Noon 20+

Still, the pay is good, the hours aren't gruelling, and although you're part of a dozen-strong team, you share a comfortable little office with only one other person; so, you figure it's not the worst trade-off.

Though, you still haven't yet decided if your work partner is reason enough to change your mind about that.

Choi Seungcheol is the very reason you were hired; to counteract his frankly miserable attitude around the office. Not that he much leaves your shared office; but when he does, he's likely to be glaring at whoever is making the most noise or simply asking him a question that isn't entirely necessary.

He has the world's most severe case of resting bitch face too, which regularly causes issues with clients. So, you were hired to be the pep in client meetings and steer things in the correct direction when Seungcheol is seconds from saying something that could risk the contract, or a trip to HR. Seungcheol isn't the type to fake interest in the personal lives of clients or colleagues; he's just here to work. And honestly, you respect that a hell of a lot. But it also means you shoulder all the small talk and have to look at pictures of people's pets, kids, and holidays that you really could not give less shits about.

And all of that means that, although Seungcheol is a hard worker and you're beyond happy to have a competent partner at your side, he is one of the main reasons for your rising stress levels. Just once you'd like to not have to be the smiling balm to soothe the sting of his harsh demeanour and blunt words.

Alas, Seungcheol isn’t going to change his ways, especially when he doesn't know that you could really do with him pulling his weight in the charm department.

Which is made very apparent on one particular day, with a new client who seems to consistently bump heads with Seungcheol.

The meeting is an hour of Seungcheol's nastiest bitch face and the client's obnoxious attitude flaunting the “customer is always right” motto that the company stupidly prides itself on. You want to tell the client to go fuck himself on more than one occasion throughout the meeting, but you can't seeing as you'd like to be able to keep receiving a pay check.

As soon as the meeting is over, Seungcheol is out of there; no doubt halfway back to your shared office before you can even exit the little conference room, thanks to the client deciding that “you just have to visit the resort I vacationed in. Here, let me show you the site”. So you're stuck pretending to be interested in the fancy foreign resort that the client shows you on his phone for the next handful of minutes before you can finally leave.

After all that, you really need a break. Instead of going right back to your office, you walk straight past it and to the supply room for your floor.

Once inside the small room of shelving unit full of various office supplies, you just stand there, eyes squeezed closed and hands tight on your hips, while you focus on trying to calm yourself down with some deep breathing.

You're so focused that you don't hear the door open a few minutes later. The gentle tap of shoes on the hard flooring has your eyes snapping open and over to where Seungcheol, of all people, is standing with one hand raised to grab a new packet of printer paper, but his attention is entirely on you. He looks bewildered; one eyebrow raised and the other scrunched a little with his head tilted slightly.

You immediately slap on your usual bright smile— entirely fake but nobody has ever noticed that before— and grab a new, empty folder from the shelf near you. “I didn't know we need new paper already, I would've grabbed it myself if I knew,” you chirp, already walking towards the exit, but the room isn't wide enough for there to be enough space around Seungcheol for you to just breeze on by like you want to. And he doesn't step aside either.

“Well, guess everyone's favourite isn't all sunshine and rainbows after all,” he replies with a smug smirk. “I wonder how everyone will react to knowing the truth about you.

“I don't know what you mean, Seungcheol.” You smile sweetly then skirt around him and leave before he can say anything else, so that you can return to your shared office to get to work on the new client file.

You expect Seungcheol to say something when he returns; to try and taunt you and goad you some more, yet, he doesn't say a thing, he just silently refills the paper in the printer and gets back to work.

For a whole week, Seungcheol has you on edge; he keeps smirking at you knowingly, and making vague comments around others in what you know is an attempt to get you to break. But you hold on strong and don't show a single sign that the you who everyone in the office knows, isn't you at all.

It's pretty much a week to the exact minute that you break. Another meeting with that same client, that goes about as well as the first, has you back in the supply room counting your breaths.

You're very certain that your printer does not need more paper already when you look over at the footsteps entering the small room. Seungcheol isn't even pretending to be there for any reason other than to watch you break. He's leaning against the unit on his right with his arms crossed over his chest and a cocky smirk on his face.

And finally, enough is enough.

“You need to fucking stop,” you warn. His face lights up in victory at you not even attempting to put on the higher, friendlier pitch you use at work— your customer service voice that you even use for your colleagues. “Seriously, Seungcheol, stop it,” you reiterate while heading towards the exit.

This time, Seungcheol purposely stands in your path and looks down at you arrogantly. “Are you going to admit that you're not the innocent little sweetheart that everyone thinks you are?”

You take a breath as you stare back at him just so you don't break too far. “You don't even know the half of it,” you retort simply.

Seungcheol stares back at you curiously for a few seconds before stepping aside to watch you go, wondering what exactly that means, and how he can find out for himself.

After that second incident in the supply room, you figure there's really not any point in keeping up the facade with Seungcheol, so when it's just the two of you in your private office, you let the persona drop.

The first time you swear to yourself in complaint over your work, Seungcheol gawps at you in shock until you notice and raise an eyebrow at him. But he says nothing and doesn't react after that time— except for the occasional amused smile to himself as he hears you curse colourfully at much more regular intervals than he ever does.

And Seungcheol lets you see more of the real him too.

The two of you have always met outside of work for the sake of finishing tasks or discussing clients without being confined to the same four walls of your office. You'd get dinner together or he'd come over to your apartment to go over documents in your office for however long necessary. But it was always about work.

Though, now that he knows who you really are, it's not always about work. Your conversations over dinner turn friendlier, enough that you see him smiling genuinely and laughing for the first time. And he doesn't stop either.

A genuine friendship quickly blossoms between the pair of you, allowing you to be yourselves to the extent that, on more than one occasion, Seungcheol has turned big, pleading puppy eyes on you with a pout to convince you to go where he wants for dinner. Or even when he's complaining about his friends and being whiny, the big eyes hit you. And the way they hit you is really not something you think you should think about the man, so you shove the thoughts of pinning him down and telling him what to do, out of your mind.

The friendship between you is noticed by your colleagues too. It's kind of hard to miss the fact that you're the only person who can get Seungcheol to join work dinners, after all. You both know that there's a 'secret' betting pool going around the office about whether you two are secretly dating or not— Jeonghan is not as slick as he thinks at hiding the bet sheet. For fun, sometimes you and Seungcheol will purposely let your fingers brush over one another or let your gazes linger longer than they should, just to watch your coworkers try to not visibly freak out at what they think are moments of you two failing to hide your relationship.

Though mostly, your close relationship means that when one of you is invited to drinks, dinner, or some other activity with colleagues, you'll both turn up. Even if neither of you want to. But you dug a hole with your fake persona and refuse to be buried in it alone, so always drag Seungcheol in to suffer with you.

Which leads us to the day that you well and truly snap.

It's one of those days where if something can go wrong, it will; topped with shitty clients and colleagues who will just not let you have five minutes of peace.

By the end of the day, you're wound so tight that all you want to do is go home and give yourself some good old-fashioned stress relief with one of your favourite toys. But this day doesn't allow you even that.

It's another casual team dinner that you can't get out of; to celebrate Mingyu's birthday, and well, even if you're in a shitty mood, the giant puppy of a man is such a sweetheart that you truly would feel bad about ditching his celebration to masturbate at home.

So, you get into Seungcheol's car like usual after work, go to the restaurant, and sit at his side at the table while silently praying that this won’t be a complete shit show.

Two hours later, you're really at the end of your fucking rope. You really had been naïve to even hope that this team dinner wouldn't be as rowdy and chaotic as all the rest. Your colleagues are a lot on the best of days with nothing to celebrate, so when they have an excuse to drink, they really go for it. You're always surprised when the group isn't kicked out of public spaces, honestly.

The only ones not drinking are you and Seungcheol. Neither of you ever drink at these gatherings; you claim that you just don't drink in general, while Seungcheol flat-out refuses without any attempt at an excuse. Really, you both don't want to risk encouraging the group to invite either of you out for more than just the company-related dinners, so not drinking sort of keeps the team in general at arm's length. Though, both of you do have a few drinks when it's just the two of you and you can let yourselves relax in trusted, comfortable company.

But this is not that, this is you sitting side by side, with Seungcheol blessedly keeping his mouth shut while you try not to break and tell everyone to shut the fuck up before leaving. You do, however, take solace in the bathroom a few times; using the cold water to cool you down before going back into what, tonight, feels like your own personal hell.

On your latest trip out of the bathroom, Seungcheol passes you, heading to empty his own bladder. He smirks at you and murmurs something in your ear as you pass one another. You can't even tell what he says; your brain is so heavy with fuzzy tension that his words don't register at all. But they don't need to, you know he's teasing you about your temper; he's done it before many times. Usually, you'd just joke back at him and point out his own, but tonight, you don't have it in you.

Your gaze turns icy on him in a second, causing him to come to an abrupt stop. You don't linger, don't slow, just turn and settle your expression back to your façade before rejoining the drunken group.

When Seungcheol returns, he timidly slips into his seat on your right silently, in an attempt to not anger you further. Though a few seconds later, the tip of his left pinkie brushes the edge of your right elbow where it's resting on the tabletop, his hand sort of hooked on the edge of the table close to you yet out of sight of your colleagues. You turn your head to look at Seungcheol and find him looking at you with those fucking giant doe eyes, silently asking for forgiveness. But you don't give it, just turn back around to watch your coworkers making absolute fools of themselves.

Yet, your mind is stuck on Seungcheol's innocent expression and timid posture, and all you can think about is how much you'd love to make him squirm and beg under your attention. It's riling you up in a way you usually keep such a tight lid on; but considering how tense you already are tonight, that lid is bowing and shaking under the building pressure, and you know it'll blow soon enough.

For the first time since meeting Seungcheol, being in his passenger seat isn't a very pleasant experience. Neither of you say a word for the entire fourteen-minute drive from the restaurant to your apartment, and that in itself isn't unusual; but usually, there isn't this thick tension hanging between you two.

When Seungcheol pulls up in front of your building, you turn to look at him. He has both hands on the wheel and eyes locked on the space between his hands, with clearly no intention of doing more than just dropping you off at home despite the fact he usually goes straight inside with you to hang out some more.

And honestly, it's probably best if he does go straight home and leaves you to deal with your tension alone. But it's not exactly an option.

“You need to check those documents ready for Monday,” you remind. Seungcheol lets out a reluctant breath but relocates the car to the parking lot in silent agreement.

Once in your apartment, the two of you remove your shoes and jackets to put them in their usual places.

It's kind of insane to you that Seungcheol is at your apartment enough that there is literally space on the low shoe rack for him to leave his shoes, and a gap on the pegs for his work jacket— there's even one of his casual jackets already hanging on the next peg from a previous visit. You don't really have any close friends, nobody you deem worth your time to allow into your life frequently enough to have a usual place in your home.

There isn't anything said between you as you walk through to your office, where you lean over onto the desk to boot up your computer while Seungcheol hovers awkwardly a little behind you.

While waiting for the system to accept your password for the work files, you look over your shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow. He stares back at you dumbly until you give him a look and motion to the chair on your right with a silent tilt of your head.

In seconds, Seungcheol's ass meets the seat, and he stares up at you with big, obedient eyes; his hands laced together and trapped between his thick thighs.

It's all rather dangerous considering how close you are to snapping and overstepping the boundaries neither of you had ever verbally set up between you but are always in place in platonic relationships. Even if you want nothing more than to destroy them right now, and Seungcheol too.

So, you turn back to your computer with gritted teeth, open the relevant documents, and motion to the computer vaguely before leaving the room entirely.

You go straight to the kitchen to down a glass of water as cold as you can stand it, before splashing more on your face; then drag a cold, wet hand over the back of your neck, needing all the help you can currently get to cool down in every sense of the word.

It doesn't work.

By the time Seungcheol is done with the documents and shuffles into the kitchen, you're standing with both hands on the counter in front of you while staring darkly at nothing in particular, jaw tense, and an attempt in your breathing to try and regulate your emotions.

“I finished it, it's all ready to send off,” he informs, coming to a stop a few metres away; not as close as he'd usually stand, but still closer than sensible if he knew the depravity in your mind right now.

“Good,” you return simply without even looking at him.

He huffs a soft laugh. “No thank you?” he jokes, but you can't see the humour at all. Not when you're feeling like this.

“Thank you?” you repeat flatly before turning your dark gaze to him as you straighten and lean off of the counter. He swallows thickly and takes a step back when you take one towards him, prompting him to keep reversing. “Why should I thank you for doing your fucking job, huh?”

Seungcheol's mouth opens and closes with an attempt to try and say something, some kind of a “just joking” explanation, but all he manages are vague sputters of sound that cut off abruptly when his back hits the wall and you're standing right in front of him. He's taller than you by a handful of inches, but right now, he feels so fucking small, and he's surprised by how much he likes it.

"Well?" you prompt, well aware that he has tried to explain himself; his pathetic stammering is very obvious and gives away that you’re intimidating him. Though, based on the big innocent eyes on you, paired with the prettiest of pink tints to his cheeks, you think that perhaps intimidation isn't all it is. And it's just pushing you to keep pushing him until he breaks because you know that he'll break so fucking beautifully.

“I'm sorry,” he finally manages to squeak out.

“You think that's good enough? You think you can just give me empty words and all is forgiven? Oh, baby, you really don't know me at all.” He just stares at you dumbly; mouth dry and pupils dilating further and further with every act you make. 

It's far from the Seungcheol you see at work, and that thought sort of douses you in icy water. This isn't normal for either of you.

Well, it's not unusual behaviour for you with partners at all, but he doesn't know that. Besides, he's your work partner and friend, not a sexual partner.

“Shit.” You sigh and back up a little. “You should go, I'm clearly not in the right frame of mind, and if you stay, I'll go too far.” You try to move even further away to give him space to leave, yet you're stopped by your shirt pulling tight around your back. You look down and find both of Seungcheol's hands gripping the hem of your untucked shirt, his fingers trembling a little. You look back up with a questioning eyebrow.

“I don't want to leave,” he admits quietly as his cheeks darken slightly.

“No?” He shakes his head shyly. “You know what it means if you stay, right? You know what I want to do to you?” you check a little worriedly.

“Uhm...dom me?”

You huff a laugh. “I want to ruin you, baby.” His eyes light with interest. “You want that? Big, scary Choi Seungcheol wants little ol' me to pin him down and make him cry?” you tease while running a finger over his jaw. His mouth opens wider and his tongue appears with the tip pressed against his lip as if reaching for your touch. You don't give it to him, even if you think he'll look precious with your fingers in his mouth. You pull your hands away and cross your arms over your chest. “When I ask you a question, I expect a verbal response, Seungcheol,” your voice is firm and your expression the same as you keep it glued to him.

“Y–yes!” he rushes out. “I–I want you to do that to me.”

“Do what?”

“Use me.” You hadn't said those words yourself, but you like them a hell of a lot. “Push me down and use me to make yourself feel good. Make me cry, ruin me. Please, just...do something,” he's begging by now, not as strongly as he could be, he’s still holding back a lot, but you're pretty sure it's all very new for him.

You need to check though, before anything goes any further. “Have you ever done anything like this before? Subbed?”

He shakes his head a little. “No, it's usually the other way.”

“Figures.” You huff a laugh then reach down to remove his hands from your shirt to take one into your own hand. “Come on.”

You lead him to your bedroom, though let go of him in the middle of the floor to walk over and sit on the edge of your bed. He fidgets when you just stare at him contemplatively; your eyes dark and calculating as you lean back on your palms behind you, with your legs crossed over at the ankles comfortably.

When he starts to fiddle with the hem of his shirt nervously, you speak up, deeming him desperate enough with his cheeks a magnificent dark pink. “What're your limits, Cheolie?”

The nickname is new, but he likes it. It feels fitting somehow.

“Uh.” He has to stop and think for a moment. He isn't sure exactly what his limits are in this situation because he doesn't know what he likes in the submissive role, but there are some things he knows he'll never be okay with, so he starts there. “Bodily fluids outside of spit and cum.”

“So you don't mind being spat on with your own cum?”

“Uh, I mean, I think I'm okay with it,” he offers awkwardly, uncertain, but trying his hardest to be open and honest.

“How about eating it?”

“Uh...I don't know about that.”

“Okay.” You easily accept his response and move on. “What else? Pain?”

“I don't know, I've never received it before. If you want to try it, I'm willing, just… not too intense.”

“Hmm, we'll see. Edging? Overstimulation?” Those options have him hesitating as he genuinely considers them both. And then, he nods slowly, shyly. “I asked a question, Seungcheol.”

“Y–yes, to both.”

“Good, because that's my favourite thing to do to my little ones,” you coo. “Pick a safe word.”

“Uh, can we use the traffic light system? Red for stop, green for carry on?”

“Sure thing,” you agree easily; it’s familiar enough to you after all. “What do you use for uncertain? Some people say yellow, some orange, some amber.”

“Whatever.”

“Pick one,” it's a demand he quickly obeys.

“Amber.”

“Good boy.” He visibly preens a little at the praise, which you make a mental note of. “Are you free of anything contagious?”

“Yes.”

“And that's a recent test since your last sexual partner?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I won't touch you without that confirmation, and luckily, I trust you to be honest, so you don't need to show me proof like I usually demand.”

“You trust me?” he asks softly, awed by the words and the weight they carry.

You hum and nod in confirmation. “More than anyone else.”

“Oh.” He smiles down at his hands happily. “I feel the same about you too.”

“I imagine so, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be willing to do this if you didn't,” you tease.

“Ah, yeah, true.” He chuckles and rubs his neck shyly.

You let him stew in his minor embarrassment for a second before talking again. “Degradation?” He looks up at you at that. “How do you feel about that?”

“I might cry,” he admits honestly, making you laugh a little at the blunt way he speaks the words. “I don't like being called names or looked down on.”

“Okay, baby, none of that,” you assure.

“Thank you.”

“Mm, of course, I have to make this good for you too. And I do love that you use your manners without being prompted. Such a good boy, huh?” His eyes round out again at you, and the semi-casual air between you dissipates with your slightly teasing tone. “Are you going to be a good boy for me, Cheolie?”

“Yes, I'll be good for you.”

“Then strip.” He blinks at you a few times at the abrupt demand; the way your tone changes from light to borderline hard with no room for arguments.

Slowly, Seungcheol's slightly shaky fingers first remove his tie, and then his shirt, exposing his broad, muscle-thick torso to you. He knows he looks good, that his body is worth ogling, but your dark eyes still make him feel shy.

Still, he continues, his top half entirely bare, and moves onto his belt.

Something about the way he opens it and pulls it free from the loops of his slacks is really attractive to you. You can easily imagine him teasing his own sub as he removes his belt before grabbing the ends to turn it on their backside when he bends them over. Maybe you could break for him too, if he turns out to be a good enough fuck this time that is.

For now, you're more than content to watch him open his button and zipper and let his trousers drop to his ankles. He bends down to remove them from around his feet, taking his socks off too, and then he straightens up and looks at you. You can tell he's hesitant to remove his boxers by the way his fingers fiddle with the waistband over his hips for a few seconds.

There's a part of you that wants to let him off easy for now and allow him to keep his boxers on for a little while. But the bigger part of you really doesn't want to do that, so you continue to silently watch him.

Seungcheol lowers his head to look down at his underwear for a second, then he looks at you through his eyelashes, clearly still hoping you'll take pity on him. You don't. So, he looks back down as he takes a long breath in, before he hooks his thumbs under the elastic band and starts to push the material down.

You watch with rapt attention as the final piece of the beautiful, thick-built puzzle that is Choi Seungcheol is revealed to you inch by glorious inch. You have to admit, he's fucking gorgeous, and it does a lot to you. Makes you throb between your thighs as they clench for a second while he's distracted by focusing on removing his boxers from his legs.

And then, he's entirely bare and looking at you shyly, fingers on his right hand picking at the nails of his left in nervous wait.

“C'mere,” you murmur. Seungcheol stumbles over, and when you nod to the floor, he slowly lowers to his knees, letting his hands hover over his rapidly hardening dick. That is like the rest of him; thick and unfairly beautiful.

At this rate, you can't tell who is going to ruin who.

“Don't hide from me.” You unfold your legs just to gently tap at his hands with your socked foot, before settling it flat on the floor beside his left knee.

A little reluctantly, Seungcheol moves his hands aside to place them on the tops of his thighs and allow you the full view of his kneeled form.

“Mm, much better, good boy.” The praise straightens his posture a little. “You're so beautiful, babyboy, don't deprive me of such a gorgeous view, hm?”

“Ah, fuck,” he softly breathes out; a little overwhelmed by the unexpected compliments, which he just knows are genuine from your tone and expression on him. You clearly like what you see, and it makes his dick jump a little against his thigh. You smirk at the visible response; you've always known that Seungcheol loves compliments and praise, but you didn't know just how much.

“Shall we even things out a little?” you suggest, already getting up to your feet in front of him.

He watches you with rapt attention as you open your trousers and shimmy them down. His gaze is too focused on the skin of your thighs coming into sight that he doesn't realise that you've pushed your panties down with your trousers to save yourself time. At least until you sit back down on the edge of the bed when the material is around your knees.

“Off,” you demand. Seungcheol's hands immediately reach out to hook his fingers over the combined waistbands and pull them off of your slightly raised legs. It's when he's setting them aside that he notices the white material inside of the black of your trousers and freezes.

Mindlessly, he moves one hand to pull on the white material and quickly looks at you with wide eyes and his mouth parted. You just raise an eyebrow in return, silently prompting him to snap back to his task and move the material aside entirely, so that he can carefully remove your socks too.

“Good boy.”

Just to tease, you sit there for a good almost twenty seconds with your legs closed most of the way, just the slightest gap between your thighs, but it's not big enough for him to see anything but a dark shadow.

To your surprise, he actually gives in first. “Please?” he begs softly, looking up at you pleadingly. “Please let me see your pussy.”

“Oh, how can I refuse such good manners?” you coo and spread your legs, causing his gaze to drop back down between them. Though he whines when he realises that your shirt is long enough to mostly cover you and shadow the rest. “You make such cute sounds, Cheolie.”

“Don't tease me,” he complains.

“I'll do what I want and you'll be grateful for it.” He presses his lips together, looking fully scolded and stares at you in wait. He's impatient, that's very obvious, but he's doing his best to stick to this new dynamic. Honestly, he's taking to it a lot better than you had expected, or hoped, considering all that you know about Choi Seungcheol; so instead of prolonging it any longer, you lift the hem of your shirt out of the way with one hand.

Seungcheol's lips part when his eyes land back between your thighs and take in the sight of you fully exposed to him. Automatically, his hands lift with every intention of putting them on your thighs to push your legs open further while he leans in licking his lips.

But you stop him with your free hand, a finger pressed to his forehead. “I didn't say you can touch.” You grin amusedly at his dumb-aroused expression; his mouth open and tongue hanging out a little.

“Can I taste?” he requests, putting his hands back on his thighs but not leaning back. Your slightly condescending laugh makes him pout. When you nudge his forehead under your index finger, he leans back into a sulky slouch.

“Your job is to sit there and look pretty for me,” you point out, now using that same finger to trail up your inner thigh. Seungcheol's pout melts away as he watches its path intently. He audibly inhales sharply when it drags through your folds. He groans a little when he sees the shine now on the digit and wishes it was his tongue getting doused in your arousal.

Even though you very much would enjoy an orgasm or two sooner rather than later, you continue to tease yourself with one finger; barely brushing over your clit and circling your hole but never pushing in. It's more to tease Seungcheol, and the squirming of his body perhaps turns you on more than your own actions. Either way, when you do finally give in and plunge your finger inside, you're wet enough that it's more than easy, and honestly, not very satisfying past the initial relief of having something in you finally.

Though, that relief passes very quickly, so soon, you're adding a second finger, and watching Seungcheol chew on his bottom lip hard enough that you think he's going to break skin any second. You really don't want that, so you pull your fingers out and reach towards him. The speed at which he leans in with his mouth opening, genuinely makes you laugh.

“Oh, baby, you are desperate, huh?” you tease and adjust your hand so that your thumb presses against his bottom lip and your slick fingers are not close enough to his mouth to get even the hint of a taste. “You're not getting a taste, I just don't want you to hurt those pretty lips.” The expression he lands on you is utterly heartbroken. “Stop biting or I'll gag you, understand?”

“I...I understand,” he agrees, so you let him go and return your fingers back to yourself, though Seungcheol doesn't lean back. In this position, his head is pretty much between your knees, which you spread a little wider, and he takes as permission to scoot a little closer. You don't mind at all, he'll just be teasing himself more with a closer view after all.

Your intention with fingering yourself isn't to reach orgasm at all, mostly, you just want to tease Seungcheol by showing him what he can't have, though you also want to prepare yourself. When you're able to easily take three fingers, you remove them and get up.

“Wh–where are you going?” he worries, hands lifting from his thighs but only hovering a few inches away from his own body. He wants to reach out and stop you from walking away, but he knows he can't. You still haven't given him permission to touch yet and he really doesn't want to be scolded again, let alone face any kind of punishment you may give him if he disobeys a direct order. He's horny, not stupid.

“I'll be right back, just sit there and wait like a good boy, sweetheart,” your voice is gentle in order to soothe him that you are, in fact, not planning to actually leave and end things here as he fears.

You quickly grab what you want from a case in the chest of drawers before returning. You sit back down and open your thighs again, but Seungcheol's gaze is glued to the pale blue dildo in your hand.

“What do you think?” you muse, leaning down to hold it near to his erection in comparison. “Ah, not quite as thick as you.” You sigh dramatically and straighten back up. “That's a shame; it's as close as I've got though, so it'll have to do.” You pout theatrically as you trace the tip of the silicone toy over your slick folds; it's a little cold and jarring but you do your best to ignore it. Besides, the temperature difference isn't something you're entirely against.

Vaguely, you wonder if Seungcheol would be into temperature play; you've never tried it before, but you've always been interested in both giving and receiving.

Seungcheol wants to make a retort, say that instead of settling for a toy that won't stretch you like his thick cock would, you could just use his. He'd fuck you however you want and probably thank you for it at this point; he's throbbing with need and leaking on his thigh. He doesn't think he's ever been so fucking turned on in his life. But he can't talk, can't say a fucking thing as he watches the head of the toy breach you.

He was wrong before, now he's more turned on than he's ever been as he watches the way the girth of the toy spears you open.

Your breath catches a little, so he looks up at you and once again corrects himself, because your expression is what wet dreams are fucking made of. Your mouth is parted and your eyes are closed, your head tipped back slightly and your cheeks pink with pleasure.

You let out a curse under your breath, so he looks back down and swears in the same fashion when he sees that you’ve entirely embedded the toy within you, just the slightly flared base in your fingers still.

“Fuck,” he curses again when you start to pull the toy out slowly and he sees how you've drenched it. Your eyes open to look down at him with an amused, lopsided grin. He doesn't notice though, he's too entranced by the show less than a metre in front of his face.

Seungcheol doesn't notice the way he naturally moves a hand towards his crotch with the intention of soothing his aching cock, but you do. “Stop,” you demand, stopping your own motions of fucking into yourself slowly— to let yourself get used to the toy's length and girth fully.

“Huh?” He looks up at you confused with his mouth wide open.

“I didn't give you permission to touch your cock, Seungcheol.”

“What?” He looks down and notices the hand inches from his dick. “Oh.” He hesitates but obediently puts his hand back on his thigh before looking up at you shyly. “I–I didn't realise. I'm sorry.”

“Feeling that needy?” You smirk and get back to fucking yourself on the toy. He lets out a sound, a mix between a whimper and a groan, as he looks back down at your pussy. “Answer me.”

“Yes. Yes, I've never been this turned on before,” he admits in a rush of syllables. “Wanna fuck you so much,” he whines, fingers curling into fists, which he presses down onto his thighs almost harshly in an attempt to behave for you.

He wants to be good for you. Wants to be your good boy. But it's so fucking hard when you look so fucking good. Look like your pussy would take him so well and make a fucking mess of him. All he wants is to get up, throw that toy aside, and sink his cock into you; feel your slick, heated walls around him. He's fucking convinced that your pussy would be perfect for him. But he can't, and that's difficult for him to accept and handle when he's usually the one in charge during sex.

“Think you can make me feel better than this?” you taunt a little, and pick up speed, letting your pleasure show through with little pleased sounds that really do not help Seungcheol's self-control at all. He moves a little closer yet doesn't touch either of you the way he wants to. He's obviously trying his hardest, and that, you think, is more than enough, when honestly, you really want his cock in you as much as he wants to put it in you.

“Yes,” there's not an ounce of hesitation in his answer; he's entirely confident in his abilities, in his thick cock.

Usually, you'd roll your eyes and dismiss that confidence from a man, because they're notoriously cocky with nothing to back up their claims. Part of the reason you got into domming is because men don't know how to use their dicks, so you always get more pleasure when you're on top and controlling how your walls are pummelled. But there's something about Seungcheol that tells you that he's not like other men. He can and will fuck you right given the chance. Still, you want to be on top in every way.

“Big talk, little one.” You huff a laugh, most of your breath affected by the pleasure of the toy you're using to hit all of those good spots inside of you with every thrust. You're not being as rough as you could be, as you often tend to be when you feel like this, but you're talking and know that you have no space left in your chest for words when you truly fuck yourself.

“Let me prove it,” he pleads. “Please, just let me fuck you and I promise you'll cum hard.”

“I'll cum hard regardless,” you hum. His expression twists in displeasure, knowing that you are truly dismissing his offer. “Maybe another time,” you counteroffer, not liking that downtrodden expression at all.

He looks up at you with hope glistening his dark gaze. “Yeah?” he asks with a surprised exhale.

“If you do good enough for me this time.” You pull the toy out and point it at him. Seungcheol eyes it and licks his lips. “What? You wanna suck it?” you taunt.

“Wanna taste you,” he murmurs.

“Enough to suck my cock?”

He glances up at you then looks back down and nods, licking his lips again. “Yeah, can I? Please?”

“Seeing as you asked so nicely,” you approve and touch the silicone toy to his bottom lip.

Seungcheol's tongue immediately darts out to pass over the silicone and get his first taste of you. His eyes roll back and he groans before he very enthusiastically starts to drag his mouth over the toy. He moves up the length along every side, not actually putting the toy into his mouth really, but this is absurdly hot enough as it is.

It turns you on much more than you had anticipated, seeing this handsome man pretty much going feral for your taste that he'll messily lave his tongue over the dildo, with his eyes closed in bliss, and constant streams of groans of approval vibrating out of his throat. And when he moves back to the tip and wraps his lips around it, genuinely sucking on the fake-cock, well, that's as much as you can handle. You pull it away without warning, creating a pop, before Seungcheol looks at you; half dazed, half betrayed, with a smidge of confusion.

“Get on the bed,” you demand, getting up and walking around to one side of the bed while unbuttoning your shirt. Seungcheol doesn't even have to think; there's no mental input on his behalf as he jumps up. His legs almost give out under him as the blood rushes back into his limbs after sitting on them in one position for a prolonged period, but he powers through to practically throw himself onto the mattress. “On your back.” He crawls and shuffles until he's on his back with his head on the pillows, and chest rising and falling heavily already in anticipation.

Seungcheol's heavy gaze remains on you as you reveal your body entirely. He lets out a shaky exhale when you're fully bare and climbing up onto the mattress at his left. “You're beautiful,” he says in a tone that is far too affectionate for what’s going on here. It makes you pause for a moment and look carefully at his gaze. He still looks ridiculously horny, but there's something else there now; a touch of fond that genuinely sort of worries you.

Of course, you are fond of Seungcheol, he's a very precious friend to you, but your feelings don't extend further than that; further than platonic and sexual. You really hope that the fondness you see is nothing more than a reflection of your own feelings and nothing more. Him having romantic feelings could certainly complicate matters more than adding sex into the mix will.

Sex you can navigate with your eyes closed, but feelings? That's an entirely different circus.

“Are you going to sit on my face?” his hopeful tone brings you back to reality. He hasn't even noticed your hesitation for what it truly is and just assumes you're teasing him further.

“Not today,” you answer, silently deciding to just give you both what you want right now and have an actual discussion later when you're both not horny messes.

“Oh.” His lips purse into a pout but then you retrieve a condom from the side table drawer and he lights up again. “Oh!” You let out a soft, amused sound at his excited reaction and straddle his thighs while opening the wrapper. “Can I touch myself?” You give him an unimpressed look. “Just to help!” he assures.

“Mm, sure, I'll allow that,” you agree. Seungcheol has his dick in hand as soon as the words are slipping from your lips and holding it upright for you. You notice the way he shudders a little at his own touch on his aching cock, and don't berate him for the subtle stroke he gives himself as he rolls the rubber down his length once you put it at his tip. “Good boy,” you hum, tossing the foil aside carelessly.

“For you,” he answers, wide eyes watching as you move up his body to hover over his length that he's still holding upright. “Please.” He doesn't even realise he says it, but you do and decide you've both waited more than long enough.

As soon as you start to slide down his cock, Seungcheol's eyes roll back and his hands fly out to grip your hips tightly. It feels pretty nice, so you allow it, at least for now; it's kind of stabilising to have his strong grasp centring you while his cock splits you open.

Although it hadn't looked that much bigger than your toy, you can certainly feel the difference in girth now. Plus, the fact that Seungcheol is so fucking hard in you compared to the slight give of the toy, well, you're already so close to an orgasm it's kind of ridiculous.

It takes you both a handful of seconds of heavy breathing to gather yourselves once you're fully impaled on his length and seated on his hips. You don't even try to keep any weight off of him; you're certain he can handle it, and even if you weren't, your legs are already weak enough from the feeling of him stretching you out, even while motionless like this, that you doubt you could hold yourself up if you tried.

You haven't realised that your eyes had closed until you've got some of your breath back, enough to have a mind clear enough to want to look down at him. His eyes are closed; he's struggling more than you, which doesn't surprise you considering how you hadn't allowed him any touch until now.

Carefully, you remove Seungcheol's grip from your hips and lean over to pin his hands up by his head. The new angle has his cock hitting a delicious spot within you and you can't help but grind down against him to gain friction against it. This angle also means that your clit is rubbing against his body with every roll of your hips.

Seungcheol barely manages to open his eyes and look at you before they roll back again with pleasure as you moan over him, fingers gripping onto his wrists with your full weight. He doesn't mind at all, doesn't really register it considering you're so wet, and hot, and tight around him, that he truly cannot focus on anything else. Yet even if he could register it, he wouldn't give a single fuck. You could crush him and he'd be into it right now.

“D–don't cum,” you order when you feel your orgasm right on the brink, eyes opening to peer down at him. His own fly open in pained disbelief. “Un–fuck–understand, Seungcheol?” He whines but nods obediently. The agreement of restraint sends you over. Pleasure shocks through your body, making it jerk a little, mouth open with broken higher-pitched moans coming out. Seungcheol's whole body tenses and his face screws up tightly as you clamp down around him. He's never fought an orgasm before, but you told him not to cum, and he's not going to let you down now.

He's shaking by the time you slump over him, forehead dropping to his shoulder as you fight to suck air back into your lungs, just the occasional tiny twitch of your hips when a fresh lick of pleasure shoots through you with the aftershocks of an intense orgasm.

“Did you cum?” you check another few moments later.

It takes Seungcheol a few attempts to answer, just grunts coming out at first, but you wait patiently. “No,” he manages, while flexing his fingers to give him something else to focus on.

“Good boy,” you praise and press a kiss to his neck. His breath catches at the unexpected action but then you do it again, and again, and again, as you adjust yourself while leaning up to look down at him with your hands now on the mattress and not pressing down against his wrists in a tight grip. You take a look at them and are relieved that there's only slight redness right now, so you're pretty sure he won't bruise. Still, you'll keep an eye on it just in case. “You did so well, Cheolie.” You hum and cup his jaw. His lip trembles a little, eyes so big on you, and soaking in the praise. It helps his shaking lessen as he relaxes from doing his utmost not to cum with the fluttering of your walls around him. “Think you can hold out longer for me, baby?”

“I...ye–yeah.” He isn't sure, but he's sure he'll try his best for you. He really wants to be your good boy. Your best boy.

“Yeah?” You smile softly, pleased. He nods and smiles back a little in a natural reaction to seeing you happy with him. “That's my boy.” You tap his nose, then straighten up to sit on his hips with your hands on his solid abs. “I'm going to ride you now, okay, baby?”

He nods shakily and sticks his hands under the pillow to grip it. “O–okay.”

“Colour?” He blinks at you confusedly a few times. “What colour are you right now, sweetheart?”

“Oh, green,” he answers. “Green.” The repetition makes your lips quirk up. It's oddly endearing that he's assuring you right now considering he's the one missing an orgasm.

“Good, tell me if that changes, okay?” He nods. You let him get away with not verbally responding this time and start to lift yourself up.

Seungcheol's gaze falls to watch his length appear from your dripping pussy utterly mesmerised. Up until you abruptly drop yourself back down, ass smacking down on his upper thighs audibly. A loud, low moan tears from his open mouth as his back arches upwards.

He looks fucking beautiful like this. You have to keep making him do that, so you don't hesitate to lift and drop in the very same way; taking up a punishing rhythm that has his cock dragging against your walls in the most incredible of ways.

Honestly, you're half convinced his cock just being in you has you halfway to a constant orgasm, because that ball in your lower stomach winds up tight so fucking quickly that you barely register it until it's there, urging you over, but this isn't quite enough for you. You need clitoral stimulation but you don't think it's wise to give it to yourself right now with Seungcheol buried within you and his body trembling as he still holds back with everything in him.

At this point, he's babbling a little in amongst his constant stream of porn-worthy moans. You're not quite sure what he's saying really, you're not sure that he even knows what he's saying either.

