“She asked for my number while crying,” Seonghwa added proudly as he raised his glass. “Okay, but nothing beats the screwdriver guy.” You blinked. “Seonghwa.” San perked up. “Wait…. screwdriver guy?” Mingi tilted his head, brow twitching. “Yeah, what screwdriver guy?” You were gonna kill Seonghwa. “Ohhh yeah,” Seonghwa said, glancing at you with a wicked grin. “This guy walks into the ER with a screwdriver literally embedded in his skull. Just sticking out like a goddamn cartoon. And he still had the audacity to flirt with her.” Wooyoung gasped. “Did you say yes?” You wished the floor would swallow you whole because you could feel Mingi staring at you. “She didn’t say anything,” Seonghwa replied. “But get this…. he comes back a month later for follow up scans, totally healed, and smooth as hell. And she…” He leaned back smugly. “Ends up hooking up with him in the on call room.”

The table exploded. “No fucking way,” San cackled. “I love that for you,” Wooyoung declared, reaching across the table to cheers your glass as Yeosang blinked. “Was this pre or post screwdriver?” You groaned. “Post,” Seonghwa answered for you, already laughing as you hid your face in your hands, groaning. “You were supposed to take that to your grave.” Seonghwa shrugged, grinning. “Too good not to share.” You peeked through your fingers only to lock eyes with Mingi. And he looked… not okay. Not angry. Not sulking. But something had definitely shifted. His jaw was tight. One of his hands flexed slightly against his thigh. And his eyes? Still on you, but narrowed now, more focused. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle that had just gotten a new piece he didn’t like. It was a casual story. But it hit him like a loaded gun. You sat back slowly, pulse picking up as Mingi looked away.

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The front door creaked open, the hinges protesting like they knew what kind of night it had been. Mingi half carried, half guided you inside, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other catching your wrist as you stumbled slightly over the threshold. “Okay, okay, I got you,” he muttered, voice low and warm as he toed the door shut behind him. You giggled into his shoulder, completely drunk and unapologetically soft, letting yourself be steered down the hall like gravity had taken the night off. Your heels were dangling from your other hand, fingers limp around the straps. Your hair was a mess. Your corset had shifted slightly, and your voice had that dreamy slur you only got when you were too far gone to care about appearances. And Mingi was suffering. He had one hand splayed against your bare waist where your corset had ridden up. The heat of your skin against his palm was killing him slowly. You weren’t heavy, but every sway of your hips against his side, every little laugh into his neck, it was all too much. “Did I thank you for not letting me fall in the street?” you mumbled as he helped you into the apartment.

“Twice.”

“You’re strong.”

“You’re wasted.”

“I mean it,” you said, looking up at him with those half lidded, glassy eyes. “You could probably carry me with one arm.” Mingi swallowed hard. “Maybe,” he muttered. “Don’t test me.” You stopped walking suddenly making him turn, confused, until he realized…. you were just staring at him, head tilted, eyes soft. Curious. Honest in the way only drunk people and small children ever were. “Mingi,” you said quietly. “You didn’t like that story.” His breath caught as your fingers brushed his wrist. “You got weird after it. The screwdriver guy thing.” He tried to play it off, forcing a small laugh. “Wasn’t that deep.” But you shook your head. “No. It was.” You reached up, hand clumsy but gentle, fingers brushing the chain at his neck. “He was just some guy,” you whispered. “It didn’t mean anything.” Mingi’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care,” he said quickly. Too quickly. And you blinked at him, swaying slightly. “Liar.” Mingi exhaled through his nose, chest tight. “You’re drunk, Y/N.”

“Not that drunk.” He looked at you then, really looked at you. Your flushed cheeks. Your parted lips. The strap of your top sliding off your shoulder. The way your body leaned into him without even realizing it. And still, he didn’t move. Didn’t touch you. Didn’t say the thing sitting right there on his tongue. Because he didn’t know if you’d remember in the morning. And if you didn’t? It might break him. So instead, he whispered, “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

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One week later, you were one minor inconvenience away from snapping. The ER was chaos. Of course it was. Flu season had hit like a freight train, two interns were arguing about IV placement, someone spilled coffee on the med cart, and the vending machine ate your last dollar without giving you your fucking chips. But none of that was the real problem. No, the real problem was lower. Cramping. Aching. Heat blooming in your gut in waves that had nothing to do with illness. You were on your period, bloated and irritable and craving every carb known to man. And horny. Not like regular horny. Dangerously horny. The kind of hormonal spiral that made you want to climb someone like a tree, and unfortunately, that someone was currently folded into your brain like a goddamn highlight reel.

Mingi. Mingi on stage. Mingi shirtless. Mingi grinding in slow motion with his tongue poking out slightly and sweat dripping down his chest. You growled quietly and slammed a clipboard down on the counter. “Everything alright?” Seonghwa asked, suddenly appearing beside you with a chart and a little too much amusement. “No,” you snapped. “Everything is not alright.” He blinked, then gave you one long, knowing look. “Cramping or craving?”

“Both.”

He nodded solemnly. “Mingi again?” You said nothing. But your face said everything. You hadn’t stopped thinking about him. Not since the bar. Not since the lap dance. Not since he half carried you home and stared at you like he was dying to say something and didn’t. He hadn’t brought it up since and neither had you. And that? That was driving you insane. You were stuck in limbo. Frustrated. Sensitive. Needy in ways you couldn’t even explain. And every time your mind drifted, it went right back to him. The way his hands looked on someone else’s thighs. The way his jeans sat on his hips. The way he smelled when he was that close, cologne and sweat and something you swore was designed to break you. You clenched your thighs and Seonghwa noticed. “Y/N.”

“Don’t.”

“You’re literally sweating.”

“I said don’t.” He raised both hands in surrender, but he was laughing now. “Just saying…. maybe you need to… handle it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

You glanced at the clock, hating everything. “Because I have rounds in ten minutes, and also this is a hospital.” He gave you a slow smirk. “So no on call room hookup today?” You turned to him, eyes dead. “You are not funny.” But you were already thinking about it. Already thinking about him. And wondering how much longer you could go before you snapped completely.

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The second you opened the front door to the apartment, the scent hit you first…. your favorite candles. Not one of his woodsy ones. Not one of the weird incense sticks he picked up from that crystal shop San dragged him to once. Yours. The vanilla and lavender one you only lit when cramps were killing you and you wanted to feel human again. Your throat tightened as your bag slipped from your shoulder with a dull thud against the hardwood as you stepped further in. The living room was dimmed, lamps only, no overhead lights, and the coffee table had a neatly arranged setup of your favorite snacks. A giant bottle of water. Chocolate covered pretzels you didn’t even realize he remembered you liked. A heating pad, already plugged in. And your favorite fuzzy blanket, folded on the couch with Grey’s Anatomy already queued up on Netflix.

You stood there frozen. Like an emotional bomb had gone off and you were the only one left standing. “Mingi!” you called out, voice cracking slightly. He emerged from the hallway. Hoodie. Sweatpants. Hair damp from a shower. He looked freshly scrubbed and so soft it made something behind your ribs ache. “Hey,” he said, voice gentle, like he already knew. “Rough day?” You nodded, not trusting your voice and he smiled coming over. “I set it all up. You just missed the rain too, it started like five minutes ago, perfect sad girl weather.” And that’s when you almost lost it. Your eyes burned. Your nose stung. Not because of the cramps. Not because of work. But because how could he care about you like this and not feel it too?

You dropped your eyes to the heating pad, to the snacks, to the blanket you’d once told him was your favorite two years ago, and whispered, “You didn’t have to do all this…” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “I wanted to.” And that was it. The thread snapped. You sat on the couch too quickly, trying to hide your face in the blanket, but your voice cracked again when you said, “You’re gonna make me cry, and it’s so stupid.” Mingi blinked, concerned now, crouching beside you. “What? Hey. No, it’s not stupid.” You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m just hormonal and tired and….” And in love with you. He touched your knee gently. “Y/N.” You looked at him, trying to hold it together as he smiled, quiet and soft. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me take care of you tonight.”

Two hours later and the soft hum of Grey’s Anatomy played through the apartment, but you weren’t really watching. It was Friday night. Which meant Mingi was working. Which meant somewhere, right now, this very minute, he was onstage. Shirtless. Smirking. Running his hands over someone else. Letting them run theirs over him. Laughing into someone’s ear. Grinding into some stranger’s lap like it didn’t mean anything. Because to him, it probably didn’t. But to you? It felt like a slow stab to the chest. You sat curled on the couch, fuzzy blanket pulled around you like armor, a half eaten bag of chips crumpled beside you and your phone screen lit up every so often from some irrelevant notification. Your heating pad had long gone warm instead of hot. But your thoughts? They were scorching. You hated how vivid your imagination was. How easily your brain conjured it. The way his thighs looked when he moved. The roll of his hips. The way his fingers looked tangled in someone’s hair the night of the bachelorette set. The way he looked at you while grinding on someone else like he wanted you to feel it. And God, did you feel it.

Even now, alone in your apartment, the jealousy crawled up your spine like a fever. You didn’t want to care. You really didn’t. He’d been dancing long before you ever stepped foot in Velvet Inferno. You’d known what he did. Hell, you supported it. Encouraged it. But seeing it? Feeling it? Knowing he was out there right now with hands on him that weren’t yours? It made your chest ache. Made your throat tight. Made your eyes sting. And worst of all, you couldn’t do anything about it. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t his anything. Just his roommate. His best friend. The one he made soup for when you were sick. The one he knew better than anyone. The one he carried home drunk and tucked into bed like she was something precious. But still… Not the one he touched like that. Your jaw clenched as your hands curled in the blanket. You tried to focus on the TV, but the tears were already pressing against your lashes.

And suddenly…. you just missed him. Even though he’d only been gone a few hours. Even though he’d come home eventually. Even though he wasn’t really yours to miss in the first place.

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The music was finally dying down. Velvet Inferno had started to clear out, lingering bachelorette groups giggling out the doors, dollar bills scattered like confetti across the stage, the haze of sweat and body spray still thick in the air. Staff moved in practiced rhythm, cleaning, counting, cashing out. Mingi sat backstage in his usual spot, toweling off the last of the sweat from his neck, his black tank clinging to his chest. The adrenaline had faded, but he was still wired. Not from the show. From thoughts of you. He hadn’t been able to shake you all night. The way you looked curled on the couch before he left. That soft, tired smile. The heat pack in your lap. The blanket around your shoulders. You’d barely said anything when he left, just mumbled “have a good night” without looking up from the TV. But he’d felt the shift. The distance. And now? Now he just wanted to get home.

He was sliding on his jacket when he heard a voice behind him. “Heading out already?” Mingi turned and looked at her. Daphne. Same long legs. Same red lipstick. Same skin tight dress she always wore on Friday nights when she came to watch him work. The same girl who used to be a routine. Who never asked for anything more than what he gave, and who gave exactly what he used to want. Used to. “Yeah,” he said casually, zipping up his jacket. “It’s late.” She smiled, slow and familiar. “Wanna come back to your place?” He blinked. “What?” She smirked at him. “You said you were heading home. I figured…” She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on his chest. “It’s been a while.” Mingi gently removed her hand. “Nah,” he said, voice quiet. “Can’t tonight.” She tilted her head, a flicker of irritation passing behind her eyes. “Why not?”

“Y/N’s home,” he said simply, not even thinking about it and Daphne’s brows lifted. “Your roommate?” Mingi nodded. “Yeah.” And my best friend. The woman I love. Daphne laughed. “So? You’ve had girls over when she’s home before.” He flinched slightly but didn’t answer. Didn’t explain that he didn’t do that anymore. Daphne took a half step closer. “Okay, fine. Come back to my place then.” He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough for her to see it. “Mingi,” she said, a little sharper now, “you and I both know this doesn’t have to mean anything.” Now his patience was growing thin. “I know,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem.” Candace blinked, thrown as Mingi adjusted his bag and nodded toward the exit. “I’ll see you around.” And then he was gone.

Outside, the night air hit him hard. But it wasn’t the cold that made him shiver. It was the image of you, curled on the couch, waiting for him. And the ache in his chest that told him the only place he wanted to be was home with you.

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Two weeks later and the ER was slow that day, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead and Seonghwa’s relentless nagging being the only consistent sounds in the small break room. You were sipping on lukewarm coffee, flipping through a clipboard when Seonghwa burst in with all the dramatics of a Broadway curtain call. “Please, please, please come tonight,” he begged, leaning on the desk like the fate of the world depended on your attendance. “It’s my birthday. I’m literally performing to Pony just for you. And I got you on the guest list. VIP. No excuses.” You rolled your eyes, lips twitching. “You’re trying to bribe me with Ginuwine?” He gasped. “How dare you disrespect a classic.” You laughed, trying not to cave too fast, but truth was, part of you wanted to go. Even if it meant risking seeing Mingi onstage again. Especially after that first time when the sight of him dancing for someone else nearly cracked you in half. But it was Seonghwa’s birthday… and damn it, you did miss that energy. “Fine,” you groaned, “but only because it’s your birthday.“ Seonghwa grinned like he’d won the lottery. “You won’t regret it.”

When you got home, your bare feet padded across the wood floor as you dug through your closet like a woman possessed. You weren’t even sure what you were looking for until your fingers brushed the silky fabric, pulling out that black dress. The one with the daring cutouts, gold clips, and the power to make any man forget how to spell his own name. You hadn’t worn it in ages. You barely remembered buying it. But something in your chest tightened as you held it up to your body in the mirror. Let him look, you thought. Mingi was in the shower, steam rolling under the bathroom door as you shimmied into the dress, adjusting the straps and making sure the clips were perfectly in place. The door creaked open behind you and you didn’t have to look to know it was him. You heard his steps pause. “Where are you going?” came Mingi’s voice, low and casual but with that distinct edge only someone who just walked past your door in a towel and saw you in that dress could have.

You turned slowly, watching him lean on the doorframe, towel slung low on his hips. You met his eyes, cool and effortless. “It’s Seonghwa’s birthday. He begged me to come to the club again. Said he’s dancing tonight.” Mingi blinked once. Then again as you turned back to the mirror like it was nothing. Like your heart wasn’t suddenly doing backflips. “You’re wearing that dress?” His voice was low, unreadable and you shrugged. “Yes.” Mingi didn’t respond. He just kept looking at you like you weren’t real. Like the air had gotten punched out of him. You tilted your head, a little amused. “Why?” His tongue pressed into the inside of his cheek and you saw it hit him. The memory. You saw it in the way his throat bobbed. The way he blinked like he was trying to snap himself out of something. Because you had worn that dress once before, two years ago, at his birthday party. The rooftop one with the string lights and the terrible punch. You’d shown up late and he’d been halfway through a drink when he saw you across the crowd in that exact dress. He hadn’t lasted ten minutes. He’d walked straight out. Claimed he had to take a call and never came back.

His fingers twitched at his sides and his gaze dropped again, slower this time, heavier as you shrugged, smoothing the fabric again as you turned slightly in the mirror, checking the back. “Hwa said dress slutty.” Mingi huffed out a laugh but it wasn’t amused. It was breathless. Frustrated. His hand dragged through his still damp hair, and he muttered something under his breath in a tone you couldn’t quite catch. “Something you wanna say?” you teased lightly, not looking at him. He stepped back, eyes still locked on you like you might disappear if he blinked. “Nah,” he said eventually. “Just… I remember that dress.” You finally met his eyes through the mirror. “So do I.” For a moment, neither of you said a word as the air between you thickened, warm and electric and dangerously unspoken. Then he cleared his throat, eyes darting away. “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you there.” And just like before, Mingi turned and walked away. Except this time, you heard his breath catch the second he rounded the corner.

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The club was already packed by the time you got there. Friday nights were always heavier, more tourists, more regulars, more people celebrating birthdays they’d never remember by tomorrow morning. The line outside wrapped around the block, but you didn’t wait in it. You knew better. You slipped through the side entrance like you’d been there a thousand times before, heels clicking against the hallway tile as the muffled bass grew louder with every step. And then you stepped out into the main room and every set of eyes in the place might as well have turned your way. Especially the women. It was subtle at first, side glances, a few narrowed eyes, a whisper behind a manicured hand. But the closer you got to the front, the more obvious it became. Your dress wasn’t designed for subtlety. Black. Clinging. Cut in ways that defied logic and modesty.

You sank into the velvet chair, legs crossed, ignoring the judgmental looks from the women at the bar. Let them look. Let them whisper. Let them wonder why, for the first time ever, Mingi wasn’t behind the curtain doing shots or smoking a blunt or hyping himself up for his number. Because Mingi wasn’t hyped. Mingi was pacing. Mingi was sweating. Mingi was seconds from walking onstage because he knew you were already here. In that dress. The lights dimmed just as you settled deeper into your seat, the chatter fading into a hush as a smooth, bass heavy track spilled from the speakers and a spotlight flared to life, and there he was. Yeosang. Golden skin, dark eyes, lean muscle dressed in all black and leather. His entrance was smooth and practiced, dripping with that quiet confidence only he had. The crowd responded immediately, cheers, catcalls, a few high pitched moans from the row behind you but you just smiled and sipped your drink as you watched him move with surgical precision, hips rolling, fingers dragging down his chest as he danced for the women at the edge of the stage, grinning when one of them tried to reach for his belt but Yeosang winked and stepped back just out of reach. Your gaze moved to the door behind him, the one leading backstage.….

Mingi was sitting on the edge of the couch backstage, bouncing his knee like it owed him money. Shirtless, sweat already misting his collarbones as he glared at the floor like it had personally offended him. That fucking dress. He couldn’t get it out of his head. Not the current version of you in it, though that was bad enough. No, what was really wrecking him was the memory of it. You, two years ago, walking into his birthday party without a clue what you were doing to him. Hair loose, smile innocent, body hugged tight in that goddamn black fabric. He remembered the exact second he saw you, how the world tilted, how the air left his lungs, how he had to walk out because if he didn’t, he was going to do something that would’ve ruined everything. And now? Now you were wearing it again.

“Bro, if you bounce your knee any harder, the floor’s gonna crack.” Mingi looked up to find Seonghwa zipping up his pants in the dressing mirror, shaking his head with a smirk. “She wore that fucking dress,” Mingi muttered. Seonghwa paused. “What dress?”

“The one ruining my existence.”

Seonghwa let out a low whistle and turned back to the mirror. “Well. Guess I’m not the only one getting a present tonight.” Mingi groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna combust.”

“Don’t. I need you alive. You’re after me.” Across the room, San was pressed against the wall with Wooyoung in his lap, both of them shamelessly making out like they didn’t care it was a shared dressing room. Which, to be fair, they didn’t. Wooyoung’s hands were already halfway up San’s shirt, and neither of them looked like they had plans to stop. “Do they have to do this right now?” Mingi grumbled. “Have you met them?” Seonghwa said without turning around as Hongjoong pushed through the door, headset in place, clipboard in hand, his expression all business until he saw Seonghwa. “Alright, birthday boy. You’re up next, and your set’s been extended. Two full songs instead of one. You good?” Seonghwa blinked. “Wait….. what?” Hongjoong grinned. “It’s your birthday. Consider it a gift. Work the stage, soak it in. And wear the silver chains tonight, make the old women in the back row faint.” He turned and disappeared before Seonghwa could protest, leaving him staring at the mirror in disbelief. “Well,” Seonghwa said, glancing at Mingi. “Guess I’ve got more time to keep her warm for you.” Mingi rolled his eyes, but his stomach twisted.

