— remtrack ☆

he didn't let you finish. he spun the chair around with a violent screech against the hardwood, his hand shooting out to clamp around your throat before you could even catch your breath. it wasn't a squeeze that broke you, but it was absolute, pinning you right where you stood. his eyes were blown wide, dark and frantic, vibrating with a stress that looked like pure hatred.

"i told you to stay on the bed" he hissed, his voice so low it sounded like gravel grinding together. "are you stupid? do you have any idea how close i was to finishing that track?"

you tried to gasp, to tell him you were just lonely, but his thumb dug into the side of your neck, effectively silencing you. he leaned forward, his face inches from yours, his jaw set in a hard, cruel line.

"you're always so needy" he spat, his eyes scanning your face with a mix of disgust and mounting obsession. "it's pathetic. every time i try to work, you're right there, begging for crumbs. do you really think you're more important than what i'm doing?"

he shoved you back then, his hand releasing you with a rough flick of his wrist. you stumbled, hitting the edge of the desk hard, the breath knocked out of you. anton didn't look sorry; he just turned back to his screen, his fingers dancing across the keys with a manic, jagged rhythm.

"shut up and sit down" he muttered, not even looking back at you, his tone cold and dismissive. "i'm busy. you'll wait until i'm done, and if you make another sound, i'll make sure you regret it. don't make me tell you again."

he was so keyed up he was shaking, the pressure in the room thick enough to choke on. he didn't care that you were hurt or that you were crying; he just wanted his silence, and he was more than happy to break you to get it.

the silence that followed was heavy, only the hum of the cooling fan in his laptop breaking it. you stayed where he left you, curled up against the desk leg, chest heaving and eyes stinging. you didn't dare move, not after that warning.

after what felt like hours, he finally clicked the mouse to close it all, the sound impossibly loud. he stood up, his chair rolling back to hit the wall with a thud. he didn't check on you, didn't apologize. he just walked over, his boots heavy on the floor, and loomed over you until his shadow swallowed you whole.

"done acting out?" he murmured, his voice now terrifyingly calm compared to the rage before. he reached down, his fingers tangling roughly into your hair to yank your head back so you had to look up at him. "i hate having to be mean, you know. makes me feel like i'm dealing with a bratty kid instead of my girl."

he hauled you up by your hair, not caring as you winced. he dragged you toward the bed, his grip on your scalp never loosening. "you wanted attention, right? you were so desperate for me to look at you."

he shoved you down onto the mattress, and before you could scramble away, he was already over you, his knees pinning your thighs down. he grabbed the waistband of your shorts and panties, bunching the fabric in his fists and yanking them down in one brutal, tearing motion, leaving you exposed and trembling beneath his dark, hungry gaze.

"look at you" he scoffed, his free hand slapping your inner thigh hard enough to leave a stinging red mark. "shaking like you're terrified. are you? you should be."

he didn't waste time with foreplay. he spat on his hand and shoved his fingers inside you, his movements jagged and impatient. you gasped, arching your back, but he just slammed his hand down on your stomach to keep you flat.

"stay still," he commanded, his eyes boring into yours, cold and possessive as he shoved his sweapants and boxers down. "if you move, if you try to pull away, i'm going to make this so much worse for you."

he positioned himself and thrust into you, a blunt, unyielding entry that made you choke on a sob. he was fucking you with a rhythm that felt more like punishment than pleasure, his hips slamming into yours with a hard, repetitive force that rattled your teeth. every time you tried to buck your hips or push him away, he just leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your throat, his hand tightening around your jaw to force your head to the side.

"fuck, you're so dumb" he groaned, his voice rough and breathless.

"coming in here, begging for this while i'm working. you knew i was on edge. you knew i'd take it out on you."

he gripped your hips, his thumbs digging into your skin, bruisingly firm as he pounded into you deeper, harder. his face was a mask of cold intensity, his eyes tracking every flicker of pain and desire on your face.

"look at me" he hissed, his pace quickening as he felt you tightening around him. "don't you dare close your eyes. i want you to see exactly who's doing this to you. i want you to remember that your body belongs to me whenever i decide to take it."

he grabbed your hair again, pulling hard so you were forced to stare up at him while he destroyed you. "scream if you want" he muttered, his thrusts becoming sloppy and desperate, hitting that spot over and over until your brain felt like it was short-circuiting. "it's not like anyone is coming for you. you're just mine to break whenever i'm stressed, aren't you?"

 People say ‘don’t shit where you eat' for a reason. 

You knew going to a work do where free alcohol was served with your ex-situationship lurking was not a smart idea. You knew it. But you also refused to back down and disrupt your plans because of a narcissist who is known for not being able to handle his alcohol.  

 It was all fun and games at the start of the night, but the more drinks he kept having, the more his petty comments kept coming your way.  

 “Remember when you used to be fun?”  

 “Why so uptight? Did someone hurt you?”  

 And so, you caved. You called the only person you knew could save you no matter what.  

 “Hey, what you up to?” You hold the phone between your shoulder and ear while rummaging through your bag for a lighter. The situation definitely demands a smoke. If you could find the stupid pink lighter you once stole off Haechan.

The cars are loud on the main road outside the venue your company had booked for the evening, but you can still hear the faint clicking of his keyboard through the speaker. He is definitely in the middle of a gaming session. 

 “Already gave up?” He says with a little amused laugh. You can almost picture the smug smirk on your friend’s face. 

 “It's either that or I get violent.” You snarl in the cold of the night, the lighter still nowhere to be found. "It's been what, an hour? And the man's already five drinks in."  

 “Yikes. You made him turn to alcohol. Poor fella.” He pretends pity, but you know he’s always hated the guy.  

 “Not my fault he can’t take the truth.”  

 “Eh, yeah, he’s a dick, but you also did tell him you faked all your orgasms.” He snorts. “Surprised he hasn't already killed himself.”  

 “Aha!” You shout a little too excitedly for having just found a lighter.  

 “You good?” He asks curiously, keyboard clicking coming to a halt.  

 “Yeah, sorry, just found my lighter.”  

 “You mean my lighter.” He deadpans. “I knew it was you.”  

 You stifle a giggle at his whining. “Who else could it have been?”  

He scoffs. “I have other friends.”  

 “Mm,” You hum as you light the cigarette and take the first nerve-calming drag. You exhale in relief before continuing, “You only chat to them on Overwatch nowadays.”  

“Be thankful I'm actually spending time with you on my days off,”  He grumbles.

“You're so right. I am an ungrateful piece of shit. Will you ever forgive me.” You respond in the most indifferent tone you can muster.

 “Yeah, yeah, whatever - when’s your bus?” He asks, totally unfazed by your sassy comeback.  

 “Like five minutes?” You glance at the schedule board. The bus to Haechan’s place shows 5’, while the one that takes you home shows 7’. “I could always go home. Don’t wanna keep you up.”

 “It’s 8 p.m. on a Friday night.” He brushes off your hesitation, clearly having already decided for you. “I’ve got food covered, just bring some soju.”

 You're glad he can't see the satisfied grin that takes over your face.

He somehow always manages to say endearing things with a tone that could make him come across as cold to someone who isn't familiar with his mannerisms. It's easy for you to notice the always present but underlying softness, though.

You absentmindedly keep flicking the cigarette even though there's no ash left at the tip. “Alright, say less.”  

“And none of that peach-flavoured shit you like,” He adds. “It's too sweet.” 

“You'll drink what I pay for.” 

You end up getting two peach and two original-flavoured bottles anyway.

⟡

  “The fuck is he so bitter for?” Haechan slumps down next to you on his spacious sofa after getting rid of the empty take out boxes, making you bounce a little. “I swear it wasn’t that serious?”  

 “It wasn’t!” You exclaim in annoyance, kicking your feet from where you’re lying across the sofa, head heavy against the armrest. Your eyes feel a little droopy from the lovely meal you've just had and the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed tonight — not enough to get you drunk, just enough to give your body a pleasant buzz.  

 “Maybe he really liked you.” Haechan points out and you can’t help but raise your head a little to throw him a ‘be serious’ look. He snorts. “What?” 

 The cotton of his sweatpants feels soft against your toes, and you subconsciously wiggle them between his thigh and the sofa as you relax against the soft cushions. “That man hated me. He just liked my pu—“ 

 “Yah,” He cuts you off, still chuckling in disbelief at your non-existent filter. “How can you be so unhinged when you drink?” 

 Your eyes are shut but you giggle along, always enjoying making him a little uncomfortable. It’s a rare occurrence.  

 “Speaking of…” He trails, clearly in thought about something.  

 “Of what? My genitals?” Your attempt to mock him earns you a sharp pinch on the fleshy bit of your calf. "Ah! Okay okay okay, I'm sorry." You squeal in pain until he retrieves his fingers.

“Weirdo.” He mumbles disapprovingly, making you let out a not-so-charming snort that may or may not resemble a laugh. You can picture the offended expression on his face. The pout his heart-shaped lips always form when he's annoyed is too adorable to forget.

“You were saying...?” You prod with a gentle voice this time, wiggling your toes again, your hands folded on your tummy as you keep your eyes closed. 

 “Did you actually fake it every single time?” He shuffles a little further down the sofa, his sweats dragging against your toes as he gets more comfy and now you’re pretty sure your right foot is now stuck under his ass.  

 “Every. Single. Timeeeee.” You drag the word with a dramatic groan.  

 “Jeez. Poor guy.” Haechan exhales in wonderment. “Was his peepee like, really small or...?”  

 “Pfff.” You blow out a snicker. “It wasn’t that much of a size issue. It was more…I dunno, just lack of technique, I guess?” 

 “Hm.” Haechan hums in thought. “What about when he’d go down on you?”  

 You’re no stranger to having these types of conversations with Haechan. You’ve been friends long enough to feel comfortable discussing your sex lives to an extent. You’re both sexually active adults, it's no secret, but for some reason, in this specific moment, it feels a little too intimate. Maybe it’s the quiet of his apartment, with the tv being muted and all. Or maybe it’s the alcohol in your system.  

 “That’s never really worked for me, you know.” You admit quickly, without really elaborating.  

 There’s a small pause from his side, which makes you move your bent knees to the side a little so you can check your friend’s expression. He seems confused.  

 “Like ever?” His eyebrows furrow a little before smoothing down again. “With anyone?”  

 You shake your head with a little pout, containing your laugh. It’s kind of funny how concerned he looks, even though it has nothing to do with him. 

 “Well, if it means anything, on behalf of the entire male population, I do apologise.” He puts his hands together and closes his eyes, as though begging for your forgiveness.  

 You stifle a laugh and lightly kick his thigh. “Pretty sure there’s much more pressing matters the male population should feel sorry for.”  

 “Touché.” He smiles awkwardly at your observation.  

 “Also, I hate to break it to you, but…” You move your feet from underneath his leg and place them on his lap. His hand casually squeezes one ankle, the touch comforting over your trousers. “Surely, you know most of your partners have faked it at least once.”  

 He scoffs playfully. “Yeah, probably in uni, when I was constantly fucking around, but definitely not in the last couple years.”  

 “Delusion at its finest.”  

 His eyes roll sarcastically. “I’m very aware of my oral skills, don’t you worry about me.”  

 You breathe out an amused laugh at his frown. “Right right right, my bad.”  

 “I could always prove it.”  

 Your laughter is louder this time. “What? You gonna invite a girl over and make me watch?”  

 “I mean…sure, if you’re into that,” He smirks, hand around your ankle tightening slightly. “Not really what I meant though.”  

Now, that sparks some interest in you.

 “You offering me head or something?” You maintain the playfulness in your tone, but you’re very aware of the heat creeping up on your face at what he's insinuating.  

 He just shrugs, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “You get an orgasm; I get to prove you wrong.”  

 “You must really love proving me wrong.” You’re positive of your blush showing now, his amused grin enough proof as he inspects your face.  

 He shrugs again. He’s too calm for this situation. “Won’t be a chore, I’m sure.”  

“Ey, quit pulling my leg.” You warn in disbelief. There's no way this isn't one of his tricks.

He scoffs with a lopsided grin, tongue poking against his cheek. “I'm not pulling anything.”

“You'd seriously go down on me just to prove a point?” Your eyeballs feel like they're about to pop out of your head.

“Last chance. Take it or leave it.” He says monotonously, like it's some kind of auction.

This whole situation is absurd. But what's even more absurd is that you panic at the thought of missing the chance of your friend eating you out. You must be experiencing a simulation. That's the only credible explanation.

You purse your lips in thought. Why can't you bring yourself to say no? “What if you actually fail?”  

“I won’t.”  

 “You might.” You press again.  

 He exhales an exasperated laugh. “Then, I dunno. You get something to use against me.”  

 You certainly like the sound of that. “I could always fake it. I’m good at that.”  

 “I’ll know if you do.” He raises an eyebrow in warning, expression more serious than you’re used to. “So, best not.”  

 You swallow a little too audibly, too aware of his touch on your leg now. It’s when your gaze drops to his lips that you really do come to a decision.  

 “Alright.” You agree, as nonchalantly as possible. “No weird shit, though.”  

 He snorts a laugh as he sits up a little and you scoot back to rest on your elbows. “What exactly classifies as weird shit?”  

 “I don’t know...” You look around as though you’ll find an answer in his living room. You know it's just a way to avoid his eyes. “Just don’t make it weird.” 

 “I won’t.” He raises his hands in defence.

“Good.”

He stares at you for a few moments, and it’s already fucking weird. “Wanna stay here or go to the bedroom?”  

Oh god. This is actually happening.

 “Here.” You decide quickly. “Bedroom’s a bit too serious.”  

 He nods in approval. “Fair.”  

 You nod back, but really knowing what else to do.  

 “Alright, let’s see your granny panties then.”  

 “See, that’s fucking weird! I knew you'd—“ 

 “Okay okay,” He cackles loudly at your expense, catching the cushion you attempt to smack into his face. “I’m sorry, I’ll behave.”  

 You glare at him, not really believing a word that comes out of his stupidly pretty mouth. You know him too well.  

 “Would you kindly take your trousers off or shall I do it?” He asks carefully this time, sounding too genuine, eyelashes batting dramatically. You know it's all an act. 

 You don’t choose words this time. Instead, you lie back down and unbutton your trousers, but before you can start removing them, Haechan stops you with his hands on yours.  

 “Wait.” His slightly worried expression makes your heart drop. Did he just trick you into agreeing so he could take it back? What sick, twisted motherf— “You actually wanna do this, right?”  

You barely register your smile. Him making sure to get your repeated consent shouldn’t feel so endearing. “I’ve already said yes, Hyuck.”  

 “No, you said ‘alright’.” He mimics your voice playfully, making your smile widen. “Not the same.”  

 “My bad.” You get comfortable again, your hands resuming their actions as you start pushing your pants down, hips raising a little, and when the piece of clothing hits the floor, you speak again, smile still intact. “Yes, I want to.”  

 His eyes don’t even flicker down to your bottom half. They stay on your face. Even when your legs spread to accommodate him as he shuffles closer, he doesn’t allow himself to look below your waist.  

 He doesn’t come across as embarrassed, or awkward. He’s just… calm. His breathing stable compared to yours, his hands steady on your knees, no tremble detected, his blinking slow, eyes moving unhurriedly over your squirming body. He’s too fucking normal about this.  

 And you’re already turned on. And embarrassed. And so not calm.  

 “Cute.” His endearing remark breaks the silence when he finally eyes your underwear, his thumb delicately tracing the baby blue bow in the centre of the waistline. You’re glad you chose black lace instead of anything else that could betray your wetness.  

 You can feel it leaking. It’s uncomfortable and very unsettling. A reminder of the absurdity you've found yourself in on this random Friday evening.

 He's one of your favourite people. Your best guy friend. And he’s got your pussy dripping and your heart skipping more beats than it should. 

 And he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.  

 His hands settle on your inner thighs, spreading your legs as far as they’ll go, and when he brings his face closer to where you need him, you have to close your eyes for a few moments. Just to anchor yourself a little.  

 “Are you uncomfortable?” He asks softly, his warm breath hitting your tummy.  

 You look down to find that his concerned eyes are already inspecting your face. “No. It’s just weird. It’s you.” 

 “Exactly.” He reaffirms with a cheeky grin. “It's just me.”   

 You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “I’m good. I promise.” 

 “Good.” He presses a tiny peck just above the bow of your panties, where your blouse has ridden up and left the skin uncovered. His nose tickles you slightly. “Just sit there and look pretty.”

 You accidentally let out a giggle at his gentle demeanour, not really familiar with this side of him. He’s always playful with you, sure, just not this soft. As touchy as Haechan can be, it’s always clumsy and chaotic. He’ll hug you here and there or put an arm around your shoulders to offer needed comfort, he'll pat you on the back, ruffle your hair just to annoy you, but he's never lingered. Never crossed any lines. Never done or said anything to make you question your friendship.  

 Until now.  

 He rearranges his position a little, until he’s leaning comfortably on his elbows, face directly above your heat, arms loosely wrapped around your thighs, hands stroking up and down the skin. He's being gentle. Attentive.

It's annoying how you can't look away. How could you? When he looks so good between your legs. So, you just watch.

 He starts with a kiss on your left inner thigh, then another one on your right one, where he keeps descending, each smooch wetter than the previous one until he’s reached the edge of your soaked underwear. 

 He makes brief eye contact when his tongue dips out to lick the crease that connects your thigh and mound, making your breath hitch. He does the same on the other side, and then resumes the kisses, covering your skin in dewy patches.

It’s his heavy breaths that affect you the most. Simply because they betray that he's not as unaffected as he seems.  

 You don’t rush him. Don’t beg him. Don’t let yourself make too many sounds other than some shaky breaths here and there when his teeth nip at your skin. You hold back as best as you can. Even when the pulse of your clit becomes almost unbearable. Even when the slick that drips out of you is too difficult to ignore. Even when you’re dying to grab onto his hair and shove his face into your pussy. You just force your hands to grab onto the cushions that support your head.  

 Your composure eventually breaks when he lands a lingering kiss just above your covered clit. A barely audible whimper fills the quiet of his apartment. You know he’s heard it when his hold on your thighs tightens, pretty hands flexing, fingers digging in the flesh, the cool sensation of his rings soothing you. You can’t help but smile to yourself at the acknowledging gesture. At the way he tries to ground you.  

 His lips part wider this time, tongue poking out, gently massaging your clit over the ruined lace, the moist warmth seeping through the fabric, teasing you like you’ve never been teased before.  

 “Hyuck.” The nickname comes out whiny, almost broken.  

 He hums in response, the vibration going straight through your sensitive bud, pulling an accidental moan out of you. His tongue slips down to your entrance and that’s when he makes a sound for the first time tonight. It’s very obvious he’s felt the arousal that’s probably spilling from the sides of your sticky panties.  

 “You taste good.” He whispers, more to himself it seems, his eyes glued to the mess between your legs as he bites down on his lower lip. “Can I take these off?”  

 You blink down at him, his pleading tone causing your pussy to flutter around nothing, and his wide, boba eyes - full of hope - cause your stomach to do a flip. You can’t do anything other than nod dumbly.  

 He moves swiftly; his fingers already slipping into the sides of your panties as he sits up to make more room, your hips lift in response and in no time the garment is somewhere on his floor. Haechan doesn’t give you much time to feel exposed. He gets to work quickly. Eager hands grab onto your hips and effortlessly drag you closer to his face, prying your legs wide open, nails digging into the backs of your thighs as his eyes drink in the filthy sight of your slicked up centre.  

 Your brain malfunctions when you hear a not-so-subtle inhale.

Did he just...smell you?

You hands move on their own, clinging onto his hair, pushing him down, while your hips lift just a tiny bit, and before he can protest, his nose bumps into your swollen bud.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve practically shoved his face into your folds. His tongue makes contact immediately, licking from your entrance to your clit, lightly at first, the tip of it barely making contact, almost tickling you. Then he repeats the action, a little bolder each time, edging you.

A wide swipe of the pink muscle against the whole expanse of your throbbing pussy sends a shock through your system. And when his tongue swirls around your swollen bud, you let your head fall back and your eyes close in bliss. “Holy shit, you are good at this.”

You’re awfully aware of the sigh that slips out of you, but at this point you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Decorum is the least of your worries when your best friend of three years has his face buried in your most private parts.  

 Awareness flies out of the window too when Haechan’s full lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently before his tongue joins with languid strokes. You can’t tell how loud you’re being, all you can focus on is the pleasure and the wet slurping sounds he’s making.  

 “Told you.” He mumbles mid lap and before you can think of a smart comeback, his tongue briefly sneaks down to your entrance, collecting more of your arousal before travelling back up to flick gently. Your hips unintentionally buck into his face, searching for more friction.  

 He’s clearly teasing you. Toying with you. Trying to make a point. Greedy asshole. 

 “Fuck!” You exclaim in surprise when his thumbs spread your pussy lips, isolating your clit and lifting the hood so that his mouth can suck harder than before. Your back arches, the direct contact with the nerve endings making your legs shake involuntarily. Your fingers curl in his strands in despair and your eyes roll back when he doesn’t let up. His harsh flicks come in up and down motions, before turning into long, persistent swirls and then repeat. “Hah—wait—fuck, I’m—” 

 “Shut up and cum.” He rasps harshly, his voice alone making you clench around emptiness.

You feel his spit combined with your juices trickling down to your ass, possibly staining his sofa too. You’re so close you can taste it. Your pussy throbs from the sensitivity, thighs shake uncontrollably, the backs of your knees where your legs are bent drip in sweat, your lungs are struggling to keep up, the coil in your tummy so close to bursting.  

It's nothing close to what you had in mind. He's making you look like a fool for ever doubting his skills. You find yourself feeling irrationally jealous of all the women that have experienced this when you'd been having to act and scream out fake moans.

 He suddenly pulls back a little, and your head instantly shoots up at the loss. Your eyes meet his hooded ones, the lower half of his face covered in you, and as if the sight wasn’t already scandalous, the thick string of saliva that dribbles out of his mouth and directly onto your clit, completes the piece of art of whatever the fuck this is.  

 “Jesus.” You huff when you let your head loll back down, and then his tongue is on you again, flicking faster and harsher than before, hitting a spot on one side of your clit that makes stars appear behind your eyelids. “Fuck, right there.”  

