Noon 20+

 "I hate that you have to move out," your best friend, Na-Ra sulks watching you zip one of your bags.

You heave out a sigh and proceed to your other bag, this one was overflowing with your clothes; it's going to take a lot more than just simply zipping it around. Stumbling through the cluster of boxes, you sit on top of the bag and tug at the zipper. It comes halfway through and then gets stuck. Genius move.

"I have to move out because—" you keep pulling at the zipper, using all your force to close it. Even if it wasn't. "—you and Yeosang are little freaks who just can't keep it in their pants."

"Touché," Na-Ra mocks, leaning back further against the headboard of your bed, which unfortunately you'll have to leave behind, considering your new apartment is fully furnished.

You glare at her, and she pouts, teasing you further on with her quiet mumble, "let me have some fun, babe," her smile widens, "we're in our honeymoon phase, if not now than when?"

You shrug, struggling with the zipper because you were hell bent on closing the bag. Besides, your arm had started to strain and ache under the stress it was subjected to, not that you were going to learn anything from it. Listening to your friend's words, you force yourself to roll your eyes and glare at her.

"You've got your whole life ahead of you to do whatever with him," you hiss through your gritted teeth, "but no! You are kicking me out of your apartment for some average dick."

"Above average," she corrects you, "he's not that small you know." Her voice gets louder somehow, "besides, you yourself volunteered to move out!"

"Yes, because I don't want to be a third wheel. And Gross. That's T-M-I." You emphasise, "I would be the least interested person in your sex life, although some part of me already knows too much. Sometimes I wish I could burn my ears off, because of all that I've heard."

"Does the chaos sound like music to your ears?" she instigates, letting out a soft chuckle; she wouldn't let you know it, but the sight of you wrestling with the bag was certainly entertaining for her. "You're going to rip your hands out if you force it so much."

"Instead of being all smarty pants, why don't you come help me?" you groan, and she giggles softly, hopping off the bed.

She stands by the edge of your bed, gandering around till her heart drops; she'd miss you, and she had made it known to you for the past few days. Rummaging her eyes through the messy room, she suppresses a chuckle and shakes her head. Your room never stays messy, you were more of a perfectionist than keeping everything haphazardly strewn around. Well, you were OCD about all little things around you, which would make sense why you constantly strived for perfection.

Na-Ra walks over to you, stepping through the boxes carefully and crouching down in front of you; the flounce of her dress flutters around her when she sits down and casts you a hopeless glance. Her lips quiver just enough to make you realise how painful her trapped sentiments were. It must be tormenting for her to see you go, after all you two were best friends since high school. Your friendship with her has lasted forever, till either of you graduated from college, and got a job.

"I'm going to save you some tears," she begins, a pout casing her lips, "so, no melodrama. There are no bitter goodbyes, only cheerful farewells."

"This is not a farewell, come on," you assure her with a smile, "we'll meet all the time. I'm literally twenty minutes away from you. Give me a call. Set up a place. I'll be there. Probably, meet for a drink or something."

Her pout softens. Dragging on with her silence, she lets out an amused chuckle before playfully punching your arm. "Of course. How can I forget you don't function without liquor in your system."

"Hey! I never said anything about booze." You retaliate, defending yourself, "it's all on you. Though on the contrary, I think booze is just what I need right now because I've got work tomorrow."

"And what?" Na-Ra continues to laugh, "you're going to meet your new landlord half-buzzed out of your mind."

"As if 'sober-me' would have enough grit to talk to him," you mumble, your cheeks heating up at the mention of your landlord. "I think we both agreed he's adorable as fuck."

"He's cute," she shrugs, "just not my type. Hey, but there's nothing wrong with you liking him."

"I don't like him!"

You huff out, breathless and tired from pulling the zipper close. Taking a deep breath, you slide yourself off the bag and fall on the floor, right in front of your friend who offers you a smug smile.

"Na-Ra, I really don't like him," you state, sternly as so to make a point, "I didn't even know of his existence until Yunho told me he was looking for a tenant to sublet his spare apartment." Pausing shortly after, you fidget with your fingers and heave out a sigh, "and then my desperation got the worst of me. I agreed to it without thinking or looking into his background. But if Yunho says he's a great guy, then he is. Maybe. I trust Yunho."

"You'd have to be some different kind of unbothered and pathetic to not know he existed as your coworker," she snides.

You roll your eyes, leaning back into your unzipped bag, and frowning softly, "don't blame me, he's a tech guy and I'm in the management department. There'd be no reason for us to meet, unless I have any issues with the software or my computer."

"Which I assume you never needed." She deadpans, checking the time on her wristwatch before tapping your thigh in urgency, "well, we better get to work. Is this the last of your luggage?"

"Yep, these boxes and two bags; other stuff has been moved already." You gander at your half-closed bag behind you, "I can't get this bag to close, so guess it's just one now."

"I'll bring it over when I get the time to. Does it have something important?" she questions, and you shake your head, "nothing that I need urgently, just some spare clothes and kinky underwear I stopped wearing after, you know..."

The way you trail off sends an immediate jolt of remembrance in her; she doesn't want to respond to it, but also doesn't want to keep you in the loop of reminiscing those sullen days. You catch the littlest of distortion on her face, the kind which makes her seem like she's sad or melancholic. And you thought this won't be a sad goodbye. You dust yourself off from the ground, given you were thinking about your past; in a way to elaborate, the past you were thinking about was the time when you broke up with your boyfriend. Many would tell, you were the perfect couple, but perfect doesn't seem to cover the improper cracks and absurd excuses—nah, it brings out suspicions. Three years into the relationship and you got to know he had another chick to entertain all along. Heartbroken but not really broken with your dignity, you left him, no matter how much he begged you not to.

In retrospect, you were done being the naive and gullible deer everyone used to their own gain. Not that you could say the same thing about your work life now. Ever since you had befriended a certain person, you were starting to understand the functioning of lying men. The knowledge authentically supplied to you by your work friend, Jeong Yunho. To say the least about him, he was a giant teddy bear, always towering over you and giving you unwanted hugs. Some being bone crushing too. Your friendship was a little delicate, but you were always on good terms with each other. When he heard your woes on your living arrangements, considering you had sieved through most of the details, he quickly came up with a solution.

His response to you was, "hey, if you're in a fix, I heard Jongho is looking for tenant to rent his spare apartment to. You should talk to him."

And your initial reaction was, "Jongho, who?"

It was not entirely your fault to not be up to date with what goes in your workplace; besides, Jongho was a tech guy, belonging to the cyber security team who had a different schedule compared to you. In the end, things do turn out for the better. You were merely an acquaintance with Jongho, the current dynamic being changed from strangers since he called you over to show you around his spare apartment. You couldn't complain much, and to be fair, there wasn't much to complain about either.

The spare apartment was neat, clean, and well maintained, to top it off, it was even furnished so you had nothing to worry about. As Jongho chattered your ear off, he mentioned that he had possessed the apartment from his late aunt, from her will. He didn't know what to do with it since he had already bought an apartment in the same building (after liking how perfect his aunt's apartment was for him) and had settled down properly. It would be an unnecessary bother to move out, given he hadn't just rented it but in actuality, bought it under his name.

Jongho was a sweet guy, he had a great personality, a good sense of humour and his cheeky smile was so infectious. The day you met him, you were totally swept away, not just by his geeky appearance but because of his character. He respected you, your decisions, made you feel comfortable even though you were practically strangers at the beginning—overall he had left his mark on you. The good kind of course. From that day onwards, you and Jongho started talking at your workplace; a new friendship in the making while Yunho left out, of sorts. He did not bring it to your attention, however.

A few more days of talking, frequent coffee breaks spent at Jongho's desk, and the unprecedented lunch 'dates', you were a little smitten with Jongho. Who wouldn't be? Jongho was a dreamboat, fitting to your expectations of what and how a man should really be and foremost, he was the greenest flag from all the stupefying caricatures you had dated in the past. Including your cheating ex.

All that aside, to say you were a little excited to move into your place, would be an understatement. You had been looking forward to it from the day you finalised the deal with Jongho. Okay, you can't really validate your feelings based on how good of a man he was. For all you know he could even be a serial killer, or a psychopath. Well maybe you shouldn't think too dark about it. Or maybe you shouldn't have discarded that thought the moment it popped in your head.

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🦋 ˚₊‧⁺˖

           "You know, if you had told me beforehand, I would've come over to help you," Jongho says it as a matter factly, smiling at you with the same warmth as he did when you two first met.

And just as that time, he was peculiarly happy and proud; you observed him from head to toe, admiring him and his sense of fashion. Clad in a simple navy-blue cardigan and black pants, he made very little efforts to look this pretty. Not to mention, his black rimmed glasses which were thick and sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose. You were pleased with him, and his littlest of efforts. Other than the obvious fact that you were starting to view him in a different light.

"Eh, couldn't trouble you," you grunt while picking up a box from the trunk of your car; pouting silly, you watch Jongho pick one too regardless of you telling him not to. "You're really stubborn, aren't you?"

"What can I say? I don't like doing what told to," he chuckles, his teeth on display, "and what, do you think I can't carry this box, which feels like it's filled with feathers, up five flights of stairs?"

"No, I did not mean it like that," you defend your initial remark, knowing it was a mere request from you to him.

"I'm very much secure with my masculinity, buttercup," his lips twitch to a teasing smile, "though it doesn't make sense to mention it afore you."

"To reassure you, I wasn't questioning your masculinity," you giggle, "it was more of a formality. You know, can't let you do any of my things because you've already done too much for me."

"That's all balderdash."

He waves you off, holding the box in one hand and using the other to close the trunk of your car, while making sure you weren't standing any closer to it. The sound of the slam makes you flinch, in bewilderment however more in fear; his brute strength would be surprising, surprisingly strong to know you'd be helpless against him if he ever tries something on you. Which, a thought, you again considered to be the folly of your mind, because why would a guy like him do anything against your will? Mistake.

The two of you, walk inside the lobby of your new apartment complex, technically it was his too. According to your knowledge, Jongho owned a place on the seventh floor while his aunt's apartment was on the fifth floor. An accented mahogany table sits empty upfront, probably the reception desk or something. Adjacent to the desk, lies a wall with mailboxes: golden doored, metallic numbers of the apartments, and the acrid stench of something rotting. You were taken back by it, by how that particular area reeked of rotting flesh, but the entire place smelled moth-eaten, stale as if. This sure leaves an eldritch sense of horror in you, because at the time of your first inspection, this place was nothing alike to what you're witnessing right now. Regardless, you decide to push it down, not bothered by the fetor, or the forsaken desk in front.

Jongho guides you to the stairwell, veiled behind a heavy looking door; the elevator is out of order, unfortunately. Even after countless complains to the manager, the elevator hadn't been repaired or had any signs of mending. Jongho pushes the door open, grunting under his breath—the door did seem heavy and substantial, no wonder his cheeks were flustered by an inch when he ushered you in.

"Ladies first," he adds.

"Oh why, thank you kind sir." You bow your head a little, joking along with him.

Jongho lets the door close behind you, and continues, "you know, I chose to help you. So, it's my responsibility to make sure everything is perfect."

"I think you've done enough; I have nothing to complain about." You start climbing up the stairs, with him in your pursuit; you glance over your shoulder and offer him a genuine smile, "besides, I was pretty ignorant about...you. To think I didn't know you even existed until Yunho brought it up."

Jongho's eyes darken only for a moment, only so for you to catch a flash of uncertain turpitude in them. Feeling a sense of unease crawl your spine, you stare straight ahead and hasten your pace up the stairs; not so quick for him to get suspicious.

"It's alright," he dismisses, voice sullen, "everything happens for a reason, doesn't it? If your friend's boyfriend hadn't moved in with her, or if you hadn't brought up your living situation with Yunho, I doubt you'd ever have noticed me."

"What's your agenda?" you scoff, "you're making me feel bad about myself."

"Dearest apologies," he mumbles, "I meant to infer that you and I were destined to meet, one way or another."

"When you put it like that, it doesn't make me seem so...selfish." You mutter under your breath.

To your assumption, you must've climbed up two floors; and it confirms when you pass the landing area for the second floor. Jongho is still walking behind you, noticing you, wanting to keep you engaged in a conversation. He doesn't really say anything for a minute however, bating you in the silence of nothing till you heave out a sigh and grow tired of it.

"It's just weird how one thing leads to another," you break the silence, "it's almost like a fate's blueprint, you were ordained to meet each other at this given time, in this given situation."

Noting the hesitance in your tone, Jongho bites back on his concern and questions you diligently. "Are you having second thoughts about the move?"

"What? No!" you're too quick to dismiss him off, not because he had pressed your nerve, but rather because you didn't want to seem ungrateful. "This is the best decision I ever made. Trust me."

"Agreed, otherwise you'd be stuck listening to the very annoying and loud moans of your best friend. I know it infuriates you." He chuckles, "don't worry, the walls here are thick so you won't be needing your noise cancelling headphones anymore."

"That's right..." you chortle along him with, which soon dies to a sudden burst of tranquility upon realising an odd point about him.

You halt in your steps, standing still in the landing between the third and fourth floor, unmoving till he calls out your name.

"Why did you stop?"

You turn around to face him; you were sure he could notice the drain of colour from your face, or even how delicately your lips were trembling to get your words out.

"It's kind of odd how you know..." you drag your words into a whisper, "I never mentioned it, did I?"

You never mentioned it to him before, never told him you wore headphones while going to bed. Was that just a coincidence? Or was it his hunch? Though, on the contrary, was he keeping an eye on you? The latter option just feels wrong, so you fling it straight out the window.

Jongho's face twitches with reluctance for a mere second before his lips curve into a flattering grin. "It's only obvious you'd be using them while sleeping, if your roommates are too loud. Agreed you didn't mention it particularly, but you did tell me that they were stuck in a honeymoon phase. Why else would I even say it?"

"Makes sense," you shrug and continue on with your walk, not giving it much thought anymore.

Jongho heaves out a sigh of relief, appeased by his piddling attempt to cover up his mistake. Nonetheless, he knows he has to use his words with utmost restraint and choose them well before speaking. He can't have you doubting him, suspecting his good character over the silly rashness of his avidity towards you. Like a shadow, he creeps behind you, never letting you know of his presence; he's foreboding, professing predisposition to the ordeal of what he painted as 'work of destiny'. Was it really the work of destiny to get you two together?