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The lights changed again, darker now, drenched in purple and silver, bassline deep and sultry as the Hongjoong announced the next set. “Ladies and gentlemen… for the birthday boy himself…” You leaned back with a smile, just as the music kicked in, slow, smooth, something with a wicked little rhythm. And then Seonghwa stepped into the spotlight and the audible gasp from the crowd was immediate. You could hear someone behind you whisper “holy shit,” and you didn’t blame them. Seonghwa looked good. Silver chains draped across his chest, the open black blazer showing just enough skin to make knees buckle, his hair styled back but a few strands rebelliously falling forward. You sipped your drink, half listening to the screaming around you. If only your coworkers at the hospital could see him now. Confident, clean, seductive, the kind of controlled performance that made everyone pay attention.

Seonghwa didn’t beg for the spotlight. He commanded it. He hit every beat with sharp precision, giving attention to each side of the stage, a knowing smirk curling his lips. Until he found you. Your eyes widened a little as he walked toward your side of the stage, fingers tracing his chest before he pointed directly at you, hips grinding to the beat. You groaned and laughed, covering your face for a second before looking back up at him with a smirk, mouthing, “You’re ridiculous.” Seonghwa winked and didn’t break rhythm for a second.

“Someone’s enjoying herself.” Wooyoung was peeking out from the side curtain, chin resting on Mingi’s shoulder, both of them hidden in the shadows just past the curtain near the stage entrance. Mingi didn’t say a word. He was standing like stone, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes locked on you. You, in that dress. You, laughing and glowing and completely unaware that you were slowly ruining him. Wooyoung whistled low and let out a chuckle. “Goddamn… if you don’t finally make a move tonight, San and I will.” Mingi didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Didn’t even breathe. And Wooyoung, always a menace, grinned. “You’re on next, lover boy. Better figure it out quick. I don’t think that dress is gonna last the night.” Seonghwa’s performance ended to deafening cheers, the crowd still buzzing as the lights shifted and another playlist took over the speakers for the brief intermission. You clapped and whooped with the rest of them, smiling when Seonghwa blew a kiss toward the audience before disappearing behind the curtain.

You needed a drink. Not just because it was hot in here, not just because Seonghwa had turned the place into a damn sauna, but because the momentary flutter in your chest, the one you really didn’t want to acknowledge, was starting to feel familiar. You weaved your way toward the bar, still getting looks. A few women gave polite smiles. A few didn’t bother hiding the fact they were sizing you up. The bartender handed you your drink, vodka soda, extra lime, and you sipped slowly, watching some of the staff rearrange props on stage for the next set. You’d just started heading toward the back when the line for the restroom came into view, and you groaned. Of course. You took another sip and slipped into the hallway anyway, heels clicking softly against the dark floor. It was quieter back here, the sound of music muffled by the heavy curtain and door. You were mid scroll on your phone, waiting for the next stall, when you saw her. Daphne. She was across the hall, leaning against the wall by the lounge door, laughing at something on her phone. She hadn’t changed much. And even if you hadn’t clocked the flirty body language and the way her lipstick was too perfectly smudged, you’d know that face anywhere. Because it was her. The girl you’d walked in on with Mingi.

You took another slow sip of your drink, shoulders straightening, not meaning to eavesdrop. You were just waiting your turn for the restroom, but then she laughed, a sharp, airy little thing, and it drew your attention before you could help it. She’d been joined by two other women, both dolled up in the kind of designer clubwear that screamed I’m not here for drinks, I’m here for backstage. You couldn’t help the sideways glance as Daphne sighed dramatically. “I swear to god, he gets hotter every time I see him,” she said, tossing her hair back like she was still center stage. One of the other girls giggled. “You mean Mingi?” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Who else? That man could make me forget my own name. I swear, if he so much as glanced at me tonight, I’d be backstage with my legs in the air before he finishes his set.” That earned a chorus of laughs from the others. “He’s got that energy,” another one chimed in. “Like, the moment he touches you, you know. I still think about that one night….. his hands? Unreal.”

“Please, I could still feel him the next morning,” Daphne said, sipping her drink with a smug tilt of her lips. “He knows what he’s doing. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t talk much, either. Just grabs your throat and owns you.” Your stomach tightened, a strange, cold twist curling low. You took a slow breath, steadying yourself. It didn’t matter. They could talk about the way he fucked them all they wanted. What you had with Mingi was different. It had always been different. Still, you couldn’t help the small flicker of something in your chest, some stubborn, possessive ember sparking in the dark. You made quick haste in using the restroom before sliding back into your seat, smoothing your hands down your thighs, trying to push the unease out of your chest. The voices from the bathroom still lingered, too clear to forget. Daphne’s obnoxious giggle, one of the other girls saying something about how fast he always pulled her into his lap, and someone else laughing, “Mingi’s a slut, but like, in a fun way.” You knew better. You’d known him since you were thirteen. You’d seen every version of him, from the awkward middle schooler who used to trip over his own feet to the man now regularly grinding on stage under heavy lights. But that didn’t make it sting any less.

You crossed your legs, sitting straighter, chin up like you weren’t affected at all, even though your stomach still felt off as the lights dimmed suddenly, shifting the attention back to the stage, and the low thrum of bass pulsed through the club. Hongjoong’s voice came over the mic, smoother than the whiskey he drank. “Alright, alright… try to keep your hands to yourself for this next one. You know who he is.” A moment of silence passed, followed by a mischievous grin. “And judging by how loud some of you get when he so much as breathes…. yeah, I know you know.” The crowd laughed, whistles already rising. You blinked, heart kicking a little harder despite everything. “Put your hands together for the one and only…. MINGI!” The lights exploded in a rush of violet and gold as the music shifted. And there he was. Mingi barely looked at the crowd when he stepped out…. except for the split second his eyes found yours. A quick glance. But it landed like a punch to the chest. No wink. No smirk this time. Just that unreadable look that made it impossible to tell if he was affected by your presence… or trying hard not to be. The music started slow, deep bass with a teasing rhythm, and the screams erupted around you, the kind of shrieking only Mingi’s hips could cause. You swallowed thickly, crossing your legs tighter as he started moving, rolling his shoulders and swaying to the beat with that devastating ease he was known for.

You tried. You really tried not to stare. He was your best friend. He was also wearing pants that looked spray painted on. And you were only human. Your gaze flicked away, anywhere else, anyone else. But of course, it landed on her. Daphne. And her little fan club. Clustered just a few seats down, leaning forward in their chairs like they were watching their favorite scene in a movie. Daphne had one hand resting under her chin, eyes locked on Mingi’s chest like she already had plans for it, while one of her friends whispered something and giggled behind her hand. Jealousy rose in your throat like smoke. Stupid. Stupid. You had no right to be jealous. You weren’t his girlfriend. You’d never even kissed him. But you had seen the way he used to smile at you in high school when no one else got him. You had been the first one to know about his audition. The first to hug him when he got the job. The one who helped him with his first eyeliner wing and teased him for crying during Pixar movies. And now here he was, grinding on stage in front of everyone. Including them.

You blinked hard, forcing your eyes back to the stage as he dropped to his knees and ran one hand up the inside of his thigh, his mouth parted just slightly like he knew exactly what he was doing. No. No, you were not going to fall into the Mingi trap again tonight. Even if you already had. The second verse hit, and the lights dimmed to a smoky red, casting long shadows over Mingi’s body as he stalked down the stage with slow, deliberate steps. His eyes swept over the crowd like a predator picking his target, and you felt your breath catch when, just for a second, they landed on you again but he didn’t do anything. He just kept going. There was something different tonight. His usual energy was there, the raw confidence, the way his body moved like he knew it was a weapon, but he wasn’t pushing it as hard as he usually did. He wasn’t playing up to the crowd, no shirt ripping dramatics, no licking his fingers before dragging them down his chest. It was… restrained. Controlled. Almost like he didn’t want to give it all away. Still, the screams got louder when he rolled his hips in time with the beat, running one hand through his hair and letting his head tip back. His shirt was already long gone, tossed somewhere into the lights during the first chorus, and now his hands moved to the buckle of his belt, slow and showy but still somehow not cocky.

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth as the pants hit the floor. Black underwear. Tight. Low. Dangerous. Your heart pounded in your ears. The club was electric. One of the girls near Daphne squealed, clutching the other’s arm, while Daphne herself sat there smugly, eyes dragging up Mingi’s thighs like she owned them. You had to look away. You had to. But your eyes didn’t listen. Mingi moved to the edge of the stage, kneeling at the end of it, sweat glistening down his chest as the music hit a low, pulsing bridge. His hands slid slowly down the tops of his thighs, just barely skimming over the elastic of his underwear, and he let the tension sit there, soaking into the air like heat. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. And he hadn’t even touched himself yet. Because he was holding back. He wasn’t here to blow the crowd away tonight. He wasn’t here for the loudest cheers or the biggest tips. He wasn’t performing like a man who wanted the world’s attention. He was performing like a man who already knew exactly whose attention he had. And he was being careful with it.

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Backstage was chaos. Sweat, laughter, leftover glitter, the low buzz of someone’s portable speaker still playing the tail end of the track Mingi had just walked off to. But he didn’t really hear it. His pulse was still racing, muscles tight, lungs catching on a breath that had nothing to do with dancing as he ran a towel down his chest, flinching a little when the fabric passed over the still damp waistband of his underwear. God. He barely remembered stepping off stage. His mind was stuck on the time your eyes locked with his….. “Mingi!” Wooyoung’s voice cut through the noise like a shot. “You good? Or did someone forget it was Seonghwa’s birthday?”

Mingi blinked. “What?” Wooyoung crossed his arms, tilting his head with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “That performance? That was, like, 70 percent. Maybe 75 if I’m being generous.”

“I hit every step,” Mingi muttered, still towel drying his hair like it would help him avoid this conversation. “Yeah, yeah, the steps were there. But the filth? The drama? The tongue and hand action?” Wooyoung held up his fingers like a checklist. “Gone. Missing. On vacation.” Mingi threw the towel at his face. “Get out of my business.”

“I would…. if your business wasn’t being all tense because a certain someone’s sitting out there looking like a sin in heels and barely even glancing your way.” Mingi froze. “She glanced.”

“Oh, she glanced,” Wooyoung agreed with a smirk. “But the other girls? They drooled. And you didn’t even give them a good reason to.” Mingi dragged a hand down his face with a frustrated sigh, ignoring the heat curling in his chest. “It’s Seonghwa’s night.” Wooyoung grinned. “Exactly! Which means you should’ve been out there slutting it up in his honor.” He threw a dramatic hand to his chest. “Instead, you came off like a sad stripper who’s in love with his best friend but trying to hide it by pretending he’s not thinking about her in that tiny black dress.” Mingi narrowed his eyes. “That was weirdly specific.” Wooyoung gave him a slow blink. “Am I wrong?” Mingi didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Because Wooyoung already knew.

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The final song boomed through the club, the kind of bass heavy anthem that had drinks sloshing, phones up, and the floor vibrating with heat and sweat. San and Wooyoung had just finished their performance with the kind of chaos only they could pull off together, shirts missing, glitter somehow everywhere, Wooyoung mouthing something obscene into a camera someone definitely had on him. The rest of the guys had joined them on stage, shirtless, glistening, hyped, all of them catching their breath as Hongjoong stepped forward with a mic and that dangerous glint in his eye again. “Alright, alright!” he yelled, breathless, cheeks flushed from champagne and adrenaline. “It’s that time again….. lap dance giveaway!” The crowd screamed. Phones shot higher. Someone whistled so loud Hongjoong flinched. “So here’s how it works,” he grinned, gesturing behind him. “All our lovely dancers are up here. But you, the audience, get to vote who gives the final lap dance of the night!” The crowd erupted into cheers again, hands shooting up, chants starting. Names were shouted, screamed, begged for, Seonghwa, San, Wooyoung, Yeosang. But then someone yelled Mingi’s name. Then someone else. And another. Until it turned into a wave. “Mingi! Mingi! Mingi!”

“Alright!” Seonghwa suddenly cut in, grabbing the mic from Hongjoong. His voice was full of playful command. “It’s my birthday, which means I get to pick who the lucky recipient is.” That brought fresh noise from the audience, whooping in anticipation as Seonghwa turned in a slow circle, gaze sweeping the room like a spotlight until it landed on you. He didn’t say your name. Didn’t need to. Because every single person in the room watched his eyes land on you. Watched that wicked birthday smirk spread across his face. “I pick…” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, still staring dead at you, “her.” The spotlight followed his gaze, landing on your stunned, wide eyed face as Wooyoung literally turned around on stage, hand clamped over his mouth, his whole body shaking with silent laughter. Because your expression? Stunned. Borderline panicked. And Mingi? He looked like he’d just been told to walk a tightrope over a pit of lava with you on the other end. “Oh, this is so much better than cake,” Wooyoung wheezed under his breath, turning just enough to glance back at the two of you. “Happy fucking birthday, Seonghwa.”

San’s hand was warm as it wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to your feet before your brain could even catch up to what was happening. “Come on,” he grinned, voice low in your ear. “Don’t make me carry you.” Your legs moved on autopilot, your heart slamming behind your ribs as the crowd parted and Yeosang appeared like some smug ass magician with a sleek black chair, placing it center stage with a little bow like tada. Your knees nearly gave out when San guided you to sit. The spotlight was on you, heat prickling down your spine, adrenaline crashing through your bloodstream. Somewhere in the fog of music and shock, you became vaguely aware of more movement behind you. A couple of the club staff were rolling out a cart with a glowing birthday cake lit up in white and gold, sparklers shooting off on either side with Seonghwa’s name scrawled across the top in elegant frosting. You could barely register the cake though. Because your eyes found Mingi. He hadn’t moved. He was standing off to the side, jaw locked, eyes dark, arms loose at his sides like he was trying so hard not to look at you but failing miserably.

And then he did look at you and it was like the whole club disappeared. Every person, every scream, every spotlight. Just his eyes on you as your thighs clenched automatically under his gaze, heat crawling up your neck because fuck, your best friend was about to give you a lap dance. In front of everyone. At Seonghwa’s birthday show. With Daphne still watching. And you still weren’t sure if this was a dream or a fever or both as Mingi finally moved and stepped in front of you, and for a moment… he didn’t move. His hand flexed at his side. His jaw clenched. The song pulsed through the air, but he stayed frozen, just looking at you like you were a loaded gun aimed right at his chest. You tilted your head, a teasing smile trying to save you both from this moment, from whatever this was turning into. But Mingi didn’t smile back. He exhaled through his nose, low and slow, and finally stepped closer and the screams got louder. But you could barely hear them. All you saw was Mingi, hesitant, trying to remember how to perform when his best friend was the one looking up at him in that dress, legs parted now just enough to flash bare thigh under the dim red lighting. He moved to the beat, slow, calculated, his fingers dragging across his chest, down the sculpted lines of his stomach. But it was cautious, more controlled than usual. Like he was holding back. Because he was. This wasn’t just a show anymore. This was you. And Mingi didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to pretend anymore.

Each step was perfectly timed, but you knew him, knew when his movements were real and when he was playing a part. And this? This was him half there, his body moving on autopilot, hips swaying gently as he circled behind you. The crowd didn’t care though, they were eating it up either way, but you felt it. That barely there tension in his hands as they hovered just above your shoulders. The stutter in his breath as he leaned in, but didn’t touch. It was the hesitation of a man trying not to cross a line he’d drawn for himself a long time ago. But then your hand lifted. Just a little as you reached behind you and placed it lightly on his thigh. And that was it. That was all it took. Mingi snapped. The second your hand pressed against his leg, his hands dropped to your shoulders, firm now, grounding himself on you as his body rolled into yours from behind like instinct had taken over, dragging his hips against the back of the chair, down the curve of your spine as the crowd screamed louder, but it sounded distant to you still, muffled beneath the rush of blood in your ears as Mingi’s hands slid down your arms, gripping your wrists gently and placing them on his chest as he stepped around to face you. His eyes locked with yours, full of something raw and deep and buried far too long. You didn’t even know where to put your hands until he guided them, keeping his over yours as he rolled his hips forward, grinding down just slow enough to feel obscene and your legs fell open allowing his knee to push between them. And when the chorus of Happy Birthday to you hit Seonghwa’s name, Mingi dropped it low.

One of his hands braced on your thigh, the other sliding up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he rocked his body into yours like he wasn’t surrounded by people, like you were the only one in the room. Because to him, you were. And Seonghwa, bless him, just laughed, clapping along, fully aware his birthday performance had officially been hijacked by a man realizing far too late that he he should of said too long ago that he was in love with his best friend. The music pulsed louder now, slower and dirtier, like it knew what was happening. And so did he. Mingi didn’t hesitate anymore. His hands, once careful, once unsure, were everywhere now. Gripping your waist, skimming your hips, dragging up your sides like he had permission now. Like he’d finally allowed himself to stop pretending this didn’t mean something. And you weren’t any better. Your fingers slid up his chest, nails grazing the skin at his waist as your head tipped back, eyes half lidded as you let him move against you. Let him show you exactly how good his body could feel pressed this close, this tight, this intentional. It wasn’t a performance anymore. Not really. It was foreplay. The way he rolled his hips, slow, deep, then faster, grinding into your inner thigh like he needed the friction. The way your nails dug into his back, pulling him down just enough that your lips brushed his jaw. You weren’t even thinking anymore, just feeling. The scent of his cologne, the heat of his skin, the way the room spun a little every time his hand gripped your thigh and squeezed. And the crowd? Still singing. Still cheering. But quieter now. Because something was happening on stage they weren’t meant to see as Mingi leaned in, his mouth grazing your ear as his breath fanned hot across your neck. “You look like a fucking dream in this dress,” he murmured, voice low, hoarse, possessive. “You know that?” Your breath caught as you looked up at him, your best friend. Your Mingi. Except not the same Mingi you knew. This was the one who couldn’t hold back anymore as his hand slid between your thighs, not quite touching, but just hovering, the ghost of contact making your whole body ache and your thighs to press together, chest rising, eyes locked with his right as the final beat hit.

Then the music ended and the lights dimmed. And for just one breathless moment, the two of you stood frozen in the silence. Mingi’s hand still on your thigh caught between the clench of them, heat pulsing between you like the crowd never existed. The spell didn’t break until San whooped and slapped Mingi on the back like he hadn’t just dry humped his best friend in front of the entire club. Laughter exploded around the room, cake was smeared across Seonghwa’s cheek, but Mingi didn’t laugh as he looked at you. And you knew…. he felt it too. That nothing between you would ever be the same after tonight.

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The bar glowed in warm amber light, crowded but cozy, the bass of the music low enough to talk over, the laughter loud enough to ignore the awkward silences. You were still buzzing from the show, from the attention, from Mingi’s hands on you. But now, seated across from him at the long booth table, all that heat had simmered down to a prickling awareness. Every time you looked up, he was already looking at you. Every time he looked away, you wanted to ask why. But neither of you said a word. Wooyoung, of course, had no such filter. “Okay, okay…. but remember when Hongjoong walked in on me and San with that guy backstage?” he grinned, already snorting into his drink before the story even started. “Like pants around ankles, San’s hand halfway to heaven, and Joong just… deadpan. Completely dead inside.” Yeosang choked on his beer as San just threw a napkin at him. “You promised you’d never bring that up again.” Wooyoung sing songed. “Oops,” Seonghwa leaned over, grinning lazily. “Honestly, I’m just mad I missed it.” They all laughed as Wooyoung looked to you and Mingi with a devious look. “What about you two? You ever accidentally walk in on each other?” You felt your heart stop for a second as Mingi shook his head. “No,” he said instantly, like it was a dumb question. “Never.” You hesitated. It was maybe half a second but Mingi noticed. Wooyoung noticed too, but he just raised a brow and took another sip, letting the silence stretch. “Wait,” Mingi said slowly, leaning forward a little. “Why’d you pause?”

