Will It Ever End?

“Why’d you turn it off?” San asks from Wooyoung’s passenger seat, his face knitted in frustration. “I was listening to that!”

“She clearly doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Wooyoung argues, sinking further into the leather bucket seats of his car, downshifting as he comes up to a red light. “I don’t know why you insist on listening to it, she’s not giving you any tips you don’t already know.”

“Some of us aren’t as experienced as you, Woo.” He turns his head to see San staring at him with pointed eyes, the older man’s frustration hasn’t settled at all. “She’s a window into the female mind. Girls don’t talk about sex so openly.”

“They do if you just ask,” Wooyoung counters. “They say a lot if you just ask.” 

Unscripted. The podcast his entire campus is listening to, talking about, praising, worshiping, Wooyoung hates it down to his very fucking bones. The woman whose voice was just grating through his car’s incredible speaker system claims her pod is an open conversation, an outlet where viewers can send in their questions, topics, so that the ‘taboo’ topic of sex can be spoken about openly, shamelessly.

Wooyoung has no issue talking about sex. It’s far from taboo for him, it’s talked about every day of his life, every hour, he thinks about it every minute. While he gets shit for it from just about everyone in his goddamn life, this woman who he cannot stand is treated like a deity for it. Usually a podcast is paired with a video, some kind of face to the name, something that viewers can fact-check. But this woman is a no-face, no-name ghost. 

“You’re telling me if I laid a woman down and asked her to teach me to make her squirt, she’d do it?” San asks, back straightened, brows in his hairline. 

Wooyoung turns his head with a dead stare, “Yes, San. It’s really that fucking easy.”

San huffs. “Well, imagine how much cooler it was when I already knew how to do it. You know the reaction I got, after learning step-by-step from Unscripted? My hips were sore the next day. My hips, Wooyoung.”

“You would have gotten the same reaction if you just asked her.” Wooyoung upshifts, engine roaring as his frustration grows. “Women like that shit, teaching, showing you exactly what to do. And when you succeed? God, none of you listen to me, you listen to the no-face, no-resume, self-appointed sex god.”

“No resume?” San snorts. “Maybe we’d rather listen to a woman tell us what women want, and not the self-appointed campus whore.”

Wooyoung can’t even be mad at the jab, because at a different time, he gave himself that exact title. It was like wearing a crown, having women flock to him, his bed filled with someone different every night, learning how to please others with his mind, two hands and his cock. He learned it all himself, by asking, by doing the work, and now his friends were getting a tutorial by some nobody named Unscripted? It’s so corny it threatens to ruin the concept of sex for him.

“Maybe you should try actually asking a woman what she wants,” Wooyoung snaps back, pulling his car into the driveway of his frat. A long strip of blacktop big enough to hold six cars, he liked being parked at the back, not blocked in by anyone else. He could leave whenever he wanted, to fuck whoever he wanted. He throws his car in park and turns to San again. “Maybe you shouldn’t assume what all women want just because a random one told you her tips are universal.”

“I really don’t get why you hate her so much.” San is shaking his head as he reaches for the forty-rack from the backseat. “If you don’t need the tips, then you can simply not listen. Why shit on everyone who enjoys it?”

“I’m not– why are you so offended?” Wooyoung asks before sliding out of the driver’s side, closing the door behind him. Locking the car, starting the trek up to the two story house, Wooyoung continues, “Who cares if I don’t like it?”

“I care because I enjoy it and you’re shitting on my enjoyment.” San keeps Wooyoung’s pace as the sound of bass grows louder, cans of beer clinking together in the case hanging from San’s fingers. “Maybe I wanted to find out if someone is in love with me when they ask me for missionary tonight.”

Wooyoung stops in his tracks. “If a girl wants missionary, she wants your dick so far inside her she can’t breathe. That’s it. She’s not in love with you, she wants your dick to tear her apart. That’s Unscripted.”

San stares for a moment before bursting out in laughter. “Man,” he wheezes, “you should be a guest star or something.”

Wooyoung’s face stays flat, unimpressed. “I would never want my name attached to that shit-show of a fucking podcast. It’d tarnish my good name.”

“Your name has about four STDs and three pregnancy scares attached to it. I don’t think the podcast would tarnish that.”

“I had chlamydia once, San,” Wooyoung bites, walking up the brick steps to the house, voice louder to travel over the sound of bass. “And I took the fucking medication. Drop it, no one talks about that anymore.”

San is smirking as he rips open the door, “Everyone talks about it, Woo. Just not to your face.”

Wooyoung doesn’t even have a chance to respond before the music swallows their conversation whole. Inside the house was a mass of bodies, too many to count, too many to breathe between. But Wooyoung tries anyway, letting the bass cleanse him of his frustration, or maybe that was the brunette he caught out of the corner of his eye that made instinct grab the wheel.

He stores the information for later, when he’s ingested at least three beers and he’s ready to take the party to his bedroom. Her friend was cute, too, darker hair and a silver hoop in her nose, he wonders if they’d both be down for taking the party upstairs.

“You’re back!” Yunho beams from the kitchen, the older man’s head of blonde hair spotting him easily, his eye level above everyone else’s. “Where’s the beer?”

“San has it,” Wooyoung throws a thumb behind him, beside him, he doesn’t know where the hell San had gone. “He’s around here somewhere.”

Yunho smacks his teeth as he looks as far as his brown eyes can see, “Where the fuck else is there to go with a case of forty fucking beers other than the kitchen?”

Wooyoung eyes up the bottle of vodka standing tall on the counter. He wasn’t planning to get drunk tonight, just tipsy enough for his orgasm(s) to feel that much better, but the clear liquid beckons to him. Dares him. And Wooyoung never, ever backs down from anything, let alone a dare.

He pours a shot, then another one, then the jacket clinging to his shoulders feels suffocating. Not the seventy-five people in his house, no, but the leather on his shoulders that hangs off his body enough to feel a summer breeze on the back of his neck. It’s hot enough to swim outside, but Wooyoung was married to his leather jacket the way he was married to casual sex. Wooyoung, sex and leather go together hand-in-hand.

San finally barrels into the kitchen to pack the beers into the fridge, and Wooyoung grabs one before attempting to make his way to the stairs, up to his room where he could hang his precious baby in his closet. He’s stopped twice, a third time in the middle of the staircase, all by women who were wondering why he was going upstairs so early, and why he had no one at his side. Their eyes told him they wanted to take the spot.

After assuring all three of them he’d be right back downstairs, and offering them all a dance and a drink, voices on the other side of his beige bedroom door stop him from going inside. His brows furrow, irritation blooming because why the fuck are there people in his room? He starts to make out words, and the conversation makes his palm hover over the door handle.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” A guy. A voice he doesn’t recognize.

A woman’s voice follows, “Come on, we never do anything like this, it’s risky. Isn’t that fun?”

“What if someone walks in?”

“Let them see.” Her voice drops into something seductive, low and velvety, it makes Wooyoung’s already-warm insides ten times hotter. “Don’t you want to fuck me? We don’t even know who’s room this is.”

“I… we should go back downstairs. Let’s get a drink, dance a little.”

Wooyoung can hear his own bed creak. “So you don’t want to fuck me?”

“That’s not what I said–”

“Fine.” The word is sharp, angry. 

The bed creaks again, and before Wooyoung can move, his own bedroom door is ripped open, and a new, beautiful face he’s never seen before is staring at him like he’s a fucking pervert.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asks, voice edged with anger. No, that’s frustration– horny frustration. 

Wooyoung can’t help his grin. “Who are you?”

She cringes– physically cringes before gritting her teeth, “Were you listening? Waiting to hear us fuck so you could jerk off or something, you fucking creep?”

Wooyoung doesn’t let the cringe make him falter. His smirk grows, finally looking over her shoulder to see the pitiful, utterly boring man behind her. Tall, buff, but the face of a fucking baby. Someone who definitely wouldn’t fuck her in a stranger’s bedroom, and even if it was Wooyoung’s bedroom, he kind of felt sorry for her.

“I was putting my jacket in my room, actually,” Wooyoung brings his eyes back to her just to watch all the color drain from her face. Before she can offer her apologies, he quips, “But I would have stayed for the show. It’s a shame you didn’t put one on for me.”

Her face that had just read apologetic a second ago morphs into shame, embarrassment, then the sort of rage Wooyoung was expecting. But it wasn’t directed at Wooyoung, it was directed at the man behind her, the one she had her back to, and kept it that way.

Without a word, she pushes past him to rush down the stairs, and Wooyoung steps to the side to let baby-face follow. But before he’s completely out of reach, Wooyoung stops him with, “Hold on.”

The guy turns, hands folded together to hide the tent that Wooyoung couldn’t comprehend why he wasn’t acting on. Sharp jaw, full lips, hair shaggy and unkempt like she had just had her knuckles in it, he was an attractive guy. From looks alone, he seems like a keeper, a real score for the girl Wooyoung would have been trying to get balls deep inside of right now if he wasn’t here. 

He doesn’t know why he offers his advice. “When you have a girl like that, you take the risk.”

“You seem to take a lot of risks,” the man says coolly. “I know who you are, chlamydia.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Wooyoung groans, then walks into his bedroom. Stopping in his doorway, he turns to watch baby-face laugh down the stairs, and yells behind him, “That was a year ago, by the way!”

He can still hear the man laughing as he uses too much strength to hook his jacket onto a hanger, and then on the top rack of his closet. Frustration boils in his gut, and anger isn’t a party favor, so he makes his way to his bathroom, washes his face with freezing cold water, and lets his emotions reset before he even thinks about going back downstairs.

Wooyoung loves sex. He loves everything about sex, he loves giving, he loves receiving, he loves pleasure. Life is about enjoying, learning and changing and growing, and to Wooyoung, sex is the perfect blend of all life has to offer. He can’t imagine himself getting into a relationship, a pitiful one like that girl has, and sex becoming… regular. Boring. Not full of fantasy and shamelessness, being so carnally human, giving into your desire, but instead an activity, a routine, something you’re supposed to do so you do it.

No, sex to Wooyoung isn’t a routine, something to be fit into a schedule. Sex is fun, it’s about exploration, trusting someone else enough to be at your most vulnerable, and trusting them to carry you through it. Then trusting them to not call afterwards, or expect another night, or anything else from him at all, for that matter.

Maybe a skewed view on sex and relationships, but that’s Wooyoung’s fantasy, his life, his bible.

Just as he finishes his beer, there’s a knock at his door. He throws himself in-character, a lazy smirk on his lips, assuming it’s one of the girls he talked to on his way up here, in his heart he prays it's the best friends he spotted downstairs.

Much to his dismay, it’s neither. It’s the girlfriend from five minutes ago, still raging, apparently. Her arms are crossed, foot tapping against the carpet, eyes darting everywhere but on Wooyoung like she’s guilty. Already playing the part, Wooyoung leans into his doorframe as he asks, “Back to put on a one-woman show instead?”

She scoffs, “Like I’d ever fuck you.”

Wooyoung’s brows furrow. Interesting reaction. “Okay,” he starts, standing up a little straighter. “Then did you need a place to get yourself off or something? My bed has seen plenty of orgasms, don’t be shy.”

Her face morphs into pure disgust. “God, you’re disgusting, is sex all you think about?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Wooyoung smiles anyway. “Kinda.”

“I’m here because I know who you are. I have about six friends who have fucked you, and I need your advice,” she says quickly, shamelessly, each and every one of her features flat and serious. When Wooyoung motions for her to continue, intrigued, she asks, “You would have done it, right?”

Wooyoung’s eyes thin, brows kissing. “Done what? Fucked you?”

“Yeah,” she nods. Talking with her hands flying everywhere, she rages, “Fucked me in a random room, in a random house, at a random party on a random Friday night.”

“I’m sensing there’s more to unpack here,” Wooyoung says with growing boredom, shifting his weight on his other foot before leaning against the other side of his dooframe.

“Just answer the question,” she urges, hands landing on her hips.

Wooyoung lets out a short huff. “Your boyfriend is boring,” he says simply. “If you’re already bored with your sex life, then the relationship isn’t going to last. Go shopping, there’s plenty of dudes downstairs that would slobber at the idea of fucking you in my room.” He holds up a finger. “Don’t fuck in my room, though. My room is off-limits.”

Her lips scrunch to one side, a flush on her cheeks. “Is there any way to make him more… adventurous?”

“It’s a personality thing, baby. He doesn’t have the fun-guy gene. Like I said, go shopping, that’s what I’m about to do.” Wooyoung takes a step forward, closing his door behind him. “Shall we?”

“Why do you say that like it’s easy?” she snaps, not moving an inch, leaving an awkwardly small amount of space between them. Usually, Wooyoung would be all over it, but he isn’t in the mood to pick up the pieces of someone else’s relationship tonight. But it seems she’s insistent upon him putting it back together completely as she explains, “We’ve been together for over a year, I can’t just break up with him because he won’t fuck me in a frat house.”

Wooyoung sighs, leaning his back against his closed door. “You’re, what, twenty? Twenty-one? You have your entire life to have shitty, boring sex. Why are you rushing?”

“I refuse to believe that,” she crosses her arms. “That the rest of my life will consist of shitty, boring sex.”

“I can’t fix delusional,” Wooyoung mutters, and to him, that's the end of the conversation.

He’s three steps away from her before she starts it again. “That’s not delusion, that’s optimism. Manifestation. I shouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”

He stops in his tracks, looking over his shoulder. He retorts, “Someone like me?”

Her brows are high, hands on her hips, one leg bent. Full of attitude. “You never called any of my friends back. Not one. Why would I expect someone like you to understand what a relationship would be like, what it takes to keep one, when you spend your free time sticking your dick in anything that has a hole?”

Wooyoung snorts, a little impressed by the jab, but he’s more irritated that everyone seems to be on his fucking ass tonight. What did he do? He even took San to the liquor store to buy more beer, he should be drowning in pussy by now.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, he’s more than bored of the conversation at this point. “Enjoy the three minutes of missionary tonight, or will it be forty-five seconds with you on top because he’s too drunk to fuck you properly?”

Her face blooms in Technicolor, and he knows he’s won. With a wide grin, he gives her a little wave over his shoulder, and makes his way down the stairs. He doesn’t have it in him to go back to the kitchen for another drink, or to find any one of his friends and have a conversation, his patience is running thin and his dick is starting to ache from lack of use.

“Hey, Wooyoung.” He’s greeted at the base of the steps by a blonde, he thinks he fucked her last week. Maybe two weeks ago. 

He gives her a smirk, “Hey, baby, good to see you.” What was her name again?

He keeps it pushing, searching for the staircase girls, or the two from the entrance that together resemble a monarch butterfly. If he can’t find any of them, maybe he’ll come back to the blonde. If he can remember her name.

Another beer miraculously finds its way to his palm before he finds one half of the butterfly, the one with dark hair, silver through her nose. He’s made out with her twice before the other half finds them, and to his satisfaction, it seems both halves of the butterfly had the plan to make it back to his bedroom tonight.

“One last topic for today: a little birdie asked me about threesomes, and in my heart, I genuinely can’t believe I haven’t touched on this topic sooner. I have a story, I know, surprise surprise, but this one is recent, so I’m excited to debrief it, because I think it’s too scandalous to even bring up to my friends.”

You throw your index cards on the bed. The rest would actually be unscripted, straight off the dome.

“This past weekend I found myself in a… compromising position. Well, several compromising positions, if I’m honest. Imagine you’re hooking up with a guy in a random bedroom of a house party, and the person whose bedroom it is walks inside and wants to join. Sorry– I paused, I was waiting for a gasp or something, but then I remembered I’m by myself.”

You laugh a little before continuing. “I was on my back, hooking up with this really sexy guy who I had met, maybe fifteen minutes prior. You know the house party deal, talk for ten minutes, the boring shit, but it’s the boring shit that gets you on the same page. We’re making out all the way up the stairs, and he pushes me inside this bedroom, undresses me, lays me out on the bed, his head is in between my legs before the door opens.”

“The second guy walks in, and there’s no moment of, what the fuck? Or, oh my god, get out of my room. He smirks, a sexy smirk, the kind of smirk that doesn’t need words, y’know? The guy who’s in between my legs doesn’t stop. He sees the other one, he knows he’s there, but he doesn’t even pause. The second guy takes my mouth, and then I’m being fed while the other one’s eating, and– you know the drill. It was overstimulating, but also… liberating, to be worshiped, to be treated like something holy by two guys whose names I didn’t even know.”

“I feel like MMF threesomes have become something for the male gaze, or maybe they always have been– actually, they always have been. In porn, the woman is treated like some kind of doll, thrown between two guys, used for their pleasure over and over, but what if it’s the opposite? What if it’s the woman who’s using two men for her own pleasure? Double the orgasms, double the penetration, double the foreplay, double the pleasure, what if it’s the woman calling the shots, like some kind of super-straight power bottom action? And I know I shouldn’t use gay terms for straight sex, but hear me out on this…”

“Some of us tend to fear taking control in the bedroom. With one man, with two men, it’s terrifying. But I’ve never been so satisfied or as confident as I felt in that bedroom, ordering pleasure and receiving it. Giving it because I wanted to, because sex is fun, and women are allowed to enjoy sex the way men do. If men can fetishize two women in the bedroom, why can’t we do it back? The only thing I wished for was that they would fuck each other, too. They only kissed. Boring. Sorry if you’re listening, there’s a reason I’m not saying your names.”

Because there are no names to fucking say.

“I need to dedicate an entire episode to exploring threesomes, positions, dynamics, everything. Unforch, there’s just not enough time today, but trust that I will come back to this topic and do a proper debrief of every single one of my thoughts, I just wanted to touch on the topic in case any of my listeners find themselves in the compromising position I was in mere days ago. Do it, enjoy it, and don’t be afraid to walk ‘em like dogs, girls. On the plate for next week are toys– for yourself, for your partner, the best ones for your partner to use on you, I’m diving into all of it. Stay tuned, and I’ll catch you next week, unscripted, as always.”

You press stop on your laptop, cutting off the recording, and take a deep, relieving sigh. Eyes catching the top right corner, you gasp, panic shooting up your spine as you read seven-thirty-two on the clock. Fishing your phone out from the duvet beneath you, you check your notifications, the fourteen texts from your boyfriend, and six missed calls.

You don’t even read them before pressing call on his contact.

“Where the hell are you?” His voice is gruff, angry. Which is fair, because you were supposed to meet him for dinner thirty-two minutes ago. 

You hop off the bed, grabbing your mic and shoving it into your closet. “I fell asleep!” you lie, and it rolls off your tongue like butter. “I’m so sorry, Jun, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“We lost our reservation, I’m at the bar next door.”

He hangs up. You curse, throwing your phone back onto your bed before scurrying to your closet to pick out something for drinks and dinner instead of dinner and drinks. You throw your hair up after turning your makeup from daytime to nighttime, and hop in the car with record time. Speeding through the city, thankfully finding quick parking, you’re late to your fifteen-minute promise by four minutes.

Your boyfriend of over a year doesn’t even care that you took the barstool beside him. You barely take in your surroundings, your tunnel vision focused on Yeonjun and only Yeonjun, wondering how the hell you’ll make it up to him. 

Wordlessly, he slides you a drink, a martini, extra dirty. Three olives. Your heart aches.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, eyes finding your lap. “I didn’t mean to miss our reservation, but we can still have fun tonight, right?” You look around you, at the dimly lit bar that seemed to have lost all its patrons to the sardine-packed dance floor. “We can go dance, you love to dance. I’ll get us a reservation for next week.”

His head snaps to yours, dark hair meticulously styled around his forehead, his eyes dark with irritation. “It took me three weeks to get that reservation.”

“Am I going somewhere?” You tilt your head to the side. “Are you going somewhere? I think we have the time to wait another three weeks.”

“That’s not the point,” he urges, watching as you grab the skewer of olives from your martini glass, biting one off the end. “The point is that I did something nice for us, and you didn’t show up.”

“It was an accident,” you say, muffled with your mouth full. Swallowing, you reiterate, “It was an accident, Yeonjun. Don’t let it spoil date night.” His nose crinkles, mouth bending downward. You pop a brow, “What?”

“You called me Yeonjun,” he says, so low it could be considered a whisper. His eyes are brighter when he looks back up at you, “My name is Junie to you.”

It makes a smile break across your lips, a giggle falling past. “You’re right, I’m sorry, Junie. I’ll make it up to you tonight. Or…” you look around, scanning the crowd of drunken people, all seeming in their own world. “I could make it up to you now.”

A deep blush paints his cheeks crimson. “Don’t even start.”

“No?” you tease, smirk on your lips, eyes sparkling as you take a sip of your martini. “You don’t wanna fuck me in the bathroom? So mad at me for missing our fancy, expensive date, you don’t wanna take out all your frustrations on me?”

He shushes you, body turning toward you like he might clamp his hand over your mouth, his shoulders caving inward. “You can’t say shit like that in public, oh my god– what if the bartender heard you, and kicked us out?”

“The bartender is focused on drinks and tips,” you say simply before taking another gulp of your martini. “She’s not worried about me taking my boyfriend’s cock down my throat in the bathroom.” His right hand covers his lap, and it makes you laugh, a snarky giggle. “Look at you, your body wants it, I want it. What are you so afraid of?”

He uses his other hand to count. “A public lewdness charge, or lewd conduct, or public indecency. I’m gonna be a doctor, I will not catch a charge to do what I can do at home.” Your eyes roll without you giving them the okay to do so. He sees it, and immediately he presses, “Why are you so obsessed with this? Why can’t we have sex at your place, or at mine? That’s normal.”

“What’s wrong with trying to spice up our sex life?” Your martini glass hits the bar harder than intended. “I just want you to want me so bad you can’t help yourself, Junie. I want you to fuck me, to really fuck me like it’s not even me you’re fucking.”

Your boyfriend’s ears go bright red, his eyes dancing all around you, and for a second you think he might really clamp his hand over your mouth. “Can you stop saying that shit in public?”

“Whatever,” you huff. “I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

After a moment of silence, another sip taken from his glass of whiskey, he runs both hands through his hair. Keeping his voice low, he leans into you so you can hear him, “Last weekend, after the party… I fucked you after, didn’t I? Like, really fucked you, like you weren’t even you or whatever.”

No. No, you didn’t.

“Yeah,” you smile, tight-lipped. “You did. Sorry. I must be ovulating or something.”

