𓆩♡𓆪

The first thing Yunho notices is the way your breathing changes.

It’s not loud—just uneven, shaky, like your body forgot how to do it properly. He stirs beside you, still half-asleep, eyes barely open as he shifts under the blankets. 

At first, he thinks you’re just moving in your sleep.

Then he hears it.

A small, broken whimper.

His eyes snap open.

“Hey… hey,” he murmurs immediately, pushing himself up on one elbow. His voice is soft, warm with sleep but laced with concern. “Baby?”

You don’t respond.

Your brows are furrowed, lips trembling slightly, hands clenched tight in the sheets like you’re holding onto something that isn’t there.

Another soft sound leaves you—this time closer to a sob.

Yunho’s heart drops.

“Hey, no, no…” he whispers, moving closer instantly. One hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin. “You’re okay… you’re okay.”

You’re not waking up.

Your breathing gets worse, chest rising too fast, like you’re running from something even in your sleep.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He leans closer, voice a little firmer now—but still gentle, still so careful with you.

“Hey, it’s me. Wake up, okay? You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

His hand slides to your shoulder, giving you the softest shake.

“Come on, baby… wake up for me.”

Your eyes finally flutter open.

Disoriented. Wide. Scared.

For a second, you don’t recognize anything—not the room, not the bed, not even him.

You flinch, your breathing comes out sharp, like you’ve been pulled out of deep water.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” Yunho says immediately, sitting up fully now. He pulls you up with him without thinking, one arm wrapping securely around your shoulders, the other still cupping your face. “You’re okay. You’re here. You’re with me.”

You blink at him, still dazed.

“Yunho…?” your voice comes out small, shaky.

“Yeah,” he breathes, relief flooding his face instantly. “Yeah, I’m here.”

The moment it clicks, you recognize him. Your expression crumples.

You grab onto him like you’re afraid he might disappear.

And he lets you. No hesitation.

He pulls you into his chest fully, arms wrapping tight around you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek against your hair. “You’re okay. It was just a nightmare. Just a bad dream.”

Your breathing is still uneven, your fingers gripping onto his shirt, bunching the fabric like it’s the only thing grounding you.

“It felt so real…” you whisper, voice breaking.

“I know,” he says softly, rocking you gently without even realizing it. “I know it did.”

He doesn’t rush you.

Doesn’t tell you to calm down. Doesn’t brush it off.

He just holds you.

Steady. Warm. Safe.

His hand moves slowly up and down your back in soft, soothing strokes, the rhythm grounding, constant.

“You’re here,” he repeats quietly. “You’re in bed. With me. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

You press your face into his chest, listening to his heartbeat—slow, steady, real.

It helps. Even if it’s just a little.

“I was scared…” you admit.

“I know, baby,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t have to be anymore.”

You stay like that for a while. Curled into him. Letting your breathing slowly match his. Every inhale steadier than the last.

After a bit, he shifts slightly, just enough to look at you.

His hand comes back to your face, brushing your hair away gently.

“Do you wanna tell me about it?” he asks softly.

You hesitate. Then shake your head.

He nods immediately.

“Okay. That’s okay.”

No pressure. No pushing.

Just understanding.

“Can I stay like this?” you mumble, still holding onto him.

He almost smiles—soft, fond, a little sleepy.

“You don’t even have to ask,” he murmurs.

He adjusts the blankets around both of you, pulling them up carefully so you’re warm, tucked in, secure.

Then he shifts so you’re more comfortable—your head resting against his chest, his arm wrapped snugly around you, holding you close.

One of his hands finds yours under the blanket, fingers lacing together.

He gives your hand a small squeeze.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly.

You hum softly, eyes already starting to feel heavy again.

“But what if it comes back…” you whisper.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles.

“Then I’ll wake you up again,” he says. “Every time.”

That does something to your chest.

You relax a little more into him.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He presses another kiss to your forehead.

Then another.

Soft. Gentle. Lingering.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispers.

And this time, when you close your eyes, there’s no fear.

Just warmth. Just him.

Just the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, grounding you back into reality.

Back into something soft.

Something real. Something safe.

And Yunho stays awake a little longer.

Just to make sure. Just to feel your breathing even out completely.

Just to keep holding you like letting go was never an option in the first place.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

© lcvejjoong, 2026

The first thing Yunho notices is the way your breathing changes.

It’s not loud—just uneven, shaky, like your body forgot how to do it properly. He stirs beside you, still half-asleep, eyes barely open as he shifts under the blankets. 

At first, he thinks you’re just moving in your sleep.

Then he hears it.

A small, broken whimper.

His eyes snap open.

“Hey… hey,” he murmurs immediately, pushing himself up on one elbow. His voice is soft, warm with sleep but laced with concern. “Baby?”

You don’t respond.

Your brows are furrowed, lips trembling slightly, hands clenched tight in the sheets like you’re holding onto something that isn’t there.

Another soft sound leaves you—this time closer to a sob.

Yunho’s heart drops.

“Hey, no, no…” he whispers, moving closer instantly. One hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin. “You’re okay… you’re okay.”

You’re not waking up.

Your breathing gets worse, chest rising too fast, like you’re running from something even in your sleep.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He leans closer, voice a little firmer now—but still gentle, still so careful with you.

“Hey, it’s me. Wake up, okay? You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

His hand slides to your shoulder, giving you the softest shake.

“Come on, baby… wake up for me.”

Your eyes finally flutter open.

Disoriented. Wide. Scared.

For a second, you don’t recognize anything—not the room, not the bed, not even him.

You flinch, your breathing comes out sharp, like you’ve been pulled out of deep water.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” Yunho says immediately, sitting up fully now. He pulls you up with him without thinking, one arm wrapping securely around your shoulders, the other still cupping your face. “You’re okay. You’re here. You’re with me.”

You blink at him, still dazed.

“Yunho…?” your voice comes out small, shaky.

“Yeah,” he breathes, relief flooding his face instantly. “Yeah, I’m here.”

The moment it clicks, you recognize him. Your expression crumples.

You grab onto him like you’re afraid he might disappear.

And he lets you. No hesitation.

He pulls you into his chest fully, arms wrapping tight around you, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek against your hair. “You’re okay. It was just a nightmare. Just a bad dream.”

Your breathing is still uneven, your fingers gripping onto his shirt, bunching the fabric like it’s the only thing grounding you.

“It felt so real…” you whisper, voice breaking.

“I know,” he says softly, rocking you gently without even realizing it. “I know it did.”

He doesn’t rush you.

Doesn’t tell you to calm down. Doesn’t brush it off.

He just holds you.

Steady. Warm. Safe.

His hand moves slowly up and down your back in soft, soothing strokes, the rhythm grounding, constant.

“You’re here,” he repeats quietly. “You’re in bed. With me. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

You press your face into his chest, listening to his heartbeat—slow, steady, real.

It helps. Even if it’s just a little.

“I was scared…” you admit.

“I know, baby,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t have to be anymore.”

You stay like that for a while. Curled into him. Letting your breathing slowly match his. Every inhale steadier than the last.

After a bit, he shifts slightly, just enough to look at you.

His hand comes back to your face, brushing your hair away gently.

“Do you wanna tell me about it?” he asks softly.

You hesitate. Then shake your head.

He nods immediately.

“Okay. That’s okay.”

No pressure. No pushing.

Just understanding.

“Can I stay like this?” you mumble, still holding onto him.

He almost smiles—soft, fond, a little sleepy.

“You don’t even have to ask,” he murmurs.

He adjusts the blankets around both of you, pulling them up carefully so you’re warm, tucked in, secure.

Then he shifts so you’re more comfortable—your head resting against his chest, his arm wrapped snugly around you, holding you close.

One of his hands finds yours under the blanket, fingers lacing together.

He gives your hand a small squeeze.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly.

You hum softly, eyes already starting to feel heavy again.

“But what if it comes back…” you whisper.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles.

“Then I’ll wake you up again,” he says. “Every time.”

That does something to your chest.

You relax a little more into him.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He presses another kiss to your forehead.

Then another.

Soft. Gentle. Lingering.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispers.

And this time, when you close your eyes, there’s no fear.

Just warmth. Just him.

Just the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, grounding you back into reality.

Back into something soft.

Something real. Something safe.

And Yunho stays awake a little longer.

Just to make sure. Just to feel your breathing even out completely.

Just to keep holding you like letting go was never an option in the first place.

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

─────────

© lcvejjoong, 2026

It’s not unusual for sex with Wooyoung to end up like this.

Especially when he’s been away on tour, or busy with comeback preparations—whenever he’s not able to fuck you as much of often as he likes, this is the result.

Whiny. Desperate. Clinging to you; fingers digging into your skin, blunts of his nails pressed in deep enough to sting. Like he’s holding on for dear life; like he’s afraid that if he lets go, if he loosens his grip even a little bit, you’ll slip away for good.

He was already half hard when you walked into the living room in a thin t-shirt, the fabric a little tighter around your tits and hips, nipples visible through the white cotton. He’d started getting hard on the car ride home just from the thought of you; the thought of how pent up he knows you are after days without him, how desperate you must be, how easy it’ll be to make you come undone and everything he’s going to do to get you there. He’d spent the whole journey with his bag on his lap, trying to hide the imprint of his hardening cock against his sweats in case the taxi driver decided to glance back at him in the rearview mirror.

Fuck, he should’ve worn underwear, but he knows you prefer it when he doesn’t, especially in those sweats. He hadn’t really thought about how difficult that would make it to get home; hadn’t remember how fucking easy it is for him to get hard over you.

When he entered the apartment, when you walked through to greet him, his dick was already straining the fabric of his sweats. The sight of you, the way your shirt clings to your body, your bare legs—it took him the rest of the way. He felt the beads of precum leaking from the tip as you padded across the floor over to him.

Fuck, he needs you bad. He wasn’t even half this bad when he met you; he was far from low libido, but you just bring something out in him that’s entirely new.

“Hey,” you smiled. “Missed you.”

He didn’t even reply. Couldn’t reply; the moment your hand was wrapped around his wrist, pulling him towards you, the moment he got a whiff of your scent, the body wash you like to lather over yourself and a hint of your natural sweetness—he couldn’t do anything but pounce.

He barely got you to the bedroom. He didn’t even get your shirt all the way off; just yanked it up so your tits were exposed, so he could watch the way your nipples hardened in the cold air, how the skin reddened when he smacked lightly at your breasts just to watch them move, so he could feel the warmth when he grasped them in his hands. He managed to pull it over your head, but neither of you thought to pull out your arms, so now it’s sitting there, leaving you entirely exposed while he fucks you open.

By the time he’d pulled his dick out the front of his sweats had darkened, spots of wetness seeping through the light grey fabric, precum already smeared over his tip, He didn’t take them down, just pulled them far enough to get out his cock and got to work.

Your pussy was already wet, of course, just as he knew it would be—still he was kind enough to spit down onto your hole, a little more onto his fingers, smearing his saliva across your clit just to get you a little more needy for it before he finally sunk himself into you.

Wooyoung is thick, a little longer than average, and even with your pussy leaking and weeping for him like it often does, it took a bit of effort to get himself all the way inside. When he finally got himself in, when your hole was finally wrapped around his shaft, about halfway down, he yelled. The pressure, the pleasure was dizzying; the way you clung to him like you couldn’t handle him, like your poor little pussy didn’t know what to do with something his size—it was too much. Fuck, he had to close his eyes, squeeze them shut, dig his fingers into the skin of your hips to ground himself to avoid cumming before he’d even bottomed out.

He couldn’t handle it. The way you were responding—pussy leaking and clenching around him at the same time, so incredibly tight despite how needy and sloppy is already was for him; your cry, strangled and dizzied, when he sunk into you, your small, desperate whimpers as he continues to push inside—it almost pushed him over the edge. If he hadn’t closed his eyes in time to avoid the way your eyes widened, lips parting and shiny with drool as you tried to adjust to him, he knows he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself.

Now, finally, he’s bottomed out, dick all the way inside, pressing against your g-spot, slamming into it with every thrust. His brows are furrowed, pupils blown, sweat sticking to his forehead and dripping from his chin. His grip is iron, fingers digging into your hips, holding onto the skin like a lifeline; you know there’ll be bruises later, littering the expanses of your hips and waist, but you don’t care. It wouldn’t be the first time for either of you. You wear the marks he leaves, and he wears yours, like a badge of honour.

He’s going hard, rough, thrusts one after the other, so fast even he can barely keep up. He’s almost crying, you can tell; see the tears brimming in his eyes, hear his whines and gasps like he’s trying to keep himself together. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, you— baby. Oh my god.”

“Wooyoung,” you cry. “You— feels so good. So deep, Woo, how are you so fucking deep?”

“I know,” he says. His hand moves from your hip to your tummy, pressing down, running across the expanse of your skin. “I’m in here,” he grunts. The pressure of his hands increases, pressing down right where his dick is stuffed all the way inside you and pressing against your spot. “Do you feel it?”

You nod, whimpering, and he groans, a sharp, strangled sound from the back of his throat. “Tell me you feel it,” he says, and fuck his voice sounds so raw, so affected, the way you sound when you’re all fucked out and begging him for release. “Please, baby, tell me.”

“I feel it,” you say. “Woo, I feel it. You’re so deep inside me, you’re so big, it hurts.”

He pushes down a little harder, making you sob, then his hand moves back to its place on your hip, holding onto the skin, fingers digging into it again.

“More,” you breathe, voice barely a whisper, need and desperation evident in the tone. “Woo, please. Need more.”

“Fuck.”

He can’t ever say no to you—you both know that. He could be at the very edge of what he can do, at the very edge of collapse, and if you looked up at him with those wide, loving, fucked our eyes and begged him for more, he’d give it to you.

And like this—with your pussy crying for him, tensing and spasming around his shaft, sucking him in, your body begging for him without words—he’s pretty much a dead man walking.

He can’t fucking take this. He doesn’t remember you ever being so tight and warm and wet. He knows you have been—you always are—it must just be the days, weeks even that he’s gone without having you like this, the compounded need and relief of finally having your cunt wrapped around his cock.

He’s going to break. He knows it. But he hasn’t given you nearly as much as he intends to yet.

His head dips, the pressure of his hands on your hips increasing, like he’s struggling to hold himself up now. His hair is sticking to his forehead, breathing laboured, whimpers getting louder and hotter and more guttural. His thrusts are speeding up too, getting harder, but the precision and control of them is slipping; the more he fucks you, the tighter he clings to you, the sloppier and messier his movements inside you get.

Your legs wrap around his waist, feet interlocking with each other against the small of his back, locking you in place. You push your hips up, pressing yourself closer to him, pulling him in deeper; your hands reach out to grab his shirt, curling the material around your fists then moving up to hold onto his shoulders, then his neck, then a fistful of his hair in one of your hands while the other grips his forearm. A harder thrust, sharper, makes you squeal, head thrown back, your face wet and flushed and blotchy with tears.

Wooyoung looks up, finally, meeting your eyes, and the sight of your face, so dumb and desperate and high on what he's giving you, makes his dick pulse inside you, legs almost giving out just from the sight of you. His dick is so fucking sensitive now, strangled by your cunt, hardly able to move in and out of you but unable to do anything but go harder and faster and messier. He’s fairly certain you’ve creamed already, probably more than once; he’s felt your cunt spasming around him, heard your cries grow sharper then settle back into softer whines and sobs, and he feels the stickiness leaking out of your hole around his cock. He wants to cum too, so fucking badly, but he can’t—

Fuck. Fuck. The image hits him like a vision, a spiritual experience, something solid against his chest. The way you’re clinging to him. He knows he’s not going to pull out, won’t be able to, he rarely does with you; knows that when he cums, when he finally allows himself to break, it will be with his dick pressed up against your g-spot, the cum filling up the deepest parts of you. He wishes he could cum directly into your womb; he’s said that to you before, and when you’re stuffed full of him and begging him to fill you up, you have on a few occasions cried for him to stuff your womb with cum. To get you pregnant.

He wants to do that now. He wants it so bad he could cry; wants it so bad it’s all he can think about. And with the way you’re squeezing him, milking his cock with your cunt, it seems like you want it too. Your body wants it, at least.

“Baby,” he hisses. “I…”

He leans down, closer to you now, face inches from yours, close enough to see the tiny details of his face and feel his breath against your skin. You grab a handful of his hair, gentle but desperate, and pull him closer to you. Your breaths are short and shallow, words whispered, like a prayer meant only for him. “You what?” You breathe.

He grunts, chewing on his lip, hips bucking just at the thought. “I want to get you pregnant,” he hisses, voice cracking on the final syllable and slipping into something more like a whimper. “Please, baby. Let me…”

You cunt clenches at that, at the image; your hips buck upwards and you pull his head down further, closer, until his lips are on yours. He freezes, just for a moment, then melts into it, tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth, hands cupping your face with the same pressure and fervour they’d had on your hips. The kiss is wet, rushed, messy; loving and hungry at the same time. He groans into your mouth, his hips bucking, skin slapping against yours, then pulls away. “Tell me I can,” he says. “Tell me I can knock you up. I need to knock you up.”

“Knock me up, Wooyoung,” you say. He rewards you with another, sharper thrust that nearly makes your vision white out. “Please. Put a baby in me. Need a baby in my tummy, Woo, need to be all swollen with it.”

“Shit,” he grits out. His hands are on your shoulders now, pushing them down and pinning you against the bed. His eyes are wild now—crazed. “You need it,” he says. “Fuck, baby, you need it, right?”

“Need it,” you repeat. “I need your baby, Woo, it’d be so cute, right? We’d have such a cute baby.”

“Fuck, don’t talk like that.” Wooyoung feels lightheaded, his entire body buzzing with need, toes curling into the sheets. He slows down just enough to think a little clearer, thrusts lazier while he strings his words together. “Baby, put your legs up. I wanna— I wanna press it all the way in. Need to press my cum all the way inside, right in your little womb, okay?”

He stops fucking you for a moment, still stuffed inside, then adjusts. He sits himself up, straightening up from where he was leaning over your; his hands grip your legs, still wrapped around his waist, keeping them there as he moves. Then he pushes your legs forwards, gently, so your knees are pushed towards your face, legs spread, calves pressed against your thighs and your thighs pushed back until—

“Yeah,” he grunts. “That’s perfect.”

You know this position; remember how it feels, how it allows him to get so much deeper and stay there, how his cum stays stuffed inside you after he pulls out, your ass raised a little off the bed.

He starts to move again, but he doesn’t ease you into it; can’t, at this point, when you’re spread out so invitingly, your pussy pulsing around him at the realisation of the position he’s put you in, your entire body so vulgarly displayed beneath him, at his mercy, a present only he gets to unwrap. Soon enough, he’s slipped again, the thrusts sloppier, messier, the control he’d managed to cling to for all of a second, just long enough to adjust you the way he wanted you, now evaporated. His hands find your waist now, holding you tight whilst he slams himself into your spot over and over like he’s chasing something.

His moans are soft, breathy, whiny, getting louder as he gets closer and closer to the edge. He can’t stop thinking about it, picturing it; you, knocked up, carrying his child, looking so perfect and pretty and used. His cum in your cunt—fuck, if he could keep his cum inside you every fucking day he would. He’d fuck you every morning before he goes out, unload inside you, slide your pretty panties over your pussy to catch any seed that tries to escape. If it starts to leak he’d make you push it back inside, or gather it on his finger and make you lick it off. Then he’d fuck you again, before bed, hard and rough, until you fall asleep with bruised hips and smarting skin and a belly full of cum.

He’s going to get you pregnant—he doesn’t fucking care anymore. As he pushes towards his orgasm he knows for a fact, no doubt, that he’s going to do it; that he has to do it, or he’s going to shatter. It’s like a compulsion now, a need as much as eating or sleeping or drinking. He needs to get you pregnant and see you pregnant and know your belly is round and swelling because of him.

He doesn’t realise how loud he’s being; doesn’t realise the loud, whiny moans filling the air and drowning out the sound of his skin slapping against yours is him. Fuck. Is he always this fucked out when he’s trying to cum? Is he always this… pathetic?

He doesn’t care. If pathetic is what he is when he fucks you full, when he fills you up, when he feels your perfect cunt squeezing his dick like this, then fuck it, he’s pathetic. He’ll wear that badge with pride if it’s for you.

His orgasm comes quickly when he stops resisting; when he finally allows it to overtake it. He feels it in his entire body, in his fingers, his toes, every inch of him. It starts and doesn’t seem to stop; you feel your tummy filling up, warmth spreading through you, Wooyoung’s hands heavier and grip tighter, his strangled gasps and choked sobs as he keeps fucking you through it, like he’s trying to milk every last drop of himself out and into you. He’s saying something, somewhere between grunting and wailing; words you can’t quite decipher but understand entirely.

You’re going to get pregnant, tonight. He’s not stopping until you do. He’s gonna fill you up over and over and you can’t take anymore; until you’re so full of his cum that he can’t even fit his cock in there.

His hips rock back and forth, pushing the cum in deeper as it comes out.

And then he stills. His grip loosens just a little bit. He slumps slightly, catching himself in time, breathing heavy and laboured. His dick twitches inside you, still hard, but no longer moving.

“Stay still,” he says. His voice is raw, hollow, as though he’d been screaming and screaming and screaming until he lost it. “Keep your legs there. Helps— it helps it to take.”

“Take?” You repeat. You feel dazed.

Wooyoung nods. “My cum. If you keep your legs there it’ll help you get pregnant. Hold them there. Please.”

Fuck, he really… he really wants you pregnant. Like, actually pregnant. You pull him closer to you, pressing your lips together. This time the kiss is gentle, soft, none of the desperation of before but all of the feeling.

Wooyoung is massaging your legs, rubbing the backs of your thighs with enough pressure to feel it in the muscles; trying to keep the blood flow going, to stop you from losing the feeling in your legs with the strenuous position he’s holding you in. “Doing so well,” he murmurs into your mouth. “Always so good, so pretty, gonna be such a good mom. Wanna give you a daughter.”

“Please,” you breathe. “Want it.”

“Good.” He sits back up, pushing the hair out of his face, staring down at you with a small smile.

You know that smile. That’s a smile that says you’re not done—not even close.

“You’re probably pregnant now,” he says. “But we have to be sure. And we’re not stopping until we’re sure.”

You don’t reply. Just watch as his smile widens, as his hands move back to your hips where they’d been before.

“I’m gonna fuck you again,” he says. “I’m gonna breed you over and over, until the cum is spilling out of you. Until you have my baby. Until you’re carrying my seed inside you all day, every day, for nine months. Okay?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to; he knows you well enough to read your reaction.

And even if he didn’t—your pussy speaks for itself. The way it clenches around him says everything you’re too fucked out to voice.

He listened to your troubles over a cup of tea, gently rubbing your back. It was all he could do. You were afraid of failing, overwhelmed by the amount of studying you had to do, the papers you needed to write, and the presentations you had to prepare. Yunho understood completely. He had a hard time balancing his own schedule. The transition from high school to university was no small feat.

He wiped your tears reassuringly. “Relax, you’re the smartest person I know. You can handle this.”

When the tears continued to fall, he tried to tell a joke, a flirty one, in hopes you’d laugh and scold him like you always did. He teasingly offered to play as your stress reliever.

It was harmless joke.

And yet, you straightened at the suggestion, your teary eyes glistening with interest.

Yunho looked at you, his heart suddenly picking up speed. To most people, he appeared sweet and carefree, but he had insecurities just like everyone else. He thought you were out of his league. Hooking up never even crossed his mind. The idea was laughable, hence why he proposed it.

He assumed your relationship with him would never venture from its platonic bubble, and he convinced himself he was okay with that.

“I just need a distraction.” you told him, tugging on the hem of his sleeve, desperate.

“Are you sure?” He asked softly.

Your voice came out even softer. “Yes.”

Yunho would never forget what happened after.

The memory stuck with him for days, safely tucked in the corners of his mind, on constant on replay. The feeling of your nails clawing down his back while he jerked his hips between your thighs, soft and unhurried, giving you time to adjust. He intertwined his body with yours, snuggly fitting together like two puzzle pieces.

You wrapped your legs around his torso, pulling him closer, gazing into his eyes. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” He promised.

Ever since that fateful night, whenever you needed a distraction, Yunho provided one.

If you wanted to leave your worries behind, even for just a few minutes, he’d be there to make it happen, no questions asked. It was that simple.

No strings, just comfort.

He was your shoulder to lean on, your anchor, your best friend, and occasionally, your fuck buddy.

Some days were perfectly ordinary with you two chatting about trivial things, relaxing underneath the shade, reading each other's essays, not even thinking about physical touch. Sometimes Mingi and Wooyoung would randomly join and finish their assignments as well. Afterwards, everyone would run off to karaoke, dragging you along with them. Yunho teased and poked fun at you like normal.

No one ever suspected that he frequented your dorm room, way past visiting hours, tangled in your sheets.

It was fun at first. He could flirt under the guise of “relieving stress”. No more yearning in secret or fantasizing about you at night.

At the library, his hand would rest on your thigh, firm and warm, just calming your nerves after a long study session. “Need a break?”

A seemingly innocent question, but you knew what he was hinting at, and you took the bait.

Without another word, he gently grabbed your hand and led you to a secluded corner within the building. No one was none the wiser when you came stumbling back to the table after he fingered you behind the bookshelves.

This arrangement continued for months, but as time went on, he wanted to have you in ways that weren’t appropriate for a no-strings relationship. He wanted to court you properly, take you on a real date, one that didn’t end with him tearing off your clothes. No ulterior motives, just genuine interest. A connection built on mutual feelings.

Yunho caught up to you after class one day, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Still down to visit that new barbeque spot?”

“Oh, is that tonight?" You checked the time on your phone. "I can't, I got caught up in this blind date."

“Blind date? Why?”

You shrugged. "My friends set it up."

“Oh.” He masked his disappointment with a tight smile. What else could he say? Your friends didn’t know about your relationship with him. They thought you were single, and technically that was true.

No, not technically. It was true. You were free to date whoever you wanted.

But where did that leave him?

In the beginning, his feelings for you were nothing beyond an average crush, but now, he couldn’t spend a single day without you. You were his safe space, his comfort person, his companion— all the things he was to you.

"We can try tomorrow night." You suggested after a beat of silence.

"Yeah, of course." He cleared his throat, awkwardly removing his arm from your shoulders. "I should get going. Call if you need me."

You smiled, lashes fluttering. “You know I will.”

He almost winced.

This wasn't going how he wanted. He thought if he helped lower your stress, you’d realize how much he cared for you.