You looked at him, really looked at him. And maybe it was the lingering jealousy. Maybe it was the feel of his hands on your thighs still haunting you. Or maybe it was just time. You set your drink down carefully and met his eyes. “A year ago,” you said, voice calm. “I came home…. You were…on the couch.” His brows pinched together for half a second. “Wait…. what?” You took a long sip of your drink, eyes fixed on the amber liquid. “You were on the couch. With Daphne.” The name hit the table like a dropped glass. Yeosang’s chewing stopped. San blinked. Seonghwa looked between you and Mingi like he was watching the opening act to a car crash as Mingi sat back slightly. “You never said anything.” You met his gaze. “What would I have said? Hey, saw you getting rode last night, looked busy?” Wooyoung snorted hard. “Oh my god. You’ve been holding onto that?” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to remember.” Mingi’s jaw clenched. “You… how long were you there?” You shrugged not meeting his eyes. “Long enough.” It was quiet for a long moment before Seonghwa raised his glass with a smirk. “Happy birthday to me. Damn.” The table chuckled. But Mingi’s gaze didn’t leave you. You didn’t say anything else. Just slid out of the booth and made your way toward the bar, your dress hugging every curve like it knew Mingi was watching. Because he was. Everyone was. But he looked wrecked, jaw set, brow furrowed, eyes tracking you like you might disappear if he blinked.

“Bro.” Mingi didn’t look away from where you stood now, leaning your elbows on the bar. Wooyoung leaned in, voice louder this time. “Bro.” Mingi blinked, barely glancing at him. “What?” Wooyoung leaned across the table like Mingi was two seconds from being smacked upside the head, “you practically fucked her onstage. I had to turn around.” Mingi ran a hand down his face, groaning. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.” Yeosang snorted into his drink. “Yes you did. Now you’re just too scared to do anything about it.” Silence settled for another moment before Mingi stood and the rest of the guys just watched him go, heads tilted like they were watching a soap opera in real time as Wooyoung raised his glass. “Godspeed, idiot.” You were mid laugh, fingers lightly curled around the straw of your drink as the bartender leaned just a little closer than necessary. “On the house,” he said smoothly, sliding you another cocktail you hadn’t asked for. “Pretty girls shouldn’t have to pay.” You were about to respond, something between polite and dismissive, when a body moved in behind you, warm and familiar, towering enough that the bartender’s cocky grin faltered.

“Didn’t know we were offering free drinks for anyone,” Mingi said, voice calm but edged. His hand slid along the bar beside yours, not touching you but close enough your breath caught as the bartender gave a chuckle. “Club policy for regulars.” Mingi tilted his head. “She’s not a regular.” You finally turned your head, trying not to look startled by how close he was. “Hey.” He looked at you, not the bartender. “Hey.” The air shifted. Dense. Charged. “I was just…” you started, but the bartender cut in. “She was telling me about a cake. Big party. You guys always go this hard?” Mingi didn’t smile. “Only when it matters.” His eyes dropped to the drink the bartender had slid over to you. “You sure you want that one?” You raised a brow. “It’s just a drink.” Mingi stepped a little closer. His chest almost brushing your back. “Some drinks have strings.” You felt the words low in your stomach as the bartender, sensing the tension, awkwardly wiped his hands on a bar towel. “I’ll, uh… check on the other side.” Mingi nodded. “Good idea,” he said flatly but he didn’t move even after the guy disappeared down the bar. You turned to face him fully, chin lifted “Subtle. You just scared off the bartender.” Mingi shrugged like he didn’t care. “He was flirting with you.” You snorted. “I know.” Mingi stepped closer, crowding into your space like he had every right to be there. “And you were flirting back.” You swallowed hard, your voice a little softer now. “What if I was?” His eyes dropped to your lips. “Then I guess I’m done pretending to be just your best friend.”

You stared at him, heart stuttering in your chest like it couldn’t decide whether to leap or freeze. “What?” The word came out small, not because you didn’t hear him but because it hit you like a damn freight train. Mingi didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t try to play it off. There was a pause thick enough to cut, bass from the music thumping through the floor beneath your heels, laughter echoing from the other side of the bar, none of it touching the two of you though as he said it, voice low and rough at the edges, “Best friends don’t look at each other the way we did tonight.” Your breath caught. He wasn’t smiling. There was no teasing in his eyes. Just truth. Hot, heavy, terrifying truth. “You wanna go home?” It was simple. But it wasn’t. Because home didn’t mean your shared apartment anymore. It didn’t mean crashing on the couch with takeout and reruns of shitty reality shows. It didn’t mean what it usually did. Not tonight. Tonight, it meant crossing a line you’d both been toeing for years. You stared at him, pulse thudding in your throat like it was trying to answer for you. “Yeah,” you said softly, throat dry. “Let’s go.” Mingi nodded, sharp, determined, and gently took the drink from your hand to set it on the bar behind you, fingers brushing yours, just barely, but it was enough to ignite sparks that raced up your spine. You didn’t even look back as he led you toward the door.

Seonghwa, still nursing a half melted cocktail, watched with narrowed eyes before smirking around the rim of his glass. He set it down with a little clink and looked at the rest of the guys. “Finally,” he muttered, like he’d just won a long running bet with the universe. Yeosang grinned. Wooyoung practically choked on his drink and leaned into San as the doors opened and in walked Daphne with two friends flanking her like backup singers. She spotted Mingi immediately, a slow smirk curling on her face. “Well, well,” she purred, walking right into his path, tilting her head. “Didn’t expect to see you leaving so early…” Mingi didn’t even break stride. He didn’t even look at her. He just tightened his grip on your hand and led you straight past her like she was nothing but background noise.

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The door clicked shut behind you, the quiet thud echoing through the apartment louder than it should have. Neither of you said a word as you toed off your shoes slowly, one heel, then the other, the soft tap of them hitting the floor sounding way too intimate in the silence. Mingi did the same, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of the couch, his eyes never once leaving you. The room felt heavier now. Warmer. You stood there, still dressed like temptation, your chest rising and falling just a little faster than usual as Mingi’s jaw twitched, watching you, like he was trying to keep a leash on something, something coiled deep and tense behind his eyes. “Nineteen,” Mingi finally said, voice low, like it physically hurt to get the word out. His eyes didn’t waver. “Nineteen. We were nineteen when I realized I was in love with you.” Your breath stuttered. “Eight years,” he went on, stepping closer, slowly, like he was afraid if he rushed it, you’d disappear. “Eight years pretending I didn’t want you. Eight years burying myself in other people, eyes closed, pretending it was you.” You swallowed hard, heart thudding, knees wobbling slightly from the weight of his confession as Mingi let out a shaky laugh, no humor in it. “This dress,” he murmured, gaze dropping for the briefest second before dragging back to your face. “First time you wore it, I left my own birthday party. Because if I didn’t, I was gonna drag you into the back room and rip it off you.” You stood there stunned, lips parted, head spinning. And Mingi? He just looked like a man who’d finally stopped running.

Your lips parted, breath shaky. “Do it. Mingi blinked, confused. “What?” You stepped forward, slowly, your eyes locked on his. “Rip the dress off me.” For a second, he didn’t move, like he was trying to make sure you really said it, like maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. But then his jaw clenched, nostrils flared, and something in his expression shifted, snapped. “You…” he started, voice cracking. “You can’t say shit like that unless you mean it.” You didn’t hesitate. “I do.” Mingi surged forward, grabbing you and crashing his mouth onto yours like he’d finally lost the battle with himself. His hands cupped your face at first, tender despite the heat between you, lips hungry and frantic as years of tension detonated all at once. You clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, the kiss turning messy, deeper, desperate. When you gasped into his mouth, his hands dropped, skimming down your body until they gripped your hips tight and he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his breath ragged. “Last chance,” he whispered. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” But you didn’t. Instead, you slid his hand up the side of your dress, resting it right at the seam with your thigh, and whispered, “Rip it.” His fingers curled into the fabric, and with one hard pull, the dress tore with a sharp rrrrip, seams splitting clean down the back. It slid from your shoulders like it had been waiting to fall off you, pooling around your feet as the air hit your bare skin and his eyes darkened, swallowing the sight of you whole as he stood there, chest heaving, his gaze devouring every inch of you like he was seeing you for the first time, not his best friend in a towel, not the girl who’s lived in oversized shirts and underwear on lazy Sundays, not the one he’s caught glimpses of a hundred times in shared spaces and never touched.

This was you. Naked, save for the thin scrap of panties clinging to your hips. Wanting him. And he was completely undone. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice low, reverent, almost in disbelief. “You’re gonna ruin me.” He wrapped his arms around your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively hooking around his waist as his mouth found your breast the moment you were against him, hot and hungry, tongue dragging over your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth. One hand held you firm while the other palmed up your spine, fingers splaying against your skin like he needed to memorize the shape of you. You gasped, your hand tangling in his short hair as his teeth grazed your nipple. He didn’t stop walking. He carried you down the hallway, dimly lit by the soft glow of the living room behind you. He passed his room and paused in front of your door before kicked it open gently, not even looking, his focus locked entirely on the way your body trembled in his arms, the way your breath hitched every time his mouth moved. He lowered you onto your bed like he was setting something sacred down, carefully, slowly, even though his chest was tight and his pulse wild. His mouth never left your skin, lips still wrapped around your breast, tongue swirling as he sucked and teased. The second your back hit the mattress, he settled between your legs, one arm braced beside you while the other slid down, tracing your side, your hip, dragging goosebumps in his wake.

You arched into him when his hand finally slipped between your thighs and the soft, wrecked sound that escaped him when he felt how wet you were….. “Shit…” he groaned against your chest, breath hot. “You’re soaked.” His fingers teased over the damp fabric, tracing you slowly, reverently, like he was still trying to convince himself this wasn’t a dream. Then he pressed down just enough to make your hips twitch and pulled his mouth from your breast to look up at you. “All that… from me?” he murmured, voice low and dark. “From that dance? From touching you?” A moan escaped you as you met his gaze. “Both,” you whispered, breath hitching and Mingi groaned like it punched the air from his lungs, raw and low in his throat. His fingers curled into your panties, dragging them down just enough, his gaze flicking between your face and where his hand disappeared. “You’re killing me,” he muttered, voice rough, almost pained. And then, finally, his fingers slid through your folds, slow and teasing, gathering your wetness before pushing inside. “Fuck,” he hissed, head dropping to your chest as he curled his fingers and felt you clench around him. “You feel like this for me? All night?” You nodded, your fingers threading through his hair, your thighs parting wider as your hips tilted to chase the pressure as he started moving them, slow at first, deep, curling with every stroke as your body arched under him. “Mingi,” you gasped, and he shuddered, biting down gently on your breast as he pumped his fingers faster. “Say it again,” he growled.

You grabbed his jaw, hard enough that his lips parted, his eyes snapping to yours like you’d just yanked a leash. “Fuck me with your fingers,” you ordered, dragging his face closer, your thighs tightening around his wrist. “Make me come like I’ve wanted you to for years.” Mingi’s eyes darkened, and something unholy snapped behind them. He growled, a sound from deep in his chest and then his mouth was on your neck, teeth scraping skin as his fingers slammed back into you, no more teasing, no more hesitation. He curled them hard, rough, filthy and perfect, pumping into you with the kind of rhythm that made your hips lift and your moans fall apart. “Like this?” he rasped into your throat. “Is this how you want it?” You barely managed a nod before your back arched off the bed, your nails raking down his arm, every nerve ending on fire. And he wasn’t stopping. Not until you screamed for him. Your fingers dove into his hair again, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your skin as you yanked his head back just enough to meet his eyes, eyes that were already glassy with lust, lips slick from the path they’d traced across your chest. “Don’t stop,” you panted, grinding down against his hand, riding his fingers like you owned them. “Fuck…. just like that, Mingi. God, you feel so fucking good… why the hell did we wait so long?” Your voice was wrecked, dripping filth and fire, every word going straight to his already aching dick. He swore under his breath, low and guttural, his jaw clenching as your wetness coated his hand and wrist. “You have no idea,” he growled, fingers curling harder, deeper. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” You leaned in, lips brushing his as you whispered, “Then shut up and ruin me.”

Mingi’s whole body tensed, he was gone. Absolutely gone. Nothing about this was best friends anymore. Nothing about this was safe. Not with you saying things like that, not with your body soaked and begging for him, not with the way your thighs were trembling around his wrist as your orgasm started to crest. He’d never been more turned on in his life. “Fuck,” He groaned, voice wrecked as he watched you tremble around his fingers. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take you like this, soaked, panting, eyes glazed over with need and begging for more. He pulled his fingers out slow, slick dripping down his knuckles, and you whined at the sudden emptiness. But before you could even finish the sound, he was already dropping between your thighs. “Spread for me,” he muttered, breath hot against your core as he hooked his hands under your knees and pushed them wide. Then his mouth was on you. Hot, hungry and possessive. His tongue slid through your folds like he’d been starving for you, moaning into you as if he’d just tasted salvation. He sucked your clit into his mouth, slow at first, teasing the way he knew would drive you insane and when you gasped and tried to grind into his face, he growled, locking your hips down with his arms. You could feel how messy it was, his spit, your arousal, his tongue working like he was trying to memorize every part of you. And the worst part? He wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t giving you room to breathe. “Mingi…” you gasped, thighs shaking, hands flying back to his hair. But he still didn’t let up. He just moaned again, eyes dark and locked on yours from between your legs as he devoured you like he was never letting you go.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, both hands gripping as you ground yourself against his mouth, chasing every wicked flick of his tongue. You could feel him moan into you again and again, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating against your clit as your hips rolled harder. “Just like that…. fuck, Mingi, don’t stop…. your mouth feels so fucking good,” you gasped, voice breathy. “Always wondered how that pretty mouth would feel between my thighs…. look at you, baby, making me so goddamn wet.” Mingi let out a desperate sound at that, eyes fluttering shut as his grip on your thighs tightened. You felt him rock forward slightly, and when you glanced down, the sight had you gasping all over again. He was rutting against the bed. Still fully clothed, still eating you out like it was the only thing keeping him alive as his hips grounded down into the mattress, trying to get even the smallest bit of friction as he moaned with every move you made. Your back arched, hands fisting tighter in his hair. “Fuck, you’re gonna make yourself come like that?” you whispered, completely wrecked. “Humping the bed like a needy little thing while your tongue’s buried in my pussy?” His growl vibrated right through you and somehow, impossibly, he started devouring you even harder before he pulled back just long enough to catch his breath, lips slick and swollen, the look in his eyes feral. You were trembling beneath him, but it didn’t stop him, his fingers slipped right back in, two thrusting deep into your soaked heat while his thumb dragged slow, tight circles over your clit. You barely had time to gasp before he added pressure, angling just right…. and then you felt it. A smaller finger, his pinky, teasing your other hole. “Mingi…. fuck…”

“I got you,” he whispered, voice ragged with need, “I got you, baby, just feel me.” It was overwhelming, his fingers stroking deep, his thumb rubbing perfectly, his pinky pushing in so carefully it made your whole body jolt. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only chase the high he was pulling from you so ruthlessly. You reached for him without thinking, fingers tangling in his hair again, dragging him up to crash your mouth into his. It was messy, all tongue and teeth, but it grounded you just enough right before it hit. Your whole body tensed as you came hard, crying out against his mouth, your thighs clamping around his hand as you squirted, soaking him, the sheets, everything and Mingi moaned into the kiss, swallowing every sound you made as he worked you through it, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what he just did to you. Like he wanted, needed, more. He barely had time to catch his breath again before you shoved at his chest, pushing him back until he sat at the edge of the bed, hands bracing behind him, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. “Strip.” Your voice was low, wrecked, but laced with command making him blink once, then grinned, slow and sinful. The kind of grin that always came out on stage when the beat dropped and the lights hit just right. Except now it was for you and only you. “After all,” he murmured, fingers already moving to the hem of his shirt, “it’s my job, isn’t it?” You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because Mingi was already peeling his shirt up over his head, revealing that strong, lean torso you’d seen a thousand times but never like this. Never with that fire in his eyes, never with your slick still glistening on his fingers. His pants followed, slow and deliberate, teasing. And when they hit the floor, and he stood there in nothing but tight black briefs, hard and straining, the outline of him unmistakable, you couldn’t help the way your legs shifted restlessly on the sheets. “Tell me,” he said, voice a little breathless, “do I take these off too, or do you want to do it?”

You slid off the bed, the air thick between you as you sank to your knees in front of him. Mingi stood there, chest rising, lips parted, watching your every move as your fingers hooked into the waistband of his briefs, and he let out a shaky breath, hips twitching forward before he caught himself. You dragged the fabric down slowly, his briefs slipping past his hips, your eyes widening just slightly because he was big. Thick, heavy, already flushed and twitching, curving just a little toward his stomach. The kind of big that made your mouth water and your thighs press together. “Fuck,” you whispered without thinking. Your hand wrapped firmly around the base of him, and when you looked up, your voice was low, teasing and daring. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” Mingi’s breath stuttered. His hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. His mouth opened but nothing came out at first, just a flush creeping up his neck, dark and undeniable. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, nearly a groan. “So many fucking times.” You tilted your head, your grip giving just the slightest squeeze, and his abs tensed. “Show me how much,” you whispered. “Show me everything you’ve been holding back.” Mingi’s hand slid up, fingers curling under your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze. “Open,” he said, voice low and wrecked. And you didn’t hesitate, just smirked, lips parting slowly, eyes locked on his as your tongue teased the air between you. The sound he made was pure sin, one of his hands bracing atop your head as the other guided himself to your mouth, slow and deliberate. He let the tip brush your bottom lip, and your tongue flicked against it, dragging a ragged groan from his chest. “Fuck,” he breathed, as he began to slowly push in, the heat of your mouth making his jaw clench, every muscle in his body drawn tight with restraint. You started slow, the heat of your mouth wrapping around him as your tongue teased lazy circles. Mingi’s hand twitched at his side, fighting the urge to grab your hair, his breath already uneven. “Don’t do that,” he muttered, voice gravel. “Don’t tease…” But you didn’t listen. You sank down just a little more, then pulled back with a filthy pop, smirking up at him like you had all the time in the world. Like you weren’t seconds away from wrecking him. And then you hollowed your cheeks and the groan that ripped out of Mingi’s chest was downright desperate as you took more of him, hands sliding up to grip his thighs for leverage. You let your nails dig in just enough to make him twitch, then started moving, slow, controlled strokes at first, lips gliding, tongue working every inch of him with practiced ease.