Only time would tell.

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🦋 ˚₊‧⁺˖

             "Cool place, babe." Na-Ra comments, ogling around your living room with her boyfriend strapped to her waist. "Very niche, I must admit."

Her boyfriend, sticking to her waist like some parasite, pouts and lets out a sweet-sounding chuckle, "I agree. A humbling abode for a woman like you. Suits you well."

"Oh, why thank you, Yeosang." You roll your eyes, "I still need to work on some stuff, decorate a couple of crooks and crannies."

"Puh-lease," your coworker's snort resounds from the couch, "you flipped this place over from an abandoned domicile to an elaborate habitat of pink."

"Geez Louise, Yunho," you deadpan, "if you abhor pink just let me know. I'll redo everything in black—just like your soul."

"That sounds like too much work," his brows tuck together while he replies, "and too many efforts. Don't waste them for my sake."

He tugs on the collar of his shirt, unbuttoning it further till he reaches second button; Yunho's tall stature sits awkwardly on the couch, his legs spread in front of him, while he slouches just a little against the back of the couch. Lethargy is quite evident on his face, regardless he proffers you a giddy smile and asks you to hand him a bottle of beer. It was his third one of the nights, there were many more to come.

You scoff, moving away from your friend and her boyfriend, to get yourself a drink from the snacks table you had arranged. Picking out two bottles of beer, you hand one to Yunho and settle down next to him. The day was here, the day where your best friend whined on about how you should host a housewarming party; regardless of you renting it. So, there you were, a little after midnight, relieved from your day job, hanging out in your new apartment with your friends. Except for Jongho. You couldn't find him anywhere after work and thought the only feasible thing to do was to leave a voicemail on his phone.

"I think you should really get on with the balcony," Yeosang snides, coming to sit on the chair next to the couch with Na-Ra tucked by his side; he settles down comfortably first and then pulls his girlfriend on his lap. "It has a good view of the city, and the sky. Maybe lay out a carpet, get a swing chair and add some plants to spice it up a bit."

Na-Ra nods her head, "talk about having a perfect romantic setting."

"Guys, I hear you," you roll your eyes, "unfortunately the reins to make any updates around here are with Jongho. I can't do anything without his permission."

"He won't mind the minor changes," Yunho shrugs, chugging a good deal of his beer while making eye contact with you, "bet he'd get on it with you, knowing he has a soft spot for you."

"Bullshit," you mumble, guzzling your beer down, "he doesn't have a soft spot for me."

"Oh, yeah. He doesn't. He doesn't have a soft spot for you and he didn't just help you out with your living situation." Na-Ra speaks up, "he didn't feel bad when you told him you never noticed him in your workplace. And he helps you out with everything and never says no. Yep, that sums it up, he doesn't have a soft spot for you."

"Says a lot about him," Yeosang simply pouts and shakes his head, "one would have to be really oblivious to not notice the signs."

Na-Ra gets up, going to grab a couple of beer bottles, chiming to her boyfriend's remark, "don't worry, she's always been a little naive about those things." She comes back and returns to her place, rightfully in Yeosang's lap and raises her bottle to you, giving the other one to her boyfriend, "it took her two years to realise Song-Wook had been flirting with her. So, I won't be surprised if she takes another two years with Jongho too."

"Damn, kid. Two years?" Yunho snickers, tracing the tip of his forefinger on the rim of the bottle, "two years to fathom a dick had been dallying with you? Well, Jongho better be upfront with you if he wants to have a shot with you."

"Don't you have something better to do?" you glare at Na-Ra first, then at Yeosang, and finally, Yunho. Grinding your teeth, you murmur out a tired sigh, "my love life is one one's concern. And it shouldn't be either."

"You think we won't be concerned after that ugly blowup with your ex?" Na-Ra says, sipping her beer, "that jerk was cheating on you."

"Are we talking about...?" Yunho trails off, keeping his now empty bottle of beer on the coffee table in front of him.

You nod at him, indicating he was on the right track; noticing your sullen eyes, he proceeds to say something, but it's lost in the slightest tremble of his lips when the doorbell buzzes loud. The intercom chimes in next, speaker propagating a man's voice laden in static.

"Hey, it's me. Jongho."

You get up from the couch and march your way to the front door. This seemed weird to you because Jongho knows the passcode to the door already. Why wouldn't he use it to let himself in? Brushing those doubts away, you begrudgingly open the door and find Jongho standing with his hands occupied in holding a small box. The shimmering ribbons on it could certainly provide you with assumptions and predictions.

You usher him in, he mumbles a soft 'thank you' to you before slipping out of his boots and into the house slippers you lay out for him. He's walking right behind you, carefully holding the box in his hands while you guide him to the living room where the others' smiles were hinting at something else. Jongho places the box on the coffee table and sits next to Yunho on the couch; eyeing Na-Ra and Yeosang with much vacillation of his trust, he turns to you and offers you a benign smile.

"My hands were full," he begins, "otherwise, I would've let myself in." Looking around, he notices a couple of things but doesn't voice out his thoughts, instead, he fixates his eyes on you. "Am I late to the party?"

He sounds guilty. You wave him off, striding over to sit on the extra chair next to the couch; bringing your legs up, you pull your knees close to your chest and wrap your arms around them.

"Not really," you reassure him, "we were just cracking some fatuous chatters and nothing else. You didn't miss a lot."

"Well, I hope I didn't," he chuckles and leans over to untie the ribbons on the box he had brought with him. "I'm not so up to date with these gatherings, so I just got a cake. Everyone likes a cake, right?"

Yunho coos, "so adorable of you. A little sweetness is what we need."

"And a heck lot of calories," Na-Ra comments.

"Which you'll be burning off once we get back home," Yeosang adds, and everyone groans except for Na-Ra.

"Please, we don't need your sexual innuendos ruining our peace," you grumble and run your hand over your face. Composing an adorable smile, you glance at Jongho and muse, "that's really nice of you, Jongho. But you didn't have to get anything. This is more like a make-believe party I was forced to host, cause some people here are really stubborn."

You glare at Na-Ra and all she does is rolls her eyes and drinks more of her beer.

"So, you expect me to come empty handed?" Jongho retaliates, opening the box to reveal the cake in it. "Ouch, that hurts."

"I didn't mean that," you whine, defending yourself. "You're playing a very risky game, Jongho."

"And it seems like I'm winning?" he mocks, carefully picking the cake out of the box and placing it on the table. "Well, to your new beginnings in this house."

You watch Jongho as he pulls out a small candle from the pocket of his pants and takes its cover off before stabbing it through the cake. The candle sits in the centre, while Yunho lights it up with his lighter he usually has on himself; Na-Ra and Yeosang are the bystanders, observing, acknowledging.

"Okay, make a wish," Yunho jokes when Jongho brings the cake to you, "not exactly what I expected I'd be saying."

Jongho stands next to you, leaning over while holding the cake in front of you; with a nudge of his head, he brings it a little closer to you and you blow out the candle. And no, you did not make a wish as Yunho asked you to, which you were regretting because you really wanted to make a wish. Applause resounds from your guests, Na-Ra cheers a phrase which is incoherent, and inaudible, considering how lost you were in Jongho's eyes. The warmth of hazel in them is contrasting, a lot—but there's avidity in them, bringing you closer to him. You're leaning, inching your way to him to touch his lips, at least your heart was forcing you to.

"Let's cut the cake, shall we," Yunho announces, making the two of you flinch and pull back.

"You guys have fun," Na-Ra pipes in, however, dejected. "I have to be early for work tomorrow. Duty calls, sadly. I'll be around quite often. So, don't be disheartened."

"I'm not," you deadpan, but soon soften yourself when Na-Ra and Yeosang get up from the chair to leave.

"Yeah, before we leave, I got your luggage," she winks, hinting at something and you do catch up on it, "I left it in the trunk and thought I'd have Yeosang bring it up while leaving."

"Oh, more luggage?" Yunho questions, "how many bags do you have, jeez."

"Just enough for my clothes," you shrug, "under some unforeseen circumstances, I had to abandon this one there."

"Yeah, by unforeseen you mean haphazard work of stuffing all your clothes into one bag, so the zipper doesn't close," Na-Ra jokes, both of them now at the front door. She lets out a soft chuckle, "okay, we better leave before you murder me with your eyes."

"I wish it worked that way. But if you don't visit me often, then I might," you threaten her playfully, getting up from the chair and going to engulf her in a warm hug.

Na-Ra embraces you tighter to herself, returning your enthusiasm; you keep yours and Yeosang's hug a little short. The two of them are out of the front door when Jongho interrupts your last whiling farewells.

"I think it's better if I tag along and get the luggage myself. You won't have to make a double trip up." He stands next to you, by the open door. Offering a small smile to Yeosang and Na-Ra, he too then slips in boots and leaves with him.

Na-Ra waves you off energetically, appearing a little disappointed with how things had to end tonight. Nevertheless, she doesn't let it show on her face as she's leaving with Yeosang, and Jongho in their pursuit. You flash them one last smile and shut the door; a sigh parts your lips regardless and sulking you return back on the couch next to Yunho. He hums a soft tune before grasping your shoulder, pressing his fingers to massage gently before sliding his hand to your back.

"You're not alone," he whispers, "but I can tell why you'd feel lonely."

"Five years living with her," you continue, merely in a mumble as you look at him, eyes showcasing your glum heart. "Five years and we separate now. We've been childhood friends, you know. Never went by a day without each other."

"Nothing could've prepared you for this day," he shrugs, pulling you close to his chest, giving you a much-needed sympathetic hug. His scent dithers your senses to nothing, a bit calming but that's all it was. "Female friendships are precious, endearing even."

You nod, tracing your hand along his which were wound tightly around your waist; you were starting to creep up on the sense that this hug wasn't anything close to friendly. Though, at the moment, when you were too lost in dwelling on your memories with Na-Ra, you didn't mind staying a bit longer, not that you cared since he was trying to blur the line of friends and lovers between you two. It wouldn't come off as a surprise, you were well aware of Yunho's adoration for you, but maybe you always pushed it aside since you viewed at him through nothing but a friendly gaze.

The serenity in the moment is too loud, too rapturing for you to notice someone walking in through the front door. When the gentle lock of the door clicks, is what makes you flinch and pull away from Yunho, eyes straining across to find Jongho's silhouette standing at a distance from you two. He holds onto the handle of your bag, knuckles going white from how tight he held. Squeezing till his fingers are all around the handlebar, he fixates his glare on you, both of you for that matter. A haze of dark crosses his eyes, submerging in the warmth they once held, and disappearing almost too quick for you to puzzle out. His lips curve, almost in a dainty manner before they're delving deep into his cheeks; that maniacal smile, the touch of just a little crazy was driving fear into your spine.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asks, rolling the bag out of his way, before fixing his eyes on Yunho.

The older doesn't make a sound, not even a as he scrambles to his feet and dusts his shirt off. "Yeah, no, nothing at all. I was just leaving."

It seemed like he was weighing his words carefully, trudging to the front door before grabbing his coat from the rack next to it; Yunho offers you a gentle smile, yet it was indiscernible to the course of his and Jongho's interaction. He shrugs on his coat and leaves without uttering a single word, stranding you bemused amid the living room. Jongho's apparent smile had turned a little inane for you.

"He didn't have to leave in such a rush," Jongho says, "anyway, are you in the mood for some wine?"

The sudden contrast in his words and demeanour causes to rift in between, driving countless doubts in your mind till they're diminished to nothing by Jongho's gummy smile. His eyes are trained on you, intensely piercing as if to manipulate your mind into his own. Striking out the possible cynicism in your head, you nod and curl your lips frailly so to reassure him.

"Sounds good to me."

"Of course," he chides, "I believe I have an unopened bottle lying somewhere around in the kitchen."

"Oh," your lips round themselves, voice barely audible. "That was yours? I recall seeing it in the cabinet above the stove; I did not open it and instead chucked it in the fridge."

"No worries."

He waves you off, disappearing in the dimly lit hallway and making his way into the kitchen. After listening to some shuffling around in there, his footsteps muffle and ascend from the hallway, emerging out with two glasses for wine and the bottle itself. Instead of placing the glasses and the bottles on the table, he nudges his head in the direction of the balcony; the balcony adjoined the living room with full length doors sliding open and close. You follow his suit, walking a step behind him.

Cold shivers run down your spine when he leads you out on the balcony; a scenic view awaits you, that is if you consider the dilly dally of empty streets as scenic or even close to it. The moon is hung high in the sky—a cloudless sky. Stars are prominent in the dark, and the moonlight shudders along to illuminate your surroundings. Jongho helps you down on the floor, laden with a dusty carpet, probably serving its purpose from the beginning. Taking a beat to himself, he settles next to you and places the bottle and glasses in between you two.

"It has always been a perfect place to share wine with someone," he murmurs against the night wind, which kisses your face and stings a little. "Needs a little revamping, however. You know to make it a little more mawkish."

"I'd agree," you relate, looking around till your eyes are back on him.

He doesn't make a sound; save for the mumbled grunt he lets out while unscrewing the cork on the wine bottle using his car keys. Pop. The cork comes off, slipping out the rim. Jongho's lips twist in a lopsided smile as he pours you a glass first and hands it to you; preparing the other glass for himself, he keeps the bottle aside and clinks it with yours. You take a sip, relishing the bittersweet taste of the wine before bringing the glass away from your lips. Jongho stares at you a minute longer than he had intended to, peering at you to notice all your details. He adores the tiny scrunch of your eyebrows, or the way your lips tremble when you wince out from the unsweetened taste of the wine. Taking a sip for himself, he stares straight ahead; not much to the view, nonetheless he admired the dusky sky of the night.

You had an inkling that you were biting back on, a petty notion about him acting out on his envy when he saw you with Yunho. It was a friendly gesture on his part, wasn't it? Still and all, you couldn't figure out the exact sentiments of Yunho's hug—it'd be little strung out of you to consider it being more than a chaste sentiment. Howsoever, you couldn't resist overthinking and drowning yourself in it, till you're turning to him and biting on your lower lip.

"What you saw with Yunho..." you mumble, getting his attention.

His eyes are affixed on you, lips contorted to a frown, "hey, it's none of my concerns. I've seen you to share some physical affinity. Wouldn't have been surprised if I were to catch you two making out."