Was he being too indirect? Did he need to spell it out for you?

Exposing his feelings came with risks, but if he kept quiet, you might move on, no longer needing him.

After running it over in his head, Yunho decided to make you fall for him.

If you felt the same way, he could confess without the fear of losing you.

A few days after your blind date, he started being more affectionate, holding your hand in public, lending you his clothes, carrying your bookbag and textbooks— all the things a typical boyfriend would do. He even memorized your schedule just so he could spend more time with you. It became so natural that several students on campus assumed you two were together, and he never denied it.

Make out sessions lasted way longer than they should've. When it was time to pull away, he rushed back in for another, as if he couldn't get enough of you. One hand cradled your face with the upmost gentleness while the other rested on your lower back, effectively trapping you in his arms. He took his time, savoring your lips as if it was the last time he'd ever get to taste you.

His affection didn't stop there. Yunho treated you differently in the bedroom, too. Less quickies, more intimacy, just like the first night.

"You're so pretty." He whispered, fingering you slow and deep, keeping your back pressed against his chest.

You breathed his name, head resting on his shoulder, legs spread and eyes rolling. It was supposed to be a regular movie night, but when his arm stretched around your waist, smoothly pulling you onto his lap, the film was long forgotten. His entire body engulfed you like a warm blanket. You were the only one undressed, the only one being touched so vehemently.

Lately, there hasn’t been a need to distract you from school. You weren't stressed. In fact, these past few days you've felt better than ever. Yunho is simply choosing to shower you with attention.

He wanted to please you.

He wanted you to love him.

Yunho’s hands were quite skillful, and not because of a special technique or strategy, but the sheer size of his fingers, stretching and prodding you open just as his cock would. His other hand spent much time kneading your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples lightly enough to send tingles down your spine.

“Look at me.”

You complied, too needy to play defiant. He met your half-lidded gaze with pride, his underwear sticky with precum. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel smug about the fucked-out expression on your face. "So pretty." He whispered again, this time more to himself than you. "I'll make you mine."

The words slipped from his mouth so naturally neither of you noticed the gravity of it. In that moment, it just sounded right.

You let your eyes fall shut as he teased your clit, rubbing the bud in small, hypnotic circles. "That's it, baby." He leaned over and kissed you lazily, like he could live in this moment forever. There was no need to rush, no need to think. It was like the no-strings commitment didn’t even exist.

As your orgasm approached, you tried to clamp your thighs shut, but he pried them open. There was nothing you could do except moan into his mouth and take it.

He hummed in approval, fingers coated with your cum. “One more time.”

“Yunho!”

For the most part, his plan seemed to be going well. When he held your hand, you squeezed it reassuringly. When he lent you his hoodie, you wore it everyday, like a second skin. Every gesture was accepted openly. No hint of discomfort or embarrassment, only appreciation.

He considered telling you his feelings, ready to free himself from this arrangement and make things official.

Little did he know, you had your own confession to make.

One lazy afternoon, as he laid in bed with you, cuddling like usual, you broke the calm silence with a whisper. “Yunho, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, anything.”

“Are we still friends?”

He stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this.” You sat up, gesturing towards his affectionate hold around your waist. “Cuddling. Kissing. Spending every second together. It’s confusing.”

Yunho pulled away, suddenly feeling like someone dumped cold water on his head.

You wouldn't meet his eyes. “I don’t know what we are anymore. Nothing’s the same.”

His mind scrambled for the right words. “I’m just doing what you asked.”

“I know, but...” You sighed. “Just tell me, are we still friends?”

He hesitated. "What do you want us to be?”

No response, just a look of sadness.

Neither of you were willing to admit the truth.

It took considerable effort to keep himself from spiraling right then and there. “If you can’t figure it out then forget it.” He got up from the bed and grabbed his keys.

"Wait.." You tried, but the words fell flat.

Yunho decided it was time to back out. He was starting to lose himself, too consumed in your life, neglecting his own needs.

Leaving hurt more than staying, but he had no choice. Separation was the only way to detach himself.

Right before leaving your room, he forced himself to be harsh. "Don't wait up for me."

He walked away before you could say anything, before he could change his mind. Truthfully, he was embarrassed. He ruined everything by overstepping your boundaries, and now he couldn't face you without feeling regret.

For weeks, Yunho avoided you like the plague.

If he happened to cross paths with you, he kept his eyes forward, ignoring your worried gaze. He didn't answer your calls, and you eventually stopped calling. It was over as quickly as it started.

You barely put up a fight, and he tried not to let it bother him. In his pursuit to win your heart, he failed to realize how enmeshed you'd become in his life. He couldn't even go for a drive, not when memories of your smiling face lingered in the passenger seat.

Spending time with friends was helpful, but not a cure.

"You look like shit." Mingi commented as they sat in lecture.

"Really? I didn't notice." Yunho mumbled, unamused. His usual style was replaced with baggy sweats and messy bed hair. Nothing mattered anymore. He scrolled through his socials, letting the brain rot consume him.

"When's the last time you showered?" Wooyoung whispered beside him.

"He only leaves his room to piss." San chimed in from a row behind him, shamelessly snitching on his roommate.

An audible gasp came from Seonghwa and Hongjoong who sat on either side on San.

Yeosang gave a concerned side eye but decided not to say anything, his attention remaining on the professor. Jongho was the same, dutifully taking notes.

Yunho paid them no mind. They've been like this all week, urging him to properly recover from his heartbreak. Skipping showers certainly wasn't helping his case, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He opened Instagram and mindlessly tapped through random stories until he landed on yours. It was a repost of an upcoming party.

Instead of swiping, his thumb lingered.

Were you going to be there?

Mingi, oblivious to the concept of personal space, leaned over to get a good look at the screen. "Hey, I'm going to that party too."

Yunho thought for a moment, gears turning.

Mingi seemed to catch on, smirking. "You should go. Show her what she's missing out on."

Wooyoung nodded frantically. "Yeah, it'll be a good chance to clean yourself up."

"But is this really solving the problem?” Hongjoong added quietly.

Seonghwa nodded in agreement. "You should just be honest with her. No more beating around the bush.”

The plan did seem a bit childish, but Yunho couldn't deny that he wanted to see you, even if it was just from afar. Besides, he really needed to stop hibernating in his room. It was miracle he showed up to class today.

"I'll be fine." He lied.

That night, Mingi and Yunho arrived at the address. It was a worn out frat house with solo cups and soju bottles littered across the grass. There seemed to be more people out back near the pool, but Mingi stayed near the entrance, effortlessly blending in with the crowd while greeting people. Yunho mirrored his actions, pretending to be interested in small talk.

He did his best to appear laidback, wearing all black clothing and a few pieces of jewelry. His hair was slightly curled upward at the ends—which he spent twenty minutes perfecting— and his under eyes were dusted with a pale blush.

As he navigated through the crowd, searching for any signs of your presence, he felt a bit anxious. Just catching a glimpse of your face would send him into panic. He hadn't fully planned out what he'd do when he found you, if he found you. Everywhere he looked, people were drunkenly making out, smoking vapes, or chugging beer like water. No one looked the least amount of sober.

Just then, Mingi magically appeared with two shots. "Here, relax. I'm sure she's around here somewhere."

Yunho eyed him suspiciously. "Aren't you supposed to be driving us back."

He shrugged. "We can just call Hongjoong."

The two friends exchanged a knowing look before grinning. Yunho accepted the drink, tossing it back in one gulp.

It burned, but he ignored it, falling in rhythm with the music.

Many women approached, and he let them, their hands traveling up his chest and wrapping around his neck in a possessive hold. He kept pretending, kept ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. Every time he found himself in a flirty conversation, his eyes would scan the room, hoping that you were somewhere watching.

But drink after drink, dance after dance, there was still no sign of you.

He tried exploring the house, eventually making his way to the pool.

While the other students goofed around and jumped in the water, Yunho lingered near the wall, solo cup in hand, eyes searching. It was difficult to stay focused when people were inviting him to swim every five seconds. He declined their offers, not even bothering to be polite. The longer he stayed at this party, the more restless he became.

For all he knew, you might've left already.

Or maybe you never showed up in the first place.

Yunho sighed, his resolve slipping by the minute. If you weren't here, then what was the point of all this? He poured himself another drink, letting the alcohol dull his senses. Getting over you seemed impossible.

Seonghwa's advice started to ring in his ears. "...just be honest with her."

He contemplated the idea. Sending a text wouldn't hurt, right?

Before he could pull out his phone, Mingi came rushing out of nowhere. "I found her, but she's..." He trailed off, unsure how to break the news. He looked in the opposite direction, and Yunho followed his line of sight, heart racing.

In the pool, hidden among a group of people, you were talking to a guy he didn't recognize, likely some frat boy who helped organize the party. Yunho quickly took notice of the thin bikini top you wore, his jaw tightening. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, clearly having a good time as the boy splashed you with water.

You playfully started to back away, but his arm encircled your waist, pulling you so close that you were chest to chest. He whispered something in your ear, and you laughed again.

Yunho moved without thinking.

Effortlessly, he pushed through the mass of drunk students blocking his path, anger following his every step. Mingi called after him, but he kept walking.

No one noticed his presence by the edge of the pool until he spoke over the booming music. "Get your hands off of her."

You jumped at the sound of his voice, your flirty smile disappearing within an instant. "Yunho? What are you doing here?" This wasn't his typical environment, and you knew it.

The frat boy looked a little surprised but didn’t move away. "You know this guy?”

Yunho’s eyes were so cold and cutthroat he seemed like a different person entirely, but you nodded anyway. “Yeah, he’s my friend.”

“So, not your boyfriend.” The boy clarified.

Yunho stepped an inch closer, threatening. “I said stop touching her.”

Spending time apart hadn’t diminished his feelings at all, it only made them fester into something ugly, something dangerous.

People were starting to look and whisper.

You took that as a sign to get out of the pool, quickly finding a nearby towel to wrap yourself with. "Come on Yunho, lets go somewhere else."

You grabbed his arm and pulled him in the opposite direction, though it wasn't easy. You were tipsy, and he was unrelenting, never breaking eye contact with the guy.

After a bit of stumbling, you took him through the crowd and upstairs into an empty bedroom. The smell of sex and booze clung to the air, but neither of you noticed, too distracted by the commotion. You figured a bit of privacy would calm things down, but as soon as the door closed, he snatched his arm away from your grasp, stepping away from you.

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"What?"

"You heard me." He snapped. “I saw everything.”

“I just met him tonight!” You said defensively.

“Then why was he all over you?" He gestured towards the loose towel around your body. "And where are your clothes!?”

You started to explain yourself, but stopped, suddenly realizing the irony. “Why do you even care? You’re the one who ended things between us."

“Answer the question.”

“No.”

As Yunho stood across from you, burning with jealousy, he felt the creeping fear of rejection consuming him again. It’s true that he ended things first, but he’s been miserable ever since, and here you were, partying like nothing ever happened. This entire situation felt like a cruel joke.

He scoffed, irritated. “Fine. You don’t have to say anything. It’s obvious you’re looking for a new distraction.”

“Yeah, so what?” You spoke unabashedly, the alcohol making words fly out of your mouth with ease.

His eyes wavered, but only for a moment. In quick strides, he closed the distance, leaning forward to meet your stare. “You think he can replace me?”

If you were unnerved by his sudden closeness, you surely didn’t let it show. “Should I go find out?”

“Don’t.” He warned.

The intense stare down kept you pinned in place.

“You can’t tell me what to—” You started to say but his lips interrupted.

It was a fiery kiss, the kind you felt all over. In your chest, your stomach, your legs— every part of your body turned hot with frustration. Yunho pressed you against the wall, causing your towel to drop.

It’s been so long, too long, since he last touched you. He missed you dearly, and it was evident in the way he grew hard against your stomach. You moaned at the press of his body, your fingers grabbing the nape of his neck, pulling him even closer.

Downstairs, the party continued, and the walls thumped from the heavy bass speakers. Yunho lifted you up by the thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Is this what you want? Hm?" He asked in between kisses, grinding against you. “Want' to be touched like this?”

“Yes, please.” You begged, low and sultry, just the way he liked.

“Please?” He mocked, his large hand finding its way to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your back arch off the wall. "Thought you didn’t need me anymore.” The image of you splashing around in the pool with another guy was still too fresh in his mind. “What changed your mind?” He continued to roll his hips in hard, languid strokes.

You bit back a moan. Angry Yunho was always a treat. Punishments felt more like rewards when he was the one administering them. No matter how much trouble you caused him, he couldn’t stay mad for long. He wanted you just as badly, if not more.

It wasn’t much of a hassle to access your body, given that you were already half naked. Yunho merely untied the straps of your bikini, freeing your breast in one harsh tug. You braced for the cold air, but Yunho’s mouth was far quicker, eager to cover the supple skin with his tongue. He didn’t bother masking the lewd, sucking sounds, in fact, he purposely brought them on. As you timidly glanced below your chin, your heart jumped when you realized he was already peering at you, his face dusted a pretty pink while licking your nipples.

Holding your gaze, Yunho trailed a line of kisses up your chest and to your collarbone. He kept alternating between body worship and manhandling, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be gentle or controlling.

Once again, his hand slid around your neck, caressing one side with his thumb. “Tell me, were you going to fuck him?” His voice was calm, though there was an underlying edge to it.

“No.” You answered honestly.

“Did you want to fuck him?” He asked, leisurely pressing his bulge against your clothed cunt.

“No, I promise.”

That seemed to please him, but not entirely. He made no attempt to remove the lower half of your bikini, intent on keeping the fabric as a barrier to his cock. When you tried reaching down to unzip his pants, he pinned your hand against the wall, glaring. “You don’t get to be impatient. Not after what you did tonight.”

“It didn’t mean anything.” You whined.

If he weren’t so on edge, he might’ve laughed. All night, he tediously flirted with random women in hopes of getting a reaction out of you, but in the end, he was the one who caused a scene. And now you’re telling him none of it meant anything. He should’ve felt relief, but the tension in his shoulders remained. "Why should I believe you?"

Your lips parted in a faint whimper. “Because, I only want you, Yunho.”

He froze. Such intimate phrases were uncommon from you, but as the shock subsided and your words settled in, Yunho felt a strange tightness in his chest. This moment didn’t feel as good as he thought it would. He often imagined you saying those words in the privacy of his bedroom as he made love to you, not at some shitty frat party while he drunkenly rutted against you like a feral animal.

These past few weeks haven’t been easy on him. He spent countless nights recalling the sound of your laughter and thinking of your smile. While it felt great to hold you in his arms again, what would happen afterwards? Would this cycle continue? Would he be stuck in a no-strings relationship forever?

Yunho always gave into you, even if that meant setting himself up for a heartbreak.

And that was his problem.

“Fuck.” He closed his eyed tightly, as if he couldn’t bare to look at you. “I can’t do this.”

You blinked, suddenly caught off guard. “What?”

Slowly, he settled you back onto your feet, and you hurriedly tied your top back on, fingers fumbling with embarrassment. “Yunho, what’s wrong?”

He turned away to adjust his clothes, fighting his own humiliation. He was still noticeably hard.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you physically, no, he was just trying to protect his heart. If he went down this road again, nothing would change.

“This was a mistake.” He said breathlessly.

Although he couldn’t see the look on your face, he knew it wasn’t a happy one. Even so, he needed to be blunt. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I acted impulsively.”

There was a stretch of silence, save for the loud party chants and cheering downstairs. More students were piling in as the night progressed, undoubtedly bringing more alcohol and games. Yunho wanted nothing more than to escape this hell hole and crawl underneath his covers back home, but when he realized you weren’t going to say anything, he stole a glance over his shoulder.

Much to his surprise, you looked vulnerable, standing there in nothing but a flimsy swimsuit, chest rising and falling unsteadily.

As he fully turned to face you, he wondered if he looked just as helpless, his makeup smeared, hair disheveled, and eyes incredibly soft.

He started to apologize but you spoke first.

“Why did you call things off?"

Yunho didn’t respond immediately. Maybe he was losing it, but he swore he heard a quiver in your voice. You shifted on your feet, likely feeling awkward, or perhaps the alcohol was finally settling in, impairing your balance. Probably both.

“I thought that was what you wanted."

You shook your head. “No. I never said that."

"Then why'd you let me walk away?"

"I tried to reach out but you ignored my calls." You said, voice raising. "You wouldn't even look at me!"

"How could I? You basically rejected me." He replied, matching your tone.

Instantly, things were getting heated again. It was hard to have a civil conversation while half drunk. Emotions were amplified and uninhibited.

With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair, ready to end this ridiculous fight. "Do you really not feel anything for me? Anything at all?” He asked, dejected and clearly at his wits end. “I can’t keep doing this. I love you too much.”

And there it was. The final nail in the coffin.

Yunho’s fear of rejection ultimately backed him into a corner. He’s never lost his composure like this, at least not in front of you. Since the day you met him, his voice always had a playful ring to it, and his eyes were amazingly bright, hopeful.

But now he looked utterly drained.

“Yunho.” You reached out to comfort him but lost your footing, world spinning.

He quickly held you steady. “Hey, hey, slow down. How much did you drink?”

When you responded with nonsensical mumbling, he sighed to himself.

Yunho liked to think of himself as a fairly patient guy, but you were really putting him to the test.

The journey to your dorm wasn’t an easy one. He wound up calling an Uber, too exhausted to explain everything to Hongjoong and sit through his scolding. Somehow, Mingi found the dress and heels you wore to the party and handed them to Yunho, who carefully helped you get dressed. He then carried you outside to the car, settled you in, and buckled your seatbelt. Mingi stayed behind, mentioning something about wanting to have more fun.

The dormitories were just a few blocks away. He planned to take you to your room and leave, but when he made it to your door, you dragged him inside, whining about not wanting to be alone.

Once again, he was taking care of you, putting your needs first.

He gently sat you on the bed before crouching to unstrap your heels. You giggled at the feeling of his fingers skimming your feet. He fought to keep his face neutral. Your laughter was contagious.

So much time has passed but you were still the same person he’d grown to love.

He fished through your wardrobe, looking for something to replace your skin-tight dress. The first thing he noticed was his favorite t-shirt, neatly folded among a mess of clothes. After he called things off, you stopped wearing it.

He thought you'd forgotten about it, but it still carried his scent, like you intentionally persevered any traces of him.

For some reason, he grabbed the shirt, his heart heavy. “Here.” He tossed it on your lap. "You should change and get some rest."

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah. Just forget about what happened tonight."

Normally, he’d stay over to make sure you wouldn't puke on yourself, but during the car ride home, you were able to sober up a bit thanks to the rush of fresh air blasting through the open windows.

“Wait." You tried reaching for the zipper attached to the back of your dress. "I need help."

He exhaled from his nose.

Without a word, Yunho slowly pulled the zipper down, careful not to touch your skin. Your bodies were only a few inches apart, and yet he still felt the distance, the subtle awkwardness that touched every corner of the room. As many times as he undressed you, it never felt tense like this.

"You’re quiet." You said, filling the silence.

“I know.” He mumbled. Frankly, he’s said more than enough tonight. His confession from earlier was still taunting him. He didn’t regret what he said, rather, it was how everything went down. The scene at the pool, the heated argument, the abrupt kiss—god, he behaved like an idiot.

Shaking his thoughts away, he tugged the zipper low enough to loosen your dress.

“Thanks.” You peeled it off, sighing in relief.

He quickly turned to leave, but you stopped him again. “Wait, the shirt! I need help-!"

"Put it on yourself!”

"I can't!"

Yunho huffed before snatching the shirt from your hands. He pulled the fabric over your head and lifted your arms into their respective sleeves. Once you were covered, he moved away, ready to glower at you, but he paused.

You sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at him under your lashes, totally unaware of the effect you had on him. Just as he feared, you were tempting him with your pouty lips and pretty eyes, wearing nothing but his oversized shirt.

Heat rushed to his face and neck before he could turn away.

Shit. Was he seriously blushing right now?

Flustered, he cleared his throat. “Do you need anything else? Water? Medicine?”

You patted an empty space on the bed. “Stay for a while.”

"I shouldn't."

Honestly, to be here in the center of so many memories was too much. The sensible thing to do was return home and sleep off this disaster of a night.

"Please?" You asked. "Just until I fall asleep."

After a long moment, he finally plopped down beside you. “Fine, but then I’m leaving.”

“Fair enough.”

A brief silence settled between you two, less tense, but present nonetheless. Yunho bashfully rubbed his neck and you fiddled with your thumbs.

“I’m sorry-"

"Sorry-"

He looked at you, surprised, and you mirrored his expression.

Then, you both laughed.

"I'll go first." He offered. "I shouldn't have lashed out at you. I was jealous."

“No, it's okay. I didn't like that guy anyway." You admitted, eyes downcast. "I should have noticed how you felt sooner. I was trying to fill the void after you stopped talking to me."

“Fill the void?”

Now it was your turn to feel bashful. “It’s been pretty lonely without you. Back then, I thought you were just going along with everything. I didn't think you actually liked me.”

He let you continue, waiting on bated breath.

“Look, if you really want to cut ties with me then I understand, but I want us to start over.”

Yunho processed your words, running them over in his head. “Start over? Like date?”

You nodded.

He covered his mouth with one hand, partly because he was in disbelief, but also, he needed to control the burst of emotions that were surfacing all at once. His feelings for you hadn't changed. They were only pushed aside, abandoned like they didn't exist.

Your confession sounded more than sincere, but after everything that has happened tonight, he needed to be certain. Both of you were still inebriated after all.

He calmly took your hand. “Are you sure?”

"Yes." You chuckled.

“If you still feel like this tomorrow—”

“I will.”

He held back a laugh. “Okay, then we’ll start from there and sort all of this out, yeah?"

You nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah.”

For the first time tonight, he felt content. "Come here."

You tackled him with a bear hug, knocking him back onto the bed. He matched your enthusiasm, clutching your body in his arms, laughing into your hair.

"Does this mean I can kiss you whenever I want now?"

"Weren't you already doing that?"

He grinned one last time before meeting your lips in a sweet kiss.

one

There you were, unexpectedly positioned in a scenario you never once imagined you would find yourself in. It was the middle of the night, the hour when all was quiet and still. Your ordinarily vibrant living room was dimmed, with only a single floor lamp in the corner casting long, dramatic shadows across the room. You were nestled into the corner of the worn-out comfortable sofa, hugging a pillow close as if it were your only lifeline. The only sounds filling the silence were the words from your boyfriend, each one hanging heavy in the cold air. You were painfully aware of what was coming, a gut-wrenching feeling of imminent heartbreak washing over you. The reality of the situation was that there was no escaping this conversation, no possibility of emerging unscathed. The knowledge that Hongjoong was about to shatter your heart into pieces was a bitter pill to swallow. This moment was the beginning of an end you had never anticipated. And it was happening tonight.

"The company believes that you will become a distraction," Hongjoong said, his voice laced with an undercurrent of tension.

"I don't give a damn about your stupid company," you retorted, your hand trembling and your eyes welling up with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. "I wasn't a distraction all these years when you were a trainee, so why am I suddenly one now?" Hongjoong paced nervously across the room, his movements betraying his inner turmoil. He was torn between the company and you, and he didn't know how to navigate this minefield.

"Y/N..." he sighed heavily, his hand running through his hair in a nervous gesture. "Now that Ateez is gaining more attention after our first prize win and the new album coming soon, the company..." he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. "They believe I need to remain more focused."

"I don't fucking care about what they think, Hongjoong!" you shouted, your voice cracking with the weight of your emotions. "You think I give a damn about their opinion?" you continued, your voice rising with each word. "They don't know us, they don't know what we've been through. All they see is some stupid company policy, but they don't see the love that we share." Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke, the pain of the situation threatening to consume you whole. You had never felt so helpless, so powerless.

"Please, try to calm down. You're not making this any easier," Hongjoong pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

''I don’t fucking believe that after almost three years they decided I will become a problem...'' Your voice cracked, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. Hongjoong looked at you, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. It was clear that this conversation was tearing him apart just as much as it was you. "Hongjoong, do you believe what they're saying?" you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. "Do you think they're right?"

He paused, his back still turned towards you. "I... I don't know, Y/N," he confessed, his voice barely audible. "What if they are right?" The question hung in the air, a haunting doubt that only added to the heartache. Your heart pounded in your chest, the words echoing in your mind.

"You already believed them…'' you asserted, your voice tinged with a hint of defiance. ''I can't believe that you see me as a distraction now." With a frustrated cry, you grabbed the pillow and hurled it across the room, the action serving as a physical release for the pent-up anger and despair that threatened to consume you. "Fuck it, Hongjoong," you choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I need you to choose me. I need you to fight for us, for our love. Because if you don't, then what's the point of any of this?"

There was a long silence before he finally spoke. "I...I need to do what's best for my career," he answered softly, sounding utterly defeated. "And if that means that we..." his voice trailed off and he didn't finish the sentence. You felt a lump in your throat and fought back the tears.

''So, you’re going to leave me?'' Hongjoong turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and resignation.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Hongjoong's eyes flickered with pain as he met your gaze, his own turmoil reflected in the depths of his gaze. "I can't lose my career, Y/N! It's everything I've worked for.'' His words cut through you like a knife, searing through your heart. You had always known that his career was important to him, but you had never imagined that he would be willing to sacrifice your relationship for it. ''I’m sorry, Y/N,'' he managed to say, his voice filled with regret. ''I have to do this.''

"Just say it already..." Your voice was shaky, the tension in the room was palpable, and the silence that followed was deafening.

"I want to break up," Hongjoong finally said, his voice barely audible but clear enough for you to hear.

Your voice broke as you responded, "If this is your decision, then I'm not going to fight it. I won't beg you to stay, Hongjoong." The room was filled with a painful silence after your words. The reality of what was happening hit you both, but you stood your ground. "No, I won't beg," you affirmed, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. "If this is what you've chosen, then I have no right to stop you. But remember this, Hongjoong, love is not a distraction. It's what keeps us human." He looked at you, his eyes welling up with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered, the regret in his voice tangible.

"I need you to leave," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The room fell silent again. With a heavy sigh, Hongjoong cast a long, lingering glance in your direction, his eyes filled with a sadness he had never felt before. You couldn't meet his gaze, your own eyes fixated on the worn-out fabric of the couch, your hands clenched tightly in your lap.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he repeated, his voice just as quiet as yours. He hovered for a moment, as if waiting for you to say something else, offering him a way out of this situation. But there was nothing more to be said. The decision had been made.

