highway to hell.

Tanned skin, broad shoulders and a criminally narrow waist that flashes beneath the flannel he wears over his tank top— all complimented by a face sculpted by the gods with clear love and care; a plump bottom lip that juts into a pout, tall nose and large eyes that scanned the room curiously— you first made eye contact after Kai let you in, your gaze instantly attracted to the makeshift halo given to him by the lamp he sat in front, his long black hair falling into his eyes. While you instantly looked away, intimidated by how attractive he was, you felt his gaze linger on you for a bit longer.

You let Kai take your hand and drag you to the couch across from this beautiful stranger; some random animated adult comedy show droned on in the background, the only light left after the lamp gets turned off, a few others already taking up space on the couches; you squeezed into the corner while Kai sat to your left, Soobin and Beomgyu taking up the rest of the space— they were nice and fun to talk to, but you only knew them through Kai; you learned it was more entertaining to watch them try to argue whilst high out of their minds.

Across from you, Kazuha and Yunjin wave at you— you were mutual friends through Kai, getting to know them through your econ class after you were paired together for a project; they introduce you to the friends they invited, Chaeryoung and Ryujin. Yeonjun has forfeited a seat on the couch in favor of sitting on the floor, hunched over the coffee table as he rolls up— when you greet him, he gives you a toothy grin, nodding behind him as he introduces you to his invited guest—

"Taehyun." Oh god, you have to try your best not to react too much as he greets you— a polite smile is all you can muster, because you fear anything more than that would give away the effect his mere voice already has on you. It's smooth and deep, with an unexpected gentleness in his tone despite the cool and standoffish front he has going on. You all fall silent, some paying attention to the television while you opt to watch Yeonjun finish rolling up the joint.

He works fast, his fingers nimble and clearly experienced; as much as you like to tease that his skill is concerning, you never turn down a smoke session when it's Yeonjun that's rolling up— you'd like to think that the extra care he puts in his joints add a little extra something that makes your high better. Not that you'd ever tell him that.

You're snapped out of your trance at the sound of Yeonjun calling your name; blinking owlishly, you find him holding out the finished joint and a lighter out to you, eyes tinted with an amused glint.

"Wanna start it off?" he asks— you suddenly feel everyone's eyes fall on you. "You look like you're dying for a hit."

"Am not," you scoff, yet take up the offer anyway; this earns a chuckle from Taehyun, who you can't help but become attuned to instantly. Placing the joint between your lips, you pray that you don't fumble lighting it up and make a fool of yourself in front of everyone.

Then again, it's hard to when you have Yeonjun's work in your hands— you quietly marvel at how quickly the joint lights up, taking a slow drag and watching the tip burn in response. You turn your head to the side to blow out the smoke before passing it over to Kai, settling back on the couch and turning your attention on the show that plays in the background.

As the joint makes its way back to you, a quiet conversation adds to the white noise; you talk about the semester and the finals that approach, listening to Yunjin rant animatedly about her cumulative calculus exam that's driving her up the wall, nodding along in sympathy. Beside you, Kai starts to complain about his job— hyping himself up by saying the same as always: "I'm gonna quit once this semester ends, I swear." The effects of the weed already seem to kick in as you can only muster a slightly slurred remark that he's a hypocrite that's been repeating the same thing for the past two years— when you stumble over your sentence one time too many, the group begins to laugh and you quietly scold yourself to shut the hell up.

It's been a while since you last smoked; you're definitely sure it's showing too, as you proceed to melt into the couch more while the others continue the conversation like nothing— at some point, the others start skipping you when passing the joint around.

Beomgyu and Soobin have started arguing again, something about League and their current rankings. While they have the world's most incomprehensible screaming match, Yunjin drags the girls up and to the kitchen, rambling off about how hungry she is— she turns to you to ask if you'd like to tag along, but when your bleary eyes meet hers and you give her a sluggish shake of your head, she leaves without a fight. Yeonjun trails after them at the reminder of food; beside you, Kai watches his friends fight with a small smile, taking a slow hit from the joint and leaning on your shoulder with a sigh. The two of you curl into each other, and while Kai laughs at the jabs the two throw at each other, you're left unsure of whether they're even speaking a language you know.

A chill runs through your body, and you instinctively turn to the couch across from you— your eyes meet with Taehyun's for the umpteenth time today, but in your high induced daze, you don't feel a panicked urge to look away. Instead, you allow yourself to hold his stare, tilting your head as your eyes begin to wander.

He's shed his flannel; he's left in nothing but a white tank, showing off his arms that are so defined with muscle you're able to pick it up under the low light of the TV. It's unbearable, having such perfect eye-candy on display— even more so when he places his hands behind his head and stretches back, his short tank riding up and exposing his stomach— rather, his fucking abs. You didn't think it was possible to find someone with actual defined abs in real life; Yeonjun always complains to you about how hard they are to maintain.

You're suddenly aware of how dry your mouth is, and you can't control the way you gulp as an attempt to relive the tension. You watch as his eyes flutter shut and his head tilts back, his back arching as he continues to stretch— a low groan escapes his lips, and before you can look away and feign nonchalance, he's melting back down into the couch and meeting your eyes again.

Your face feels like it's on fire, your eyes widening a fraction as you look away— but not before catching the way his lips quirked up in amusement.

"I don't give a fuck that you were at master tier— you're at emerald now and I'm at diamond. So I'm obviously better."

"When have you ever reached master?!" Soobin's yell cuts off your flustered line of thoughts, jumping closer to Kai from the shock his sudden increase in volume gave you. Kai merely laughs at you, grabbing your thighs to bring your legs up to rest on his lap; he absentmindedly rubs your thigh while watching the two continue to debate on who's better.

"And who had to carry you during last night's match?!" Beomgyu yells back; the two are heated, sitting up and trying to loom over each other, but they keep trying to one-up each other that you think they'll stand up any moment. "How many kills did you get again?!"

"Hey, did you want any more?" Kai is holding out the joint to you, leaning in so you can hear him over the screaming match happening next to you. You think about it for a minute— you still feel light and dreamy, but there's the unmistakable feeling of the fog clearing in your mind, able to keep a better grasp on your surroundings than before— and decide it's too early to let the feeling fade, nodding softly and going to reach for the joint.

Instead, Kai beats you to it. He's bringing the joint to your lips, smiling when you raise a brow in surprise but accept the gesture anyway; you follow his instructions to take a long hit, and when he finally pulls the joint away, you've filled your lungs with so much smoke that you end up having a small coughing fit.

"Shit, my bad— that was probably a little too much," he pushes your legs off his lap and hands you the joint, giving you a pat on your back before standing, "I'll go get you some water."

You're left trying to calm down your coughing fit with the smoking joint in your hand, Soobin and Beomgyu now speaking so fast you feel like you're going crazy— there isn't a single word you're able to pick up on, and all you can do is stare at the rug beneath your feet as the weed begins to course through your system once more.

The joint feels warm between your fingers, and you're suddenly itching to get rid of it; glancing to your left, you immediately rule out Soobin and Beomgyu who have now begun to point aggressively at each other. The only other person you can hand this to is sitting across from you, and already staring when you look at him. Taehyun sends you a small smile, reaching his hand out in a silent plea. He's too far from you, so you're resigned to stand on shaky legs and walk over to hand him the joint.

Maybe you should've paid a bit more attention to your surroundings— because then you would've been able to catch Yeonjun's bag on the floor next to the coffee table, your foot catching on it and sending you stumbling forward; you crash into the couch unceremoniously, able to turn your body at the last second to ensure you didn't crush the joint nor burn either you or Taehyun with it— instead, you almost fall on him, saved instead by his hands that shoot forward to steady you. Your head spins from the sudden movement, panting as your heart tries to calm down from the scare.

"Fuck, that's so embarrassing," you whine, covering your face with a hand in shame— Soobin and Beomgyu's argument is briefly cut off in favor of laughing at you, retreating to their own world in surrender after you send them a glare. You hear a low chuckle next to you, and your heart begins to panic once more as you remember who it is you almost fell on top of.

"I'm so sorry," you say through the gaps of your fingers— you don't have the guts to look at him, holding the joint out to his general direction instead. When he takes it, his fingers brush over yours; they're warm and a bit calloused, and you try to ignore the electricity that shoots through your fingertips into the rest of your body.

"No need to apologize," Taehyun says, "you okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine," you say, trying to adjust yourself on the couch— you really don't think you can get back up, especially now that you're high again— you shift away from him, just so you don't have to feel like you're going to shut down every time your thighs press against each other, and frown, feeling a sudden tension in your right hand.

Taehyun takes another hit, and you try to watch from the corner of your eye—his plump lips that wrap around the joint, his brows that knit together while he inhales, looking away from you so he can exhale; you catch him doing a ghost, and you swear you've never seen anyone look so hot while smoking. You're quick to look away so he won't catch you ogling this time.

You're back to watching the TV absentmindedly, the tension in your hand coming back as you shift— frowning, you begin to massage your hand, flinching when your fingers push into the knuckle of your thumb; a stinging sensation shoots through you, and you can't hold back the sharp hiss you let out as you experimentally push in again. Taehyun's head snaps over, watching quietly as you continue to massage your thumb, fingers careful and hesitant as you press into the muscle.

Your eyes that were glued to the hands on your lap widen as Taehyun reaches for your sore hand, bringing it up to his face to examine it; your mouth feels dry as you observe the concern etched into his frown, lithe fingers wrapped around your wrist and turning your hand over in his— his lips clamp down on the joint so he can examine you with his other hand, leaning toward you as he does.

Slowly, his fingers smooth over your skin, fingertips stopping at the knuckle you were tending to earlier. His thumb and pointer fingers move to squeeze your joint experimentally, his eyes flickering up to your face when you grimace and your hand twitches in his hold.

"How bad does it hurt?" he murmurs, his face so close to yours it feels like you've been sucked into a whole different dimension. You can smell the weed that lingers with the joint, the flame beginning to die out, and the clean, calming scent of his cologne— serene and endless, like a cabin in the woods surrounded by the smell of cedar and nature. It's fresh, clean— his face is a mere inches away from yours, and when his eyes flicker up to meet yours, you feel as though you've been kicked in the gut and forced to answer.

"Not— not too bad, I'm sure it's nothing serious," he raises a brow, digging his fingers into your muscle once more— when you let out a choked yelp, the corners of his lips tick up. You let out a shaky breath as you try to be brave and hold his stare. "I think I just landed on it wrong."

"You're sure?" his eyes sparkle with an undeniable mischief, watching with a glint in his eyes as you immediately nod— he presses into your thumb again, just to watch you jolt and try to rip your hand from his; he tightens his hold on you before you can. "Still sure?"

"Okay, maybe it's a little sore," your courage has been snuffed out, your eyes falling to your lap dejectedly. Taehyun chuckles, plucking the joint from his lips before putting it down on the ash tray on the coffee table— his hand has yet to let yours go.

"Thought so," he murmurs; bringing your hand close, he caresses the sore spot slowly. "Sorry, didn't mean to get so rough with you."

Your mind goes blank— his fingers linger on your skin for a second, his eyes fluttering to look up at you once more. He's gently placing your hand back on your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze before he lets go. You're not sure what prompts you into saying the things you do, but the words tumble from your lips anyway.

"No, it's fine. I don't mind."

Beside you, Taehyun stiffens; he does nothing more than nod, letting out a thoughtful hum and leaning back into the couch. The air between you two feels undeniably charged, and you think you might blurt out something stupid again if this tension persists. Instead, you're saved by Kai who finally emerges from the kitchen— you send him a glare for taking so long, and he rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, Yeonjun was telling us about his situationship again," he sits next to you, uncapping the water bottle before handing it to you, "I got distracted."

"You're lucky I love you," you murmur, gulping down water— Kai leans in, dropping his voice and whispering in your ear.

"Why'd you switch seats?"

You don't like the tone in his voice— teasing, as though you had ulterior motives. You narrow your eyes at him when you find a coy smile playing at his lips.

"I was passing the joint to him."

"And you just had to stay here?"

"Shut up," you raise your voice, smacking his shoulder to get him away from you— while Kai just laughs, you see Taehyun glance over at you from your peripheral. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."

"Yes ma'am," Kai gathers your legs in his lap again, pulling you closer instinctively, "Taehyun, could you pass the joint over here?"

"Sure," he leans forward, picking up the joint before frowning— he gives a testing tug, and when nothing comes out, he shakes his head. "It went out. Where's the lighter?"

"Oh— I have it," you're patting your pockets in search of it, finally fishing it out with a triumphant cheer— you're about to hand it over to Taehyun, but instead of taking it, he leans into you, the joint hanging between his lips.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his— his eyes are dark, and he's raising a brow at you as though your hesitation were odd— he nods his chin toward you, and you're bringing up the lighter, having to flick it a few times before the flame finally emerges. While his gaze is glued to the tip of the joint, you take this moment to get a closer look at him; his black hair that's lit up under the soft flame, stray hairs falling over his round eyes with thick lashes that flutter softly, his smooth skin and slim face, you take it all in like it's the last time you'll ever see him again; when he finally pulls away, you're quick to do the same, afraid to get caught staring for the millionth time tonight.

You face forward, trying to pretend that the moment that passed wasn't enough to startle your heart— when you look up, you're mortified to find Soobin and Beomgyu staring at you with wide, sleazy smiles. When you frown, their grins only widen— you shake your head softly when you see Beomgyu ready to speak, and to your surprise, he actually shuts his mouth with a coy chuckle; you think there might've been genuine fear flashing in your eyes with the way he obliged so easily.

From the corner of your eye, you see Taehyun taking another hit before passing it off to you; you don't hesitate to take it this time, more than ready to ease tonight'sjr&u tension a bit, taking a long hit before passing it off to Kai— you and Taehyun don't interact much for the rest of the night, and while your heart is thankful for it, your brain quietly itches for a little more; a glance, a conversation, something— but Taehyun falls quiet without Yeonjun by his side, and the said man spends the rest of the night in the kitchen ranting to the girls about his recent heartache.

It isn't until everyone is leaving that you run into him again, standing idly in the kitchen and picking at the snacks that were left behind; it's two AM and you've cashed in your best friend privileges to sleep over at Kai's while everyone is saying their goodbyes after finally sobering up. Yeonjun is glued to your side, sneaking in a last few pieces from the candy bowl while you make him promise to catch you up on everything he was spilling to the rest of the girls.

"It's not my fault, you're the one that chose to stay on the couch the whole time."

"Well, you should've tried to come get me again!"

"Why would I do that?" he leans in closer, whispering in your ear with a coy grin, "when you and Taehyunie were getting along so well?"

"Whatever," you shove him off you with a scoff, but he only lets out an obnoxious laugh, leaning in to give you a kiss on the cheek before bidding you goodbye and running out the kitchen. Taehyun wanders in a few minutes later.

It's ridiculous, really— your heart begins to race the moment you make eye-contact with him, and you're turning to face the counter as a result, picking aimlessly at snacks and candy bowls in a weak attempt to seem busy. You think your heart might stop when you feel him looming over you, his shadow encasing yours as he softly clears his throat; you have to brace yourself before you finally turn around.

"Hey," his voice is deep and a bit raspy, and you get a whiff of mint as he speaks— sure enough, he's chewing on gum, and you realize with a pathetic skip of your heart that he has dimples, one so deep and etched into the side of his right cheek. "Do you have Yeonjun's lighter?"

Oh. That bastard.

"Oh! I do, yeah," you give a weak laugh, an attempt to ease your overactive nerves; sure enough, Yeonjun's lighter is still in your pocket, and you're fishing out the Zippo decorated with stickers and handing it out to him.

"Thanks," he shoves it in his front pocket, and you nod. He takes a step back, and lingers for a moment. "It was nice meeting you. I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," your response is a tad too swift and eager, and though it makes your skin crawl, the smile he gives you evens it out. "It was nice meeting you too."

He gives you a polite smile before turning on his heel and leaving for good— you watch him leave, quietly following up to the kitchen doorway just to keep him in your sight a little longer.

And thank god you do— because the image of his broad back and the subtle flex of his muscles is the last thing you get to ingrain in your mind before Kai shuts the door behind him. Your best friend is instantly turning to you, and you hide behind the wall and pretend you hadn't been caught.

His obnoxious cackle is enough to have your skin heating up with embarrassment, hiding your face behind your hands as you recount the way you acted tonight.

"Dude, you were like a cat in heat."

You can't even fight back, because he's undeniably right.

You can't stop thinking about him. It's been a week, and he's still invading your thoughts; maybe it's because you're starting to notice him on Yeonjun's Instagram posts more, or because you actually pay attention to Kai's rants after finding out he works with him at the local record shop— he's everywhere. He's been everywhere, and you just never realized it. You're anxious to see him again, your heart trembling with every night you had to spend overthinking the few hours you spent together— the lingering gazes, his touch on your hand, the kind glint in his eyes— you're tired of recounting the same scenarios over and over. So when Kai invites you to be his plus one to a party Taehyun's friend is hosting, who are you to say no to your best friend?

"Oh my god, how many times are you gonna ask? I don't know, they look the same to me!"

"They're literally not!" you flip the denim skirts over to show him the back, "the pockets! And the color! One's darker."

