𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯

✶⋆.˚ SAN

The two of you were in the dorm kitchen late at night, looking for snacks while the rest of the members were supposedly asleep.

You kept opening every cabinet, searching for snacks the members had hidden from you, since you loved to sneak around and steal their favorites. Instead of helping, San leaned against the counter, watching you open every cabinet.

“Be careful, love,” San gently reminds you.

“You know,” you pointed out. “You could at least pretend to search.”

“I am searching.”

You snapped at him, “You haven’t moved for the past five minutes.”

“I found what I was looking for already,” San moved closer to you.

You rolled your eyes at his cheesy pick-up line, “You’re weird.”

A few seconds later, you finally found the exact snack you were looking for, “Found it!” you exclaimed, standing on your tiptoes and stretching slightly to reach the top shelf. However, the second you stepped backward, your sock slipped against the slippery kitchen floor.

“Whoa–”

Before you could fully lose your balance, San quickly grabbed your waist, instantly pulling you back against him so you barely had time to react. One of his hands stayed firmly at your waist while the other steadied your body, your faces suddenly way closer than before.

For a second, both of you just froze. “Told you to be careful,” he murmured.

“I was careful,” your voice was stern. 

“You almost died reaching for chips.”

“Okay, that was dramatic,” you laughed breathlessly. Before you could say anything else, San leaned down and kissed you suddenly. 

His hands tightened around your waist, preventing you from falling. You responded by wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss as your bodies swayed instinctively, caught in the momentum of the kiss. He trailed kisses down your jawline, guiding you backward as you reached out, fingertips grazing the edge of the kitchen counter.

As you moved together, the room became a blur of soft furniture and scattered shadows. The two of you completely forgot where you were, until.

Wooyoung stood near the kitchen entrance, rubbing his eyes–not believing what he just saw, “I don't even wanna know.”

You jumped apart instantly, and you hid behind San’s huge figure in embarrassment. Meanwhile, San just blinked once before smiling sheepishly. “In our defense,” he started.

“There is no defense, Hyung.” Wooyoung interrupted immediately. He groaned dramatically before walking back toward the hallway.

San turned back toward you with the biggest grin, “You okay though?”

You stared at him in disbelief, “That’s your biggest concern right now?”

“Yes?” San answered innocently.

Despite everything just happened, you still ended up laughing while San pulled you back against his side again.

✶⋆.˚ MINGI

You had been lying against his chest for nearly an hour, his arms loosely wrapped around you while soft music played quietly in the background. At some point, the conversation faded gently, leaving only comfortable silence between the two of you. Eventually, you glanced at your phone and sighed softly before pushing yourself up slightly.

“It’s getting late,” you mumbled sleepily. “I should probably go home.”

Mingi immediately frowned, “Already?”

“It’s literally past midnight.”

“So? Stay a bit longer,” he pouted.

You scoffed, “You said that like an hour ago.”

“And I still mean it,” before you could get up properly. Mingi grabbed your wrist gently and pulled you right back against him, making you fall onto his chest again with a surprised laugh.

“Mingi!” you yelped.

“What?” He smiled sleepily. “Five more minutes, I promise.”

You rolled your eyes while he looked up at you with the softest expression, “That’s never actually five minutes with you.”

Then, before you could keep arguing, Mingi leaned up and kissed you softly. 

It was supposed to be a quick and lazy kiss, but the second you kissed him back properly, he smiled into the kiss and pulled you closer again. His smile lingered in the kisses, turning the kiss from soft to something deeper, more alive. “You were supposed to be leaving,” he mumbled teasingly between kisses.

“This is your fault.”

“Mhm.”

A few more kisses later, you found yourself sitting on Mingi’s lap, his hands resting lightly on your waist, steadying you as his lips claimed yours again and again. Each kiss was a lingering promise, deep and slow, teasing and bold.

“Mingi,” you laughed softly. “Seriously, I should–”

The bedroom door suddenly opened.

The two of you froze instantly. 

It was Hongjoong. 

“Ah…so this is awkward,” Mingi groaned, covering his face with his hands.

Meanwhile, you hid your face in Mingi’s shoulder, completely mortified.

“I saw nothing!” Hongjoong said quickly before shutting the bedroom door. A few seconds later, the door creaked open again, and he peeked his head inside. “Next time, lock the door before traumatizing people,” he muttered before closing it again.

The second the door shut, Mingi laughed quietly, “So…can you stay five more minutes now?”

✶⋆.˚ WOOYOUNG

The hallway near the dressing rooms was unusually empty for once. You had only pulled Wooyoung aside because he’d been whining all day about not getting enough attention from you.

“You’re so needy today,” you complained while he followed you from behind down the hallway.

“And whose fault is that?”

You stopped in your tracks, turning back to him, “How would that even be my fault?”

“You made me obsessed with you.” Wooyoung moved closer to you.

“That sounds like a YOU problem.”

Wooyoung gasped dramatically, “Wow, you're so cold.”

“Oh, you’ll survive,” you crossed your arms while rolling your eyes, trying to hold your smile, but Wooyoung noticed immediately.

“There it is,” he grinned proudly. “That smile.”

“You’re so annoying, you know that, right?”

“And yet you love me, right?” he teases back at you.

Before you could answer back, Wooyoung’s hand found yours, his grip firm yet gentle as he pulled you closer. Suddenly, he had you backed against the wall with his other hand slid beside your head, framing your face with quiet confidence.

“What are you doing?” you laughed quietly. 

“Getting your attention,” he smirked.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Mhm,” then he kissed you before you could continue talking. One hand rested firmly at your waist, pulling you impossibly close while the other held your jaw with a gentle yet possessive touch. His lips moved against yours with a bold confidence, with every kiss a statement, every breath a promise.

“Wooyoung,” you whispered between the kisses. “Someone’s gonna see.”

“No, they won’t.”

“You said that last time.”

He grinned against your lips, deepening the kiss while completely ignoring your protests. 

Which was exactly why neither of you noticed someone turning the corner until a voice suddenly went, “I’m uncomfortable.”

You jumped immediately, while Wooyoung only turned his head slowly toward San, who was standing nearby.

“And now you interrupted a beautiful moment,” Wooyoung complained immediately.

“More like a disgusting moment,” San continued.

“Okay, hater,” Wooyoung replied.

Meanwhile, you were hiding your burning face with your hands, feeling shy while the two of them argued back and forth. “You’re unbelievable," San sighed before finally walking away.

Wooyoung watched him leave before looking back down at you innocently, “Anyway, where were we?”

You uncovered your face while staring at him, “You cannot be serious.”

“I’m extremely serious,” he smiled.

Then he leaned down, attempting to kiss you again while you laughed and shoved his face away immediately.

✶⋆.˚ JONGHO

Most of the staff had stepped outside the dressing room, leaving only the soft noise of distant conversations echoing outside. Jongho sat beside you on the couch, still half-dressed for the next performance, jacket slightly unbuttoned while he scrolled through something on his phone.

You noticed a piece of hair stuck near his shoulder and reached over automatically, “Hold still.”

He glanced at you, “What?”

“There’s something on your jacket.” Your fingers brushed against the fabric carefully while Jongho silently watched you the entire time.

“Okay, there you go,” you smiled softly while brushing away the piece of hair.

Instead of saying ‘thank you’, Jongho gently grabbed your wrist before you could pull away. 

You blinked, “What?”

“Come here for a second,” he mumbled quietly.

He suddenly leaned closer and kissed you, with one hand remaining loosely wrapped around your wrist, holding you tenderly but with a subtle strength, the other settled at your waist, pulling you closer against him. A small smile lifted the corner of your lips against his lips as you pulled back just enough to look at him, “You’re so clingy today,” you whispered.

“You don’t sound like you mind.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you again. This time, more proper and deeper, with intention and a quiet hunger that sent a thrilling shiver down your spine. Before you realized it, you were settling halfway onto his lap, your body molded perfectly against his. His hands tightened slightly at your waist while his lips never left yours.

And that was exactly when the dressing room door opened.

“Jongho ya~ They’re looking for–” Yeosang’s voice was cut off by something he’ll be traumatised for life.

You pulled away immediately in shock, while Jongho barely reacted at all.

The room became painfully silent. Jongho just looked at Yeosang calmly while holding your hand.

“Staff’s looking for you,” Yeosang finally said, awkwardly. 

“Okay, thanks,” Jongho replied casually.

A few seconds of silence passed before Yeosang slowly backed out of the room, “I’m gonna pretend I didn't see anything.” Then the door quickly shut.

“Oh my god,” you buried your face in Jongho’s chest.

“That was embarrassing,” he chuckled while looking completely unbothered.

You turned to stare at him in confusion, “How are you so calm right now?”

Jongho only smiled slightly before fixing his jacket, “because we weren't doing anything wrong.”

“Jonghoongie, we were making out.”

“And?” 

You sat there speechless while he looked at you with the smallest hint of amusement in his eyes.

Mommy!seonghwa who kisses the back of your hand whenever you’re nervous.

Mommy!seonghwa who always makes you sit in her lap.

Mommy!seonghwa who always buys matching lipstick, it’s one her favorite things.

Mommy!seonghwa who likes to buy gifts just because you’re her baby.

Mommy!seonghwa who likes to carry you when you’re high heels are hurting your feet.

Mommy!seonghwa who always leaves one single red rose on your door step every Friday evening, just to let you know she’ll be visiting that night.

— “I got you a necklace.” “Why? You didn’t have to.” “You’re my pretty girl, I don’t need a reason.”

Mommy!seonghwa who always leaves a trail of hickeys on your thighs. It’s her favorite way to claim you.

Mommy!seonghwa who spends hours between your legs, not enough stimulation on your clit to make you cum. But it’s definitely enough to make you beg for her.

Mommy!seonghwa who has a paddle with your name carved into it, she likes to use it on you often.

Mommy!seonghwa who refers to you as “pretty girl” whenever she talks about you to others.

Mommy!seonghwa who likes to use her biggest strap on you, just to make you cry her name.

Mommy!seonghwa who always reminds you that you’re hers and only hers.

You waved off Seonghwa saying you'd be back shortly to watch the fireworks with the others for the New Year celebration. You just needed to grab a sweater first, having the night take a cold turn from the hot breezy day. Walking up the hill towards the cabin you saw from afar the boys all yelling and carrying on like idiots. You were going to be quick, Well that was what you thought until you spotted Jongho leaning against the door frame of the glass door with a smoke between his fingers.

"Forget something?" He cock his brow, flicking the finished cigarette away before blowing the smoke out of his lungs. His arms crossed as he watched you closely with a smile. He must have come up here to have a quick smoke break without anyone around since he knew how much people didn't like the smell. You on the other hand knew it was a bad habit, but you couldn't help but let your thought wonder at how hot he looks when he does it. You've been dancing around one another since the trip started two days ago. You haven't told anyone about your relationship with Jongho yet, fearing your brother would most likely try and kill Jongho if they found out. So a secret it is. But neither of you minded, much, finding some fun and thrill in the idea of sneaking around.

"Just a sweater. Why are you up here, Jongho?" Hearing you say his name has his cock standing at the attention. You had always called him by nicknames, it was just something you did for everyone you were friends with. But fuck, he loves hearing his name fall from your pretty lips.

"Nothing else?" His voice was low, in a gravelled growl. You had been teasing him all day and now that you two are finally alone, he was going to take every opportunity to get some action out of you. You shook your head sweetly in response, playing the innocent card wasn't a good idea. But you did it anyways.

"Oh yeah? And what's your plan now that you've teased me all day? Because the way I see it. I have every right to do whatever want to this sweet body of yours. I could spin you around bend you over and fuck your cute little cunt till you're crying. Right outside in front of our friends and your brother. Is that what you want baby?"

You open your mouth to answer but he's already got you spun around and bent slightly over the railing of the deck, pushing your shirt up slightly to get a view of your back arched, just for him. You inhale sharply, hands grabbing at the wood as your attention is suddenly drawn to the fireworks starting to go off from the dark lake. His fingers trail between your thighs beneath your shorts, letting out a soft curse when he finds your core all wet and soaking through your panties and clothes for him.

"You're really playing with fire here, Honey. You know that?" He whispers as his lips trail over your neck, his fingers slowly slide past your shorts and underwear to get to your folds. You bite your lip to keep yourself quiet, eyes focused on where your brother and friends are. All the way down at the docks. Surely too far away to make out exactly what's going on in the dimly lit cabin balcony. Jongho's fingers find your clit and your gasp, hips automatically pushing back into his hand and he chuckles softly at your desperate action.

"You're so easy. I can play you like a fucking fiddle. Do you have any idea how easy it is for me to make you cum. For me to have you begging and crying for me to have my way." His fingers sink inside you, quickly moving to a steady pace. You hum softly rocking your hips in time with his fingers feeling your gut grow hot.

"Maybe you should remind me." You whisper wanting nothing more than to cum after how wound up you've been all day. He laughs as his fingers do not slow, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

"Maybe I should."

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

the other thing you wanted was for your parents and close friends not to find out that you had been dating someone not two or three years older, or even a year younger, but a whole twelve years older. yes, you were twenty-one when you met him, a couple of months before your birthday, through mutual friends. one gathering led to another, and before you knew it, you were dating him, convinced you had finally found the one you were going to marry, the only man who truly knew how to be a man. alas, it turned out he was just another shark in the ocean, ready to strike at its defenseless prey.

it doesn’t matter anymore, since you’re single, genuinely happy, enjoying your summer, shining brighter than the sun itself, and everyone sees you like some kind of eternal sunshine. you finally returned to yourself, only smarter this time, no longer falling for tricks or manipulative tactics. life is good when you don’t have a man bitching in your ear about the outfit you’re about to wear or asking why you were talking to some guy for too long. the waiter, if you must specify, who was simply announcing the lunch menu.

“ah, can’t believe we have to be back at university that soon…” you said, sipping from your drink while idly chewing on the straw. karina was on your left, glued to her phone, while yeji sat on your right, carefully lining up small seashells along her thighs.

“and we’re graduating this year too… but someone decided to study at a different university, breaking our teenage dreams,” karina said as she turned off her phone, glancing at you with a playful look while you rolled your eyes.

“not my fault the one you’re in didn’t have what i wanted.” you took another sip, and yeji giggled softly. “none of us dropped out though, which is an achievement on its own.”

yes, you didn’t study at the same place as them, but that didn’t stop you from hanging out, if anything, there was even more gossip to share. and so the conversations continued, all the way until you started getting ready for dinner, and then for a few more days after that, until eventually you had to go back to seoul and wish each other “good luck for the new last year.”

you really did need some luck, because you had just found out that your favorite professor had retired. you were going to miss the woman; you had been her favorite student, but all good things eventually come to an end. everyone was already sitting in the lecture room. you had heard that the new professor was someone young, but there hadn’t been time to check who exactly he was since they were still fixing schedules and systems. the only thing you knew was that tuesday at nine in the morning was your first lecture with the new professor in question.

“i think he probably used to play basketball or football, i saw him earlier and he’s really tall,” one of the boys said, and the others quickly agreed, while you remained focused on your phone, scrolling through reel after reel, meme after meme. then you overheard the girls whispering nearby, their voices a little more excited. “did you see his hands? and him in general… he’s so fine…”

the problem with having a young professor is exactly that — he was young, and from what everyone was saying, quite attractive too. the other problem appeared the moment everyone finally sat down when the door opened. a tall figure stepped into the room, his style was effortless in a way that made it impossible not to glance twice. a soft gray cardigan hung loosely over his shoulders, the thin knit falling open enough to reveal the clean white t-shirt beneath.

the muted colors helped him blend in, making him look more like a student than a teacher. slim black pants traced the long lines of his frame, the strap of a black crossbody bag thrown diagonally across his chest, and he wore simple sneakers. his black hair fell in soft layers that framed his face, the strands straight and smooth, cut just long enough to brush the tops of his eyebrows and skim the sides of his cheekbones.

you were sitting a little further back, your phone still in your hands. the room buzzed with chatter as people continued talking among themselves until the professor cleared his throat, the sound cutting clean through the noise as he prepared to introduce himself.

“hello everyone, i’m jeong yunho and i’ll be your new photography professor this year.”

your eyes widened instantly, your head snapping up so fast it almost hurt. oh no… houston, we have a problem. you blinked several times, half expecting your vision to clear and reveal someone else entirely. maybe it was just someone with the exact same name, appearance, and voice. unfortunately for you, it wasn’t. why is your ex-boyfriend the new professor? out of all the people in the capital, it had to be him who got the position.

you sat there frozen in complete shock, your mouth slightly open until your deskmate and close university friend, jeongin, gently pressed a finger under your chin to close it as he leaned to whisper, “i guess everyone, including you, just found their new crush, huh?”

what, why, and how? was this some kind of twisted karma? because if it was, you definitely weren’t the one who deserved it. your heart started beating faster, anxiety and something close to fear crawling up. could you run away? maybe copy someone else’s notes, no… you couldn’t. suddenly you wished you were studying metaphysics with karina, because that sounded far more pleasant than this.

“i’d love to get to know all of you,” he continued, smiling as he set his bag on the desk before leaning back against it, arms loosely crossed, while his gaze moved around the room. “so i’ll share a few things about myself. and don’t worry, i won’t make you do anything today. i’ll just introduce the course and explain what i expect from you.”

surprisingly hands immediately began rising with questions. meanwhile, you were still struggling to believe what you were seeing and hearing. he hadn’t changed at all, you had to admit it. he had only gotten more attractive. always taking care of himself and being unfairly pretty, making you remember how two years ago you thought about what your future children would look like... now you want to throw up. forcing yourself to keep your composure, glancing at jeongin and making a slightly grimaced face. yeah, a crush for sure, except you wanted to crush him into pieces.

“how old are you, professor?” someone from the middle rows asked, earning a few curious murmurs from the class, making yunho chuckle, “straight to the personal questions already? alright then. i’m thirty-six.”

everyone was surprised by the answer, and all kinds of reactions rippled through.

“don’t look so shocked,” he added with a small grin. “i promise i’m not that ancient.”

“are you a full-time professor?” another student asked.

“not exactly,” yunho replied, pushing his sleeves up slightly as he spoke, revealing his forearms, “i’m a professional photographer first. i mainly work in editorial and commercial photography such as fashion shoots, campaigns, exhibitions, that sort of thing. teaching is something i enjoy doing on the side, especially with students who are serious about the craft.”

“does that mean you’re going to give us easy grades?” someone joked, making him raise an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “absolutely not.”

the class laughed again, a little nervous this time.

“i can be friendly,” he added, shrugging lightly, “but don’t mistake that for me being tolerant. photography is about discipline and perspective. if you’re here just to press a button and hope for the best, you’re going to struggle.”

another hand went up. “so… we won’t pass easily?”

“correct,” nodding his head once. “i expect effort, creativity, and consistency. if you work hard, you’ll do amazing. if you don’t…” he paused briefly before smiling again, “you won’t pass this course by simply showing up and smiling at me. well, at least you’ll get some nice pictures out of the experience.”

more chuckles followed, but the message had landed. the atmosphere quickly became relaxed and comfortable as he answered questions with small jokes. the students were already warming up to him, clearly charmed by how easygoing he was. as you listened to him speak, watched the way he carried himself so seriously and correctly in front of everyone, you couldn’t help but wonder where exactly all that cheerful composure had been when he was with you?

“attendance is mandatory.” and then his gaze settled directly on yours, a faint smirk pulling at his lips as he stared straight into your soul, the one he had almost taken from you a year ago. “of course, if you have to be absent, it’s not a problem, as long as it doesn’t happen often. i know some of you will be at the mall with friends. also i don’t grade by email; everything you do will be shown and discussed in class.”

the entire time he spoke, his eyes kept drifting back to you. when he paced slowly across the front of the room, even when he turned to answer someone else’s question, somehow his attention always circled back. for some reason, you held his gaze instead of looking away, and the longer you stared at him, the more that fear slowly faded until all that remained was pure hatred.

jeongin leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice into a teasing whisper. “well there goes our plan of skipping class to eat kfc… or getting more sleep,” he murmured, nudging your arm lightly.

thank god your best friends studied at different universities, otherwise they would have dragged you straight to the administration office and forced you to drop out for real. and honestly… you were starting to think about it yourself. the worst part was that you couldn’t switch the class for anything else. great, truly amazing. you were trapped for an entire semester.

“that’s everything for today,” yunho said after a while, clapping his hands together once as he was done answering questions and talking about cameras, “i won’t keep you any longer. enjoy the rest of your morning.”

chairs scraped across the floor as everyone began packing their things, the room filling with chatter again. you grabbed your purse quickly, already standing up before most people had even processed that the lecture was over. as you walked out with jeongin, you noticed a small crowd forming around the professor’s desk. a couple of boys and girls had already gathered there, asking questions, laughing at something he said, clearly eager to stay a little longer.

you didn’t even glance his way. no goodbye, or a polite “have a nice day”, because he didn’t deserve to have one. you just kept walking toward the door, hoping that you would manage to graduate before the sudden temptation to drop out started looking a little too appealing.