 You hold his head exactly where you need him, and he obliges without a word. The assault of his mouth combined with his hand blindly reaching up to give your boob a light squeeze, make your whole body lock up for a moment before shakes of intense pleasure take over you. The broken whine that escapes your throat, barely registers as you cum hard on his tongue. You don’t even realise that your trembling hand engulfs the one he's got on your breast, interlocking your fingers with his while trying not to drown in the abyss of the high.  

 It’s impossible. Not when he keeps licking and sucking, completely unbothered, moaning like he’s experiencing this as intensely as you are, gripping onto your thigh and fingers like he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t offer every bit of pleasure he can. 

 He lets you ride it out quite literally on his face. Doesn’t stop you from grinding on his nose and tongue. He happily stays there as you use him until you’ve had enough. And even when you can't take more, he still doesn’t stop. He slowly drags his tongue between your folds before he lets it dip into your leaking hole. As far as it can go. Tasting your release from the source. And when his arm curls around your thigh, fingers coming to touch you from above, rubbing harsh circles on your clit, you have to get away. Before you lose your fucking mind.  

 Simply asking him to stop does cross your mind for half a second, but for some reason you go with what should feel forbidden. You grab onto the collar of his top, your other hand already curling around the back of his neck, pulling him up until his face is directly above yours, and before he can question your actions, you’re claiming his mouth with yours.  

 No testing the waters, no permission asked. Just parted lips against parted lips, your tongue shoving past them, tasting your own arousal. You feel him go rigid for a few seconds, and you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t stutter with worry at the thought of scaring him away. At the thought of crossing a boundary. But then you feel his body melt into yours and his soft lips start responding, matching your eagerness, jaw slackening to let your tongue tangle with his.  

 It’s kind of gross. Saliva mixed with your essence drips from the corner of your mouth. It’s messy. Lazy. But it feels nice. And oddly sweet. And warm. And you hate that fresh heat blooms in your belly just from a kiss.  

 His hand coming to cup your chin possessively does something to you. His fingers lightly squish your cheeks before they trail up, palm engulfing your jaw, tilting your head a little so he can deepen the kiss with a satisfied hum. Such a simple gesture, but it sends tingles down your spine, makes your breath hitch and your hips stutter with newfound want. His thumb tracing your cheek reminds you that he’s still in control of the situation.

That he really did prove you wrong.

But you're not annoyed. If anything, it turns you on even more. As twisted as it may sound. The thought of your best friend sticking the very same tongue he made you cum with down your throat, should make your skin crawl. Instead, it makes you want more.   

 “Fuck.” He exhales in your mouth, pulling back just enough to take a look at you with slightly widened eyes, pupils blown out. A thin string of saliva connects you for a second before you lick your lips, breaking the bond.  

 All you keep thinking is 'has he always been this pretty?'. Rosy cheeks, swollen pink lips, nose and chin still glistening with your slick, making more of it gush from your sensitive heat.  

 “I need to cum or I might go fucking nuts.” He complains with a frown, head dropping forward so he can peep between your bodies, and you can’t help but do the same. 

 You see it. The dark stain at the front of his grey sweats, the very prominent bulge of his erection brushing your stomach, barely touching you.  

 “Okay.” You mutter weakly, but then panic when he moves to get off you. You instinctively grab onto his t-shirt, pulling him back down, his erection now trapped between your lower halves. “Where are you going?”  

 His blinks quickly, surprise evident at your resistance. “Bathroom?”  

 “Why?”  

 He lets out a confused laugh. “I don’t know. I thought— 

 You shake your head at him, hips bucking slightly to meet his, a gentle grind, enough to help him get the message. “You don’t have to go.”  

 His lips part at the friction, eyebrows furrowing adorably, eyes fluttering closed as he allows his weight to sink back on you.  

 “Fuck.” He whispers, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder when you grind a little harder this time. “You wanna watch me or something?”

 “Whatever you want.” You mumble in his ear, hand burying in his hair to comfort him with gentle strokes. You hope he catches on the hidden meaning behind your words.  

 “That’s a little misleading.” He lifts his head to meet your eyes again. “I could want things you might not.”  

 “I doubt that.” You say, a restrained smile tugging at your lips. “Unless you wanna put it in my ass.”  

 His light chuckle evokes relief in your tense muscles. “Ass is where you draw the line?”  

 “Sorry.” You smirk teasingly, letting your free hand slip under the hem of his top, fingertips caressing along his spine. You bite back a smile at the little shiver that visibly runs through him.  

 His amused smile and wondering eyes make you feel flustered. Your cheeks burn and you pulse quickens, but you try to remain calm.

“S’okay, not what I want right now anyway.” He lets his hips press flush against yours, completely unashamed of showing off how turned on he is.  

 “You’re good then.” You sneak a hand around his nape to pull him down for another kiss, but he resists this time.  

 He giggles at your confused expression. “Cute.”  

 You pout angrily in response, earning another playful laugh from him.  

 “So, like, just so we're crystal clear,” He leans closer, nose nuzzling yours as he cages your head with his arms. “What you're implying is that if I said I wanted to have sex with you...you'd want that too.”  

 You daringly stare into his eyes when you reach between your bodies and give him a teasing squeeze through his layers.

The stuttering gasp he lets out is hard to miss. “That's not an answer.”

“Then learn to take a hint.” You press harder, reveling in the cute whine that slips out of him.  

 He finally gives up and closes the small gap, kissing you again, with more urgency this time, his tongue sneaking in your mouth while you slowly stroke him through his sweats.

He’s bigger than you expected. Not too long, but thick enough for the stretch to sting at first. You can almost feel it in your walls as they pulse around nothing, desperately needing to be filled.

It feels like torture.

You’re about to complain when you feel him shift his weight a little, your arms quickly coming to wrap around his neck, preventing him from interrupting the kiss.  

 You realise his bottoms are out of the way when his heavy cock slaps against your stomach. In any other occasion you’d feel embarrassed at the way your hips wiggle, seeking for relief and the whimper your let out against his lips.  

 He doesn’t try to shame you or tease you, like the Haechan you know would. He simply responds with a shaky exhale and a slow roll of his hips before kissing you harder, deeper, messier. He keeps devouring your lips even when the velvety head of his cock prods at your entrance, separating your folds with a little squelch. His tongue slides against yours smoothly as he breaches past your tight opening, just the tip going in, testing the waters. He moans when you let your legs spread wider for him, silently inviting him in your soaked heat.  

 Your mouth hangs open, eyes squeezing shut when he’s suddenly pushed halfway in, the burn intense but still somehow laced with pleasure, making your body tremble a little and your fingers curl into his shoulder blades, nails catching onto the soft cotton of his shirt.  

 “Does it hurt?” He checks in a whisper, hips halting when he meets resistance, your pussy tightening when it all becomes too much. He's too big for you to just take in one go.  

 “Stings a little.” You nod, eyes still closed even when you feel him staring at you.  

 “I'll go slow,” He lands a wet smooch on your cheek, earning a giddy smile from you. “Just relax for me.”  

 “M’trying.” You whine pathetically. “Why’s your dick so fat? What the fuck?”  

 He breathes out a chuckle into your neck. “Why’s your pussy so tight? You a virgin or something?”  

 You can’t find it in you to play along anymore, especially when he pulls back out to the tip before sliding back in the same amount as before. He starts building a slow rhythm, thrusts shallow, only going halfway in. Until your walls start to gradually relax around him, allowing him to sink in a little deeper each time.

You both sigh in unison when his hips finally meet yours.  

 “Shit, that's too deep.” You gasp into his shoulder, arms hugging him closer as your trembling body seeks more of his warmth, trying to somehow subdue the mix of pain and pleasure.  

 He grinds upwards, rolling his hips in an angle that makes his cock graze a perfect spot along your snug walls. Your muscles still try to adjust to the thickness, but you welcome it nevertheless. He stays there for a little while, not moving while he scatters lazy kisses along your neck, clearly trying to help you loosen up. His fingers hook into the neckline of your blouse, dragging that side down the slope of your shoulder along with your bra strap, revealing more skin to cover in kisses.  

 “Can we take our clothes off?” He asks while he slowly drags his plush lips and eager tongue along your collarbone.  

 “Yes, please.” You nod a little too eagerly, jittery hands already sneaking under the sides of his t-shirt, helping him get rid of the annoying layer.  

 He sits up a little, length still sheathed in your leaking pussy as he quickly removes his top, revealing ravishing golden skin and lean muscle. His chest is a little more buff than you remember from your summer holidays, his biceps a tiny bit more prominent. 

You could eat him up. 

 “Stop staring.” He gives you bashful smile, hands engulfing your hips, lifting your ass off the sofa just a little so he can spread his knees more and rest your thighs over his.  

 Your lips part in a quiet moan when you feel his cock move inside you, tickling that spot again. “Sorry, it’s all just a little...”  

 “Strange?” He completes your sentence for you.  

 You nod with a little airy laugh, earning another grin from him. 

 “Take this off for me?” He drags the hem of your top just below your ribs, and you quickly take action, fumbling with shaky hands to pull the thin office blouse over your head. “Bra too.”  

 Again, your hands move of their own accord, just following his instructions. You reach behind you, fingers pinching the clasp of the bra, unhooking it with a snap, allowing the lacy garment to loosen on your skin. You watch his expression as you peel the straps down your arms slowly, before flinging the lace somewhere across the floor.  

 You’re both completely naked now. The subtle throb of his stiff length inside you is a reminder of the situation you're in.

Your eyes remain on his face, while his drink in your nudity, roaming shamelessly, like you’re an intricate painting that needs studying. From your lips to your collarbones, to your tits - where they linger - over your stomach, then down to where you’re still connected.  

 “Pretty.” He mutters quietly, and it feels like the word isn’t even aimed at you, but at your pussy.  

 “Stop staring.” You throw his own words back at him, but his intense gaze sends a fresh flood of arousal out of your clenching heat anyway, drenching his cock in it too. You can't help but secretly love how he's ogling, eyes glazed with what could only be pure lust.   

 He blatantly ignores you. Just takes hold of your waist with one hand and plants the other one flat by your shoulder to support his weight. And then his hips start moving. Finally.  

 You grip onto the soft skin of his thighs as he drags his length out to the tip before slowly sinking back in. The wet sounds are humiliating and arousing at the same time, and you can’t help but involuntarily squeeze him in.  

 It seems that brings him out of the trance he's in, making him lose whatever was left of his patience. Without warning he pushes your legs up, squishing your knees against your tits. Giving you no time to react, he starts ramming into your dripping cunt, no care in the world. Completely opposite to his previously careful actions. No easing you in, no letting you adjust. Just vigorous, hard snaps of his hips, his balls slapping against your ass, creating obscene sounds combined with the slurps of your cunt around him.  

 You’re still somewhat in shock, trying to comprehend what he’s putting your body through, but when he slightly adjusts his angle and starts jamming directly into your g-spot, you let out a whiny shriek. 

 “Yeah? You like that?” He rasps, dark eyes finding yours, consuming your pleasure.

 “Uhuh,” You moan out, your nails dig into his thigh muscles. “Please, keep going.”  

 “So needy.” He mocks, leaning over you and folding you in half, testing your flexibility as your legs hook over his shoulders. The penetration is too deep, too intense. Makes your legs shake so much you have to wrap your own arms around the backs of your thighs to minimise the tremble.  

 “Fuck you.” You scoff, the words laced arousal even though frustration boils in your chest.  

 He laughs. So mean but so sexy. “Always wondered what you'd sound like.”  

 “Shut up, you’re so gross.” You whine, your pussy squelching as it tightens again. He’s taunting you and getting a kick out of it. A sick sick man. A sick man who's got you dripping on his sofa. Because he's too fucking hot right now.  

 “And you’re kind of a slut.” He points out with a hard thrust, bulbous head hitting against your cervix, making your eyes roll back into their sockets,. “Begging me to fuck you like this.”

 “Nggh f-fuck, Hyuck, don’t call me that.” You try your best to sound grossed out, but it only comes out as a weak plea. 

 “Awh, why? Like it a little too much?” More like loved it, but you know better that to ever admit that. “Yeah, you do. Look at you, fucking creaming.” He’s greedily staring between your legs, at how his cock is abusing your needy cunt. “Who knew you’d be so thirsty for dick, baby.” He blabbers aimlessly, sounding a little too far gone to care. “My cute little bestie is such a slut, hm?”  

 You have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from screaming. Your face and neck feel like they’re on fire, but your sensitive walls keep inviting him in regardless.  

 “Knew you’d be a fucking yapper.” You grit, hoping to piss him off.  

 “Mm.” He offers you a lazy smile instead. Like a dumb fucking idiot. “You know me so well.”  

Your pussy flutters at that, and strangely, so does your heart.

 He keeps fucking into you at the same pace. Not too fast, but hard enough for your ass to ache from the slaps of his hips. You want him closer.  

 “My leg’s cramping.” You lie mindlessly.  

 You’re not sure if he sees right through you, but he slips your legs off his shoulders anyway, letting them loosely settle around his hips, and you seize the opportunity to pull him closer, a hand grabbing onto the back of his neck.  

 He groans lowly at the forced proximity. “Shit.”

 “Faster.” You demand, hands tugging at his hair as he buries his face in your neck. He doesn’t say a word, just does as told. Fucks you faster and a little harder than before, cock barely pulling out before jamming back in, creating a delicious vibration against your clit and front wall. “Oh, my god, yes.”  

 “So good, baby.” He whispers raggedly in your ear, the pet name causing goosebumps to raise on your sweaty skin and turbulence in your chest. “So warm and slippery.”

A particularly sharp thrust makes you cry out, your legs closing in on his hips, preventing him from moving for a second, before he shoves them open again.

“Just take it.” He grunts, hips resuming their assault as his teeth graze your jaw before trapping your earlobe between them. “You asked for this, didn't you?”  

 “Fuck, please.” You whimper out pitifully, not entirely sure what you’re begging for at this point. Your focus is interchanging between the way his chest rubs against yours, stimulating your aching nipples, and his fat cock stretching your cunt like it's carving out its shape in you, as though he's trying to ruin you for anyone else.  

A hand buries in your hair, pulling hard enough to make you gasp, your head lolling back, giving him enough space to lap the sweat off your neck, lustful, angry kisses littering the sensitive skin.

It's too much. Too dizzying. And so fucking good.

 You’re so close. Right on the edge. You just need something to push you over. Something you’re too shy to ask for.

You let your fingers wrap around his wrist instead, guiding his hand to your neck. It lies there limply for a second, just at the base of your throat, and then he lifts his head a little, forehead resting against your temple, nose nuzzling your cheek. Once again, your wish is his command. His palm engulfs your throat, fingers applying the perfect pressure on your pulse points. So perfect that your eyes roll back and your hips stutter, while his don't falter even a little, maintaining their intense rhythm.  

 “Hyuckie,” You whisper the loving nickname weakly, too lost in the daze, not able to care about how vulnerable you sound. You need him to know how fucked up he's got you. “Can I cum? Please?” 

 “Fuck, you're so cute.” Haechan whines, the tenderness in his voice contrasting his demanding thrusts. “It’s okay, baby, Huyckie's got you.”  

 His sweet, reassuring words combined with every single of your nerve endings being stimulated to the max, send you into an all-consuming climax. Just a couple more thrusts and your pussy squeezes him so tight, kneads his shaft in rhythmic pulses, to the point you’re worried you might actually push him out, but you’re so thankful he doesn’t let up.

His hips smack into yours harder, faster, prolonging your orgasm for as long as he can. Your muscles spasm from the aftershocks, hands grabbing onto his back, legs quivering around his waist. And just when you’re floating in bliss - body and mind feeling light and fuzzy - you utter something that would have shocked you, weren't you in this delirious state.  

 “Hyuck?” Your voice comes out shaky and breathless. “You’re still my best friend, right?”  

He stills for a moment, slamming deep inside you, pulling a yelp out of you.

 “What the fuck.” He growls out, sounding enraged as well as surprised. His cock kisses your cervix, before it drags against your incredibly sensitive walls, the pleasure bordering pain when he starts fucking you like he wants to punish you, your body torn between needing a way out and begging for everything he’s giving you. Especially when he sounds so wrecked. “You can’t say that unless you want me to nut inside you.”  

 “Yeah, please.” You put on the whiniest voice you can, hoping he cracks. “Want it.”  

You've already lost the battle. You might as well act reckless now.

 “Jesus fuck.” He pants in awe. “Are you insane or did I actually fuck you stupid?”

The blissed-out laugh that rolls out of you, makes you sound completely dumb and out of breath. Maybe he did fuck you stupid.

An arm slings around your shoulders securely, holding you close as he grabs onto your thigh with his free hand, hooking your leg higher on his waist. His thrusts are messy now, cock stuffing you in uncoordinated short plunges, slipping out a few times due to the wetness, but quickly finding its way back in your quivering hole. 

 “I’m such a good bestie, right?” You prod, loving his little whines and how responsive he's suddenly become.  

 “Yes, baby, you're so so good to me.” His blunt nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, harsh breaths hitting your collarbone in hot puffs. He’s slightly trembling and your heart aches a little at how pliant with need his is, how soft his skin feels on yours, so you thread your fingers through his messy hair, caressing gently to offer some relief as he nears his peak. “Oh fuck... oh god—I’m gonna—” 

 “That's it.” You praise in a whisper, struggling to keep your legs spread wide open for him, toes curling from the overstimulation, breaths stuttering against his neck. "Please please, cum in me, wanna feel you." 

 “Shit, ffffuck—I’m cumming... I’m cumming.” He moans, all strained from the building pressure, and then he’s visibly shaking, his whole length burying deep inside, to the hilt, as his hot cum paints your walls in quick spurts, filling up your spent pussy, just like you begged him to. He's so vocal; mewls and broken whines rolling out of him as he delivers a few more messy pumps that turn into languid grinds. 

 You can’t help but moan with him, clenching on purpose to milk everything out of him, loving the claim he’s laying upon your body. And when he lifts his weight a little, just to look down, you find the most sinful sight. He grinds one last time before pulling out slowly, the head of his softening cock bumping into your clit, making you flinch while smearing both your releases all over your puffy folds.  

 “Shit.” He exhales in wonderment, damp chest moving up and down, covered in pink blotches, giving his already pretty skin a breathtaking glow.  

 Your hand moves on its own, in need to feel the mess you've both created. Your let your fingers dip between your wet folds, shamelessly stroking up and down your slit, his intense gaze spurring you on as you gather some of his cum that’s already started to spill out. You revel in the fascination his eyes hold as they follow your every move carefully.  

 Your lips wrap around your index and middle fingers while holding his gaze. His tongue dips out to lick at his bottom lip as he takes in the sinful act with furrowed brows, like he's angry.

Before you can put on more of a show, his hand is on your jaw, your fingers ripped out of your mouth as his tongue replaces them, shoving into your mouth like he just needs a taste, prying your lips open without hovering for permission.  

 And then he abruptly breaks the kiss with a wet smack. Wild eyes find yours again when he mutters quietly, “Do you want all of it?”  

 You know what he's implying. You know you should refuse. You really should.

But you nod instead. 

 He doesn’t waste time. Just shuffles down, head buried between your thighs in record time, tongue eagerly licking all over your folds. You flinch when his nose nudges against your clit, mouth greedily sucking at your entrance to gather as much of his cum as he can. It feels soothing in a way, as opposed to the tingling sensation his cock left behind after the repeated stretch. You know you’ll feel sore tomorrow, but you focus on his soft lips, sighing out in relief at the lazy laps.  

 It ends before the pleasure can start building back up, and he’s hovering above you again, shielding your naked body from the cool air of the room. His mouth is just above yours, sealed tight as he awaits.  

 You cup his face in your hands to pull him closer before parting your lips for him, tongue sticking out flat. You let a moan slip when he lets your combined juices mixed with his spit dribble onto your awaiting mouth. You can only close your eyes when you briefly taste and then swallow the thick and slightly salty substance.

And then he's slotting his lips with yours again, kissing you slowly this time, tongue gliding savouringly against yours until you're out of breath and your lips feel numb.

He hesitantly pulls away with a little nip on your bottom lip, before he licks at the corner of his mouth, where some of his - or your - saliva has smeared.   

 “Well, that fucking escalated.” He says with a tired, amused sigh.

You don't even try to tone down your staring as you take in his flushed face, slightly baffled expression making you smile. 

 “In a good way?” You test, letting out an exhale of your own when he drops his weight on you carefully. He rests his head on your chest, cheek squishing just above the swell of your left boob, exactly where your heart threatens to jump out of. The softness in his actions helps your limbs relax a little.

He hums contentedly when you run a hand through his hair, combing through the fluffy strands absentmindedly.   

 “A little too good, unfortunately.” He teases, tone playful as always.  

 “Mm, sorry, I guess.” You play along, eyes closing briefly when his warm palm engulfs the breast he’s not using as a headrest. He kneads the supple flesh gently. Then just holds.

 “Maybe it’s a sign.” He says quietly, sounding like he’s in deep contemplation.  

 “That we’re both equally deranged?” You joke with a soft chuckle. 

“That too. But also, that you've been fucking the wrong people.” He states, like it’s the only explanation. 

“And fucking my best friend is so right.” Your tone is sarcastic, but it holds truth. How is this right?

He chuckles lightly, warm breath hitting your skin. “Didn't feel wrong, I'll tell you that for free.”

“Aren't you sweet.” You tug a little harder on his hair — a silent warning.

“No, seriously, though.” He traces the underside of your breast with his thumb, slightly tickling you. “There's obviously tension.”

You don't confirm or deny. “Okay, and? What's your point?”

“Maybe we should just fuck it all out.” He suggests a little too casually.

 “Isn’t that what we just did?” You keep playing with his hair, needing a distraction from the slightly confusing conversation. 

 He tilts his head up to look at you, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, brown eyes glimmering with mischief in the soft lighting of his living room, like he's unlocked something that maybe should've stayed hidden.

“I dunno,” Haechan mutters, voice sounding honey-like. “Do you feel like you’re done with me?”  