You’re not ovulating, you’re just fucking bored. You spend your free time talking about sexcapades, basically making up stories, soft porn on a podcast, but in reality, your life doesn’t even come close. The podcast is a dream, a fantasy, what sometimes you wish your life actually was. A sex life that was always new, changing, with one person who loves you as much as you love them, and wants to do new things just as much as you do. Someone who would never judge you for your wants, your needs, your fantasies that sometimes you’re embarrassed to think about, let alone bring up to someone else.

You want someone who you can tell all of them to. You need someone who wants to do them even more than you do, because they want to please you as much as you want to please them. 

But that’s not enough to break up with the man sitting beside you, the one who knows everything about you, the one who is the love of your life in so many different ways. How is it that such a huge part of you, such an important part of you, is the only part of him that isn’t a mirror?

“I’ve been thinking lately,” Yeonjun says, his voice uneven like he’s unsure of bringing it up. You raise your brows to let him know you’re listening. “After you graduate, we should get married.”

You blink. “M-Married?”

“I know we talk about it all the time,” he sits back in the stool, keeping his eyes on the amber liquid in his glass. “But I think we should get married. Have a baby.”

You lean forward. “A baby?”

Being pre-med now, he’ll be in school for a hell of a lot longer than you, and he knows it. He smiles to himself, like he’s leaning into his own fantasy as he says, “You can stay home, take care of the baby and stuff until I graduate, start working.”

“I’ll stay home… while you’re in school?” you ask, brows high. “Who’s gonna pay for me and the baby?”

His eyes meet yours, brows knitted together in confusion. “My parents?”

“Don’t you think we should be, y’know, financially secure before even thinking about marriage?”

“I’ll be in my residency program by twenty-six,” he counters. “That’s only four years that my parents will help us. I want to marry you, I want you to have my kids.”

“I don’t want to be married at twenty-two,” you answer, too fast for Yeonjun, too fast for yourself. He winces like you punched him. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you, I just… I don't want to be a married twenty-two year old.”

“What does age have to do with it?” he asks, and you’re stunned that age is what he’s taking from this. “Twnety-two, twenty-six, I’d marry you tomorrow, baby.”

Your head shakes before your mind can comprehend what’s transpiring. “Yeonjun, no. Absolutely not. Why are we talking about this now? Can’t we drink and dance? Have a fun date night like we planned?”

“Absolutely not?” he retorts, sitting straighter. “As if it’s a death sentence to marry me. I thought you’d be jumping up and down right now.”

“You think I’m the type to pop out a baby at twenty-three years old?!” you ask, bewildered. “Yeonjun, I… why would you think I’d be happy?”

“Hear me out,” he counters. “By twenty-two, we’ll have been together for over two years. We can have a long engagement, if you want, be married right before your twenty-third birthday. Technically, you’ll have the baby closer to twenty-four, and my parents only have to help us for two years.”

You’re horrified. What’s even more horrifying is that while you’ve been fantasizing about him fucking you right, he’s been fantasizing about you pregnant. And apparently working out all the logistics for it, too. “Yeonjun,” you whisper. “Let’s talk about this another time. Another day. In another year, or five.”

“This is what any woman would want,” he turns toward you fully. You can’t believe he thinks that’s true. “This is stability, a future. Why are you upset that I want a future with you?”

Your cheeks feel hot, the vodka in your stomach has long ago solidified. It’s heavy, pushing on your bladder, your gut. “I need to go to the bathroom,” you blurt. “I need to pee, I need to think about… about all that.”

You don’t give him time to react before you’re sliding off the stool. Your head feels fuzzy, and it could be from the vodka, from you literally eating zero calories today, but you know it’s from the bomb he just dropped. You know in your soul it’s because that’s a future you cannot give him– that you won’t give him. You didn’t even eat today, and he wants you to be the mother of his child? It’s almost comedic. Or at least it would be if you weren’t stumbling across the bar in the direction of the bathroom, feeling nauseous enough that you might not even make it there.

You can see it, like the light at the end of the tunnel, the glowing, pink neon sign that reads Girls Room. But the walls are closing in, your chest feels heavy, your breaths even heavier, slower, and the sign dims like someone was turning down the brightness. 

“Woah.” An arm around your back, strong and thick, scoops you straight up. Were you going down? “Are you okay? Holy shit, you’re gonna pass out. Don’t pass out.”

Your eyes, half-open, can only see the man keeping you steady. Broad shoulders, absolutely insane biceps, slicked back, onyx locks, they show off his sculpted cheeks, his sharp jaw, his dimples. He’s cute, and he’s holding you up like you’re a fucking doll. 

“Water,” you croak. He slings your arm over his shoulder, and with his height he’s basically dragging you across the room until he’s sitting you down on a chair, crouching beside you, holding a glass of water up to your lips. 

“Slow sips,” he coaxes, his voice soft, pleasant. “Don’t chug it. It’s only eight, how are you hammered at eight o’clock? Guys, we need to be on her time.”

“‘m not hammered,” you mumble through sips. “I’m not even drunk, my boyfriend just told me he wants to tradwife me. I must be having an allergic reaction or something.”

Biceps snorts, you watch as his head tips back in laughter, his dimples showing. “You’re allergic to what, marriage?”

“Do you have any food?” you ask, stomach still feeling wretchedly hollow. Biceps ushers his hand to the table in front of you, and at that moment, you realize nothing in your life could be more embarrassing than this. There’s a table full of men, all with food and drinks in front of them, and you just… you just interrupted. Talking about being allergic to Yeonjun wanting to marry you. 

Directly across from you, with the most appetizing plate of chicken tenders and fries in front of him, sat Jung Wooyoung. With his eyes on yours, a humored twinkle swirling in shit brown, you start to stand. “Fuck no,” you shake your head. “I’ll be going now, thanks.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” the man who saved you from eating shit on the bar’s floor stands with you, hands out, palms facing you. His face reads concern, scrunched up, clearly scared that you’ll crumble to the floor again. “Eat something, drink more water, then you can go. I don’t want them to stop the music so they can put you on a gurney.”

You scowl. Even if he saved you, now Biceps is at the top of your shit list. 

You redirect your scowl at Wooyoung. Before sitting back in the chair, silently you reach across the table to grab his plate of chicken tenders, and place it in front of yourself. 

“Jesus,” another one at the table mutters under his breath. Tall, blonde hair. “What’d you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Wooyoung shrugs. You eat his chicken, satisfied. “I’ve never even seen her before.”

You laugh, a punched sound of sarcasm. “Right,” you mutter.

“Wooyoung, you asshole,” another one whisper-yells. Shorter than the blonde, golden skin, brown, wavy hair. “You slept with her and forgot? That’s fucked up.”

“I never fucked him,” you seethe. “I don’t want chlamydia.”

The table waits a second before roaring in laughter. Wooyoung thins his eyes, his gaze pointed from across the table. You can’t help your growing, prideful smirk. 

“I don’t have chlamydia,” Wooyoung announces after a second, jaw set, eyes dark and pissed. “She tried to fuck her boyfriend in my bedroom last weekend until I broke them up.”

You gasp, mortified. “You’re a liar!”

“Were you not trying to have sex in my room last week?”

“Okay, yes, but–”

“Exactly,” he smirks, satisfied. “So did you get three minutes that night, or forty-five seconds?”

“Wooyoung,” Biceps warns. “Stop it.”

“I got more than you did, I’m sure,” you counter. “Even if you’re disgusting and you.”

“Wow,” his hands come together in a slow clap. “Good for you. Has he gotten any more adventurous? I assume not, since he wants you, three kids, and a white picket fence.”

Your cheeks burn. Biceps, again, warns, “Wooyoung.”

You stand once more, and this time, Biceps doesn’t stop you. The table watches as you stomp all the way back over to Yeonjun, body shaking with irritation, trading one poison for another. You almost forgot what you were coming back to. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, cheeks still pink, face bent in concern. 

Sinking back into the stool, you reach for your martini, throwing the rest of it back. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you spit out, “Fine.”

Wooyoung wouldn’t be able to explain himself if someone were to walk into his bedroom right now. They would find him in his desk chair, listening to Unscripted, the podcast he hates, while staring out his window like he was debating the seven wonders of the world.

“Everybody loves a curved dick. It’s like a walking, living, breathing toy, designed to make you cum a thousand times. If it curves upward, missionary, being on top, is your best friend. If it curves to the left, have him fuck you on your side. If it curves to the right, have him fuck you on your other side. If it curves down, you’re lucky if he’s ugly, because you’ll never have to see his face while fucking him again.”

He laughs, then he catches himself laughing, and stops. God, he hates her with such an unimaginable passion, fuck her for making him laugh. His dick is curved, so maybe a part of him feels targeted, but how dare she put him, and what he can only assume is a million other men, into a box? A category? A you can only fuck this way bracket?

The part about ugly guys is funny, but only because he’s not targeted by that one, and he understands the joke. But who’s to say the women he’s with can’t enjoy backshots because his cock curves upward? He’s never received a bad review for it.

He huffs, shutting his laptop, then he smiles when her voice goes silent. Then his stomach drops, because why was he listening to Unscripted past eight at night? And why was he letting her voice dictate his emotions?

He picks himself up, shaking off the thoughts. He needed to clear his mind, think about something else other than the shape of his cock… he needed to fuck. He texted Haewon, no response. Amara, busy. Nadia, working. Daeun apparently transferred schools. Mira didn’t answer either. He had about twenty goddamn minutes before he lost his mind. 

Hissing through his teeth, he grabs his gym bag from the corner of his room and leaves. The guys in the living room playing FIFA didn’t ask any questions as Wooyoung basically sprinted through the front door. He always goes to the gym in the morning, at the brink of dawn, when the sun is spreading over the horizon, he’s never gone at night. He figures he’ll do cardio, sprint off the thoughts, the feelings, the ache in his dick that he can’t satisfy with his own hand. 

He plugs his phone in after turning over the engine, and the moment his audio connects, it picks up right where she left off.

“I feel like men are insecure about it, and they shouldn’t be. It’s like circumcision, women don’t give a fuck if you have foreskin, as long as you keep it clean. Please, for the love of god, keep it clean–”

He curses as he rips the chord out of his phone. Fuck that. He’ll drive to the gym in fucking silence.

The gym is busy, as he knew it would be, he despises the gym when it's busy. That’s why he goes in the morning, when no one else on campus is awake, only the really smart types who have days jam packed full of shit that require brain energy. That’s what an ass crack of dawn workout is for.

He barely looks up as he scans his ID, but when he catches a glimpse of the face that’s starting to bother him as much as Unscripted’s voice, it catches his attention. 

“Oh, hell no,” he groans. This is exactly the opposite of what he needs right now. “Why are you suddenly everywhere?”

You, behind the desk in your bright purple, collared shirt, scoff. “I’m everywhere? You’re everywhere.”

“Shouldn’t you be off getting married?” He can feel his smirk growing. “Pushing out babies and shit?”

“Fuck you,” you grumble, leaning back into the opposite side of the desk. “Shouldn’t you be off giving someone chlamydia?”

“You need to drop that now,” Wooyoung points at you. “I don’t have chlamydia.”

“Aw, is the big-shot whore bothered by my jokes?” you pout, using the worst case of baby-voice Wooyoung’s ever heard. His ears seem to frown, too.

“Big-shot whore?” Wooyoung repeats, face morphing into disappointment. “We need to work on your insults if bantering is going to become our thing.”

“We don’t have a thing,” you’re quick to answer. “There is no we, we does not exist. Go snort a line of pre-workout.”

Wooyoung grins, humored by your irritated expression. “Did he propose yet? Does he have a ring in his underwear drawer? Is he just dying to pop the question? Wait, let me guess: moissanite, set in sterling silver.”

“You’re an asshole,” you gruff, turning away from him like you had work to do. Wooyoung knows you’re not even reading the words on the paper you’re staring at.

He can’t help himself. He walks around the desk until he’s in front of you again and asks, “Does your boyfriend know you almost passed out when he told you his idea of your future?”

“No,” you respond without even looking up at him.

His grin widens. “Is it because he’s boring? Is that why you don’t want to marry him?”

“I do want to marry him,” you finally look up, eyes pointed, gaze angry. Wooyoung’s grin only spreads. “I just don’t want to marry him next fucking year. I think he’s insane for wanting to.”

Wooyoung’s lower lip folds over like he might start fake crying out of cuteness, “How sweet. He wants to lock you down after graduation so he doesn’t have to go wife-hunting while becoming an MD.”

Your face goes flat. “How do you know he’s pre-med?”

“I’m well-connected,” he shrugs. He just has Instagram. “Have you proposed that he doesn’t propose until he’s working?”

“Yes,” you turn again, ignoring his comedic wording, crossing to the other side of the desk as another gym-goer walks inside. You watch as they scan in their ID, what information pops up on the screen. When they walk away, you turn to him again, “Why are you so interested? Shouldn’t you be lifting by now?”

“I’m just absolutely perplexed trying to figure out how you’re going to marry a guy who doesn’t fuck you right.” Wooyoung’s leaning over the counter now, arms crossed, ankles crossed beneath it. Right at home. “Isn’t that, like, a huge part of being with someone forever? Great sex?”

You throw your hands on your hips, “Sex really is all you think about, isn’t it?”

“Humor me,” Wooyoung replies.

You sigh. “I’m wondering how I’m going to do it, too. You told me the night at the party that if I’m already bored with my sex life, then my relationship isn’t going to last. That’s kinda haunting me, even though you’re you, and a relationship is so much more than just sex.”

“Have you tried anything else, other than trying to fuck him in my bedroom?”

Wooyoung watches your cheeks flush in real time. You mutter, “I tried fucking him in the bathroom of Lucky Penny.”

Wooyoung laughs, genuine and true. “Everyone’s fucked at Lucky Penny. He wouldn’t do it?” You shake your head, and Wooyoung ties his lips to one side, shooting you an apologetic stare. “Man, I don’t think he’s fixable.”

“He doesn’t need to be fixed, Wooyoung,” you scold, running a hand through your hair. “There are so many other great, perfect things about him. Sex is the only area where— why am I even telling you this? I should not be confiding in you right now.”

Wooyoung stands, “What else are big-shot whores for, other than to fuck and give advice about fucking?” He’s smiling, but you both know there’s some truth to it.

“Go hit a PR or something,” you shoo him off with a dust of your fingers, turning around.

And surprisingly, he listens. He grabs his headphones from his bag, connecting his phone before putting them over his ears, walking towards the row of treadmills.

“I, personally, love a dick that curves upward. I know I said missionary is for lovers, but if a dick is curved—and even though you don’t love him—you’re going to finish more times in that one session than with your vibrators, and that’s my why.”

At the sound of her voice, he almost rips his headphones off and throws them in the trash. But now that he’s being spoken to personally, and being praised, he throws his bag against the wall, hops on the treadmill, and raises both the incline and speed.

“The reason why there’s different positions for curved dicks? Well, we never learned this in Sex Ed, and some of my listeners, I’ve come to find out, are seriously lacking in the female-genitalia knowledge department.”

Blah blah blah. It’s like he’s watching a repeat episode from one of those nineties sitcoms, he knows all the words, he can follow along like he’s reading the script. But even though his phone is in front of him, resting on the little ledge below the screen of the treadmill, he doesn’t reach for it to turn it off. 

“That little recap was for those who didn’t listen to my squirting episode. And if you did, you get a recap anyways, because I think everyone should have it burned to memory where exactly you should stimulate to get your partner off. If you’ve never had a penetrative orgasm, or your curved-dick partner has never given you one, have them listen to this, and you’ll never wish for anything again.”

He’s gotta give it to her, she does know her shit. Wooyoung wonders if he’s met her, if he’s ever fucked her before. He comes to the conclusion that he would know if he fucked her, he’s had some great lays before, even incredible ones, but she seems different. In the sense that it would be memorable, he’d come back to that night in his mind, those nights he only has his fist and his cock. Those nights would be dedicated to her, and her terrifyingly vast knowledge of human anatomy and orgasms. 

He stays on the treadmill for an hour, burning through the soles of his sneakers and yet another podcast episode. The topic was making out, which felt really adolescent, but actually had some decent tips that even Wooyoung hasn’t thought of before. Tucking the tips into his back pocket, he throws his headphones back into his bag, wipes down the treadmill, and chugs his water on his way back to the front. 

You’re still there, arms crossed, looking like you hate the world.

Wooyoung smiles as he leans over the counter. “I have an idea.”

You smack your teeth. “Great, I’m about to lose brain cells.”

“Shut up,” he quips. “Why don’t you have your boyfriend listen to that podcast that’s going around campus? Unscripted?” 

Your face falls impossibly further. “What? No, he doesn’t even watch porn, he would never listen to a sex podcast.”

Wooyoung snorts. “A man in his twenties who doesn’t watch porn? I can’t tell if you’re stupid for believing that or if this guy is secretly super religious.”

“Neither,” you snap. “Leave. Your workout is over.”

“How do you know?” He pops his brows, suddenly offended. “Maybe I’m taking a quick break.”

“Then do it somewhere else,” you shoo him away again, fingers sweeping the air. “And never talk to me about that podcast again.”

“Damn, are you super religious or something?” he asks.

“Wooyoung,” you warn.

“Fine, damn, fine.”

Wooyoung is home for exactly two hours before his night goes to shit.

He showered immediately upon walking through the door, which was a relief, but after laying in his bed and realizing he was in fact not getting laid tonight, the voice in the back of his mind started reminding him of every devious, terrible thing he’s ever done.

That was a strong contender for ruining his night. Instead, he picked himself up, went downstairs to the kitchen, and cleaned up. He did the dishes, loaded the dishwasher, cleaned every surface, even organized the top shelf of the pantry. The other guys knew not to talk to him– they knew when Wooyoung was in this mood, it was best to let him think on it, get it out of his system, rather than to bombard him with every question, every distraction they could think up.

He made himself food, allowed himself something comforting after all the extra cardio he did at the gym. That made it half better. But the real damning of his night happened about thirty minutes later, when he was in his bed, fist wrapped around his cock, fantasizing about the night he had a monarch butterfly in his bed, there were three knocks at his door.

“Busy!” Wooyoung called out, his voice shaky, so close to the edge he could taste it.

“It’s me.” You.

You.

He groans out his frustration, his orgasm that he could taste, now gone. Floating away in the wind, with the rest of his hopes and fucking dreams. Pulling up his sweats, sitting up in his bed, he calls out, “Come in.”

You spill into his room. Literally. You push the door open and it slams behind you, you waste no time throwing your bag to the floor and sitting on the foot of his bed. It takes you all of six seconds to put the pieces together.

“Why are you sweaty?” you ask. Wooyoung doesn’t answer, his face bored. “Why don’t you have a shirt on, and why are you sweaty?”

“I’m in my room, lights off, tissues on my nightstand,” he answers plainly. “What do you think I was doing?”

Like a skittish cat, you jump off his bed, yelping a disgusted noise. “And you just let me come in here? Oh my god, go wash your hands or something, that’s gross, Wooyoung.”

“It’s natural,” he shrugs, leaning back into his pillows. “It’s probably what you do immediately after fucking your boyfriend.” He made himself laugh with that one. You stay silent. His face drops. “Oh shit, am I right? I didn’t mean to be right.”

“Fuck you, whatever,” you snap. “I’m not here to bicker. I need your help.”

Wooyoung groans, head tipping back into his pillows, he already knows what that means. “God, go to fucking counceling or something, stop involving me in your relationship bullshit.”

“You were interested earlier,” you argue. “You brought this upon yourself the night you listened to me in the hallway. You should have told me to fuck off.”

Mumbling to himself, he repeats, “I need to stop being nice. I need to stop being kind.”

“You told me to listen to that podcast earlier, but she thinks like a woman, right? She is a woman, I mean. I need to think like a man,” you’re rambling, pacing at the foot of his bed. “You’re a man, Yeonjun’s mind is closer to yours than mine, like, biologically. I need to think like you. Or I need you to tell me what he’s thinking. I don’t know, but what I do know is that I can’t live my life like this, and I can’t be in a sexless marriage. You have to help me.”

“I am the last person on earth you want to help you,” Wooyoung announces. “I already told you to leave him, what the fuck else do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want to leave him, asshole.” You’re finally still at the center of the foot of his bed, arms wide on either side of you. “I said he doesn’t need to be fixed, but maybe just a little… shaping.”

“To the salon,” Wooyoung responds, in the same singsong tone from the Barbie movie. When your face bends in confusion, he asks, “Oh, we weren’t quoting that sound?”

“I need to fundamentally change my boyfriend’s brain,” you say matter-of-factly. “No, I’m not quoting a stupid video.”

Wooyoung sits up. “So there’s zero chance of you leaving the Jesus freak?”

“He’s not a Jesus freak,” you bite back, but take a step closer to his bed. “But no, there’s not. I love him.”

Wooyoung groans his frustration in a short, harsh noise. “God, fuck,” he runs his hands over his face roughly before they land on his bedspread again. “Okay, what do you want me to do? What’s the quickest way to get you out of my fucking bedroom, again?”

You grin, accomplished as you sit on the foot of his bed again. “I think my first order of business is making sex fun again, like how it was in the beginning. The marriage and baby shit I won’t make you deal with.”

“Thanks,” he responds, tone dripping in sarcasm. “Making sex fun… are you sure you can’t ask any of the six girls I fucked to help you with this? They’re all your friends, right?”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to tell your friends that your sex life sucks?” you ask, and it’s not rhetorical. You don’t give him time to answer. “You already know, you witnessed it first-hand. Just help me, Wooyoung, something simple, something I can do tonight–”

“Edge him or something,” Wooyoung answers like he’s shoving the words out of his mouth. “You want him to act unlike himself, right? Push him to the limit? Then actually push him to the limit, and see what he does.”

Your face softens. Mumbling, almost under your breath, you wonder, “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Put yourself in control,” Wooyoung continues. “Make him obey you. Is he usually the dominant one?” You nod, coy all of the sudden. “Then you’re going to act unlike yourself, too. Show him what you want. Make him work for it.”

He watches you swallow, he can see the flush on your cheeks even under the dim lighting of his bedroom. His head tilts, a smirk growing, “Are you shy right now? Shy like a fucking virgin.”