“Shit,” he breathed, his hand finally tangling in your hair. “You…. fuck, baby…” But you had control now. And you didn’t let up. You looked up at him with glassy eyes, mouth full of him, and let him see the exact moment you relaxed your throat and pushed deeper, your grip on his thighs tightening as you urged him to move. And he did. Thrust by slow, shaking thrust, Mingi began to fuck into your mouth, his rhythm building as you moaned around him, the sound sending shivers up his spine. His other hand joined the first in your hair, voice broken as he whispered your name like a curse and a prayer all at once as you moaned around him, the vibration making his knees nearly give out. His grip tightened in your hair as he rutted into your mouth, breath ragged, jaw slack. You let him use you, let him fall apart like he had no control left, taking him deep, your moans growing louder, wetter, filthier. He was close. Too close. And then he groaned, a rough, strangled sound, and pulled out, chest heaving, dick glistening as it twitched in the air between you. “Fuck…” he looked down at you like he didn’t know whether to drop to his knees or throw you onto the bed and ruin you. “Not yet.” His voice was thick. “Wanna be inside you when I come.” He reached down and pulled you up with ease, one hand on your hip, the other sliding around your waist like he was ready to take control, like this was going to go the way it always did for him. But he had no idea. You pushed against his chest, hard, catching him off guard and sending him stumbling back onto the bed. “What….” Before he could finish the question, you were crawling up after him, slow and purposeful, your eyes locked on his, a wicked little smirk tugging at your lips as you straddled his hips. “Mingi,” you purred, hands sliding up his chest, nails grazing just enough to make him twitch, “you really thought you’d be the one in charge tonight?” He swallowed hard, pupils dilating, the realization sinking in as you leaned down, lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Lie back. Be good. And let me fuck you.” You didn’t give him time to respond. Instead, you lowered yourself slowly, lips brushing his chest, the line of his ribs, the dip of his stomach, every kiss deliberate, a tease and a promise all in one as Mingi’s breathing turned ragged beneath you, his muscles tense under your mouth, but he didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

You reached his hips, sitting up, your nails dragging lightly along his sides as your eyes met his again. His hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white as you finally reached between you, guiding him to your entrance, already soaked and ready. You took your time, just the tip at first, the stretch enough to make you both exhale. Then, with one slow, deliberate roll of your hips, you sank down onto him, inch by thick inch, until he was buried inside you. Mingi’s head fell back with a choked moan, his hands flying to your thighs but stopping short of grabbing, like even now he was waiting to see what you’d let him do. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel….. fuck.” You smiled, starting to move, slow and deep, claiming him like you always should have. You rolled your hips in tight circles, feeling every inch of him stretch you open. Then you picked up speed, bouncing harder, riding him faster with each thrust. Your thighs flexed as you slammed down onto him, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room as you reached up, fingers wrapping around his throat, squeezing just enough to make his eyes flutter. “Look at you,” you breathed, voice thick with heat. “Taking my pussy so fucking good.” You pounded down onto him, your ass meeting his thighs with every drop as your grip on his throat tightened and you leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “You see what you do to me, Mingi?” You pulled him up by the throat so he could watch, his eyes going wide at the sight of you coating his dick, creaming him, strings of it stretching every time you lifted off and slammed back down.

He whimpered, the sound raw and broken, hips twitching up to meet you as you kept fucking him, relentless, your walls gripping him tight. “You gonna come for me, Mingi? You said you pictured me while you were buried in someone else…” your grip on his throat tightened again, pulling yourself all the way up before slamming back down onto him. “now look at me as you come.” A broken “fuck” tore from his throat as his dick jerked inside you as he did, cum flooding your pussy in thick pulses as his body shook under you. But you didn’t stop riding him, milking every drop while your hand stayed locked around his throat. “You’re mine,” you growled, squeezing tighter. Your free hand sliding down between your bodies, fingers rubbing fast circles over your swollen clit and pleasure slammed into you hard making you cry out, pussy clenching and fluttering around him as you came gushing out around him. Before you could lift off, Mingi’s hands locked around your waist and he sat up in one fluid motion, still buried inside you, grabbing your legs, hooking them over his shoulders, holding you up like that, your back arched, his dick angled deeper. “Clench me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. You obeyed instantly, your pussy squeezing around him in rhythmic pulses. He didn’t move at first, just held you suspended, feeling every squeeze. Then he started thrusting, slow, deliberate lifts that dragged his dick almost all the way out before sinking back in. The pace building gradually, each thrust deeper, harder, until he was fucking you with full force and your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in as he took complete control, pounding up into you while you hung onto him.

“Such a good girl,” he praised between thrusts, voice strained. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.” Your orgasm crashed over you again without warning, squirting hard around him, soaking his abs and thighs. Mingi pulled out just enough to watch the mess, holding you up so he could see your pussy pulsing and dripping before he flipped you onto your stomach, spreading your legs wide. His tongue dragged through your soaked folds, licking up the mess you’d made, sucking at your clit before kissing his way up your spine and flipped you again onto your back, wrapping your legs around his waist as he sank back into you with one smooth thrust. He sucked at one of your nipples, tongue swirling over it while he started fucking you slow and deep. One hand grabbed both of your wrists, pinning them above your head as his other braced beside you, hips snapping harder, pace picking up. Sweat slicking your bodies together. “I love you,” he panted against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you.” You were too far gone to form words at first, just moaning and gasping as he fucked you relentlessly. “Come for me,” he growled. “Fuck…. you’re mine. Mine. I’m yours.” Your orgasm ripped through you, body shaking as you cried out, “I love you too” and Mingi followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and filling you once more, his dick throbbing as he groaned your name and stayed inside you, rocking gently through the aftershocks, both of you panting and clinging to each other. The room smelled like sex and sweat, your bodies joined, hearts pounding in sync as he kissed you, hands finally releasing your wrists so he could stroke your hair, whispering how perfect you felt around him, how long he’d wanted this, how he never wanted to let you go and you stayed wrapped around him, legs locked at his back, his cum leaking out around his softening dick while you both caught your breath, the intensity of everything you’d just done settling into something warm and possessive between you.

You stroked his back as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Then you could think. The thought of him now after everything, onstage, not the stripping part, but the touching other women. The lap dances…. the thought made you surge with possessiveness. “No more lap dances.” It took a moment for Mingi to register but when he did, he laughed softly into your neck. “I promise from now on I will only grind on you.” He lifted his head and looked down at you. “No more sex with hot patients who flirt with you.” You laughed this time, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him back down, your other hand moving to stroke his jaw, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “I promise from now on….” You kissed him. “You’re the only one I will fuck in an on call room.” You both laughed at that. Snuggling into each other.

Still best friends.

And now also so much more.

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the other thing you wanted was for your parents and close friends not to find out that you had been dating someone not two or three years older, or even a year younger, but a whole twelve years older. yes, you were twenty-one when you met him, a couple of months before your birthday, through mutual friends. one gathering led to another, and before you knew it, you were dating him, convinced you had finally found the one you were going to marry, the only man who truly knew how to be a man. alas, it turned out he was just another shark in the ocean, ready to strike at its defenseless prey.

it doesn’t matter anymore, since you’re single, genuinely happy, enjoying your summer, shining brighter than the sun itself, and everyone sees you like some kind of eternal sunshine. you finally returned to yourself, only smarter this time, no longer falling for tricks or manipulative tactics. life is good when you don’t have a man bitching in your ear about the outfit you’re about to wear or asking why you were talking to some guy for too long. the waiter, if you must specify, who was simply announcing the lunch menu.

“ah, can’t believe we have to be back at university that soon…” you said, sipping from your drink while idly chewing on the straw. karina was on your left, glued to her phone, while yeji sat on your right, carefully lining up small seashells along her thighs.

“and we’re graduating this year too… but someone decided to study at a different university, breaking our teenage dreams,” karina said as she turned off her phone, glancing at you with a playful look while you rolled your eyes.

“not my fault the one you’re in didn’t have what i wanted.” you took another sip, and yeji giggled softly. “none of us dropped out though, which is an achievement on its own.”

yes, you didn’t study at the same place as them, but that didn’t stop you from hanging out, if anything, there was even more gossip to share. and so the conversations continued, all the way until you started getting ready for dinner, and then for a few more days after that, until eventually you had to go back to seoul and wish each other “good luck for the new last year.”

you really did need some luck, because you had just found out that your favorite professor had retired. you were going to miss the woman; you had been her favorite student, but all good things eventually come to an end. everyone was already sitting in the lecture room. you had heard that the new professor was someone young, but there hadn’t been time to check who exactly he was since they were still fixing schedules and systems. the only thing you knew was that tuesday at nine in the morning was your first lecture with the new professor in question.

“i think he probably used to play basketball or football, i saw him earlier and he’s really tall,” one of the boys said, and the others quickly agreed, while you remained focused on your phone, scrolling through reel after reel, meme after meme. then you overheard the girls whispering nearby, their voices a little more excited. “did you see his hands? and him in general… he’s so fine…”

the problem with having a young professor is exactly that — he was young, and from what everyone was saying, quite attractive too. the other problem appeared the moment everyone finally sat down when the door opened. a tall figure stepped into the room, his style was effortless in a way that made it impossible not to glance twice. a soft gray cardigan hung loosely over his shoulders, the thin knit falling open enough to reveal the clean white t-shirt beneath.

the muted colors helped him blend in, making him look more like a student than a teacher. slim black pants traced the long lines of his frame, the strap of a black crossbody bag thrown diagonally across his chest, and he wore simple sneakers. his black hair fell in soft layers that framed his face, the strands straight and smooth, cut just long enough to brush the tops of his eyebrows and skim the sides of his cheekbones.

you were sitting a little further back, your phone still in your hands. the room buzzed with chatter as people continued talking among themselves until the professor cleared his throat, the sound cutting clean through the noise as he prepared to introduce himself.

“hello everyone, i’m jeong yunho and i’ll be your new photography professor this year.”

your eyes widened instantly, your head snapping up so fast it almost hurt. oh no… houston, we have a problem. you blinked several times, half expecting your vision to clear and reveal someone else entirely. maybe it was just someone with the exact same name, appearance, and voice. unfortunately for you, it wasn’t. why is your ex-boyfriend the new professor? out of all the people in the capital, it had to be him who got the position.

you sat there frozen in complete shock, your mouth slightly open until your deskmate and close university friend, jeongin, gently pressed a finger under your chin to close it as he leaned to whisper, “i guess everyone, including you, just found their new crush, huh?”

what, why, and how? was this some kind of twisted karma? because if it was, you definitely weren’t the one who deserved it. your heart started beating faster, anxiety and something close to fear crawling up. could you run away? maybe copy someone else’s notes, no… you couldn’t. suddenly you wished you were studying metaphysics with karina, because that sounded far more pleasant than this.

“i’d love to get to know all of you,” he continued, smiling as he set his bag on the desk before leaning back against it, arms loosely crossed, while his gaze moved around the room. “so i’ll share a few things about myself. and don’t worry, i won’t make you do anything today. i’ll just introduce the course and explain what i expect from you.”

surprisingly hands immediately began rising with questions. meanwhile, you were still struggling to believe what you were seeing and hearing. he hadn’t changed at all, you had to admit it. he had only gotten more attractive. always taking care of himself and being unfairly pretty, making you remember how two years ago you thought about what your future children would look like... now you want to throw up. forcing yourself to keep your composure, glancing at jeongin and making a slightly grimaced face. yeah, a crush for sure, except you wanted to crush him into pieces.

“how old are you, professor?” someone from the middle rows asked, earning a few curious murmurs from the class, making yunho chuckle, “straight to the personal questions already? alright then. i’m thirty-six.”

everyone was surprised by the answer, and all kinds of reactions rippled through.

“don’t look so shocked,” he added with a small grin. “i promise i’m not that ancient.”

“are you a full-time professor?” another student asked.

“not exactly,” yunho replied, pushing his sleeves up slightly as he spoke, revealing his forearms, “i’m a professional photographer first. i mainly work in editorial and commercial photography such as fashion shoots, campaigns, exhibitions, that sort of thing. teaching is something i enjoy doing on the side, especially with students who are serious about the craft.”

“does that mean you’re going to give us easy grades?” someone joked, making him raise an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “absolutely not.”

the class laughed again, a little nervous this time.

“i can be friendly,” he added, shrugging lightly, “but don’t mistake that for me being tolerant. photography is about discipline and perspective. if you’re here just to press a button and hope for the best, you’re going to struggle.”

another hand went up. “so… we won’t pass easily?”

“correct,” nodding his head once. “i expect effort, creativity, and consistency. if you work hard, you’ll do amazing. if you don’t…” he paused briefly before smiling again, “you won’t pass this course by simply showing up and smiling at me. well, at least you’ll get some nice pictures out of the experience.”

more chuckles followed, but the message had landed. the atmosphere quickly became relaxed and comfortable as he answered questions with small jokes. the students were already warming up to him, clearly charmed by how easygoing he was. as you listened to him speak, watched the way he carried himself so seriously and correctly in front of everyone, you couldn’t help but wonder where exactly all that cheerful composure had been when he was with you?

“attendance is mandatory.” and then his gaze settled directly on yours, a faint smirk pulling at his lips as he stared straight into your soul, the one he had almost taken from you a year ago. “of course, if you have to be absent, it’s not a problem, as long as it doesn’t happen often. i know some of you will be at the mall with friends. also i don’t grade by email; everything you do will be shown and discussed in class.”

the entire time he spoke, his eyes kept drifting back to you. when he paced slowly across the front of the room, even when he turned to answer someone else’s question, somehow his attention always circled back. for some reason, you held his gaze instead of looking away, and the longer you stared at him, the more that fear slowly faded until all that remained was pure hatred.

jeongin leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice into a teasing whisper. “well there goes our plan of skipping class to eat kfc… or getting more sleep,” he murmured, nudging your arm lightly.

thank god your best friends studied at different universities, otherwise they would have dragged you straight to the administration office and forced you to drop out for real. and honestly… you were starting to think about it yourself. the worst part was that you couldn’t switch the class for anything else. great, truly amazing. you were trapped for an entire semester.

“that’s everything for today,” yunho said after a while, clapping his hands together once as he was done answering questions and talking about cameras, “i won’t keep you any longer. enjoy the rest of your morning.”

chairs scraped across the floor as everyone began packing their things, the room filling with chatter again. you grabbed your purse quickly, already standing up before most people had even processed that the lecture was over. as you walked out with jeongin, you noticed a small crowd forming around the professor’s desk. a couple of boys and girls had already gathered there, asking questions, laughing at something he said, clearly eager to stay a little longer.

you didn’t even glance his way. no goodbye, or a polite “have a nice day”, because he didn’t deserve to have one. you just kept walking toward the door, hoping that you would manage to graduate before the sudden temptation to drop out started looking a little too appealing.

“your analysis lacks depth,” yunho says, placing your paper on his desk, making you scoff, since this is the third time now that he’s returned it for edits. lacks depth, he says… well, you did as well, asshole. if you had to edit one more thing, it honestly wouldn’t be that bad to buy a gun, and no, it definitely wouldn’t be pointed at your head.

every single tuesday he calls on you far too often in class. your assignments always come back covered in detailed comments, red ink everywhere like a declared war on your academics. you swear he’s grading you harder than everyone else, which honestly seems unfair to the people who are actually doing nothing. apparently, you’re the only one being treated like a social experiment.

“and what exactly do i need to change again, professor?” you ask, grinning through your teeth, burying every thought that would probably send you straight to jail under a perfectly fake smile. you’re this close from going insane, feeling that familiar anger rise again, the irritation that always appears when you’re forced to deal with someone you can’t stand.

for the last four weeks, your life has been hell, to say the least. during lectures he’ll ask a question, several hands go up while yours remain fiddling with a ballpoint pen, and yet he always picks you. and the first time you didn’t know the answer, what followed was a casual, “it would be nice to learn things before the test, hm?” which felt like complete humiliation, because beneath that joking tone there had been something that definitely wasn’t a joke.

once you and jeongin arrived ten minutes late, which honestly wasn’t even your fault. what were you supposed to do when your friend insisted on waiting for his coffee while there was already a long line that early in the morning? of course, a comment followed: “please be on time next time.” but when someone else walked in thirty minutes late during the same lecture, there were absolutely no remarks.

that’s exactly why you always come prepared with answers and make sure you’re always on time. you know his tricks far too well. no matter how charming his smile is, how sweetly he talks, how funny and relaxed he seems… it’s just one of his many masks. karina really was right about him being some kind of psychopath.

everyone else, unfortunately, loves the new professor. they talk about his fun classes, how nice he is, and how cool it is that he’s such a professional teaching them new techniques. some of your peers even linger after lectures just to chat with him. meanwhile, you sit there thinking that your older ex should seriously consider enrolling in acting instead of photography, because the performance he’s putting on deserves ample shiny awards proudly displayed on a goddamn mantlepiece.

the whole thing has turned into some twisted cat-and-mouse game. he teases, pushes, and provokes. you glare, don't bite back, and refuse to give him the reaction he clearly wants. despite all of that, he always finds his sneaky ways to make your life a little more miserable.

here and there, he calls you to his desk after class for absolutely no reason. “you should consider approaching a different lens for your next project,” like this couldn’t have easily been written in a single email. or he’ll start explaining camera settings you already know perfectly well, dragging the conversation out while the rest of the class disappears into the hallway.

and god forbid you see him outside the classroom. the moment you notice him walking down the hallway, you immediately pull a perfect one-eighty and walk in the opposite direction because you hate this man so fucking much, you refuse to breathe the same air as him.

what’s more upsetting is that you can’t even tell anyone. because if karina and yeji ever found out that your toxic ex-boyfriend was now your professor, they wouldn’t hesitate for a second before throwing a chair at him.

what you don’t know, however, is that he requested this university job partly because of you. actually, not partly at all, he knew exactly what he was doing. even when you were still together, he knew where you studied and what major you were in, just like you knew about his photography work. of course, teaching also gave him the chance to try something different in his career. and what better opportunity than this? his unbelievably beautiful ex-girlfriend just so happened to be one of his students, completely unplanned.

and it doesn’t stop there, oh no, everything is just starting.

jeongin begins to notice a pattern, which honestly isn’t hard to miss when during class yunho asks another question. probably ten hands rise into the air, but he still chooses you. your friend leans closer to your ear and whispers, “you must be his favorite~”

you stare at the board like you want to burn it down, alongside mister pretty devil himself, who of course, happens to wear clothes that fit his figure perfectly, fuck him honestly. “if i was his favorite, do you think i’d be studying camera obscura in this much detail?”

not to mention the way he addresses you with that smooth voice, softly calling you, “miss (name).” the moment you hear it, it’s game over. you have to respond with “yes, professor,” or “yes, sir,” like some twisted academic roleplay you never signed up for. it makes you want to vomit, bleach both your eyes and your trachea. you hate his guts so much. he has always liked being in control, and now he has it again, at least within the walls of this campus. outside of it, however, he has absolutely none.

when it comes to homework and assignments, everyone else receives short feedback, brief but explanatory enough to understand their mistakes, things like: “good composition” or, “nice lighting” and even, “if you try a black and white effect, it might work better.”

your feedback, on the other hand, is practically a full essay. it could probably qualify as a documentary script because he covers everything, even the tiniest details. he has a ridiculously keen eye for things, which apparently also makes him a professional at being a complete jerk who picks on you for absolutely no reason.