 The quickening of your heartbeat and the strange, tingly feeling that still lingers in your tummy are enough of an answer.  

jeno. it felt worse than it looked. or so you thought since your eyes stays closely shut as you bite your fist. the pain comes in waves and you're gritting your teeth and seeing stars from the impact, still disoriented and on the ground. and you haven't opened your eyes for a few long minutes, trying to muster up the strength to see the wound that was surely bleeding badly because it hurt badly.

it's been a terrible week for you, you admit it. much worse than last week and the week before that. your back was marked with an X from the moment the famous lacrosse player, lee jeno, started taking an interest in you.

no matter how hard you tried to avoid him, deny it, and not run into him so as not to make things worse or make enemies, they always ended up finding you.

you tried to put up with it, but the abuse escalated as jeno began to pry into your bruises or why you were hiding in the lunch breaks.

he couldn't understand that it was because of him. because of him, this was happening to you. because of him, now your whole body hurts like hell and nothing but laughter comforts you. until all shut up.

that is why it is in contrast and you get startled, when you feel his hands gently pass under your legs and take you in his arms. jeno's touch on the injured leg causes you to choke a groan, feeling like he squeezes you a little against his chest. “shh, it's alright...”

you keep your eyes closed as you feel him take you with him, and little by little it feels less aching, the way he holds you is soft, just like his calm and deep voice soothes you. “i'll take care of it.”

jisung. you get startled again, a small, involuntary jump that made his cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink. “sorry. sorry,” he mumbles, tumbling words out as he continues to clean the wound with surprisingly delicate hands.

he seems oblivious to the fact that his long hand, resting against the inside of your calf, was the real reason for your flustered reaction. it’s warm, loose, and… comforting in a way that made your breath ragged. “i could've taken care of it alone,” you manage to say, trying to ignore the distracting warmth against your skin and the way your heart had suddenly decided to pick up its pace.

you catch when he smiles, a boyish, disarming grin that forms two crescents of his eyes . “sure you could, pretty,” he replies, nonchalant even though you sense amusement dancing in his brown gaze. “but,” he looks at you, meeting your attentive eyes. “i just wanted to do it myself.”

if only he knew… you thought. the reason you flinched wasn't from the sting of the antiseptic, but because it was him, jisung. jisung in his leather jacket and a cigarette tucked behind his ear. the epitome of cool nonchalance. so different from the kind, gentle projection tending to your injury with such focused care.

“why?” you ask, genuinely curious.

the question hangs in the air for some time where you weigh on who was the real him, hoping it meant something. that his expression open and sincere, were real, just like his words, “i don't like to see you hurt,” he says, his voice quiet.

his attention was focused on your face, his brow furrowed in concern. he seemed completely unaware that his thumb, while he spoke, was tracing lazy, distracting patterns on your skin, each touch sending tiny electric shocks through you. he was so close, you could see the faint stubble along his jawline, the way his lashes framed his eyes.

you startle when his touch falters. “sorry, love,” he murmurs once again, returning to your wound, all while you get lost in your thoughts.

jisung is used to have little nicknames like that all the time; it shouldn't have affected you. you'd heard him call other girls that, and it had never bothered you before. but coming from him, directed at you… it was different. it made your stomach flutter in a way you couldn't quite explain. and maybe… maybe he did know his hand was on your leg, and that every so often you startled because his thumb caressed you absentmindedly. maybe he wasn't as oblivious as he seemed. he was certainly good at playing it off, just like he was with all the girls.

jaemin. your hand drowns out the panting you're trying to suppress when he places the cotton ball to stop the bleeding. nevertheless, your face gives you away “i know, i know.” he's gentle, and calm, even though every so often you take your hand out of his reach when it's too unbearable. his voice always comes softly to you. “i know it hurts.” he looks at you, and for a second you forget that it does, because his brown eyes convey tranquility, and more important, don't reveal resentment.

you snort, stressed. “i said horrible things to you.”

he seems pretty unfazed, “you did.”

“then why are you being gentle?” you inquire, troubled and dismayed. “i've never been good to you.”

“should i leave you here? shouldn’t i check on you?” his voice is tint with layers and layers of emotions, emotions you're not able to pick up faster than you'd like.

“the right thing to do would be for you to be mean to me.”

the latter generates a reaction from him. he looks up as if he was slapped, but then soon returns to a calm ocean. “i would never be mean to you.” so deep and complex, he does their job so well, that it is almost imperceptible that he's also good for hiding things.

“take off your jacket.”

he blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he complies without a word, shrugging it off to reveal the long-sleeved shirt he wore beneath. that’s when you see it. in his arm, in his chest, the space that extends to reach his wrists, the visible part that you'd seen and ignored in your stupidity.

your breath hitches. reaching out, his eyes flickers to yours, a mixture of resignation tint his cheeks, yet he doesn't pull away, he lets you touch it. the cut on his side was slightly deeper than yours, the edges rough and uneven.

it was true that jaemin had gotten into worse fights. he was always hooking up with ramen girls; he was the perfect definition of treacherous, self-centered, and a compulsive liar. you hadn't taken his silence as anything more than pretentiousness. no one was as good as the girls he hooked up with and discarded, but now he comes along, saves you, and gets hurt in the process.

“you're patching me up for a scratch, and you've got this…”

he shrugged, almost sheepishly. “it's nothing,” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze.

“jaemin,” you says with disbelief. “when were you going to tell me?”

all this time you thought that's how he wins them over, how he has planned to take you to bed (the only girl who has rejected him).

but maybe all this time you've been misinterpreting it. you've been judging him wrongly.

your grip on his hand tightens, your fingers hurt but what he says hurts more. “once i finished making sure you were okay.”

chenle. the silence somehow hurt more than the puncture wound on your lip, or your cheekbone, or your broken nose. and having him this close doesn't help at all, it just made you feel more distant. you wanted him to say something, but you were afraid that what he had to say wasn't going to do any good. so you bit your tongue, and it burned less.

he's angry, of course, and maybe a little at you, especially. you've hidden in the bathroom to treat your wounds, and somehow he's come here with you and started doing it himself. the boy who supposedly hates you, who can't stand being this close to you, and who has cared so little about your existence that he has been ignoring you all night. suddenly, he starts to worry about whether you're okay while everyone else laughs at you? it's nothing more than another way to humiliate you.

you wanted to tell him that you weren't forcing him to do anything. yet your eyes tend to linger and follow his gaze until he finally looks at you.

a smile spreads across his lips, and you would find it attractive if it weren't for the fact that he's clearly making fun of you, right to your face, just as he had surely planned all along.

“you’re happy?” you fight so that humiliation does not cloud your gaze, and it’s probably the hardest thing you’ve done after trying so hard to not fall in love with him and still failing.

his fingers brush your chin and his eyes fall on your lips, but you're sure it's nothing to do with the wound. “mmm.” not when his gaze baches you with something that makes you think maybe he wasn't angry with you, maybe he was worried... maybe he does care about you. “nice punch,” he praises you, looking at you before finishing his work and heading for the door.

not leaving without first saying something so quietly that you think you imagined it. “that’s my girl.”

without saying anything, you lean feeling less helpless; cause even though he'd probably keep ignoring you after this, his eyes will always tell you what you need to know.

he's not mad. and he cares.

renjun. your lips tighten in a fine line as the burning in your hand spreads and hurt like hell before your eyes shoot at him, looking like it was on purpose. “you're good?”

you glare at him. it had been just a silly cut that could've been rinsed with water, but renjun saw it first —of course he sees everything first, and alerted the professor. it turned out that the shot had backfired, and he wasn't going to get rid of you that easily, so now you're here being taken care of by him, giving you some victory in your defeat.

the know-it-all renjun wasn't going to get away with it after drawing everyone's attention and making you look like a crybaby. especially not now that you've scared off every girl he's tried to pick up over the last week by asking if he would mind taking care of your wound, like some kind of silent battle that he started.

you had foolishly lost when you realized that now he was revealing himself, making you suffer because he couldn't stop hurting you while he healed you. you weren't going to give him the satisfaction so easily by begging him to be gentler until he filled your cup of patience and tolerance for pain.

“what?”

he must've felt the long, deadly look on him to pronounce “mhm, i don't know let me think,” you say, shrugging, “there's a hole in my hand and i think you want to fill it with alcohol.”

you see him genuinely out of place, before snorting. “you should've told me,” he says, “i thought i was being careful enough.” he takes your hand and brings it to his mouth to blow into the wound so that it burns less, and the most horrible, worst thing, is that you believe him.

mark. you often wonder why everyone wants to be friends with mark lee.

until it hits you.

you and mark get along with each other. it's a coincidence that he's always where you are, stuck headfirst in his notebook, and staring at his phone from time to time, as if expecting to receive a message that never arrives. when he's not alone at the next table, he's always surrounded by people. they can't help it; he has become a sun.

“i’m almost done.” he's focused on the scratch on your knee; the pe teacher has asked someone to take you to the nurse's office even though you could have walked there yourself, and mark has volunteered. not only that, he's taken you piggyback all the way there.

so, yes, you think you know why everyone wants to be his friend.

“does it sting?” he asks, pulling apart from you to read the precautions of the bottle with his mouth slightly half-open in concentration when your senses mess up and you gasp accidently.

“uh…”

the worst part was over, of course. it had hurt at first, with alcohol, now that it was done, it shouldn't hurt..., you should have told him that you were feeling better and that you'd had enough alcohol for one year, but you think you got a little carried away, and stopping now would be embarrassing… right?

“you must still have a concussion, because of the fall. here.” you let him help you get off the infirmary chair but along the way, and because you’re nervous all of a sudden by the way his eyebrows gather in concern, and his tongue poke the inside of his cheeks, you end up giving each other a forehead bump.

johnny:

• johnny knows you’re spoiled, but he doesn’t help himself. very rarely says no to you, you want kisses? pucker up cause he’s leaving kisses all over your lips face and body, want him to be a little rough and manhandle you? he’s putting those muscles to use, want him to try something new? he’s doing it all to see his pretty girl smile and her eyes roll back. however, with 8 men constantly at your disposal, you have gotten very used to being able to cum whenever you want, one of your boyfriends ready for you and what you want at all times.

• when you act like a brat he treats you like one, punishing you a little before giving you what you want and he’s slowly realising that you actually never learn like that, never fix your attitude if you still get what you wanted at the end. so when he’s pulling you in and warning you lowly in your ear, you just have that dumb look on your face, teasing smile as you look up at him. “wipe that look of your face and behave if you want to cum later” you smile and touch his chest “oh come on you and me both know you can’t say no to me” his grip on your wrist tightens “i wouldn’t be so sure about that princess, want to keep this whole attitude up? keep going and see where it gets you”

• you go to tease him again, but the look in his eye is different, almost daring you to try and you know he’s serious. you look up at him with a pout and big eyes, his dominant aura immediately pushing you into subspace, whispering a quick “sorry daddy” and you turn your back to him and lean back into him letting him wrap his arms around you in a hug from behind, head coming to your shoulder to whisper in your ear, “smart move princess”

• the next time he does have to punish you though, he’s got your wrists cuffed to the bed, so when he doesn’t make you cum, you can’t just get up and find someone who will, watching as you thrash against your restraints and making himself cum in front of you, out of reach. only uncuffing you after you’ve whined and cried yourself to sleep.

taeyong:

• he is a huge softie for you, he loves his beautiful girl, always so cute and pretty for him and showering him in love and kisses, when she’s not acting like a spoiled brat that is. hates your bad attitude and has no problem telling you how sick of it he’s getting

• he’s proved that he’s not afraid to use his strength on you since coming back from the military, you’ve fallen victim to his spanking and manhandling many times.

• he’s also not an idiot, he knows you just redirect your attitude to someone else who you know will give you whatever you want, regardless of how you’re behaving, so he will always remind you that when you guys are at home alone, it’s just you two, no one is here to get you out of trouble and give into you, grabbing your face, “you better think about if you really wanna try push my buttons sweetheart”

• when you pout and drop your attitude and do as he asks, he’s patting your cheek gently “that’s my good girl”

• not ashamed to bring you over his knee in front of the others when you’re getting out of line, letting all the men watch as he brings your pants down to your ankles and bending you over his legs and they see just how small and pliant you become after a spanking from him, telling the other men they need to toughen up when it comes to you being a brat.

• definitely is a head pusher when you’ve been a brat, talking through gritted teeth, “you wanted dick so bad baby, you’re gonna take it and thank me after” making you gag and suffocate on his dick. and of course making you thank him.

yuta:

• much to taeyongs dismay yuta loves it when you’re a brat, loves the chase and the thrill. loves seeing that fire in your eyes and wants to hear your whiney voice trying to boss him around. loves the challenge and the fight you put up. and of course it encourages you to keep biting back

• in turn he gets to overstimulate you, giving you everything you asked for and then some, until your begging for a break, a break he doesn’t give you, forcing you to take it. if you really can’t handle it you’ll use your safe word, but very rarely have you, secretly or not so secretly loving him pushing you to the limit

• another one who likes to cuff you up or tie you down so you can’t escape him.

• lets you act up and get it out of your system, getting it fucked out of you.

• angry attitude fueled sex is yutas favourite. getting to pound the venom out of your words and the dark look in your eyes, watching as your pupils dilate and well up with tears and regret.

• you are always so fucked out and subby when he’s finished with you, so technically it worked, you’re back to being sweet and obedient, so what’s everyone’s issue?

• loves watching you get punished, loves seeing how quick you break for everyone else, knowing their way of punishing you is to deny you of the one thing you need, loves teasing you about it when you’re acting up just for him

• “you want me to drive you home? have taeyong sort this fucking attitude or you gonna let me fuck it out of you darling?”

• you always just pull him in for a steamy kiss, secretly begging he doesn’t involve taeyong, knowing if he did you definitely wouldn’t get to cum tonight.

doyoung:

• the one you try avoid when you’re in bratty mood, knowing all it takes is one eyeroll from you and he’s gonna make it a big deal, but sometimes you can’t help yourself.

• whenever the members are all at the house, and he’s working and not giving in to you, even as you so desperately try and stay sweet for him, the more he pushes you back the more you huff.

• “okay fine i’ll just go fuck someone else” he’s turning to you now “i said give me 5 minutes, stop being a brat and sit on the bed”

• you stand in the door way, back facing him, debating if you want this fight, knowing if you sit on the bed, you’re gonna last 5 seconds before giving him attitude about having to wait, but on the flip side, if you ignore him, leaving to find someone else he’ll be following you, stopping you and ruining every orgasm and denying you of relief

• “turn around, sit down, not gonna ask again”. you take a deep breath and turn around, flashing him a fake smile and you sit on the bed silently, until you’re not. back on your feet, laying over his back and kissing his neck whining about needing him. and he snaps.

• his hands grab your wrists, pulling you off him, bringing you around to stand between his legs.

• “can’t wait 5 fucking minutes huh? can’t go even a couple seconds without one of us filling you up?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, stripping you of all your clothes, leaving you bare in front of him.

• he pulls his cock out, just enough from his pants. “sit, fill that greedy cunt. don’t fucking move, gonna sit still until i’m done here, then you’re gonna ride me, finally put some work in yourself”

• you gulp and sit on his lap, lining him up with your entrance and you sink down, whining and moaning into his shirt collar.

• when he feels you trying to buck your hips he pushes his chair back and you hold onto him tight. “is your brain empty baby? is that it? or do you just like not listening to me? you’re lucky i don’t put numbing cream on that pussy, won’t feel a thing, won’t be able to cum at all, for hours”

• you pout at that and you apologise and start crying, promising you’ll stay still, begging him to give you one more chance, and he reluctantly agrees.

• your gripping his shirt and holding his neck and shoulders, trying hard not to move until he tells you, when he’s finally done he’s wiping your tears, telling you to move. “good girl, now bounce on me baby”

jaehyun:

• really isn’t fussed about you being a brat, as long as it’s not directed at him

• happily welcomes you when you come to him after not getting action elsewhere, rubbing it in whoever’s face that he was able to satisfy you and fuck your attitude away.

• if you do show any signs of acting up while with him, all he has to do is pull your hair tight and you’re whining and apologising.

• rarely every punishes you, never seeing the need to. you’re always whining out and calling him daddy, so he knows you know your place with him.

• kinda plays into your attitude. “they’re all so mean huh baby? come here, let daddy help you out”

• definitely smirks as he watches you get subbier for him, really boosts his ego when he can see just how much he’s effecting you, helping you get out of your bad mood

• he will take pictures and videos of you so fucked out and covered in yours and his cum, likes to show you them when he wants you in the mood or if you ever snap at him. you always buck up your ideas and listen to him after

• likes knowing he has such control over you and your behaviour.

jungwoo:

• a little like jaehyun, but less forgiving. always has open arms for you when you come running to him, but if the attitude continues with him, he’s getting pissed off, cause what else do you need? he’s giving you everything you want.

• if he is pissed at you, it’s not long before he’s got you in your pretty collar and leash, humping at his foot desperately.

• “you had me right where you wanted to puppy, then had to go and run that mouth again” you whine and pout up at him.

• he’ll sometimes cuff your hands to the rings in your collar, bringing them up, restraining them, making you look like you have little puppy paws. fake pouts at you whenever you tell him your sorry, begging him to put his dick back in you.

• “if you cum on my foot i’ll give you what you want puppy”

• always tugs on your leash to look back at him whenever you try and look down, wanting to see the tears stream down your cheeks and the desperate glint in your eye when you finally spill over his foot.

• sits you back on your thighs, making you wait, watching and seeing if you dare try mouth without his permission, when you don’t, he’s patting his thigh and helping you stand up, bringing you back down to slide on his cock. bucking up into you again.

mark:

• he feels bad cause he is 9 times out of 10 the reason you’re being a brat. hes a busy guy, always working on something, and he’s always having to ask you to wait and be patient, getting you more desperate and bratty.

• when you storm away from him and he’s coming to find you hours later, after you’ve been punished, he’s so apologetic. talking to you so sweetly

• “i know princess it’s all my fault, ass all red and sore now cause of me, promise i’ll make it up to you, i’m all yours now”

• if he finds you and no one else has got to you, still in a mood and giving him all kinds of attitude, he’s getting frustrated

• “i know i was busy baby, but couldn’t make yourself cum? laying in bed with an attitude waiting for me? what’s that about?”

• you huff and tell him you just needed him and all he did was push you away, and he’s clicking his tongue. “you think i don’t know that? but you’re a big girl, can get yourself off”

• if you start whining and complaining again he will shove his fingers in your mouth, eyes dark. his way of punishing you is dry humping. he knows you need to feel him skin on skin, but you gotta earn it now. makes you cum over his lap a few times, fingers in your mouth to keep your mouth shut. when he can see the attitude has fully drained from your eyes and face, replaced by that desperate sorry expression only then does he stop you both and put his dick in you.

• “there, sounds so much better when you’re begging instead of complaining princess”

haechan:

• matches your energy, both of you having a brat off. when your voice is whiney and you’re stomping your feet at him he’s copying you, mocking the tone of your voice, when you give him a look he’s doing the same back to you, he really knows how to get under your skin and make you mad. makes little comments about how cute you look when your pissed, and that he knows just how drenched you are just by fighting with him

• ends one of two ways, option 1, you and him fucking like rabbits, with him pounding your shit into next week, hair pulling and spitting, really giving you the satisfaction he worked you up for

• or option 2, you’re huffing and walking away from him, running to taeyong with an attitude, complaining and moaning to him that haechan made you mad, moody tone and pissed off expression setting the leader into motion, punishing you for being a brat.

• both options work for haechan, and you never know what he’s feeling, if he’s gonna let you have him or if he’s going to make your day even worse, so you learn to try and sus him out before sounding too desperate for him.

• loves watching you get spanked, seeing your ass cheeks bloom a bright red along with a deep sting, loves hearing and seeing you cry and say you’re sorry, could practically cum in his pants.

• he loves when he gets the chance to spank you, being the second youngest, doesn’t give him much chance to have any authority, but with you he can be in charge and in control, loves hearing his hand come crashing down on your delicate skin, watching as his handprint starts to stain you.

• when he’s fucking you he asks you if you’re gonna keep up the attitude, “now you got your cunt stuffed you gonna keep whining?”

That was why, when the question is posed to you by the one and only himself, you found your entire body completely frozen in place. 

While the devil perched on your left shoulder eagerly urges you to accept to the absurd request, whispering about opportunity, curiousity, and the dangerous thrill of getting involved with someone as pure as him, the angel on your right floods your thoughs with an obscene amount of questions.

Why you?

Had the king finally gone mad?

"Hello? Earth to Y/N?"

His voice snapped through your spiraling thoughts, allowing yourself to blink back into reality. Mentally shooing both the pure and sinful voices away, you are met with a pair of warm, honeyed-brown eyes staring you down, glimmering with a familiar sweetness everyone adored.

"Um—sorry," you muttered, suddenly quite aware of how dry your throat felt. "Could you repeat that?"

Donghyuck cleared his throat, straightening slightly as though preparing to project his voice across an entire lecture hall. "I would love," he started, the corners of his lips curling into that devastating smile you would grow to hate one day, "to take you out on a date tonight, Y/N."

August 27, 2021

You were starting to see Donghyuck more clearly now. The facade of a charming boy with the easy smile and irresistible warmth slowly slipping away, the cracks beneath the varnish starting to surface uncontrollably.

You started noting the way his pupils would dilate ever so slightly whenever a lie slipped past his lips. The way his head would tilt just a little to the right whenever he forced out a laugh to impress, as though attempting to silence the angel next to him.

A little less than two months ago, Donghyuck had asked you out on a date, on his birthday, no less, placing upon you a favour that now lingered like a quiet regret at the back of your mind.

That night, he had leaned close and confessed in a hushed, conspiratorial tone that his older brother was attempting to matchmake him with a woman nearly twenty years his senior. According to Donghyuck, although he would have loved to be a sugar baby someday, such a "sick" and "twisted" present for the day he turned twenty-one was just not his cup of tea.

Or at least, that was what he told you.

You still were not entirely sure why he had chosen you of all people to help him escape the madness. Out of all the wonderfully sinful and sinless souls wandering campus halls, why you? If Lee Donghyuck so much as posed the question of spending the night with him aloud to the public, you were certain there would be a myraid of women waiting eagerly outside his door, chocolates in their hands and stars in their eyes.

"Y/N, you alright?"

You turn toward him slowly, becoming aware of the warmth of his hands around you. One of them rested loosely around your waist, while the other traced gentle, absent-minded circles against the exposed skin of your thigh. You were sitting atop his lap, your body grown used to this closeness, though your mind had not fully caught up just yet.

You glanced at him, before your gaze drifted slightly past his shoulder, landing on the crowded room behind him. The air was thick with music and laughter, bodies swaying together beneath dim purple lights. The atmosphere was getting rowdier by the minute, warmer too, the kind that clung to your skin and made everything feel much heavier.