“Shut up, Wooyoung,” you bark, but all the bite is gone into thin air, just like his lost orgasm. “I just… I don’t act like this with him. Loud and rude and stuff, I’m not like that with him. What if he doesn’t like it?”

“Like you said, you need to think like a man,” he finds himself soothing you, maybe he can consider this his one good deed of the day. “I’m a man, and I’m giving you sound advice. Try it. If he doesn’t like it, he won't leave you. If he does like it, he’ll probably grab the ring from his underwear drawer.”

You smile, the smallest laugh tumbling out of your lips. “I fucking hate you. If he proposes, you’re getting blamed for that, too.”

Wooyoung doesn’t even realize he’s smiling, too. “You’re really weird for coming to my house while I’m jerking off, by the way.”

“I know where you live, just felt easier to come here. Biceps let me in,” you shrug. “And I didn’t know you’d be jerking off.”

“Biceps?” Wooyoung pops a brow before realizing, “Oh, San.”

“I’m gonna go edge my boyfriend,” you announce, standing from his bed. Grabbing your bag from the floor, you give him a wave, “I’ll update you.”

“Please don’t,” Wooyoung calls after you. “It’s getting really fucking weird now, Virgin.”

“Expect an update!” you yell through his closed door, after you’ve shut it behind you.

It takes a minute before Wooyoung realizes he’s smiling, and he quickly wipes it right off his face. Getting cozy under his covers again, he reaches for the lube on his nightstand, and picks back up right where he left off.

The rain had been coming down for hours. You watched it trickle down the glass, grey sky split with flickers of pale lightning every so often, the house dim except for the kitchen light left on above the sink. 

The sound of the storm had long since faded into background noise, white noise for the ache growing in your stomach.

It wasn’t the cramps that had started it, not really. It was the need.

You were ovulating. You knew your body like clockwork. Your skin was flushed, your nipples stiff under your shirt for no reason, and the ridiculous amount of slick between your thighs had you changing your underwear twice today already.

But that wasn’t the worst part; the worst part was how empty you felt.

Three weeks. That’s how long it had been since you last saw him. Since you’d last touched him. Since you’d heard that particular rasp in his voice when he pressed you into the mattress and told you how sweet you were when you cried.

Now he was finally coming home.

You curled your fingers around the warm mug in your hands and tried not to squirm on the couch. Tried not to think about how the crotch part of your sleep shorts was already damp. Tried not to think about how your body didn’t just miss him, it was screaming for him.

You wanted him, not just for the way he touched you, but because you needed the quiet comfort of having him near, his presence like a tether to hold you steady.

You didn’t hear the key turn, you only heard the door click open.

Then a warm voice, familiar, hoarse with exhaustion and soaked in affection.

“Baby, I’m home.”

The mug slipped from your fingers and clattered onto the coffee table, sloshing tea across the surface. You shot up from the couch without thinking, and the second your eyes met his across the living room, you ran.

San caught you mid-jump, arms wrapping around you like instinct. You crashed into him with a breathless laugh, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. 

God, he smelled like the rain, leather and laundry, and just a hint of sweat.

“I missed you,” you whispered into his shoulder. “I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you more,” he said, setting his bag down and squeezing you tighter. “Every day. Every city.”

You could feel it already, the tension pulling taut between you, like a bowstring straining under pressure.

He leaned back slightly to look at you. You must’ve looked a mess, skin flushed, lips bitten, your shirt rumpled and sleeves pulled down over your hands. His eyes softened.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower now, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied. But the tremble in your voice gave it away.

He tilted his head. “Come here.”

You followed him quietly to the couch, legs shaky, throat tight. The moment he sat, he pulled you onto his lap, your knees straddling him as his hands cradled your waist.

“Tell me.”

You hesitated. “I’m… hormonal.”

His brows rose just a little.

“Not in a sad way. Just my body’s going nuts. And I’ve been alone and stressed and horny for like three days straight.”

San’s expression shifted fast. From concern to heat in a heartbeat.

“Oh,” he said, voice dipping lower.

You bit your lip. “It’s not even the sex part—I mean, okay, it is, but it’s also just how empty I feel. I keep crying at dumb things. I almost cried over a pothole earlier. A pothole, San.”

He grinned. “Baby…”

“It’s my fucking ovulation window. And it’s making me feel like a crazy person.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around you, chest rising and falling against yours. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to feel pressured after tour. You’re probably tired, and I’m just—” Your voice broke slightly. “I’m just really needy right now.”

San leaned in, forehead resting gently against yours.

“You think I wouldn’t want to take care of you?” he whispered.

You blinked at him. His eyes were darker than before, his hands sliding up and down your sides in slow, grounding motions.

“I know this body,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I know what you feel like when you’re ovulating. I can smell it on you, baby.”

You shivered, his voice was like molasses now, deep and slow.

“You’re flushed. Warm. You keep rocking your hips like you’re not even aware of it.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, humiliated by how true it was.

“Don’t be,” he said, brushing your hair back gently. “I think it’s hot.”

Your breath hitched.

“I want you exactly like this,” he said. “Soft. Needy. Out of your mind.”

He kissed your neck low, slow, and purposeful. His hand slid down between your thighs. Pressed softly.

You whimpered.

“You’re soaked,” he muttered, groaning. “Fuck. I’ve barely touched you.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“I’m gonna take care of you, baby,” he whispered. “Gonna give your body what it wants.”

You whimpered against his shoulder. The second his fingers pressed against the thin cotton of your shorts, your body shuddered.

San cupped you fully, his palm broad and heavy, and rubbed a slow circle. You felt how embarrassingly slick the fabric had gotten, and the groan that left his chest was hungry.

“You want me to take care of you, don’t you?” he murmured. “Let me make it better, sweetheart.”

You nodded.

“Need you to say it, baby.”

“Please,” you whispered. “Touch me. I can’t take it anymore.”

He laid you back gently on the couch, pulling the throw blanket under your hips to cushion you. 

His lips kissed down your throat, your collarbones, your chest. Slow, slow, slower, until his fingers caught the waistband of your shorts and peeled them down.

Then there it was, the second your panties came off, San paused. His breath caught. You were dripping, inner thighs damp, the whole couch faintly scented with your arousal.

“Oh, baby…” he exhaled, sinking to his knees between your thighs. “You’re so ready for me.”

He spread your legs wide, running his thumbs through your slick, parting you open.

San dropped to his knees between your thighs like a man possessed.

He spread you open with both hands, thumbs gliding through the slick that coated your folds, wet and glossy, stringing between your inner lips and soaking the blanket beneath you.

He let out a guttural groan. “Fuck. You’re not just wet, baby… you’re creamy.”

You flushed hard, hips twitching. “I told you—ovulation makes me—”

“You think I’m complaining?” He slid one finger through your folds, slow, collecting the thick mess coating you. When he pulled it back, it glistened, cloudy, slippery, stretched like honey between his fingers.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought that finger to his mouth and sucked it clean.

Your stomach dropped. He moaned.

“Tastes like you need to be filled,” he growled. “Sweet. Warm. Fucking ripe.”

“San—” you gasped, breath catching as he went back for more. He dipped two fingers in this time slow, twisting, curling deep, and when he pulled them out coated and dripping, he held them out to you.

“Open,” he whispered.

You hesitated, cheeks blazing, but obeyed.

He slid his fingers into your mouth and you sucked them instinctively, tasting yourself thick on his skin.

Salty, slippery, overwhelming. San watched with blown pupils and a smirk so filthy it made your toes curl.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Taste what your body’s begging for. You feel it, don’t you? That emptiness. That ache?”

You whimpered, clenching down hard around nothing.

He licked another trail up your thigh and groaned again. “Fucking leaking for it. Dripping down your thighs like your pussy already knows what’s coming.”

Then his mouth was back on you, hot, hungry, greedy. Tongue plunging deep, lips sucking the slick straight from your entrance as if it was the first thing he’d eaten in days.

“You’re making so much of it,” he panted between licks. “You want me to fuck it all back into you, don’t you? Fill you so full it leaks out for hours?”

“Yes,” you choked, writhing. “Please—please, I need it.”

“You’ll get it, sweetheart,” he growled. “But not until I’ve tasted every drop this perfect body’s made for me.”

You broke. Your orgasm hit hard, your body seizing as you clenched around his fingers, thighs squeezing, a loud sob tearing from your throat. You could barely breathe. 

The wave dragged on and on, slick pouring out of you, making your inner thighs stick to the blanket.

San kissed you through it. Soft, open-mouthed kisses across your stomach and chest as you came down. His fingers stayed inside you, slow and gentle.

“Hey, hey. I’m right here,” he murmured, tucking your head under his chin. “You don’t have to hold anything in.”

You melted into him again, boneless and trembling...

A tear slid down your cheek before you even noticed you were crying, and San brushed it away without a word.

Your body sagged forward into his chest like you’d been unstrung. Every part of you pulsing and soft, skin too tight for how much emotion buzzed underneath.

You clung to him, breathing him in. Clean sweat, worn cotton, a hint of his shampoo still clinging to the ends of his hair. 

Your brain was already slipping into that hormone-drunk haze, the kind that made your ribs ache just from being held.

You barely registered when he started undressing. A shirt peeled over his head, jeans sliding low over his hips. 

It was all just movement and warmth and comfort, the room spinning gently while you floated at the center of it.

By the time his clothes hit the floor, you were blinking up at him with glassy eyes, lips parted, thighs pressed together, pliant like your body had already decided what it needed from him before your mouth could ask.

But you did notice the way his cock brushed against your thigh, heavy, thick, already leaking.

You whined.

“Still want me?” he asked, sliding two fingers back into you, checking how open you were. “Still this needy, even after coming so hard?”

You nodded, voice wrecked. “Please, San. Please, I need it deep.”

He kissed your knee. “You tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You were about to promise when he pushed in. Slow, stretching, deep. You both groaned in tandem, your cunt clenching down like he belonged there. Which, truthfully, he did.

“Fuck,” he whispered, folding over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other on your hip. “You’re so tight.”

“I can’t help it,” you cried. “You feel too good. It’s too much.”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, starting to move—long, grinding thrusts that made your whole body jolt. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

His pace quickened. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He fucked you deep, not hard yet, but the angle had your toes curling. Every time he bottomed out, your body tried to take more.

“You want me to ruin this pussy, don’t you?” he growled. 

“Your hormones are driving you crazy. You’re clenching like you never want me to leave.”

He grabbed your throat lightly, pressing just enough to make you gasp.

“You want me to come inside you?” he rasped. “Want to feel me leak out of you for hours?”

“Yes, San—please—don’t pull out—”

That was it. His control snapped.

He fucked you harder now—loud, wet slaps of skin on skin, your moans broken and desperate. Your second orgasm hit without warning, your body convulsing, nails digging into his back, sobs escaping as he stuffed you full, over and over and over again.

He came right after, you felt it when he spilled.

Thick, hot, flooding you. His hips stuttered, voice cracking in your ear as he pressed as deep as he could and stayed there.

“Shit,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “So full. You took all of it, baby.”

You didn’t realize you were bleeding until after. Not much, just a faint smear on the inside of your thigh, red-pink and mixed with cum. San noticed it first.

He immediately slowed.

“Hey—hey, you okay?”

You nodded, you felt dazed and fuzzy, just sensitive everywhere.

“Hurts a little,” you whispered. “But in a good way.”

As he pulled out, the mess was immediate. His cum mixed with yours, leaking in thick strings down your thighs, soaking the blanket beneath you.

San paused, staring, chest heaving.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Look at that.”

You glanced down and your face flamed at the sight. The discharge from earlier, now laced with thick streaks of white, clung to your folds like your body was still trying to keep him inside.

He didn’t move for a second—then dipped back down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered. “It’s dripping out already.”

You squirmed, thighs twitching, too sensitive to do anything about it.

Then he licked it up.

One long, slow drag of his tongue from your hole to your clit, scooping up the mess like it was his reward.

You whimpered. “San—”

He moaned into your cunt. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean you up my way first.”

You hid your face in your hands, torn between embarrassment and the slow curl of heat returning to your gut.

“You’re obsessed,” you whispered.

He smirked, licking his lips. “Damn right I am. You think I could watch my cum dripping out of you and not taste it?”

He was already grabbing a warm towel, muttering apologies as he kissed your temple.

“But still, I should’ve slowed down sooner,” he said softly. “You’re so sensitive right now. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You were perfect,” you whispered.

He was careful with the cleanup. Gentle between your thighs. Talking to you the whole time.

“You did so good for me,” he murmured. “Such a pretty girl. Always so sweet when you’re all soft like this.”

You whimpered when the towel grazed your clit, and he immediately soothed you with a kiss to the cheek.

“I’ve got you, baby. Just a little more, and I’ll get you in the bath.”

Once he was done, he helped you into the bathroom, set you in a warm soak with Epsom salts, and sat beside the tub rubbing circles into your calf.

“You’re always like this when you’re ovulating, huh?” he said, smiling gently. “All needy and messy and desperate.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, flushing.

He leaned in and kissed your nose.

“I fucking love it.”

You splashed a bit of water at him with your toes, but your body was too wrecked to hold a proper pout. When he stood and started peeling off his shirt again, you blinked up at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting in. You think I’m letting you float around in here alone?”

 You opened your mouth to argue, but the weight of the day and of him made the thought of being close again too tempting to resist.

He climbed in behind you, easing your back into his chest with a contented sigh. The water shifted around you both, warmer with his skin against yours.

The sound of his heartbeat against your back slowed, each thud syncing with your breathing. 

His body stayed wrapped around you, chest flush to your spine, arm curved protectively over your middle like he was afraid you'd slip through his fingers.

San didn’t move right away, he just let you breathe. And you were so grateful because you didn’t have the words yet.

Your body was limp, trembling in the comedown, your thighs sticky with sweat and slick and the warm, wet mess he’d left inside you. 

But your chest was tight too, overwhelmed. You blinked, and tears welled again. This time, not from overstimulation, not from pain.

Just from everything. It was too much and not enough, you missed him, needed him, you had him, and it still didn’t feel like enough.

He kissed your shoulder softly.

But eventually, the bath cooled and your skin started to prickle.

He helped you out first, wrapped you in one of his shirts, dried your legs with a towel so gentle it made your eyes sting again.

“Couch?” he murmured.

You nodded, lips too soft and sore to bother forming words. He led you there with a hand at the small of your back, settled down with you tucked between his legs again, a blanket thrown loosely over both of your bodies.

“Hey…” he murmured. “You okay?”

You nodded against the couch pillow, but your throat burned.

Then your voice cracked, so small. “I think I’m gonna cry again.”

“Oh, baby…”

He turned you gently, shifting so he could face you. One hand cupped your cheek, the other sliding up your side, grounding you. 

You were blinking fast, tears falling for no reason you could name, and San just held you through it, no judgment, no questions.

“Come here,” he whispered, gathering you into his lap. “S’okay, let it out.”

You curled into him like it was instinct.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” you sniffled, nuzzling his neck. 

“I just—everything feels so much. Like my body’s on fire, and I want you again, but I’m tired, and I love you, but I also want to scream, and—”

“I know,” he said instantly. “You don’t have to explain it. Hormones are insane. You’re feeling everything at once, and I’m just glad you’re telling me.”

You breathed shakily, nose pressed to his damp skin.

“You’re not mad?”

He chuckled, warm and breathy.

“Mad? Baby, I’m honored I get to hold you like this. I love this part—when it’s just us. After everything. When you’re all soft and sleepy and honest.”

You bit your lip, more tears spilling. “You’re too sweet to me.”

“No, I’m not,” he said. “You deserve all of this. I mean it.”

He kissed the top of your head, then your forehead, then your damp cheeks.

You curled tighter into him, arms around his neck. “Don’t leave again.”

He smiled against your temple. “You know I have to. But not tonight. Tonight, I’m here. All yours.”

You relaxed with a shaky exhale, and you felt it again.

A pulse low in your belly, a flutter of need, small but insistent.

You whimpered, shifting against his thigh. San froze, then pulled back just enough to look at you, brows furrowed, lips parted.

“…you’re turned on again?”

You blinked, ashamed. “I can’t help it. I think my body’s just—”

He kissed you before you could finish, not hungry or desperate. Just slow, lazy, and familiar.

Then he smirked. “We don’t have to move.”

He slid one hand between your thighs, easily, your folds still soaked, slick still leaking from your entrance.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered. “You’re dripping down your thighs. I think you really do want a second round.”

You whined, burying your face in his chest. “We can’t. I’m so sensitive—”

“Shh,” he whispered, stroking you gently. “No pressure. Just let me touch you. I’ll be soft this time. No thrusting, no roughness. Just slow circles… like this.”

He rubbed his fingers in slow motion against your clit, barely-there pressure, but enough to make your hips twitch. You squirmed in his lap, helpless, lips falling open.

Your voice was small. “That feels so nice…”

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “That’s all I wanna do. Just give you this. No more tears. Just good things.”

And he kept rubbing, gentle and warm and hypnotic. Your breathing grew heavier, head tipping back against his shoulder as he coaxed you into it. 

No demands, no commands. Just yes, baby, good girl, let go for me again.

You came with a soft gasp, legs trembling, toes curling, arms still locked around his neck. This time it didn’t hurt, it just eased something. A calm orgasm, full of warmth and release.

After, he kissed your temple again. “There she is.”

You were silent for a moment—then you mumbled, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this emotionally insane and also completely at peace.”

San laughed quietly. “That’s love, baby.”

You huffed a teary, dazed laugh, then whispered against his collarbone:

“Next time you’re on tour and I’m ovulating, I might die.”

He held you tighter.

“Next time, I’m flying you out.”

You didn’t even register that you were crying until San thumbed another tear from your cheek.

“I got you,” he whispered. “That’s it. Let it all out.”

Every nerve felt raw and stretched thin under the weight of too much pleasure, too much closeness, too much him.

At some point, he cleaned you up again. Grabbed a warm cloth and murmured quiet little things like he always does.

You’re okay, I’m right here, just breathe for me, baby, as he wiped you down and slipped one of his shirts over your head. The soft cotton dragged over your hypersensitive skin like a second set of hands.

Just you in his arms, half-buzzed, cheek pressed to his collarbone as he settled the two of you into the cushions. The night air through the window was cool; his skin was warm against yours.

He curled behind you and draped a new throw blanket over your bodies, pulling you into his chest like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space.

“All clingy and messy and fucking desperate.”

You groaned, flushing. “Hush.”

He leaned in and kissed your nose. “My favorite love.”

His heartbeat thudded against your back, slow and steady. You let yourself sink into him, body heavy, brain soft. All of it, the wreckage of pleasure, the gentle care, the calm after, wrapped around you like a cocoon.

A few minutes passed before you mumbled, “…I didn’t even realize it was ovulation week at first.”

San tilted his head down. “You’ve been on the red zone of that app since Wednesday.”

You blinked. “You checked my period app?”

He huffed a laugh. “Babe. You made me download it so I’d stop offering you milkshakes when you’re cramping.”

“…Right.”

You reached for your phone and pulled up the app. 

Sure enough: Cycle Day 17. Fertile Window. 

A bubble popped up with a cutesy message: 🩷 “You may be extra sensitive, sensual, or emotionally intense today!”

You snorted. “They forgot ‘will sob uncontrollably while getting railed.’”

San peeked over your shoulder. “Oh, I’d swipe right on that.”

Another notification popped up, this time from your group chat.

woowoo: bitch are you okay?? or just too full of dick to respond???

joongie: at least confirm you’re ALIVE                                                                          you were ghosting us mid-tour and now radio silence???

mingithingi: when u coming back? imy

You started typing through a laugh.

you: alive. sore. not sorry. imy2                                                                                also tell wooyoung i hope he steps on a lego

San took your phone, added:

san: don’t worry. she’s hydrated, stretched, and fully taken care of.               she doesn’t miss u mingi.

Then he tossed it back onto the coffee table and tucked his face against your neck, one hand sliding under your shirt to rest on the warm skin of your belly.

“You good?” he murmured.

You shook your head yes, “Just wrecked.”

“Wanna cry some more?”

“Dunno, maybe.”

“I got you.” He kissed your shoulder. “Always.”

Taglist:

“Probably Wooyoung,” Jongho muttered.

“Rude.”

Yunho barely reacted, already pulling his jacket on while talking to staff. He looked exhausted. The last week in Japan had been nonstop schedules, performances, interviews, dance rehearsals. His hair was still slightly damp from a rushed shower, and there were faint shadows under his eyes as Yeosang adjusted the laptop under his arm. “You sure all the choreo files are here?”

“Everything’s labeled,” Yunho answered distractedly. “New demos, practice formations, performance references. Just connect it to the studio monitor.” Then his phone buzzed and the second he looked at it, his entire face softened and Wooyoung saw it immediately and groaned dramatically. “Ugh. He got a text from her.”

Mingi snorted from where he was dragging his suitcase. “Look at him smiling.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“You literally are.”

Yunho rolled his eyes, but his thumb was already typing back. You’d gone home three days ago to visit your family while he stayed in Japan for solo schedules, and ever since then he’d been annoyingly attached to his phone.

Hongjoong pointed toward the elevator. “Lovebirds later. Move.”

Yunho looked back once toward Yeosang. “Just don’t touch anything else on there.” That should’ve sounded more suspicious than it did. But nobody thought twice about it. Because Yunho’s laptop always looked the same. Dance folders. Music drafts. Performance videos. Gaming lives downloaded. Thousands of clips from practices he obsessively recorded and reviewed. Nothing unusual.

At least… not that anyone knew.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The practice room speakers blasted the new track loud enough to rattle the mirrors while everyone ran through choreography for what felt like the hundredth time. Hongjoong cut the music with an aggravated sigh. “Again. San, half a second earlier on the turn.”

“I was earlier!”

“You were spiritually earlier.”

Wooyoung collapsed dramatically onto the floor. “I’m going to die in this room.”

“You say that every comeback,” Yeosang replied calmly. Sweat clung to everyone after hours of rehearsing. Empty water bottles littered the corners. Mingi was sitting against the mirror catching his breath while Jongho stretched nearby. Yunho still wasn’t back from Japan. Which meant the center formations felt weirdly empty without him there towering over everybody.

Hongjoong rubbed his face tiredly. “Let’s check the reference recordings again. Yeosang, did you bring Yunho’s laptop?”

“Yeah.” Yeosang walked over to his bag near the wall and pulled it out. “He said everything’s organized.”