"Well they look the same."

"Ugh, you're not helping," you throw the skirts off to the side, flopping on your desk chair with a sigh. From your bed, Kai pouts, hugging your bunny plush closer as he watches you massage your temples.

"What about that one dress you have?" you look up in confusion, and he nods over to your open closet, "the pink one you got for our beach trip."

Your face lights up— that pink dress. The one you found at the mall by sheer luck, flattering and short with a skirt that swayed with your movements and gave others a peek of what was underneath if you weren't too careful. You completely forgot you owned it.

"Kai, have I ever told you how much I love you?" you bat your lashes at him, skipping over to the closet— sure enough, the pretty pink material peeked out from the very back of the rack, begging to be taken out. Kai only hums absently, and you look over your shoulder to send him a smile. "Now can you please get out? I'm gonna change."

You're smoothing the dress down your hips when Kai knocks. It's been half an hour and you've yet to let him back in again.

"Come in," you finally say, turning to the side in the mirror, checking if the halter straps of your dress are tied in that perfect bow you practiced. The fabric of the skirt moves with you, fluttering around your thighs like a blooming flower— you see Kai come into the frame behind you, wearing a tight shirt and jeans that sit just a tad bit low on his hips, skin coming into view when he raises his hand to ruffle his curled blond hair. You glance at your appearance one last time before turning to him.

"Do I look okay?"

"You look great," he smiles, taking you in, in all your glittery glory, "you'll have Taehyun drooling all over you tonight."

"Shut up," you scoff, turning your back to him and scampering to get your purse and heels— Kai's insufferable smirk won't leave his face as he leads you out and to the ride he ordered to take you two to the party.

Kai is graceful enough to drop the subject for the rest of the car ride, choosing to tell you about the actual host of tonight's party so you don't go in blind; contrary to what you previously thought, there's no special occasion for tonight's party— Keeho merely did it for the love of the game. Kai details how Keeho throws parties every month or so, because after having his twenty-first get called a "rager", he decided it'd be fun to keep the title up.

"It might be packed tonight," Kai says, "Taehyun was telling me all the shit he had to get for tonight— from the sounds of it, I wouldn't be surprised if there were like, over a hundred people in there."

"Jesus Christ," you're pulling in to a street, finding the neighborhood lined with cookie-cutter houses that look like it'd take you three jobs to maintain; you can already spot a house toward the end of the cul-de-sac bleeding music loud enough to disturb the neighbors and other cars dropping off people who are already stumbling inside— adrenaline licks up your spine, a smile breaking out on your face at the sight of a party actually living up to the hype. When you turn back to Kai with stars in your eyes, he laughs.

"See what I mean?" He thanks your driver before sliding out the car behind you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you inside, "He got the reputation for a reason."

"How the hell has this not gotten shut down yet?" you have to raise your voice as you slip inside, the air instantly switching to something foggy and hot— there isn't a single person in front of your that's sober, and Kai has to lean close to be able to hear you.

"I think his neighbors are usually out on business trips," Kai yells, "but I've also heard rumors that he keeps a "special" relationship with them, if you know what I mean."

You do not. And you're sure you really don't want to.

"That's him!" Kai is pointing at the elevated DJ booth, and when you ask who you're supposed to be looking at, he points at the DJ himself— your jaw drops as you take him in, platinum hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and his dark eyes narrowed as he focuses on his deck; he takes off one of headphones as someone approaches him, probably requesting a song stupid enough to warrant the way his face twists with disgust, waving the person away without a second thought.

"Wait!" something in your mind clicks when you see him look up, the confident grin on his face giving you flashbacks to a late night out, "Isn't he DJ K? From the rave we went to?!"

Kai's nod is reciprocated with a slap to his shoulder— when he gives you an offended look, you scoff.

"He's been throwing parties this whole time and you didn't bother telling me you knew him?"

"Taehyun knows him," the mere mention of his name is enough to bring a smug smile to Kai's face, "so if you're gonna be mad at anyone, get mad at him."

Kai's sporting that weird look on his face again, like he's scheming something and you're at his mercy— it's making you nervous, and it must show on your face because your friend is taking your hand and dragging you through the house with a suspicious familiarity that makes you wanna hit him again. Instead, you allow him to bring you to the mini-bar— bar!— they have, ordering a round of shots you gratefully accept. The tequila Kai ordered for you goes down smooth, though you can't stop yourself from making a face, scanning the crowd to try and play it off; you can see Kai laughing at you from the corner of your eye.

"You wanna go dance?" he asks, watching you continue to analyze the crowd before you, "or… are you looking for someone?"

Reluctantly, you look up at him— he sounds like he knows something you don't, so you give in and tell the truth. "Maybe."

"About time. C'mon," Kai offers his hand, lacing your fingers with his and pulling you close, weaving through bodies and venturing deeper into the house— again, with such effortlessness that has you irked. He's leading you to the basement, leaning close to your ear with a grin. "That clueless act was getting old."

His loud laugh and the booming music is enough to drown out the names you curse out, the smell of weed already reaching your senses as the air gets cloudier the more you descend— your heart begins to pound in anticipation at the thought of getting to see Taehyun again.

Right as you reach the last step, Kai lets go of your hand and snakes his arm around your waist instead— when you send him a confused look, he merely shrugs and pulls you in closer.

"Don't want any creeps to try and hit on you."

The basement is relatively dark, only lit up by a line of bulb string lights that go across the back wall— there are small rectangular windows high up that are left open, and a pool table off to the side where a few people crowd, but the real center of attention lies in the center of the room, people melted into the couches that circle a small coffee table, filled up with ashtrays and beer bottles— it's there that you spot Taehyun rolling up, finishing up a joint— not the first one, if the lingering smoke in the room is any indicator. His tongue darts out to lick along the paper, and like some freaky sixth sense, his eyes dart up to meet yours.

"Scary," Kai's hold on your waist tightens, "it's like he was waiting for you."

Your heart flips at the mere thought, but you act aloof as you allow your friend to lead you into the circle, finding a conveniently open spot next between Yeonjun and Taehyun— the former cheers at the sight of you two, opening his arms for a hug you happily initiate.

"Finally!" You're bending over to hug Yeonjun, who's practically one with the couch— Kai hovers behind you to cover your rising dress. "I almost thought you weren't gonna show up!"

"And who told you I was coming?" because it definitely wasn't you— pulling back, you catch Yeonjun's red eyes widen before glancing over your shoulder. You've barely spent five minutes with him, but Yeonjun's already managed to piss you off.

"You came at a good time," Yeonjun says instead, pulling you down by the wrist to sit next to down; Kai squeezes between you two instead of taking the open spot. "Those dumbass randoms took our joint, so Taehyunie's rolling us a new one."

Sure enough, Taehyun's cleared out a small space on the coffee table to make way for his setup; a thought lingers in your head that you wish you could've seen him rolling up, because as he's finishing up the surprisingly pearled joint, your eyes linger on his nimble hands, and your thoughts wander to an embarrassingly desperate place.

Taehyun is fishing something from his pocket, a simple black lighter with the letters K.TH written toward the bottom of one side; he goes to sit as he lights the joint, the action so indifferent that you're convinced to think nothing of the way he falls back next to you, pressed close despite having plenty of space to sit.

He's dressed in all black today; a simple black tee that hugs his body and ends just above the waistband to his jeans, earning you a peek of his navel as he leans back against the couch. The thin silver chain he wears glints under the low light of the flame, complimented by the small silver hoop earrings that decorate his ears. When he looks over at you, you play off your staring by pretending you were waiting patiently for him to pass the joint to you.

You quickly realize that Taehyun is a very quiet person— and it's frustrating. Kai and Yeonjun make idle conversation that you occasionally jump into, but your interest is more on the man next to you that's decided all he can do is nod along to what the others are saying. By the time the joint has been passed back to you for the umpteenth time, you're high to push yourself to try and talk to him— the last thing you want to do is stumble over your sentences trying to woo this man.

"I wouldn't pass it to her, I think she's already out of it," Yeonjun and Kai laugh to themselves, and your head rolls over to them to send a scathing glare. Your sluggish movements only serve to make them laugh harder. "She's a total lightweight."

"You liar!" you're sitting up, crossing your arms against your chest with a pout. "Just because I don't smoke every other day like you, doesn't mean I'm a lightweight!"

"Nah, if you take another hit you'll probably fall asleep," Kai is all in your face with that insufferable grin of his, refusing to stand down, "it's what you always do when we smoke at my place."

You're about to curse Kai out for airing out your business like this— the last thing you want Taehyun thinking is that you're a lame person to smoke with! You're fired up, brows knitting together and lips curling to a scowl when suddenly, Taehyun cuts into the conversation.

"Hey, don't do my girl like that," all heads are snapping over at him: Yeonjun and Kai because they're surprised to hear him join in, and you because you think you're hearing things.

He's leaned back against the couch, arms crossed and showing off his biceps— you have to rip your eyes away from his arms to take in the small, coy smile he dons, the lit joint hanging loosely between his lips. His eyes flicker over to you, his smile widening a tad when he catches the surprise on your face. "If she wants another hit then let her get another one."

"Someone's feeling brave," Kai put his arm around your shoulders, giving you a teasing shake that makes you whine in protest. "Acting like you weren't falling asleep earlier!"

Kai's teasing is persistent, cooing and pinching your cheeks as you try to shove him off and tell him that you'll be fine— your bickering goes on for a while, your foggy brain trying its best to keep up with Kai's childish arguments; it's a losing battle, but when you feel a warm hand land on your thigh, it's like a bucket of ice water has been dumped over you, sobering you instantly.

Taehyun has gotten close— very close, his shoulder brushing against yours as you feel Kai's hand slip from your shoulders; the world around you seems to fade away as he stares at you with low-lidded, dark eyes. His brows are set in a slight furrow and his jaw seems a bit tight, the hand on your thigh squeezing ever-so slightly— not enough to feel aggressive, but enough to make you squirm, breathless as your lips part in anticipation— for what exactly, you're not sure.

"Do you wanna take hit?" his voice is soft, but he makes up for it by leaning closer toward you. You can feel the callouses on his palms as he rubs your thigh slightly, fingertips brushing against the skirt of your dress that's ridden up. You nod, but it's only returned with a shake of Taehyun's head. "I need to hear you say it, or I won't give it to you."

His fingertips have ventured toward your inner thighs— your legs squeeze his hand on instinct, and you feel his grip tighten, nails digging in and making you swallow back a whimper.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out, "I can handle it."

Kai and Yeonjun scoot a bit away from you, looking at each other and pretending to gag— they're lucky you don't catch it, because if you did you might've beaten them up; they can't help themselves from glancing over at you two one last time before they head over to the pool table.

Taehyun takes one last, long hit, doing a french inhale that makes you call him a show-off. He merely chuckles, turning away to blow out the smoke before he's holding up the joint to your lips. Your eyes flutter up to meet his, glittering under the low lights as you part your glossed lips and take a hit— you find yourself a bit intimated by the intensity of his stare, pulling away far too soon and turning away in hopes of hiding your flustered face.

"C'mon, what was that?" Taehyun's hand is slipping from your thigh to cup your chin and pull you back toward him, huffing out a laugh at the pout you sport. He raises a brow at you, mocking. "Don't tell me you considered that a hit."

"I mean," with the way he's smiling at you, you're able to spot sharp canines that bite down on the tip of his tongue teasingly, a dangerous thrill shooting through your spine at the sight. "I guess."

He laughs, shaking his head as he squeezes your cheeks affectionately— you're positively dizzy with the sudden onslaught of attention, shifting on the couch and squeezing your thighs together; Taehyun's eyes flicker down, his brow twitching in amusement before he's bringing the joint back up to your lips. "You can take another hit, can't you?"

You don't hesitate to nod.

"Here. Take a bigger one," he's guiding your face forward to meet him halfway, placing the joint between your lips and watching the tip light up as you inhale. He keeps his hold on you the whole time. "Come on, keep going."

"Little more… there we go," he's practically purring the words out, plucking the joint from your lips and tucking it between his own. His smile is coy as he watches your brows twitch, exhaling the smoke and willing yourself to not fall into a fatal coughing fit. When you fall back against the couch in success, he gives your thigh a soft pat. "Took it like a champ."

You feel like you're losing your mind with the way his words are hitting you with a heat that festers in your core. Your limbs are tingling and you feel a small smile etching on your face, shifting so that you're leaning on your side to face him fully.

"Kinda hard not to when you were holding me down," you giggle, and he leans forward, successfully closing you two off in your own little bubble.

"Can you blame me?" he murmurs, "you were enjoying yourself."

"What, so you're a mind reader now?"

"Nah," Taehyun's eyes crinkle as he smiles, "but it's not hard to read you when you look at me like that."

"Oh yeah?" you reach forward to take the joint from his lips, taking a small hit to hide your smile. "And how exactly was I looking at you?"

"Like you've had enough for tonight," the joint is taken from you yet again, and you're frowning, getting ready to protest— he shakes his head, leaning to the coffee table to snuff out his joint; you're completely melted into the couch while he remains sitting up, hovering over you with low-lidded, red eyes and a gentle smile. His eyes run over your body, stopping at your hips and letting out a small sigh. Reaching up, he tugs your dress down, that familiar tick to his jaw coming back. "Do you realize how short this dress of yours is?"

The smile on your lips only widens, and there's a playful glint in your eyes as you push your hips up, right against his hand that continues to hold the fabric down. "Something wrong with that?"

"'Course not." his hold on the fabric slips, watching it bounce right back up to rest on the curve of your hips, dangerously high. His gaze is shameless as he continues to take you in, and it's enough to have adrenaline shooting through you, a quiet, dazed giggle escaping you and snapping his attention back to you. He watches you for a moment, and there's this soft look in his eyes that has you squirming in place, your boldness instantly quieting down under the weight of his stare.

"You feeling okay?" he eventually asks; you simply nod. "Tired?"

"No," you bite back, though it's true— whenever you smoke with Kai and Yeonjun, you always find yourself falling asleep. But with this strand, you're feeling… different. Instead of that lethargic, dreamy high that settles heavy into your bones and sings you to sleep, you're faced with something brighter, urgent— your body tingles with restlessness, and there's a heavy heat that settles deep in your stomach that you refuse to acknowledge. "It's definitely not that."

You gulp, feeling yourself take the backseat in your own body; you feel absentminded as you continue this back and forth with Taehyun, finding yourself preoccupied with the feeling that continues to build up inside you— you feel good. It feels like the type of high your friends always describe, where they're giggling to themselves, lost in euphoria while you fight back sleep; your mind races as you say something that makes Taehyun laugh, a full body action that you can't help but find endearing.

You're staring. You know you are, but you couldn't care less in this moment, because he looks good. Criminally good, and it's enough to make that heat in your stomach worse.

"Still doing okay?" he asks. When you respond you're just a bit tired, he nods. "Do you want me to get Kai so he can take care of you?"

 "What?" you raise a brow, caught off guard by the sudden mention of him. "Why?"

For the first time since you've met him, he looks embarrassed; under the low light, you swear you see his ears turn a bit red, and he's turning away to look at the pool table across the room. "I mean, it seems like he…"

His words hang heavy in the air. A minute passes before it finally clicks for you. 

"Oh my god, no!" you fall into a fit of laughter, and Taehyun simply watches, confused. It's enough to make you laugh harder. "No, we're just friends. I promise."

"Oh," Taehyun seems deep in thought, and when he shifts, he seems a lot less tense. "Sorry, it's just that you guys are… touchy."

"Hmm, I can see why you thought that," you glance over at Kai and Yeonjun, the two playing a round of pool against two strangers, "but he's also the type to kiss his friends when he's drunk."

He frowns.

You laugh, "his guy friends."

"Oh," his eyes widen, his ears getting a little redder. You're soaking it all in, welcoming the sight of him so discomposed, "somehow I haven't seen him do that before."

Shrugging, you send him a wink. "Maybe you're next."

The laugh he lets out is loud, a bit startled. Your words are lighthearted, but it's clear you both consider it a possibility; you think you might've scared him from being around Kai alone and drunk.

A loud cheer erupts from across the room, and you and Taehyun are looking over to catch Kai and Yeonjun celebrating, loud and shameless as Kai places a kiss on Yeonjun's cheek— Taehyun looks over at you, raising his brows, and you simply shrug as though to say 'see what I mean?'

Your small bubble is popped as Kai runs over to you, an excited puppy as he asks if you saw the way they defeated the guys they were up against. You pat his head and tell him he did great, and you swear you can see a tail wagging behind him— Yeonjun is then perking up as he hears a song he likes playing faintly upstairs, grabbing your hand and urging you to go dance with him— because according to him, it'd be a shame to not show off your cute outfit.

When you turn and ask the remaining two if they're tagging along, Taehyun shakes his head, much to your disappointment. "Not in the mood to dance right now, sorry."

Kai flops down next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and saying he'll stay behind to keep him company— when Taehyun's eyes widen and he looks at you for help, you merely laugh and wave him goodbye.

"Any progress with Taehyunie?" Yeonjun rests his hand on your hip, pulling you into him and whispering in your ear.