If you cum with him inside you, you're positive that he will too, regardless of your words, so you pull off of him. His eyes instantly fly open in alarm and he looks at you as he lifts his head up. You just settle down again along his latex-covered cock to grind along the length.

He gasps and shudders, watching his cock peek out through your slick folds. “Please, please,” he begs; his babbles now making sense while he's not overwhelmed with the feeling of you squeezing around him.

This is still a lot for him, but he's much more able to be a good boy for you now. He really wants to make you proud of him. He doesn't want you to think he's a bad boy for cumming without permission, because then you won't play with him again, and he really doesn't want that. He wants to be your good boy. Your only good boy.

You know what he's begging for even if he doesn't voice it. You'll make him say it in a minute. but right now, you're seconds from another orgasm, and unless he says red, you're not going to stop.

Even though the orgasm is yours entirely, Seungcheol moans when you do, as he watches your face contort with utter bliss while your hips jerk over his length a few more times before falling still. It's not quite as powerful as your first orgasm, not when you're empty, but it's still intense and leaves you breathless.

Initially, you had planned to give yourself many more orgasms before letting Seungcheol cum, but you genuinely think if you draw more than one more out of yourself, you'll pass out. You don't know if it's because it's been a while and you've been so pent up that it feels so mind-numbingly incredible, or if it's because of the thick cock pressed up against you.

“Colour?” you pant out when you feel ready to go again, eyes landing on Seungcheol.

He doesn't hesitate to answer this time, but he finally sounds wrecked; voice hoarse and cracking a little with the simple single-syllable response. “Green.”

“Okay.” You push up and gently lift his cock up to line with you, applying as little pressure as possible to try not to give him too much too soon and overwhelm him in the wrong way. “Positive?” He nods rapidly, so you begin to impale yourself again.

His breaths come in one long, juddering inhale, as you slide down his length until he's sheathed inside of you. “Please,” he goes right back to pleading, levelling you with such a begging, wet gaze that you know that this won’t last long at all.

“Please what, baby?” you question, lifting to ride him slowly, now focused on him and him alone, yet not wanting to push him over too fast. He looks too pretty like this; skin blotched with reds and pinks in a way that makes you wish you had discussed marks beforehand so that you could leave some lovebites on his pecs. But you hadn't, and asking for permission at this point is utterly pointless; Seungcheol is too gone to be able to give full consent to anything new. You're pretty sure he'd say yes to anything right now so long as he can cum.

“Lemmecum.”

“Hm? What was that, speak clearly.”

Seungcheol whines and sniffles. “I wanna c–cum. P-please.” He blinks rapidly as the tears gathering in his eyes overflow and spill down his temples onto the pillow under him. “Please–please l–let me c--cum,” he chokes out, close to full-on sobbing.

You give in. You want to make him cry, not sob his poor heart out, after all. “You can cum,” you consent.

Seungcheol freezes for a split second in genuine shock, but then his eyes roll back and his back bows, biceps bulging as he grips the pillow so tight and pulls it up a little with the strength of his orgasm. He almost yells your name he moans so loud in pleasure and relief as the intense climax takes over his body.

You continue to move on him slowly to ride him through it, and then a little out the other side when he flops back against the sheets and raggedly sucks in harsh breaths with only short exhales. You'd continue with the intention to overstimulate him if he wasn't laid utterly boneless and not even reacting to you anymore. It's boring to overstimulate someone with no response, after all.

He doesn't even react when you carefully pull off him and remove the condom to tie off and dispose of in the bin beside your bedside table. You stand beside the bed on weak legs for a second to watch him in wonder and decide that he truly is too out of it right now to even notice your presence, so you dart off to get a large glass of water— and drink some yourself—, and a damp cloth before returning.

Seungcheol is still lying there with his eyes closed, though his breathing is evening out now, when you place the cup on the side table and sit on the bed at his side. You carefully start to run the cloth over his sweat-damp body; a shower is really needed, but that can wait a little. Seungcheol makes a soft noise but doesn't react otherwise.

Finally, he opens his eyes when you return from taking the cloth back to the bathroom to toss into the hamper, where you also clean between your thighs quickly.

“Hey,” you greet softly, laying down on your right propped up on your elbow at his side, to look down at him as your left hand soothes over his chest.

“Hi.” He smiles softly at you, then tiredly rolls over to tuck up against you. You smile at the cute action and turn onto your back to allow him to curl up against your side with his head on your chest, his right arm and leg over you keeping you there. Not that you have any intention to move quite yet.

This is nice.

Your right arm goes around his back and into his hair to play with the strands, while your left hand rubs over his forearm, gentle yet firm enough that he knows you're here and not going anywhere. “How're you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Tired,” he mumbles, making you laugh softly.

“Just tired?” He hums in confirmation. “So you're good otherwise? It wasn't too much?”

“No. M'good,” he slurs a little, signalling that he truly is tired enough that sleep is already starting to claim him.

“Yeah, you are. My good boy, huh?” you tease lightly and press a kiss to the top of his head. You're pretty sure you can feel his cheek bunch up against your skin as he smiles in return.

“Your good boy,” he confirms, voice so thick that you know there's no point trying to get him up to shower or eat, even drink, despite knowing he really should. It'll have to wait until he wakes.

“Mm, yeah, sleep now, baby; we'll talk more later,” you reply, though you're certain he's too close to slumber to really catch the warning.

Regardless, you know that once he's awake, and you're certain that he's still genuinely okay, clean, and fed, you'll have to talk. A lot has changed in such a short time, and hopefully, he will confirm that it's nothing more than sex for him too, because the alternative has dread pooling in your gut.

You can't do this again if it's not entirely equal, and you kind of have the feeling that there's no going back now that you've had each other like this. Yet, if you can't go forward because of potential feelings on his side, then you're well and truly fucked, and not in the way either of you want to be.

Still, that's not something you can discuss right now, so you follow Seungcheol's lead and close your eyes. You just hope that when you open them, everything will be alright.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

You stand in a strapless ball gown of pristine white. Its bodice is snug and adorned with delicate floral appliqués, sparkling beads, sequins that trail down into a full, voluminous skirt layered with sheer fabrics that gives the ensemble a magical glow. A sheer veil drapes over your shoulders and flows down your back, and despite its beauty, you know that executing your plan in this dress will be arduous. But it’s a moment of now or never. He appears beside you in a champagne-colored suit, making this elopement into a big deal… without your consent, of course. “Let’s go,” he commands, “we’re already late because of you.”

You draw a deep nervous breath when you know for a fact that he's late because of him fiddling with his tie last minute and not because of you. “Just give me a second in the bathroom,” you reply.

His teeth clench as he grasps your wrist tightly. “It shouldn't be one of your funny businesses,” he warns, and though the confidence that moments ago seemed lost surges anew, you just nod knowing that whatever happens will outdo whatever so-called ‘funny business’ he's talking about.

You step into the bathroom and bend over the sink as you inhale a breath. You then lift your eyes to meet your reflection in the mirror and exhale. Slowly, your gaze travels down the folds of your gown as you brace yourself mentally for what must be done. Moving to the side, you reach for a pair of gloves on the shelf and slip them over your hands, and whisper to yourself, I can do this, as you retrieve the syringe of ketamine from the hidden space behind the small cabinet.

You step from the bathroom acting as if nothing unusual is about to happen, and notice how luck is on your side right now — his back is turned. Cautiously, you advance slowly, raising the syringe and quickly pierce the skin of his neck with the perfect amount of force in your body. Immediately he spins, tackling you and pressing his hands against your throat.

His eyes are bloodshot as he shouts, “What the fuck are you doing?! You think you can—?” You struggle beneath his grasp, but your calculations are accurate, and within seconds, you see his movements falter. He slams you against the wall with a sickening thud and his fists strikes your arms and torso, yet his coordination begins to fail.

You take a careful step back, but a smile curls on your lips, “Is that all you have?” you say as his body finally slumps to the floor.

Your time to torture.

A rush of satisfaction goes through you as your fingers brush the spot where he tried to strangle you, and without hesitation, you seize the moment to drag him across the floor.  Securing him with handcuffs and rope fastened tightly to a pillar, you tape his mouth and bind it with cloth to silence any possible cries that are bound to happen because of what you have to offer. Arranging your tools—needles, lighter, knife—on the counter, you step back and allow yourself a moment of affirmation.You're doing great, a thought that feels almost external, though it’s entirely your own.

You move closer to him, kneeling so that your eyes meet his face directly when he wakes up, and a chuckle escapes your lips as you trace the fear flashing across his face as he takes in his helpless position. “Did you really think you could keep me under your thumb forever?” you whisper, and watch him flinch with each syllable. 

Rising, you glide toward the counter, surveying the tools laid out before speaking in a mock pretentious tone, “Now, tell me, which should I begin with? The needle or the flame?” You pause, letting your gaze travel on him, and then add, “Maybe you will enjoy the fire first,” lifting the lighter in your hand.

The flame flickers to life between your fingers as you step toward him and press it to his arm. He tries to cry out, but it dies in his throat trapped beneath your restraints, and you hear only the shallow rasp of his painful breath. You drag the flame across patches of exposed skin, watching as the pain registers in twitching muscles and reddening flesh, and you continue until the mottled third-degree burns mark him exactly as you wanted. “All those times you forced me to bend to your will,” you let your voice fill with hatred, “and all the bruises you left, the fear you cultivated—how does it feel to be so powerless now, huh?” You pause to let each word sink into his little brain and then list the pains he put on you, forcing him to feel every past injustice.

After savoring his helplessness, you take the needle and press it slowly into his thigh until it draws a thin ribbon of blood, holding it halfway in to maximize his pain. You repeat this several times, repositioning it each time and watch as he struggles weakly, unable to escape or resist while the tears begin to stream down his face. Each attempt he makes to move only reinforces his vulnerability and pain, and you allow yourself a satisfaction in the power you hold right now.

His tears slide down his cheeks constantly, and the sight fills you with an exhilarating happiness and thrill that makes your pulse quicken. You lift the lighter again holding it aloft as the small flame dances and flickers, and for a moment you let him register the anticipation before speaking, “Do you think the pain will make you strong, or are you finally learning what it feels like to be helpless?” You laugh softly at your own words, and press the flame briefly against his skin once more, savoring the twitching of his muscles and the helplessness that comes from him.

Scooting closer, you lower your voice into a venomous whisper, “I could make this last forever; every second will remind you of what you took from me and what I will take in return,” your breath ghost across his ear and watch his muscles twitch. “I could press the flame to your skin again,” you trace the air along his arm with your fingertip to tease the warmth of his skin without yet touching him, “or leave you with these marks until you remember every time you made me shiver under your hands,” and you tap lightly at a burn you have already inflicted to make him flinch at the touch.

Your fingers curl around the needle as you hover over his thigh, “or maybe I could take the needle right here in your thigh, again and again, and let it bleed slowly just enough to taste your terror and watch you struggle helplessly,” you murmur, pressing it lightly and watching him instinctively jerk before the restraints hold him fast. “You would feel every sharp prick, every flicker of fire, every bite of cold metal, and you couldn't move. You would want to scream, and you would find nothing but the rope and tape to choke your cries.”

“I could blind you, you know? With the light and hold your eyes open, and narrate every moment of my life with you,” you continue, “all the bruises, all the fear, all the ways you tried to dominate me and failed, until your mind is nothing but my words and my memory of you.” You smirk at him and stand up, “you could close your eyes, but I would still be here making you imagine worse and worse until your heart pounds and your body fails you, and the only thing you feel is the inevitability of what I will do next.”

Moving away from him, you take your phone and turn on the flashlight, gripping his chin to lift his gaze so that the stark beam forces his eyes wide open. You hold it there while recounting the story of your life with him. “Funny, isn't it? No one even knows this is how it ends for you.” He shakes his head violently in denial and realising that you're using his own words against him, and you respond with, “You are not getting what you want this time, darl.”

Although you could extend this game until the stroke of midnight, the shrill ring of his phone interrupts the moment and disturbs your dominion, and pulls your attention away from the delicious power you held.

The caller ID reads his sister and you answer by sliding the phone to mute in case his sleep-fogged aggression returns. On the other end she says, “I’m coming over in an hour,” followed by repeated calls into the silent line, “Hello? Hello?” until you finally cut the line and let the phone fall back into your hand. You look down at him and give him a mock frown, “Guess it's time for you to say goodbye.,” and he scrabbles, panic making his movements clumsy as he strains against the ropes and handcuffs; but after everything you have done to him, he has no strength left.

You reach for the racket resting on the counter and hold it, “This is what you get for being a fucking bastard,” before bringing it down on his skull, over and over, savoring the last vestiges of your satisfaction. Blood trickles from his nose and ears, painting the floor in dark vivid streaks, and finally, he collapses into unconsciousness. You take a moment of silence before moving quickly to the knife as time is suddenly a currency you don't have anymore. Murmuring under your breath, Rot in hell, you drive it into his heart decisively but a misjudged angle by a fraction sends a spray across the front of your gown, staining the pristine white with red you had feared but couldn't prevent, making you hiss in frustration, Fuck.

The blood pools across his suit and the floor, and the sight against your dress makes you frustrated. You stab the knife into his chest repeatedly this time until the violence peaks with a split to his throat.

Quickly you seal the glove you wore in a plastic bag and don a fresh one. You move around the house, taking a deep breath as you scan everything. This time, you take your time cleaning every surface you have touched. You hadn't anticipated his sister coming over today, for you had trusted that he would manage the evening alone as he had planned the elopement. He has no family except for his sister, his circle is only of 2-3 loser friends, and none are likely to intervene, so the situation is still manageable in your head.

You make sure no trace of yourself stays, leaving the apartment as it was a few hours ago so that suspicion falls on anyone and everyone and not just you. You take the bag containing the gloves, a lighter, used rags and tissues that you used to clean everything, and carry it out with you wanting to burn them away somewhere. Changing your gown is not an option as it will waste precious time, so you leave it on your body knowing it is safer to escape as you are than to risk another delay. 

You ease yourself out of the apartment with as little sound as you can muster and move to his car, deciding to abandon it near one of his friends’ workshops so that the trail will mostly run through them rather than to you; you take the keys, seat yourself, and settle your gloved hands on the wheel. Feeling the cold leather under your palms, you start the engine and pull into the street. For a long moment you drive in silence with your eyes fixed on the narrow ribbon of asphalt ahead while the reality of what you have done tightens in your chest. Panic rises in staccato pulses and you ask yourself why you didn't simply just report him, why you didn't try to restart again, yet the months of planning and the memory of his feigned support in his masked manipulative kindness makes the idea of returning to innocence impossible. Sweat beads at your brow and soaks the gloves as your thoughts race—abandon the plan and surrender at the station—and for a few breaths you decide you'll stop at the police and give yourself up.

Something moves beneath your skin and cools the decision that had begun to form; a whisper of probably your own thoughts without any words, nudges you away from confession, and the world rearranges itself in the smallest of ways so that hesitation feels harder than motion. You inhale and tell yourself, calculate… buy time… think. yn, think! and as you hesitate, the lights ahead that should be red flicker and a van pauses longer than seems necessary, and without a conscious decision your foot presses the accelerator; you pass the junction with a slip of speed and then before you fully comprehend what you are doing, you notice a traffic officer signalling for you to pull over.

The sight of uniforms in the rearview mirror sends a fresh lurch of panic through you. You suddenly remember that your gown is stained nearly halfway in red and there is no plausible explanation when they will peer in through the glass. Every sensible instinct screams that you should stop and surrender. The same ineffable current that has been steering you since you left the house hums again, insistently that counsel, and you find your hands tightening at the ten and two position, your heel dropping to the pedal and you drive on. As you accelerate you watch into the rear-view mirror and catch sight of the officers climbing into their vehicle, and within moments the flashing lights light behind you as their car surges forward to give chase.

You keep driving as the wail of sirens ring in the distance. The flashing lights behind you are closing in. You press your foot harder on the accelerator, deciding to go full speed to make it seem like the brakes have failed. You have no idea if it looks convincing from the outside, but none of that matters now. You can't believe the courage—or madness—it takes to do this. Then again, you just killed a man with your own hands, alone. It would be almost funny to feel fear right now.

Your mind is a storm. Thoughts splinter, collide, and scatter. What have I done? What am I becoming? What if they catch me? Every possibility tears through you, and you can't silence the noise in your head that's now consuming you. You feel as if you’re losing your mind entirely. The road stretches ahead under the pale wash of moonlight, a long ribbon of silver that curves through darkness. The trees on both sides rise tall and their branches form a jagged wall that eats away at the light. You can hear the sirens behind you even though the patrol cars are not yet visible. You know that if you slow down, even for a moment, they’ll be upon you within minutes.

You tell yourself you only need to escape—to somehow make it home without being seen, and without leaving a trace. To look like a normal, sane woman who never did what she just did. But your chest tightens and panic begins to feed on your reason.

Then, without warning, the car starts to lose speed. Your heart skips as you glance at the fuel gauge—its needle trembles far into the red. Empty. You press harder on the gas, but nothing happens. The engine stutters in protest. The sirens behind you grow louder, swelling through the still night air in the middle of… nowhere.

You look around frantically. The narrow two-lane road bends to the left, vanishing into the dense forest. The light is poor and the sky nearly swallowed by the dark canopy of evergreens. The shadows stretch long across the asphalt. You can't understand why they’re still chasing you. People run traffic lights all the time—why now, why me? The thought circles in your mind desperately.

You shake your head, forcing yourself to think. The car is dying beneath you, and slowing by the second. You reach for the plastic bag beside you and grip it tightly. You flick on the brake lights, bring the car to a halt on the edge of the road, and throw open the door. The sirens are closer now. Without another thought, you get out of the car and run toward the forest and let the darkness swallow you whole.

A sudden rustle catches your ear—a deer bolts across your path and vanishes into the trees. You pause for only a second, and try to just shrug it off.

But with panic searing through your mind about the police, you decide to run more deep into the forest without a thought for direction or safety. The night air hits cold against your skin and the ground is uneven beneath your feet, but none of it matters. You push forward driven only by the desperate need to disappear. You are not deep enough to be lost entirely, yet far enough to not be seen by them. Their voices and the faint wail of sirens still repeat somewhere nearby, but there is no choice now. You must rid yourself of the evidence and flee before the light finds you.

Your thoughts blur into fragments, and you have no idea what you will do in the middle of a forest, no sense of where to go or how to hide or even how to return to the main route. The only clear thing is that you can't be caught after what you’ve done. Your heart hammers as you glance down at your wedding gown, once pristine white, now soaked in dirt and dark, drying blood. The fabric clings to you, yet you can hardly stand to look at it.

You kneel on the damp dirt under you and gather a handful of fallen leaves. Your hands shake as you pull the lighter from the plastic bag. You drop the bag onto the ground, adding to it the used gloves, the used tissues, and the scraps of cloth you had used to clean the apartment. Then, one by one, you toss the gloves you were still wearing onto the pile. The lighter clicks in your trembling hand before the flame catches. You lower it slowly, and fire crawls through the heap, consuming everything you touched. The smoke twists upward through the branches above you, forming shapes that almost seem… aware, as if the shadows themselves are watching. Faces ripple in the bark above you—eyes and mouths that vanish the instant you blink. You know it's just because of the low light. It can't be that serious. You watch for a moment until the plastic shrivels and the leaves turn to black ash.

The sound of distant male voices and steps reaches your ears again. The police are closer now. One last glance at the small mound of glowing embers, then you turn and run.

You breathe heavily, but each breath feels caught halfway tight in your throat. The air burns your lungs. You tell yourself to keep running until your legs fail. Your heartbeat pounds against your skull so loud it drowns everything else—until there is nothing. No sound or anything except the thud of your heartbeat in your ears. You slow to a halt and the silence presses in even more. You glance ahead. A narrow, rocky path lies before you, carpeted with fallen leaves that rustle faintly underfoot, and bare trees rise on either side. A thick fog drapes itself over the ground, hanging low and swallowing the end of the path from view. Everything is still—completely still.

You come back to your right senses in the worst way imaginable. The world stops around you, and you realize—you are lost. Alone. Somewhere in this endless stretch of forest where even the air feels unfamiliar. There is not a single sound. Not a bird, not a rustle, not even the hum of life. Only your own breathing is scraping against the stillness. You never thought silence could sound this painful.

A part of you wants to scream to call for help and be found by someone or the police even if it means being dragged into jail or facing an execution. Anything would be better than this. But the thought splinters when a strong gust of wind crashes through the trees, knocking you onto the damp ground. You sit there, stunned, staring into the dark, trying to make sense of what just happened. The air settles again motionless as if nothing had happened just now at all.

Your chest tightens until you can barely breathe as tears blur your sight. You turn your head slowly toward the faint sound of something crumbling through the brush. And then you see them. Eyes, or what your frantic mind decides must be eyes, watching you from the blackness between the trees. Or are they actually eyes? The shadows squirm and the shapes form something that looks like a face, then disappear the instant you blink.

You scream high and desperate—and run. The ground catches at your feet, and the branches whip against your arms, tearing at your bare skin. You keep glancing back trying to see if something follows, but the forest is a blur of shadow and nothingness. Still, you can’t stop.

Something catches you, unseen, pulling you down. Your body hits the earth hard. You thrash, claw, kick at the ground, but whatever has you pinned is invisible and unyielding. Panic floods your throat which chokes your screams until they come out broken. You cry, beg, but the forest gives nothing back.

And then—release.

The weight lifts, and you lie there too afraid to move while your whole body trembles. The night seems to watch you breathe. You turn your head in hopes to search the dark for any sign of life, but there is only blackness. You can’t even bring yourself to scream again. The silence feels like something is waiting.

A low noise of rustling comes from behind. Your body freezes and refuses to move.

“Who are you?” The voice is too close for comfort.

You turn slowly, hoping that it might be the police, or a lost traveler, or someone. But there’s no one there. The space behind you is empty.

Terror claws up your spine. Your throat burns as you start to shout anything and everything in desperate hope that someone far away might hear you. “I’m here! Can you hear me? HERE! Please!”

The sound of your own scream turns foreign in your ears, and the forest devours it whole, letting the words die midair before they can reach anywhere. The stillness that follows is worse than any scream could be. You stay where you are and press your knees into the cold mud. You don’t dare stand. Every instinct in you says not to. 

The trees seem to lean closer and the darkness starts to ripple between their trunks, almost like it's alive. You don't know what's happening but from your peripheral vision, it looks like faces appear in the bark and they blink when you aren’t looking directly. A twisted semblance of movement shivers in the shadows. But it's not your direct vision. You're 99% sure it's your mind playing tricks on you again. It can't be real no matter how odd this situation is.

“I’m here…”

The words drift faintly from somewhere not too far away. It takes you a heartbeat too long to realize that they are your own. Your own voice. You freeze and your blood turns to ice as the sound rolls back toward you. You whisper something again, and the voice repeats it back, making your stomach drop. The air feels colder as you can’t tell where it’s coming from: behind, beside, above. You shut your eyes and grip the hem of your gown, and force yourself to breathe. It's nothing, it's nothing. Just a trick of mind.

You lift your head back up without realizing it, and for a fleeting instant you catch the outline of something beyond the tree line in front of you. It's there and not there, dissolving whenever you try to focus on it. You don't question your eyes anymore. Too much has already happened for you to trust anything.

You force yourself upright, the feeling of being watched gnaws at the back of your neck. You slowly take one step backward, keeping your gaze locked on that whatever thing between the trees, then you turn and start running again. The forest seems endless, and you have no idea where you are anymore, but still you run. Staying still feels worse than getting lost. Every pause makes you scared that something will finally step out from behind the trees and end this nightmare.

You remind yourself that you know this forest… or at least you think you do. Somewhere beyond all this there should be a road. There has to be a road. You tell yourself you only need to keep walking straight and that everything will make sense again once you find it. You even laugh a little under your breath. It's just the wind, telling yourself that you’re fine, that all of this is in your head. Just an animal. Enough already. Get it together.

But your heart refuses to listen. It hammers against your ribs, making your breath catch and stutter. The silence presses in again for the nth time until you can hear your pulse echoing in your skull. You realize again just how far you are from civilization. The thought sinks in more than it did before, making you feel nauseous now.

The lighter. You feel like an idiot for forgetting it. The memory slices through the panic, and you dig through your pocket until you find it. You grab a thick branch, wrap the end with a strip of your torn gown, and pour a few drops of lighter fluid over it and the spark catches. Flame blooms at the tip, casting a trembling orange light around you.

You hold the torch high, and the forest finally takes shape again of gnarled trees, twisting roots, and whatnot. But relief barely has time to form before something changes within the light.

The shadows rearrange themselves. Faces appear where there should be none. You can't believe your eyes and you definitely don't when you see clusters of them half-formed and swaying, the glow of the flame carving eyes into the wood, mouths into the folds of bark. They stare at you, or perhaps through you. You tell yourself it’s just your imagination. It's nothing, that your mind is inventing them, that it’s the smoke distorting your sight… But one of the faces moves.

You stumble backward, and clutch the torch so tightly that the wood digs into your palm. A shape emerges from the trees ahead, its gait disjointed and looks very wrong. The figure looks almost human, or maybe it used to be. Its head tilts too far to one side, and for a brief, horrifying moment, you still think it’s a deer standing upright, but then it moves again, and no part of it resembles an animal anymore.

You run. You don’t think, don’t breathe, just run. The thing that follows… Its footsteps are soft, but they are there, and they are in fact very fast. You can hear the thud of hooves and the crack of twigs that refuses to fade. Your torchlight shakes wildly, and you're scared that it might go out because of you running.

You crash through the undergrowth, gasping, tears blurring your vision. Just as your legs begin to give out, you see what's in front of you. A set of stone steps rises before you, and you're well aware that it's impossibly out of place in the middle of the forest. You don’t question it. You sprint upward because your body is screaming in exhaustion and you want to hide there. But behind you, the sound of pursuit stops…

The forest falls silent again.

You climb to the top of the staircase that's rising out of the forest floor, and abruptly stop at the top. The concrete is fractured and uneven beneath your feet and covered in damp leaves and old pine needles. You raise your torch, and its trembling light shows you that the surface is cracked and furred with moss and pale green lichen that has devoured the edges over time. The air is way colder here. The surrounding trees look to be mostly birch and conifers, though you can't be entirely sure—and you can hardly bring yourself to care, apart from the fact that this entire place feels strangely somber.

You sink onto one of the steps to catch your breath. It feels safer up here than on the forest floor, though you don't know why. The silence presses against your ears again, and you realize with a tightening in your chest that the woods have gone completely still. You take in a deep breath, and keep your torch close to your side. The flame gutters slightly, and you shield it with your palm before standing again. You turn your light in slow arcs, studying your surroundings. The staircase seems to rise in the middle of the forest and lead to nothing as it stops abruptly. You peer down to the ground below and realize you are at least half a floor above it, yet it feels higher than it probably should, as if the forest itself has sunk away from you.

You are surprised by how good the structure remains despite its age. It should not be standing, and yet it does. You step back from the edge when a soft thud echoes through the trees. You freeze. The sound comes again but it's neither close nor far. You hold your breath and tilt your head, listening. Then something calls your name.

Your torchlight trembles in your grasp. “Hello?” slipped out of you before you could process it. The word falls into the dark and doesn't  return. You glance behind you to see the forest remaining empty. You look to your sides, to the front again, but the silence has changed. It is no longer still; it waits. You can feel it. Your skin prickles, and something gathers in your chest that refuses to name itself.

You look back one more time, and your light catches movement—limbs bending the wrong way, eyes too bright in the dark. The deer is there again, only it isn’t. It stands at the base of the staircase, motionless for a single heartbeat before it surges upward toward you.

You clutch the torch so tightly your knuckles have probably gone white and without thinking, you jumped from the top of the staircase.

The fall knocks the air from your lungs. You brace for the crack of earth, and the sting of branches and dirt, but instead your body hits solid ground that feels smooth, and cold, and hurts hard. Concrete.

You groan and push yourself up, blinking through the shock. The forest is gone. 

It takes a second for your mind to register what just happened before the scream bursts out of you as you stumble backward on your hands. The cold surface presses against you, which now feels both calming from the forest and disorienting all at once. Your breathing quickens until it breaks into sobs. The sound tears out of your throat before you can stop it, and soon you’re crying in loud ugly gasps. The taste of salt mixes with the dryness of your mouth, and you clutch your face in both hands, pressing your palms against your eyes as if that could block out whatever prank that was happening.

Your mouth hangs open in a soundless wail before another wave of tears takes over. You dig your fingers into your hair and grip it tightly until your scalp stings and you cry even more. Your chest aches from how hard you’re trying to breathe, and you force yourself to whisper a half-choked, Calm down. Calm down. The words tremble out of you, but they do nothing. You’re completely lost in this joke. You can’t tell what’s real anymore.

The air is colder than you remember, but at least it's clean and crisp in your lungs. The chill reminds you to look down and see your gown filthy with streaks of mud and blood. The sight hits you harder than the cold, and so your vision blurs in tears and clears again as you rub your eyes with your sleeves brushing clumsily against your skin. You look up to see you’ve been crying, hysterically… in public, in a blood-stained dress.

Your stomach lurches. You feel every eye on you. A few people stand nearby, probably confused, watching. The realisation burns through you and you immediately raise your hands to your face, trying to hide yourself. You try to stand up and leave. But as you begin to push yourself off the ground, someone crouches down in front of you.

He’s a man— looks quiet, calm, and his expression looks soft in the low light. He holds out a tissue to you which feels painfully human in this moment of collapse. His smile is oddly reassuring, and for the smallest second you want to believe you’re safe. But you can’t.

You don’t take the tissue; you don’t have time to waste right now. You need to hide before someone calls the police—and who are you kidding? Someone’s probably already called, and they’re on their way. It'll all be over for you. You jerk to your feet and start to move, but before you can take a full step, a hand catches your wrist.

You turn sharply to meet his eyes. He looks concerned rather than threatening, but your nerves are too frayed to give a fuck. You pull your arm back to free yourself, but he doesn’t let go immediately. “Miss, are you okay?” he asks, and it really seems like he's concerned.

You yank your hand away and run again, your gown dragging across the ground as your shoes hit the pavement. You don’t look back. The world around you is lit in streetlamps glowing through a light mist, and faded posters flapping against metal poles. 

When you finally slow down, you realise where you are. The smell of burnt sugar and popcorn drifts faintly in the air. Strings of coloured lights dangle loosely between poles, many of them flickering. The faint music of a carousel reaches you from somewhere inside. You turn in a slow circle and notice the shapes of game booths and shuttered stalls ahead inside of these netted walls in front of you.

You’re standing at the far edge of what seems to be a carnival. A place meant for joy and laughter—but here, on its outer rim, it feels kind of abandoned.

This time, a woman approaches you. “Excuse me, are you a bride?” You flinch, and instinctively step back, but before you can escape, she speaks again. “Oh, I’m so sorry for scaring you. Do you need any help?” Her expression is kind, but for a moment, you’re just confused. Why are people still approaching you? Shouldn’t they be keeping their distance? Shouldn’t someone be holding you down until the police arrive? You’re a walking danger sign in red, and yet she’s standing there speaking to you as if you’re lost rather than dangerous.

You decide to answer this time. “I’m fine.”

The woman looks at you with sympathy, clearly unconvinced. “It must be hard for you,” she says, “but you shouldn’t be walking around in the cold in your pretty dress like this. Do you have a ride?”

Pretty dress. The words sound very absurd to you. You look down at the kinda torn, dirty, muddy, blood-streaked gown clinging to your skin and wonder if she’s out of her mind—or just stalling until the police come to arrest you. You let out a dry laugh. “If this is what you call pretty, you must be really blind,” you say oddly detached. Without waiting for her response, you turn away, still laughing under your breath.

You walk toward the carnival gates. There’s no guard in sight, so you slip through. The ground beneath your feet is cobbled and slick, which catches the reflection of thousands of tiny glowing lights strung between tall, ornate buildings. The amber glow of the swaying lanterns from every stall cuts through the twilight. You find yourself standing on a broad street that appears to be the heart of the carnival. To either side, vendors in bright stalls call out to the passing crowd. But the architecture around you is low-key strange: part gothic, part whimsical with sharp spires and rounded domes stretching into a misty midnight-blue sky.

Ahead, the street thrums with people dressed in long coats, flowing gowns, and top hats. Their faces are lit by the warm glow of the lights, and you can’t help but think why anyone would dress like this for a carnival at such an hour. You don’t even know what time it is.

You move forward cautiously, hoping to blend into the crowd… or at least find a place to hide until you can think properly of a plan. You need to get out of this filthy gown if you want any chance of making it home safely. But you don’t even know where ‘home’ is anymore, or where this carnival is located as it seems like you just popped here. To find out, you’ll have to look presentable. And right now, you look anything but that.

You pull yourself together because you really can’t afford to fall apart right now. You need to face the consequences or at least test the situation before you even think of running away again. For the moment, it appears that people aren’t paying much attention to what you’re wearing. Do they think it’s a costume? Yet someone did call you a runaway bride, which is technically not wrong.

You walk toward one of the beautifully decorated vendor stalls to test the waters and see how people take your presence. You carefully step ahead, posture guarded as your fingers clutch the fabric of the gown on its own so it doesn’t drag more than it already has. When you reach the stall, the vendor looks at you for a second and steps aside, giving you space as if you being here is perfectly normal.

You attempt a wary smile before smoothing your expression into something more neutral. You want to look composed. Harmless.

A small tug at the hem of your gown pulls your attention downward. A child stands there, staring up at you with a sparkle of unfiltered wonder in her eyes. Confusion flows through you. Why would any parent let their child come up to someone who looks this suspicious? 

You bury that concern and force a faint low-key smile. You tilt your head slightly and raise an eyebrow to signal that the child may speak.

“You look so pretty,” her voice is filled with admiration. Admiration that she shouldn’t have. Her eyes hold that same glint that’s earnest and unsettling at the same time, because you can’t fathom  what she could possibly find pretty about you right now.

You look back up and see two people who you assume are the little girl's parents smiling at you. It confuses you, and you reluctantly murmur, “thank you?” with a questioning lilt to your voice. The mother pats your back gently and says, “your gown is really beautiful,” and you are momentarily speechless, unsure how to respond. Seeing your hesitation, she adds apologetically, “I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable.”

Frustration bubbles over, and you can no longer take it anymore, “what is beautiful about my blood-stained gown?” you ask.

For the first time since she began speaking, a crease forms on her brow. “What do you mean?” she replies, genuinely looking confused.

You point out that your dress is dirty, ripped, and soaked in blood and you can't understand what is wrong with everyone who insists it's beautiful. “What is wrong with everyone that they think my dress is pretty or beautiful or whatever?” you demand as your voice rises in agitation. The little girl moves behind her father’s leg, and you realize you have taken it too far. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” you trail off, your anger fading into awkward embarrassment.

The mother’s eyes remain sympathetic and concerned. She coos gently at you, “ah, your gown is a bit dirty and ripped, but that happens when you run away from your wedding.” She pauses and then continues with careful consideration, “but what did you mean about blood? Your dress is just dirty and ripped, nothing more. Is it the stress? Are you okay?”

You frown. “What do you mean?” you ask.

She tilts her head and responds, “what do you mean by what I mean?”

Frustration flares again. “If you are not seeing the blood completely splattered on my gown, then what are you talking about?” you demand once again.

She blinks at you seemingly confused, “I don't see any blood.”

You glance at the father, who shakes his head in agreement, and then at the vendor, who also gestures that he sees nothing. “You all are insane…” you mutter under your breath.

The mother is now more concerned, and she asks again, “Are you hallucinating? Do you wanna drink some water? Do you want to go to the hospital?”

You stagger back a step, and glance down at your gown once more. Every dried bloodstain, every smear of mud is glaringly real to you, yet you realise it’s completely invisible to everyone else. The child watches you curiously, while the mother’s expression remains concerned, as if nothing you see is of any consequence. A chill creeps up your spine, and your heartbeat hammers so loudly you can feel it in your throat. Am I losing my mind? you wonder, but you know what you’re seeing is still real.

You press your palms to your face, rubbing furiously, and then throw your arms out in frustration, almost begging the world to acknowledge what’s happening. “Do you all really not see this?”

“She what? You look fine.” Her words wrap around you, and it feels like your stomach dropped.

“I—I need to get out of here,” you stammer aloud.

“Are you sure? You seem… distressed.”

“Yes,” you insist as you turn around.

A shiver runs down your spine when the child tugs gently at your gown again. “Do you want to see the show?” she asks innocently. Your eyes snap to her, and for the first time since the blood appeared invisible, a shiver of clarity hits you. The child sees nothing unusual. No one does. The world has changed, or you have, and you’re alone in this perception.

You walk away knowing you’ve been rude, yet you tell yourself that surviving the moment matters far more than politeness. You need to blend into the crowd to see how well you can disappear among them before you decide your next move.

Very quickly, you realise that you’re not blending in at all. It’s not for the reason you initially were scared of. The blood is invisible to them. What they see instead is a crazy woman wandering in a wedding dress, messed up and clearly overwhelmed. That alone is reason enough for many eyes to stay on you. A kind old man offered you a shawl to wrap around your shoulders, and you accepted it with gratitude. The warmth was a relief, especially when the air must be at least close to five degrees Celsius.

You roam through the carnival to understand your surroundings before forcing yourself to make any drastic decisions. It seems less risky to stay here until morning or at least until the festivities come to an end. Food and drink stalls line the streets and, surprisingly, several vendors hand you small snacks and drinks without asking for anything in return. There’s even a petting zoo tucked into a corner of the grounds. You spend several minutes there, kneeling to feed a few rabbits, and for some moment, you were really happy. But it didn't last long as reality hit you soon enough.