Wooyoung snorted. “That man has folders inside folders inside folders.”

“He scares me technologically,” San agreed as Yeosang connected the laptop to the big studio monitor while the others gathered around, still breathing hard from practice. The desktop appeared onscreen with folders everywhere over a background wallpaper of Yunho and you.

“See?” Wooyoung pointed. “Psychopath behavior.”

“Open the comeback demos,” Hongjoong said and Yeosang clicked through folders while everyone loosely argued over choreography changes behind him.

Dance_FINAL.

Dance_FINAL2.

Dance_ACTUALFINAL.

“Jesus Christ,” Mingi muttered.

“I told you,” Wooyoung said as Yeosang finally found the right folder and opened it, dozens of video files appearing across the screen and Hongjoong nodded toward one near the bottom. “That one.” Yeosang clicked without looking closely.

For one completely normal second, the screen stayed black before audio filled the room. A soft laugh. Your laugh. Nobody reacted at first because their brains genuinely needed a second to catch up as the video quality was dim and warm, obviously filmed late at night. Yunho was behind the camera, face briefly visible in the mirror across the room as he adjusted the angle. His hair was messy, lips caught between his teeth in that distracted little habit he had when he was focused.

Then the camera tilted lower. Toward the bed. Toward you and the entire practice room froze. You were kneeling on the mattress wearing nothing except one of Yunho’s oversized flannel shirts, the fabric hanging off one shoulder while you laughed softly at something he’d said behind the camera.

“Oh my god,” San whispered immediately as Yeosang’s hand spasmed on the trackpad and Wooyoung slapped both hands over his mouth so hard it echoed. Mingi made a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a scream as Hongjoong stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed him.

“Nope,” Jongho said instantly, already turning away. “Nope. Turn it off.” But nobody moved. Because now Yunho’s voice filled the speakers, low and affectionate in a way none of them had ever heard before.

“Baby, look at me.”

The way he said it was the problem. Not cocky. Not joking. Completely gone for you. Onscreen, you glanced toward the camera with a shy smile while Yunho laughed softly behind it, clearly obsessed with filming every reaction you made.

Seonghwa lost it first. “No wonder he’s always tired.”

“TURN IT OFF,” Hongjoong barked, finally regaining consciousness. Yeosang, panicking now, fumbled the mouse completely wrong and somehow fullscreened the video instead and the room erupted.

“YEOSANG!”

“I’M TRYING!”

Mingi was bent over laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe while San had physically thrown himself against the mirror in dramatic distress. And right before Yeosang finally managed to pause it, Yunho’s voice came through the speakers one last time. Soft. Amused and completely whipped.

“You’re so pretty like this.”

The practice room went so quiet the speakers sounded too loud. Nobody should’ve still been watching. That was the insane part. Every single one of them knew they should’ve shut the laptop the second they realized what the video was, but now it felt like witnessing a car crash in slow motion. Horrifying. Intimate. Impossible to look away from.

Onscreen, you slid off the bed slowly, Yunho’s flannel swallowing you whole as your bare legs disappeared out of frame for a second. The camera shifted slightly when Yunho adjusted his grip on it, like even he had gotten distracted watching you move toward him. Then you literally crawled across the floor toward him and seven grown men stopped functioning simultaneously.

“Jesus Christ,” San muttered, hand over his face.

Jongho looked actively pained. “We should turn it off.”

“Yeah…” Mingi answered immediately, voice suddenly deeper somehow. “Totally.”

Nobody moved. Not one of them. Wooyoung was clutching Yeosang’s shoulder so hard Yeosang physically winced, but even he couldn’t stop staring at the screen in complete disbelief at his roommate. Because Yunho looked insane. Not lustful. Not playful. Gone. Completely gone for you.

The camera dipped slightly as you settled on your knees in front of him, and for a brief second Yunho glanced toward the lens like he remembered he was filming. That little glance alone nearly killed the room because his expression was so openly wrecked over you it felt invasive to witness. Then his eyes dropped back down to you and his entire face softened again.

Hongjoong made a noise like he was spiritually leaving his body. “I know too much about this man now.”

Onscreen, Yunho’s hand appeared briefly, brushing your hair back gently before disappearing again.

“Mine,” his voice murmured through the speakers.

Wooyoung folded in half onto the floor. “HE’S WHIPPED,” he shouted.

“He’s been whipped,” Seonghwa scoffed as Mingi was still staring at the screen with narrowed eyes like he was re evaluating everything he knew about Yunho as a human being and his best friend.

The room stayed frozen. Not one of them saying a word now. The joking had died somewhere in the last thirty seconds, replaced with the horrible realization that they were watching something way too intimate to ever erase from memory again. Onscreen, Yunho lowered the camera carefully onto his bedside table, adjusting it with practiced ease until the frame captured the entire room. The edge of the bed. The floor. You between his legs in that oversized flannel looking devastatingly soft against the darker lighting.

Then Yunho leaned back slightly while you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and Wooyoung inhaled so sharply it sounded painful. Nobody looked away. They couldn’t as the fabric dragged slowly down his thighs, and the collective silence in the practice room somehow got even heavier. Yunho was already visibly hard, muscles tense beneath the dim bedroom lighting while he watched you with that same wrecked expression that had everyone spiraling minutes ago.

San rubbed both hands down his face. “We are never recovering from this.”

“Not a single recovery,” Mingi muttered.

The worst part was how quiet the video itself was. No music. Just soft movement, breathing, occasional little laughs from you, and Yunho’s low voice every now and then like he physically couldn’t stop talking to you. Hongjoong finally tore his eyes away long enough to glare at Yeosang. “Why are you still holding the laptop like you’re presenting this to the class?”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO,” Yeosang whisper yelled back as Jongho stood with his arms crossed so tightly he looked like he was trying to hold onto the last threads of his sanity. “We seriously need to turn it off,” he said again. Nobody disagreed but still nobody moved.

Because onscreen Yunho reached forward suddenly, one hand brushing along your jaw before tilting your face up toward him, his thumb lingering there for a second like he couldn’t stop touching you even while filming then he moved his hand down, wrapping firmly around the base of his dick. He gave it a slow stroke as you knelt there, mouth parting wider at the sight, tongue extending flat and eager.

Yunho tapped his tip against your tongue once, twice, the wet sound barely audible over the quiet breaths in the room. He dragged it across your lower lip, smearing a bead of precum before pulling back just enough to repeat the motion. The group stayed locked on the screen, Hongjoong's jaw tight, Mingi's fingers digging into his own thighs, Wooyoung still folded forward but peeking through his fingers now.

"Fuck," San muttered under his breath, the word barely formed as they watched you open wider, and Yunho finally let you have it. Your lips closed around the tip first, tongue swirling slow and deliberate as you took the first few inches into your mouth. The pace stayed unhurried, your head bobbing in measured movements that let every vein and ridge drag against your tongue and Yunho's free hand rested on the back of your head, not pushing yet, just resting there while his low voice filled the speakers. “That's it, baby. Nice and slow for me."

The video captured every detail, the way your cheeks hollowed slightly on each pull back, the soft glisten of spit building at the corners of your mouth, the way your eyes flicked up to meet his. Yunho's breathing grew heavier, his hips shifting forward in tiny thrusts as you worked him deeper inch by inch and Yeosang shifted in his seat, the movement loud in the silence. Nobody joked anymore. All eyes stayed glued to the footage.

Your pace built gradually. You took more of him on each descent, throat relaxing as the head nudged farther back. Yunho's fingers threaded into your hair, and then he started guiding. A gentle press at first, then firmer, pushing your head down until your nose brushed the base of his dick. He held you there for a beat before easing off, letting you catch air, only to repeat it on the next stroke. “Look at you taking it so deep already. That mouth was made for this, wasn't it?"

The group watched in stunned silence as the rhythm changed. Yunho's grip tightened. He began thrusting into your mouth in controlled rolls of his hips, using the hold on your head to set the depth. Each push sent the head sliding past your tongue and into your throat, the wet sounds growing louder as you gagged softly around him once, twice, but kept going, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes on screen. “Go on baby…. Fuck yourself," Yunho ordered through the speakers, voice rough.

Your hand moved immediately. Two fingers slipped between your thighs, parting your folds before sinking inside your pussy in one smooth motion and you moaned around him at the stretch, the sound vibrating through him visibly as his abs tensed on screen and your fingers pumped in time with his thrusts, slow at first, then matching the pace as he fucked your mouth harder.

San leaned forward, eyes wide. "Holy shit."

Yunho's praise poured out steadily. "Good girl, just like that. Taking every inch so well. This video's gonna be mine to watch later….. gonna fuck my fist to the way you choke on me." His dick twitched in your mouth on screen, the head swelling as he used your throat with deeper, shorter thrusts making your gagging grow wetter, sobs hitching around him while your fingers worked faster inside yourself.

The room stayed frozen except for the subtle shifts of the guys adjusting themselves, arousal clear in the way they couldn't look away. On screen, your body trembled. Your fingers curled inside your pussy, hitting the right spot until your thighs shook and you came hard, squirting around your own hand, the fluid glistening on your skin and the carpet as your moan broke into a choked cry around Yunho's dick.

Yunho didn't stop. He held your head steady with both hands now, thrusting deep and steady through your orgasm. His dick pulsed, and then he buried himself to the hilt, coming down your throat in thick pulses as you swallowed every drop, throat working visibly around him until he eased back, letting you breathe. A thin string of spit and cum connected your lips to his dick as the video faded on the final soft praise from his voice.

The practice room stayed silent for a long moment after, every member hard and flushed, the weight of what they'd just witnessed settling heavy.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The second Yunho walked back into the practice room after returning from Japan, every single member started acting like they were being hunted for sport. It had been two full days since the incident. Two days of pretending it never happened. Two days of Wooyoung randomly bursting into hysterical laughter during meals.

Two days of Hongjoong threatening violence anytime someone even mentioned laptops.

And now Yunho was finally back in Seoul completely unaware that seven people had accidentally watched the most intimate video of his life. Which somehow made it worse. Especially because he was acting normal. That was the terrifying part. Just… regular Yunho. Stretching before practice. Drinking iced coffee. Running choreography like nothing catastrophic had happened because he had no idea.

“Why are you all acting like I died?” Yunho finally asked after San nearly walked into the mirror avoiding eye contact.

“No reason,” Hongjoong answered instantly. Suspiciously fast and Yunho narrowed his eyes as the practice room door opened and immediately his entire expression changed as you walked in carrying bags of food and coffees balanced in your arms, smiling brightly. “I come bearing peace offerings because apparently none of you eat unless someone mothers you.”

Wooyoung made a sound like a dying victorian man as Mingi physically turned around and Jongho coughed into his hand so violently Seonghwa had to smack his back.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong with everybody?”

“Nothing!” seven voices answered at completely different pitches and Yunho looked even more confused now, already walking toward you to help with the food. The second he reached you, one hand settled automatically at your waist while he took the bags from your arms. “Thanks, baby,” Yunho said casually, pressing a quick kiss to your temple and Hongjoong closed his eyes briefly like a man enduring psychological warfare.

You watched the members awkwardly scatter around the room avoiding you entirely and frowned. “Okay seriously, they’re acting weird.” Yunho shrugged, completely oblivious while unpacking containers onto the table. “They’ve been weird all day.”

Across the room, San accidentally made eye contact with you for half a second and immediately looked away then choked on air making you stare harder now. “Did something happen while you were gone?”

Seven men collectively looked like they were about to enter cardiac arrest as Yunho glanced up slowly. “Why does it suddenly feel like I should be concerned?”

Mingi finally cracked first. Probably because Yunho kept staring around the room like he was five seconds away from starting an interrogation. He cleared his throat, arms folded tightly across his chest. “So… hypothetically…”

Hongjoong pointed immediately. “Don’t.”

“No, because we can’t keep acting like this,” Mingi shot back.

“We absolutely can,” Jongho argued.

“We really can’t,” Wooyoung wheezed from the floor as you looked between all of them in growing confusion while Yunho narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What happened?”

Mingi sighed like a man accepting death. “We might’ve…” He paused. “Watched something on your laptop.”

You blinked once.

Yunho blinked twice. “What?”

“You know,” Mingi continued vaguely, refusing to elaborate while Wooyoung was already shaking, trying not to laugh. “Something that maybe wasn’t choreography.”

Still confused, you looked toward Yunho. “What does that even mean?”

Then Yunho froze. Actually froze. Like someone had unplugged him from reality and the color drained from his face so fast it was almost impressive. “Oh no,” he whispered and Wooyoung immediately lost it. “A LITTLE 18+ DOCUMENTARY,” he shouted, pointing accusingly at Yunho while collapsing against the mirror.

Your entire body went still as Yunho slowly turned toward Yeosang first. “What did you open.” Though he already knew the answer. Yeosang looked seconds away from tears. “IT WASN’T LABELED!”

“It was in the choreography folder!” Hongjoong exploded.

“I WAS TIRED!”

You stared between all of them, realization dawning in horrifying slow motion as your jaw dropped. “Oh my god.”

Yunho slapped both hands over his face instantly as Mingi looked at the ceiling. Wooyoung was physically on the floor now laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe and Jongho looked ready to move countries as Seonghwa pointed at you and Yunho like a courtroom witness. “For the record, none of us wanted to see it.”

“That is such a lie,” Wooyoung yelled from the floor.

“No because why did nobody turn it off?” you demanded, face burning now.

“WE TRIED!” Yeosang defended himself.

“You fullscreened it!” Hongjoong shouted back.

Yunho still hadn’t uncovered his face. “You watched the whole thing?” he asked slowly through his hands and Mingi suddenly found the wall fascinating. San coughed and Hongjoong looked away as Seonghwa, Jongho, Yeosang and Wooyoung just stared in silence.

And that silence told Yunho everything.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

You woke up the next morning a bit hungover, but still upright. It was definitely too early for any of the boys to be awake so, you creeped out of your bedroom to take a shower and freshen up. You chuckled to yourself thinking about last night. Sexual education courses? Drunk plans are always fun to make but never truly manifest. It did make you a bit disappointed but, you shrugged it off and washed away all of the night before in your steamy morning shower.

After wrapping your hair in a towel and throwing on your robe, you tip-toed back to your room. Creaking the door open and closing it behind you softly.

“Morning.”

A voice startled you, making you drop all your bathroom items and dirty clothes onto the floor.

“Mingi! What is wrong with you?”

He laughed and stood up from your bed to help you pick up your items, dangling your dirty underwear in your face like a kid.

“I never took you for a polka-dot girl.” He teased. You snatched the underwear from him quickly and tried pushing him out the door.

“Are you trying to get out of your first lesson already?” He said, leaning all his body weight against your hands to make it harder to push him. You stopped, stepping to the side and letting him topple down. Thankfully for him, he was able to catch himself before hitting the ground.

“Wait, you guys are actually going through with this? It wasn’t a joke?” Your heart rate started to pick up. And you were suddenly worried that Mingi had laser vision and could see you naked under your robe.

“Yeah, we’re going through with this. We stayed up for hours arguing over-I mean, deciding on who would teach you what.” He took a brief pause to give you a moment, letting it sink in. “Unless you don’t want to. Then I’ll tell the others and we can finish this vacation as normal as possible.”

“I-uh-no! No.” You stuttered, words failing you. “I’m still interested.”

“Okay, good. Can we start?” He asked, smiling politely.

“Can I have a minute? Just- just wait outside my door. I’ll let you back in once I put this stuff away.” You told him, trying your best not to give away your bubbling panic. Mingi nodded and stepped through the door, closing it behind him.

The second the door closed you ran to your suitcase to find clothes. You threw everything around the room, trying to find something suitable for the moment. You realized you didn’t have much of anything. But, did you need to worry about that? Wouldn’t they come off at some point anyway? You didn’t want to think about that yet.

You settled on a tank top and some pajama pants, too worried about making Mingi wait any longer outside to try and put together something better. After throwing all your clothes back into your suitcase in a messy pile and spritzing on some body spray, you opened the door.

“Hey.” Your voice came out in a breathy huff, giving away your slight panic. It made Mingi chuckle.

“Hey. You good?”

“Yeah.” You moved out of the way and waved him inside. “I guess I just didn’t think about how nerve wracking this would be.”

“It’s just me.” He shrugged. “We’re just here to do some learning.”

“Right.” You tried to keep your laugh light. A sliver of nerves still slightly shining through. “So, what’s the first ‘course?’

Mingi stood up straight and cleared his throat. Placing his hand over his chest like he was about to solute.

“I am here this morning to teach you all about making out.” His voice was formal and deeper for dramatic effect, making you both laugh and the tension disappear.

“Have you kissed anyone before?” Mingi asked you, sitting down on the foot of your bed and patting the mattress next to him.

“Yeah, I’ve kissed a few people.” You told him as you took your seat next to him.

“Oh, thank god.” He laughed lightly in relief. “I really didn’t want to be your first kiss.”

“That’s rude!” You smacked him on the shoulder, making him wince.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He waved his hands in defense. “I just meant I didn’t want something like ‘this’ to be what you remember as your first one.”

“Oh. That’s actually sweet.” You felt yourself soften, getting a little bit more comfortable. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

“I’ll forgive you this time.”

Mingi shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over to the other side of the room. He had on an oversized shirt that’s collar was stretched out just enough to show his collar bones. You tried your best to not make it too obvious that you were staring at his neck but, he noticed. A smirk forming on his face.

“Have you ever made out with anyone before?”

“Not really.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Maybe a long kiss or two but never a make-out.”

“Hmm..” He thought long and hard about how to start this. He finally decided it would be best just to jump right in.

“Okay. First things first, kiss me.”

“What? Already?” You felt a bit panicked, shuffling around where you sat. You scooted closer awkwardly but couldn’t meet his eyes. He sensed this, reminding himself he had to be slow and steady. He grabbed you gently by the chin, lifting your face up to look at him.

“Sorry, we can slow down. It’s okay to be nervous. Remember, we can stop at any time.” His voice was soft and gentle. Understanding. You looked at him with doe-eyes, taking in his handsome features. You’d never seen him in this way before: vulnerable and soft. It softened your heart a bit.

“Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes.” You whispered, eyes jumping between his eyes and his lips.

Mingi leaned in to gently placed his forehead against yours, taking a deep breath in and out. You felt your lips start to tremble in anticipation, waiting for him to finally close the gap. He removed his hand from your chin and gently grazed his fingers over the skin of your neck until he reached the nape. He wrapped his fingers around it and gently tilted your head upwards, bringing your lips to finally meet his.

It was a sweet kiss. Gentle. His breath was minty fresh from recently brushing. He pulled away to breathe and then went back in for another kiss. Then another. Slow pecks turning into much hungrier, longer, kisses.

“I’m going to go a bit further.” He said, his breath was only slightly shaky. “Try and find the rhythm. Just let your lips follow mine.”

He drove back in, this time with more force. He was hungrier now, hips lips easily meshing with yours. You were quick to find the same patterns as his. Both moving together in comfort, now moving closer and closer on the bed toward each other.

Mingi reminded himself over and over in his head to take his time, not wanting to overwhelm you. However, it seemed like you were catching on quickly. He was now the one having trouble keeping up with you.

“Okay, let’s slow down a moment.” Mingi pulled away from your lips, both of you breathing heavy.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, a bit embarrassed.

“No, you’re doing good. Perfect actually.” He admitted. “I just want to make sure we don’t get carried away.”

You nodded softly and re-adjusted yourself on the bed. Mingi took a few deep breaths before deciding how to continue.

“Okay, we got the kissing down. Now, we can always make things go a bit further by adding tongue. Are you okay with that?” He asked.

“How exactly do I do that?”

“Well-“ he stuttered for a moment, not really sure how to explain it in words. He decided to try his best. “Typically you want to feel out the person’s mood you’re kissing. Like swiping your tongue across the bottom of the other persons lips. If they’re into it, usually they do the same back.”

“And then what? If they’re into it?” You wanted to make sure you got all the instructions.

“Well-um… You kinda just go for it?” Mingi was a bit nervous now, completely underestimating how much instruction was needed to teach somebody something completely new. He was struggling to find the words to describe something that came so naturally to him. “Should we try? See what happens?”

“Um-yeah. Okay.”

You both leaned back in, this time, your slips clashing and moving awkwardly. Mingi moved his hands around in discomfort, not knowing where to put them comfortably. And when he finally teased your lip with his tongue, you backed away quickly.

“Something feels wrong. I don’t think I’m doing this right.” You felt like you were about to cry, panic setting in due to the embarrassment.

“No, no. I think it’s the way we’re sitting. Here.” Mingi suddenly reached out to grab you by the arm, pulling you over to him and onto his lap to sit face to face. His arms rested around your waist, your knees on each side of his legs. “Isn’t that better?”

The pulse in your neck quickened, the back of your ears going hot. You were so close to him. Almost couldn’t be closer. Not unless you guys.. you know.

You both looked at each other for a moment, finding that trust in each other with patience. After a few deep breaths, you let him know you were ready to continue.

“Okay. Let’s try again.”

He brought his lips to yours against softly, starting slow. The soft pillows of his mouth morphing around yours as you kissed him back. After finding your rhythm again, you felt a bit more at ease. You melted into his body and sank down onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and pulled you in even closer, your chests melting together. He could feel your soft breasts pressed against him, your hard nipples pointing through your tank top and poking him through his shirt.

He smiled into your kisses in satisfaction of your body’s reaction to him. He took it as a sign to go forward, testing your limits again and swiping his tongue against your bottom lip. You tensed ever so slightly but opened your mouth for him, darting your tongue out to meet his to his surprise.

You started small, only touching each others tongues together in brief swipes in-between long moments of kissing. To get better control of your movements, you used a hand to hold onto the back of his neck, your touch bringing a soft moan through Mingi’s chest.

The sound lit something deep inside of you, not ever understanding until now how insanely sexy a man’s moan could be. On the next swipe of your tongue, you pressed yours against his harder, massaging it with yours. Craving more and more of him.

Down below, you felt a stiffness pressing up into your crotch. The pressure into your pants felt good and, without thinking, you started to rock yourself back and forth over it as you continued to kiss him.

Mingi’s hands went down to your hips, helping you rock across his hard dick, pushing you down into it a tiny bit harder. For the first time, a small whimper slipped out of your lips. The shock of making a noise you’ve never made before stoped you and you finally realized that you were grinding your pussy onto his cock.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You pulled away from his lips gasping for air. He chuckled at your reaction but kept his grip tight, making sure you didn’t jump off of him.