"Tons," you grin, glancing down at his hand that taps your hip to the beat. "What're you so touchy for?"

When you look up at him, Yeonjun's grin widens, sending you a wink (or whatever his rendition of a wink is called— a blink, more like.) before kissing your temple and pulling you even closer.

"He's a jealous guy."

Your heart skips, letting Yeonjun guide you up the stairs and looking over your shoulder for one last glance— and sure enough, his eyes are following you the whole way up, his brows furrowed and his tongue poking at his cheek as Kai talks his ear off. The look stays with you the whole night, even after you all reunite to say your goodbyes and go your separate ways— he's much better at hiding his irritation when you're watching, though you were still able to catch the annoyance in his eyes after Yeonjun hugged you close and complimented your appearance one last time, taking your hand and making you spin around for him. When you turn to say goodbye to Taehyun, Kai and Yeonjun suddenly become enraptured in their own conversation a few feet away from you.

"Did you get kissed tonight?"

Taehyun rolls his eyes and chuckles, "No, I didn't."

"Shame," you pout, "maybe next time then."

"Oh?" he cocks his head, raising a brow as he smiles slyly. "You offerin'?"

Taehyun seems to have a knack for catching you entirely off guard at the most random moments; your mouth is falling open and you're left speechless, feeling a heat rush up the back of your neck and flood your face— you can't hide the way he's flustered you, trying to recompose yourself while he watches with a satisfied smile.

"What, do you want me to?"

"I mean," he shrugs. "Who wouldn't want a kiss from a pretty girl?"

You'd like to blame your next action on your lingering high, your hands tingling as you reach to cup his cheek and bring him to you— his eyes widen, but before he can move, you're planting a gentle, glossy kiss against his jawline. When you pull away, you spot the imprint of your lips and smile.

"Goodnight, Taehyun," you say sweetly, "It was nice seeing you again."

You spin on your heels, feeling the skirt of your dress sway with your hips as you walk; you don't dare look back, because the mere heat of his stare is already enough to make your knees weak. This time, you've made sure to leave a lingering impression on him— hopefully it's enough to make him as crazy about you as you are about him.

"Rough day?"

"Fuck, don't get me started."

You feel— and look— a mess. Finals week is fucking you over, the onslaught of work that's being piled on you convincing you that your professors are all in on a conspiracy to overwork you to death. You've just left your final class of the day, some random elective you chose to get the credits you needed to graduate, and your least favorite— because of course the professor would be insufferable and choose to call on you every other class. Even their voice is enough to make your skin prickle, and you've just escaped an hour of the most boring lecture of your life.

You've met up with Kai at your favorite cafe that's just off-campus; it's cozy and a better alternative to the library that's packed with students cramming for exams. You sip on your drink, some fancy latte you only gathered courage to order after Kai told you it was his treat.

"How are your finals going?" the question is more of a formality, because as you take a good look at your friend— clear skin, glowing eyes, hair perfectly styled, a gentle smile on his face— you scowl and shake your head. "Never mind. Don't tell me anything."

He laughs, smug and shameless despite the way your dull eyes glare at him.

"Seriously though, when was the last time you had a moment to relax?" he lets the question hang in the air, and frowns when you can't find an answer. "You wanna hang out this weekend? We could have a movie night and smoke. Get you some proper sleep for once."

"I dunno Kai," you say, "it just… hasn't been hitting the same."

Kai frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It's just," you bite your lip, hesitant, "I dunno— when we smoked at the DJ K party, it felt a lot better. I think whatever strand you have leaves me feeling weird the next day, but I didn't feel it when I smoked then."

A small smile flickers on Kai's face— you roll your eyes. "I'm serious."

"No, I know," Kai says, "but that strand you like? I don't have it. You'd have to ask Taehyun about it."

Your stomach flips; despite the clear opening, you can't stop yourself from being stubborn. "What, you can't just ask him where he got it?"

"Think he got it when he went to a music festival," Kai leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. "But if you're so curious, I can call him for you."

"Seriously?" He nods, sporting an innocent smile that doesn't waver even as you narrow your eyes at him in suspicion. "I mean, I guess you could."

"Cool," he's pulling out his phone and immediately dialing the said man— before you can scold him that you didn't mean call him now, Kai is sitting up and holding up his hand to tell you to hold on.

"Hello?" Kai's smile instantly switches from innocent to evil— your heart drops. "I have someone who wants to talk to you."

He's shoving the phone in your hands, scooting back and crossing his arms. You scramble, holding the phone in your hands like it's a bomb as you silently curse your friend out— Kai ignores the onslaught of names and insults, motioning to his phone and telling you that 'he's waiting!' The reminder is enough to have you pressing the phone against your ear, your voice shaky as you greet Taehyun and tell him who's speaking.

"Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to ask you something," despite your pounding heart and the blood rushing in your ears, you hold the phone tight and try to your voice steady— you're sure he can hear your efforts, because he's letting out a soft chuckle, his voice low and smooth as he tells you 'go for it.'

"Do you remember what we smoked at DJ K's party? I feel like nothing's been hitting the same… and I kinda need a bit of a stress reliever." You sigh. "Finals week has been kicking my ass."

"Shit, I'm sorry— I don't remember off the top of my head, and I'm not home right now to see," you're chewing your lip, wondering why Kai put you in this situation in the first place— what the hell are you supposed to get out of this? "And unless you're willing to travel a lot for it, I doubt you'd be able to get your hands on it."

"Oh," this conversation is a total dead end, and you're wilting back against the chair in disappointment. Kai on the other hand is on the edge of his seat, eyes widening in panic. "No worries then. Thanks anyway."

There's a pause on his end, and you're expecting him to end the call with a stiff goodbye— instead, he clears his throat, letting out a deep sigh.

"Tell you what," he sounds a bit hesitant, as though unsure of how to word his sentence. "How 'bout you just have some of my stash? We could smoke and you can tell me all about your finals. Maybe get something to eat."

You're heart flies up to your throat, and you're sitting up in surprise— Kai is leaning forward, mouthing a hasty 'what?!' that you ignore.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Of course I am," he chuckles, "sounds like you need it."

"I— yeah, I guess I do," you say— you pause, looking up at Kai in panic as you mouth 'he wants to hang out.'

Kai blanches. 'When?!'

You cover the phone speaker. 'I don't know!'

Kai has to hold himself from slamming his hands on the table, his eyes impossibly wide as he pretends to yell 'Saturday!' Even though you try to protest that it was supposed to be your hangout with him, he shakes his head with such fervor that you're caving in.

"Are you free this weekend?"

Kai is halfway across the table— you'd think he were trying to press his head to the phone with how eager he looks.

"I am. Just say when and I'll clear my schedule for you," it's pathetic, the way your stomach flips at that, "You can come to my place. If you're comfortable with it, of course."

"That's fine with me," you're breathless, your hands clammy and forcing you to tighten your grip on the phone, "Is Saturday okay?"

"Yeah, that works. I'll text you and we can plan the rest."

"Okay," you've become unexpectedly shy, your voice quieting at the prospect of this hangout. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

You say a brief goodbye before you're hanging up, placing the phone down delicately like it could dial Taehyun again if you brushed against it wrong. You let a minute pass before you let yourself react, lunging forward to pull Kai's head toward you, planting an exaggerated kiss on his forehead.

"Muah!" Kai protests and whines that you're getting your lip gloss all over his skin, but you truly couldn't care less as ruffle his hair affectionately. "Kai, you're the best. Seriously, what would my life be like without you?"

"You'd probably be single forever." Kai's grumble is met with a swift kick to his shin under the table, and he yelps so loud it has half the cafe turning to look at him. He mumbles a sheepish 'sorry', rubbing his shin and curling into himself.

"That's what you get," you scowl, digging in your bag for your phone before you're sliding it across the table to Kai. "Now, could you give me his number please?"

You can tell that Kai is getting ready to give you another snarky comment, but a single glare from you is enough to have him tucking his tail and typing Taehyun's number into your phone without further complaints. When he gives your phone back, you catch sight of the contact name and roll your eyes.

Future Boyfriend >3<

"Thanks." You roll your eyes and pocket your phone, not bothering to change something that's clearly true.

Taehyun's place is way nicer than you expected for a man in his twenties that lives alone.

You wore your tiniest shorts and a baby tee that hugged your form just right, and he showed up at your doorstep at five PM on the dot— he insisted on picking you up and getting something to eat, stating that it was 'for your well-being'— you ended the day out by getting ice cream and driving back to his place, where he let you rant about your professors and your finals the whole time; he nodded along and pitched in every now and then, listening with a fond smile that made you trip over your words once or twice. When you stopped at a light, he turned to get a good look at your face, his eyes dropping down to your lips.

"You got ice cream on your face." His thumb is wiping just below your bottom lip before you can even utter out an 'I do?' your eyes widening comically as he brings his thumb to his mouth and lick it off, letting out a satisfied hum.

You'd felt a raging heat pool in your stomach then, and it hasn't gone away since.

You've made yourself comfortable on the floor, despite Taehyun's protests that you should just sit on the couch instead— you refused, finding the cool wooden floor comforting after spending the day out in the heat, finishing your ice cream while you watch Taehyun finish rolling the joint from his spot on the couch. When he passed the finished joint to you, insisting you have the first hit, you cooed out a sweet "oh, you shouldn't have."

Holding the joint between your lips, you lean toward Taehyun so he can light it for you— your eyes flutter up to meet his gaze, a small smile growing on your face.

"You do this often?" you can't help but ask, "invite girls over to share your special weed with?"

"Hell no," Taehyun's laughter is genuine, and he's pulling away the lighter once he sees the end is lit. You're propping your elbow against the couch, holding your head as you take a small hit before passing it to him. He grins, taking a hit before he speaks. "I'm not sharing my special weed with just anyone. It was hard to get— I gotta enjoy it as much as I can, y'know?"

"Yet you're sharing it with me?" you say, "I'm honored."

He shrugs, a bit sheepish— you pass the joint back and forth, making meaningless conversation and learning more about each other. He tells you he's also in uni, majoring in music production with a minor in business, he tells you stories about working with Kai at the local record shop— mostly stories where Kai was flirting with customers— and you listened with stars in your eyes, the joint hanging idly between your fingers as you watched the way he talked about soccer and his favorite sports team, his hands moving with such fervor it made you laugh— his rant about his favorite team's recent lapse in performance is cut short, and he's looking down at you in confusion.

"What's so funny?"

"No, nothing," you say, though another small chuckle slips out, "you're just so passionate. It's cute."

"I'm glad you think so," Taehyun smiles, leaning down a bit— somewhere along this conversation, you've made your way closer to Taehyun, your body pressing along his leg while you rest your head against the couch. "My friends would usually be zoning out by now."

You go to take another hit, but Taehyun is taking the joint from your hands before you can— you're pouting at him, but he simply scolds you for hogging the joint with a chuckle, leaning back against the couch and keeping the joint by his lips. You let your eyes trail from the smoke that blows in the air, down his chest, to the hem of his shirt that's ridden up again. The haze from your high clouds your judgment, and you don't bother to hide the way you drink in the smooth skin that peeks out.

"You always wear such short shirts?"

He raises a brow, playing innocent. "What d'you mean?"

"All the shirts I've seen you in are always a bit short. You're always flashing your stomach," reaching forward, you're go to play with the hem of his shirt, your fingertips threatening to skim over his skin. "Nice abs by the way."

"Thanks," he laughs, and you're utterly shameless as you watch his stomach ripple with laughter. "I didn't think they were visible."

"Barely," your heart pounds in your chest, fingers shakily running along the hem of his shirt. "Could I get a better look?"

The air is thick and suffocating, yet you still find a reckless courage to look up at Taehyun— you find he's already staring you down, his eyes low-lidded as he gulps. When he sees the unwavering resolve in your shining eyes, he nods.

"Yeah. Go ahead."

You're shifting so you're kneeling, able to get better access to Taehyun this way; beneath the recklessness of your foggy brain, you're nervous— your hands are cold as you gently push up his shirt, your freezing fingertips coming in contact with the heat of his skin, a small smile cracking your lips when he flinches. You push the material up until it rests just below his chest, and you're able to catch sight of a mole in the center.

Taehyun's mouth has gone dry— he gulps, watching you handle him like he were a fragile doll, your eyes scanning his body with such heat it makes him weak. There's pure concentration etched in your features as you're finally able to take him in— you don't register yourself reaching out until your hands come in contact with his skin, able to feel the muscle flex under your fingers and your palm that smooths over his stomach.

"Wow," is all you can say; your hands sweep from the top of his abs down to his navel, feeling the ridges of the muscle and watching him crack a smile at the ticklish feeling— impulse takes control of your mind, your fingers splaying out until you've grasped his sides. "Your waist is so small, too."

"Fuck, you're crazy," Taehyun groans, pushing his hair back, only for it to fall forward once more. When you look up at him through your lashes, he gulps. "You have any idea what you're doing right now?"

You shrug, smoothing your hands up his waist and sending him a coy smile. "Appreciating art."

"Yeah?" he drawls, his hips shifting up ever so slightly, an attempt to ease the tension forming, "and what're your thoughts?"

"I like what I see," you hum, bringing your hands down his waist, stopping at his waistband, fingers pulling at his belt, "but I think I'd like to see more."

"Oh god— you can't say shit like that to me." Scooting a little closer, you rest your head on Taehyun's thigh, pressing your cheek against the denim as you look up at him. "I don't think you realize what you're getting yourself into."

"I think I do," you pout, nuzzling your cheek against his thigh. Taehyun lets out a shaky sigh, his resolve beginning to crumble at the mere sight of you.

"You're sure?" he's cupping your face, guiding you to sit up and lean toward him— he's meeting you halfway, leaning down and tilting your chin up to look at him properly. "You think you can handle me like this?"

His thumb caresses your cheek bones, and your eyes glaze over as you nod— it's not the answer Taehyun wants, because he's tapping your cheek and mumbling for you focus.

"Words, baby." His voice is low, a smile growing on his lips. "Say it. I know you can."

"I want you," you stutter out— his smile turns cruel, fangs on display and ready to sink into you. "I can handle it."

"You really think so?" he coos, laughing fondly when you nod, dazed and desperate. "C'mere."

Guiding your face toward his, you're both equally desperate to seal the space between you— the sheer hunger in your kiss is enough to have you lightheaded. You've thought about this more than you'd like to admit— speculations on what Taehyun feels like is nothing compared to this reality, your kiss desperate and impossible to keep up with; his lips are so soft, and you're all but drooling when his tongue parts your lips and enters your mouth, the lingering taste of smoke and ice cream flooding your taste buds as you whimper into his mouth. He smiles, pulling you closer until your lungs burn.

When you part, a string of saliva connects you two before it breaks off— heat rushes to your face, but Taehyun doesn't seem to be phased by it; instead, he's sitting up, taking a long hit from the joint before he's swooping down, his hand on your cheek squeezing your face so you open your mouth.

His lips hover over yours, his mouth parting as he exhales the smoke right into you— you accept it, placing a hand on his thigh to steady yourself; he holds you in place until you can't resist turning away to exhale the constricting smoke, tears pricking at your eyes as your brain scrambles for oxygen. Taehyun merely watches, caressing your head as you let out a weak cough.

"'m sorry, pretty," he says, reaching down to snuff the joint out against the ashtray on the coffee table, "was I too rough?"

You scramble to shake your head and ease any hesitation.

"No. I mean, kinda," you decide it's better to throw your pride out the window and be honest— Taehyun nods, ready to apologize once more when you beat him to it. "But I like it."

"You do?" he's tense, his hand freezing atop of your head— you're nodding, looking up at him with watery eyes, and his hand is sliding down to hold the back of your neck. "My baby likes it rough?"

It should be ridiculous, the way you have to swallow back a whimper as you nod; your head is spinning as you rest your cheek against his thigh once more, fluttering your lashes up at him and rubbing your cheek back and forth on his thigh absentmindedly. He watches with bated breath, caressing your hair and watching your eyes begin to wander— down his face, down his chest, and straight to the bulge that strains against his jeans.

Any shame you had is dissolving from your system as you feel your mouth water and your cunt clench— your body feels as though it were made of little stars, crashing into each other and spreading heat into your heavy limbs, waves of bliss washing over you and bringing a lethargic smile to your face; your hand reaches up to rest on his other thigh, feeling the muscle flex under you as it begins to trail up.

"Mm-hmm— I like when…" you're dazed, unsure if you're even making sense, "I like when you hold me down."

"Is that right?" he drawls, watching your hand rest at the top of his thigh, massaging it softly. You nod, nuzzling your face against his thigh— Taehyun feels dizzy at the sight.

Slowly, your hand makes its way up the waistband of his jeans, lazy fingers fiddling with the buckle of his belt— not enough to undo it, but just enough to loosen it. You can see the deep rise and fall of his chest, your gaze coy as you smile up at him, giving the buckle another testing tug.

"Can I?"

Taehyun's breath hitches, his voice tense. "Yeah."

That's more than enough for you to spring into action— your actions are eager and a bit clumsy, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans; that alone is enough to have Taehyun sighing in relief, his hips unconsciously bucking toward your touch.