“your analysis lacks depth,” yunho says, placing your paper on his desk, making you scoff, since this is the third time now that he’s returned it for edits. lacks depth, he says… well, you did as well, asshole. if you had to edit one more thing, it honestly wouldn’t be that bad to buy a gun, and no, it definitely wouldn’t be pointed at your head.

every single tuesday he calls on you far too often in class. your assignments always come back covered in detailed comments, red ink everywhere like a declared war on your academics. you swear he’s grading you harder than everyone else, which honestly seems unfair to the people who are actually doing nothing. apparently, you’re the only one being treated like a social experiment.

“and what exactly do i need to change again, professor?” you ask, grinning through your teeth, burying every thought that would probably send you straight to jail under a perfectly fake smile. you’re this close from going insane, feeling that familiar anger rise again, the irritation that always appears when you’re forced to deal with someone you can’t stand.

for the last four weeks, your life has been hell, to say the least. during lectures he’ll ask a question, several hands go up while yours remain fiddling with a ballpoint pen, and yet he always picks you. and the first time you didn’t know the answer, what followed was a casual, “it would be nice to learn things before the test, hm?” which felt like complete humiliation, because beneath that joking tone there had been something that definitely wasn’t a joke.

once you and jeongin arrived ten minutes late, which honestly wasn’t even your fault. what were you supposed to do when your friend insisted on waiting for his coffee while there was already a long line that early in the morning? of course, a comment followed: “please be on time next time.” but when someone else walked in thirty minutes late during the same lecture, there were absolutely no remarks.

that’s exactly why you always come prepared with answers and make sure you’re always on time. you know his tricks far too well. no matter how charming his smile is, how sweetly he talks, how funny and relaxed he seems… it’s just one of his many masks. karina really was right about him being some kind of psychopath.

everyone else, unfortunately, loves the new professor. they talk about his fun classes, how nice he is, and how cool it is that he’s such a professional teaching them new techniques. some of your peers even linger after lectures just to chat with him. meanwhile, you sit there thinking that your older ex should seriously consider enrolling in acting instead of photography, because the performance he’s putting on deserves ample shiny awards proudly displayed on a goddamn mantlepiece.

the whole thing has turned into some twisted cat-and-mouse game. he teases, pushes, and provokes. you glare, don't bite back, and refuse to give him the reaction he clearly wants. despite all of that, he always finds his sneaky ways to make your life a little more miserable.

here and there, he calls you to his desk after class for absolutely no reason. “you should consider approaching a different lens for your next project,” like this couldn’t have easily been written in a single email. or he’ll start explaining camera settings you already know perfectly well, dragging the conversation out while the rest of the class disappears into the hallway.

and god forbid you see him outside the classroom. the moment you notice him walking down the hallway, you immediately pull a perfect one-eighty and walk in the opposite direction because you hate this man so fucking much, you refuse to breathe the same air as him.

what’s more upsetting is that you can’t even tell anyone. because if karina and yeji ever found out that your toxic ex-boyfriend was now your professor, they wouldn’t hesitate for a second before throwing a chair at him.

what you don’t know, however, is that he requested this university job partly because of you. actually, not partly at all, he knew exactly what he was doing. even when you were still together, he knew where you studied and what major you were in, just like you knew about his photography work. of course, teaching also gave him the chance to try something different in his career. and what better opportunity than this? his unbelievably beautiful ex-girlfriend just so happened to be one of his students, completely unplanned.

and it doesn’t stop there, oh no, everything is just starting.

jeongin begins to notice a pattern, which honestly isn’t hard to miss when during class yunho asks another question. probably ten hands rise into the air, but he still chooses you. your friend leans closer to your ear and whispers, “you must be his favorite~”

you stare at the board like you want to burn it down, alongside mister pretty devil himself, who of course, happens to wear clothes that fit his figure perfectly, fuck him honestly. “if i was his favorite, do you think i’d be studying camera obscura in this much detail?”

not to mention the way he addresses you with that smooth voice, softly calling you, “miss (name).” the moment you hear it, it’s game over. you have to respond with “yes, professor,” or “yes, sir,” like some twisted academic roleplay you never signed up for. it makes you want to vomit, bleach both your eyes and your trachea. you hate his guts so much. he has always liked being in control, and now he has it again, at least within the walls of this campus. outside of it, however, he has absolutely none.

when it comes to homework and assignments, everyone else receives short feedback, brief but explanatory enough to understand their mistakes, things like: “good composition” or, “nice lighting” and even, “if you try a black and white effect, it might work better.”

your feedback, on the other hand, is practically a full essay. it could probably qualify as a documentary script because he covers everything, even the tiniest details. he has a ridiculously keen eye for things, which apparently also makes him a professional at being a complete jerk who picks on you for absolutely no reason.

“your framing… well, it’s technically correct,” he muses, tapping the printed photo with his finger exactly where he seems most dissatisfied, “but technically correct isn’t the same as emotionally effective.”

you want to throw your camera at him and shove the lens straight down his throat, as the class sits there admiring him. “wow, professor jeong gives such thoughtful feedback.”

it also happens that he’s constantly spammed with emails from students asking if their work is passable or what more they  can do to improve their visuals, so eventually he announces loudly, “if anyone needs extra help, my office hours are wednesday and thursday afternoon.”

later that same day, only you receive an email: “your project concept has potential. come to discuss it.”

you go, of course, because you care about the grade. knocking on the door to his office, and he lets you in, acting like the two of you are complete strangers. the entire conversation stays professional, purely academic, every word measured, but the tension makes your heartbeat faster. after ten painfully long minutes, you finally stand to leave, and just as your hand reaches the door, he says, that same smile on his face, “don’t sabotage your own work out of stubbornness.”

almost slamming the door behind you, but you need to have self-control and not let him know that you are slowly losing your cool.

it goes without saying that the girls in the course absolutely adore him. some of them simp for him, always giggling and gossiping. “the way he looked at me today… he said he is single, so do you think i have a chance?” or “he’s literally the most handsome professor here, why isn’t my boyfriend like him?”

you almost choke hearing that, because you know the other version of him. the one who used to kiss apologies into your neck after fights. the one whose hands knew every point of your body andwho knew you better than you knew yourself. fingers that always seemed to know exactly where to press, where to… why are you even thinking about that?

during one of his lectures, yunho suddenly says something that makes your stomach twist.

“photography is about obsession. you need to want the subject more than anything else. you have to focus on it completely if you want to capture the perfect shot.”

you freeze, eyes widening slightly at his words, because you know exactly how obsessive he can be. yunho glances at you, that smug little smile appears again, and he continues the lecture as if nothing happened.

it’s almost nightfall when the young professor arrived home. he dropped onto the couch, leaving his bag on the floor beside it, his head falling back against the cushions as he stretched his legs over the small wooden table and stretched his arms up above his head.

he exhaled once, then again, tapping his thigh with his fingers in the quiet that filled the apartment. the silence didn’t last long before a small laugh slipped past his lips. he closed his eyes, and of course, you appeared in his mind again. you were constantly there, living somewhere between his thoughts and his heart, occupying space you had no right to anymore.

weren’t you just adorable? each and every time you walked into class, you were dressed better than everyone else, always prepared and looking at him with that sneer that no one else seemed to notice. not even your deskmate, the one he sometimes caught himself glaring at out of pure irritation and jealousy, though he knew jeongin wasn’t any real threat.

you were his muse, his fallen angel, the pliable doll he had once controlled so carefully until two other puppets, your dear best friends, stepped in and cut the marionette strings, ruining the entire show. you had been so kind-hearted and obedient, so sweet and perfectly made for him… but everything had ended so quickly.

yunho knew exactly how to push your buttons; it was too easy for him. he watched every little reaction, the glares you tried to hide behind forced politeness. he fed on it more than he probably should have. still obsessed with you and completely unable to let go, hiding it well enough behind the role of a professor. 

you were his one weakness, the sensitive gap between two ribs guarding the heart he had, the one thing that made the control he prided himself on slip through his fingers. he had never stopped loving you, at least not in his own twisted way. goddamnit, you looked like an absolute doll today. the dress, the way your hair fell over your shoulders, the gloss on your lips. were you going on a date with someone? with who? when? where? normally he would have known already. the thought made his jaw tighten slightly, tongue pushing the inside of his cheek. if it wasn’t for the university schedule taking up so much of his time lately, he would have kept better track of things. he hoped you weren’t going on a date with anyone.

reaching for his phone, unlocking it as he opened one of the many accounts he used. your instagram appeared on the screen, and even though your profile was private, that had never really stopped him. the pretty much convincing fake account had been accepted months ago and you had never questioned it. he doesn’t just have one fake account, there are several, each with a different purpose: one follows you, the second follows your friends, the third follows men who comment on your photos.

his thumb scrolled slowly through the posts, stopping at one in particular.

you standing by the ocean with goldensunlight catching your skin, wearing that stupidly beautiful dress that he bought. the same vacation he had surprised you with, and the irony was that he had been the one holding the camera when those pictures were taken, and then his scrolling stopped when he saw you had a story posted.

you sitting across from someone in a restaurant, a glass in your hand, smiling. the caption tagged someone… jaemin? the quiet apartment suddenly didn’t feel so quiet anymore. yunho stared at the screen a little longer than necessary, his fingers tightening slightly around the phone. he decided to do his research, and within minutes, he knew jaemin’s major, his other social media, his schedule and which classes he attends.

“so you were going on dates now, huh?” his hand ran slowly across his face before he leaned back against the couch again, letting out a low breath that almost sounded like a mocking laugh. he shouldn’t care, and what’s left of his sanity knew that, but something in his chest twisted like a scalding hot knife. the truth was simple, and it irritated him more than anything else.

his home still has traces of you. your favorite mug still in the kitchen, a sweater you forgot draped over a chair, the perfume bottle you left behind on the bathroom counter. he hasn’t moved them at all, so when passing them he’ll sometimes pause, observing your belongings like they’re priceless artifacts he forever wants to keep.

a drawer in his desk contains a perfectly organized stack of polaroids. shots he took of you while you were dating, containing multiple domestic situations of you laughing on the beach, asleep on his shoulder and drooling, you looking annoyed while he teased you endlessly, you wearing his hoodie… there’s a lot, some even nudes taken during private moments when you trusted him. nothing is displayed openly, but preserved with a date written on the back, sometimes a short note, things like mine or xoxo.

as a photographer, he justifies it to himself as art. in his mind those photos were the purest versions of you, deleting them would feel like destroying masterpieces. the man doesn’t see anything wrong with it. they were taken with consent back then, and the memories belong to him, so he never questions keeping them.

though, admittedly, yunho still adds to the collection with printed screenshots from your instagram stories. blurry shots of you crossing campus, a candid photo of you mid-laughter taken from far away during a university event. he keeps a hidden folder on his computer, where inside are hundreds of photos and videos, not just from when you dated, but also recent ones.

sometimes he records his lectures for teaching review, as the university demands, and in private, he’ll rewind parts where you speak. listening again, and again, and again, so he can get off with his dick in hand, trying to chase his high from being turned on by watching you argue with him in class. she still looks at me the same way… anger is better than indifference. your hatred is still attention, and attention for men like him is oxygen.

he studies those images and compares them to how you look in class now. noticing the differences in the way you dress, how you glare at him and refuse to look at him too long… she pretends she doesn’t belong to me anymore.

also your old professor who retired? yunho knew her; she was a well-known photographer in seoul, a colleague of his whose exhibitions he had attended more than once over the years. during a gallery event, the two of them talked for a while, as she casually mentioned that she would be retiring soon and that the university needed someone to take her place. then she also mentioned that one of her best students would be graduating soon. the way she spoke about that student caught yunho’s attention immediately. the woman even pulled out her phone, scrolling through photos from one of the class exhibitions before zooming in on a familiar face — yours.

the elder woman happily explained how talented you were, the potential you had and how you were easily one of her favorites.

that was when he applied to the university, under her recommendation.

yunho finally stood from the couch and walked toward his bedroom. he opened the drawer of his bedside table, reaching inside until his fingers brushed against a familiar photograph: a polaroid from two years ago.

you were laughing in it, leaning slightly toward a cake with him beside you on your 22nd birthday. the faint lipstick mark you had playfully pressed onto the corner of the photo was still there, and he ran his thumb slowly over it. he just stared at it, placing the polaroid carefully on the nightstand beside his phone and the nightlamp. when he finally lay down under the covers, the photograph remained within reach, the faint outline of your smile visible in the dim light.

he closed his eyes, hoping, as he drifted toward sleep, that maybe tonight you would appear in his dreams.

fridays are always a godsend, especially after sitting through a lecture with the devil the day before. anything feels better after that, especially when you’re out for lunch with jaemin. sunlight spilling through the windows, soft chatter around you, and for the first time in a while you feel at ease. he insisted on paying, of course, saying something about how you “deserve to be spoiled properly,” and honestly… you didn’t argue.

he knows what you like. not in a suffocating way that feels like he’s memorized you without permission. but in a very gentle and attentive way.

“are you free tomorrow?” he asks, stealing a bite of your cake like it’s his.

“i wish,” you sigh. “i have to attend a birthday party with my parents.”

“mm,” he hums, pretending to think, though the smile on his lips gives him away. “guess i’ll have to reschedule my very important plan of kidnapping you for the evening.”

you chuckle softly, taking another bite of the sweet treat. “you’re not funny.”

“i’m hilarious,” he corrects you, lifting his index finger. “you’re just in denial.”

rolling your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile that appears on your face. the thing you really liked about jaemin was how sweet-talking and funny he was, knowing what to say at any given moment. he has this mischievous side, but he was also very loving and attractive. 

“i was going to ask you to come over,” he adds more quietly, almost shy beneath the teasing. “but… another time.”

that makes you pause, because he doesn’t push or corner you. more so, never demands you to be with him and cancel any plans you have already made with someone else. it’s like an option, not an expectation. there’s no hidden trap set ahead of time for you to fall into.

“maybe next weekend?” you echo, that playful tone came as you asked him, looking at him for a moment, and then down at the already finished cake. and that’s enough for him. his bright and boyish grin returns instantly, like he didn’t just make your heart skip.

“see? progress. next thing you know, you’ll admit you like me.”

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you warn, pointing your fork at him.

“too late, i already did.”

“jaemin–”

“what?” he leans in slightly, eyes sparkling with that same mischievousness. “you gonna hit me?”

you narrow your eyes. “if you keep talking, maybe.”

he gasps dramatically, pretending to be scared for his life, “not the man-hater queen threatening violence again.”

“i am not a man-hater!”

“you are when it comes to me.”

“you’re annoying.”

“and who is paying the bill?”

that shuts you up completely. instead of teasing you more, he just smiles, playfully winking at you, letting you have that moment.

after lunch, he insists on walking you to the mall so you can meet up with karina and yeji. it’s not far, twenty minutes at most, but he acts like it’s a whole event, a met gala of sorts, and you should be escorted like the princess you are. you walk side by side, hands brushing at first, then naturally finding each other, fingers lacing together. the weather is warm for the autumn season. leaves crunch when people pass by, cars hum in the distance, and for a while, you forget about yunho and about everything.

jaemin talks about random things like how he and jeno tried to summon ghosts as kids, jokes about what he saw online, and somehow, you’re laughing again without having to worry or trying to come up with excuses or reasons of how you can be so happy when something else gives you joy? he looks at you with adoration in his eyes and that’s what makes you feel safe.

when you reach the mall, he slows down, not letting go of your hand immediately. he lingers for a second, like he wants to say something else, then just smiles.

“have fun, man-hater queen.”

“thank you, cake thief.”

he laughs, finally letting go but not before leaving a quick, soft kiss on your cheek. “text me when you get home,” he says, and you nod, a little stunned by this bold yet sweet gesture. he walks off with a smile, and your best friends are already waiting for you inside at the usual meeting spot. 

the moment karina spots you, she’s already sprinting, grabbing yeji by the wrist and dragging her along like she’s on a mission. it’s been weeks since you last saw each other, university has been kicking all of your asses, and you didn’t realize how much you needed this until now.

“(name), babe, how are you? you don’t know how much we missed you,” karina squeals, letting go of yeji just to throw her arms around you in a near-death hug. you laugh, breath knocked out of you for a second before hugging her back. 

“i missed you, too,” you manage, and then yeji is right there, pulling you into her own hug, softer but just as tight. “and you don’t know what i have to tell you.”

“jaemin?” they ask in unison, already cocking their brows up.

“how did you know?”

yeji nodded her head towards the glass storefront behind you. “we can literally see you from outside.”

“he walked you here, didn’t he?” karina snorts and you don’t even deny it. that’s enough to send both of them into giggles as they hook their arms through yours, dragging you further into the mall.

the next hour follows it’s rhythm. gossip, teasing, overlapping conversations, with you telling them about jaemin and the date earlier, how attentive he is without being overbearing. sometimes you catch yourself thinking you don’t deserve someone like that. someone so patient and sweet, but karina shuts that down immediately, while yeji nods along, reminding you that the bare minimum just feels extraordinary after what you’ve been through.

what you don’t tell them… is everything else. you don’t mention yunho, not a single word leaves your mouth. it sits somewhere in the back of your mind, tucked away like it doesn’t even exist. they deserve to know, you know they do, but you don’t even know where to start, or how they’d react. and… you’re not ready for that, to lose them, so you stay quiet. maybe sometimes silence is the solution.

you move from store to store, bags slowly piling up in your hands. makeup is a priority, you’re running low, and soon enough, you’re standing in front of rows of lipsticks, testing shades against your skin. just for a second in your peripheral vision, you catch a tall figure, standing a few meters away. you turn your head, and nothing. you blink, frowning slightly. that’s… weird. you could’ve sworn someone was there.