“Don’t be sorry, you’re a natural.” He said, his broken breathing sounding just like yours. “You skipped to the next part of this segment: dry humping.”

“Dry humping?” You almost laughed at the phrase.

“Dry humping, grinding, whatever you want to call it. But, it feels good right?” He smirked and you felt an intense heat travel up the back of your neck and to your cheeks. You nodded shyly.

“And it can really heat up a make-out session.” He suddenly rutted his hips up into you from below, the impact hitting you in the perfect spot that send electricity through you, making you gasp. “What do you say we continue?”

You nodded frantically and crashed your lips back onto his. You pressed yourself down against his crotch hard again, grinding against him with the help of his hands. Down below, he pushed himself up into you, his hard cock continuously pressing into your sweet spot.

This new sensation started to take over you, your body moving on its own as it chased the feeling, not even knowing what was at the end of the road. Your hips got quicker, not needing his help anymore. The building fire between your thighs making your head spin. You wanted more and more.

“Please. Please touch me.” You begged him, the words flowing out of your mouth before you even realized what you said. He looked at you for a moment in shock but his face quickly changed the second the words registered in his mind. He took his bottom lip between his teeth and groaned.

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

The low register in his voice made you pulse down below.

“Anywhere. Touch me anywhere. Everywhere. I don’t care.” You whined.

“Fuck, you’re making it so hard to control myself.” He moved his hands around to your ass, both hands gripping down on your soft cheeks. You moaned again due to his hands in a new place. It was the first time anyone had grabbed you there.

Mingi used his hands to spread you open a bit, his long fingers stroking along the middle seam of your pajama pants. The touch tickled but in a SENSUAL way. Making both of your holes clench from the teasing touch. The sensation making you buck your hips harder against him.

“You like that, baby?” He pulled away to whisper in your ear. You let out a groan, infatuated with the pet-name he called you. It was simple but, out of his mouth, made you start to drip into your panties. So much so that, each time you rocked your hips now, you both could hear the sound of your arousal between your thighs.

“Oh god-“ you groaned in a bit of embarrassment. You tried to adjust yourself on him, trying to hide the sounds your body were making. But, instead, landed against him in a spot that would only make everything worse. The hard tip of his cock now pushing up directly into your throbbing clit.

“God-! Please. Please fuck me.” You begged him.

The passionate plea got the best of him. He picked you up, lifting you in the air, then turned around and laid you down onto the bed. He crawled on top of you between your legs, sinking down between your thighs. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him down to press into you again.

He pressed his lips to your neck, peppering kisses from your ear down to your collarbone. A chill ran down your spine, making your nipples hard and peek through your shirt. Mingi noticed this, and hesitantly cupped your left breast with his hand and giving it a soft squeeze. He met your eyes, looking for any sort of hesitation.

“Can I touch you here?” He asked, his voice soft. You were practically panting and fully unable to speak. All you could do was nod, your eyes glued to the hand that groped your breast. Mingi smirked, deciding to turn up the heat.

“How about… here?” Mingi moved his hand off your breast and grazed his fingers across your hard nipple. The barley-there touch making you cream in your panties.

“Mingi. Please, can we just-“ you bucked your hips up into him, craving more. You wanted him. So so badly.

“I can’t, baby. I promised the guys we’d do this the right way. In steps. We all promised we’d teach you.” He told you, standing firm begrudgingly. Wishing he could take back every word.

“I’m ready. I promise I’m ready.”

Your begging made it almost impossible to resist taking you right then and there. Having a pretty girl literally begging for him to fuck her and he couldn’t take her. Not yet, at least.

“I won’t fuck you. Not tonight.” He told you, the words painful to say as they were hard for you to hear. “But, I’ll make you feel really really good.”

His finger flicked your hard nub through your top, making you gasp. It made your nipple even harder than it already was. He took it between his fingers and pinched it softly over and over. Your clit started to pulse below with every squeeze.

“Do you like that? Do you like your nipples played with?” He cooed at you.

“Yes!” You moaned loudly, throwing your head back as his fingers pinched down on you a bit harder. You bucked your hips down below, urging him to move his against yours again.

Mingi dragged his hand off your breast and down tour torso, inching his fingers up under your shirt and onto your warm torso. Your soft skin felt like satin against his rough fingertips. He brought them up higher and higher, until he could tease his fingers on the underside of your breast.

“You’re so soft.” He mumbled, mainly to himself. Then brought his fingers up over your soft mound and found your pebbled nipple. He flattened his fingers out and ran them over the hardened peak, the ridges of his fingers making you feel an intense pleasure.

“Mingi-“ your voice caught in your throat, choking on a gasp when he suddenly decided to start flicking your nipple with his finger rapidly.

Your back arched off the bed from the sensation and you moaned. Your legs fell completely open under him in a butterfly position, hoping somehow he’d change his mind and take you. He didn’t. But he started to grind his now leaking cock into your clothed core again. The squelches from your panties filling the room again as his bulge rocked into your pulsing clit.

The soft ‘ah.. ah.. ah’s’ you made as he rocked into you tested his self control. Wanting to feel and see so much more of you. He thought, he could push the boundaries just a bit, right? The boys would look last one little thing.

Mingi pushed your tank top up to your chin, your breasts falling out in front of him. He cursed under his breath at the sight of you, admiring the view.

He dipped his head down, swirling his tongue around your nipple before flicking it with the tip.

“Oh my god.” You gasped, feeling an intense build between your legs start to form. Your muscles feeling tighter, throbbing. The feeling only grew as Mingi wrapped his soft lips around your bud, sucking softly.

“Mmmm.” He hummed with you between his lips. The vibrations tickling your sensitive end in the perfect way. The heartbeat between your thighs getting stronger and stronger.

“Mingi- I- oh my god.” You stuttered, now sloppily moving your hips to meet his. Chasing a feeling you never felt, wanting desperately to know where it would lead.

“What do you feel?” He said, lifting his lips off of you for just a second.

“I don’t know.” You mumble, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Never felt like this before.”

“I can hear how wet you are.” He told you darkly, continuing to rut himself into you. “Are you gonna cum, baby?”

“I don’t- I don’t know.” You gasp, the fire about to combust. “I’m throbbing. It feels- your cock feels so good.”

Your mindless whimpers for him made him snap. He bit his lip, grunting as he rolled his hips into you roughly now in a pace he so desperately wanted to fuck you at. His lips closing around your nipple one last time. He suckled, flicking his tongue across the tip. You bucked your hips up into him, begging and pleading for him not to stop. The muscles below tightening as tightly as they could go, threatening to release.

“Mingi..” you whimpered his name again. He could tell by the tone in your voice and the tremble of your thighs you were right there.

He gently sank his teeth down onto your nipple, the sharp pleasure sending you completely over the edge. Your first orgasm.

“NNUUUGGH!” You moaned loudly, almost screamed. In the other rooms of the house, all 7 boys perked their ears up, recognizing the sound and its importance: a successful lesson.

Mingi could feel your pussy contacting against his cock as you came. The feeling, along with your pretty moans and nipple between his lips, sent him to his climax as well. His cum dripping down into his pants shamelessly. He twitched above you, grunting into your neck as he rode out his orgasm.

You reached up to wrap your arms around him, holding his body to yours. He collapsed down onto you, chest heaving along with yours as you both tried to find air again.

“You made me cum in my pants.” Mingi laughed, completely in shock.

“So did you.” You reminded him, your pussy still throbbing from your orgasm aftershocks.

“How was it? Did you enjoy it?” He asked, rolling off of you to the other side of the bed.

“It was.. I can’t even begin to explain. I think I’m going to get addicted.” You both laughed.

“It also seems like you love your nipples played with. And dirty talk. I’ll have to let the guys know.”

“Why do you have to do that?” You asked, confused.

“If we find out something you like we want to make sure we all know. So we can make every experience more enjoyable.” He explained. “The more we find out the better each lesson can get. For you.”

“You guys are crazy.” You shook your head in disbelief. “But in the best way. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m glad you liked your first class.”

“How did I do?”

“You get a 100%. A++.” He said, articulating every word.

“I had a good teacher.”

Mingi smiled and gave you a soft peck on the lips. Then, stood up and straightened out his clothes. Your eyes lingering on the wet spots on his sweats. One from you and one from him.

“Your next class starts in an hour.”

“Already?” You sat up, your head spinning a bit still.

“You have 7 more Sexual Education lessons to learn. There’s no time to waste here!”

“Okay, okay. Who’s coming in next?” You asked, extremely curious.

“You’re going to go to him. Wooyoung. Go to his room in an hour for lesson #2.” Mingi instructed you, walking over to the door and reaching for the handle.

“What lesson is that?”

“Oh..” he smiled at you. “You’ll find out soon.”

————————————-

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆───

Stoneglass was not an island meant for rest.

At dawn, its surface shimmered like a mirror cracked into a thousand pieces, tidepools reflecting the paling stars above as if the heavens had spilled themselves into the earth. The trees that lined the cliffs glowed faintly at their roots, their bioluminescence breathing in rhythm with the sea’s slow pull, as though the island itself inhaled and exhaled.

The jungle was hushed, but not with silence- with watching. Every insect’s hum, every shift of leaves, every drip of saltwater down stone carried the weight of something unseen. Stoneglass did not welcome intruders; it tolerated them, for as long as it chose.

At the cave’s mouth, shadows clung heavy. The fire inside had burned down to smoldering ash, its glow little more than a heartbeat against the walls. The crew stirred in restless sleep, bodies tangled in blankets, breaths uneven as if even dreams could not find peace here.

Hongjoong’s silhouette filled the cave’s entrance, the fading starlight outlining his sharp edges. When he finally turned, the weight in his face was unmistakable- red-rimmed eyes, jaw set too tight, every line of him carved by sleeplessness and resolve.

“It’s time to go,” he said. His voice was hoarse, but steady, a command forged more from necessity than strength.

The words rippled through the cave. Blankets shifted, bodies stirred. One by one, the crew began to rise, the heavy quiet of anticipation pressing down on them all.

Outside, the sky had begun to bruise, the first pale thread of dawn pulling against the darkness. The hour was nearly here.

Three a.m.

The moment the island waited for. The moment they all feared.

Seonghwa shifted carefully, his shoulder easing from beneath your head. For a heartbeat he lingered, eyes settling on you with a rare softness, the kind he never showed in daylight. Then, with a faint exhale, he rose to his feet.

The fire had nearly guttered out, its glow a dim pulse against the stone. Seonghwa crossed the cave in silence, his steps sure but unhurried, until he reached where Jongho and Yeosang lay.

Yeosang stirred first at the lightest touch, his lashes fluttering open. His body was slow to respond, breath rattling faintly in his chest, but his eyes, though bleary, held awareness.

Jongho was awake in an instant, his whole body tensing as though he’d been waiting for this moment. His gaze darted to Yeosang immediately, scanning his face, his breath, his trembling hands. The faint shake in his own shoulders betrayed how tightly he was wound.

“It’s time,” Seonghwa said softly, crouching low so his voice reached only them.

Yeosang swallowed hard, a flicker of determination tightening his jaw even as fear shadowed his features. Jongho, however, didn’t move at first, his hand clung to Yeosang’s arm, his eyes dark and unyielding, as if letting go might break the world apart.

The cave pressed around them, heavy with the knowledge of what waited outside and the hour inched closer. It shifted with quiet rustles as the others stirred, the last embers of the fire snapping faintly as if marking the hour. San stretched stiffly, his hand running over his face before he sat up, eyes sharp despite the sleep still clinging to him. Mingi groaned but rose quickly enough, already muttering about how cold the cave floor had been. Yunho blinked blearily once, then steadied, his expression hardening with focus as though a switch had been pulled.

Wooyoung’s head jerked up the instant his eyes opened. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t even stretch- he came straight to your side. His hand brushed against your arm, grounding, his gaze scanning you as though to make sure you hadn’t vanished in the night. “You alright?” he whispered. His voice was rough from sleep but full of concern.

You gave a small nod, though the weight in your chest betrayed it. His lips pressed thin, but he didn’t push. Instead, he stayed close, a silent shield.

Hongjoong’s voice cut through the low murmur of movement. “Enough.”

The crew froze, eyes turning toward him. He stood at the cave’s mouth, the fading stars framing his silhouette, his face shadowed but unyielding. “Yunho. Seonghwa. Lead the way.”

Both men nodded, Yunho already moving toward the entrance, Seonghwa a step behind him.

Hongjoong’s gaze swept the rest of the circle, sharp and assessing. “Check yourselves now. Weapons, gear, anything you think you’ll need. If you don’t have it, too bad. We’re out of time.”

A ripple of unease passed through the crew, but no one argued.

“From here on,” Hongjoong added, his voice low, iron beneath the rasp, “we stick together. No one strays. No one.”

The words hung heavy, pressing down as the crew gathered themselves, the night beyond the cave waiting. The hour had come.

———————————————————————————

The jungle swallowed them whole.

Where yesterday the trees had glowed faintly at their roots, alive with a strange, dreamlike beauty, now they seemed drained, their veins of light dimmed to a muted pulse. The moss beneath their boots had lost its sheen, its green dulled to ash. Even the fireflies, once scattered in shimmering constellations, drifted low and sluggish, their glow faint and uneven.

It was as though the island knew.

The crew moved in silence, their breaths sharp in the cool air, boots crunching faintly against the damp earth. The vines overhead twisted into shapes that looked almost skeletal, shadows clinging too long to their edges. The sky above was paling, stars bleeding into gray, and every step closer to the hour seemed to strip more color from the world.

No one spoke.

Even San, who never let quiet settle without a jab or a grin, kept his mouth shut, eyes fixed forward. Wooyoung’s hand brushes against your arm now and again, a silent tether keeping you close. Jongho’s steady grip never left Yeosang’s side, guiding him carefully through the undergrowth as the other boy’s breaths came shallow.

The jungle didn’t sing tonight. No bird calls, no hum of hidden life. Only the sound of the sea in the distance- low, inevitable, like a clock ticking down.

At the front of the line, Seonghwa’s steps were steady, his posture unshaken even as the air thickened with damp salt and silence. Yunho walked close beside him, his lantern casting faint arcs of light against the slick leaves, his brow furrowed in concentration.

They had taken this path in near silence, their ears tuned to every crunch of undergrowth, every whisper of the tide’s breath in the distance. But eventually Yunho broke the silence, his voice pitched low, as though wary of waking something that might be listening.

“You’ve been certain about the direction from the start.” His eyes flicked sideways, studying Seonghwa’s calm face. “Is it… because of your blood?”

Seonghwa’s gaze didn’t waver from the dim trail ahead. “Yes.”

Yunho let out a slow breath, almost a scoff, though not unkind. “You’ve never spoken about it much. Just the pieces we already guessed.”

“There’s not much to say.” Seonghwa’s tone was flat, but not cold. “My mother carried siren blood. Enough to call tides and move the sea’s will, if she chose. I… inherited less. Only fragments.”

Yunho tilted his head. “Fragments strong enough to unlock the vines that guard this place.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth. “Maybe. Or maybe the island just remembered me.”

Yunho was quiet for a beat, watching the glow of fungi light their path. “Do you ever wish you had more of it? More power?”

“No.” Seonghwa’s reply was firm, without hesitation. “It’s a curse as much as it is a gift. Power doesn’t protect you. It owns you. My mother belonged to the sea long before she belonged to herself.”

He glanced at Yunho then, his expression unreadable in the dim glow. “You asked if this blood helps me guide us? It does. But it doesn’t make me free. Not here.”

The jungle rustled faintly ahead, like an exhale. Behind them, the rest of the crew followed in silence, the weight of Seonghwa’s words settling over more than just Yunho’s shoulders.

Seonghwa slowed his pace just enough to glance back over his shoulder, his voice carrying more clearly through the line. “We’re very nearly there,” he said, steady but quiet, as though the jungle itself might take offense. “Stay close. The shard won’t wait for us, and neither will the island.”

A faint murmur rippled through the group, a collective exhale. Shoulders straightened, grips tightened on weapons and packs. Even Jongho’s tense posture eased just enough to shift Yeosang more comfortably against his side.

The silence stretched again until Mingi broke it, his voice pitched with forced casualness. “So…” He glanced at Seonghwa’s back, his lips twitching into a crooked grin. “Since we’re nearly there, are you gonna sing for us? You know… use that siren voice to make the crystal come faster?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but a faint laugh escaped him anyway. San snorted loudly, shaking his head. Even Yunho’s lips curved, though he didn’t break his focus on the path ahead.

Seonghwa didn’t slow, didn’t turn, but one brow arched ever so slightly. “You want me to sing?”

Mingi grinned wider. “If it helps, yeah. Who knows, maybe the island likes lullabies.”

The crew chuckled softly, the sound thin but real, like a candle lit against the encroaching dark.

Even in the dull, lifeless hush of Stoneglass, laughter still found a way through. The crew’s brief laughter faded, swallowed again by the hush of Stoneglass. The vines above swayed though no wind stirred them, and the fungi’s glow seemed weaker the further they pressed on.

Wooyoung’s hand found yours. Not tentative, not questioning, just firm, fingers weaving through as if to remind himself you were still there. When you glanced at him, his brows were furrowed, his eyes fixed on your face.

“You’re pale,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “And you look… like you’re carrying all of this on your own.”

You forced a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m fine. Just nerves. Who wouldn’t be, right?”

His grip tightened. “Don’t do that.”

Your breath caught. “Do what?”

“Pretend you’re fine when you’re not. Not with me.” His voice trembled, frustration and worry woven into every word. “You don’t have to carry it alone. Not now.”

You looked at him then, at the firefly glow catching in his hair, at the way his jaw clenched even as his thumb brushed gently across your knuckles. “I’m scared, Wooyoung,” you admitted softly. “But I’ll keep going. For Yeosang. For all of you. For…” Your voice faltered, but you steadied it. “…for me, too.”

His shoulders loosened just slightly, his eyes searching yours. Then, quieter still, he whispered, “That’s all I need to hear.” And he didn’t let go. Not once.

The jungle’s press seemed to loosen for just a moment, the silence around you broken only by the low murmur of Wooyoung’s voice. “You don’t know how strong you look to me,” he whispered, his thumb brushing your knuckles as if grounding both of you. “Even when you’re pale and shaking, you’re still stronger than half of us put together.”

Your cheeks warmed despite the chill in the air, but before you could answer, the quiet shattered.

A sharp sound, too heavy to be a stumble, too sudden to be ignored. You turned just in time to see Yeosang’s knees buckle, his body giving out beneath him. Jongho’s grip slipped, the weight too much for even him to hold steady.

“Yeosang!” Yunho’s voice cut sharp through the dark.

Without thinking, you lunged forward. The world narrowed to the sight of his body tilting toward the ground, and your arms shot out, catching him before he struck the dirt. His weight collapsed into you, heavier than you expected, his skin clammy and his breaths shallow, every vein blackened further along his arms and neck.

Panic rippled through the crew- Mingi swore under his breath, San’s hands hovered uselessly, Wooyoung’s grip tore from yours as he dropped down to help support Yeosang’s other side. Jongho’s face twisted in frustration, his jaw tight with helplessness.

“Keep him steady,” Yunho barked, already fumbling for what few supplies he had.

And then a voice cut through the panic.

“We’re here.” Seonghwa’s voice was steady, certain, and when you lifted your head, you saw it: the jungle breaking open just ahead, vines parting to reveal a hollow that shimmered faintly, as though the island itself held its breath around it.

The shard’s resting place.

———————————————————————————

Yeosang’s weight was shared between Jongho and Wooyoung now, his body limp, his breaths shallow and ragged. You stayed close as the crew adjusted around him, forming a protective knot as Seonghwa stepped forward.

His hands lifted, movements slow and deliberate, and the thick curtain of vines before you shuddered. They twisted upward like serpents, curling back against the stone until an opening yawned wide enough for the crew to pass through.

The air changed instantly.

You stepped into a cavern vast enough that the ceiling seemed to vanish, lost in shadow. At its center lay the moonpool- wide, still, and impossibly clear, as though it had swallowed the stars themselves. Even with dawn brushing the sky above, the water reflected only the moon, silver and perfect, unbroken despite the hour.

The stone surrounding it glittered faintly with embedded shards of crystal, their light pulsing in rhythm with the tide, giving the impression that the walls themselves were alive. Strange flora clung to the edges, soft glowing fronds, translucent vines trailing into the water, their light like veins feeding into the pool.

The silence was immense. Sacred. No birds. No insects. Only the slow, hushed breath of water moving in its hidden channels. It was beautiful. And it was terrifying.

The crew moved in carefully, laying Yeosang down on a flat stretch of stone near the pool’s edge. His pallor was ghostlike now, black veins stark against his skin, his lips faintly blue. No one spoke. All eyes turned to the water that would decide his fate.

You stood at the edge of the moonpool, your breath caught somewhere between your chest and throat, unable to move, unable to speak.

The water should have been beautiful. It was beautiful- clear as glass, silvered by the reflection of a moon that wasn’t even there in the sky above. The crystals embedded in the cavern walls pulsed faintly, steady as a heartbeat, casting the pool in shimmering light. It should have felt like hope.

But all you felt was dread.

Your stomach twisted, a hollow ache that pressed higher with every shallow breath Yeosang took behind you. Each sound he made was sharp, rattling, a cruel reminder of how close he was to being taken. And yet, as much as the curse was killing him, you knew the truth: your life was tethered to his. One thread had to fray so the other could hold.

The thought crawled down your spine like ice. You had spent years being a tool, a subject, a number. You had finally found family here- laughter, warmth, belonging. The HalaVeil had made you human again. And now the island seemed to whisper that humanity was temporary, that you were nothing more than a fragment to be sacrificed.

You glanced back, your eyes catching on each of them in turn, San’s restless fists clenched, Wooyoung hovering close to Yeosang’s side, Mingi’s lips pressed thin as if even he couldn’t make light of this, Yunho kneeling with calm but desperate hands, Jongho’s entire body wrapped around Yeosang as if shielding him could keep death at bay.

And Hongjoong. Standing tall, his face carved into stone, but his red-rimmed eyes betraying that he was breaking just as much as the rest.