"I'm sorry too, Hongjoong," you whispered into the silence, your voice trembling. The words echoed in the quiet room, a bitter acknowledgment of the pain that both of you were feeling. Slowly, Hongjoong headed towards the door, his steps heavy and uncertain. Each footstep felt like a punch to your heart, amplifying the emptiness that was beginning to set in. As the front door opened, a shiver went down your spine. With one last look, Hongjoong closed the door behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet apartment. The silence was deafening, the absence of his presence felt like a void. You sat there, motionless, the harsh reality of what had just happened slowly sinking in. Eventually, you rose from the couch, your legs feeling like jelly. You switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You could still feel the remnants of Hongjoong's presence, the memories of your time together felt almost tangible. But, he was gone. And you were left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, alone. Your small apartment never felt lonelier.

two

The room was dimly lit by a single lamp, casting shadows everywhere. Hongjoong sat on the hotel floor, his heart ached like a heavy stone in his chest, echoing the raw, jagged pain of an all-too-fresh wound. Next to him sat a half-empty bottle of whiskey, its strong liquor failing to dull the hollow gnawing pain that gripped him. For the past few months, Hongjoong had been busier than he'd ever been. Recording sessions that kept him up all night, followed by grueling dance practices to perfect choreography. Once ATEEZ’s first studio album was finally out, there was an endless string of fan sign events and meetings. Then, his dreams came true — they announced a world tour. Hongjoong was so busy that eating and sleeping felt like a luxury. He was happy, but not completely. Something was always missing. You were missing. Hongjoong'd become a master at hiding his pain from the world. So good, in fact, that he'd even managed to hide it from himself. But even as busy as Hongjoong was with his career, there were moments when he couldn't help but constantly think about you. And in those small moments every song that he wrote, every dance he choreographed, every performance he gave, you were always on his mind. Hongjoong was haunted by your memories, by the love he had lost. And even if he was being so good at hiding his emotions, his bandmates could see the change in him. They saw the sadness in his eyes, the heaviness in his steps, the emptiness in his laughter. But they said nothing, respecting his silence, knowing that this was a battle he had to fight on his own. Now, it’s been over six months since he broke up with you. Since he had chosen his career over your love, ambition over affection. He believed it was the right decision, but it did not lessen the pain of his heartbreak.

Hongjoong's eyes fell on his phone, lying innocently on the carpet. He had been contemplating it for hours, his heart pounding with apprehension. He longed to reach out to you, to hear your voice again and beg for forgiveness. Everything seemed so pointless without you. His dreams and ambitions felt hollow and meaningless. The fame, the success, the love from fans all over the world — none of it mattered. Because without you by his side, sharing in his joy and success, it all felt empty. All he could think of was the sweet sound of your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the comfort of your presence. And the longer he was without you, the more he realized how much he had lost. Taking a shaky breath, Hongjoong gathered the courage to pick the phone up, dialed your number with unsteady fingers, and pressed the call button. Eight rings echoed in his ears, each one a chance to hang up, to retreat, to save himself from the impending heartache. But he didn't. He couldn't.

"Hello?"

"H-hey," His voice wavered, barely more than a whisper, "How... how you been? How you doing?" His heart pounded against his ribs. The room felt smaller with every passing second as if the walls were closing in on him. Hongjoong gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles turning white as if holding onto it was the only thing keeping him grounded at that moment.

"I've been... okay," your voice was guarded, a stark contrast to the warmth it used to hold when you spoke to him. "Just... keeping busy, you know." Your heart was pounding loudly, so loud you were scared Hongjoong was going to hear it on the other side of the phone. You tried to steady your breathing, focusing on each exhale and inhale. There was silence on the other end. You could almost picture Hongjoong there, sitting in the dimly lit room, phone in hand, as he grappled with your words. The silence stretched on and for a moment.

"I've... I've been drinking," he confessed, a bitter laughter escaping his lips. "Thought I'd be over you by now... but I'm not. I can't be." His voice cracked, raw emotion spilling out. There was a pause again, a silence that seemed to last forever.

"Hongjoong..." you murmured, your voice filled with a detached understanding that was almost more painful than the silence before. "You... You shouldn't be drinking, Hongjoong," you said softly, concern seeping into your voice despite your best efforts to keep it neutral.

"I miss you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I... I know I caused you pain. I know I can't turn back time. But I... I can't imagine a life without you." The line went silent once again, except for his ragged breath and the deafening beat of his heart. Hongjoong held his breath, waiting, knowing that your next words could either set him free or push him further into his torment. Despite the distance, despite the coldness in your voice, he thought he detected a hint of lingering affection for him. It was subtle, nearly imperceptible, but it was there. A slight hesitation in your voice before you spoke, a soft sigh he barely caught. It gave him a glimmer of hope, but also a sea of despair. Because he knew that even though you might still harbor feelings for him, his choices had wounded you.

"I miss you too," you said, your voice so quiet that he almost missed the words. And in that moment, he knew that you felt the pain just as sharply as he did. Despite the remnants of love between you, you were both trapped in this cycle of regret and longing, both victims of his ambition. He longed to tell you that he loved you, that he was ready to give up everything to be with you. But the words wouldn't come. Because he knew he couldn't. He couldn't let go of his career, but he couldn't let go of you either. And so, he found himself stuck in this self-destructive cycle, driven by his own choices and his inability to let go of the past. The burden of his decisions hung heavy in the silence. His heart ached with unspoken words and the bitter sting of regret.

"I want to see you..." Hongjoong whispered into the phone, as he took another swig of the whiskey, the bitter liquid burning his throat, a fitting punishment for his mistakes. He closed his eyes, the image of your face clear in his mind, the memory of your laughter echoing in his ears. He missed you. He missed you more than he could put into words, more than he could bear. But all he had were his dreams and ambitions, the things he chose over you. ''I don’t know what I’m expecting'' All Hongjoong knew was that he missed you and that no amount of fame or success could fill the void you left in his heart.

"I... I want to see you too," you responded, soft and hesitant, yet filled with a longing that mirrored his own. Since the day Hongjoong left, your world had changed drastically, nothing felt the same. You tried to move on, to heal and rebuild your life without him. But it seemed like every time you made a little progress, something related to ATEEZ would unexpectedly appear, pulling you back into the memories of him. It was as if the universe was conspiring to ensure Hongjoong remained an inescapable part of your life, refusing to let you forget him.

"I don't know if this is a good idea...but, can we meet?" Hongjoong held his breath, waiting for your response, the silence between you two stretching out into a deafening void.

"Okay," you finally whispered back, the single word carrying a world of hope and fear, a promise of a reunion fraught with uncertainties and unspoken feelings. A wave of relief washed over Hongjoong, followed by a pang of anxiety. He had so many things he wanted to say to you, so many apologies to make, so many feelings to confess. But he feared that it might be too late, that the damage he had caused was irreparable. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult for him to speak.

"Thank you," he managed to whisper, his voice barely audible. "I'll be back home in a few weeks, I’ll see you then?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'll see you then," you replied softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. "Take care of yourself, Hongjoong.''

The call ended, leaving Hongjoong alone in the dimly lit room once again. He sat there, staring at his phone, his heart heavy with a mix of relief, fear, and longing. He didn't know if this was the beginning of a new chapter or the closure of an old one. All he knew was that he needed to see you. He needed to say the things he had been unable to say for the past six months. And most importantly, he needed to apologize.

three

The interminable weeks you anxiously awaited for Hongjoong's return seemed to mercilessly drag on, transforming into a seemingly endless expanse of time. In truth, the past few months without him felt like an eternity, every moment punctuated by his absence. After the initial shock of your breakup, which shook you to your core, you managed to shake off the immobilizing numbness that it brought. Once the initial shock was dealt with, you allowed yourself to fall into a routine, an everyday pattern of activities that became your lifeline in these challenging times. This routine, mundane as it might have been, was the only thing that kept you going, the only thing that kept you sane amidst the tumult of emotions that threatened to consume you. It was your anchor in a sea of chaos, providing a sense of normalcy in a world that, without Hongjoong, felt anything but normal. So, when you saw the news that ATEEZ had returned from their tour, it took you by surprise. You thought Hongjoong would call you straight away, that he would want to see you as much as you wanted to see him. You were holding on to the thought of seeing the man you loved again, of finding closure, or perhaps a new beginning. But the call didn't come, and with each passing day, your hope dwindled a little more. The silence was deafening, filling you with a sense of dread and disappointment. But despite everything, you continued to wait, clinging on to the hope of hearing from him. Days turned into weeks, and the silence from Hongjoong was deafening. You tried to keep yourself busy, to distract your mind from the painful thoughts that threatened to consume you. You began to question his intentions, wondering whether he really meant what he said during the phone call. Did he truly miss you, or was it just a moment of weakness? Did he genuinely want to see you, or was he simply trying to ease his guilt? Your mind was a whirlpool of questions, doubts, and insecurities. You felt like you were trapped in a never-ending cycle of hope and despair. Despite the emotional turmoil, you couldn't bring yourself to reach out to him first. You weren't ready to face the possibility of rejection, the fear of him telling you that he had moved on and that the phone call was a mistake. So, you waited, hoping against hope that he would contact you.

One evening, while you were trying to drown your sorrows in a sad movie and a tub of ice cream, the doorbell rang, startling you out of your thoughts. Your heart pounded in your chest as you got up to answer it. As you swung the door open, there he was. Hongjoong stood on your doorstep, looking just as nervous and scared as you felt. You were taken aback, not having expected him to show up at your doorstep. You felt a mix of emotions - surprise, fear, anxiety, but also a strange relief. Despite the emotional turmoil swirling within you, you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at the sight of him. He was as handsome as always, his dark blue hair tousled slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and longing. For a moment, you found yourself lost in the depths of his gaze, the familiar warmth of his presence washing over you like a comforting embrace. It was surreal to see him standing there, on your doorstep, after so many weeks of silence and uncertainty. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the tumult of emotions that raged within you.

"H-Hey," he stuttered out, his eyes avoiding yours. "I hope I'm not... I hope this isn't too soon."

"No, it's... it's okay. Come in," you said, stepping aside to let him in. He hesitated for a moment, then walked inside. You closed the door behind him, it felt strangely normal to have him there, in your apartment, as if the last few months had been nothing but a bad dream. But the tension in the air was palpable, a reminder that things weren't the same anymore. You led him to the living room, he took a deep breath, his gaze wandering around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings.

"It's been a while," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, it has," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. The silence that followed was deafening, both of you lost in your own thoughts. Finally, Hongjoong broke the silence.

"I... I wanted to apologize," he began, his voice shaky. "I know I hurt you, and I'm... I'm really sorry." He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "I made a mistake... a big one. And I... I want to make it right." You were silent for a moment, processing his words. It was what you had been waiting to hear, but now that he had said it, you didn't know how to respond. You looked at him, studying his face, searching for sincerity in his eyes. Despite the hurt and confusion swirling within you, you couldn't deny the flicker of hope that ignited at his words. His apology felt genuine, raw with emotion. As you wrestled with your thoughts, a part of you longed to forgive him, to embrace the possibility of reconciliation. Yet another part remained guarded, wary of opening yourself up to further pain. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I've missed you so much," he confessed. Suddenly, Hongjoong reached out, pulling you into an embrace. The sudden movement startled both of you, but neither of you pulled away. On the contrary, you nestled deeper into his arms, burying your face into the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne instantly calmed your racing heart, making you feel like you were home again. In his arms, the pain and heartache of the past few months seemed to melt away. As you held each other in a tight embrace, the weight of the past few months began to lift, replaced by a sense of comfort and familiarity. Despite the pain and uncertainty that had plagued your relationship, being in his arms felt right, as if you were finally where you were meant to be.

"I've missed you too," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. The words were a confession, a raw admission of the emptiness that had consumed you in his absence. The warmth of his embrace melted away the walls you had built around your heart. Despite the doubts and uncertainties that lingered in the back of your mind, you couldn't deny the overwhelming rush of emotions that surged through you. Without thinking, you lifted your head from the crook of his neck, meeting Hongjoong’s gaze with tear-filled eyes. At that moment, all the words you had been longing to say seemed to vanish from your mind, replaced by a desperate need to express the depth of your feelings for him. Leaning forward, you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a tender, passionate kiss. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though time stood still, the world around you fading into oblivion as you lost yourself in the intoxicating warmth of his embrace. In that moment, all the pain and heartache of the past seemed insignificant, overshadowed by the overwhelming rush of love and longing that coursed through your veins. As you pulled away, breathless and trembling, you found yourself staring into his eyes, searching for some sign of understanding, of reciprocation. Hongjoong smiled and giggled quietly,

''I did not expect this…'' Your heart fluttered at the sound of his soft laughter, a gentle melody that filled the room. Despite the gravity of the situation, his laughter was like a balm to your wounded soul, easing some of the tension that had been building within you. Hongjoong’s hand found its way to your flushed cheek, it was a comforting presence, his touch sending shivers down your spine as you leaned into his touch, relishing the warmth of his palm against your skin.

"I know," you replied softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

''Can we do it again?'' A soft chuckle escaped your lips at his bashful demeanor, finding it endearing how he could still manage to blush after all this time.

"Of course," you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you leaned in closer to him. The warmth of Hongjoong’s breath against your skin sent a thrill coursing through you, reigniting the spark of desire that had never truly faded between you. Closing the distance between you, you pressed your lips to his once more, savoring his familiar taste and feel. It was as if no time had passed at all, as if you were picking up right where you had left off, lost in the intensity of your love for each other. As you pulled away breathlessly, the intensity of the moment lingering between you, Hongjoong placed his forehead against yours, his hand pulling you closer by your waist. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that had been dormant for far too long. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate and needy. Your bodies pressed together, the heat between you rising. Hongjoong's voice was husky when he pulled back, his breath hot against your ear as he said,

"I'm not gonna stop myself if we keep on." You could feel his arousal pressing against you, a stark reminder of the intimacy you hadn't shared in so long. A shiver ran through your body as you processed his words, your heart pounding in your chest. You had missed this closeness, the intoxicating intimacy that only Hongjoong could provide. Despite the uncertainties that still lingered, your body yearned for his. You met his gaze, your eyes reflecting the desire that was undoubtedly mirrored in his.

"Then don't stop," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. There was no hesitation in his actions then. His lips found yours again, his hands exploring your body, reigniting the flame that had never fully extinguished. Hongjoong's grip on your hips tightened, his touch electrifying, igniting a spark within you. He pulled your hair just the way you liked it, gentle yet firm, exposing your neck to his gaze. He began to leave a trail of wet kisses along your sensitive skin, his warm breath causing shivers to run down your spine. The anticipation was unbearable. You knew that after all this time, after all the longing and desire that had built up between you, you wouldn’t last long. Every fiber of your being was desperate to feel his body against yours, to experience the intimate connection that only he could provide. And as if he could read your thoughts, Hongjoong returned to kissing you, his lips capturing yours in a passionate embrace. He was devouring you with an intensity that took your breath away, his every touch and kiss stoking the fire within you. You felt his hands tugging at the hem of your hoodie, his fingers deftly pulling it over your head in one swift, practiced motion. As the fabric lifted away, the cool air of the room hit your skin, causing a shiver to course through your body. To Hongjoong's surprise, you were not wearing a bra underneath. His eyes, dark with desire, roamed over your exposed chest, taking in the sight of your bare skin. There was a moment of silence as he savored the sight, his breath hitching in his throat. Your head was spinning, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations taking over, and you could feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second. Hongjoong placed his palm on your breast, cupping it gently but firmly. His touch was warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the cool air surrounding you. His fingers, tender and explorative, began to play with your nipple, tracing delicate patterns that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moaned softly. Each touch ignited a spark within you, a flame of desire that seemed to grow with every passing second.

As your hands began to wander, you found yourself drawn to his jeans. Your fingers deftly unclasped his belt, the metallic clink echoing in the room. Heart pounding with anticipation, you slid the zipper down, the sound seeming to reverberate through the room. Hongjoong quickly removed his own shirt, revealing his toned chest. Your hands instinctively reached out to him, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. In response, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground with ease. Hongjoong carried you towards the bedroom, and a sense of anticipation filled the air. As he gently put you down, your eyes locked with his, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. His lips found yours again in a deep, passionate kiss while his hands roamed over your body, further stoking the flame of desire within you. You found yourself lost in his touch, each stroke of his fingers sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. As he slowly moved down, peppering soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, you could hardly contain the moan that escaped your lips. Hongjoong pulled your shorts down, kissing your stomach and hip bones. His touch was electrifying, setting your skin ablaze with a hunger that only he could satisfy. You reached for his pants, finally tugging both them and his boxers down and revealing his throbbing erection. Hongjoong groaned as you wrapped your fingers around his thick dick, you spread pre-cum on his length and stroked him gently yet firmly, eliciting a moan from him. Hongjoong was so hard, so ready for you, and the thought only made you wetter. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you knelt in front of him and placed a kiss on the tip of his throbbing length. Sensing his anticipation, you started licking him from the base all the way to the tip, savoring the taste of him. His body shivered in response to your actions, his breath hitching as he watched you with a mixture of desire and disbelief.

"I missed the way your cock tastes in my mouth,” you said just before you slowly took him all into your mouth, your lips wrapping around his length as you began to bob your head up and down. The sensation elicited a groan from Hongjoong, his hands instinctively reaching for your hair to guide your movements.

"F-fuck," Hongjoong moaned out, his grip on your hair tightening as you continued to pleasure him with your mouth, your tongue swirling around his length in a way that had him seeing stars. His body was tense, filled with an anticipation that was only heightened by the rhythm of your movements. The room was filled with the sound of his ragged breathing and the wet noises of your mouth on him. His hand tugged at your hair, guiding you, setting the pace. His other hand found its way to your shoulder, his fingers digging into your skin as he struggled to keep control. "I... I need to be inside you," he gasped, the words barely more than a whisper. You looked up at him, your eyes locking with his. There was a raw intensity in his gaze that sent a thrill coursing through you. You nodded, releasing him from your mouth with a final lick, a smirk playing on your lips as you watched him shudder at the sensation. You crawled back up his body, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, the sensation eliciting a soft moan from him. Hongjoong's hands found their way to your hips, guiding you to the bed. He positioned himself on top of you, his hands gently spreading your legs. His fingers slowly explored your folds,

"You are so wet, so ready for me" he murmured in awe, his fingers brushing over your slick folds. The sensation caused you to gasp. With a sudden surge of impatience, you pulled him closer by his neck, kissing him aggressively.

"Hongjoong, I need you now," you demanded, your voice thick with desire. He positioned himself, ready to give you what you so desperately wanted. But then, he stopped, pulling back slightly and looking into your eyes with a serious expression.

‘’Are you on the pill?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"No, not anymore," you admitted, biting your lower lip anxiously.

"Condoms?" he asked, hoping that you had some.

"I don't think I have any," you confessed, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Shit, I think I have some in my wallet," he moved off you and rushed to search his wallet, which was carelessly thrown to the side earlier. After a moment, Hongjoong let out a sigh of relief as he pulled out a condom. Returning to the bed, he positioned himself above you again, his dark eyes filled with desire. You took the condom from him, your hands slightly shaking as you carefully unrolled it down his throbbing length. You guided him to your entrance, the anticipation making you shudder with pleasure. As he slowly entered you, you couldn't help but gasp at the overwhelming sensation, the feeling of him inside you sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. As Hongjoong began to move, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your hands found purchase on his shoulders, clinging onto him as if your life depended on it. The rhythm of his movements, slow and deliberate at first, gradually picked up pace, each powerful thrust hitting that sweet spot inside you and drawing moans of pleasure from your lips.

"Hongjoong whatever you do just don't stop now," you moaned, your toes curling in pleasure. His name fell from your lips again in a breathless whisper, the sound of it spurring him on. The room filled with the sounds of your passion, the rhythmic creaking of the bed, and your shared moans and gasps of pleasure.

"You feel so good, baby” he moaned. You felt his dick throbbing inside you, which made you clench around him, making him moan again. As your climax approached, your body tensed, your grip on him tightening. Hongjoong could sense it, and his thrusts became more powerful. "Are you going to cum for me, princess?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. Your body responded to his words before your mind could, a rush of pleasure coursing through your veins. You could do nothing but nod, your body taut with anticipation. Hongjoong’s movements became more deliberate, his rhythm matching your own as the tension built.

"Yes," you breathed out, the word barely escaping your lips before a wave of pleasure washed over you. Your body convulsed, your grip on him tightening as you rode the waves of your orgasm. His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan as you rode out your orgasm, each wave of pleasure more intense than the last. With a final, powerful thrust, Hongjoong groaned, his body tensing as he reached his own peak. Feeling him still buried deep inside you, you could sense the warm sensation of his cum filling the condom. Hongjoong’s head fell to the crook of your neck, his hot breath against your skin as he rode out the waves of his climax. The room fell silent, save for the sound of your labored breaths. He collapsed next to you, took the condom off, and threw it away. Hongjoong pulled you into his arms, and his fingers traced lazy circles on your bare skin, the sensation sending tingles down your spine. You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. There was a softness in his gaze, a tenderness that you hadn't seen for a long time. It warmed your heart, bringing a gentle smile to your face.

"I was going crazy without you," Hongjoong whispered his words a fervent declaration of the depth of his longing. "I missed you every single day," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as you gazed into his eyes, losing yourself in the depths of his gaze.

"You wouldn't let me forget about you," you smiled sadly, "ATEEZ were everywhere." You chuckled, the sound tinged with a hint of melancholy. "Every time I started to get a bit better, you would show up on a TV or the internet."

Hongjoong gave a bitter-sweet laugh, "I guess we're inescapable, huh?" His hand moved from your waist to cradle your face.

"I was so proud of you, Hongjoong," you confessed, your voice choked with emotion. "It just hurt that you needed to leave me to do all these amazing things."

His gaze softened at your words, his thumb gently brushing away the tears welling up in your eyes. "I didn't want to," he admitted quietly, his voice hauntingly sincere.

"Will you stay for tonight?" you asked him, your voice quiet and hopeful. A silence hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and raw emotions. Hongjoong looked at you, his gaze soft and contemplative. It felt like an eternity before he finally responded.

"I wish I could," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret. "But I have to go back. There are things I need to take care of." A pang of disappointment shot through you at his words, but you understood. His world was unforgiving, with schedules and commitments that left little room for personal desires. You knew that asking him to stay was selfish, but some of you couldn't help but wish for a little more time together.

"I understand," you replied, your voice tinged with sadness. "But promise me this won't be the last time we see each other. Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'll come back as soon as I can." You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the tears that threatened to fall. Hongjoong planted one last kiss on your lips, before gently untangling himself from your embrace. He rose from the bed, his eyes scanning the room for his scattered clothing. You pulled a comforter from the bed around your naked body as you got up from the bed, and you walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

"Stay over," you tried convincing him again. "I don't want to be alone." Your lips found the back of his neck, peppering soft kisses there. Each kiss was a silent plea, a yearning for him to stay. He shivered under your touch, goosebumps erupting on his skin. You knew he loved it when you kissed his neck like that. His eyes closed and a soft sigh escaped his lips, a clear sign that he was fighting the urge to stay with you. With one hand, you pulled him in closer, his back pressed against your chest. Your other hand traveled down his torso, exploring his body. You slid your hand lower, until you grabbed his cock, causing Hongjoong to let out a whimper at the sudden contact. The sound was music to your ears, a testament to the effect you had on him. This moment felt right, a perfect blend of desire and intimacy that only you two could share. As you started to pump him slowly, his cock hardened again. Kissing all over his neck, Hongjoong trembled under your touch. Your touch was gentle, yet firm, as you slowly worked him back to full erection. His reactions were immediate and intense, his body trembling under your hands. Hongjoong’s breath hitched in his throat, a soft gasp escaping his lips as you trailed kisses up and down his neck. Every touch, every kiss, seemed to set his nerves on fire, his body humming with pent-up desire.

"Feeling your dick get hard in my hand is so hot," you whispered into his ear. Hongjoong’s breath hitched at your words, he was completely at your mercy, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost himself in the sensations you were coaxing from him. His hands reached for you, his fingers digging into your arm as a silent plea for more. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, each one a testament to the pleasure you were bringing him. The room was filled with the sound of your soft murmurs and his gasps, the air heavy with desire. You took your time, savoring each reaction, each tremor that ran through him.

"I'm going to make you come so hard," you breathed against his neck, your voice filled with a promise of the pleasure to come. A shiver ran through his body at your words, anticipation causing his breath to hitch in his throat. The kisses you trailed along his neck grew more passionate, more desperate, each one a promise of the pleasure to come. He was trembling beneath your touch, his body writhing with anticipation, ready for the climax that was sure to come.

"Need... need to feel your mouth on me. Please, please," he moaned as you sped up your movements on his length. You could feel his desperation in every word, the primal need making his voice tremble. You turned his body to face you, without missing a beat, you moved down his body, trailing kisses along the way. You took him in your mouth, your movements slow and deliberate at first, earning a guttural moan from him. His hand found its way to your hair, fingers tangling in the locks as he guided your movements. With every moan, every gasp for breath, you could feel him lose himself in the pleasure you were giving him. It only spurred you on further, your movements becoming more confident, more insistent. Hongjoong was a moaning mess, his body tensing as he felt the precipice of his release approaching.

"God... F-fuck," he stuttered, the words tumbling out amidst irregular breaths. He looked at you, his eyes dark with desire and pleading. "Baby, I love you... Can I... Can I cum in your mouth?" your eyes met his, a soft nod of consent given as you continued your movements. The quiet room was filled with only the sounds of his heavy breaths and soft curses. Your name fell from his lips like a prayer, his hands gripping your hair tightly. "I love you... I love you so much," he gasped out, his body trembling as he reached his climax. His cum filled your mouth, the taste of him intoxicating and familiar. You swallowed it all, a sense of pride swelling within you. As his release washed over him, you could see the love and adoration in his eyes. He was open, vulnerable, and completely yours at that moment. Post-orgasmic bliss took over him, his body going limp as he tried to regain his breath. You crawled up, placing soft kisses along his chest, his jaw, his lips. Hongjoong pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

"I love you too, Hongjoong," you whispered, your head resting on his chest. His heart was still racing, the rhythm syncing with your own. You could feel his fingers tracing patterns on your back, a content sigh escaping his lips. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. The look in his eyes said it all. He was in love, and so were you. Despite the challenges and the heartache, you belonged together. And in that moment, everything felt right. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy your embrace, his mind lost in the warmth of your touch.