“(name), come here, we found the new face masks,” yeji pops up out of nowhere, grabbing your arm and pulling you along before you can think about it too much. “they’re not even that expensive like everyone says.”

letting yourself be dragged away as the rest of the day passes in a blur of chatter and shopping bags. trying on clothes and spending money like you were the granddaughter of a very wealthy ceo. maybe in a past life you were rich, because right now, money seems to disappear the second it touches your hands. 

by the time you finally sit down for coffee, you take a slow sip of your ice-cold drink, letting the sweetness settle on your tongue as you listen to karina and yeji talk. your social battery was starting to fade, and you were also running out of things to gossip about, content on just listening instead of talking.

for a moment, everything is fine as it should be, until you get that feeling again, like someone’s watching. you glance up, eyes scanning the space around you, but everything looks normal. people talking, walking, laughing, nothing out of place…. you shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening around your cup. probably your brain is messing up with you after the tiring day you had.

the day started on like that — him following, and you being completely unaware.

he saw you earlier and was there during the whole date. he doesn’t hate jaemin even if jealousy spikes, but he quickly calms himself down. the younger man is just a temporary placeholder, a distraction you picked up because you didn’t know what else to do with the space yunho left behind. his tongue presses briefly against the inside of his cheek, a habit surfacing whenever irritation starts to settle in. he already knows what to order; he’s been here before… with you. at this restaurant, same table across the room, known for its delicate pasta and overly sweet desserts you always claimed you wouldn’t finish.

it’s wrong, not because you’re laughing and enjoying yourself, but because it’s not with him. 

he watches the way jaemin leans in when he talks, how quickly he smiles, casually reaching for your plate, how comfortable he acts like he’s already earned a place he doesn’t deserve. jaemin doesn’t notice the smaller things like the shift in your posture, the way your fingers tighten around your fork when you’re thinking too much, the way your eyes drift when your mind starts wandering. he sees what’s in front of him, nothing more.

yunho sees everything.

he doesn’t need to chase you. he never will. you come back on your own. anger, frustration, curiosity, it doesn’t matter what drives you, it always leads back to him. because no one else will ever know how to handle you the way he does. he doesn’t want a version of you that’s easy. he wants the one who pushes and bites back to keep the spark alive.

you think you hate him, he can see it in your eyes. hatred means you still care; you react because you are affected. indifference would be a problem. but you’re not indifferent, just confused, pretending not to see what’s already there. he missed you. not just your voice, your presence, or your body. he missed this, the way you draw him in without even trying, like a moth to a flame.

he could have walked up to you right now. say your name to strike up a conversation as your professor. what a coincidence, right? you and he in the same place, at the same time, ordering the same food. your expression would drastically change; he knows exactly what it would look like. he’s imagined it enough times, but he doesn’t move.

he doesn’t rush things anymore, learning that the hard way. you need to feel like you have space and the freedom to choose. so he waits, and that’s fine, yunho understands. after all, you’re already his… you just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.

it was getting late, and when you finally said goodbye to your friends, he’s already on the move. you don’t seem to notice how he chooses the same subway train, standing where the reflection in the window does the work for him, watching you through the blur of the passing lights and shadows.

you’re on your phone for a while, and by the movement of your fingers, you are scrolling through instagram or tiktok. then you are staring ahead, you always get like this when your energy runs out. he knows the exact moment your thoughts start drifting and when exhaustion takes over.

someone dares to look at you for too long. yunho burns holes with bloodshot eyes as the stranger looks away. the train slows at your stop, and you step out. he follows by matching your speed, always out of sight. footsteps always a few seconds behind, stops when you stop. he’s walked this path more times than you’d ever guess. yunho’s gaze moves over everything on the street: the corners, people walking and the cars passing by, the distance between you and anything that could get too close.

you reach your building and pause for a second, opening your purse for your keys. he’s already stopped, waiting for you to step inside. the door closes behind you, as he stays where he is. his eyes lift, scanning the building, counting without thinking how long it would take to reach your floor… it should be one minute and twenty-three seconds.

he waits a little longer, enough to see the second light flicker in your bedroom. it’s the same every night with him walking you back home. what if you hadn’t come back alone? what if some creep had followed you? that wouldn’t have ended well, not for them.

his shoulders finally relax as he turns away. to anyone else, that would be the end of it. just a random man on the street… even if his home is in the opposite direction, thirty-five minutes away. hands sliding into his pockets, the quiet jingle of metal breaks the silence with each step. a small cluster of keys, shifting against each other, and one tucked among them does not belong to him. his thumb brushes over it absentmindedly; it has always been there.

yunho still has a key to your place. sometimes he visits when you’re not there, and he always knows when that is. why does he do it? even the divine beings don’t seem interested in answering that, and they don’t want to interfere either. what is he doing in your apartment? nothing, he goes there when he wants to rest. he doesn’t move things around or leave signs. he just sits on your couch and enjoys the atmosphere you created.

your bedroom door stays open, so he doesn’t need to enter to know if anything has changed. he’s like a ghost, maybe a poltergeist, one that doesn't haunt by moving objects but stealing them instead. 

he opens drawers sometimes. the most familiar one is always the same — the drawer with your underwear. never takes anything new or expensive, always the ones at the bottom. old pairs, the pieces you don’t think about anymore, and you wouldn’t even notice are missing.

it’s proximity, a way for him to be close to you, or for you to be close to him. 

in the living room, there’s a plush toy you never threw away. he gave it to you when you celebrated your six-month anniversary. it still sits in its place, untouched and harmless-looking. except it isn’t. inside it, carefully hidden where no one would think to look, is a small camera. he watches from time to time, when he needs to. nothing invasive, just enough for him to see you when you’re home. someone has to make sure you get home safe, even if you don’t know it, and if it has to be him, then so be it. 

your father had a lot of friends, and it just so happened that your family was invited to mr. kim’s 50th birthday, an anniversary celebrated in a rather grand and luxurious way. honestly, it felt more like a wedding than a birthday… but either way, it was still an occasion for drinking. people of notoriety greeted each other left and right, laughter and chatter filling the air, until the man of the hour finally made his entrance, the one who had every right to celebrate until the very last drop and bite were gone.

“if this isn’t my one and only goddaughter?” it should probably be mentioned that this kind and ridiculously rich man was your godfather. no blood relation, but he had always been like an uncle to you. the affluent one  who spoiled you endlessly as a child, giving you everything you wanted, because clearly your parents failed to treat you like the princess you deserved to be.

“happy birthday, uncle minseok!” you said, stepping forward to hug him, genuinely happy to see him. the gifts were still left by the entrance, but you always had your own little privileges. “this is for you, i hope you like it… even if you are getting old.”

inside the small wrapped bag was a simple package of marshmallows, as your mother immediately noticed, lightly tapping your shoulder. “(name), this is inappropriate.”

“calm down,” minseok laughed warmly, taking the bag from your hands without a second thought. “she knows exactly what to give someone.” he glanced at you with a grin, because this candy has become very significant during the years, something small but from the heart. “thank you, my dear. you’ll get the second piece of cake.”

the evening continued with drinks being passed around, conversations flowing about business, and whatever gossip caught your ear. at some point, your godfather rested a hand on your shoulder, “come, there’s someone i want you to meet,” he said casually, guiding you through the crowd. “a very dear friend of mine, and an excellent photographer. you might learn a thing or two.”

you didn’t think much of it at first, nodding as you followed along, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, your drink still in hand. this would be just another introduction for you to smile at a stranger. this would hopefully be someone you could form a connection with to help you in the future when you do decide to pursue a career, but just like that, everything in your body turned upside down. your entire world tilted and your pulse quickened, because of course it had to be him.

dressed like absolute sin in a suit that made it painfully obvious he knew exactly what he was doing. professional and put together… but unlike on campus, where he toned it down by being casual and relatable to young people your age, here amongst people closer to his age and high calibre, he wasn’t holding back. the clothes fit him perfectly, outlining his frame in a way that makes you force yourself not to react — masking your expression into something neutral that doesn't scream what the hell are you doing here.

“yunho,” minseok called out, catching his attention. “ah, perfect timing, indeed. i want you to meet someone.”

yunho turned, and for a split second, his eyes met yours. there it was, that familiar recognition, gone just as quickly as it appeared. his own expression of shock smoothed out instantly, slipping into that same composed mask you had grown to despise.

“this is my goddaughter, (name),” minseok continued proudly, squeezing your shoulders by the exposed skin your dress created. “she’s studying photography as well.”

you swallowed and played along, like you were meeting him for the very first time. as if you didn’t know the way his hands felt, or how his voice sounded when it wasn’t calm and controlled, the way he used to look at you when no one else was around… as if you hadn’t let him take your virginity. 

“it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said, offering your hand with a polite smile that stung like acid to hold. his gaze lingered for just a moment too long before he took it. warm and bigger than yours, soft too, just like it always has been, perfectly made to fit.

“the pleasure is all mine, miss (name),” yunho replied, smiling at you, and god, you hate how natural he makes it sound, like you’re nothing more than a stranger he’s just been introduced to. but of course, he doesn’t stop there. the pad of his thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles before he lets go.

it wasn’t awkward, more like… unsettling in a way that made your skin itch. it wasn’t just that you saw him every week at the university, no, now he was here too, at an event where you were supposed to have fun, not stand there thinking of at least five different ways to get away with his murder. your godfather, completely unaware of the tension, patted your shoulder before turning to yunho. “i’ll leave her in your care, and (name), you might want to take some photos now that it’s still not too crowded. have fun, kiddos.”

and just like that, minseok walked away, leaving you alone with the man you hated the most.

your blood started boiling like molten lava almost instantly. the fake smile dropped the second his back disappeared into the crowd, your nails digging into your palms as you inhaled slowly through your nose and you stared at yunho with pure and undisguised hatred.

"you know it's not very polite to stare." he was fixing something on the camera, or looking at photos, you didn't know, but you knew one thing, and that was that you hated him. “so, how is your project going? did you fix what i told you to?” 

you stiffen for a split second, your smile tightening as you look at him, because of course he would say that here, of all places, since he just couldn’t resist torturing outside campus.

“i wasn’t aware this was a consultation,” you reply sweetly, but your tone carries that hostile warning of a bark that tells him you are about to bite like an angry dog.

“old habits,” he hummed softly, deleting a few blurred pictures.

“yeah?” you shot back, one eyebrow rising, “then maybe you should work on dropping a few of them.”

“that explains a lot.” the way he calmly answers makes you want to punch him.

“explains what exactly? you enjoying your little performance? you’re very convincing, i’ll give you that.”

“i don’t know what you mean,” he says lightly, though the way he looks at you says the exact opposite. liar. something about the way you’re talking back instead of ignoring him, clearly tells him one thing — you haven’t moved on completely.

“you still get worked up so easily,” murmuring almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

“you still talk too much,” you snapped, and he took a step closer, enough to close some of the distance, his presence more noticeable and intimidating, and you sometimes forget how tall he actually is.

a small smile tugged at his lips because, truth be told, he was enjoying this far too much. his eyes were scanning your face, studying every reaction of the grimace you tried so hard to hide. you scoffed, crossing your arms, tapping your freshly done nails against your skin, irritation written all over, and for a moment neither of you spoke. the noise of the party faded into the background as the tension stretched like silk almost pulled to the point of tearing between you.

then yunho exhaled softly, removing the camera strap from his head, he closed the lens cap and put it back in the small bag, leaving it on the desk he evidently used for work here.

“what about we take a walk?” yunho suddenly suggests, tone light, sounding harmless and innocent. “talk a few things out. it seems like you have a lot to say.”

you should have said no. you should’ve walked straight back to your parents while ignoring him like you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to do, but somehow… you didn’t. maybe it was the tone of his voice, coaxing you with the way he said it like a suggestion, not a command, even though it somehow felt like one. or maybe it was just him, knowing exactly what to say, with just the right intonation for invitation.

“fine,” you muttered, big mistake.

he guided you through the venue, away from the main crowd and toward a quieter part of the hotel where the noise began to dull and the lights softened because fewer people meant fewer distractions. now it’s just you and him, the way he’s been craving and aching for.

then he stopped.

reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. you frowned slightly as he pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips before lighting it and exhaling slowly, white smoke curling between the two of you before dissipating into the air. 

“you’re smoking again?” 

“you’re staring again.”

“i’m judging,” you correct. “i thought you quit.”

“i did,” he agrees, “for you.”

then he takes another drag, eyes never leaving yours, but you know you were the main reason, if not the only one, for him to quit. you hated the smell and the taste that transferred once you shared a kiss. or two. or dozen… neither of you ever bothered to count.

“stress does things, work, life… you find ways to relieve the tension,” he continues after a moment, carefully choosing every word to get a reaction out of you. he shares just enough, mentioning that the workload and the pressure made him go back to this bad habit, skimming over the real reason without ever actually saying it — the break up. of course, he wouldn’t admit that to you. he never gives you the full truth, only carefully selected pieces. 

and as he speaks, you find yourself checking him out. you feel steel heavy shame that you are, but you can’t help it. he looks… good. no, that’s an understatement. dressed like he stepped out of some magazine, a black coat draped over his broad shoulders, a clean white button-up tucked neatly under a fitted black vest, finished off with a loosely worn black satin tie. as much as you want to deny it, to lie to yourself, roll your eyes… you can’t. when it comes to jeong yunho, all bets are off, because he’s so fucking hot.

yunho stubs out the cigarette, pressing it into the ashtray beside him. you’re both sitting on the edge of a small staircase, tucked away from most of the guests, the noise of the party distant like background static.

then, without much thought, he shrugs off his coat and throws it over his shoulder. the movement is simple, but it draws your attention to his rolled sleeves, exposing his slim but defined forearms, his veins faintly visible under the skin. his cords of muscle hold subtle tension that make it really goddamn difficult not to look. it gives him this quiet intensity, composed on the surface but never fully restrained underneath. a wildfire raging beneath a perfectly composed surface.

you really try to look away, only to realize something else, that you didn’t bring a jacket. you’re wearing a short black dress, feminine shoulders bare, the evening air cooler than you expected. it hadn’t mattered before since you won’t stay outside the venue all night, and yet before you can even think about it properly, warmth settles around you. 

snapping out of your thoughts, your gaze shifts downward to see his coat now draped around your shoulders. when you look up, yunho is already adjusting his sleeves again, completely unfazed, like the gesture means nothing at all. 

“so,” he says casually, sitting down beside you on the staircase, spreading his legs slightly as he leans back on one hand, the other idly flipping his metal lighter open and closed, “graduating soon, right? any plans career-wise?”

it catches you off guard. you almost scoff, because wasn’t he the one who suggested this, the one who said you had a lot to say. the truth is, you don’t, at least not to him. now he’s the one guiding the conversation somewhere… normal. like so normal that you’re not sitting next to your ex, who is actively messing with your head.

“i’m planning to try abroad.”

“where?”

“i’m not going to tell you,” you glance at him, narrowing your eyes slightly. “don’t want you suddenly becoming my coworker.”

that earns a chuckle from him. “you really think i’d follow you that far?”

you don’t answer, because you’re not entirely sure he wouldn’t. he makes it very clear that he is not talking about your career. the silence settles again, but it doesn’t feel empty. it feels intentional, as if he’s waiting for the exact right moment to put the puzzle piece into place.

you shift slightly on the step, exhaling through your nose, trying to ignore how aware you are of him sitting so close beside you. the party noise is distant now, blurred into nothing. now it’s just the two of you, tucked away in a space that suddenly feels too small… then he speaks again.

“are you seeing someone right now?”

your eyes flick to him immediately, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a proper answer. “none of your business.”

no reaction at first, just the soft click of his lighter opening again. the small flame appears, disappears, and flickers back to life as he plays with it absentmindedly. it’s almost hypnotic, the rhythm of it: small flame, bigger flame, gone again. he’s buying time, or making you sit in discomfort a little longer than necessary. you stare at it longer than you should, trying to steady yourself. it’s stupid, but it gives your eyes somewhere else to go and your mind something else to focus on.

he exhales quietly, then the lighter closes with a soft snap, and he looks at you.

“jaemin, right?” he says like he’s commenting on the weather. “he seems like a nice guy, but doesn’t seem like your type.”

everything in you stops, freezes like you’ve just touched a block of ice. your entire body goes still for half a second too long andyour expression betrays you before you can even think to control it. it’s shock at first, then disbelief, because you never told him a name, or anything of the sort. never even showed signs of you being involved with someone else.

your mind starts racing immediately — how does he know that? how long has he known? what else does he know?

only a few people know you’ve been seeing jaemin, and yes, you do post stories with him just like you do with the other people you trust, people who wouldn’t… your fingers tighten unconsciously around the fabric of his coat still resting on your shoulders.

“how do you know that?” your voice comes out lower than you intended. yunho tilts his head slightly, observing a reaction he already predicted, since just confirmed something he was quietly testing. a faint smirk pulls at his lips, he shrugs, leaning back on one hand as his gaze stays fixed on you.

“you’re the campus's new hotshot couple,” lies, obvious lies. you know it, he knows it, but the confidence in his voice makes it sound real. rumors, gossip, students talking, maybe someone exaggerating something they saw, but nothing that should have him perfectly informed with a name.

you don’t even realize your grip has tightened until the fabric of his coat shifts slightly under your fingers.

“relax, i’m not interfering.” but his tone says otherwise, “you can date whoever you want.”

you can't because you are mine.

yunho doesn’t move away while talking; he closes the distance slowly instead, testing exactly how far you’ll let him go before you stop him. knee brushing yours, nudging you teasingly, he doesn’t break eye contact, and doesn’t give you space to believe or question anything. because the way he says it doesn’t sound like permission, it sounds like ownership he’s pretending not to enforce.

“you lost the right to care about who i see a long time ago.” 

oh? 

amused by how you’re trying so hard to stand your ground, trembling just beneath the surface. it’s beautiful like that, so unfiltered and honest. aren’t you the prettiest little angel when you’re angry? when you’re fighting him, resisting him, convincing yourself you’ve moved on. it’s almost impressive, and adorable. your will is always too big for your own good, too loud to stay buried, always insisting things should go your way, even when reality bends differently once he is in the picture.

he’s memorizing it all over again with the way your breath changes when he gets too close, the way you refuse to look away even when it would be easier. your eyes are the most dangerous part of you, he decides. they’re full of everything at once — malice, frustration, sadness you pretend isn’t there, excitement you refuse to acknowledge. a fire that burns brighter than the weak flicker of the lighter between his fingers earlier. a fire that could bring him to his knees if he let it.

but he won’t, he knows how to protect himself.

he knows you better than anyone else ever has. better than those two annoying best friends of yours, than jeongin, better than jaemin, even your parents. better than the version of yourself you try to present to the world. 

yunho doesn’t need to chase because he knows your anger will bring you to him. he doesn’t need to beg, either. not when pulling the right strings of your nervous system is far more satisfying, watching you unravel and logic slipping away piece by piece until all that’s left is emotion, exactly how he wants you. he doesn’t need you rational, he needs you emotional. to destabilize you until you’re reacting instead of analyzing, feeling instead of understanding, until you’re his again in everything but name.

your thoughts slow, your focus breaks, you start reacting instead of thinking… just like he planned.

it’s sudden when it happens, you grab his collar, and before he can even fully process it, you pull him in and kiss him. not what people would call romantic, it’s out of pure spite and the need to shut him up. it’s messy, all teeth and frustration and months of things left unsaid. it’s the words i hate you pressed into his mouth like a punishment. 

yunho doesn’t take control immediately. he lets you bite his lip and put all that frustration finally into something tangible, lets you pretend this is just about physically shutting him up. yunho lets you have your moment of control, an illusion of victory, because he can feel you’re not over him… should the fact that he isn’t over you either be good or bad news?

only then does he finally respond, when your breath catches in that familiar way, something in him snaps as he kisses you back. the taste is noticeably bitter, ashy, and slightly stale. a trace of smoke still clings to him, dry against your tongue with that faint chemical edge, following the chemical romance between you that has no clear answer or reaction to this day, only that it is intense.

his lips part slightly against yours, the movement slow, testing. he deepens the kiss, blurring the line between hesitation and intent, one hand sliding up to your neck, fingers resting there, guiding rather than forcing. he pulls you closer, and the way your breath stutters in the gorgeous column of your throat, the way your body reacts to his body without thinking, tells him everything he needs to know.

then, just as suddenly, he stops. not pulling away completely, neither of you really wants to break it, but he’s the one who finally pulls back first. you’re left staring at each other, chests inviting air in and out in hurried paces to catch your breaths.

“you look at me like you hate me…” and doesn’t seem like you want to stop, though. “but you always looked at me like that.”

there’s something in his expression, satisfaction, like your reaction alone is enough. your breathing is uneven, lips slightly parted, and you hate how aware you are of him again: how close he is and how familiar it feels. your lipstick is slightly smudged, some of it transferred onto him, and the sight alone makes something twist in your stomach.

because you want more, but you don’t want to want him.

this is wrong on so many levels, kissing your ex out of nowhere, yet your body remembers him far too well, as it responds far too much. it’s frustrating, confusing, and addicting in a way you wish it wasn’t. what are you even supposed to do now?

“this isn’t a good place…” he says after a moment, glancing briefly toward the direction of the party before looking back at you. “…unless you want an audience.”

and suddenly it feels like the decision is yours, except it isn’t. because the way he looks at you says he already knows what you’ll choose.

by the time you are fully recovered his hand is already around yours, fingers lacing, as his grip doesn’t loosen, not once, he already knows you won’t pull away. he starts walking and you’re just following along without questioning it.

away from the crowd, into the quieter parts of the hotel, the lobby is nearly empty, the noise fading behind you as he moves straight for the elevators. he presses the button, and as if perfectly timed, the doors slide open to an empty cabin.

you step inside, and the moment the doors close behind you, the space feels smaller and tighter. mirrors line the walls, reflecting everything from every angle. no matter where you look, it’s him first and only then, you.

yunho and mirrors are a dangerous combination, because he doesn’t just want to feel you, he wants to watch you feel him and memorise the way you submit to his touch each and every time he manages to catch you. standing behind you, his taller frame hovering close, his chest warm against your back even if he doesn’t fully press himself in. still, if you lean back even slightly, he knows he has you.

his lips brush your shoulder, not quite a kiss, more like a promise of one. he makes you aware of everything — your breathing, the expression on your pretty face, how close you really are to him. one hand slides low, brushing your thigh right where the hem of your dress ends, while the other rises to your face. his soft fingers tilt your chin upward. he doesn’t need to do much to make you go insane; his voice does most of the work, not his body.

“all that attitude, and look at you now,” murmuring right next to your ear. the hand resting on your thigh doesn’t move further, and somehow you react more to what almost happens than to what actually does. as if hypnotized, trying to hold onto some sense of control, but it’s slipping fast, because your eyes betray you again. “is that really how someone looks when they want me gone?”

he doesn’t think of himself as a freak about it. he just likes watching, prefers you vulnerable like this. his eyes never leave your reflection, taking in the way your lips part, your lashes flutter, the way you try to close your eyes against how overwhelming it feels.

“don’t close your eyes, doll.” his voice is low, slightly rougher, his fingers tightening just a little on your jaw. you forgot how much you loved being called that, and how much it didn't help your attempts at resistance. “i want you to see what i’m doing to you.”

the hand on your leg slips beneath your dress until it finds the soft fabric of your panties, and you’re already so wet. his fingers press against you through the material, enough to make your breath hitch while moving in a slow and controlled rhythm as you squirm in result. your back arches finally pressing into him, and he exhales softly against your ear, completely obsessed with the sight of you falling apart in front of him.