Seonghwa caught your gaze briefly. He didn’t say anything, but the faint dip of his chin, the unflinching steadiness in his eyes, it told you he saw. He always did.

The air pressed heavier. The pool glowed brighter. And you had never felt smaller.

The silence stretched too long, broken only by Yeosang’s shallow, rattling breaths. His chest rose weakly against Jongho’s grip, his skin pale as bone, every vein blackened as though the curse itself was threading him into the stone beneath.

Then San’s voice cracked through the cavern, edged with panic. “What do we do now?” His fists curled tight, his eyes darting from the moonpool to Seonghwa, then to Yunho, desperation bleeding through his sharp tone. “We’re here, aren’t we? So-...so what the hell happens next?”

Yunho and Seonghwa’s eyes met across the pool. A single glance, weighted, unspoken.

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, but it was Yunho who finally stepped forward, his expression shadowed by the silver glow. “The shard won’t show itself freely,” he said gruffly. “The island doesn’t give without taking.”

Mingi frowned, his voice rising with sharp unease. “What do you mean, taking?”

Yunho’s gaze swept the crew, steady but heavy, before returning to the pool. He exhaled through his nose. “It means someone has to tithe. A sacrifice.”

The word echoed in the cavern, sinking deep into the stone. San stiffened. “Sacrifice? As in- what? Blood?”

“No,” Yunho said quickly, though his tone carried no comfort. “Not flesh. Not life. The island isn’t interested in that. It wants what you carry.” He crouched low, dipping his hand into the water, pulling it back to show his palm trembling faintly. “A memory. A pain. Something that belongs to you, given up so the island will give back one of its shards.”

The cavern seemed to breathe with him, the crystal veins in the walls pulsing brighter, waiting.

“It doesn’t care which of us does it,” Yunho finished quietly, his eyes sweeping the crew. “But someone has to.”

The words lingered like a stone dropped into deep water.

The word tithe echoed in your head, heavy and sharp, and before anyone else could move, your feet carried you forward. The silver glow of the moonpool painted your face, its reflection flickering across your skin as you stood at the edge.

“I’ll do it,” you said quietly.

The cavern stilled. Wooyoung’s head snapped toward you instantly, panic flashing across his face. “No- you can’t just-”

Mingi shifted uncomfortably, his usual grin gone, his eyes darting between you and Yunho. San swore under his breath, pacing a step like he couldn’t stand still. Jongho held Yeosang tighter, his jaw tight, though he said nothing.

Hongjoong didn’t move. He stayed rooted where he was, silent as stone. But his eyes, burning red at the edges, sharp as glass, followed you like a weight pressing against your chest.

You swallowed, your voice trembling but steady enough to carry. “Does it have to be a certain type of memory?”

Yunho’s eyes softened slightly, though his voice stayed low and gruff. “Good… and it has to be strong. Something so memorable and dear to you. The island doesn’t care about feelings. It only cares that it’s yours. Once given, it’s gone forever.”

The crystals in the walls pulsed brighter, like a heartbeat quickening, as if the island had heard your offer and was waiting. Wooyoung’s hand twitched at his side, aching to reach for you. “Angel, please—”

But you didn’t look back. Your gaze stayed fixed on the water, and on what it might take from you.

The glow of the moonpool deepened as you stepped closer, the surface rippling faintly though no stone had fallen, no breath disturbed it. The silver light painted your skin, your reflection fractured against the water as though the pool already meant to take pieces of you away.

You crouched down, knees brushing the cold stone, and leaned closer to the surface. For a moment, your face hovered above your reflection- eyes pale, shadows clinging, lips parted against the weight of silence.

Your voice broke the stillness, soft but steady enough to carry. “…Will it hurt?”

The words trembled in the cavern, bouncing back in whispers from the stone.

Seonghwa and Yunho exchanged a look, both men tense. It was Yunho who finally answered, his voice gruff, though low with honesty. “Yes. In its own way. It’ll take from you. What it wants, what you offer. Sometimes pain is sharper when it’s not flesh.”

Your breath caught, but you nodded faintly, lowering your hand toward the surface. “And how?” you asked, your voice smaller now. “How do I… do it?”

The glow of the pool pulsed, as though the island itself leaned closer to listen. Yunho’s gaze fixed on you, steady, unwavering. “You touch the water. And you let go.”

The cavern seemed to hold its breath with you, the entire crew watching as your fingers hovered above the silver surface, ready to give something away forever.

The silver glow of the moonpool pulsed brighter as your hand hovered above its surface, trembling. The cavern was silent except for the shallow sound of Yeosang’s breathing and the faint crackle of crystals shifting along the walls.

Then Wooyoung was there. He crouched down hard beside you, his hand brushing the stone for balance, his wide eyes fixed on yours. His voice broke as he whispered, “Angel… are you sure?”

You turned your head toward him slowly. His face was flushed, his breath uneven, every line of him pulled taut with fear.

Your lips parted, your tone soft but firm. “It’s what I deserve.” The words seemed to echo too loudly in the cavern, carried by the water itself. “For everything I’ve brought onto this ship,” you continued, eyes slipping toward the glowing pool, “all the pain… all of it came because of me. Because I was created for this.”

You didn’t say born. The word lodged sharp in your throat, left to wither unspoken.

Wooyoung flinched as if struck, his breath catching. His hand twitched, aching to reach for you, but he froze, afraid to push.

Slowly, you turned your gaze upward, across the firelit shadows, to where Hongjoong stood.

He met your eyes, his expression carved in stone. For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, he gave the faintest of nods- sad, heavy, but poised as a captain, even while grief rimmed his eyes red again.

The cavern seemed to tighten around the choice you were about to make.

You drew in a sharp breath, steadying yourself. The silver glow of the moonpool flickered across your skin, cold even before you touched it. Slowly, you rolled your sleeve back to the elbow, exposing the trembling line of your arm. Voices stirred behind you- urgent, fractured, overlapping. San’s bark of protest, Mingi’s nervous mutter, Wooyoung’s desperate plea, Yunho’s low warning, but all of it blurred into a dull hum, muffled as if the cavern had swallowed their words whole.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you closed your eyes. The memory rose instantly, sharp and absolute. You knew which one you would give. You had always known.

Fingers shaking, you extended your arm and lowered it to the surface. The water was shockingly cold, colder than glass, colder than death. The moment your skin broke the surface, it rippled outward in luminous rings, the silver glow racing along the walls, pulsing brighter with every heartbeat.

Something seized inside you, a pull not of flesh but of soul, a thread being tugged loose from where it had buried itself deep.

You gritted your teeth, breath caught, as the island reached for what you were offering. And then it began to take. The moment your palm pressed deeper into the moonpool, the cavern roared with silence, an absence so loud it swallowed even the sound of your breath.

It began gently, almost tender, like fingers brushing across the edges of your mind. But then the grip tightened.

You gasped, your spine arching as something inside you tore. It wasn’t flesh, it wasn’t bone, but it burned all the same- searing through your chest, clawing up the back of your skull. Your vision blurred, light bleeding into streaks of silver. The crystalline walls pulsed in rhythm with your heartbeat, faster, faster, until you could feel the island itself digging, prying, pulling at what it wanted.

“No—” The word ripped from your throat, broken, though you didn’t know if it was a plea to the island or yourself.

The memory resisted, because it was yours. Yours to cling to, yours to hold. But the water dragged harder, stripping the edges first, unraveling it thread by thread until you could feel the hollow spreading in its place.

You clutched at the stone with your free hand, nails digging in, but the cold only surged deeper. Your breaths came in shuddering gasps, your body trembling as though the pool was hollowing you out from within.

And then, emptiness. A piece of you was gone. The absence ached worse than the tearing. A hollow space where warmth had been.

You yanked your hand back from the water, chest heaving, tears streaking hot down your face. The surface of the moonpool rippled once more, then stilled, reflecting you back, fractured and incomplete.

And in the silence that followed, the island pulsed with satisfaction.

You staggered back from the moonpool, your chest heaving, the hollow inside of you echoing louder than your breath. The cavern spun, voices crashing in around you- San’s sharp curse, Mingi’s broken whisper, Wooyoung’s frantic, “Angel!” as he reached for you.

Their faces swam in the fractured glow, wide-eyed and horrified, as though they had watched you bleed without a wound. Then a sound, so faint you almost thought it was in your head, broke through the chaos.

A gasp.

Yeosang.

His eyelids fluttered, his chest rising with shallow, ragged breaths. Jongho bent over him instantly, his grip steady, his voice low and urgent, coaxing him back into awareness. The black veins still marred his skin, but color crept faintly back into his lips.

The crew froze, a shiver of disbelief rippling through them. And then the pool itself answered.

Light bloomed across the water, blinding silver that seared against the stone. The surface rippled upward, forming into crystalline shapes that spiraled higher and higher until, with a final pulse, one shard remained- clear, luminous, its glow resonating with the very walls of the cavern.

The shard of Stoneglass. No one moved. No one breathed.

Until Seonghwa did.

He stepped forward without hesitation, his expression unreadable but his hands steady. As the shard hovered just above the pool, he reached out, grasping it in both palms. The light surged once more, then dimmed, settling into a steady glow that bled between his fingers.

The price had been paid. The island had given its due.

Seonghwa turned from the moonpool, the shard cradled carefully in both hands. Its glow pulsed like a heartbeat, silver light searing through his fingers, reflecting across the crystalline walls. The crew’s eyes followed it, wide and unblinking, as if afraid it might vanish should they look away.

Hongjoong was the first to move.

He stepped forward, his posture taut with urgency, the red around his eyes made harsher by the silver light. “We start now,” he commanded, his voice hoarse but sharp. “No hesitation. No delay.”

The weight of his words echoed in the cavern, leaving no room for doubt. Seonghwa gave a single, firm nod. He glanced to Yunho, then to Mingi. “Help me melt it down. Carefully. The pool’s heat will serve, but it needs shaping.”

Yunho was already moving, his healer’s hands steady despite the tension radiating off him. He knelt beside Seonghwa, eyes narrowing as he examined the shard. “It’ll need to be tempered slowly. If it fractures, the cure dies with it.”

Mingi hovered closer, his usual fire dulled by the gravity of the moment. His palms flexed, energy crackling faintly as he prepared to channel it. “Say the word and I’ll hold the heat steady.”

Seonghwa lowered the shard toward the water’s surface, the glow intensifying as though the island itself was watching. “Then let’s not waste another breath.”

The crew circled in tighter, Yeosang still weak against Jongho’s chest, your own body trembling with the hollow loss of what you’d given. The cavern’s air grew heavier, shimmering with the shard’s light.

The process had begun.

The shard’s glow flared brighter as Seonghwa lowered it toward the pool, Yunho’s steady hands already holding the small vessel of Luminaer open and waiting. The liquid shimmered faintly within, its surface catching the light like liquid glass.

Mingi braced his palms close to the shard, energy crackling as he controlled the heat, his face twisted with effort. The cavern filled with the sharp hum of power, the sound vibrating in the bones of everyone present.

Slowly, agonizingly, the shard began to soften, edges dripping molten silver. The glow bled down in rivulets, each drop falling like liquid light into the vessel Yunho steadied with unflinching hands.

“Careful,” Seonghwa murmured, sweat collecting at his temple. “It has to fuse cleanly.”

Yunho’s jaw clenched as the potion’s surface rippled, catching each glowing drop until the color shifted, clear glass turning radiant, a pale shimmer that seemed to hold both moonlight and seawater within it.

The crew watched in tense silence, every breath held. The cavern walls seemed to pulse with them, crystals echoing each heartbeat.

And then, a sound. Soft, sharp, almost choked. A small gasp, a faint whimper.It came from Hongjoong.

His eyes darted briefly across the cavern, his face carved into something unreadable, as if he had seen a shadow no one else had noticed. His lips pressed thin, but he said nothing, his gaze snapping back to the shard as though nothing had happened.

The others didn’t hear it, too transfixed by the molten light dripping into the vessel.

But Hongjoong had. And he knew.

Hongjoong blinked once, hard, forcing whatever shadow had crossed his vision down into the pit of himself. When he stepped forward, his boots rang sharp against the stone, steady, captain-strong.

The others had gathered tighter now, every single one of them encircling the moonpool, its silver glow reflecting off their faces. Mingi still crouched close, sweat shining at his brow as he held the controlled heat. Seonghwa’s steady hands guided the shard’s final strands as they bled down into the vessel. Yunho’s grip didn’t falter, his healer’s precision keeping the Luminaer’s mouth open just wide enough to catch each drop without spill.

“Easy…” Yunho murmured, his eyes narrowed on the swirling liquid as its color deepened into something radiant, moonlight dissolved in water, glowing from within.

Behind them, Jongho bent low, his arms tight around Yeosang as he lifted him carefully. Yeosang stirred faintly, his head lolling against Jongho’s chest, veins black and crawling higher across his skin. Jongho’s jaw clenched, his breath harsh as he carried him forward.

The crew shifted aside, creating space at the pool’s edge. Their circle closed tighter again, every eye fixed on the vessel as Yunho gave the smallest nod. “It’s ready.”

The potion shimmered as if alive, its surface catching the glow of the cavern’s crystals, holding the reflection of the moon where none should be. For the first time in hours, something like hope rippled through the crew.

For a moment, no one moved. The vessel of Luminaer glowed faintly in Yunho’s steady hands, Yeosang limp against Jongho’s chest, the entire cavern caught in a breathless pause.

Then Hongjoong stepped forward. His boots scraped against the stone as he moved into the center of them, the glow painting him silver. He looked around at every face- at Seonghwa, Yunho, San, Mingi, Wooyoung, Jongho, Yeosang- and something inside him cracked.

His voice came rough, unsteady, nothing like the iron command he always wielded.

“I’ve failed you,” he said. “Each and every one of you. Time and time again, I’ve chosen silence when I should’ve spoken, cruelty when I should’ve led with care. I thought being captain meant carrying everything alone… but it only made me blind.”

The crew stared, stunned.

Hongjoong’s throat worked as his eyes glistened, his voice trembling. “I built this ship to fight against what my father made me. To give us all freedom. To give us back our lives. But instead I’ve shackled you with secrets, with burdens you never asked for.” He swallowed hard, his breath shuddering. “And still… you stayed. You’ve fought beside me. You’ve bled for me. For each other.”

Seonghwa’s composure cracked first. His jaw tightened, his eyes glassy. “You’ve never failed me,” he said, voice low but fierce. “Not once.”

Yunho nodded sharply, his hand trembling against the vessel. “We wouldn’t be alive without you. Don’t you dare say it's a failure.”

Yeosang stirred faintly, his lips pale but his voice a rasp. “You saved me,” he whispered. “Even when you thought you were damning me, you saved me. You gave me a family.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched.

San stepped forward, his usual brashness gone, his voice breaking. “You’re the reason I’ve got something worth fighting for. You think we’d follow you through hell if we didn’t believe in you?”

Mingi’s eyes brimmed, his grin watery but fierce. “You’re our captain. No one else’s. Ours.”

Wooyoung’s voice cracked as he pushed forward, his eyes burning. “You gave me a place where I didn’t have to be a shadow. Where I mattered. That’s not failure. That’s family.”

Jongho’s arms tightened protectively around Yeosang, his gaze steady. “We’d burn the world before we let you carry this alone. You’re not allowed to anymore.”

The silence that followed was thick with tears, with breaking and mending all at once.

Hongjoong pressed a hand over his face, his shoulders shaking. When he finally lowered it, his eyes were red and raw, but his lips curled into the faintest, aching smile.

“My family,” he whispered. “Always.”

The cavern felt colder now, as though the island itself had drawn closer to watch. The potion’s glow flickered in Yunho’s hands, fragile and bright, but it did nothing to ease the weight pressing down on every chest.

The crew huddled closer together, the anxiety so thick it was almost suffocating. San’s hand gripped Mingi’s shoulder tight enough to leave bruises. Wooyoung leaned against Jongho, silent but trembling, his breath unsteady. Seonghwa stood near Hongjoong, his calm mask fractured by the tightness in his jaw.

No one spoke, because no one knew what to say. Yunho looked between them all, his voice steady despite the tremor beneath. “This will either cure him… or kill him.” The words cut through like a blade, but they were truth. And Yunho never lied.

Mingi swore under his breath, tears stinging his eyes. “There has to be another—”

“There isn’t,” Hongjoong said sharply, cutting him off. His own voice cracked despite the steel. “There’s no other way. No other chance. This is it.” The silence that followed was heavy with dread.

Then Jongho shifted. His arms tightened around Yeosang one last time, his lips brushing the crown of his head in a whisper no one else could hear.

And slowly, he stepped forward. The crew’s breaths stilled as Jongho knelt at the edge of the moonpool. The silver water reflected Yeosang’s face, pale and fragile, veins crawling like ink beneath his skin.

With agonizing care, Jongho lowered him down- inch by inch- until Yeosang’s body met the glow of the water. The surface rippled, curling around him, silver bleeding across his skin as if the pool itself was drinking him in.

The island seemed to exhale. And the crew clung to each other, preparing for either salvation or loss.

Yeosang’s body lay adrift in the moonpool, pale and weightless, the silver glow wrapping around him like a shroud. The water seemed to hold him in place, not dragging him down, not letting him rise, just keeping him suspended between one world and the next.

The crew gathered at the edge, every breath sharp and shallow.

San’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Wooyoung pressed his hand hard to his mouth, eyes wide and burning. Mingi’s leg bounced restlessly, his lips moving in a soundless plea. Seonghwa’s composure cracked in the taut line of his jaw. Jongho knelt so close his fingers still brushed Yeosang’s wrist, unwilling to let go entirely.

Hongjoong’s voice cut low, hoarse with restraint. “It has to be now.”

Yunho nodded, his expression carved into focus, though the faint tremor in his hand betrayed him. He stepped forward, the vessel of Luminaer glowing softly in his grasp.

The potion shimmered like liquid moonlight, its glow pulsing faintly in time with Yeosang’s breaths- if they could even be called that, shallow and ragged as they were. “Yeosang,” Yunho murmured, his voice cracking just slightly as he crouched at the pool’s edge. “Stay with me.”

He lifted the vessel, tilting it carefully. The crew leaned forward as one, the cavern so silent it felt as if the world itself had paused.

And then, slowly, he brought the glowing rim to Yeosang’s lips. The first drop touched his mouth. And the island seemed to hold its breath.

The vessel tilted further, Yunho’s trembling hands steady only by force of will, until every last drop of the Luminaer slid past Yeosang’s lips. The glow of it lingered for a heartbeat, silver and soft against his mouth.

And then- Silence. Deafening, ear piercing silence. The cavern seemed frozen, the crew waiting, straining for any change.

Until Yeosang’s body convulsed.

His back arched violently, the water splashing out in silver bursts. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat, the sound so sharp it echoed off the crystal walls like shattered glass.

“Yeosang!” Jongho lunged forward, but Seonghwa caught him, voice sharp. “Don’t! He has to remain in the pool!”

Jongho’s jaw clenched, agony etched across his face as he let Seonghwa’s grip hold him back.

Yeosang writhed in the water, his arms thrashing, his chest heaving as if something inside him was clawing to get free. The black veins across his body flared darker, spreading up his neck, spiderwebbing across his face. The glow of the moon above struck him directly, turning every scream into something both human and not.

San swore loudly, pacing at the edge, his fists tangled in his hair. Wooyoung’s nails dug into his own palms as he whispered brokenly, “Please, please, please…” Mingi’s breaths came too fast, his eyes wide with horror.

The water churned violently beneath him, glowing brighter, the pool itself trembling with the force of his pain.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, the screams fractured into sobs, then into nothing at all. Yeosang went limp. The water stilled. The cavern fell into silence. And nothing moved.

———————————————————————————

You had stood apart from the others back then, watching as Seonghwa steadied the crystal and Mingi forced its edges to soften with clenched jaws and sparking palms. Yunho’s hands were rigid on the vessel, his breath precise, his focus unbreakable. The air around them vibrated with the hum of their work, the glow of the shard swelling brighter with every passing second.

But you hadn’t been watching the shard. Not really. Your gaze had wandered, one by one, over all of them. San, pacing like a caged storm along the edges of the cavern, muttering to himself with clenched fists, unable to stand still while helplessness pressed on him. Wooyoung, restless in his own way, hovering near the pool, his eyes flicking to you over and over as though afraid you’d vanish if he blinked. Jongho, holding Yeosang against his chest, his strength wrapped around him like a shield, as though sheer will alone could tether him to this world.

And Hongjoong- shadowed at the edge, silent, his gaze burning. His mask had slipped then, just slightly, and in the quiet folds of his expression you saw not just command but sorrow, guilt, and a burden he carried alone.

You had watched them all. Memorising them. Knowing in your marrow that this might be the last time you saw them whole.

The shard had dripped, molten, into the vessel. The potion had begun to glow. And still you wondered- had you been sent here to save them? Or to end alongside them? The glow of the molten shard reflected off the cavern walls, silver light bending across every face. But yours wasn’t fixed on the potion anymore.

It was on Hongjoong. You caught him watching you from the shadows, his gaze sharp, unreadable, burning as though it could strip you bare. For a long moment, neither of you looked away.

And in that silence, words passed between you without a sound.

You know what I’m going to do.

His jaw clenched, the faintest twitch betraying the storm beneath his stillness. His eyes glistened red, rimmed from the hours of grief and strain.

Don’t, they begged.

You tilted your head almost imperceptibly, lips curving in something caught between sadness and defiance.

I have to.

His breath shuddered, shoulders tensing as though he might step forward, might stop you. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was captain- and captains carried silence like chains.

You lowered your gaze, your decision already made. And while the others crowded closer around the moonpool, transfixed by the shimmering light, you slipped into the shadows. Soft steps, steady breaths, the cavern’s glow falling away behind you.

And that was when it broke from him- so faint it was almost swallowed by the hum of the pool. A small, sharp sound. Half gasp, half whimper.

The only sign that he had seen you go. The only proof that you were already gone.

The air shifted the moment you stepped beyond the cavern’s mouth.

The heavy pulse of the crystals, the suffocating glow of the moonpool, it all fell away behind you, replaced by the hush of the island’s breath. The jungle loomed dark, but above the treetops the horizon was stirring, the first pale brush of dawn stretching thin across the sky. The sun was fighting to rise.