Even if his words were inspiring, you couldn't help but notice the abstruse tone laced to them, or the fact that his eyes were dismal and fatalistic. You wonder, or it does seem to astonish you how easily and deliberately the colour in his eyes changes, almost in a fraction of a second.

"I'm not that close with him," you shrug and take another sip of your wine. "Agreed, we've been hanging out a lot and he keeps me company at work, but there's nothing between us."

"And you thought I'd be interested in knowing that because...?" he instigates, taking you off guard.

You stumble in your words for a second, observing how his thumb rubs circles on the glass he holds. Murmuring to yourself, you look away from him. "Because, maybe, I think, or speculate that you might..."

"I might?"

"You might have a crush on me."

There you said it. Your heart palpitates so hard in your chest, your mind is a blur, and your voice is trapped in your throat; could you even recover from whatever his response might be to your unsolicited assumption? He would have to speak to know what he really thinks of your blabber. But, upon hearing nothing from him, you tilt your head with remaining courage in yourself and find him staring at you instead.

"What?"

He chuckles, his shoulders convulsing with it before he chugs down the entire glass of wine; he leans closer to you, too close to let his breath fan your cheeks. Even so, with his lips ghosting yours, you couldn't comprehend the diminished distance between you two. What would it take for a kiss to happen in this moment? A simple tilt of anyone's head? Or a leap of faith?

"I thought I was getting ahead of myself by not confessing," he simpers, "everyone knows except for you. It was so obvious."

His wispy words were hot on your cheeks. Sadly, the glare of moonlight on his glasses made it hard for you to read what his eyes entailed. You could be assuming right now, but you were starting to gamble on the kiss. Does he mean for it happen? Do you mean for it happen? It's a perfect setting overall, cold night, moon in the sky, stars glimmering, and all while the city falls asleep. Undeniably beautiful. Something out of a fairy tale.

"I mean, I'm an airhead. Who didn't even know of your name before..." you mumble under your breath and tuck yourself closer to him, keeping your glass aside.

"I think we should take a veto on the whole 'not knowing you before you offered to help' trope." He laughs out softly, bringing his hand up to cup your jaw and then eventually your cheek. "I'll admit. When I saw you and Yunho sticking to each other like that, I was jealous. Only a tinge. Felt it rage in me. It would've pensively killed me if you two had..."

"Kissed?"

"Yeah." He tugs himself to you, putting his glass to the side to cup your face in both of his hands now. His warmth spreads under your skin, tickling your senses till they're numb. "Maybe, the longer you wait the sweeter the fruit tastes."

You hum along and extinguish the mere distance between you two; the touch of your lips is cold at first, but the warmth of his palms endearing your cheeks makes up for it. The mere brush of your lips drives you wild, enamoured with the thought of kissing and sucking them. Without much hesitance, Jongho pulls back and hooks his finger under the arms of his glasses to flick them to a side. And once they were off, he dives in to capture your lips in a kiss ever so sensual for you to decipher.

His hands slide to your waist, placing themselves on the either side to help leverage his body into yours. The moment your body collides with each other, the untapped heat comes alive and inflames your soul. You could hear the minor shuffling of your clothes; of the shirt he wore and your lace top barreling into one another. Jongho's hands tighten on your waist, pushing himself closer to deepen the kiss; you angle your head to make it easier for him, easier for him to slip his tongue in your mouth.

Stifling on a giddy titter, you bring your hands to his shoulders and then gently tug your fingers around his neck. Though, in meagre seconds, you're dragging them across to tangle them in his silky locks. Jongho lets out an amused laugh, though it gets muffled when his tongue drones over yours and rubs against every corner of your fervent mouth. You're far too gone to realise how delicate his touch was, how delicately one of his hands had slipped past the hem of your top. His fingertips were searing on your skin, sizzling with a want, a desire to caress and kiss every inch of you.

Regardless of how heated and passionate the kiss was, or how intense your feelings were for him, you pull back. Your heart grows heavy, stubborn to the increasing coldness between you two; Jongho's glides out of your mouth, a few saliva strings joining your lips together. He doesn't let his disappointment show on his face, he doesn't seem disappointed at all. There's a sheepish smile on his face and it sort of, recites the tunes of his heart.

"I wish..." you trail off, breathless while resting your forehead against his, "I wish we could let this escalate. But..."

"But?" he whispers, both hands now under your top, thumbs rubbing circles on your skin. Comforting.

"I'm not sure about us, yet. I don't want to dive headfirst into this and later on realise that we weren't meant to be together." You speak your heart out, however, it does baffle Jongho, only to the slightest.

You thought he'd throw a tantrum, argue, make you realise your worries were nothing but piddling hoaxes. But he doesn't. He doesn't go along with your fears and offers you a warming smile, the archetypal one which makes you forget about your woes and terrors. You could call yourself dramatic, but with guys like Jongho, your insecurities always resurfaced; guys like him, the ones who put you above everything else, make sure you're loved by them, are rare. Your trauma from loving all the wrong guys is still very much alive in your mind. It goes without saying, you'll need time to heal, or get used to Jongho's love.

"It's okay, moonpie." You chuckle at the allotted nickname, and he continues, "you still have scars from your past, and as much as I know, scars don't heal. They leave ugly marks behind; and nothing about you is ugly to me. Never in my eyes. You can take your time, figure out what you want and be determined. Having a loveless relationship, which you only agreed to because you didn't want to hurt my feelings, would be equivalent to being thrown in a prison for a crime you didn't commit."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🦋 ˚₊‧⁺˖

           "The shower was working just fine yesterday," you whine, agitated by the struggle of buttoning the cuffs of your shirt.

"It's fine," Jongho assures you, "I've called the plumber. He'll look into it, make necessary repairs and fix it before you're back from work. Okay?"

"Thanks a lot, Jongho," you mutter in urgency, still struggling with the buttons on your cuffs. "Thanks for letting me use yours."

"No problem." He adds with a dainty chortle, "you're welcomed any time."

This was turning into a nightmare, the way your clothes weren't cooperating with you, just as the shower didn't in the morning. You would have no reason to be in Jongho's apartment, in his lavish and spacious bedroom if not for your shower breaking down early in the morning. These series of unfortunate events were predestined to fall through on an important day for you, on the day you were expected to be punctual, professional and comme il faut. Only a few people from work were alerted about the meeting with the board of directors, you were one of them. Jongho wasn't likely needed, even having received an email from the company saying so, he didn't really bother to attend the meeting and took a sick leave. And looking at him, all hale and hearty, you surmised he just didn't want to be at work today.

"I can't believe you lied about your sick leave," you roll your eyes, bending over to catch your reflection in the mirror of his dresser. "I mean, this meeting sounds crucial and there you are, skipping on it like you don't care."

You watch him shift in bed, propping himself against the headboard while holding a book in his hands; his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose, yet he uses his forefinger to push the further up. There's an unreadable expression glinting in his eyes, and of course, the glares of his glasses make it hard to discern. He doesn't really answer your question or show slightest of interest in what you had been yapping about. Because, he was solely focused on your figure, on the way your skirt hugged your hips and carved out your body, how the top few buttons of your blouse were undone to expose your cleavage and how tempting you appeared to him as you were bent over to fix your earrings in the mirror.

"Cat got your tongue?" you glare at him through the mirror, finding his gaze fixed on you too.

He shakes his head, almost on an instinct, "too focused on reading this book."

"The book you've kept closed for the past thirsty minutes?" you scoff, rolling your eyes at him. For a fact, you were already aware of his thirsty eyes lurking on you.

He clears his throat, "I'm reflecting on the parts I've read."

"Of course you are."

"I'm not lying." His cheeks turn red as you keep your eyes on him. "Whatever, aren't you getting late for work?"

"Thanks for reminding me again," you roll your eyes, yet again, checking yourself in the mirror one last time before stepping away. "How do I look?"

You wait for him to give you his feedback, impatiently dragging your hands across the lower half of your blouse, which was tucked in the risqué black pencil skirt hugging your butt and thighs. He wouldn't have a chance to say otherwise, he doesn't really have to because watching how sensual your professional wear was, he bites back on a wince and shakes his head.

"Are you sure you're dressed formally?" he asks, keeping his book aside on the nightstand next to his bed. "It might send a wrong message to the board of directors."

"Are you talking about the blouse?" you muse, "it's not that revealing. Come on."

He heaves a defeated sigh, watching you tug at the collars of your blouse to let your chest jut out even more. "Fine, you look absolutely stunning. Still professional. So, best of luck."

"Thank you." You wink at him and trudge away from the dresser, "in any case, I'm leaving. You call the plumber and get my shower repaired."

"Yes, ma'am." He gives you a two-finger salute and giggles softly. "Now, go. You've got an important meeting waiting for you."

"Right, right."

With that, you leave his room, eventually slipping out of his apartment and taking the stairwell to yours. It has been couple of weeks of now, if you were keeping a count, then it was now your tenth week since moving into Jongho's spare apartment. Things have been better, they're smooth; your situation has improved a lot, compared to living with Na-Ra and her boyfriend getting it on every single time of the day and night. Every dark cloud has a silver lining, your silver lining was your new apartment and hanging out with Jongho a lot, but your dark cloud would have to be how Yunho had suddenly distanced himself from you. Of course you had never had any issues with him, you were close, always have been, but there was no logical explanation to why he had turned a cold shoulder to you, out of nowhere.

You aren't bothered by him as much, not because at least you got to see him at work and talk a little (confined to only work related). Getting in your apartment, you grab your necessary things, one of which was your purse and a work file, and hastily leave too. No second look overs in the mirror, or no breaks for grabbing a quick snack from your refrigerator, you're out of your apartment in a blink of an eye. You were in a hurry, and it was starting to show.

Jongho throws the sheets to a side, kicking his legs off the bed and strolling casually around and out of his bedroom; he was astounded by your presence, a lot. He was however glad to help you out when you needed it the most. Even if it meant he had to create your problems to offer his help. Now, you might not want to go on Jongho's innocent mien, or the front he puts on for his helpless victims to gain their trust and resolve. Jongho, in the society's minds, was this perfectly shaped and well-behaved person; though to the contrary, one who has witnessed his darker, steeper, creepier parts of life, could tell he's one son of a bitch.

A sociopath is what they call the people who are severely antisocial, with no regard for morales. Or, as what Jongho's therapist had once called him. Jongho had attachment issues, it rooted from his childhood, amongst his family; it grew and thrived in his mind, until his obsessions took over. Jongho would obsess over people. First, it was his mother, then his girlfriend and now you. He was obsessed with you, very much inclined to be with you at all times.

You thought Jongho extended a helping hand out of sheer desperation or love? Think again. Everything had been planned, by his evil mind from the start, from the day he had seen you in a cafe with your best friend, from the moment you walked past him at work; Jongho had always had his eye on you at work, obsessed with you, and moderately aggravated by your ignorance towards him. It might seem coincidental to him, having seen you in the cafe the first time, then finding out you were his coworker in the same company—a mere coincidence. Or fate?

Jongho had his planned nailed down to the T. He knew your girlfriend's boyfriend would move in with her, well considering he had allegedly constructed it to happen, he knew you would find a new place to move in because of their ruckus, and of course, he knew you would turn to Yunho, who mind not, was his accomplice in this whole thing. Ha, and you thought Yunho genuinely wanted to help you. Silly you.

Turning a corner along the long stretching hallway, Jongho enters a room; he closes the door shut behind him and walks on further to the various screens blaring on a wall. There are approximately fifteen screens, all showing the black and white reels of your apartment. Yeah, he had fitted several cameras in your apartment before you moved in, at various angles, getting all good shots of you. He sits down on the chair placed in front of the screens, pushing his glasses up, he starts going through each of the screen for your silhouette. Knowing you aren't in your apartment, he still double checks, wanting to be sure of it. Once he knows you really not there, he gets up from chair, tugs on the sleeves of his cashmere sweater and smirks devilishly to himself.

He has a perfect opportunity now, to sneak into your apartment and indulge in his darkest of desires. Standing in front of your apartment door, he punches in the code and enters; he makes his way around, leisurely strolling till he's in your bedroom. Ah, the broken shower, which wasn't really broken—he had only turned its water supply off. Jongho's smirk keeps growing into his cheeks, a sense of satisfaction over taking his heart before his lust and detrimental obsession kicks in.

Sauntering in your bedroom, he comes across your laundry basket strewn in a corner. Clothes overflow, the flap of the basket remains half open, and bits of your lingerie sticks out. He crouches down on his knees, pushing the flap open to see it for himself. The strap of your lacy bra was tucked out of the basket, under which he hooks his finger and gently pulls out; his gaze admires the flimsy fabric, the floral pattern of the net and how it would cover nothing of your skin when you'd wear it. He was picturing it, shamelessly pitching a tent in his pants. He couldn't help it. Keeping your bra aside, he fishes through the rest of the clothes and finds your lacy knickers too; so, your bra and these panties are a pair, he thinks to himself before pushing himself off the ground and going to sit on the edge of your bed. Not before he makes sure to shut the blinds of the window to keep his actions hidden behind the scenes.

One of his hands held onto your panties, and other clutched the sheets under him; he brings your panties close to his nose, to get a good sniff of your scent, a scent which had driven him to his madness. His cock strains in his sweatpants, painfully confined in his briefs. He wants to pull it out, he wants to do the unthinkable, all for you. Jongho does exactly what his mind had been playing on replay for the past two minutes now. Fantasising about you, and your body, he reaches down and starts palming his cock through his pants, making it harder as he thinks about you. He then tugs at his sweatpants and briefs, his cock springing out to hit his lower abdomen. Glancing down, he knows how hard he had gotten by just your clothes, and it was pushing him to his edge. He probably isn't even embarrassed to admit the truth about what he was going to do.

Jongho wraps his other hand around the tip of his cock, his thumb rubbing circles on the tip before his fingers slide down along the shaft. Stroking himself, he gets himself harder than before, stiff enough to jerk himself off. He relaxes in your bed, arching his back. The palm of his hand engulfs himself entire, and keeping his pace steady, he starts rubbing it back and forth. Veins on his shaft bulge out in a few seconds, and he hisses at the cold and calloused sensation of his hand.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, his voice a mere whimper as he brings the tempo of his hand up. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

He screws his eyes shut, tight enough to picture more of your naked body, to imagine himself getting sucked off by your pretty little mouth; he's seen every inch of your bare body, every time you'd be in the shower or would soak in the bathtub. He's in love with your body, so much, so madly. Sweat starts dripping down his forehead, a few strands of his ebony hair sticking to his skin, while his lips tremble chanting your name. He has your panties pushed up against his nose, taking eventual sniffs of it to drive himself crazy.