The carnival is large and carefully designed. The centerpiece is a colossal Ferris wheel on the left and it's lit up with golden and purple lights that give a warm glow to the chilly midnight sky. All around, almost everything in the carnival is mostly adorned with strings of bright lights. If the night were ordinary, you would ride that Ferris wheel without hesitation just like the crowds around you.

You stand before it for a while, just watching it turn, then slowly move onward. Soon you find yourself before a breathtaking carousel. It’s a classic construction and the canopy is lined with what must be hundreds of golden bulbs, each one a tiny star creating a halo effect. The carousel itself has a grandeur to it with its painted horses appearing ready to gallop, and the ornate details catch the light just right. The reflection on the wet cobblestones beneath is the most breathtaking part; it doubles the light and gives the whole scene a shimmering, dreamlike vine. It should be peaceful. It should be magical.

Yet nothing about tonight feels peaceful. No amount of shimmering light pulls you away from what’s settling in your chest or the dread that continues to coil around your thoughts.

-

Roaming around has led you to a purple tent. It looks like a fortune teller’s tent judging by the sign that reads, ‘seek your fate, if you dare’. You have already watched the acrobats, the sword swallower, the fire-eaters, the clowns, and almost every other performance you came across tonight to pass time, so you figure there’s no reason not to stop by here too.

You push aside the curtain and step inside. A fast burst of something cold rushes past you in and out in less than a second. The sensation is so sudden that it sends a shiver up your spine. You were starting to forget all the oddness of this place, but that feeling comes creeping right back.

The interior of the tent is beautiful, just like everywhere else you have visited tonight. You take in the shelves and tables decorated with tarot cards, pendulums, dice, and even a chessboard that makes you pause because you aren't sure what a fortune teller would do with that. What draws you in most is the crystal ball on a gold stand atop a deep purple velvet cloth. Inside the glass, a swirling mix of purple and blue creates a cosmic scene that looks probably like a nebula. It catches your attention from the moment you see it.

You move closer as curiosity urges you forward. When your fingers make contact with the smooth surface against your better judgement, that same strange force rushes through you again. It’s quick, too quick to understand, but it feels stronger this time. Your head spins for a moment, and you brace yourself to recover.

Footsteps interrupt the dizziness. A man enters from the behind of the tent. You look up at him and instinctively step back from the crystal ball. He has light brown hair with a soft part, a few strands falling over his forehead. His jawline is sharp, his eyes partially hidden behind thin wire-rimmed glasses, and a few simple rings on his fingers. His appearance is clean and really put together.

He steps forward without a word and takes the chair behind the table. He then looks at you and gestures calmly for you to sit across from him.

You take a seat across from him, trying to gather yourself before speaking. “Hello… I'm y/n,” you say, introducing yourself with a nervous smile.

He nods once and replies, “My name is Lee Chan.” Silence settles between you a bit, and you press your lips together in a tight smile to acknowledge the introduction. He speaks again. “So, you didn't find any clothes outside to change into?” he asks.

You stare at him confused. “Huh? Oh… right. No, I did not,” you answer, unsure where this is going.

“If you'd like to change, I have spare clothes here that you can take,” he offers in a calm voice.

“Thats a very weird way to start a conversation,” you say, a little amused but mostly thrown off.

“It won’t be easy for you to leave this carnival and walk home without people noticing your bloody dress,” he says.

A cold shiver runs through your spine. “What do you mean?” Your voice drops without you meaning it to.

He leans forward crossing his arms on the table, and a small smirk appears on his face. “It’s exactly what you think it is.”

You refuse to look away and lock your eyes with his. “I really have no idea what you're talking about,” you reply firmly.

He gives a light chuckle. “Oh, you do know. You're just trying to look confident so you don't have to face the reality of it all. You're pretending you can control the situation.”

“Im not pretending anything. Just do your job so I can leave,” you say, your voice sounds not intimidated despite the fear tightening inside your chest.

“Sure, I can do that,” he answers. “But you'll not be able to leave safely with that dress on. People inside the carnival might not notice anything, but the moment you step away from this radius, those people will definitely see what's on the dress. Especially the police.”

You stare at him stunned. “I beg your fucking pardon?” He only shrugs and extends a hand toward you. Without thinking, you place your hand on the table for him, still clutching onto some sense of sanity as your voice rises. “Whats wrong with you?”

Your mind spirals. You're afraid, but you're trying not to let a single sign show. He could see it? The thought scrapes across your mind now. Your eyes wander desperate for anything to distract you, and you find a mirror behind him. For a second, the reflection ripples like water. You blink and it's gone. You already know this place is strange, and your heart keeps insisting it's an illusion, but your brain refuses to agree.

He responds to you with an unreadable expression, “I know what you did, and I know what you'll do. Tomorrow, you'll kill again.”

You laugh then, a harsh, disbelieving sound. “You are insane,” you say.

He lifts his chin. “Is it not true that you killed your now dead ex-boyfriend today?”

You push back from the table and rise to your feet so quickly your chair scrapes the floor. “Don’t even try to accuse me,” you snap. “Who are you to sit there and claim you know anything about me?”

He doesn't flinch. “I’m the man who reads what others refuse to admit,” he replies calmly, folding his hands on the table and inclining his head with the air of someone stating a fact.

You jab a finger toward him. “How the fuck would you know that?”

He smiles in an almost indulgent way. “I’m a fortune teller for a reason. I see threads others can’t see. You can't hide from me.”

You roll your eyes. “Cliché,” the single word dripping with irony.

He smiles, and it's neither warm nor cruel. “I can read your mind better than you can,” he says plainly.

You snort. “There are about seven thousand languages in the world according to Google, and you chose to speak nonsense.”

He leans forward and taps the side of his own temple with a ringed finger, amused. “Words are a poor measure. I don't need them when your thoughts betray you so well.”

You narrow your eyes. “So you're admitting you're some sort of telepath?” You pace a small circle as you tug at the ruined fabric of your gown. “You’re talking in riddles. Speak clearly.”

He spreads his hands in a placating motion. “Clearlu enough. A great many things have already happened tonight.”

“Name them then,” your jaw clenched. “Name what you claim to know about me.”

He meets your stare without wavering. “You have blood on your dress. You are running. The air has followed you. You're afraid but you won't let it show.”

You laugh brittle and incredulous. “I would slap you, but I don't do animal abuse,” and then wince at how weird it sounds even as the words leave your mouth.

He raises an eyebrow and, without warning, places a hand lightly but deliberately on your wrist. The touch is inexplicably intimate as if he controls the conversation with the contact. “Be careful with threats,” he murmurs. “A night can change a great deal.”

You jerk your arm away. “Take your hand off me or I'll break it right now,” you hiss, leaning in until your face is close to his. Your breath clouds in the cool air.

He doesn't recoil. Instead he watches you with a calm that unsettles more than the hand ever did. “You may try,” voice level, “but you'll find that force isn't the only language I understand.”

You feel a hot flare of anger and humiliation and step back and curl your fingers at the torn lace of your sleeve. “What’s this place?” you demand but also ask. “How did I wind up inside this carnival when I jumped off those stairs in the woods? I should've landed in mud, not here. How do I leave?”

He studies you for a long moment and then, finally, answers in a voice that has no hurry. “You left one dimension and entered another. The ways out aren't the same as the ways in. So to leave you must walk the routes that lead back to your regular place.” He remainsquiet to see your reaction, “There are doors here that open both ways, but they aren't marked the way you want them to be. You can go. You may even find your streets again and the people who know your name.”

“Another dimension? Do you always speak bullshit?”

“Do you always talk like this?”

“With people like you? Yes.”

He smirks, “People…” and looks straight into in a very strange way that makes your stomach twist.

You narrow your eyes, unsure what he means and whether that means safety or another threat. “So I can just walk out? Go home?”

His gaze never wavers. “If you find the right threshold and cross it, yes. You'll breathe the same air you once did. You'll sleep in your own bed and think you have escaped,” his mouth curls into a smirk. “But every return carries a trigger. Once pulled, it leads back here.”

A chill drags down your spine. “Meaning what?”

“It means,” he says, “this place doesn't disappear when you stop looking at it. There is always a moment where the two worlds touch. A step too far from the light. A turn down a street you don't remember. A night where you do things you aren't supposed to. That’s when the thread grows tight again.”

“Huh, so you mean, kill someone? I wasn't supposed to kill him?” you scoff at him.

“I’m not here to judge your choices. And that’s not the only thing you did tonight that you weren’t supposed to, is it?”

“Explain that again in human language as everything you're saying is just confusing as hell.”

“You went where you shouldn't have gone and stepped into a place that was not meant for you.”

“That doesn't mean anything. You're just talking in riddles to sound deep,” you laugh.

“I’m telling you the truth. You opened a door for yourself to me.”

You ignore the, ‘to me’ part because you're sure of it just being nonsense. He really thinks he can scam you. “It was stairs in the woods, not a door.”

He huffs out a short laugh. “Are you stupid?”

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts your eyeballs. “Wow, great fortune teller behavior.”

“That’s what you are though. A fool who thinks she understands her situation.”

“Look, if you know so much, then tell me straight.”

“I know enough to see you're in denial when you absolutely went through things that's not normal.”

“Im not in denial. I'm just tired of your bullshit,” fingers gripping the edge of the table as you lean forward.

He jerks his chin toward you. “You fear what you saw because now it sees you.”

“Huh?” Your throat tightens and you swallow, pulse hammering against your ribs. “Why me?”

For the first time, he smiles, but it isn’t comforting. “Like I said earlier, you ran toward something when everyone else would've run away. That's usually enough.”

Your mouth feels dry. “If I leave and go home and follow my normal address, will I be safe?”

“You’ll be home if you follow your usual direction,” he says softly. “Safety is a different question.”

“What does that even mean? Why can't you just talk normally?”

“Im talking normally. You're refusing to listen.”

“No, you're the one refusing to explain.”

He looks at the hem of your dress and taps the table. “Change your clothes. People will notice that. This place is different, and you can see that.”

“I know it's different, but I still don't get what you're saying. You're weird.”

He rests his elbows on the table and leans in closer, studying your face. “Weird is a matter of perspective.”

“You sound pleased with yourself,” you push to your feet and plant both hands on the table so your knuckles whiten. You lean in until your face is an inch from his. “Are you enjoying this? Playing with a vulnerable woman?”

He tilts his head. “Enjoying would imply I don't take it seriously. What I do is necessary.”

“You call this necessary?” you hiss. You pace a single slow step back and let the shawl that old man gave you, fall from your shoulders without thinking. “You say I opened a door, that I crossed into another… geometry, and then you smile and tell me to change my clothes. Do you have any idea how that sounds?”

He watches you with patience that makes you bristle. “It sounds like what it is: practical advice. If you wish to go unnoticed beyond this place, appearances help.”

You laugh a bitter sound, and turn away for a moment to gather whatever composure you can. When you look back he hasn't moved; his gaze follows you. You find that somewhat creepy but something else too. You don't want to even think about what it is. “So tell me as simply as possible,” you demand. “If I change and I walk out the right way, do I go home and nothing else happens?”

“Yes, you’ll go home.” 

“Then… what does safety mean to you?” you take another step toward the flap of the tent as if you might leave this argument to fate.

He spreads his hands slightly and it looks like a practiced gesture. “Safety is a promise this place can't really keep. It can only offer you an illusion of it as long as I want.”

“So you can take that so-called illusion away whenever you please?” you ask, voice sharp.

“I can,” he replies, as calm as a bell.

“That’s cruel.” You reach out and catch the shawl in your hands, fingers tightening around the fabric.

“Cruelty is a misnomer; maintenance is more apt.”

“Maintenance? You mean you keep people captive for your amusement?” your voice climbs despite yourself.

“No.” He inclines his head making the light catch the edge of his glasses. “I bind and I trade. The circus operates in transactions, and you, unintentionally, entered one.” He taps the table once, as if punctuating a lesson.

You scoff at him in disbelief, “I threw that at you without thinking about it, but apparently, you actually do way crazier things.”

“Yeah, you can say that.”

“You think you're so clever.”

“You know I think? I think you're still pretending none of this matters.”

You slam your palm against the table, anger flaring hot. “I told you to stop saying that. None of this is my problem.”

“It became your problem the moment you took a life.”

“You nosy little fucker, do you ever shut up?”

He lifts one brow, amused. “Truth hurts?”

“It’s not the truth. You're just obsessed with the sound of your own voice.”

“Youre obsessed with running from consequences. But at least it helped you come to me.”

You once again ignore the, ‘to me’ part. “Save it. If you want payment, take it from me now.”

He watches you for a long beat and then smiles, slow and unreadable. “Not now. I’ll take it in due time. Payment is seldom monetary.” He lets his fingertips rest on the table and, without reaching for you, taps the surface twice as if marking time. “You came to me. That says enough,” he adds, leaning forward so that the shadow from his glasses cuts across his face.

“I didn't come to you,” you snap, jerking the shawl closer around your shoulders though to be frank, that was more for show than warmth.

“Deep down, you wanted to escape; I offer paths,” he says, voice reaching softly to your ears.

“I don't need your paths.” You pace a small circle, then stop and set your palm on the cool wood of the table as if to collect yourself.

“Perhaps not. Yet you can't unring the bell.” 

“You are a coward, aren’t you? Hiding behind riddles and half-truths.”

He raises a single brow, unperturbed. “Cowardice isn't my failing. That, it seems, is yours.”

“You really want that to be about courage? Fine.” You step back, scuffing your shoe against the worn mat beneath the table, and point a finger at him. “I’m leaving. This is a circus trick. I'll go home, change, and live my life. Your prophecy means nothing to me.” You shove the chair back with your leg and square your shoulders. “Fuck your prophecy. You're wrong, and if anyone accuses me, I'll see you in court.”

The audacity!

You don't wait for his reaction. You turn away as your breath shakes and skin burns from anger, ready to walk out of this tent and be done with all of it.

“Bun,” you clucked your tongue in disappointment as you ran a hand up your familiar's tail. “How in the world did you get your tail so dirty?”

Seonghwa, the bunny shifting familiar, was currently in your large square tub, the water running and the bubbles frothing, on his hands and knees. He was trembling, not in fear or cold, but because of how you were touching his very sensitive tail. 

He licked his lips nervously before replying. “I--” he cut his own self off by moaning as you smoothed it down after pushing it up. “Please.”

You clucked your tongue again. “This isn't going to do, at all.”

Seonghwa whined as you started to stroke up his tail again. His thighs quivered. “I'm sorry my tail is so dirty.”

You shook your head. “That's just not good enough, Seonghwa. I spent so much time grooming you and you let Joongie get you so dirty?”

Seonghwa began to tear up. “It felt so good. He kept tugging my tail and he fucked me so good. He called me a good bunny. I am a good bunny.”

Your hand smoothed down Seonghwa’s tail for the umpteenth time and this time you caressed up his spine. Seonghwa's ears twitched, flopped forward really. Your hand ran through his hair at the nape of his neck and then you wretched his head back until he was upright but still on his knees.

“Hongjoong is a tricksy little warlock that touches things that aren't his. Who spent months gathering moon bunny blood by sitting still by a dead tree's stump and luring them into her lap with trust and stillness? Who combed through acres of meadows to find five leaf pink clovers? Who petted and stroked all the dumb goblins in order to gather eau du seduction? All in the act of summoning you?”

“You did, Mistress,” Seonghwa whimpered.

You leaned in and licked the tear that had finally escaped one of Seonghwa’s eyes. Tears were power, you see. And you had all the power over Seonghwa.

You yanked your familiar's head down until you could whisper into his soft rabbit ear. “Then if it was me who summoned you and me who worked so hard to gather the items to summon you and me who wished for you in the first place, why in the world do you let that warlock get your tail so dirty, Seonghwa?”

Tears were now steadily streaming down Seonghwa’s face. He wasn't sad, he was remorseful, but you could tell in his eyes, that were blown out to kingdom come, that he had no regrets. 

“Because,” Seonghwa hiccoped. “It feels so good.”

You pushed Seonghwa, releasing his hair, and he stumbled into the tub's water that was getting higher and more bubbly, catching himself palms down. His large shoulders shook as he quietly sobbed.

And when you smoothed your hand down his little cotton tail again, he wailed. “Please, Mistress, please let me make it up to you.”

You folded your arms under your chest and raised an eyebrow at your familiar. “What makes you think I would want you when you let that warlock run his grimy hands all over your pretty body, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa dug his teeth into his lower lip, looking hopeful. “Because you did all that gathering for items to summon me, this version of me, that is perfect for you?”

The longer you stared in silence at Seonghwa, the droopier his ears got. And also the more his cock twitched against his taunt stomach.

“I'm going to have to clean your tail, Seonghwa,” You said finally.

Said tail flicked back and forth hopefully. “And then?”

You sighed. “We'll see, Bun. Wash first.”

You grabbed a washcloth and dunked it beneath the faucet. You turned off the water and wrung the washcloth out of water. 

Seonghwa’s tail wiggled in anticipation.

“Seonghwa,” You said his name in warning. “I can't wash your tail when it's like that.”

Your familiar became ramrod still, like a rabbit caught out in the open. When he turned his head around to figure out when you would begin, you had to will the soft look off your face. It wouldn't do for him to think you would be any less firm with him after he acted out.

You took the washcloth and smoothed it down his little cotton tail, dampening it well. But it was the underside that was truly filthy; covered in that greedy warlock’s cum, like he had been trying to brand your familiar. 

You began to grumble as you ran the washcloth along Seonghwa’s asscheek. It was then that you noticed the bite marks. That was when you started to get a sneer on your face.

“Seonghwa, did he bite you?” You said lowly.

Seonghwa let out a groan. “It was so good.”

You continued to move upwards, running the fabric along the underside of his tail. Then you gripped his tail between your fingers and thumb roughly. You leaned down so that your head was on level with Seonghwa’s.

“Was it good, Bun?” You said in a fake-sweet voice.

You could hear Seonghwa swallow. “I--”

“You let him rub his fucking cock all over your soft cotton tail and bite your soft bronze skin. You let him brand you just to rub it in my face?” You continued to mock-coo.

Seonghwa’s lips pushed out in a self-preserving pout. “I didn't think--”

You gripped Seonghwa’s chin harshly. “That's the problem, isn't it? You don't think. You're just stuffed with a tiny little cock and you close your beautiful eyes and--”

“I'm sorry,” Seonghwa said in a strained voice. You glance down between his legs and his cock is dripping-wet with precum. Your big bunny is worked up over this and you can't seem to be able to let it go.

“Sorry?” You said in a flat tone.

Seonghwa visibly flinched at the change. He knew he was in deep shit.

“Sorry enough to stop him from filling you up like a goddamn cream puff?” You demanded.

Your fingers, covered in the washcloth, found his puckered hold and pushed in. Seonghwa moaned loudly, eyes rolling into the back of his head. You knew there were traces of Hongjoong still inside of Seonghwa. And Seonghwa had been fucked well enough that he was loose enough to take what you had to give him.

“Sorry enough not to empty your balls when he hit that special spot inside of you, hmmm?” You hummed, pulling your fingers out of him.

You dipped the washcloth back into the water, to clean it and wrung it out again. You took the time to study your slutty bunny. 

He was panting in need and want. He had already been fucked and petted and here he was, shaking for you yet still.

“You're such a greedy guts,” You scolded him.

“Don't stop,” Seonghwa whimpered. “Please don't stop.”

You brushed your free hand that wasn't clutching the washcloth down his back again, admiring its curve. “Up, on your knees now, Bun.”

Seonghwa raised himself cautiously, eyes staying on you as you moved around him. You washed his arms and shoulders. You washed his chest and stomach. Then you clucked at the state of his cock.

“What am I going to do with you?”

Hopefully, Seonghwa said, “Pat me dry and hold me?”

“No, I don’t think so,” You drawled.

Then, quick as lightning, your hand reached out and wrapped around his length. You pumped it quickly, causing Seonghwa to cry out at finally getting touched where he ached the most. Except you never intended to let him come. You jerked him off efficiently, twisting your wrist when you got to his cockhead, spreading his precum even more along his length. 

Just as he was about to come, his hips working viciously to fuck your hand, and his head cast back, you let go and Seonghwa let out a choked moan. 

“Mi--miss--mistress,” Seonghwa’s pupils were blown. He looked beyond fucked out, his lips puffy from biting down on them. “Wh-why?”

“Did you really think I was going to let you come, Bun?” You said throatily. 

You watched with a critical eye as his cock twitched against his stomach, straining but getting nothing but air wrapped around it. 

His entire body heaved with his frustration and heavy breathing. “No,” he said dejectedly.

You reached down again, between his legs, ghosting your sharp nails against his balls, drawn tight against his body. He shivered at the vague threat, but his cock weeped in happiness. “The next time I spend hours on your cute little tail, brushing it and fluffing it up, you better not let that fucking warlock dirty it up again, do you hear me, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa's eyes were vacant as your nails traced up the sensitive skin of his shaft. So easy to put your slutty bunny in a headspace, no wonder Hongjoong managed to get him to bend over for him each and every time. 

“Bun?” You purred, pressing the pad of your thumb against his slit. 

He let out a breathy whine but you saw him shake off the brain fog slightly. “I won’t.”

You knew that was a lie but at least he was acknowledging your statements. 

Your other hand that wasn’t torturing his cock with light strokes of your nails against him, unconsciously moved towards his now clean and dry cotton tail. You stroked it upwards, causing Seonghwa’s eyes to roll into the back of his head again.  

“Don’t we prefer a nice fluffy tail that’s clean?” You murmured. “That way we can pet it and stroke it, hmmm?” 

“Yes.” Seonghwa nodded, in limbo between heaven and hell. You weren’t giving him enough to push him towards a climax but it was just enough between his cock and his tail being played with that he was feeling good. 

That’s exactly where you wanted him. 

“Good,” You agreed and pulled your hands away. “Dry the rest of your body. I’m done with cleaning you and the stink of that fucking warlock off of you.”

You left the bathroom with a swish of your wide pants, and moved down the hallway towards your workroom. You had been interrupted by your very guilty familiar whining about being dirty. His clothes had been so disheveled and his hair mussed that you knew immediately that he had been a bad bunny again. 

You eyed the dried rosehip pile and flipped through the pages of your tome on skin tonics. Your anti-aging potions are quite popular right now. You just needed--

A symbol burned into the air near you, the moon cycle with an hourglass. It was a witch’s or warlock’s calling card to advise they were here to visit on formal business. The air smelled like burnt wood and fresh snow. 

“Merlin’s beard,” You cursed under your breath.

You strode towards your front entrance, just in time it seemed, because someone was still partially dressed but also rushing to the door. You pointed an accusatory finger at your familiar, who had only donned his trousers, they weren’t even properly buttoned up and the suspenders still hanging downwards.

“Don’t you even think about answering the door. Especially not like that. I swear to god, you only think with your pretty cock, goddamn it Seonghwa!” You made a shooing motion. “Go back into the kitchen and make me some tea. For me. Just me. With my favorite fox cup and saucer.” When Seonghwa blinked at you, bless his empty head, you rolled your eyes. “Go now, or I will lock you in your bunny form for the rest of the day!”

You cleared your throat and opened the thick mahogany door with its pretty stained glass. You leaned against the doorframe and put on a welcoming smile.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Joongie?”

Hongjoong’s lips curled up at the ends, constantly reminding you of a kitty cat. “I can see by your lovely mood that you found my present.”

You cocked your head. “Your present?” Your smile soured into a barely-held-back derisive smirk. “If you mean by my familiar, molested by a pushy little warlock, then yes, he is back in my care and clean as a whistle.”

Hongjoong shook his head, lightly chuckling. “All my hard work has gone down the drain already? How tragic.”

You couldn't help but curl your fingers into a fist. “Why are you here?”

Hongjoong took in your fists and smirked even wider. “I’ve come to repay you for the use of your familiar.”

You started to laugh in the back of your throat until it became louder and more bitter and grew into a near maniacal belly laugh. “Kim Hongjoong, do you want to die today?”

Hongjoong leaned in close, his face dark with barely-withheld glee. “Wooyoung thought it would be a great idea.”

“Let me get this straight,” You said coolly while inspecting your fingernails. “Not only did you think it was a good idea to fuck my familiar. You thought it would be special to send him home with his shame. And, you let your familiar suggest that he could substitute for what is rightfully mine?”

Hongjoong nodded, running his tongue along his teeth. “Mhmm,” He agreed nonverbally.

Your picture perfect, polite smile was back in place. “I hope your barriers are in place because I’m about to send you nasty hex via raven.” 

You promptly slammed your door in Hongjoong’s face. That was satisfying, at least. 

“Oh Bunny!” You said in a singsong voice as you stomped towards your kitchen. 

Seonghwa was sitting at the tiny table, finishing the preparation for your tea with some sugarcubes. He pushed his lips together and rubbed them nervously. “Mistress?”

“Nevermind the tea,” You purred, running a fingertip along his jawline. 

Seonghwa blinked at you several times, his ears flopping backwards and forwards, another sign of nervousness. “No tea? But it’s lavender and camomile.”

“Did you plan on putting me to sleep, Bun?” You wondered.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened in worry. “No, I just thought you might be feeling high-strung after speaking with Hongjoong.”

You made a noise of amusement. “Me? High-strung after talking to Hongjoong? No.”

You shoved your hands unceremoniously down Seonghwa’s trousers. You found his length still quivering-hard, the tip still dripping with precum. “Mistress, please,” Seonghwa begged for the thousandth time.

“Why are you so hard, Seonghwa?” You demanded, the tooth-rotting sweetness belaying the depths of your anger.

“You haven’t let me come yet,” Seonghwa whined. 

“Is that so?” You purred. “It’s not because Hongjoong was at the door and you were having dirty little thoughts?”

Seonghwa shook his head vehemently. “No, Mistress, no, I’m not hard because of Hongjoong’s presence.”

You pulled your hand out of Seonghwa’s pants and immediately wrapped your fingers around his wrist and started to tug him behind you as you made your way to his bedroom. “Good.”

“Good?” Seonghwa squeaked. The poor, dumb bunny had good enough instincts to know that he was still in trouble but not enough brains to figure out how to get out of them. 

“Yes, good,” You reiterated. “You’re going to stay hard too.”

“Please, I’ve been a good bunny. I didn’t come and I was still as you cleaned me!” Seonghwa wailed. 

“Oh, I still have big plans for you, Bunny,” You declared out loud. 

“What big plans?” Seonghwa asked, pouting again. 

You let go of Seonghwa and began to dig into his drawers until you found a nice flowing white top. You dressed him and put the suspenders back on his shoulders where they belonged. Then you finished buttoning his trousers up, so that they were tight against his pelvis and waist; the perfect torture for a bunny who was hard still. 

“You’ll never guess what Hongjoong just came over here to offer,” You purred, tapping Seonghwa’s nose teasingly.

Seonghwa’s nose twitched at the touch. “What?”

“Why, seeing as how he gets to dirty up my bunny all the time, he was offering his own familiar as recompense.”

“Oh no, Mistress, you wouldn't like Wooyoung,” Seonghwa shook his head, his ears jerking with the action. “No, you can't!”

You raised your eyebrows at your familiar. “No? No, as in, you will not allow me? No, as in, I can’t touch another familiar other than you?”

Seonghwa winced but pushed onwards. He was persistent and stubborn about this. Last time he had a dalliance with Hongjoong, you had begun to prepare a spell for another familiar summoning and he just about lost it. 

“I know I’m a bad bunny, but you can’t have any fun with Wooyoung. That’s not allowed. What if you like him better than me? What if you finally send me away?” Seonghwa declared.

You didn’t have a chance to answer him. Or rather, he didn’t give you a chance to answer him. Seonghwa grabbed your upper arms and pushed you to his bed. His lips slanted across yours and his tongue was mapping the inside of your mouth desperately. 

You protested but this time Seonghwa actually used his physical upperhand against you, when typically he was quite pliant when you manhandled him. Your muffled objections went unanswered as Seonghwa began to unbutton your pants. Once he yanked both your pants and your underwear down, he bent you in half, continuing to use his broad shoulders and size against you. 

You struggled as his hands went to his pants to unbutton them. Even as you bit down on his lip, Seonghwa groaned with desire, the shot of pain only adding to the moment. He only stopped kissing you while watching as his cockhead slid through your wet folds and then he finally sunk down inside of you. 

“Seonghwa, what are you doing?” 

There was no getting to him now, he was inside of you and he was immediately pussydrunk, the damn fool. “Mine, mine, mine,” he chanted as your channel encompassed his length. 

“Seonghwa, you little shit. You already got fucked by Hongjoong and now you think you can fuck your witch?”

“Mmmm, so good, Mistress,” Seonghwa moaned softly, slowly pulling out and then resheathing himself in your wet, warm heat. “You feel so good around me. Nothing feels better.”

You rolled your eyes. “As fucking if nothing feels better, Seonghwa!”

“I’m going to fill you up,” Seonghwa said, his eyes suddenly clear and determined. 

“N-no, no you’re not, Bunny, you know the rules, you’re not allowed--” You had to swallow down a moan of your own. After teasing and torturing Seonghwa, you were so primed to be fucked, this wasn’t going to end well on your end. All your hard work went down the drain because Seonghwa finally decided to be dominant for once. 

“You can’t play with Wooyoung, Mistress, you’re not allowed. And if I come inside you, then your body will reject anything else,” Seonghwa informed you. 

“What are you--” You barely swallowed down another moan. “Seonghwa, wait a damn minute!”

The damn bunny was jackhammering inside of you now. You weren’t sure if he was urged on by your pussy clamping down on him eagerly or by his own desire to see you filled up, but his pace was getting brutal. 

“You witches and warlocks think that you got the idea to summon us in the first place, but what your tomes and tablets don’t tell you is that before we were familiars, we were monsters. We searched out you in the forests and your huts, and claimed you as our own. We were attracted to your magic and sought to claim you. Our cum will shut down any other familiar looking to mate with you and claim you. That is why you’re always instructed to never let a familiar come inside of you. And that’s exactly why I’m going to do it now. Then you’ll never be able to fuck Wooyoug. I won’t allow it.”

You were so distracted by the information that Seonghwa had just unloaded on you that you were unable to focus on an incantation that just might stop him from doing what he wanted. Seonghwa kissed you again, this time, seductive and taking advantage of his full lips. You were lost for a moment in the sensory overload that Seonghwa was in this moment. 

Until the moment he stole your breath away, and made you come. Your climax snuck up on you and slapped you on the ass, so to speak. You moaned into Seonghwa’s mouth as you came so thoroughly and utterly, that you were boneless when it was complete. 

Seonghwa succeeded in his mission, pressing his hips against your ass, and coming so deep inside of you that you could almost imagine he was filling up your womb. You could feel his smile of accomplishment against your lips, as he rode his climax, continuing to fuck you until he had filled you up completely. 

And still, your familiar did not let up on you. He kept you bent in half, pressed against his bed, despite his cock finally softening inside of you. You could feel his cum dripping out of you without the plug of his hard cock. 

“Seonghwa, get off of me,” You commanded, pressing a hand to his shoulder. 

He smiled down at you, sure and crooked, eyes taking in your now disheveled state. “No, I think I like us right where we are, right now.”

It seemed that there was only one way to get out of this: honey rather than vinegar. 

“That was so good,” You cooed. 

Seonghwa leaned his head as if he wanted to press his cheek against the palm of your hand, but your hands were pinned by his own. He let them go so that you could complete your praise with the hand gesture. 

“My good bunny, fucked me so good, I became a puddle in his bed,” You continued to dote on him. 

“I told you I’m a good bunny,” Seonghwa insisted. 

Your hand moved up his head, to rub his ears between your finger and thumb. Seonghwa’s foot started to twitch in response. “Such a good bunny. Filled me up too, didn’t you? So much of your cum swimming inside of me now.”

Seonghwa nodded, his pleased-as-punch look glowing from his face. “Mine.”

Your hand traced his neck, feathered down his spine and at long last you found the key to his defeat. Once you petted down his little cottontail, he melted into your body, becoming boneless himself. You petted and petted his tail, slowly luring him into a false sense of security. You were able to bring your legs down and wiggle until you had Seonghwa’s head braced against your collarbones, head tucked into your neck, kissing his ever-twitching nose, and petting that perfect little tail of his. You could feel his cock stirring inside of you, but that was a given, playing with his tail. 

“Such a smart little bun, aren’t you, Seonghwa?” You said in a soft whisper. 

He frowned, however miniscule in his blissed-out state. “You’re going to make me come again if you keep playing with my tail like that, Mistress,” He warned you. 

You moved down his body, licking his cock covered in his cum and your wetness, petting and stroking his tail. “You can come whenever you want, Seonghwa, don’t you think you deserve it?”

“Mmmm,” Seonghwa hummed in agreement, folding his arms behind his head. “I deserve it.”

You took his entire length in your mouth, careful to suck and clean all of his cum from his cock, but you did not swallow. 

So comfortable was your big dumb bunny, that he drifted off, not even able to think of why you were being so nice to him after he did such a bad thing. You were able to spit his cum and your wetness into a goblet. You broke some wax from a candle on your desk, added in some more of your spit for good measure, and then began to chant softly. 

You watched as your spell drifted and shifted, blue-green light twinkling with the threat you had created. The light wrapped itself around Seonghwa. That’s when it took place. Seonghwa shifted into his other form, an actual rabbit. And that was how he was going to stay until you decided otherwise. 

Now you just had to figure out how to reverse the effects of your cunt rejecting anything else entering you. You had a feeling you were going to have to call on that favor Hongjoong owed you. He was the reason this whole situation had occurred, of course. 

“Good Morning, Associate Scientist of Exobiology. Today you have: zero activities to participate in. Would you like to listen to music as you prepare for the day?”

You blinked wearily as the ship’s auto-computer opened the blinds to the galaxy’s blue sun you were currently flying through. You pushed off your blankets and moved to sit up.

“Go ahead with the music, computer,” You mumbled and headed to change. 

There wasn't a point in rushing. The trip to arrive at your destination would still take months. And there was no use for your knowledge until you actually landed on the planet. So your days were pointless for now.

You were on water rations until you arrived on planet Saiyan, so no morning wake up shower for you. Instead, you moved towards the counter that served as your ‘kitchen’. In reality, you just pulled various tablets from containers and added ‘rehydration solution’ droplets to them, and et voila instant food.

Munching absentmindedly on cinnamon toast, you moved to the wide window that showed the planetary system you were flying through on your way to planet Saiyan. Not that you were expecting an interplanetary battle outside but it was a little too zen in appearance. You were bored! You went on this expedition for some adventure and excitement, but it has let you down so far.

You saw something moving lazily on the horizon and yawned. “Oh look, a meteor.”

“Correction, Associate Scientist of Exobiology, that is not a meteor.”

You swallowed your next bite of toast quickly. “Well, what is it then?”

“Scanning,” the ship's computer responded. It was silent for a moment and then, “It is of unknown origin. There appears to be life aboard.”

Your palm slapped the quadruple paned glass. “Finally,” you whispered to yourself. “Something exciting.”

You ran to the hub of the ship you were on, tapping your wristband for comms. “Computer, wake up Jisung. I want to see him at the bridge immediately.”

Once at the hub, you paused to locate the object that was moving through space. It didn’t seem to be picking up speed so it must not be caught in any moon or planet’s orbit. That boded well. You changed direction, heading towards the bridge.

Felix was at the helm, covering the night shift for directing the ship. Or rather babysitting the ship’s computer. He was only there in case of emergency. Or in this case, you finding an unidentifiable object.

“Felix!” You shouted, making him jump out of his skin.

“What the hell?” He cursed, sending you a dirty look.

“Look sixty degrees northwest,” You commanded.

Felix turned the bridge’s captain’s chair in the direction and squinted. “What is that?”

“Exactly!” You exclaimed, doing an excited dance. 

“Please tell me you’ve found a black hole, otherwise I’m going back to bed,” Jisung whined. 

You grabbed Jisung’s shoulder with one hand and pointed obnoxiously with your finger at the flying object. “What the fuck is that?”

Jisung rubbed his eyes and blinked rapidly. “What the fuck is that?!”

Felix tapped on the captain’s chair and brought up a magnified video of the flying object. It was most definitely not a rock. 

Jisung sat down in one of the co-pilot chairs and did some quick calculations on the computer there. “It’s got to be manmade. It doesn’t move like it’s being propelled though.”

“Computer, tell them what you told me.”

“There appears to be a life form aboard,” The computer supplied.

“A what now?” Jisung demanded.

“Bring it in,” You said softly.

Felix shook his head. “I don’t think… I’m going to contact Chan.”

You shook your head, putting a hand on Felix’s arm. “As the assigned associate scientist of exobiology, I’m recommending that we bring that in as soon as possible. Jisung just confirmed it’s not natural and the ship said someone is in there.”

Felix pulled a face. “Yeah but--”

“Jisung, does it look like one of ours?” You asked, keeping your eyes on Felix.

“Not really,” Jisung admitted.

“Felix, bring it the fuck in.”

You bolted out of the bridge and moved towards the loading bay. You were practically gleeful. This was it. This was your big moment. You were going to discover an extraterrestrial, maybe the first of its kind. You hadn't even landed on Saiyan and here you were making a name for yourself. 

You stopped abruptly in front of the airlock to the loading connection. The antechamber was preparing to expand all its air and receive the foreign object. You watched with almost fevered anticipation as the working arm of the ship brought the object towards the loading connection and sanctioned it to its side. 

You tilted your head. You weren’t an astrophysicist like Jisung but it almost looked like a personal escape pod. Or a coffin. A space-worthy coffin.

“Warning. Associate Scientist of Exobiology, please be advised. There are suits available in the case of a malfunction of the airlock.”

“Yeah yeah, I don’t have time for that.” You tapped on your command watch and tapped it against the airlock console. “Just let me in, you stupid computer.”

“Warning. Associate Scientist of Exobiology, please be advised. The airlock is connected but--”

“I don’t care, I’ve given you the override, now open this damn door!” You shouted.