"So, did that earn me your stay?" you asked playfully, a hint of mischief in your eyes as you looked up at him. Hongjoong kissed your forehead, before gently pulling away from your embrace, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he looked at you with regret-filled eyes.

"Baby I really wish I could stay, but I can't," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret. "I have early rehearsals tomorrow. I promise I'll come back soon." He gently extricated himself from your grasp and began to get dressed.

"Don't go," you pleaded softly, your voice barely a whisper. But despite the plea in your eyes, he knew he couldn't stay. No matter how much he wanted to remain by your side, his responsibilities were calling him back.

"I don't want to leave you," Hongjoong murmured in a tone that was barely a whisper, his eyes filled with regret. "But I have to. I have responsibilities that I need to attend to." Despite the warmth of your bodies pressed together and the lingering taste of you on his lips, he knew he couldn't stay. He gave you one last look, his heart aching at the sight of your disheveled hair and the love in your eyes. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering emotions. Once fully dressed, he turned back to you, his gaze soft. He walked over and pulled you into a gentle hug, his hand stroking your hair in a comforting gesture.

"I'll see you soon, I promise," he whispered into your ear before pulling away. Hongjoong gave you one last lingering look, his eyes filled with longing before he opened the door and stepped out of your apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

However, Hongjoong did not keep his promise.

four

Once again, days turned into weeks, and Hongjoong was nowhere to be found. You started to believe that your meeting was only a dream, a figment of your imagination borne out of desperation and longing. Each passing day without any word from him further reinforced this belief. The emptiness that you had once managed to keep at bay was slowly creeping back in, consuming you bit by bit. The silence was deafening, a harsh reminder of the reality you were trying to escape from. It felt as if you were trapped in a never-ending cycle of hope and despair, each passing day a test of your resilience and strength. With each passing day, a seed of doubt began to grow within you. Was it possible that Hongjoong regretted what had happened? Could it be that the promises whispered in the heat of the moment, the tender kisses and reassuring words, were nothing more than a mistake? The thought gnawed at you, casting a dark shadow over the glimmer of hope you had been clinging on to. You found yourself questioning everything, your mind a whirlpool of confusion and despair. Your days were filled with uncertainty and your nights were haunted by dreams of him. You longed for the comfort of his presence, aching for the familiarity of his touch. Yet, all you were left with was the deafening silence, a cruel reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

Three weeks had passed since you last laid eyes on Hongjoong, and the absence was fucking with your head. Questions spun around in your head like a whirlwind, each one piercing deeper than the last. Was it only the sex that he missed? You were haunted by the warmth of his touch and the intoxicating way he used to look at you. The ghost of his touch still lingered on your skin, a cruel reminder of the intimacy that once existed. The silence of your phone was deafening, the man who once couldn't go a day without hearing your voice, who used to fill your inbox with loving messages, had now been reduced to radio silence. Your mind was a battlefield, memories of him clashing violently with the present reality. This was not the Hongjoong you loved and cherished, the one who held you through the darkest nights and lit up your world with his smile. This was a stranger, a phantom wearing Hongjoong's face and carrying his memories, a cruel mockery of the man you once knew.

five

On a sunny afternoon, you came back from grocery shopping and approached your apartment complex. Upon reaching your floor, you found Hongjoong leaning against your door. The sight of him waiting there, a look of nervous anticipation on his face, sent a jolt of surprise through you. The sound of grocery bags dropping onto the floor startled Hongjoong, his head snapping up to see you standing there, a look of shock and anger on your face. He quickly jogged over to help you pick up the scattered items, but you recoiled, pulling the bags away from him.

"Why are you here, Hongjoong?" You spat out his name like it was poison. "I don't want to see you," you quickly got up as you finished picking up what was left from your shopping.

"We both know you don’t mean it…" Hongjoong blurts out, a look of guilt crossing his face.

"My manager found out I came to see you," Hongjoong admitted, avoiding your gaze. "The company... they're not happy. They made me sign a contract." His voice was barely a whisper, but the words hit you with the force of a freight train. "I'm... I'm banned from dating now." His words hung heavily in the air, the final blow to the fairytale you had tried so hard to keep alive. The revelation left you speechless, your heart aching at the harsh reality of his words. You felt a cold wave of disappointment wash over you, the realization of Hongjoong's predicament hitting you like a punch to the gut.

"Banned from dating?" you echoed, the words sounding foreign on your tongue. As the weight of Hongjoong's confession settled over you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal. It wasn't just the fact that he was banned from dating that stung, but the realization that he had chosen to prioritize his career over your relationship once again. "How could you?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "After what happened that night, you still chose them over me?" The hurt and anger bubbled up inside you, threatening to spill over at any moment. You felt like a fool for ever believing that things could be different, for allowing yourself to hope for a future that was never meant to be.

Hongjoong reached out to you, his hand hovering in the air as if unsure whether to touch you. "I didn't have a choice, Y/N," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "You have to believe me. I didn't want this to happen." But his words fell on deaf ears.

"You always have a choice, Hongjoong," you retorted, your voice laced with bitterness. "You chose to sign that contract!" The tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. "You promised you would be back to see me, Hongjoong! You said you missed me and you wanted to make this right. And now this?" you exclaimed, your voice shaking with the intensity of your emotions. The betrayal cut deep, his broken promises like salt in the wound.

"You can't just show up here after weeks of silence and expect me to be okay with this," you continued, your voice raw with emotion. "You've made your choice, Hongjoong. Now, I'm making mine. I can't do this anymore."

Your words hung heavily in the air, the finality of them echoing in the silence that enveloped the two of you. Hongjoong was left standing there, a stunned expression on his face as he processed your words. The man who was once your world, who held your heart in his hands, was now a stranger standing before you.

"I... I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes were brimming with regret, the weight of his actions visibly weighing on him.

"But you did, Hongjoong," you replied, your voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill. "You hurt me... and the worst part is, you chose to. You chose them over me... again."

The silence that followed was deafening, the tension palpable. Hongjoong looked as if he wanted to say something, to defend himself or perhaps apologize, but no words came out. It was as if he finally realized the gravity of his actions, the damage that he had caused.

You turned your back on him, the sight of him too painful to bear. The man you loved was no more, replaced by a stranger who wore his face and held his memories. As you walked away, you could feel his gaze on you, heavy with regret and longing. But it was too late. The damage had been done, and there was no turning back.

You walked into your apartment, closing the door behind you. The finality of the sound echoing in the silent hallway. As you leaned against the door, your knees gave out, sending you sliding down to the floor. Sobs racked your body, the tears flowing freely now. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Y/N, please," Hongjoong's voice filtered through the door, his tone desperate. "I love you, please let me in." But you couldn't bring yourself to open the door, to face him again. His words, once so comforting, now felt like a cruel mockery of what you once shared. You wrapped your arms around yourself as if to ward off the chill that had seeped into your bones.

"I can't, Hongjoong," you whispered, your voice barely audible. The silence that ensued was deafening, only broken by the occasional sob that escaped your lips. You could hear Hongjoong's muffled pleas on the other side of the door,

"Baby, I need you to understand," he began, his voice steady despite the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "I love you. In this world, it's always been you. Without you, I feel so alone. I need you to really hear me when I say that I love you." he murmured, his voice filled with so much pain that it made your heart ache.

Your cry spasmed through your body, causing you to shiver uncontrollably. Between gasps for air, you managed to sob out, "I love you too." Hongjoong’s voice fell silent on the other side of the door, and you clung to the silence, hoping, praying that he had left. But then you heard it, a low, heartbreaking sob from the other side.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Hongjoong's voice was barely more than a whisper, choked with emotion. "I'm sorry for everything." You clung to the cold, hard floor, your body wracked with sobs. The apartment felt emptier than ever, the silence echoing through the space, a stark reminder of your loneliness.

"Please let me in," he tried begging again, his voice echoing through the silence. But you couldn't. You were too hurt, too betrayed. You curled up tighter on the cold floor, your heart aching as his pleas continued to echo through the small apartment.

"I...I need to go," Hongjoong finally whispered, his voice heavy with sorrow. You heard his footsteps recede and the faint sound of the hallway door closing. You were finally alone, the silence in the apartment a stark reminder of the void he had left behind. In the silence of your apartment, you allowed yourself to break down completely. Your sobs echoed through the empty space, your heartache manifesting in the tears that streamed down your face. You felt the loss of him deeply like a part of you had been ripped away.

six

You had lost track of how much time had passed since you last saw Hongjoong. The days blurred into weeks, and the weeks blurred into months. Morning turned into night, and night turned back into morning, but the ache in your heart remained constant. Hongjoong’s absence was like a gaping wound that refused to heal. You found yourself going through the motions of life, putting on a brave face during the day while falling apart in the solitude of the night. Every little thing reminded you of him - a certain song on the radio, the scent of his favorite cologne lingering in the air, the way the morning sunlight streamed through the window just the way he liked it. You knew it was wrong, that you needed to move on, but it was easier said than done. The memories of him were etched deep within your heart, a part of you that you couldn’t just erase. You missed his laughter, his touch, the way he used to look at you. You missed him, and it hurt more than you ever thought possible. Try as you might, you were coping really badly without him. His absence had left a void in your life that you didn't know how to fill. You felt lost, adrift in a sea of loneliness. You yearned for his presence, for the comfort and familiarity that he brought into your life. Despite the heartache and the pain, you were holding on. Holding on to the hope that, maybe, with time, the pain would lessen. Holding on to the memories that brought you joy in your darkest moments. Holding on to the love that, despite everything, still lingered within your heart.

You started to go clubbing, drinking more alcohol than you should, each shot you took was a desperate attempt to erase him from your mind, to numb the pain that was threatening to consume you. You tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the mindless chatter and laughter around you, but all you could think about was Hongjoong. Alcohol, which was supposed to help you forget, ironically made him even more present. His name was etched on every bottle, his memory swirled in every glass, his phantom touch felt in every drunken stupor. Each night was a replay of all the moments you shared, every word exchanged, every secret whispered, every promise made.

The club was packed, the music pounding in time with your heartbeat. The smell of alcohol and sweat filled the air, mingling with the intoxicating scent of perfume. Lost in the crowd, you tried to drown out the loneliness that gnawed at your insides. Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you. Turning, you found yourself face to face with a stranger. He was handsome, with a warm smile and dark, inviting eyes. He offered to buy you a drink, his voice barely audible over the loud music. You nodded, accepting the drink he handed you. The alcohol burned your throat, but it was a welcome distraction from the emptiness you felt. As the night progressed, the stranger became more comfortable. He leaned in closer, his hand brushing against yours. His touch sent a jolt through your body, a feeling of excitement... and something else. Something that felt like a betrayal. The stranger leaned in for a kiss, his lips barely inches from yours. You wanted to respond, to surrender to the desire that was churning within you. But as his lips meet yours, a flash of Hongjoong's face appears in your mind. It was as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on you. Suddenly, the stranger's touch felt wrong, his presence a stark reminder of what you were missing. With a gasp, you pulled away, pushing the stranger off you. You stumbled back, your heart pounding in your chest. You turned and ran, pushing through the crowd, desperate to escape. The stranger called after you, but his voice was drowned out by the thumping music. Once outside, you leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the truth. Despite the desire to move on, to forget Hongjoong, your body seemed to have a mind of its own. You still craved his touch, his presence. It felt like your body was still his, refusing to let go, refusing to be with anyone else. It was a painful realization, a glaring reminder of the void that Hongjoong had left in your life. Staggering back to your apartment, you felt more alone than ever.

After what felt like forever, you reached your apartment complex. Stumbling through the doorway, you barely had the strength to close the door behind you. Your thoughts were a blur, the world spinning around you as the effects of the alcohol finally started to take a toll. You leaned against the wall for support, the cold surface offering a stark contrast to the warmth that was spreading through your body. A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you slid down the wall, your body finally giving in to the exhaustion. You sat there, alone in the darkness, the silence of your apartment echoing the emptiness you felt inside. You pulled out your phone, your fingers hovering over Hongjoong's name. Without any hesitation, feeling like you had already waited too long, you pressed the call button. The phone rang, but there was no answer. A pang of disappointment hit you, though it was an outcome you weren't entirely surprised by. You sighed, waiting for the beep before leaving a voicemail.

"Hongjoong, it's me," you began, your voice slightly shaky. "I was out clubbing, and there was this guy… We kissed and… and he wanted to take me home. But I couldn't... I couldn't because it felt like I would be cheating on you. And that just... it made me feel sick." There was a pause as you braced yourself, gathering your thoughts. "The worst thing is," you continued, your voice slightly choked, "that I would still welcome you with open arms. I miss our life together, Hongjoong. I miss you." There was another pause, a heavy silence filling the line. "I'm so sorry," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry for making you feel bad about choosing your career. I know how much you wanted what you have now. And I... I shouldn't have held you back." You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you grappled with the words you knew you had to say. "And Hongjoong," you added, your voice filled with a quiet intensity, "I will never not love you." With that, you ended the call, the silence that followed echoing with the weight of your words.

In a haze, you managed to make your way to your bed, your body sinking into the familiar comfort of the mattress. The silence in the room felt overwhelming, and your mind filled with thoughts of Hongjoong. You missed him terribly, the uncertainty of his whereabouts gnawing at you. Pulling out your phone, you started to text him, your fingers clumsily typing out the words.

"Hongjoong... I miss you. I don't know where you are... and it's driving me crazy," you typed, the words blurring on the screen as tears welled up in your eyes. You hit send, the message disappears into the ether. Tears trickled down your cheeks, the emptiness of the room amplifying the loneliness you felt. You cried a deep, aching sob that echoed in the silence of the room, your body shaking with the intensity of your feelings. The room was dark, the only light coming from the screen of your phone, you picked it up and started typing another message.

"Hongjoong, I miss you."

"I need you, Hongjoong."

As you sent the message, a wave of regret washed over you. You knew you shouldn't have sent it, but the alcohol in your system and the loneliness in your heart had made you reckless.

"I still love you."

"I love you so much it hurts."

"I wish I wasn’t hurting this bad."

You dropped your phone on the bed, the screen illuminating the darkness as your messages were sent into the void, unanswered.

"I wish things were different."

The truth of your words hit you like a sledgehammer, and you broke down again, sobs shaking your body as you curled up on your bed. You cried until you fell asleep, your dreams filled with memories of Hongjoong.

seven

The crowd roared with applause as Hongjoong left the stage, his heart pounding in his chest. The energy from the audience was infectious, their cheers and screams echoing in his ears long after the music had stopped. The final show of the tour had been a resounding success, each seat filled, each ticket sold. As he walked off the stage, the reality of their success began to sink in. The bright lights, the screaming fans, the sold-out venues - it was more than he had ever dreamed of. Despite the fatigue that was beginning to set in, he couldn't help but bask in the afterglow of their performance. The excitement, the adrenaline, the sheer joy of performing - it was a feeling like no other. After all was said and done, he found himself walking through the corridors, personally thanking each member of the crew. Their faces lit up at his words of gratitude, their hard work acknowledged by their leader. The atmosphere was filled with camaraderie and mutual respect, a testament to the bond they shared. Once he had made his rounds, he finally reached his sanctuary - his dressing room. The room was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the air conditioning the only sound breaking the silence. Rows of neatly hung suits, shirts, and accessories greeted him, a stark contrast to the chaos that had ensued earlier. Exhaustion washed over him like a tidal wave, the adrenaline that had been fueling him all day finally starting to wane. His body felt heavy, his mind cloudy from the day's events. He moved towards the plush leather couch sitting in the corner of the room, his legs giving way as he sank into the soft cushions. The quietness of the room enveloped him, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. He let out a sigh of relief, his body sinking further into the couch as he allowed the exhaustion to take over. The day had been long and arduous, but he had made it through, and for that, he was grateful. Hongjoong reached out and picked up his phone from the bedside table. The bright screen lit up, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw your name at the top of his notifications. Hongjoong's heart pounded in his chest as he played the voice message. Your voice, which he hadn’t heard in so long, laced with alcohol and desperation, echoed in his brain. His breath hitched at your confession, the image of another man touching you burning in his mind. It was a torment he hadn't prepared for, a reality he refused to accept. His grip on his phone tightened, his knuckles turning white as your words washed over him. Each syllable was like a dagger to his heart, the pain raw and unbearable. As the full weight of your words sunk in, he was left reeling, the reality of your pain and longing hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had never felt more helpless, more desperate. After hearing the voice message, he quickly clicked on the text notifications. His fingers trembled slightly as he read the messages:

my love: "Hongjoong... I misssss youuuu. Don't knoowww whereeee u r... it's drivin' me craaaazy."

my love: "Honjoong, I missss youuuu.”

my love: "I neeedd yoooo, Hongjoongg.”

my love: "I stiilll lovvee yooouu.”

my love: "I wishhh thinggs werre differrrent.”

my love: "I luvv yu sooo muchh it hurttss."

my love: "I wishh I wasn't hurtin' thiss badd."

In a heartbeat, Hongjoong got up from the sofa, the quick motion caused his head to spin. Shaking off the disorientation, he lunged for his bag, hastily gathering his belongings in a flurry of swift movements. All his thoughts were consumed by one singular goal - he needed to see you. Not bothering with changing out of his stage attire into something more casual, he embraced the urgency of the moment, allowing it to fuel his actions. He shrugged on his jacket, barely noticing the lingering sweat on his skin or the way his stage clothes clung to his body. Hongjoong’s heart pounded in his chest, as he sprinted out of the dressing room. His eyes darted around the bustling backstage area, scanning the familiar faces and chaotic scenery in search of one person. His manager. Every second was critical, each fleeting moment amplifying the urgency of his need to see you. The world around him seemed to blur into a whirlwind of colours and sounds as he navigated through the backstage chaos, his mind solely focused on his mission.

"Hongjoong, are you alright?" Minah, the stylist, asked as she approached him cautiously. She had been observing him from a distance, noting the far-off look in his eyes. It was unlike him to be this distracted, especially when they were on a tight schedule. Hongjoong didn't even notice her until she was right next to him, her voice cutting through the fog of his thoughts. He blinked, turning to look at her with a slightly startled expression.

"Where is my manager?" he asked, his voice tense. It wasn't like him to be so curt, and Minah knew instantly that something was off. She glanced warily at him, biting her lower lip anxiously.

"He stepped out for a moment, he should be back soon," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She had been working with Hongjoong for a while now and she had never seen him this agitated before. Hongjoong nodded, his gaze wandering off again as he started scanning the room left and right. He looked like a man on edge, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. Minah watched him with growing concern, her mind racing as she tried to think of a way to help. She had seen him tired, stressed, even overwhelmed at times, but she had never seen him like this. He looked like he was at his breaking point, like he was about to shatter into a million pieces. She knew better than to press him for answers, knowing that he would open up when he was ready. But as the minutes ticked by and his anxiety seemed to mount, she couldn't help but worry. Something was clearly wrong, and she felt helpless as she watched him struggle.

"Fuck it," he cursed under his breath, his thoughts racing as he rushed towards the back doors that led to the underground parking lot. Hongjoong made his way through, heading straight for the exit. At that moment, the possible consequences of his actions didn't matter to him. Just as he was about to pry open the alarmed doors, causing the alarm to ring out, he heard someone calling his name.

"Hongjoong, what do you think you're doing?" It was his manager, jogging over to him.

"I'm going back home," Hongjoong declared, his voice ringing with a determination that startled his manager. The manager, taken aback by the sudden change in his typically professional demeanor, quickly tried to regain control of the situation. He grabbed Hongjoong by the shoulder, attempting to steer him back towards the conference room where a team of publicists and stylists awaited their return.

"You aren't going anywhere, Hongjoong," his manager sternly replied, his grip tightening on Hongjoong's shoulder. "We're flying back in two days after the interviews. You know the schedule." Typically, Hongjoong was a stickler for professionalism. He understood the importance of maintaining a certain image, of fulfilling his responsibilities and keeping to the schedule. But this was not a typical situation. His mind was filled with thoughts of you, your voice in that message echoing in his ears. The sound of your soft sobs, the barely concealed panic in your voice - they haunted him. He needed to be with you, to hold you, to reassure you that everything was going to be okay.

With a firm shake of his shoulder, he freed himself from his manager's grasp, his movements abrupt and filled with a newfound, desperate energy.

"Seonghwa will take the leader role when I'm gone," he declared, his voice louder than it had been all night. "You will figure something out," he continued, his voice echoing with a resolve that hadn't been there before. Hongjoong gaze was intense, almost desperate, as he looked at his manager, it was a look they had never seen before, a look that spoke of desperation and determination that was both terrifying and heartbreaking. "Give me the keys to the car," Hongjoong demanded, his voice icily calm in contrast to the furious glint in his eyes. But his manager defied him, refusing to hand over the keys. Hongjoong was on a rampage, his usual composed demeanor replaced with a fiery rage that was starting to consume him. His vision blurred, the edges tinged with red as his frustration escalated."I NEED to go!" Hongjoong shouted, his voice filled with an urgency that cut through the tense silence.

"You're not thinking straight, Hongjoong," his manager retorted, his tone laced with frustration and concern. "You can't just abandon everything and run off. Think about the consequences!"

"I don't care about the consequences!" Hongjoong snapped, his patience wearing thin. "This is more important!"

"Oh, is it?" his manager sneered, a manipulative glint in his eyes. "Remember, Hongjoong, I can ruin you. I can leak your little secret to the press. Imagine the scandal, the headlines... ''ATEEZ's leader, Kim Hongjoong, abandons tour to chase after ex-girlfriend.'' How do you think the fans will react?" Hongjoong knew it was a threat, a blatant attempt to control him, but the reality of the situation was that his manager held the power to destroy his career.

Hongjoong's heart pounded in his chest, his blood running cold at his manager's words. He gritted his teeth as he cut off his manager's words.

"How do you know it's about her?" he demanded, his voice harsh. A cold dread washed over him as he considered the implications. How was it even possible for his manager to know you had contacted him? After all these months of radio silence, how could he possibly know? His manager shrugged, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I have my ways," he said cryptically. "Besides, it's not like I don't know what she still means to you." The words stung, a harsh reminder of the heartache Hongjoong had been trying to bury. "Don't tell me I didn't warn you," his manager said smugly, dangling the car keys in front of him. With a sigh, Hongjoong snatched the keys from his hand, his determination unwavering. He would face the consequences of his actions, whatever they may be, as long as it meant he could be there for you.

For the first time in his life, Hongjoong didn't care about professionalism or the implications of his actions. He didn't care about the shocked expressions of his manager and the other staff members. He didn't care about the potential backlash or the consequences he might face. This time, all he cared about was you.

He stops. The shift is sudden—your body still clenching around his dick, desperate for friction that’s no longer there. His hand fists in your hair and jerks you up hard, arching your spine until your back meets his chest. One arm locks around your waist, ribs pressed to his forearm. The other grips your jaw, fingers pressing into the hinge until your mouth falls open.

You can feel his pulse against your cheek.

You can feel your own everywhere.

“What did you just call me?” His voice is low, dangerous, a heat against your ear. You feel it more than hear it, vibrating through your ribs where he’s got you pinned. The air is hot and thin.

Your breath comes shallow, uneven. “I—”

“Say it again.” Hongjoong’s hips shift, just enough to make you gasp, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give you what you need. His thumb drags across your bottom lip, smearing spit at the corner. “Go on.”

You swallow. Your pulse hammers against his palm. “Da—”

He tsks, the sound soft and cutting. His grip tightens on your jaw until your eyes sting. “Wrong answer.” His thumb pushes your chin up.

His hand slides from your jaw to your throat, not squeezing yet. “You know better.” The words are barely above a whisper, but they land heavy. He pulls out almost completely, the drag lighting every nerve, then slams back in without warning.

Your body jerks forward with the force, a broken cry tearing from your throat. The slap of skin is sharp. The mattress stutters under your knees, the headboard slams again.

“Daddy—” The word comes out garbled, desperate, exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Good girl.” His grip on your throat softens, becomes almost tender. “Again.”

“Daddy,” you gasp, the word punched out of you with another sharp thrust. Your fingers curl uselessly in his grip, your whole body wound so tight you think you might shatter. “Please—addy, I need—” Your own spit threads from your mouth to his thumb where it drags your lip and you taste metal from your bitten tongue.

Hongjoong’s laugh is dark, satisfied. “Need what, love?” The hand on your throat slides down to palm your breast, rolling your nipple between two knuckles until heat spikes. He pinches it and the pain blooms sweet and mean. “Use your words.” His breath hits damp hair stuck to your temple.

You moan uselessly, the sound ragged and broken. Words won’t come—just desperate, incoherent noise that makes him groan against your ear.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, satisfaction dripping from every word. Your knees skid an inch on the sheet and his hand leaves your breast to clamps your hip and hauls you back so you feel the blunt head punch deep again. He holds you exactly where he wants you as he starts thrusting deep inside you. “Can’t even speak anymore, can you?”

You shake your head frantically, or try to—his hold on you barely allows the movement. Everything’s gone white‑hot and overwhelming, your body trembling in his arms as he takes you apart piece by piece. Your mascara is a damp smear at your lashes; a tear salt‑burns the corner of your mouth where it meets his thumb.

“Mmpf—please—” The words break on a sob as the tension coils impossibly tighter, your walls fluttering around him. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably. The mattress squeals. Hongjoong groans when your cunt strangles him, like the sound is dragged from somewhere he doesn’t show anyone.

“I’ve been a good girl, Daddy, please—” Your voice breaks on the words, desperate and pleading. “Please let me—fuc—k—let me cum, I need—”

“Not yet. Listen to yourself—messy little thing, slobbering on my hand and still trying to think you get a say.” His pace doesn’t falter, each thrust hitting that devastating spot that has your vision blurring. He changes nothing just to prove he controls everything. “You’ll cum when I say.”

“Daddy—” It’s a sob more than a word, your body trembling violently as you fight against the edge. “Please, I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

“Yes, you can. You’re a hole when I tell you to be a hole.” His lips brush your ear, voice dropping lower, amused and cruel. “Be useful.” His teeth take the soft flesh of your shoulder, a quick bite that stings and his tongue soothes, then he bites again, harder.

A broken whimper tears from your throat as tears prick at your eyes. “Yes—yes, I’ll wait—fuck—please—” The word breaks because he drives in meaner, holding you down with his forearm across your ribs until your breaths come shallow and quick.

“That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? Taking.” The room narrows to the slick drag and the hot thud of him and the damp heat where your bodies meet. “Just a wet little thing I wreck.”