“y-yun–” his name halfway leaves your lips in a soft whine, breaking into something breathier when he moves just right. he loves the way you say his name like it belongs in your mouth, and believe it or not, it’s already tattooed on your skin with invisible ink.

“keep looking.” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, guiding your attention back to the mirror. your thighs tremble, and your hands clutch at his forearm. the way your body reacts instantly, the way he has literal heart eyes when you make that sound again, his dick pulsating at the sight as he leans down slightly, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “see how pretty you look like this?”

you move without thinking, pressing back against him, your legs drawing closer together as if it might help, when his name slips from your lips again, your eyes glossy, barely staying open like he told you to, he smiles faintly against your skin. 

“good girl.” but being good doesn’t mean you get everything. if anything, it means the opposite, because he’s making you want it first. you feel it before you can think about it. he could push you further, make you admit things, but he knows you won’t, not yet.

a soft ding breaks through the moment. his gaze flicks up toward the numbers, 10th floor. 

the doors are about to open, the risk of someone being there and catching you… and just like that, he stops. he withdraws, leaving you aching, breath uneven, your body still caught in the aftermath of something unfinished. the doors slide open, and thankfully, no one’s there. the hallway is empty; most guests are still downstairs celebrating, others are already asleep. not that he would care much… or maybe he would. yunho has never liked sharing or the idea of anyone else seeing what he considers his.

he reaches toward you again, and for a second you think… but no. his hand slips into the coat you’re still wearing, pulling out the key card from the inner pocket.

“come on, angel… we don’t have all night.” all night. you don’t even know what time it is. your purse is still downstairs, abandoned at the table with your parents, your phone out of reach, “need help walking?” 

he asks, and that more than anything, pulls you back to reality. because when you glance at the mirror again, you finally see yourself properly. flushed and out of breath. your dress is slightly ridden up, your lips parted, your entire body still buzzing with heat that hasn’t gone anywhere. fuck. you’re left standing there, completely worked up, and he’s the only one who can do anything about it.

you know this is wrong, but your body isn’t listening. the empty hallway was your chance to leave, yet your feet never moved. you should have walked away, right then and there… so why didn’t you? zoning out and staring into the void of nothingness, thinking how no one can even compare and you hate that it’s still him who makes you lose your sanity. with yunho, it was never just attraction and maybe that’s the problem. you hate him. you hate this. you hate that you don’t hate it enough.

telling yourself you still have a choice, only that you don’t. because somehow, without realizing it, you’re already following him to his room. the door closes behind you with a quiet click that feels louder than it should, and suddenly you don’t move.

you don’t sit. you just stand there, near the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting with the ends of the sleeves, pulling the fabric over your hands as if it might calm you somehow. your breathing still hasn’t settled, your body is still carrying everything from moments ago.

he moves further into the room as if you being here is expected and inevitable. his hand reaches up to his collar, his eyes don’t leave you, though, not once. fingers hooking under the knot of his tie, loosening it slowly, sliding it from around his neck, the fabric slipping through his fingers before he lets it hang loosely in his hand. he stands there too, looking at your posture, and the way you haven’t dared to sit or do anything at all.

his lips twitch slightly when your fingers pause for half a second, then continue. you don’t dare to talk, you don’t trust your voice right now. he takes a step closer, then another, slowly closing the space between you until it feels suffocating again, and you’re aware of him in the same way you were in the elevator.

“take a seat,” he says softly, “you don’t have to stand there like that,” and you obey. 

you sit right at the edge of the bed, back straight, still clutching the sleeves, as yunho watches you for a moment longer. then, without breaking eye contact, he lowers himself not onto the bed, but down, kneeling in front of you.

it shouldn’t feel the way it does, as if he were praying to his goddess for a blessing of a lifetime. it should be unsettling, he chose this position for a reason; he wants to be right here, close enough to see every reaction you try to hide. his hands rest lightly against your legs at first, thumbs caressing the flesh as you tense, but don’t pull away. 

“do you know…” fingers sliding slightly higher, tracing and craving, then there’s a pause. “how hard it was not to think about you?” not crossing any line too fast, he continued, eyes fixed on your face, “to see you every week, and pretend we are just strangers?”

his razor sharp gaze softens for what you can barely count a millisecond, before it shifts back to its sinister depths, something that looks a little too close to obsession.

“should i? or are you going to pretend you don’t want this?”

beneath the dress, fingers slipping under the fabric as he hooks into your waistband and starts to pull it down. you are leaning in just slightly, giving him the access he’s already taken. that’s all the permission he needs. the delicate lace follows, sliding down until it pools at your feet, as you gently kick them fully aside with the help of your heels.

"last chance to leave, angel... say or do something if you want me to stop.”

holding himself back, and it’s taking more effort than he wants to admit. his gaze drags over you, taking in every detail like he’s been starved of it.

you look the same. no, you like you never left him at all.

his jaw tightens faintly because god, he missed you. no matter how much time passed or how many distractions he surrounded himself with, nothing and no one helped. they didn’t look right or feel right, they simply weren’t you.

you changed, of course you did. your hair, your style, the perfume, even the way you carry yourself now, like you’ve grown into something that bites back.

but he sees through it: you are just a little sheep wearing the wolf’s head.

and he is the wolf wearing a sheep’s clothing.

something restless stirring beneath his skin, the way it creeps in, settles deep, refuses to leave. he’s been stuck on a feeling, just can't stop, once ain't enough.

his thumb presses just a little firmer, grounding himself, because he might actually lose that thin thread of control he’s still pretending to have.

“i hate you.” you say but your legs part for him. his head tilts at that, tongue pressing into his cheek, amused, your defiance only entertains him more. don’t mind him then, as he eases you back, gaze heavy on you, his hands slide firmly to your thighs, guiding you then lifting your legs to settle over his shoulders. 

he looks at you like he’s about to show you what heaven feels like when its most precious and divine being finally falls from grace.

yunho loves teasing you with his words almost as much as he loves tasting you. his tongue dives in, relentless at first, exploring every twitching nerve that seems to remember him all to well, then deeper, faster and harder. he pushes in and out like he’s trying to swallow you whole, sliding in and out with perfect rhythm.

“babydoll, you’re so sweet,” he groans, licking and sucking, eyes rolling back when he finally tastes you. you're addicting. he laps up your juices, swirling his tongue on your clit. “did you save all this for me?”

his hands grip your thighs, holding you open, pressing you closer as he devours you like a meal he can’t get enough of. every moan, quiet or loud, drives him further to the sinful gates of temptation. he buries his face in you, lips and tongue hungry, mouth wet, making sure every inch of you is tasted.

“look at you, trembling for me…” he whispers, nibbling at your inner thigh between laps of your cunt. he’s relentless with the words, praising every tiny quiver, “that’s it, you’re such a good girl, letting me do this.”

god, your pussy’s perfect. can’t believe this is all his to play with after a whole year of craving you. the way he grins while teasing you, making you feel like you’re both the most desirable and most obedient thing in the world. 

“you like it when i talk to you like this, hm? gonna make you scream my name before i even touch you properly,” he teases, tongue pushing deeper, fingers brushing where you couldn't even reach. every compliment and filthy line makes your body shake more, your pussy grip tighter around nothing, dripping just from his mouth and words.

he mixes praise and filth, so you’re caught between feeling worshiped and utterly used. the combination makes you desperate and completely under his control. by the time he lifts his head, cheeks wet, lips shiny with your slick, because he knows exactly what he’s done to you — and he isn’t done yet.

“mmh… yunho–” your back arches, hips rising to meet him despite yourself. you’re dripping, trembling, completely lost to the sloppy sounds of his tongue. he groans, deep in his throat, enjoying the taste of you. he doesn’t rush when he devours and dominates your senses. “fuck, you are so… hahh–”

your legs are clamping around his head as your hands tug his hair, gosh it’s still so soft to the touch. your chest heaving, voice hoarse from moaning, and yunho finally lifts his head, grinning at the mess he made glistening on his lips. wiping his mouth slowly, chuckling, because he’s left you begging without even doing too much.

“mmhm,” diving back in as his fingers brushing against your clit while his tongue plunges deeper. he just keeps going — tongue flicking, fingers circling, whispering filthy praises with every movement. “that’s it, that’s my good girl… come on, let it all out for me.”

your walls clench and your pussy gushes over his tongue, spurting uncontrollably as your legs tremble and your back arches off the surface. yunho groans, licking up every drop, smiling like the maniac he is, “god, you’re insane… look at you squirting for me.”

he doesn’t stop, still moving, coaxing out every last drop, praising you with every breath he takes. his thoughts are full of you, and soon enough, you will be full of him. “mine, you are only mine… keep coming for me, angel.”

you’ve never felt so ruined and so completely at his mercy.

“i should leave you like this,” he adds, quieter, more to himself than to you. the idea actually tempts him, letting you feel exactly how easy it is for him to get you like this. “send you back downstairs all pretty, like nothing happened…” a soft exhale followed, “...but you wouldn’t make it far.”

pulling back, but his fingers keep toying with your clit, and you’re already so sensitive from that alone. he talks dirty in that manic and possessive way of his, murmuring about how he’ll keep you in the dress and the heels, since you can’t spend the night with him… no matter how much he wants you to.

he eases your legs off his shoulders, standing up with a slow stretch, but before he can even undress, he steps back in between your shaky legs, looking down at you with that same secretive, almost warm smile. maybe it’s love, maybe it’s lust, if not both. his index finger and thumb catch your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him, especially when you were trying so hard not to. how cute.

“drop the act, dollface,” he growled, his fingers slide down, big palm spreading around your throat, squeezing to cut off that long-awaited breath you wanted to take, watching you closely, eyes fixed on your lips as they start to quiver with every subtle tightening of his grip. “or do i need to remind you who you belong to?”

one moment he’s choking you, the next, he’s already stripped from the waist down, preparing you to take him.

lying on your back on the bed, with him hovering above you, one long finger slides inside you, immediately feeling how tight and slick you are as he starts to move. he watches closely, eyes fixed on the way your face twists with undeniable pleasure, all while his own cock pulses hot against your leg. a second finger slips in beside the first, and you feel the stretch right away. your walls clenching around him, creaming over his knuckles as small, broken sounds leave your throat, half cough, half whine, still trying to catch the breath he stole from you.

“there it is… i was waiting for that.” and by that, he means you being ready to take him. his thumb drags over the tip of his throbbing cock, stroking himself a few slow times, and your gaze drops — was he always this big? you’re not even sure how you’re supposed to take it… how you managed before. he’s thick, lining up at your soaked entrance, pushing your walls to their limit before he’s even halfway in, your cunt already molding around his size.

missionary is always a gamble with him, because you never know which version you’re going to get: the gentle one, the mean one, the jealous one… there are options, but you’re never the one choosing. this time, he is a meanie. a creature of extreme sadism.

all you can do beneath him is squirm and cry, clinging helplessly to every inch of him he gives you, heavy as he presses in, hitting places your own fingers could never reach. he grunts softly, hips pulling back again because you’re still not full of him, not yet. he has to carve the shape of himself into your insides, and claim you properly, like he always will.

maybe you’re already close, just from the way he moves. shallow at first, his pelvis dragging sinfully against you, making your writhing body jolt upwards on the bed. he switches between soft and controlled thrusts to slow and grinding circles, anything to ease you and help your body relax, make you greedy enough to take him deeper.

“is that all you do, cry?” yunho hisses under his breath, lips brushing wet against your ear as your nails dig into his shoulders. his cock presses right against your most sensitive spot, pulling a loud moan from you, and you think it’s too deep already, when he is not even that deep. “babydoll, be a good girl for me and take every inch, yeah? no, don’t cry now… you can handle it, because you’re mine… my pretty girl.”

your eyes sting, tears slipping free, smudging your makeup a bit. it’s been so long since you had any sexual intercourse, a whole year. you didn’t even do anything more than a few careless kisses and make out sessions with jaemin, nothing that even comes close to tonight’s carnal ravaging.

you need yunho. not just inside you, you need him under your skin, running through your dna. you hate his guts, you do, but god, he fucks you so well you can feel him in your guts.

the tears fall, catching the light like silver, as if tiny diamonds slip down your cheeks as he stretches you open again.

his fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands against the mattress as he hisses filthy praises into your ear. your sensitive cunt takes every devastating thrust, each one pulling out those wet and sloppy sounds, the kind that make you want to scream again and again until your vocal cords tear apart and you lose your voice for days as a reminder of what yunho is doing to do you. what he will always do to you. the way his cock drives fully into you sends that overwhelming urge through your quivering body, threatening to make you come undone, you’re not even sure if you want to. it’s a sensation so intense, such painfully good pressure building with nowhere to go.

you’re so cockdrunk it’s insane. you always thought you were in control, always told yourself he wasn’t a good person, but the dick was too good to let go. he fits too perfectly, like he was made just for you.

“scream for me, doll,” he groans, that husky tone rolling off his tongue and straight through you, pulling a helpless whimper from your lips. his brown eyes flick over your face, taking in every desperate expression like he’s committing it to memory, because watching you fall apart is his favorite part. his pre-cum leaves a messy ring at the base of his cock, trailing down the inside of your thighs, and maybe if he weren’t so consumed by you, he’d comment on just how desperate you look.

“yu-yunho–!” his name tears from your throat as it echoes through the room. his hips snap into yours without mercy, hard enough to leave bruises. your back lifts off the bed, arching into the overwhelming rush flooding your body. you praise and beg for him, pushing him further into ecstasy as he presses you back down every time you move too much.

“you think anyone else could handle you like this?” yunho coos, his pace picking up, thrusts growing faster and faster, until your thighs start to numb. “think anyone could love you the way i do?”

“yunho, please… ahh–” you hear yourself, like you’re outside your own body and have lost control of even your own voice. all you can feel is your nails digging into his back, your body tightening around him as you suddenly break, soaking him, your release spilling over his cock. and still his eyes stay on you, he adores your face more than anything else. it’s almost as if your reactions to the pleasure only he can give you appeal more to him than the sex itself.

“you say you hate me, but i bet you were just mad at me, yeah?”

but you’re too stubborn to admit that, refusing to give him even that much satisfaction. you close your eyes, trying to reclaim some dominance over him, but he only chuckles, bringing his hips to a stop at the fading edge of his own release.

that’s what makes your eyes snap open, staring up at him. “why’d you–?”

“i asked you a question, angel,” he sneers. one hand drifts down to your clit, rubbing slow, agonizing circles that pull a helpless whine from your throat, your head tosses back.

“p-please, yu– i can’t, i–” but your legs stay wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, your heels pressing cold against the heat of his body.

his other hand moves, this time settling around your throat. at first, it’s loose, enough pressure to make you notice. then it tightens as he watches everything: from the way your lips part, to how your chest struggles to rise. completely focused on how dependent you become on him for air. forcing eye contact, watching you go from stubborn to needy, leaning in close to whisper instead of raising his voice. 

“tell me if it’s too much… go on.” with every small twitch or squirm, it only makes his grip tighten more, restricting your breathing while muttering praise after praise. what a fucking sadistic psychopath. “so pretty like this…can barely breathe and still taking me so well.”

pushing your limits on purpose, to remind you exactly who’s in control. he feels the way you start to struggle, your body begins to give, and only then does his grip loosen.

air rushes back into your lungs all at once, burning on the way in. your chest stutters, breaths coming out broken and uneven instead of steady. your vision blurs, tears slipping freely now, and you don’t even realize you’re shaking until he notices it first. his hand doesn’t leave your throat. it stays there, fingers still curved around it, no longer squeezing, just resting.

“there you go, babydoll,” his voice drops, softer now, but no less heavy. “breathe.”

but he’s watching you too closely for it to feel like kindness. his thumb drags slowly over the spot he pressed into, feeling the rapid flutter of your pulse beneath his touch. your lips part, pulling in air that still doesn’t feel like enough, as another broken sound slips out of you.

it does something to him. you like this, glassy-eyed and trembling, wants him to hold onto this exact version of you for as long as he can. then, without warning, he leans in. his lips press against yours. it’s not an apology, far from it. a kiss that lingers just long enough to steal the breath you just fought to get back, a quiet reminder of how easily he can take it and when he pulls away, there’s the faintest hint of a smile, because he’d do it again.

“shh, don’t cry… you know i take care of what’s mine.” still too dizzy to think about anything but breathing and kissing, your legs are thrown over his broad shoulders, his hands pushing them closer to your head to get the angle just right. he watches himself slide between your folds, then looks down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

you glance down to where your bodies meet, even if every instinct tells you to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go. every movement hits heavier, deeper; your body can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pressure anymore. he drags himself all the way out at a torturously slow pace, only to push back in just as cruelly.

"s-shit… don’t move,” he groans, thrusting into you, when he finally decides to snap his hips, his pelvis pressed against yours. his fingers find your sensitive clit again, rubbing it fast to get you to cum again, throwing his head back as he thrusts one last time, before shooting his load into your aching cunt. spurts of warm cum fill your insides while you wither beneath him, all hot and sweaty, not even processing the mess both of you made under the clean bedsheets.

his cock was pulsing so hard you could feel it bulging through your tummy, filling you to the brim as you milk him dry. his palm presses flat against your lower stomach, and he actually smirks when he feels and sees the faint movement beneath, occasionally shifting his hand lower or higher just to make you lose focus mid-thought.

“you fell that, doll?”

do you feel how deep my love runs for you?

yunho looks at you like he’s completely gone, someone who operates on obsession, trying to imprint himself into every part of you, leave something behind that no one else could ever do. he’s smug about it too, of course he is. he just won in life, like out of everything in the world, he got you. fuck, wishing he had his camera right now, just to capture this exact moment. you look unreal beneath him, divine even dressed in black, an angel dragged down just for him.

his voice softens, murmuring sweet nothings under his breath as he leans in, pressing slow kisses to your cheeks, your temple, the bridge of your nose. gentler now, calming you down after everything he just put you through. a quick peck lands on your lips, lingering just a little longer than it needs to.

finally, yunho pulls out, watching closely as a small trace of him drips from you. his fingers follow immediately, sinking to keep it all in. then he pulls you up, arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against his chest, lips pressing into your hair, breathing you in like he doesn’t get enough of you, even now.

the aftercare is minimal, because it has to be. he lets you rest for a few minutes, helps you steady yourself, maybe guides you to the bathroom, helps you fix your clothes and makeup, and put your panties back on, while he dresses himself again as if nothing happened. and only now, that you’re about to leave, does he decide to act sweet. 

“you good, need anything else?”

“i’ll manage, thank you very much, asshole.”

you smile through your teeth, already turning, only to wobble slightly in your heels. gee, wonder why, like you just didn't have some mindblowing sex. making your way out, you’re glowing, there’s no other word for it. a little wrecked, sure, a little unsteady, but shining brighter than the stars in the sky. 

he doesn’t close the door right away, waits until you step into the elevator, as the doors slide shut and you’re out of sight. only then does he finally close it, the click echoing a little too loud in the empty room. he leans back for a second, alone with himself, because yeah, he’s an asshole, he knows that.

but you’ll always come back to him, and he’ll always come back to you.

having big gaps between classes was something you enjoyed, but sometimes hated. just like you hate everything about him. from the smug smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth to how his fingers are inside your mouth, making you gag and be disgusted by the way he does such things like he owns you — he doesn’t.

he’s your ex, the one you’ve tried so hard to forget: the sound of his voice, the way he felt under your skin. now his lips are back on your neck, sucking, kissing, leaving marks you’ll have to cover the second you walk out of his office once he’s done fucking you on his desk. you feel his thumb press against your throat, taking his time, teasing you in ways you swore you would never let him do that again, claiming you like he never left.

trying to tell him, no but your body keeps telling him yes.

you should be disappointed in yourself, letting him pull you off track like this, letting him take control when you know better. yet, with every touch and mark sends heat racing through you, clouding your mind until you can barely remember why you hate him so much. is it because he wasn’t who you thought he was… or because you still feel something for him? hating him is easier than admitting you never stopped wanting him. 

you don’t want to care; you want to despise him for what he did and for who he is. but that’s slipping away when your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, eyes roll back when he slides inside of you, filling you completely, making you forget everything else. you want to resist, hold onto the anger, but you can’t. not when he’s deep inside, hitting all the spots that make you arch and gasp, his name falls from your lips even when you swore you’d never let it happen again. 

“y-yunho... faster!” you choke out, hands clawing at his back, desperate and needy, but of course, he doesn’t give in that easily. yunho only slows down, teasing you, lips curling into that infuriating grin against your skin. 