The airlock opened and you walked in trepidation. You were about to put your hands on alien technology. Maybe even an alien themselves. This was absolutely terrifying and exciting at the same time. 

“Uh, why are there flashing red lights in the loading bay?” Felix’s voice came from your watch.

“The ship is angry I’m in here without a suit,” You replied nonplussed.

“You should not be in there without a suit, what about the--”

“Decontamination initiated,” The ship’s computer warned before closing the doors to the ship behind you.

“Oh fuck,” You said, feeling the blood drain from your face.

“Goddamn it!” Felix cursed through the comms. “I’m going to use the captain’s override to stop the decontamination!”

You watched in panic as the red lights flashed and heard the decontamination solution fill the pipes above. You closed your eyes and feared for the worse.

“Decontamination halted,” the ship's computer announced.

“Oh thank Christ,” You breathed out a sigh of relief.

“No, thank Felix,” Felix corrected you.

You blew a kiss to the camera. “Thank you, Felix.”

You rubbed your hands together and made your way back towards the pod. “Now, to get this baby open.”

“Have you ever considered you might have an Alien moment?” Jisung’s voice came from your watch. “What if it’s a facehugger in there? Come on, be smart about this.”

“I’m about to discover a new race of beings, Jisung, shut the fuck up,” You grumbled.

You peered around but could not find a latch to open the pod. “Damn it, how do you open this thing?”

“I’m getting Bang Chan,” Felix announced.

Fuck, there was no way the captain was going to let you fiddle any longer with this pod or open it to discover a new alien. You had to do this before Bang Chan intervened.

“No one, I repeat, nobody can stop me!” You shouted, slapping a hand down on the pod.

There was a loud ‘shhh’ as something began to hiss out of the pod. 

“Felix, hurry!” Jisung said through the comms. “Something weird is coming out of the pod!”

You pressed yourself against the wall, out of the way of the questionable gas shooting forward. Then, for a split second, you saw an outline of a rectangle. And then it shot open, past you, lodging itself into the door. Your exit was now effectively blocked. 

Well, that didn’t bode well for you. Still, you turned off your comms. You didn't need anyone interrupting this momentous occasion.

Still, you found yourself creeping cautiously towards the pod. There was still the weird gas streaming out of the centre of the now-opened pod but as you began to get closer, you started to see exactly what--or rather who--was inside.

The being was humanoid. They were roughly six foot five, with two fingers and opposable thumbs. Their features were four eyes, one nostril and one mouth. They were built like wrestlers. An alien wrestler, but a buff humanoid nonetheless.

“Here goes nothing,” You muttered under your breath.

Your hands shook as you timidly pressed forward to touch the alien’s shoulder and give it a gentle shake. “Hello?” You whispered.

The alien’s eyes shot open, black sclera overpowered the bright, shocking neon blue that was its iris. Its voice rasped as it attempted to talk, guttural and deep. 

You raised your wristband close to the alien’s mouth in order for it to intake all the words it was saying. Enough language and it could convert it for you.

“...at last, I escape my prison,” was what you caught.

You smiled awkwardly and began to slowly move backwards. Your wristband also worked as a translator so the alien could understand you as well. 

“Prison?” You squeaked.

The alien cocked its head. “You are not one of my kind. Nor one of my followers.” It looked around. “Where am I?”

You cleared your throat. “You are aboard the Earth’s expedition ship Phoenix. I am--”

The alien grunted as it pulled itself out of the pod. It stretched its body and cracked its neck. “Earth? I’ve never heard of it. I truly have travelled far from my galaxy.”

You shook your head. “No, we’ve travelled into yours, I believe,” You said, clearing your throat. “We are on our way to the planet Saiyan.”

The alien cocked its head curiously. “Do you know who I am?”

You took another step back. “No. Our ship simply noticed that there was a life form in an unidentified object and--”

The alien tipped his head back and chuckled. That made you take another step back.

“I am the god of war and fertility. I am Changbin, the undefeated, the father of countless heroes. The wars I have created, the battles I have fought and one, beside my sons and daughters, are told of legend.”

“God of… fertility? And war? That’s an interesting combination,” You muttered.

Changbin nodded. “Of course. For I create life and take it away.”

Well, you couldn't fault his logic there.

“Of course,” you echoed him. 

Changbin looked around at the airlock curiously. “Do you have anything to consume? I am famished.”

“Yeah, let’s--”

Oh shit, the exit. “It seems that your dramatic escape from your pod has fucked up the doors,” You admitted with a wince.

Changbin buffed out his chest. “My strength is beyond your human comprehension, it seems.”

You moved over to the console and tapped it but it wouldn’t turn on. You frowned at the console pad. “I think it’s going to take a while for anyone to find us.”

Suddenly, the alien crowded you. You were pressed up against the plasteel wall. “You smell good, human.”

You swallowed dryly. “That’s odd. I’ve sweated thoroughly and haven’t taken a shower yet for a few spins of the local moon.”

You heard Changbin take in a huge whiff of you. “Your musk is appealing to this body.” You watched as two hands appeared high above your head. Changbin pushed his large body against yours even more. “Very appealing.”

“Uhhhhh…” You found that you were at a loss for words. “We’re not sure if our biology is compatible, sir.” You tried to put some distance between you and the alien with some formality. 

“I have a functioning penile and you have an orifice. What’s there to not work?” Changbin said lowly. 

You twirled around but that didn’t make anything better. The ‘I’m game’ smile on Changbin’s face was making you regret your decision to turn around. “We really shouldn’t.”

Changbin chucked your chin with a brush of the side of his rather large forefinger. “Are you saying no? When I was a God, I had my worshippers throw themselves into the chance to be with me.”

“I…am not saying no but it does not seem logical to--”

Changbin sank to his knees. “I have not touched another being in centuries,” the alien god lamented. Even so, that brought his head to your chest. His eyes remained on your breasts without a word and then sent a woeful look at you. 

You awkwardly patted Changbin on the head. “I am sorry for your loss but--”

Abruptly, Changbin shoved his face into your chest, using his hands to push your breasts together and he moaned loudly. He raised his head, pleading. “Please, human, allow me the honour of touching you skin to skin. I stir for you.”

You couldn't ignore the stirrings of your own: your nipples had become pert and goosebumps littered your skin. It had been a while for you too, stuck on this ship with limited contact. It’s not like you weren’t sympathetic to Changbin’s cause. 

You stared up at the ship's security feed and then touched your wristband to toggle it off. “I’m going to get into so much trouble for this.” You looked down at Changbin. “Go ahead.”

Changbin rapidly removed your clothing, leaving no time for his huge hands to touch your skin. “You are so soft, human,” Changbin mumbled as he rubbed his nose at the skin between your breasts.

“You’re just starving for contact,” You chuckled. 

Changbin shook his head adamantly. “I have slept with many of my race, but you, you are soft and plump and smell so heavenly…” 

The alien drew his nose down the centre of your body, his hands admiring the curves of your hips and ass and thighs. With an almost-feral growl, Changbin hefted your body up, his arms and shoulders supporting your legs and pushed your back up against the wall of the airlock. His nose continued to run along your inner thigh before he found the junction between your legs. 

You gasped and your hand dove into his hair. It was feather thin but pleasurable to tug on as his tongue licked your folds. He was an alien and yet he was extremely observant. He licked until he discovered the spots that gave you pleasure and then he applied just the right rhythm and pace that he had you tipped past an orgasm before your mind could catch up.

Changbin chuckled as he let your legs down slowly. “Seems you are inebriated off the pleasure I have gifted you, human.”

“I--” You licked your lips, willing your eyes to focus and your big brain to start working.

“I will still bring you to greater heights,” the alien promised.

He unwrapped the small loincloth that he had been imprisoned in and you shirked a little. “That--that’s not going to fit.”

Changbin smirked. “They all say that. And then discover they can do wonders when they are lying with me.”

You held out a hand, panting a little. Wait, why were you panting? “No, hold on. What--what have you done to me?”

“I see my pheromones have worked on you. That is good to know they affect humans if I am to commune with your kind.”

“God of fertility,” You said faintly.

“You learn quickly, human,” Changbin acknowledged.

You felt as your wetness was quite literally leaking down your thighs. Your lower half was literally weeping for this alien god. “That doesn’t mean your--”

You choked on your own saliva. His cock wasn’t completely alien. It was still in the shape of a penis with a long shaft and head. But that’s where the comparison ended. It was the same dusty blue colour that Changbin was, only it grew darker as you looked from where his cock connected with his body to the head of his cock. His cockhead was flared, bulging out to a thick shaft with dots of hard nubs along the shaft. You could only imagine what kind of sensations that cock would give inside of you--

You shook your head. “No, absolutely not.”

Changbin sat down on the floor, palms bracing on the shiny floor. “Come, human. I will let you take all the time you need.” 

When you did not move from your place against the wall, Changbin sent you those woeful eyes again. “Would you deny me more of your soft skin against mine?”

Your feet seemed to move on their own accord, hesitant at first and then you found yourself crawling between Changbin’s long, outstretched legs. The longer you stared at his cock, the more you found saliva flooding your mouth. Some escaped the side of your mouth as you studied it. Could you truly take that?

Changbin motioned with his chin. You crawled into his lap and put your knees on either side of his hips on the floor. Pressing your stomach against Changbin’s cock, you saw just how deep it would go into you. In what reality were you living in currently?

“Slowly, human,” Changbin encouraged you. “I do not wish to break you on the first day I am free of my prison.”

You glanced up at the alien god. “You never did say why you were imprisoned in the first place.”

“Maybe if you’re good and you bounce on me in a satisfying way, I will tell you my mythos,” Changbin smirked. 

You scoffed and then whined as Changbin wrapped his hands around your waist and raised you above his stiff cock. Slowly, but surely, your body adjusted and adapted, taking in the large cock. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as pleasure wracked through your body as you took the alien cock inside of you. You couldn't even get halfway down and yet you were panting and whining. 

“You’re taking me so well, human,” Changbin purred. “Are you ready to move?”

You nodded rapidly. If it felt that good with Changbin just entering you, surely anything else would send you above and beyond any pleasurable heights you have ever experienced.

Changbin slowly lifted your body up until his cockhead was barely still inside of you and then let gravity pull you down him again, hands hovering over your hips in case he had to help you. You let out a choked groan as the slow rhythm was everything.

“Changbin, Changbin, please,” You whimpered.

“Shhh, I’m here human, you’re doing fine,” Changbin reassured you. 

Each time one of his nubs ran along your g-spot, you shuddered delicately. Your hips began to move with impatience. “I need more!”

“Greedy little human, aren’t you?” Changbin chuckled.

The god of fertility increased the pace and that’s when you became fully cock drunk. Your hands braced against Changbin’s chest, nails curling into his dusky skin in an attempt to ground yourself but there was no helping your mind being consumed by need and pleasure.

You swallowed in an attempt to bring moisture back to your mouth. “I’m--I’m gonna come, oh my god, I’m going to come so fucking hard--what the fuck?!”

You screamed as your climax overtook you. You felt every inch of the pleasure that was Changbin’s cock and it almost made you blackout. “Oh--my--god.”

As your pussywalls clamped down on Changbin, everything changed.

In a second, you went from riding Changbin from above to his form completely encompassing yours. His hips drove against your body as he searched out his high. His eyes closed in his desperation to seek his pleasure. With one hand curved over your hip, holding your body close and the other on your thigh keeping you spread for him, Changbin fucked you into the airlock’s floor. 

Wordlessly, he grunted, spilling inside of you. You saw stars a second time through his orgasm, becoming a puddle on the floor as he rode his high. 

“Chang…bin…” You rasped.

Changbin caressed the side of your face. “You did wonderfully, human. Truly.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for a week,” You groaned.

There was a loud screech of metal and then suddenly the airlock doors opened. Changbin was pulling out of you, sweeping you into one of his arms and stood up as if he was preparing for a battle.

“How dare you turn off your comms, turn off the cameras, and enter an airlock with a foreign species,” Bang Chan scolded you as he strode into the room. “I will tan your hide once I get a hold of you.”

Changbin let out a predatory and possessive growl that echoed throughout the airlock. Bang Chan’s mouth dropped and his eyes widened at the naked alien that towered with you cradled to his chest.

You pressed your lips inward so as not to laugh. That was not going to help your situation. “Hey Cap,” You waved weakly.

“Associate Scientist, you--” Bang Chan licked his lips in apprehension. “You have some explaining to do.”

Changbin looked down at you curiously. “Is this man your mate?”

You shook your head. “No but he is the one in charge of this ship.”

“Tell him that he’s tiny for a leader,” Changbin murmured.

This time you were unable to hold back your laughter. “Chan, meet Changbin, the god of war and fertility.”

Bang Chan still looked unimpressed. “Can we have this discussion with clothes on?”

A Place for the Placeless the letters curled around the red and white stripes of a circus tent, you continued reading, the name of the circus The Midnight Menagerie was bold in the center. The rest of the text on the bottom of the page detailed information about auditions, looking specifically for a contortionist. You peeled the page off the wall.

The flier stared at you from your refrigerator for weeks. You still have no idea what possessed you to take it from the alley, or to tape it to your refrigerator. The audition date was rapidly approaching and you weren't sure why you were even considering going. Sure, you were trained as a contortionist, but that was years ago. You much preferred ballet, which is what the jobs you had been auditioning for for months have been.

Every so often, when you spot the flier from your living room, you get on the floor and see if you can still do any of your old moves. Luckily, you never quit dancing so it comes back easily, like riding a bike.

"Am I really going to do this?" You wondered out loud to yourself, staring at the flier when you just came into the kitchen for a snack. The audition was in two days. Did you want to be a circus performer? That would pretty much pigeon hole your career. What career? Some cynical part of your mind echoed. You hadn't had any work in months, you could barely pay your rent anymore.

A Place for the Placeless the flier boasted from your refrigerator. That would be nice, to feel like you belong somewhere. Maybe you could actually meet someone besides the catty girls you see at every audition these days.

You paced the floor of your kitchen for so long you were scared you might wear a rut into the floor. You would need a new routine, one that shows off the tricks you haven't practiced in years. What would impress a circus? Who else would be there?

You sighed and began to construct what might be your most desperate idea yet.

You were late, well, almost late. Your shoes smacked the pavement as you ran through the city, lungs burning as you approached the small artist space where the Midnight Menagerie was holding auditions today.

The room was dimly lit when you entered, the person who sat behind the table was settled in the shadows. You squinted to see him, his long dark hair falling over his face as he lifts a hand to greet you.

"Small group," he clicked his tongue. "I was hoping for more options." You look around the room and realization hits you, there is no one else here. "You'll still have to audition, can't just give it to you."

"Of course." You nodded, still feeling a bit excited about the idea of not having to deal with a full casting call. The music for your routine began, which was strange because you didn't remember giving it to anyone. The tricks are difficult and you're still rusty, but you manage to make your way through your routine.

"Impressive." The man stated simply. "Do you have anything else?"

"Uh.." You panicked. "This is what I prepared."

"Not to worry." The man waved his hand and music you had never heard before began to play. "You may improvise." You didn't even have time to wonder how the music was playing, or who else may be here, before you began to dance. You weren't even sure where this determination came from, it's not like you really wanted to join the circus. Thoughts ran through your head about so many things, what moves to do next, what you did wrong in your life to get you to this point.

The man raised his hand and the music cut off abruptly, "I've seen enough."

He was going to cut you, he was going to cut you and you were the only one here.

"I would love for you to join us."

"Welcome my dear," the man from your audition greeted you at the entrance, "to the Midnight Menagerie!" He sweeps his arm behind him, opening the door for you. Upon entering, your greeted by a large empty dimly lit room. You shifted uncomfortably as you waited for him to lock the door behind you. "I'd like you to meet Soonyoung," he said, suddenly beside you. "He will be your guide and you will be working together in your act." He pressed lightly on the small of your back, urging you to walk forward.

He guided you into a smaller, but still quite large, office off of the open space. There was a man waiting inside the office, seated in a small chair next to the ornate desk. The man who you assumed to be the ring leader snapped his fingers and Soonyoung rose from his chair and shuffled over to the two of you.

The first thing you noticed about Soonyoung was his eyes, they were white, pure white, no pupil or anything. Almost like a void. The second thing you noticed about Soonyoung was the makeup. It was probably once very intricately detailed clown-like makeup, but now it was streaked with sweat and worn away with long term wear. If you were being completely honest, Soonyoung scared you a bit.

"Say hello." The ring master whispered to you. You took a step toward Soonyoung, he was quite a bit taller than you, and had a build that you knew would be good for lifts.

"Nice to meet you…" You held out your hand for him to shake.

"He probably won't shake your hand." The ring leader said flatly from behind you. "But he will show you around and then to your quarters for you to get settled. He moved to sit behind his desk, "I have work to do, Soonyoung return to me when you're finished."

Soonyoung took your trunk from you and started walking toward the door. He showed you to the main performance space, there was the classic three ring circus set up with rows and rows of bleachers designed to give everyone the best view of the show. You wandered over to the platform closest to you and did a few pirouettes, the surface was nice for turning and you couldn't see there being an issue with dancing here.

You turned back to where Soonyoung was standing, face void of any emotion, waiting for you. Walking toward him, he turned on his heel and continued down the corridor. The building the circus was housed in was not unlike a maze, you weren't sure how you were ever going to confidently know your way around.

Soonyoung was quite a ways ahead of you, you could still see him, but you were taking your time. If you were going to live here you would like to try and remember at least where the bathroom was. While you were mapping everything out in your mind you felt an odd sensation, like something was pulling you toward the floor. You fell to the ground with a clatter. Soonyoung turned toward you and you could hear him run toward you and stomp something out before helping you up.

He tilted his head at you.

"I'm..okay." You told him awkwardly. He nodded slowly. He points at his mouth and hums a tune lowly and then grabs you by the arm and continues down the corridor.

You let out a scream of frustration, you had been trying to make a routine with the prop, a giant golden cage, work for the entire afternoon. The ringleader had told you that you needed a gimmick and to make it work. However, an entire afternoon of falling off the cage and attempting to do your contortion tricks inside of it was proving to be what felt like your demise.

At present, you were laying on your back underneath the cage, staring up at the top. Your first show was tomorrow and you had absolutely nothing. Absentmindedly, you thought about what might happen if you just laid here like this for your act. You laughed to yourself.

Suddenly, someone's face was in your line of sight. Your eyes flicked over your new company, Soonyoung was stood over you, bent at the waist. His face was blank, but his body language betrayed curiosity.

"I can't think of a single thing for our routine." You informed him. His head tilted to the side before he straightened up to look around the cage. You watched as he explored the perimeter of the cage, his head moved with his exploration. Eventually, he grabbed the parallel bar and hoisted himself up, he kicked his legs over the bar and hung upside down. He pulled himself back up an experimented with different ways to get on and off of the bar. "Why do you know how to do that stuff?" You wondered out loud.

He gestured for you to join him. You rolled your body over the bar and kicked your legs over it, joining in hanging upside down. He kicks down from the bar and takes your body in his arms and effortlessly lifts you down bridal style. He spins you around a few times before returning you to your feet. "That could work.." You whispered trying to keep from blushing. Something about his touch is electric.

You sit on the floor, still under the cage, and begin writing in the notebook you brought with you. You were lost in thought so you didn't see where Soonyoung was for a few moments. His fingers wrapped around your ankle, you look up at him, he was on his hands and knees, staring at you. You furrowed your brow at him, you couldn't make yourself be scared of him. He pulled you to him by your leg and crawled over you so that you were face to face. He put a finger to his lips, you stared at him wide eyed as you heard someone slamming around just outside the main room.

You thought about the moment that Soonyoung protected you from what was happening for the rest of the day until you fell asleep. When you woke up the morning of the show all you could see were his vacant eyes in your head.

Soonyoung was already in your dressing room when you entered that afternoon. He was standing in the middle of the room, waiting for you. He pointed at the rack of costumes provided for you. You moved to it quietly and sorted through the various leotards and bodysuits.

"They're beautiful." You commented, knowing Soonyoung wouldn't respond. You pick one of the leotards off the hanger and draped it over your body, eyeing if it would fit in the floor length mirror. Nodding to yourself you moved to sit at the vanity to start your makeup. Soonyoung stared over your shoulder as you tried to figure out what type of look you were going for.

Once your makeup was done you turned to Soonyoung. "Do you need yours redone?" You asked. He stared at you blankly. You got up from your chair, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to sit on the vanity. You took a cloth and moved toward him. He shook his head frantically. "I can't take it off? He shook his head slowly.

You put the cloth back on the vanity. Curiously, you pull out your face paints and begin to apply makeup over his old makeup. He allowed you to do this, this was somehow the closest you had ever been to his face despite choreographing an entire routine with him the day before. His eyes looked just like normal eyes, the iris and pupil were just gone. It was unsettling to say the least.

You did your best to match the makeup you could see on his skin and he looked refreshed at the end of it. You turned to your vanity and grabbed the leotard from where you slung it over the back of the chair. Slinking behind the changing partition in the room you wondered if Soonyoung could truly see you. He must be able to in some sense, but you weren't sure how. You shimmied into the leotard that somehow was the correct size, the rhinestones were beautiful and it fit you like a glove.

You emerged into the open space of your dressing room and Soonyoung grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze before leading you up to the main performance space.

You woke up with a start the morning of your second show at the Midnight Menagerie. The show from the night before left you energized and excited for what comes next. You stretched your arms over your head, your sore muscles made you feel stiff. Gathering your items for your shower, you hummed the music that accompanied your routine to yourself.

Soon, the shower sputtered to life and rained lukewarm water over your head. You could hear someone shuffling through their own washing in the shower stall next to yours, you continued to hum. Although you were feeling excited about your success last night, you learned rather quickly that you need to keep alert around here, humming the song was a good way of making sure the person next to you would know if something happened to you. Eventually, they joined you in humming the music.

They left the shower room before you, leaving you in the silence of the running water and your own thoughts. Every time you closed your eyes you saw Soonyoung's vacant ones behind your lids. He is some how in tune to your every move despite the clouds over his irises. You needed to find out what was going on.

After you were dressed and you braided your hair you ventured down the hallway to your dressing room. Your soft voice carrying the same song as before alerted the occupant of the room to your arrival. You knew it was Soonyoung without having to see his face, his white purple hair and his stature gave him away. He turned to you as he heard you enter.

Your humming stopped abruptly, the silence in the room deafening, but all you could focus on was his eyes. They were brown.

"Soonyoung?" You asked hesitantly. He nodded.

"That's me." His voice crackled with lack of use. You could tell he didn't quite recognize you and that he hasn't spoken in a very long time.

"My name is Y/N…" You ventured.

"Y/N…" He whispered, tasting your name in his mouth. His voice was different than you expected, softer. "I'm your partner for your act, right?" He tilted his head with the question.

"Yes," you move past him to sit at your vanity. "Do you remember anything?"

"Yes, I think so." He nodded and moved to perch on your vanity. It all felt strange, like you had done this before but not quite. Which you figured was true enough. You glanced up at his face, he was looking down at you, the calculations present on his face. You had never seen him so expressive before, which may be the opposite of what a clown should be. You liked him better this way, expressive and human.

He watched as you pulled your makeup out of the basket you kept it in, lining up each product in the order in which you will apply it.

"Got a light?" Soonyoung asked, you looked back up at him as he placed a cigarette between his lips. You dug through the basket again and pulled out a book of matches. The match sparked to life as you struck it against the matchbox, you held the flame close to the end of his cigarette until you heard the sizzle it catching fire. "Thanks." He smiled, taking it between his fingers.

"No worries, I didn't know you smoked." You offered, sinking back into your chair.

"Me either." He laughed. "Box was in my pocket." Despite the ruined makeup, Soonyoung radiated joy when he smiled.

"How did you end up here?" You asked, starting on your makeup. He took a long drag and blew the smoke into the air above his head.

"I'm not sure I remember." He admitted. "I don't remember much about my life before, and I don't remember anything before you came." The confession punched you straight in the gut. "All I know is that He gives me a place to stay and an opportunity to perform."

"You were a performer before coming here too?"

"Yeah, we all were, right?" He taps ash onto the floor. "I don't remember what exactly it was I was doing, but I know I love to dance."

"Me too." You smile sadly.

"I wish I could remember what you look like when you perform." He smiled at you. He suddenly sat up straighter and began kicking his feet in the air where they dangled just seconds before. "Maybe I can tonight! I remember how to speak, so maybe I can actually see your act!" His sudden excitement made you feel almost giddy. You smile at him as he takes another, much more excited drag, of his cigarette.

"We don't really know each other, why are you so excited?" You asked, the whisper of a tease in your tone.

"Because," he looked down at you seriously now, "I know how performing with you made me feel. I was desperate to break out of whatever spell he has on me." You were taken aback by his words, you were under the impression that he didn't know what was going on when the ringleader had him possessed.

"You know he has a spell on you?" You asked, barely above a whisper.

"That's what I assume it is, and finally, I've woken up."

"I…I hope you stay awake." You admit. You like this version of Soonyoung, open, excitable.

"Me too." He smiled so widely his eyes almost closed. You finished the last few touches of your makeup and stood to face him.

"Let's fix that makeup." You smiled back. "I have no idea what you did before me."

"Let it look like this." He laughed. His legs parted to allow you to stand between them to get closer to his face. Soonyoung you learned in this moment had a habit of looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You swiped your brush across his face, leaving behind the white face paint you were used to seeing him in and he stared at you almost lovingly. Like he credited you with waking up.

"Stop looking at me like that." You nudge his shoulder.

"Like what?"

"Like I saved you."

"You did, I think." He insisted.

"What are you talking about?" You took a step away from him.

"The first thing I remember in years is the way you sound when you're humming in the shower." He searches your face. "I heard you this morning." As soon as his words hit you his eyes began to cloud over and he was gone.

His eyes were cloudy again. His eyes haven't been brown in days. You stared at him as he stared blankly ahead, waiting for your act to be introduced. You don't think you could go back to this version of him after meeting the real Soonyoung. You barely heard the ring master introduce you before Soonyoung was grabbing your hand and walking out into the light with you.

You straighten your posture, turning on your showmanship for the crowd. Soonyoung leads you around the open room, your outfit sparkling in the lights, until arriving at the ring with a large golden cage. You climb inside and get into position, waiting for the music to begin.

Even while performing, you can't get the image of his vacant eyes out of your head, it didn't help that there were parts of your choreography that you had to look at them. Looking into his eyes like this, it made you uneasy in a way you couldn't stomach.

You forgot to spot your turns. You had been dancing since you were two-years-old and you forgot to spot your turns. You fall with a flourish but you still manage to land with your weight on your hip. Soonyoung rushed to you as the lights cut out. You could tell that he was trying to break out of his trance, his eyes trying to clear. There was screaming somewhere in the distance.

"Get up, you're coming with me." The gruff voice of the ring leader rang in your ear.

He threw you into Soonyoung's chair after he dragged you from the main room. You looked around for Soonyoung himself, to no avail. "I've dismissed him for now. My issue at present is with you." He hissed.

"What did I do?"

"What did you do?" He loomed over you. "You made us look like fools!"

"I fell." You turned up your nose, trying to feign confidence.

"We don't make mistakes like that around here."

"What is this really about?" You sneered.

"Listen here you little bitch," he leaned forward and placed his hands on the arms of the chair. "We don't make mistakes and I am starting to think you might not be what we're looking for around here."

"Soonyoung seems to like me."

"What makes you think Soonyoung has any say in what happens here." He chuckled darkly. "Soonyoung can't even speak unless I allow it." He spins the chair around and dumps you onto the floor. "And I suggest you do the same, little bird." He stalks toward you and kicks the hip you fell on earlier. "You mean nothing to Soonyoung, and you can't leave."

"I'm your only act," you wince. "You need me."

"Precisely why you can't leave. You're a star." He moves to sit behind his desk. "A bird in a guilded cage is still a bird." He slams a replica of the cage from your act on the surface of his desk. "Remember that, you may go."

"Is something bothering you?" Soonyoung asked tentatively from his usual perch on your vanity. Something in his tone squeezed your heart, you felt bad for icing him out a bit after the events of the night previous. Your eyes bore into the reflection of yourself in the mirror in front of you, not wanting to make him any more suspicious than he already was.

"I'm fine." You muttered before moving to apply more mascara. You could feel his eyes, brown and warm, as he tracked your movements, he observed the delicate way you held the makeup and the concentration you typically did not have on days he was able to join you for your pre-show routine. Wordlessly, he slid off the table and moved to stand behind your chair.

His makeup was streaked with sweat, and maybe tears, the darker facepaint around his eyes tracking down his face. He made eye contact with you in the mirror and you knew you had no chance to lie to him anymore. His eyes stayed trained on yours as he moved closer to your neck, for a terrifying moment you thought he might kiss you there. The only sound in the room for several moments was the rhythm of your breaths as they mingled together.

Soonyoung closed the gap and nuzzled his nose into the flesh of your neck. You watched as his eyes fluttered closed, inhaling before his breath fanned over your skin. He stayed there. inhaling and exhaling, for several moments. The moment seemed to drag on forever and you were frozen waiting to see what he did next. His eyes snapped open and reconnected with yours in the mirror, his pupils were blown.

"What did he do to you?" His voice rattled through you, filled with gravel and malice that wasn't there moments ago. You shook your head. "You smell like fear." He informed you. "So, what did he do to you?" Something about his commanding tone and the way he could identify your fear made you all the more nervous.

"It's nothing, Soonyoung." You croaked, the timidness of your tone surprising even yourself.

"There's no need to be scared of me…" He nuzzled back into your neck. Suddenly, it was all too much. He was too close, or not close enough, his makeup was smearing on your neck.

"I'm not." You assured him, with more conviction. You stood out of your chair suddenly, knocking Soonyoung back. He scrambled back, almost as if he was suddenly aware of what had just happened. His eyes were still warm and brown and Soonyoung so you knew he was aware and lucid, but smelling someone's fear is intimate. He stared back at you curiously, unsure what you were doing out of your chair. "You need your makeup fixed, sit." He nodded at you and sunk into your chair.

You rifled through your makeup and fished out your face paint. Turning around, you found Soonyoung staring up at you, his eyes round. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm fragile."

"You're not, and I'm not looking at you like you are." He informed you, his eyes still sparkling. You dip your brush into the white face paint and begin to pack it onto his cheeks. You began to grow frustrated with the angle you have to work with. You attempt to switch the way you are painting onto his face, to no avail.

"Can I try something?" You huffed. Soonyoung nodded and you wasted no time, you climb into his lap and cage his hips with your thighs. You begin to paint the details onto his face as his hands hesitantly laid on your hips. The silk of your dressing gown cooled his sweaty palms.

A smile played at your lips as his eyes wildly looked everywhere, except you. You weren't aware you had that effect on him. His fingers began toying with the bunched fabric, the threads rubbing together under his fidgeting.

"I'll get called back soon," he whispered to the ceiling.

"So sit still and let me work." You replied simply. His fingers stilled for a moment as he dared to sneak a glance at your face. Your brows were knit in concentration, white face paint smudged across your cheek. His hand floated up to cradle you, thumb swiping your cheek bone gently. You leaned into his touch as you finished the last bit of his makeup, the nose. He hummed at the clear indication you enjoyed his gentle touch.

"Turn around, finish your makeup, I'll be here until I can't be."

You nodded and turned on his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist as you began to apply blush to your cheeks. Soonyoung watched you over your shoulder in the mirror as you delicately applied the detailed makeup for your act. The feathers were Soonyoung's favorite part, they made you look like a hummingbird. He missed hummingbirds.

Suddenly, he went rigid behind you. You watched in the mirror as the clouds returned to his eyes, blocking out the beautiful brown irises. Sighing, you climbed out of his lap and took his usual spot on your vanity. Wordlessly, Soonyoung rose from your chair and exited the room without looking back. It was stupid to cry over the inevitable, but you did anyway.

Soonyoung stuck his cigarette between his lips and stretched his arms over his head. You eyed him curiously as you run your brush through your hair.

"Are you intending to spend your only day off with me, Soonyoung?"

"Would you mind if I did, Birdie?" He teased. Despite the light tone of the question, your blood ran cold.

"Why did you call me that?" You turn to him. He was perched on your vanity, just like any other day. He stared at you, taking his cigarette between his fingers.

"I'm..not sure." He shared earnestly. "Do you hate it?"

"Coming from you…I don't think I do." You smiled at him. He smiled back. He watched your smile falter slightly. You eyed him warily. "You're not doing this just to keep tabs on me, are you?"

"What?" His bottom jutted out like you had just broken his heart. "Look at me, you'd know if I was just here to report your hair brushing routine."

"I'm doing more today than brushing my hair!" You smacked his arm with the back of the hair brush.

"Ow!" He dramatically held his arm. "Careful, or you won't have a partner for your act!" He took a long drag of his cigarette, giving you a moment to study him carefully. His jawline was sharp with the inhale, his eyes closed, his eyelashes falling across his skin. Face stained with the face paint from when you did his makeup the night before.

"Do you ever take off your makeup?"

"I'm not supposed to." He shook his head. "I have to keep up appearances."

"Do you think I could…" You wet a towel with some of your cleanser and look up at him. He nodded. Gently you wash the makeup off of his face. With every pass of the cloth his features became less and less muddled. His cheekbones sat high, in combination with his squared off jaw his face was angular but somehow soft at the same time. His lips were full, his cupid's bow beautifully arched. "Beautiful." You breathed.

His eyes fluttered open, he looked up at you from where he was sitting. His eyes were wide, as if he hadn't realized how close you were to him before now. His gaze flickered to your lips, only for a second before you were kissing him. It was as if kissing him broke something within Soonyoung, his hands were all over you, he kissed back hungrily.

"I haven't," he broke away from your lips, "I haven't kissed someone in so long." He breathed.

"That's okay, as long as it's okay that it's me your kissing." You chased his lips.

"Of course," he pecked your mouth, "I've been wanting to." Butterflies exploded in your stomach at his simple confession, you knew there was something between you but just hearing his confirmation made you feel girlish. He raked his fingers through your hair, "you should wear it like this more often, it's pretty." Heat rose in your cheeks, you knew you were blushing.

He smiled and leaned back in to kiss you again. His lips slotted between yours, his hunger for you returning. Hands found your hips as he pulled you closer, spreading his legs so you could stand between them as he continued to sit on your vanity. Your fingers splayed on his thighs as his tongue swiped against your bottom lip and barely waited for you to grant him entrance before pushing into your mouth. Soonyoung tasted like tobacco and something sweet, figures that a clown would taste like candy. One of his hands left your hip to grip your long hair.

He pulled you back from him by your hair, it wasn't exactly painful but it wasn't a comforting tug. Your eyes fluttered open to see Soonyoung staring past you in horror. Your stomach dropped as you saw him tensed and the clouds attempting to return to his eyes.

"No…" You could barely hear your own voice, it sounded like you were underwater. You watched Soonyoung's lips form I'm sorry before the clouds completely covered his brown irises. returning them to the blank white slate. Soonyoung pushed you to the ground and you watched as he slunk out the door, past the man standing just a foot inside your dressing room.

He walked toward you, squating next to where you were slumped on the floor.

"I'll deal with you later," he moved the hair out of your face, so you could see him. "Don't ever try this shit again." With that, he swept out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"I could hurt you, I could kill him." The ring leader growls at you. "You're stupid for thinking you could sneak around with him like this."

"What are you talking about?" You call from your vanity.

Sleep did not come easily to you after the events of your day off yesterday. You never knew when the ring leader would come for you, or what he was going to do. However, you have long realized the best way to protect yourself, and in some ways Soonyoung, was to pretend you didn't care. Of course, you did care, and you were very scared almost every minute.

"Don't play dumb." He seethed. "Do not touch him, do not think of him."

"I'll do as I please."

"You will not." He brought his hand back and landed a smack to your cheek. It stung and the metal of his rings cut through your skin. "There is nothing waiting for him, no one would know if he lived or died. So I suggest you keep your mouth shut from now on and keep to yourself." He wiped the blood from your cheek. "You don't want blood on your hands, do you little bird?"

You couldn't even cry, not in front of him. Moreover, you were shocked at the boldness of his methods. You never expected him to hit you, or threaten to kill Soonyoung. You shook your head.

"That's what I thought." He took your hair brush and smashed the mirror on your vanity. "I didn't want it to have to come to this, you're talented, you bring in a nice crowd. I'd like to keep you."

You looked at the broken bits of the mirror all over your makeup.

"Get ready, you have a show to do."

You let yourself cry once he was gone, you couldn't do your makeup with glass everywhere and no mirror. Soonyoung would be here soon and he could help you.

Except, Soonyoung never came. You waited for as long as you could but he never showed up. You could only cry until it was time for the show to start. You kept your hair down for the show.

Soonyoung didn't look at you when you joined him backstage. He once again only stared straight ahead. He led you out onto the floor once you were announced. Your outfit and the tears still on your cheeks sparkled in the light. Soonyoung didn't miss a beat in your routine, he even kept you on track at times.

His eyes remained clouded over, but you knew he could tell something was wrong. In the rests in your act he reached out to caress your hair. He ran his hands through it several times. His face remained stoic but his movements became frantic and choppy.

"Stop looking at me like that." You whispered through gritted teeth. You could not handle him being in this state yet he still seemed to care for you. How were you to know if it was a trick from the ring leader or not. He lifted you above his head without another pass at your hair.

The routine was done to perfection on the surface, for all the audience knew he was supposed to do all of that, but as a performer that had been working with him for months you knew he was not okay.

Once the two of you were backstage he held your face in his hands. He did nothing else, he did not speak. However, his brown eyes blinked into view for a fraction of a second before he was gone.