Your eyes sting, vision blurring as the first tear slips free. It tracks hot down your cheek, and Hongjoong’s rhythm stutters for just a beat like he’s savouring it. His grip on your jaw shifts, thumb catching the wetness before it falls to the sheet.

“Look at you,” he breathes, hungry. “Crying because you can’t keep up. Cock‑drunk already and I’m not even trying.” He drags the tear across your cheekbone, reverent and mean at once. “So fucking pretty when you beg with your eyes.” He licks the salt from his thumb, eyes fixed on your wrecked mouth. “Open that useless mouth and try again.”

Another tear follows, then another. A sob catches as he drives deeper. His groan vibrates against your spine. “Pathetic,” he murmurs, almost fond.

Hongjoong’s hand moves from your jaw to cup your face, fingers gentle even as his hips maintain their brutal pace. “Let me see what a mess you are.” He turns your face just enough to catch the tear‑tracks in the low light, pupils blown. “Crying so pretty on Daddy’s cock.”

The praise and the cruelty braid together and break something in you. “Please—” Your voice frays to a thread.

“So good for me,” he says, and then ruins it: “Good for nothing but this.” He catches another tear with his thumb. “My perfect little toy.” His palm slides down your belly, heat making your muscles jump. “Say it.”

“T—toy,” you gasp, shame and want tangling.

“Show Daddy how pretty you look when you break.” He hooks two fingers in the corner of your mouth, yanking it open so spit strings glitter from your lip. “There. Pretty mouth.”

His thumb presses your bottom lip then pushes past. Two fingers follow, flattening your tongue until drool pools at the corners of your mouth. “Keep it open,” he orders, voice rough. “Show me that useless tongue.”

You do, jaw slack, spit threading down your chin while he fucks you deep. He presses farther, taps the back of your throat until your eyes glass. The first gag catches wet and awful, and he groans like you handed him a gift. “There it is. Choke on my fingers while I fill you up.”

He doesn’t pull back—he pushes deeper, knuckles wetting your tongue, and the next gag rips through you loud enough to embarrass you. Tears jump your lash line and spill. Hongjoong watches them like they’re rare, hunger softening his mouth. “Cry for me,” he murmurs, delighted.

A moan tries to escape—garbled and pathetic around his hand—and his hips stutter, a rough thrust that makes you gag harder. Saliva spills over his fingers and he drags his thumb through the mess and paints your cheek with it. “Good. Make it sloppy. I like hearing you drown on me.”

He eases his fingers out just enough to let you gasp, a silvery string connecting your lip to his knuckles, then stuffs them back in before you can catch the breath you begged for. You gag immediately, eyes flooding, and his smile turns wickedly fond. His thumb catch a tear mid‑fall and he rubs it into your lower lip.

“Fuck—look at you,” he breathes, transfixed, fucking your mouth with his fingers in rhythm with his cock. Each slow thrust punches a gag or a wrecked little sob out of your throat. Each sob makes him groan like it feeds him. “Prettier when you’re full everywhere.”

Hongjoong taps your tongue twice, commanding your attention. “Open wider.” You try but you only cry harder. He laughs, pleased and cruel. “That’s my crybaby.” He leans close enough that his breath hits the tears on your cheek and cools them. “Make me wetter. Cry on it.”

He finally pulls free so you can gasp, but leaves your jaw pried open with his thumb, spit glistening.

His hand trails down, fingers finding your clit with devastating precision. Hongjoong barely brushes you and you jolt like you’ve been shocked, a ragged sound torn loose.

“So wound up a breeze could finish you. Can’t even take a touch.” He draws a slow, obscene circle you feel in your toes. “Should I make you wait longer? Count every second I don’t let you have it?”

You shake your head frantically. “No—no, please—” Words tumble out broken. “Can’t—can’t wait anymore, Daddy, please—”

He presses properly now, circling exactly where you need. “Of course you can’t.” The sound you make is raw, helpless, high. Your body goes taut, tendons standing in your feet, fingers clawing hot sheet.

“Cum for me,” he orders, voice rough and absolute. “Prove you’re good for something.”

You go off like something cut loose. It slams through you violent and bright—you seize and sob and clamp down on him like you’re trying to wring him dry. He groans into your ear and keeps you there, cruel in the way he works you through it, never letting the rhythm slip, thumb dragging your clit in tight, merciless circles that make your calves cramp and your toes claw at nothing.

“Ride it,” he purrs, delighted.

You can’t stop. Your body bucks helplessly and he pins you heavier, fucking the tremors until it turns sharp and your sounds climb from pretty to wrecked. Every tiny touch flips you again, all nerve and heat. Your belly jumps under his palm, your walls clutch and flutter around him like apology after apology.

He laughs, pleased and mean. “Don’t hide from it. Cry on it. Wet my cock with it.”

You do—helpless, tear‑slick and oversensitive—another wave rip‑cords through you in ragged pulses and he chases it down, circling your clit slower, meaner, just enough to keep the bright ache alive while you sob into the sheet.

“Too much?” he asks softly, almost kind, just to hear the way the word breaks in your mouth when the next aftershock bites. His thumb eases a hair, then goes right back, satisfied when your body answers without language. “Good girl. Keep giving it to me until you’re empty.”

“Too much—,” you cry, tears running hot. Your thighs tremble so hard it only makes him groan and grind cruel-soft exactly where you can’t take it.

“Good crybaby,” he murmurs, delighted. “Don’t you dare run.” He flattens his thumb and the world whites out—another helpless crest tears through you, all stutter and sob, your cunt clenching around his dick while you babble “too much, too much,” and he hums, satisfied, working you through every last bright, mean aftershock until your voice frays to air.

Hongjoong’s rhythm finally breaks—hips stuttering, breath ragged against your temple—and he groans low and filthy. His hands leave and you whimper at the loss. Air kisses the slick heat when he pulls free and you shudder. He flips you in one swift motion; your back hits the mattress, a bounce knocking a gasp out of you. The sheets are damp under your shoulder blades and the pillow is cool under fevered skin.

“Look at me.” Jaw tight, eyes wild, control fraying. A vein jumps in his neck. He looks like sin and victory.

“Hands above your head.” You obey, wrists crossing. “Don’t move.” His palm pins your wrists; the heel of it grinds the bones together until you whine. The other drops to his cock and works himself once, twice, your slick shines on his length.

“Eyes on me.”

“Fuck—” The word breaks as his release lashes hot across your stomach and chest. Cum splashes your throat, a line streaks your collarbone. He doesn’t look away from your face while he watches it drip. Ragged breath. Shuddering shoulders.

He drags two fingers through the mess and paints your lips with it, slow. He pushes his fingers past your tongue. “Suck it up like a good little slut.” You do, cheeks hollowing, and he hums approval when you gag around his knuckles then he pulls free with a wet pop.

Hongjoong smears the rest of his cum across your cheek and jaw, then rubs what’s left into your throat.

“Hands stay.” Your wrists ache deliciously. His palm presses your sternum, shortening your breath; he lifts it just enough to give you air, like charity. Then he kisses you deep, filthy, tasting salt and himself on your tongue. He palms the back of your thigh and hikes it high to his hip. “Round two,” he says like a sentence.

“No—no—” Your thighs slam shut on instinct, trembling violently. Oversensitive doesn’t begin to cover it—every nerve ending feels raw, exposed, like touching a live wire. Your knees knock together as you try to curl away, breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

Hongjoong’s hand catches your knee before you can fully close yourself off. His grip is firm but he doesn’t force—not yet. He watches you shake apart, eyes dark and assessing.

“Too much?” The question sounds almost curious, like he’s cataloging your limits for future reference.

“I can’t—” Your voice breaks on a sob. “Please, I need—just a minute—”

His thumb traces idle circles on your kneecap, a mockery of gentleness while your body still trembles from the aftershocks. “That’s not how this works, love.” He leans down, lips brushing your temple. “You don’t get to decide when we’re done.”

His hand slides up your thigh, not forcing your legs open yet, just resting there with casual ownership. “You know how we end things.” It’s not a question. His eyebrow arches, that familiar challenge, and your stomach drops because you do know. You know exactly what he’s waiting for.

The word sits on your tongue—red. Simple. Final. It would stop everything.

But it won’t come.

“No?” His thumb strokes once, twice, maddeningly gentle against your feverish skin. “Then I’ll make it easy for you.” His voice drops, taking on that edge that makes your pulse stutter. “Three seconds. Say it or I’m not stopping.”

Your breath catches. Every nerve ending screams that you can’t, that you’re too wrecked, too sensitive, too much—

“One.”

The word is right there. Red. Your lips part.

“Two.”

His fingers trail higher, barely a whisper of touch, and you tremble. Your mouth stays open, empty.

“Three.” He waits one more heartbeat, eyes locked on yours, searching. When nothing comes—when you just stare back at him, panting and wrecked and silent—something shifts in his expression. Satisfaction, dark and absolute. “That’s what I thought.”

“Let daddy in.”

Your thighs fall open slowly, a surrender that feels like defeat and relief tangled together. He drags the blunt head through your slick and slaps it against your clit—wet, obscene—once, twice, just to watch your whole body jump. When he pushes in—slow, deliberate, watching every micro-expression that crosses your face—the oversensitivity makes you keen, a broken sound that's half-sob, half-moan.

“Good girl,” Hongjoong murmurs, and doesn’t move. He stays buried to the hilt, making you feel every inch, every slow pulse. Your walls flutter around him and he hisses through his teeth. “Still.”

“Daddy—” You twitch, trying to adjust to the obscene fullness, and his hand clamps your hip hard enough to bruise.

“I said still.” His voice is steel. He shifts a mean millimeter deeper, a promise you’re going to hate loving. “You said you ‘can’t’ anymore? Cute.” He settles like a stake driven into the earth. “Then be useful.” Hongjoong’s hand lifts your thigh and hooks your knee higher, forcing the angle open until the stretch sits deep and electric. “Keep Daddy’s dick warm,” he says, bored and cruel.

Heat licks up your spine. Hongjoong doesn’t thrust. He doesn’t have to. You try to breathe around it. He shifts another millimeter—just a cruel reminder of his thickness—and the sound that leaks out of you is humiliating.

You twitch—instinct, pathetic—and his cock slides against a nerve that makes your whole body jolt. You try to chase it, hips rolling a greedy inch before you can stop yourself.

“Did I say you could move?” His voice cuts through the haze, razor-clean. His palm slams your hip back to the mattress, pinning you flat with bruising force. “Greedy little sleeve. One rule. You can’t even manage one.”

A wrecked whimper leaks out. The stillness is torture—every ridge, every vein, the obscene stretch of him pulsing inside you while your body screams to grind, to rub, to take. Your thighs tremble. Your toes curl like you’re trying to scratch at the air.

“Please—” you gasp, voice shaking. “I need—”

“You need?” He laughs, low and mean. “You need to learn to take what you’ve given.” His fingers dig into your hip, owning the flesh. “Move again and I pull out. I leave you empty and leaking with your little hole clenched around nothing. Is that what you want?”

“N—no, Daddy, please—”

“Then be fucking still.” He settles a breath deeper, a hateful inch that makes you sob, and holds you there like a knife sheathed to the hilt. “Keep me warm like I told you.” His mouth brushes your ear, the smile audible. “Stop acting like a desperate slut who can’t control herself.”

You feel the words burn through you; your walls flutter helplessly around him. You can’t stop the tiny drag of your hips—barely there, shameful—and he feels it immediately.

“Ah‑ah.” He smiles against your cheek.

“Please—” It scrapes out of you, ragged.

“Please what.” Flat as a verdict. “Use your stupid mouth.” His thumb strokes your jaw, mock‑gentle.

Your body shakes with effort. Your calves cramp. “Please—” The word fractures before it can form, dissolving into a sound that’s barely human—just need and surrender wrapped in breath.

The fullness skates the edge of too much; oversensitivity turns every slow beat into bright heat. Hongjoong only watches, pleased and dark, while you struggle to hold still around him. A whimper leaves you, broken and desperate.

“Quiet,” he says, almost bored. “Toys don’t whine.” He shifts deeper just to hear the noise you make. “Hands flat. Eyes open. Count your breaths if you need to. Don’t twitch.”

You count breaths because he told you to and lose the thread at eight, at nine, at nothing, because your body betrays you—tiny flutters you can’t control. Each one earns you a hum against your temple, a lazy squeeze at your throat that says he felt it.

“Pathetic,” he croons finally, sounding pleased.

“Daddy—” slips out again, ruined.

“What do you think you’re going to ask for? You’re full. You’re not getting more. You’re keeping me.”

“Please—”

“Please what?” His voice goes flat. “No babbling, no noise. Full sentence. Ask to be used.”

Shame burns hot. “Please use me, Daddy.”

“Mhm.” He rewards you with a single, slow grind that rolls through you like thunder, then stops dead. “Ask better.”

Your throat tightens. The words stick—humiliating—but his silence is worse, patient and hungry, like he has all night to watch you crack. “Please use me however you want, Daddy,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I’m yours—I’m just—please, I need you to—”

“Need me to what?” His thumb traces your bottom lip, almost tender in a way that makes you want to sob. “Say it clear or I’ll sit inside you and watch you shake until morning.”

“Please fuck me,” you gasp, shame scorching every syllable. “Please—use me like the toy I am. I can’t—Daddy, wreck me, please—”

“There it is.” His smile cuts wicked against your jaw. “See? Useless little mouth can learn.” He drags out of you slow—obscenely slow—until only the tip sits at your entrance. The loss rips a whimper out of you. “Since you asked nicely.”

He slams back in with no warning. Your toes curl hard enough to hurt. Your nails bite your palms. You don’t move. You don’t dare.

“Better,” he decides, and finally gives you motion—small, shallow, nothing like mercy. Short, ruthless strokes that never leave you, just rock deep enough to make your breath hitch on every one. “Count them.”

“One,” you whisper. “Two.” By four your voice shakes. By seven it thins to air. By ten you’ve lost the number and he has to murmur it for you against your mouth, amused.

“Ten,” he says, and nips your bottom lip. “Hopeless little counter.” He pulls out to the edge again and you whine without meaning to. He catches your chin hard. “What did I say about whining?”

“Toys don’t whine,” you breathe, panicked and obedient.

“That’s right.” He slides back in, the stretch a bright, tearing relief, and sets a new pace that is nothing like earlier—just deep and slow and devastating, like he’s proving he can keep you here forever.

You feel it rising again—desperation clawing up your throat, that helpless way your body starts chasing friction on its own. Your hips twitch forward, greedy without permission. His fingers bite down instantly.

“Stop.” Ice-cold.

But you don’t. You can’t. You’re wrecked and stupid with need, and your body rolls again—small, hungry little pulses that betray every order he’s given you. A whine slips out, high and broken.

“Daddy, please—I can’t—I need more, please—”

“You can’t?” His voice drops to something dangerous. “Or you won’t?”

“I can’t—” Another whimper. Your hips buck again, chasing the friction he’s withholding, and the sound that leaves you is pathetic. “Please, Daddy, I need—need you to move, need it harder, need—”

He goes dead still inside you. The absence of movement is worse than any punishment.

“Greedy little thing,” he says, tone flat with disappointment. “I give you my cock to keep warm and you can’t even manage that without turning into a whining, desperate mess.”

“I’m sorry—” You’re babbling now, words tripping over themselves. “I’m sorry, Daddy, please—just—please fuck me, I’ll be good—”

“You’ll be good?” He laughs—sharp, cruel, joyless. “You’re not being good now. You’re being a greedy slut who can’t follow a single fucking instruction.” His hand slides from your hip to your throat—fingers wrapping lightly. Your pulse hammers against his palm. “I don’t like you like this.”

It hits like a slap. Shame floods hot and immediate, and still your body trembles, still clenching around him, still needing.

“Please—”

“Please what? Please keep giving you what you clearly can’t handle?” He shifts just enough to make you whine, then stops again. “You’re not ready for more. You can’t even take what I’ve already given you without falling apart.”

“I can—I can take it—” Your voice breaks on a sob.

“No.” Firm. Final. “You can’t. Look at you. Shaking and whining and begging like you forgot how to be still.” His thumb strokes your throat once—almost gentle, which makes it worse. “I told you to be useful. Instead you’re being pathetic.”

The disappointment punches something open in your chest. You force yourself still—every muscle screaming—swallowing the whine clawing up your tongue. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, small and wrecked. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He watches you for a long, measuring beat. Then, slowly, he withdraws completely. The emptiness is a knife.

“Daddy—no—please—”

“Quiet.” The word drops like a brick. He stays out of you, cock wet against your slit, heat without mercy. “You want more when you can’t even fucking hold still?” His laugh is flat and ugly.

Your chest hitches. “Daddy, I—”

“Don’t talk.” He drags the swollen head through your slick once, slow, and you gasp like a drowning thing. The emptiness screams. “You don’t get my cock. You get consequence.”

“Do you want Daddy to go find himself another hole?” His words hit like acid, eating under your skin. “A quiet one. An obedient sleeve that doesn’t twitch, doesn’t whine, doesn’t make me repeat myself like I’m training a puppy.”

“No—” It tears out of you, small and panicked. “No, Daddy, please—”

“No?” Hongjoong sounds almost curious, like he’s already halfway out the door. “Because you’re not acting like you want to keep me. You’re acting like a spoiled toy that forgot what it’s for.”

“I do—I want to keep you—” Your voice breaks. “Please don’t—I’ll be good, I promise—”

“You promised to stay still five fucking minutes ago and look where that got us.” His thumb drags across your bottom lip, cruelly tender. “Maybe I should find a hole that knows how to listen. One that doesn’t babble, doesn’t beg, and doesn’t forget every rule the second it gets full.”

The image scalds—him leaving you empty and shaking while he goes somewhere else—and the sob that rips free is ugly.

“Please, Daddy—please—I’ll do better, I swear—don’t leave, please don’t, I need you—”

“Need me?” His voice goes flat. “You need to learn to fucking behave.” He drags the head of his cock on your swollen clit like a threat and your body jerks up desperately. “See? Even now you can’t stay still.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—” Tears slip hot into your hair. “I’ll be good, I promise, please just—stay—”

“One. More. Chance.” Soft and lethal. “You twitch, you whine, you breathe wrong—and I’m done with you tonight. I’ll go find that quiet hole, and you can hump the sheet and think about why I left.”

The burn in your eyes sharpens.

“Say the rule.”

You swallow. “Keep—keep you warm.”

“At a minimum.” He taps the head against your clit again—light, mean—once. Your twitch and his hand locks your pelvis to the mattress with bruising pressure. “And you couldn’t even fucking do that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, shaking.

“I don’t want sorry. I want silent, still, useful.” He lays the fat tip at your entrance and holds it there. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to keep me right here and not twitch. You breathe wrong, we reset. You beg wrong, we reset. You whine, you don’t get me at all.”

“Daddy—”

“Start.” His thumb presses your throat, not choking, just owning. “Five breaths.”

You count, voice wrecked and tiny. One. Two. Your body claws for friction and he hears the minuscule drag in your hips like it’s a confession.

“Reset,” he says, bored. The head lifts off you. The loss is a knife. He sets it back and you whine before you can strangle it.

“Reset.” He smiles without warmth.

Shame burns through you. “Please—” You bite it off and force your lungs to move. One. Two. Three. At four he ghosts the head forward—no entry, just stretch on the skin—and you hiccup a sound you barely recognise.

“Reset,” he repeats, almost amused now. “We’d be done by now if you weren’t such a needy fuckup.”

“I can do it.”

“Doubt it.” He pats your cheek condescendingly. “But try again.”

You count, lips trembling. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He stares down at you, unimpressed. “Now thank me for not fucking you.”

The sentence scrapes your throat raw. “Thank you for not fucking me, Daddy.”

He hums, pleased—and disappointed anyway. “Again, like you mean it.”

“Thank you for not fucking me,” you rush the words out, “For making me still. For making me useful.”

“Finally.” The head presses, a murderous inch, then stops dead inside—no thrust, just fullness that feels like a verdict. You choke on a sound; his fingers tighten on your jaw.

“Now you hold me there and you don’t move,” he says, low and lethal.

Your body locks into place, every muscle screaming against the stillness. The stretch sits there—barely inside, not enough, too much—and he doesn't move. Just watches you shake around that single cruel inch, his expression flat and clinical, like he's studying how long it takes before you break again.

He watches your thighs quiver around that single inch like he’s timing a lab experiment. “Three breaths,” he says, voice clinical. “Earn another inch.”

You breathe. One. Two. On three your belly flutters; he feels it. The head slides in a second inch and stops dead. You whimper through your teeth.

“Again. Three.”

You make it, barely—every nerve screaming—and he feeds you another inch like he’s measuring with a ruler. “See?” he murmurs, disappointed anyway. “When you shut up and follow orders you almost pass for useful.”

“Daddy—”

His palm covers your mouth, not to mute, to own.

He waits, indifferent to the shake, then seats the rest in a slow, inevitable push and locks your hips to the mattress. Utterly full. Utterly still.

“There.” His fingers tap your jaw, condescending. “Now ask me for nothing.”

You swallow hard, nod against his palm because language might ruin you. He smiles—cold, pleased—and starts the smallest motion imaginable, a cruel internal drag that never lets you chase. Your body tries anyway. He feels the microscopic reach.

“Aaand there she is,” he sighs, disgusted.

“On your fucking knees,” he says, voice flat and final. “Ass up.”

He pulls out completely—the emptiness is brutal—and you scramble to obey, limbs clumsy with need. Your knees hit the mattress, your chest drops, and you arch your back the way he likes, presenting yourself like an apology.

“Higher.” His palm cracks across your ass—sharp, unforgiving—and you gasp, lifting until your spine curves obscene. “There. Now stay exactly like that and think about why you're here instead of full of my cock.”

The air feels too cold on your exposed cunt. You hear him move behind you, deliberate and unhurried, and the anticipation is its own kind of torture. His hand smooths over the curve of your ass once—almost tender—then his palm comes down again, harder. The sound cracks through the room.

“Count.”

“One,” you breathe, shaking.

Another, lower—right on the tender hinge where ass meets thigh. You jerk, then wrench yourself back into place.

“Two—”

“Louder. Like you fucking mean it.”

The next lands before your mouth can catch up. You yelp. “Three!”

“Better.” He pauses, fingers trailing through the slick mess between your thighs, not giving you anything, just reminding you what you're not getting. The touch is featherlight—clinical, almost—and it makes you ache harder than if he'd pressed down with intent. Your clit throbs where his knuckles barely graze it, swollen and desperate, and the emptiness inside you feels like a wound. Every nerve ending screams for more.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I couldn’t stay still—couldn’t—”

“Because you’re greedy.” The slap is vicious and precise. “Four.”

“Four,” you sob.

“Because you take what I give you and immediately beg for more like it’s not enough.” His hand comes down again, twice in quick succession, and you lose count, scrambling to catch up.

“Five—six—“

“Pathetic.” He sounds disgusted and pleased at the same time. His knuckles skim the burn, then slide meanly through your slick, circle your clit once and abandon it like a test you failed. The touch makes you clench around nothing, empty and aching, every nerve ending screaming for more pressure, more contact, more of him. The abandonment feels like a punishment you can’t name—your body chasing something he’s already taken away. “Still dripping. Still desperate. Still not listening.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy—”

“You will be.” His fist knots in your hair, yanking your face off the sheet. “We keep going until your body remembers how to obey. You twitch or gasp wrong, we reset to one.”

The next strike lands; you choke the whimper into your teeth and hold. “Seven!”

“Let’s see you make it to ten without falling apart.”

Eight snaps high on the curve; nine brutal on the sit spot. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste iron and force the numbers out steady—“Eight. Nine.”—and you don’t move.

Ten comes down perfect, right where it hurts prettiest.

“Ten.” Your voice is raw but even. Silence drops heavy around it.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, palm smoothing over the heat, reverent like he’s polishing his work. “Directions aren’t complicated when you’re not busy failing.”

His fingers trace the marks he’s left, then slide lower, through the slick mess between your thighs. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound, from pushing back into his touch.

“Don’t you dare chase,” he says softly.

You lock your hips but Hongjoong rewards you with nothing. Then—finally, cruelly—one slow circle on your clit that makes your calves charlie-horse and your lungs forget.

You wait. You hold perfectly still, thighs shaking, breathing shallow through your nose. You wait for the praise—for him to tell you you’re good, that you’ve finally done it right, that you’ve earned something. The silence stretches. His thumb stays maddeningly light, circling without pressure, and the words don't come.

They’re not coming.

The realisation settles cold in your chest even as heat coils tighter in your belly. He’s not going to give it to you.

“Please,” you whisper, a thread. “Please tell me I did good.”

Hongjoong’s hand stills. The silence stretches, and you feel the weight of his gaze on you.

“Ask properly.”

You swallow hard, forcing the words out even as shame and need tangle in your chest. “Please, Daddy. Please tell me I’m good. I need to hear it. I need to know I did well.”

His thumb resumes—tight, deliberate circles that you meet with perfect stillness because you want the words more than air. “You want praise?” he asks, almost curious. “After the shitshow you put on?”

“I made it to ten,” you rasp. “I stayed still. I didn’t move.”

“You finally did what you were told,” he concedes. Pressure sharpens and every muscle in you locks so you don’t grind into it. “Miracles.”

“Please,” you breathe. “Please, Daddy—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hongjoong says, voice flat. His thumb stops mid-circle and lifts off entirely. “I didn’t ask for begging. I asked for obedience.”

The loss of contact is devastating. You bite back a whimper, holding position even as your thighs shake.

“You think making it to ten earns you anything?” He sounds almost bored now, disgusted. “That’s the bare minimum of not being completely fucking useless.”

Your eyes burn. You keep your face pressed to the sheet, don’t move, don’t speak.

“You want praise for doing what you should’ve done the first time?” His hand comes down once more on your ass. “For finally shutting up and following a simple fucking instruction?”

Silence. You don’t answer because he didn’t ask a question you’re allowed to respond to.

“That’s what I thought.” His fingers trail back between your thighs, maddeningly light, and you hold so still you forget to breathe. “You don’t get praise for meeting expectations. You get my cock when you exceed them.” His voice drops, cruel and clinical. “And you? You’re so far below the bar I’d need a fucking shovel to find where you started. You think ten slaps and some tears make you special? You’re not even average. You’re just finally less of a disappointment than you were five minutes ago.”

His fist knots in your hair again and yanks you upright—sharp, brutal—until your spine arcs and your knees scream against the mattress. Your scalp burns; your throat opens on a gasp you can’t swallow back.