"Yeah," you murmured after a moment. "Just tipsy."

The version of yourself from two months ago would have never agreed to step foot somewhere so obscene, so sultry and alive with careless indulgence.

The excuse of tipsiness was enough to get Donghyuck to shift his attention away from you once again, allowing you to slip back into your thoughts of how you could never get used to this. The parties. The people. Him.

Yet, the favour you had put your heart into, pretending to be in love with someone who could never experience said feeling, had pulled you out of the small, safe world you once knew, and that made your chest ache with despair.

November 10, 2021

The first snow came earlier this year.

Soft flakes drifted from the pale winter sky, settling quietly upon rooftops and shoulders alike. To you, the first snow was a promise. One of a pure, everlasting sign of love that returned faithfully each year, no matter how much time had passed.

"Did you dress up so pretty just for me?"

You scoffed, brushing a few melting flakes from the sleeve of his coat. "Did it for the snow. Don't get so full of yourself now, Hyuck."

"Yet the nickname still rolls so sweetly off your tongue, honey."

The banter between you and Donghyuck had become endless over the past few months. It was an effortless rhythm the two of you seemed to fall into without thinking, with words passing between you like a well-rehearsed dance. Teasing remarks, playful jabs, and laughter spilling freely into the crisp winter air.

Followed, more often than not, by shy glances. Mostly from you.

You would never admit it aloud, not even to yourself on the loneliest of nights, but Lee Donghyuck only seemed to grow more dashing as the months slipped quietly by.

Perhaps you were finally, truly understanding the depth of his angelic charms. Or perhaps, it was the golden shade of brown now sitting in his hair, a colour you had helped him dye only weeks before. The soft strands lifted and fluttered in the harsh winter wind, prompting both of you to sniff lightly at the cold air.

Helping him dye his hair had been a first for you.

The sharp chemical scent of the box dye had nearly knocked both of your senses out as time dragged slowly forward, yet the small apartment had been filled with loud giggles and ridiculous amounts of inside jokes. Somewhere between stained gloves and uneven patches of colour, the awkward process had turned remarkably warm, almost in a cinematic way.

In fact, you had slowly come to realise that many of your first times seemed to happen with Lee Donghyuck.

Your first boyfriend (although, fake). Your first snow shared with someone else. Your first time dyeing someone's hair in a cramped bathroom sink.

Your first kiss.

"Can I kiss you?"

He had asked you that beneath the gentle fall of white flakes, his voice much softer than usual, as though the question itself were something so innocent and so pure.

You almost laughed at how easily he could dress sin in the clothing of something sacred. 

And yet, you fell for it anyway.

Perhaps it was greed, the quiet, selfish desire to know what his heart-shaped lips might feel like against yours. The envy of wanting to know how he might taste after hearing the masses whisper their endless rumours of just how sweet the infamous Lee Donghyuck could be. The lust of wanting him for something more than the fake label you had both agreed upon months ago.

Or perhaps, it was simply the way he was looking at you in that moment, his eyes glimmering beneath the slow fall of snow, almost sincere.

Whatever the reason, you found yourself nodding before your better judgment could intervene, his lips meeting yours soon after.

The kiss was soft, warm, and devastatingly gentle. It was everything you dreamt of, the sweetness of his love, though feigned, spreading through your chest like melted sugar.

As he pulled away, the shine in his eyes was mirrored with yours, though yours was also accompanied with a familiar ache unfurling beneath your ribs. You had to swallow hard, choking back a cough that threatened to rise from the depths of your throat, reassuring him that everything was fine.

May 21, 2023

"Why the fuck are you being so difficult? Need I remind you we're not actually a fucking couple, Y/N?"

The familiar discomfort in your chest began to return, his words striking harder than you had expected. It was no longer the faint ache you once brushed off as winter air or anxiety, it was deeper, heavier, as though your lungs were filling with something other than the breath of life.

Your eyes burned as tears threatened to rise, blurring the shape of Donghyuck standing across the room, but you forced yourself to blink them away. The last thing you would ever allow was for Lee Donghyuck, of all people, to witness you in such a fragile state.

Donghyuck had always taken pride in his popularity. His presence was expected everywhere, especially where music thundered and laughter spilled carelessly into the night. Parties were not merely events to him; they were proof of his importance, reminders that people still worshipped his existence.

Missing even one gathering felt, to him, like allowing his carefully polished reputation to crack. And now that you had been his partner, at least in the eyes of everyone else, for nearly two years, your presence beside him had become just as expected.

Where Lee Donghyuck appeared, you were meant to follow.

You had come to understand long ago that this was the quiet root of it all. Pride. The oldest of sins, swelling silently in his chest, convincing himself that the admiration of others was something he deserved to maintain at all costs.

"Exactly, Donghyuck," you replied, your voice wavering despite your effort to sound composed. "We're not actually a real couple, so why can't you just go without me? You've had no problem doing that before."

The unwelcomed, yet vivid memory surfaced in your mind almost immediately. Only a month earlier, Donghyuck had attended a party alone, leaving without the woman he had spent nearly two years pretending to love.

At the time, he had insisted it was nothing more than a spur-of-the-moment decision, something casual and unimportant.

But you had known better.

You remembered the hours before he left, the way he had been sprawled across the couch with his phone in hand, lazily scrolling through the endless stream of stories posted by his friends. Videos of clinking glasses and flashing lights filled the screen while he scoffed quietly to himself, muttering about how he could not be bothered to leave the apartment tha night. He had even joked that skipping one party would hardly damage someone with a reputation as godlike as his.

Yet, envy is a restless emotion. It begins as a quiet irritation before growing into something far more consuming. You watched it unfold it real time as Donghyuck continued scrolling, his expression tightening with each passing swipe.

The moment that truly changed everything was when his thumb paused on a clip of his old flame dancing beneath neon lights, her arms wrapped around another man as if the world outside music did not exist.

The shift in his demeanor had been immediate, the lazy indifference completely vanishing from his face, replaced by something darker and far more volatile. Envy flared into something sharper, something uglier, until it was swallowed entirely by wrath and jealousy.

Without a single explanation, he had grabbed his leather and walked straight out of the aprtment. The warmth that had filled the room seemed to disappear the moment the door shut behind him, leaving only an uncomfortable silence. Hours later, your phone lit up with a message from him, letting you know you could stay the night if you wanted, though he would not be home till the morning.

Donghyuck let out a short, humourless laugh before shaking his head in frustration. "Ha—do whatever the fuck you want, Y/N," he muttered, already reaching for his keys. "I'll just go on my own."

The door slammed shut behind him with enough force to rattle the thin walls of the apartment, and the suffocating silence that followed was enough to resent. It lingered heavily in the air for what felt like centuries, thick enough that it seemed to press against your lungs with every breath you tried to take.

A sharp cough rose unexpectedly in your throat, momentarily breaking you out of the haze, catching you off guard as the tightness in your chest worsened. Your panic began to settle in as another cough tried forcing its way out, much harsher this time, clawing painfully at your lungs.

You barely managed to reach the bathroom before the coughing became uncontrollable, your body bent forward over the sink as each breath came out uneven and strained, the pressure building until it felt absolutely unbearable.

When the coughing finally subsided, you hesitated for a moment before slowly blinking the tears away, to look down at the porcelain basin beneath you.

Resting against the pure, white surface were several delicate petals, as if stained with sin, red tinting each one of them.

October 9, 2023

"My brother's been asking 'bout you. Are we still keeping this up or not? Your choice, honey."

You nodded slowly, though your gaze had already drifted elsewhere, settling on the bouquet of flowers resting in Donghyuck's hands. It had been a while since you last saw Lee Donghyuck in person, time stretching quietly between the two of you since that night in May.

His presence still felt strangely familiar, almost comforting if not for the look in his eyes. You studied his face for a moment longer than necessary, reminded that even aft all this time, you could never truly forget the devil's features.

He reached out and took your hand in his, fingers curled around yours with an ease that suggested the gesture had never stopped being natural to him. He guided you toward his car, the bouquet tucked casually in his other arm.

It was a sight you should have grown used to years ago, Donghyuck gentlemanly leading the way while you followed beside him. Yet the small contact of his hand against yours still sent an unwanted flutter across your heart, the feeling painfully misplaced when you remembered how fake all of this truly was.

"Sorry," he began after a moment. "For, um… well—lashing out at you the other night. I should've been more understanding. You were tired."

You kept your eyes ahead, voice quiet. "It's fine."

"Are you still mad?"

You turned your head away, pretending to focus on the passing scenery beyond the window. Avoiding Donghyuck's gaze had always been difficult, especially when he looked at you like that. His eyes carried a warmth that could feel almost suffocating at times, relentless in the way they lingered on you whenever he wanted forgiveness.

Your eyes drifted to the window's reflection, where the soft pout of his lips appeared faintly beside your figure. The sight alone made your stomach twist, forcing yourself to close your eyes before the feeling could deepen.

"How could I ever be?"

As you stepped out onto the familiar driveway, your gaze once again fell upon the bouquet resting in Donghyuck's hands. The flowers were beautiful. Carefully arranged, vibrant, almost excessive in their elegance.

Donghyuck stepped ahead of you and knocked lightly on the front door, presenting the bouquet infront of his features. You had wondered if those were meant as some sort of a peace offering for the argument you had shared months before, except, you knew Lee Donghyuck well enough to understand that he could not care less about preserving this pretense for your sake.

"Ah—thank you, dear," a warm voice greeted as the door swung open. "The flowers look wonderful, Hyuckie. I see you've finally brought over my favourite daughter-in-law."

Donghyuck's mother stood there with the same gentle smile she had always worn whenever you visited. Her voice carried genuine affection, something that always made you ache with a strange mixture of comfort and guilt.

"Hi, Mrs. Lee," you replied with a polite smile as you stepped inside.

Every time you entered their home, you were reminded of why Donghyuck was so prideful of his love. He had grown up surrounded by much fondness and care, nurtured in a household where laughter seemed to come so easily. There had never been cruelty within these walls, never an environment harsh enough to force a person into bitterness.

"Y/N! You're finally here. Come, I made your favourite apple pie."

Lee Taeyong's voice carried easily from the kitchen. When you turned to greet him, you were once again struck by the quiet beauty he seemed to possess so effortlessly.

Taeyong was, in many ways, a masterpiece of a person. His hair was a brilliant shade of red, and his eyes were large and expressive enough that if you stared for just a moment too long, it almost felt possible to fall endlessly into them.

He was Donghyuck's half-brother, their family history something you had come to know well over the years. After Taeyong's mother was gifted back to the angels, their father remarried Donghyuck's mother a few years later, giving both brothers the chance to bond under the same roof despite their different beginnings.

The two brothers clicked the moment they met, though both were so different that the contrast between them often felt almost unnatural.

Donghyuck was the embodiment of temptation, someone who carried sin beneath a carefully polished surface. Everything about him was structured to perfection, from the delicate features that adorned his face to the effortless confidence he carried whenever he went. Yet beneath that flawless exterior, his sense of remorse often felt distant, clouded by a pride that had followed him for most of his life.

Taeyong, on the other hand, seemed to embody something far more complexed, yet infinitely gentler. His pale skin and sharp expressions gave him the appearance of someone who had been carved from something colder, yet if Donghyuck was temptation dressed in charm, Taeyong was sincerity in its purest form.

Such a difference between the two was striking, and yet, despite everything, Donghyuck remained the one most adored by those around him.

The dinner that followed unfolded much like the countless evenings you had already enjoyed in this house. Conversation flowed easily between Donghyuck's parents and Taeyong, laughter filling the room in familiar bursts. To anyone watching from the outside, the scene would have appeared perfectly normal.

However, beneath the surface, you could not help but notice the subtle tension lingering between the two brothers that evening. You said nothing about it, though the chilling glance Taeyong sent Donghyuck halfway through dessert was enough to make your chest sway with unease.

Taeyong quietly asked for your help with the dishes afterward, once everyone else had settled into the common room with mugs of hot chocolate that Mrs. Lee had brewed. The kitchen felt calmer then, the soft sound of running water filling the silence as you stood beside him, drying plates one by one.

"I saw Hyuck with someone else the other day."

The words were delivered carefully, as though he were trying to confirm the truth by studying your now indifferent expression. 

If Taeyong noticed the quiet despair hidden beneath your eyes, he chose not to mention it. Instead, he simply brushed the moment aside, nodding when you muttered something about needing to use the bathroom.

The excruciating, violent fits of cough ripped through your chest in relentless waves that forced you to grip the sink for support. Each breath felt sharper than the last, as though something inside your lungs was struggling desperately to escape.

When you finally looked down, petals once again lay scattered across the porcelain, though now accompanied with thin roots clinging to them, tangled together like veins.

—huang renjun

renjun’s biggest problem? he thinks rationality fixes everything. so when the argument begins, he goes straight into explanation mode, arms crossed, voice even, expression unreadable. “i’m not attacking you. i’m just explaining why it doesn’t make sense,” he says, which somehow makes it worse. you’re emotional. he’s logical. it’s oil and water. the more upset you get, the more confusion flickers across his face, like he genuinely can’t grasp why you’re reacting that way. but then he sees it: the way you look away, shoulders tightening, eyes glossy. and something in him stops cold. his expression softens instantly. he uncrosses his arms, takes a step closer, voice dropping to something fragile. “hey… don’t cry. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. he pulls you into a quiet hug, one arm around your waist, the other stroking your hair. “i wasn’t trying to belittle you. i just… talk stupid when i care too much.” and he holds you until your breathing steadies.

—lee jeno

jeno is a logical-first, feelings-second kind of guy. and when you argue, you feel it more than ever. you’ll raise your concern and he’ll immediately respond with something like, “okay, but objectively—” and you want to scream. he doesn’t mean to be cold. he thinks offering solutions is being caring. but sometimes his explanations sound like he’s dismissing your feelings, even when he isn’t. when you snap, “can you stop being a robot for one second?” jeno shuts down. not angrily, just internalizing. his jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment like he’s recalibrating. when he finally speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost careful: “i’m not trying to invalidate you. i just don’t know how to handle it when you’re upset. i’m trying.” he sits next to you, hands clasped because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. “tell me what you need from me,” he says honestly. and once you explain it, he really listens and his whole demeanor shifts. “okay,” he says softly. “i can do that. i want to do that.” his effort is clumsy but genuine… and it melts you every time.

—lee haechan

haechan jokes when he’s nervous. which is the worst combination during an argument. you’re upset, and he keeps trying to lighten the mood, tossing out comments like, “okay grumpy, relax,” not realizing he’s pouring gasoline on fire. when you finally snap, his face falls — like he genuinely didn’t expect it. around the boys he stays composed, pretending it’s fine, but the second you’re alone, he’s unusually quiet. he keeps glancing at you, eyes softening with every second. “what did i do?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. and when you tell him he hurt your feelings, his entire expression shifts — guilt taking over everything. he moves closer, tucking himself into your space, arms wrapping around your waist from the side. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs into your shoulder. “i should’ve read the room.” he kisses your cheek, nose, temple — tiny apologies scattered across your skin. “don’t shut me out, okay? i hate when you’re upset and i can’t fix it.” and he doesn’t let go until you melt into him.

—na jaemin

jaemin gets quiet. painfully quiet. he isn’t cold, he isn’t annoyed — he’s hurt. he sits still, eyes lowered, thinking too much all at once. when you snap at him, he absorbs it silently, nodding once like he deserves it. “i didn’t know i made you feel like that,” he says softly, which somehow breaks you more. he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t defend himself. he just retreats inward, processing. you move away and he follows a few steps, not suffocating, but close enough to show he cares. “i don’t want us to fight,” he murmurs. “tell me how to fix this.” and when you do, he listens like you’re giving him sacred instructions. he reaches for your hand slowly, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “come here,” he whispers, pulling you into a slow, grounding hug. his chin rests on your head, and he holds you like he’s trying to calm both your hearts. “i’m not going anywhere,” he adds quietly. “even when we’re like this.”

—zhong chenle

chenle reacts fast. talks fast. argues fast. he’ll notice something tiny, as trivial as your mismatched socks, or your forgotten umbrella. he'll comment immediately without thinking. on a good day, you laugh it off. on a bad one, like today, it grates. when you tell him to stop nagging, he scoffs, “i’m not nagging, i’m helping,” without realizing how sharp it sounds. but the moment he notices you shivering in the cold, or your eyes watering, or your silence stretching too long — he stops mid-sentence. “wait. are you actually upset?” his voice softens in a way it rarely does. he shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around you, his hands lingering on your shoulders. “i’m sorry,” he mutters, eyes darting away shyly. “i didn’t mean to be annoying.” he holds your hand as you walk, thumb rubbing circles apologetically. “i just worry about you. too much, probably.” and the sincerity in his voice makes your heart wobble.

—park jisung

jisung panics during arguments. he hates raised voices, even slightly sharp tones. the second he feels tension, he starts stumbling over his words, eyes widening in confusion and concern. “wait—what did i do? i swear i didn’t mean—” he keeps reaching toward you and pulling back, unsure if touching you will make it worse. when you look away, his whole face crumples. “don’t… don’t be mad at me,” he says quietly, almost pleading. he sits in front of you, knees drawn in, trying so hard to understand. “just tell me,” he begs softly. “i’ll fix it, i promise.” and as soon as you explain, he exhales shakily and scoots closer, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “i’m really sorry,” he clings to you while he whispers. “i don’t want to lose you.”

boyfriend! anton who treats you like a precious pearl

your boyfriend was famous for doing college d1 swimming , competing for your university and after him winning so many prizes. but because of his popularity many girls got jealous, one day many of them cornered you and told you to break up with him. he noticed you and punched both girls, “if you do this again, i’ll fucking kill you next time” he tells them before turning to you “are you okay sweet girl?” examining your face, even though he knows neither of them hit you.

boyfriend! anton who loves when you show your freaky side

you sent him a nude photo of you, wearing nothing but a cute lingerie set. it was a baby pink bralette with a underwear that barely covered anything, made with a pink ruffled laced and it looked as if it was sprinkled with glitter, it had knee high tights with bows on it with the same pink laced glitter around it. and when he saw you, you made him wear glittered handcuffs with ruffles, tied his shaft with a ruffled pink bow, and gave him the best handjob of his life.

boyfriend! anton who loves to have your pretty pink nipples in his mouth

it was late at night, you were already asleep but your boyfriend had other plans. he lifted your shirt up exposing your bare chest, he stared at your nipple, all hard and pink for him. fuck, he couldn’t resist but put his lips around it. sucking it like a baby begging for milk, it wakes you up after he starts giving the other one attention. “a-anton?” you say your voice hoarse cause you were very tired, “m’ sorry baby can’t help it.” he says as he continues to lick your nipples, making it dripping with his saliva.

boyfriend! anton who is very much a dom, but when it comes to you he grows submissive (when you want him to)

“mommy..” he whimpers out after you put your lips around his cock, you hadn’t done anything but kitten licked it smudging your lip gloss around it. god he looked so cute, you tied his hair into little pig tails, small ones ofcourse. “calm down baby, let mommy take her time okay?”

boyfriend! anton who loves to ram his giant cock into you because of how sweet your whimpers sound

this was his second round, it was near midnight already and both of you knew he wasn’t going to stop. “m-mhmmm…” you let out whimpering into the pillow, your thigh highs ripped and smudged with his semen. “aah baby you sound so good, don’t cover your whimpers let me hear how good you like my cock” he tells you his raspy voice, as he holds your hips, hard enough to give you bruises.

boyfriend! anton who eats you out for his own pleasure

“pretty girl, take your panties off for me hm?” he says, after you pull your pretty panties that had bows all over them he dives in like a starved man. sloppy and full of saliva and pre-cum, your cunt was dripping. you had your hands around his hair whimpering, his nose hitting your clit as he shakes his face and hums making the vibrations. you can’t stop whimpering, and he doesn’t plan on stopping. “such a good girl for master..”

boyfriend! anton who buys you lingerie every week because he accidentally rips the one he bought the previous week

your phone is ringing, it’s your sweetheart anton. “yes baby what do you need?” you say with your sweet like honey voice. “i’m buying you a new set, it’s going to be sent around 4.” he tells you through the phone, “but you just bought me a new one last week?” you remind him, “i jerked off on it and it has a hole…” he says softly embarrassed by his deeds.

boyfriend! anton who can’t resist you at all

you were ovulating, horny, untouched for a week because of your period and your handsome boyfriend was looking a little way to sexy. you invited him over to “netflix and chill” but you both knew what was going to happen. the moment he came over, you brought out your pink silk fabric and tied his hands behind his back. you sat him on your couch as you stripped him from his clothes, just with this he got hard immediately. “awh is my handsome boy hard?” you ask him slapping his cock making some pre-cum ooze out a little. “mommy…” he says softly, embarrassed with how hard you got him. you tie a ribbon around his muscles, after you move your hands down his abs, he looks at you with pleading eyes whimpering as you play with his nipples. “mommy ride me out please…” he says, pleading. “asking like a good boy huh?” you tell him as you sink yourself down his pretty cock, you start off slow before getty all fast after edging him out for a while. after 3 rounds of you riding him he begs “mommy it hurts!” he says whimpering and moaning, you’ve milked him dry but you weren’t done yet. “you begged for this and now your done already?” you ask making him face you. “s-sorry mommy keep going.”

The set is dimly lit, all soft reds and blacks, the kind of lighting that makes skin glow like it’s already slick. Cameras positioned, crew quiet, air thick with the industrial sweetness of lube, latex, and the faint, metallic tang of sweat and adrenaline—though here, it’s not so much anticipation as it is tedium, everyone waiting for the next instruction, the next cut.

Haechan is perched in his director’s chair like always—legs spread, arms crossed, black hoodie up, expression is half-lidded, mouth slack, utterly unruffled. Bored as fuck.

He likes to watch the scene as a whole, not the parts: the shudder of a shoulder, the matched arch of spines, the geometry of bodies weaving a single shape. There’s no eroticism to it anymore, at least not for him. If he feels anything, it’s the dull, satisfying click of a puzzle piece snapping into place.