The cool water splashed on your face, shocking your senses. The soap bubbled in your hands and you scrubbed it into your skin, removing the rest of the makeup on your skin. Eyes closed, you thought over the performance. Soonyoung's eyes were white and cloudy but clearly he was able to see through it, at least a little bit, considering he noticed the new streak of white in your hair before you did. You would be lying if you said you understood what was happening lately.

Blindly you grabbed your towel and patted your face dry. When you opened your eyes you nearly screamed, Soonyoung was standing over your shoulder, visible in the mirror. He held a finger to his lips and disappeared down the hallway. You quickly gathered your things and followed in the direction he went.

You found him in the shower room, two of the showers were already on and he was turning the faucet of the third and final one on. When he emerged you could see his eyes were brown again. The showers were filling the room with steam, making his already sweat soaked makeup look worse. He moved toward you, backing you into the door behind you, closing the distance between your bodies he reached behind you and turned the bolt lock.

"Soonyoung…what's going on?" You whispered, a bit disappointed that he didn't take the opportunity to kiss you.

"Can't talk against the door, Birdie." He rasped, his eyes flicked down to where his body pressed against yours, seemingly realizing how close you were just then. "C'mere." He pulled you to the middle shower stall by the tie on your dressing robe.

"You can't get in the shower in your clothes, they'll get ruined." You insisted, your eyes taking in his costume. His eyes flickered with something akin to excitement when yours returned to them.

"Take 'em off me then."

You blinked at him a few times before nodding, your shaking hands reaching to undo the ruffled collar around his neck. His hands found their place on your hips, wearing circles into your hip, the silky fabric of your robe separating your skin from his. You let the collar flutter to the ground as your hands move to the buttons on the front of his shirt. One by one each button is undone and revealing a new swath of skin. You peel the shirt from his shoulders, leaving him shirtless in front of you. Your fingers trailed the hard ridge of his muscles, you knew he was strong, considering he lifts you with ease during your act, but you never imagined that this is what was hiding underneath his shirt.

"Pick up the pace, we don't have all the time in the world." He sighed, wishing he could relish in your touch and be in this moment with you forever. A glint of metal hanging from his nipple caught your eye, you flicked it in retaliation to his words. Soonyoung stifled a moan.

"Freak." You whispered.

"Think about where you are." He looked down at you as you began to fiddle with his pants. "Did you think I wasn't?"

"Well, not like that." You slipped your fingers in the waistband of his pants. "Besides how would you remember?"

"Too far." He growled, catching your hands and tearing them away. He moved quickly to the tie of your dressing gown. "I know how you make me feel, isn't that enough?" He tore the robe from your body, leaving you bare in the middle of the room. His eyes raked down your body, you squirmed under his gaze. "Beautiful." He whispered. Quickly, his pants were off and you tried to look anywhere but where his cock was stiff and leaking.

He pushed you into the shower stall and crowded you against the wall under the warm water. His lips found your neck, close to where he nuzzled his nose just a few days ago. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"Are you just trying to fuck me, Soonyoung?" Your voice came out more timid that you meant it to. Your hands found purchase on his biceps.

"No," he breathed into your neck, goosebumps rising where his saliva was coating your skin. "But I'll do that too if you'd like."

"What do you need to talk about?"

"You need to get out of here." He sighed pulling back to look at you. "He's trying to turn you into another servant." His fingers ghosted over your legs, heat pooled in your belly. "Someone like me."

"How do you know?" Your voice quivered as one of his hands cupped your breast and gave an experimental squeeze.

"Your hair, that's how it starts." He buried his face in the crook of your neck and pinched your nipple. "It's turning white, it started after he threatened you." He used his hand not busy with your breast to slowly spread your legs apart slightly. His fingers drag through your folds lightly. "Wet." He comments simply.

"How do you know he threatened me?" You tried not to moan at the soft strokes of his fingers.

"I was there, lover." He watched your face as you tried to contain yourself. "You didn't see me, and he didn't know I was lucid, but I was there." He pressed the pad of his middle finger to that delicious bundle of nerves, you squirmed. "It took everything in me to not break the illusion then, I wanted to rip his throat out with my teeth for talking to you that way." His fingers continued their ruminations through your cunt.

"Why," you whined as he dipped his fingers shallowly into your entrance and leaving just as quickly. "Why didn't you?"

"I need him to think he still has me." His thumb began circling your clit. "If I jump too early you can't escape." He increased the pressure of his fingers, your hips sputter and the coil in your stomach winds itself tighter. "I need you out of here."

"Come with me."

"No." He watched your eyes roll as he suddenly slips two fingers inside of you. "It's too late for me. I know too much, he'd send someone after me." His fingers slide in and out of you, sometimes pressing into the spot that drove you crazy with ease.

"And he won't send anyone for me?" You began to buck your hips, riding his fingers slowly.

"Doubt it, unfortunately you aren't first and you're probably not the last." His other hand moves from your breast to wrap around his cock. You watch as he works you close to your release and pumps his own length, fucking you with his hand and fucking himself with the other.

The visual was all too much, you squeezed your eyes shut and felt yourself tumble over the edge. Soonyoung's hand was off his cock and clamped over your mouth as your orgasm took over. He continued to fuck his fingers into your core as you rode it out.

"Shh, be a good girl and be quiet for me." He cooed. As you began to come down you cracked your eyes open. Soonyoung was close to your face, his makeup almost completely washed away. Slowly, he removed his hand and replaced it with his mouth, he tasted like a mixture of sweat and the water pouring out of the shower head. His lips were soft and they moved in sync with yours. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip and you parted your lips to allow him to explore your mouth.

It was you who pulled away first, "fuck me, Soonyoung, you said you would."

"Will you let me help you escape?"

"Yes."

He hoisted you up effortlessly, your back against the shower wall and your legs around his waist. He used the wall and one of his hands to hold you in place and used the other hand to line himself up with your entrance. He eased you onto his cock slowly. The stretch felt delicious as he bottomed out and returned his hand to your thigh. You felt his fingers digging into your skin but you didn't care. Not in the slightest.

"Are you okay, Birdie?"

You couldn't help but moan at the question. His hand returned to its place over your mouth as he began to fuck up into you. You felt every inch of him sliding in and out of your soaked cunt. You draped your arms over his shoulders, one hand raking your nails over the expanse of his back, the other tangling in his hair.

His eyes were wild, boring into yours. "You feel perfect, I knew you would." He grunted quietly. His fingers were digging into your skin, at your thigh and on your cheek. The water was still running over your bodies. You felt so full, a fullness you hadn't felt in a long time.

Soonyoung clearly hadn't felt the warm embrace of a cunt around his cock in a long time either, he began desperately pounding into you, his thrusts becoming sloppy. "Cum with me, please, I need it." He begged. You hadn't realized how quickly your second orgasm was approaching until you heard the whine in his voice. You felt out of control, your hips bucking as best as they could in this position. Soon you felt Soonyoung release inside you, never slowing down his thrusts, allowing you to ride out the orgasm that him finishing inside of you triggered. White hot pleasure mounted in your belly and it took everything in you to stay quiet.

Soonyoung pulled out of you slowly, his cock softening and falling limply. He set you gently back down on your feet. "Let me help you get cleaned up." He sank to his knees and held your thighs as he lapped up his own cum from your spent cunt. His tongue slid through your folds making you shiver with overstimulation, he anchored your hips with his hands, crushing your cunt to his mouth. He spit a few mouthfuls down the drain and delivered a kiss to your clit before rising and kissing your lips. He tasted like a mixture of yours and his own spend.

Soonyoung insisted the two of you move quietly and quickly back to your room. His hand was grasped in yours as he ran down the hall, dragging you behind him. As soon as you stepped foot into the room Soonyoung closed the door behind you and moved to your closet.

"Do you need everything?" He looked over his shoulder at you.

"No…I don't think so…" You sat on the bed and watched him sort through the few clothes you brought with you. He pulled out a turtleneck sweater and some jeans. He couldn't have known, but he picked your favorite sweater. You shook your head.

"What's wrong?" He turned to you and tossed the clothes on the bed next to you.

"I can't, not without you." Tears burned in your eyes as you watched him fall to his knees in front of you.

"Birdie, you have to." His fingers splayed over your thighs, his eyes searching yours pleadingly.

"What about you?" You whispered.

"I'll be fine, it's too late for me."

"It's not!" You insisted taking his face in your hands.

"It is." He leaned into your touch. "He can call me at any moment, I'm lucky I've been able to be here with you for this long." You knew he was right, dread settled in your stomach. Leaving Soonyoung here was suddenly your worst nightmare.

"I'll come back for you."

"I knew it." His eyes sparkled mischievously. "Fell in love with my cock, you're obsessed with me."

"Soonyoung." You bristled. "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He squeezed your thighs. "So listen when I say this: do not try to save me."

"But—"

"I'm beyond saving, Birdie." He rose to his feet and pressed his lips to your forehead. "We both know it, no use prolonging it."

He helped you dress in silence. It was disorienting, his eyes being brown but he wasn't saying a word. He didn't want to tell you that there was a pain in his chest that could double him over if he wasn't used to excruciating pain. He didn't want you to leave, you were the only thing that made his miserable life worth living. He liked remembering and talking and you. He wasn't sure he was ready to give all that up, but he had to. For you.

He draped your coat over your shoulders. "It has to be getting cold by now." He mumbled as you shoved your arms through the sleeves. He pulled the hood over your head. "You'll be a fugitive in his eyes soon, keep your head down and don't look back." You nodded. "You ready?"

"If I have to be." You let a tear fall. Soonyoung swiped it from your cheek.

"You do." He lightly pressed his lips to yours, you knew it was a goodbye. He slipped his hand into yours and gave you a nod before taking off down the hall with you. At first you thought you were heading to the front entrance until Soonyoung took a sharp turn down a corridor you don't remember ever seeing before. Do you understand what might happen if Soonyoung broke free? The ringleader's voice rang in your ears.

"You're not supposed to see this." Soonyoung whispered as you approach a nondescript door off the side of the hallway.

"See what?" You peered around Soonyoung. "It's just a door."

"What's beyond the door, Birdie, come on." He knocked lightly on the top of your head. "You're smarter than this."

"It's our last moments together and you're using them to make fun of me?" You shoved him lightly. "Why do you know what's behind it?"

"I thought you knew who I was." He smirked. "I'm important around here." He turned the door knob and threw the door open.

You weren't sure what you were expecting when the door opened. It wasn't this. Behind the door there was a swirling light, it shifted from white to blue to purple, sometimes it was every color all at once. You took a step toward it and Soonyoung caught you around the waist.

"Easy there, tiger." His thumb drew circles into your hip, you were starting to realize this was a nervous habit of his. "You need a few instructions before you leap in." His face was illuminated by the glow beyond the doorway, making him look angelic. You wiped all of his makeup off when you showered together, washing away all the grime.

"I wasn't going to walk in, I just wanted a better look." You leaned closer to his body, letting him hold you close.

"I need you to think about home." He whispered in your ear. "Think about your bed, warm and waiting for you." He coaxed.

"Soonyoung what are you—"

"No." He shushed you. "This can only work if you trust me and do as I say. We're running out of time, I feel him getting restless." You nod and close your eyes, thinking of your apartment. Your bed began to materialize in your mind. "Good." You heard Soonyoung murmur. He sounded a thousand miles away. His lips were on your forehead. "Take a step back for me," His voice was broken.

You do as your told. You opened your eyes, Soonyoung had tears streaming down his face and clouds forming in his eyes. He closed the door slowly, his lips were forming goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. You would scream if you thought it wouldn't alert the ringmaster.

It was too bright, you were blinded as you fell through the nothingness. Your stomach flipped, falling for what felt like hours. You squeezed your eyes shut, something telling you to brace for impact. The light surrounding you became brighter, the roaring became louder and then, suddenly, nothing. Everything stopped.

You sat up in your bed gasping for air.

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, your room, your apartment. The room is exactly how you left it two months ago, your dance clothes strewn about. You threw your covers off your body and sprinted to the bathroom. You flipped on the lights and looked at yourself in the mirror.

The white in your hair was gone.

You don't know when you started crying. Probably shortly after you realized it was all a dream. None of it was real, Soonyoung, the circus, everything was some twisted joke from your subconscious. You drag yourself back to your bed, you wrapped yourself in your blankets as the tears stream down your face. It felt so real. You could still feel Soonyoung's lips on your skin.

The clock on your bedside table read 2:14 am. You fell into a fitful sleep, dreams swirled behind your eyelids. Nothing concrete, more like fleeting visions. Soonyoung's brown eyes, the circus, your act. Eventually, at 7:00 am you decide to cut your losses and make coffee. You felt like a zombie going through the motions. Mug from the cabinet, coffee grounds from the pantry, waiting for the pot to boil.

You shuffle back to your room to look for job listings. The coffee takes a few moments to hit your system, but when it does you only feel slightly more alive. After finding a few potential auditions, you untangle yourself from your chair and pad to the bathroom for a shower.

Your clothes fall to the floor as the water heats up. You stretch your arms over your head, your tight muscles loosening only slightly, and something on your leg catches your eye. You turn fully toward the mirror and gasp.

There were purple fingerprint bruises littering your thighs.

There was a roaring in his ears, whether it was the crowd waiting for him or the anger coursing through his body, Soonyoung wasn't sure. He bounced on his heels, waiting for the ringleader to introduce your act, the act he will be doing alone. His eyes bored into the side of his captor's head as the man's voice boomed throughout the big top.

When the ringleader made way for what he thought would be your act, with Hoshi assisting as always. However, only Soonyoung was walking out into the center of the ring, the cage you should be in is empty. He could see the anger rolling off of the ringleader from his spot in the center of the room. Good, that was the goal, the circus would collapse right now if Soonyoung had his way.

The clown went through the motions as if you were with him, there was an uncomfortable hush over the audience. They were unsure if they were supposed to clap or look on in horror as the performance in front of them unraveled. Soonyoung looked nothing short of terrifying, his makeup streamed down his face, his blond hair was wild and unkempt.

As the end of the performance neared, the ringleader stood from his seat in the audience, staring Soonyoung down as he made a mockery of the circus he worked so hard to build. The music crescendoed and dropped off, leaving the entire building cloaked in silence. After a few seconds there were a few stray applause. Soonyoung stared right at the ring leader, holding eye contact he lowered into a disjointed bow. They stayed there, staring at each other for several seconds before the lights in the building cut out. Soonyoung felt an icy cold hand scruff the back of his neck and pull him out of the main space.

"You let her go!" The ringleader shoved Soonyoung against the wall of the large office. "You absolute fool!"

"That's what you prefer me to be, isn't it?" Soonyoung smirked in the face of his captor. The ringleader pressed the clown's windpipe under his forearm.

"Since when do you think for yourself, Soonyoung?" The ringleader spat, pressing further against his neck. "You can't."

"Someone," Soonyoung's ragged breaths filled the room, "keeps lying to me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Give it up," Soonyoung smiled, "I know everything."

"I could kill you, you know?" The ringleader flicked a switchblade out of his pocket.

"Running the risk of Y/N squealing to the cops, just for them to find my body?"

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Right." Soonyoung brought up his foot and landed a kick to his captor's knee, causing him to fall backward. "Because you're a demon, aren't you? Daddy can call you back to Hell at any time, so why would it matter?" He kicked the hand that is clutching the switchblade and it skittered across the cement floor.

"What are you talking about Soonyoung?" The ringleader watched the knife as it escaped his grasp. "You've known me for years." He returned his gaze to Soonyoung's, only realizing now that his eyes were brown. He had no control. He attempted to regain that control over his clown. The ringleader watched as the clouds stormed in Soonyoung's eyes, his neck tensing and his veins pulsing as he fought the possession. The clouds retreated, leaving Soonyoung's eyes brown and wild. He looked catatonic.

"Known you for years?" Soonyoung squatted down next to the ringleader and cocked his head. "Maybe I've been here for years, but I have never known you." He moved his foot to step on the other man's fingers. "You made it so that I don't remember anything about my life, you're the reason I couldn't think for myself. And yet, I don't know a single thing about you." He increased the pressure on the hand under his boot, the ringleader yelping in pain.

"You said you know everything!" The ringleader shouted, looking pleadingly at his now broken fingers under Soonyoung's foot.

"Not everything." Soonyoung shifted to shove his knee into the demon's chest. "What do you want with us?" Soonyoung watched as some of the demon's hair began sprouting white, right from the roots. "Are you getting scared now?" He smiled wickedly.

"I need it to live." The ringleader choked. "Your fear, your subservience, I need it."

"Well, we're at a crossroads then, demon." Soonyoung pressed his knee into the man's chest harder. "I'm not scared of you anymore."

"You should be."

"No, you're powerless aren't you?" Soonyoung asked, voice dripping in a venom he didn't even know he possessed. "You can't possess me, can you Phobos?" The demon's body suddenly burned with white hot pain everywhere Soonyoung was touching him.

"What have you done?" Phobos cried. His leathery wings materialized beneath him as he thrashed with pain, trying to shake Soonyoung off.

Soonyoung pinned the demon to the floor with his knee.

"All I needed was your name. Next time keep a better lock on your books and always know where your clown is at all times." Phobos' body began to disintegrate under Soonyoung's hold. He watched as the demon's skin began to crack, revealing the pitch black soul underneath.

Soonyoung jumped back from the body on the floor as a large chasm opened up beneath it, sickly looking hands with talons emerged and pulled Phobos through. This banishment wouldn't hold forever, Soonyoung knew that much, but enough time for him to escape and hopefully find you.

Over the next few years, the Midnight Menagerie faded into a low burn in the back of your mind. Sometimes you still had nightmares, but for the most part you were able to move on with your life. You had a steady job, you could pay your bills and still have some left over every month.

For all intents and purposes you should be happy. That would be, if it weren't for how often you thought about Soonyoung. For a few months you looked for him, you looked for any evidence that he and the circus were real. You knew they were, but you couldn't find any evidence of them ever existing. Which, admittedly, made sense considering you had never heard anything about it until the ring master wanted you to. Still, leaving Soonyoung behind was one of your greatest regrets.

Everything reminded you of him, every person on the street looked like him some days.

You flipped the calendar on your desk, a purple X stared back at you. Today was the two year anniversary of your escape. You blinked in disbelief, how could you forget? Maybe that's what was supposed to happen, you'll never heal but it will get easier every year. It had to.

After work, you decided you deserved a treat and you walked to the bakery down the block. On your way there the people blurred together and once again everyone seemed to bare a resemblance to Soonyoung.

"One pistachio pastry, please." You smiled meekly at the person behind the bakery counter. You recieved your treat and payed the woman at the register.

Pushing through the door you peeled back the parchment paper it was wrapped in so you could eat it on your way home. Suddenly, you collided with something solid, sending your pastry tumbling down onto the sidewalk. You opened your mouth to tell this person off for stopping in the middle of the walkway but he was already apologizing.

"Oh gosh," He squatted down to pick the now ruined pastry up. "I'm so sorry, I was trying to remember where I was going and I just didn't realize how busy this street is at this time of night and—"

"It's fine." You sighed, cutting off his rambling. "Today was already a shit day. No worries." He stood, his hands were full of pistachio pastry. You could barely look at him because you knew he would just remind you of Soonyoung.

"Do you want me to throw this out..?" He asked, looking around for a trashcan.

"Ugh." You grab it from him and turn to your left, where a trashcan was waiting for you. "I got it. Have a good night."

"Wait." He grabbed your hand, something familiar shot through your body. "Do I know you?" You allowed yourself to look at him, really look at him. His eyes were brown.

"Soonyoung?" You whispered.

"Oh my God." His eyes welled with tears. He pulled you to his chest and wrapped his arms around you tightly. His lips were pressing kisses into your hair and his thumb was wearing circles into your hip.

"Your hair is black."

Soobin liked being a florist. He loved flowers more. Perhaps it was because the shop stopped feeling like a shop and rather a person to him. It woke up with him every morning, breathed with the breeze when he slid the door open, and hummed softly when he watered the hanging plants. He worked there most days, except for Tuesdays, when his employee took over so he could attend his classes. For the remaining days of the week, Soobin arranged his schedule meticulously so that he could finish his classes early in the morning and put his entire focus on flowers. The arrangement’s practical, he liked to believe. 

The shop sat below his apartment, which is really just one big room pretending to be three. His uncle handed it to him when he moved here for university, saying, “It’s old but it’ll love you back if you take care of it.” Perhaps that’s what got him thinking about flowers in the first place.

Why flowers, specifically? — because the most romantic thing about flowers is that they could say what people couldn't. Flowers, to him, are translators. They turn the things people mean into color and shape, into scent and softness. He liked to imagine that every arrangement he made carried a small story.

He didn’t always know what it was, but he liked guessing — a confession with roses, an apology wrapped around white lilies, and carnations carrying gratitude for the loved ones. He took joy in translating those feelings and that’s what drew him in; the thought that he’s helping people say things they can’t always phrase. He liked that flowers never lie. They just bloom, fade, and start again. In their short lives, they manage to say everything worth saying.

In the middle of tending to a new shipment of red gerberas, Soobin blinked back into focus when your distant laugh drifted inside. Realizing he’d been standing still for a while with a pair of shears in hand, staring at nothing in particular, he clipped the stem he was holding. 

There was a quaint nursery at the back of the shop. Once an unremarkable yard attached to his uncle’s apartment now repurposed into rows of neatly aligned pots and every colour of flowers one could imagine. You were there, showing the elderly couple around and explaining differences between varieties with the knowledge you got from Soobin after months of hanging around. They were regulars, always appearing on Sundays, and they’d long decided they preferred you over him when it came to choosing plants though you didn’t even work there.

He liked the friendly company you brought, as he liked to tell himself, but each time he looked through the windowpane to catch you smiling — that conviction thinned. You looked impossibly beautiful standing there among the green, pointing something out to the old woman who was nodding along with delight. There was dirt on your fingertips, probably your sleeves too, but you were radiant nonetheless. 

The sight made him feel a strange tug somewhere in his chest, which was funny, because it resembled what one would call envy. Soobin was envious that sunlight got to touch you first. 

When you led the couple back inside, he quickly turned his gaze to the counter, focusing on trimming the stems before the flowers lost too much moisture. Your voice was honey to him, your presence the sun.

“Soobin, they’re thinking about keeping some plants in their kitchen. They want to know which ones will last.” You placed two small tubs of chrysanthemums in front of him, their leaves still wet from misting.

The old man gave a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as if the admission embarrassed him. “My wife says the kitchen looks too plain without a bit of life.”

“I told him,” the old woman interrupted fondly, “that if we’re going to cook every day, we might as well have something nice to look at while we’re doing it.”

Soobin smiled, leaning forward to inspect the tubs. “You could try pothos,” he said after a moment. “They don’t need much light, and they’ll forgive you even if you forget them for a few days. Basil too, if you want something useful. It grows better near a window, though.”

The old woman’s eyes brightened. “Basil sounds lovely. I could use it for our soups.”

“Soup!” You chirped when you came back from washing your dirt smeared hands. “Oh, Mrs. Park, I need to know how your soup tastes.”

The couple laughed at that, the sound pulling Soobin’s attention as he stole a glance at you with a smile of his own. “I will make sure to give you kids some the next time we come by!” she promised. 

“Then it’s settled,” you said warmly, turning back to Soobin. “You won’t regret getting the basil. Everything grown and cared for by Soobin in this shop is full of love.” 

The wife smiled, cheeks crinkling. “You’re as sweet as these flowers, dear.”

Sweeter than any of them, Soobin thought. Prettier too.

He wordlessly passed you a towel and you took it with a murmured thanks while he went back to arranging the couple’s purchase. As he packed, the woman’s gaze caught on the gerberas beside him.

“Those are lovely,” she said, eyes softening at the red bloom. “It’s been years since I’ve seen them this bright.”

You followed her gaze. “They really are, aren’t they?” you said, tapping your finger lightly against the counter. “Maybe you should take a few stems home too. They’ll add some color to your living room.”

“They would,” the husband agreed, already pulling his wallet from his coat. “Let’s take a few.”

There was this magic in you. Some people didn’t need flowers to speak for them — their presence was already poetry, their laughter already a language. You were one of them. And you were his exact opposite. Soobin, who could shape meaning through petals and stems but stumbled when it came to words, was terrified of letting his thoughts spill unchecked from his heart to his mouth, terrified that they might reach you and ruin the ephemeral beauty of what already existed between you. So he relied on flowers, always.

He held up a single red gerbera between his thumb and index finger. His eyes drifted to where you stood beside the elderly couple, now showing them the tulips on display. The flower symbolizes a passionate and profound declaration of love, representing a love that filled every part of the soul until it became difficult to breathe. It made him wonder what it would feel like to hand the bouquet to you instead, to let the flower say what he couldn’t. The idea itself was enough to trip his pulse.

The old couple soon gathered their plants and bouquet as they bid farewell to you both. Gerberas suited them — he thought as he watched them leave — still vibrant after all these years, their love so full of life. A love like that, he hoped, was not beyond him. A love like that, he wanted to be capable of giving and also worthy of receiving.

 That want, that wish of his didn’t seem to be so far off because his brain came to a comforting pause when the same words were spoken out loud, by you.

“Arent they wonderful?” you sighed dreamily, watching the couple disappear down the street. “I hope a love like theirs finds me.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” he murmured, arranging the leftover stems. “You’re very lovable. People tend to love you without needing to be asked.”

You blinked, caught off guard for half a second before recovering with a teasing smile. “Do they, now?”

He nodded, still not looking up, but the corner of his mouth lifted. “Even Mr. and Mrs. Park. They barely let me talk to them anymore.”

You gasped softly in realization and snapped your fingers. “Right! They never ask for your help, do they?” You leaned in across the counter and it took everything in Soobin not to fold right there. “Watch out, Soobin. At this rate, I might just learn enough to open my own shop across the street. Then what will you do?”

Soobin chuckled, dimples deepening as he pushed his glasses up with the back of his wrist. “I’ll have a scary competitor then.”

You giggled, amused by the thought. “You think I’m scary?”

He narrowed his eyes just enough that the look read more fond than fierce, and then, by a measure that felt modest because he was taller, he bent at the waist until his face aligned with yours. He leaned forward the barest fraction. 

“Terrifying.”

He whispered the words with a cheeky squint of his eyes and let his gaze find yours with a small, almost solemn smile. For a fleeting second, Soobin allowed himself the luxury of memorizing you up close as you burst out into a fit of laughter. 

Time flew in a strange way on Sundays. It stretched and folded in ways that defied reason. With you in the shop, time seemed to slow just inside that shared space surrounded by flowers for him. Nothing more than your mere presence, not even the brilliance of the fresh floras and their honeyed fragrance, could make him feel alive. Yet at the same time, the hours slipped from his grasp because it is never enough. The day always ended too soon, and every time you reached for your bag Soobin found himself wishing for just one more hour with you. One more exchange that he could replay in the stillness of his mind when night fell.

He never asked, of course. Love, to him, was a quiet thing — a bloom meant to be nurtured, not confessed too soon. So he contented himself with the gentle ache you left behind until you came by the next day to heal him. 

When you finally left that evening, he tucked a single red gerbera stem into your bag, wrapped in paper the colour he knew you adored. 

MONDAYS were rather boring.

Everything was as it always was, except it wasn’t. It was the only day when your schedule didn't align with his, meaning, when Soobin’s classes ended and he began his shift, yours started. Even in a place overflowing with color and life, with beauty and extravagance, your presence was what always made life vibrant in his eyes. Without you, everything paled inside the shop. Even the new batch of flowers he’d receive for the day refused to liven up as if they were waiting for you to show up and breathe life into them. Soobin was like the flowers.

He missed you more than he could justify. To the point he’d foolishly perk up — like a bunny perking up in the gentlest alarm, as you’d like to call him — whenever the shop door’s bell jingled. Every time, he flt like a part of him slowly died whenever he’d see it wasn't you but rather a customer. 

On such days, Soobin felt like a machine serving its purpose. Greet the customers, tend to the flowers, make arrangements and repeat. To be fair, the monotony used to comfort him once. Two years ago, that had been his entire life. It used to be only him and the flowers, and sometimes his part-time employee taking turns behind the counter so he could balance his studies and tutoring. That changed when you became friends with him. 

Soobin couldn’t remember when or how it began but he really enjoyed it when you started showing up in his humble shop like this. You expressed genuine interest when he first told you about his little business, and he couldn't forget the look on your face when he first took you to the shop. No flower could rival the raw look of enrapture you had on you. You started coming by more often — at first to talk, then to help, then simply to exist there. You loved flowers as much as he did. So there was no reason for him to stop you from showing up.

He doubted he could ever ask you to stop showing up. Frankly, it’s something he always looked forward to because you manage to bring comfort with you. You had a way of making the space feel lived in; of making him feel seen. So now your absence, even if for one day, felt tortuous to Soobin.

Whenever his employee Jisoo showed up, Soobin would manage the shop together with him. The lunch brought by Jisoo was shared between the two of them. Some days, Soobin would almost hear your phantom nagging at him for never learning how to cook. On others, when Jisoo happened to bring the dishes you loved, Soobin would simply stare at them for a moment too long, thinking of how you’d probably hum with satisfaction after the first bite, your expression glowing with unguarded joy that made his heart ache in the most tender way.

On such a monday, after Jisoo left finishing his shift, Soobin brewed himself a cup of tea as he put on some song in the background. Leaning against the counter he took a sip of his tea and stared out of the window. Outside, a pair of children ran past, their laughter echoed down the path. Soobin’s gaze drifted toward the doorway. The space looked too still without your movement. 

The only movement that tugged on the edges of his thoughts was the gentle sway of the daffodils by the breeze that came from the open nursery door. The bright yellow flowers beckoned him to caress them. 

Daffodils, known for their ability to emerge after the darkness of winter symbolizes hope and the promise of better times, alongside joy and happiness. He wondered, as he gently brushed his across one of the petals, if in another life or in some other universe entirely — these daffodils were growing inside his chest, their roots weaving through his lungs, their golden blooms stealing his breath. Perhaps that was why his heart ached this way every time he thought of you. He decided he wouldn’t mind suffocating, not if it meant the air that left him was filled with your name.

Love had made its home in him long ago. Flowers of love bloomed in his chest, threatening to slip out of him whenever he looked at you which he disguised as breathless laughters, as words, as the ineffable fondness that ran through his veins at your mere existence.

Another chime from the bell. Again, he looked up. Again, it wasn’t you.

He hated Mondays for how long they felt, for how they made the absence of you stretch into hours he could count by the way the sunlight changed. Still, there was a strange comfort in missing you. It meant you existed somewhere beyond these walls, and tomorrow, when the bell chimed again, it might really be you.

Until then, he had the flowers. He had the scent of the daffodils. He had the echo of your voice stored in memory. And for a boy like Soobin who loved through petals and silence, that was sufficient to keep breathing through the slow, pale hours of Monday.

From morning lectures to late afternoon tutoring, Soobin’s hours always blurred into a monotony of words and fatigue on Tuesdays. Other than that, these days were simply to say, pretty uneventful.

But it was such a TUESDAY that reminded him that even ordinary days could bloom.

Soft morning light pooled across the courtyard benches where Soobin sat with Taehyun and Kai. The three of them huddled together as they discussed writing their reports, but it was mostly them and not Soobin who engaged in the conversation. Soobin found his attention drifting to the faint rustle of leaves above them. 

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw you waving. You appeared in a rush of sunlight and apologetic smiles, which made him sit up straighter. He almost did the foolish act of fumbling to catch his heart because it skipped a beat so hard, Soobin truly felt like it was about to leap out of his ribcage. 

“Soobin!” You called, already halfway to them. You were visibly out of breath but why was it him who felt breathless? The way your eyes caught the sunlight made it impossible for him to look anywhere else. “I don’t have time to stay—I’m already late for my lecture—but here.” You held out a paper bag toward him. “Don’t skip lunch, okay? I’ll see you later!”

Before he could say much beyond a thank you,you were already stepping back, waving to the other two. “Bye, guys!” — and running off toward the building.

For a second, everything surrounding him seemed to still in the wake of your absence. He opened the bag, saw the croissant sandwich wrapped in neat folds and a water bottle nestled beside it. You were his friend, yes, what you were doing was nothing more than just a friend looking out for another. You’d always been thoughtful, always been a loving and caring person. Still, he couldn’t stop feeling warm by this small act of care because you knew Tuesdays were hectic for him and went out of your way to make sure he gained the energy to push through.

Kai’s malicious groan disturbed his sweet bubble of thoughts. “Must be nice having someone like that,” the younger said, gesturing lazily at the bag. “You’re lucky, man. I’d kill for a lunch delivery mid-day and— ow!”

It was Taehyun who smacked the back of Kai’s head to hush him, signalling him with a single stare that translated ‘read the room’. The two then turned to Soobin who still looked lost in his head, glasses slightly dropping down his nose by the way his head was tilted downward.

Taehyun softly cleared his throat, trying to mask his question as friendly as possible. “Are you two together?”

Soobin flinched. He could have said no, a neat dismissal that left nothing to broker between them. Instead he found himself saying, “We’re just friends.” The phrase came out tasting bitter and wrong on his tongue, betraying him with a half-second’s hesitation between just and friends that suggested how the truth refused to fit into any box.

“Ah,” Taehyun said simply, leaning back in his chair. “Alright.”

Kai, rubbing the back of his head, tried to reclaim the moment, about to offer some light commentary that would have widened the circle of awkwardness, but Taehyun’s small, admonishing look cut him off. There was nothing for Soobin to explain anyway, or maybe there was too much. 

By evening, the exhaustion sat heavy in his bones. Lecture after lecture had chipped away at him until all that remained was a dull ache behind his eyes. He had texted you out of habit in the afternoon between class breaks.

Not feeling very uplifted today.

He hadn’t meant for it to sound like a plea. Your reply came almost instantly.

I understand. I’ll be around if you need anything. Don’t push yourself too hard.

Typical of you — never intrusive, always there in the way only you could be. He appreciated it, but the distance between you remained, as it always had.

After finishing his last tutoring session of the day, he walked down the nearly deserted hallway. He hadn’t thought about you much during the time he spent wallowing in stress and fatigue. But when he turned the corner toward the elevator, the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

There, just outside the elevator, sitting on one of the chairs by the wall, was you.

For a moment, he simply stood there, the dull exhaustion inside him replaced by something wordless and vast. You looked up, and when your eyes met his, a small smile, tired yet radiant at the same, bloomed across your face.

What are you doing here? — was all he could think, though words deserted him for a few more seconds after approaching you.

“You’re still here?” he managed. “Your class ended hours ago.” 

You stood stretching slightly, your smile widening just a fraction. “Figured you’d need someone to walk home with.”

He blinked, dazed, as if the meaning of your words had to travel through too many walls before it reached him. “Didn’t you have somewhere to go?” he asked, trying to reason.

“No,” you replied simply, “I wanted to make sure you weren’t walking home alone.”

His pulse thrummed with an inexplicable ache that felt too alive for his exhausted body. It wasn’t like you to wait around this long, especially when you could be using this time to focus on anything better. Anything or anyone better than him. But you had waited for him because of a single text.

He didn’t know what he had done to be worthy of your patience, nor did he know how to articulate the reverence that rose in him now, the fierce, aching wish to deserve it. He wondered whether his heart could bear much more of you before it gave itself away entirely.

“Oh? Um. Thank you,” he murmured, the words far too meager for all he wanted to say.

The elevator chimed. You gestured toward it with a small nod, and he followed, still unsure if his gratitude was delivered to you properly. You leaned back against the wall, and let out a sigh that relaxed your posture. He took his place against the opposite wall. Now, with the distance of the day collapsing between you he noticed the weariness clinging to you which he had missed when he first saw you sitting outside. He still couldn’t fathom the fact that you waited for him, all because he expressed feeling a little blue. 

“Did you eat everything?” Your voice was soothing and gentle that in his overflowing love fueled headspace, he almost felt like he could fall asleep listening to you. “The croissant—was it alright?”

“It was better than alright,” he, too, spoke in a low tone to match your cadence. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I opened the bag.”

You smiled, eyes meeting his for the briefest second before drifting toward the faintly glowing floor indicator. “I knew you needed it. I know how hard you work all the time.”

He felt a drowsy calm settle over him. If either of you noticed the way his eyes were locked onto you after your admission, neither you nor he made a comment about it. He wanted to take your tiredness and scatter it away, to cup your face and let his gratitude pour through his touch just as a way to give back, to make you feel the way you made him feel. The impulse to kiss you was so overwhelming that it startled him though not because it was new, but because it had never been this close to breaking through. His hands twitched at his sides, every instinct begging to bridge the distance, yet reason kept him still.

Nevertheless, what he felt for you had already outgrown the safety of words. It was already too alive, too consuming, blooming inside him like a garden that asked only to be watered by you.

When the elevator doors opened, the spell broke. Soobin turned his head, meaning to speak, to say thank you again in a way that might capture what you had done for him but the words withered again before they could take shape.

If love could be measured by waiting, then you had just rewritten every definition he knew.

By the railing near the exit, a row of potted forget-me-nots watched in blue silence, as though they, too, understood what it meant to wait and to be remembered.

If affection could take form, Soobin learned that WEDNESDAYS could be its sunlight.

When he orders for a shipment, it is mostly on Wednesdays that the new batch of fresh floras arrive. It wasn’t necessarily a constant occurrence, but it had happened often, which is why Soobin liked to keep important shop related agendas particularly on this day. 

Two weeks later on a Wednesday. Soobin stood behind the counter with sleeves rolled above his forearms, a clipboard in hand, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he ticked off names and numbers. The bell jingled — and of course instinctively he looked up —  smiling brightly with his dimples deepening at the sight of you.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a cheerful smile.

He reached for the glass jar beside the register, fished out a lemon candy, and rolled it across the counter toward you.

“Morning,” he greeted, his smile softening. “You’re here earlier than usual.”