You stopped at the threshold, your chest tightening. The light stung your eyes, and before you could hold it back, a sob tore from your throat. Raw, aching, half-choked. Your hand pressed to your mouth, trembling, but you didn’t turn back. Because you couldn’t.

Because if you did- if you saw their faces one more time, if you let Wooyoung’s wide eyes or Jongho’s grip or Hongjoong’s burning stare catch you- you’d break.

So you kept moving. Your boots found the stone path, unsteady but determined, carrying you further into the half-light where shadows still lingered and the dawn had not yet claimed the sky.

Every step was heavier than the last. But you walked anyway. Your feet carried you without aim, each step heavier, until the jungle broke open into a space you knew too well.

The tidepool.

The same one where laughter had filled the night not long ago, where Jongho had climbed high and jumped without fear, where San had boasted, where Wooyoung’s hand had never left yours. The same water that had held your fear, and then your trembling smile, when the crew coaxed you to step in. Now it was silent.

The pool’s surface gleamed faintly in the dim light, no longer playful, no longer alive with fireflies and banter. Just still. Just waiting.

Your knees buckled as you sank down onto the rock beside it. The sob broke free before you could choke it back, ragged and sharp, tearing through the quiet. You pressed your face into your hands, shoulders heaving as the sound echoed against the stone. The memories here felt too bright, too cruel, like a life that didn’t belong to you anymore.

The tears slid hot down your cheeks, dripping into the water below, sending faint ripples across its silver surface.

Alone now, you let yourself break.

You sat on the rock, the tidepool at your side, the first glimmers of dawn crawling up the horizon. Salt clung to the air, damp and heavy, and your sobs shook against it, raw and uneven. And then the memories came. Not gentle. Not kind. They came like a tide breaking over stone, relentless, flooding every part of you until the line between past and present blurred.

The ship’s hold.

Cold, damp, suffocating. Your wrists bound, your body sore, your fear sharper than any blade. The scent of rust and wood rot in the air as you lay there, half-starved and terrified, waiting for the judgment of men you didn’t know, men who didn’t want you. That was where you first learned their voices: San’s mocking sharpness, Wooyoung’s disdain, Yunho’s cautious calm. The dark beginning of it all.

The mission with San.

How the two of you had moved in jagged rhythm, always on the verge of breaking apart. His taunts, your barbed retorts, both of you clashing until sparks turned into something you couldn’t name. How you hated him for seeing you weak. How, deep down, some small, quiet part of you admired his ferocity.

The Blackeyes.

The stink of their ship, the sneer of their captain, the bruises on your arms. The way your chest had tightened when they threw you into ATEEZ’s path as if you were nothing more than a pawn. The rage that burned in you the first time you realized you had been bought and sold like something less than human.

Life on board.

The days stretched long but alive with color. Wooyoungs’s thunderous laughter, shaking the deck. San’s constant bickering that forced you to fight back, word for word. The smell of Mingis’s illusions, burnt ozone and salt, lingering in the air after he practiced too long. The way Jongho’s watchful eyes softened when no one else was looking. The quiet moments when the waves calmed and you could almost forget the weight of your curse.

Seonghwa.

The softness in his eyes when no one else saw. The way his voice dipped when he told you not to let fear hollow you out. The night you leaned against his shoulder, your heart a raw wound, and he told you he’d always know what it felt like to belong to something that wanted to consume you. He hadn’t promised survival. He never lied. But he’d given you something rarer: truth.

Yunho.

The healer’s patience, the endless compassion he couldn’t hide. The way he’d placed food into your hands even when others glared, insisting you eat. The quiet dinners in the galley, his voice low and kind, grounding you in ways you hadn’t realized you needed until later.

Yeosang and Jongho.

Your unexpected lifelines. The ones who had looked at you with suspicion, with hurt, with mistrust- but who had still chosen to sit beside you when you were most alone. Yeosang, broken by the curse you carried yet still finding space for kindness. Jongho, gruff and sharp but steady, always steady, until slowly, unbearably, they had become your friends. Your family.

And San.

Always San.

The barbed words, the cruel laughter, the way he had shoved your face into every ounce of weakness until you sharpened yourself against it. The way you had bickered endlessly, sparks catching fire with every clash. The fury, the taunts, the heat of his glare.

And then, the kiss.

Your breath hitched as the memory flooded you, too vivid to mistake. His lips crashing against yours, desperate, shocking, electric. The taste of his rage and his confusion and something else neither of you wanted to name. The silence that followed when you pulled away. The ache in his eyes when you left him tied there.

You hadn’t forgotten. Not for a second.

You pressed a hand against your mouth as fresh sobs wracked your body. Not from pain, not from fear- but from the unbearable weight of how much these memories mattered. Every single one of them. Every cruel word, every moment of kindness, every stolen breath.

This ship. These men. They had made you human.

And now, as the sun fought to rise, you wondered if you would ever see them again- or if these memories were all you would carry into whatever waited for you next.

Your sobs ebbed into quieter tremors, your body curling tighter on the rock as the tidepool’s surface reflected the paling sky. And when the memories came again, they came with only one face.

Wooyoung.

You remembered the first days- the sharpness of his tongue, the ruthless way he had spat your nickname like a curse. How his illusions had blurred around you, his distrust so heavy it nearly suffocated you. Yet, beneath the cutting words, you had seen it even then: a sliver of doubt, a flicker of something softer, something he didn’t want anyone to notice.

You remembered the shift.

The night he lingered near you, his voice quieter than it had ever been, because Yeosang’s suffering had forced him to soften. How he had whispered things he would never say out loud in the daylight, as though offering you tiny shards of his heart when no one else could see.

You remembered his hands.

The way he steadied you when you were terrified of the water, his grip never faltering. His voice rising above the chaos, demanding the others calm down so you could breathe, promising you safety when you had none. The way he’d held you in the tidepool, patient and unyielding, until your trembling body stilled.

And you remembered the kiss.

It hadn’t been wild or furious, not like San’s had been. It had been soft- achingly so. His lips brushing yours as though you were fragile, his breath trembling when he asked if he could. The taste of salt and fear and something unbearably sweet. The way his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer, deeper, until your chest felt too tight to hold it all.

When he pulled away, foreheads pressed together, his breath had broken against yours. You could still hear the whispered please caught between his lips, as though he hadn’t meant for it to escape.

You pressed your face into your hands now, a raw sound tearing from your throat.

Because Wooyoung had seen you. Truly seen you. Not as a number. Not as a curse. Not as a weapon. But as Human. The boy with fire in his smile, and gentleness hidden in his hands. The boy you had kissed. The boy you loved.

The tidepool shimmered faintly, catching the tears still clinging to your lashes, but your thoughts had already shifted again.

To him.

Hongjoong.

The captain who had met you with nothing but steel, who had named you Curse before he ever let you speak. The man whose voice had been sharper than any blade, whose glare had cut through every lie, every deflection.

And yet, you remembered the nights when his mask slipped, just for a moment. The way his shoulders bowed beneath a weight he never admitted. The tremor in his jaw when he looked at Yeosang, at the crew, at you. The fire of his fury, but also the shadow of his grief.

You thought of the secrets that bound you together, of the truths only he had known, carried like chains. Of the way his eyes had burned when you slipped from the cavern hours ago, both begging and resigned.

The memories came sharper then- his voice low, his tone breaking in ways no one else had heard. The private words he had given you when the crew slept.

That conversation. The one no one else knew. The one that had changed everything.

And as the tidepool’s surface rippled beneath the first rays of dawn, your mind carried you back to it- Back to the cave, hours ago.

———————————————————————————

The memory rose clear and sharp, cutting through the haze of dawn.

It was after the laughter had faded from the tidepool, after fireflies and glowing trees had lit the crew’s path back to the cave. Everyone had been drowsy with warmth and fleeting joy- everyone except you.

You had caught Hongjoong’s gaze across the firelight, his eyes already suspicious, already searching. When the others began to settle, you moved toward him, your voice low enough that only he could hear. “Captain… when we get back,” you said, the words slow, careful, “can I speak with you? Alone?”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t answer. His sharp eyes swept your face as though he could peel back your skin and see what you meant to say before you dared to say it. Finally, he gave the smallest nod, clipped and cautious. “If you must.” It wasn’t warmth. It wasn’t trust. But it was permission.

And as the crew drifted into rest, you remembered how his gaze had lingered, wary, like a man waiting for a blade he knew was coming.

The cave was warm with firelight when the crew returned, laughter lingering faintly though exhaustion quickly drowned it. They huddled close, wrapped in the brief illusion of safety, while Hongjoong’s eyes flicked once toward you- sharp, searching, waiting.

You met his gaze, then rose. No words needed. He stood as well, his steps quiet as he followed you beyond the cave mouth. The night air was cooler here, heavy with salt and the hum of unseen life in the jungle. The firelight faded behind you, until it was just the two of you in the shadows.

Hongjoong crossed his arms, his posture hard, but his eyes betrayed something softer- an unease he rarely showed. “What is it?” he asked, his tone clipped but not unkind. “You’re trembling. Is it the ritual? Are you just… nervous?”

You swallowed, your breath uneven, shoulders quaking beneath his gaze. “I am. But… it’s not just that.”

His brow furrowed. He stepped closer, his voice lower now, taut. “Then what is it?”

You took a long, shuddering breath, your chest aching with the weight of the words. “I know who has the lesser soul,” you whispered.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened slightly, a crack in his mask. His voice dipped into something sharper. “What?”

Your lips trembled, tears welling as you forced it out. “It’s me. I’m the one. I’m the lesser. Forty-nine to fifty.”

The night swallowed the confession, carrying it into silence.

Hongjoong froze, his jaw tight, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His composure was ice, but his eyes- his eyes burned, wide and raw, like someone had cut the world out from beneath his feet. And still, you shook before him, as though saying it aloud had hollowed you out completely.

For a long moment, Hongjoong just stared at you. His lips parted, but no sound came, only the rise and fall of his chest betraying how hard he was trying to hold himself together.

When he finally spoke, his voice broke like glass. “How do you know?” The tremor in it cut through you more than the words themselves. You lowered your gaze, your hands shaking at your sides.

“This island,” you whispered. “It brought something back to me. A memory from the lab. From your father.”

His face flinched at that, the muscle in his jaw twitching, but you pressed on, your voice unsteady.

“I overheard him talking to his staff… He said… that blood reacts to the water here. That the one with the weaker soul would always be revealed. The island wouldn’t accept them- it would reject them.” You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “And I had to know.”

Hongjoong took a half-step closer, his eyes wide, desperate. “What did you do?”

Your breath hitched, the tears burning hot in your eyes. “When the crew was laughing, when they were… alive, I slipped away. Just for a moment. I cut myself.” You lifted a trembling hand, as if the phantom sting still lingered. “I let a drop fall into the water.”

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. “It rejected me immediately.”

The words hung like a sentence. Your chest heaved as the truth sank deeper, filling the air between you both with a finality you could never take back.

Hongjoong’s breath shuddered, his hand half-lifting before falling uselessly back to his side. His voice came hoarse, ragged. “So it’s you,” he whispered. “It’s always been you.”

Your tears came harder now, slipping hot and fast as you forced yourself to speak, your voice trembling but unflinching.

“It has to be me.” You dragged in a shuddering breath, your chest aching as though the truth itself was cutting into you. “I’m the one who has to die.”

Hongjoong’s face cracked, the mask of captaincy breaking in the glow of the fading firelight. His jaw tightened, his lips parted as if to argue, but all that came out was a broken whisper. “No. No, don’t say that. There must be another way. There has to be.”

You shook your head, sobs wracking your chest, but your eyes held steady on him. “There isn’t. Don’t you see? It’s already too late. If it isn’t me, then it’ll be both of us. Yeosang’s curse is too strong- he won’t survive another night without this.”

His breath shuddered, his hands curling helplessly into fists at his sides. For a moment, he looked at you like he was searching for a crack, for some loophole in your words, for a single reason to hope. But there was none.

“It has to be me,” you repeated, softer now, almost pleading- for him to understand, for him not to carry it heavier than he already carried everything else. “If one of us has to fall, let it be me. Please.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. His chest rose and fell sharply, his eyes burning with the truth he couldn’t bear to accept. And in that moment, you saw him- not the captain, not the mask, but the man.

A man who was breaking.

For a long, aching moment, Hongjoong just stared at you, his chest heaving as though he couldn’t catch his breath. His fists clenched once, twice, before falling open again, useless at his sides.

Then he broke. The sound that tore from him was low, hoarse, as if dragged straight from the pit of his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, then louder, his voice cracking, “I’m so sorry.”

Your lips parted, but he cut over you, the words tumbling out in ragged gasps. “It’s all my fault. Every part of this- Yeosang, you, the lab, everything- it’s because of me. Because I was too blind, too weak, too willing to play my father’s game. I helped this happen.” His voice shattered on the last word, and he turned away, pressing a shaking hand over his face. You reached out, but he stumbled back a step, shaking his head, his eyes red and wet. “You were never a curse,” he said, brokenly, his voice raw with truth. “Not once. And gods—” his breath caught, chest trembling, “I’m so damn sorry for treating you like one. For keeping you at arm’s length. For calling you that name.”

His shoulders hunched, his mask in ruins now, the captain stripped bare in front of you. “I was wrong. I was so wrong. And I can’t—” His throat closed on the words, his hands trembling at his sides. “I can’t lose you too.”

The silence that followed ached, filled with nothing but his ragged breaths and the pulse of your own heart.

And in his eyes, glistening and unguarded, you saw the truth: every harsh word, every distance kept- it had never been hatred. It had always been fear.

Fear of this moment. Fear of losing you.

Your tears spilled faster, your chest aching as you reached for him. “I’ve never hated you,” you whispered through the sobs, your voice raw, trembling. “Not once. I was angry, I was hurt… but I never hated you. How could I? You’ve carried all of this alone. You’ve borne the truth when none of us could, and I can’t imagine how heavy that must have been.”

His face crumpled, the words shattering something deep inside him. And then he moved. Hongjoong pulled you into his arms, crushing you against his chest with a desperation that left you breathless. His embrace was iron, trembling, as though holding you tighter might anchor you to the earth, might stop the tide already pulling you away.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, the words muffled into your hair, repeated again and again. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you sooner. I should have protected you better. I should have—” His voice cracked, breaking on a sob. “I should have done everything differently.”

You clung to him just as fiercely, your tears soaking into the fabric at his shoulder, your body shaking with his. For once, captain and curse, burden and weapon- all of it was gone. You were just two people, breaking together in the dark.

After a long, shuddering silence, Hongjoong pulled back just enough to look into your face. His own was streaked with tears, raw and unguarded.

“There’s only one thing I can do for you now,” he whispered, voice hoarse but resolute. The weight of the words settled heavy between you, the promise unsaid but waiting, hanging like a blade.

Hongjoong’s eyes lingered on yours for a long, fragile moment, the words he’d spoken still trembling in the air. His hands twitched at his sides, restless, unsure, until finally he exhaled and reached into his coat.

You watched, breath shallow, as he fumbled inside the pocket- clumsy, unlike him, as if the act itself hurt. When he drew his hand back out, his fingers were curled around something small. Glass caught the faintest flicker of firelight.

The vial.

Your breath hitched, your chest seizing as recognition struck. You had seen it before, tucked away in his possession. The one he had kept for Yeosang. The one whispered about in the shadows of the ship. The one that ensured not survival, but release.

A quick, painless death.

Hongjoong’s hands trembled violently as he held it out to you. He couldn’t quite meet your eyes, his jaw clenched so tight it looked as though it might shatter. “I swore I would never use it,” he rasped, his voice breaking on the edges. “But if this is the path laid out for you… if there’s nothing else… then at least it won’t be cruel.” His throat worked as he swallowed hard, finally forcing his gaze up to yours. “It won’t make you suffer.”

Tears blurred your vision, your whole body shaking as you stared at the vial between you. His hands, calloused and steady in battle, were trembling now like leaves in a storm. He pressed it into your palm with agonizing care, as if the act itself was sacrilege. His fingers lingered against yours, gripping tighter than he should have, unwilling to let go. And when he finally did, his breath broke in a shudder, his eyes wet, his voice raw. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, the words cracking like glass. “I’m so damn sorry.”

The vial gleamed in your hand, heavier than any weapon, heavier than the truth itself. The vial sat heavy in your palm, colder than the night air, heavier than its size should have allowed. Your fingers curled around it tight, pressing it to your chest as though holding it closer might steady your shaking.

Tears burned your eyes, your throat thick with words you could barely form. “Thank you,” you whispered, the sound breaking halfway. “For… for everything. For giving me this ship. For letting me belong, even if only for a little while.”

Hongjoong’s face broke all over again, his breath hitching as though your words had pierced deeper than any blade.

He stepped closer, one hand lifting hesitantly before cupping the side of your head. His thumb brushed damp hair from your temple, his eyes never leaving yours. Then he bent, pressing his lips to your forehead in a long, lingering kiss. His breath trembled against your skin, heavy with grief, with the truth he could not undo.

When he pulled back, his voice was hoarse, soft as the tide.

“My Angel.”

The name slipped from him like a prayer, raw and reverent. It lingered in the air long after he drew away, long after he turned, his steps unsteady as he forced himself back toward the cave.

You watched as he slipped inside, the firelight swallowing him, his mask already being forced back into place for the others. Leaving you outside, clutching the vial to your chest, with nothing but the dawn and the weight of the end that waited for you.

———————————————————————————

The tidepool stretched silent beside you, its surface catching the first faint gold of the rising sun. Birds stirred in the distance, their songs too gentle, too ordinary, against the storm inside your chest.

You sat hunched forward on the rock, your arms wrapped tight around yourself, clutching at the weight of every memory that had returned to you. Every laugh, every fight, every stolen glance. The crew’s voices echoed in your mind, tangled with the roar of the lab, the Blackeyes’ sneers, Hongjoong’s hoarse apology.

Your hand drifted to your pocket. For a long moment, you hesitated, your fingers trembling against the fabric as though touching it might make the choice real. Then, slowly, you pulled the vial free. The glass caught the dawn’s glow, pale light scattering through the liquid inside. Small, delicate- yet it seemed to weigh as much as the world itself. You turned it between your fingers, the smooth surface cool against your skin, your reflection fractured in its curve.

The gift. The curse. The mercy.

Your throat ached as you stared at it, knowing what it meant, knowing why he’d pressed it into your palm with such shaking hands.

A single choice. Yours alone.

The glass glimmered faintly in your palm as you held it up, your reflection warped in its curve. Your throat tightened, but a smile tugged at your lips anyway- soft, trembling, carved from grief and love in equal measure.

You whispered their names into the morning air. “Hongjoong. Seonghwa. Yunho. Yeosang. San. Mingi. Wooyoung. Jongho.”

Each syllable lingered, clinging to the salt in the breeze, rolling out over the tidepool as if the island itself would carry them.

Tears streamed freely now, warm against the chill of dawn, but the smile stayed. You pressed the vial to your chest, your voice shaking as you lifted your gaze to the brightening sky.

“Thank you,” you breathed, the words breaking but true. “For everything. For giving me life when I thought I had none. For giving me family. For making me human.”

The sky above seemed to glow a little brighter, the first fingers of sunlight spilling gold through the treetops. The light kissed your damp cheeks, your trembling lips, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it was their answer, their voices echoing back in the hush of morning.

You smiled wider through the tears, the gratitude too large for your chest, spilling upward into the sky itself.

The glass trembled in your hand, dawn’s light glinting off its curve. You tilted your head back, eyes to the sky, as the words broke free from your throat- hoarse, fragile, but carried by the morning air.

“Please,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Let Yeosang be okay. Let him live. Let him smile again. Let the sea protect them all- their ship, their laughter, their lives. Don’t take them from each other the way the world has taken everything from me.”

Tears streamed unchecked down your cheeks, pooling at your chin before dripping into the stone, the tidepool waiting below.

Your chest ached as you breathed in, then exhaled, a single word breaking apart on your lips.

“Goodbye.”

You closed your eyes, whispering their names like a prayer, one after the other, softer with every breath. “Hongjoong. Seonghwa. Yunho. Yeosang. San. Mingi. Jongho. Wooyoung…”

“My crew.”

The words dissolved in a sob as you lifted the vial, your hand trembling violently now. The glass was cold against your lips, the liquid bitter and sharp as it touched your tongue. You swallowed once, twice, tears blurring everything until the world spun.

The vial slipped from your hand, clattering against the rock. Your knees buckled. Your chest heaved. And still you pushed yourself forward.

Sliding into the tidepool. The water, your greatest fear, wrapped around you, icy and consuming. Your body shuddered as it climbed over your chest, your throat, your face, but you didn’t fight.

This was your choice. As the water closed over you,  your oldest terror would become your final grave.

———————————————————————————

The cavern was a tomb. The glow of the moonpool pulsed faintly against the crystal walls, but it gave no warmth, no reassurance. Only silence.

Yeosang lay adrift in the water, motionless, his body pale beneath the silver light. His chest barely rose, barely fell. For too long, nothing changed. The crew clung to the edges of the pool, their breaths shallow, every second stretching until it scraped raw.

“Why isn’t he moving?” San’s voice cracked, sharp with panic as he leaned too far forward, his hands fisting in his hair. “He should be moving, shouldn’t he?”

“San,” Seonghwa said quickly, though his voice was taut with strain, “you can’t- don’t lose it now—”

“I won’t just sit here!” San snapped, his tone breaking as he pounded a fist against the stone.

Mingi hovered on the other side, his wide eyes wet with tears he couldn’t blink away. “He’s too still… gods, he’s too still—”

Wooyoung’s nails dug into the stone, his voice a desperate whisper. “Yeosang, please… please don’t do this.”

Jongho’s body shook as he crouched at the edge, both hands reaching toward the water but never daring to pull him free. His lips moved soundlessly, his jaw trembling, as though he was praying in silence. Even Yunho’s composure fractured. His hands pressed hard against his knees, his head bowed, every muscle taut.

And Hongjoong… Hongjoong stood frozen, his face pale, his eyes fixed on Yeosang without blinking, as though if he looked away, the boy would vanish altogether.

Seconds bled into eternity. And still, Yeosang did not stir. Jongho’s breath hitched as he leaned further over the pool, his fingers trembling just above Yeosang’s still hand. The glow of the water reflected against his cheeks, catching on the tears that spilled freely now, no matter how hard he tried to swallow them back. “Yeosang,” he choked, his voice cracking like splintered wood. “Please… please don’t leave me.”