“your framing… well, it’s technically correct,” he muses, tapping the printed photo with his finger exactly where he seems most dissatisfied, “but technically correct isn’t the same as emotionally effective.”

you want to throw your camera at him and shove the lens straight down his throat, as the class sits there admiring him. “wow, professor jeong gives such thoughtful feedback.”

it also happens that he’s constantly spammed with emails from students asking if their work is passable or what more they  can do to improve their visuals, so eventually he announces loudly, “if anyone needs extra help, my office hours are wednesday and thursday afternoon.”

later that same day, only you receive an email: “your project concept has potential. come to discuss it.”

you go, of course, because you care about the grade. knocking on the door to his office, and he lets you in, acting like the two of you are complete strangers. the entire conversation stays professional, purely academic, every word measured, but the tension makes your heartbeat faster. after ten painfully long minutes, you finally stand to leave, and just as your hand reaches the door, he says, that same smile on his face, “don’t sabotage your own work out of stubbornness.”

almost slamming the door behind you, but you need to have self-control and not let him know that you are slowly losing your cool.

it goes without saying that the girls in the course absolutely adore him. some of them simp for him, always giggling and gossiping. “the way he looked at me today… he said he is single, so do you think i have a chance?” or “he’s literally the most handsome professor here, why isn’t my boyfriend like him?”

you almost choke hearing that, because you know the other version of him. the one who used to kiss apologies into your neck after fights. the one whose hands knew every point of your body andwho knew you better than you knew yourself. fingers that always seemed to know exactly where to press, where to… why are you even thinking about that?

during one of his lectures, yunho suddenly says something that makes your stomach twist.

“photography is about obsession. you need to want the subject more than anything else. you have to focus on it completely if you want to capture the perfect shot.”

you freeze, eyes widening slightly at his words, because you know exactly how obsessive he can be. yunho glances at you, that smug little smile appears again, and he continues the lecture as if nothing happened.

it’s almost nightfall when the young professor arrived home. he dropped onto the couch, leaving his bag on the floor beside it, his head falling back against the cushions as he stretched his legs over the small wooden table and stretched his arms up above his head.

he exhaled once, then again, tapping his thigh with his fingers in the quiet that filled the apartment. the silence didn’t last long before a small laugh slipped past his lips. he closed his eyes, and of course, you appeared in his mind again. you were constantly there, living somewhere between his thoughts and his heart, occupying space you had no right to anymore.

weren’t you just adorable? each and every time you walked into class, you were dressed better than everyone else, always prepared and looking at him with that sneer that no one else seemed to notice. not even your deskmate, the one he sometimes caught himself glaring at out of pure irritation and jealousy, though he knew jeongin wasn’t any real threat.

you were his muse, his fallen angel, the pliable doll he had once controlled so carefully until two other puppets, your dear best friends, stepped in and cut the marionette strings, ruining the entire show. you had been so kind-hearted and obedient, so sweet and perfectly made for him… but everything had ended so quickly.

yunho knew exactly how to push your buttons; it was too easy for him. he watched every little reaction, the glares you tried to hide behind forced politeness. he fed on it more than he probably should have. still obsessed with you and completely unable to let go, hiding it well enough behind the role of a professor. 

you were his one weakness, the sensitive gap between two ribs guarding the heart he had, the one thing that made the control he prided himself on slip through his fingers. he had never stopped loving you, at least not in his own twisted way. goddamnit, you looked like an absolute doll today. the dress, the way your hair fell over your shoulders, the gloss on your lips. were you going on a date with someone? with who? when? where? normally he would have known already. the thought made his jaw tighten slightly, tongue pushing the inside of his cheek. if it wasn’t for the university schedule taking up so much of his time lately, he would have kept better track of things. he hoped you weren’t going on a date with anyone.

reaching for his phone, unlocking it as he opened one of the many accounts he used. your instagram appeared on the screen, and even though your profile was private, that had never really stopped him. the pretty much convincing fake account had been accepted months ago and you had never questioned it. he doesn’t just have one fake account, there are several, each with a different purpose: one follows you, the second follows your friends, the third follows men who comment on your photos.

his thumb scrolled slowly through the posts, stopping at one in particular.

you standing by the ocean with goldensunlight catching your skin, wearing that stupidly beautiful dress that he bought. the same vacation he had surprised you with, and the irony was that he had been the one holding the camera when those pictures were taken, and then his scrolling stopped when he saw you had a story posted.

you sitting across from someone in a restaurant, a glass in your hand, smiling. the caption tagged someone… jaemin? the quiet apartment suddenly didn’t feel so quiet anymore. yunho stared at the screen a little longer than necessary, his fingers tightening slightly around the phone. he decided to do his research, and within minutes, he knew jaemin’s major, his other social media, his schedule and which classes he attends.

“so you were going on dates now, huh?” his hand ran slowly across his face before he leaned back against the couch again, letting out a low breath that almost sounded like a mocking laugh. he shouldn’t care, and what’s left of his sanity knew that, but something in his chest twisted like a scalding hot knife. the truth was simple, and it irritated him more than anything else.

his home still has traces of you. your favorite mug still in the kitchen, a sweater you forgot draped over a chair, the perfume bottle you left behind on the bathroom counter. he hasn’t moved them at all, so when passing them he’ll sometimes pause, observing your belongings like they’re priceless artifacts he forever wants to keep.

a drawer in his desk contains a perfectly organized stack of polaroids. shots he took of you while you were dating, containing multiple domestic situations of you laughing on the beach, asleep on his shoulder and drooling, you looking annoyed while he teased you endlessly, you wearing his hoodie… there’s a lot, some even nudes taken during private moments when you trusted him. nothing is displayed openly, but preserved with a date written on the back, sometimes a short note, things like mine or xoxo.

as a photographer, he justifies it to himself as art. in his mind those photos were the purest versions of you, deleting them would feel like destroying masterpieces. the man doesn’t see anything wrong with it. they were taken with consent back then, and the memories belong to him, so he never questions keeping them.

though, admittedly, yunho still adds to the collection with printed screenshots from your instagram stories. blurry shots of you crossing campus, a candid photo of you mid-laughter taken from far away during a university event. he keeps a hidden folder on his computer, where inside are hundreds of photos and videos, not just from when you dated, but also recent ones.

sometimes he records his lectures for teaching review, as the university demands, and in private, he’ll rewind parts where you speak. listening again, and again, and again, so he can get off with his dick in hand, trying to chase his high from being turned on by watching you argue with him in class. she still looks at me the same way… anger is better than indifference. your hatred is still attention, and attention for men like him is oxygen.

he studies those images and compares them to how you look in class now. noticing the differences in the way you dress, how you glare at him and refuse to look at him too long… she pretends she doesn’t belong to me anymore.

also your old professor who retired? yunho knew her; she was a well-known photographer in seoul, a colleague of his whose exhibitions he had attended more than once over the years. during a gallery event, the two of them talked for a while, as she casually mentioned that she would be retiring soon and that the university needed someone to take her place. then she also mentioned that one of her best students would be graduating soon. the way she spoke about that student caught yunho’s attention immediately. the woman even pulled out her phone, scrolling through photos from one of the class exhibitions before zooming in on a familiar face — yours.

the elder woman happily explained how talented you were, the potential you had and how you were easily one of her favorites.

that was when he applied to the university, under her recommendation.

yunho finally stood from the couch and walked toward his bedroom. he opened the drawer of his bedside table, reaching inside until his fingers brushed against a familiar photograph: a polaroid from two years ago.

you were laughing in it, leaning slightly toward a cake with him beside you on your 22nd birthday. the faint lipstick mark you had playfully pressed onto the corner of the photo was still there, and he ran his thumb slowly over it. he just stared at it, placing the polaroid carefully on the nightstand beside his phone and the nightlamp. when he finally lay down under the covers, the photograph remained within reach, the faint outline of your smile visible in the dim light.

he closed his eyes, hoping, as he drifted toward sleep, that maybe tonight you would appear in his dreams.

fridays are always a godsend, especially after sitting through a lecture with the devil the day before. anything feels better after that, especially when you’re out for lunch with jaemin. sunlight spilling through the windows, soft chatter around you, and for the first time in a while you feel at ease. he insisted on paying, of course, saying something about how you “deserve to be spoiled properly,” and honestly… you didn’t argue.

he knows what you like. not in a suffocating way that feels like he’s memorized you without permission. but in a very gentle and attentive way.

“are you free tomorrow?” he asks, stealing a bite of your cake like it’s his.

“i wish,” you sigh. “i have to attend a birthday party with my parents.”

“mm,” he hums, pretending to think, though the smile on his lips gives him away. “guess i’ll have to reschedule my very important plan of kidnapping you for the evening.”

you chuckle softly, taking another bite of the sweet treat. “you’re not funny.”

“i’m hilarious,” he corrects you, lifting his index finger. “you’re just in denial.”

rolling your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile that appears on your face. the thing you really liked about jaemin was how sweet-talking and funny he was, knowing what to say at any given moment. he has this mischievous side, but he was also very loving and attractive. 

“i was going to ask you to come over,” he adds more quietly, almost shy beneath the teasing. “but… another time.”

that makes you pause, because he doesn’t push or corner you. more so, never demands you to be with him and cancel any plans you have already made with someone else. it’s like an option, not an expectation. there’s no hidden trap set ahead of time for you to fall into.

“maybe next weekend?” you echo, that playful tone came as you asked him, looking at him for a moment, and then down at the already finished cake. and that’s enough for him. his bright and boyish grin returns instantly, like he didn’t just make your heart skip.

“see? progress. next thing you know, you’ll admit you like me.”

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you warn, pointing your fork at him.

“too late, i already did.”

“jaemin–”

“what?” he leans in slightly, eyes sparkling with that same mischievousness. “you gonna hit me?”

you narrow your eyes. “if you keep talking, maybe.”

he gasps dramatically, pretending to be scared for his life, “not the man-hater queen threatening violence again.”

“i am not a man-hater!”

“you are when it comes to me.”

“you’re annoying.”

“and who is paying the bill?”

that shuts you up completely. instead of teasing you more, he just smiles, playfully winking at you, letting you have that moment.

after lunch, he insists on walking you to the mall so you can meet up with karina and yeji. it’s not far, twenty minutes at most, but he acts like it’s a whole event, a met gala of sorts, and you should be escorted like the princess you are. you walk side by side, hands brushing at first, then naturally finding each other, fingers lacing together. the weather is warm for the autumn season. leaves crunch when people pass by, cars hum in the distance, and for a while, you forget about yunho and about everything.

jaemin talks about random things like how he and jeno tried to summon ghosts as kids, jokes about what he saw online, and somehow, you’re laughing again without having to worry or trying to come up with excuses or reasons of how you can be so happy when something else gives you joy? he looks at you with adoration in his eyes and that’s what makes you feel safe.

when you reach the mall, he slows down, not letting go of your hand immediately. he lingers for a second, like he wants to say something else, then just smiles.

“have fun, man-hater queen.”

“thank you, cake thief.”

he laughs, finally letting go but not before leaving a quick, soft kiss on your cheek. “text me when you get home,” he says, and you nod, a little stunned by this bold yet sweet gesture. he walks off with a smile, and your best friends are already waiting for you inside at the usual meeting spot. 

the moment karina spots you, she’s already sprinting, grabbing yeji by the wrist and dragging her along like she’s on a mission. it’s been weeks since you last saw each other, university has been kicking all of your asses, and you didn’t realize how much you needed this until now.

“(name), babe, how are you? you don’t know how much we missed you,” karina squeals, letting go of yeji just to throw her arms around you in a near-death hug. you laugh, breath knocked out of you for a second before hugging her back. 

“i missed you, too,” you manage, and then yeji is right there, pulling you into her own hug, softer but just as tight. “and you don’t know what i have to tell you.”

“jaemin?” they ask in unison, already cocking their brows up.

“how did you know?”

yeji nodded her head towards the glass storefront behind you. “we can literally see you from outside.”

“he walked you here, didn’t he?” karina snorts and you don’t even deny it. that’s enough to send both of them into giggles as they hook their arms through yours, dragging you further into the mall.

the next hour follows it’s rhythm. gossip, teasing, overlapping conversations, with you telling them about jaemin and the date earlier, how attentive he is without being overbearing. sometimes you catch yourself thinking you don’t deserve someone like that. someone so patient and sweet, but karina shuts that down immediately, while yeji nods along, reminding you that the bare minimum just feels extraordinary after what you’ve been through.

what you don’t tell them… is everything else. you don’t mention yunho, not a single word leaves your mouth. it sits somewhere in the back of your mind, tucked away like it doesn’t even exist. they deserve to know, you know they do, but you don’t even know where to start, or how they’d react. and… you’re not ready for that, to lose them, so you stay quiet. maybe sometimes silence is the solution.

you move from store to store, bags slowly piling up in your hands. makeup is a priority, you’re running low, and soon enough, you’re standing in front of rows of lipsticks, testing shades against your skin. just for a second in your peripheral vision, you catch a tall figure, standing a few meters away. you turn your head, and nothing. you blink, frowning slightly. that’s… weird. you could’ve sworn someone was there.

“(name), come here, we found the new face masks,” yeji pops up out of nowhere, grabbing your arm and pulling you along before you can think about it too much. “they’re not even that expensive like everyone says.”

letting yourself be dragged away as the rest of the day passes in a blur of chatter and shopping bags. trying on clothes and spending money like you were the granddaughter of a very wealthy ceo. maybe in a past life you were rich, because right now, money seems to disappear the second it touches your hands. 

by the time you finally sit down for coffee, you take a slow sip of your ice-cold drink, letting the sweetness settle on your tongue as you listen to karina and yeji talk. your social battery was starting to fade, and you were also running out of things to gossip about, content on just listening instead of talking.

for a moment, everything is fine as it should be, until you get that feeling again, like someone’s watching. you glance up, eyes scanning the space around you, but everything looks normal. people talking, walking, laughing, nothing out of place…. you shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening around your cup. probably your brain is messing up with you after the tiring day you had.

the day started on like that — him following, and you being completely unaware.

he saw you earlier and was there during the whole date. he doesn’t hate jaemin even if jealousy spikes, but he quickly calms himself down. the younger man is just a temporary placeholder, a distraction you picked up because you didn’t know what else to do with the space yunho left behind. his tongue presses briefly against the inside of his cheek, a habit surfacing whenever irritation starts to settle in. he already knows what to order; he’s been here before… with you. at this restaurant, same table across the room, known for its delicate pasta and overly sweet desserts you always claimed you wouldn’t finish.

it’s wrong, not because you’re laughing and enjoying yourself, but because it’s not with him. 

he watches the way jaemin leans in when he talks, how quickly he smiles, casually reaching for your plate, how comfortable he acts like he’s already earned a place he doesn’t deserve. jaemin doesn’t notice the smaller things like the shift in your posture, the way your fingers tighten around your fork when you’re thinking too much, the way your eyes drift when your mind starts wandering. he sees what’s in front of him, nothing more.

yunho sees everything.

he doesn’t need to chase you. he never will. you come back on your own. anger, frustration, curiosity, it doesn’t matter what drives you, it always leads back to him. because no one else will ever know how to handle you the way he does. he doesn’t want a version of you that’s easy. he wants the one who pushes and bites back to keep the spark alive.

you think you hate him, he can see it in your eyes. hatred means you still care; you react because you are affected. indifference would be a problem. but you’re not indifferent, just confused, pretending not to see what’s already there. he missed you. not just your voice, your presence, or your body. he missed this, the way you draw him in without even trying, like a moth to a flame.

he could have walked up to you right now. say your name to strike up a conversation as your professor. what a coincidence, right? you and he in the same place, at the same time, ordering the same food. your expression would drastically change; he knows exactly what it would look like. he’s imagined it enough times, but he doesn’t move.

he doesn’t rush things anymore, learning that the hard way. you need to feel like you have space and the freedom to choose. so he waits, and that’s fine, yunho understands. after all, you’re already his… you just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.

it was getting late, and when you finally said goodbye to your friends, he’s already on the move. you don’t seem to notice how he chooses the same subway train, standing where the reflection in the window does the work for him, watching you through the blur of the passing lights and shadows.

you’re on your phone for a while, and by the movement of your fingers, you are scrolling through instagram or tiktok. then you are staring ahead, you always get like this when your energy runs out. he knows the exact moment your thoughts start drifting and when exhaustion takes over.

someone dares to look at you for too long. yunho burns holes with bloodshot eyes as the stranger looks away. the train slows at your stop, and you step out. he follows by matching your speed, always out of sight. footsteps always a few seconds behind, stops when you stop. he’s walked this path more times than you’d ever guess. yunho’s gaze moves over everything on the street: the corners, people walking and the cars passing by, the distance between you and anything that could get too close.

you reach your building and pause for a second, opening your purse for your keys. he’s already stopped, waiting for you to step inside. the door closes behind you, as he stays where he is. his eyes lift, scanning the building, counting without thinking how long it would take to reach your floor… it should be one minute and twenty-three seconds.

he waits a little longer, enough to see the second light flicker in your bedroom. it’s the same every night with him walking you back home. what if you hadn’t come back alone? what if some creep had followed you? that wouldn’t have ended well, not for them.

his shoulders finally relax as he turns away. to anyone else, that would be the end of it. just a random man on the street… even if his home is in the opposite direction, thirty-five minutes away. hands sliding into his pockets, the quiet jingle of metal breaks the silence with each step. a small cluster of keys, shifting against each other, and one tucked among them does not belong to him. his thumb brushes over it absentmindedly; it has always been there.

yunho still has a key to your place. sometimes he visits when you’re not there, and he always knows when that is. why does he do it? even the divine beings don’t seem interested in answering that, and they don’t want to interfere either. what is he doing in your apartment? nothing, he goes there when he wants to rest. he doesn’t move things around or leave signs. he just sits on your couch and enjoys the atmosphere you created.

your bedroom door stays open, so he doesn’t need to enter to know if anything has changed. he’s like a ghost, maybe a poltergeist, one that doesn't haunt by moving objects but stealing them instead. 

he opens drawers sometimes. the most familiar one is always the same — the drawer with your underwear. never takes anything new or expensive, always the ones at the bottom. old pairs, the pieces you don’t think about anymore, and you wouldn’t even notice are missing.

it’s proximity, a way for him to be close to you, or for you to be close to him. 

in the living room, there’s a plush toy you never threw away. he gave it to you when you celebrated your six-month anniversary. it still sits in its place, untouched and harmless-looking. except it isn’t. inside it, carefully hidden where no one would think to look, is a small camera. he watches from time to time, when he needs to. nothing invasive, just enough for him to see you when you’re home. someone has to make sure you get home safe, even if you don’t know it, and if it has to be him, then so be it. 

your father had a lot of friends, and it just so happened that your family was invited to mr. kim’s 50th birthday, an anniversary celebrated in a rather grand and luxurious way. honestly, it felt more like a wedding than a birthday… but either way, it was still an occasion for drinking. people of notoriety greeted each other left and right, laughter and chatter filling the air, until the man of the hour finally made his entrance, the one who had every right to celebrate until the very last drop and bite were gone.

“if this isn’t my one and only goddaughter?” it should probably be mentioned that this kind and ridiculously rich man was your godfather. no blood relation, but he had always been like an uncle to you. the affluent one  who spoiled you endlessly as a child, giving you everything you wanted, because clearly your parents failed to treat you like the princess you deserved to be.

“happy birthday, uncle minseok!” you said, stepping forward to hug him, genuinely happy to see him. the gifts were still left by the entrance, but you always had your own little privileges. “this is for you, i hope you like it… even if you are getting old.”

inside the small wrapped bag was a simple package of marshmallows, as your mother immediately noticed, lightly tapping your shoulder. “(name), this is inappropriate.”