Hundreds of scenes, maybe a thousand, have blurred together since he started this job. He’s watched every way a person can cum, and half the ways a person can fake it. He has memorized the pitch and cadence of moans, the difference between a real orgasm and a theatrical one, and the precise window—usually less than three minutes—before a boner becomes a liability on camera

His discipline is legendary; he’s never popped wood on set, not even once, not even when he was nineteen and the girls were all older and he had something to prove. He’s immune—a fucking monk

To him, porn stopped being exciting years ago. It’s just product now. Lighting. Framing. Sellable shots.

So today is supposed to be like any other. The schedule says: opening vignette, oral, first position, second position, cumshot, credits. The contract talent are already running lines and limbering up in the green room. There’s nothing on the call sheet that reads as unusual.

But then you walk onto set.

You’re new—he knows this before you even speak.

You’re the new girl, and it’s obvious. Everything about the way you stand—towel wrapped tight enough to choke arterial flow, eyes darting, breath lost somewhere in your chest—screams “first real gig.” No fake lashes, no caked-on foundation, no stage persona yet to hide inside. Just you, raw and exposed, skin already flushing from the robe drop and the sudden attention of three different lenses, each click and whirr doubling your nerves.

The scene’s supposed to be “natural couple, first time,” but the male lead—some generic, muscle-thick dude with a jaw you could sand plywood on—has all the sexual chemistry of a dishrag.

You think his name might be Chad? Whatever. He doesn’t even pretend to care. He’s flipping through his phone right up to the second “places, everyone,” gets called, barely glancing your way except to ask if you’re “tight with overs or can you take a big zoom.” You have no idea what that means, so you just nod, and he laughs without looking up.

When the camera rolls, Chad’s hands come at you—too fast, all palm, no finesse. It’s like he’s using your clit as a joystick: sharp, dry, mechanical. The friction stings. You keep waiting for him to notice you’re not… primed. He doesn’t.

You try to smile, a tiny “I’m good, keep going” nod, but it’s not in your voice yet. You’re trying—God, you’re trying—Your hips roll, hoping to catch a better angle, your own fingers twitching at your side, desperate to take over. Gasps, soft and uncertain, slip from your lips; you keep pitching your lines higher, like maybe you can sell it if you play the wide-eyed ingenue and act surprised by touch itself, but it’s obvious it’s not hitting right.

The crew is silent, but not out of respect. You can feel the collective disappointment in the air, a staleness that grows with each awkward grin. You catch the boom guy’s reflection in the glass; he looks like he’s holding his breath, his mouth twisted in a grimace like he’s physically pained by how forced it all sounds.

The camera operator is already bored, drinking his coffee with one hand while the other steers the gimbal dutifully back and forth. The only person actually watching is the director, Haechan, who hasn’t blinked for what feels like five minutes.

You’ve heard a dozen rumors about him—strict, never smiles, hates ad-libs, will shut down a scene if the lighting is off by half a stop. But he’s never once yelled, never once embarrassed talent in front of the crew. He just sits there, hoodie up, one knee bouncing, hands clenched on his clipboard. Judging by the little twitch in his jaw and the way his pencil is slowly being crushed into splinters, this is not the performance he wanted.

Chad misses his mark again, hand slipping, and you yelp, an ugly real sound through the room like a burst of microphone feedback.

Haechan’s jaw ticks.

“Cut,” he snaps, voice sharper than usual. The crew freezes.

Every head in the room snaps up—boom guy, focus puller, even the veteran makeup artist, who’s been boredly lint-rolling pubes off the sheets for the last twenty minutes. Chad, the male talent, straightens up like a scolded puppy, dick bobbing stupidly.

Haechan rises from his seat slowly. The room suddenly feels smaller. The whole crew tries to look busy, but everyone’s watching him from the corners of their eyes.

He crosses the set in three long strides, he doesn’t bother with the fake set stairs—just swings one leg up onto the platform and steps directly into the “bedroom,” the mock-up of a midcentury hotel suite they’ll probably tear down by tomorrow.

Haechan steps right up to the mattress, looming at the edge, and for a second you think he’s going to just call it—wrap early and go home. But then he looks down at you.

You stayed at your position: sprawled on the sheets, hair a mess already, thighs parted. Your skin is sticky with the glycerin spray they use to make people look “just-fucked.” Your chest rises and falls fast.

“Move,” he tells Chad, low, no room for argument. Chad scrambles off the bed.

Haechan doesn’t sit where Chad was. He remains standing at the edge, close enough that you can smell his cologne—something expensive and dark, undercut with the faint salt of skin.

He doesn’t touch you. Not directly.

Instead he reaches for Chad’s hand. The one that was just pawing, ineptly, at your clit, dry and imprecise and barely tolerable. Haechan’s fingers close around Chad’s wrist. His grip is gentle but absolute. Chad doesn’t even try to resist.

Then, with infinite patience, he starts to move Chad’s fingers over your clit, guiding it in slow, deliberate circles. He moves it exactly the way you like it; not pressing hard, just... teasing. Perfect pressure. Lazy figure-eights that make your hips twitch involuntarily. Just shy of too gentle, slow enough to make you ache.

“Like this,” Haechan says, and his voice is all gravel and velvet, the kind of voice you can feel in your spine. Haechan’s eyes never leave yours.

You bite your lip. Hard. Trying not to whimper.

You try not to react. ‘I am a professional. I am being paid for this.’ you thought. But your body doesn’t get the memo.

Heat lances through your core, pooling there, making your thighs tense and your toes curl against the sheets. You force your breath to stay even, but it helps nothing. Haechan’s gaze is a hand all by itself, pinning you to the bed, and your body starts to betray you: nipples tightening, hips rocking up, a sound leaking out that was never in the script.

He watches all of it. His pupils are blown wide, nearly swallowing the brown of his irises.

He's still guiding Chad's fingers under his, but it might as well be his hand. The rhythm is his. The control is his. Every tiny hitch in your breath, every flutter of your lashes—he sees it. Drinks it.

Chad’s breathing gets weird and shallow, but Haechan doesn’t even acknowledge him. Chad might as well be a prop now—a toy in the director’s hand, moving exactly the way Haechan wants.

Seconds stretch. Haechan keeps Chad’s rhythm brutally consistent, never speeding up, never varying, until your entire lower body is shaking. You want to close your eyes, to escape the intensity, but you can’t look away from Haechan.

You don’t dare make a sound. You do anyway.

It’s a soft, broken whine. It feels like being split open under stage lights. You can’t remember the camera or the crew. It’s just you and him and the steady, inescapable pressure building inside your skull.

You’re trembling now. Not acting. Not really. The way Haechan’s guiding—precise, patient, almost tender in its cruelty.

Haechan’s throat bobs. Once. Hard.

He leans in just a fraction—enough that his breath ghosts over your knee.

“Better?” he murmurs. It’s quiet, like it’s meant only for you.

You nod. Barely. Eyes glassy.

There’s the tiniest smile at the corner of his mouth before he finally releases Chad’s hand. Chad stumbles a little, like he’s forgotten how to stand on his own, but Haechan has already forgotten him.

“Good girl,” he says, so soft it’s almost sweet. Then louder, to the crew: “Reset. We’re going again. And Chad—” He finally looks at the guy. “Watch. Learn.”

Haechan steps back to his chair. Sits. Crosses one leg over the other.

But under the table, out of frame, he has to adjust himself. Discreet. Jaw clenched.

He’s trying for nonchalance, but his face—so carefully neutral a minute ago—is barely holding together.

Because fuck.  

He’s so hard it hurts.

And he knows—deep in his gut—that this scene isn’t going to end with just one take.

Not with you looking at him like that.

The cameras roll again. Reset. Lights adjusted just so—soft, warm, flattering. The room hums with low chatter from the crew, but Haechan’s world has narrowed to one thing: you.

He’s back in his chair, legs spread wide like always, one elbow on the armrest, chin in his hand. To anyone watching, he looks the same—cool, detached, the veteran who’s seen every angle, every fake orgasm, every scripted moan.

Except right now, his pulse is hammering in his throat.

Chad’s back between your legs, trying again. Better this time—sort of. He’s following the rhythm Haechan drilled into him earlier, but it’s still mechanical. Predictable. Your body responds anyway because you’re a professional (or trying to be), arching just enough, lips parting on soft, breathy sounds that hit Haechan like a punch.

He watches your face—the way your brows knit when the pressure builds, the flutter of your lashes when it almost tips over, the way your mouth falls open on a silent gasp before the sound actually escapes. Those little, real reactions. The ones no one else notices because they’re too busy staring at tits or ass or whatever the money shot demands.

But Haechan notices.

He notices everything.

“Camera two, tight on her face,” he calls out, voice steady even though his grip on the armrest is white-knuckled. “Capture the eyes. The lips. Make it intimate. She’s the star—sell that.”

The operator nods, zooms in. Haechan’s gaze flicks to the monitor feed beside him—your expression filling the screen in high def. Cheeks flushed, pupils dark, lips swollen from biting them. Every tiny hitch, every shiver.

Your eyes flicker to him.

Just once at first. Quick. Like you’re checking if he’s still watching.

He is.

Always.

You hold it this time. Longer. Your gaze locks with his across the dimly lit set—through the haze of lights and lenses and bodies moving around. It’s not acting. Not really. There’s heat in it. Question. Challenge. Need.

Haechan doesn’t blink.

His jaw flexes. He shifts in the chair—subtle, but fuck, the friction against his straining cock makes his vision white out for a second. He forces himself still. Professional. In control.

“Slow it down,” he directs, quieter now, almost to himself. “Chad—tease. Don’t rush. Let her build.”

Chad obeys. Your hips roll up instinctively, chasing the touch. A soft whimper slips out—real, broken—and Haechan’s breath catches audibly. He covers it with a cough, but his free hand drops to his thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Anything to stop himself from palming over his jeans right here, right now, in front of the whole crew.

Your eyes find him again. This time they stay. Glassy. Pleading. Like you’re performing for him. Not the camera. Not the future viewers. Him.

He swallows thickly. Leans forward just a fraction.

“Camera one—lower angle on her thighs,” he says, voice rougher. “Show the tremble. The way she’s shaking for it.”

The shot changes. Your legs part a little more, muscles quivering under soft skin. Another sound escapes you—higher, needier—and Haechan’s control frays another inch.

He’s never been this hard on set. Never this invested. Never this fucking gone.

You arch again, head tipping back, but your eyes snap right back to his like a magnet. Your lips part around a silent word that hits him like a physical blow—his name, unmistakable even from here, the shape of those syllables burning into his retinas.

He exhales through his nose. Slow. Controlled.

“Good,” he murmurs, low enough that only he himself can hear it. “Just like that. Keep looking at me.”

He draws in a slow breath, like he’s trying to breathe around something lodged in his ribs.

And he knows—deep in his gut, where logic has already left the building—that this isn’t just a scene anymore.

This isn’t normal.

He’s directed hundreds of girls. Thousands of takes.

But this is different.

You’re not performing at the camera.

You’re looking at him.

And the worst part—the part that makes something tighten low in his stomach—is that he doesn’t want you to stop.

That’s the problem.

---

The break is short—five minutes, tops. Just enough time for the crew to stretch, grab water, reset lights that don’t actually need resetting. Haechan uses it to pull you aside, away from the main set, into the little curtained-off “green room” corner that’s really just a folding chair and a folding table with bottled water and a half-eaten box of donuts.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, hoodie a bit low over his eyes like he’s trying to hide how intently he’s looking at you. Professional. Always professional.

“Hey,” he starts, voice low so no one else hears. “You’re doing good out there. Really good. But listen—I know this industry chews people up if they push too hard. Especially the first few shoots.”

You nod, heart already doing that stupid flutter thing because he’s actually talking to you like a person, not just talent.

He drags one hand across his jaw, the shadow of stubble catching on his palm. “Look—I know it’s your first real set. This place, the lights, being so exposed. It’s a lot. The crew’s always more intense than you expect. They can be…” He shrugs, searching for the word, “overstimulating. Even when they don’t mean to.” He looks up, and for a split second, you could swear you see his mouth tighten, like he’s angry on your behalf.

You nod, because he’s right—it is a lot. Your body is still humming, not from what Chad did, but from the before and the after, from the fact that you can still feel Haechan’s eyes on you from across the room, even now.

He licks his lips, eyes flicking to your face, then quickly away. “I know the expectation is—” He gestures, vague, like he can’t be bothered to say the words ‘orgasm’  or ‘squirting’ out loud.

“You don’t have to cum for real every take,” he continues, eyes flicking over your face like he’s reading a script he’s memorized. “Fake it. Sell the build-up, the tremble, the little gasps—most viewers can’t tell the difference anyway. And honestly? Forcing it every time strains your pelvis like hell. I’ve seen girls limping off set after a long day. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Your breath catches. He’s… thoughtful? Actually concerned? You’ve heard horror stories about directors who don’t give a fuck, who just yell “harder” until someone cries. But here he is, warning you about your own body like he cares if you walk out of here okay.

He must say this to every new actress, right? Standard protocol. Still, the way he’s looking at you—soft around the edges, almost gentle—makes your stomach flip.

“And if anything hurts,” he adds, quieter now, “even a little. You tell me. We stop. No questions. Got it?”

You swallow. Nod again. “Got it.”

He gives you the tiniest smile—just a twitch at the corner of his mouth—then pushes off the wall. “Good. Take two in a bit. Drink some water.”

He walks away first, leaving you standing there with your pulse in your throat and a sudden, embarrassing rush of warmth between your legs.

Because fuck.  

He noticed. He cared. And now all you can think about is his voice saying “tell me” and “stop” like he’d actually listen, like he’d protect you mid-scene if you needed it.

By the time they call action again, you’re already slick. Not from Chad’s earlier fumbling. Nope. It was from Haechan’s five-minute pep talk. From the way his eyes lingered when he said “good.” From imagining what it would feel like if those careful, controlled hands were the ones touching you instead.

Chad slides back between your thighs, condom on, positioning himself. You spread a little wider, trying to look natural for the three cameras positioned around the bed.

He pushes in slow—standard porn entry shot, nothing special.

But your brain short-circuits.

You picture Haechan instead.

The way he’d hold your hips steady. The way he’d watch your face the whole time, cataloging every twitch like he did earlier. The low, wrecked murmur of “just like that” right against your ear. The way he’d probably tease you first—slow rolls, shallow thrusts—until you were begging without words.

Chad moves. Steady. Mechanical. Like a metronome with abs.

You close your eyes for a second. Imagine it’s Haechan’s weight pressing you down. Haechan’s breath on your neck. Haechan’s cock stretching you, filling you, owning every gasp.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up.

The coil tightens fast—too fast. Heat rushes low, thighs trembling for real this time. Your nails dig into the sheets. A broken whimper slips out, unscripted. Your thighs lock around Chad's waist so hard he grunts in surprise.

Chad keeps going, oblivious.

But across the set, Haechan freezes.

He’s watching the monitor, jaw slack for half a second before he recovers. Your eyes find his through the haze—glassy, desperate—and you don’t look away.

You come.

Hard.

For real.

Waves crashing through you, back arching off the bed, a choked sob of his name almost escaping before you bite it back.

Your walls flutter and clench around Chad (poor Chad), but behind your eyelids it's Haechan you’re seeing. It's Haechan destroying you, it’s Haechan you’re coming for.

The cameras keep rolling.

Haechan’s hand shoots up—silent signal to keep shooting—but his other fist is clenched so tight on the armrest the knuckles are bone-white. His breathing is shallow. Visible. He’s staring like he’s forgotten how to blink.

“Cut,” he finally rasps, voice wrecked. Too late. The take’s already gold.

The crew starts clapping—thinking it’s great acting.

You’re still trembling, aftershocks rolling through you, thighs slick, heart hammering.

Haechan doesn’t clap.

He just watches you.

And when your eyes meet again—post-orgasm haze and all—there’s no pretending anymore.

He knows.

You know he knows.

And the look on his face says this shoot just changed everything.

---

The set lights dim one by one, the crew packing up with the usual post-shoot chatter—someone laughing about how the take was “money,” another clapping you on the shoulder with a genuine “First gig and you killed it, girl. Natural. We’re booking you again for sure.” Chad gives you a fist bump and a wink that feels oddly hollow now. You smile, thank them, heart still racing from the aftershocks, thighs sticky under the robe you’ve hastily tied.

You glance toward Haechan’s chair.

It’s empty.

He’s already gone.

No goodbye, no “good work,” no lingering look like before. Just… vanished. The director who’d been staring holes through you for hours suddenly can’t even meet your eyes on the way out.

The disappointment hits sharper than it should. You tell yourself it’s nothing—he’s busy, he’s a pro, he probably does this every shoot. But the ache between your legs pulses in protest, like your body knows better.

Meanwhile, across the city, Haechan barely makes it through his apartment door.

Keys clatter on the floor. He doesn’t bother with lights. The hallway is dark, just the faint blue glow from the streetlamp outside bleeding through the blinds. He kicks the door shut behind him, back slamming against it for a second as he drags in a ragged breath.

His cock is still painfully hard—has been since that last take, since your real, broken orgasm rolled through you while staring straight at him. The memory is burned behind his eyelids: your lashes fluttering, lips parted on that choked little sound, the way your hips jerked like you couldn’t help it, like it was *him* making you come apart.

“Fuck,” he hisses, already fumbling with his belt.

He doesn’t even get the jeans all the way down.

They catch at mid-thigh, boxers shoved just low enough to free himself. His hand wraps around his length—hot, leaking, so sensitive the first stroke makes his knees buckle. He slides down the door until he’s sitting on the cold floor, legs splayed, head tipped back against the wood.

He doesn’t tease himself. No slow buildup. He’s too far gone for that.

He starts fast. Rough. Fist tight, twisting at the head on every upstroke, thumb smearing the pre-cum that’s been leaking since the second you locked eyes during that final thrust.

His mind replays it in filthy, high-definition detail.

Your face on the monitor—close-up, just like he’d ordered. Brows pinched, mouth slack, eyes glassy and fixed on him like the cameras didn’t exist. The way your tits rose and fell with every shallow pant. The tremble in your thighs when Chad pushed in deeper. The exact second your walls must have clenched—because your whole body arched, spine bowing off the sheets, a soft, wrecked whimper spilling out that wasn’t scripted, wasn’t fake.

He groans low in his throat, hips jerking up into his hand.

“Fuck—look at you,” he mutters to the empty hallway, voice hoarse. “Coming so pretty for me… weren’t you?”

He imagines it’s him between your legs instead.

Not Chad’s clumsy rhythm. His.

He pictures pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. Slow at first—teasing, shallow rolls just to watch your frustration build, to hear you whine his name. Then deeper. Harder. Bottoming out every time until your nails dig into his back, until you’re shaking, begging, “Haechan—please—don’t stop—”

His strokes speed up. Sloppy now. The wet sound of his fist echoing in the quiet apartment.

He replays your eyes—those little glances you kept throwing him between takes, like you were performing just for him. The way they went wide and hazy right before you tipped over the edge. The way your lips formed that silent, desperate shape—his name? A plea? He doesn’t know, but he pretends it was both.

“Wanted it to be me, didn’t you?” he growls, hips snapping up harder. “Wanted my cock stretching you open… fucking you until you couldn’t breathe… until you came all over me like that again—”

His free hand fists in his hoodie, yanking it up so he can see himself—thick, flushed, veins standing out, slick shining on every downstroke. He imagines it’s your wetness instead. Your heat. Your tight, fluttering walls gripping him so good he can barely think.

He pictures flipping you over, face down, ass up—grabbing your hips and slamming back in while you muffle your cries into the sheets. Or maybe on your back, legs over his shoulders so he can watch every inch disappear inside you, watch your face crumple every time he hits that spot that makes you sob his name.

His balls draw up tight. Heat coils low and vicious.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up,” he pants, voice cracking. “Gonna come so deep you’ll feel me for days… gonna make you come again just watching me lose it inside you—”

The first pulse hits like a shockwave.

He chokes on a moan, head slamming back against the door as he spills over his fist—hot, thick ropes streaking across his stomach, dripping down his knuckles. His hips jerk through it, riding the waves, imagining it’s your cunt milking him dry instead.

He keeps stroking through the oversensitivity until it hurts, until every last drop is wrung out, until he’s trembling and gasping against the wood.

When it’s over, he slumps there on the floor—jeans still tangled around his thighs, hoodie rucked up, cum cooling on his skin—and lets out a long, wrecked laugh.

Because he’s fucked.

Completely, irreversibly fucked.

He just came harder than he had in years… to the memory of a girl he’s directed for one single day.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow there’s another shoot.

With you.

He drags a hand down his face, still breathing hard.

“Shit,” he mutters.

disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.

an: happy belated valentine's gift

For an awfully chilly winter day, a cozy warmth radiates off you. Those around you have always known that cold environments are wicked against your presumably ill form. It takes one slight breeze — let alone the prickle you now feel in your skin — for you to shrivel and hunch over in pain. Wailing over frozen toes and the ache in your joints. Exaggerating that if you move a bone, it will snap in half from how horrible this cold treats you.

Jaemin had once told you the spirit of Satan that incubates in your soul was reacting and thus punishing you — as is his nature. He’d say that hell was freezing over and that Shaytan couldn’t handle the pain he inflicts. He couldn’t reap what he sowed like most people.

To Jaemin, it didn’t matter because he’d reassure you he would always be there to aid. Even through jests and laughter, because no matter the wickedness, he loved you and would strip down to the bone if it meant you were warm and safe.

You’d laugh and tell him neither of you would survive the Garden of Eden if he succumbed that easily. That within seconds you’d both be influenced by the wretchedness of that conniving snake and devour all the sacred fruit that the rest are too scared to eat. Even the snake itself because your hunger was insatiable.

Now he can be sure of how true your statement had been all those years ago, as you show no signs of frostbite and look like you do on summer eves. And the reason you both find yourselves in this predicament.

Your giggles are melody to his ears but a stake to his heart. They boom within his eardrums, louder than the galling crunch of shattered crystal glasses under both your soles and the vivacious psychedelic music that oozes through the cracks of this newly built mid-century home.

Jaemin smiles at you with adoration, hand itching to take yours but retrieves the instance both pair of feet come in contact with the transported east coast pebbles. Those that make both of you waltz and wobble until reaching the first step to avoid falling on the treacherous shards. Much like one trapped in malicious waves and surrounded by sadistic boulders.

That’s without mentioning the starved and slabbering bodies watching this young couple approach the property like trusting fawn searching for comfort and solace in the arms of it’s eventual predator. It will all lead to the consumption of one’s most vital organ at the end of the day.