With a few quick paced strokes, he switches his rhythm and drags them out, going around the tip to massage it a little; precum starts dribbling out from his slit, and his hand spreads it along his shaft. His cock, glistening with his precum, is still very stiff and eager for the release, yet Jongho keeps his pace slower than before. He takes a deep yet trembling breath in, convulsing his lungs to the sheer pleasure he was deriving out of this. His face was flushed, cheeks red, lips quivering, eyes shut closed and his skin shining with a fresh coat of sweat; he needed more, he needed you. Loosening his fingers around his cock, and pulling his hand away, he brings his other to wrap your panties around him. The soft and warm feeling of your panties pushes him into his carnality, inching him closer to his release.

Tightly wounding his fingers now, he picks up the pace and goes hard; his moans are beginning to fill up the room, his eyes are swelling with tears till a few cascade down his cheeks, staining his skin. He's close. So very close. And the way he was dragging your panties up and down on his cock, was starting to get to him. With few more concise and fast paced strokes, he starts bucking his hips into his hand, fucking himself better. He knows he'll come undone any second now, realising how badly his cock had been pulsating in his hand. Everything blurs to nothing when he twitches, his body shuddering as he lets go. Streaks of white cover his hand, bits of it running down your fingers and a lot of it drenching your panties.

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathes out, his whimper sounding melodious to the empty room as he peels his eyes open. Heaving a wispy laugh, he glances down at his hand, full of his cum and your panties ruined by it. "You'd look so pretty squirming under me, while I'm...oh, fuck."

His mouth falls open, jaw slack, as his vivid imagination was starting to make him hard again. There's still time for you to get home, he wouldn't mind going another round. This time however, he keeps your panties and picks out your bra, spending another hour of his time masturbating and fucking himself to your thoughts, to the very vile imagery of you in his mind.

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🦋 ˚₊‧⁺˖

          You were pacing back and forth, chewing on your nails as Jongho sits on the couch, shifting his eyes to your oscillating body.

"My lingerie is missing." You mumble, showing no signs of stopping in your movements. "The red set of my lacy underwear is gone, disappeared into thin air," you spell out with panic lacing your words, "what kind of pervert would do that? How is that even possible? I locked my door, there was no way anyone would have broken in to steal my underwear."

Jongho hums, relaxing back in the couch and feigning to be in deep thought. He doesn't utter a word. A criminal would keep his mouth shut under the fear of being unraveled. Jongho has your underwear, the red set of your bra and panties is lying in his wardrobe, sullen with his cum and reeking wildly of his scent. He's been jerking off to them every night since he got his hands on them, it's vile, it's disgusting but it's his way of loving you.

"This is maniacal, Jongho. I'm scared of living here now," you stop in your steps and stare at him. "I'm scared." The last of your words sound more like a whisper and that makes Jongho fake his concern even more.

He gets up from the couch and heads to the kitchen to bring you a glass of water, or what you think he was getting for you. You sigh and sit on the couch instead, placing your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands; you were frustrated, annoyed, frightened of your situation and how it was affecting you. Jongho walks out in mere minutes, bringing a glass of water to you. He hands you the glass and you take it without any doubt or having a reason to doubt him. Taking eventual sips, you feel yourself calming down bit by bit. In no time, the glass is empty and sits on the coffee table in front of you. Jongho watches you keenly, resisting the very urge to smirk. His straight face showed no emotions, no signs of impatience that he felt in his heart, but staring at you with his ravenous eyes, he only masqueraded his concern.

"Feeling better now?"

"I guess," you shake your head, returning back to having it slumped in your hands. "But this is outrageous, Jongho. Who could—just, I need some time to recover I think." You mumble, and your head was starting to get heavy.

Jongho notices your unease, and how dizzy you were staring to get. On the other hand, you were confused as to why you were suddenly starting to feel the discomfort; this issue wasn't that serious to begin with, yet you were starting to feel the aftermath of stressing out too much. It's really concerning to you how your lingerie got stolen, only one pair of it, however. You hadn't noticed it missing till after a few days from your important meeting, when you were searching for it to throw it in the washer.

You feel numb, your head throbbing with an unwanted ache till you're seeing stars in your eyes; breathing gets harder for you, your lungs burning and your throat suffocating you. This was sudden, but it was bewildering. Your vision turns blurry, your lips shaking and your heart pounding in your chest. Jongho stands in front of you, doing nothing, standing still on his spot till he's sure you're knocked out. And you are, in few more seconds, darkness shrouds your eyes, your mind switching off and your body falling limp to the side on the couch.

Was there something in the water?

You were never so comely with darkness, nor were you so fond of feeling lonely and scared. Not remembering how you ended up in this situation, feeling yourself lying in something soft, something constraining your movements and the kind of familiar scent tingling your nose. Squinting your eyes, your distorted mind starts waking up; the dull ache in your head isn't gone, but it isn't too intense to make you groan in pain. When you're fully conscious of your surroundings, you find yourself in a comfortable bed, way too comfortable; the mattress has sunken to your weight, the sheets on your body are and soft and warm. In the dimly lit room, you notice the details and find everything quite too familiar. A room, with a window and its drapes drawn over, with a dresser and a closet, with a layout so familiar.

When it finally creeps up to you, your body jerks off the bed. Sitting upright, you scrunch your brows together and find it astounding to be in Jongho's room. What had happened that led you here? Did you pass out and he brought you to his apartment? But then why would he bring you to his apartment? That doesn't make sense. He could've tended to you at your own apartment. This certainly doesn't feel right.

And it shouldn't either.

Not when you find one of your hands shackled in chains. A broad cuff is wrapped around your wrist, the metal cutting into your skin, and a long chain dangles from it to the headboard of the bed. What the fuck was this? You start panicking, your breath hitching and your mind going point blank; your anxiety starts getting the worst of you when realise you're still your old clothes. The same spaghetti sauced stain tank top and shorts you had worn when you called Jongho over regarding stolen lingerie.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fucking shit is this?" you grunt through your gritted teeth, wanting to cut off the cuff from your wrist.

You're still panicking, caught up in the daze of escape instead of keeping your senses perched on other things. Let's say for the surrounding. It's beyond your comprehension to understand when a certain man walks in, muffling his footsteps against the floor and shuffling around to stand by the edge of your bed.

"Oh, you're awake, now. Are you, moonpie?" he murmurs, "I was starting to get tired of waiting around for you."

You could discern the soft pout on his face under the haze of dimmed lights. He leans over, towering with his broad shoulders on your body, making you feel small and puny.

"How are we feeling?" his worry is bittersweet, an underlying intention evident to your mind. "Hopefully, better. You've been asleep for a day or two." He shrugs his shoulders as if the words mean nothing to him, "who's keeping a count? Your friends? Yunho...?" he heaves out a chuckle, shaking his head, "probably. No, it's right. They must be concerned. Actually, he must be really worried considering he was in on this."

There's a beat of silence, and you decide to fill it in, having been unbothered by his jeering phrases. "Jongho, what is this? What kind of sick joke is this?"

You tug your hand, the chains shackling and creating a buzz around, a sound he was so delighted to hear from you. He traces his thumb across his lower lip, his eyes glazing only for a second on your face before they rummage to gander at red marks on your wrists. The cuff had really eaten your skin off, in a way, it looks tormenting and painful—something he surely finds himself relishing.

"A joke?" he mocks, "Moonpie, why would you think any of this is a joke? I'm doing all of this for you."

He sits by edge of the bed, and you scamper to press yourself against the headboard, wanting to be away from him or his touch even. This was something out of a movie, a low-budget thriller movie where the protagonist gets trapped by a psychopath and is subjected to all kinds of torture by them. How ironic is that? You were stuck in that situation yourself, wondering what Jongho's mind was constructing in every passing second. Given your interest in watching all sorts of documentaries, you knew you had to play your cards right, choose rightful words to get your way in this.

"For me?" you gasp on a breath, "Jongho, this is fucking crazy. You're fucking crazy—"

"—am I? Am I fucking crazy to think I can protect you from the world?" he growls, somewhat keeping himself composed, "I've seen how the others look at you, with their lust-filled eyes and the untamed desire they have for you. I can't let them taint you too. You're far from being corrupted, never in my eyes."

And there it was, the flash of ambiguous darkness in his eyes, the way it acridly makes your spine tingle. Even if it had lasted for mere seconds, you knew where this was headed, you were starting to figure him out; vaguely, but gradually. You needed to be levelheaded and cautious.

"All those days and nights of watching you, reading you, getting to know you, they were some of the best times I've ever had. You didn't even know I was there, like a shadow lurking behind you. Everywhere you went, I was there. I couldn't get enough of you, never actually." He adds, "I don't want to hurt you, I would rather die than hurt you. I just want to keep you close to me, away from the hungry stares of your so-called friends. You'll be safe here."

You hadn't realised when his hand had traced up your leg and rested on your thigh, but maybe you were too immersed in his words and thoughts to notice anything at all. Too immersed in his words and thoughts, the raw sentiments of his demented mind, you were in fact drowning in the aftermath of believing him, of ever interacting with him.

"You'll always be safe here, moonpie." He rubs circles on your thigh, thumb pushing into your flesh, "I'll go get something for you to eat. You must be hungry. You are hungry, aren't you?"

Your lips were sewn shut, heart practically in your throat at the way his tone and voice had changed. The clear shift from being obsessive to concerned caught you off guard. Jongho offers you a sweet yet deadly smile, his lips curling like the Cheshire Cat before he walks out of the room and leaves you in utter chaos. Confusion, despair, disgust, and your nicking anxiety had already started to get the worst out of you.

To think Yunho was into this all along, shatters your heart even harder. Now that the room was completely filled with silence, you could hear the minute shuffling happening outside. Jongho is probably preparing the food for you, and as much as you hate to admit it, you were indeed hungry. Your stomach growls at the thought of food, mindlessly thinking about what he had or was bringing for you to eat.

After a few minutes of waiting, the door rattles to him entering inside; he's soft on his feet, but his presence is heavy and intimidating. When he stands by the edge of the bed, holding a tray in his hands, he offers you a small smile before placing it down in your lap. You notice the contents then, a meagre meal of carbs, protein and fibre: pieces of chicken steak, some sautéed vegetables and mashed potatoes. To accompany the food, there was a small can of soda.

This was a filling meal, he really had thought it through, from the food itself. How long had he been planning this? He must be enjoying the sweet taste of his victory, which menially isn't anything but the decadent fulfilment of his efforts and hard work.

Jongho sits down on the edge, giving you enough space; even so you were pressed up against the headboard, not wanting to be any closer to him. The tray in your lap is warm, and you could vaguely discern the mist rising up from the food. Had he cooked it? Or had he just ordered it from outside? Besides that, your worst fear was getting drugged again. Had he drugged the food?

"I'm not hungry," you state, softly.

"But you need to eat, moonpie."

"I don't need anything from you."

He grunts, "you're really impossible to deal with."

Steering himself away from you for a mere moment, he lets his head hang low and shakes it; an amused chuckle follows, reverberating till the time stands still and you're taken back by him.

"Jongho!" you call out, the chain rattling as you brace your hands against his chest.

He had leaped over to you, shoving you into the headboard till your back hurt. One of his hands held down your shoulders, by pushing it hard against your chest. While his other hand grabbed your jaw, forcing you to stay in place.

"You should listen to me," he grunts in your face, pressing his fingers and thumbs into your cheeks to get your mouth to open. "If I tell you to eat, then you eat it, damnit. Don't make me say it twice. Next time, I might not use my words."

He lets go of you, crawling away from your body and checking the tray of plate, whether it had made a mess on the bed or not. Lucky for you, his enraged actions weren't as haphazard as you'd expect them to be; if there had been a mess of food in the bed, who's to tell what he'd do to you. In odd times as these, it's certain to agree with every wish of his, oblige every word he speaks and never go against him. He is volatile, waiting to blow up in your face any moment if you even move wrong. So, you have to weigh and measure every consequence before talking to him and carrying yourself around him.

Using your free hand, you pull the tray properly on your lap and pick at the food with their bare fingers. No spoon, no fork, no knife. He knows how to play. And he knows it well. Standing up on his feet, leaning over the edge of the bed, he strokes your shabby hair away from your eyes and offers you a gentle smile. In his mind, he hadn't been violent towards you. Acting as if he hadn't just pushed you up against the back of his bed and threatened you with his malignant anger.

"Good girl, now was it so hard?" his fingers caress a side of your face, slipping down your cheek to your lips. "Don't make me use force against you, moonpie. I don't like it. I can't stand the thought of bending you to my ways. Just...be a good girl for me, okay?"

You nod, picking out a piece of chicken steak he had cut and putting it in your mouth. It was hard to chew, no matter how soft the meat was in your mouth. Swallowing it was going to be even harder.

"Finish it, hmm?" he insists, stepping back till he finds himself sitting on a lounge chair by the door. "I'll wait until you finish everything on your plate."

Already having a hard time to swallow, you somehow manage to nod at him. Little by little, piece by piece, with your greasy fingers you finish most of the things in the plate. You still had a spoonful of mashed potatoes in your plate, the vegetables and meat were almost done with too.

"I've got all day," he sighs, dreamily as if, he wasn't getting tired of watching you and it was starting to show. "I'm not going anywhere. You can take as much time as you need."

Only the thought of him staring at you all while you tried to finish the plate, gave you an icky sensation. Your back was covered with sweat, your clothes were soaked in sweat too. Disgust was the last thing you wanted, but it was rather a feeling sticking to your spine ever since you had gained your consciousness.

"Done." You mutter, a sense of victory taking over your mind but soon dissipating into glum and hopelessness; he had gotten up from the chair, taking short strides toward you.

He was inspecting the empty plate, closely enough to not miss out anything. How sickeningly frightening was that? Even worse, how much of a sicko was he? You could have never guessed of his freakish predicament in the beginning, could've never imagined there's a devil hiding behind the warm gummy smile of his. Your current situation was pointing to the otherwise. On the spectrum of luck, you were stuck in the bottom half where misfortunes awaited you.