You don't try to tease; you can see the need that clouds his eyes, but you're just the same as you're tugging his underwear down to release his cock— he's already so hard, the length bobbing up to slap against his stomach, his flushed tip already sticky with precum. Your eyes drink it all in, your mouth watering; he's not just big, he's thick too, your hand that wraps around his length barely able to grasp him— he's letting out a low hiss at the contact, his jaw clenching as your thumb traces curiously along the vein that runs along the underside of his cock.

When you let go of his cock, his hips chase for your touch— his brows furrows and he opens his mouth to complain, but before he can get a word out, you're spitting in your hand and grabbing his length again, pumping him slowly as you gauge what he likes.

A choked groan leaves him at your touch— you squeeze him a little tighter, and his eyes flutter shut, his head falling back against the couch as your thumb swipes over his tip, gathering the precum that continues to leak out. Slowly, you gather the courage to move between his legs, already spread open in invitation, your pace picking up speed as you lean down to his aching cock.

"Oh fuck—!" Taehyun's bucking forward at the sudden feeling of your tongue, running flat along his balls all the way to the tip before you're closing your mouth around it— peeking up through your lashes, you catch him running a hand through his hair, his chest flushed a slight pink. You take it as your sign to continue, running your tongue along his tip and sucking harder, rewarded with sighs of your name and praises on how well you're doing.

"Fuck, that pretty mouth of yours is so good," he groans, his hand returning to the back of your head, adding just the slightest bit of pressure, "can you take a little more?"

Humming around his cock, he lets out a choked laugh, cursing under his breath before he's beginning to push down on your head— slowly, allowing you to keep up as your mouth widens, his cock heavy and pulsing on your tongue as you continue to take him in.

You're only halfway through before he's hitting the back of your throat— you're swallowing around him, hesitant to accept the intrusion with a whine, and he's pulling back just enough in response. You're not sure when, but your eyes began to water, and his free hand is coming up to swipe tears from the corners of your eyes, cooing at you as he does.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, pushing his hips up ever-so slightly, the tip of his cock teasing your throat, "is it too much?"

His smile widens when you try to hum out a 'no', refusing to pull away from his cock for even a second.

"No?" He echoes, "then why're you crying, baby?"

You don't answer— it's not like you can, anyway. Instead, you try your best to keep his gaze, taking more of his cock and fighting against your gag reflex. You focus on breathing through your nose instead, tears welling in your eyes once again.

"You want more?" he asks, and he's instantly given a 'yes' from you, biting at his lip at the way you hum around him. "Can you take it? You promise?"

Despite your eagerness and your need to take him whole and prove yourself, he holds you in place— he allows you to pull of his cock, eyes falling to the string of spit that connects your lips to his cock before he's looking up at you.

"Please," your voice is a bit hoarse, "use my mouth."

You have a knack for leaving him speechless— Taehyun's staring at you like you're the most precious thing in the world, his cock twitching in your hands as he takes a moment to think it through; you're about to beg and whine when he's guiding you forward once more, your mouth opening in anticipation.

"How did I get so lucky, finding a perfect girl like you?" he says. Your mouth wraps around his tip, sucking harshly just to hear him moan. "Gonna fuck that perfect face just like you asked, okay? Tap my thigh if it's too much for you baby."

When you don't acknowledge his words, attempting to take him deeper, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you off with such ease your mouth hangs open— he's leaning down, his face stern as he speaks.

"Did you hear what I said?" his voice is quiet and cold, his eyes narrowing when you meekly nod. "What'd I say?"

"Tap your thigh if it's too much."

His jaw clenches, and for a second, you wonder if you've made him angry— but he's leaning back once more, your head brought forward with such strength you don't have room to resist.

"Good."

Despite the ability to manipulate your head with ease, he's gentle to bring you down his length, testing the waters when his tip prods against the back of your throat and pulling back when you squeeze your eyes shut and whimper. Instead, he uses his grip on your head to guide you up and down his cock, letting out a groan of your name as you fall limp in his hold, only taking initiative to run your tongue against the underside of his cock and hollow out your cheeks.

You feel the head of his cock brushing against your throat, beginning to linger more and more— he's thrusting shallowly into your mouth, lips pressed tightly in concentration as he watches you take him.

"Such a good girl, letting me use you like this," he breathes out, "gonna make you take it all, okay?"

He's stopping his thrusts into your mouth to guide you to take more of him, his cock going deeper until he's met with the resistance of your throat tightening around him— slowly, he continues to push.

You feel like you might choke; your eyes are squeezed shut and your lungs burn, your hands on his thighs shifting so you can dig your nails into the denim as a way to ground yourself. More, more still, cock continues to push into your throat until your nose is snug against his pelvis and both his hands have found purchase on the back of your head. You remain still, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as you fight back the urge to gag.

"Breathe." He mumbles, and it's only then that you're reminded to do so, trying to breathe through your nose until you finally feel your throat relax— he's in so deep, and he's yet to move, your brain going haywire from the lack of oxygen. His hand moves from the back of your head to caress your cheek. "C'mon baby, stay with me."

His fingers trace gingerly along your jaw, trailing down until they feel along the front of your neck, groaning when he feels the pressure from his cock— he thrusts gently into your mouth, barely an inch, just to feel the way you swallow around him. He's pulling you off his cock shortly after.

You feel delirious as oxygen floods your brain, your eyes fluttering shut and drool slipping from your lips, strands of spit connected to his length as you sputter and cough. Your hands slip from his thighs and onto your lap, and you hear him chuckle as he caresses your head.

"You did such a good job. You're perfect," he says, enamored with your dazed eyes that flutter open and your swollen lips that are slick with spit. "You still with me, angel?"

"Yeah," you barely breathe out.

"Fuck, you're so cute," his thumb swipes across your bottom lip, guiding your face up to kiss him— he takes his time despite his cock that throbs against your hand that's taken him again, pumping his length and twisting your wrist until he's panting in your mouth. Your hold on him tightens and you massage your palm against his tip, and when your other hand comes up, your touch curious as you massage against his balls, he sinks his teeth into your lip, forcing you to pull away with a yelp.

"Don't do that— I'll cum," he pants into your mouth, grabbing your wrist and forcing you to stop your motions, "I don't wanna cum like this."

While you're giggling at his comment, you find he's completely serious— he's tucking himself in before pulling you up onto his lap, earning another laugh from you— you straddle his lap as the Taehyun pulls you in for another kiss, addicted to your lips and the way you pant into his mouth. He's coy, running his tongue along your lip before pushing in, feeling against your tongue before pulling out and nipping your lip just to hear you let out a choked mewl; his move moves to kiss the corner of your mouth, before moving along to your jaw, peppering kissing along it until he's gotten access to your neck.

It feels like he's trying to stake his claim; he's biting and sucking along your neck, aiming for spots that have your hands flying to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips in broken whimpers. You can't help the way your cunt aches from the feeling, your panties sticking to you and the need pulsing inside you until you're searching for relief; your hips bring you down against Taehyun, feeling the hardness of his cock against your thin shorts and grinding against him until his groaning into your skin.

"Taehyun," you whine, your hips careless and your rhythm sloppy as you search for pleasure— you feel him hum against your skin, his hands on your hips as he lets you do as you please. "Taehyun, fuck— please, I need you."

"I can see that," he muses, "pretty girl can't control herself, hmm?"

Shaking your head, you grind against his cock a little harder— his grip on your waist tightens, and he's letting out a low groan, burying his face into your neck.

"Shit," he huffs, "stop— I won't last like this."

Your head is fuzzy and you seem to be lost in a world of your own; his voice feels far away in contrast to the overwhelming pleasure you feel, only amplified more by your high— every grind of your soaked cunt against the length of his cock is enough to have sparks going off in your brain, tuning out the way his fingers dig into your skin dangerously.

"Baby," Taehyun's voice is stiff with tension, "stop it."

"No— I can't," you're petulant, digging your fingers in his shoulders as you chase your own pleasure; your vision is blurry as you meet his eyes, pouting when you're met with a cold, harsh expression from Taehyun, his brow raising at you in warning— it only serves to make you even more restless, and you tilt your head at him. "Don't wanna. Feels… too good like this."

Taehyun's hands grip onto your waist, and he's stopping all your movements with minimal efforts— any protests and whines you were about to let out die in your throat the moment you look at him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest.

He's looking at you just like he had the night of the party; his brows are furrowed, tongue poking at his cheek in annoyance— his eyes are dark and angry, and when he meets your panicked, doe gaze, he merely scoffs.

"You really don't listen, do you?" his voice is dark, laced with emotion you can't quite place— is he fed up with you? Annoyed? You whimper, feeling his fingers push under your shirt, his nails digging into the skin beneath. "Is that cute little brain of yours no good for thinking?"

You frown, ready to defend yourself, but he doesn't give you a chance.

"Come on," his hands slide down to your thighs, and before can catch on, he's hoisting you up and standing; you yelp, scrambling to hold on to him, but he doesn't seem to care about your apprehension as he leads you two into the hall and toward his room. "I'll make you feel as good as you want."

He's kicking the door shut behind him, leading you to his bed before dropping you down unceremoniously by the edge— you try to compose yourself, attempting to shift back on the bed, but Taehyun is caging you in before you can, a hand falling on your waist and the other landing on your hip to keep you still, swooping in to kiss you once more.

"Thought you were gonna be good for me," he murmurs against your lips, "but you're just a needy thing, aren't you?"

His hands come up to your shoulders, and your back meets the mattress with a single shove— your head is spinning from the sudden impact, unable recollect yourself as Taehyun falls to his knees, undoing your shorts and pulling them off with a swift movement; he pulls your hips toward him until they're hanging precariously off the bed, throwing your legs over his shoulder and locking his hands around your thighs— you're rendered immobile in a matter of seconds.

"Cute," he says, eyeing your soaked, pink panties with lace trim and a bow— his gaze zeroes in on the wet spot you've made, a cocky smile pulling at his lips as he looks up at you. "Did you pick these out just for me?"

"Maybe," a heat flushes through your whole body— because what was meant to be an arrogant remark is undeniably true, spending a ridiculous amount of time picking out a matching set, just in case; the way you shift under him is enough to answer, and he laughs.

"Thank you baby," he coos, and you cover your face in embarrassment— he bites teasingly at your inner thigh, just to chuckle at the way your hips jump in reaction; his fingers are hooking under the waistband before he's pulling them down, and you're lifting your hips to assist. He's placing kisses along your inner thigh as he goes, stopping at your inner knee before weaving your legs out. "So thoughtful."

His grip on your thighs tighten, and you're being dragged toward him until you can feel his breath on your skin, able to feel his stare on your dripping pussy; it feels vulnerable, having him stare at you like this, your hazy mind making you close your thighs in a weak attempt to hide away— it doesn't work, and you hear Taehyun let out a soft 'tsk'.

"Don't get shy on me now," he says, and you gasp as you feel him give your clit a soft kiss, "I thought you wanted this?"

"W-well, you're being a tease," looking down between your thighs, you find him already staring; your gaze jumps back up to the ceiling, the sight too intense for you to handle. "Stop staring and just get on with it."

He raises a brow in surprise, watching your hand come down to thread in his hair, tugging him closer to your cunt, your hips restless— he lets you lead him in closer, until his tongue licks a stripe along the seam of your folds, licking up the slick that dripped from your hole; you whine, pulling slightly at his hair and rolling your hips in search for more, and you feel his hand move from your thigh to your wrist, pulling it off his head.

"So bossy," he tongue darts out to prod at your entrance, feeling your legs twitch on his shoulders, "aren't you supposed to be all shy and cute?"

"Taehyun, please," you pant, feeling his tongue trace along your clit, lightly, the touch barely there— it drives you mad. "Just— give me more…"

He shakes his head, planting an open kiss on your clit, running his tongue all over your cunt before teasing the tip of it into your entrance. "I'll do what I want."

Your body feels like a live wire, desperate to feel more than the kitten licks and gentle kisses Taehyun continues to tease you with; he's lingering on your clit, running his tongue around it in circles and pulling back just to breath cool air onto your spit-slick skin— you're tense, grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets and squirming beneath him.

"Taehyun," you're on the verge of crying at this point— he's driving you mad, teasing you with the promise of pleasure but pulling away before you can really indulge, "c'mon…!"

You're bucking your hips up, pressing your cunt against his mouth desperately; Taehyun's nails dig into your thighs, and before you can pull away in shock, he's bringing you forward and attaching his mouth onto your dripping pussy. You're tensing, hands flying up to cover your mouth as Taehyun wraps his mouth around your clit and sucks the bud harshly, pressing his hot tongue against it and looking up at you through his lashes— his tongue slips beneath the hood of your clit, and he's breathing out a laugh against your clit as he hears you squeal.

"C'mon baby, I thought you knew better than that," he murmurs, refusing to fully part from your cunt— a mixture of spit and arousal drips down your cunt, but Taehyun is quick to lick it all up before it can fall to the floor; your thighs twitch around his head as he spits the slick back onto your clit, your head spinning from the impact. "You really think talking to me like that is gonna get you what you want?"

In the back of your mind, you know you're walking a fine line— the way Taehyun is looking at you feels cold and menacing, but you're too far gone to care; all you can pay any mind to is the need that makes your cunt throb and your dazed, hazy brain that tells you to keep pushing.

"I dunno," your words are a bit slurred, a shiver running through you as you feel Taehyun's spit dragging down your cunt, "seems to be working so far."

Taehyun's jaw clenches, his lips drawing tightly together. Before you can joke or apologize, he's bringing the palm of his hand against your cunt with a stinging slap!

"Ah!" A broken whine leaves you, the stinging sensation ebbing through your cunt. Taehyun massages his fingers along your slit in faux apology.

"Too much?" he asks— you remain silent, biting your lip to muffle a whimper. "You want me to stop?"

Through hot embarrassment that flushes through your skin, you screw your eyes shut and shake your head. Another slap lands on your cunt, a little harsher than the last— your back arches, the heels of your feet digging into Taehyun's back; he delivers another. Then another, and another, the final slap to your cunt ringing out into the air and bringing tears to your eyes.

"Fuck!" you sob, feeling Taehyun's fingers massage along your lips, landing another just to tease, "fuck… you…!"

Taehyun doesn't respond, but it's clear your outburst has pissed him off— his brows furrow and his lips close around your clit, sucking and licking at it until you're a shaking mess, yelping his name when you feel his teeth graze the sensitive bud teasingly. His tongue runs down your clit and to your entrance, prodding at your hole just to feel the way it flutters around the muscle— he's messy, drooling all over your skin and slurping up your juices, pushing his tongue past your tightening cunt and pressing into you as deep as he can, his nose digging into your clit as he fucks you with his mouth.

Your hands scramble to grab his head, the build up from his previous teasing making your heart pound against your chest and the coil tighten in your stomach— when you fingers scratch at his scalp and pull his hair, he moans, eyes closed in bliss as he shakes his head side to side against your cunt as if he could burrow deeper inside— you can feel the mixture of his spit and your arousal dripping down to your asshole and falling onto the floor, but it doesn't stop Taehyun from digging his fingers into your thighs and gluing his face to you, your orgasm building up so fast you have no way to warn him.

It feels like everything goes white for a second— it all crashes down at once, the tight coil in your stomach snapping and rendering you a puddle of bones, defenseless against Taehyun's continued assault on your cunt; his pace doesn't cease once, even as your thighs snap shut against his head and your body trembles, tears streaming from your eyes from the sheer intensity.

No, Taehyun doesn't falter for a second, prolonging your orgasm until it begins to twist to something nastier, something painful— the waves of pleasure that gently washed over you are now torrents, every brush of Taehyun's nose against your clit only making you wince and cry out from the sensitivity.

"Taehyun—" you gasp, watching as he slurps up your juices, pretending not to hear you, "Taehyun, it's too much! I just— fuck, I just came!"

"You'll take what I give you," he grumbles against your skin, biting your inner thigh, "it's what you wanted, no?"

"Not— not like this!" you're kicking at Taehyun's back as he returns to sucking and kissing at your clit, "I'm too sensitive!"

A particularly harsh suck against your clit has your body jumping, your heel landing against Taehyun's back a bit harder than you intended it to— hearing him grunt at the impact, you tense, about to apologize when Taehyun suddenly hooks his hands under your knees, pushing forward until you're folded in half, your cunt left on display for him— he's as much of a mess as you are, his lips and chin shining with your arousal, a soft blush coloring his face.

"Give me your hands." He doesn't give you a chance to comply, taking your hands in his, guiding them to the back of your knees and using them to pin your legs against your chest. You've been left completely helpless against him, and you barely have any energy left to protest the way he's latching onto your cunt once more.

He's eating you like a man starved— his tongue runs along your cunt as though trying to memorize you, massaging your clit and tracing along your slit before slipping back into your cunt, lapping at your entrance and fucking you with his tongue— he presses his face firmly against you, pining you into the mattress with his weight. You're a squirming, mewling mess, the painful sensitivity from your previous orgasm bleeding into pleasure. When he feels your hips beginning to buck against his face in search for more, he throws your legs over his shoulders once more, his mouth focusing solely on your clit while he teases two fingers against your entrance.