“Look at me.” His voice is low, final. You force your eyes open, vision blurred, and meet his gaze. It’s flat. Clinical. Like he’s deciding whether you’re worth the effort.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He tightens his grip until tears spring hot and immediate. “Attention. Validation. My fucking time.”

You can’t nod—his hold won’t let you—so you whisper it, wrecked. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Then stop fucking wasting it.” He drags you closer by the hair, your body folding backward, chest exposed, throat vulnerable. “Stop begging for praise you haven’t earned. Stop moving when I tell you to be still. Stop acting like you don’t know exactly what I expect from you.”

He releases your hair and you collapse forward, gasping. Before you can catch your breath, his hands are on your hips, hauling you upright and off the bed entirely. Your legs don’t work right—numb and shaking—but Hongjoong doesn't care, dragging you across the room until your palms hit cold glass.

“Hands flat,” he orders, positioning you facing the window. The city glitters below, oblivious. “Don’t you fucking move them.”

You press your palms to the glass, the chill biting into your overheated skin. The window is floor-to-ceiling, and you’re on the twentieth floor—exposed, visible if anyone bothered to look up. The thought makes your stomach drop.

“Daddy—“ you start, voice thin with panic.

“I don’t remember asking you to speak.” His hand lands between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest forward until your breasts press flat against the glass. The cold shocks through you, nipples hardening instantly, and you gasp at the contrast. “You wanted my attention? Congratulations. Now everyone down there gets a front-row seat to what happens when you finally shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.”

His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in closer, caging you against the window. “Look at them. All those people going about their boring little lives, and if even one of them glanced up right now, they’d see you—spread out, dripping, desperate. They’d see exactly what kind of slut you are. The kind who begs for cock pressed against a window twenty floors up.”

He grinds his hips forward slightly, not entering yet, just letting you feel the threat of it. “Think about it. Some guy walking his dog. Some woman coming home from work. And there you are—tits against the glass, ass out, waiting to be fucked like you’re on display. Like you’re a show I’m putting on for the whole goddamn city.”

He kicks your feet apart, wider than stable, until you’re on display—open, vulnerable. His hand trails down your spine, over the burning marks on your ass, then lower.

“Stay exactly like this,” he says, voice deadly calm. “Hands on the glass. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound."

You feel him line up behind you, the blunt pressure of his cock against your entrance. Your breath fogs the window. Every instinct screams to push back, to take what you need, but you lock your muscles and hold.

“Everyone can see you,” he says, breath hot against your ear as he leans over you, caging you between his body and the glass. “See how desperate you are.”

The angle is punishing. He bottoms out so deep you feel it in your throat then he pulls to the edge and shoves back in in one rude stroke. Your gasp splashes white on the glass. Hongjoong watches it bloom and fade and times the next thrust to erase it. He does not tease. He does not test. He just takes—hips snapping in a pace with no mercy—each impact a proof that your body belongs exactly where he’s putting it. When your thighs start to shake he only tightens his hand at your hip, grinding you into the glass so the cold bites your nipples and the heat bites everywhere else

Your reflection stares back at you—fucked out, wrecked, mouth open on silent gasps you’re not allowed to voice.

“This is what you needed,” he continues, rhythm brutal and unrelenting. “Not praise. Not softness. Just someone to put you exactly where you belong and fuck the desperation out of you until you remember how to behave.”

Your legs are shaking so hard you can barely stand, but his grip on your hips is iron, holding you in place, keeping you upright and on display as he uses you against the window.

You’re e so full. The stretch is devastating—not painful, but so complete it rewires every nerve ending, makes you hyperaware of every inch of him inside you. Your body clenches reflexively, trying to adjust, and the friction makes your breath stutter. He’s so deep you feel it in your stomach, a pressure that borders on too much but somehow isn’t enough.

The heat of him is overwhelming. You can feel every throb, every shift of his hips, the way he fills every space until there’s nothing left but him. Your walls flutter around his length, trying to accommodate, trying to hold on, and the sensation makes your head spin.

You feel owned. Claimed. Like your body was made specifically for this—for him to fill and use and shape however he wants. The thought makes you clench again, and you hear his breath catch behind you.

Hongjoong’s hand clamps your hip and drags you back onto him while his mouth finds the slope where neck becomes shoulder. He bites—hard, deliberate—until your breath splinters on the glass, then sucks wickedly slow to pull the bruise up dark and pretty. “Mine,” he says into the mark, not for you, for the mirror of your face in the window.

Rings grind into your skin as his fingers hike your waist higher, leaving crescent dents along your side. He shifts his grip to your ass and you almost hiss—the flesh is still burning from before, hypersensitive—but he doesn’t care, squeezing until your skin crests his knuckles. Then he smacks the same handprint in place—once, twice, a third time—each impact landing on already-raw skin that makes you gasp sharp and broken into the glass.

His mouth trails lower, teeth scraping the curve where your shoulder meets your throat. He sucks hard enough to sting, working the skin until you feel the heat bloom under his lips. When he pulls back, you know there's a mark—dark and obvious, a claim you'll see tomorrow and every day after until it fades.

“Everyone’s going to know,” he murmurs against your skin, moving to a new spot. His teeth catch again, sharper this time, and you whimper before you can stop yourself. He doesn’t scold you for it. Instead, he hums, pleased, and works his way across your throat, your collarbone, the top of your shoulder—each love bite deliberate, territorial. His tongue soothes over the marks before his teeth return, and the contrast makes you dizzy. Your reflection in the glass shows the trail he’s leaving. A constellation of bruises that spell out exactly who you belong to.

“Prettier when you bruise,” he murmurs, and you feel him smile against your throat. He shoves your wrists wider on the glass, laces his fingers over yours so you can’t hide the way you shake, and fucks you harder—short, piston drives that press your chest flat and stamp the rhythm into your spine. Your breath paints messy halos on the pane. Hongjoong leans forward and bites your ear, low laugh ugly against your skin.

His mouth moves to the curve of your neck, lips dragging slow over the sensitive skin just below your ear. The gentleness is unexpected—devastating. Your body doesn’t know what to do with tender after brutal, and the contrast hits like a live wire. He kisses once, soft, then again lower, and your breath catches wrong in your chest.

“Daddy—“ you try to warn him, but it comes out broken.

“Quiet,” he murmurs against your throat, and kisses you again. His lips are warm, almost reverent as they trail down to your shoulder, and the rhythm of his hips never falters—still deep, still unrelenting, but now paired with this impossible softness that’s unraveling you faster than anything brutal ever could.

It builds wrong. Too fast. You weren’t ready for it—one second you’re holding on, the next you’re free-falling, your orgasm slamming into you without warning. Your whole body locks up, spine arcing away from the glass as the pleasure rips through you in violent, uncontrollable waves. He feels the clamp coming—a greedy, panicked grab—and rips out in one brutal drag.

The world snaps wrong. Heat turns to air, slick to cold, friction to nothing. Your cry out raw and too loud, fog exploding across the glass in a white star. Your thighs slam together on instinct and find only his palm, flat and merciless, forcing your knees wide again. Everything skids, your body still pitched for impact while the impact is gone, nerves misfiring, the ache in your belly pitching higher with nowhere to go. Your clit throbs, your calves seize, your nipples spark on the pane.

“Did I say you could cum, you filthy slut?” His voice is ice and venom.

”Please-” Your voice cracks into a ragged wail you can’t swallow. The sound embarrasses you even as it keeps coming-thin, high, animal-your chest scraping the glass as you shudder.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Hongjoong’s hand clamps your jaw brutal and drags your open mouth to the window so you hear yourself against the pane-hot breath, pathetic little whimpers bouncing back. “Disgusting. Look at this mess.” Two fingers slide through the slick pouring out of you and slap your clit mean, the sting bright and metallic and your whole body jerks like a current ran through you. “Dripping like a bitch in heat. You’re fucking pathetic.”

He does it again-lighter, crueler-just enough to sharpen the ache and keep it blooming. “Greedy cunt couldn't wait, could she?” The cold on your front feels like punishment, the heat at your back feels like a dare. You can taste blood where you bit your tongue, you can feel his ring scrape your hip as he drags your pelvis higher and pins you there, open and empty and shaking. “Worthless little whore. Can’t follow one simple fucking rule.”

“Could’ve asked. Could’ve been good. But no-you had to be a desperate fucking cumslut,” he snarls at your reflection, voice dripping contempt. He paints your hipbone with your own slick like a stripe, degrading, then presses his thumb into the fresh bruise on your shoulder hard enough to make you gasp. “Now hold it and suffer.”

Your body argues in every language it has—fluttering, pleading squeezes at nothing, a pulse between your legs that hurts, a tremor you can’t stop—while he gives you exactly no motion where you need it and too much where you can’t take it. He bites the hinge of your jaw, sucks until colour swells up pretty and dark, and when your breath stutters toward that helpless climb again, he taps your clit once—just once—and the wave collapses with a sob that fogs the glass and runs. “Filthy fucking thing. This is what disobedient sluts get.”

Your body is betraying you—hips rolling in tiny, desperate circles even though he’s not inside you anymore, chasing friction that isn’t there. The orgasm he denied you earlier left everything raw and oversensitive, and now every nerve ending is screaming for release. Your clit throbs in time with your pulse, swollen and aching, and the emptiness inside you feels like a physical wound.

You can feel it building again—that terrible, inevitable climb. Your thighs are shaking so hard they might give out. Heat pools low in your belly, coiling tighter with each ragged breath. It’s different this time—sharper, more desperate, edged with something that feels dangerously close to panic because you know what happens if you fall over without permission.

“Daddy—please—” Your voice cracks on the plea. “I need—I can’t—”

The pressure builds and builds, your body pulled taut as a wire, every muscle locked in anticipation of a release you’re not allowed to have. You’re so close it hurts—that edge right there, shimmering just out of reach, and your body keeps reaching for it anyway, mindless and greedy and completely beyond your control.

His fingers barely touch your clit, just the ghost of pressure—and begin to circle with agonising slowness. Not enough to give relief, just enough to make everything worse. Each lazy pass sends sparks shooting through your nerves, stoking the fire instead of quenching it.

“You gonna try cumming again without permission?” His laugh is cruel against your ear, all sharp edges. His hand spreads over your throat, thumb under your jaw to keep your face to the window, forcing you to watch yourself fall apart. “Be still. Feel every second of what you don’t deserve. Feel it, you needy little whore.”

Your body doesn’t listen—can’t listen. The orgasm crashes through you anyway, ripping a broken cry from your throat as you clench and pulse around nothing. Your legs give out completely, only his grip on your throat keeping you upright against the glass as pleasure tears through you in waves you can’t control.

“Did I fucking say you could?” Hongjoong’s voice is ice.

Your vision blurs with tears—shame and oversensitivity and the cruel ache of cumming empty. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I couldn’t—”

“Pathetic.” He releases your throat and you crumple, legs buckling, but he catches you by the hips before you hit the floor.

Hongjoong peels you off the window by the back of your neck and walks you to the bed like he owns the hinge of every joint. The mattress hits the backs of your knees, he doesn’t guide you down so much as throw you, a bounce knocking a breathless sound out of you.

His hand cracks across your face—not hard enough to hurt, but sharp enough to snap your attention back to him. The sting blooms hot across your cheek, shocking you into stillness.

“Eyes on me,” he commands, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare look away.”

He slaps you again—same cheek, harder this time—and the sound that rips from your throat is pure, shameless need. A moan, broken and desperate, that makes his eyes go dark.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost reverent. His thumb traces the reddened skin, the heat of it blooming under his touch. “You like that, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he slaps you again—lighter this time, almost playful—and watches your pupils blow wide. “Yeah,” he confirms, reading your body like a book he’s memorised. “You fucking love it.”

He’s on you a second later—knee between yours, shoving them wide—hands mean on your hips as he lines up and drives in with one brutal stroke that punches the air out of you.

“Quiet,” he snaps, palm clamping over your mouth. “Swallow it.”

Your moan dies behind his hand, trapped in your throat where it burns. No easing, no rhythm—just slam, slam, slam—his pelvis clapping your thighs, the headboard starting to complain in hard little knocks that match your pulse. The angle is obscene with your hips tipped; each drag feels like he’s stripping you to the studs and hammering you back together wrong. Every sound you want to make gets caught behind his palm, building pressure in your chest until you’re choking on your own desperation.

“Look at me,” he grits. You do—eyes glassy—and it only makes him rougher. Heat builds thick and fast in your belly again, that off‑the‑cliff drop, the ache and burn at your clit. The sounds are wet and humiliating and loud, but your moans stay trapped—swallowed down like he ordered, leaving only the whimpers that leak through your nose and the desperate way you’re breathing against his palm.

Hongjoong’s close—you can feel it in the way his breathing saws, in the vicious set of his mouth, in the way his rhythm goes intent and ugly, grinding at the end of each thrust like he’s carving his name into the spot that makes you see static. His hand stays firm over your mouth, forcing you to take it in silence, to keep every wrecked sound locked inside where only you can feel how thoroughly he’s breaking you apart. You catch the first stutter in his hips and reach for him without thinking, greedy, pleading.

“Don’t.” The word is a snarl. He stuffs you full and holds there, cock thick and pulsing inside you, then drags out slow enough to scrape sparks and snaps back in hard enough to jolt your spine. “You don’t deserve Daddy’s cum.”

The sentence lands like a slap. Heat spikes behind your eyes; your body clenches around him in panicked apology.

“Please—” you manage against his palm, the word muffled and desperate.

“You need to learn.” Another slam—deep, punishing—and the next rolls through you like thunder, heavy grind at the end that drags a high, torn sound from your throat.

Your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, nails digging in, but he catches both wrists in one hand and pins them above your head. His other hand finally leaves your mouth.

“Please,” you sob, shameless now. “Please fill me—please let me have it—I’ll hold it—I’ll be good—”

He laughs—short, cruel—breath burning your cheek. “Will you?” His hand slides to your throat, thumb under your jaw to tilt your face up so he can watch you fall apart. “Say it properly.”

“Please, Daddy,” you gasp, voice breaking on the word. “Please cum inside me. I need it. I need you. I’ll keep it. I’ll—” Your voice knifes up because he grinds just right and the lights stipple again. “Please—I’ll be useful—please—”

His control frays; you feel it in the nasty little shiver that runs through him, in the way he clamps your hip like it’s the only thing stopping him from painting you from the inside. He bares his teeth, eyes sharp and dark. “Beg better.”

“Please—use me properly—mark me from the inside—please, Daddy—”

“Mhm.” The sound is a threat and a promise. He slams you deeper, deeper, harder—headboard knocking time, breath brutal at your ear—then rips out at the last second and fists himself once, twice, the wet slick of you shining his length while you wail.

“No—no, please—" The words tumble out desperate and broken. You reach for him with shaking hands, shameless now, all pride dissolved. “Please fill me up—mark me—use me—” You’re babbling, hips canting up obscenely, trying to tempt him back.

His eyes darken as he watches you fall apart, a cruel smirk playing at his lips. “Look at you,” he breathes, voice dripping with condescension. “Begging like a bitch in heat.” His fist keeps working himself, slow and deliberate, making you watch every stroke.

Your thighs spread wider without him asking, presenting yourself like an offering. “Please cum in me—I'm begging—I'll do anything—” Tears stream down your face, your voice cracking. “Need to feel you—need Daddy’s cum so bad—please don’t waste it—please use my hole.”

“Shut the fuck up.” His voice is dead calm, which makes it worse. “You think you deserve Daddy’s cum?" He laughs—short, cruel. “No. You’re going to lie there empty and watch me waste it. Watch what you don’t get to have.” His eyes are vicious, mouth twisted. “Pathetic little cumslut can’t even follow simple fucking rules. Open your eyes wider. I want you to see every drop you’re not getting.”

“Please, Daddy,” you sob, voice breaking on every word. “Please use your cumslut—please fuck me —I’ll be so good—I’ll take everything—please.”

You look at him—eyes glassed, mouth open, body clenching on nothing—while he edges himself cruelly, letting every half-breath of relief flash and die on his face. He squeezes himself hard, strangling the tremor, and lets the edge bleed away while you sob beneath him, trembling empty and open.

His hand fists in your hair, “What are you?"

“A slut,” you whimper, shame burning through you.

“A what?” He pulls harder, making you gasp.

“A pathetic slut—Daddy’s pathetic slut—”

“That’s right.” He releases your hair with a shove, letting your head fall back against the mattress. “And you love it,” he continues, voice dark with satisfaction. “Love being Daddy’s desperate fucktoy. Love being used and degraded and filled up like the greedy whore you are.”

“Yes,” you sob, because it’s true, because you can’t deny it when your body is still trembling with need.

“Tell me what you are.”

“I’m Daddy’s greedy whore,” you gasp out, shame and arousal twisting together. “I’m a desperate cumslut—I’m pathetic—I need you—”

“Fucking right you do.”

Then he flips you onto your stomach before you can process it, one hand shoving between your shoulder blades to pin you flat. The sheets are hot against your cheek, your breath trapped in the mattress.

“Stay down," Hongjoong orders, voice low and mean behind you. You feel him shift, feel the mattress dip as he repositions, and then his hands are on your hips, dragging them up, arching your back until you’re presented exactly how he wants you. You’re face-down, ass up, completely exposed with no way to see what he’s doing, no way to brace for what comes next. Your fingers twist in the sheets.

“Daddy—” you start, voice muffled.

“No,” he cuts you off. “You don’t get to look at me. You don’t get to see if I’m close. You just take what I give you and be grateful.”

He lines up and shoves in without warning, the angle deeper like this, meaner. Your cry gets swallowed by the pillow as he sets a brutal pace, hips slamming against your ass with each thrust. The sound is obscene—skin on skin, the wet slide of him inside you—and you can’t see any of it, can only feel and hear and drown in it.

“You’re lucky Daddy loves your hole,” he growls, and the words hit like a brand. His hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp crack echoing in the room. The sting blooms hot and immediate, and you whimper into the pillow.

“Lucky I don’t leave you empty and aching.” He punctuates it with another thrust, deeper, meaner, grinding at the end until you’re sobbing. “This greedy little cunt,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Always so desperate for me. Always begging so pretty.”

“Say it,” he demands. “Say you’re lucky.”

“I’m—I’m lucky,” you gasp out, voice wrecked and muffled. “I’m lucky Daddy loves my—”

“Louder.”

“I’m lucky Daddy loves my hole,” you sob, shame and arousal twisting together until you can’t tell them apart.

“That’s right.” His rhythm turns vicious, each thrust punching the words back into you. “Don’t you forget it.”

“Please, Daddy—please—I'll do anything—I'll be so good—please just fill me—please cum inside me—” You sob again, pushing back against him even though you know better, trying to take him deeper. His breath hitches and you chase it, sensing weakness.

His hand finds your clit immediately, two fingers pressing down with just enough pressure to make you jolt. “This what you needed?” he asks as he starts to rub tight, mean circles that have you gasping.

“Yes—fuck—yes, Daddy—” You can barely get the words out, your whole body arcing up into his touch. His fingers work your clit in ruthless little circles while he fucks into you, the dual sensation making your vision blur at the edges.

“Gonna make you cum on my cock this time,” he growls. “Gonna feel you squeeze me while you fall apart.” His fingers speed up, the pressure perfect and devastating, and you’re already so close you can taste it.

“Please—Daddy—I can't—” Your voice breaks, thighs shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up. The pressure builds too fast, too much, coiling tight in your belly until it feels like something’s going to snap.

“You can,” he snarls, “You will. Show Daddy what a good little slut you are.”

The angle shifts just enough and suddenly you’re there again—past the point of holding back, past the point of control. Your orgasm slams through you with brutal force, and this time it’s different. Wetter. Your whole body locks up as you gush around him, soaking his cock, the sheets, making a mess you can’t stop even if you wanted to. The sound that rips from your throat is inhuman.

“Fuck—” Hongjoong chokes out, and his rhythm shatters. “Fuck—that’s it—” He feels you clenching and pulsing around him, feels the hot rush of your release, and it destroys him. Three more brutal thrusts and he’s gone, slamming deep and grinding as he finally, finally fills you. You feel every pulse, every throb as he empties himself inside you, his groan low and wrecked against your spine.

His hips stutter through the aftershocks, grinding shallow like he can’t bear to pull out yet. Your body is still twitching, still clenching around him in weak little aftershocks while his cum starts to leak out around where you’re joined. He stays buried deep, breathing hard against your shoulder blade.

“Good girl,” he finally murmurs, voice hoarse. “Such a good fucking girl for me.”

He doesn't pull out. Instead, his hips roll forward again, fucking his cum deeper into you, the obscene wet sound making you whimper. “One more,” he growls against your ear, his voice rough and commanding. “Give me one more.”

“Daddy—I can’t—” Your voice breaks, oversensitive and wrecked, every nerve ending screaming. It hurts—the drag of him inside you feels like fire, too much sensation on already brutalised nerves. You try to squirm away but his grip on your hips is iron.

“You can.” His hand slides back to your clit, fingers still slick, and starts those same ruthless circles. The first touch makes you sob—it’s too much, bordering on painful, your body trying to reject the stimulation. “You’re going to cum on my cock again with my cum inside you. Going to make a bigger mess.”

The sensation is overwhelming—too much, too sensitive—and it hurts. Each thrust feels like he’s grinding against raw nerves, the wet slide obscene and filthy but painful in its intensity. You can feel his cum leaking out around him, coating your thighs, but all you can focus on is how much your body is screaming at you to stop.

“Daddy—please—it hurts—” you sob, tears streaming down your face.

Hongjoong stills immediately. Completely. His fingers freeze on your clit, his hips lock in place, and the sudden absence of movement is almost jarring after the relentless intensity.

“Colour,” he demands, voice cutting through the haze with sharp clarity. “Give me your colour right now.”

You’re gasping, trying to process the question through the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“Green,” you manage to choke out between sobs.

“Don't lie to me.”

“Green,” you repeat, more firmly this time despite how wrecked your voice sounds. “Promise—it's green—just hurts—overwhelming— don’t stop”

“I know,” he murmur gently, his hips moving again. “I know it hurts, baby. Just breathe through it.”

You try to obey, gasping for air, and somewhere in the burning oversensitivity, something shifts. The pain doesn’t disappear, but it starts to blur at the edges, transmuting into something else. Your body adjusts to the intensity, and suddenly the hurt starts to feel good—sharp and bright and desperate.

“Feel that?” he asks, grinding deep. “Feel how full you are? That’s all Daddy’s cum, and you’re going to squeeze it out when you cum again.”

“Please—” The word comes out broken because you don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore. His fingers work your clit with practiced cruelty, and the oversensitivity that was making you sob is suddenly driving you higher. You can feel it building again—impossibly, devastatingly—your wrecked body finding another peak despite everything.

“That’s it,” he encourages, voice dark with satisfaction. “Knew you could take it. Feel you getting close again. Such a greedy little thing. Can’t get enough of daddy’s cock, can you?”

“No—no, I can't—” you gasp, pushing back against him mindlessly. The pressure builds impossibly fast, sharp and brutal and bright now instead of painful. Every nerve that was screaming in protest is now singing, driving you toward the edge with vicious intent.

“Come on,” Hongjoong growls, his fingers pressing harder, circling faster. “Give it to me. Show Daddy what a mess you can make.” His cock grinds deep, hitting that devastating angle. “Cum on Daddy’s cock right fucking now.”

Your body obeys before your mind catches up, the orgasm ripping through you with devastating force. You clench around him so hard it hurts, your walls spasming and tightening in a vice grip. The sound you make is broken and desperate, somewhere between a scream and a sob.

“Fuck—” Hongjoong chokes out, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck—you’re so tight—” His voice breaks on the last word because you’re squeezing him so hard he can barely move, your body milking him with each brutal pulse. “Gonna make me—fuck—”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Your cunt clamps down on him one more time and it destroys him completely. He slams deep with a guttural groan, grinding against you as he cums again, harder this time, filling you even fuller. You feel every throb, every pulse as he empties himself inside you for the second time, his whole body shuddering against your back.

“That's my good girl,” he gasps out, voice wrecked. “Making such a pretty mess for Daddy. So fucking tight—milked it right out of me.”

You gush again—harder this time, wetter—your body wringing itself out around him in pulsing waves while his cum floods you. The release is so intense it borders on violent, liquid heat flooding between your legs, soaking everything. You feel it run down your thighs, hear it drip onto the already-ruined sheets, and the humiliation of it only makes you clench harder, forcing more of his release to leak out around where you’re joined.

“There it is,” Hongjoong breathes, reverent and filthy at once. “So fucking messy for me.” His hips keep grinding shallow, working you both through it, forcing every last drop out while you shake and sob beneath him. “Such a good little squirter. Making Daddy so proud.”

Your whole body goes limp, muscles giving out completely. You collapse face-first into the mattress, boneless and used, trembling with aftershocks. Hongjoong finally stills, cock still buried deep, and lets his weight settle against your back. His breathing is ragged against your neck.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your sweat-slick shoulder. “You did so fucking perfect, baby. Squeezed me so tight I couldn’t help it.”

You can’t move, can’t think, can barely breathe. The sheets beneath you are soaked—cum and your own release mixing in a cooling puddle. Hongjoong shifts slightly, cock still buried deep, and you whimper at the oversensitivity. You can feel how full you are, how much he’s filled you, and it leaks out in thick rivulets with even the smallest movement.

When he finally pulls out, the loss is immediate and devastating. You whine—high and broken—feeling unbearably empty after being so full. His cum starts to leak out in earnest now, thick and warm, dripping down your thighs in slow rivulets. The sensation makes you shudder.

“Shh,” Hongjoong soothes, his hand stroking down your spine. He shifts his weight, hands sliding under your shoulders as he carefully rolls you onto your back. Your body settles against the mattress, and you feel more of his cum leak out with the position change, thick and warm between your legs.

“There we go,” he murmurs, settling between your spread thighs. “Look how much Daddy filled you up. So much it can’t even stay inside.”

You whimper, hips twitching uselessly, body still trying to clench around nothing. The emptiness feels wrong after everything, like you’ve been carved hollow. More of his release spills out with each aftershock, and you can feel it cooling on your skin.

“So pretty like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “All fucked out and dripping. Made such a mess of you.” His thumb drags through the slickness, spreading it further, and you keen at the oversensitivity. “My perfect mess.”

You can’t form words, can only lie there trembling while he touches you with a gentleness that feels almost cruel after everything.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and the praise makes something warm bloom in your chest despite your exhaustion. Your body is wrecked, oversensitive, every nerve ending raw and singing. But when his fingers brush over your entrance again, gathering more of the mess he’s made, you find yourself pushing back into the touch despite the sensitivity.