“angel, i told you to be quiet, didn’t i?” he murmurs, voice low and slightly mocking, “so impatient, as always. good things come when you obey… and wait.” 

you are tired of waiting and being toyed with, and if he’s going to take his sweet time, then you’ll make sure he regrets it. your nails dig into his shoulders, even through his shirt, hard enough to strain the fabric and leave marks far more lasting than the lipstick stain on that secret polaroid sitting on his nightstand. 

"stop being such a dick and fuck me already!" you hate him, you repeat it to yourself over and over, until his breath is hot against your neck and his hands are gripping your hips as if he’ll never let go.

and just like that, he snaps, relentless now, giving you exactly what you begged for.

his pace quickens, the plastic creaks underneath, each thrust pushing you closer to that edge, all you can think about is him, all you can feel is him. the hate melts away, replaced by a pleasure so overwhelming it almost hurts. you are so full, burning hot by how he uses your body as a canvas to paint you all white with no drops going to waste. purity and innocence, those words don’t exist for you anymore, as they are replaced with sin and punishment.

“that’s it, pretty. feels good, yeah?” he knows exactly how the two of you collide, like you’re at war with each other. it’s rough, as it drags your pride and self-respect straight through the dirt. the relationship is so damn dysfunctional, but yunho knows you better than anyone else. you don’t even realize how much he thrives on this, how easily you let him take control. he loves you like this: soft and bratty, vulnerable and entirely his. 

you hope, no, you pray, that the good thing he promised finally comes, because you can’t take much more of this. when it hits, it crashes through you at the same time as him, your cries muffled against his shoulder, your chest rising and falling as all that tension finally spills out. he will take care of you, he will always look out for you because you are his most adored and precious doll, his favorite thing to hold and ruin.

a few minutes later, after he’s helped clean you up with a towel from one of the cabinets he keeps just for these getaways. you zip your pants back up, still feeling the lingering warmth between your thighs. you just hope your panties are enough to keep things from showing through. shit… you should’ve worn the black jeans.

“i only came here to give you mine and jeongin’s project, not to get creampied.”

“baby, you know you don’t have to do anything,” he says, spinning lazily in his chair. one hand clicks the mouse as he scrolls through whatever just came into his email. “you’re my favorite student, you pass without lifting a finger. your friend, on the other hand… needs to learn how to use photoshop.”

“yeah, but…”

“but what?” he glances up at you from the computer, that same knowing look settling back in. “you missed me?”

ah, your eyes betray you again. you missed him, no matter how much your ego tries to argue otherwise. after what happened at the hotel two months ago… yeah, that was all it took for both of you to realize you can’t stay away from each other. and maybe you’ll regret it one day, but not now. you’ve already decided to keep it hidden from karina and yeji. as for jaemin… yeah, he’s nice. he’s always been, but that’s all he is now, nice. you made sure you stayed friends, nothing more, and nothing less.

so you leave yunho’s office, of course not before kissing him goodbye, not that it matters much when he’ll be at your place later anyway. “don’t forget we’re watching spiderman~” like you could forget, you know the entire plot by heart at this point.

you’re wearing a sweater that’s way too big for you, one you casually told your friends you found at a thrift store. sure, if that store was called yunho’s apartment. thankfully, no one suspects a thing, not even your two best friends, because if they did… it would be over, and you’re not ready to lose them, but the heart wants what it wants.

later, you meet jeongin at the campus café, sitting across from him like you didn’t just leave your professor’s office in a completely different state than you entered it.

“innie, thank you for ordering for me too.” you smile, taking a sip of your drink, looking… brighter than usual, too happy for someone with a four-hour gap between classes. 

“yeah, no problem,” he says, watching you for a second longer than usual. “also, are you… okay? i don’t know, you just seem different lately after things ended with jaemin.”

you blink, caught off guard. “huh, am i?” a small shrug follows. “i don’t know… i guess i just decided to focus on myself for a while, not on men.”

“well… whatever it is, it suits you,” he mutters, still a little unsure. “oh– by the way, what did professor jeong say about the project?”

“he said we’ve got max points secured,” you shrug lightly. “and that you’ve improved your photoshop skills.”

“really?” jeongin perks up, grinning. “well, don’t mind me if i skip next week then.”

the first part is true, the second isn’t. you can lie to everyone else, but not to yunho. it’s harmless. not everyone needs to know everything about you, not even the people closest to you. so here you are back with your toxic ex, because being stuck on a feeling means being stuck on him. if anyone found out, they’d probably kill him first… and then you.

he knows exactly what you risk every time you come back to him. this was never a temporary game, something that could end just because you decided it should. to him, it’s an inevitable cycle. he doesn’t see himself as someone you return to; in his mind, you never truly left in the first place.

he would give you everything without hesitation. tear the world apart for you, piece by piece, if that’s what it takes to keep you where he wants. but he would ruin you just as easily, because to him, being broken by his hands is still better than letting anyone else touch what he was already his.

yunho is a monster creeping in your heart. a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the kind of character no one expects to be the villain. he isn’t some bad habit; he is an addiction with no cure, letting him consume you, until there’s barely a line left between where you end and he begins. you chose to stay, considering no one plays the role better than you do. this version of yourself that looks put together, untouchable, and guarded… while slowly giving everything away to the one person who knows exactly how to take it.

you didn’t fall for a good man — you fell for the one who learned how to look like one. you keep calling it love, even when it’s nowhere close, because you can’t tell the difference anymore. and if this is what love is supposed to feel like… you don’t want to be saved from it.

© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.

thank you phoebe ( @tinyfixon ) for doing a beta read and being an amazing editor! i love you so much and i hope mingi is going to propose to you soon <3

You love your new apartment. At least, you love it in comparison to your last place, a nightmarish shoebox with horrific neighbours and peeling walls. But even your friends took care to fawn over your new digs while helping you move in, Wooyoung making sure that you understood how big of a moment this was for you. He even spied out the eye candy that lives just next door; he told you all about your new neighbour who smiled and waved awkwardly at him and San as they were hoisting your couch through the door. 

And he wasn't wrong– the man is beanstalk-tall and so fucking wide. A braver woman than you certainly would have hit on him by now, drawn in by the wide smile he gives you as he shoulders into the elevator behind you and exchanges good-natured, earnest pleasantries with you. You hope you answer his how's your week been with a smooth nonchalance that distracts him from the way you're smiling way too big to be passed off as anything near casual. He tells you silly stories about his job as a dance coach at the local studio and looks genuinely satisfied when he gets a laugh out of you. The pair of you comfortably settle into a place somewhere between 'just neighbours' and 'friends' lined with a flirtatious tension neither of you dares to bring up– and it works.

You even get to share some gentle mornings together, each of you out on your own balconies. You, with your cup of homemade iced latte and him rolling a joint on the too-tiny table he stuck out there for that sole purpose, his knees knocking against the underside of it nearly every time he shifts his legs. The first time you catch him, tongue halfway across the rolled paper, he has the wherewithal to at least look sheepish and he lets out a visible sigh of relief when you just laugh and take your own seat. You steal furtive glances over whatever book you brought out to watch him as he smokes, gradually sinking into his seat and you let yourself fantasize about him sneaking looks over at you in between tokes. It's fun to have a cute little puppy crush, you decide, even if it doesn't go anywhere, and Mingi's a great recipient. 

So of course he has to go and ruin it.

"When did you start smoking weed again?" Wooyoung wrinkles his nose as he pulls off his parka and lets you lock the door behind him. "Don't think I've seen you smoke since college. You’d better share, that's so-" 

You interrupt him with a frustrated groan. "I didn't Wooyoung- that's from next door," you stomp petulantly to your kitchen, leaving your friend to follow in your frustrated wake. "I didn't realize when he kept it to the balcony but whatever fucked up strain he smokes is seeping into the walls, I swear."

Wooyoung places the Chinese takeout he brought on the kitchen counter, shaking excess snow out of his hair. You hand him a plate and a pair of chopsticks and he lets out a faux-contemplative puff of air before he replies, "Well… he had to have like a flaw right? Inconsiderate stoner is annoying sure, but I bet I can whip him into shape." He grins wickedly and punctures his sentence by snapping his chopsticks at you. "Still hot, unfortunately. Saw him heading out on my way up and he manages to be enticing even in an extra-long puffer coat."

"Ugh, whatever," except it's not whatever because you know the coat Wooyoung's talking about and Mingi doeslook so adorable in it, especially because it's oversized and he pulls up the hood and smiles at you until his eyes disappear and nuzzles his face into the pulled up collar. "Whatever," you repeat, shaking your head like it'll shake out the image of Mingi all bundled up in his Winter get up. "It doesn't matter how cute he is-"

"Okay, so I said hot."

"It doesn't matter!" Maybe if you say it a couple dozen more times it'll come true. "Because there is nothing cute or hot about being an inconsiderate jackass. It's starting to get into my clothes, Wooyoung. I have a job where I need to maintain like, a modicum of professionalism. I can't show up smelling like weed."

"We're slipping into old man shakes fist at cloud territory here, princess," Wooyoung is gentle with you even in his teasing, knowing first hand how you can work yourself into a frenzy with little encouragement– or, on your worst days, no encouragement at all. "Like, you're not wrong, but let's reel it back before you commit full on arson on the building you're also living in."

The two of you have gradually migrated to the couch, letting episodes of a familiar sitcom drone on in the background. And having Wooyoung around is so lovely because no one else would let you whine like this, and before you know it the cups of hot and sour soup are empty and you're bitching and moaning about Mingi again. It doesn't help that it's nearing the time of night when he tends to spark up again, so you know the smell that had somewhat faded since this morning is about to come back with a dank vengeance. 

"I know it's lame or whatever to complain about someone lighting up in their own home," you mumble out around a bite of springroll, its crispiness doing wonders to settle you down. "I thought he was like a thoughtful guy though, you know? It's kinda disappointing. He really is just a man."

Wooyoung scoffs out a laugh, "Well, I could've told you that. I've definitely seen him scratch his balls in the elevator."

"Ew, stop, the illusion's already been shattered."

He only laughs as he grabs the two fortune cookies from the takeout bag and tosses one at you. He doesn't bother to apologize when you don't react quick enough to catch it, the crinkly wrapping paper hitting you square in the forehead. He's already munching away at his cookie, cheeks puffed out. "Mine says that beauty is often mistakenly valued above wisdom… so. A lie. Does yours say anything about fucking your sexy neighbour and stealing his weed?"

The air outside has settled at a bitter, bone-chilling cold. You've taken to wearing two pairs of socks most days in hope of conserving the heat as you trudge to the subway every morning. The scarf you knit last year that made you officially abandon your knitting needles has made a surprise reappearance in your daily rotation. And Mingi is still huffing away next door more days than not, stinking up your apartment like the worst Bath & Body Works candle imaginable. 

San suggested going to your landlord- and he nodded solemnly when you said absolutely not because you're no snitch. But you hate, hate, hate the way you still reek with the stuff even when you're blocks away, overpowering any perfume you own. You’ve also wasted a lot of your favourite perfumes.

You have to say something to Mingi. Directly. Direct confrontation. Oh god.

Your feet carried you to his door before you can reconsider. The door is normal, unassuming. Why wouldn't it be? It’s the same as yours, just six feet to the left. Did you expect it to look different? An evil, anxious bug in the back of your mind wonders if he's watching you just stare at his door through his peephole, wondering why his skittish neighbour is lurking outside his apartment. The visual is so harrowing that you finally commit to knocking before it can become a reality.

There's a moment of quiet– then, distantly, a crash, a cough and heavy footsteps that creep closer. And then he's opening the door, and there he is, tall but not quite imposing, eyebrows furrowed in confusion that only serves to make him even more endearing.

His expression brightens when he realizes it's you. You wonder, fleetingly, if he's doing this on purpose, because gosh, that smile nearly makes you forgive him right then and there. "Neighbour!" he chirps, like he really is excited to see you. Earnest, he’s really very earnest."This is new."

Right, you're crossing into untreated territory here and for a moment you feel a sense of embarrassment– but that fades quickly into indignation. He crossed that boundary first. His stink is in your home! "Yes, right, hi," terrible start. "Mingi, hi. Hi." Woof.

"…Hi?" If there is a god, he'd strike you with lightning and take you out with a swiftness.

"Hi, sorry," you shake your head at yourself like it'll physically snap you back to reality. "I hope you're not, like, busy or anything, I can totally come back later or tomorrow, even."

He's still smiling at you like that and he cocks his head at your words. "No, not busy. Just, y'know, winding down after work, yeah?" he says it like it's an inside joke. He settled into familiarity with you so quickly, you’ve allowed yourself to wonder before if that’s just what he’s like or if that’s what he’s like with you.

"Yeah," your hands busy themselves in the pocket of your oversized sweater- he brought it up himself, perfect, now you just have to commit. "Winding down, right- look, Mingi, I don't wanna be a shitty neighbour, really-"

"You're a great neighbour," he interrupts, not realizing he's super not helping.

"Oh! Oh, thanks, you've been… swell," swell?! "Except, there's just, it's really just this one thing, and I really wouldn't bring this up otherwise, and I'm not, like, judging or anything-"

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No! No, well not really it's just…" you're scrambling, that much is clear.

"Hey, I'm really sorry if I did something to upset you, I mean it, It’s just, I don't even know-"

"Mingi, you stink!"

Not great. He's staring at you in genuine shock, mouth in a little 'O' shape. You'd think he was actually frozen if it weren't for the shock of bright red that creeps up his ears. "Not like you stink," oh god, you've fucked this. Like really, actually fucked it. Royally. "Like, when you smoke. Inside. It stinks. It stinks up everything. It gets into my clothes. It gets into my hair, Mingi," you're whining now, a petulant child insisting she's right. But you are, of course, right, is the thing. "And I don't mind it, like, fundamentally and I meant it, I'm not judging you but god your shit's loud and I can't deal with it all the time, you know?" Your hands have come up to cover your eyes. Maybe when you take them down, Mingi will have disappeared and he'll have been a projection of your single, horny brain all these months.

And then Mingi starts giggling. Honest to god, giggling. "Oh, little neighbour," he coos at you and his hands, massive but purposely gentle, come up to grasp at your wrists and pull them away from your face. And he's still there. Obviously. "Shit," he sighs. "I'm sorry, little neighbour. I just– I run so cold, yeah? I'm real sensitive– like, when it's this nasty cold outside." You nod along and pretend not to notice that he hasn't let go of your wrists. His hands are warm. 

"I guess I'm a little nose blind to my own shit though, I really didn't think it'd be so bad," he chuckles at himself. "My friends joke about me reeking of the stuff but I thought they were just being assholes. Huh… guess I was the asshole the whole time, huh?"

You shake your head, almost on instinct. "No, really it's fine– I mean, I was getting mildly annoyed, sure," holy understatement. "But I wasn't about to rat you out or anything. Just... I don't know…" You're running out of gas now, turning sheepish and wrinkling your nose at yourself.

"Hey, hey," he lets go of your wrists and uses one big hand to ruffle at your hair like a cranky kitten. "You've every right to your annoyance, neighbour. I really am sorry. Listen, I'll uh, I'll start smoking like on the way to the grocery store and shit like that. Or I'll get a vape. Something, I don't know," he laughs out a breath and leans against the doorframe. "Really, I've been trying to be the perfect neighbour for you this whole time– turns out all I had to do to get you to finally knock is stink up the whole place, huh?"

You… you think that he might be flirting with you now. You can't be sure because you're still kind of reeling from your own faux pas. "The smell's not that bad," you concede. "I mean it's… a lot. I used to smoke kinda regularly, like, in college. It's just the sheer amount- I mean, my god, Mingi, you're a fucking chimney."

This time when he laughs, you let yourself laugh with him. "Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before," he's smiling that bright, sunshiney, power the city for generations smile again. "Okay-" he claps his hands and you startle at the noise, making him laugh again. 

"An idea! I have an idea." You give him a worried look and he lays a hand on your shoulder that you think he means to settle you, but you feel heat spread all over. Was he always this touchy? "I owe you an apology, obviously," you go to interrupt but he carries on. "No, no, I do, you can't change my mind about this." The firey determination that sparks up in his expressive eyes all but confirms this. "So– let's stink up this floor one more time. I smoke you out, you can raid my fridge for whatever snacks you want and I'll even order you some candles to clear out the lingering scent. And then I commit to smoking out in the cold for the rest of my mortal, pathetic life."

Turns out Mingi is a very difficult person to say no to. Not that you tried very hard, of course. One glance at those puppy eyes and you crumbled. He's got a classic mid-2000's comedy on– he said it was one of his favourites and you wished you'd taken a picture of the way his eyes lit up when you quoted it back to him. You'd bonded over your favourite stupid bits from stupid movies. He's kinda nerdy, you've realized as he recites full scenes from movies you've not seen in over a decade. 

"Your couch is comfier than mine," you muse absentmindedly, head propped up by your hands, elbows on your knees. You're watching Mingi roll two joints in succession– the action not necessarily a new sight to you, but you've never had blanket permission to sit and stare at him while he does it. It's mesmerizing, like pretty much everything else he does.

"Yeah? Well, get as comfy as you'd like, little neighbour," his smiles are always so genuine for you. "Hope everything else is to your liking?" There's a twinkle in his eye too, a secret ask behind his words.

"Everything's good, Mingi."

"Only good?" He's pouting now. His most devious trick yet. You don't respond, you can't fall into his trap this early. Instead you take a sip from the canned iced tea you stole from his well-stocked fridge. He hums petulantly at your silence, and places one of the two spliffs into the ashtray shaped like an eight ball. He pops the other one into his mouth and rises to his full, staggering height. He's so tall he casts a shadow over you by way of the the sun setting through the window behind him. He stretches his arms over his head with an exaggerated grunt and the fabric of his t-shirt slides up at the waist, teasing you with a slutty sliver of skin. He's a little bit evil you're pretty sure now. You lean back and properly settle into the couch to shamelessly enjoy the view while he isn't looking at you.

He flops onto the- very large, very comfortable- couch next to you with a shocking level of grace. He's not quite close enough that any part of you is touching but he's certainly not far away. He fished into the deep pocket of a cargo pants for a lighter and he makes a slow purposeful show of flicking it on and bringing it to the jay lazily hanging out of his pouty lips. He breaths in deep, chest expanding and he lights it properly, eyes sliding closed.

He takes a few more slow pulls, smoke billowing out of pursed lips– and you let him because, wow, what a show. You do scramble to gain control yourself eventually. "You're smoking my apology."

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, meeting your gaze again. You nearly gasp. He's already heavily lidded, a sluggish smile working it's way across his mouth. "Shit, my bad, pretty," he calls you pretty like it's no big deal. So you carry on, no big deal.

He finally gives up the joint for you and you feel very watched. He's following your every move now. He watches as you bring it up to your lips, pursing them, sucking in a deep breath and– heaving a deep, dry cough. He laughs heartily at your pain and you continue to nearly hack up a lung. The iced tea helps.

"Shut up," you full on whine at him, thrusting out a hand to shove at his chest and god dammit, it's rock hard. "It's been a bit, okay?"

He's still laughing but he puts his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, sorry," he sighs dramatically and leans his head against your shoulder as you, very bravely, you might add, go to take another drag. "I'm really botching this aren't I, little neighbour? Hogging the weed, laughing at you, I didn’t even let you choose the movie." He pouts and nuzzles into your shoulder and if you knew any better you'd say he's making himself as pathetic as possible.

"Don't be pathetic, Mingi." He grins.

"I can make it up to you though," his voice has dropped, even lower than his usual bassy timber. "Just wanna be a perfect neighbour, y'know? Lemme make it up to you."

"You already apologized, Min. Nothing to make up."

"Please?" He mutters the single word into your shoulder and blood rushes in your ears.

"Hah–" you breath out a laugh you think makes you sound unaffected. You hope. "Thought you'd have a better tolerance than this." The quiet moment passes like wind through an open window, but the intimacy lingers in the air still, refusing to leave entirely.

He snickers like you're just that amusing to him. "Yeah– that's why I buy the strong shit. So careful with it, yeah? You're littler too. G'nna fuck you up waaay faster." He shifts so his head is in your lap, fully lounging against you like an Emperor in his throne. His long legs don't quite fit onto the rest of the couch like this, one is bent at the knee, the other off the plush sofa completely.

"You're good at making yourself comfortable quick, huh?" you say as you take another drag, almost doing it just to prove him wrong. But he's not wrong, it is, in fact, strong shit. You know you have to slow down if you don't want to be totally flying. 

He grins up at you. "Mm-hm," he nods. "We're friends now. Giving you a crash course in being my friend. This is a lot of it." He grabs at your wrist that isn't holding the spliff, his grip becoming familiar to you now, and brings your hand to his hair. You let yourself tangle your fingers into the dark locks and he visibly relaxes under the touch.