"Ahh, good girl." He mutters under his breath, patting your head before taking the tray out of the room with him. "I'll be back soon. Don't make a sound."

You were left alone in the dimly lit room, a room harbouring no light of sort; the window was draped shut apparently with black curtains, and the only source of light for you was the lamp on the nightstand next to you. As one your hands had been cuffed to the wall, you couldn't reach out to the nightstand or the drawers below it. You were hopeful the drawers might have something of your use, something to get you out of the cuffs.

Rummaging your eyes further, you find the dresser shrouded by darkness in a corner. The setting of this room had been tampered with, you'd know and are sure of it since you were in here before. This was Jongho's room, the very room you had used to get ready for your meeting once. You remember the dresser being situated next to the bed and not in that corner; you also recall using the bathroom adjoining this room, meaning the door which you keep second-guessing about, leads to the bathroom.

Besides the grim darkness, and melancholic sentiments, you were starting to panic. Your mind kept flooding with constant fear of death, or even worse, being assaulted by an unhinged man—you've seen it all in the documentaries before. Maybe, watching them wasn't a total waste of time. Regardless, you kept going back to your friends, and Yunho. The man who seemed so harmless at the beginning, had now been placed under a different light for you. How could you be so naïve and gullible? How could you trust strangers so easily?

You knew this wasn't the right time to guilt trip yourself; these kind of mistakes happen and can't be avoided either way. The weight on your shoulders is already anchoring you down when you start getting drowsy too. No doubt the food was drugged. Was it really? Or were you just feeling sleepy after eating the carbs? The worst part of it was, it doesn't take you more than a minute to fall asleep, your body falling limp in the bed, against the mattress while the sheets pool around.

This has to be the worst. Most definitely.

You had no clue how long you were out for, but when you came to terms with your conscious, your body was aching immensely. It could've been because of your sleeping position, how strained your body was when you slept curled against headboard. Though, you were less bothered about your body and more concerned about your bladder; you wanted to use the bathroom, urgently.

Bracing yourself, you proceed to heed out his name. At the beginning, your voice does not even reach your own ears, and takes you countless tries before knowing you could yell out his name.

"Jongho...!" it sounded a little weak, however you could hear the door squeaking at the hinges when it's opened.

Jongho walks in, looking concerned and bewildered, his eyes were wide, and his lips trembled like a loose leaf on a branch. "What is wrong?"

"I need to—I need to use the bathroom," you mumble.

Letting out a sigh, he walks around the bed and pulls out the top drawer of the nightstand. He retrieves a pair of handcuffs, the ones usually used by cops; approaching you, he nudges his head for you to hold both your hands out. You oblige as told to only to find him cuff your hands together before unlocking the broad metal cuff around your wrist which was adhered to the chain on the wall.

"Come on," he tugs on the cuff, pulling you along with it to another door.

You knew the door led to the bathroom, so when he unlocked it with another set of keys, you weren't so surprised to find yourself in it.

He pushes you inside, and closes the door, standing on the other side before hailing out to you, "make it quick. And don't even think about doing anything funny."

You gulp, audibly so. Quick on your instinct, you start looking around, hoping to find something of your use. But to your unseeming surprise, the cabinets were empty, the drawers were locked, and the cabinet mirror was a reflection of your harsh reality. Your skin was starting to dry, peeling at places, especially on your hands; your lips were chapped and bleeding, there were bags under your eyes, your hair was greasy and smelled a little. Everything was so...disgusting to you. Even your own reflection. The mirror was a glimpse to your future, no matter how much you tried to, you weren't getting out of here. Never out of his sight, his mind or his prison.

Now, you had completely given up, having no strength in you to continue fighting or think of ways to escape him. You finish relieving yourself and wash your hands, splashing some of the water on your face too. Hearing a knock bang on the door, you flinch and tremble in fear.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah," you whisper, pulling yourself together and hastily walking out.

Jongho stands right in front of you, arms folded on his chest and his eyes narrowed onto you. "I'm not going to cuff you again, you're free to move around this room."

He must've weighed all the consequences of keeping you tied in the room. As much as that is very thoughtful of him, you couldn't shake off the feeling of being trapped here all day and night. At this point, what was day and what was night? You couldn't make out the time, the windows were bind with dark curtains, there were no clocks in the room for you to even know the time or date. All you could rely on is your own sense of calculating and counting the days. Or maybe, you could just ask Jongho.

The man helps you get to the bed before dragging himself to the door; standing by it, he offers you a small smile before mumbling, "rest well, okay? I'll be back tomorrow with breakfast for you."

So, it was night after all.

You absentmindedly reflect to his smile with your own, getting in the bed and snuggling in the warm sheets. The door closes behind him as he leaves you in the dark, and once you're sure he's out your earshot, you cry. You hug your knees and cry, till your cheeks are stained with sheer agony of your tears.

This was hell.

And you really needed to get out of here.

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🦋 ˚₊‧⁺˖

          You were starting to keep a track of his behaviour; not knowing how many days it had been since you were held captive by him, you still wanted to figure out how long you had been here. It would make sense for you to count the days from your last encounter with him, though for that, you would have to know how long you were knocked out for when he drugged you. Even so, counting from the time you had finally regained consciousness, it seems like it had been more than two weeks since you were here.

More than two weeks. Right. And yet, none of your friends had tried searching for you. Or maybe they had, they were on their way to seek you out. Although, Jongho was always one step ahead of everyone, he must've distracted them. The thought of your best friend and her boyfriend did come to your mind, but as usual, Jongho's advances would make you push them to a dark corner and never let those thoughts resurface.

Keeping a track of the days was easy, you only had to count the number of meals he was providing you. Jongho gave you three meals a day, the breakfast would be simple enough, consisting of an omelette and sometimes rice, the lunch and dinner were both proportionate of carbs, fibre and protein. You were glad he was offering you good food. But that was least of your concerns and nothing to be glad about.

Jongho allowed you to take a shower six meals before; thankful to that, you felt a bit fresh and dressed yourself in neat clothes. Again, the clothes had been bought by him, just as he did with every other thing. The clothes you wore were simple too, a cotton dress reaching to your calves and your brand-new underwear inside.

You were nicely dressed and showered today too, sitting by the edge of the bed and waiting for Jongho to come in with your lunch. Over the time, as irrational as it would sound to any sane person, you were starting to feel something for him. Affection? Maybe. Your soft spot for him was brainwashing you, not that he had already done with a few simple tricks, but you were starting to warm up to him.

Jongho made sure to make you realise how bad the outside world is, and how safe you are here with him. He never touched you without your consent, never made you feel threatened again; because you were starting to obey his words, his wishes, you were becoming his trained pet in a way. In the span of two weeks, you couldn't even recognise the change that had taken over you. If you could compare your old self to this one, you'd be stunned beyond measure.

But it wasn't that bad.

You listen to him. He doesn't threaten you and you don't get punished. Suffocation takes over you every time you try to reminisce of the day you had missed to obey him and had met with a ruthless punishment. As much as it is detrimental for you to remember it, you know the trauma won't leave you. Ever. You faced the punishment because you did not finish your food one time. He dragged you to the bathroom by your hair, filled up the bathtub with water till its brim, and drowned you in it. You could feel the water penetrate your lungs, shorten your breath, give you a dizzy headache. After the torture was over, he cradled you in his arms like a child on the bathroom floor, feeling guilty and ashamed of what he had done to you.

He never punished you after that. Ever. Even raising his voice at you made him feel guilty and embarrassed, so he spoke to you in humbling tones. Days were different after that incident, you thought he'd be more erratic than usual, but to your surprise he wasn't. Jongho has a good game, a very strong one to alter your perception on him. You couldn't pinpoint when it was, but you were surely feeling some type of way for him.

"I'm here, I'm here," he sings, pushing the door open while bringing in a tray of food. "I agree, I'm late. But I had a couple of things to take care of. Are you hungry?"

You nod, licking your lower lip. "I am. I thought you weren't going to come today."

"Babe, I'll always be here for you," he chimes, setting the tray on the bed first. Pulling the lounge chair closer to the bed, he sits on it and fishes out a key to unlock your cuffs. "You've been a really good girl for me, I'm thinking we won't be needing these anymore."

You took a breath of relief. The thought itself was freeing, no confinements on your wrists, no struggles, no pain, no marks on your skin. He lets the cuffs fall down on the floor, clinking softly against it while he tugs at your hands and pulls you in his lap. However, the glare on his glasses makes it hard to read his eyes, you never know when he might change his mind, and considering that, you wanted to be prepared to take on anything he flung at you.

"Jongho..."

"Shush..." he buries his face in the crook of your neck, biting and nicking your flesh till bruises start staining your skin. "I've been waiting for a long time to gain your trust. Craving your touch..." he intertwines your hands together, "I won't do anything unless you're ready. I want you to feel safe around me."

"I do," you mumble, leaning back into his touch, "I've started to feel safer around you than before."

"Is that true?"

"Do you want me to prove it?"

"How would you prove it, babe?" he asks, licking up a stripe on your neck, his tongue warm and slick with his spit.

You slip out of his lap, falling on your knees in front of him to slot your body perfectly in between his legs. He spreads them wider, letting you accommodate the space before running a hand through your hair. A sly smile stretches his lips, making you gag a bit, regardless, you let him do what he wanted to. His hand cups a wide of your face, before sliding down to grab your chin and pull you up only a bit for your lips to meet.

The kiss was hungry, wild, desperate, his lips were sucking on yours with an unquenchable thirst, while you pushed yourself into him to deepen the kiss. Your hands were on either of his thighs, but out of nowhere, you find the warmth of his own grab yours and force them behind your back. He holds your wrists in one of his hands, using the other to swiftly pick up the fallen handcuffs. You could hear the muffled sound of metal clinking, alerting you. Unfortunately, you weren't as quick to pull yourself out of his trap, or his arms; he places the cuffs on your wrist and tightens them.

His teeth sink into your lower lip, biting hard till it bleeds into his mouth. A satisfied moan rumbles in his chest, and he pushes himself away only a bit to flash you a conceited curl of his blood-stained lips.

"I like it this way," he murmurs, running the tips of fingers on your arms behind tugging on the link between your cuffed hands. "Don't worry too much...I won't hurt you. It's neither that I don't trust you. But I better be safe than sorry."

You stifle the urge to make a retching sound, wanting to flee the moment he's too immersed in whatever you had to offer. In other perspective, you nod your head and peer at him, putting on a helpless ruse and pouting so that he would continue the broken kiss. He did not needed to be told twice, however. His lips are back on yours, biting, sucking, lapping, both of your teeth clattering against each other until he cups your face and forces you to open your mouth. Instantly, his tongue slithers in your warmth, sending chills down your spine. You knew he was eager and desperate, very much so to hear you moan under him.

The vagrant and insatiable hunger in him was clearly evident in the way he was devouring your mouth. Stroking the back of your neck with one of his hands, he tilts your head behind to give him better control over you and his tongue thrusting down your throat. His other hand stays warm on your cheek, slowly and gradually falling to your shoulder while his fingers dig in your skin through the flimsy material of the dress.

He takes a deep breath, pushing himself away from you to realise what he was doing and what he wanted to do next. This time, you did not need to know it twice; the way his eyes lingered on yours for a minute longer before trailing down to his crotch, that told you many tales of what he wanted you to do. Swallowing thickly, you suck on your lower lip to resist the dwelling dread in the pit of your stomach. On a much contrary note, you were starting to get aroused and wet, your panties already drenched with your arousal. What did it take for you to be on your knees for him? His lustful eyes? His ravenous desire to make you his? Or, in fact, were you growing reminiscent of the time you had spent with him prior to this catastrophe that struck you?

"Open wide for me, okay?" he smugly whispers, keeping one hand on the back of your neck while using the other to unzip his pants.

You're helplessly stuck in between his legs, counting your breaths till you'd be suffocating on his cock; it wasn't a pretty picture in your head, but just the thought itself made you even more wet. This would have to be some sick sort of fantasy for you. Why else would you be thinking of erratic things towards your captor? In the dark side of your mind, the way Jongho had behaved with you in the past days, made you feel all sorts of things. Maybe it was the lack of human interaction, or the fact that you were away from your friends for so long, that your mind had fallen in love with the idea of what Jongho was.

Jongho tugs at the waistband of his pants, pulling them down with a few more tugs till they're pooling around his folded knees. You catch the glimpse of briefs tenting against his erection; again, something going hand in hand with disgust and lechery.

He brings his hand to your jaw from the back of your neck, and thumbs your lower lip, forcing you to open your mouth. You yelp, letting the pain of his fingernail digging in your fleshly lip, while watching him pull his briefs down. His cock springs out, eagerly. Jongho muffles a grunt while trying to push his briefs down and once he was done, he nudges your head close to his crotch.

"Be a good girl for me, like you have been for the past days."

His voice seems drunk of lust and craving, seeming raspy and heavy. You lick your lips, pushing yourself further this time to let the tip of his cock brush your lips; you don't open your mouth to take him in the instant, rather you stay, keeping your lips shut to let him rub his cock all over your mouth. The feeling was distasteful in some way, until the warmth of your mouth engulfs the littlest bit of his cock. Only the tip of his cock pulsated in your mouth, and you licked at the slit to elicit a soundful moan from him.

His touch burns on the back on your neck, holding it tight to keep your head in place while he bucked his hips into your face. Continuing with it, inch by inch his cock plunges in your mouth, till the tip hits your throat.

You gag, almost immediately. "Nnnghh..."

"Fuck." he mumbles, throwing his head back while his mouth falls opens. He even takes a moment to throw off his glasses on the floor, not bothered in the slightest to know if they landed smoothly or not. "Your mouth feels so good—so good around me, moonpie. So soft, so warm...fuck."

Leaving you to gag on his cock, he picks up the pace of his thrusts; every time he pulled out, it gave you a fraction of second to breathe, though when he pushed back with all his strength, you felt like you could suffocate. Your lungs burned, aching for air, your hands were strained behind your back, and your mind was foggy to realise any of it. What your conscious could filter was pure pleasure and desperate need for attention.