There’s many things going through yours and Jaemin’s head but neither speak. He knows words and sentiments will be different but if there’s one thing he’s sure of, is that he’s just as happy as you with only the smile on your face.

Your head turns to the windows above, the slew of bodies dancing and the lack of clothes let another giggle out. Jaemin shrugs, a dry chuckle while he pulls out the nearly empty cigarette case. He thinks their movements are silly and anything but provocative but you’re amused. As amused as a pup discovering new things.

Thinking of it, Jaemin concludes that this is new for you. Before him, your only sexual encounters were self-gratification. You had gone in detail over dinner at an upscale restaurant as he ate raw oysters, it had been your fourth date.

He studied the way your eyes tentatively watched his mouth, your own twitching every time he consumed the meat and the lemon juice glossed his lips. He knew a salacious grin is what wanted to display on your face. Yet you over and over again covered it with self-effacement.

Jaemin hadn’t let you off the hook that night, rather he grinned like you had wanted to while sliding to your side of the circled booth and placed his cold hand on your exposed thigh. He asked if you had ever tried oysters to which you denied and he would only let you taste if you’d tell him a secret.

You had never wanted to try them and the deal was stupid. The look of an oyster disgusted you but Jaemin loved them and his hand against your warm thigh sliding up the mini dress reminded you of your own hands in between your legs.

With details and only for his listening, you explained the way your fingers felt on the bundle of nerves and how your fingers — plunged within you — had only brought satisfaction to you once. Explained to him how often you touched yourself trying to reach a high that you always brought yourself to but have grown restless and they weren’t doing it anymore.

He touched you for the first time that night, his hand underneath your satin girdle and panties pushed to the side while he taught you step by step how to eat the disgusting bivalve. He had opened your eyes and thighs that night to the pleasures of the flesh, discovering how insatiable you are.

If only Jaemin knew how dangerous oysters are if not careful.

The music had grown louder the instance you both reached the front door, opening without either of you knocking as Jaemin lit his cigarette. He unconsciously sighed the second he released the smoke, turning to the older woman with a huge beehive covered in a silk scarf that patted your cheek animatedly while you showed her the invitation. She laughed sardonically while looking at him, or so he thinks. Nowadays, everything is treacherous.

“Keys, pretty boy.” She purrs, pushing the crystal punchbowl closer to him. Jaemin gives it one look, one look to her, and back to the bowl before fetching his car keys. In a sea of single keys or neutral toned keychains, he frowns at the colorful keychains on his.

The instance they clink among the others, she fetches his face for a pat like she did to yours. Jaemin avoids it, turning to blow the smoke. Only the light scrape of her finger nails are felt over his hair.

The scene doesn’t seem foreign to him. While he has never tried swinging, he has been young and single with philandering friends and coworkers that strung him into their quests. Nearly naked women in their ripped girdles and their drunken laughter while playing among themselves is the least of his interests.

“Modern, aren’t they?” You ask, voice undulating exultantly. His head turns to look at you, handing you a drink from the open bar that he notices you hold back to finish in one go. “We can simply watch for now, we don’t have to join them.” You add at his lack of response, your excited shakiness warmed down with the drink; finally some signs of the cold corroding you.

It causes a smile to form on his lips, his own frozen chest warming up with your words and the smoke he inhaled, chasing it with the warm whiskey. Jaemin stops refraining himself and opts to let his arm slither around you waist, a slight squeeze as he exhales the smoke. He hasn’t spoken throughout the night but you figure his expertise has made him grow desensitized to these type of things.

Although, this sweet moment is cut short when the lights dim and the music turns erotic. Lulling all guests towards the conversation pit covered in red velvet. The transition from erotica to burlesque works to rowdy the guests. Whistles and hooting as their glasses clink with any hard surface. Hands cusped around their mouth as they scream for the same woman that greeted you both to take off the robe.

A silent giggle as the feathers of her skirt fly when she takes the red silk robe off. It matches with her wrinkled lips and the gemstones on her corset. It’s tightly cinched that her waist appears nearly non-existent. Concerning, even, but no one seems to care when her breasts are flying loosely with the tassels covering her nipples.

Her once tight curls, covered by the scarf are now loose and stable with pomade, only swinging when she gyrates her her hips and jumps slightly to make her bum bounce along the sound of trumpets and drums.

You had never gone to a night club, not even with Jaemin but he has. He’s explained what goes on in them and this seems similar to what he has detailed to you. While he remains unphased, you giggle, praising her as she moves on to the feather skirt and removes it, tossing it for anyone to catch it first.

With every shimmy of her shoulder, yours twitch feeling the same rhythm that courses through her body. She’s expressive and fun; beatitude noises leave her every time she meets the eyes of a guest, resembling a moan — sex without touching.

Nearing the end of her show, she lets her hands roam her corset cladded waist. Squeezing hard enough to make the top of it leave marks below her breast. She laughs and smiles comically the second she swings her upper body, not taking long before her tits encircle with the heart-shape pasties and tassels following suit. She lets one hand stop the assault of her own person to bring it up to her lips and blow kisses at guests. The song mellows out, followed by a fairly recognizable voice.

The whine of it makes your eyes close, lulling you into a state of delirium as you hear his words and that memorable chuckle. The pitch is as high as you remember, but also sultry and easily makes your thighs press together. Your brain makes you recall the one call that sold you to this idea. How dirty and adroit he had been, laughing at your timorous behavior.

You remember it being very erotic, nearly touching yourself inside of a phone booth. Had it not been clear, you probably would have and also had kept the call longer. But guilt had been eating you away. Jaemin’s face had popped up the second you let your hands graced your chest and rapidly hung-up on this stranger. The guilt and love you felt for Jaemin is what led you to ignoring the happenings for a month, yet this stranger’s cajole won and here you found yourself with your loving fiance who did everything to please you.

“You want that?” Jaemin had asked calmly, stopping his annotations on a colleagues research paper. “I want whatever you want.” You replied, an expectant smile that told him yes. He simply mirrored it, kissing your forehead, “I want whatever you want.” He concluded.

As cheering and clapping die down, the host smiles, bowing as if he had been the one to give this show. He scans the room, going down the steps into the conversation pit. He gives every single one of them a smile, nodding when reaching your and Jaemin.

“I’m glad you all enjoyed the beautiful tricks my wife offers. Perhaps one of you will be lucky enough to gain a private show tonight.” He winks, the other guests laugh but Jaemin doesn’t so neither do you. “It’s a special night for all of us lovers. It’s Valentine’s day! A day for love and friendship… Which is why we are all celebrating it together.”

Jaemin swirls his glass, from his peripheral vision he looks at how starved these guests are. They’re all fairly older than both of you, two other couples, and this man speaking. To an extent he wants to frown and feel pity for him. How can someone so young be entangled and in charge of something so lewd? But he’s the host overall, it’s obvious he’s nothing but a deviant himself and Jaemin is in no position to judge as he finds himself under the same roof. The reasons may differ but he’s here nonetheless and prior, he philandered himself, as well.

“We find ourselves some fresh faces,” The man scans the conversation pit for the millionth time this night, his hands move to the front. All the while his gaze lingers on you and your husband. Jaemin remains indifferent to the circumstances, finishing the drink he had been nursing this entire time. On the contrary, you don’t let your gaze linger for too long. His own is heavy and driven enough for the both of you that even his grin creates a force within you that you try so hard to restrain. At least with Jaemin beside you.

“That being so, I will go over the rules again.” He goes over the basics of this meeting. Comically as is his nature, the while his wife in the background acted out his every word. They treated it all like a joke but his voice was stern enough to let everyone in the room know that safe sex and boundaries were not to be ignored within these walls or ever. No matter how taboo contraception is.

“Boundaries are not to be crossed, these walls are thin and we will intervene. Protection must not be removed no matter what, only to dispose and replace if the fun continues.” The host nods, clasping his hands as his wife approaches him with the punchbowl filled to the brim with new and, or barely surviving car keys.

He frowns at the neutral array, quietly beaming when his eyes catch the colorful hues that belong to you and Jaemin. Melodic and animated noises similar to his wife’s leave his lips. Some expression you find goofy but ignore the while he swirls the keys around as if it was a delicacy he was to eat and not metal dirtying his hands.

“We should start with new couples. Right, dear?” His head tilts, his wife still exposed to the world within these walls. She hums with that same whine he has; her eyes wander, landing on the couple on the opposite side of the pit.

She shakes the punchbowl slightly, making sure keys flip around with every move. “Close your eyes, hun.” She coaxes, elongating her words with a cheeky smile as the woman digs her fingers through the pool of metal. Her partner had covered her eyes, egging her to keep digging and wincing when her fingers curled around multiple keys. His free hand itches to dig for her.

In that instance you figure he was more aroused at the idea of watching her have sex with another man hence his hesitance on her choosing just any keys. It’s most likely he already has someone in mind for her but the frown on his face as she pulls out a beat up scuffed Chevrolet key says enough.

In that instance an older man, gray haired and hanging belly stands up. You mimic the partner’s frown, merely upset yourself. The man’s forehead was lighter than the rest of his face, hands rough and calloused. It’s likely he’s a countryman that made a great effort to come this far for this night alone. He seemed kind… the kindness reserved for grandfathers and old men at diners. Not a man willing to wife swap with another.

The woman on the other hand didn’t seem to mind much. She laughs pleasantly as she takes the man’s hand, going up the first step out of the conversation pit. They don’t leave and she seems impatient but the veteran in this duo seems to halt waiting for orders from the hosts like dogs waiting to be given permission to feast among their favorite treat.

“Great… Louie is a tender lover. Wouldn’t you say, love?” The host turns to his wife, she doesn’t speak but creates and okay sign and kisses those same fingers with a loud smack. You think she would be a great sales model at the local department store. Or a more luxurious department store, taking into consideration this lavish lifestyle…

“Alright now, our next lovely lady.” Her husband’s body sways your way, nerves finally settling within your gut.

You’re sure if you get a man like the first one you’ll probably bail out and beg on your knees for Jaemin to fuck the disgust out of you. He would, you’re sure of it but he would also taunt you for wanting to try something as crude as this without thinking of the type of couples that could be involved. He wouldn’t do it out of anger or jealousy. He would do it to scorn.

But Jaemin’s gaze is anything but teasing or patronizing. His expression is neutral as if this was just another nuisance for him. His eyebrows lift and signals with his gaze for you to stand up. His lips purse, slicked by the syrup of whatever that drink had in it. He looked so pretty, you should probably leave with him now and continue the lifestyle you both carry…

“Don’t be shy, I won't bite. Unless you want me to…” The host grins, his gaze hasn’t dropped from you. His eyes shimmer with every move you make to stand up and when you reach him, he chuckles to himself like he achieved something by having you near.

Like Jaemin, he orders you to dig through the pile of keys without a word, only expressions. The sharp edges of keys and keychains make you wince, pondering on how the past woman was digging through like nothing. You could feel the scrapes from metal key chains, worried for it’s sanitation if they even made any damage. But ultimately you stop your search of Jaemin’s keys. Keys that you had dropped every time you grasped.

Steadily, you pull the lightest ones that bring the familiar sound of hooting and hollering. Your eyebrows furrow seeing their excited faces. Women among men laugh and the first woman’s partner looks at you with a pensive frown. Jaemin on the other hand seems to mimic the man’s emotions and not your confused ones.

The host takes a look at the keys in your hand, letting his eyes rake your face before taking them within his grasp. This being the first point of contact between both of you. His hands were awfully cold, a cold only you have been able to produce. His glossed lips part, demonstrating those pretty teeth.

“First night and we’re starting strong,” he nods, stretching his hand for you to take. Hesitantly you do so, allowing for a wolfish grin to spread across his pretty face. “Perhaps it’s faith?” He rhetorically questions, handing the punchbowl back to his wife.

Jaemin’s presence felt very dear to you, enough so that your facial muscles spasmed to not smile at the arousal you felt with the touch and words of this foreign man. His voice was huskier speaking to you than to the group that watched the interactions from behind you. His fingers caress your skin without making it seem like you’re to start your activities in front of everyone here. Your only suppressant was the painstaking force of your teeth on your bottom lip that allow him to know it would be a fun night.

Whether he felt pity for you or he was doing his job as a host, his gaze tears from you. Giving you enough time to breathe and turn to Jaemin who only smiles at you encouragingly. It was simple, nothing wide like all his smiles but he also didn’t seem hurt and especially not jealous. Jaemin was… himself. Calm, indifferent, and poised. Smoking his second cigarette of the night, this one matching the man’s that took your spot beside him. Salems, menthols at that.

You’re unsure of whatever was brewing in your chest watching the image, Jaemin didn’t give you much to go from and your facial expressions were beginning to shift. Had it not been for the cold touch against your jaw that drew your attention back to the man you’re to share a bed tonight — well, you’re not too sure what you were going to do anyways.

His thumb is soft against your skin, such a delicate touch that you hadn’t felt how he swept you off your feet and slid across the velvet up the steps of the conversation pit. Jaemin and guests all forgotten when the digit swipes your bottom lip. He inhales deeply, quivering when he exhales. “Smooth.” He claims, smudging the lip stain that clung to his thumb against his own lip. You reckon this is your first shared kiss.

Titillating, your eyes force themselves shut when he pulls fully away, his taunting grin engraved in your brain as he turns back to the guests.

“Oh, and before I part. A reminder: Those who cannot follow through will go into the cuck tabernacle and watch their partners that did. We respect your reluctance or desire to only watch but that isn’t all that fair to the willing party, is it?”

The finality of his voice leads you into the main hall, leaving the remaining guests while the first duo are lead into a different hallway before the four of you part ways. Within a few steps and with the keys he took from your hands not long ago, he unlocks the door he pushes open for you to enter first. His hand places itself on the small of your back, guiding you through the dim, spacious room. Only illuminated by the city lights entering through the curved glass wall.

Overlooking the hill, your breath hitches seeing how beautiful the city looked from here. You nearly forget you’re not alone as you approach the glass, amused by how small and bright everything looked from here. To an extent you understood why all the other guests had stood by the glass wall when you and Jaemin arrived. It felt great to feel bigger than everyone else.

“Do you like it?” He asks, approaching you with a glass of whiskey. Heart shaped ice cubes barely floating. You don’t let your words free just yet, nodding with a smile as you sip on the drink. Wincing at the harsh taste when it smoothly runs down your throat. He doesn’t comment on it but merely chuckles at your lack of expression regulation.

In the instance that he takes off his clunky belt off, your eyes shift around the bedroom. There’s some pictures of him with his wife on the walls. They’re nothing erotic like one would think, but they’re also nothing demonstrating warmth. On the contrary, the room looked very lived in with multiple items that belonged to either of them. Or perhaps both. With the shaggy hairstyle he has, her lavish up-dos, makeup, and the thick eyeliner on his waterline, you’re sure the products are shared.

You attempt not to dwell on the idea of having sex on another woman’s bed. It’s not like she cares to begin with but you put yourself in her shoes and you know if Jaemin had done something like this, you would have grieved for as long as you could.

Then again, Jaemin didn’t seem to care and had been on board with this idea when you first suggested it. He had also had multiple partners before you, in comparison. Perhaps he missed the exhilaration of sexual encounters with others as much as you enjoyed having sex. With him you have been able to discovered what you liked and have experimented everything under the sun. You love Jaemin, you’re going to marry him soon. But you also can’t quench this carnal thirst no matter how good he fucks you to the point you’ve gone numb before.

You both needed this.

To drown your inquisitive mind, the suave instrumental that greeted you not long ago drags the man in the room closer to you. Humming along the instruments as he seductively approaches you. You don’t have to turn around to feel his movement. You’re also able to see him undoing the loose knot of his muslin poet’s blouse through the glass.

The delighted grin you’ve held off for too long finally shows itself upon feeling his arms around you, pulling your exposed back closer to his now exposed chest. Bare skin to bare skin, the while his mouth ghosts over your neck. Hot breath taunting the awaited contact. His wavy hair tickling the neck he should be kissing by now.

His labored breathing is heard the longer he remains in that position. His hands roam whatever he can touch without giving you much pleasure. “You haven’t spoke once since seeing me. It’s very important for you to tell me what you want in these cases.” His head tilts slightly, nearly teasing you with the graze of his lips against your neck. You’re sure he’s doing it on purpose. You don’t need to look to know he’s grinning ear to ear at your shiver.

“I don’t know…” Is all you can muster. It’s nonsensical but also concrete enough as an answer. He doesn’t push for more right now, seemingly aware of what you mean. He’s rather engrossed in the swaying of your body against his, lead by his hands with the rhythm of the playing record.

“I found the invitation in the powder room at Marty’s a month ago. I thought someone left their brooch and peeked the contact number.” You speak, feeling his hands ease down your hips. Examining and studying every reaction to his touch. “I called only a few days later and— ah…” Your eyes flutter shut, head thrown back to land on his exposed shoulder, the lack of support from the knots making the black fabric slide down the bone.

He grins successfully, malicious even. Satisfied with how easy your body was. He hadn’t even touched any vital points. All he had done was add pressure to your upper thigh for you react so lewdly. So utterly needy…

“I knew I recognized that pretty voice.” He says, finally rewarding you with a tender kiss to your neck. So tender and wet; slow enough to drive you mad. Whimpering petulantly when he refuses to deepen it.

Ten days. It had only been ten days since New Years arrived and a tragedy had already occurred that had shaken Jaemin up enough to talk about it over dinner with his boss.

“It’s a calamity, I tell you! And it’s unconstitutional to deny Bond his seat... Dr. Wayne, you’ve seen the horrors of war. You’ve experienced them. I’m sure some members of the legislature have been veterans themselves. You know how much of an injustice this is.” Jaemin claims, the passion and sincerity in his voice drawing your hand to squeeze his thigh in order to ease the anxiety.

The older man of the two shakes his head upon finishing his old fashioned. “I bear the scars of war, son. So do you. But you will never make this country open its eyes to calamity. Whether we’re witnesses or the ones inflicting it. And it will only worsen…”

The doomed finality in his words threaten the night much to Dr. Wayne’s wife’s displeasure. The woman shakes her head, earrings clanking with her disgust. “You men and your wars… We’re having a nice night. Let’s not dwell on matters that don’t belong to us.” But it did belong to you. All of you. It simply has never occurred to her that there’s a privilege that only she and her husband bare.

“Come, Y/n. Let’s powder our noses before they continue.” She giggles, taking your hand and forcing you up — removing your comforting hand from your fiance that simply turned back to his boss.

You enjoyed the company of Mrs. Wayne. If you didn’t think about how ditsy and out of touch she was, she could easily remind you of your aunt. Fun, witty, and caring after all.

She had told you her entire life story when first meeting. Having grown her entire life as a socialite, her mother was strict and kept her away from men. Marrying Dr. Wayne had awaken her sexuality much like Jaemin had for you. Despite not telling you explicitly, she was good in masking the meaning of her message.

But now they’ve been married for over thirty years and she had once scolded you for trying to bring up your sex life with her — explicitly and not like her. She had told you that good women never performed fellatio and only performed sexual acts when procreating.

She was quite honestly upset that neither you and Jaemin had waited for marriage to fornicate. And far worse that it was a filthy game to both of you that you felt confident enough to bring it up to her as if she would enable your lecherous acts. For someone with seven kids and still trying for more, it had made you think it was a joke. Yet, she was serious and perhaps projecting.

That’s the first time she had shown disappointment in you. Reminding the both that despite your backgrounds only being similar in how adult figures treated sex around you, both of you threaded around it in completely different ways.

On the way to the powder room she had chewed your ear off about men’s nonsense and her own. You had drowned it out when she went into a cubicle and kept rambling. Only responding with hums and one word answers knowing she was looking for enabling, not communication.

You had no business in there; leaning against the pink marble shell shaped sink, you sigh upon noticing your reflection. You know much hasn’t changed but you have aged while your brain hasn’t as much.

Jaemin had once told you about arrested development. He had joined Dr. Wayne on a week long trip for a study and Jaemin had come back ecstatic. It’s not that he found a cure or needed to because truly no one was treating this as something fully serious. Not even your sweet and intelligent boyfriend (at the time). Rather, they had only gone to hear the stories of what led these people to this stagnation for their own amusement and half-bullshitted notes knowing they had already made up their minds on the matter.

Despite so, their stories felt reminiscent and coincidental that it had angered you. Jaemin and Dr. Wayne hadn’t cared for these patients. Blissfully ignorant to the fact that their partners were somewhat mirrors of those they heard and ignored only to use as pawns to scream ‘I told you So's’ to whoever had first discredited their initial thesis.

And truly despite it being years since then, Mrs. Wayne still had the emotional maturity of a fourteen year old with the conservatism of one taught by their equally ignorant privileged mother.

You weren’t too far behind, you had known since the day Jaemin introduced the term to you. You knew you were naive and sheltered as a child is. Your family had gone to far lengths to keep it as such and despite Jaemin’s introduction into your life cracking some of that down, you still felt a shell of that girl they had created.

Therefore, perhaps spotting that brass oyster brooch resting against the sink’s drain had been faith, a step into mental stimulants to rid you of this stagnant immaturity.

And so was your piquant 11:00am call with a stranger that as far as you knew could have been a disgusting pervert.

It doesn’t go to say it didn’t make you feel guilty for a month straight. Hiding from your fiance that you had enjoyed the verbal ravishing of a man you had never met, in cajoling efforts and enjoying it.

Guilt for betraying his trust and love despite never touching the other man. Guilt for thinking about his voice when Jaemin was gone for work and you felt needy. All until you had asked Jaemin if he was willing to follow through with this and like the loving devoted fiance he is… of course he did.

“The world is your oyster.” Haechan recites.

Haechan… You now remember clearly the name he had introduced himself with when he picked up the phone.

“You left me aching to hear more from you after that call.” He claims, lips finding their path down to your shoulder. “I kept thinking of it too…” you confess in a whine, his teeth nipping the marks Jaemin left last night. Arousal reaching you quicker at the thought of Jaemin being part of this despite not being present.

“Thought about it for too long, don’t you think?” he hums against your skin, lifting his head to kiss the shell of your ear. “I didn’t know how to bring it up to—” You hesitate, despite both of you wanting this; guilt gnaws no matter what. “To your husband?” Haechan answers for you.

“He’s not my husband.” “Not yet.”