"Fuck, fuck— I'm close," you sob— it feels like your body has a mind of its own, chasing pleasure that only makes you dizzy; it's too much, it's overwhelming, but it's so, so good, and Taehyun is more than happy to bring you over the edge, inserting his fingers into your sopping cunt, groaning at the way you tighten around him— he curls his fingers, exploring your walls until he finds the spot that makes your moans break and your cunt drool, drilling into the same spot until you're crying for mercy and falling apart on his mouth for the second time.

"Taehyun, Taehyun please, slow down!" you're realizing with delayed mortification that Taehyun has yet to pull away— and at the sound of your pleas, he's going even harder, the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting into you making you hot with shame— you try to plead for him to pull away, but it's all incoherent and broken, the overstimulation melting your brain.

"You cryin'? Again?" he coos, pulling away from your swollen clit just to laugh; his fingers curl inside you, and he licks at your cunt to clean up his mess. "Where's that mouthy brat I had here earlier?"

You try to bite back, say something that shows you still have some fight in you— but you can barely manage to blink away your tears, much less talk through your hiccuping moans.

"You look so pathetic," he says, "is this how you like it?"

Sniffling, you shake your head, attempting to mumble something about it being 'too much'— Taehyun doesn't care to listen, fitting in a third finger in your entrance instead; your eyes roll back at the stretch, feeling him slowly pump his fingers until you begin to adjust to him.

"No?" he's placing soft kisses on your clit, looking up at you from between your thighs, "you got yourself in this mess though. The least you could do is say sorry."

His fingers are precise and cruel as they thrust into you, your cunt begging for mercy as his mouth works perfectly together with his hands— while you try to squirm out of his grip, your nails digging into the back of his hand while your other hand slaps at his shoulder, Taehyun continues to pin you down against the mattress, slurping and licking your cunt's juices, running his tongue on your bruised clit and sucking it as though it were his favorite candy.

The pleasure that builds up inside you is something you've never felt before— it isn't the warm, addicting rise that crashes gently; it's a fire that runs through your body, it's violent, a surge of stimulation that makes you cry out for Taehyun to please, please slow down, this feels weird— all your words do is spur him on, as though he's attuned to your body better than you are.

His words echo in your mind— you vaguely recall your outbursts, all the things you did in search of a reaction— and you begin to say through broken sobs the last thing you think will make Taehyun go easy on you.

"I'm sorry! Fuck, fuck! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You wail, that raw, uncontrollable pleasure beginning to loom over you— there's a pressure building in your stomach, and you feel your muscles beginning to tense. "Please, please please, it's too much!"

"You gonna cum?" Is all he says in response, "I can feel it."

"I can't," you're panting, your hips trying to cant backward in an attempt to run away— but Taehyun won't let you, dead set on making the impossible happen. "I can't, I already— Taehyun!"

It hits you suddenly, your limbs locking up and the pressure in your stomach releasing— your cunt tightens around Taehyun's fingers, trying to push him out to no avail. His pace slows down and you swear you hear him whine— when your ears filter out the sounds of your own pathetic moans to pick up the wet, dripping sounds of liquid slapping against skin and onto the floor, your eyes fly open; sure enough, you've squirted all over Taehyun's face, the liquid continuing to gush out as he helps you ride out your orgasm.

You're melting back against his mattress, equally spent and mortified.

"I'm… I'm sorry," you cover your face with your hands, peeking through the cracks of your fingers as Taehyun begins to crawl over you, entirely drenched from the chin down. Embarrassment licks a hot stripe up your spine, and you're scooting back on the bed to run away from the sight— Taehyun just continues crawling toward you, stopping you with a hand on your hip when you've made it to the center of the bed.

"Really? Now you're sorry?" he says, his knees on the sides of your hips caging you in. Your fingertips dig into your face as you watch a droplet from your release fall from his chin and onto his already wet shirt— you whimper, ashamed, but Taehyun laughs, straightening up and pulling the shirt over his head.

"Oh my god," you mumble, partly because the sight of Taehyun looming over you like this and stripping is a look straight from your wettest dreams, but also because he then uses that same shirt to dry off his face before tossing it behind him. "Oh my god."

"Getting shy on me again?" he smiles coyly, taking off his pants next— his cock is still hard and clearly neglected, his length twitching at the mere sight of you, his tip flushed a deep red. Rubbing your thighs together, you can still feel your cunt throbbing, attempting to recover from the sensitivity. Taehyun runs his hands up your thighs, tracing along your waist before landing on your baby tee. "Take this off for me, angel."

Despite your trembling hands, you still manage to do as he asks— he watches you pull the shirt over your head and unclasp your bra, his brows furrowing and a sigh leaving him when he sees your breasts; he's leaning in to kiss, you, his hands that come up to massage your breasts and play with your nipples so gently you think he'll finally go easy on you.

"I don't accept your apology, by the way."

It feels like you've become a paper doll under Taehyun's grasp; you're flipped over like you're weightless, and Taehyun is quick to grab your wrists in his hand and pin them against the small of your back— his other hand grabbing your waist and pulling you up until you're on your knees and your face is pressed in the mattress, your back arched prettily from where he presses down.

The head of his cock swipes through your slit, and you flat out shiver, nuzzling your face into the mattress— he's only running the tip of his cock along your cunt, but it already feels too much, his thick cockhead parting your lips and lingering at your entrance so you can feel the stretch.

"If you're really sorry, you'll make it up to me, okay?" Taehyun leans down, pressing his chest against your back— the weight of him is grounding, and you can feel his breath fanning on your skin as he whispers in your ear. "You gonna be good and let me use you like a doll?

He's grinding his cock against your entrance as he's speaks to you, and the feeling of his length running along your pussy is driving you mad— burying your face into the comforter, you nod. But truly, you should know better at this point— Taehyun is grabbing your hair and pulling your face out, leaning forward so he can see you.

"Look at me." He says; your eyes flutter open, glassy eyes meeting his stern ones, "Now use your words."

"Yes," his stare is so intense, you can barely hold it. "I want you to use me. I'll be your doll."

Taehyun's cock that was dragging along your cunt is finally aligned with your entrance— he lets go of your hair, letting you slump back into the bed and bury your face with a muffled whine. He straightens up, watching the way your cunt resists his cock— you hear him let out a deep groan behind you once he finally pushes in, his tip already enough to stretch you out. You could barely fit him in your mouth— it's no surprise you're struggling to take him now, the girth of his length filling you up so good, feeling him sink into you slowly until his hips are flush against your ass.

"So fucking tight— stretched you out for nothing," Taehyun gulps, his hold on your wrists tightening and drawing out a weak mewl from you, "you're squeezing around me like crazy."

You can't help the way your walls flutter around him— you just feel so incredibly good, your hips pushing back against him to feel his skin flush against yours, his balls pressing against your clit— your jaw is slack and you think you might be drooling against Taehyun's bedsheets once he starts moving, the slow slide of cock making you moan.

"Feels good?" he asks, letting out an airy laugh when you nod. "You feel good too baby."

He's picking up the pace gradually; what starts as slow, deep thrusts into your cunt, pulling all the way out just so he can feel you clench around his tip, is turning into something needier, something desperate— his hips begin to slam against your ass, his cock hammering into spots that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head; the sheer force of his thrusts is enough to have your body jolting forward, but he holds you in place, his grip on your wrists tight while he uses his other hand on your waist to bring you back into him.

"Perfect— pretty cunt, taking me so good," he groans, your cunt clenching down on him in response. He's so rough and deep, it feels like his cock is all the way in your stomach— you're breathless, gasping his name as he continues to use your body to fuck him back, your ass slamming against his hips and making your toes curl.

"S-so— deep—" you're turning your head to the side, your cheek pressed against the bed as you attempt to look over your shoulder; through the corner of your eye, you're able to see Taehyun, a sheen of sweat on his blushing skin, his teeth gritted together as he watches his cock disappear inside you— he catches you staring, raising a brow and leaning down to press his chest against your back.

"What'd you say baby?" he huffs, pressing kisses along your shoulders, sinking his teeth into your skin to hear the way you squeal— he's leaving bite marks all along your skin, licking up your neck and moaning directly in your ear.

"Taehyun— you're so big, m'so full..." your voice breaks, and Taehyun chuckles, planting a messy kiss on your cheek.

"Am I too big for you?" he asks, sitting up once more— his hand on your hip begins to wander, his fingers splaying out on your stomach. His hand is pressing down, and you jolt, the feeling of his cock slipping in and out much more intense. "Fuck, I can feel myself in that cute stomach."

His palm presses harder against your stomach, his hips snapping meanly into you— you're a sobbing, helpless mess, and when Taehyun is letting go of your wrists to play with your clit, pinching and slapping it teasingly, your hands fly up to push against his hips, a subconscious attempt to push him out of you— all he does in response is lean his weight against you more, his cock grinding so deep into you, you start to see white.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks, watching your hands slap on the mattress helplessly, grabbing onto the sheets and trying to crawl forward— he merely watches for a moment, but you barely move before he's grabbing your hips and dragging your body back, his cock bottoming out inside you in a single thrust— your ears burn at the filthy squelch that comes from your abused cunt.

Taehyun has caged you in— his hands come down next to your head, his body pressing yours down until your face is pressed into the bed and your ass is in the air; he doesn't let you adjust when he starts fucking you, his hips snapping violently into you and drawing out a long, high pitched cry from you. He's panting into your ear, placing a sloppy kiss on your temple.

"Stay still and take it," your hands that were holding onto the sheets find Taehyun's hands, one reaching to lace your fingers with his while the other trails up, grabbing at his bicep to stabilize yourself— it's a short-lived attempt, because he's shifting to wrap his arm around your throat, locking your body in place for his cock. "There we go, such a good girl for me."

His muscles flex against your throat, and your mouth falls open, beginning to feel lightheaded, your hand holding onto his forearm— turning your head, your teeth sink into his bicep, and you hear him moan in your ear in response.

"Fuck— look at you, biting me like a cute little puppy," he grins, feeling your teeth sinking into his muscle again from the sheer overstimulation your mind is going through. "Feels good?"

Pulling away, you can't even bring yourself to be embarrassed at the spit that you've left on his skin— not when you're getting fucked this good. "Mh-hmm… t-too…"

"Too much?" he coos, his tone gentle and sickeningly sweet— his hold around your throat tightens, and he's using it as leverage to hoist the two of you up so that you're kneeling; the change in angle has your eyes rolling back and your head falling against his shoulder, feeling as though his cock is somehow even deeper.

"I know, I'm sorry baby," he says, beginning to piston into you from this new angle, "'m almost there, I promise."

Fuck, your mind screams at you, how the fuck is he still going?

Taehyun's hand is coy as it travels to your navel, pushing against your stomach to feel his cock plunging in and out of you before sneaking down to play with your clit once more— your thighs are trembling and if Taehyun weren't holding you up, you would've fallen in a boneless puddle against his bed by now. Instead, you're scrambling to hold onto him, grabbing his arm around your neck and holding onto his hips, your back arching away from him— only to create the perfect angle for him to fuck into you, that same, molten pleasure beginning to creep up on you.

"Fuck fuck fuck, Taehyun, oh god, I'm so— 'm so—"

"Yeah, fuck— hold on—" he's flipping you onto your back before pushing back in, holding your calves by his shoulders as he pushes in, "need to see you… cum on my cock, fuck. You're so pretty, baby."

It really feels like he might break you with this angle— your legs twitch and tremble as his holds them up, rolling his hips deep into your cunt, his eyes flickering back and forth from where his cock disappears inside you to your face, drunk on the sounds you make every time the tip of his cock brushes against your sweet spot.

God, the view is already enough to make you cum— your eyes are hungry as you take in his body, his tanned skin dripping with sweat, carving lines down his chest and dripping into the crevices of his abs, his stomach clenching every time you squeeze around him; there's a blush that runs from his pecs to the tip of his ears, his brows furrowed with pleasure and his mouth parted as soft moans of your name leave him, canines digging into his bottom lip as he wills not to cum too soon. His eyes meet yours, dark and lustful, and you can't help yourself from hiding behind your hands, entirely overwhelmed.

"No— don't hide from me now," he throws your legs over his shoulders and closes in on you, folding you in half and continuing his cruel pace— he pries your hands from your face, lacing his fingers with yours and pinning them beside your head, his mouth inches away from yours. "I need to see you cum on my cock."

The air between you is charged and heated, and you're craning your head up to catch his lips, whining and moaning into his mouth as he brings you close to your climax; your nails dig into his hands, hips bucking up and chasing that peak that seems so overwhelmingly close— you're losing control of yourself, lost in the feeling of Taehyun— his warm body against yours, his hands that hold yours a little tighter, his thick cock that splits you open— and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Taehyun, I'm gonna— gonna cum."

"Do it angel, I've got you— lemme feel it, c'mon—" it feels like time has gone still for a moment; your body arches off the bed, your breasts pressing against Taehyun's chest as you cum with a soft cry of his name, your cunt sucking him in and begging for more.

"'Atta girl… so pretty when you cum," he helps you ride it out, rolling his hips against yours, reaching down to trace soft circles on your clit until you're a trembling mess. He's peppering kisses all over your face, thrusting shallowly into you, pouting when you begin to whine. "I know baby, I know— I'm— I'm so close, just hold on a little more okay?"

"M'kay…" you mumble, feeling him smile against your lips, "Taehyun— cum inside me."

He groans, tracing his lips along your jaw. "Fuck— you can't be serious."

"I am," you can feel him twitching inside you, his hips beginning to lose their rhythm, "I want you to."

"Y-yeah? Want my cum?" he's so close, you can feel him losing control as he fucks into you— you nod, tilting your head to give him better access, "say please."

"Can you cum inside me?" you whine, breathless, "please? Please, I want you to fill me up…"

"Fuck. Of course baby, so cute when you beg," his head falls to the crook of your neck, his hips stilling deep inside you— his cock twitches and his hips subtly rut into you as he cums, hot and thick and endless as he pumps it into you, a thick ring forming at the base— his weight sinks you into the mattress, and all you can do is lie there and let him use your body to ride it out, his teeth nipping at your neck as he nuzzles deeper into your shoulder; you're tilting your head to rest against his, the two of you a panting, sweaty mess.

His grip on your hands loosens, and you're slipping from his hold to snake your arms around him, your nails scratching along his back while your other hand tangles into his dark hair, scratching his scalp— you'd almost think he were about to purr with the way he leans into your touch, his hands sneaking under your back to pull you up and flush against him.

It's silent; your body is cooling down, and you're turning your head to the side to look out his window— it's gotten so late.

"Stay." He grumbles, "sleep here."

You let out a deep breath, nodding. "I will."

"Good…" he's trailing off, his voice softening as he nuzzles your skin. "I don't think i would've had the energy to drive you back."

You laugh softly, feeling Taehyun's hold on you tighten, as though afraid you'd slip away. But you remain still, dragging your nails along his scalp and feeling him melt against you. There's a calm bliss that washes over you, and you think what little high you had left is fading. Taehyun turns his head, kissing the crook of your neck to get your attention.

"You really are beautiful, you know that?" he says, and you roll your eyes and hum. "I don't want this to be a one time thing. I wanna get to know you better."

You can feel butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach, pressing your lips together to stop a giddy laugh from escaping you. You take a moment to ensure your voice is even before you speak.

"Take me on a date then."

He nods immediately. "Deal."

It's quiet again— your touch is gentle on Taehyun's skin as the two of you catch your breath; slowly, you feel his breath even out, his head burrowing deeper into your neck. He's falling asleep, you realize, tapping his shoulder and watching him flinch.

"Taehyun…"

"Hmm?"

"You're still inside me… I'm so sticky," you say, hearing him mumble a soft 'oh'. "And I squirted on your face."

Silence.

"Oh yeah." Taehyun doesn't seem to be nearly as bothered by that fact as you are. "I'll draw us a bath."

Instead of acting on his words, Taehyun lingers in your arms, nuzzling against your skin— you catch him dozing off once more before he's finally getting up with a reluctant groan, as though the thought of leaving your side pained him; you're happily resigned to follow him, allowing him to pamper you for the rest of the night.

Sutena.

They came for Sutena, a plant that only grew in your country. Hard as they tried to replicate the plant, hard as they tried to copy the condition it grew and thrive on, they simply failed. 

The seven leaders failed. 

And when the president of your country stopped allowing them to plunder the Sutena to the ground, that was when they dropped the act. Suddenly, the seven leaders were no longer noble. The seven leaders were no longer patient nor kind. When they stopped getting what they wanted in the name of science, that was when they attacked. 

You were nine when the seven leaders invaded your country. They never really left. 

Now that they have an unending access to your country’s treasure, their goal was finally realized, 

What was once only a concept trend into a twisted reality of some sorts for some, and a nightmare for you and your countrymen. Essentially, it was a fountain of youth packaged into a single pill that would cost one hundreds of millions. You would live forever, all your sickness, all the pains, all the aging would stop when you take it. 

But the seven men were too cunning, too greedy. They weren’t only obsessed with living forever, no. They were all obsessed with money and the power it brought them. After all, they needed resources to survive the numerous attempts on their lives. They needed the money to live the life they badly wanted to prolong. 

In fact, no one knew how old the seven men really were.

You were twenty-five when you met him. 