“calm down,” minseok laughed warmly, taking the bag from your hands without a second thought. “she knows exactly what to give someone.” he glanced at you with a grin, because this candy has become very significant during the years, something small but from the heart. “thank you, my dear. you’ll get the second piece of cake.”

the evening continued with drinks being passed around, conversations flowing about business, and whatever gossip caught your ear. at some point, your godfather rested a hand on your shoulder, “come, there’s someone i want you to meet,” he said casually, guiding you through the crowd. “a very dear friend of mine, and an excellent photographer. you might learn a thing or two.”

you didn’t think much of it at first, nodding as you followed along, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, your drink still in hand. this would be just another introduction for you to smile at a stranger. this would hopefully be someone you could form a connection with to help you in the future when you do decide to pursue a career, but just like that, everything in your body turned upside down. your entire world tilted and your pulse quickened, because of course it had to be him.

dressed like absolute sin in a suit that made it painfully obvious he knew exactly what he was doing. professional and put together… but unlike on campus, where he toned it down by being casual and relatable to young people your age, here amongst people closer to his age and high calibre, he wasn’t holding back. the clothes fit him perfectly, outlining his frame in a way that makes you force yourself not to react — masking your expression into something neutral that doesn't scream what the hell are you doing here.

“yunho,” minseok called out, catching his attention. “ah, perfect timing, indeed. i want you to meet someone.”

yunho turned, and for a split second, his eyes met yours. there it was, that familiar recognition, gone just as quickly as it appeared. his own expression of shock smoothed out instantly, slipping into that same composed mask you had grown to despise.

“this is my goddaughter, (name),” minseok continued proudly, squeezing your shoulders by the exposed skin your dress created. “she’s studying photography as well.”

you swallowed and played along, like you were meeting him for the very first time. as if you didn’t know the way his hands felt, or how his voice sounded when it wasn’t calm and controlled, the way he used to look at you when no one else was around… as if you hadn’t let him take your virginity. 

“it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said, offering your hand with a polite smile that stung like acid to hold. his gaze lingered for just a moment too long before he took it. warm and bigger than yours, soft too, just like it always has been, perfectly made to fit.

“the pleasure is all mine, miss (name),” yunho replied, smiling at you, and god, you hate how natural he makes it sound, like you’re nothing more than a stranger he’s just been introduced to. but of course, he doesn’t stop there. the pad of his thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles before he lets go.

it wasn’t awkward, more like… unsettling in a way that made your skin itch. it wasn’t just that you saw him every week at the university, no, now he was here too, at an event where you were supposed to have fun, not stand there thinking of at least five different ways to get away with his murder. your godfather, completely unaware of the tension, patted your shoulder before turning to yunho. “i’ll leave her in your care, and (name), you might want to take some photos now that it’s still not too crowded. have fun, kiddos.”

and just like that, minseok walked away, leaving you alone with the man you hated the most.

your blood started boiling like molten lava almost instantly. the fake smile dropped the second his back disappeared into the crowd, your nails digging into your palms as you inhaled slowly through your nose and you stared at yunho with pure and undisguised hatred.

"you know it's not very polite to stare." he was fixing something on the camera, or looking at photos, you didn't know, but you knew one thing, and that was that you hated him. “so, how is your project going? did you fix what i told you to?” 

you stiffen for a split second, your smile tightening as you look at him, because of course he would say that here, of all places, since he just couldn’t resist torturing outside campus.

“i wasn’t aware this was a consultation,” you reply sweetly, but your tone carries that hostile warning of a bark that tells him you are about to bite like an angry dog.

“old habits,” he hummed softly, deleting a few blurred pictures.

“yeah?” you shot back, one eyebrow rising, “then maybe you should work on dropping a few of them.”

“that explains a lot.” the way he calmly answers makes you want to punch him.

“explains what exactly? you enjoying your little performance? you’re very convincing, i’ll give you that.”

“i don’t know what you mean,” he says lightly, though the way he looks at you says the exact opposite. liar. something about the way you’re talking back instead of ignoring him, clearly tells him one thing — you haven’t moved on completely.

“you still get worked up so easily,” murmuring almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

“you still talk too much,” you snapped, and he took a step closer, enough to close some of the distance, his presence more noticeable and intimidating, and you sometimes forget how tall he actually is.

a small smile tugged at his lips because, truth be told, he was enjoying this far too much. his eyes were scanning your face, studying every reaction of the grimace you tried so hard to hide. you scoffed, crossing your arms, tapping your freshly done nails against your skin, irritation written all over, and for a moment neither of you spoke. the noise of the party faded into the background as the tension stretched like silk almost pulled to the point of tearing between you.

then yunho exhaled softly, removing the camera strap from his head, he closed the lens cap and put it back in the small bag, leaving it on the desk he evidently used for work here.

“what about we take a walk?” yunho suddenly suggests, tone light, sounding harmless and innocent. “talk a few things out. it seems like you have a lot to say.”

you should have said no. you should’ve walked straight back to your parents while ignoring him like you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to do, but somehow… you didn’t. maybe it was the tone of his voice, coaxing you with the way he said it like a suggestion, not a command, even though it somehow felt like one. or maybe it was just him, knowing exactly what to say, with just the right intonation for invitation.

“fine,” you muttered, big mistake.

he guided you through the venue, away from the main crowd and toward a quieter part of the hotel where the noise began to dull and the lights softened because fewer people meant fewer distractions. now it’s just you and him, the way he’s been craving and aching for.

then he stopped.

reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. you frowned slightly as he pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips before lighting it and exhaling slowly, white smoke curling between the two of you before dissipating into the air. 

“you’re smoking again?” 

“you’re staring again.”

“i’m judging,” you correct. “i thought you quit.”

“i did,” he agrees, “for you.”

then he takes another drag, eyes never leaving yours, but you know you were the main reason, if not the only one, for him to quit. you hated the smell and the taste that transferred once you shared a kiss. or two. or dozen… neither of you ever bothered to count.

“stress does things, work, life… you find ways to relieve the tension,” he continues after a moment, carefully choosing every word to get a reaction out of you. he shares just enough, mentioning that the workload and the pressure made him go back to this bad habit, skimming over the real reason without ever actually saying it — the break up. of course, he wouldn’t admit that to you. he never gives you the full truth, only carefully selected pieces. 

and as he speaks, you find yourself checking him out. you feel steel heavy shame that you are, but you can’t help it. he looks… good. no, that’s an understatement. dressed like he stepped out of some magazine, a black coat draped over his broad shoulders, a clean white button-up tucked neatly under a fitted black vest, finished off with a loosely worn black satin tie. as much as you want to deny it, to lie to yourself, roll your eyes… you can’t. when it comes to jeong yunho, all bets are off, because he’s so fucking hot.

yunho stubs out the cigarette, pressing it into the ashtray beside him. you’re both sitting on the edge of a small staircase, tucked away from most of the guests, the noise of the party distant like background static.

then, without much thought, he shrugs off his coat and throws it over his shoulder. the movement is simple, but it draws your attention to his rolled sleeves, exposing his slim but defined forearms, his veins faintly visible under the skin. his cords of muscle hold subtle tension that make it really goddamn difficult not to look. it gives him this quiet intensity, composed on the surface but never fully restrained underneath. a wildfire raging beneath a perfectly composed surface.

you really try to look away, only to realize something else, that you didn’t bring a jacket. you’re wearing a short black dress, feminine shoulders bare, the evening air cooler than you expected. it hadn’t mattered before since you won’t stay outside the venue all night, and yet before you can even think about it properly, warmth settles around you. 

snapping out of your thoughts, your gaze shifts downward to see his coat now draped around your shoulders. when you look up, yunho is already adjusting his sleeves again, completely unfazed, like the gesture means nothing at all. 

“so,” he says casually, sitting down beside you on the staircase, spreading his legs slightly as he leans back on one hand, the other idly flipping his metal lighter open and closed, “graduating soon, right? any plans career-wise?”

it catches you off guard. you almost scoff, because wasn’t he the one who suggested this, the one who said you had a lot to say. the truth is, you don’t, at least not to him. now he’s the one guiding the conversation somewhere… normal. like so normal that you’re not sitting next to your ex, who is actively messing with your head.

“i’m planning to try abroad.”

“where?”

“i’m not going to tell you,” you glance at him, narrowing your eyes slightly. “don’t want you suddenly becoming my coworker.”

that earns a chuckle from him. “you really think i’d follow you that far?”

you don’t answer, because you’re not entirely sure he wouldn’t. he makes it very clear that he is not talking about your career. the silence settles again, but it doesn’t feel empty. it feels intentional, as if he’s waiting for the exact right moment to put the puzzle piece into place.

you shift slightly on the step, exhaling through your nose, trying to ignore how aware you are of him sitting so close beside you. the party noise is distant now, blurred into nothing. now it’s just the two of you, tucked away in a space that suddenly feels too small… then he speaks again.

“are you seeing someone right now?”

your eyes flick to him immediately, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a proper answer. “none of your business.”

no reaction at first, just the soft click of his lighter opening again. the small flame appears, disappears, and flickers back to life as he plays with it absentmindedly. it’s almost hypnotic, the rhythm of it: small flame, bigger flame, gone again. he’s buying time, or making you sit in discomfort a little longer than necessary. you stare at it longer than you should, trying to steady yourself. it’s stupid, but it gives your eyes somewhere else to go and your mind something else to focus on.

he exhales quietly, then the lighter closes with a soft snap, and he looks at you.

“jaemin, right?” he says like he’s commenting on the weather. “he seems like a nice guy, but doesn’t seem like your type.”

everything in you stops, freezes like you’ve just touched a block of ice. your entire body goes still for half a second too long andyour expression betrays you before you can even think to control it. it’s shock at first, then disbelief, because you never told him a name, or anything of the sort. never even showed signs of you being involved with someone else.

your mind starts racing immediately — how does he know that? how long has he known? what else does he know?

only a few people know you’ve been seeing jaemin, and yes, you do post stories with him just like you do with the other people you trust, people who wouldn’t… your fingers tighten unconsciously around the fabric of his coat still resting on your shoulders.

“how do you know that?” your voice comes out lower than you intended. yunho tilts his head slightly, observing a reaction he already predicted, since just confirmed something he was quietly testing. a faint smirk pulls at his lips, he shrugs, leaning back on one hand as his gaze stays fixed on you.

“you’re the campus's new hotshot couple,” lies, obvious lies. you know it, he knows it, but the confidence in his voice makes it sound real. rumors, gossip, students talking, maybe someone exaggerating something they saw, but nothing that should have him perfectly informed with a name.

you don’t even realize your grip has tightened until the fabric of his coat shifts slightly under your fingers.

“relax, i’m not interfering.” but his tone says otherwise, “you can date whoever you want.”

you can't because you are mine.

yunho doesn’t move away while talking; he closes the distance slowly instead, testing exactly how far you’ll let him go before you stop him. knee brushing yours, nudging you teasingly, he doesn’t break eye contact, and doesn’t give you space to believe or question anything. because the way he says it doesn’t sound like permission, it sounds like ownership he’s pretending not to enforce.

“you lost the right to care about who i see a long time ago.” 

oh? 

amused by how you’re trying so hard to stand your ground, trembling just beneath the surface. it’s beautiful like that, so unfiltered and honest. aren’t you the prettiest little angel when you’re angry? when you’re fighting him, resisting him, convincing yourself you’ve moved on. it’s almost impressive, and adorable. your will is always too big for your own good, too loud to stay buried, always insisting things should go your way, even when reality bends differently once he is in the picture.

he’s memorizing it all over again with the way your breath changes when he gets too close, the way you refuse to look away even when it would be easier. your eyes are the most dangerous part of you, he decides. they’re full of everything at once — malice, frustration, sadness you pretend isn’t there, excitement you refuse to acknowledge. a fire that burns brighter than the weak flicker of the lighter between his fingers earlier. a fire that could bring him to his knees if he let it.

but he won’t, he knows how to protect himself.

he knows you better than anyone else ever has. better than those two annoying best friends of yours, than jeongin, better than jaemin, even your parents. better than the version of yourself you try to present to the world. 

yunho doesn’t need to chase because he knows your anger will bring you to him. he doesn’t need to beg, either. not when pulling the right strings of your nervous system is far more satisfying, watching you unravel and logic slipping away piece by piece until all that’s left is emotion, exactly how he wants you. he doesn’t need you rational, he needs you emotional. to destabilize you until you’re reacting instead of analyzing, feeling instead of understanding, until you’re his again in everything but name.

your thoughts slow, your focus breaks, you start reacting instead of thinking… just like he planned.

it’s sudden when it happens, you grab his collar, and before he can even fully process it, you pull him in and kiss him. not what people would call romantic, it’s out of pure spite and the need to shut him up. it’s messy, all teeth and frustration and months of things left unsaid. it’s the words i hate you pressed into his mouth like a punishment. 

yunho doesn’t take control immediately. he lets you bite his lip and put all that frustration finally into something tangible, lets you pretend this is just about physically shutting him up. yunho lets you have your moment of control, an illusion of victory, because he can feel you’re not over him… should the fact that he isn’t over you either be good or bad news?

only then does he finally respond, when your breath catches in that familiar way, something in him snaps as he kisses you back. the taste is noticeably bitter, ashy, and slightly stale. a trace of smoke still clings to him, dry against your tongue with that faint chemical edge, following the chemical romance between you that has no clear answer or reaction to this day, only that it is intense.

his lips part slightly against yours, the movement slow, testing. he deepens the kiss, blurring the line between hesitation and intent, one hand sliding up to your neck, fingers resting there, guiding rather than forcing. he pulls you closer, and the way your breath stutters in the gorgeous column of your throat, the way your body reacts to his body without thinking, tells him everything he needs to know.

then, just as suddenly, he stops. not pulling away completely, neither of you really wants to break it, but he’s the one who finally pulls back first. you’re left staring at each other, chests inviting air in and out in hurried paces to catch your breaths.

“you look at me like you hate me…” and doesn’t seem like you want to stop, though. “but you always looked at me like that.”

there’s something in his expression, satisfaction, like your reaction alone is enough. your breathing is uneven, lips slightly parted, and you hate how aware you are of him again: how close he is and how familiar it feels. your lipstick is slightly smudged, some of it transferred onto him, and the sight alone makes something twist in your stomach.

because you want more, but you don’t want to want him.

this is wrong on so many levels, kissing your ex out of nowhere, yet your body remembers him far too well, as it responds far too much. it’s frustrating, confusing, and addicting in a way you wish it wasn’t. what are you even supposed to do now?

“this isn’t a good place…” he says after a moment, glancing briefly toward the direction of the party before looking back at you. “…unless you want an audience.”

and suddenly it feels like the decision is yours, except it isn’t. because the way he looks at you says he already knows what you’ll choose.

by the time you are fully recovered his hand is already around yours, fingers lacing, as his grip doesn’t loosen, not once, he already knows you won’t pull away. he starts walking and you’re just following along without questioning it.

away from the crowd, into the quieter parts of the hotel, the lobby is nearly empty, the noise fading behind you as he moves straight for the elevators. he presses the button, and as if perfectly timed, the doors slide open to an empty cabin.

you step inside, and the moment the doors close behind you, the space feels smaller and tighter. mirrors line the walls, reflecting everything from every angle. no matter where you look, it’s him first and only then, you.

yunho and mirrors are a dangerous combination, because he doesn’t just want to feel you, he wants to watch you feel him and memorise the way you submit to his touch each and every time he manages to catch you. standing behind you, his taller frame hovering close, his chest warm against your back even if he doesn’t fully press himself in. still, if you lean back even slightly, he knows he has you.

his lips brush your shoulder, not quite a kiss, more like a promise of one. he makes you aware of everything — your breathing, the expression on your pretty face, how close you really are to him. one hand slides low, brushing your thigh right where the hem of your dress ends, while the other rises to your face. his soft fingers tilt your chin upward. he doesn’t need to do much to make you go insane; his voice does most of the work, not his body.

“all that attitude, and look at you now,” murmuring right next to your ear. the hand resting on your thigh doesn’t move further, and somehow you react more to what almost happens than to what actually does. as if hypnotized, trying to hold onto some sense of control, but it’s slipping fast, because your eyes betray you again. “is that really how someone looks when they want me gone?”

he doesn’t think of himself as a freak about it. he just likes watching, prefers you vulnerable like this. his eyes never leave your reflection, taking in the way your lips part, your lashes flutter, the way you try to close your eyes against how overwhelming it feels.

“don’t close your eyes, doll.” his voice is low, slightly rougher, his fingers tightening just a little on your jaw. you forgot how much you loved being called that, and how much it didn't help your attempts at resistance. “i want you to see what i’m doing to you.”

the hand on your leg slips beneath your dress until it finds the soft fabric of your panties, and you’re already so wet. his fingers press against you through the material, enough to make your breath hitch while moving in a slow and controlled rhythm as you squirm in result. your back arches finally pressing into him, and he exhales softly against your ear, completely obsessed with the sight of you falling apart in front of him.

“y-yun–” his name halfway leaves your lips in a soft whine, breaking into something breathier when he moves just right. he loves the way you say his name like it belongs in your mouth, and believe it or not, it’s already tattooed on your skin with invisible ink.

“keep looking.” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, guiding your attention back to the mirror. your thighs tremble, and your hands clutch at his forearm. the way your body reacts instantly, the way he has literal heart eyes when you make that sound again, his dick pulsating at the sight as he leans down slightly, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “see how pretty you look like this?”

you move without thinking, pressing back against him, your legs drawing closer together as if it might help, when his name slips from your lips again, your eyes glossy, barely staying open like he told you to, he smiles faintly against your skin. 

“good girl.” but being good doesn’t mean you get everything. if anything, it means the opposite, because he’s making you want it first. you feel it before you can think about it. he could push you further, make you admit things, but he knows you won’t, not yet.

a soft ding breaks through the moment. his gaze flicks up toward the numbers, 10th floor. 

the doors are about to open, the risk of someone being there and catching you… and just like that, he stops. he withdraws, leaving you aching, breath uneven, your body still caught in the aftermath of something unfinished. the doors slide open, and thankfully, no one’s there. the hallway is empty; most guests are still downstairs celebrating, others are already asleep. not that he would care much… or maybe he would. yunho has never liked sharing or the idea of anyone else seeing what he considers his.

he reaches toward you again, and for a second you think… but no. his hand slips into the coat you’re still wearing, pulling out the key card from the inner pocket.

“come on, angel… we don’t have all night.” all night. you don’t even know what time it is. your purse is still downstairs, abandoned at the table with your parents, your phone out of reach, “need help walking?” 

he asks, and that more than anything, pulls you back to reality. because when you glance at the mirror again, you finally see yourself properly. flushed and out of breath. your dress is slightly ridden up, your lips parted, your entire body still buzzing with heat that hasn’t gone anywhere. fuck. you’re left standing there, completely worked up, and he’s the only one who can do anything about it.

you know this is wrong, but your body isn’t listening. the empty hallway was your chance to leave, yet your feet never moved. you should have walked away, right then and there… so why didn’t you? zoning out and staring into the void of nothingness, thinking how no one can even compare and you hate that it’s still him who makes you lose your sanity. with yunho, it was never just attraction and maybe that’s the problem. you hate him. you hate this. you hate that you don’t hate it enough.

telling yourself you still have a choice, only that you don’t. because somehow, without realizing it, you’re already following him to his room. the door closes behind you with a quiet click that feels louder than it should, and suddenly you don’t move.

you don’t sit. you just stand there, near the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting with the ends of the sleeves, pulling the fabric over your hands as if it might calm you somehow. your breathing still hasn’t settled, your body is still carrying everything from moments ago.

he moves further into the room as if you being here is expected and inevitable. his hand reaches up to his collar, his eyes don’t leave you, though, not once. fingers hooking under the knot of his tie, loosening it slowly, sliding it from around his neck, the fabric slipping through his fingers before he lets it hang loosely in his hand. he stands there too, looking at your posture, and the way you haven’t dared to sit or do anything at all.

his lips twitch slightly when your fingers pause for half a second, then continue. you don’t dare to talk, you don’t trust your voice right now. he takes a step closer, then another, slowly closing the space between you until it feels suffocating again, and you’re aware of him in the same way you were in the elevator.