“Oh?” Hongjoong’s voice lifts with surprise, his fingers stilling. His eyes darken as he watches you move against his hand—mindless, instinctive—seeking more despite everything. Despite being so thoroughly fucked out that coherent thought is impossible. “Still greedy for it, baby? Even with that pretty head all empty?”

You can't answer with words—don't even fully understand the question—but your body knows. Your hips roll weakly against his palm, chasing the touch with clumsy desperation. A soft whine spills from your lips, needy and thoughtless. Parts of you crave the continued touch. The emptiness feels worse than the sting.

“Greedy thing,” he murmurs, but there’s wonder in it now, not just teasing. His fingers slide through the mess again, more deliberately this time, and you whimper. “Even after I fucked you senseless. Even after you came so hard you soaked the sheets twice. You still want Daddy’s touch.”

“Puh—please,” you manage, the word barely forming through drool-slicked lips, voice completely destroyed and slurred beyond recognition.

Hongjoong’s expression shifts—something possessive and tender at once. “Okay, baby,” he soothes. “Daddy’s got you. Always got you.” His fingers circle your entrance gently now, gathering the cum that’s still leaking out and pushing it back inside with careful pressure. The sensation makes you gasp, oversensitive but good, filling that devastating emptiness just slightly.

“There,” he whispers. “Is that what you needed? To stay full?”

You nod frantically, pushing against his hand, and he obliges—two fingers sliding in deeper, keeping his release inside you. The stretch is almost too much on your abused walls, but it’s what you want. What you need.

“Such a good girl,” he praises softly. “Taking everything Daddy gives you and still asking for more.”

His fingers work slow and steady inside you, and something in your brain just... shuts off. The constant buzz of thoughts, the ability to form coherent words—it all dissolves into nothing but sensation. Your mouth falls open, soft moans spilling out with each gentle thrust of his fingers.

“There she goes,” Hongjoong murmurs, watching your expression go slack with satisfaction. “There’s my girl. Nothing left in that pretty head but how good Daddy makes you feel, huh?”

You can’t even nod properly, just a loose movement of your head, eyes unfocused and glassy. Another moan slips out, breathy and mindless. His fingers curl slightly and your hips twitch, but there’s no urgency to it—just your body responding on pure instinct while your mind floats somewhere far away.

“Look at you,” he says softly, almost reverent. “Fucked you so good you can’t even think anymore. Just my empty-headed baby now, aren’t you?”

“Mm,” is all you can manage, the sound quiet and blissed-out. Your eyes flutter, struggling to focus on his face. Everything feels distant and warm, your body heavy and pliant beneath his touch.

“That’s right,” Hongjoong coos, his free hand stroking your cheek. “Don’t need to think. Just need to feel. Just need to let Daddy take care of you.” His fingers maintain that slow, gentle rhythm, keeping you full, keeping you floating. “Such pretty sounds you’re making. Can’t even form words anymore, can you?”

You shake your head—barely—another soft moan falling from your parted lips. The oversensitivity has melted into something dreamlike, each movement of his fingers sending lazy waves of pleasure through your wrung-out body. There’s no edge to chase anymore, no building tension—just the mindless contentment of being touched, being full, being his.

“Perfect,” he whispers. “Absolutely perfect like this.”

His hand slides up from your hip, palm warm against your ribs as it travels higher. When he cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, you keen—high and broken. The sensitivity is different here, less raw but somehow more direct, each touch shooting straight through you.

“So responsive,” Hongjoong murmurs, watching your face as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. Your back arches weakly, pushing into the touch despite your exhaustion. “Even here. Every part of you is so fucking sensitive for me.”

His fingers inside you curl slightly in time with the pinch of his other hand on your nipple, and the dual sensation makes your eyes roll back. Another mindless moan falls from your lips, your body responding without thought, without control.

“That’s it,” he coos, switching to your other breast, palm kneading gently before his fingers find that peaked bud. “Just feel it, baby. Don’t think. Just let Daddy play with you.” He tugs slightly and you whimper, hips twitching against the fingers still buried inside you. “So pretty when you make those sounds.”

His touch alternates between gentle and firm—thumbs circling your nipples, palms pressing against the soft weight of your breasts, fingers occasionally pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. Each touch keeps you floating in that mindless space, pleasure washing over you in slow, lazy waves.

“Could play with these all day,” he murmurs, dipping his head to press a kiss to the curve of your breast. “Watch you fall apart from just this.” His tongue flicks out, circling your nipple before his lips close around it, and you gasp—the wet heat of his mouth making everything sharper, more intense.

Hongjoong sucks gently, tongue working the sensitive bud while his fingers continue their slow rhythm inside you. Your hands find his hair, holding on weakly, not pulling—just needing something to anchor you. When he grazes his teeth across your nipple, your whole body jolts, a strangled sound escaping you.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your skin. “Taking everything so well. My perfect, empty-headed doll.”

Your thighs shake harder now, trembling under his attention, muscles twitching with aftershocks that won’t stop. Each suck of his mouth, each curl of his fingers inside you makes them quiver more violently, until you can’t keep them still even if you tried.

“Joong,” you whimper, his name barely coherent, your voice destroyed and small. His mouth releases your nipple with a wet pop, switching to the other side, and the attention makes your back arch off the mattress weakly. “Can’t—too much—”

“Shh, I know, baby,” he soothes, releasing your breast to press kisses along your sternum. His fingers slow inside you, gentling their rhythm as your thighs continue to tremble uncontrollably. “But you’re doing so well for me. Just a little more, okay? Let me take care of you.”

You nod weakly, unable to do anything but submit, your body no longer your own—just something for him to play with, to care for, to keep floating in this mindless space. Your thighs won’t stop shaking, trembling against his sides as he settles between them again, and you can feel more of his cum leaking out despite his fingers still working to keep it inside.

“One more, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “Give Daddy one more and then I’ll let you rest.”

You manage to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes, vision blurred and unfocused. It takes effort to keep them open, each blink longer than the last. His face swims above you, features soft and concerned, and you can barely make out the dark intensity of his gaze.

“There you are,” he murmurs, his free hand cupping your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “Stay with me, baby. Just a little more. Can you do that for Daddy?”

You try to nod, but your head feels impossibly heavy, movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Another weak sound escapes you as his fingers curl inside you, and your eyes threaten to slip closed.

“Eyes on me,” Hongjoong coaxes gently, tapping your cheek to keep you present. “Want to see you when you fall apart one more time. Need to watch my baby come undone.”

It takes everything you have to keep your gaze on him, eyelids fluttering with the effort. His fingers work inside you with deliberate care, coaxing your body toward that edge one more time despite your exhaustion.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises softly. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.” His thumb finds your clit, circling with barely-there pressure, and your mouth falls open on a silent cry. “Almost there, baby.”

His hand moves from your face to slide two fingers past your parted lips. The touch is unexpected, gentle but insistent as they press against your tongue. Your eyes widen slightly, trying to focus on him through the haze.

“Suck,” Hongjoong commands softly, his voice dropping lower. “Show Daddy how good that mouth can be.”

You obey automatically, lips closing around his fingers, tongue working weakly against them. The taste is clean, just skin and the faint salt of sweat, and something about the act—the fullness in your mouth matching the fullness between your legs—makes you whimper around his fingers.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, watching your lips wrap around his digits with dark satisfaction. “Such a perfect mouth. Takes everything I give you so well.” His fingers inside you curl harder and you moan around the ones in your mouth, the sound muffled and desperate.

He pushes them deeper, making you gag slightly, and your eyes water as you struggle to accommodate them. “Shh, relax,” he soothes, easing back just enough. “Just like taking my cock. You can do it.” The comparison makes you clench around his other hand, and he groans. “Feel that? Your body knows what it wants.”

His thumb on your clit presses firmer now, circling with intent, and you keen around his fingers. Drool starts to leak from the corners of your mouth as you struggle to keep sucking, your jaw slack and uncoordinated. Everything is too much—the stretch in your mouth, the fullness between your legs, the relentless pressure on your clit.

“So messy,” Hongjoong says with satisfaction, watching the spit drip down your chin. “Can’t even keep it together anymore, can you? Just my brainless little toy.” He pulls his fingers from your mouth with a wet sound, dragging the saliva down your neck, your chest, leaving a glistening trail. “Open.”

You obey without thought, mouth falling open, tongue out. He leans down and spits directly onto your tongue, the act filthy and possessive, and you moan at the degradation of it. “Swallow,” he commands, and you do, throat working visibly.

“Good fucking girl,” he praises darkly. His fingers push back into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, keeping your mouth open and exposed.

Your hand moves without thought, fingers wrapping weakly around his wrist. You pull it down, guiding it to your throat, settling his palm against the vulnerable column of your neck. The request is silent but unmistakable.

Hongjoong’s eyes darken immediately, understanding flickering across his face. “Yeah?” he asks, voice dropping lower. “Want Daddy’s hand around your throat while he makes you come?”

You nod as much as you can with his hand there, a desperate whimper escaping you. His fingers curl around your neck—not squeezing yet, just holding, the weight of his palm a promise.

“Please,” you manage, the word barely a whisper, and that’s all he needs.

His hand tightens around your throat, pressure building slowly, controlled. Not enough to cut off your air completely—just enough to make each breath something you have to work for, something you have to earn. The restriction sends your body into overdrive, every nerve ending lighting up as his fingers inside you curl relentlessly and his thumb grinds against your clit.

“That’s it,” Hongjoong growls, watching your face flush darker as the oxygen thins. “Give it to me. Come for Daddy one more time.” His grip shifts slightly, thumb pressing against your pulse point, and he can feel your heartbeat racing beneath his palm. “Feel how hard your heart’s pounding for me? Your body knows who it belongs to.”

Your vision starts to blur at the edges, stars dancing across your sight as the pleasure builds impossibly higher. His fingers don’t let up, working you with practiced precision, and you’re teetering right on that edge—desperate for release but unable to tip over without his permission.

“So fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe and desire. “Completely at my mercy. Taking everything I give you so perfectly.” His hand loosens slightly, letting oxygen rush back in, and the sudden clarity makes everything sharper. “You'’re doing so well, baby. So good for Daddy. Just let go—I’ve got you.”

The praise combined with the pressure returning to your throat is what breaks you. The orgasm hits different this time—slower, deeper, rolling through you like a wave pulling you under. Your mouth opens on a silent scream, no sound escaping with his hand locked around your throat, and the deprivation makes everything more intense.

“Perfect,” Hongjoong breathes, watching you fall apart beneath him. “That’s my perfect girl. Look at you—so beautiful when you come for me. Did so fucking well, baby.” His hand stays firm on your throat through every wave, controlling even this, drawing it out until you’re shaking uncontrollably.

When he finally releases your throat, you don’t even gasp for air. Your body just goes limp, every muscle surrendering at once. Your eyes slip closed despite trying to keep them on him, and the last thing you register is his voice—distant, concerned—calling your name.

“Baby? Hey—” Hongjoong’s hand immediately cups your face, patting your cheek gently. Your head lolls to the side, body completely unresponsive. You’re still breathing—he can see your chest rising and falling—but you’re utterly gone, consciousness slipping away into the exhaustion he’s wrung from you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, but there’s no panic in it. Just concern mixed with something like awe. He carefully withdraws his fingers from inside you, and you don’t even twitch at the loss. More cum leaks out onto the sheets, but you’re too far gone to notice or care.

He shifts immediately into caretaker mode, moving with practiced efficiency. His hand stays on your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone as he checks you over. Your pulse is steady under his fingers when he presses them to your throat—the same throat he was just restricting. Your breathing evens out into something deeper, more peaceful.

“Did so good,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Too good. Gave me everything.” There’s pride in his voice, but also guilt—he pushed you right to your absolute limit and over it.

He stays close, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, making sure you’re really okay. After a moment, he tries again, voice soft but insistent. “Hey. Baby, come on.” His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek. “Need you to wake up for me.”

You don’t respond, body still limp and unmoving. He sighs, shifting to sit beside you, one hand sliding to your shoulder to shake you gently. “Can’t let you sleep yet. We need to get you cleaned up first.”

Still nothing. Your breathing stays deep and even, completely out of it. Hongjoong’s expression softens, guilt flickering across his features again. He really wore you out this time.

“Okay,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” He slides one arm under your shoulders, the other beneath your knees, lifting you carefully against his chest. Your head lolls against his shoulder, body pliant and unresisting.

He carries you toward the bathroom, your weight comfortable in his arms. “You’re going to be so mad at me later if I let you sleep like this,” he says quietly, nudging the bathroom door open with his foot. “All sticky and messy. You’ll complain for days.”

He sets you down carefully on the edge of the tub, one hand staying on your shoulder to keep you upright while he reaches for the faucet. Your head tips forward, chin nearly touching your chest, and he has to catch you before you slump completely.

“Baby,” he tries again, patting your cheek a bit more firmly. “Come on. Just need you awake enough for a bath. I’ll do everything else.” The water starts running, warm steam beginning to fill the small space as he tests the temperature.

Your eyelids flutter—barely, but it’s something. A soft, incoherent sound escapes you, and Hongjoong takes it as a victory.

“There you are,” he encourages, both hands cupping your face now, lifting your head. “Let’s get you in, okay?” He helps you into the tub, supporting your weight as he eases you down into the warm water. The heat envelops you immediately, and you let out a small, contented sigh.

He kneels beside the tub, one hand still steadying you, about to reach for the washcloth when your fingers weakly grasp at his wrist.

“With you,” you mumble, eyes still closed, the words barely coherent but unmistakable.

Hongjoong’s expression softens immediately, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Yeah? Want me to get in with you?” He doesn’t wait for another response—just climbs into the tub behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His arms wrap around you, steadying you in the water, and you let out a small, satisfied hum as you melt into his warmth.

“Stay still,” he murmurs against your skin, voice soft and gentle—so different from how he sounded minutes ago. His lips press to your shoulder, kissing over the marks he left there. Some are already darkening into bruises, others are just faint impressions of his teeth. He maps each one with careful attention, like he’s cataloging the evidence of what he did to you.

You lean back into him, boneless and pliant, letting him support your weight completely. The warm water laps around you both as he reaches for the washcloth, soaping it up with one hand while the other stays wrapped around your waist.

“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” he says quietly, dragging the cloth along your arms with gentle strokes. His lips find the curve of your neck, pressing soft kisses to the red marks his hand left on your throat. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Don’t be,” you mumble, the words thick and drowsy. “Wanted it.”

He makes a soft sound—half laugh, half sigh—and kisses the bruise at the junction of your neck and shoulder, the one from his teeth. “I know you did. Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you after.” The washcloth moves to your chest, your stomach, washing away the sweat and evidence of everything that happened.

His other hand comes up to tilt your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck. He kisses every mark there too, lips tender against the sensitive skin. “So pretty,” he whispers. “Even covered in bruises. Especially covered in bruises.”

You hum contentedly, eyes still closed, completely surrendered to his care. His hands are so gentle now—washing you clean, touching you like something precious. The contrast makes your chest ache in the best way.

“I love you,” you murmur, barely audible.

Hongjoong's hands still for just a moment before continuing their careful work. “I love you too,” he says against your shoulder, punctuating it with another kiss. “So much. Even when I’m mean to you.”

Especially when he’s mean to you, maybe—but that’s something you both understand without saying.

He brings the cloth to your inner thighs, cleaning away the evidence of your releases, his movements are especially gentle, aware of how sensitive you must be.

“Almost done,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. The washcloth moves down your legs, over your calves, taking his time to make sure he’s gotten everything. You feel yourself drifting again, lulled by the warmth of the water and his tender care.

When he’s finished, he sets the washcloth aside and just holds you for a moment, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, steady and reassuring.

Something stirs in your chest—gratitude, affection, love.

With effort, you turn your head slightly, just enough to press your lips to his cheek. It’s a soft kiss, lazy and uncoordinated, but full of feeling.

Hongjoong goes still, then lets out a breath that sounds almost like relief. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer against him. “What was that for?” he asks quietly, though there’s a smile in his voice.

“Thank you.”

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, turning to press his own kiss to your temple. “Don’t thank me for taking care of you,” he says softly. “That’s my job. Especially after I’ve wrecked you like that.” But his voice is warm, fond, and you can hear how much your simple gesture affected him.

You shift in his arms, turning more fully despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. The movement sends water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub, but Hongjoong adjusts easily, his hands sliding to your waist to help stabilise you as you face him.

His eyes meet yours—dark and searching, still carrying traces of the intensity from before but softened now with concern and affection. You lift one hand, fingers trembling slightly as they trace the line of his jaw, then cup his cheek.

“Hey,” he whispers, his own hand coming up to cover yours against his face. “You okay?”

Instead of answering, you lean in and kiss him. It’s slow and deep, nothing like the desperate, hungry kisses from earlier. This one is grateful, reverent—a thank you and an I love you and an I trust you all wrapped into one. Your lips move against his with deliberate tenderness, and you feel him sigh into it, his body relaxing as he kisses you back with equal softness.

His arms wrap around you properly now, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other stays secure at your waist. He angles his head to deepen the kiss just slightly, still gentle but more present, more him. When you finally pull back, it’s only enough to rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing the same air.

You catch the softness in his expression—the way he’s looking at you like you’re something precious—and a small, teasing smile tugs at your lips despite your exhaustion. Your fingers trace lazy patterns on his chest.

“You know,” you murmur, voice still thick with exhaustion but laced with amusement, “for someone who just fucked me unconscious, you’re being awfully soft right now. What happened to the mean Joong from like ten minutes ago?”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrow slightly, though there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you complaining?”

“No,” you say, still trailing your fingers down his chest lazily. “You’re just being so sweet.”

His eyes narrow slightly, though there’s amusement flickering in them. “You want him back? Because I can arrange that.”

“Mm, no,” you hum, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I like this version too. All gentle and worried about me.” Your smile turns a little wicked. “It’s cute.”

“Cute,” he repeats flatly, though you can see the way his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.

“Very cute,” you confirm, your fingers walking up his chest to tap against his collarbone. “Taking care of me, kissing all the marks you left, being so—” You pause, pretending to search for the word. “—domestic.”

Hongjoong’s hand slides up to catch your wrist, his grip firm but not rough. “You’re lucky you can barely move right now,” he says, voice low, “or I’d remind you exactly how un-cute I can be.”

You laugh—soft and breathless—and let yourself collapse back against his chest. “See? Cute. You’re threatening me while holding me in a bubble bath.”

He groans, but his arms wrap around you again, pulling you close. “You’re impossible,” he mutters against your hair, but there’s no heat in it. Just fondness, and maybe a little exasperation. His hand strokes down your back in slow, soothing motions. “Rest. You’ve earned the right to be a brat for a few minutes.”

“Only a few minutes?” you tease, already feeling yourself starting to drift again.

“We’ll see how long my patience lasts,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. But his tone is warm, and you know he’s not actually annoyed. If anything, he sounds relieved that you’re coherent enough to give him a hard time.

You shift again, the water rippling around you as you turn to face him fully. His hair is damp, some strands clinging to his forehead, others pushed back haphazardly. His eyes are dark and deep, watching you with that same careful attention he always has, like you’re the only thing that matters.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, close enough that your breaths mix. His thumb strokes your cheek like he’s checking you’re really here.

“Like what?” you ask while your fingers starts tracing idle circles on his chest.

His gaze narrows, suspicious. “Like you’re about to start something.”

You tilt your head, considering him with exaggerated seriousness. “Maybe I am.”

A quiet, disbelieving laugh slips out of him. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“And yet,” you say, letting your fingers trace his jaw again, feather-light, “you’re still watching me like you’re trying to figure out what I’m thinking.”

His hand closes around your wrist—not tight, not controlling. Just there. Grounding. Possessive in a way that doesn’t hurt.

“I don’t have to figure it out,” he says. “I know you.”

“Oh?” You lean in, just enough to brush your mouth against the corner of his—almost a kiss. Almost. You stop a heartbeat short, letting him feel the tease in the pause. “Then tell me.”

His eyes drop to your lips. “Don’t get cocky,” he warns, but the warning sounds thin, like it’s already losing.

You hum, pretending to think about it. “I’m not cocky.”

He gives you a look that says liar.

You meet it without flinching. “I’m just… curious.”

“About what?” he asks, voice low.

You press a soft kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, then the place under his ear where you know it makes him go quiet. You feel his breath hitch, and it makes you brave.

“About how long it takes,” you murmur against his skin, “before you stop being sweet and start being mean again.”

He exhales a laugh—one of those quiet ones that means he’s trying not to show how much you got to him. His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your pulse. “You’re teasing me,” he says.

You blink slowly, innocent on purpose. “Am I?”

He leans in, close enough that his nose brushes yours. “You should rest.”

You let your smile widen, just a little. “Make me.”

His gaze drops, then returns to your eyes, darker now. “Careful.”

You press a final kiss to his lips—soft, brief, unhurried—then pull back before he can deepen it.

“Or what?” you whisper.

He looks at you for a long second, like he’s deciding how honest to be. Then he tucks you closer, forehead to yours, and his voice goes quieter.

“Or I’m going to stop pretending I’m patient.”

You sigh like you’re satisfied with that answer, and let your eyes fall closed, still smiling.

“Mm,” you hum. “There you are.”

His jaw ticks. You feel it more than see it—the subtle shift in his expression that says you’re walking a line.

“You’re pushing,” he says quietly.

“Am I?” you ask again, tone dripping with false innocence. Your fingers trail down his chest, nails dragging just lightly enough to make him inhale sharp. “I’m just sitting here. Being good.”

“You don’t know how to be good,” he mutters, but there’s heat creeping into his voice now, the kind that makes your pulse kick up.

You tilt your head, letting your smile turn sharper. “That’s not true. I was very good earlier. You said so yourself.”

His hand tightens on your waist—just enough to make you aware of it. “That was different.”

“How?” you challenge, leaning in until your lips brush his ear. “Because you were in charge?”

Hongjoong goes still. Dangerously still. The kind of stillness that means you’ve officially gotten under his skin.

“Baby,” he says, voice dropping into that low register that usually makes you shut up and listen. But right now, it just makes you bolder.

“What?” you ask sweetly, pulling back to look at him with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m just asking questions.”

His thumb presses into your hip—not hard, but deliberate. A warning. “You’re being a brat.”

“Me?” You press a hand to your chest in mock offence. “I would never.”

“Liar,” he says flatly.

You bite your lip to keep from grinning too wide. “Prove it.”

His eyes flash. “You really want to do this right now?”

“Do what?” you ask, all fake confusion as your fingers walk up his chest again, tracing the line of his collarbone. “I’m just sitting here in this nice bath you drew for me, being so grateful—”

“—being a pain in my ass,” he interrupts, but there’s a crack in his composure now. You can see it in the way his gaze drops to your mouth, then back up. In the way his grip on you shifts, like he’s deciding whether to pull you closer or push you away.

You lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts over his lips. “You love it,” you whisper.

He stares at you for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, he smiles—and it’s not the soft, fond smile. It’s the dangerous one. The one that means you’ve successfully woken up the version of him that doesn’t play nice.

“Okay,” he says simply. His hand slides up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “You want to be a brat? Go ahead. But don’t complain when I remind you what happens to brats who push too far.”

Your stomach flips—half anticipation, half genuine thrill. You should probably back down now. You’re exhausted, barely recovered, and you know he’s serious.

But instead, you smile back at him, just as sharp. “Promises, promises.”

His eyes narrow. “Last chance.”

You press a quick, teasing kiss to his lips—there and gone. “Make me stop.”

He exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s physically restraining himself. “You’re going to regret this.”

“Maybe,” you say, trailing your fingers down his chest again, slower this time. “But that sounds like a future me problem.”

Hongjoong’s eyes sharpen. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you ask, innocent as a knife. “Use your words.”

His jaw ticks. For a second you can see the exact moment his patience runs out.

Then he moves.

His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, grip firm enough to make your breath catch. “You want me to use my words?” he says, voice dropping low and dangerous. “Fine. Stop teasing me before I forget I was trying to be gentle with you.”

You roll your eyes at him, the gesture slow and deliberate—practically daring him to do something about it.

His grip tightens fractionally. “Did you just—”

“What?” you interrupt, blinking up at him with exaggerated innocence. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You rolled your eyes at me.”

“Did I?” You tilt your head, playing dumb.

Hongjoong’s stare lingers, heavy and unimpressed, like he’s deciding how much patience you’re allowed to borrow before he takes it back with interest.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, almost thoughtful. “You did.”

Before you can respond, he shifts—slow, deliberate—until you’re pressed back against the edge of the tub, his body caging yours.

He kisses you then—deep and consuming, the kind that steals the air from your lungs and replaces it with heat. His hand tightens at the back of your neck, holding you, and you can’t do anything but take it. His mouth moves against yours like he’s proving a point, like he’s reminding you who’s in control here, and it works. God, it works.

When he finally pulls back, your eyes are half-closed, breath coming in short, uneven gasps. You feel dazed, unsteady, like the world tilted and forgot to right itself.

He’s watching you, and there’s that smirk—slow, satisfied, dangerous. “Is this what you wanted?” he asks, voice low and rough.

You nod, still catching your breath, unable to form words yet.

The dining room table had become Seonghwa's kingdom, and you were about to declare war on it.

He sat hunched over the wooden surface, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, silver chain catching the light streaming through the windows. 

His black tank top stretched across his shoulders as he leaned forward, absorbed in the lego architecture set before him. Tiny plastic bricks organized in neat piles, instruction manual spread open.

You'd been watching him for the past hour from the kitchen doorway, growing irritated by how captivated he was by those damn toys.

The way his brow furrowed in concentration, how he'd pause to push his glasses up his nose before diving back in, the clicking sounds of plastic snapping together.

It was crazy how something so trivial could hold his attention when you were standing right there.

"Hwa." Your voice cut through.

He didn't even glance up. "Mmm."

You stepped closer, bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. "How long have you been at this?"

"Few hours." His response was distracted, eyes still fixed on the instruction manual as he searched for the next piece.

The dismissal stung. You moved to the edge of the table, leaning your hip against it so the surface shifted, a few bricks scattered.

His hands froze. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours, and there was a warning there. "Don't."

The single word was sharp.You could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tightened around the piece he'd been holding.

"Don't what?" trailing your finger along the table's edge, purposely brushing against more bricks. "I'm just looking."