“Prof was feeling generous today, I suppose. She ended the class early so I came as soon as I could,” you replied, picking up the candy. The lemon filled your mouth with a tangy sting, a small burst of summer. Behind him, Jisoo was sorting tulips with exaggerated concentration, pretending not to eavesdrop. You waved at him anyway, earning a sheepish smile before he ducked his head.

“Everything arrived fine?” you asked, glancing toward the mountain of crates by the window.

Soobin followed your gaze, pushed his glasses higher, and exhaled as though only now realizing how much work still lay ahead. “More or less. The supplier mixed up a few labels again—I might have accidentally ordered twice the usual number of sunflowers.”

“Accidentally?” you repeated, your brows arching in suspicion.

He met your look with one of his own — a small smile of oops before setting the clipboard down. “Maybe not entirely. Actually,” he began, pausing because he wanted to choose his words with care, “do you have plans for the day?”

“Nope,” you said at once. “Why? Planning to put me to work again?”

“Something like that,” he said, straightening a small stack of receipts only to set them down again. Soobin felt a tender warmth in his chest as you stared at him expectantly. “How would you feel about coming with me to the sunflower farm? I need to sort out the delivery issue in person. Could use the company.”

The candy nearly slipped from your tongue. “A sunflower farm?” you echoed, disbelief giving way to delight. “You’re asking me to go to a sunflower farm?”

“Unless you have something better to do,” he teased lightly, though his hand still brushed the edge of the counter with a nervous anticipation.

You shook your head far too quickly. “Even if I did, I’d cancel it immediately. Who in their right mind would say no to a sunflower field?”

You said those words so earnestly that Soobin couldn’t stop the bright laugh from escaping him. He hadn’t meant to react so openly, yet your enthusiasm had a way of undoing his restraint piece by piece until all that remained was this foolish, giddy pulse under his ribs that refused to calm down.

“You’re right, no one in their right mind should say no to that,” he humored you, adjusting his glasses to mask the giddiness still threatening to spread. “Give me around ten minutes and we’ll go, yeah?”

You saluted him playfully before turning toward the doorway. Behind you, his voice followed, threaded with an affection he didn’t bother to hide. “And grab a hat—it gets hot out there. Jisoo will show you where we keep them.”

He didn’t really need to solve the delivery issue in person — he could’ve just sent an e-mail clarification and been done with it. But Soobin, being Soobin, saw the outing as a chance to “deepen professional ties.” That was how he phrased it in his head at least. Both work-wise and, well… you-wise.

He told you it was for work, and he told himself that too. And technically, it was true. He was going for work. But what his mind could justify, his heart refused to understand. His heart had long stopped behaving like something he could reason with. It thrashed and pleaded, spinning songs out of nothing whenever you were near and lured out all the thoughts he’d buried in the farthest corners of his head. It told him things his reason wouldn’t dare put into words. Things like asking you to accompany him to a sunflower farm was the equivalent of asking you on a date. Scratch that, it wasn’t really a date because, again, work. Except his heart couldn’t care less.

If sunflowers yearned toward the sun, then his heart tilted helplessly toward you. You had your fingerprints all over his heart, left on his thoughts, his gestures, the smallest habits he could no longer call his own. You touched him without touching him, and he felt it deep in his bones.

By the time they arrived at the sunflower farm, the late afternoon light had turned syrup-thick, golden and drowsy, coating everything it touched. It took less than half an hour for him to settle the shipment issue which he was most thankful for because it meant he could spend more time with you looking around. He carried the paperwork in one hand checking the state of the flowers as they walked, though his mind was far from logistics.

You walked a few steps ahead, the hem of your shirt catching in the breeze and sunlight glancing off your hair as you did. Every few seconds, you’d turn back to point something out with a smile — a stretch of wildflowers, a crooked fence post and each time you did, he felt that same small collapse inside him, the one that whispered he could spend a lifetime looking at you and still not feel full.

He wanted to reach for your hand. God, how badly he wanted to. It wasn’t even about the touch — it was about what it meant. It was to feel your pulse beneath his thumb, to know that the warmth in his chest had somewhere to belong. But do friends hold hands like that? With the kind of longing that burned holes through reason and plagued his senses?

Soobin noticed a patch of young sunflowers and bent before them, one knee pressed into the dirt, eyes tracing the fragile stems swaying in the mild breeze. His fingers brushed the soil with care, tracing the tender line of roots that had begun to weave through the earth. The ground was still warm from the afternoon sun, faintly damp against his skin.

You came to stand beside him, your shadow falling across the flowers. “Are these newly planted?” you asked, crouching a little to match his height.

He nodded, flicking a bit of soil from his fingers. “Mm. A few weeks old, maybe.”

You tilted your head, smiling at the shy blossoms. Then you glanced at him with a grin that glowed warmer than the light itself. “How pretty.”

Though you meant the flowers, the words seemed to settle somewhere deep in him. He didn’t dare look up. He could still feel you there, your presence bright beside him. The weather’s heat was a little tacky but your warmth felt heavenly. Then, all at once, your weight beside him vanished.

“Soobin,” you called sweetly from somewhere behind him.

He looked up and was met with a sprinkle of cold droplets landing across his cheek. He blinked, a startled laugh escaping him. You stood a few steps away with the watering can in both hands, trying to hide your grin.

“Oops,” you said lightly. “Got confused for a second—which one was the real flower.”

“Oh my god.” He raised his brows, disbelief flickering across his face. “You’re not usually the type for corny lines.”

“What can I do when you’re so pretty?”

That made him stop. The laugh died halfway through his throat, dissolving into a soundless exhale. You said it so easily, without any awareness of what it did to him and maybe that was what made it worse, that you could wound him so sweetly without even knowing.

He rose to his feet, slow enough to steady himself. Reaching for the watering can, he caught your wrist gently before he dipped his hand into the water. When he lifted it again, droplets slid between his knuckles, catching sunlight as he flicked them in your direction.

You gasped, a small sound that made his stomach twist, your lashes catching stray drops.

“Guess I’ll have to water you too,” he said, tapping his wet fingers once against your cheek, eyes dipping for a second too long. “You look parched.”

And the moment they left his mouth, his heart raced in his throat. He could almost feel the words replaying in his own head. What are you doing? What are you saying? His mind scrambled to fix what his mouth had already done. He hastily drew his hand back.

You seemed to still for a moment before wiping your face with the back of your hand, eyes narrowing playfully. “It’s flattering to know you think I’m pretty, Soobin.”

He hesitated — a heartbeat too long — before forcing a grin and patting your head. “I think you need water to grow taller,” he countered steadily though his pulse was anything but.

“Wow,” you said flatly, dragging out the word. “How rude.”

Soobin had to look away and laugh, which sounded way too nervous to be called one. He tugged at the top button of his shirt before it came undone and a low exhale slipped past his lips. He was already in some sort of trance. Maybe the sun had found its way into his bloodstream, making him reckless enough to muddle reasons. Because blaming his erratic need to lose control in front of you on the sun was easier than to admit he was truly losing it. 

One moment you were standing in front of him then the next you moved in front of a bigger batch up ahead. "You really shouldn’t be talking about height here," you said, pointing to a sunflower that swayed slightly in the breeze. "That one’s taller than you. In fact, most of them are towering above you." 

Soobin, caught in the moment, let his traitorous heart take control and began humoring you. “Is that so?” He moved beside the flower. It towered impressively, yes, but the top of his head passed the blossom by only a few centimeters. His shoulders straightened with faint defiance as he glanced down at you, half a smirk playing on his lips. "Seems I still win."

You squinted up at him. "Don’t cheat by standing on your toes," you teased, reaching out to tug lightly at his sleeve.

The sunlight spilled across your face in such a way that made you look otherworldly. He was already far too gone in the trance put on him by the magic of you, and right at that moment, Soobin forgot how to stand. He forgot the line between reason and impulse (nothing to be surprised of), between what he should do and what he wanted. 

He leaned down before he could stop himself, close enough for his shadow to blur with yours on the road. “Is it better this way?” he murmured.

It was a mistake. He knew it the moment his voice reached your ears, when your laughter stilled and your eyes flicked up to meet his, wide and startled and so alive that his breath trembled. How easily he could close that last distance between you and him. How impossible it truly was.

Then his senses caught up to him all at once. He straightened abruptly, hand flying to the bridge of his glasses — his oldest defense — adjusting them even though they hadn’t slipped. It gave him a moment, just one, to hide behind the pretense of composure. His jaw clenched faintly as he looked away.

But even as he stared forward, he could feel your gaze on him — the soft burn of it trailing along the curve of his neck, tracing the space he had left between you. He didn’t dare look at you. If he did, you’d see everything he’d been hiding, everything that now pulsed under his skin like fever.

“Do you—” he paused, clearing his throat as the words got caught, “do you want to take pictures? Before the sun goes down.” he sounded a little too careful but it did what he needed it to — it changed the air.

You glanced toward the horizon, where the light had begun to mellow into amber. “That’s a good idea,” you said after a beat. “You can take photos for the catalog too—the blooms look perfect today.”

He nodded, grateful for the excuse. Grateful to have something to do with his hands. He unzipped the canvas bag slung across his shoulder and pulled out the small, cream-colored Polaroid camera — a gift from you months ago, when you’d told him to capture memories before they faded. He took his time to capture everything he deemed beautiful but every few seconds, his gaze flickered to where you stood among the taller sunflowers, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear which kept swaying by the breeze.

He raised the camera again, this time framing you against the wide sky.

When the film slid out, he watched it develop in his hand, the color slowly blooming into form. You tilted your head, watching him. “That’s not for the catalog,” you remarked with a gentle smile. 

He met your gaze then. It was only for a second but enough to betray himself. He still wanted to indulge a little.

“No,” he admitted softly, “this one’s for me.” As well as be honest a little.

You let out a soft chuckle. Taking a few steps closer, you reached for the camera.

“Then this one—” you said, holding it toward him, “—is mine.”

He blinked, almost unmoored, before breaking into a helpless smile that could only exist when you were around. Hiwever, it was genuine.

As the photograph emerged, you held it by its edge beside the one he’d taken. Two fragments of the same light, caught forever in the same field of gold.

The metro was far more crowded than it had any right to be at that hour. Soobin stood near the door, one hand around the pole, the other hovering just behind your shoulder to keep anyone from bumping into you. You looked uneasy, shoulders drawn in, trying your best to fold into yourself without seeming rude.

Soobin knew you never liked standing amidst people in a densely populated place. He should’ve known better than to suggest the metro. And though it wasn’t entirely his fault, the sight of you pressing into the corner made his chest twist in guilt. So, without thinking much, he reached out and guided you gently by the elbow until you were tucked between him and the wall.

You fit there perfectly, shielded from the crowd completely by the breadth of his frame. You blinked up at him, a little startled. He looked down, suddenly aware of the closeness. His hand dropped back to his side almost immediately, flexing. 

“Sorry,” he spoke in a hush tone. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable here.”

You shook your head with a smile, the corners of your eyes folding with quiet affection. “Dont be sorry. I appreciate you for always looking out for me, Soobin.”

He exhaled a soft laugh that came out more self-deprecating. “I’m not doing a great job right now. This was my bright idea, remember? Now you’re stuck here because of me.”

Your reply came with a small huff but still smiled. “I’m doing just fine. You're worrying too much.”

That shut him up in the gentlest way possible. You leaned your head back against the cool metal wall, eyelids fluttering shut. The sway of the carriage rocked your frame ever so slightly which seemed to lull you into a momentary calm. The tension in your shoulders eased little by little, and Soobin felt like he could rest assured now, eyes drifting to the reflection of the lights skimming across the glass.

The train lurched forward again and Soobin instinctively braced his hand on the wall beside your head to steady himself — and you. He was acutely aware of how close you were, of how the space between seemed to shrink with every passing second.

He debated whether to speak, to ask if you were all right just npw, but the question felt redundant. So instead, his free hand stayed close to yours, fingers twitching with the faintest restraint, close enough to offer balance if another sudden jolt came, but not near enough to betray the thought behind it.

Soobin didn’t like how your head was softly but repeatedly bumping against the wall with the vibration of the carriage. He at once balanced his hand on the handrail attached to the pole and the wall beside him, and angled his body in such a way that separated you completely from the crowd.

“Lean on me,” he said, with a faint trace of hesitation, almost shy.

Your eyes fluttered open, drowsy and questioning. “What?”

“You look like you’re about to fall asleep,” he reasoned though his heart was thudding in his chest. “Might as well be comfortable.”

You laughed under your breath, the sound sleepy. “What if your arm starts to cramp?”

He shook his head once, smiling faintly. Your protests fell deaf to his ears when the least he could do right now was to offer you even the slightest form of comfort. Even if it meant at the cost of his own.

“It won’t,” he simply stated. “I don’t mind.”

You studied him for a second longer before giving in. Slowly, tentatively, you tilted your head until it found its place against the crook of his arm. The weight was light but real, it was you and your warmth, and it sent a quiet tremor through him that he tried to swallow down. The realization that you trusted him enough to rest there so freely did wonders to his feelings. 

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you hummed, content. A few beats later, in a mellow tone, you added, “I had a really good time today.”

Soobin couldn’t help — and didn’t really fight — the glow of fondness from showing in his face. From anyone else’s eyes, the sight might have looked like a simple, affectionate tableau between lovers. But to him, it felt like standing on the edge of a dream he could neither step into nor wake from. The thought of being yours, even in some alternate world, felt cruel in its sweetness. It filled him and hollowed him out all at once like a heart beating for what it could never hold.

The vision of you as his lingered even when he dropped you off at your home. When you stopped in front of your door, he did too, his hands deep in his pockets, trying to mask the restlessness running through him. You waited for a few moments, causing him to question if everything was alright. 

You didn’t use words. You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Soobin’s body went rigid before his instinct — no, longing — took over, and his hands found their way out of his pockets, hovering uncertainly. You fit so perfectly against him that it almost hurt. He prayed you couldn’t hear the chaotic thrum of his heartbeat. He was feeling so exposed, so bare in your embrace. After what felt like eons, he steadied himself before returning the embrace.

“What’s this? Are you missing the sunflowers already?” He joked despite feeling like he was on cloud nine.

It earned him a soft scoff from you before you mumbled a ‘oh, shut up.’ He wanted to breathe in your scent but he didn’t dare. Because if he did, it wouldn’t just be longing anymore. It would be surrender.

With your head still resting on his chest, you said with a smile, “Thank you for today, Soobin.”

It was the gentlest of words and yet it split him open cleanly without mercy. He felt, absurdly, as though the gods had reached into his chest and taken his heart between their hands, just to remind him what it meant to feel alive. You should never have to thank him. Being with you was never something that demanded gratitude.

When you pulled away, it was almost too much. He managed a smile, steadying his voice though it trembled at the edges. “Of course,” he said, meaning every word like a vow. “Anything for you.”

You lingered for a heartbeat longer before stepping inside. Soobin remained where he was, hands back in his pockets, watching as the door closed and the warm light spilled into the dusk for one final moment.

He felt like he could mimic a sunflower just fine.

Who knew that his love could deepen so irrevocably on an ordinary Wednesday?

There was a stem sitting in a chipped vase by the window. Once, it held a bloom — a pale carnation he’d forgotten to include in a bouquet he sold. Now it drooped, half-leaning toward the glass as though yearning for the outside light. He should throw it away, he thought, but didn’t. Instead, he watered it every morning, knowing it will never stand upright again.

Soobin never dreaded THURSDAYS until they became the most sorrowful day of the week.

The reason wasn’t because you stopped coming (that would have been easier to bear, he thought) but because you started bringing someone with you. A friend, who looked way too close to you than to Soobin’s liking.

His name was Choi Beomgyu.

When you first brought him over, Soobin’s smile faltered in the smallest way, mimicking a petal folding in on itself before falling. You’d introduced him brightly, and Beomgyu had offered a handshake and a grin that reached his eyes. He complimented the shop, the flowers, and the careful order of the bouquets but Soobin found himself unable to match his tone. Normally, such praise would have filled him with pride; after all, he loved his flowers and he loved it even more when others saw their worth and the effort he put behind his shop. But this time, every kind word felt like a stone dropped into his chest, until he could no longer tell whether it was jealousy or shame that weighed more.

Out of habit, Soobin reached for the jar near the counter to fish out a lemon candy, the way he always did whenever you came by. But as he was about to offer it to you, this Choi Beomgyu guy went, “Woah, lemon candy? I love those! Mind if I take one?”

And without waiting for an answer, he plucked one straight from the jar — your jar — and tore the wrapper open with his teeth, tossing the candy into his mouth. Soobin could only stare at the audacity, the scene unfolding before him like an intrusion into a world he thought was private. You laughed softly beside him, eyes bright as you turned to Beomgyu and said how glad you were to find someone else who liked lemon candies just as much as you did.

Soobin had a dozen things to say to you. He had stories to share, small and ordinary things of the mundane, and most importantly, you were supposed to talk his ears off as he worked. But with Beomgyu there, every thought dissolved on his tongue before he could speak it, melting away like the candy itself — leaving behind a bitter aftertaste he couldn’t swallow.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen you this giddy before, this radiant joy that came when you walked in every Thursday now with Beomgyu trailing behind as you show Beomgyu around, repeating the flower meanings Soobin himself had taught you. Maybe it was because when you explained how yellow carnations meant rejection and disappointment, you were unaware of how the words sat cruelly poetic in his chest. Maybe it was because on Thursdays, you two sat side by side, working through your assignments while Soobin watered stems that no longer needed tending.

It was ridiculous, he knew; you were right there, just a few feet away, but each passing moment made it feel like he was watching from behind glass, separated by a barrier invisible yet impenetrable.

He didn’t expect jealousy to feel like this smoldering ache that crawled up from his ribs, until even breathing felt like torment. So he looked away from where you sat with Beomgyu and fixed his eyes instead on the vase in front of him — a vase full of yellow carnations — and wished the water would somehow saturate the burning ache within him.

Even if he had you to himself for the rest of the week, this single Thursday without you felt like an emptiness that could not be reasoned with.

By the fourth Thursday, Beomgyu had somehow folded himself into the routine. The first few times, Soobin told himself it was temporary, that your friend would grow bored of tagging along to a flower shop but no. It wasn’t even surprising anymore to hear his voice before yours. Soobin was going to need a while to get used to it.

Soobin had tried, for a time, to dislike him on principle. But Beomgyu was unfairly difficult to hate because in all honesty he was a really nice guy. Even Jisoo liked him — especially Jisoo, which only made Soobin’s quiet resentment feel more childish. His morals acted up quickly and Soobin started to feel ashamed for even trying to villanize that poor dude.

Sometimes, at lunch, the four of them ate together. Jisoo would bring pasta or kimbap, Beomgyu would start talking about anything and could turn a dull story into something worth listening to. And you would laugh until your eyes disappeared into crescents. It should’ve been a pleasant routine — it was pleasant — but to Soobin, every laugh sounded like a reminder that the world was far too eager to share you. As stupid as it sounded, but oftentimes, it made Soobin feel like an intruder in his own shop.

On such a Thursday, they gathered around the small table full of disposable boxes, eating lunch and chatting. It wasn’t like Soobin wasn’t participating; he was. With everyone, just to be clear. Even Beomgyu, who for some reason had taken an immense liking to him, declaring him an honorary holder of the “platinum bro code card” and insisting they were now bound by friendship. Said friendship was in the stage where it was mostly Beomgyu landing actual good jokes. And to his inner horror, Soobin actually took them — found himself laughing along, responding, even joking back.

Amid the easy back-and-forth, Soobin’s gaze landed on you for the briefest moment, and his breath caught at the sight of you smiling softly — at him — like you were proud of something he’d said or done without realizing. The sight scattered his composure so he averted his eyes too quickly and, to cover the moment, picked up a forkful of pasta from Beomgyu’s box and shoved it straight into the other’s mouth. Beomgyu squawked through a laugh, nearly choking, while you laughed behind your hand.

By the time the food had dwindled to scraps, Jisoo was the first to excuse himself to check on the nursery. Beomgyu started helping with the clean-up, handing Soobin the empty boxes, and the three of you continued to talk about everything and nothing — university projects, the upcoming rain, some movie Beomgyu insisted you both needed to see.

Soobin stood up from his chair with the boxes when he noticed a smear of sauce at the corner of your lips. He looked around for some tissue to grab but his mind went static when he heard Beomgyu talk. 

“Hey, you’ve got—wait, here,” Beomgyu said, pointing at his own mouth, laughing. “You’ve got something right there—”

That — that imagination of Choi Beomgyu wiping sauce off your lips, right in front of him as he watched it happen, was immensely and totally wrong on many levels. It didn’t sit right with him. He would be one of the biggest fools to walk on earth if he allowed it to happen.

Soobin had already grabbed your chin before Beomgyu could even lift one finger. His knuckles curled beneath your chin, guiding your face toward him before tilting your face up to look at him. Soobin’s eyes were unreadable when he gently wiped the smudge of sauce from the corner of your lips with his thumb — when he brought that thumb to his mouth and licked it clean.

If someone dropped a pin at that moment, the sound would resonate through the entire place.

Without a word, Soobin walked away toward the sink at the back of the shop. He dumped the boxes into the bin, pressed both hands to the edge of the sink with his head bowed and exhaled hard.

He couldn’t explain what possessed him. His pulse was loud in his ears, his thoughts a mess of disbelief and heat. He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, trying to erase the phantom feeling of your skin beneath his thumb. Your lips were so soft. Fuck. 

It shouldn’t have felt that good. It shouldn’t have felt like anything at all.

He stood there in disbelief realizing how much he wanted to feel it again.

Behind him came the sound of you choking slightly on your next bite of pasta, Beomgyu’s startled voice asking if you were all right followed by the scrape of a chair. Soobin shut his eyes and cursed under his breath, feeling the heat crawl up his neck. 

Despite feeling like his entire body was on fire, Soobin’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk forming before he exhaled and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.

 He couldn’t believe he’d done that. But God, it felt good.

It was a Thursday like any other. Except this time, when the bell above the door chimed, it wasn’t you who entered. It was Beomgyu, and he was alone.

His mind needed an extra beat to process that the space beside Beomgyu was empty. Soobin’s first thought was something’s happened to you. He hastily checked his phone to see if he missed any texts or calls from you, but there was none.

His focus was momentarily pulled away from you by Beomgyu’s greeting. Soobin, still thrown, returned it with a polite nod while fixing his glasses. But the question pressed insistently behind his composure — what was he doing here, and alone of all things? He never came without you. 

“You can wait in the shop until she comes over. It should be another hour or so.” His hand was already moving toward the small fridge at the corner. “Want anything to drink? I’ve got—uh, iced tea. Coffee, too, if you’d rather—”

A low chuckle interrupted him, stopping him mid-step. “Oh, no.” Beomgyu shook his head. “I’m not here for her. Well—technically, I am.” Then, after a pause that sounded too intentional to make Soobin turn, Beomgyu added with a grin, “But not in the way you think.”

Soobin frowned faintly. “I would appreciate it if you could elaborate on that, Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu didn’t answer right away; he drummed his fingers against the counter, gaze sweeping across the room as if admiring the shop. “I wanted a bouquet made.”

The words, on their own, were harmless. Soobin had heard them countless times before. Yet, paired with the conversation’s earlier turn, they carried a strange undercurrent that made his chest constrict. Still, he defaulted to familiarity, grasping at professionalism. “That can be done,” he said, pulling the small catalogue closer and flipping it open to the section on mixed arrangements. “Any idea what kind of flowers you’re thinking?”

“All her favourites.”

The catalogue stilled between his fingers. It took a moment for the words to truly register, and when they did, Soobin felt devastation sinking in his chest. He looked at Beomgyu hastily, mortified. “What?” he blurted out without schooling his tone.

Beomgyu gave a small shrug, his hands slipping into his pockets as if this entire conversation weren’t splitting Soobin open from the inside out. “You know her favourites better than anyone,” Beomgyu said lightly, like that explained everything. “So, really, asking you just made sense.” Then, he tilted his head slightly, that same grin curving into a sly smirk. “I’m thinking of asking her out.”

For a brief, excruciating second, his entire world swayed. Everything around him dissipated until all that remained was white noise that rested upon his eyelids. All he could hear was that sentence repeating itself over and over in the confines of his skull. I’m thinking of asking her out.

“She’s not—” The rest of the sentence collapsed, leaving the words half-born and useless. You weren’t his to defend, and yet, how could he stop the instinct? You were the unreachable star he loved from afar because he thought loving you silently was the only way to keep you safe from his inadequacy and the cruelest part was that it had been entirely his choice. But now, hearing Beomgyu say those words aloud — words that should have belonged to him if he weren’t so terrified of deserving you — was like standing at the edge of a cliff.

“She’s what?” Beomgyu pressed. He straightened, his expression open but his eyes glinting. “What’s stopping me? Unless—” He let his voice trail off, pretending to think, before leaning his elbows on the counter with an exaggerated look of realization. “Unless you’ve got a problem with it.” 

Soobin’s fingers curled against his palms until his nails bit into skin. He had no claim, no right — you were not his, not an object to be guarded or possessed but every fibre of him still burned with the injustice of it. Because his heart always refused to obey what his mind already knew.

“You had your chance,” Beomgyu leaned closer, his voice dipping into a quiet, almost friendly murmur. “You didn’t take it. So tell me, Soobin—why shouldn’t I?”

A terrible and hollow realization dawned upon Soobin that he was standing on the edge of that same invisible cliff again, staring into an expanse where only your name existed, carried faintly by the wind. The room had gone still again; Beomgyu’s words still echoed in the air, but vaguely now. It was almost like Soobin had lost grip on reality.

His love for you had always been immense, alive and untamed, too large for the body that tried to hold it. But what if it wasn’t enough? What if Beomgyu could give you something more deserving than the silent devotion of a man who couldn’t even say the words out loud?

He loved you — so much, so fervently, so ardently — that sometimes he feared his heart might tear itself apart from the strain of it. His love spilled through the cracks of him, too much to hold in his cupped hands. It drenched every part of him, soaked through every thought, and yet he could never seem to give it shape. He was a florist, and perhaps that was why his love had always been wordless. He loved in petals and stems, in silent acts of care hoping you’d somehow see his heart in the language of flowers.

But that was never enough, was it?

He wasn’t a poet, and he was barely a lover. Just a man hopelessly in love, drowning in devotion he could neither voice nor abandon.

When he spoke, his voice sounded unfamiliar to his own ears. “Just—give me a moment,” he murmured to Beomgyu, in almost the same voice he used with customers. “I’ll start on your bouquet right away.”

He turned toward the rows of flowers. Blooms in every shade of tenderness and grief — and he stood there for a long time without moving. Part of him thought, absurdly, that he could be cruel. That he could choose the wrong flowers, something mismatched, something unworthy of you, and hand it to Beomgyu. It would’ve been easy — so heartbreakingly easy — to let pettiness bloom where love had once been.

But his hands wouldn’t listen. Even now, even when his chest ached like an open wound, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He could not arrange a bouquet meant for you with the wrong flowers. He could not betray his love by staining it with spite.

So his hands reach for the stems with memory, with love. He picked the soft pink roses first — the only shade of rose you adored — and paired them with tiny clusters of baby’s breath, white and blush-pink, your favourite of them all. A few sprigs of lavender followed, delicate and faintly fragrant, the scent you always said reminded you of calm. He filled the spaces with greens to make the bouquet feel whole. When it came to wrapping, he didn’t even hesitate to choose a transparent paper, you loved it because it let the colours breathe.

He tied it all together with a thin white satin ribbon, hands steady despite the tremor beneath his skin. By the time he was done, his heart stopped thrashing but there was still a small, sad smile on his lips. When he slid the bouquet across the counter, his voice was distant. 

“It’s done.”

Beomgyu looked at the arrangement, eyes scanning the blooms before smiling almost kindly. “Ah,” he sighed, eyes still on the roses. “These are her favourites, huh? Figures. You really do know her best.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a few bills and placed them neatly on the counter — but before Soobin could reach for them, Beomgyu nudged the bouquet back across the counter. “Keep the bouquet.”

Soobin’s head lifted, his brow creasing faintly. “Stop the crap, Beomgyu, why would I—”

“You really are hopeless,” Beomgyu muttered, clicking his tongue. Over the counter he jabbed a finger at Soobin’s chest looking him dead in the eye. “You think she doesn’t notice the way you look at her? Take it, before I change my mind.” Beomgyu straightened with an exasperated sigh before softly, like an afterthought, added, “You make it too easy to feel sorry for you, hyung.”

Soobin did not get a chance to ask for an explanation because Beomgyu was already half out the door, then paused with a thoughtful glance over his shoulder. “But I’ll still ask her out,” he said easily. “Because I don’t like losing, or stepping back from a challenge.”

With that, he was gone. 

Soobin stood there in the silence that followed. His eyes lingered on the bouquet that still rested on the counter, petals trembling faintly in the draft that came from the open door.

Somewhere behind him, from the vase crowded with yellow carnations, a single bloom loosened from its stem and fell soundlessly onto the shelf below.

It was the first time Soobin ever kept the shop closed on a FRIDAY.

He stood in the university courtyard, eyes vacant and upturned to the sky as the first drops of rain slid through his hair and seeped into his collar. Yesterday’s encounter with Beomgyu left him grappling with his haywired emotions and then, a few hours later, your text came.

soobiiiin im sorry i cant come by today :((

That simple line added insult to injury. It felt like confirmation of every fear that had been gnawing at him since he saw Beomgyu. He imagined the two of you walking home together under a sky that should’ve been his to share with you. Soobin had spent the rest of that Thursday staring at the same page of the shop ledger, pen idle in his hand, unable to make sense of numbers or words. 

Now, as he came out from his early morning class and stood under the dismal sky, it was as if the sky too understood the depth of his grief and let down its showers in hopes of washing some of it away. He should have looked for shelter but he lingered instead, watching the way water gathered in the cracks between cobblestones, how it carried fallen petals and bits of paper into small streams.

It was, admittedly, not a wise decision to walk home in it. By midday, his throat burned with every swallow, and his nose prickled from the chill. The fever was faint then  — a warning he ignored. It became by afternoon, one of the reasons he had to keep the shop closed. When Jisoo offered to take over for the day, Soobin refused, insisting on locking up entirely and sending him home.

Isolating himself when he was at his lowest was one of Soobin’s many flaws. Despite granting him the space to think, it did nothing to help the fact that he was sick and most of his consciousness had now become a slave to drowsiness. Paired with heartbreak, Soobin was not in the right state of mind to be greeting customers with a smile in a place full of beauty that only reminded him of you.

Had he known you before this? In some other life, were you someone he had loved and lost over and over again? Because none of this made sense. This ache didn’t belong to the present — it felt older, as though it had lived in him long before he ever met you. How long had he been without you to feel this way now?

The fever came and went, mostly in the evenings, leaving him weaker each time it ebbed. One moment he was shivering under the blanket, and the next, heat licked through his skin until even breathing hurt. On the bedside table sat a half-empty glass of water and a few crumpled tissues, a tableau of his own negligence. The medicine packet lay open, though he couldn’t remember if he had taken the next dose or not. His head throbbed too much to care.

He lay sprawled on the bed, hair damp against the pillow. His throat scraped with every swallow, raw from hours of coughing. He’d given up on sitting upright hours ago — even lifting his head felt like work.

Through the blur of half-sleep, he caught sight of the camellias on his balcony swaying in the wind. Their petals were bright even under the grey sky. He stared until the colors melted into the haze of his fever. You liked camellias. He wondered if you were with Beomgyu. The idea soured his stomach and before he realized it, his eyes were watering. He sniffled, pressed the back of his hand to his nose and turned over, trying to will himself into sleep.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep before through the haze, he thought he heard his name. Hallucinating, he decided dimly. Fever dreams, that’s all. But the sound came again, clearer now, closer, and when his eyelids fluttered open, the blur at the edge of his vision focused into… you? 

What were you doing here?

You were standing in the doorway of his room holding a closed umbrella. Your eyes were wide with alarm. For a long second, he wondered if this was still part of the dream. Your voice sounded too real though for it to be a dream. Panicked, even. 

“Oh my god—” You crossed the room in an instant, dropping your bag somewhere near the chair. Your hand landed on his forehead, then his cheek. “Soobin, you’re burning up. What the hell, why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice broke off mid-sentence, tangled with disbelief. “Okay, okay, it’s fine, um—just… just wait for me, okay?”

You disappeared into the kitchen. He picked up a few distinct sounds like the clatter of cupboards, the rush of water from the tap and your hurried footsteps. The mattress dipped beside him, and the next thing he knew, you were pressing a damp towel against his forehead. The shock of it made him flinch, but the relief that followed was enough to draw a small, strangled sigh from him.

You exhaled shakily, wringing out the towel in the bowl you’d brought. “Did you even drink water? Have you taken your meds?” You glanced around at the bedside table, frowning at the open packet. “You probably didn’t take the next dose, did you? Of course you didn’t.”

He tried to speak, but it came out as a rasp, and you shushed him while adjusting the towel again. “Shh, don’t talk,” you said, hand brushing damp hair from his eyes. “You’re such an idiot. You could’ve just called.”

He would have laughed if his throat didn’t hurt so much. He forced his eyes open a little wider, though the effort drained what little strength he had left. It didn’t matter because he wanted to see you properly. 

He must still be dreaming. The fever might have reached its cruelest peak, gifting him a hallucination so gentle it hurt to believe in it. Because how could you be here — in his apartment, taking care of him — when he had spent the past day convincing himself you were better off somewhere else? With someone else.

“I didn’t…” he started weakly, voice little more than a whisper. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

You stared at him for a beat, lips parting as though to speak. Then you exhaled sharply, almost a laugh but not quite. “Bother me?” you echoed, shaking your head. “You idiot, you—” The words tripped over a breath and you bit them back, your shoulders sagging as if scolding him required more strength than you had. “God, Soobin.”

He closed his eyes when you pressed the cold cloth to his neck this time. You kept changing it, wiping his forehead, brushing damp strands of hair away, murmuring half-thoughts under your breath that he could barely piece together. He caught fragments: too hot, should’ve called, stupid boy, what if. 

After a long silence, he whispered, “Are you mad at me?”

You seemed to still completely, towel halfway to the bowl. Your head turned, confusion written across your features. “Mad at you?” you repeated softly, the disbelief in your voice almost tender. “Soobin, why would I be mad?”

“I didn’t answer your texts,” he mumbled. His voice cracked halfway through. “I thought… maybe you’d—”

His words fell apart midway as a cough wracked through his chest until his ribs ached. You were already reaching for the glass, one hand steadying his shoulder as you lifted it to his lips. “Slowly,” you said, coaxing him to drink. “Small sips. You’ll choke otherwise.”

He obeyed, taking in just enough to ease the burn in his throat. When he settled back, he found you watching him, your expression softening that made his heart twist. You let out a quiet sigh and caressed his temple, fingertips cool against his fevered skin.

“Don’t be stupid,” you said, this time without any sharpness, just a weary affection. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He looked at you, eyes glossy from fever, and for a moment he felt like he fell in love with you all over again. Te realization that you were — in fact — still there and close enough for him to see the faint tremor of your lashes, to count the breaths you took as each one anchored him to this specific moment. 

“Can you stay?” His hand found yours, clumsy and shaking. “Please? I know you’d rather be—”

“Nowhere else.”

Your fingers tightened around his as your thumb traced steady lines over his knuckles. Then your other hand threaded gently through his hair, brushing it back from his damp forehead. 

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you,” you murmured, cupping his cheek. 

He thought he might cry again from this strange, fragile joy that flooded his chest. The room soon dimmed, your presence the last thing he felt before sleep dragged him under.

When Soobin woke, the light filtering through the curtains had turned a pale gold that made him squint. His throat still felt scraped raw, but the fire beneath his skin had cooled into a dull warmth; more tolerable now than torturous. He blinked toward the window, then at his phone on the nightstand that read 10:03 a.m.  

The sight should have been comforting had it not been for suddenly seeing your sleeping figure on the couch. You were still in yesterday’s clothes, a blanket draped clumsily over your legs, your head tilted toward your shoulder in an uncomfortable angle. A book lay facedown beside you and on the table next to it sat a glass of water gone flat. You must’ve skipped class, or worse, missed it completely because of him.

He tried to sit up, a poor decision that immediately sent a rush of dizziness through him. He reached out blindly for the bedside table, his palm knocking against the glass and sending it rattling against the wood. The sound startled you awake.

You straightened abruptly, blinking against the light before your eyes snapped to him. “Soobin—hey, what are you doing?” You were already up, the blanket falling from your lap as you crossed the small space between the couch and his bed. The book hit the floor with a dull thud.

He gaped at you, disoriented. “You’re gonna be late,” he said again, fumbling for the blanket as if he could somehow usher you out. “You should go—it’s morning already—you have class—”

You caught his wrist before he could push himself up again, guiding him back to prop up against the headboard. “Soobin,” you lowered your voice, as if coaxing a restless child back into bed. “It’s Saturday.” You pressed a hand to his shoulder, keeping him from rising again.

“Oh,” he said lamely, eyes dropping to the blanket pooled at his waist. “Right. Saturday. Sorry, I still feel a little out of it.” He remembered, belatedly, that you didn’t have classes on Saturdays. 

“Clearly,” you muttered, moving to pick up the fallen book from the floor. “You scared the hell out of me last night.” You set the book down on the nightstand this time, glancing at him over your shoulder before coming to sit at his side on the bed. Soobin scooted away a little to make space for you. 

You stayed seated at his side for a while, waiting until the uneven rhythm of his breathing steadied again. He felt the need to talk to you; didn’t know about what but he still wanted to. You, however, beat him to it.