Jongho's cock was buried deep in you, stretching out the walls of your throat; you raise your tongue to the roof of your mouth, licking along the underside of his shaft as he continued to thrust in and out your mouth. The seething urge to bite down on his cock was immense in your mind, and even if you did, you knew it would not grace you with prettiest of consequences. So, you let that thought drift and oblige, doing what you had only learnt from watching porn.

"Want to breathe?" he asks as if he was going to do you a favour by pulling out.

Regardless, when you nod, he does pull himself out of your mouth and gives you a minute to breathe. You cough, feeling your throat itch while drool coats your chin and mouth; saliva strings dangle from your lips to the tip of his cock, which apparently had gotten redder and appeared to gleam with precum.

"Jongho..." you mumble.

"What? Is it too much for you?"

You shake your head, "I need you too."

"You need me, huh? Then show me what your mouth can do." He grumbles, nudging the tip of his cock against your lips.

You are back to wrapping your lips around him, lowering yourself down his veiny shaft and choking as it hits the back of your throat again. This was probably the most you had gotten inside your mouth. Now, tasting the saltiness from his precum, you roll your tongue on the underside of his cock. Licking and lapping while he rammed himself in and out of your mouth.

"Ah, fuck," he growls, the sound resonating from his chest as he throws his head back and his brows draw themselves in together. "Who knew this mouth was—oh, fucking hell—who knew this mouth was capable of driving someone wild."

You moan while his cock his confined in your throat, constrained to feel the mere vibrations of your whimpers and groans. Tears start pricking at the corners of your eyes when his pace picks up again; he bucks his lips, thrusting steadily to retain his rhythm. Too lost in the pleasure, both of his hands entangle in your hair and push you against his pelvis, your nose crushing on his pelvic bone and the bits of his pubic hair tickling your skin. It was rough, but pleasurable in a way.

While Jongho fucked into your mouth, your knees were tired from scrapping against the carpeted floor, your arms were numb from fettered behind your back. His cock slides deeper in your throat, slotting perfectly with the concise thrusts. Your lips were starting to sting from the stretch, as compared to the beginning. But minutes were starting to turn into hours, and you were still getting throat-fucked by him.

As his moans grew louder and the air in the room got heavier, you came to terms with the reality; Jongho peered down at you, a thin sheet of coat on his skin shimmering in the dim lights, while his brows remain stitched on his forehead. His lips trembled to speak something, but before he could even get his words out, you felt his cock twitch. He was close to his edge, and the thought of him cumming down your throat was least likely in your head.

Regardless, you couldn't do anything about it since his hands had already restrained you from moving your head back. Jongho's thrusts became placid and loose, surrendering to the pressure of his orgasm. Though, he doesn't give into the temptation and rather pushes you off; he pants heavily, letting his chest heave up and down. You were breathless too, but the way your throat had been abused, you start coughing from your lungs. Your chest burns, your throat has gone sore, and you couldn't feel your arms at all. Spit, drool, whatever fluids your mouth had, they were all staining your chin and lips. The opulent strings of saliva were connecting your lips and his cock, correction, his veiny and thick cock, which had fucked the hell out your throat.

For a man like him, his cock is sure girthy and thick, lacking in length however that couldn't be any of your concerns since he had a great technique.

How pathetic you were. This man has you captive, he's bending you to his ways and benefit, and you're gushing about him. Jongho seemed so harmless in the beginning, especially when you had no idea of his existence. Now, looking back to those days, it all plays out to a fever dream. Unlikely. Unfortunate. And, vague. Knowing him had bitten you in the ass, making you realise how careful you needed to be around people.

"I had imagined things—I had fantasised of the ways I'd use this mouth," he breaks your trance, hooking his thumb in your open mouth before pulling you up by it.

One of his hands comes quick to wrap around your waist as he picks you up; he guides you on his lap, your dress fluttering till he despairingly pulls it up to your waist. Your drenched panties exposed to his eyes, while you're adjusting yourself on his lap, making sure his cock hits your lower stomach.

"I hope it didn't disappoint you," you smile, hazy and clearly intoxicated with pleasure. "My mouth...my mouth can do wonders."

"Don't doubt that," he grins, placing both his hands on your waist, "but now I need to know what this little body can do..."

When his words are dragged into a mere whisper, he slides his hands to the back of your dress and tears it down. The sound of them tattering against his force, fill up the room, not that the melodies of your pants and grunts had already created a ballad; the damaged pieces of your dress start to slip off your body, revealing nothing but your lingerie. Jongho basically ogles at the sight, wasting no time in ridding you of your bra and filling his hands with your supple flesh.

"I used to see this body every day, aching to touch," he whispers, blowing air on your hardened nipples before swallowing one of your tits whole in his mouth.

"To shuck," he muffles his words, teeth sinking in your skin as he keeps kneading your other tit. "To phinch..."

His words were still discernible. Pulling back, after leaving his teeth marks around your tit, he smears some of his spit on the tip of his fingers and pinches your nipples. The coolness of spit was tantalising the rising warmth of your body; you were grinding on his bare thigh, letting his cock rub against your lower abdomen. He was rock hard and that was driving you insane. His hands slip from your chest to your back, resting in the curve before sliding further down to cup your butt.

"Jongho, please..." you whimper, bucking your hips into his in a desperate need of release.

"Yes, darling," he chuckles softly, rubbing his thumbs on either of your buttcheeks before giving them a gentle squeeze. "You're going to get it. Have patience."

Squeezing your ass tighter, he lays his palms flat on your skin and offers it a good hard smack.

You wince at the sting searing on your skin, "fuck—that hurts."

He didn't care.

Not giving it much thought, he proceeds to slide your panties to a side, keeping the other hand still on your ass.

"Christ, moonpie. You're dripping. You've even ruined your panties." He lets his middle finger trace your wet slit, rubbing it slightly to get you off.

Unconsciously, you start grinding on his finger, wanting to feel more of the friction and the demeaning pleasure you were seeking from it.

"Jongho, just fuck me already." You desperately drag out the movement of your hips, his finger sliding in and out of your slit before it protrudes into your cunt. "Hmm, fuck."

"I don't think my finger would be enough for you."

He shakes his head, snapping the straps of your panties with one meagre tug and letting the torn pieces fall off your thighs. It gets you moaning again, first you were high on the lust after sucking him off, and now, his raw intentions of tearing everything off your body. Without hesitating, or heeding you of any warning, he aligns his cock with your cunt; you take the hint a second later, pushing yourself forward for the purpose of ease.

He had no problem slipping into your tight cunt, after all, your arousal was flowing out like water; you were sure, as his cock inched in you, your juices were dripping down your inner thighs, leaving a shimmery trail behind. You were not prepared to endure the stretch from his cock, definitely not, regardless of your arousal coating every layer of your warm flesh. However, Jongho bottoms out the moment you sink lower onto his lap.

"Fuck, this cunt is a little tight for me," he groans, smirking at you.

"Shut up," you say out of breath, already struggling to adjust to his size.

He wasn't big, but he was girthy, stretching you out quite well. Taking a deep breath, you notice the mellow ache dissipating into sheer pleasure, and you start moving. Jongho bites back on a moan, watching you through his half-lidded eyes. He puts his hands on either side of your waist, giving you a leverage to increase your pace. You start off with rolling your cunt onto his crotch, letting cock stretch you out even more before riding him.

Jongho grabs your jaw, tight enough for his fingers to sink in your cheeks before pulling you towards him and capturing your lips in bloodthirsty kiss. The fervent heat shows in the way his tongue pokes inside, in despair of tasting your mouth; he heaves out a satisfied moan into your mouth when he catches up on the traces of his cock on your tongue. In a way, it riled you up, making you go harder.

The kiss breaks apart with Jongho pulling himself away, a smirk curling his lips in devilry, while his eyes are fixed on yours.

"You better watch your mouth," he warns you for what you had said before, "I have different ways to ruin it. Considering—ah fuck."

Not bothered to listen to him, you were chasing your orgasm, switching from rolling to bucking your hips up and down on cock. You lifted yourself and then sank back, every time, it gave you a feeling of emptiness before you were full again; the tip of his cock would ram deep into you, but not as deep as it would go if he tried to thrust himself into you.

"Playing a risky game, are we?" he mumbles, still holding your jaw and forcing you to open your mouth. Gurgling a good amount of spit in his mouth, he aims it at yours and the cold wad of his spit trickles down your throat. "I know how to tame a brat like you."

He lets go of your jaw and places his hand on the small of your back, supporting your body as it rocked up and down on his cock. You increase your pace, straining your hips almost as the light in his eyes is swallowed by darkness. It wasn't the first time you had come across noticing such ungodly indication in his eyes. He'd frequently show you his true colours, his true intentions, his raw emotions and the wicked schemes.

"Yeah? Then you better fuck me—better fuck me like you mean it." You whimper, your body shuddering.

Nifty tremors spread under your skin when he bucks his hips up, thrusting his cock into you. He plunges himself deep inside, a visible bulge now forming on your mound and on your lower abdomen. You did not expect yourself to prompt him so badly and quickly, though whatever it was that had gotten him on edge, you weren't complaining.

"I better have you making a mess on my cock, now."

With that, he increases the pace of his thrust, ramming his cock as deep as he could and eliciting the perfect melodious moans out of you. At this point, it was safe to say that you were no longer sane; you were never sane to begin with, no sane woman would let her kidnapper fuck her into the oblivion. You were letting Jongho do exactly that, letting his cock wreck you with almost no dignity as you ride him. Or so you thought you were. Jongho ceases his movements, keeping his eyes on you to know your rhythm and need.

And as he waited, scrutinising and perusing your tearful eyes, one of his hands comes clashing down on your cunt, slapping perfectly over your mound and slit; he waits a beat to notice your reaction, content with the way your jaw was open slack, and your eyes were rolling in the back of your head. Who thought it would make you mewl? Having his cock stuffed in you was one thing, but having him slap your bulged out cunt, was another. Both were pleasurable, but the latter was sending you to paradise of pure bliss.

Smirking to himself, he prepares to slap your pussy one more time. The sound of your skin and his fingers meeting was ravishing, echoing in the room along with your loud whimpers, which would soon turn to cries. Jongho absolutely loved watching you cry, he loved the way your tears stained your cheeks and how red they'd get after; he continues to proffer slaps to your cunt, all while bucking his hips into you. He had found his rhythm in doing that, alternating between thrusting his cock and smacking your cunt.

"Jongho, fuck—that—that fucking hurts," you cry, closing your eyes to let your tears cascade down your cheeks.

This was too much for you to bear, the immense pleasure piling on your body while bit back on the urge to release. Your body lurches into his chest and you rest of your head on his shoulder, realising he was still clothed on his upper half; not bothered by it, you too, resume rolling your hips into his, earning a mellifluous moan from him.

"If you keep doing that, I'll cum," he grows in your ear, pressing his lips against your temple as you laid your head on his chest.

His arms were around your waist, giving him a better grip to thrust into you; within seconds, his pace becomes animalistic, not faltering one bit. A familiar knot ties itself in the pit of your stomach, hot and tight, just waiting to come undone by force. You let out a small scream before pushing yourself back from his chest and looking at him, pleading him to end this suffering. He knew what he was doing, or had been doing, he was prolonging your orgasm, making your lower belly ache with desperation.

But now it doesn't seem that way. Keeping his pace steady, still wild and raw, he plunges deep into you to undo the tension in your stomach. You heave out a series of breathless moans, before giving into the temptation of release, finding your juice splash around his cock and dribble down your inner thighs. A bit of your orgasm drenches his briefs, while a few drops squirt on his chest, soaking the shirt. You were so done for, already aching to compose your breathing.

The hard part's over. But, feeling Jongho's cock pulsate intensely with every single thrust, your body starts coiling again. Familiar kind of heat rises in your gut, crawling up your spine and before you could even realise, you were preparing yourself to cum again. Back-to-back? It was something difficult for a guy to attain, yet here you were. You were sure the both of you would be releasing at the same time. Confined in your velvet walls, his cock numbs your rationality, heavily striking at one specific spot till you're crumbling in his arms. You heave a deep breath in, chest convulsing erratically when the wave of your second orgasm overcomes the aftershock of the first one. You've done it again, made a mess on his cock while he still stayed buried inside you. The feeling of being filled up to the brim, while your juices trickled down his cock and his skin, was causing your body to spasm.

Reeling out of the pain and pleasure, you find Jongho smirking at you, letting out voiceless grunts and snickers to belittle your conscious; cumming for the second time, without him trying to overstimulate you, was certainly a victory on his side. Jongho's cock twitches one last time with long and hard thrusts, and in a second's time, he's releasing himself into you. The warmth of his seed coats your walls, squirting a little deeper in your lower gut, while he slowly starts to pull out. Gradually, he slides out completely and holds you close to his body.

You were out of energy to initiate anything, already lethargic and sore. Exhaustion gets the best of you, and the only thing you remember before passing out, how dirty and slick you felt, how his cum was all over your cunt and your inner thighs, how pathetic you were to let this happen. Of course, the post orgasm clarity was making you feel guilty and rather than confronting it, you let it demean you while he stroked your back, fingers caressing your skin ever so lightly to help you relax. For a meagre second, your body eases into his, your head falling onto his chest as you collapse on him; his half-erect cock rests on your stomach, slowly going limp with the passing time.

"You were such a good girl today," he coos, a sole finger tugging at the links between the cuffs on your wrist. "Maybe it's time we got rid of these altogether."

"After all, you won't be wanting to escape now."

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🦋 ˚₊‧⁺˖

The very selective memories of him were echoing in your head; the first time you had bared yourself in front of him, let him have his way with you, the time he concluded you would never want to get out of here, away from him. And as much as you'd hate to admit he was right; you were starting to regard your old plan of escaping his clutches. To be honest with yourself, you had been gone beyond the point of return. Because every time he came to your room, you were hopeful you'd fuck, and your hopes were turned to reality when he'd fuck you to the ultimate paradise whenever he came to drop you a meal.

Basically, you had gotten used to him. As much as the pavlov's theory, every time he entered you room with a tray of good food, you'd be on your knees to satisfy him. And that did not disappoint him. At all. The two of you had gone beyond, diving headfirst into this dynamic where either of you relied on each other's body to sate your mental dwelling. You were never the one to complain, neither did he, not when he was getting to use in every way, he had desired from the time he had first laid his eyes on you.