“take a seat,” he says softly, “you don’t have to stand there like that,” and you obey. 

you sit right at the edge of the bed, back straight, still clutching the sleeves, as yunho watches you for a moment longer. then, without breaking eye contact, he lowers himself not onto the bed, but down, kneeling in front of you.

it shouldn’t feel the way it does, as if he were praying to his goddess for a blessing of a lifetime. it should be unsettling, he chose this position for a reason; he wants to be right here, close enough to see every reaction you try to hide. his hands rest lightly against your legs at first, thumbs caressing the flesh as you tense, but don’t pull away. 

“do you know…” fingers sliding slightly higher, tracing and craving, then there’s a pause. “how hard it was not to think about you?” not crossing any line too fast, he continued, eyes fixed on your face, “to see you every week, and pretend we are just strangers?”

his razor sharp gaze softens for what you can barely count a millisecond, before it shifts back to its sinister depths, something that looks a little too close to obsession.

“should i? or are you going to pretend you don’t want this?”

beneath the dress, fingers slipping under the fabric as he hooks into your waistband and starts to pull it down. you are leaning in just slightly, giving him the access he’s already taken. that’s all the permission he needs. the delicate lace follows, sliding down until it pools at your feet, as you gently kick them fully aside with the help of your heels.

"last chance to leave, angel... say or do something if you want me to stop.”

holding himself back, and it’s taking more effort than he wants to admit. his gaze drags over you, taking in every detail like he’s been starved of it.

you look the same. no, you like you never left him at all.

his jaw tightens faintly because god, he missed you. no matter how much time passed or how many distractions he surrounded himself with, nothing and no one helped. they didn’t look right or feel right, they simply weren’t you.

you changed, of course you did. your hair, your style, the perfume, even the way you carry yourself now, like you’ve grown into something that bites back.

but he sees through it: you are just a little sheep wearing the wolf’s head.

and he is the wolf wearing a sheep’s clothing.

something restless stirring beneath his skin, the way it creeps in, settles deep, refuses to leave. he’s been stuck on a feeling, just can't stop, once ain't enough.

his thumb presses just a little firmer, grounding himself, because he might actually lose that thin thread of control he’s still pretending to have.

“i hate you.” you say but your legs part for him. his head tilts at that, tongue pressing into his cheek, amused, your defiance only entertains him more. don’t mind him then, as he eases you back, gaze heavy on you, his hands slide firmly to your thighs, guiding you then lifting your legs to settle over his shoulders. 

he looks at you like he’s about to show you what heaven feels like when its most precious and divine being finally falls from grace.

yunho loves teasing you with his words almost as much as he loves tasting you. his tongue dives in, relentless at first, exploring every twitching nerve that seems to remember him all to well, then deeper, faster and harder. he pushes in and out like he’s trying to swallow you whole, sliding in and out with perfect rhythm.

“babydoll, you’re so sweet,” he groans, licking and sucking, eyes rolling back when he finally tastes you. you're addicting. he laps up your juices, swirling his tongue on your clit. “did you save all this for me?”

his hands grip your thighs, holding you open, pressing you closer as he devours you like a meal he can’t get enough of. every moan, quiet or loud, drives him further to the sinful gates of temptation. he buries his face in you, lips and tongue hungry, mouth wet, making sure every inch of you is tasted.

“look at you, trembling for me…” he whispers, nibbling at your inner thigh between laps of your cunt. he’s relentless with the words, praising every tiny quiver, “that’s it, you’re such a good girl, letting me do this.”

god, your pussy’s perfect. can’t believe this is all his to play with after a whole year of craving you. the way he grins while teasing you, making you feel like you’re both the most desirable and most obedient thing in the world. 

“you like it when i talk to you like this, hm? gonna make you scream my name before i even touch you properly,” he teases, tongue pushing deeper, fingers brushing where you couldn't even reach. every compliment and filthy line makes your body shake more, your pussy grip tighter around nothing, dripping just from his mouth and words.

he mixes praise and filth, so you’re caught between feeling worshiped and utterly used. the combination makes you desperate and completely under his control. by the time he lifts his head, cheeks wet, lips shiny with your slick, because he knows exactly what he’s done to you — and he isn’t done yet.

“mmh… yunho–” your back arches, hips rising to meet him despite yourself. you’re dripping, trembling, completely lost to the sloppy sounds of his tongue. he groans, deep in his throat, enjoying the taste of you. he doesn’t rush when he devours and dominates your senses. “fuck, you are so… hahh–”

your legs are clamping around his head as your hands tug his hair, gosh it’s still so soft to the touch. your chest heaving, voice hoarse from moaning, and yunho finally lifts his head, grinning at the mess he made glistening on his lips. wiping his mouth slowly, chuckling, because he’s left you begging without even doing too much.

“mmhm,” diving back in as his fingers brushing against your clit while his tongue plunges deeper. he just keeps going — tongue flicking, fingers circling, whispering filthy praises with every movement. “that’s it, that’s my good girl… come on, let it all out for me.”

your walls clench and your pussy gushes over his tongue, spurting uncontrollably as your legs tremble and your back arches off the surface. yunho groans, licking up every drop, smiling like the maniac he is, “god, you’re insane… look at you squirting for me.”

he doesn’t stop, still moving, coaxing out every last drop, praising you with every breath he takes. his thoughts are full of you, and soon enough, you will be full of him. “mine, you are only mine… keep coming for me, angel.”

you’ve never felt so ruined and so completely at his mercy.

“i should leave you like this,” he adds, quieter, more to himself than to you. the idea actually tempts him, letting you feel exactly how easy it is for him to get you like this. “send you back downstairs all pretty, like nothing happened…” a soft exhale followed, “...but you wouldn’t make it far.”

pulling back, but his fingers keep toying with your clit, and you’re already so sensitive from that alone. he talks dirty in that manic and possessive way of his, murmuring about how he’ll keep you in the dress and the heels, since you can’t spend the night with him… no matter how much he wants you to.

he eases your legs off his shoulders, standing up with a slow stretch, but before he can even undress, he steps back in between your shaky legs, looking down at you with that same secretive, almost warm smile. maybe it’s love, maybe it’s lust, if not both. his index finger and thumb catch your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him, especially when you were trying so hard not to. how cute.

“drop the act, dollface,” he growled, his fingers slide down, big palm spreading around your throat, squeezing to cut off that long-awaited breath you wanted to take, watching you closely, eyes fixed on your lips as they start to quiver with every subtle tightening of his grip. “or do i need to remind you who you belong to?”

one moment he’s choking you, the next, he’s already stripped from the waist down, preparing you to take him.

lying on your back on the bed, with him hovering above you, one long finger slides inside you, immediately feeling how tight and slick you are as he starts to move. he watches closely, eyes fixed on the way your face twists with undeniable pleasure, all while his own cock pulses hot against your leg. a second finger slips in beside the first, and you feel the stretch right away. your walls clenching around him, creaming over his knuckles as small, broken sounds leave your throat, half cough, half whine, still trying to catch the breath he stole from you.

“there it is… i was waiting for that.” and by that, he means you being ready to take him. his thumb drags over the tip of his throbbing cock, stroking himself a few slow times, and your gaze drops — was he always this big? you’re not even sure how you’re supposed to take it… how you managed before. he’s thick, lining up at your soaked entrance, pushing your walls to their limit before he’s even halfway in, your cunt already molding around his size.

missionary is always a gamble with him, because you never know which version you’re going to get: the gentle one, the mean one, the jealous one… there are options, but you’re never the one choosing. this time, he is a meanie. a creature of extreme sadism.

all you can do beneath him is squirm and cry, clinging helplessly to every inch of him he gives you, heavy as he presses in, hitting places your own fingers could never reach. he grunts softly, hips pulling back again because you’re still not full of him, not yet. he has to carve the shape of himself into your insides, and claim you properly, like he always will.

maybe you’re already close, just from the way he moves. shallow at first, his pelvis dragging sinfully against you, making your writhing body jolt upwards on the bed. he switches between soft and controlled thrusts to slow and grinding circles, anything to ease you and help your body relax, make you greedy enough to take him deeper.

“is that all you do, cry?” yunho hisses under his breath, lips brushing wet against your ear as your nails dig into his shoulders. his cock presses right against your most sensitive spot, pulling a loud moan from you, and you think it’s too deep already, when he is not even that deep. “babydoll, be a good girl for me and take every inch, yeah? no, don’t cry now… you can handle it, because you’re mine… my pretty girl.”

your eyes sting, tears slipping free, smudging your makeup a bit. it’s been so long since you had any sexual intercourse, a whole year. you didn’t even do anything more than a few careless kisses and make out sessions with jaemin, nothing that even comes close to tonight’s carnal ravaging.

you need yunho. not just inside you, you need him under your skin, running through your dna. you hate his guts, you do, but god, he fucks you so well you can feel him in your guts.

the tears fall, catching the light like silver, as if tiny diamonds slip down your cheeks as he stretches you open again.

his fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands against the mattress as he hisses filthy praises into your ear. your sensitive cunt takes every devastating thrust, each one pulling out those wet and sloppy sounds, the kind that make you want to scream again and again until your vocal cords tear apart and you lose your voice for days as a reminder of what yunho is doing to do you. what he will always do to you. the way his cock drives fully into you sends that overwhelming urge through your quivering body, threatening to make you come undone, you’re not even sure if you want to. it’s a sensation so intense, such painfully good pressure building with nowhere to go.

you’re so cockdrunk it’s insane. you always thought you were in control, always told yourself he wasn’t a good person, but the dick was too good to let go. he fits too perfectly, like he was made just for you.

“scream for me, doll,” he groans, that husky tone rolling off his tongue and straight through you, pulling a helpless whimper from your lips. his brown eyes flick over your face, taking in every desperate expression like he’s committing it to memory, because watching you fall apart is his favorite part. his pre-cum leaves a messy ring at the base of his cock, trailing down the inside of your thighs, and maybe if he weren’t so consumed by you, he’d comment on just how desperate you look.

“yu-yunho–!” his name tears from your throat as it echoes through the room. his hips snap into yours without mercy, hard enough to leave bruises. your back lifts off the bed, arching into the overwhelming rush flooding your body. you praise and beg for him, pushing him further into ecstasy as he presses you back down every time you move too much.

“you think anyone else could handle you like this?” yunho coos, his pace picking up, thrusts growing faster and faster, until your thighs start to numb. “think anyone could love you the way i do?”

“yunho, please… ahh–” you hear yourself, like you’re outside your own body and have lost control of even your own voice. all you can feel is your nails digging into his back, your body tightening around him as you suddenly break, soaking him, your release spilling over his cock. and still his eyes stay on you, he adores your face more than anything else. it’s almost as if your reactions to the pleasure only he can give you appeal more to him than the sex itself.

“you say you hate me, but i bet you were just mad at me, yeah?”

but you’re too stubborn to admit that, refusing to give him even that much satisfaction. you close your eyes, trying to reclaim some dominance over him, but he only chuckles, bringing his hips to a stop at the fading edge of his own release.

that’s what makes your eyes snap open, staring up at him. “why’d you–?”

“i asked you a question, angel,” he sneers. one hand drifts down to your clit, rubbing slow, agonizing circles that pull a helpless whine from your throat, your head tosses back.

“p-please, yu– i can’t, i–” but your legs stay wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, your heels pressing cold against the heat of his body.

his other hand moves, this time settling around your throat. at first, it’s loose, enough pressure to make you notice. then it tightens as he watches everything: from the way your lips part, to how your chest struggles to rise. completely focused on how dependent you become on him for air. forcing eye contact, watching you go from stubborn to needy, leaning in close to whisper instead of raising his voice. 

“tell me if it’s too much… go on.” with every small twitch or squirm, it only makes his grip tighten more, restricting your breathing while muttering praise after praise. what a fucking sadistic psychopath. “so pretty like this…can barely breathe and still taking me so well.”

pushing your limits on purpose, to remind you exactly who’s in control. he feels the way you start to struggle, your body begins to give, and only then does his grip loosen.

air rushes back into your lungs all at once, burning on the way in. your chest stutters, breaths coming out broken and uneven instead of steady. your vision blurs, tears slipping freely now, and you don’t even realize you’re shaking until he notices it first. his hand doesn’t leave your throat. it stays there, fingers still curved around it, no longer squeezing, just resting.

“there you go, babydoll,” his voice drops, softer now, but no less heavy. “breathe.”

but he’s watching you too closely for it to feel like kindness. his thumb drags slowly over the spot he pressed into, feeling the rapid flutter of your pulse beneath his touch. your lips part, pulling in air that still doesn’t feel like enough, as another broken sound slips out of you.

it does something to him. you like this, glassy-eyed and trembling, wants him to hold onto this exact version of you for as long as he can. then, without warning, he leans in. his lips press against yours. it’s not an apology, far from it. a kiss that lingers just long enough to steal the breath you just fought to get back, a quiet reminder of how easily he can take it and when he pulls away, there’s the faintest hint of a smile, because he’d do it again.

“shh, don’t cry… you know i take care of what’s mine.” still too dizzy to think about anything but breathing and kissing, your legs are thrown over his broad shoulders, his hands pushing them closer to your head to get the angle just right. he watches himself slide between your folds, then looks down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

you glance down to where your bodies meet, even if every instinct tells you to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go. every movement hits heavier, deeper; your body can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pressure anymore. he drags himself all the way out at a torturously slow pace, only to push back in just as cruelly.

"s-shit… don’t move,” he groans, thrusting into you, when he finally decides to snap his hips, his pelvis pressed against yours. his fingers find your sensitive clit again, rubbing it fast to get you to cum again, throwing his head back as he thrusts one last time, before shooting his load into your aching cunt. spurts of warm cum fill your insides while you wither beneath him, all hot and sweaty, not even processing the mess both of you made under the clean bedsheets.

his cock was pulsing so hard you could feel it bulging through your tummy, filling you to the brim as you milk him dry. his palm presses flat against your lower stomach, and he actually smirks when he feels and sees the faint movement beneath, occasionally shifting his hand lower or higher just to make you lose focus mid-thought.

“you fell that, doll?”

do you feel how deep my love runs for you?

yunho looks at you like he’s completely gone, someone who operates on obsession, trying to imprint himself into every part of you, leave something behind that no one else could ever do. he’s smug about it too, of course he is. he just won in life, like out of everything in the world, he got you. fuck, wishing he had his camera right now, just to capture this exact moment. you look unreal beneath him, divine even dressed in black, an angel dragged down just for him.

his voice softens, murmuring sweet nothings under his breath as he leans in, pressing slow kisses to your cheeks, your temple, the bridge of your nose. gentler now, calming you down after everything he just put you through. a quick peck lands on your lips, lingering just a little longer than it needs to.

finally, yunho pulls out, watching closely as a small trace of him drips from you. his fingers follow immediately, sinking to keep it all in. then he pulls you up, arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against his chest, lips pressing into your hair, breathing you in like he doesn’t get enough of you, even now.

the aftercare is minimal, because it has to be. he lets you rest for a few minutes, helps you steady yourself, maybe guides you to the bathroom, helps you fix your clothes and makeup, and put your panties back on, while he dresses himself again as if nothing happened. and only now, that you’re about to leave, does he decide to act sweet. 

“you good, need anything else?”

“i’ll manage, thank you very much, asshole.”

you smile through your teeth, already turning, only to wobble slightly in your heels. gee, wonder why, like you just didn't have some mindblowing sex. making your way out, you’re glowing, there’s no other word for it. a little wrecked, sure, a little unsteady, but shining brighter than the stars in the sky. 

he doesn’t close the door right away, waits until you step into the elevator, as the doors slide shut and you’re out of sight. only then does he finally close it, the click echoing a little too loud in the empty room. he leans back for a second, alone with himself, because yeah, he’s an asshole, he knows that.

but you’ll always come back to him, and he’ll always come back to you.

having big gaps between classes was something you enjoyed, but sometimes hated. just like you hate everything about him. from the smug smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth to how his fingers are inside your mouth, making you gag and be disgusted by the way he does such things like he owns you — he doesn’t.

he’s your ex, the one you’ve tried so hard to forget: the sound of his voice, the way he felt under your skin. now his lips are back on your neck, sucking, kissing, leaving marks you’ll have to cover the second you walk out of his office once he’s done fucking you on his desk. you feel his thumb press against your throat, taking his time, teasing you in ways you swore you would never let him do that again, claiming you like he never left.

trying to tell him, no but your body keeps telling him yes.

you should be disappointed in yourself, letting him pull you off track like this, letting him take control when you know better. yet, with every touch and mark sends heat racing through you, clouding your mind until you can barely remember why you hate him so much. is it because he wasn’t who you thought he was… or because you still feel something for him? hating him is easier than admitting you never stopped wanting him. 

you don’t want to care; you want to despise him for what he did and for who he is. but that’s slipping away when your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, eyes roll back when he slides inside of you, filling you completely, making you forget everything else. you want to resist, hold onto the anger, but you can’t. not when he’s deep inside, hitting all the spots that make you arch and gasp, his name falls from your lips even when you swore you’d never let it happen again. 

“y-yunho... faster!” you choke out, hands clawing at his back, desperate and needy, but of course, he doesn’t give in that easily. yunho only slows down, teasing you, lips curling into that infuriating grin against your skin. 

“angel, i told you to be quiet, didn’t i?” he murmurs, voice low and slightly mocking, “so impatient, as always. good things come when you obey… and wait.” 

you are tired of waiting and being toyed with, and if he’s going to take his sweet time, then you’ll make sure he regrets it. your nails dig into his shoulders, even through his shirt, hard enough to strain the fabric and leave marks far more lasting than the lipstick stain on that secret polaroid sitting on his nightstand. 

"stop being such a dick and fuck me already!" you hate him, you repeat it to yourself over and over, until his breath is hot against your neck and his hands are gripping your hips as if he’ll never let go.

and just like that, he snaps, relentless now, giving you exactly what you begged for.

his pace quickens, the plastic creaks underneath, each thrust pushing you closer to that edge, all you can think about is him, all you can feel is him. the hate melts away, replaced by a pleasure so overwhelming it almost hurts. you are so full, burning hot by how he uses your body as a canvas to paint you all white with no drops going to waste. purity and innocence, those words don’t exist for you anymore, as they are replaced with sin and punishment.

“that’s it, pretty. feels good, yeah?” he knows exactly how the two of you collide, like you’re at war with each other. it’s rough, as it drags your pride and self-respect straight through the dirt. the relationship is so damn dysfunctional, but yunho knows you better than anyone else. you don’t even realize how much he thrives on this, how easily you let him take control. he loves you like this: soft and bratty, vulnerable and entirely his. 

you hope, no, you pray, that the good thing he promised finally comes, because you can’t take much more of this. when it hits, it crashes through you at the same time as him, your cries muffled against his shoulder, your chest rising and falling as all that tension finally spills out. he will take care of you, he will always look out for you because you are his most adored and precious doll, his favorite thing to hold and ruin.

a few minutes later, after he’s helped clean you up with a towel from one of the cabinets he keeps just for these getaways. you zip your pants back up, still feeling the lingering warmth between your thighs. you just hope your panties are enough to keep things from showing through. shit… you should’ve worn the black jeans.