“Yesterday…” you started, drawing your knees up onto the edge of his bed, “you weren’t answering any calls. I thought maybe you fell asleep early, but then it got late, and you still didn’t text back. So I panicked—a little,” you added quickly, though the faint crease between your brows said otherwise. “I grabbed my umbrella and ran to the shop, thinking maybe you were still there, only to find the door locked and lights out.” You gave a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head.

He did not interrupt you, letting you spew out everything.

“I stood there for five minutes like an idiot before remembering you gave me a spare key, and thank god you did.” You exhaled sharply, pressing your lips together. “I was honestly pretty terrified seeing you like that. You were burning up, Soobin. I know a fever’s supposed to be harmless most times, but it didn’t look harmless to me.”

“It was raining,” he tried to weakly argue but his resolve faltered when you narrowed your eyes. “You could’ve caught a cold. You didn’t even know if I was at home.”

“Even if I knew,” you shot back with a small frown. “What did you expect me to do? Just text ‘feel better’ and go to sleep?”

He let out a small, rough laugh that broke too easily into silence. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“You didn’t mean to,” you echoed softly, glancing down at your hands, “but you still did. Next time, just send a message, alright? It takes two seconds. My heart can only take so much near-death panic.” 

He thought about how easy it was to fall into silence, to let the days fold over him until people stopped asking if he was fine. He’d told himself solitude made things simpler, but looking at you now, eyes still red from lack of sleep and worry, he felt the truth of what it cost.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, voice thin as paper. The words weren’t only for last night; they bled from deeper parts of his heart for all the times you were made to go through exhausting situations for him.

You leaned forward, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. “Apology accepted,” you said softly, slipping them on him with care. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I’d hate it if something happened to you and I didn’t know.”

Your fingertipss brushed against his skin before you drew your hand back. His soul felt like it was cleaved wide open. 

The moment was disrupted by the doorbell.

Soobin met your eyes for a brief moment. He had a feeling you both already guessed the identity of your uninvited visitor. Sure enough, Jisoo stood at the door. He was visibly fuming with smoke coming out of his ears. In one arm, he balanced two paper bags, the other occupied with pointing an accusatory finger behind you before you could even greet him.

“Do you have a death wish?” he demanded, stepping inside without invitation. “Because that’s the only logical explanation for this level of idiocy. You look like a dying Victorian child!”

“Good morning to you too,” Soobin muttered from the bed, waving a hand. 

Jisoo ignored that entirely and instead turned back to you to greet you with a smile. He set the bags down on the table, tearing one open. “Breakfast,” he announced, though it sounded less like generosity and more like punishment. “Because apparently I’m surrounded by idiots who forget they are human.”

You tilted your head, assessing the situation. “Soobin, did you tell Jisoo to leave early last night?”

“Oh, he did,” Jisoo fired back, dropping into the chair beside the bed. “he said, and I quote—‘I’m fine, Jisoo, go home, I’ll lock up.’” He deepened Soobin’s voice with painful accuracy. “And now look at him—he looks like he’s been through hell and back!”

Soobin exhaled through his nose, rubbing a palm over his face as if that could erase both fatigue and embarrassment. “I didn’t think it was that bad,” he said, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

Jisoo scoffed, pulling out a thermos from one of the bags and unscrewing the lid with unnecessary force. “That’s the problem—you never think it’s ‘that bad’ until someone has to carry your half-dead body off the floor.” He poured steaming porridge into a bowl and shoved it toward Soobin.

You stifled a laugh behind your hand, murmuring, “He’s not wrong.”

Soobin gave a weak shrug, though his mouth curved slightly. “I’m sorry for making you worry. But I really am fine now.” He hesitated, eyes flickering from you to Jisoo. “I really don’t deserve you guys.”

Jisoo groaned. “You’re damn right you don’t,” he said, though his hands betrayed him by reaching over to pull the blanket back up to Soobin’s chest. He glanced at you briefly, muttering under his breath, “You spoil him too much.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Someone has to. He nearly cooked himself alive yesterday.”

Soobin felt his lips curl into a smile when he saw you and Jisoo exchange a look then — shared exasperation wrapped in affection. Jisoo gave him the stink eye.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re banned from the shop until you can stand without wobbling.” Jisoo straightened his posture and jabbed a finger toward Soobin’s nose, trying to summon authority in front of his boss. Soobin decided to let it go this once. “I’m running it till you’re back, and I don’t wanna hear a single word of protest.”

Soobin raised his hands in surrender, that same faint smile growing genuine. “I wasn’t going to argue.”

“Good,” Jisoo muttered, snatching up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Because I’ve already hidden the spare keys. Don’t even try to look for them.”

You snorted. “He will, you know.”

“Then I’ll move them again.” Jisoo huffed, shooting Soobin one last warning glance before heading for the door. He paused, turning back just long enough to add, more softly, “Just rest, alright? You can’t run a shop if you drop dead first.”

The days blurred into each other after that. You came every day, sometimes with food, sometimes with books and the only difference was that before, it was you coming over to his shop, and now, in his home. In a sense, nothing really changed at all.

He had told you it wasn’t necessary, more than once, but you never listened. And though he tried to keep a respectable distance in fear of spreading his flu to you, standing by the counter while you moved about the stove, he couldn’t stop the thoughts that crept in. the same treacherous ones that painted pictures of you staying longer than you should, of your books finding space beside his, of a life that wasn’t temporary.

A vision of you living with him; something he wanted to coin as ‘forever’.

He had to snap out of his daydreams before the longing killed him. 

One afternoon, you appeared holding a small stack of papers bound together with a paperclip. You placed it on his lap where he was sitting on his bed reading a book.

“What’s all this?” he asked, pushing his glasses up and flipping through the pages.

“Notes,” you replied, as if it were obvious. “I asked your classmates to send me what you’ve missed so far.”

He glanced from the stack to your face and back again. He was stunned by your thoughtfulness, and perhaps he looked like a gaping fish at a loss of words because you took one look at him and snorted.

You didn’t look particularly pleased with yourself. You sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table and uncapped your pen with a click. “It’s not a big deal. You’d do the same if it were me.”

He didn’t say anything to that but you both knew you weren’t wrong about it. Yet, Soobin learned that being around you makes him want to do better, and be more outspoken with his feelings. And he wanted to be better for you.

He let out a soft, “Thank you.”

You waved a hand, already bent over your workbook. “Don’t get sentimental on me. It’s barely anything.” A pause, the faint scratch of your pen against paper, and then you added almost absently, “Oh—Beomgyu’s coming by to help at the shop.”

The back of his neck stung. “Beomgyu?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, not looking up. “He offered. Said he could help restock and handle the counter till you’re better. You should hurry up and recover soon—the flowers are starting to sulk without you.” 

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “The flowers are fine.”

“No, they’re not,” you countered softly, still writing. “They miss you.”

There was a pause — long enough for him to think that was the end of it, and his mind started to wander to unpleasant territory after hearing beomgyu’s name. Before he could think of what to say, your pen stopped moving, your eyes still fixed on the page.

“I miss you.”

Soobin’s gaze stilled despite the storm that began to brew behind his eyes. Beomgyu’s words resurfaced in his mind— you think she doesn’t notice the way you look at her? — and for a fleeting second, Soobin thought maybe you did know. Maybe you had known all along.

Because the things you said to him, the way you treated him, they lifted him to the heavens and gave him hope. Hope that he feared might betray him if it was misplaced. However, the question still hung unspoken in his mind — about Beomgyu, about what he’d said, about whether he’s going too ahead of himself and reading your intentions wrong and if your words just now were only friendly. Because Soobin couldn’t really tell.

Thinking about the devil brings him to your doorstep — Soobin should’ve believed that phrase by now.

“Yo, boss,” Beomgyu drawled from the doorway, grin wide and infuriating. He was leaning one shoulder against the frame. “Still alive, I see.”

You turned, delighted. “Beomgyu! You’re here early.”

He flashed you a smile too clean to be sincere. “Jisoo needed help with the new shipment, didn’t he? Why don’t you go lend him a hand? I’ll keep Soobin company.” His tone was harmlessly casual.

Soobin only gave a mild nod when you glanced his way, though the faint crease between his brows betrayed his suspicion. Beomgyu’s grin dwindled into a smirk the moment you left. He even had the audacity to wink at Soobin.

Soobin exhaled through his nose, setting his book aside. “If you’re here to bother me, just say so.”

“Not bother,” Beomgyu said, moving toward the windows and flicking open the latch to let in a stream of morning air. “Motivate!” He plucked an apple from the fruit bowl on the cabinet, turning it over in his hand as though appraising its worth. “So, did you miss me?”

Soobin wanted to get to the point. “Did you succeed then?” He regarded him dryly. 

Beomgyu sank into the couch across from him, taking a bite of the apple. “In taking her out? Yeah.” He let out an exaggerated sigh, placing a hand over his heart. “But the entire time—” he waved the apple vaguely in the air, “—she talked about you.”

Soobin blinked, the words slipping past him at first — until they didn’t. “What do you mean ‘talked about me’?”

“I meant exactly what I said,” Beomgyu spoke around another bite, before standing up and pacing slowly around the room. “Couldn’t get two sentences in without your name popping up. I knew right away I didn’t stand a chance. Gotta say, though, it bruised my ego a little.” He pointed the apple at Soobin. “So maybe, y’know, man up and take your chance already. You’d do everyone—and their mothers—a favour.”

Soobin could only stare off in space. His thoughts ran in frantic circles, every word Beomgyu said setting off sparks behind his eyes. You talked about him? That much? He tried to picture what you might’ve said, what parts of him you thought worth mentioning — and found the idea too delicate for his overjoyed heart.

Beomgyu snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Hey. Earth to Soobin.” He squinted, then pointed the apple again. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’re daydreaming right now. Look at you — you’re totally fantasizing about her. Ewwwww~”

“What— no!” Soobin spluttered, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it across the room.

Beomgyu ducked, laughing so hard his shoulders shook. “You totally are! Look at you, all flushed. You’re hopelessly in love.” he managed between breaths.

Soobin groaned into his hand. “Did you ever like her?” The question slipped out. He looked up again, cautious but curious. “You said you did.”

Beomgyu’s laughter died down to a few huffs as he sank into the couch again, still grinning. “Alright, fine. Serious talk.”

Soobin frowned, getting up from bed. “Did you?” he repeated as he fetched a glass of water from the kitchen.

“Oh. Uh, not like that.” Beomgyu chewed on his lip, then shrugged. “I like her, sure — she’s a good person. But romantically? Nah.” He gestured loosely toward Soobin, eyes glinting with mischief again. “You were giving me such a look that day, so I figured I’d rile you up a little. Didn’t think it’d work that well.”

Soobin frowned, recalling the unease he’d felt that Thursday when Beomgyu had mentioned asking you out. The irritation resurfaced, though now mingled with reluctant embarrassment. “That’s not what you said last Thursday.”

Beomgyu smirked, tossing the apple core into the bin. “What, you thought I was serious?”

Soobin stared at him, words slipping through his grasp. Nothing about him moved except the faint twitch in his jaw.

Beomgyu hesitated. “Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he said, laughter bubbling up again. “You can’t tell me it wasn’t funny.”

It wasn’t. For days, he had been haunted by that single conversation, replaying it in the back of his mind. He could still feel the echo of every unnecessary thought he’d had since. Soobin came to a conclusion right then and there that if there’s anyone who could test his patience to an excruciating extent, it’s Choi Beomgyu. How ridiculous, he thought. How utterly, painfully ridiculous to have spent nights overthinking when Beomgyu had only wanted a laugh.

Soobin gently put the glass down on the table before taking a deep breath. The next thing Beomgyu knew, he was caught in a headlock.

“HEY—WAIT—SOOBIN—!”

Their shouts and laughter resonated through the apartment; Beomgyu shrieking for his life while Soobin held him in place, spewing half-hearted curses until it felt less like a sickroom and more like the friendship that was bound to take root.

SATURDAY made Soobin ricochet between certainties and doubts until you gently cradled his heart in your palms and kissed it.

Jisoo had dragged everyone out on the excuse of celebrating Soobin’s recovery, but the moment the bill arrived, all eyes turned to him with suspicious coordination. Beomgyu was the first to pat his shoulder and declare that the boy who lived should at least buy lunch. Jisoo nearly choked on his drink from laughing, and you—of all people—hid your grin behind the rim of your glass as if your loyalty could be bought with a smile. Soobin had sighed, pulled out his wallet, and decided that maybe feeding his friends was still preferable to the silence of his empty apartment.

When the meal ended, Jisoo announced that he’ll return to the shop, encouraging Soobin to ‘enjoy the rest of the day’. Beomgyu stayed behind for a moment, leaning closer to Soobin under the pretense of fixing his shirt. “If you don’t say something today, I swear I’ll do it for you,” he threatened with a smile. “You’ve had two years, Soobin. Make your move.” Then he gave Soobin a shove that nearly made him stumble into you, and left before Soobin could even retort.

That left you and him standing under the awning. He, too, wanted to make the most of the time and was unwilling to let the day end. “Do you want to do anything else before heading home?” he asked, trying to sound casual but praying you wouldn’t say no.

You tilted your head slightly and smiled as if you were already one step ahead of him. “Actually, yes,” you said, unlocking your phone and holding it out for him to see. On the screen was a poster for a lantern festival not far from the riverside. “It says it starts at sunset. We could go check it out?”

“Of course. I’ll take you there.”

The venue was a mosaic of color and sound. Children ran around with paper lanterns shaped like stars and rabbits; vendors shouted over each other selling skewers, candied fruit, roasted chestnuts. You reached for his sleeve more than once, tugging him toward stalls that caught your eyes — an old man folding paper cranes, a painter who would draw quick portraits in ink. Soobin bought you skewered fishcakes and handed one over before you even asked, his lips tugging up when you took it with an exaggerated hum of approval. At one point, you dragged him toward a photo booth tucked between two food stalls. The flash caught the softest smile he’d worn in weeks.

By the time the sun began to fall, the crowd had thickened. Soobin had his height advantage but he was worried about you since you didn't do well in crowds. While he was thinking of taking you to a much less crowded place, his entire mind came to a static stop when he felt your hand slipping into his. You looked up at him, eyes reflecting the orange of a hundred paper lanterns. Your fingers slowly intertwined with his. You didn’t say anything, but the small curve of your smile was enough to make him forget every other noise around him.

When the call came for everyone to light their lanterns, Soobin took one and handed it to you. Together, you crouched near the edge of the riverbank, the paper glowing faintly between your palms. Around you, the first wave of lanterns began to rise, painting the twilight sky with gold.

“Make a wish,” you giggled, your eyes falling shut.

Soobin looked at you instead. The wind lifted a strand of your hair; the light touched your face in a way that made every thought blur. He could have wished for many things but all that came to him was you.

When you opened your eyes again, you smiled and released the lantern. It drifted upward, joining the others until it became just another glowing dot among others.

“Hey, Soobin?” You kept watching the sky. “Do you worry too much about expressing yourself all the time? specially with me?”

He turned to you, brows drawing together. “What makes you say that?”

You chuckled softly, the sound easing into the evening air. “Because I like every side of you. Even when you’re quiet. Some silences feel empty, but ours never does. You know how people say certain silences are so comfortable that you could sit in them forever? I feel that with you.”

Soobin suddenly thought of the bouquet Beomgyu made him make, the one he never gave you. “Can I take you somewhere before you go home?” he asked suddenly. It had to be now. 

“Sure,” you said, curious. “Where?”

“My shop.”

Jisoo’s shift ended earlier so the shop was empty.

Soobin gave you a dimpled smile as you perched yourself on the stool near the counter. Witht the same devotion and love, his hands put together a bouquet of you rfavourite flowers. You watched him fondly, it was that intensity of your gaze that made it hard for him to keep his hands steady. He felt like he put extra care into making this one, tracing every micro expression on your face when he held the bouquet in front of you.

“What’s all this?” you asked, laughing softly as you took it.

“My way of saying thank you,” he said, pushing his glasses up. “And my way of saying I’m sorry. For making you worry when I was sick… and for everything else. For everything you’ve done for me.”

You held the bouquet close, nose brushing against the petals. “They’re beautiful,” you said sincerely. “Thank you, Soobin.”

He smiled but what he wanted was to close the space between you, to hold you instead of the air. The thought stayed caged behind his ribs, fluttering restlessly as you smiled at him over the flowers.

He walked you back home that night. It was truly a miracle he hadn’t fallen apart already when everytime your knuckles brushed against his. As stupid as that sounded because, matter of fact, he’d held your hand before, more times than he could count, and yet here he was again, reduced to a mess by a passing touch. There were flowers that withered slower than the way he fell apart in your presence. 

When you stepped inside to put the bouquet away, he stayed by the door, listening to the faint sounds of your movement within. The hallway was hushed and in that quietness, Soobin tried to steady his thoughts. He didn’t know what to say to you anymore. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t ruin this? Loving you in silence was torture, but maybe it was safer than the ache of losing you. He leaned his head back against the wall, exhaling slowly, watching your shadow spill through the doorway. 

Maybe this was enough, he told himself. Maybe loving you in silence was safer.

After you returned, the sight of you made that illusion crumble all over again. He could tell you were tired. He wanted to reach out, to brush his thumb under your eye and tell you to rest, to promise you the whole world if it meant keeping that light in your face. Instead, he said, “It’s been a long day. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

He shifted his weight when you only stared at him. He couldn’t read what you were thinking, and that scared him more than he wanted to admit. So, true to habit, he did what he always did when he got too close to the edge — he started to walk away. It was easier to retreat before the ground gave way beneath him. Easier to run from what his heart kept whispering.

“Can I tell you something?”

Your voice cut through the silence, a little hesitant. Soobin froze mid-step, the air catching in his throat. He turned around slowly, afraid of what you might say yet hoping it would be everything he’d been wishing for.

“Since meeting you,” you began, then paused for a brief moment to collect your thoughts, “I actually began wishing for more time. I want more time with you. Every time I’m with you, you make me feel so happy, just by being you.”

Soobin’s lips parted slowly. His mind went blank, completely overtaken by the rush in his chest. Were you saying what he thought you were? Confirming everything he had buried under restraint and fear? His pulse thundered, and he could feel it in his throat, in his fingertips, in the space between you. 

You were nervous. He could tell the way you pressed your palms together and averted his eyes. “Gosh, I must sound insane right now,” you murmured, your voice dipping into a hesitant chuckle, “but I can’t think of a single thing I’d rather do right now. I just want to be close to you.” You glanced down, then lifted your eyes back to him, a tiny, resigned smile finding your lips. “Are you going to make me wait much longer?”

All he could think was — were you asking him not to run anymore? Were you telling him it was safe to fall?

Soobin couldn't take it anymore. All this time he’d known you, he wanted nothing more than to freely love you. He wanted more than just yearning gazes and fleeting brushes of touch. He wanted to let himself have you, to allow the current of love rush through him.

In two strides he closed the distance, his hands cupping your face before he dipped his head. When his mouth met yours, the force of it stole the breath from both of you — lips colliding with a hunger that had been building up for months.

The poets were so damn wrong because kissing you didn’t feel like setting off fireworks; it felt like returning to his rightful home. 

A sigh passed from you to him at the first contact, followed by a broken sound from the back of your throat when he slid his hand into your hair to pull you closer, closer, closer to him. The noise was so small yet ruinous that it made him want to fall to his knees.

Soobin had to hold onto the doorframe above your head when you arched into him, when your hand had to scramble for the same doorframe behind you while the other clutched at the front of his shirt, knuckles white, as holding him was the only thing keeping you upright. He could feel the rapid flutter of your pulse beneath his thumbs as they brushed along your jaw. And gods, he’d been right — your lips were soft, impossibly so. Now that he got a taste of your lips, Soobin had to figure out later how not to get addicted to them. 

Every thought in his head dissolved into the warmth of you. All those nights he had spent trying to reason with himself, all those what-ifs and not-yets, burned away in the press of your mouth against his. He’d never known what it was to want something so wholly, so ruinously, until you. He knew already that he could never go back from this, that he didn’t want to.

You broke the kiss first, your breath brushing against his as you whispered, “Stay the night. Please?”

Holy fuck. You really had no idea what you did to him, did you? Soobin dazedly stared at you and thought, if this woman tacked on the words please onto any request, he would find a way to fulfill it. 

He muttered a curse under his breath and went back to devouring you. His pulse roared in his ears as he pushed you inside, the door clicking shut behind him with his heel. He hadn’t broken the kiss once as you stumbled backward, your shoes slipping off in your scramble to match his pace, both of you breathing hard as if you had run a mile to get here. His hands were everywhere; holding your face, slipping into your hair, grabbing the back of your neck, running down your sides, back, hips — they couldn’t decide on a destination because every road led to you. 

He still couldn’t believe this was happening as he kissed you even deeply, he still couldn't believe you were kissing him back with equal amount of passion. He licked into you, but not too much or too fast, just enough to ask permission and you opened your mouth. The heat of your tongue gliding over his made him whimper, feeling high already from so little. 

It was a good thing the sofa was near because any more minute and he’d collapse into a puddle. When the back of your knees hit the sofa, he caught you, guiding you down gently. You sank into the cushions, looking up at him as he towered above you. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips swollen, and your gaze pulled him in until he felt dizzy with it. For a suspended moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your laboured breathings.

His gaze moved over you in a haze of disbelief, the rise and fall of his chest uneven as if his body was struggling to keep up with his heart. He had imagined this too many times but imagination had nothing on the way to finally feel you like this, to have your scent clinging to his skin, to taste your lips. It felt surreal, intoxicating, overwhelming in every sense.

“Two years,” he roughly said as he leaned down, his words trembling against your skin. “I tried—God, I really tried not to want you like this.”

His hand found the back of the sofa beside your head for support, his other resting against your cheek. He slid one knee in between your thighs as it dug into the cushion. He did an experimental press up against your heat, watching the way you jerked up with a hitched breath, your eyes falling shut once before opening again as one of your hands came to rest on that knee. 

“You’re all I’ve been thinking about,” he confessed, his voice breaking between each word. “Every damn day.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then the curve of your cheek, before finding your mouth again. The way your fingers slipped into his hair tugging slightly made him shudder, and he groaned against your lips at the sensation, his breath catching in the space between one heartbeat and the next. But he kissed you with a slowness that contradicted the rush inside him; he kissed you as if he were learning the world all over again, as though every touch of yours rewrote what he thought he knew about longing.

“I’m so tired of pretending I’m fine around you,” he murmured against your skin, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hand found your cheek again, his thumb tracing beneath your eye. “Every time you smiled at me, it hurt. Every time you said my name, I thought I was going to lose it. And I kept telling myself it was better this way—that I could handle it—but I can’t. I can’t anymore.”

You laughed softly. You looked beautiful. It made him smile too. 

“I know, Soobin,” you said, biting your lip to suppress the growing grin. Your hand traced the line of his jaw, gentle and familiar. “You’re not really good at pretending. I’ve always known, more or less. But I didn’t want to act on my gut feeling alone. I had to be sure.”

His expression faltered. He felt and probably looked like he might actually cry, he couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid. “I’m sorry,” he whispered earnestly. “I should’ve said it sooner—should’ve done something—but I was so damn scared of ruining us. And now I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to waste the time we have. Not one more second.”

Your smile softened, eyes shining as you nodded. “Me neither.”

His heart was full as he shared a tender smile with you. Then he held your hand and pulled you up with him before changing the position, pulling you back down again. He hauled you easily onto his lap — running his hands along your sides before gliding them over your back, then down to the small of your back before pressing you against him. If he could he’d hold you closer until no one could tell apart where you began and he ended.

He’s trailing kisses down the torrid skin of your jaw, your neck, your collarbones before biting down on the supple flesh, eliciting a strained moan from you. You tilted your head back and gave him full access, which he took without hesitation. His glasses bumped into your skin, which made him irritated and swiftly took it off with a ‘tsk’ before putting it aside somewhere on the sofa.

“Let me love you,” he whispered. He felt your throat bobbed against his mouth when you swallowed and nodded, letting out another soft sound that had his mind reeling, and he felt his cock twitch at the thought of just how much louder he could make you. “Let me take care of you, please.”

His name fell from your lips as you screwed your eyes shut when he held you by the hips and made you grind against him. He looked up at you from this angle and he thought this is probably what heaven looked like. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, more than just feeling you rub against his growing bulge through all these damn layers of clothes. 

In one quick motion he set you down on the sofa, cracking a smile at your dazed yet confused look. Soobin exhaled before sinking to his knees in front of you.

You gave him a shy smile as you got into a more comfortable position, letting his hands rest on your thighs. This sight — he gazed up at you from where he’s kneeling — he’s willing to worship for the rest of his life. He kissed each of your thighs, then his hands trailed over to the waistband of your jeans.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” he was begging you. He didn’t think he could ever stop though. “I’ll stop if you say it. I swear.” “Dont stop.” You reached down to unbutton your jeans. “Please, Soobin. Don’t stop.”

He reached back up to clash his mouth to yours again as his hands yanked your jeans all the way down with a little bit of your help. By now Soobin was already heady, and when he sat back on his heels to come face to face with the sight of your dampened panties, translucent from the slick pooling in between your thighs, he nearly ruined his own pants. Soobin hadn't even touched you directly and you were already a mess.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, thumb circling your clit over the fabric as he drank up all your twitches and gasps. A sense of pride filled him at the fact that this was him who drew you over to this crest. It was all him — the reason behind this sopping pleasure of yours. 

“Soobin—oh fuck, ah,” you arched, throwing your head back when he ran his tongue up the length of the wet spot you made. 

The first taste through this barrier filled his senses to the brim, shockwave travelling to his fingertips before returning and plummeting his sanity somewhere down to his dick. Soobin couldn’t fight the moan that got muffled against your heat, following that line with the flat of his tongue, then again with the point. He gripped your thighs and hips desperately, urging you to grind on his face as he ravished you through the flimsy cloth. 

The sound of your pleasure, the taste of you, and your, fuck — there was your hand gripping his hair. He was huffing and taking short breaths, impatience getting the best of him before he almost ripped your panties off of you and threw it somewhere behind him.

There was a ringing in his ear as he looked up at you through his lashes, eyes wide and obedient because in this moment, he felt like he was made to kneel at your feet. You were flushed and breathing heavily but looked extremely beautiful like this. He grabbed your hips and tugged you closer to the edge making you yelp softly.

“I promise I’ll be good for you.” He guided your trembling thighs over his shoulders as he lowered his face to your pussy, never taking his searing eyes off of yours. “So promise me you won’t stop looking at me. Please?”

You nodded quickly, a shaky hand taking purchase in his hair again. “I promise.”

The moment those words left you, he dived into you, his tongue licking a long stripe along your folds, lapping up your arousal — fuck. Fucking hell this is what you tasted like? You tasted so divine, so intoxicating that Soobin had to gather himself after the first lick. It felt like a sin that he only tasted you through a barrier earlier. It felt like a heinous sin that he’d been deprived of this pussy for so long. You were all arounf him. His name coming out of your lips in between gasps and cries, and —

“Oh, God. Fuck, Soobin, you’re so good—yes, yes, just like that—”

— oh.

You were praising him. His vision blurred through the eye contact — the one you promised to not break and true to your words you’ve never once did — and he felt like a flower blooming and meeting the light for the first time. Soobin buried himself deeper into your heat, nose bumping against your sensitive bundle of nerves while he tongued your entrance and drank up every drop of your essence. He was drunk, so high on you as he watched you let out a high pitched gasp when he eased in two fingers, feeling your folds stretching then clamping around his thickness.

He promised you he was going to be obedient so he picked up every micro reaction you gave at every thrust of his fingers, every tremble of your body when he sucked on your clit before swriling the tip of his tongue over it until he figured out what was going to take him to guide you over the edge. But looking at you, it didn’t seem like he was going to need to do much work anyway. 

He could feel you spasming around his fingers, your moans falling faster and needier as your thighs closed around his head. He was suffocating but it felt excruciatingly good that his eyes rolled back but no — no, he had to hold your gaze, needed to watch you fall apart and amidst that all Soobin palmed himself, groaning into you. With one final stroke up your sweet spot, he brought you over a mind shattering orgasm — for you, and him.

It was the scrape of your fingers in his scalp that made him cum, his release lifting off an invisible burden from his shoulders as he felt himself slipping into a state of pure bliss. Soobin came to his senses belatedly when you said his name. He was unmoving, mouth still attached to your quivering pussy when he swallowed, feeling you dripping down his throat. 

You looked utterwly wrecked. Skin glistening with sweat as your chest heaved. It brought a shy smile to face as he sat back up on his heels. “Was it alright?” he meekly asked, wiping his chin.

You breathlessly laughed, pushing yourself up on one hand. “It was everything I've ever dreamed of.” 

Soobin’s eyes darkened slowly when you touched his jaw and pushed your thumb on the plump of his bottom lip. You smeared your release over his lip before pushing your thumb inside his mouth. He moaned around your finger before sucking, letting you thumb down his tongue as saliva pooled around it. He felt his dick twitch again, shamelessly getting hard once more. 

“Kiss me,” you said, and who even was he to deny your request? 

He pushed his tongue past your lips, letting you taste yourself and the sensation was so overwhelming that it drew out a groan from you. It was messy and hot, it was downright filthy but Soobin would give up on anything to experience this for the first time ever again. 

“Soobin,” you softly whined against his lips, pulling back to look at him with a hunger that mirrored his, “I don’t want to stop yet. I need more. I need you.”

He was as desperate as you were, maybe even more. “I could spend the rest of my life making you feel good.” and then his hand was slipping under your shirt, gliding over the hot skin and tracing every dip, every curve before he hoisted you up easily. “Let’s get comfortable first, yeah?” he spoke against your mouth as your legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck, never once separating from your lips.

Once he reached your bedroom, he placed you down gently on the bed before settling himself in between your legs. The rest of your clothes messily came off, neither of you wanting to waste another second and only wanting to feel each others’ naked skin. Soobin had to pause and sit back on his heels as he admired you, unable to fathom that he was truly seeing you in the way he had only ever dreamed of. 

He grabbed a moundful of one of your breasts, your perky nipple peeking in between his long fingers while he dipped his head down and took the other one in his mouth. How come you tasted so good everywhere? Soobin was going to become gluttonous because of you. Not that he minded. He loved hearing your little gasps. You were so sensitive from just moments ago but you were already gushing again. 

“Soobin, please, please,” you cried out when he stroked you slowly betwen your folds. Despite how wet you were, he was worried his size was going to be too much for you. He had to make you pliant as much as possible. 

“Tell me if it gets uncomfortable. Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” He panted as he pumped himself slowly. It wasn’t like Sooobin had his calm either. He was flushed and sweaty, trembling in every movement he made. He’s been thrumming with the electricity of want himself. He didn’t know how long he could keep going before his brain turned mushy too. He watched the way your glazed over eyes took in his size; it filled him with equal amounts of pride and worry. “Tell me what you want, alright? I’ll do anything.”

His cockhead slid in between your folds as the tip bumped your clit, restinf over your abdomen. A guttural groan escaped his chest when he realized he was almost touching the underneath of your navel. Shit, will you be alright? He had no time to overthink when you reached out to wrap your hand around him, making his entire body twitch in pleasure. He was hot and hard in your hand as you guided his tip back to your wet entrance.

“I trust you.” You laid back and smiled at him. Soobin, again, felt like he was falling in love with you all over again. 

He held your thighs more apart, large hands massaging the supple flesh of them. Soobin used his thumbs to spread open your pussy before directly letting a glob of spit fall onto your hole. You squealed, clearly surprised, but seeing how you clenched around air desperately made him learn that you could be into it. He made a mental note to explore this more some other time.

He lathered his saliva with your slick as he nudged his leaking tip along your slit, making you whimper and jerk up your hips to get more friction, but Soobin placed a large hand over your abdomen and held you down in place.

“Come closer. I want to hold you,” you mumbled, making him comply easily.

He kissed you, so deeply, so fiercely, that the gasp you let out when he slowly sheathed himself inside you was entirely devoured by his mouth. Soobin’s mouth hung open, puffing against the hot skin of your neck as he couldn’t decide where to focus; the sheer euphoric wave of pleasure as your warmth enveloped him or on the fingers clawing his back. Even with the thick slick of your combined orgasms, he could tell you needed time to accommodate the stretch. 

“I’m sorry—ah, I'm so sorry, love,” he kept apologizing softly, giving you time to adjust as he slowly sank into your aching core. He gritted his teeth, jaw clenching as he had to fight the urge to cum from just feeling your tight walls clench around him. You were a gasping mess, writhing beneath him as you dug your nail across his back. “T—Take all the time you need.”

He bottomed out fully as he held himself up on his arms around your head, face resting in the crook of your neck where he peppered soft kisses to help you relax. You were fluttering madly around him. After a moment Soobin felt you squeeze his bicep as he looked at you, and when you nodded at him through the haze of pleasure, he began to set a careful languid rhythm. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, and finally started to loose his already fraying composure. If he planned to fuck you slowly, it was going to take a lot of willpower to do that. Your moans rang sweetly beside his ear as you clung to him tighter with every thrust. Soobin tried to hold on to sanity when he felt your hand trail up to the hair on his nape, curling and tugging on a fistful. He whimpered, pathetically so, picking up the pace of his thrusts. 

Soobin’s head reeled when he stared at where his cock slid wetly in and out of your sopping pussy. It wasn’t just that sight that set his mind and every part ablaze. It was the visible outline of a bulge growing in your abdomen at a specific angle every time he thrusted up into you.

Your hands travelled from the back of his neck to cup his face as you made him look at you instead. The smile you wore, so fucked out and dazed, sent his already racing heart thudding painfully in his chest. “You feel so good, Soobin,” you breathed out through choked pants. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this before.”

He shuddered at your praises, one hand sliding down your thigh before pushing it up to your chest. This angle made you feel more open and made him hit even deeper. And yet, Soobin was holding himself back in fear of hurting you and he could tell you knew that too. You felt that too.

So when you kissed him and mumbled against his lips, “You don’t have to hold back—it’s okay.” — he let himself fall into your plea. 

Your faces were near, passing breaths between that small space before claiming it again, and again, and again. The depraved sound of skin against skin along with your mingling groans and gasps resonated off the walls of the room. He could feel you clenching around him, your moans getting louder and needier.

“Soobin—’m close,” is all you managed before crying out, back arching and pressing onto him flushed.

You gripped him like a vice, your body quivering when you finished, his name spilling from you so sinfully that it drove him over the edge. It caused him to become the louder one then — groans and grunts as his thrusts became sloppier, helping you ride out your orgasm before he buried himself to the sheath in one last deep thrust and spilled inside you. 

There was a beat of silence as you both chased for air. Soobin panted through his mouth, eyes blown wide as he relived the entire situation in his mind again. He brushed your hair out of your sweaty forehead, fingers threading to your scalp as he pulled out of you. The feeling made you whimper as you buried your face into his arm, eyes screwed shut. You were seriously going to be the death of him. He saw the way his cum leaked out of you in bulk waves, feeling his dick twitch at the sight. Shit, shit, shit was this okay?

“I’m safe if you’re worried about it,” you gently assured him, then patted the space beside you. “Lie down beside me.”

“I will,” he promised before linking your fingers with his and kissing your knuckles. “I need to clean you up first. Give me a moment, love. I’ll be back.”

True to his words he returned with a damp towel. He pressed it softly against your skin, wiping away the sheen of sweat, cleaning you thoroughly before helping you go to the bathroom. 

His eyes, dark yet brimming with adoration, never once strayed from yours. In their depths lived every confession he had ever swallowed and every longing he had buried that had bloomed in the spaces between your shared glances. Soobin took in the gentleness of your gaze, the way it mirrored his own, and let himself smile. He reached out, his hand brushing against your wrist before tugging you gently down beside him on the bed. The bed dipped beneath your combined weight, and he gathered you against him, drawing the covers over your bodies until only your breaths filled the air, warm and uneven.

For one fragile second he still wondered if this could be a dream, some mercy granted to a man who had spent too long convincing himself he didn’t need what he did. But then you looked up at him, eyes shimmering like dawn breaking through, and whispered the words that undid every doubt. “I love you.”

He tilted his forehead against yours, eyes closing, before capturing your lips in a kiss that trembled with everything he could not say fast enough. He sealed the words against your mouth before murmuring them back to you.

“I love you. Until the end of time.”

The roses you’d placed on the shelf of your room — the bouquet he made for you — bore witness to this undying love. They would fade with time, but he knew this night, this joining of breaths and words and souls, would not.

Time flew in a strange way on SUNDAYS.

There had been a time in Soobin’s life when he felt that way because you were there under the same roof, guiding the old couple around the flower shop and still, you felt impossibly far from his grasp. He used to fill that distance with his longing in silence. Back then, the hours spent beside you seemed to stretch endlessly and vanish all at once. Sundays used to hurt in their beauty.

Soobin bowed to a customer leaving with a bouquet wrapped in paper the shade of cream roses, he straightened and glanced toward the nursery. Beyond the windowpane, warmth spilled in from the morning sun. You stood there with Mrs. Park, tracing your fingers over the petals of the sunflowers, saying something that made her laugh.

It was still Sunday, still the same hour, but the time passed differently now. Because when you turned, when your eyes met his and you smiled that unguarded smile that reached him like light through a break in clouds, he no longer had to hoard his love in silence. There was a space now for his love to rest, a place for his yearning to call home. Every emotion now spelled your name; every heartbeat found its answer.

You, you, you.

The seconds no longer slipped away; they held still in their sweetness, suspended in their fullness. It felt different — so achingly different — because Soobin finally knew he had all the time in the world with you. Love was no longer something he waited for; it was the air he breathed, the sunlight that kept finding him every new day. He could finally call this forever.

There are loves that blossom silently, and there are loves that consume. Love chose him as its sole vessel the moment you stepped into his still life and made it breathe. Because you were not merely the person he loved.

You were the garden and the grave where Soobin would bury himself. Willingly, ardently, and without return.