You know if you smoke any more of this space-age weed you won't recover before Monday so you lower it down to his lips– you don't quite understand this instinct, why you don't hand it to him instead but he doesn't so much as flinch. He wraps his plush lips around the filter but makes no move to grab it so you just have to carry on holding it as he inhales. 

"Careful, tiny," he's using that low, quiet timbre again. He clicks his tongue at you chidingly–"Can't have you burning yourself." The ember has crept only centimeters away from your fingers without you noticing and he, with a life-ruining gentleness, plucks it away and leaves the bud to burn in the ashtray. 

The smell is heavier here, because of course it is– you've followed it to the source, after all. Mingi was absolutely right, though, you're more sensitive to the stuff than you remember and you've settled into the high so nicely. It's floaty and warm, familiar like a family recipe. You're sinking into the couch, the weight of Mingi's head in your lap grounding you, tethering you directly to him.

You open your eyes not long after you realize you let them slip close at one point, lazily blinking as you struggle to readjust to even the low light of the cute lamps he has in multiple different spots of the living room. In the back of your hazy mind you register a mild gratitude for the fact that he too clearly understands the evils of Big Light. More than just a pretty face, you surmise.

You cast your gaze down to see how your neighbour is faring to find him already watching you, red-rimmed eyes almost too alert for your liking. He doesn't look away when you catch him– an eyebrow quirks in an unspoken challenge, daring you to look away, to cower first. You don't, not this time. Your fingers, once absentmindedly combing through his hair still. His eyes flicker to your lips, slow enough that you know you were meant to see it, leaving no room for you to misread his intentions now.

"All good?" he still manages to sound casual but only just– like his control is slipping, threatening to break free entirely.

“Yeah,” your voice is softer still, desperate to not disturb this precious little moment. The moment before… something. “All good.”

He studies you for another moment, searching for hesitation or something worse and when he can’t find it he hauls himself up in a gentle glide. You’ve noticed this about him– he’s consistently graceful for someone his size. He’s never abrupt, never jerky. There’s a composure to him that makes you ache to see it crumble and break. He’s next to you now, angled towards you, caging you in with his arms on the plush of the sofa cushions. “Tell me,” he pauses to wet his lips with his tongue and a smirk dances across his face when your eyes follow. Tease. “Tell me if I read this all wrong.”

You don’t need to answer verbally as your chin tilts towards him, an open invitation if ever there was one. His breath catches.

That first kiss is slow and deliberate, every movement drawing you into him more and more. There’s a distant thought that it feels like he’s trying to prove something to you but he steals it away. You’re leaning into each other with a neediness that shocks your hands into moving– one into his hair, already familiar with the touch and the other to a toned forearm.His own hands have found their way to you at some point, magnetized, to your waist. They grip without being harsh, your back arching into the touch only slightly, because you’re still consciously holding onto those last bits of sanity.

His lips press against yours even firmer then, a reward for wanting him as much as he wants you, control slipping away, strand by strand. Your hand tightens in his hair and he exhales against you, fingers gripping you tighter without crossing the line into harshness. He pulls away, only for a second, quick enough that you’re not sure it was even real, because his hand grips onto you before you can even process it, shifting you so his back is against the couch and your thighs are splayed across his, straddling him. You register with a barely contained shiver how thick his thighs are under you. 

He stills then for a second and you’ve parted from him just far enough to take this version of him in. Hair mussed (your doing), eyes red and glossy (half your doing, you choose to believe) and chest rising and falling in deep, purposeful breaths (definitely your doing, thank you). You freeze there, shocked by just how gorgeous he is like this, under you, lowlit and desperate and warm.

You bring a hand up to his jaw before reconnecting your lips to his, needier than before. Your lips work in tandem with each other as your tongues finally meet, delving the both of you into something that can only be described as hungry. His hands wander, as greedy as his mouth is against you, touching every bit of your back and waist he can, sending shocks of heat wherever they manage to brush against bare skin. Your teeth nip softly at his bottom lip in a challenge that you’ll later insist was an accident and you can practically hear his composure begin to splinter. He keens, whines against your mouth and you swallow the sound greedily and his palm flattens against your back to bring you close, close, closer. Your hips shift against his and the friction makes you lightheaded.

He pulls away with a petulant reluctance, forehead against yours, not willing to be any further away than that. He swallows and and sighs against you, hands planted firmly on your hips. His eyes are darker now, heavily lidded and gazing into yours with a fire you don’t recognize but you’re sure is mirrored in your own eyes. He huffs a laugh, half disbelief, half pride.

“Look at you,” you think he means to tease but he’s still breathless enough that it comes out straight up whiny.

“Me?” You smile wickedly and rock your hips against his– the firmness beneath the rough denim erases any doubt in your mind. He wants this, wants you. His own hips stutter, chasing you as his breath catches. “Look at you.”

He bites at his bottom lip, head falling back against the couch. His hands grip at your hips, more desperate than controlling, pulling you against him, closer still. He’s holding back as best he can, teeth still digging into his lip but these little grunts and whines are still escaping, taunting you.

You gasp as he surges forwards, hips properly and roughly rutting up into yours– the seam of your own jeans dig into you and you gasp, head dipping back. He takes this opportunity, lips against your neck with that same hunger, nipping, kissing, biting, surely leaving marks that you can’t possibly bring yourself to worry about now. No one will question a turtleneck in this weather anyway. You let him bite away, your hand finding it’s home in his hair once more in encouragement. Neither of you bother to pretend to have any semblance of control anymore and it’s so much more delicious this way; no more pretending, you’ve decided as you let a wanton moan out. He groans low in response and pulls away– you almost don’t let him, tugging at his hair in retaliation and his groan turns into a whimper. 

Before you have time to react he plants you back onto the couch, moving with newfound determination now, as he gets you to lie down, him kneeling between your spread legs. Your vision has blurred at the edges but he’s glowing, center-stage. He’s a mess. You can’t imagine you’re faring much better. 

Pupils blown, his hands grip at the meat of your thighs– he’s scowling at your jeans like they’re scheming against him. He’s half feral now, you think. He glides his hands up, pulling the fabric of your loose shirt shirt with them and he leans forward to press his forehead against your stomach. “You’re killing me I think,” he huffs, pressing devastating, gentle kisses against your skin and nosing against the plush of your stomach. You laugh, breathless but genuine all the same and brush his hair out of his eyes.

“Good way to go though, right?” you giggle and watch as he toys with the waistband of your jeans.

He looks up at you, eyes shining, pleading in an unspoken question, fingers inching toward the button. You nod minutely but he sees it all the same and wastes no more time. He’s frantic, fingers fumbling against the hardware as he undoes them, yanking them down until they hit the rug with a soft thump. Only your panties are between you and him now but he can’t seem to think that far. 

“Fuck, she’s wet,” he says, nearly to himself, eyes gleaming. His hands are on your thighs again, kneading incessantly. “Can I-” he starts, pausing to palm himself over his jeans, can’t help himself. “You gotta let me taste her. She’s begging for it. Need it.” He’s already lowered himself, half off the couch, spreading your legs even wider and nosing at your underwear. “Need it–” he repeats himself, half mindless before pressing an open mouthed kiss to your pussy through the fabric. He moans as soon as he gets that first taste of you, immediately addicted. 

You gasp and your hips jump up at the contact, chasing his mouth and he doesn’t fight it, chases you right back, hands at your hips not to control you but to ground himself. Your hand, still in his hair, it’s second home now, tugs gently at the strands, while your other hand finds purchase on the pillow next to you. He mouths at you, still over your panties, tongue out, practically drooling over you, soaking them through. “Tastes so good,” he hums against you, hands wrapping themselves around your thighs. “So good, fuck. So wet.” 

He pulls back, acting like it pains him to do so but he wants unfettered access to you, might really die if he can’t get it– he yanks your underwear down and doesn’t bother to spare them a second glance as they join your pants on the ground, too in awe, enraptured by your unobscured cunt to even consider looking away. His mouth is back on you before you can take a proper breath in, lips finally, mercifully, wrapped around your clit. You stutter out his name, begging for something– more, less, something that doesn’t even exist yet, you don’t know. 

“Holy fuck, Mingi,” you finally manage out somewhat clearly, around your own whines and whimpers. He hums in response, the vibrations cruel against your clit in a way the makes your head pitch back. He hips have a life of their own, grinding against the couch with abandon, can’t help himself. He pulls back and smiles listlessly at the whine you let out.

“S’good, yeah?” He soaks in your reaction, bites his lip as your hand tries to tug him back. He resists, barely, hands coming to your soaked pussy– he can practically hear her purring for him– to spread your lips wide for him. “She’s so pretty, baby, god–” Only then does he dive back in, one long lick against you that has you squirming. He’s focused on your entrance now, giving those wet, messy kisses again, tongue delving into you and his nose bumps against your clit in a way that has your head spinning. 

“So good, Mingi, it’s so good–” you babble absently but the praise gets to him still, hips grinding against the couch without his permission. You’re not sure who’s louder at this point, you or him. He brings his mouth back to your clit, suckling on it, freeing up space to tease you as with his fingers only brushing against your entrance, gathering the wetness there. He seems to be content to make you into as much of a mess as possible, revelling in every moan, every movement. “Please–” the word’s barely left your swollen lips when he plunges two fingers into your desperate, weeping pussy. 

The initial stretch from two fingers sends a shockwave through you and he has to use his other hand to properly hold your hips down. They’re skilled in their exploration, delving deeper than your own fingers could ever hope to. He’s on a mission, scissoring them inside you, stretching your gummy walls and finding those spots that make you keen. His mouth has travelled, never stopping, biting meanly against your thighs. “So fucking messy, baby,” he takes a moment just to watch; watch his own fingers diving in and out of you, nearly drooling at the sight. “Is that just for me? She loves me, huh?” He keeps talking directly to your pussy– it would be endearing if you weren’t so desperate to cum. 

You nod in response, not even totally sure what the question was, but he won’t break eye contact with your cunt. “Uh-huh,” you’re delirious but conscious enough to know that you’re delirious and that counts for something. Mingi is equally far gone, thankfully, wondering, hoping, that he’ll still be able to taste you hours from now. “S’all for you, Min.”

Another harsh bite on the inside of your thigh, soothed by his tongue and a kiss in that same spot. “You gotta come, okay? Gotta come for me, please, need it, need you to come on my face,” he’s babbling now, on the dangerous side of crazed, please’s and cum for me’s, even as he brings his tongue back to your clit. You’re faring no better, pieces of his name broken up by whines escaping and mounting in volume. Your thighs are pressed against the sides of his head and he thinks that this must be what heaven feels like– buried in pussy, suffocated by thighs. Perfection.

He knows you’re close, so close he can quite literally taste it. He hears it too, your sounds mounting higher and louder still. You know it too, can’t ignore it, with his tongue lapping at your clit and his fingers prodding at that spongy spot that makes you see stars. He wants it bad, working at you with a terrifying vigour. It only took a few more moments, a few more expert swipes of his tongue until you were there, cresting over that edge, your hand fisting in his hair and cumming with a broken wail. He works you through it, refuses to let up. Still pumping, licking, grinding. You’ve never had an orgasm last this long and Mingi is determined to keep it going, going, going– until you’re whining weakly and tugging his hair away from your poor, soaked pussy. Your eyes fill with tears at the overstimulation, a few slipping through and down your cheeks. When he finally does pull away it’s slowly, with one last kiss against your twitching clit like a goodbye. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy trying to remember how to breath like a regular human being. 

He crawls back on top of you, kissing against every bit of skin he can on the way back up– your thighs, hips, stomach, breasts, neck, until he’s face-to-face with you, noses brushing against each other. His eyes are half lidded and still hungry, the bottom half of his face shining, sparkling even with your own wetness, making him look like a sexed up kind of fairy. He brings his similarly soaked fingers up to tap against your bottom lip and you open your mouth without a word, not breaking eye contact as he slides them in, gliding against your tongue, the taste of you heavy. He smiles drunkenly as he watches you suck his fingers, tongue lapping at them and he lets a deep moan out from his chest. His forehead falls to your cheek and he lets his hips grind against you, your oversensitive pussy meeting rough denim and making you whimper around his fingers and gag slightly as they delve deeper. A dribble of spit leaks out from the corner of your lips and Mingi, nasty and unbidden, licks at it, licks all the way up your cheek, along the tracks your tears left, just tasting all of you.

He pulls back abruptly to strip away his own clothes, mostly because he think he might really, actually explode if these fucking jeans stay on for another second. His jeans and shirt are off, boxers halfway down when it registers to him that you’ve followed suit, sitting up with your shirt and bra gone and he can’t not be drawn to your tits. He’s only human. 

He’s kneeling between your legs again, knees digging into the carpet uncomfortably but he can’t begin to care about that as he kneads at your tits, mouth attached to a nipple, sucking and gently biting at it. You wonder, momentarily, how his jaw isn’t cramping up yet. “Mingi, baby, c’mon,” you pull at his roots until he lets your nipple go. He doesn’t quite move away– just looks up at you, resting against your chest, wet mouth still slightly agape and eyes shiny, wet with unshed tears. God. “C’mon.”

You pull him up to lay on the couch and he goes now without question, finally getting his boxers all the way off on the way– you could probably ask anything of him right now and he’d do it. And shit, he’s so hard you realize and he lays there. It’s massive, too– rock hard, throbbing to the point you think it must be painful. He’s leaking an absolute mess of precum against his stomach, his cock already slicked with it from when he was rutting himself into a frenzy in his jeans. “Oh, baby,” you coo at him as you kneel between his thighs, mirroring his spot from when he drove you to a mind blowing orgasm not even minutes ago. You wrap a hand around him and feel dizzy at the realization that your fingers don’t quite touch each other. 

He might have been designed in a lab specifically to drive you insane, you’re pretty sure. How else could a man like this exist, just walking the earth?

Your pussy throbs at the mere idea of his dick stretching your walls but you’re desperate for just a taste first, it’s too enticing; you lean forward and give the slick head a tentative, experimental lick, moaning lightly at the salty taste of him. His cock jumps at the sensation and in the back of your head you remember him saying that he’s sensitive when he was justifying not smoking in the cold– at least you know now he wasn’t bullshitting you. You suck at the head so very gently, just to rile him up and you know it works as he throws his head back and mewls. “Please, baby, just-please, you’re-you can’t,” he’s babbling again, near panicking at the idea of blowing his load before having you properly on his cock. 

You go to straddle him properly, for your own sake as much as his because you want it just as bad– you know you’ll have your mouth back on him one day, you promise yourself that much. Maybe even within the hour, who’s to say. “Oh, Mingi, you’re so hard,” you pout down at him teasingly because you can’t help it– he’s so pretty laid out like this, hands grabbing at you, plush lips kiss bitten and red.

He nods quickly– “So hard, need t’fuck you, baby.” And you know he’s not lying, he needs it, really needs it. “G’nna make you feel so good, yeah? You know I will, I will, I promise–please.”

You either take pity on him or his begging is driving you crazy, either way you use one hand to steady his dick as you drag your wetness along the tip of him and tease his dick along your entrance, your other hand steadying you against his toned chest. You last through a few more of his pleads before you truly can’t take it anymore and begin to sink down on him– the initial stretch of his ridiculous girth is maddening, your mouth dropping open as you take him deeper and deeper.

He’s panting heavily, using every inch of his barely there willpower to not buck up into you and make you take all of him– he lets you take him inch by agonizing inch, every movement making his eyes roll back into his head because fuck, you feel like actual heaven. He might cry. He’s probably actually going to cry, he realizes as you’ve taken just more than half of him, because you’re too warm, too tight, too perfect, what the fuck. And you’re still sinking down, taking more, more, ignoring the slight burn in your thighs because it’s worth it, he fills you so perfectly. You take more, a little more until he’s fully buried inside of you and you both let out synchronized, shuddering groans at the realization.

“Oh, god, god, pretty,” he wraps his thick arms around you all the way, noses at your neck because he needs to be as close to you as humanly possible. “Fuck you’re so wet, so tight, huh? I did that, yeah? Worked you up so good, needed my cock, didn’t you?”

He’s not really asking you questions, some small part of you understands that but you nod along to his words all the same, half because he’s right and half because you can’t think, mind wiped by his cock seated inside you, stretching you out to fit him perfectly, moulding you to him. “Yeah, so full, Mingi, baby, so good–” His hips twitch helplessly against you, begging silently for something, anything. And mercifully, you deliver. 

You pitch your own hips up just barely, just so, the mild movement already sending sparks up your body, a live-wire. He grinds back against you because he truly can’t not anymore, his hips tilting to yours, chasing in anguish and you gasp as the tip of him kisses against that spot deep inside you that makes you gush around him. 

He responds in kind, groaning his loudest groan yet, the sound wrapping around you and you don’t even recognize just how much you’re drowning in everything Mingi, every sense overtaken by him. It’s only those strong arms, hands gripping your waist again that anchor you against pure hysteria.

You start to grind against him, setting a deep, rolling rhythm that has him hitting spots in you that had previously remained untouched. He grinds up into you in tandem, can’t help it, his hands gripping at your waist with a bruising tenderness. His eyes are wet, a few tears rolling down his cheeks now and you feel an evil sense of vindication– it’s nice to know you can make each other cry. And he’s such a pretty crier, eyes wide, face flushed and eyebrows tilted up, he’s just so pretty. There’s not a lot of them, the tears, and you know you’d like to make him really cry one day– but fuck, you’re dripping around him now, as desperate for him as he is for you at this point.

So you have no more restraint left as you go to properly fuck yourself on him, the stretch delicious as you slide him in and out of you, hands on his shoulders to brace yourself but also feel up his built shoulders. “F-fuck,” he has you stuttering and crying out now, damn him, because he can’t just lie there and take it, it’s out of his control now, his hips canting up and chasing you every time you bounce or grind or tilt. “Fuck, Mingi, baby, god, you’re so big, so good,” and you mean it, every word– he is, in fact, so big and so good. So good that he does deserve you truly bouncing on him, you figure and you’re sure he’s ruined you for any other man now, as he buries his head in your tits, keening every time you land, burying him to the hilt. It’s delicious and it’s messy, he’s basically drooling against you as he mouths at your nipples until you know they’ll be sore tomorrow.

“Yeah, good for you,” clearly he agrees. “Made for you, I think– never felt so good, y’r stretched perfectly around me, pretty, just need you to ngh–” his eyes shut tightly as you clench around him, like he’s nearly at his breaking point. “Need it–” he insists, lost in the warmth of you, fully thrusting back up into you.

“Need what Mingi?” your words are breathless, whiny, desperate. “What do you need, baby? Tell me– anything, it– give you anything.”

Both of you are falling apart but desperately grasping at any modicum of control you can over each other; you mock him, he bites at your nipples; you clench around him, he uses his grip on you to slam you down further. The push and pull, the sick game becomes, eventually, little more than two messes, wet and sweaty, fucking into each other, pleading into each others mouths, looking for something, anything, neither of you understand what you need anymore.

“So fine, y’r so good,” he’s mumbling out incoherent praises into your mouth, as everything becomes tighter, hotter, wetter. “Fuck. Fuck.” His hips stutter as they thrust up into yours, grinding in this new cruel way on the up swing and your eyes nearly roll back into you head. “Fuck.”

“Are-” you start, then immediately stop as his hand comes back to your clit, already overworked and weeping, to rub it in precise circles. He doesn’t need to say it out loud but he’s close, rising to this insurmountable peak and he needs, more than anything he’s ever needed before, to bring you there along with him. “You’re nearly there, yeah?” he nods along, little yeah, yeah, yes’s escaping his spit soaked lips. “Me too, me too- need it, need you to make me come, make me feel so good, please Mingi, please, don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t stop, probably can’t at this point. His mouth, aimlessly kissing, biting, whatever against your tits and shoulders and neck, is letting out a nonstop stream of noises and mumblings– you make out a few of his praises, the good girls and the perfect pussys in the mix of it all.

“Can-” he struggles to speak, managing words only between these pathetic, high pitched whines. “Need’ta come, baby, need it, need it,” one thought of him coming inside of you, filling you in every way makes you cream around him, clench around him even more, before he even gets to properly ask, making his eyes nearly roll back into his head. “Can I? Please– inside? Inside you? Need to fill you up, make you feel so good, it’ll feel so good– pussy’s so good, so good it’s driving me crazy, really, really– c’mon.”

He might keep going forever if you don’t stop him, so you bring your hands from his shoulders to cup his face, that pretty, pretty face, trusting him and his strong arms to keep pace, dropping you up and down on his cock. “Want it, Mingi–” it’s whispered, an intimate promise, because you need him to know you need this as much as he does right now. “Want your cum, Mingi.”

And then you’ve lost any semblance of control over him, because now he’s thrusting up into with abandon, using his strong arm to bring you back down on him every time– one hand is still busying itself on your pulsating clit. His dick is kissing your g-spot with an almost cruel consistency too, he knows your body with a scary accuracy already, and a wicked, almost unrecognizable smirk spreads across his lips when he realizes you’re as close as he is. 