By now, the world you grew up in was now just a distant memory, something that happened long ago that you would think all of it was just a good dream. 

The people you knew were no more. 

Now, you only had your aunt and cousin. 

At certain point, your people stopped fighting, too weary from all the ruins and casualties that war brought. Your people knew they were never going to win. 

At one point, the people accepted loss.

They said you weren’t their slaves, that your people were free so as long as they have unrestricted access to Sutena. But conditional freedom was still a cage. What once was a progressive, quiet country turned into grey. 

You were on your way home, weary from the long day. You had taken this road so many times to know that people - well, at least your people - did not really go here. This was too near where the Sutana grew. But this was your home. This was the only connection left of your roots, of the family who had long gone. 

Your days were so monotonous that you wondered why you were still alive. You had no family left, all of them were tragically taken by sickness or old age. You had no intention to start your own simply because you wouldn’t subject your own child to a fucked-up world. Your line ends with you, you thought. 

You weren’t exactly suicidal. You had this almost clinical approach to death, it was something that would eventually happen. It was the cycle of life, the theme, if you will.

You weren’t suicidal, but the person looking down the bridge with his legs carelessly swinging back and forth as though wind wouldn’t dare to push him down the bridge looked like he was. You couldn’t see his face, his dark hair was blocking his face. But if you were forced to live this life, then he should be, too. 

Nope. No optional exit here, buddy. No taking shortcuts. 

You moved without thinking. Truly, you did. 

Because instead of pulling the man to safety, you accidentally pushed him when you tripped from a rock.  

Your mouth dropped open, the sound of your own frantic heartbeat suddenly louder than the rushing wind. For a split second, the world turned into a silent film—a frame-by-frame capture of your outstretched hands, the empty space where a human being had just been, and the sickeningly graceful arc of a body descending toward the dark water below.

Panic, cold and sharp, jolted through your limbs. You hadn't meant to be a savior, but you certainly hadn't planned on being an executioner. You scrambled to the edge, your fingers scraping against the cold metal of the railing, and peered over.

"Oh, god," you rasped, the words catching in a throat gone bone-dry. "Oh, no, no, no."

Below, there was a splash—violent and white against the murky depths—and then, silence. The monotony of your existence hadn't just been broken; it had been shattered by the weight of a life that was now, quite literally, in your hands. You had spent years waiting for death to arrive like a scheduled train, yet seeing it invited so abruptly by your own clumsy feet made your stomach heave.

Without thinking, you jumped.

You braced for impact as water surrounded you. The impact was less of a splash and more of a physical assault. The water was a wall of liquid ice that slammed the breath right out of your lungs, turning your sudden heroism into a frantic, gasping struggle for survival.

For a several disorienting seconds, up was down and down was dark. Bubbles danced mockingly past your eyes as you fought the weight of your water-logged clothes. Then, through the murky haze, you saw him—a dark shape suspended in the current, sinking with a stillness that terrified you. And you were sinking with him because as fate would have it, you never really learned to swim. 

Maybe you were a bit suicidal? 

But despite the rising panic you were feeling, you reached out your hand to the man with pale skin, only to find his dark eyes already trained to yours as he sinked to the bottom. He didn't reach for the surface. He didn't even reach for your hand. He simply watched you, his expression so eerily calm, as though he had been waiting for this specific moment of descent for a lifetime. From his point of view, you were nothing short of an angel with the rays of light behind you, your hair floating ethereally around you. He smiled at you, his expression so eerily calm as though he was someone who had all the time in the world. 

And you were quickly running out of breath. 

With the very last of you, you pulled the sleeves of his to no avail. Your body was giving up, your lungs protesting violently. Your grip slackened. Your eyes began to flutter shut, the weight of the river finally winning.

In that twilight between consciousness and the deep, you saw him blink.

And as though this was a clear imposition, even a rude distraction from his quiet descent down the lake, he surged into motion. You never expected a strength such as his just from looking at his form but the crushing pressure when he encircled your wrist and pulled you to his chest said otherwise. He kicked against the current until you were out of the water. He dragged you to the embankment and unceremoniously dropped you on the grass before sitting down beside you, his long legs stretched, his arms supporting his weight. 

“Are you always this indecisive?” he asked. His voice was steady, lacking even a hint of the breathlessness that was currently tearing through your lungs.

“W-what?” you wheezed as you coughed out the water, your heart beating even faster as the adrenaline left your body. 

“You couldn’t decide whether to kill me or save me? I mean. Come on. Make up your mind,” he said, his voice that of a boredom. 

“I—I wasn’t trying to kill you!” You choked out the words, shivering so hard your teeth clacked. “You were trying to kill yoursel—”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were sitting! On a bridge! An extremely high bridge! At night-”

“So you decided to assist me in “killing” myself?” he regarded you as he tilted his head. “I must say, you’re efficient. Indecisive, but efficient.” 

“I tripped!”

He shook his head in disbelief, a slow, mocking movement that sent droplets of river water flying from his dark hair. “You pushed me, and then you jumped after me. Evidently, you don’t know how to swim. You cannot even dog paddle. It’s embarrassing. I think you’re projecting and you’re the suicidal one.”

You rolled your eyes as you attempted to stand, muttering under your breath about how this was one of the worst days of your life. “So much about being a good samaritan,” you noted lowly. 

“That’s you trying to be a good samaritan?” he asked, watching your struggle with a look of genuine fascination. “I’ve had more peaceful encounters with people who actively hate me.”

Your knees were shaking as you finally gained your footing, but your pride had taken a hit enough to just want to leave this place even though your body  was not yet ready. You took one defiant step, swayed dangerously, and would have hit the mud face-first if a hand hadn't shot out to steady you.

The grip on your arm was firm, grounding, and annoyingly solid.

“This is what a good samaritan is supposed to look like, by the way,” he muttered. He didn't let go, instead stepping closer so you could lean against him—a move that felt entirely too intimate for two people who had just met via a homicide attempt.

“You’re still shivering,” he observed, his voice dropping the snark for a second. “And you’re turning a very concerning shade of blue. It clashes with your hair.”

You scoffed weakly. “Excuse me. Blue is my color,” you rebutted, your teeth chattering so loudly. “I-I’ll walk this off. Builds character and everything, you know?” 

“The walk home will build pneumonia,” he corrected. “Where do you live?” 

“I’m not giving my address to a stranger I just tried to murder,” you managed to gasp out, trying to summon an ounce of your usual clinical detachment. It was difficult to be mysterious when you were dripping like a broken faucet. “That’s how horror movies start. I’ve seen the tropes.”

“Believe me, if I wanted to murder you, I would have just let you continue your impersonation of an anchor back there,” he noted.

The walk was entertaining. You meant, you were actively fighting for your life as he actively tried to keep you alive and standing on your feet. It must have been such an imposition to him because he sighed so hard and so deep before hauling you on his back. 

“Where are your keys?” he asked once you two made it in front of your little cottage.

“Clearly swimming,” you muttered into his shoulder, your voice vibrating with a fresh wave of shivers. “Along with my phone, my wallet, and my last shred of dignity. They’ve formed a new society at the bottom of the river. I hope they’re happy together.”

The man stood there, still supporting your weight as if you were a particularly heavy, dripping sack of laundry. He stared at your front door—a charming, locked, and currently impenetrable barrier—with a look of profound, weary disappointment.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he sighed as he sat you down on your porch. “I’ll fix this later-”

“Fix what-”

Before you knew it, he slammed his shoulder once against your poor excuse of a door. It gave away. Pathetically. It didn't even put up a fight. It just surrendered, swinging on one surviving hinge like a white flag.

He turned slowly to you accusingly before quietly pointing to the door in disbelief. “Honey, the homeless have more security than you. A particularly motivated squirrel could have staged a home invasion here.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself when he put up a finger before looking up as though he was silently negotiating with a higher power for the strength not to walk right back into the river. “You know what? No. Don’t even-”

A hot shower and a hot cup of tea later, you were watching as he fixed your door with a heavy-duty screwdriver and a hammer he’d found in your kitchen junk drawer with the precision of a surgeon.

He stood up, testing the door. It swung shut with a solid, satisfying thunk that it hadn't made in the three years you'd lived there. He turned the deadbolt, nodding to himself.

“There. Now at least someone will have to try slightly harder to murder you than I did,” he said, leaning against the now-sturdy frame. He crossed his arms, his dark eyes landing on you with that same unsettling, clinical intensity. “I’m done here. Bye. Let’s never meet again.”

“Agreed.”

—

You chalked what happened a month ago to a particularly bad nightmare. Aside from the fixed door that no longer rattled in the wind and a lingering sniffle that lasted a week, there was no evidence that whatever happened that night, happened. 

You were walking home after work, swinging the small bag of groceries when you saw a man being held against the wall, a gun pointed at him. It was a mugging from how he was searching his pockets. You didn't think. Again. Truly, you didn't. Without a second's hesitation, you wound up like a big-league pitcher and swung your bag of groceries with every ounce of momentum you possessed.

The mugger, possessing the survival instincts you clearly lacked, chose that exact millisecond to crouch down to check the victim's ankles for a hidden wallet.

Your bag of groceries sailed through the empty air where his head had been and connected—with a sickening, wet thud—directly with the face of the man being mugged.

"Oomph!" the victim grunted.

The mugger, having survived a point-blank grocery assault by the grace of a well-timed squat, stared at the scene for one bewildered second. He looked at his victim—who was currently draped in egg yolk and looking ready to commit a felony of his own—and then at you, the wild-eyed woman wielding a leaking bag of dairy.

Faced with a situation that was clearly too weird to be profitable, the mugger tucked his gun into his waistband, turned on his heel, and sprinted down the alley without a word.

The pale man winced, his hand feeling the side of his head. He looked at his finger, certain that blood would be there and what did you know, there was. He sighed as he flinched before looking at you.

“Of course it’s you again,” he muttered under his breath. “Do I need to hire bodyguards?” he asked himself as he straightened up. 

You touched his forearms, looking up at him with concern. “Oh my God. You’re bleeding-”

“Please don’t touch me. I’m terrified of you,” he said, his voice dripping with a sarcasm so dry it could have started a brushfire.

“I was trying to save you!”

“You hit me. With what seemed to be a bag with heavy-duty cans.”

“He was robbing you-”

He snorted. “He was actually quite polite. Seriously. He hadn't even raised his voice yet. We were in the middle of a very civilized transaction until you decided to launch a pantry at my skull. I think I was safer with him.”

“Can you be serious for once? We need to get you to a hospital-”

“Can you stop trying to kill me for once?” he replied dryly. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket, which was immediately ruined as he dabbed at the blood blooming near his eyebrow. "A hospital? For what? To explain to a triage nurse that I was assaulted yet again by the same person? That I was beaten by groceries? No, thanks.” 

“He had a gun! If you look at it, I saved your life.”

He tilted his head in realization, “You are suicidal. I knew it. The guy had a gun! And you ran unarmed-”

“I have my groceries with me..” you reasoned weakly, looking anywhere but his bewildered eyes. 

He scoffed, “You’re unbelievable.” 

“Thanks?”

He shook his head before immediately wincing, his hand flying up to cradle his skull. “Not a compliment, honey.”

You moved to his side, hovering your hands near his elbows, afraid to touch him but terrified he’d tip over. “I’m sorry. I really am. But you were just standing there! You weren’t even fighting back!”

“Is this my karma?; he asked himself, seriously contemplating how he had been living his life as he attempted to walk away from you unsuccessfully as evidenced by the swaying in his steps. 

"Whoa, okay, easy—" you gasped, finally abandoning the 'no touching' rule and grabbing his arm to keep him upright.

He leaned into your support for a fraction of a second before stiffening, though he didn't pull away. "I’m being haunted," he muttered dramatically, closing his eyes against the pulsing rhythm in his temple. "I didn't drown in the lake, so the universe sent you back to finish the job. It's a very specific, very humiliating curse."

"It's not a curse, it's a concussion!" you countered, tucking your shoulder under his arm to act as a crutch. "And for the record, I saved you from a mugging. Most people would say 'thank you' instead of 'you're a localized natural disaster.'"

"Most people aren't hit in the face with groceries," he bit out, though his voice lacked its usual bite as he let you lead him toward the alley exit. He looked down at you, his dark eyes clouded with pain and a burgeoning, reluctant recognition. "Where are we going? Please tell me it’s not back to the house with the suicidal door. I don't think I have the strength to fix your infrastructure tonight."

—

“Stop singing, for the love of God, please,” he pleaded.

“I’m just trying to wake you up. Google said sleeping is bad for concussions-”

“I’m not going to die. Stop it.”

He lay stretched out on your sofa, a bag of frozen peas (the only non-weaponized grocery item left) pressed against his temple. His dark hair was fanned out against the cushion, making his skin look even more like porcelain—too smooth, too pale, too perfect for a man who lived in a country that had been grey for sixteen years.

“How are you so sure?” you asked again, peering at him as you set a fresh cup of tea on the coffee table. “You don’t look rich enough to afford Sutena.”

“Ouch,” he remarked dryly before sitting up lazily. “Sutena,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like a secret. “You think that little pill is the only way to stick around? That the Seven are the only ones who found the fountain?”

“It’s the only way anyone survives the sickness these days,” you countered, sitting on the edge of the armchair. “Unless you’re one of the Seven. And you’re definitely not one of them. They don't hang out on bridges at midnight or get mugged in alleys.”

He nodded. “They definitely shouldn’t, right? What were you going to cook, anyway?”

You blinked, thrown by the jarring pivot from political elites to meal prep. “I was going to cook kimchi spam rice or something. Kimchi didn’t survive the mugging. So I’m going to cook ramen. Why?” 

“That’s not healthy,” he chided. “The sodium alone is a slow-motion catastrophe. It’s bad for the heart, the skin, the temperament...”

“So?”

“So? Don’t you want to live a long life?”

“Not particularly. I believe one dies when they’re supposed to die.”

He held your eyes for a moment too long before he chuckled, “They should, shouldn’t day?” He whispered before standing up and going straight to your kitchen. “In that case, let’s cook your ramen. I’m famished.” 

“Wait—you’re the one who was just lecturing me on my heart, kidney, overall health,” you said, scrambling to follow him into the kitchen.

“That was before I realized I was dining with a fellow nihilist,” he said, already poking through your cupboards with an air of immense authority. He plucked a stray egg that had survived the massacre and held it up like a trophy. “If we’re going to meet the Reaper, we might as well do it with a poached egg and a bit of dignity.”

He turned to you, the flickering kitchen light catching the dark, depthless quality of his eyes. For a man who had just been mugged and nearly drowned, he looked remarkably like he owned the place.

“Water,” he commanded gently, pointing to the stove. “And try not to trip on the way to the burner. I’ve reached my quota for near-death experiences for the hour.”

—-

“I think we’ve already trauma bonded,” he said as he fixed your leaking faucet. 

“Why? Because I already attempted to kill you twice?” you asked, leaning against the counter and watching him with a mixture of suspicion and reluctant gratitude.

He smirked, his focus shifting back to the pipe for one final adjustment. “So you admit that you were trying to kill me. Hello, 911? Yes, I’d like to report a crime-”

You chuckled, the sound light but tinged with the exhaustion of the night. “But you’re still alive. It still wasn't your time. And how can we trauma bond when I don’t even know your name?”

He blinked, setting the wrench down with a heavy clank and turned to look at you, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were far too steady for someone who had recently been used as target practice for canned goods. “I’m Y- I’m Suga.”

“Hi Suga, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“‘Nice’ is a bold choice of words, Y/N,” Suga remarked, leaning back against the counter and drying his hands on a towel. The sharp, clinical intensity in his eyes softened into something more contemplative as he repeated your name under his breath. “Most people would have filed a restraining order against themselves by now if they were in your shoes.”

“Most people don't have a stranger fixing their plumbing at midnight after a mugging,” you countered.

He hummed, a low sound of acknowledgement. “True. We’re a pair of anomalies, aren't we? One who doesn't care to live, and one who...” He trailed off, looking at the sturdy deadbolt he’d installed earlier. “...and one who apparently can’t be killed by you.”

—

Perhaps, you formed a bond. 

Because like a cat you fed once, he kept on coming back. Seeing him was almost like a routine, to be honest. A week after the mugging, he came back with tools and materials. Before you could even ask him why he was there, he was already scoffing about how his conscience didn’t let him sleep because he noted that your roof was leaking. 

He said that that was what a good samaritan looked like. 

Two days later, he was there again, calmly peeling a tangerine with his pocket knife. Suga didn’t look up immediately from his seated form. He was perched on your porch step, uncaring toward what seemed like an expensive coat that was touching the floor. The orange rind fell in a single, perfect spiral at his feet.

You sighed, “Don’t you have friends? Family? Even a pet?”

He raised his dark brows before he extended his hand toward you. A single, perfect slice of tangerine was impaled on the tip of his silver pocket knife, the juice glistening like amber under the dim porch light.

“Do I look friendless to you?”

You reached out and nodded while you chewed the surprisingly tasty tangerine. 

He let out a short, dry huff of a laugh, snapping the pocket knife shut with a metallic snick. “I have friends. They’re my…brothers.”