His grasp around your hand is harsh enough to make your fingers squeeze around the stone of your ring and imprint it’s form on the flesh. It’s not surprising how delicious you find this punishment. If you knew him better, you’d think jealousy had driven him.

“Does he mind?” Haechan questions, no longer holding back in ravishing your exposed skin. His hands knead your back, sighing contently with your shake of head. “He seemed awfully indifferent back there.”

“He’s a psychiatrist. I think he’s grown accustomed to react neutral in any situation.” You attempt to justify. Unsure yourself as to how calm he has been. You were thankful about it, he wasn’t upset and didn’t reproach you. Completely leaving his trust in your hands and compliant to your needs. But the twinge of guilt is what made you want more from him. You think, at least.

“So he’s okay with this?” Haechan asks, his fingers fiddling with a rose on your dress. “Yes,” you assure, “He said he wants whatever I want and I too want whatever he wants.” The finality and semi-confidence in your voice makes him hum in acceptance.

Despite it, Haechan is human and feels bitterness far more than anything else. It didn’t take a genius to understand Jaemin loves you. His body language was lax as his expressions were. He had shown no discomfort upon seeing another man touch you in the slightest because he simply loves and trusts you.

It makes Haechan bitter in a sense that a kid is when he can’t have what he wants. He wants to feel the comfort Jaemin feels with you and the weight of your love. He wants to dig into his mind and see what it feels like to love someone so much that they have no reason to be jealous of even a fly.

Yet, you were of no help either because you had given Jaemin the confidence to not fear for his love. You’ve given everything of you to him to the point that he’s not able to take care of it all and the reason you find yourself in this room. You had asked Jaemin for permission and one that he granted because he knew it meant nothing.

And it will mean nothing. Haechan is fully aware of that and bitter about it. Because he should mean everything to everyone, that’s what he’s grown to know.

It’s not common for him to feel this attached within the first meeting but every body that has passed the threshold of this home lacked love and security. They all used these meetings as a last resort to keep their relationship from falling and using the philandering as a crutch to seem normal to the exterior.

Everyone he’s met throughout this period no longer loved nor trusts. He’s aware you’re here for lust and repressed nymphomaniac tendencies; he decreed so during the phone call a month ago. But despite that, he had studies your expressions when the first woman pulled the keys and the obvious repugnance presented on your face told him that you truly were not cut for this. It had only been his suave talk that drew you here.

For him and only him…

Haechan feels gratification with this conclusion, smiling as he turns you around to face him. His hands have warmed up against your skin, dragging them to your face and cupping it as he leans in. The taste of berry sangria on his tongue that intrudes your mouth. Velvet against yours that tastes similar enough to make him moan.

“Beautiful…” He whispers against your mouth, enamored as he pulls back slightly to look at your face. “I’m glad my volubility did not scare you away.”

“On the contrary… it made me horribly wet. I nearly touched myself in public for you.”

Your confession makes his strained cock twitch freely against the taut leather. He moans louder than before, leaning to kiss you further in attempts to swallow all the words you had not granted him that morning.

His kisses grow frantic and needier. Your lips slot against his, turning from contained to dirty and wet. His fingers don’t attempt to hide the fact that they are caressing your nipples over the fabric of your dress.

His greed increases, recalling the delicious taste of your skin minutes prior, leading his mouth down the slope of your neck to the skin over your sternum. His tongue laps at your collarbones, savoring the smell of your scented powder and the taste of it.

“I couldn’t stop thinking of your meek voice… Your heavy breathing as I explained how you would get fucked if you came…” His words and teeth force you to pant, the tingle between your legs forces your knees to buck. He laughs mockingly as he presses his teeth further into your skin. “I could hear your whimpers that day. It drove me mad all day when you hung up suddenly. I couldn’t get myself to finish.”

You take the initiative to kiss him this time. Tugging on his shaggy hair enough to draw out another moan. He grins at the sting, mouth fetching yours and it’s not until you kiss him that he calms down. It returns to being clean and passionate, much more forceful but it’s all in the name of deprived arousal.

The instance his skin begins to burn, he pulls away. Dragging the muslin shirt off his torso, showing off caramel skin. Dewy from his grown arousal that finds no other way than to manifest through perspiration. He smiles upon catching your sight, bringing your hand to his soft peck, squeezing for you.

Your fingers twiddle his dark nipples, biting your lip seeing how they perk.

Jaemin had done this many times to you before, always managing to bring them erect. You now understand the delight of bringing someone to this state. So you’ll reward Haechan the way Jaemin does.

A sweet lascivious smile forms before dipping your head against his chest. Teeth clinging to the perked nipple before allowing your tongue to swirl around it. To finally allow your lips to stick, raking your hands over the other one and scratching enough to hurt but leave wanting more.

Throughout this ministration, Haechan withers and whines. His right hand patting your covered bum while his left teases himself. Touching the strained mound and rubbing for some relief just to stop when it begins to feel good.

You attempt to do the same to the other abused nipple, a delicacy he denies you. His hands tug at your hair like you had done earlier to his. Kissing you to get a taste of himself even if minimal.

He revels in the gasps and whimpers rooting from your throat. Pulling away only to look at your ravished lips. He grins wolfishly, biting his swollen lip, taking this opportunity to look at the pretty dress you wore tonight.

For him…

“This is too pretty of a dress for an occasion like this, don’t you think?” His fingers glide over the silk roses, pale blushed and soft against the pads. “Or am I this important to you?” His taunt holds sincerity.

You quietly laugh, taking his hand into yours. An intimate gesture that hitches his breath before masking it with a hum. “We went to a banquet before this. Jaemin’s team have been awarded for their research on Child psychology… The effects of events during their infancy which bleed into their adult life.” There’s a fondness in your voice that guts him; your belief and doting on your fiance. One he’s not sure has ever belonged to him through anyone he’s encountered.

There was no obligation to justify your attire nor give him context. He would have preferred if you hadn’t told him what you did prior to this and he surely wasn’t interested in your fiance’s line of work. But you still told him because you’re in love with and proud of Jaemin, even in the arms of another man.

He clears his throat, eyes lift to yours. “Jaemin... That’s your fiance’s name.” He utters with ascertain. To put a name to the face you love mars his mood, not gravely to stop but enough to feel the need to be punitive towards you due to his inhibitions.

He sighs calmly, pulling mere millimeters away to look at you and the dress again. The shape held by the petticoat lining of ivory faille and linen. He smiles at the ribbed touch, kissing your cheek when he meets with the roses and silk vines that spread from the straps to the hem of the skirt. Met at the peak of the plunged “V” back that displays two larger roses at the cinched waist. He twirls you like a ballerina in a music box, stopping when you’re facing each other again.

“Is this an invitation to deflower you?” He jests, cradling your face before his fingers dig into the center of a rose. “I don't see that possible. Must I remind you I'm engaged?” You entertain, mirroring his action, thumb caressing the softness of his cheek. He turns to kiss the pad, an airy chuckle when your nail slightly scrapes his upper lip.

Haechan shrugs, slipping the straps down your arm. Holding your hand like a debutante at her inauguration. Your stage in the shape of a circular bed and a heart-shaped velvet headboard.

“But it is your first time without Jaemin.” He justifies with sly sharpness, laying you down once fully stripped down to your girdle and panties.

His hands don’t caress your breast for too long, opting to pet them delicately before trailing off your body onto his. Your lips part, words that haven’t formulated wanting to cascade from your mouth. Your eyes track his movement, yet your focus is on the discarded dress Jaemin had bought for you.

A dress he spent long enough saving for you to wear at this night’s banquet. There was pride in the way guests complimented both of you and one that you would’ve liked for him to express behind closed doors the way Haechan is doing now. Ravishing your body and enjoying the fruits of his hard labor.

But it’s not him that enjoys what he worked hard to obtain. It’s another man that you have only talked to once and who isn’t treating the delicate custom piece the way Jaemin would have.

“Donghyuck,” He interrupts, unzipping his burnt amber leather pants. “You can call me Donghyuck, or Hyuck.”

“Hyuck…” You try out, muted and whisper like as your eyes rake his nakedness. By nature, your teeth take your lower lip, clinging hard enough as your restless hands unclasp the garters from olive stockings, leaving them hanging on your satin girdle.

He smiles with a nod, kneeling before your feet. The action blowing your pupils; his hands were cold again, a delightful coolness to your warm thighs as he parts them, further pushing the girdle over your hips.

“Precisely like that.” He answers giving no time for you to react or respond as he pulls down your matching panties. Slick and warm from your arousal that has been brewing since before you left the banquet. Anticipation from his words during the phone call replaying all night.

Hyuck isn’t soft nor a clean eater. He’s rough and famished like a predator that hasn’t been satisfied in centuries. If he was Dracula, he thinks you would be his Elisabeta.

Frenzied, he tugs harshly at your stockings, ripping the fabric off your legs despite your complaints. Those he overturns into pleasured mewls while his tongue intrudes your hole and scoops further slick that he spreads over your cunt.

If he thinks you’re too quiet, he nips your clit. Sadistically laughing against you when you yelp in pleasure. Simultaneously tugging his hair and pushing his face further into your core. Rewarding him with mewls and chants of his name, “Hyuck… Hyuck, Hyuck, Hyuck!” — As much as he rewards you with more stimulation.

Delighted, Donghyuck looks up at you, eyelids heavy and lower half of his face smothered in nothing but your arousal. He sighs heavily with a smile that you’ve seen only on Jaemin’s face before. “You’re so sweet… You taste so sweet, Y/n.”

Whether it’s from the feeling of his fingers intruding your walls — thick enough to stretch you with the first intrusion — or his salacious use of your name. But what you’re sure of is that you want more of what he’s giving. More so when you know this is only the start.

His plump lips are swollen from this ministration and his natural plush, coming in contact with your scathingly hot cunt. Encircling the mound as his fingers revel in the tautness of your opening. The muscles flexing around his digits to grow accustomed to the plunging. It stings in a way only a masochist could enjoy and a sadist could appreciate.

It helps that his lips and tongue generously alleviate the fever of your cunt. Velvet kitten licks that turn flat on the vulva as a whole. Reaching your clit, he sucks on the nerve like you had his nipples. The action concomitantly makes you writhe in pleasure, displayed through shrieks of joy and laughter at his audaciousness. One that he replicates when you caress his shaggy hair. Locks turning curlier the further he sweat and they stick to his forehead.

You grow restless the further he continues his assault against your cunt. Moaning and wailing his name to let you release. But he does not relent; his hips jut against the bed, fingers curling within you with each thrust. His mouth seeks to consume every drop of arousal produced by you while punitively forbidding you full pleasure.

Like a pained martyr wanting to be in the hands of God, you writhe underneath his mouth. Begging and imploring for him to let you finish and thence give him the same pleasure he’s brought to you.

“Donghyuck, please! I can’t hold back anymore.” You cry, tugging at his curls with every jolt from his tongue flickering your clit. He feels the need to laugh at your misery but it’s also very endearing. Heartfelt enough, he opts to wrap his lips around your clit once more, lightly sucking while his fingers caress your accustomed walls.

He pats your thigh, indicating that it’s fine for you to come. Fortified when rather than sucking, he kisses your cunt and his fingers no longer thrust. With such, you moan loudly, holding his head between your thighs while you writhe from expelling such pleasure.

“Donghyuck!”

You cry, panting heavily. Your legs shake, scathing around his head and even if he’s suffocated he doesn’t let go. Instead, he helps you push them further until both of you are satisfied and you’re left spent on the bed. With a heaving chest and a sore cunt that has not yet received everything he promised you that morning.

Satisfied with his accomplishment, Hyuck smiles up at you. His head on your thigh, heat easily could have merged your skins if it was merciless but it’s fond due to his care. His eyes cannot move elsewhere, stuck on your face as you try to calm yourself down.

He blows cold against your cunt, hoping that helps your new found pleasure. It doesn’t, it makes you twitch under the slight graze of his breath and makes your eyes open to look down at him. To witness how beautifully consumed he looks.

Swollen pink lips, glossed by your come. Teeth showing themselves when your eyes meet his, teeth that tortured and enamored you at the same time with their sadistic caresses on the most vital organ of your cunt.

Your hand shakily reaches for his face in attempts to caress his delicate features. Those full cheeks that you could possibly spend long enough touching for comfort and amusement. Hyuck must have read your mind and did not seem to share your sentiment. He allows his smile to softly falter at the weigh of reality that you much rather ignore, patting your thigh as he stands up. His strained red raw cock springing when no longer restrained by the bed.

Your eyes instantly draw to the phallic, quivering at how it twitches under your gaze and its dire need for release. You feel your mouth salivating, pooling within your closed lips wanting to be felt all over him. He lets you watch, allowing his fingers to softly rake his torso in a manner of restraint. Only the layer of tension makes this even more excruciating and it truly doesn’t help that when your hands can no longer remain to your sides and reach for him, he takes two steps back to leave you hanging from the bed. Just like with your attempt to caress his face.

Hyuck doesn’t smile tauntingly nor does he let out an airy laugh like he does when he mocks you. He leaves you in silence through his course towards a vanity to pull out a rubber. You think this is worse than his playful taunt. Because it’s simply that, playful but this is uncertain and silent, and you’re not sure what it could possibly mean after only being eaten out.

It could be your inexperience? Jaemin was the only man you’ve been with and he’s always been more than worshiping after every single act. Hyuck had been doting during the act and kind enough after but he wasn’t Jaemin and you don’t know what to think after rejecting your fellatio and touch.

“Let me,” You beg in a whisper, crawling on the bed in his direction. Your knees sink onto the mattress, following his every move. From his fingers grasping the carton box of Trojans, to them ripping the rectangular foil open and letting the red piece lay over a jewelry box.

“Please…”

Haechan doesn’t let your pleas distract him from the action. He stares into your eyes as he rolls the prophylactic, letting you know that he won’t grant you the satisfaction of pleasing him. Of touching him…

As if it was the biggest tragedy you’ve ever encountered, a heavy and pained sigh leaves your throat. Your hands don’t hesitate to cover your face. Dizzy from this denial and lack of gratification. Perhaps you are insatiable and greedy, but you are not satisfied with only his mouth. You want to feel him, taste him, touch him.

The action creates a flutter within his being. A warmth bigger than that of your legs around his head, one that makes him feel as feverish and dizzy as you. Seeing you so upset and sickly over not being able to consume him. It was pride, he’s sure of it. Arrogance and pride, something he knows all too well and that he’s reveling upon right now.

Yes, this is how he wants you. Craving him and only him.

It brings back the tease that he is, his laugh increasing in volume while your face is buried in your hands, desperate for him to move onto the following step. To give you something now that your cunt feels empty and needy again. You would like to think that if you weren’t this hot and bothered, his patronizing would upset you. But no matter how you look at it, you’ll always take whatever is given no matter how degrading as long as you get your fix.

“It won’t feel good with a condom,” He justifies despite his harsh grasp on your hair, forcing you to look up at his goading pout. He could be berating you and you’d still want to kiss those lips. “Maybe next time.” He adds before you can beg again, his grasp on your hair aiding his handling to get you to lay back on the bed.

It’s harsh and punitive, the kind that creates adrenaline in you that you wish for more. It leaves your chest heaving, grinning at him as he gets on the bed, crawling between your legs. Hyuck simply responds with that smile and chuckle you’ve grown to like more and more this night. Pushing your shoulder down as he takes your legs, parting them further and around his hips.

Jaemin had always been soft since the beginning. He’s experimental, audacious, an adrenaline junkie when it comes to locations, and open to any desire of yours. But there’s a softness in his touch that leaves you restless and far more insatiable than you think you are. There’s been multiple cases where he breaks the mold and becomes as rough as you want him but it doesn’t take long for him to return to what he truly is and it leaves you hollow, yearning for the thing that comes once in a blue moon.

Perhaps if Jaemin was rougher, you wouldn’t be here. On the brink of coming with the bruising shove of fingers on skin by a stranger.

Haechan is a tease in the manner he grabs his cock and presses the tip against your opening. Giving you hope and taking it away when he doesn’t penetrate you. He plays around, rubbing his latex clad penis over your warm and wet sex. Smiling wider every time he thinks of something snarky to say, yet he keeps it in his head before teasing your entrance once more until you’re clinging onto his arms, begging and begging.

“Please don't,” You whine, nails digging into his scalp when you bring his head closer. Tears pooling on your waterline, eyebrows upturned in despair. “Stop teasing, I need you.” It is then that he lets out his thoughts, using your gesture of proximity to plant his lips on yours. A languid tender kiss in which one hand held your hip and the other his cock, rubbing slowly to not excite himself furthermore. Wanting the pent up need to be used on you and not himself.

His tongue intrudes your mouth, you can slightly taste yourself. His tongue is sweet and silky against yours. The nectar of your arousal interlaced with his already saccharine saliva, flowing in between your mouths as he slowly but surely penetrates you like you had begged.

Though he had prepared you, the girth of the shaft was larger than that of his fingers. It stretches the muscles of your cunt as he goes in. Donghyuck was no cruel man, sadistic and somewhat of an ass, but not cruel to not let you adjust to the stinging stretch. Allowing you periods of grace until you’d nod to let him know to continue this pattern until he was able to bottom out.

With every move, your lips part allowing his tongue to deepen in the cavern of your mouth. It brought a great pleasure in Donghyuck to have you so pliable for him. So ready and accepting of whatever as long as he brought you the promised pleasure.

Something else to envy your fiance for…

“I can tell he doesn't fuck you well if you’re this tight…” his words force your hand to cover his mouth, moaning when he begins to thrust in retaliation. His now free hand attempts to pry yours off his face, some muffled words here and there along the lines of:

“Admit it,” “I bet I’m bigger than him, there’s no other reason for you to be this tight.”

Or, “Hm, maybe he doesn’t fuck you. Maybe he does. Maybe he simply doesn’t know how to do it well so you lie. You lie to keep your perfect boy happy.”

Donghyuck only got meaner and rougher, enough that it made vexation mix with your strangled moans as he thrusts into you. Truly in your head there was no reason for him to bring Jaemin into this. Matter of fact, you’re sure this was meant to make you forget about him for an hour or so while you enjoy the pleasure inflicted upon you.

But he’s all you’ve thought about and you’re not appreciative that Donghyuck is manifesting him in this instance. Not this despective, at least.

You stop struggling with Hyuck, freeing your hand and connecting it with his mouth again. This time a little too harshly, comparable to a slap. Your eyes widen slightly as he halts his thrusts, boring into yours. “I’m sorry…” you begin, apologetic that you had grown rougher without intent.

“I’m sorry, just… don’t bring him into this. He’s more than satisfactory.” The gradual change in tone from repentance to assertion didn’t ease Hyuck’s resentment. It fueled and frustrated him further. He’s well aware he shouldn’t care, you haven’t done anything special for him to feel this way but that same doting sentiment you brought when it came to your fiance egged him further into this bitter pit.

Donghyuck ignores your words, his hands sliding down your arms, thumbs caressing your breast until they reach you hips all the while he fucks into you again. Grunts that turn into moans, reaching down to kiss your neck. This position forces his hips to jut, enough to grant a different feel when he thrusts and force moans out of you.

His kisses are tender, nipping when he thinks back to seconds prior. You wince when it does happen but forget when he hits your sweet spot and your pained expression turns to one of pleasure. It’s when your hands reach his head, holding onto him for dear life knowing you couldn’t hold back longer that he took this opportunity to speak again.

“Does he let you do that?” He asks against your ear, nipping the lobe. Moaning into it when you clench around him. The mention of Jaemin turning you on despite your insistence to not bring him up earlier.

Donghyuck is unsure how to feel now. If he mentions your fiance you get turned on but if he doesn't, then how is he meant to spit out his venom? It’s a double edged sword and he loses each time.

“Do what?” You ask panting, your sweaty hands slide down his equally sweaty back and he grips your upper body. Groaning when he helps you sit over his lap. The new position helps you sink on his shaft, feeling yourself shake slightly when you feel him to the hilt.

“Take your anger out on him.” Donghyuck mentions so calmly like it means nothing. He did it in a manner that felt so normal while he didn’t seize his movements, burying his face in your neck while holding you close to him. As if he wanted to merge your atoms together and make one out of you both.

Your hands clung to his body, hugging him tight against you while your own hips began gyrating against his. You wanted to make him forget what he had brought up but you knew it wouldn’t be enough. Not when his fingers dig into your skin practically begging for you to vindicate him.

“I didn't mean to be rough with you.” You explain in between labored breaths.

“I don’t care. You can do it again if it makes you feel good.” Hyuck justifies, kissing your neck in the process. “Soft or rough, I want to make you feel good, Y/n. Come on,” Donghyuck pulls back, letting your arms slide from his body despite his thrusts not seizing.

He takes your hand into his, placing it over his cheek. “Please,” he begs in a whisper, groaning when your hips continue moving against his in hopes bringing him to a climax will make him forget this foolery.

It doesn't. You should've guessed when it comes to someone as adroit.

“Do you want that?” You ask cautiously, holding onto his shoulder with your free hand. Donghyuck looks at you, eyes as glossed as his lips when he begins to speak.

“I want whatever you want.”

Your breath hitches, pupils dilating at his words, and your lips part while your breath comes out shakily. It doesn’t take long for your to let your hand fall against his face like he had begged. Feeling the skin vibrate against yours, stinging your palm deliciously.

While he relishes in the impact and the wonderfully hot sting, you relish in your climax. Moaning shakily as you come around him, your hands searching for his and clinging to them hard enough despite the tickle.

Donghyuck doesn’t come but he does feel gratified with your compliance in making him feel needed and heard.

You pant, smiling to yourself as you rapidly come down from that high. Haechan replicates your expression, your smiles turning to laughs that mute when he kisses you. It’s messy and rushed, lips barely slotting, yet making sure your tongues meet. Playfully, he nips the muscle before sucking on it and swallowing your surprised moans.

Jaemin has never done this… His kisses are tender and if ever feverish, they’re still neat and painless. Never obscene.

Both of you last for minutes in that position, kissing to no end despite your lungs begging for air. Yet, if there’s one thing they should’ve learned tonight, is that neither you or Hyuck are opposed to self-inflicted pain.

He’s still hard and you’re on your second orgasm but this works to heighten that exigent pleasure. Your hips jut slightly, forcing a moan out of him that reminds you that he hasn’t come not even once. His self-restraint far stronger than yours will ever be.