THE END.

His head is on your chest, then he snuggles close like a kitten, "Babe, you did that to a plushie! I'm sure the teddy bear felt very violated." His stubble grazes against your neck. You let out a soft hum in response, pulling his hand over your chest and putting yourself in a very comfortable position for the cuddle session.

"Oh come on, it was soft and my fingers just slid in. Just like your cunt. What am I supposed to do?" His fingers explore your body, casual touches feather light on your skin. You let out gasps, trying to focus on the conversation because it's not everyday that you get to tease him, "I don't know, baby. Exercise self-control?"

His smug "Oh yeah" pisses you off every time. He's so hot when he says it. Your breath hitches for a short second. Two lithe fingers push the lace aside and your pussy starts to throb right away in anticipation.

It's muscle memory. The gentle caress of the tip of his fingers. The press of his middle finger with intention. The smooth slide. Your adorable gasp. Everything is practised precision. He hums this time, "You exercise self-control first. Then I'll think about it." These intentional movements drive you crazy. You want to curse at him when he steals your climax.

His soft words against your skin, make the heat pool in your lower stomach. "See, she just lets me in, just like that" He presses deeper, a second passes before the next finger slides in just as smoothly. "Your pussy is perfect for me— can't wait to just thrust in and sleep."

God his words are filthy, "Won't you keep me warm my angel? I didn't train your pretty little cunt for nothing, did I?" The feeling of his dick against your thigh sets off all scenes that had happened. The heat radiating from him does nothing to help, "Ah— fuck please oh my—" He doesn't let you up. Removing his shorts, he strokes his cock. It's thick, God, it's so thick and a little brown just like the rest of him—it's honey dipped— that's what you'll call it.

The stretch is too much. You've taken it before, but that doesn't mean you are used to it. He bottoms out with a groan of your name. "Fuck—baby, so tight" The raspy hum against your ear, flusters you even more, "Now let me rest like that," He sleepily kisses your neck, wrapping his arms around you to stop you from moving too much, "keep me warm, yeah?"

Skin flushed and sleep gone out of the window, you could only hum in response.

he can't answer that, obviously, because how could he explain that he'd been following you to catch a glimpse of your ass in the short skirt you wear? his ears glow a bright pink when you approach, his gaze dropping to his feet to avoid your scrutinizing glare. you scoff, smacking your sticky lips together as you roll your eyes, "weirdo."

nerd!휴닝카이 who offers to do your homework for you. any means to get closer to you. and you let him with a shrug, dumping your textbooks into his lap before walking away, hips swaying dangerously with each step you take. kai brings the books to his nose, trying to catch your scent on them in vain.

nerd!휴닝카이 stalks you on social media, phone in one hand, cock in the other — he jerks himself off roughly, swallowing down the pathetic whines building in his throat. he swipes through picture after picture, innocent ones of you holding puppies, suggestive ones of you pushing your cleavage toward the camera — those always makes him cum right away.

nerd!휴닝카이 who follows you like a lost puppy, your finished homework in his arms as he tries to give it to you. but you're ignoring him? he's walked behind you like a shadow for ten minutes now, trying to grab your attention and failing each time. you're leading him down vacant hallways, finally slipping inside a small storage unit — and kai goes after you without question.

nerd!휴닝카이 doesn't understand why you're so upset. doesn't understand why you're shoving him up against the wall roughly and jabbing a finger in his face. "who the fuck do you think you are to approach me in front of everyone like that? you fucking loser." you seethe, and kai's cock jumps in his pants at the crude words.

nerd!휴닝카이 can't help but get so turned on by the way you talk to him, each insult sends heat straight to his groin and he has to reach a hand down to subtly try to adjust himself. but you notice, because of course you do. eyebrows shooting high on your forehead, the confusion lasts only a moment before your expression morphs into a sinister one.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀"the hell? are you hard right now?"

that only makes him whine as he nods weakly, glancing toward the closed door like he was planning a quick escape route. but you won't let him off the hook that easily. the books are shoved to the floor as you take a step closer, breath so close that it mixes with his own.

nerd!휴닝카이 practically melts when you first kiss him, lips parting to allow your tongue inside his mouth without thinking twice. you're mean, biting on his lip harshly, pulling a pained gasp from his throat as he tries to pull back — only to be stopped by your fingers in his hair — tugging hard.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀"pathetic bitch, you wanted this all along? is that why you wanted to help me? hoping I'd suck your tiny dick?"

kai wants to tell you no, wants to shake his head and deny the blunt accusation, but he can't. his cock throbs in his pants, hips jerking forward helplessly when your fingers hover above the zipper. you scoff, pulling away from his lips, now smeared with your sparkly gloss, "fine, have it your way."

nerd!휴닝카이 nearly sees stars when you take him in your mouth. the storage room is dark but he can still make out your face, peering up at him through the shadows where you kneel on the floor. your skirt has ridden up your thighs, exposing more of the skin he'd been so desperate to see all this time.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀"you got a real tiny dick y'know?"

your lips are still stretched wide around him, tears glistening in your eyes when you force him deeper. "you barely reach the back of my throat." for a moment he can almost believe it, and the thought alone sends a shudder through him as he chokes on a moan, hips thrusting deeper into your mouth, causing you to gag around him.

"fuck, are you trying to kill me? you loser, can't even stay still for a blowjob." and kai nods helplessly, hands grabbing at your shoulders hard enough to bruise. his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw slack as he lets himself by shamelessly loud, not caring who might hear him.

nerd!휴닝카이 cums embarrassingly fast, cock twitching on your tongue before forcing his load down your throat with a whine. you don't swallow, and when you pull off you rise to your feet only to spit his release back into his face.

nerd!휴닝카이 moans at the feeling of his own arousal dripping down his chin, eyes bleary when they find yours. he doesn't move to wipe himself clean, doesn't even bother tucking his soft cock back into his pants as he stares at you with a lopsided grin. you only roll your eyes, already reapplying the gloss across your lips.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀"tell anyone about this and you're dead, you hear that, perv?"

then you head out of the storage unit, slamming the door shut behind you and leaving kai a spent, blissed out mess. his gaze flickers down to the books you had forgotten to bring with you, and he scrambles to gather his bearings — then he's rushing after you a second time that day.

for @biteyoubiteme <3

The sweet taste and coldness makes it so refreshing. Your every movement is unintentional seduction—the way your lips wrap around the fruit, letting your tongue peak to lick into his fingers to chase the sweetness that lingers on his skin. 

Nicholas leans forward, transfixed by the sight of you. You close your eyes, your lips parting in pure bliss as the cold, sweet fruit slides down your throat. That small, almost unnoticeable movement— innocent yet enchanting, sends a wave of desire within Nicholas. Every droplet on your glistening skin, every subtle movement, ignites something raw inside him, an irresistible craving that gnaws at his core.

“Want some, Weno?” Your voice breaks through the charged silence, your hands reaching for the bowl in his hands and grabbing a piece before extending the strawberry toward him. he gulps, the question hanging in the air making his throat tighten.

“I'm okay, babe” Nicholas replies, the words strained and his voice rough with barely contained desire, his body tenses. He grabs another piece and brings it to you, watching you eat it, its juices staining your lips.

Instinctively, his thumb grazes your nectar coated lips — your mouth instantly opens, enveloping his digit. His sharp eyes darken, following your every movement from the way your plump lips glisten, the gentle suction as you wrap your tongue around his thumb while looking at him with wide, glassy eyes followed by the soft “pop” as you pull away.

He's had enough.

"Baby,” he murmurs, voice turning deep and resonant, his saliva coated thumb gripping your chin and bringing you closer to him, “let me have a taste.” His lips crash into yours, tongue sliding between them without hesitation tasting the sweet remnants of the strawberries that coated your tongue and mouth, kissing you like he’s been starved for years.

"Open, baby," you obey, lips parting as he leans to spit into your mouth, a shiver runs through your back as you swallow, feeling his other hand trail up and his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, dragging over bare skin. You gasp when you feel the hard press of him through his pants,"so sweet, baby," he mutters against your lips, voice raw with need.

You flutter your lashes at him, voice trembling and breathless, "Weno, I'm craving more." his grip on your chin tightens, his hand leaves your chin, manhandling you 'til your knees hit the floor, seated between his now spread legs.

His fingers tighten around your hair, a gentle yet unyielding command, "I have exactly what you're craving baby." Your hands reach out to rest against his strong, defined thighs, while he leans back against the couch. You take in his every detail; his firm muscles, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes darken with an intense need that could be mistaken as desperation and it fuels your own desire more.

Nicholas' hand remains steady at the back of your head, each motion urging you deeper between his thighs, the rough carpet rubbing against your knees. “Look at you,” he murmurs, raw desire etched into his being, "so eager and willing, you want it that bad, baby?” teasing you with his tone, a smirk tugging on his lips.

He leans closer, his warm breath entangled with yours as his thumb traces softly along your cheek, "I asked you a question, answer." His eyes glimmer with feral desire as he waits your response, You nod your head, words escaping you in a silent admission.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice rough with need as his grip tightens, anchoring you in place. “Good fucking girl, baby.”

Nicholas reaches down with tantalizing slowness and unfastens his belt. The clink of metal echoes in the air as the leather slides free, releasing him from the confines of his pants.

There, before you, is his thick, pulsing length—veins standing out, the swollen head glistening with precum, it makes your pulse quicken and you can hardly look away, your eyes locked on every detail.

Nicholas' hand moves down to cup your cheeks as he guides you closer, feeling the warmth of his touch and the heat of room that turns everything to blur into a haze of lust and desire, “well, go ahead baby,” he commands.

You start with your hands first, fingers wrap around the base of him. Slowly, you stroke him, your hand following the natural curve of his thick, pulsing length and every movement feels electrifying, sending cool shivers all over your body. You become hyper aware of him— his breath quickening, grip on your hair tightening, hips shifting silently encouraging you to keep going.

You slide your hand up and down his length, feeling the way it throbs in your grasp and Nicholas watches, gaze lidded, jaw clenched, "just like that, baby~" he murmurs, his voice thick with barely controlled lust. “Open—” He presses his thumb against your chin, coaxing your mouth open, his eyes boring into yours, “good girl.”

You leaned forward, the tip of your tongue flicking over the sensitive, swollen head and the sensation of his arousal in your mouth is overwhelming, every touch sending ripples of pleasure through him. Nicholas' breath hitches, his grip on your hair tightening “f-fuck, baby, need more …” he urges.

You part your lips further, taking him deeper as you feel the weight of him press against your tongue. His muscles tense under your touch, the fingers that gripped your hair now caressing your head with urgency, guiding you to take him even deeper, driving you both crazy, "that's it, baby … shit, s-so good!"

Your tongue traces along the underside, caressing every ridge and curve. The sensation makes Nicholas throw his head back in pure pleasure, his taste coating your mouth—a mix of his warmth, salt, and arousal that's dizzying to you and him. His breathing becomes uneven, fingers tighten around your head, and you find a rhythm that feels the most pleasurable.

Every soft lick and stroke builds the tension between you until it becomes difficult to hold back. Everything feels overwhelming; the taste, the touch, the smell, the sound of his soft pants mixed with your own moans, "fuck, you're doing so good 'f me baby."

You were encouraged by his soft whines, a growing need to please him so, you sink deeper, and he slides further, until your mouth envelops him entirely. A low groan escapes him as he feels your warmth envelope him completely, “mmhm …. So good, ah! — You’re doing so well for me.”

You pull back briefly, gulps of oxygen filling your lungs as you savor his taste and then you plunge forward again until you feel him hit the back of your throat. He tenses visibly, and his breath catches, no longer holding back as his restraint shatters, "D-don’t … fuck! don’t stop baby.” Nicholas throws his head back, and you can barely look at him through blurred, teary vision, “I’m close, s-shit!” he warns, voice hoarse and raw.

You take him deeper, swallowing around him relentlessly. He finally snaps, groaning as his grip tightens, his hips jerking as he cums into your mouth. The action makes tears well in your eyes, your mouth full as his release shoots down your throat. His chest rises and falls from the intensity of his climax, you swallow with a loud gulp.

The room quiets down to only the sound of your breathing, the aftershocks of your shared pleasure lingering in the air. Nicholas fingers untangled from your hair, slowly ease their grip as he moves to tug his boxers up before pulling you on his lap again, his chest heaving and his eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. He lifts your chin gently, his thumb traces soothing circles along your swollen lips.

“That felt amazing,” he whispers, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, tasting himself on your tongue and pulling away once he's satisfied. "Weno, baby, I'm craving more…" he chuckles, hands cupping your cheeks and squishing them together, "insatiable thing, aren't you baby?"

“Good Morning, Changbin. These two gentlemen are here about your maladie. Would you please be so kind as to explain to them exactly what’s been happening to you?”

Seonghwa and Yeosang had been sent to the hospital due to an odd situation that had been occurring there. Dressed in their street clothes, they came to the hospital to investigate the happenstance that sounded like it was exactly in their league of expertise.

Changbin began his story glumly. “So I’ve been in here because I broke my arm, right? Suddenly, a few nights back during the night shift, I got really hard, out of absolutely nowhere. Then this gorgeous nurse comes into my room. She says that it seems there was an unforeseen side effect to my painkillers and she’s come to relieve me of undue stress. Then she gives me the best blowjob I’ve ever had in my life. Except I don’t get soft after. She makes a note on her clipboard and then leaves.”

Seonghwa tapped his hand to his lip in thought. “Sounds like a succubus, alright.”

The doctor nodded. “I thought so. Changbin isn’t on any pain killers that would have any kind of side effects like he described. Nor would we send in a nurse to… well…” The doctor seemed to have lost his tongue.

“I have an idea,” Yeosang said with his whole chest.

After explaining, both the doctor and Seonghwa voiced their worries. But the hero of our story, Kang Yeosang, was determined and sure he could win the day.

***

You stalked down the hospital hallway, sending out feelers for the horny. Well, not anyone truly had a choice. Any man within thirty meters of you would become undeniably horny. It was the lonely you were looking for. They tended to be the tastiest morsels.

But then your senses glared and you sucked in your breath. What the fuck--who the fuck--was that?!

You smoothed your hands down your stomach, practically trembling with anticipation, and then you pushed open the door into the room where your tasty treat was waiting. 

You were met with a loud moan upon pushing open the door. You quietly closed it and locked it, moving deeper into the room. You paused at the foot of the bed, pulling the clipboard resting there.

“Kang Yeosang, hmmm?” You purred. “It says here you're in for two broken arms, you poor thing.”

Your eyes rose from the clipboard and swept over the beautiful man on the bed. He indeed sported two arms in casts, utterly useless to the pulsing hard on that he was sporting beneath the thin hospital blankets.

“Please,” Yeosang groaned. “I feel so hot.”

You pull the pen from your nurse's outfit and pretend to write something on the clipboard when really all you do is add a heart to the paper. 

“I see you're having an adverse affect to the painkillers we've administered to you,” You evaluated.

“Help me, nurse, please,” Yeosang groaned again, thrashing his legs.

You tapped your pen to your lips. Something was wrong here. This was too good to be true. It was a trap, to be sure. But your pussy was practically pulsing with need, with Yeosang at a disadvantage to stop anything you did to him.

You use the tip of the pen, unclicked of course, do prod at Yeosang hard on. “We'll have to do something about this, sir. We simply cannot have you stressed while you attempt to heal.”

You watched as Yeosang licked his lips. His eyebrows furrowed inwards. “It hurts,” he whined.

You shrugged. To hell with it. This was too good to not take advantage of. You put down the pen and clipboard and climbed on top of the hospital bed. 

You straddled Yeosang, bouncing your ass on top of his cock and he groaned even louder. “Hmm, it seems to be painful. I'll have to take a closer look.”

You go on all fours, pulling down the bedsheets and pulling up Yeosang’s hospital gown. Yeosang hissed as the cool air hit his throbbing cock.

You chucked your tongue. “Now this is just a travesty.” 

His cock continued to jump, several veins prominent along the shaft. His mushroom head was an angry red, with accompanying precum that looked good enough to drink.

You blew on his cock and he yelped in response. He began to twist in the bed. “Please, I'm--please,” he whimpered.

“I'm taking mental notes, sir,” You said with a disapproving tone. “You can't rush the medical profession.

“I really--” Yeosang swallowed loudly, his eyes rolling with desire. “I just really need to be inside something,” he whispered.

“Poor, poor Yeosang,” You said in a mockingly sweet voice. “You couldn't even relieve yourself if you wanted to, hmm? What would you have resorted to? Humping the bed?”

Yeosang began to panting with need. “Puh-puhlease. I need your help.”

“Alright,” you grumbled goodnaturedly. “I'll put you out of your misery, sir.”

You raised your skirt and gripped the base of Yeosang’s cock to hold it vertical and ready for you to spear yourself with it. Even the simple touch of your hand on his cock had Yeosang crying out. He fucked up into your hand, ass clenching as his hips moved upwards.

You tsked at your patient/target. “Sir, I must get you inside of me, do not act up.”

“Feels so good, feels so good,” Yeosang panted, completely ignoring your orders.

“You wait,” You chuckled darkly. “Nothing is like the deep recesses of my cunt.”

With one fluid movement, you took all of Yeosang inside of you, tossing your head back and moaning, relishing the feel of this man that was dripping with sexual energy inside of you. You immediately began to wave your body, adjusting to a tortuous pace that grinded your clit so nicely against Yeosang’s pelvis.

Yeosang was silent, his eyes distant and glassy. He was simply inside of you with minimal friction and he was already dumb for you. Perfection.

“There's a good little patient,” You continued with your sugary sweet tone. “You're doing so good for me. You stay still and I'm going to make you feel so much better.”

Yeosang’s lip pushed out and he shuddered thoroughly as your pussy clenched down on him. “Help me.”

That's when you began to bounce on him, his strong pelvic muscles flexing so that you could do so. You began to pinch and roll your nipples through the nurses outfit, and your tail began to sway lazily, having escaped the confines of your dress upon lifting it.

Slowly, but surely, you began to feed from Yeosang, draining his magical energy. You leaned down to eat at his lips, enjoying the extra flavor of his deep moans. You were in heaven. It was like you were having an appetizer, the main course and dessert, all at the same time. 

“Come on, Yeosang, just a little bit more,” You encouraged, bouncing eagerly on that fat cock of his. “Give me your everything, fill me to the brim, and then I promise you won't hurt anymore.”

“No, you won't hurt anyone anymore,” a different voice said with determination. “Shooting Star Confusion!”

Suddenly, your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Who were you? What were you doing? What was that delicious feeling curling in your stomach?

“Seog--seonghwa, I can't stop fucking her. Her power is still strong even with your confusion powers!” The man under your stuttered.

Seonghwa muttered under his breath, wrapping two arms around your waist and pulled you off the bed. “How the hell are we going to bring her back to HQ then? She already owns your dick.”

You giggled, empty headed but for the thought of Seonghwa’s length pressing up against your backside as well. “I own yours too.”

Seonghwa cursed. “This is a mess. I don’t know why I agreed to this, Yeosang. Hongjoong is going to kill us both.”

Yeosang, with his hair plastered to his face, sweat making his hospital gown cling to his body, groaned and laughed at the same time. “But it was so worth it. We got the succubus and I almost had the best fuck of my life.”

“Great, so glad you could almost lose your powers and get me in trouble in the process,” Seonghwa continued to complain. One of his arms lost its grasp on you, in order to tap his comm to speak with someone. “Hey. Target acquired. No civilians harmed. We might need help with evac--” 

Seonghwa groaned as you turned in his grasp and rubbed a hand eagerly through his leather pants. His hair was a pretty pink tone. You licked your lips. 

“Scratch that,” Seonghwa said in a strained voice. “Looks like we might have to drain her powers before we bring her back. I’ll touch base when we’re ready.”

“That sounds fun,” You cooed in a singsong voice. 

Seonghwa’s pretty violet eyes narrowed down at you. “Yeosang, just change into your magical form and help me out already.”

You smiled like the cat got your cream. You might not truly know what’s going on here but you think you’re about to get your brains fucked out. And that always sounds fun in your books.

Yeosang chuckled in distraught. “She might have drained me a little too much for me to do that.”

Seonghwa cursed under his breath again. “I’m never letting you plan a mission ever again, Kang Yeosang.”

Seonghwa wrapped his hands around your waist and hoisted you on the table that sat at the end of the patient’s bed to be used to eat from and pushed your legs apart. “Jesus, Yeo,” Seonghwa muttered under his breath. “You didn't even come inside of her but you're dripping out of her!”

“The plan was for her to at least believe she was draining me before you captured her,” Yeosang protested. 

“Careful of my pussy,” You giggled, running your talons through Seonghwa’s bubble-gum pink hair. “It’s dangerously addictive.”

You wiggled your body forward so that your cunt would get closer to the lip of the table. Seonghwa blew on your throbbing pussy and you squealed in delight. Seonghwa swallowed loudly and licked his lips. “Here goes nothing.”

The pink haired man pushed his face against your pussy. You saw him purse his lips before he began to stick his tongue into your clenching hole. You moaned wantonly, pushing your hips forward. His tongue felt delicious inside of you. It twisted and swirled, and you couldn't help but push your hand through his cotton-candy hair, keeping it out of his face as it became covered in your own liquids.

Seonghwa pulled back, his eyes blown in lust. “Yeosang, you taste just like strawberry-kiwi.”

Yeosang chuckled in embarrassment. “Now who’s getting sucked into the moment?”

Seonghwa shook his head, untangling your fingers from his hair. “Distract her, please, I need help.”

You heard a brief sound, like something splintering, and suddenly, large hands encompassed your breasts.

“Were you…?” You wrinkled your nose in distraught. Was there something you were supposed to remember about Yeosang? You mentally shrugged and let your head hit the large man's shoulder behind you as Seonghwa continued to suck Yeosang’s cum out of your swollen cunt.

“God, I’ve been wanting to manhandle these tits since I saw you come in with this nurse’s outfit. You really are the perfect trap, aren’t you, little succubus?” Yeosang’s deep voice made you shiver.

Seonghwa made good work of your cunt, his nubile tongue moving in and out of your hole, scooping up all the remnants of Yeosang’s cunt. You were sure you had to stop him but you weren’t exactly sure why. And seeing as how this felt way too good, especially with the way Yeosang was playing with your tits, you decided internally to keep going to see where this leads.  

“Come one, little succubus, come for us,” Yeosang encouraged you. You could feel his hard cock pressing up against your back as his hips dug forward. 

“I--” You choked on your own moan as Seonghwa’s eyes swept upwards to look at you. The grey orbs made you wonder if he tasted like strawberries and cream like his hair or yummy vanilla earl grey tea because of his iris’s.

“Oh fuck, if we bring her back, she’s going to need a surpression collar immediately or I’m going to be in her cell fucking her every minute of every day,” Yeosang admitted.

Your brain fog got cloudier as your climax approached. “I’m gonna--I’m gonna--!” You moaned loudly as your climax hit you. You humped Seonghwa’s face, milking his tongue for all it was worth. You felt so good, you were floating on cloud nine.

Seonghwa leaned back, bracing his hands on his knees. “I’m so fucking hard--Jesus.” He ran a hand through his long hair. “Mingi--this is Seonghwa to HQ. We have drained the succubus. We are going to need some help bringing her back, though.”

A transparent screen appeared before Seonghwa. A man with fiery hair and glasses popped up. “If you drained her, you wouldn’t be hard anymore. Didn’t I tell you, she’s got a pheromone curse.”

Yeosang belly laughed. “That’s just his normal hard on, Mingi. You know how he gets when he eats out.” Yeosang continued to chuckle to himself.

Mingi rolled his eyes. “I’ll send Wooyoung, he needs some more experience.”

You watched as your tale became a faint pink colour instead of black, your nails receded and you felt your horns get smaller as well. The confusion that had been holding you back faded as well.

“You fucking magical boys drained me? Me? I had such a good operation here at the hospital. I wasn’t harming anyone, just taking some drinks here and there. What’s wrong with giving someone in pain a little head now and then?” You demanded with a weak snarl.

Yeosang pinched your nipples between his fingers, rolling them and making you cry out at the pain and pleasure. “Well, you were so good, we just had to take you home for ourselves,” Yeosang informed you.

You began to grumble under your breath. “You know, they say you are the saviours of the city, but you magical boys are just as bad as us succubuses. You enjoy sex just as much as us.”

Seonghwa smirked slowly, a crooked affair that had your pussy fluttering at the thought of it between your legs. “True. But we do it for good reasons. Doesn’t the means justify the ends?”

“I think you got it backwards, Seonghwa,” Yeosang sighed heavily behind you. 

Seonghwa blushed. He was glowing with Yeosang’s power and your own. His shirt with cutouts and tight leather barely held back the sheen of his bronze skin. “Shut up, Yeosang. I’m not the one that almost lost my power because I couldn't handle a slutty nurse.”

“Almost--” Yeosang choked on his ego. “You got lost in that cunt, don’t even pretend to be mightier than thou!”

“Gentlemen, there’s enough of me for the both of you. And this Wooyoung you speak of. We could all have a fun time,” You purred. You looked around the small hospital room. “Although we might need a change of scenery."

Seonghwa rubbed his face tiredly. “Wooyoung better get here quickly. I need a time-out.”

“Does that involving jerking off to the idea of our fair nurse and your face buried in her cunt or--”

Yeosang made a pained ‘oof’ noise as Seonghwa moved to punch Yeosang in the arm. Yeosang burst into laughter. “Alright, alright. I gotta get out of this hospital gown.”

You watched with an appreciative eye as Yeosang pulled himself out of the hospital bed and removed his hospital gown. From his broad shoulders, big arms, thick waist and cute little butt, you should have known from the get go that he was a trap. And you did but who could say no to that little treat waiting for you in bed? Your downfall had been your greed but you found yourself not being able to regret it.

honorary series tag: @potatomountain

You cackled as you flew through the air, part glide and part jump. Rooftops zoomed in and out as you touched on them momentarily only to glide through the air once again.

“San, no!” One of the magical boys you were fleeing from shouted. 

“She’s not getting away this time!” San bellowed. “I’m going to catch her.”

A thrilling shiver went through your body, from the top of your head with your twisted horns, extending along the wings at the small of your back and the spade tail as well. Your claws retracted and extended at the thought of the juicy morsel that was pursuing you. You did so love a game of chase. 

San, the magical boy leaping after you, had a mixture of dark blue and purple hair, cut short but only to enhance his sharp features. He had the biggest set of shoulders you had seen on a human man but barely any clothes covered his huge form. He had a halter top that left most of his pecs on display and gloves up his arms. His pants were torn in perfect places, enough to show the flexing of his legs at work. He was exactly the right magical boy for the job.

Earlier, you had targeted a group of guys out late from the bars. They may not be magical boys and full of delicious energy, but a Succubus couldn't be picky when she was starving. The magical boy’s energy meter must have gone off and thus Mingi and San were dispatched. 

The quick steps behind you let you know that San was quickly catching up. You weren’t exactly looking to get away--you just needed room between San and Mingi, so you could get a taste of San. Or more. 

You managed one final arc over to the next rooftop but midway, San slammed into you, causing you both to descend to the next rooftop you were aiming to. You both tumbled head over heel, and wound up with San on his hands and knees over you, his head hovering over your lower half. Not your preferred position, but you’d take it.

“I don’t even know why you ran,” San scolded you. “You guys always lose against us.”

“I dunno…” You purred, running your claws along San’s abdomen. “I think I won.”

All you needed was one pad of your fingers to touch San’s skin and you cursed him. 

“Wha…what did you do?!” San jumped off of you and backed up on his butt to get away.

“Just a little gift.” You couldn't help but smirk while sitting up yourself.

The curse gloriously bloomed on San’s bronze skin; the dark, magical ink spread quickly. It began to affect San almost immediately after it finished forming. His thick cock pressed up against his pants and he began to pant in need.

“Why.. why do I feel so hot?” San whined. 

“Come to me, big boy, I'll make you feel better,” You said as you started crawling towards him.

San’s hips buck up into the air but he's not going to get the friction he wants. “No… I can't succumb… to your dark magic.”

You chuckled. “Oh, but you will.”

San’s hands become fists, clutching his pants tightly, resisting the urge to cup himself through the material. “I’m much stronger than that,” he insisted.

You cocked your head, finally reaching him. “Are you?” 

You run a finger down the middle of his torso. San bit down on his lower lip, watching you with hooded eyes as that finger runs down his shaft as well. You run it back up and then cruelly push at the slit of his cock. A wet spot appeared. 

“Seems you like a little pain with your pleasure, cutie,” You teased.

“Mingi’s going to kill me,” San mumbled to himself. 

You could practically feed from the aura San was giving. His arousal grew even as he spoke of one of his fellow magical boys. 

“There’s a way to save yourself,” You dangled a tidbit in front of the moaning magical boy.

“You would show mercy?” San’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

You shook your head and laughed in delight. He was so expressive. He was going to be so much fun to play with. “No, cutie, I’m going to feed like a glutton tonight.”

You explained to San in detail that you could tell that he was attracted to Mingi. If San could lure Mingi in to fuck him, then you fucked San while the two were engaged, you could feed on both their magical powers but not drain them completely. You licked your lips in anticipation of how delicious they would be. 

San shook his head back and forth in denial. “No!”

You raised an eyebrow in question at him. “Haven’t you shared moments of intimacy with your other members?”

San’s adorable purple dusting of a blush covered more of his face and spread down his neck. “Once I had to suck Jongho’s energy to win a fight but it was one time!”

“I’ll prep you, it’ll be great, don’t you worry!” You encouraged eagerly.

“Prep me?” San choked out his confusion. 

It’s nothing to yank down San’s pants and contort his body so that he was still on his back, but his chin was adorably pressed against his ample chest, ass high in the air and his legs almost folding back to his head. This magical boy was quite flexible. 

You wrapped a hand around his length and pumped experimentally. San’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Oh fuck.”

Continuing with the hand job, you press your chest to San’s lower body to keep it up and lick tentatively at San’s puckered hole. It clenched in response and you pushed your tongue in.

“No! Wait! That's--” San whined. “That feels so good.”

You scraped your fangs along San’s ass and he whimpered at the stimulation. You continued to yank at his pulsing election, twitching nicely against his stomach. You went back to licking and tonguing San’s asshole, enjoying how he squirmed in your hold. He was part denial, part glorious enjoyment and you were eating all of it up.

“Don't you want to be ready for Mingi?” You remind him. 

“Nnnnnnn,” San wordlessly responded. 

If he was dumb now, you can only imagine how he'll react to this next situation.

You let go of his cock in order to spread his cheeks and spit on his hole. You then, after retracting your claw, ran your forefinger around his puckered hole and then pushed in. You worked your finger into him, lubed up with the spit. San butt cheeks began to clench in an attempt to move back on your finger. Now that was some progress.

“Wanna be stuffed, do you, cutie?” You wondered as you continued to work San open with your finger.

“Feels… so… good…” San panted. His tongue was hanging out, pink and the perfect shape to lick you--but you could not afford to be distracted from your goal. 

You worked a second finger in, continuing to spit on San’s hole. You scissored your fingers, making him gape open. He was almost ready for his magical friend.

“Now, San,” You cooed. In order to get a good, positive reaction from San, you wrapped your hand around his cock and continued to lick his asshole. “All you need to do is convince Mingi that in order for your curse to go away, Mingi just needs to fuck you. As soon as you come, it’ll go away. Then I’ll spear myself on you. You’ll have the best of both worlds. Don’t you want that? To be stuffed full and to be fully stuffed inside of me?"

“Puh-please,” San whimpered. 

That was when you stopped stimulating San and stepped back. “I’ll just be hiding back here then; watching you. Be good and do as you're told, cutie.”

San’s lower half slowly unfolded as your body was no longer bracing him. He looked like a half-finished snack, cock firm against his stomach where the curse tattoo was, the most fucked-out look painted on his face, and his large chest heaving like he was out of breath.

“San!”

You step further back into the shadows as the aforementioned Magical Boy finally makes an appearance. 

Mingi pushed his spectacles up his nose, surveying the scene. His button up shirt was sans buttons, tucked into his pants, with a v straight down his chest, framing his pecs wonderfully. He looked like he’d burst out of either his shirt or pants at any moment. His vibrant yellow and red hair should remind you of fire but instead you can smell mango and raspberries in the air. 

“Mingi…” San groaned.

You have to stifle a giggle as you watch his cock twitch drastically against his toned stomach.

“I told you to not rush off--oh god.” Mingi’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’ve got a curse.”

You studied the other magical boy. Words and numbers flash across the glasses of his spectacles and Mingi let out a noise of understanding. “My computer says it’s a libido curse.”

“I fought the succubus off. She fled but not before giving me this. Can you help me?” San wondered. His hands couldn't help but wander over her body to feed the curse.

Mingi licked his lips nervously. “San…”

“It’ll go away if you fuck me, right? Come on man, you gotta help me. I’m…so hot,” San whined.

Mingi cursed under his breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I… okay, I’ll do it but only so that we can get back to HQ. It’s just to get rid of the curse, okay? In case your succubus comes back. I don’t want you to be drained of your magic.”

San grunted as he turned himself over and presented his ass to Mingi. Mingi sucked in a breath at the view. Mingi’s hand tentatively but reverently smooths over one globe of San’s ass. “Why are you so… wet? Already?”

San let out an impatient whine again. “I’m hard as a rock and my ass is ready to get stuffed, doesn’t that sound like a Libido Curse to you?”

“But…” Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed, unsure. “My computer says--”

“Fuck what your computer says!” San said harshly. “I’m dying down here. Hurry up and fuck me so we can get it over with.”

You smirked, seeing as how San’s really playing into the ‘we’re just doing this because we have to’ ideal. Even though you can smell both of the Magical Boy’s arousal from where you are in hiding.

“Okay, okay, I got you, San,” Mingi murmured. 

The taller magical boy pulled himself out from his pants and you had to press your lips together to suppress the moan that was begging to leave your mouth. He’s got a cock that’s perfect for fucking--not that you’ll be doing any of that this evening, but even just the knowledge was good to have. 

Mingi let out a precious whine as he pushed into San’s hole. 

“Oh shit,” San moaned. 

“Why the fuck do you have to be so tight?” Mingi whined back. 

The two of them were a moaning mess. San rocked back into Mingi’s length and Mingi’s hips worked methodically. San slowly descended in madness, mumbling about how deep Mingi was going until he couldn't even form Mingi’s name. He was just mind-numbingly crying out for release. Mingi, if you could believe it, was worse off than San. His hips were stuttering before he could warn San and he stilled his hips, coming deep into San’s hole. 

“Did you..,? Oh god, don’t move San! Did you… come?” Mingi panted.

“No!” San whined. “I was so close!”

With Mingi weak, having sent his energy to San, now was your chance. Even with San glowing, his hair bright and jewel-toned, he was still cursed. His cock pulsed with need and he was ripe for the picking. 

“Good job, San,” You purred as you stroll out of the shadows.

“Wha…?” Mingi’s eyes were big and confused. 

You conveniently slide below San as he braces himself on his forearms to hold himself up. All you have to do is line his cockhead to your entrance and he slid in easily. You were so wet from watching the show, it wasn’t an issue.

You watch on as San couldn't help but fuck himself inside of you. “Oh please, oh please,” he couldn't stop chanting.

“S-san, you said she was gone!” Mingi accused.

“I need this curse gone,” San grumbled and then moaned as Mingi started to move inside of him.

With each withdrawal, San speared himself back on Mingi, who was still hard, despite being almost drained of his magic. San would pull back until only his cockhead was still inside of you, and then slam back into you.

“That's it, you're doing great, Sannie,” You encouraged the magical boy inside of you.

“So good. So fucking good, oh my god,” San whined.

Soon there was only the noise of both magical boys whimpering and the slapping of skin in double time. You could see San’s aura swell with his arousal and you braced to feed.

“Gonna come,” San licked his lips desperately. “Gonna come so fucking hard oh god.”

You wrapped your arms around San’s strong neck, pulling his lips to yours. As San came inside of you, his muffled pleasure music to your ears, you played lazily with his tongue, feeding and taking two magical boy's powers. 

San groaned loudly, drawing out every little bit of his climax, fucking into your cunt. You were satiated beyond your wildest desires; your plan had worked.

With your newfound power, you pushed San back, who collapsed backwards. Mingi fell too, finally being released from San’s sweet hole. 

You took a moment, hands on your hips to survey your two opponents. Both were moaning and their cocks twitched adorably. Mingi was clothed in baggy clothes and some sunglasses but his hair was still the fiery magical boy color. San lost all his magical boy coloring, attaining sneakers and a cap and grey sweats. He did keep his halter top, though. Proof that you had kept your word and had not drained them completely of their powers.

“It was nice playing with you too, but I should go.” 

There was an extremely strong aura on its way. You could take him but that would require using some of your new power. And you weren't keen on losing the feeling of being so well fed right now.

You blew a kiss to the two magical boys and then glided away giddily.

“What did you two fuckwads do this time?!”

Jongho folded his arms over his chest, which only provoked his pecs to form a further cleavage line within the cut out heart on his tight t-shirt.

“San trapped me into…” Mingi couldn't find his words.

San looked down at his stomach and sighed in relief when the curse tattoo was gone. “It worked. Thank the goddess.”

“Do I have to carry the both of you back to HQ or can you manage that much at least?” Jongho huffed.

San held a hand up and groaned when he hauled up his well-fucked and fatigued body. Jongho rolled his eyes.

“You owe me, San,” Mingi grumbled.

“Yeah, when you get caught in a curse, I got you, buddy,” San said saucily.

Jongho pushed his hands to his ears. “Please spare me the details. I don't want to know. Make sure I'm out of earshot when you explain it to Hongjoong too.”

Mingi punched San in the shoulder, who in return, glared back at Mingi. It was going to be a long walk home.