“Okay, you have friends and/or family. I assume you’re unemployed because why else would you be here on a workday, no less.”

He licked his lips, a clear attempt to stop himself from smiling, though the glint in his eye said otherwise. “I’m taking a break.”

“A break,” you repeated flatly. “For a month? That’s not a break, Suga. That’s a sabbatical. Or a mid-life crisis.”

He shrugged, “Call it what you want. Anyway, what’s for dinner?”

“Are you also broke?”

—

Days like this reminded you of the faux freedom awarded to your country. 

You watched as the man struggled against the police, his face bloodied yet his eyes remained defiant. “Bangtan is evil! They’ll run this country to the ground just for that fucking Sutana!”

People flinched when the police hit him with the gun on his head, rendering the man weaker. He bared his teeth to the man in the middle, someone with a perfect image of unaffected. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, draped in a coat that looked like woven midnight. He didn't look angry; he didn't even look bored. He looked like a god watching an ant scream at the rain. “I hope you and your brothers die a painful and slow death, you fucker Taehyung! I hope you suffer for eternity!” 

No one had ever seen their faces. And those that did were already long dead. No official photographs even survived their infiltration. The people only knew that there were seven. The people only knew of their names: Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook. That was it. 

One of your seven nightmares finally had a face, you realized. Taehyung sighed, a soft sound of genuine exhaustion, as if he were listening to a story he had already heard a thousand times over a thousand years. “We can’t die, though,” he stated in great boredom.  

They couldn’t die while your people die everyday.

They couldn't die while people who were sick suffered when Sutana could take the pain away.

They couldn’t die while your entire family died a slow death from sickness that should have been curable had it not been for their selfishness. 

“But you will if you don’t stop-”

“I will never stop! You people are evil! Rotten to the very core! Selfish people-” His words trailed off into a wet gasp when Taehyung gave a microscopic nod to the guard. You felt the air in the plaza turn cold. You knew what was happening; you had seen this choreography of execution before. The "mercy" of the state was always swift and silent.

You couldn’t take this anymore. 

But just as you were about to step out of the crowd, a hand decisively pulled you back. You turned and there was Suga, looking at you with darkness in his eyes, his face devoid of any emotion as he shook his head. How he was here, you didn’t know.

“Let go,” you gritted.

“It’s not worth it.”

“He’ll die-”

“And you will die if you step up,” he hissed, his hold on you tightened as he pulled you closer to him and away from the crowd. You tried to pull yourself free to no avail. “Is that what you want?”

“No one should live that long,” you said, your voice cracking as you gestured toward Taehyung’s form. “You know that. It’s an insult to everyone who actually has to bleed.”

Suga, for the first time since you met him, looked at you with intensity and coldness you have never seen before. His jaw was clenched. “And you don’t get to die just because you want to, jagiyah.” 

You frowned before turning to the scene behind you just in time for Taehyung to lift his eyes to you. His dark brows raised when he turned to the man behind you. He tilted his head, a flicker of familiarity and curiosity glinted in his eyes. They held eyes for a moment too long before Taehyung chuckled lowly as though in faint amusement. He didn't say a word. He simply turned around, his coat billowing behind him as he walked away, leaving the scent of ozone and expensive tobacco in his wake.

—

He uncapped the bottle before wordlessly handing it to you. 

You were seated near the river where you first met, but this time was quiet. You could pretend that everything was fine, that everything was normal but reality would always remind you of what was the truth. 

You live in a time where speaking up would mean death. 

Suga turned to you, “You’re suicidal-”

“Excuse-”

He lifted his hand before shaking his head, his dark hair swaying gently with the wind. “Wasn’t a question,” he sighed before fully turning to you. “Don’t you have friends? Family? A pet?” 

The irony was a bitter pill. Those were the exact words you had thrown at him on your porch when you thought he was just a lonely, unemployed man with a pocket knife and a conscience. 

You scoffed at him, the only indication that you heard him as the spark that was usually in your eyes was nowhere to be found. It was a moment too long that he thought you wouldn’t answer him. The sound of water running with the current was the only thing that could be heard. 

“I don’t have a family. They…they left me. I supposed they’re all together now if heaven is real,” you said quietly. You didn’t look at him. You couldn't. You kept your gaze fixed on the dark ripples of the river, the same river that had seen your first meeting and was now witnessing your unraveling.

“I don’t have friends because everyone’s just so busy surviving that human connection doesn’t seem like a necessity. Kindness seemed like a flaw, and tomorrow is not promised. I can’t even take care of myself. How can I take care of a pet?” 

The words were a confession of defeat, a surrender to the gray reality that had swallowed the country whole. You stared at the dark water, waiting for him to agree, to shrug, or to tell you that’s just the way the world worked now.

“Then I’ll be your friend,” he said decisively. 

The weight of his tone made you turn. He wasn't looking at the river anymore; he was looking at you with a terrifyingly steady gaze. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no room for argument.

“From now on, we’re the best of friends.”

A hollow, startled laugh bubbled up in your chest, but it died before it reached your lips. “It doesn’t work like that—”

“It works however I say it works,” he countered, his voice cutting through your protest like a blade. He leaned closer, the shadow of his silhouette merging with yours in the moonlight. The warmth you had felt on the porch was gone, replaced by a fierce, protective iron.

“So don’t go around trying to get killed,” he hissed, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the stone bench. “You don't get to decide that your life is worth nothing when you’ve got someone counting on you to show up. You wanted a reason? There it is. Here I am.”

—

“You’re one, clingy friend,” you noted as he trailed behind you in the small, rundown groceries. 

He walked behind you with an expression of profound annoyance, looking very much like a man being forced to participate in a tedious chore when no one was making him do this. It was a sharp contrast to the way you’d found him that morning: leaning against your porch railing at sunrise as if he’d never left, waiting for you to wake up.

“Best friend,” he corrected. “And why do you have to buy groceries every two days? Why not just buy for the whole week?” he grumbled even as he pushed you gently aside to push the cart for you.

“Because if I die, then I’m just wasting food, am I not?” you said it so nonchalantly that one would think you were merely talking about the weather or what you were going to cook for dinner.

The rattling of the cart’s wheels stopped abruptly. The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of a flickering fluorescent light.

Suga didn’t look up immediately. His hands remained gripped on the handle of the cart, his knuckles turning white. When he finally shifted his gaze to you, the annoyance had vanished, replaced by an intensity that made the air in the narrow aisle feel thin.

“You’re not going to die,” he said. It wasn’t an encouragement or a comfort; it was a cold, hard statement of fact.

“Who knows?” you countered, reaching for a small bag of rice.

You did know. You could feel it in the way your breath hitched when you climbed the porch steps, in the persistent, dull ache that lived beneath your ribs—the exact symptoms your family before you had felt. The doctor had been brief when he had told you it was the early stages of the same sickness they had. There were medicines and treatments to prolong your life, but truly, why prolong the agony? 

You nodded, thanked the doctor and went to work that day. 

“I think you’ll live a long and happy life if you’re smart about it,” you told him, your back facing him as you looked at the tangerine on the shelf.

"You’re talking like you’re saying goodbye," he murmured, his hand reaching around you to pull the tangerine from your grasp. He didn't put it back; he turned it over in his fingers, his eyes boring into the side of your face. "I'm pretty sure 'best friends' don't just wish each other a happy life and walk away."

He stepped around to face you, forcing you to look up. His expression was a mix of irritation and a strange, burgeoning concern he was trying desperately to hide. “You’re not going to die,” he announced as though his words were law before walking away with your groceries. 

—

“What was your family like?” you asked him as he washed the dishes. You wanted to think that you didn’t particularly care about what he looked like, nor the way he carried himself with such certainty. But the truth was, you noticed. You noticed how he preferred dark clothings, or how he ran his fingers through his hair several times a day, or how he loved napping, or that how much he seemed to always carry tangerines with him. 

You noticed how broad his back was.

You noticed how handy he was. 

You noticed how his constant faux annoyance was just a front.

You noticed how well he took care of you even when you didn’t ask him to, even when no one did before.

Simply put, you noticed Suga.

“What was your family like?” he asked back before wiping his hands and facing you. He looked domestic in this light, you thought, with only his black shirt. It was something so simple but on him it seemed as though he stepped right out of a photoshoot. 

You tilted your head before gesturing for him to sit beside you. You clicked on your outdated phone and onto the album of photos you downloaded when social media was still allowed. He sat beside you, pulling his chair closer to you. Your shoulders brushed as he looked down at your screen. He was close.

Too close, you thought, that he could see the tinging on your cheeks if he wanted to. You cleared your throat before zooming the photo. 

“This was my father,” you pointed at the screen. “And beside him was my mother.”

You fondly looked at the people who were the last person to love you in this world. 

“That’s you?” he asked, pointing at the seven-year old you in between your parents. You were grinning wildly, your missing tooth on display. The picture was taken in the plaza back when everything was normal, back when the Seven was still trying to play nice with your country. It was during a festival, your background full of people mingling with each other, and even through the picture, you could see happiness where it once was. 

“I was adorable, right?” 

He smiled softly, his eyes twinkling, “I’ve seen cuter kids. Me, for example. I was the most adorable kid my age.”

You looked at him with deadpanned eyes. “Sorry, I’ll only believe it when I see it.”

“Oh so you do want to see it.”

“I do,” you shot back , your brows raised at the challenge in his tone.

He tilted his head to the side as he smirked at you. “ Too bad I don’t have pictures or else you’ll find me so adorable you would have pinched my cheeks by now.”

You couldn’t help a laughter escape you at his audacity. Your head was bent back, your melodious laughter echoing throughout your small house. You looked divine, Yoongi thought. You looked like you were happiness personified, a vibrant splash of color in a world he had helped turn monochrome. Seeing you laugh was something akin to the way they felt when they discovered Sutana.

It was a dangerous feeling.

They ruined cities for that. They had burned entire legacies to the ground just to hold that kind of power in their palms, to ensure they were the ones who decided who lived, who smiled, and who withered.

His heart stopped when you turned to him, your lower lip in between your teeth to stop yourself from smiling. “Liar. Where’s the proof then, Suga?” you leaned closer, teasing glint still in your eyes.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew?

Would you still let him in if you knew?

You wouldn’t, he was certain of it. 

So instead, he softly tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Perhaps, I am. I guess you just have to take my word for it.”

“W-what? Don’t tell me you didn’t have cameras back then,” you stuttered slightly, the proximity finally catching up to your pulse. You tried to regain your footing with a playful scoff. “I mean, I think you’re only, what, three to five years ahead of me or something—”

“Is this your way of asking me about my age?” 

“Is it working?”

Suga chuckled before tapping your nose. “I’m a lot older than you.”

“Liar. You looked like you're only 31, tops.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”

Before he left for the night, he turned to you. He adjusted his coat, the fabric rustling in the quiet of the foyer. He reached for the handle, pausing at the threshold. Before he stepped out into the night, he turned back to you, his silhouette framed by the porch light.

“I’m 107.”

You rolled your eyes at him before locking the door, “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

—

Yoongi walked into his penthouse. The space was a study in shadows, carved out only by the cold, electric glow of the skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

There was something wrong. 

Without a word, Yoongi moved toward the marble island of the kitchen. His movements were fluid, practiced in the dark. The amber liquid caught the city lights as it hit the crystal, the soft clink of the decanter the only sound in the room. He poured whiskey into two glasses, the sharp, peaty scent rising to meet him. He walked to where Namjoon was seated in the dark. He was quietly reading on his tablet, no doubt about the reports on Sutana.

Yoongi stopped a few feet away, extending one of the glasses. “I thought only the maknaes break into my place when they’re bored. Apparently, that includes you now, Namjoonie.”

Namjoon finally looked up, the tablet’s glow making his features look stark and tired. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Yoongi’s as he took the glass. He didn't offer an apology, nor did he look surprised that Yoongi had already poured him a drink.

“Long time no see, hyung,” he greeted lowly before hee took a slow, deliberate sip of the whiskey, letting the burn settle. “Been busy?”

Yoongi chuckled before plopping down beside him and drinking his own. “Out with it. We know each other for too long to play these games.”

“91 years of it.”

He nodded, “Almost a whole fucking century. I always have a good read on you, Yoongi…except now.”

“Taehyung,” he muttered under his breath as though in explanation. Of course the younger member tattled. “But did he also tell you he showed his fucking face in public?”

Namjoon swiped the tablet screen, and a grainy, thermal-enhanced image appeared. It was a still from a high-altitude drone, zoomed in so far the pixels bled. It showed two figures tucked away near a stone bench by the river. One was unmistakably Yoongi, his posture uncharacteristically protective. The other was a woman- small, defiant, and entirely human.

"Taehyung is a wildfire; he likes the spectacle," Namjoon said, turning the tablet toward Yoongi. "But you? You’re the hearth. You don’t move unless there’s a purpose. So tell me, what purpose does she serve?"

Yoongi didn't look at the screen. He didn't need to. He could still feel the phantom warmth of her hair against his knuckles, the way her laughter had momentarily drowned out the decades of blood on his hands. He took a long, burning swallow of whiskey.

"She doesn't serve a purpose, Namjoon. She’s just a girl who buys too many tangerines and thinks I’m an unemployed thirty-one-year-old."

Namjoon sighed, “I know that look in your eyes, Yoongi hyung. It’s the exact look in Seokjin and my eyes that started this entire conundrum decades ago. She’s human. She will die, eventually-”

“She’s not going to die,” Yoongi countered. It wasn’t a hope; it was a decree. The kind of statement that had leveled cities and reshaped nations.

Namjoon sighed, “She’s dying even as we speak, hyung. She will, unless you give her Sutana.”

“Or unless I stop taking it,” Yoongi added. His voice was a flat, freezing line of defiance.

Namjoon froze, his glass halfway to his lips. He turned fully now, the blue light of the tablet making his eyes look like a cold flint. “You’ll die for a girl?”

“You live for a girl,” Yoongi shot back, his eyes cutting to Namjoon’s. “You and Seokjin hyung still live for her. We are all in this situation because you two can’t let go of someone who should have already died decades ago. How long will we keep her in between life and death?”

Namjoon’s composure shattered. He slammed the whiskey glass onto the marble island, the crystal miraculously holding but the liquid sloshing over his hand. He surged to his feet, his shadow towering against the city lights.

“Until we fucking perfect Sutana and its ability to bring her back to life!” Namjoon roared, his voice cracking with a raw, human agony that he usually kept buried under layers of logic and leadership.

He leaned over the table, his face inches from Yoongi’s. “If I have to burn this country to the ground to find the missing sequence needed for her, I will. And you know Seokjin-hyung would do worse.”

Yoongi didn't flinch. He just looked at the man he had called a brother for over a hundred years—a man who was currently losing his mind over a memory kept on life support.

“Then we’re both fools,” Yoongi said quietly, swirling the amber liquid in his cracked glass. “The difference is, my girl is still laughing. Yours hasn't opened her eyes since the 1950s.”

Namjoon recoiled as if stung, his chest heaving. The silence returned, but it was different now, tainted by the secret that fueled their empire. “Then you should learn from our mistakes. Give her the Sutena now.”

Yoongi finally broke eye contact before downing his whiskey. “She hates us, Namjoon,” Yoongi admitted, the words coming out like a confession. “She hates everything we’ve built. She loathes how we destroyed this fucking country just to harvest that sequence. If—if I give her a dose... if I turn her into what we are... she will never forgive me. She’ll look at me with the same eyes that man in the plaza had.”

He thought of your laughter in the kitchen, the way you’d teased him about his age, and the sheer, stubborn humanity of your refusal to fear the end. To give you Sutana was to kill the person he had come to love.

“She will have eternity to forgive you, hyung. Trust me, it’s better that she hates you than not be here at all. You think you can handle the silence? I am telling you, you can’t. None of us can.”

—

“Nope,” you answered, popping the P as you two walked home. 

“You didn’t even consider it,” he grumbled as he took your bag and carried it for you. He looked like a petulant child with the way he was pouting. 

“What’s there to consider in your hypothetical question, Suga?” You adjusted the strap of your sweater, your breath hitching slightly as the incline of the street began to pull at your lungs. You ignored the familiar dull ache beneath your ribs, focusing instead on his sudden, strange intensity. “You asked me if, given the chance, I’d take a 'miracle cure' to live forever. I said no.”

“It’s not just a miracle. If you take it, you’ll never die. You’ll never have to say goodbye. You can see the world and you won’t run out of time.”

You frowned before gently hitting his shoulder with yours. “Doesn’t that sound like a nightmare? Isn’t the beauty of life is that it’s not forever? Imagine being stuck in a world that keeps breaking, and you’re the only one who can’t leave. That’s not a gift, Suga. That’s basically a prison sentence.”

He stopped walking and reached for your wrist. His touch was soft, his eyes even softer as he looked like he was begging for something you didn’t know how to give. “But what if…what if I die first and I leave you alone?”

You blinked at the oddness of his question. “Then…then I guess… No. I know I’ll miss you forever. I'd probably still buy an extra tangerine every Tuesday just out of habit.”

He didn't smile. If anything, he looked more haunted. “What if you die first?”

“Then I’ll wait for you in between heaven and earth just so you won’t have to go there alone.”