His shoulders shook, the weight of his sobs pulling him forward until his forehead nearly touched the surface of the water. His whole body trembled as the words tumbled from him, raw and unguarded. “I can’t- I can’t do this without you.”

The crew went silent at his words, their despair deepening, the reality pressing heavier. San turned away, pressing both hands hard over his face, his chest heaving with ragged breaths he couldn’t steady. Mingi collapsed onto the stone, his head buried against his arms as broken sounds slipped out, too quiet and too sharp all at once.

Wooyoung shook his head furiously, his knuckles white where he clutched the edge of the pool. “No,” he whispered, again and again, as though sheer denial could bring Yeosang back. “No, you can’t- don’t you dare—”

Yunho’s lips parted, but no words came. The healer’s hands hung useless at his sides, trembling, betraying the helplessness he had always feared most.

Seonghwa closed his eyes, his hand pressed to the stone wall as though steadying himself against the weight threatening to drag him under.

And Hongjoong- Hongjoong stood rigid, his jaw locked, his face unreadable. Only his eyes gave him away, glassy and red, fixed on Yeosang’s face with a hollow kind of terror.

The cavern trembled with the weight of their grief, with the shattering of hope. And Jongho’s broken sobs were the only sound.

The cavern pressed down on them, heavy and suffocating, grief clinging to the air like smoke. Jongho’s sobs broke unevenly against the stone, the crew too hollow to comfort him, too lost in their own unraveling.

Mingi muttered curses into his arms, each word shaking, sharp as glass. Wooyoung’s head hung low, his shoulders trembling though his teeth were clenched hard enough to ache. San had sunk against the wall, his eyes hidden behind his palms. Yunho sat frozen, his hands hovering uselessly, healer’s instinct screaming though nothing seemed left to heal.

Jongho leaned closer still, his lips brushing Yeosang’s damp hair as his tears dropped to the water. “Please,” he whispered again, voice breaking. “Please come back to me. Just once more.”

The silence that followed felt final.

Until- A twitch. So small it could have been missed. A ripple in the water, a faint shudder through Yeosang’s hand.

Jongho froze. His breath caught, sharp and ragged. “Yeosang?” His voice was a whisper, frantic, disbelieving.

Another twitch- his fingers this time, curling faintly against the water. The faintest stir of life. Jongho’s cry rang out, half-sob, half-laughter, trembling with relief. “He moved- he moved!”

Heads snapped up. San dropped his hands, Wooyoung jerked upright, Mingi lifted his head with wild, desperate eyes. Seonghwa’s lips parted, Yunho surged forward, Hongjoong’s stare sharpened with a flare of hope he dared not believe.

The stillness had broken. Hope had intruded.

At first it was only the twitch of his fingers, the ripple of water. But then the crew leaned closer, every breath held, as something far greater began to unfold.

The black veins, once thick and vicious across his body, began to fade. Slowly, almost reluctantly, as though the curse itself was being dragged away by unseen hands. One by one, the inky lines dissolved beneath his skin, their darkness thinning until they were gone.

Mingi let out a sound between a laugh and a sob. “It’s- he’s- look!”

San gripped his shoulder tightly, his own wide eyes fixed on the sight. “Fuck, it’s working.”

His chest, once so shallow and ragged, now rose with a steadier rhythm. The dull grey that had clouded his skin shifted, flushing with warmth, returning to its familiar pale glow. The color of life bloomed back into him, soft and beautiful, like dawn returning after the longest night.

And then- Wooyoung gasped, his hand flying to his mouth. “His face-”

The red birthmark, the delicate flame that stretched near Yeosang’s eye, reemerged from beneath the sickness that had stolen it. Vibrant, alive, a part of him that had always marked him as more than cursed.

Jongho’s tears fell harder, but his smile broke wide, trembling and bright as he brushed a wet hand over Yeosang’s cheek. “There you are,” he whispered, voice breaking with wonder. “My pretty boy.”

Around them, the crew’s despair fractured into awe, into joy that felt almost too dangerous to grasp.

Yeosang was coming back to them. The changes came faster now, like the sea rushing back to shore after holding its breath. Yeosang’s chest rose deeper, fuller, his ribs no longer sharp beneath skin stretched too thin. The hollows of his cheeks softened, color blooming back into them. His frame filled out, muscle and weight returning as though the curse had been feeding on him and was now being forced to give everything back.

The crew leaned in, holding their breath, afraid to blink. Then, his eyelids fluttered.

For one suspended second, silence reigned. And then his eyes snapped open, wide and glassy, and a great, gasping breath tore from his lungs. The sound echoed through the cavern like a storm breaking, raw and alive.

Jongho cried out, his arms tightening around him as laughter and sobs tangled in his throat. “Yeosang! Gods- you’re back, you’re back-”

The crew surged closer, shouts and cries of relief spilling over, their voices raw with disbelief and joy. Wooyoung’s tears streamed unchecked, Mingi clapped both hands over his mouth, San let out a bark of laughter that broke into a sob. Even Seonghwa’s lips trembled, his usual composure shattering as he bowed his head.

Yeosang’s breaths came ragged but strong, his eyes blinking against the silver glow, confusion flickering there before recognition steadied him.

Alive. He was alive. And the curse was gone.

Yeosang’s lips parted, his chest still heaving as he drew in another full breath. For a moment, only silence stretched, then his voice spilled into the cavern. "Jongho…” Clear. Strong. No longer the rasp of a man dragged toward death, no longer the broken whisper that had haunted them for weeks. His voice was steady, warm, and alive.

Jongho’s face crumpled, tears spilling freely as he cupped Yeosang’s cheeks with both trembling hands. “Don’t you dare scare me like that again,” he choked, his words breaking into a laugh that tumbled straight into a sob.

Yeosang’s lips curved faintly, a tired but beautiful smile. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Jongho’s. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice soft but whole. “I didn’t mean to leave you.”

Jongho let out a sound caught between relief and heartbreak, pulling him tighter into his arms, his lips brushing Yeosang’s hair. “You didn’t. You’re here. You’re with me.”

For a moment, it was only the two of them, the world shrunk to their breaths, their tears, their touch. Then the crew surged forward all at once.

Wooyoung all but collapsed against Jongho’s shoulder to touch Yeosang’s arm, his tears glittering in the glow. San’s grin was wide and trembling, his hand smacking Yeosang’s back with a rough affection that broke into laughter. Mingi pressed close, beaming through his own tear-streaked face. Yunho’s lips shook as he checked Yeosang’s pulse with shaking fingers, the relief nearly dropping him to his knees. Seonghwa’s hand rested steady on Yeosang’s shoulder, his composure gone but his smile unshakable.

And even Hongjoong, though silent, stood over them, his eyes glistening, his mouth set in a line that trembled with the weight of a smile he couldn’t quite stop.

The cavern rang with laughter and cries of joy, with the sound of a family who had won back what they had nearly lost forever.

Yeosang was alive. And for the first time in too long, so were they.

It took all of them- hands grasping, shoulders steadying, voices guiding- to help Yeosang from the moonpool. His body was weak from the ordeal, but no longer frail; no longer eaten hollow by black veins. His steps trembled, yet color bloomed warm across his cheeks, and the crew beamed as though they’d pulled him straight out of death itself.

They stood together in the cavern, dripping water and salt and tears, laughter spilling uneven and raw. “You look terrible,” San snorted, though his grin betrayed him.

Yeosang’s lips curved faintly. “Better than before.”

The chuckles rose, shaky but real, banter filling the space that had so recently been suffocated by silence. For a heartbeat, they allowed themselves to believe the nightmare was over.

Until Wooyoung staggered. His hand reached for yours on instinct- and closed on air. He groped for your fingers without looking, found only stone, and the world dropped out.

The laughter cut at once. He braced a hand against the cavern wall, his face draining of color, his body trembling. His other hand pressed against his chest, his breaths short and uneven.

“Wooyoung?” Yunho was at his side instantly, panic lacing his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Wooyoung’s head shook furiously, his wide eyes glassy, darting from Yeosang to the moonpool, then back to the others. His lips parted, words tumbling out in a broken whisper.

“Forty-nine… fifty…” His voice cracked, trembling. “The curse- the souls- they were split. One stronger. One weaker. That’s what it always meant.”

The crew froze. Realisation struck like a wave, sharp and merciless, spreading across their faces all at once.

Mingi’s smile fell, his eyes widening as tears welled fresh. San swore under his breath, stumbling back a step as though the air had been ripped from his lungs. Yunho’s lips parted in horror, his healer’s mind already tracing the truth none of them wanted to speak aloud. Seonghwa’s jaw clenched, his eyes wet, but his voice caught silent.

And Jongho, still clutching Yeosang, held him tighter, his own tears spilling freely, the truth a blade that cut as deep as any curse.

Even Hongjoong didn’t speak. His face was carved from stone, but his eyes… his eyes said it all.

They knew. They all knew.

The silence pressed heavy, every heartbeat echoing against the stone. Wooyoung’s words still lingered- forty-nine, fifty- sharp as a blade, undeniable.

And then Hongjoong’s voice broke it.

“She’s gone.”

The words were hoarse, trembling, wrung from the depths of his chest. His shoulders shook once, his mask crumbling as the truth tore free. “She knew. Fuck- she knew. And she left.”

The cavern erupted.

“What?” San roared, his voice cracking as he surged forward, fists clenched, eyes wild. “What the hell do you mean gone?”

“No!” Wooyoung shouted, shoving past Yunho, his voice raw and desperate. “No, don’t say that- don’t you dare—” His chest heaved, his hands fisting into his hair as if trying to tear the thought out of existence.

Mingi staggered back, his lips trembling, his eyes wide with shock. “No, no, no- she wouldn’t- she couldn’t—”

Seonghwa closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as he pressed a hand against the cavern wall, his breath ragged, his composure slipping with every second.

Jongho clutched Yeosang closer, his face buried against his hair, his body shaking with a quiet, broken sob.

The cavern shook with the sound of their voices- anger, disbelief, grief all tangled into chaos. And Hongjoong stood in the middle of it, his chest heaving, his face pale and haunted. His eyes glistened, his voice cracked as he repeated it, softer now, as though the words themselves were chains dragging him under. “She’s gone.”

Wooyoung’s body shook violently as the truth sank in, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stumbled a step forward, then fell to his knees on the stone, his hands clawing at his chest as if trying to rip the ache free. “I love her!” he screamed, his voice cracking until it broke. The sound tore through the cavern like a wound. “I love her, do you hear me? And she-she’s gone-?” His hands pressed harder against his heart, his sobs ragged, uncontrollable. His voice splintered into a hoarse demand, raw with desperation. “What happened? What the hell happened to her?”

The echoes of his cry had barely faded when the ground beneath them rumbled. A deep, resonant groan rolled through the cavern walls, dust spilling from cracks in the stone above. The moonpool’s surface rippled, no longer calm but restless, as though stirred by something far greater than their grief.

Seonghwa’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, the color draining from his face. “No…” His voice was low, urgent. He spun toward Hongjoong, then the crew, his expression sharp with sudden fear. “We’ve overstayed our welcome.”

Another rumble shook the chamber, louder this time, the very walls trembling. Crystals flickered and dimmed, the glow faltering like candlelight in a storm.

Seonghwa’s voice cut through the chaos, commanding and fierce. “We need to leave. Now.”

———————————————————————————

The cavern shuddered again, harder this time, a low roar echoing from the depths of the stone. Cracks spiderwebbed up the walls, jagged lines glowing faintly before shattering, fragments raining down.

“Go!” Hongjoong bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The crew surged into motion at once. San grabbed Mingi’s arm, hauling him forward when his boots slipped on loose rock. Yunho pulled Wooyoung to his feet, half-dragging him as the younger man’s legs threatened to give way beneath the weight of his grief. Jongho shielded Yeosang against his chest, sprinting with every ounce of strength he had. Seonghwa led the way, his voice sharp, urgent, guiding them toward the faint line of light ahead.

The walls cracked wider, shards of crystal crashing to the ground, water from the moonpool spilling in waves across the stone. The cavern behind them groaned and buckled, the sound like the sea itself collapsing inward.

“Faster!” Seonghwa shouted, his hand bracing against the wall as the passage tilted beneath their feet.

They ran, hearts pounding, breaths ragged, every step chased by the roar of the island closing in.

And then- light.

They burst from the cavern’s mouth in a spray of dust and salt, stumbling onto the rocky ground outside just as the entrance caved in behind them. The sound was deafening, a thunderous crash that sent tremors through the earth, sealing the path in a rush of rubble.

For a long, shuddering moment, none of them moved. Their chests heaved, their hands braced on their knees, the sun spilling gold across their faces.

The night was gone. The sun had fully risen. And though the light burned bright above, it did nothing to soften the shadow heavy in their chests.

The crew staggered further from the rubble, dust still clinging to their hair and skin, lungs burning from the sprint. For a moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the echo of the collapse behind them.

Then Mingi straightened, his face pale but flushed with adrenaline, his voice breaking the silence.

“What the fuck was that?” he demanded, chest heaving, eyes darting from Seonghwa to the ruined cavern mouth. “The whole place nearly crushed us!”

Seonghwa’s expression was grave, his hand brushing stone dust from his sleeve. He looked out across the island, the golden sun now washing the tidepools and jungle in a sharp glow. “The island doesn’t like intruders in its sacred places for too long,” he said steadily, though his voice carried an undertone of unease. “It let us in. It gave us what we asked for. But it won’t suffer us lingering.”

San’s hands were still braced on his knees, his breath ragged and sharp. His hair clung damp to his face as he shook his head violently. “I don’t give a damn about the island-” his voice cracked, raw with fury and grief, “-where is she?”

Wooyoung’s body trembled where he stood, his face ashen, his hands fisting helplessly at his sides. His voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

“She’s gone,” he said, the words breaking. His chest heaved, tears streaming unchecked as he pressed both hands hard against his heart. “She’s dead… a-and..-.”

San swore viciously, pacing in jagged strides before slamming his fist against the rock. “No. No, I won’t accept that—”

But Wooyoung only shook his head, his eyes red, his voice hoarse and shattered. “I felt it. I know.”

And the sun rose higher, spilling cruel light across their faces, offering no comfort, no warmth- only the reality of what they had lost.

The crew stood fractured in the rising sun, their breaths ragged, their bodies trembling from the escape. Dust still clung to their clothes, but it wasn’t the collapse that hollowed them- it was the absence that spread like a wound between them.

Hongjoong’s voice broke the silence, low and uneven. “She sacrificed herself.”

The words cut through the air like steel, and even as his jaw set, his eyes glistened. He forced the truth out though it tore at him, each syllable catching. “She knew. She chose it. And now… she’s gone.”

Wooyoung let out a broken sob, falling to his knees, his hands slamming against the earth as her name ripped from his throat, over and over. “Angel! Angel!” The sound echoed, raw, unanswered.

San’s voice joined, hoarse with rage and grief, shouting her name into the endless jungle until it cracked. Mingi turned away, pressing both hands to his face, his shoulders heaving. Yunho stood frozen, his lips moving soundlessly as if trying to pray, his eyes brimming with helplessness. Seonghwa’s composure faltered at last, his head bowing, his fists clenched white at his sides.

Only Jongho held Yeosang tighter, burying his face against him as though to anchor them both. Yeosang’s trembling hand gripped his sleeve, his eyes wet as he whispered the name softly, almost reverently, as if it would vanish from the world if he didn’t.

The truth was bitter on their tongues, yet undeniable: her sacrifice had saved him. Yeosang was alive, the curse broken, because she had given herself to the island.

One by one, their voices fell into silence. Their grief hung thick in the air, pressing heavier than stone, until finally Hongjoong turned away, his voice rough.

“We have to go back. To the HalaVeil.”

No one argued. No one wanted to leave- but there was nothing left to stay for. Their steps were slow, hesitant, every stride heavy with what they left behind.

The island loomed still around them, vines swaying in the breeze, tidepools gleaming in the sunlight. Silent.

As though it had swallowed her whole, leaving behind nothing but the echo of salt and their grief in its wake.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

pls don't hate me... we have one chapter to go!

seonghwa – (kinda a softy but addicted)

He unwraps the gift like it's fragile. And in a way, it is. His hands are slow, reverent, and when he sees what's inside, his breath actually catches. No teasing. No wide-eyed shock. Just quiet awe.

"This is you," he murmurs. Thumb dragging slowly along the slit, memorizing the shape. "You let me have this?"

He doesn't use it right away. He showers first. Changes the sheets. Sprays your perfume on his pillow and dims the lights like he's setting up for a date. And when he finally presses into it, it's with a low groan, hips stuttering almost instantly.

"Fuck… you're so warm even in my head."

He whispers your name like a prayer. Thrusts deep, slow, and holds himself there like he doesn't want to finish too fast. Like cumming would ruin the moment. But when he does? It's with a shaky cry and your name on his lips.

He leans down between thrusts once, just to kiss the clit. Doesn’t matter that it’s silicone, in his head, it's you. He moans against it like it's holy.

He kisses it after. Cleans it gently. And tucks it away in silk like a secret.

—

hongjoong – (filthy, obsessive)

He asked for it. Of course he did. He researched molding kits, offered to help position you, took photos for "accuracy." He was fussy about the angle. "If I'm gonna fuck it," he said, "it's gotta be perfect."

When it arrives, he's hard before the box is even fully open. Uses your moan recordings and a video of your last orgasm as audio. Lube? Optional. He wants it raw.

"You're tighter than I remember, baby. Miss me that much already?"

He ruts into it at his desk, cock flushed and leaking, both hands wrapped around the toy like he wants to crush it. He props his phone up and hits record. "You wanted a video, right? Watch me ruin it. Watch me wreck your perfect little clone."

He moans your name, curses, even slaps it once just to see how it jiggles.

He leaves it out on the nightstand. Doesn't hide it. Wipes it down like a prized instrument and kisses it goodnight.

—

yunho - (gentle, addicted in secret)

He blushes so hard you think he might combust. Opens the box slowly, like he's afraid it's going to moan at him. When he realizes what it is, his ears turn red.

"You made this? For me? Like… molded?"

He acts like he'll save it for a lonely night. But that night? It's tonight. He's too curious. Too hard. He lies on his back, headphones in, listening to you breathe from a voice note. Lubes it carefully. Hesitates.

Then slides in and whimpers.

"Oh my god. Oh my god."

He's loud. Embarrassingly loud. Moaning into a pillow, hand gripping the toy like he's afraid it’ll disappear. When he cums, he gasps your name and makes a mess of his stomach.

He pulls out dazed, sees the mess leaking from the toy, and blushes all over again. “Shit… I—I came inside. I’m so sorry…”

He can’t look at you the next morning. But the toy stays in his drawer. Within reach.

—

yeosang – (worshipful, lowkey possessive?)

He unwraps the box slowly. Fingers lingering on the soft inner walls, eyes dark.

"You gave me this," he says, mostly to himself. "You really let me have this."

He doesn’t fuck it immediately. He sets it on a velvet towel. Stares at it like it’s a relic. He talks to it.

"Did you miss me today? You look so wet, baby. So ready."

When he finally uses it, it’s like worship. He presses in slowly, voice cracking. One hand stroking himself, the other caressing the outer folds like they’re real.

He cums with his forehead against the mattress and your name breaking off his lips in a whisper.

He never shares it. Never hides it either. 

He keeps a drop of your perfume sealed in the same drawer. Dabs it inside before use. Wants your scent to cling to him for days. If anyone even thinks about touching it, his voice goes ice cold:

"That doesn’t belong to you."

—

san – (desperate, loud, horny type)

You don’t even get to explain. He rips open the box and screams.

"NO FUCKING WAY. YOU DID NOT. YOU—" (he's already naked btw)

He fucks it on cam. With you watching. One hand on his chest, head thrown back.

"You molded your pussy for me, baby? You wanted me to fuck it while thinking about you? You wanted me to cry, didn’t you?"

He screams your name when he cums. Falls apart. Pulls out messy and still hard, gasping.

He strokes it after like a lover. “You’re her,” he murmurs. “My sweet girl.” You hear him coo to it like it can respond.

Uses it again before cleaning it. Leaves it next to his water bottle like it’s his gym towel.

Texts you: it twitched around me. swear to god. she misses me

—

mingi – (overwhelmed, ruined, a princess duh)

He tears up. Literally holds it like a newborn.

"You did this for me? You really let them mold… there?"

First use, he puts on one of your oversized shirts and your perfume. The video call is open, but all you see is his hand trembling.

"I missed you so much. I—I know it's not you, but I had to try."

He fucks it like he’s scared of hurting it. Whispers little apologies even as he cums inside.

"Sorry baby, I just… couldn’t hold it. You felt so good."

Afterwards, he wraps it in a towel and kisses the rim. Cries again.

He wears your shirt while he uses it again. Sobs into the fabric when he cums too fast the second time. 

“You smell like home. I need you again, I—please.”

He talks to it when he’s lonely. You catch him once. He doesn’t stop.

—

wooyoung – (cocky, deranged!!, too proud)

He sees the box and grins like you handed him a Nobel prize.

"Oh, you shouldn’t have. No, really. I might propose."

Fucks it with the lights on, music blasting, sunglasses on. Makes you watch.

"She’s sucking me in, babe. I think she loves me."

He spits on it. Spreads the lips open for the camera.

He licks it once. Grins. “Taste test approved.” Later, he sucks his fingers clean and moans like he’s at a wine tasting.

"Tell the real thing to be jealous. Her twin’s working overtime."

You hear him moan your name and his own.

Texts you at 3am: ur pussy has a clone. i’m in a throuple now.

Also buys a backup. Just in case.

—

jongho – (controlled, brutal, undercover addict)

He doesn’t react. Not at first. Just raises a brow, thanks you, and disappears into his room.

But behind closed doors? It’s carnage.

He fists the toy with both hands. No build-up. No lube the second time.

"Tight little thing. Can’t even take me."

He doesn’t moan. He grunts. Breathes harsh through his nose.

Finishes fast the first time. Slow the second. By the third, he’s groaning your name like a curse.

He wipes it clean. Places it in a drawer. Comes back 20 minutes later. Uses it again.

“Take it,” he growls under his breath. “Take my cum like a good girl.” Your moan plays through his earbuds. He fucks harder.