Though, it was a forlorn mistake to give yourself into him. There were wicked consequences of those actions, leading to what seemed like addiction from both of your sides. You don't know how long you had been with him, months maybe? But after that one day, the very first time you had let him touch you in all the sinister ways he had planers to, you were madly into him, made to believe he was the only one capable of keeping you safe from the outside world. Pathetic.

To be sullied by a man like him, was to be ashamed and to be burned to ashes; you were embarrassed to admit it, your captor had stolen your heart and locked it in his cage, and the key to it was his six-inch girthy dick you'd drool over every time he was with you. Yeah, to conclude, you were his cum-slut, taking in every inch of his cock whenever he got in the mood to fuck you. Seemingly, you felt dead inside when he'd not show up to your room, feeling guilty and disgusted in yourself, because why else won't he come to you? He needs you just as much you needed him.

The concepts of days and time were all mangled for you; having no idea how many days or months you had spent with Jongho, you sit quietly in your designated room. You were waiting for him of course, because your biological clock had also been hampered with. Your heart would know when he'd come and when he'd go, when he'd want to fuck you, when he'd take efforts to clean you and give you aftercare. This surely was fucked.

You hear muffled sounds from outside, some clattering of dishes, some clinking of cutlery and another man. It was strange, at first you believed you were hearing things, that you had finally gone mad trapped in the dark room. But, when the voice booms for the second time, you were sure there was someone else in this house apart from you and Jongho. And it was a man. A man you had familiarised yourself at your workplace for months.

"Where the fuck is she, Jongho?" Yunho's voice sends chills down your spine, as it's too powerful to be heard from the other side of the apartment. "I know you've kept her here."

"She's not here," Jongho speaks up, and his muffled voice is followed by the sound of plates crashing.

"Listen here, you little shit. I never knew of your fucking intentions before; if I had, I would have never talked to her about you." Yunho's growl is loud, shattering your eardrums, for some reason, you could picture him clutching on Jongho's collar, forcing himself into his face as he continues, "I practically served her on a silver platter for you. So, if you still think your life is precious, tell me where she is."

"Yunho, you've got it all wrong. I don't have her." Jongho's persistent with his lies. "Look, I'm stressed too. She's been missing for three months already, everyone's worried about her well being. It's not just you..."

"Don't bullshit me!" Yunho screams, his voice coarse and deep. "I know she's here..."

After that you couldn't hear any of their voices or their yells, it was only sheer silence. What must've happened? Curiosity gets the worst of you and slide off the bed to press your ear against the door, wanting to listen a little closely.

Nothing.

There was pin drop silence on the other side.

And you feared, amongst the dwelling serenity, the door rattles quite harshly, causing your body to flinch and you take step back. Every nerve of your mind was consumed with fright, and sheer terror; you panicked, anxiously waiting for the door to be knocked open by someone of the two. Partly, you were scared to find Jongho on the other side. But, if it was Yunho, as you thought he was the one confronting Jongho, then you'd be relieved.

But...

Would you really?

If your memory serves you right, he was an accomplice in Jongho's crimes, helping his way to you. So, would you really trust him? Would you be relieved to find once he barges in through that door? Would you be willing to leap into his arms and hug him? The time would only tell because the hinges of the door had fallen on the floor. The person's brute strength had treated the door like a cardboard sheet, and it easily falls over, thudding against the floor.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, breathing ragged and your lips quivering; you take a few steps back, stumbling to the bed as a silhouette walks in.

"Oh, god. It's really you." You were sure that was Yunho's voice. "Fucking hell, we need to get out of here. Okay...here, take my hand."

Through the corners of your tearful eyes, you find him extending his hand over to you. Hesitations knocks your heart, but the remaining clarity of tour consciousness coaxes you to take his hand. It was Yunho after all; the very tall, handsome man from your work you could rely on for everything. To hell with your doubts about him, if he's here to help you, then maybe you should trust him. And trust him is what you do. He's dragging you out of the room, guiding you down the hallway to the living room.

Yunho's broad back covered you from witnessing a still scene in the living room. When he halts all so suddenly in his steps, you prevent yourself from colliding into his back and lean over to gaze at him in confusion. And your confusion grows to sheer horror when you find Jongho lying on the ground, blood pooling under his body which seemed to only grow with every passing second.

"What the fuck..." you mutter under your breath, your heart shattering bit by bit as you take in the view of your so-called lover lying lifeless on the floor. "What did you—what did you do, Yunho?"

The said man turns to glance at you, shaking his head as his voice turns grim and serious. "I'm trying to save you. This is nothing—the depths I would go through to keep you safe..."

"You—you...moonpie, don't leave me," Jongho's words are caught in his throat, moreover, he's disgruntled from all the pain.

Yunho's already tugging on your hand, having it intertwined with yours as tightly as he could to make sure you won't fall back into Jongho's trickery. He was right, knowing you would pity the man who had captured you and held you captive for months, you would pity the criminal because he was nothing short of kind to you.

In actuality, Jongho had done nothing wrong to you, right?

You shake your head, wanting to stay behind to help him, but to your despondent heart's desire, you couldn't get yourself to snatch your hand from Yunho's grip. Jongho's clothes were drenched in blood, his shirt soaking the crimson shade as much as it could; he was stabbed in his chest by a long shard of ceramic, probably from the mess of broken plates on the ground. Yunho keeps dragging you to the main door, but your attention was all on Jongho, how listlessly his eyes fluttered, and the slight tremble of his lips was heart wrenching...till it turns to a sullen smile, only widening thereafter.

Why was he smiling?

You were growing concerned.

It was then when you were forced to turn around, when you saw his eyes close forever, the contrasting crimson against the marble floor growing by twofold; he was long gone, and that sure as hell put you in a state of panic. Yunho's fingers dug into your skin, showing no signs of easing out, not until he had you in the passenger's seat of his car and him behind the wheel. It was nighttime. The moon was high struck in the sky, and the stars were nowhere to be seen; this was your first time witnessing the moon in so long, that everything felt foreign to you. The fresh air, the sounds of the crickets chirping, the empty street, the spot where Yunho's car was parked, all of it was so out of the ordinary that you were suffocating. The reality was tough to digest, but you still couldn't fathom that you were out of that sunless room, out of the turbid silence and hearing things you thought you weren't capable of.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Yunho starts inspecting your body with a haste, tugging at the collar of the dress you were wearing and studying your skin.

"I'm fine," you mumble back, comprehending the sound of his voice and his touch.

"What the fuck..." he grumbles, finding your skin littered with bruises and cuts, all the hickeys from your time together with Jongho.

The cuts weren't exactly deep, and Jongho would only leave them behind for the purpose to intensify the pleasure between you two. They were almost healed, with murky scabs forming already. You wanted to push Yunho's hands away from you, wanting him to stop perusing your body as you were ashamed to show it to him.

"What were you thinking?" he shakes his head, pulling himself back to loosen his coat from his shoulder. He wraps it around you, and you start to shiver; not because you were cold or anything, because it was your first time feeling genuine affection instead of the feigned one. "This is atrocious."

"How did you find me?"

"The better questions here should be, are you okay? Did he do anything to you? What...what the hell happened?" he sighs, "we were all so worried about you." Taking a deep breath, he turns right ahead, and you do too, "the cops were useless to us after two days, you know. Because Jongho had made sure your case appears to them as a runaway and not abduction."

You quietly listen to him, facing the front and watching the night pass you by. Everything was still new to you, after months of spending your time confined in a room, of course it was natural to feel strangled in the open air.

Yunho grips the steering wheel, tight enough for his knuckles to turn while. "Your apartment was unscathed, so it was clear no one tried to abduct you. They ruled out every suspicion on Jongho because of the evidence. A lot happened after you went missing—when the cops gave up, we tried to find clues in your apartment."

Silence covers the two of you, like a warm hug from a blanket, before he decides to break it. "Na-Ra and her boyfriend never gave up; they tried calling your hometown and asking your whereabouts. I was busy going through your apartment and Jongho...he always found a way to divert our investigation."

"Until one day he got too squirrelly when we asked him about you. It was only logical to, he was your neighbour and your landlord...it made sense," his voice breaks, "he never let us in his apartment either. My suspicions only grew from that moment."

"He said..." you speak up, glancing at him to find him resting his head on the steering wheel; but hearing your voice he turns his head to face you. "He said...he had been planning this for a while. Kept an eye on me. Watched my every move."

"He surely did," Yunho lets out a satirical chuckle, "bastard had cameras installed everywhere in your apartment. Even your old one. It creeped out Na-Ra."

"You don't say," you whisper, looking away.

"He has a spare room in his apartment; filled with screens, you know, all those cameras keeping an eye on you," Yunho mutters, "I should've known it before, he was obsessed with you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been so eager to help you out."

"Were you in on this?" you question, catching him off guard.

"Why would I be in on this?" he gasps, "I wasn't. He told you I was, didn't he?"

You nod, pursing your lips together. "I don't know what to believe anymore. I can't even tell if I should trust you or not."

"You should," he mumbles, "as a friend I was worried sick about you."

"I don't doubt that."

"Really, trust me. I'm not going to hurt you." He repeats himself.

"I know you won't but..."

"But?"

"What about Jongho? Is he really—"

"Dead? Yeah." He sighs, as if he had been holding it for long. "I aimed for his heart; pretty sure I got it."

"So, you killed him?"

"I already told you; I would go to any extent to keep you safe." He murmurs.

"So, what do we do now?" you ask because you were starting to panic.

You look at him, and he had been staring at you for a long time. He shakes his head, letting a smile cross his face, "we do nothing. We have no choice. Someone will find his body; the rot makes it easier to."

"And about you, you will have to restart your life pretending nothing happened."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“not if you don’t want to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

you knew this was gonna be a bad idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unlocking the front door to your shared apartment, you were greeted by the cold air touching your skin as you stepped in. It was colder than usual — freezing, even. You assumed Haechan, your roommate, hadn’t left his room to increase the temperature since you left for work this morning.

This only added onto the irritation that has been growing since you clocked into work. Today has been a long day, you at least wanted to come home and relax. Not walk into what feels like a snow storm.

You placed your bag on the kitchen counter as you walked over to the thermostat. ‘There’s no way he didn’t feel this cold air all day..’ You thought to yourself as you fixed the temperature to your liking.

You were ready to barge into Haechan’s room and full-on scold him for making the house feel like an igloo. He’s been more quiet than usual, you noticed it the moment you entered the house.

Usually, he’d run out of his room to greet you, or he’d be locked in his room and screaming at his computer as he lost another battle in whatever games he liked to play. Today was different. He didn’t leave his room at all. There wasn’t any noise coming from it either. All you heard was silence.

Suspicious, you tiptoed over to his room to catch him in whatever act he was doing. You hesitantly gripped the doorknob. 

‘What if he was sleeping? I don’t wanna wake him up..’

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of soft hums followed by heavy breaths coming from behind the door. What the hell could he be doing? The sounds only grew louder as you listened closer. You could’ve sworn he said your name a few times.

There were numerous possibilities spiraling through your mind as to what he could be doing. But nothing could prepare you for what you’d be greeted with.

You opened the door slow enough to where the usual creaking noises were silent.

The room was pitch dark. The bright light beaming from his desktop computer was the only thing helping you glance around the room.

Your eyes glued to Haechan as more noises slipped from his mouth. He sat at the edge of his bed, back facing you. You would’ve been blind to what he was doing if it weren't for the — wait, is that your laptop? — recording his every move.

There he was, a moaning mess with his hardened cock on full display in front of your laptop. His free hand gripped the sheets as he stroked himself in a slow, steady rhythm.

You could see comments appearing on the screen as you examined the screen. Was he on livestream?

You couldn’t look away from his figure. It’s like your eyes were glued to the sight, and you weren’t mad at it either.

“Y-Y/n, mm..I’m so close.”

The sound of your name made your heart drop to your stomach. There’s no way he was seriously jerking off to the thought of you. Not the guy you’ve been best friends with since childhood. He was always honest with you, always telling you everything. There were never any secrets between you, or so you thought.

“Fuck—you’re so pretty, Y/n...I’m gonna cum for you. Only you.”

His whimpers only grew louder as he quickened his pace. Breath heaving, legs quivering, and hips buckling as cum spilled from his flushed pink tip.

A loud, restrained groan escaped his lips as he reached his climax. You could see the hairs stuck to his forehead as he threw his head back from the stimulation flowing through his body.

You couldn’t deny that the sight created a damp spot in your panties. You pressed your thighs together as the arousal in your lower abdomen grew stronger.

Once he overcame his orgasm, Haechan ended the livestream and shut off your laptop. He grabbed the Kleenex from his desk and began cleaning the mess he made. You took that as a cue to slowly close the door and pretend like you were busy before he saw you.

Rushing back to the kitchen, you sat at the counter and scrolled through your phone. Your desperate attempt to distract yourself was beyond hopeless.

You could only think about how pretty Haechan’s moans were as he got off to the thought of you. All the irritation you felt prior was replaced with something pristine. Something you’d never felt for Haechan before.

A part of you wanted to be mad at him for what he did: stealing your laptop, filming himself jerking off for probably hundreds of people to see, and never telling you about his feelings.

But you couldn’t help but get turned on by all of it. This has probably been going on for months and you never had a clue. He’s been doing all of that behind your back while acting casual in your face every single day. You couldn’t help but feel excited.

You wondered how pretty the sight would be if it had’ve been you in between his legs instead of your laptop. The idea of him gripping your hair as you sucked him dry, teasing his tip and making him moan louder, watching him unravel before you as he c-

“Hey, when did you get home?” You flinched at the sudden sound of Haechan’s voice. He walked up to you with that innocent smile he always wore on his face, but you could see through it after what you witnessed. “A little while ago, why?”

Haechan shrugged, “No reason, just missed you a little.” His hands found their way to yours. He caressed them gently, as if he were examining them for the first time.

It was a habit of his to fiddle with your hands. One that you didn’t pay attention to until now. There was a certain look in his eyes, a look of lust. Why was he so infatuated with your hands out of everything else?

“Oh I'm sure you did.” Your snarky remark caused him to pause. His expression switched to suspicion, a slight frown tugging at his eyebrows as he squinted his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His confusion assured you that he was unaware of your presence observing him a few moments ago. He seriously should be more conscious of his surroundings. What if it were a robber instead of you? He’d be long gone by now.