“Yeah,” and oh fuck, he’s growling as his thrusts grow sloppier and out of rhythm, but never shallow or unsatisfactory. If anything, the mindless state you’re both in has let him in even deeper on these thrusts. “Yeah, it’s good, yeah? And you want it, you need it– need my cum, need it in you, so deep in you, ‘s so deep– I need it too baby, I do, need it.”

Your legs are nearing a gelatin state, but motivation and his actual, physical help are keeping you going– and that pulsating, growing need in the deepest recesses of you. The primal, base need is growing– both to come all over him and make him come, to see him truly unravel.

You’re both so close, close enough to taste it, to know it’s already the best either of you have ever had, weed or no. And you’re both begging too, both begging each other to bring you right there, to the crest, both warbling out combinations of baby and please and need and cum and perfect and more and good and–

It happens in one moment, a chain reaction kind of moment, he bites down on your shoulder, hard, bruising, which, in turn has you clench around his cock, which makes him thrust into you, hitting you just right and your back arches, a bow pulled tight– and you cum in tandem, a rare phenomenon, satisfying in a way you’d never be able to describe. You’re shaking through your orgasm, the unreal pleasure sending shockwaves through your legs to your toes, enlongated by the feeling of Mingi flooding your cunt with wave after wave of his own cum, as he lets out a long, unbroken, almost melodic groan into your shoulder. He carries on with a few meeker thrusts, insistent on fucking his cum as deep into as possible in this deeply primal mindset you’ve taken him to. It’s unfair how good it feels, this warmth that reaches into you. He send a few more feeble jabs into you, whimpering meekly as he does, utterly undone. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s muttering into your skin. You’d make fun of him if your thoughts weren’t made up of much of the same. “Fuck. Shit.

“Hah,” you huff. “Yeah. Fuck, shit and all that.” You can feel him softening inside of you but he makes no effort to move, and is still holding you tight. You don’t try to move either. He presses his forehead against yours, and you’re acutely aware of how sweaty you both are, of your weed-thick, heavy breaths mingling, but you can’t find an inkling of yourself disgusted by him. 

He smiles at you and it’s the same as before you thought you even had a chance with him– wide and distinctly Mingi. 

“Fuck. Really thought I needed the second joint before I’d be able to do that..” he giggles, rocking you back and forth like he’s not literally currently inside you. “Yunho owes me twenty bucks.”

“I don’t know who Yunho is,” you pull back to look at him properly, his pupils still blown, hair an absolute mess. “But please don’t say some other guys name when you’ve just cum in me, yeah?”

Nights like this just felt right — your warm hand in Yunho's much larger one, fingers locked between one another’s. City lights blurred in the night sky almost like stars as Yunho sped down the highway. The windows rolled down just a bit, enough to feel the wind whip across your cheeks. Your joint playlist floated from the car's speakers, setting the mood further.

You could smell the dinner he'd picked up in the back seat, as well. The aroma of pan-fried dumplings wafted to your nose, promising a delicious meal later in the evening.

You were having a hard time taking your eyes off of your boyfriend, not that you wanted to. He was always insanely attractive, but seeing him under the flashing glow of the street lights, you felt your heart fluttering more than usual.

"What are you thinking about, pretty?" His thumb rubs the back of your hand gently as he brings you back from your thoughts.

"Just,” you sigh, gathering your thoughts, “how much I love you. And how much I miss doing this."

Yunho feels warmth spread to his cheeks. He glances over at you with a smile before returning his attention to the road. "Me too."

"You love me or you miss doing this?"

"Both. Definitely both." You hum contentedly and relax against your seat, noticing that you're approaching the destination -- Yunho's apartment parking garage.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and your boyfriend to wind up on the top floor of the parking structure. It was a quiet, often neglected space, with a view overlooking the city. There, you had spent countless hours together, watching the blue sky morph into blends of yellows and oranges and purples. Tonight, though, you wanted nothing more than being in each other's company and staring out at the city, or staring at each other, as close to the stars and moon as possible.

It was an autumn night. The temperature was perfect—not stuffy after the sun had gone down like summer, not bone chilling like the winter. A light breeze kissed your skin as you sat atop the hood of his car side by side.

“Are you hungry yet?” He asked.

“No, not yet,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. Something about the silence was comfortable. You were almost afraid of speaking too loudly. “We’ll eat soon, before it gets cold.”

Yunho looked so soft under the glitter of the moonlight and warm yellow lamps. The slight blush on his nose and round cheeks, his soft round eyes, and perfectly plush lips. His black hair a bit mussed from both the wind and his nap two hours earlier. You looked up at him and he swore that he could see the reflection of each and every star in your eyes.

Without much thought, you reached up and raked your fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. He’d been letting it grow longer, and it often fell into his eyes, brushing his lashes. As your hand came down, you cradled his cheek. Melting into your touch, Yunho's gentle brown irises met yours.

"I love you," he whispered. You knew that was coming. Before he could say it out loud, you’d known that he had been thinking it, simply from the way he was looking at you. As if you were the only thing that mattered to him. As if the shining moon above you both was your doing, hung by your delicate hands. As if he could stay there forever with you and enjoy every second, happy for the rest of his life.

You couldn't help but smile as you leaned in toward him, your reply getting lost on his lips. As your lips met, Yunho's fingers settled on your hips, pulling you in closer. You clutched the soft sweater that he wore, feeling the fabric balled up in your palms.

The kiss started passionately — slow and deep. You took his face into your hands, cupping his cheeks as your teeth clicked together.

Without breaking the kiss, Yunho pulled you onto his lap. You lifted one leg to the other side of his hip so that you straddled his hips. Yunho leaned back onto the windshield, pulling you down with him.

While one of his hands held you in place, the other slid to your thigh. Yunho wished so badly that he could feel the skin that was hidden beneath your yoga pants. You felt his grip on your soft curves, leaving a warm sensation where his fingers pressed into you.

Soft smacking sounds filled the air as you brushed your lips together, now slick with saliva. One of your hands traveled from his jaw, down his neck, to his chest while the other played with the hair at the nape of his neck. You gave a light tug, a grunt escaping from his throat.

Your chest pressed to his, as if you were melting into your boyfriend. Yunho’s large, warm palms began to roam your body, feeling your hips and ass and back. Slowly, almost regretfully, he pulled back, breathless. Your lips were just barely touching, still breathing each other’s air. You felt dizzy, intoxicated from his lips. A second later, Yunho was pulling you into a crushing kiss, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

The kiss had grown hungrier, more heated. You felt Yunho’s hand tug at your waist, urging you to roll your hips together. He loved the feeling of having you on top of him. Your thighs settled over his. Yunho slips his tongue between your parted lips.

Your hands explore the planes that you’re all too familiar with — your boyfriend’s solid chest, his wide shoulders, and his long neck. Soft moans escape you, muffled against his mouth. He groans in response, low as you roll your hips, seeking more friction. Yunho’s lips leave yours to press warm, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, to your neck. You arch into him, gasping, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“We can’t get carried away up here.” He pressed his forehead to yours, heart hammering in his chest.

“I know.” You pause for a breath and nuzzle your nose against his. “It’s just been too long since we did that.”

“I agree.” He hums. His opens his eyes to meet yours already taking in his features. You hold Yunho’s gaze for only a moment before his reddened lips start to curl into a smirk. “Wanna do it some more?”

You giggle and nod in response, slotting your lips against his once more.

Your only witnesses, the stars.

✎ᝰ.

next fic dedicated to the loml, jeong yunho. WHERE MY HOTTEOKS AT?!

if even one person enjoys this, then it was worth posting. thank you for reading ♡

"Are you sure?” Mingi murmurs as you climb onto the bed, his lips twisting into a pout when you forego a response and flop onto your back with your head hanging off the bed.

“I don’t want to, like, hurt you,” he says as he pushes hair out of your face.

You huff at him, voice strained when you answer, “I’ll be fine. You act like I’ve never sucked your dick before.”

He grumbles something that you can’t understand, his fingers stroking across your cheek.

“I promise you are not going to tear my throat with it, or something. I’m sure. Now whip it out,” you demand, to which he gives you a scandalized look, but begins unzipping his fly anyway.

He looks down at you and snickers, and you can’t blame him. You’re sure you look ridiculous right now with your head upside down and eyes straining to look at him.

Eventually, his dick is pulled out of his pants, standing leaking right above your face, just out of your reach. He’s doing that on purpose, but you know it’s not to tease. He’s much to impatient to ever tease you, so this clearly comes from a place of nervousness.

“Mingi,” you say, a little softer, but still exasperated, just to try and keep up the playful atmosphere that you know he works better in.

He looks at you and swallows, giving you those sweet, curious eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” you assure more firmly, and it seems to work at least a little, because his shoulders relax and he reaches down to grab a hold of his own dick, guiding it towards your mouth.

He misses the first couple times, smearing precome across your cheek with a quiet apology before doing the same to your chin. Once he finally gets himself aligned with your lips, you open your mouth wider, allowing him to slide in slowly. He doesn’t push past half at first, allowing you a moment to just feel him, to wiggle your tongue along the length and acquaint yourself with it.

Your hand reaching around to grab at the back of his thigh encourages him to push in further, until he hits the back of your throat. Your eyes water, you want to gag. It burns, but feels so good. You can feel him throbbing in your throat. You look up to try and catch a glimpse of him, but your view is mostly obstructed by his body.

You can see the slight scrunch of his face, the restraint he's exercising out of fear of hurting you. Unfortunately for him, you want it to hurt.

You swallow around him, constricting, the pressure causing his hips to jerk. You relax quickly, opening up your throat to avoid choking.

He groans and lowers his hand, resting it on your chin, his rings leaving a cool sensation against your skin.

"Oh, baby…" he murmurs, voice cracking, sounding divine in your ears, "It's so… so warm."

You go to respond, forgetting your mouth is full of him, forcing it to come out as a tense hum. He gasps, fingers slipping to your neck, resting there. He freezes for a moment, eyes blown wide in realization.

"Fuck, I can- Fuck," he stammers, running the tips of his fingers along the bulge in your esophagus, "I can feel it."

His fingers squeeze gently around it, not nearly enough to asphyxiate you, but enough to make his own eyes roll back into his head.

"'M sorry," he whimpers, then his hips start moving. He's thrusting into your mouth like he can't help himself, whining and gasping every time the tip collides with the wall of your throat before slipping in deeper.

His fingers tremble where they rest before sliding down to hold your scruff, pressing into the sides and making you go limp. You can just vaguely see where his free hand slides up the front of his torso, jewelry-clad fingers dipping between the ridges of his abs before moving to grope at his chest.

He's rough with it now, head thrown back as he moans openly with each inward thrust. Your hand, still on the back of his thigh, drifts upward to feel about his ass, squeezing and kneading and bringing him to practically fold in on himself.

The rhythm is lost quickly, he's wailing desperately with each now-shallow push forward. He clutches at the back of your neck as he toys with his own nipple between two fingertips, lost in mindless pleasure.

He fucks into your mouth twice more before shoving in deep, his pelvis flush with your chin, tufts of kempt hair tickling your face. His hand is back on the front of your neck. He squeezes, then begins sliding his fingers up and down the projection in your throat, jerking himself through your skin.

In just some seconds, he's coming down your throat, so deep you couldn't spit it out even if you wanted to. You can feel his cock throb with each spurt of his release. He stays there a moment longer, gasping and panting through his orgasm, before slowly sliding out of your mouth.

He looks at you, eyebrows pinched with worry and guilt. "…I'm sorry," he breathes out, quickly helping you sit up.

"I- Uh- I'll…" he tries, only to whine in frustration before scurrying out of the room, leaving you dazed and lightheaded from the amount of blood that rushed to your head in the time you were stuck on your back.

He returns shortly, a rag and a glass of water in hand. He sits on the edge of the bed beside you, reaching out to take your chin in his hand, holding you steady as he wipes the drying saliva and semen from your mouth and cheeks.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks nervously as he transfers the glass to your hands.

You take a sip of the room temperature water and shake your head. "No," you answer, and your voice is practically gone. Mingi's lips jut out in a pout at the sound and he pulls you into his chest, strong arms keeping you tightly against him.

"I'm so sorry," he strains, then he's diving in to press featherlight kisses to your throat. You squeal, shoving at his shoulders in a futile attempt to escape the ticklish sensation.

"Mingi!" you yelp, snickering at his antics, "It's fine- I'm fine!"

He pulls away from you reluctantly, still frowning at you. "Are you sure?" he asks, and you groan.

"I'm sure," you assure.

"Like, really sure?" he asks again, to which you give him a deadpan look, "Like, not even a little sore..?"

You huff, roll your eyes, and poke his cheek. "Well obviously I'm a little sore. You weren't all that gentle."

Mingi gasps, then he tackles you into the mattress, rubbing his face all over your neck.

"So I need to kiss it better," he declares, and you know there's no point in arguing.

But for some reason, this one had steam coming out of your ears, your mind betraying you, telling you he was out with his friends for drinks, he was hanging out in the practice room doing overtime, all because he didn’t want to come home to you. 

It didn’t have sadness sitting heavy in your gut. It had ice cold rage burning through your veins, sweat nipping at your neck, your fingertips ice cold. How dare he leave you at home by yourself for hours while you waited for him? For him to be out at a bar, with friends? For him to be lingering at the studio without a care in the world that you were home, on the couch, patiently waiting for his arrival?

You were mid-sigh when you heard the keys in the door handle. You stood on socked feet as the door groaned open, the knob bouncing off the wall. You barely reacted, arms so tightly bound over your chest, mind whirling with your starting accusation. 

Your six-foot oaf of a fucking boyfriend tumbled through the doorframe, already smiling, pink dusted over his cheeks. Your eyebrows shot to your hairline– You thought him being drunk was a long shot, your mind jumping to conclusions because you couldn’t get a hold on your emotions, but you were fucking right!?

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” your arms uncurl from your chest as you make your way towards him, feet sliding over the hardwood in quick steps.

“Baby!” His grin widens, throwing his bag to the floor, his jacket falling on top, completely missing how your eyebrows were slanted downward, how your lips pursed in a heart at the center of your face. “I missed you, today was so long. Mingi, Wooyoung and I went to the bar across the street and had a few beers to unwind after work, talk about the day.”

You keep your distance, a few feet away, arms curling over your chest again, weight shifting to one leg. You tilted your head, voice coming out in a tone of false amusement, “Have fun?” 

He giggles, a soft sound, light and bubbly, your favorite song of his. Not right now. 

“Yeah,” he nods, “Wooyoung and Mingi are so fucking funny when they’re together, I swore I was gonna pee my pants at one point.”

You nod slowly, lips pursed atop each other, eyes low and pointed, “That’s great.”

He pauses where he stands, one shoe off, the other halfway on. He furrows his brows, “You’re pissed.”

“No shit I’m pissed.”

His head tips back in a groan, arms falling limp at his sides as he kicks his other shoe off. Your hands start flying. “I don’t understand, Yunho, do you even think of me during the day? No text, no call, no nothing while I sit here and wait for you!”

He starts for the kitchen, long legs quickly carrying him there, you follow on his heel. “Do you even think of maybe letting me know?” He opens the cabinet, grabbing a glass of water. Your eyes follow him. “Tell me, Yunho, am I even a thought in your mind?”

“I think about you all the time, you know that, I’ve told you a thousand times,” his words have a soft, tired bite to them as he places his glass in the fridge, water pouring from the dispenser built into the door. 

“Then why don’t you let me know you won’t be home so I don’t make double the dinner I made for myself?” Your voice raises, each word emphasizing the rage slicing through your body, “Or I don’t sit here on the couch like a fucking idiot, waiting for you to walk through the door to watch our show?”

He turns on his heel, droplets of water landing on the hardwood surrounding you. His voice matches yours, loud, strong enough to cut steel, “I just worked,” his tone lowers, punching every single syllable, “Fourteen fucking hours.”

“And I didn’t receive,” you raise up a hand, counting on your fingers, “A call, a voicemail, a text, a fucking Instagram DM. Did you message on Fromm today? Did your fans get a message when I didn’t?”

His eyes widen, lips curling at the corner, a laugh falling from his lips so empty that it hurts like a slap to the face. He walks away, a hand flying in the open space over his head as he heads for the living room, “Oh, you’ve fucking lost it.”

“I’ve lost it!?” You yell, still on his heel, “Excuse me for wanting to hear from my boyfriend of four fucking years while he’s gone for fourteen hours of the day!”

He sits down on the couch, knees spread, drinking from his glass. You stand before him, hands on your hips, rage steaming your skin, the room feeling ten degrees hotter. He chugs the glass, head leaning back into the couch, staring at you through lowered brows. His voice drops, low and steady, the type of anger that makes him calm. You don’t let it phase you. 

“You need to stop yelling at me,” he said simply, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous is you not giving a fuck about me,” your tone is harsh, and as much as in your soul you know your words aren’t true, you say them like you mean it. “But by all means, go to the bar after work, get some drinks with your friends! Maybe you can even find a woman there to fuck you, or better yet, maybe you should have gone home with Mingi.”

“You’re losing your fucking mind,” he shakes his head with another laugh, “I worked my ass off today, I’m exhausted, I wanted a few beers to decompress so I didn’t come home and put a load on you when you’ve been waiting for me.” 

“That’s what I’m fucking here for, Yunho,” your hands find your hair, tugging at your roots, head tipping up to face the beige, popcorned ceiling. “I’m here to help you decompress, I’m here to share your struggles, your hardships. What the fuck am I to you?”

“You’re my girlfriend that has her own struggles and hardships,” he leans forward, his eyebrows in his hairline, his words coming out strained. “You’re not here for me to put all of mine on you! I have coworkers and friends for that, I come home to forget about the bullshit–” 

“You come home to get fucked,” you’re seething now, words harsh and low, “You go to work, sing and dance all day, and come home after a few beers looking for a hole to stick your cock in.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “You did not just say that.” 

You point to the floor beneath your feet, “And I meant Every. Fucking. Word.” 

Within a blink he’s standing before you, so close you can feel his breath on your skin, pink-tipped, long fingers wrapped around your jaw. He’s staring at you through lowered brows, his eyes heavy and cold, a darkness within the deep chocolate that sends a shiver down your spine, breath catching in your throat. 

“You think I’ve been with you four years just for sex?” His voice is quiet, low, terrifying, his torso pressed to yours. Your eyes flare with anger, subtle excitement, socked toes curling into the hardwood, but you don’t answer. His smile is dangerous, it should have you nervous, scared, anything but the rush of adrenaline that floods you. “You think that’s all you’re good for? A hole to stick my cock in?” 

“Fuck no,” you hiss, lips squished from his fingers cutting into your skin, “I think that’s all you’re good for.” 

He drops your jaw, knees bending to grab you by the thighs, throwing you over his shoulder in one quick motion. Your stomach drops, a high-pitched yell leaving your throat as his legs bring you to the bedroom in long, quick strides, heart rising to your throat when he throws you on the perfectly made bed, his six-foot built towering over you. 

You sit up immediately, jaw locked, steam pouring from your nostrils, “Don’t even think about touching me.” 

His lips curve in a smile, amusement in his eyes, piercing through the irritation that squares his shoulders. “That’s all I’m fucking good for?” He takes a step closer to the bed, leaning down until his pink-dusted cheeks are centimeters from yours. You don’t move, eyes locked on his and jaw set, heart pounding against your chest. He smiles. “I work every damn day to make money for you, and that’s all I’m good for?”

Your lashes barely touch in a fast blink, ignoring how your stomach drops. That smile, his tone, he’s pissed. Fear licks up your spine, your forehead feeling damp under his gaze. You tilt your chin up, voice losing all its bite, “Yes.”

In a navy hoodie and sweatpants, black hair messily sprawled across his forehead, eyes crazed and wild and maybe half-deranged, the fear that nipped at your spine got confused with the excitement rippling on your skin. His grin spreads wide, and before you know it he’s pushing you back by your shoulders, head bouncing against the mattress. A hand curls under your torso, flipping you onto your stomach, and your eyes squeeze shut. Fuck. 

“If that’s all I’m good for,” he starts, thumbs curling into the yoga pants on your waist, pulling them down just enough to expose your ass. “Then maybe I’ll remind you who the fuck I am. Who it is you’re speaking to like that.”

“I know damn well who I’m talking to,” your words come out airy, shuddering as he lifts your hoodie up to mid-back, pulling your pants down just a little more, chuckling when your squished thighs show him a peek of wetness between your legs, no panties to hide it. 

“Hmm, I think you like it,” you can hear his smile as his warm palms run over your ass, squeezing the skin, “Being the hole I use when I come home. Being nothing but my fucking cocksleeve.” 