“i only came here to give you mine and jeongin’s project, not to get creampied.”

“baby, you know you don’t have to do anything,” he says, spinning lazily in his chair. one hand clicks the mouse as he scrolls through whatever just came into his email. “you’re my favorite student, you pass without lifting a finger. your friend, on the other hand… needs to learn how to use photoshop.”

“yeah, but…”

“but what?” he glances up at you from the computer, that same knowing look settling back in. “you missed me?”

ah, your eyes betray you again. you missed him, no matter how much your ego tries to argue otherwise. after what happened at the hotel two months ago… yeah, that was all it took for both of you to realize you can’t stay away from each other. and maybe you’ll regret it one day, but not now. you’ve already decided to keep it hidden from karina and yeji. as for jaemin… yeah, he’s nice. he’s always been, but that’s all he is now, nice. you made sure you stayed friends, nothing more, and nothing less.

so you leave yunho’s office, of course not before kissing him goodbye, not that it matters much when he’ll be at your place later anyway. “don’t forget we’re watching spiderman~” like you could forget, you know the entire plot by heart at this point.

you’re wearing a sweater that’s way too big for you, one you casually told your friends you found at a thrift store. sure, if that store was called yunho’s apartment. thankfully, no one suspects a thing, not even your two best friends, because if they did… it would be over, and you’re not ready to lose them, but the heart wants what it wants.

later, you meet jeongin at the campus café, sitting across from him like you didn’t just leave your professor’s office in a completely different state than you entered it.

“innie, thank you for ordering for me too.” you smile, taking a sip of your drink, looking… brighter than usual, too happy for someone with a four-hour gap between classes. 

“yeah, no problem,” he says, watching you for a second longer than usual. “also, are you… okay? i don’t know, you just seem different lately after things ended with jaemin.”

you blink, caught off guard. “huh, am i?” a small shrug follows. “i don’t know… i guess i just decided to focus on myself for a while, not on men.”

“well… whatever it is, it suits you,” he mutters, still a little unsure. “oh– by the way, what did professor jeong say about the project?”

“he said we’ve got max points secured,” you shrug lightly. “and that you’ve improved your photoshop skills.”

“really?” jeongin perks up, grinning. “well, don’t mind me if i skip next week then.”

the first part is true, the second isn’t. you can lie to everyone else, but not to yunho. it’s harmless. not everyone needs to know everything about you, not even the people closest to you. so here you are back with your toxic ex, because being stuck on a feeling means being stuck on him. if anyone found out, they’d probably kill him first… and then you.

he knows exactly what you risk every time you come back to him. this was never a temporary game, something that could end just because you decided it should. to him, it’s an inevitable cycle. he doesn’t see himself as someone you return to; in his mind, you never truly left in the first place.

he would give you everything without hesitation. tear the world apart for you, piece by piece, if that’s what it takes to keep you where he wants. but he would ruin you just as easily, because to him, being broken by his hands is still better than letting anyone else touch what he was already his.

yunho is a monster creeping in your heart. a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the kind of character no one expects to be the villain. he isn’t some bad habit; he is an addiction with no cure, letting him consume you, until there’s barely a line left between where you end and he begins. you chose to stay, considering no one plays the role better than you do. this version of yourself that looks put together, untouchable, and guarded… while slowly giving everything away to the one person who knows exactly how to take it.

you didn’t fall for a good man — you fell for the one who learned how to look like one. you keep calling it love, even when it’s nowhere close, because you can’t tell the difference anymore. and if this is what love is supposed to feel like… you don’t want to be saved from it.

© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.

thank you phoebe ( @tinyfixon ) for doing a beta read and being an amazing editor! i love you so much and i hope mingi is going to propose to you soon <3

A/N: wrote this cause I’ve been thirsting over seonghwa (ik big shocker there) but also been having a tougher time these days but doing my best to not be defeated or lose my passion and this just came to mind. sorry if it sucks, I just needed an outlet, so enjoy my cherries ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊ feedback is always welcomed!

“Ugh! Fuck you, Hwa!”

“I thought we were fighting. Now you wanna fuck?”

The smug grin spreading across his lips filled you with equal parts disgust and dread because you knew it was as easy as breathing for you to fall for his charms.

Not today.

“Keep it up,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you turned away, “We’ll see who has the last laugh.”

Before you could make it two steps, his fingers wrapped gently around your wrist.

“Okay, okay.” His teasing melted away. “Don’t go. I don’t want to leave things like this.”

His expression softened, those big, warm brown eyes searching yours. Fuck! No! You glanced away before they could pull you in, looking anywhere else but at his face, blinking hard against the sting building behind your eyes.

“I’m tired of you embarrassing me and making me look like—”

Your voice caught.

“Like what?”

“Look like…some crazy bitch who’s desperate, obsessed, and head over heels for you.”

“..so you’re not head over heels for me?” There it was—that stupid grin again. You yanked your wrist from his hand.

“You think this is funny and it’s not.”

His smile faltered.

“Forget it.”

“No, wait.” He stepped forward. “What do you want me to say?”

His jaw tightened.

“She came on to me.”

“You allowed it! You went along with the whole thing—buying her drinks, dancing with her.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you sighed from exhaustion.

“Your friends continue to treat me as a joke because you do.”

“My friends are assholes, I can’t control how they act.”

His brows furrowed, his hand reaching out to touch you again but you stepped back to avoid it.

“Why is that my fault?”

“Because you never shut them down.”

You could barely look at him but you met his eyes, trying to calm down but the situation made you more upset than you’ve ever been before. This wasn’t the first fight, but it was the worst.

“You pick your friends and that says everything about you.”

Seonghwa flinched, the words paining him just as much as they pained you to say, but only half as much as his actions from the other night made you feel.

“I’m an asshole and I’m sorry. What can I do to make this right?”

It took everything out of you not to slap him, but you’d never lay a hand on Seonghwa. You couldn’t—wouldn’t. It wouldn’t solve anything regardless. It would only drive a final nail in the coffin of your relationship.

You were done with the argument.

You said everything there was to say.

“You can sleep on the couch. Goodnight.”

With that, you stormed off toward the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you before he could say another word, sobbing into your hand.

Half expecting him to knock on the door, you’re pleased when he doesn’t. You fall face first into your pillow and cry to your broken heart’s content.

At some point, you must’ve cried yourself asleep. Your pillowcase, stained with tears and smudged mascara, was proof enough. You rolled over and your hand instinctively reached over to Seonghwa’s side of the bed, fisting the sheets. Why’d he have to be such a jerk?

Why’d you have to miss him? His touch? His warmth?

Even his snores soothed something inside you, and the empty space beside you left you restless. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself back to sleep, but it never came.

Eventually, with sleep refusing to come, you pushed yourself out of bed. The first thing your hand grabbed was one of Seonghwa’s oversized t-shirts. You pulled it over your head, leaving your panties untouched, then quietly slipped out of the room.

The hum of commercials coming from the TV grew louder as you entered the living room, crossing over to the couch on the balls of your feet.

That’s when you saw him—

Hwa lay sprawled across the love seat, breathing softly as he slept on his back. The glow from the television washed over his face, softening every sharp angle. You bit your lower lip. His sweatpants had slipped low on his hips, the waistband of his boxer briefs peeking out beneath the hem of his shirt.

Damn him.

You stood over him and leaned down, tapping on his shoulder. He didn’t stir an inch. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off.

Tapping Seonghwa again, harder this time, he finally shifted. His eyes scanned the room as they opened, then he sat up, disgruntled.

“Babe?” He groaned. “Is something wrong? You okay?”

His concern pierced straight through the walls you’d spent the last few hours building around yourself.

Damn him…again.

How did he make staying angry so difficult?

“Define okay.”

Seonghwa nodded, flitting his gaze and stared at the floor. It was obvious he felt guilty.

Good.

If he wanted your forgiveness, he’d have to earn it—and you had a few ideas where to start. You took a deep breath and held out your hand to him. It took him a moment to understand, glancing at your hand then back up to your face, confusion settling in his expression. Then cautiously, he took your hand in his.

You helped him stand to his feet before dragging him to the bedroom. Even half-asleep, he moved with effortless grace—agile bunny. Closing the door behind, you leaned your back against it. Anger and desire churned together inside you until you could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

“Baby, I really am sorry. Can we talk more in the—”

Suddenly, cutting off his words, you closed the distance between you and lunged at him, pressing your lips to his with hunger and greed. Seonghwa’s hands slipped around your waist, tasting you with similar tension and need. Your hands trailed up the sides of his neck, fisting the hair at the nape of his head.

His tongue brushed against yours before he leaned back, leaving you pouting like a toddler who got their toy taken away.

“Wait, y/n, I want you to hear me,” he pleaded. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to weasel out of—”

“Stop talking.” You muttered, returning your lips to his.

Your wet lips trailed lower, kissing and licking the corner of his mouth before moving to his jaw and then his throat. Seonghwa let out a hushed moan, gripping the hem of your shirt tightly.

“I just want you to know…I know I was wrong and—”

“I have something better for that mouth to do other than yap.”

Hwa raised an eyebrow, curiosity briefly eclipsing the guilt in his eyes.

“I want you to do that thing…” You both stood in silence for a beat, “…with your tongue. Now.”

That cheeky smile of his made a quick comeback. He made short work of guiding you backward toward the bed until the back of your legs hit the bed frame and your butt plopped down on the mattress. He sank to his knees and hoisted your legs above his shoulders, drawing you back on your forearms.

“Your wish is my command, princess,” he cooed.

His fingers tightened around your thigh as Seonghwa pushed your legs apart and placed slow, tantalizing kisses up your inner thigh until he got to the crease of your hip. His nose grazed along your panty line, lightly kissing the wet splotch of fabric. It drove you crazy.

You caressed his bicep roughly, crescent shapes indenting his skin from your nails.

“Stop teasing, Hwa,” you let out breathlessly.

He lifted his head and sweetly nipped the inside of your thigh.

“But, baby, teasing is the best part…” He rubbed two of his long fingers in circles over the damp cotton, playing delicately with your covered clit.

Your thighs shook slightly in his strong hands. Seonghwa ignored the way you squirmed, heat rushing from your core to your face. Switching his fingers with his lips, he licked a hot stripe up the cloth and sucked at the sensitive bud.

Goddamnit. Your head grew fuzzy, blood pounding in your ears. Seonghwa let out a low laugh as you whimpered, desperate for him to latch his tongue directly to your aching flesh. Your fingernails left angry red marks as they scratched along his arm.

“So wet for me already, I see.” He boasted, nuzzling his face deeper into your soaked panties like a man starved.

“F-fuck you…Hwa…”

“All in good time, y/n.” He tangled his fingers in the strings of your underwear. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.”

You did as he instructed before he slipped them down your legs, tossing them to the floor. He studied the juicy center between your hips, practically drooling at the sight. His gaze lifted to meet yours before he lowered his head once more, gliding his tongue up and down your pussy once. Your head tipped back, your entire body igniting like a flame.

“Please…”

“Please what?” He asked coyly. “Use your words, baby.”

“Please…eat me...” you whispered, clawing at his hand.

He buried his head, tongue parting through your folds and circling the bundle of nerves that begged for his attention. Seonghwa continued edging you, his tongue traveling everywhere but where you craved.

He knew exactly how to rile you up.

His mouth resumed the task at hand with renewed eagerness, and your choked gasps filled the room.

“H-hwa..” you moaned, but it was a broken, whiny sound from the back of your throat as your fingers twisted in his golden locks.

Your hips rutted up as his tongue worked you, a mixture of your wetness and his saliva dripping heavily down his chin. Each tug at his hair only spurred him on. He growled against you, sending vibrations through your core. Your toes curled at the overwhelming tension.

“You taste so fucking good, baby,” he rasped drunkenly.

Words abandoned you. All that came out was incoherent, meaningless babbling. His mouth moved to suck at your throbbing clit with endearing focus, the scorching pleasure blinding you.

Then he did it—that thing you loved most. His tongue slid into you, far as it could into your hot, wet core. His hand resting on your gut to hold you in place as you trembled.

“Hwa—” you cried out, gripping his hand frantically, grinding down as his nose hit your clit with each motion, his name tumbling from your lips. “P-please don’t stop.”

He sucked gingerly at your aching bud, swiveling his tongue flat like a brush in a painter's hand along your insides. The coil in your stomach knotted fast, the relentless attention to your clit sending unbearable sensations rippling through your body.

As the fire in your abdomen spread, an uncontrolled instinct to run away from him coursed through you, your hand shoving his forehead in weak effort.

He kept you exactly where you were.

His shoulders pressed your thighs further back as he moaned into you, keeping his mouth latched to you and his view unobstructed. Seonghwa liked to watch you fall apart. His gaze stayed fixed on your face as it lit up with delight.

The orgasm ripped through you as your eyes shut, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. You rode his tongue in a frenzy with the intense waves rushing through you. Silvery strings of spit and arousal broke as he pulled away. As the white haze faded from your vision, you caught the shine of it on his swollen lips.

Seonghwa stood over you, breathing heavily, taking in the aftermath of you coming undone.

“Fuck…” you panted, flicking your foot softly and pressing your toes to his crotch, teasing the bulge.

Seonghwa was rock hard, his cock pulsing to be freed.

“Flip over and get on your stomach,” his voice was delicate yet commanding as he pulled his sweats down by the waist, "I'm not done with you yet.”

You obeyed immediately, folding yourself over the side of the bed until your feet touched the cold wooden floor.

You barely heard him come up behind you.

Not until his cock pushed inside you, thick and unyielding, and stretched you open inch by inch. Your fingers dug into the bedsheets as the pressure built in your stomach with every snap of hips.

“Oh, y/n, you feel so fucking perfect…” his hands squeezed your waist to steady you as he bottomed out inside you.

The slick, heated squelching and your muffled cries as you stuffed your face in the mattress was all you could hear. Your legs threatened to give out under the weight of his thrusts. The burning friction was sharp, delicious, and intoxicating.

Your soaked cunt fluttered helplessly around him as he rolled his hips gradually, setting an intense but frustrating pace. Your breath hitched when you turned your head to the side, purring raggedly as Seonghwa stuffed you to an all too familiar fullness.

“You like that baby? Hmm, does this feel good?”

He knows you can’t answer.

Bastard.

Everything blurred into white as your body was entranced with fiery bliss, the next orgasm knocking on your belly with searing passion, but that’s when you saw it…

The mirror.

The reflection of the two of you staring back.

Your eyes widened at the sight.

(A few weeks ago, Seonghwa came home with the largest and gaudiest mirror you’d ever seen. A chrome silver frame adorned with red roses and thorny vines surrounded the glass, and he propped it against the wall across from the bed.

You hated it.

He loved it.

So, it stayed—but you didn’t understand why…until now.)

Seonghwa stared into the mirror, lustfully pumping in and out of you, a slow smirk creeping across his face as his eyes locked with yours in the reflection. His dark demeanor was animalistic and carnal and…painfully sexy.

Your boyfriend was watching himself fuck you.

Holy airball.

“You’re taking me so good, princess...”

Seonghwa raised your leg, guiding your knee onto the bed. Your eyes rolled back as he pushed deeper into you. One hand gripped the back of your thigh. The other seized the back of your neck, forcing your face into the bedding.

“Fuck…Seonghwa…oh my go—” you whined, feeling your ass bounce against his groin, “I’m c-close…don’t…s-stop…”

Low, wild groans tore from his chest as he quickened his rhythm.

Each thrust felt like an imprint in your pussy—like he was reclaiming you completely as his.

“That’s it, y/n. Cum for me, cum all over my cock,” he grunted.

Those words shoved you right over the edge.

For a second time, a choked sob bursted out of you as your walls clenched around Seonghwa’s length, causing his hips to stutter.

Stars sparkled behind your eyes, and it hit you that this was the most intense orgasm you’d ever had.

(The memory flickered—Seonghwa had you pinned against a fence in the backyard of his family home—mind-blowing, but this surpassed it.)

“S-shit, holy s-shit…” his deep voice broke, your name dribbling wrecked and raw through his lips as you cum around him.

His head tilted back and hips stilled, spilling his seed inside you, slowly pushing back and forth as you milked every last drop from him.

The only sound was the both of you breathing as he stopped and rested against you.

Seonghwa stayed inside you for a second longer before pulling himself out sluggishly. He fell to his knees, gaze dropping on his cum leaking out of your cunt.

Your body, heavy and flooded, collapsed before you carefully crawled along the bed, attempting to shift away and put some distance between you and your sex demon boyfriend.

It was too late.

Hwa was ravenous.

He followed instantly.

“Nu-uh, come back here.” Seonghwa grabbed your waist and pulled you back.

He greeted you with a sizzling, sticky lick up your drenched core and you yelped at the sudden contact.

He didn’t slow down. Standing over you, he closed the distance again and shoved his finger inside you without warning.

“I have to see you cum one more time.”

“Seonghwa…” you mewled, thighs shaking from the overstimulation.

He added a second ring-clad finger for good measure, the cool metal roughly pressing into your flesh. Hwa drove his fingers further inside you, flexing them and hitting your sweet spot.

Your screams of ecstasy fueled him.

His fingers split you with reckless abandon. Your thoughts dissolved as juices trickled from your cunt, coating his hand and puddling onto the floor.

A piercing slap stung your ass cheek before Seonghwa rubbed the sore skin.

“Good girl. You’re doing very well,” he praised, his thumb playing with your clit in tandem with his strokes.

“Oh my god…”

It was too much.

A strangled noise tumbled from your mouth as the knot in your stomach shattered and released your third orgasm fiercely, your pussy spasming around his digits until he pulled them out.

You quivered tensely, swallowing hard before going limp.

Thick spurts of cum, his and yours, seeped between your legs.

The rest of the night, you and Seonghwa lay together in bed, cuddling with his second erection engulfed by your wet heat. Arms wrapped around each other as he moaned lovingly into your ear.

You were kissing and sucking sloppily all over his neck and throat, leaving these reddish purple splotches on his skin.

Marking your territory.

“Baby…fuck…” Every time he moaned, his cock twitched against your spongy walls.

It made you giggle.

“I want to apologize…please…”

Your head lifted as you met his eyes, ready to finally hear him.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like shit. I promise it won’t happen again.” Seonghwa whispered, appearing extremely sincere.

“I know, Hwa…and I forgive you.”

His face lights up, giving you a short kiss on your lips with the utmost satisfaction. You continued biting at his bruised throat, giving kitten licks in between to soothe the stings.

He meant too much to you to let go of.

He just needed to respect you more.

“But you’ll have to prove that it’s earned with your actions.”

“Didn’t I do that like half an hour ago? You came three times?”

“Shut up,” you tried to stifle your laugh but it came out anyway as you punched him playfully in the chest.

“I will, baby. I swear. I love you too much to—”

Seonghwa’s words cut off as his eyes grew wide.

“I mean…fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. I, uhm...”

You took his face with both hands and kissed him tenderly. It was filled with passion, tongues massaging together as your mouths rolled over each other.

It felt like he was your last breath of air.

“I love you too, Hwa.”

© written by teezslvt— do not steal or claim as your own 𓆩♡𓆪