Yoongi felt the words like a physical blow to the chest. Heaven. He hadn't thought about that place in a century. He had spent so long building a kingdom on earth, fortifying it with blood and science, that he’d forgotten what it was like to believe in anything beyond the next dose.

He looked at you, truly looked at you, standing there in the flickering streetlamp light. You were so small, so temporary, and yet you were offering to guide an ancient, weary soul through the afterlife.

His thumb brushed against the skin of your wrist, tracing the rhythm of a heart that was already failing. He wanted to tell you that there was no heaven for people like him. He wanted to tell you that he had already traded his soul for a seat at a table of seven gods.

Instead, he let go of your wrist and looked away, his jaw tight.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he muttered, though there was no heat in it. “You’d probably get bored waiting and find someone else to annoy with your tangerine talk.”

You nodded before chuckling at him. “Probably. No promises. Come on, I’m starving.”

—

“It’s getting worse.”

“I know. I can feel it.”

Normal activities were starting to feel like a death sentence. Waking up in the morning was starting to feel like a gift. Working was starting to feel like a prison. 

Your time was running out. 

You were never scared of the end, you thought. It was simply a transition to somewhere where your family was. It was simply something that needed to occur so you could leave this country. You accepted that death would come to you sooner than you thought. You had no one, so you never had to think of what or who you’d leave behind. 

What you didn’t expect was him.

Because now, you were thinking of what to come when you leave this Earth. You wanted to think that he was going to be okay, that he had his brothers to stay with him.

He wouldn’t be lonely, right?

He shouldn’t. 

The walk back from the clinic felt longer than usual, each step a deliberate negotiation with a body that was beginning to revoke its lease. You stopped at the corner, leaning against a rusted lamp post to catch your breath, watching the familiar silhouette in the distance.

You saw him paced back and forth in front of your small house, his hands on his waist. He needed to start getting used to you not being present, what with your imminent death and all. He needed to start getting used to this, you thought—this version of the world where you weren't present. He needed to practice seeing the porch empty. He needed to learn how to buy his own tangerines again.

You watched him for a moment, your heart aching with a heaviness that had nothing to do with your lungs. You had never been scared of the end. To you, death was just a quiet transition, a way to finally bypass the borders of a broken country and find the people who had loved you first. You had accepted the timing of your exit with a calm, practiced stoicism.

What you hadn't factored into your departure was him. Or how much you felt for him. Or how, in this bleak world, he was the only color you ever saw.

The moment he saw you, his pacing stopped instantly. His entire body went rigid, his expression shifting from agitation to a look of profound, terrifying relief that he tried—and failed—to mask with a scowl.

“You’re late,” he barked, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He started toward you, his strides long and urgent. “Where were you? I’ve been standing out here for an hour.”

“W-why are you waiting for me?”

“What do you mean why? We always do this,” he snapped, gesturing vaguely at the porch chairs where you’d spent the last month trading barbs and fruit peels. “I stay, you talk, we eat. It’s the routine.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” your voice was cold as you walked past him. If you hurt him enough, if you pushed hard enough against that strange, fierce loyalty of his, then he wouldn't mourn you. If he hated you, the silence wouldn't be quite so loud when you finally stopped speaking.

Bold of you to assume you meant much to him as he meant to you, you thought. 

“You didn’t have to. In fact, you never had to. You know why? Because I want to be here.”

“Well, I don't want you here,” you lied, the words tasting like copper in your mouth. You gripped the strap of your bag until your knuckles turned white. “I’m tired, Suga. I’m tired of the noise, tired of the tangerines, and tired of you loitering on my porch like you have nowhere else to go. Go back to your ‘brothers.’ Go back to your real life.”

Yoongi didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He stood there like a statue carved from moonlight, watching the way your pulse thrummed erratically in your neck.

“You are obviously tired, so I’ll go. But this is not goodbye.”

“Suga, I meant what I—”

“I know what you said,” he interrupted softly, his jaw set in that stubborn line you’d grown to know so well. “And I’m choosing to ignore it because you’re a terrible liar when you’re exhausted. Sleep. Lock the door. If I find out you stayed up trying to clean this place, I’m moving in permanently.”

–

“You’re one stubborn man.”

“For fuck’s sake, no one knows privacy in this fucking family,” Yoongi grumbled as he stepped out of his bedroom only to find the rest of his brothers in his kitchen. He couldn’t even say he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. He hadn’t gone to bed since you sent him away, anyway. 

This house used to be his sanctuary, but now he wanted nothing more but to go to you. His family was here, and yet, his very soul was telling him that something was incomplete, that someone was not here. 

That he could lose you.

That he was losing you.

“Why are you stalling?” Seokjin asked from the kitchen, his back to them as he cooked calmly. He was never one to pull his punches, though. He looked at Suga with a blank face even as the young man stared straight on. “Are you an idiot?” 

Jimin chuckled and almost choked on the coffee he was drinking. Hoseok gently patted the younger man’s back. 

“This is all your fault,” Yoongi grumbled at Taehyung who was silently working on his laptop. “You and your blabbermouth-”

“But hyung! You have been so secretive and we haven’t seen you in months. We just wanted to know what you’re up to .We’re family, remember?” Jungkook defended Taehyung with a pout. 

“It’s my business.”

“So I take it, she’s your business?” Seokjin asked, facing him with a frown on his otherwise emotionless face. 

“Yes.”

“Do you let your ‘business’ die?” 

“She’s not dying!” Yoongi raised his voice, something that happened very seldomly that it managed to render the entire room stupored with shock. He wasn't one to ever lose control. He wasn’t one to ever raise to anger. He wasn’t one to ever not think rationally. 

But you…you brought out something in him he never thought he was capable of. The number of times he uttered the words of you not dying were becoming annoying. 

This should have been a fact and not something that could be debated.

“I let mine die once, hyung…” Taehyung said, his voice deep while his eyes were faraway. He was back to the time when she died in his arms, when he wanted to be noble. When he was kinder than he was now, back when he listened to her desires instead of his own heart. 

Back before her death ripped his heart away from in him. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Yoongi’s form softened. He knew how much Taehyung suffered, how he watched her died, and eventually, how he had to bury her.

“I know, Tae… But she’s different. She’s healthy, she’s young. You don’t have to wor-”

Taehyung sighed, “She’s sick.”

Silence.

Yoongi knew they were talking, but he couldn’t hear a word they were saying. 

You were sick. And he didn’t know.

How could he not know? You were… you were always with him. Shouldn’t he have known if you were sick? 

He was shaking his head. Denial was coursing through him-

“In fact, she’s dying,” Taehyung drove the final nail. 

Namjoon, who had been quiet the entire fiasco, passed him the tablet. Your file was there. Your entire life, your education, career, entire family history, how they died, how you would most likely die from the same illness. 

The doctor’s records were clear. 

Your illness was progressing. There was nothing they could do about it.

Unless…

—

His head was bowed down when you saw him. 

You never thought you’d see him so forlorn. He had always been full of life. He may not be jumping with joy, but he was never one to mope around.This was new, you thought. Suga was never defeated. Suga never looked defeated. 

It had been a week of silence. You should have been assimilating well with his absence, afterall, you had been alone before he came barreling into your life. 

But the silence was loud. 

You didn’t know how much you depended on him, or how much his presence was the only color in your life, or how without his constant presence, you were only going through the motions. 

He looked up as though he could sense you.

His eyes were sad, that much was apparent. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He looked worn out and yet, your heart skipped a beat when his eyes met yours.

You definitely underestimated your ability to live without him. “I told you. I don’t want to be your friend, anymore-”

Yoongi didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked to you, his strides were large as he neared you. His steps were determined, even purposeful. Before you could even take a step back, Suga, for the first time, embraced you and not because he had to save you. 

This time, he embraced you with all the emotions he was keeping control of. 

For the first time since he could remember, Suga cried. 

The man was shaking as he hugged you, his head bent low as he leaned on your shoulder. You could feel the tears streaming down his face, quickly dampening your shirt. He was, to say the least, unconsolable. 

“S-Suga, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t talk. He hugged you tighter as though in fear that if he let go just an inch, that you would disappear. 

“Are you hurt?” you asked, worry apparent in your voice. You tried to push him away to assess where his injuries were. The man didn’t even budge. You thought the kindest thing to do was to gently rub his back.  

You didn’t know how long he refused to let you go. 

You didn’t know if you ever wanted to. 

“Don’t leave me,” he ordered. “I don’t want to be alone again.”

“Why?” you asked.

 “Because I love you.”

—

Someone loved you.

Someone finally loved you, just when you were running out of time. What a cruel trick the universe was playing. 

What a curse to love someone only to leave them. 

You were staring at his sleeping form. He refused to leave, further breaking down when you wouldn’t let him in until you gave in. His eyes were swollen from crying, his hands shaking until you promised that you wouldn’t leave him. 

You were lying on the bed beside him. He was holding your hand tightly even in his sleep. You traced his face with your other hand in featherlike touches. Suga was beautiful. It was apparent that God took his time with him.

He was a man with such soft heart, one that never raised his voice, one that took one look at you and knew just how to fix you. He was dependable. He was all you wished to have if only you had time.

But you didn’t. 

It was selfish of you to wish him for yourself… 

Gently, he opened his eyes. He looked at you with all the sadness, despair and a little bit of hope in his eyes. 

“You can’t love me,” you said. 

“Why?”

You bit your lip and took a deep breath. “I’m dying, Suga.”

He pressed his lips on the back of your hand, his dark eyes never wavering from you. “Not a reason enough, darling.”

“It is-”

“Do you love me?”

You blinked owlishly, willing your tears to never fall. You had to be brave not for you, but for him. You had to leave him whole. You would be hurt, but you never wanted him to experience this pain. 

“That’s neither here-”

“Do you love me?”

…

“Yes.”

“Will you live for me?” 

You wanted to. 

God, you wanted to.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Suga,” you broke down, couldn’t even stop the tears from falling. You were dying. You were going to leave someone as wonderful as he was in this fucked up world. He was going to be alone. You knew what it was like to have been left alone. You never wanted that even to your worst enemy, let alone the one you loved. 

Suga smiled despite the tears. He leaned his forehead against yours, “Just let me love you, okay? I’ll worry about the rest. Just let me love you. God, please. Just let me be with you. Please.”

He never left. 

He was beside you through it all. Your body grew weary, your strength dwindling. The most normal activities took so much toll on you that you wondered if he wanted to leave you now. You had to quit your job. You had to prepare your affairs in order. Your house, the only memory left of your family and you in this world, would go to him. You knew he didn’t need this. But the way he took care of your house, fixed everything broken in it made you realized that he loved this house just as much as you did. 

There were days when Suga would hold your hair away from your face as you vomited. There were days when he would have to carry you because your legs simply couldn’t support you. There were days where he would tell you stories as though it happened so long ago that you would end up chuckling at his anecdotes. 

Sometimes, you would wake up and catch him looking at you with indecisiveness in his eyes. 

He looked like he was battling with something beyond you. 

But everytime he noticed you looking at him, he would simply smile and kiss you tenderly. 

Things progressed so quickly that you knew your time was eventually running out. 

Things progressed too quickly that Suga knew he was running out of time. 

It was one night when you woke up in a hospital bed when he finally asked. “If you could live forever with me…would you?” 

You smiled at him as you reached your hand laddled with dextrose to him. “My love, I would live the rest of my life with you.”

You told him that if reincarnation was real, that if you get another chance in life, that you would find him, that you would recognize him.

You told him that you would love him again the way he deserved, the way that you could fully give, without the constraint of time nor health.

But Suga didn’t believe in reincarnation. He did believe that there was no redeeming him, that hell was the only option for him. He believed that he couldn’t and wouldn’t live without you.

Without you, he’d simply perish. 

You didn’t think you’d wake up.

You thought you wouldn’t ever again. 

“You finally decided to give her Sutana, Yoongi,” a man’s voice said from behind, his voice deep and authoritative. 

Yoongi? 

Why would one of the seven be here?

It was too quiet for a moment until Suga answered. “I can’t live without her.”

You had been a fool. 

You trusted the man who destroyed your country. 

You even loved the man who was one of the reasons why you lost your family. 

“Will she forgive you?” 

You recognized that voice. The distinct deep voice, the way every syllable was without any emotion, the man you saw in the town square. 

Kim Taehyung. 

“I can’t exactly ask for forgiveness to a dead person, can I?” Suga- no. Yoongi replied. You felt his hand gently caress your hair. You tried so hard to even your breath, to not let your eyes even move behind your closed lids. 

He wasn’t lying when he said he was 107 years old. 

You were just too naive to think of it as anything but a lie. 

They spoke as if the choice had always been theirs, that your disposition in living forever didn’t even matter. Sutana was an immortality drug. They lied when they marketed it as something that had to be taken monthly. No. 

These seven men had been alive for so long. They discovered the door to immortality decades ago. The invasion was not necessary… 

They did it for the missing sequence they needed to bring someone back from the dead.

You thought they were bad…but this was worse. They were playing God not only to the living but also to the dead. You shuddered at the realization. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

“We’re going to be so happy together.”

 You wouldn’t be happy. 

You left when you were finally alone. 

And so, for the next decades, Yoongi would look for you. You would run every time.

He had given you immortality, but he had forgotten one thing: forever is a very long time to hide.

Each of the five hosts attracts guests with their own distinct type, all of which are widely loved for their different appeal.

CHOI YEONJUN ! The ‘prince charming’ type

With his good looks, princely charm, and flamboyancy, Yeonjun is the most popular member of the host club, with a 70% request rate. His rose's color is white and his representative animal is a fox. Choi yeonjun was the one to create the club, his family plays a significant role in funding the university, hence why he is able to get away with having such a club. He personally recruited all of the other members and the club is something he values more than anything. A fashion major, Choi yeonjun is the heir to a global luxury fashion house. He also excitedly designs and creates many of the costumes for the host club events and members. He is the most flirty member and does the most fanservice.

CHOI SOOBIN ! The ‘gentle leader’ type

As the club’s president, Choi soobin is known for his calm authority and soft spoken nature. He is very polite and known to be very gentlemanly. His family is also the richest, with very old money and an aristocratic lineage. Despite this, he remains humble and approachable. His rose’s colour is pink and his representative animal is a bunny. Guests love him for his soft posh boy vibes, often wearing fake glasses as he knows guests love it, leaning into this image. His soft nurturing nature as the leader earned him the club’s unofficial title of the ‘mum’, whilst yeonjun is referred to as the ‘dad’ - a contrasting dynamic guests really seem to like. He also studies English literature. Guests ask soobin to create bullshit poetry for them, which they fawn over. Despite being an English lit student, poetry is not one of his strong suits.

CHOI BEOMGYU ! The ‘emo rockstar’ type

He is very brooding and emo, known for his mysterious nature which, unsurprisingly gains him a lot of attention from guests. With his messy wolfcut, guitar, and multiple facial piercings, he leans into a rockstar aesthetic that many find appealing. It is a role that sells. His roses’s colour is red and his representative animal is a bear. Unlike the other members, he is also secretly on a scholarship and does not come from an esteemed or wealthy family. He has his issues with the club, but it pays well and he does love his members. He remains deeply attached to the club and still enjoys being a host. Choi beomgyu studies music. Seems to always be tired and sleeping due to balancing his studies and being a host club member.

HUENING KAI ! The ‘cute angel’ type

Often referred to as ‘Honey Kai’, a nickname guests who favour him use fondly. Kai is known for his bright, sweet, sunshine personality and his sweet tooth. His cheerful energy and soft, approachable nature makes him especially popular with those drawn to the cute type. He loves plushies and collecting them, particularly penguins and is almost never seen without one. Guests frequently gift him penguin plushies, to the point where he now just has two rooms filled entirely with them. His roses’s colour is yellow and his representative animal is a penguin. His family owns hotel and resort chains. Kai studies music alongside beomgyu. Occasionally, beomgyu and kai will produce background music for events together.

KANG TAEHYUN ! The ‘cool intelligent’ type

Kang taehyun is known for his cold and unemotional resolve. He is highly intelligent and academically driven, taehyun is the treasurer of the club. While soobin and yeonjun handle overall planning, taehyun oversees the numbers and tracks profits, keeping track of who performs best and what brings in the most revenue. He claims to only be involved for the experience and connections it offers, treating the club more like a strategic investment. His rose’s colour is blue and his representative animal is a squirrel. Though, many guests argue he is more of a cat. Despite all of this, taehyun is known to have a soft spot for kai, who is his best friend. Their dynamic is also especially popular. Kang taehyun studies finance and comes from a family involved in finance and brokerage. He also workouts the most and is popular for his good shape and muscles.

RELEASE DATE: TBA

COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST !

A/n: this probably won’t be out until around June since I have exams lol but I wanted to post a teaser since it was fun to make and to see the reception !! This series is going to be a mini series and will probably have 5 parts for each member. Also don’t get your hopes up LMAOO each chapter probably won’t be too long and will sort of be like oneshot smuts with each member. I do have rough ideas for each member now but this is still probably not going to be plot heavy or super cohesive loll

Also tell me which character has caught your eye so far based on the profiles in the comments I’m very curious hehe…which host would you be requesting for?