Swiftly as he has been this entire night, Donghyuck helps you off his cock. He shudders at the loss of contact and compression. It twitches under your gaze and it reminds you of how much you want to taste him. While he’s still on the bed and you’re settled before him, you reach forward. Hyuck doesn’t hesitate to catch your wrist, preventing you from even feeling the weight on your palm.

There’s no other way than to whine, lunging forward even if it’s to just settle your face on his thighs. It doesn’t matter, you kiss the skin while imprinting your orisons on it. Lips burning with the touch of his flesh when they fall against it. Every time you attempt to move further up his thighs, he shoves your head.

“Fuck, please… Just a touch.” You whine, salivating at the sight of his heavy red cock mere inches away from your face. You feel delirious, as dizzy as someone stranded in a desert only at arms length from a pool of water, their ultimate salvation. Salvation that he keeps denying while he gets off the bed.

He struggles to steady his breathing, grasping your arm to pull off the bed and drag you willingly towards the window. Donghyuck kisses you hungrily like a starved man that hasn’t ate throughout lent, taking fasting as seriously as Jesus had done.

But Donghyuck was anything but holy and his years of believing were past him. Instead he’s in these four walls as a married man corrupting a closeted nymphomaniac that’s months away from marrying the love of her life. Someone that Donghyuck has grown an agenda towards without knowing him nor you. His only basis stems from having you. Someone so willing and sweet. Someone that should be meant for him, and things like this remind him why his heart harbors no more space for higher beings and their promised universal love.

Donghyuck sighs shakily when you separate, kissing the side of your head before leading you to the glass wall. His lips trail onto your neck and shoulder blades, groaning softly with every grace of his erect cock against your backside. Pushing you against the glass and letting the cold bite onto your skin, receiving the feeling with a squeal but no attempt to push back. To an extent it felt like a cool balm to your excessively scalding body.

“Look how pretty the night is.” He nudges your ankles to part your legs. You hum a response, dumbly nodding as if the words hadn’t processed. Haechan laughs, amused at how easy you falter. How easy it is for you to turn docile and willing. “It seems neighbors are having some fun of their own.” He points out, houses on far lower levels demonstrate a group of people having a lovely get together. Nothing like the one him and his wife are hosting.

He takes advantage of your distraction to push through your aching folds, forcing a guttural moan out of you while your knees buck. Your hands are too sweaty to hold onto the glass, but he makes sure to hold you by the waist, clinging tightly to your still kept girdle.

“Wouldn’t it be fun if they saw you like this? So open and pretty for me…” He sighs contently, throwing his head back at the image. Their appalled (or perhaps pleased) looks seeing how he pistons into you. Rough yet pleasurable that you wail for more and more while you press against the glass, leaving the imprint of your body against it.

“You would want that, right? To have someone look at you being fucked and exposed.” He moans against your ear, kissing the outer shell before gripping your chin, forcing you to look back at him. You’re so far gone and he’s enjoying it like the little shit he is.

Enough so that he grasps your inner thigh, bringing your leg around his torso and letting the muscle burn as long as you both feel good. All to bring down a bucket of ice cold water that you can only respond to by pushing back on him.

“What if it was your fiance down there watching how good I fuck you? Would you want him to see that I make you come fast?”

His thrusts are relentless, he mouths the words to provoke you but all he’s doing is turn you on and anger himself further. Either way, you’re on the receiving end and you don’t care if he’s roughly intentional or not.

Donghyuck is frustrated. With himself and with you. He’s known you for only a night and like in true selfish manner, you’ve enamored him. If someone was to keep such a delicacy and diamond in the rough of a woman, it should be him. Not Jaemin and most definitely none of the other men in attendance.

It’s faith! He’s called it, it’s faith that led you to him and for such his frustration grows more and more. How is he meant to claim his days of believing are gone when he’s convinced faith is what led you here. Maybe you were God sent for him to recover his faith. Yet he knows if that’s to happen, he’ll be blasphemous and find religion within you in the chapel between your legs…

His thrusts don’t seize and his noises become louder than the prior activities. Donghyuck’s grasp on you is harsher, imprinting his fingers on your thighs and upper body. Lips ravishing your neck and shoulders like a death row inmate, savoring their last meal.

Donghyuck can only express these frustration through his words and harsh grasps. “Do you want him to see how you’re begging to have my cock in your mouth knowing you can’t? To see how hungry you are for another man you won’t pledge eternity to?”

It’s the latter that causes you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, moaning loudly like he had dug a dagger into your heart with such cruel words. Cruel but truthful, because you truly did want to taste and feel him in your mouth. And you won’t deny that having Jaemin experience that would make you flood. Not for Haechan’s cruel intentions but because you’d experience this debauchery with your lover.

This time Hyuck can’t hold you up when your knees give up. He slides down with you, grunting as he holds his hips from fucking into you until you’ve reached the carpeted floor. He doesn’t speak again, he’s run out of things to make your emotions thither over the precipice but nothing does it and it’s more probable that he breaks than you.

But the words replay in your head with every thrust, every kiss to your skin. Specifically to those to your temple, like the ones Jaemin gives when he fucks you from behind. It’s all so familiar and warm that for your third orgasm, you’re not able to verbalize your pleasure. Instead your body does the talking, shaking while clenching around him. Your breath fogs up the glass, the most sound you make is that of panting while you come down from your orgasm and the squelch between your thighs as he continues his plunging.

He lets you spasm beneath him while his movement grows languid, exerting little to no force. Simply holding you up knowing you’ll turn into putty if he drops his touch from you. Donghyuck allows his words to be soft and caring now. Uttering pet names that make you smile stupidly against the glass wall and let tiny pleased noises with each one. He’s so sweet… when he wants to be.

When he no longer feels any movement from you, he sighs to himself while pulling out. The action makes you groan, so accustomed to the feel of his penis plunged into you and secreting the cavern in the most wonderful way. What was once warm now feels cool with the breeze passing by and it reminds you that it is yet another winter day. Not the scalding summer that you experience with Donghyuck.

Through the reflection on the glass you watch him. His pained expression when he attempts to touch his cock. It’s swollen and sensitive, having suffered eons in restraint. He pants heavily, removing the not yet soiled condom but one that suffocated him. You muster whatever strength is left in you, crawling his way and catching his attention when your hands grasp his calves.

Donghyuck turns startled, breath hitching in the back of his throat while you look at him. Calming his thumping heart, Donghyuck looks down at you. Right hand cradles your cheek, burrowing into it and kissing his palm while looking at him like your Lord and savior. Having you before him like Mary Magdalene asking for forgiveness for her adultery. But Hyuck knows he’s not the one you should ask if you’re going to. He’s farther from Jesus of Nazareth.

“Please… let me feast upon you.” You whisper against his thigh, kissing it softly. Peppering kisses over the skin, tasting the saltiness on your lips. Reminiscing on those lovely beach days where all you could taste was sea salt even if you didn’t submerge in the murky waters. But this night you did and will continue to do so if he allows you a taste of the phallic that’s brought you pleasure more than once this night.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” He swallows, eyes fluttering shut to avoid the lewd image before him. He’s sure if he allows you to, you’ll consume him whole. If you do, he’s unsure how much he can restrain himself from not holding you captive and away from the world.

Donghyuck grunts, shaking his head with the words ‘Jaemin, you lucky bastard.’ repeating over and over in his head as you continue to make out with his thighs.

“Hyuck… Hyuckie, please…” You beg softly, licking a long stripe within his inner thighs. His breath shudders, holding onto your hair as a warning. Yet it’s becoming increasingly harder for him to gulp down his strained arousal. If he doesn’t come soon, it’s likely he’ll never do so again and that sounds more painful than anything he’s ever experienced.

“No. I can take care of myself.”

But he is stubborn and if he wasn’t so pained, he’d laugh at your petulant groan and expression. Seeing in your blazed eyes how you want to tug at his cock and make him ache for keeping himself away from you. So close yet so far. You can feel him but can’t taste him and that only frustrates you further.

“Don’t be so greedy!” There’s so much frustration and entitlement that if it wasn’t for how much the words affected him, he would’ve found you cute.

“Greedy?… Greedy?! I’ve been fucking you all night and you’re still not satisfied!” His voice booms throughout the room, his grasp on your hair turns rough. It stings ever so deliciously that it bothers Donghyuck how cock hungry you truly are.

No matter the situation, you’ll be both satisfied and de-satisfied like the nympho that you truly are.

It doesn’t help that you nod hungrily, lips parting and slowly sticking out the red muscle lathered in saliva that little by little trickle down from it. So hungry, so needy, so insatiable…

“No! No I’m not. I will never be until you let me taste you!”

You. Until you let me taste you.

Perhaps it’s the greed and selfishness. The dire need to be desired and have attention be solely on him that sells him on it. Because in Haechan’s head, you had confessed your dire devotion to him. A devotion eternally strong enough that nothing will rid you of lechery but the taste of his cock and come in your mouth. Very much like communion bread and wine.

He scoffs a laugh, that beautiful grin that you have missed within these minutes. That’s what he receives you with before answering once and for all.

“Fine. If that will soothe your soul."

And like a depraved fiend, you mimic his pleased grin reaching forward while he grips his cock. Pumping once, then twice, then thrice before slapping it over your lips. Instantly painting them with droplets of pre-come that he lathers over them before letting you kiss his tip.

You smile at him like this is the most divine meal. Your tongue pokes out, taking some of those droplets into your mouth to get a taste of his essence. Your eyelids to flutter, gripping his thighs and bringing him closer to your face before slowly easing the phallic into your mouth.

Donghyuck moans and eases into it like the first time he penetrated you. His hands feel antsy, tingling with restraint to not touch you while you sink further down his length. Your tongue swirls around the shaft, savoring the feel of every vein and taste of him. To rile him further, you moan around him, the vibration from your throat forcing him to unconsciously thrust. You gag, curses leaving his lips apologetically while his hand caresses your face.

When your nose reaches his pubic bone, Donghyuck can’t hold back. He grasps both sides of your face. Guiding your bobs until he takes over and begins thrusting into your mouth. The squelching from your throat, your tongue swirling around his tip to draw out pre-come, and the drops of saliva that cling to your lips feels filthier than any porno he’s ever seen or any experience he’s ever had.

Donghyuck doesn’t know how he’ll function knowing his best orgasm will stem from someone that he most likely won’t ever see again. If he’s realistic and perceptive enough, he knows this is it. So how is he meant to survive when you’re so willing and needy just for him? Having waited eons upon eons to taste him like this until he finally gave out and rewarded you.

He’s not sure nor does he want to dwell. Not when you look so beautiful before him on your knees, lips wrapped around his swollen cock and moving against it for him to reach an orgasm. Petting his inner thighs and teasing his testicles with your warm hands. Any touch, any graze drives him closer and Donghyuck can no longer hold back.

“Is this what you wanted?” He pants, hips jutting against your mouth. His fingers rake your damp hair with every move. His nails had been perfectly trimmed, yet the sting of them raking against your scalp brings onto the pleasure of this action.

“To have me this way? Taste and consume me?” Donghyuck eggs on, his thrusts are shaky and sloppy. He can’t hold back anymore and your enthusiastic nods don’t help. He wants to present himself as strong but his whines and shaky moans say the opposite. He’s held back his orgasm for so long that this is enough to push him over the ledge.

“Y/n… y/n, y/n, my sweet y/n…” He chants like you had done with his name when he first laid upon you. Everything was full circle and with this stream of pleasure, Donghyuck lets go. His come spurts into your mouth, trickling down your throat like communion wine aiming to cleanse your soul. This would do the opposite but for this night it all feels heavenly.

Donghyuck shudders under your grasp, hips faltering as he aims to calm himself down. Any moans shush and turn into labored breaths, nodding to himself trying to dispel the haziness in his head. He gives it a few minutes and appreciates that you make no effort to rip your lips from his soft penis. It’s warm and homey, he wonders if you do this for Jaemin too until he’s ready to separate. It’s a nice feeling he could get used to but one that doesn’t belong to him.

With a final sigh, Hyuck pulls back. A soft chuckle when he hears a pop and sees the string of saliva connecting you to him. He smiles tenderly, bringing it upon his fingers and softly smearing it against your swollen lips. It’s tender and domestic, as if it had been rouge you misplaced and he’s helping you with it. In the process his thumb rids of some spilled come, bringing it into his mouth to savor what you have.

It makes him crave more, wondering if this is what you felt when he kissed you after cunnilingus. Wonders if it made you want to feel his mouth more and more like he does right now.

Donghyuck grasps your upper arm, helping you onto your feet and leading you to the bed. It feels different than the first time he had done so. His movements are slow and tender, kissing you softly enough to catch you off guard. You hesitate for a second before kissing him back, arms wrapping around his shoulders. It doesn’t prolong, that earlier guilt flooding you as the minutes tick.

Both of you have come and Donghyuck seems as spent as you, shouldn’t this terminate now? You don’t mention it, settling beside him when both of you calm down and any semblance of tension is gone. No longer enmeshed in search of sexual gratification.

Hyuck had been conscious that this felt different than all his encounters. He was convinced faith in fact did choose you for him. The probability of picking his keys were slim, yet your fingers found him like the oyster brooch had found you. Carefully, he pulls you to his side, taking you under his arm. A sense in you told you to stand up and end it. You both got what you wanted, Jaemin could be waiting for you.

Or he couldn’t. Perhaps he’s still busy himself…

The thought sours your mouth rubbing your face to rid of any expressions. Hyuck is good in reading those and after tonight, an empathetic side of you doesn’t want to hurt him either. So you relent, getting comfortable beside the warm body that embraces you as his hands memorize the skin he won’t feel again.

You both lay silent for what feels like an eternity. It’s comfortable and warm but eventually it turns static and the cold outside finally affects you like it had tried to throughout this entire night. You feel your joints grow rigid and your eyes turn to the discarded dress.

“You didn’t fully explain how you found the invitation.” He attempts to distract, fingers turning your face to his. A timid smile on his face that makes you frown. He seems completely different from the man that ravished you not long ago. It’s upsetting even to have this much control outside of the context of swinging.

“Um, again, found it on the sink drain of a powder room. I thought of handing it over to the restaurant staff in case someone came for it but…” you pause, turning to the decor of this room. So familial and full of life. “But it was too pretty,” You smile fondly, “I noticed the phone number inside and thought it would be better to hand it directly to the owner and well…” You smile, looking back at him.

Donghyuck chuckles, nodding as he turns back to your dress. “I suppose you brought it then.” He answers with a nod; you shake your head. “Don’t presume I’d hand it back.” You joke, smiling when he turns to look at you. He laughs in response, something you replicate. “Would you mind if I keep it?” You ask, he shakes his head with a tender and relaxed smile now.

“No, but I do believe you deserve a prettier brooch than that cheap thing.” He answers, pulling away from you to walk towards a jewelry box on the vanity. You sit up, draping the bedsheets over you as your eyebrows furrow, watching his moves.

His fingers thread lightly over the filigree of the brass jewelry box, flipping the clasp open. You hear the clank of metals among themselves as he decides on what piece to grab. It takes him a while and despite the bed sheet, your skin develops goosebumps.

“Ah,” He tells himself, smiling when he turns to you. He approaches you again, crawling on the bed. His flaccid penis makes you blush as if you hadn’t almost sacrificed yourself to taste it. He’d taunt you but he doesn’t want this moment to mar.

He brings it closer to you, opening the blue velvet box. It’s so reminiscent of Jaemin’s proposal that words clog in your throat and your eyes sting. You attempt to shake your head but the muscles refuse to move. You know it’s not like that. The box is larger, rectangular, but you still can’t accept it. This isn’t how things are meant to be.

Donghyuck ignores the turbulence within you, smiling fondly as he pushes the box further as an offering. “Something blue, something old, something borrowed, and something new.” He utters in a sigh, a slight smile as he looks at the jewelry pieces. His fingers hover over them, not allowing any light to gloss over. Yet in the darkness, the blue gems shine no matter what.

“I can’t.” You let out in a whisper, finally being able to shake your head. “I can’t see why not?” He answers with a smile, unclasping the diamond crusted bracelet. It fits big on your wrist and the metal is rather cold but he only hums. “I trust it will fit you well anyway.” He answers before taking the earrings. He doesn’t put those on you, he simply places them on your palms, closing your fingers around droplet sapphires.

You close your eyes trying to understand his reasoning. He shouldn’t reward you like this. It’s all so beautiful but it creates a pit in your stomach that you’re not able to understand. On one hand you feel confused, almost offended. You’ve always heard men treat their ‘whores’ like this and that’s the last thing you want to be to Donghyuck.

Sure, you just fucked him and only came in search for him but it was all under the guise of experimentalism. Trying to get a fix outside of Jaemin and you’ve received that already. But you don’t want to feel like a whore… you’ve grown with the mindset that that’s the last thing you want to be. Mrs. Wayne would be further disappointed.

On the other hand, you feel guilt. How would Jaemin react? How would he feel to see that a stranger has gifted you these gems presumably as a wedding gift. It feels patronizing to an extent. Is he mocking Jaemin? Is he mocking you? A deeper part of you feels ecstatic to be given this fortune. After all diamonds are girl’s best friend but your pride and ego is hurt on behalf of yourself and Jaemin. Donghyuck means well, you see it in his warm gaze but to anyone outside of this room, it won’t seem like such.

You sigh heavily, shaking your ahead as you attempt to hand the earrings back but Donghyuck had already moved stealthily, crawling behind you to place the sapphire diamond drop necklace around your neck. Clasping it to ever so slightly grace the exposed skin of your neck. So smooth and warm, tempting enough to kiss, but he’s aware his time has come to an end.

“And your something old.” He utters silently, taking your other hand to place an orchid shaped brooch. It glimmers under the moonlight, much like the other jewelry he has draped over you like a ruler would on their favorite concubine. The only exception that you couldn’t be kept, not as he wishes he could.

You let silence flood the room, it’s still static and cold. Confusing and somewhat cruel, “Why?” You ponder out loud, turning your head to look at him. His expressions are neutral, that smile hasn’t faltered and it only grows while formulating a response. “Why not?” He answers, moving off the bed towards the nightstand, pulling out a cigarette. It’s a menthol like the one offered to Jaemin earlier.

“Because,” You begin, shifting your body towards him. “You just can’t.” You justify with no basis. You’re just speaking words, words formulated by the what woulds’ and what if’s of society. Jaemin had never cared for them and it seems Donghyuck cares far less. “But why not? I have them, I gave them to you. That’s it.” He shrugs with the limp stick between his lips as he trudges around the room to pick out clothes. That alone makes questions flourish in your brain but right now, you focus on the jewelry.

“It just doesn’t make sense. I’m sure these are dear to you, you don’t even know me.” You answer, a laugh at how absurd this is. “You don’t know me either and you gave yourself to me.” He answers, tapping his cigarette against the glass ash tray. “Soon you’ll learn that many things in life don’t make sense.” Donghyuck says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Not everything needs a reason to be, Y/n. It’s okay to enjoy things when presented to you as long as you learn to let go or know that it won’t always be offered.”

The words are mostly uttered to himself, exhaling the smoke that smothers his throat purposefully so. Donghyuck had grown to be petulant, childish, and demanding. Things that he cannot be when it comes to you.

“Now come, let’s shower before you leave.” He smiles wider, standing from the bed to take your hand. You let the words sink, not fully convinced but this once you’ll revel in indulgence. If you’ve indulged in the taste of foreign flesh, what more harm does it do to take the fruits of such?

You smile in return, nodding at his words and acceptance. “I had fun, by the way.” You admit before standing up, taking his hand. Donghyuck restrains himself from leaning in to even kiss your forehead. He simply nods, holding his lovely smile. “I did too. More than I could imagine…”

Donghyuck hadn’t trespassed during the shower, it felt like a last goodbye of intimacy without any touching. He had talked about things that didn’t matter to you nor to him. Talked about his wife in passing like it was only a ghost inhabiting the house that did no harm. His voice wasn’t warm but it wasn’t unkind either.

You had asked him in between jokes while you blow dried your hair if he often brought women into the room recalling your earlier inquiries. He had denied it with a heaviness as he uttered: “No, my wife would kill me.” You had questioned the meaning but he ignored it to not dwindle the mood again. He wanted to remember you cheerfully before you left the quarters that you later were reassured belonged to him and his wife.

Neither of them had been able to bring any of the swing meet attendees or anyone for that matter unless specified into this room but Donghyuck broke that rule for you because in his words, you were God sent to recover his faith… A faith so cruel that strips you away from him.

He hadn’t walked you out of the room, the heaviness in his chest weighed his every move as he helped you get dressed again. Apologetic for your destroyed stockings and disgusting girdle that you both decided to simply throw away.

If he can will himself to when the day comes…

Instead, Haechan watched you cross the threshold of the bedroom and dwell in the moonlight alone while you calmly walk down the corridor with a tranquility that turns to happiness when Jaemin himself walks out of the neighboring room.

You sweet lovely Jaemin. He greets you with that wide smile that you’ve loved since day one. Glimmering pearly whites and pretty pink lips that part to speak your name ever so fondly. You sigh contently, jumping into his arms like a woman who had been waiting for their lover to return from war. Ignoring the slight stains of rouge on the collar of his shirt.

“Nana,” You sigh contently, kissing his cheek as he grasps your hand to walk down the empty corridor. He doesn’t question your washed hair, he doesn’t question the lack of stockings or makeup, and he doesn’t even frown when seeing the beautifully wrinkled gown he was supposed to enjoy.

His keys jingle in the pocket of his suit jacket, drowning your enthusiastic words. He listens intently, humming as a response and only turning to you when you let silence linger for a bit too long. He’s always been so attentive. Whether it’s due to his career or his loving nature, Jaemin always listened and knew the right thing to say.

Until now.

“Well I’m glad you enjoyed yourself love, it surely looked like it.” He begins, squeezing your hand as you both wobble around the shards of crystal still lingering at the front of the home. It was far darker outside now, not even the moonlight or the sign lights could illuminate the expressions engraved in his face hearing every detail of your rendezvous.

On a safer path, Jaemin lets your hand go. Patting your cheek without looking at you while walking.

“I couldn’t go through it. All I thought about is you.”

Jaemin walks away, calm like he always is. Calm like arrival and calm as he exits. Leaving you behind to be swallowed by the forces of guilt that had corroded your body long before existing. Submerging you in the daunting realization of Jaemin’s perpetual affliction.