You bite your lip to hide your whine, voice strained, “Fuck you, Yunho.”

“Fuck me?” His hands mid-squeeze, grip firm, “I thought you told me not to touch you. Didn’t think you wanted to fuck me.”

Your lips purse, fingers digging into the sheets below you, anticipation biting every inch of skin exposed, “I don’t. I don’t want anything to fucking do with you.”

He laughs and it’s a low, gravelled thing, laced with mischief like he could taste the lies on your tongue. He digs a knee into the bed, leaning down close to your ear, breath hot on your cheek, “You think I have the energy to put you in your place tonight?” 

Your thighs clench together, a small whimper escaping your lips. You squeeze your face together, pissed that your body betrayed you, anger and anticipation and arousal mixing together to a cocktail between your legs. 

He kneels off the bed, voice steady and sharp, “Count, or I won’t go any farther than this. You won’t get the privilege of being the hole I use tonight.” 

Your eyebrows furrow before the first harsh smack lands on your ass. You cry out, head jerking up, bottom lip dragging against the sheets, the word count doesn’t process in your overstimulated mind. 

“Oh, I must have misread the situation,” his voice is taunting now, the inflection of his tone rising and falling. “Thought you were just being a brat. You really don’t want to get fucked tonight, huh?”

Your mouth moves before you can think, “I- I do, I do.”

He lands another, right below your ass, the sensitive skin of your thigh. You cry out again, face hot, throat tight. 

“Yelling at me on some stupid shit right when I get home, are you really that stupid? Did you forget how to count, too?” 

“Two!” You squeal, legs bending at the foot of the bed, your toes just barely gripping the floor to hold you up. 

“There you go, baby,” his hands running over where he had just hit you, a stinging heat in his palms now as he attempts to soothe the skin. “Knew you weren’t completely stupid.” 

You choke out a quiet moan, body betraying you, temple falling to the mattress again. You have only a moment of recovery before he’s striking you again, harder this time, on the opposite, unmarred cheek, the loud slap ringing through the room. 

You whimper, voice quieter, nearly broken, “Three.” 

“You can take more,” he’s squeezing the skin again, voice a song of amusement and faux encouragement, “Keep up so you can earn my cock.” 

He hits you again, followed by Four. Then again, followed by Five. He gets all the way to Ten before tears are streaming down your cheeks, darkening the comforter beneath your face, sobs shaking your shoulders. It hurts, but it hurts so fucking good you’re left confused and utterly brainless. Pain and pleasure morphing together, you wanted to cum, you wanted to sit in ice-cold water, you wanted him to tell you that you did a good job. You wanted your reward. 

Why did you want a reward? Why did you get punished in the first place? You’re the one that’s mad at him.

He’s already tugging you towards him before you can get the words out, shaky and harsh but weakened by the tears streaming down your face, “F-Fuck you, Yunho.”

Pulling you into his lap, his lips bend in a pout as he wipes the tears from your cheeks with two thumbs, “Hm? Still? Thought for sure I would have spanked the brat out of you.”

“You heard me,” your voice is raw, anger returning with how your burning cheeks sting, “Fuck you.”

“Oh,” is all he says as he lays you on your back again, you hiss when the comforter hits your behind. His face reads nothing while he moves you as if you didn’t have any will of your own, pulling the hoodie over your head, ripping the hair-tie from your bun. 

“I said don’t fucking touch me,” you bite as your hair falls around your face, “I’m not yours to use.”

He laughs at that, genuine and bright, “That’s exactly what you are, my love, you’re mine. I can do whatever the fuck I want to you.”

“No you can’t,” you move up the bed, wincing as your ass drags across the sheets, “I’m not playing this game with you tonight. All I wanted was a text.”

“Do you not hear yourself when you speak?” He crawls over you, hands sliding your yoga pants down your legs, “Remember when I asked you if you wanted to be fucked and you said yes?”

Your cheeks heat as he slides you down the mattress again, head landing in the pillows. You tip your chin, “It was a moment of weakness.”

“It was you giving in like you always do,” his hands land on your thighs, one sliding down to your pulsing core, “Because at your core you’re nothing but a fucking slut.” His fingers slip into your folds, spreading your wetness, “Ain’t that right?”

Your back arches involuntarily, catching your lip between your teeth to fight a moan. His thumb circles around your clit, tongue poking out to wet his lips, staring at you through lowered brows. He tilts his head when your breath catches in your lungs, “Answer me. Aren’t I right?”

Your hips buck into him, eyes dancing between his hand between your legs and his gaze that was cold and pointed. He smacks his teeth with his lips, pulling his hand away from your core to land a quick slap against your center. You gasp a moan, hips jerking, and his lips curve in a smile, “You answer when I speak to you.”

“Yes, fuck, Yunho, you’re right,” you gasp out, body twitching now, fingers twisting in the sheets below you. 

“What am I right about?”

“I’m a slut!” You cry out as his thumb meets your clit again. Your head digs into the pillows, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure, how his finger moves at the perfect pace with perfect pressure. 

He uses his other hand to slip a finger inside you, curling slowly, his lips parting as he watches your body arch, relaxing into the bed, face morphing into sweet pleasure. 

“That’s right,” he nods, voice taunting, “You’re a slut, my fucking slut. You don’t talk back to me, you don’t speak to me disrespectfully, do you?”

You shake your head quickly, eyebrows twisted in pleasure, hips bucking against his fingers. The sting in your ass adds to the pleasure at your core, mixing together in a bubble of euphoria, the pit in your stomach tightens. He adds another finger and fucks into you faster, thumb circling with harder pressure, voice still taunting as he asks, “Do you have anything you want to say to me?”

“I’m sorry,” you open your eyes, words coming out in a rushed, strained breath, “I’m sorry, Yunho.”

His grin spreads wide. He slips his fingers out, maneuvering you onto your front again, grabbing a pillow from beside your head to slide under your hips. “You don’t get to be stretched out.”

“Fuck,” you mutter absent-mindedly into the cotton pillows, hands coming up to grip at the plush. The stretch was always so much worse without an orgasm first, his cock was too long, too thick. 

“Maybe if you’re good for me I’ll pretend you never said a word, maybe I’ll even let you cum,” his hands curl into your cheeks, spreading you open, ignoring how you hiss at the sting. He leans down, landing a fat glob of spit to drip down your folds before you hear him pull down his sweats, his briefs, no doubt just low enough to get his cock out, scrunched around his thighs. 

“Take a deep breath for me baby,” his voice is soft for the first time tonight as he lines himself up, his tip spreading his own spit along your core, slapping his cock against you twice before prodding at your entrance. 

You suck a deep breath in as he pushes into you slowly, whimpering at the stretch, at the sting. Always so fucking big, even after four years, you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to it. 

“Hah, fuck,” he drags out the words, low and velvety, his pleasure verbal. “Sucking me in like you always do, piss me off just to get fucked like a slut. I know you.”

You cry out a choked moan as he sheathes himself inside you slowly, letting you feel the curve of his cock, each pulsing vein, the mushroom tip settling deep inside you. You feel his hair on your stinging cheeks, eyes screwed shut, rolled back behind your lids, the pain so hot it sears your skin. 

“Not gonna fight back?” He huffs a breath of pleasure and amusement, “Too fucked out to speak already?”

Your knees dig into the mattress, hips pressing back against him, “Move.”

He lands another harsh smack on your ass, your wail is immediate, piercing through the room. His voice is sharp, “Thought we went over how you fuckin’ speak to me. You wanna be used, left here without an orgasm and a cunt pumped full of cum?”

You shake your head, tears stinging your waterline again, “No! No, I’m sorry.”

“Act like it,” he pulls out just to slide back in, harsher this time, “Don’t just fucking say it.”

“I’m sorry,” you wail as he picks up the pace, building a rhythm as your fingertips claw at the pillows beneath you, “I’ll be good– I’ll be good, I swear!”

“I know you will,” his hands run over your hips, watching as your hot-red ass bounces against his cock, “This pussy wants to cum, that’s why you were acting up, right? Just missed me?” 

Tears dampen the pillows beneath your cheeks, sobs racking through your chest, shoulders shaking as much as your ass bounced against him, “Y-Yes, Yun, just missed you, miss- missed your cock.”

His fingers tighten around your hips, a low groan tumbling through his lips as he fucks into you harder, “I know, baby, I know.”

Your hips fuck back onto him, accepting every inch of his cock, letting the overwhelming pleasure settle into your core. Tears spill down your cheeks as moan after moan slips from your lips, his cock bruising your cervix, curving so deliciously against the front of your walls. 

“Fuck, Yunho,” you whimper, voice muffled by the pillows, “Wanna see you, need to see you.”

“Yeah?” He asks, taunting tone dulled by his pleasure-filled breath, “Gonna be a good girl?” 

“Yes,” you cry, choking on the spit in your throat, “Gonna be good, g-gonna be your good girl.” 

He pulls out at that, slipping the pillow from beneath you and throwing it off the bed, flipping you for the final time tonight. With one look at your splotchy, tear-stained cheeks he’s leaning down, connecting his lips with yours. It’s messy, hot, wet, teeth colliding and tongues trying to swallow each other whole. Your hands immediately slide under his hoodie, feeling the muscled, chiseled abdomen beneath, beckoning him to take it off. 

He pulls it over his head and your arms slide over his shoulders, fingers twisting together at the base of his neck, tugging at the hairs that curl around his ears. He moans into your lips, cock grinding against your slippery folds, tip catching on your entrance. 

“Please,” you whisper into his lips, a string of spit connecting your lips, “Inside.” 

He reaches down, shimmying his sweats down to his ankles, then uses one hand to line himself up and you both watch as he slowly pushes himself inside, eyebrows twisting together and lips falling open in a silent moan. 

“So fucking good,” he groans into you, “Pussy so sweet, missed it, missed you.”

You whine as he reaches the hilt, “So fucking deep, Yunho, fuck.” 

“All yours, baby,” he catches your lips again, his skin pressed to yours, pelvis so heavy against yours as he builds a new slow, antagonizing rhythm, “All fucking yours.”

Your thighs wrap around his, hips meeting his thrusts, his cock barely sliding out of you with how close you keep him. So close together you don’t know where he ends and you begin, your moans pour into one melody, breaths hot on each other’s faces. Your nails claw into his skin, cries growing higher in pitch as his cock drags against your walls, massaging that spongy spot just behind your clit.

“Right there,” you breathe, head tipping back, and Yunho dips his head down to press his tongue to the column of your throat. Your toes curl, whining, “Shit, Yunho, fuck, missed you s’much.”

“My good girl,” he mumbles into your skin, picking up his pace, never missing the spot you think he was built to hit. “So fuckin’ bratty when she doesn’t get her way, just needed something to fill this tight lil’ pussy up.”

“Yes,” you’re reeling, gasping, your orgasm building steadily in your gut, “Needed you, needed this.”

“I’m sorry,” he finds your mouth again, kissing you harshly, muffling your moans. “‘M sorry I didn’t call.”

“It’s okay, shit,” you gasp, “I’m gonna cum.”

Your thighs unclasp from his back as he fucks into you harder, cock bullying that spot inside you, and your breath hitches in your throat as the pleasure finally spills, clenching around him, nails clawing into him so hard you’re sure you’ll leave red crescents in his back. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, “So good for me baby, so tight, you want me to fill you up?”

You nod against his lips, mouth hanging slack against his, body still clenched tight around him, orgasm still flowing through you. “Yes, yes, need it.”

He chokes out a groan, staggered and broken, hips twitching as he loses his rhythm, fucking into you wildly. You cry out, “Yes, baby, so good– so good, stretching me out, cum inside.”

He moans at that, head dipping into your shoulder as he pounds his cock into you, broken thrusts turning to a nasty, slow grind. He whimpers as he spills into you, “I love you, I love you– so much.”

Your hands slide into his hair, scratching at his scalp as you feel his load fill you up, “I love you too, baby.” 

Warm, heavy, full. You both catch your breath for a few, he lays with his head in your neck, your thighs lazily thrown over his, both of you ignoring the stick between you. 

“Sorry for flipping out when you got home,” you finally mumble, voice coy. 

He smiles into your neck, a warm, close-mouthed grin, “It’s okay, I gave you a valid reason to.”

“You should do it more often,” a smile grows on your own cheeks, “If it means you’ll fuck me like this.”

He laughs into your neck, sweet and light, your favorite song. “I fuck you like this without you being mad at me.”

“It adds to it tho, yanno?” You turn your head, kissing his hair. “Maybe next time you’ll have someone else with you when you walk through the door and I can berate him, too.”

“Like who? Mingi?”

You shrug, a smirk on your lips. He lifts his head, meeting your eye, reading the amusement but seriousness laying behind them. He blinks at you for a second, before his lips curl in a nasty smirk, too.

it didn’t mean he stopped asking. his strains always made you muddy-brained, incapable of rational thinking. you preferred to smoke alone, in the secluded quiet of your bedroom, where you could melt into your sheets without a care in the world.

another thing you wouldn’t tell him, his weed makes you extremely horny. and you have no idea why. god forbid you smoke with him and then try to jump his bones before the blunt touches your lips.

he’s too pretty for his own good, and he knows it. he loves to tease you, giving you watery looks that made your bones go a little weak.

when he’d hand you things and his fingertips would brush your knuckles, entirely too intimately.

he was the best plug you’d ever had, and you didn’t want to fuck it up over some hormones. always on time, well, mostly. insanely good product, that satisfying feeling of consistency he always provided you with.

one wrong move and something could change, then you won’t be able to cling to that familiarity you found yourself tethered to, which wasn’t a good thing either way.

and after months of his trademark wooyoung nagging, you finally agreed. you had a shitty week, and you honestly did not want to smoke alone. the smile on his face when you finally agreed to share a sesh with him should have raised alarms. he was too happy about it. he sat on your bed with you, a blunt pinched between his fingertips, unable to hide the pure, unadulterated joy in his face.

“i knew you loved me.” he said cheerily, whilst passing the blunt to you. you crossed your legs and took a hit, rolling your eyes.

“i can just tell i’m going to regret this.” you groan around an exhale, and wooyoung wiggles his eyebrows as he takes it back from you.

“not if you don’t want to.”

funny thing is, wooyoung wasn’t being entirely truthful with you. i mean, you didn’t expect him to be open and honest with you on everything. he was a distributor after all. but he failed to disclose a couple of things to you, things that might be important to know.

you would find these facts out eventually, but only while he’s fucking you so slowly it was like with every stroke he was gradually becoming one with your body.

he had your legs pressed up to your chest, his hands pressing down on the backs of your thighs to keep you folded beneath his body. his smile made your gut twist, a very heavy fog settled over your brain, a muted heat that made every movement you made feel like it was weighted. every moan he forces out of you feels like it’s soaked in thick honey.

he looked borderline wicked, his own eyelids low and sultry, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, his glinting canines on display as he slowly drags his cock in and out of you.

you shivered every time he kissed that spot so deep, every sensation was heightened to a point of near concern of sensory overload. wooyoung’s moans sounded like heaven's trumpets, the slick sound of his cock sliding against your gummy walls so sticky and gross. "fucking finally..." he snarls under his breath, and you feel your stomach flutter.

the feeling of his hot palms against your thighs and his sharp nose brushing against yours each time his hips pulled back and forth. his breaths fan over your parted lips in heavy pants, his eyebrows knitted together. he looked like he could barely keep his eyes open, but he didn’t want to miss a second of your pretty little blissed-out face.

you knew this was gonna be a bad idea.

“fuck… is she always this wet?” he shudders out, moving his eyes down and catching the glinting sheen of wetness you’ve left on his cock when he slides out of your cunt again, just enough to where his tip nearly pops out of you.

when he thrusts back inside, it’s deep and insatiable, and your back arches lazily and your lungs shake.

you’re both a cloudy, hazy, turned-on wreck. you’ve made such a mess on his dick, making it so easy to glide in and out of your pussy with concerning ease. your hands fist the sheets on either side of your head, and you felt as if you let go, you just might hover off the bed with how good you were feeling.

“it’s good, i know baby,” he mutters against your mouth, opening his lips with a low inhale and kissing you into a soaked mess, his tongue filling your mouth and muffling your quiet moans.

“can i tell you a secret?” he whispers around your tongue, and you moan lowly in response. to help distract you, he pulls his hips back, and this time he rolls them, nice and deep, so his fat tip presses against that spot harsh and heavy, he can feel your legs shake under his hold.

he pulls away from your lips and slots his face into the crook of your neck, littering it in saliva-dripped kisses. while his cock turns your cunt inside out, he mutters out a confession laced with shaky moans and hazy breaths.

“i found out a way to grow my bud incorporated with a natural aphrodisiac. cool shit huh?” as he says it, he thrusts into you especially hard, a surprised, choked moan falls from your lips.

“w-wooyoung-!” you cry out, but he only shushes you.

“a little tweaking here and there, and now smoking it makes you feel a little horny. is it working? are you horny baby? is that why you never want to smoke with me?” he teases you while never stopping the grueling movement of his hips, and you find your words lost in your throat.

“probably why you’re-“ he leans back again and looks down at where he was sheathed inside of you, the strings of slick that clinged to his v-line sending a shiver down his spine as he punctuates each word with a roll of his hips. “so… fucking… wet.”

“woo-“ you moan pathetically, and he brings his eyes up to look at you, a high, sad mess underneath him. his palms kneading the soft flesh of your under thighs, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, and moaning low in his chest. “‘s not… okay.”

your words are empty, your pussy telling him all he needs to hear. wooyoung smiles and shakes his head.

“shh. no talking.” he patronizes. “your job is to lie there, be dumb, and fucking take it.” he groans when he feels you clench around him, your head lolls back against the mattress when you feel the thick veins of his dick drag inside of you. every sensation has your body feeling like it’s buzzing, and the longer he fucks you, the more you begin to lose all remaining coherency.

“yeah, just like that,” wooyoung bites out with a purr, lost in the warmth of your body. “shut that brain off for me, pretty.”

you’re barely on earth enough to notice as one of his hands moves away from your thigh and grabs the disintegrating roach that sits in the ashtray on your bedside table.

he lifts it to his lips, slowing his hips to deep, slick strokes as he inhales one last time, dropping it back into the ashtray. without a word, he leans back down and presses his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss.

you moan as he speeds up his hips, fucking you full of him so much so you feel like your body is not your own.

“breathe in, baby.” he mutters into your mouth, and you do. you inhale in the wisps that drift from his mouth, and your brain fogs over again as the secondhand smoke fills your lungs.

you’re cumming so hard you actually black out for a moment, and wooyoung watches every second of it like it was the most addicting things he’s every seen.

he doesn’t stop moving his hips, riding you out on his cock while you seem to have a never-ending high. your entire body shakes and the remaining tendrils of smoke float over your lips while wooyoung moans greedily.

“no wonder you didn’t want to smoke with me. just look at you baby, i think i’ve ruined you.” he pouts, and then his moans trail off into a broken whine when you clench and gush around him uncontrollably.

“we should make this a habit… fuckkkk me.” he trails off as he loses himself to your cunt once again, sliding his hands up the backs of your legs and pressing down on the backs of your knees.

“look so pretty folded under me. dumb girl. couldn’t connect the dots herself, needed someone to tell her she wasn’t smoking normal shit.” he grins and leans down, dragging his tongue up the slope of your jaw, kissing below your ear.

“my favorite customer.” he coos by your ear, sinking his teeth into your lobe. “don’t be mad at me, please?” he whines, and then growls low by your ear when you tighten around him once more.

“if you’re not mad at me then cum on my cock again, pretty girl. let me feel that pussy forgive me.”

you don’t even mean to, and you are in fact upset that he never told you his weed has aphrodisiac effects, but your body has a mind of its own. overstimulated and fuzzy, your entire body feels like it’s being shocked as you fall apart around him, your limbs twitching as the slick sound of his dick working you out grows louder as you squirt all over his lower stomach.

“holy shit- holy shit- holy- fuck…” he moans, slowing his thrusts to languid, absorbed strokes that help drag the cum out of your body until you’re squeezed dry.

“woo…” you whine pathetically, your whines breaking in your throat, tiredness seeping into your bones as you start to lose consciousness beneath his warm body.

“i’m right here, baby, just a l-little longer, okay? okay? let me fuck you a little longer…” he trails off again and resumes being laser focused on feeling your warmth swallow his cock whole.

he makes no indication that he plans to stop anytime soon, and all you can do is lie beneath him, a fucked out, helpless, high mess while he rides the waves of his own high with your sweet body. it took him so long to finally reach this milestone, hes going to savor it.

well things have changed, alright, and you had a feeling that a new addiction had bubbled to the surface, one that, unfortunately, both of you would not be able to quit cold turkey anytime soon.