“Hyuck,” you placed your phone on the counter and fully faced him. “What were you doing before I got home?”

Haechan’s expression didn’t change, as if he was suspicious of you. “Nothing? Just chilling in my room on the game?”

You tilted your head with a sly grin, raising an eyebrow. “Oh really? And what game requires you to moan my name?”

Haechan’s entire body went stiff, expression growing pale. His heart dropped to his stomach. Was he seriously that loud?

“Um, I don’t..know what you’re talking about?” His lack of eye contact only made him more guilty. You couldn’t help but giggle at his poor attempt to lie. Why couldn’t he just be honest? Was he afraid of how you’d react? Surely, it is slightly perverted to jerk off to the thought of your best friend and record it on their laptop…

Okay, maybe it’s really perverted, but you weren’t mad. Your love for him might’ve grew even stronger after catching him in the act.

“Can you bring me my laptop?” You requested, and he obeyed. You remembered that once he finished, he never closed out of the tab. He simply closed the laptop without a second thought. And even if he closed it out now, you could always check your history.

Not even ten seconds later, he came back with your laptop. You noticed his trembling hands when he gave it to you. He was more than nervous, more like scared.

You opened the laptop and typed in your password. Fortunately, to your luck, he did forget to close out the tab.

There you saw various videos of him in different locations around the house: the kitchen counter, living room, bathroom, your bed, and the balcony. The videos were always titled, “Missing her” or something similar. You already had an idea of who this ‘her’ was.

As you scrolled further, you stumbled upon videos with your panties on his shaft. Pairs you hadn’t seen in months. It appears that the lacy pink ones were his favorite. This new information resulted in a familiar pulse in your core, heat pooling in your lower abdomen once again.

You saw an option on the website titled ‘Payments’ and clicked on it without hesitation.

Your eyes widened at what you encountered. Plenty of payments everyday that varied from hundreds to thousands. They either had requests attached to them or were for support.

“So this is how you pay your half of the rent..” You spoke in an amused tone, not taking your eyes off the screen.

Haechan’s head perked up, “What are you talking about?” He flinched when you turned the screen towards him with the payments tab open.

“Oh my god..” he said under his breath, staring at the screen, mortified. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see any of that.” His voice trembled as he panicked, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor.

You placed the laptop on the counter and brought him closer to you. His breaths were shallow, as if he was suddenly afraid of you. “Calm down. I’m not mad.” You caressed the back of his head as he stood in between your legs.

Haechan slowly looked at you, eyebrows knitting together. “You’re not?”

A soft smile accompanied your face as you shook your head. “Surprised, yes. But not mad. I’m just impressed that you kept this from me for so long.”

This helped him calm down. He was no longer trembling and feeling nervous.

“That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, though.”

“What can I do to make it up to you?” Haechan fiddled with his hands again after hearing your words. He knew you wouldn't just let it slide so easily.

“Let me record a video with you.”

The room fell silent after you spoke, words lingering in the air. Your heartbeat thudding in your chest was the only sound you could hear. Haechan hadn’t moved one inch. Was your suggestion really that crazy?

“Y/n..you know what that means, right? You’d have to..y’know..have sex with me. On camera..” He looked over at you, stating the obvious.

“I’m not a kid, dumbass.” You deadpanned. “I’m not new to sex, Hyuck.”

Haechan swallowed harshly. The more this conversation went on, the more flustered he got. “I know, but..”

You crashed your lips onto his to shut him up. It only took a few seconds for him to reciprocate the kiss, hands attaching to your waist.

You pulled away a few moments later. “I know you want it, too. Can we please go to your room, now?” You pleaded softly with that sweet voice and puppy eyes that he could never say ‘no’ to.

Haechan nodded almost instantly and guided you to his room. It certainly looked cleaner than how you saw it previously. He even changed the sheets. No wonder you were blind to what he was up to all this time.

“So, um, how exactly are we gonna do this?” Haechan turned to face you, eyes darting everywhere but your face. He looked so pathetic. You knew you’d have to take control tonight.

“Well, let’s see, how do you usually start your videos?” You clicked back on your laptop to click on a video.

“Wait- you don’t have to do that!” Haechan quickly tugged your laptop out of your grasp. Voice growing louder as embarrassment rushed through him.

His reaction was cute, you must admit. You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at how panicked he was.

“Okay, so, I’m usually already undressed by the time I start recording.” He walks over to his desk and places the laptop down, setting up the camera to his liking. “Fyi, I’m completely anonymous on here. Which is why you don't see my face in any videos.”

The dedication in his tone only made you more aroused. “Uh-huh. Got it.”

You walked over to the edge of his bed and took a seat. Haechan was maneuvering things on his desk so that there’d be a clear view on the camera. You grew more impatient, the seconds were dragging on longer as you watched him.

“Hyuck, come here.”

Haechan turned to face you. Body growing stiff when he saw that hungry, lustful look in your eyes. He immediately obeyed, taking a seat beside you.

You turned to face him. He was still avoiding your gaze. Cute.

“Look at me, Hyuck. I won’t hurt you.”

Haechan slowly met your gaze, swallowing the lump in his throat. Your demeanor changed when you sensed his nervousness.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Haechan shook his head quickly. “No, I..I really want to. I’ve just..never done this before. Not with another person.” His voice grew quiet as he spoke. Almost like he was ashamed to tell you how inexperienced he was.

“Hyuck, I know you’re a virgin. What kind of best friend would I be to not know that?” You tilted your head. Teasing him lightheartedly.

Haechan smiled faintly for the first time all day. Your heart fluttered at the sight. He was truly the most beautiful boy you’d ever met.

“Can I kiss you?” Haechan asked, voice gentle and hesitant.

You nodded. “You don't have to ask, silly.”

Haechan’s lips slowly met yours. His hands found your waist again, squeezing eagerly.

Your hands found his neck, caressing it gently. His tense body softened under your touch.

Your tongue poked at his bottom lip. Asking for permission. Haechan parted his lips enough for you to slip your tongue inside. A soft moan escaped his lips as you swirled your tongue around his.

You took that as an incentive to keep going. Without breaking the kiss, you moved over to straddle his lap. Lips wandering from his lips, to his jaw, then his neck.

You left soft pecks on his neck until you found that sensitive spot that made him grip your waist tighter. Eyes closing shut as he whined.

Sucking lightly, you left hickeys and love bites all over his neck. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly. “I need this off. Now.”

Without hesitation, Haechan obeyed. His shirt was off in a flash. Lips connecting to yours like they had a gravitational pull.

You smiled softly at him before you moved your mouth down to his nipple. One of his most sensitive spots.

The loud cry escaping Haechan’s mouth was like music to your ears. You licked and sucked on his nipple delicately. Pinching the other one to rile him up even more.

Haechan’s entire body reacted to your teasing. He was so sensitive. So innocent. He could cum right here, right now. Merely from the treatment you gave to his nipples alone. His bulge stiffened through his shorts, dripping with pre cum.

You couldn’t let him cum so easily. Not when the fun just began. Haechan whined in disappointment when you pulled away, right when we could feel himself reaching his climax.

“Do you wanna start recording now?” Your sly grin betrayed the innocent tone in your voice. Haechan’s eyes widened as he rushed to the laptop. Almost completely forgetting about the tape that you were supposed to be filming.

He pressed record and kept the camera low enough to where your faces were out of range. Many people instantly joined the stream. You got more aroused just from the idea that thousands of viewers would witness you ruin Haechan tonight.

His lips found yours again. Hands traveling lower down your back until he found the him of your pants, tugging harshly.

“Wanna taste you. Guide me, please?” He whispered against your lips, eager to please you.

You nodded and moved closer to the camera. Lower half on full displayed as you slowly parted your legs. Haechan made his way to the floor, on his knees just for you. He quickly tugged your pants and underwear past your legs, tossing them aside.

You were already dripping from earlier. Haechan almost drooled at the sight. This was truly a dream come true.

“Go ahead.” You demanded, smiling softly. There had to be at least one thing he knew about pleasing a woman.

Haechan nodded. Slowly bringing his mouth to your heat, sucking delicately. You watched him carefully. He was so gentle, almost like he was scared to mess up.

“Move your tongue in circle motions, okay?” You requested, voice soft as you watched him. Haechan nodded and began drawing circles with his tongue around your clit. You threw your head back at the sensation, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Haechan looked up at you with those sweet, innocent brown eyes. He wondered if he was doing a good job. His eyes begged for approval.

“You’re doing so good, baby. So good for me.” You praised, bringing up a hand to caress his head. Haechan’s pace increased after hearing your words. That was all he needed to keep going, your sweet words telling him that he was doing well.

Gaining confidence, Haechan inserted two fingers inside you, thrusting them gently to see how you’d react. He learned it from the numerous porn videos he watched, and this was the perfect opportunity to make use of it.

Your toes curled as a pornographic moan escaped your lips. Your breaths quickened as Haechan licked in between your folds and back to your clit. He was skilled for someone who’s inexperienced.

There was something about the way he looked at you. Like he was enjoying this more than you were. The shy, nervous Haechan you saw before was long gone. A cocky smile formed on his face as he moaned in your pussy, making your thighs quiver.

“Hyuck—! ’m so close!” You cry out, with a whiny moan. Your tight walls clench around his fingers as your body trembles under Haechan’s touch. He detached his mouth from your pussy, allowing the camera to see the pretty sight. Your release came quickly, spilling onto Haechan’s fingers and running down his wrist as his fingers curled into you.

Haechan’s eyes were glued to what he had done. He brought his hand to his mouth, licking every bit of you off his fingers. Your breathing slowed down just in time for Haechan to bring his mouth to yours, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

Haechan was so good to you. It’s like he thought about you more than he thought about himself. You adored it, the idea that he cared more about pleasing you. You wanted to give him any and everything he asked for.

“Tell me,” you broke the kiss, voice low and flirtatious. Your hands found the hem of his shorts. “What do you want, baby?”

Haechan looked at you with heart eyes as he bit his lower lip. His face was so close to yours, there was any space in between. “Want you to fuck me. Please.” His voice was whiny and desperate. This man was head over heels for you, and you loved it.

You nodded, tugging harshly at his shorts for them to come off. His cock sprung out quickly, hitting his stomach. His tip was already dripping with pre cum. He was lengthy, and protruding with small veins. You hadn’t even realized that you paused and stared until he began to speak.

“Want you to ride me, Y/N, please. Need you so bad” Haechan was so good at begging, how could you deny someone so patient.

You take his cock into your hand and slowly stroke the length, he twitches from the stimulation, turned on from the way you’re handling him and thrilled that you’re taking his virginity on camera.

You give him a slow, teasing smile. “Look at you,” you murmur, thumb swiping over the leaking head. He shudders. “already so worked up.”

Haechan whines, hips bucking into your hand, chasing more friction. “Y/N, please…”

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, your lips brushing against his ear. “Relax, baby. So desperate for me, huh?” You straddle him, sliding the tip of his cock between your folds, teasing him with your slick.

Haechan gasps, your folds brushing against his leaky cock throwing him over edge. His fingers dig into your hips, eyes glazed over, breath catching. “You feel so warm already,” he moans, voice cracking just slightly.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” you whisper, guiding him in slowly. His eyes flutter shut and he leans his head back, you watch every twitch of his face, every gasp he lets out as you sink down onto him inch by inch.

Once your walls fully cage in on his cock, your hands rest on his chest, and you grind your hips in slow, deliberate circles, making sure he feels everything.

“You okay?” you ask, voice low, eyes locked on his flushed face.

He nods rapidly, then changes to a shaky “Y-Yeah. Just—feels like too much. In a good way. So good.”

The camera’s still rolling, but you only care about the way his hands grip your thighs like he never wants to let go. You start to move, bouncing gently, dragging out his moans as he fills you so perfectly.

And when he opens his eyes to look at you — glassy, worshipful — you lean down and kiss him hard.

“Gonna make you feel even better,” you whisper against his lips. “Wanna ruin you for anyone else.”

Your hips start to move again, faster than before —  savoring every drag of his cock inside you, and hard enough that the sound of skin meeting skin echoes through the room, caught on camera.

Haechan’s hands are trembling where they clutch your thighs, eyes glued to where you’re joined. “F-Fuck… you feel unreal,” he whimpers, the words falling from his lips like a prayer. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

You reach up, grabbing his jaw and tilting his face up toward you. “Look at me,” you command softly. “Wanna see those pretty eyes while I fuck the innocence out of you.”

His breath catches. He obeys instantly, pupils blown wide, lips parted as he watches you ride him like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” You grind down, making him cry out. “All that teasing, all that flirting—you wanted me to make you mine.”

“I am yours,” he gasps, completely wrecked. “I’ve been yours—always been yours.”

You smile, slow and wicked. “Good boy.”

Your pace picks up, the tension between you coiling tighter with every bounce of your hips. He’s moaning openly now, completely disregarding the camera, lost in the feeling of you wrapped around him. His fingers are gripping you like he needs you to breathe, like if you stop, he’ll fall apart.

Overstimulation sneaks up on him, causing him to buck his hips, meeting your feverish thrust.

“You’re taking it so well, baby,” you pant, leaning forward to kiss his neck, sucking a mark into his skin just below his ear. “Letting me ruin you, just like you wanted.”

“Y-Yeah—fuck, I’m gonna—” he tries to warn you, voice cracking. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum—”

You press your forehead to his, keeping your rhythm brutal and deep. “Do it. I want to see your pretty face when you fall apart for me.”

He shatters beneath you with a desperate cry, eyes rolling back as his hips jerk up into you. Warmth floods your core, and the way he clings to you like he never wants to be anywhere else makes your own orgasm rush up hard and fast.

You ride it out together, bodies locked, breath mingling, the camera capturing every twitch, every gasp, every second of it.

Once you calm down from your high, you slowly slip off of Haechans cock, earning a soft whine from the lack of warmth.

You turn over to the camera and flash a cocky smirk before clicking off the livestream.

Your gaze shifts over to Haechan who looks as if he went to heaven and back.

“Let’s get you cleaned up” you say softly while pulling him up to take him to the bathroom.

As you turn on shower water, suddenly he gets a notification on his phone;

@b!g.d!ckrob69 tipped $650!!: “Bring that lady on stream more often”

Looks like his half of rent is covered for the month.

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.

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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