"You're being a brat." He set the piece down, "Do you have any idea how long it takes to line these pieces up? How much work I've put into this?"

"It's just plastic, Seonghwa."

His glasses slipped down his nose as he finally turned to face you fully. "Just plastic?"

You could see you'd struck a nerve, and something in you wanted to push harder. Without breaking eye contact, you swept your arm across a section of the table, sending more sorted bricks scattering across the floor.

The sound of plastic hitting hardwood filled the silence between you.

Seonghwa's expression went completely blank for a moment. He stood slowly, the chair scraping against the floor.

"You want attention that badly?"

Before you could respond, his hands were on your waist, lifting you onto the table. Bricks pressed into your thighs through your shorts as he positioned you right in the middle of his workspace.

"Then you'll have it."

His mouth crashed against yours. You could taste the tea he'd been drinking, could feel the chain around his neck pressing cold against your chest as he kissed you with intensity.

When he pulled back, you were breathless, lips already swollen.

"But we're doing this my way."

His hands found the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down along with your panties in one motion. 

"Seonghwa, what are you—"

"Getting comfortable." He settled back into his chair, pulling you forward until you were straddling his lap. 

You could feel him already hard beneath his sweatpants, the thick outline of his cock pressing against you.

His hands gripped your hips as he lifted you, just enough to free his cock from his pants. The sight of him, thick and already leaking made your mouth water and your pussy clench with anticipation.

"Damn, already dripping." His thumb brushed through your folds, collecting the wetness there. "All worked up from being ignored."

You tried to sink down onto him, desperate for the stretch and fullness you craved, but his grip on your hips held you in place.

"Patience." The word was low against your ear. "You barged in and interrupted my work—now you’re gonna sit here and wait while I keep you stuffed."

He positioned his cock at your entrance, the thick head barely hitting you, and then stopped. The stretch was already intense, Seonghwa was big, bigger than anyone you'd been with before, and your body always needed time to adjust to his size.

"Please." The word slipped out before you could stop it.

"Please what?"

"Can you please fuck me already, shit."

His laugh was dark, vibrating against your throat where he'd pressed his lips. "Oh, I will. But first, you're going let me finish what you so rudely interrupted."

Without warning, he pulled you down onto his cock in one brutal thrust, burying himself completely inside you. The sudden fullness knocked the air from your lungs, your walls stretching to accommodate his girth. 

"Fuck." The curse tore from your throat as you tried to adjust to the sensation of being so full.

"That's it. Take all of me." His voice was strained, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "You feel that? All the way up in there—”

You could only whimper, your body trembling. He was so deep you could swear you felt him in your stomach.

"Now." His hands moved to the table, reaching around you for the instruction manual. "You're going to sit there, stuffed full of my cock, and not move until I'm done."

The casual way he said it, like you were nothing more than a convenient cock warmer, sent arousal through you. Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, drawing a hiss from his lips.

"I said don't move."

One hand left the manual to wrap around your throat, not squeezing but holding you in place. The weight of his palm against your pulse was a constant reminder of his control.

"But Hwa."

"No." His thumb pressed harder, just enough pressure to make your breath catch. "You wanted my focus. This is what you get. And if you're very good, maybe I'll fuck you right."

The clicking of lego pieces resumed,  along with your shaky breathing and the wet sounds of your pussy adjusting around his cock. 

Every small movement he made, reaching for a piece, consulting the manual, shifting in his chair, made you want to pull your hair out from the roots.

Minutes passed. Your thighs began to shake from the strain of staying still, your walls fluttering around him as arousal built to an almost unbearable level. The position had you completely open to him, unable to create any friction or relief.

"Look at you." His voice was sooo casual, like he wasn't buried balls-deep inside you. "So desperate. I can feel how wet you're getting, dripping all over my cock."

You tried to rock your hips, seeking any kind of movement, but his free hand clamped down on your hip.

"What did I say about moving, once again?"

"I–I need it though."

"You need to learn patience." His fingers found your clit, circling it with light touches that made you gasp. "This is what happens when you act like a spoiled brat. You get treated like one."

Your hands fisted in his tank top, trying to ground yourself as pleasure built slowly..

"Please, Seonghwa. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I messed up your stupid lego set."

"Stupid?" The word was quiet.

His hand left your clit, and before you could process what was happening, he was standing, lifting you with him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he turned and bent you over the table, his cock never leaving your pussy.

Lego bricks clattered to the floor as he swept them aside. The instruction manual crumpled under your chest as he pressed you down, the glossy paper sticking to your sweat dampened skin.

"You think my work is stupid?" His hips snapped forward, driving his cock deeper than you thought possible. "Let me show you what stupid looks like baby."

The first thrust knocked the breath from your lungs. The second had you crying out, fingers scrambling on the table surface. He set a brutal pace, each stroke hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur.

The table shook with each impact, more pieces falling to the floor. Some of the bricks remained pressed into your skin, not painful enough to truly hurt.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" 

"Couldn't stand being ignored, so you had to ruin my stuff."

His chain swung forward with each thrust, the metal links dragging across your back and shoulders. 

"Answer me."

When you didn't respond immediately, too lost, his hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back.

"I said answer me."

"Yes." The word came out as a broken sob. "Yes, I wanted your attention."

"And now you have it." He released your hair, both hands gripping your hips as he managed to fuck you even harder. "Being bent over and used like a toy."

There was something about the way he said it, like you were his toy, his to use however he wanted. 

"Fuck, you're tight." His rhythm faltered for a moment. "No matter how many times I fuck this pussy, you never get used to my size."

It was true. Even now, after months together, the stretch was still intense, still required your body to adjust. He was just too big, too thick.

"Never." You managed between thrusts. "Too big."

"That's right." 

"No one else could fill you like this. No one else could stretch this cunt the way I do."

His hand pressed against your lower belly, and you could feel him there, the thick outline of his cock moving inside you, creating a bulge with each thrust.

"So so deep I'm rearranging your guts." You could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as it moved inside you.

"Mine." The word was harsh against your ear as he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back. 

"Yours." The word was barely a whisper, but he heard it.

"Louder."

"Yours!" You cried out as he hit that spot inside you. 

"That's my good girl."

Your orgasm was building, that tension coiling in your belly. Your walls began to flutter around him again, drawing a curse from him.

"Already close? We're just getting started."

He started pulling out, already moving.

He flipped you over, and you were on your back on the table. He began to position himself between your thighs. He was moving higher, his cock dripping with your combined arousal as he straddled your chest.

"First, I think you need to be reminded of your place." His hands cupped your breasts, squeezing them together around his cock. "Look at these perfect tits. Made just for me to fuck, aren't they?"

The weight of his cock between your breasts was intoxicating, precum smearing across your chest as he began to thrust. His chain swung with each movement, occasionally brushing against your nipples and making you gasp.

"Answer me, slut."

"Yes," you breathed. "They're yours to fuck."

"Yes, ma’am." His pace increased, cock sliding between your breasts as his hands kept them pressed tight around him. "Shit–every part of you just fits me. That mouth, tits, pussy. Just built for me, baby."

He thrust harder, the tip of his cock hitting your chin with each stroke. Precum began to make everything slippery.

"Open your mouth," and when you complied, he adjusted his angle so the tip of his cock caught your lips with each thrust. "Suck."

You wrapped your lips around the head when it reached your mouth, tongue swirling around it. The taste of yourself mixed with him was mind-boggling, making you moan around him.

"Fuck, just like that." His hands tightened on your breasts, using them to stroke himself faster. "Such a little cock holder, yeah."

But just as you were getting used to the pace, he was pulling away entirely, moving down your body.

"But I think I need to focus on this ass of mine." His hands gripped your hips, flipping you over again so you were on your hands and knees on the table. Legos pressed into your palms and knees as he positioned himself behind you.

"Look at this ass." His hands roamed over your cheeks, squeezing and kneading. "The way it bounces when I fuck you."

His palm came down in a slap that made you cry out, the sting soothed by his gentle caressing.

"This ass is mine," he said, punctuating each word with another slap. "Say it."

"My ass is yours," you gasped, pushing back against his hands.

"Can’t hear you, baby."

You cried out as he delivered another slap. "All of this is yours, Hwa," He soothed the reddened skin before yanking you backward.

Before you could adjust, he was dragging you off the table, your knees hitting the floor hard.

"Now you're going to show me just how sorry you are for interrupting my work," he said, his hand fisting in your hair as he stood before you, cock hard and glistening. "C’mon open up for me again."

You parted your lips. His hips snapped forward, burying his cock deep in your throat in one thrust. You gagged around him, tears springing to your eyes as he held you there.

"Gag on it." His voice was strained as he pulled back only to thrust forward again. 

He set a harsh rhythm, using your mouth like a plaything. Saliva dripped down your chin, mixing with the tears streaming down your face as he fucked your throat without any mercy.

He panted, his free hand reaching down to wipe the tears from your cheeks. "Such a pretty slut, crying on my cock."

When you gagged hard, he pulled out once more, his cock slapping against your face as you gasped for air.

"Can't handle it?" he taunted. "And here I thought you wanted all of me."

He started pushing his cock back past your lips, but this time he moved lower, pressing his balls against your mouth.

"Hold ‘em. Keep them warm in your mouth like a sweetheart."

You opened wider, taking both of his balls into your mouth, licking around them as he groaned above you. 

"You love having your mouth stuffed full of me, don't you?"

You could only hum in response around his balls, the vibration making him curse under his breath.

But then he was pulling away again, his cock bobbing in front of your face as he looked down at you with dark eyes.

He put pressure on your lips with his thumb so you’d open up, and when you did, he leaned forward and spat directly onto your tongue. "Swallow."

He dragged his spit-slicked cock across your face, marking you with his precum. "Now you're going to take my cock down your throat again like the whore you are."

This time, when he pushed back into your mouth, it was with renewed vigor. He used your face to its fullest extent, fucking your throat with no care as you choked and gasped around him. Your makeup was ruined, mascara streaming down your cheeks as he used you.

"This is what you get for being such a needy brat."

Just when you thought you might pass out from lack of air, he pulled out, leaving you drooling on the floor..

"Back on the table,"  hauling you up by your arms. "I'm still not finished."

He positioned you on your back again, but this time he settled between your thighs with intent. His cock slammed back into your pussy without warning, the fullness after the emptiness making you scream.

"Now I'm going to fuck you until your legs forget how to work," he promised. "Until you're nothing but a dripping, sloppy mess."

True to his word, he fucked you dumb. The combination of the rough treatment and his earlier teasing had you racing toward orgasm fast.

“Mmm, baby, you’re so close huh?" He could feel the way your walls were squeezing him. “Come on my cock. Show me how much you love being used."

The orgasm tore through you, your back arching off the table as you screamed his name. But he didn't slow down, didn't give you time to recover. 

"Shit shit shit, too much Hwa," you sobbed, hands pushing weakly at his chest as the overstimulation bordered on painful.

"You can take it," he insisted, his thumb finding your clit. "You're going to give me another one—I know you can."

His pace and the pressure on your clit was building toward something different, something more intense. 

"Let go for me. Make a mess all over me."

When the orgasm hit, it was unlike anything you'd ever experienced. You felt something give way inside you as liquid gushed from your pussy, soaking his cock and the table beneath you.

"Fuck yes," he groaned, his pace becoming even messier as you squirted around him. 

You were barely coherent as he continued to fuck you through the aftershocks. 

"Think you can give me another? Huh, baby, how’s that sound?"

You didn't think you could, but your body responded anyway. The orgasm was smaller but no less intense, your pussy clamping down around him.

This time, he couldn't hold back. His rhythm faltered as he chased his own release.

But at the last second, his hand started working his cock frantically as he pulled out, aimed at your chest and face.

He signaled to your mouth. You barely managed to comply before he was coming, thick ropes of cum painting your face, your tits, your throat. 

"Don't move," he ordered when the last spurts finished. "Don't you dare waste a drop."

His fingers gathered the cum from your cheeks and lips, pushing them into your mouth. "Suck them clean."

You wrapped your lips around his fingers, tongue cleaning them thoroughly as he watched with satisfaction.

"Good girl. Now show me you swallowed it all."

You opened your mouth to prove you'd swallowed every drop he'd given you.

"Perfect." He was already hardening again as he looked down at you. 

Without warning, he was sliding back inside your pussy. But this time he wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling you close as he began a slower, deeper rhythm.

"This time I'm going to fill this pussy for real," he promised. 

"You want that, don't you?" He pressed his hand against your lower belly, "Wanna be so full of my cum that it's dripping out for days?"

"Yes, please," you gasped.

His pace increased as he chased his second release. 

When he came this time, it was deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he filled you with spurt after spurt of hot cum. You could feel it mixing, could feel how it began to leak out around his softening cock even as he stayed buried inside you.

Finally pulling out to watch his cum drip from your well-used pussy onto the ruined lego instructions below. 

You tried to sit up, but your muscles felt like jelly. Your entire body was covered in a mix of sweat, saliva, and his cum, and you'd never felt more thoroughly used in your life.

"The lego set," you said weakly, looking at the destruction around you. Pieces were everywhere, some of them now sticky with your combined fluids.

"Don't worry about it," he said, but there was a glint in his eyes. "Actually, on second thought..."

He was pulling you off the table and down to your hands and knees on the floor among the pieces.

"Clean them up," settling back in his chair with his arms crossed. "All of them. And don't you dare wipe away my cum while you do it."

The humiliation of crawling around naked, his cum dripping down your thighs as you gathered the pieces one by one, should have been degrading. But with you, it was definitely the complete opposite. 

He praised as you moved on hands and knees, ass swaying as you reached for the bricks. 

Some of the pieces were sticky with your combined fluids, but you collected them anyway, placing them in neat piles as he watched. The entire time, you could feel his cum leaking from your pussy, leaving a trail on the floor that you'd have to clean later.

"Great job baby," he said when you'd finally gathered all the pieces. "Now c’mere."

You crawled over to him, looking up from your position on the floor. He reached down to cup your face gently, thumb brushing over your cum-stained cheeks.

"You look so beautiful like this," he said softly. 

The contrast between his gentle words and the filthy state he'd left you in was dizzying. But this was Seonghwa, capable of being both dominant and caring, rough and tender.

"I should shower," you said weakly.

"Later." He was already pulling you up into his lap, seemingly unbothered by the mess covering your body. "Right now I want to hold you."

You melted into his embrace, letting him support your weight as your body continued to recover. His hands stroked your back.

"I'm sorry," you murmured against his chest. "About interrupting your work. About making such a mess."

"No, you're not." There was amusement in his voice. "You got exactly what you wanted."

He was right, of course. You'd wanted his attention, wanted to break through that focused concentration. Mission more than accomplished.

"Maybe not," you admitted.

"That's what I thought." His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. "My needy baby."

You shifted in his lap, becoming aware again of the mess covering both of you, the sticky evidence of everything that had just happened. "I really should shower now."

"Should you?" His grip tightened. "Or should you sit here a little longer, feeling exactly what you've done to me?"

The smugness in his voice made you want to roll your eyes, but the way his cum was still slowly dripping down your thighs made it hard to argue. You'd gotten what you wanted, all of his focus, all of his control, all of him.

"What happens next time I interrupt your work?" you asked, settling more comfortably against his chest.

"Next time?" He laughed. "Next time... I'm locking the door."

You stayed like that until the mess became too uncomfortable to ignore. As you headed toward the shower, you glanced back at the mess; the table would need serious cleaning.

"You're rebuilding that, aren't you?" you called over your shoulder.

Seonghwa was already crouched down. "Obviously."

"I'll try not to ruin it again."

── .✦

"welcome everyone, to our company's afterparty, please enjoy yourselves for tonight!" your warm and inviting voice echoed through the mounted speakers on every corner of this wide-spaced room; sleek and lavish all perfectly ambient with the dim blues and yellow undertones of the cove lights and pendant bulbs hanging from the high ceilings.

you set down the microphone with a gentle thud on the podium in front and walked down the stairs with elegance. the gentle strobe of led lights changing colors illuminated the floor as you paced the familiar path towards the bar. the distant laughters, chatters, and exclaims blended with the soft sparse and moody melody of the alternative rnb playing in the background.

you did your best to avoid anyone for now despite being the main organizer of this event; it felt too much, your chest felt drained, hollowed that if anyone were to ask you about the current pipelines or your boss' schedule you would instantly snap. maybe it was just the countless sleepless nights taking its toll on you.

you really need that drink now.

from behind you, just beside the stairs, a small, quivering voice managed to squeak out your name, breaking your haphazard trance; loud enough for you to catch it, barely audible for you to fully register what he said. you whipped your head to where he was and raised your eyebrows at him; to which you immediately, maybe , felt bad because he looked even more terrified of you now. you recognized him from the PR department, a new intern? for some reason, they seem to be scared of you, which confused you because you never really raised your voice at anyone in the company.

"the director wants to talk to you, he said to head towards the VIP UB1, over there," he stammered as he pointed the direction behind you.

you almost rolled your eyes. that fucker again.

"did he tell you the reason why he wanted to talk to me?" you asked pointedly with a hint of resignation. yup, maybe it's just the way you look and talk sometimes when exhaustion's the one holding your steering wheel. the boy shook his head as he hastily uttered 'excuse me' before he scurried away. you shut your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose; irritation and fatigue bubbled within your chest, desperate to implode. your temples throbbed.

for a moment, you had a gnawing dread that this night would be a long one.

with a loud sigh, you continued your pace towards the bar. your boss, the director of this company that you loathed deep down to your core wanted to see you. talk about god knows what. just the mere thought of it made your stomach twist in knots. what does he want with you this time? manipulate and rewrite NDAs? send "gifts" to one of the clients threatening lawsuit? tweak a "few" figures on audit files? or maybe another advance on you again?

"one grey goose martini and a plain cranberry juice. thanks." you sank down on the high swivel bar stool, propped your arm up and massaged your temple. there’s no absolute way you were not going to deal with him sober or without any alcohol in your system. that would be torture. a foot on your throat. you shut your eyes tightly and willed for it to dissipate. it fucking didn’t.

"gee, you look like shit." and there she was.

you turned to look at your friend yuzuha, who slid next to you, whiskey on hand. she was tipsy — flushed cheeks, smudged eyeliners, dilated pupils with unfocused gaze. the sleek bun she wore earlier now had loose strands sticking up, curious flyaways.

"and whose fault was that?" you snapped.

the bartender then slid your drink towards you, and in a beat, you downed it in one go. the familiar burn seared at the back of you throat — sharp vodka and cold acid scraping its way down to your chest; god that stung so good.you grimaced as you grabbed the cranberry juice then chased it away with a gulp, letting the tangy sweetness mellow down the fiery warmth spreading throughout your chest.

“definitely not mine,” yuzuha shrugged dismissively as she drank her remaining whiskey. she then signaled to the bartender to bring two drinks.

your brows knitted in frustration. “you were supposed to host this event, not me. i already had to deal with the pain of organizing this ‘after party’. where even were you?” you spat. you knew you shouldn’t be lashing out on her but god everything was clawing at you. this job — being a personal assistant of a sick and twisted man you had no choice but to obey felt like a dull razor was lodged in your throat.

she turned to face you, amusement evident behind her tired squinted eyes that weighed on your exhaustion. she grinned at you before casually downing the drink the bartender gave her. “araragi holdings.”

“huh?”

“araragi holdings held me up,” she sighed as she looked away from you, her back on the bar counter. “they consulted me with their threshold analysis about the clinical trials that went rogue.” she shrugged, awfully casual.

with just that, the irritation within you subsided and was now replaced with worry. how could you stay mad at her? yuzuha’s been your ride or die since highschool, she’d seen your highs and lows, stood side by side through thick and thin; if anything she’s your safe space here, maybe that’s why your frustration spilled out the moment she arrived.

the comfortable and knowing silence fell between the two of you. presence was enough.

“some fucked up job we have.” you scoffed as you drank another acrid vodka that teared down your throat, cold and piercing. you hopped off the stool with a heavy sigh.

“off to hand in your resignation?”

“yeah… wanna pitch yours too?”

── .✦

you wanted nothing but to get the fuck out of your heels and nail the stiletto on the man sitting in front you — ogling you shamelessly despite having someone sitting on his lap and two other whispering on his both sides. kitamura-san was the bane of your existence.

the mere sight made you nauseous, lightheaded.

“i was told you wanted to discuss something?” niceties like this tasted like bitter blades. you were patient, calm, and polite. a seasoned professional in the field of greed and lust driven predators. you definitely should ask for a raise, hell it should be tripled.

“ah, what a pleasant evening it is to see my favorite darling employee,” kitamura smiled, terrifyingly sweet it made you want to hurl. he stood up and excused himself from the party, away from the people that flocked around him like he’s some god they’d worship. what a fucking joke.

he flaunted himself as the most generous, caring, and hard-working man he wanted people to see.

“let’s go, darling.” and that alone was worse than the sharp drag of any alcohol down your throat. his cold and calloused hands wrapped around your wrists and before you could even protest he was already dragging you out of there; you could feel the sharp daggers some people threw at you, the murmurs; it didn’t matter.

what do they know? nothing.

you do know something though. you were absolutely certain of one thing tonight — you were going to resign.

“you can discuss the matters to me just here. there’s no need for grand gestures.” you tugged your hand but he only tightened his grip you were sure it was going to bruise. damn him to hell.

”we’ll discuss it in my office. get in the car.”

the parking lot was secluded, vacant, and damp. the night breeze was chilling enough to bite down on your skin, sending shivers down to your spine.

and so you were right — he was making a move on you. again. how many times did this scene play out already? you lost count. for 5 years you endured his bullshits of advances. how his touch lingered longer than necessary. inappropriate jokes you once raised to the hr but called you ‘sensitive girl with no humor’, and because he’s close with kitamura; that made yuzuha see red — although it didn’t even do anything because the next day she was sent to deal with the agonizing whisper campaigns and entitled clients. you were running out of ideas how to wiggle away from him and escape all his attempts of isolating you. his twisted game of seeing how long it would take for him to own you. break you.

it was excruciatingly exhausting.

“i’d rather not. perhaps we could discuss this tomorrow morning in the company.” your tone fell flat.

“you know, i don’t really like repeating myself. this is an important matter. but for you, i’ll say it once and for all. get inside.” he pushed, calmly. perhaps a little too calm for your body to hear the crack in the atmosphere.

fuck.

“apologies, but i cannot. i’ll head back inside. i’ll email you your schedule for tomorrow, including this ‘important matter’ you need to discuss.”

there was silence. he stared at you with dark eyes; his demeanor was calm but good god you could feel the weight of his eyes. his subtle erratic breaths, the way his jaw clenched — you turned around before he could even say anything.

perhaps this is the gnawing dread that you felt earlier that festered within your system tonight.

“how’s yuzuha holding up?”

oh this fucker knew how to push your buttons. he knew all too well you’d bite the bait he laid down, like a hunter waiting for this fish to practically swim and hook itself.

a losing game.

you whipped around only to see his smug grin and the only thing you wanted to do was to wipe that grin off his face. each moment that passed, each second that tock your facade crumbles. you’ve had enough.

“i heard the araragi holdings were relentless on her. must be so tiring,” he sighed, feigning innocence that made your blood boil. so he planned it? this fucker.

“she’s so… brilliant. amazing even. she could handle so many clients. maybe i should recommend her to my colleagues. i’m sure they would love to see her in action.” he continued.

“leave her the fuck out of this mess, kitamura.” the thin line of your patience that was hanging by a thread snapped with the nastiest click in your chest.

his grin widened.

“there she is. that’s my girl. how about you go inside my car now, hmm? maybe we could sort this out. talk it out, and maybe have a good time too.” he shrugged, calculated and casual. he was testing me. enjoying every bit of my reaction.

damn him. fuck him — good god the rage within you doubled and seethed so bad it hurt. too much it made your body tremor. you knew he was manipulating you. weaponizing your affection, and frankly? it was working.

you were aware but awareness doesn’t equate to resolution. it made the rage more vivid. difficult to control.

“sort out my resignation instead. and yuzuha’s. you can go fuck yourself. i’m done.” you spat, full of resentment and indignation. the words weren’t enough to paint your emotions as a whole right now.

its a blob of maddening incoherence.

as you finally turned away from him, the warmth of anger still burning on your skin, you felt a sharp pain on your scalp as he grabbed a handful of your hair. you staggered from the pain and suddenness of his actions.

“no you’re fucking not.” icily, he dragged you away towards his car.

you could feel your scalp rip apart from the violence of his desperate prying hands; you were so sure that moment your heart would explode right there and then — it was frantic, each strand each pull — it was like he was trying to rip your scalp apart to finally hold your brain.

you flailed, stomped his shoe, dug your nails on his hands, anything, you did anything to get away from him; you shrieked and yelled — and it was chilling you thought, it just echoed. hollowly echoed. as if your voice was telling you that you were alone, in decibels. in reverberations.

god you were just so exhausted but there was no fucking way you’d succumb to him, to his years of torment and manipulation, and now? your nerves ignited with the adrenaline of rage and desperation to get back at him. no fucking way.

even if it meant breaking bones and drawing blood then he shall pay the price.

“shut the fuck up cunt,” he hissed before he manhandled you to face him; one hand sized your jaw you knew it would leave an imprint, a bruise. a reminder of his abuse. the other one held your arm.

you spat at his face then with all your remaining might full of anger and palpitating fear you kicked him on his shins. again on his crotch this time — god that felt brutally good. to see him coil over from pain?

“fuck you.”

again.

you kicked him again. and again with so much rage until he grabbed ahold of your leg and pulled it down that made you stumble and fall.

what’s scary is that he didn’t even need to say anything to fuck you over with fear and anger. all he had to was raise his hand that resembled your father’s — you shut your eyes tight and braced for the impact.

it didn’t hit.

instead a sharp, whipping sound tore through the heaving atmosphere thick with ruins and violence followed by a yelp of pain.

kitamura dropped helplessly on the ground, curses riveted off his lips as he pathetically clutched his folded knee close to his chest.

huh.

huh?

“well look who it is.”

you looked up to see a man standing on the distance, holding a gun. a silencer gun to be specific. well you’ll be damned. striking pink hair and those damn scars.

look who it is.

if it isn’t none other than sanzu haruchiyo.

── .✦

author’s note 𓍼ོ wooosh! i hope you enjoyed the first installation lol, i’m still working on the next few chapters. if you happen to see any ungrammatical sentence or typos… no you don’t… (i wrote this until 4am lol) if you enjoyed this piece, reblogs and hearts are highly appreciated! lmk your thoughts. take care everyoneee <33