we rise

RIIZE

osaki shotaro

drabbles/oneshots trendsetter (m)

song eunseok

series gravity between us (m) - part 1 , part 2 | character instagram profiles • when new meets old (prequel pt.1) • when lines became blurred (prequel pt.2)(m) drabbles/oneshots that's my girl (m) freakum dress (m)

jung sungchan

drabbles/oneshots small girl (m) always yours (m)

lee chanyoung (anton)

drabbles/oneshots out of bounds (m)

NCT DREAM

lee jeno

drabbles/oneshots climb on (m)

ENHYPEN

lee heeseung (evan)

drabbles/oneshots love me wrong (m)

park jongseong (jay)

drabbles/oneshots just a taste (m)

park sunghoon

punching an innocent guy for talking to you? for asking your number because he wanted to reach out to you about the project you two were assigned to? granted there was a friendly hug but nothing major. the scene happened at a fucking café. you can’t even show your face there again.

just thinking about it infuriates you.

the zipper slid shut with a deliberate pull, the sound sharp in the quiet room, final in a way that made your chest tighten, but your hands didn’t stop moving; you folded another shirt, smoothed it down, placed it into the suitcase like you could control at least this one thing, like if you stayed calm enough you wouldn’t break. the decision had already been made somewhere deep inside you, long before tonight, long before the shouting and the stares and the humiliation of watching him lose himself over something that didn’t need saving.

the front door slams so hard the walls shake, rattling picture frames, but you don't look up from the suitcase on the bed—your hands trembling as you fold another shirt and lay it inside, the silence between you heavier than any scream.

"what the fuck. baby you can’t keep storming out of places and make me chase after you i was looking for you for an hour why the fuck is your location off!"

his voice is low, dangerous, that tone that usually makes your stomach flip, but right now it just fans the flames of your anger. you keep packing, refusing to acknowledge him, but he's already crossing the room in those heavy boots, his tattooed hand clamping around your wrist and yanking you around to face him before you can react.

sunghoon's chest heaves under his black t-shirt, the ink on his arms twisting with every flex of muscle, his jaw tight and eyes blazing—but underneath the fury, there's something raw and scared that he's desperately trying to hide. "look at me when i'm talking to you."

"let go of me." your voice cracks, but you force it steady. "i can't do this anymore, sunghoon. this is toxic."

"I was protecting you!" he releases your wrist only to grab your face, palms cupping your cheeks and forcing you to meet his eyes. 

"you punched a guy for talking to me!"

"he was touching your arm!"

"talking, sunghoon! he was just talking!"

"i don't give a shit." his thumb strokes your cheek, rough but desperate. "you think i'm gonna let some asshole put his hands on what's mine?"

you shove at his chest, but he doesn't budge—solid muscle, all tattoos and tension—and he uses that bulk to crowd you against the dresser, the wood digging into your lower back.

"i'm leaving." your voice wavers despite your best efforts. "i've already called my sister—"

"the fuck you are."

in one fluid motion, he steps around you and slams the suitcase shut before tossing it off the bed, the heavy thud echoing as clothes spill everywhere.

"sunghoon!"

"no." he turns back, his eyes almost black, pupils blown wide. "you don't get to leave me. you don't get to walk out that door. i won't let you."

you try to make a run for it but he secures his grip on your arm, trying to yank you back to him.

"stop—fucking let me go!"

but instead of letting go, he wraps his arms around you from behind, pinning your arms to your sides as his chest presses against your back, and you feel his heart hammering through his ribs. his lips find your ear, hot and desperate. "please." his voice breaks. "please don't go. i know i fucked up. i know i'm crazy. but i can't—i can't without you. i don’t know how to be normal around you. you're the only good thing in my life. the only thing that makes sense. i’ve never had anything this good all to myself before i just get paranoid about losing this, losing you.”

you struggle, but his grip only tightens, insistent and unyielding.

"let me go, sunghoon—"

"no. never." he starts kissing your neck, soft at first, then harder—open-mouthed, desperate, his teeth grazing your skin. "i'll do anything. i'll go to therapy. i'll get help. just—please. don't leave me. i need you."

"sunghoon—"

"i love you princess." he turns you around, and now he's on his knees in front of you, looking up with those dark, pleading eyes. the sight of him—this big, rough, tattooed badboy on his knees—makes your breath catch despite yourself. "i love you so much it hurts. i love you so much i can't think straight. i know i'm possessive. i know i'm jealous. but it's because you're everything. everything."

his hands slide up your thighs, gripping the denim of your jeans, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above your knees. "i'll make it up to you." his voice is low, husky, dripping with need. "let me make it up to you. please. i just wanna love you. i just wanna worship you."

you should say no. you should walk out.

but then his fingers find the button of your jeans, and he's looking at you like you're the air he breathes, and your body betrays you before your mind can catch up. "sunghoon..."

"let me eat that pretty pussy, baby." his lips press against your stomach through your shirt, hot and reverent. "let me taste you. let me make you forget why you're mad."

"th-that's not—"

"i know." he looks up, and there are tears in his eyes—actual tears, glistening in the dim light. "i know i'm a mess. but you're my mess. and i'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you just stay."you don't answer with words—you just look at him, at the desperation and love and insanity all tangled together, and your hand moves to the back of his head, fingers threading through his dark hair. he takes that as the yes it is, and in seconds, your jeans are undone and pulled down your hips along with your black lace panties, though he doesn't even bother to take them off completely, just shoves them aside and pushes you back onto the bed. you land on your back, and he's already between your thighs, spreading them wide with a possessiveness that should terrify you but instead makes your pulse quicken.

"fuck, i missed this." his voice is reverent, almost a prayer. "i missed you."

his lips press to the inside of your thigh, kissing, biting, leaving red marks that will bruise tomorrow—marking you, claiming you, and god help you, you want him to. "sunghoon..." it comes out as a moan, breathy and wanting.

"that's right, baby. say my name." his tongue traces a wet path higher, closer to where you're already slick for him. "i wanna hear you scream it."

then his mouth is on you.

he dives in like a starving man, tongue flat against your clit, lapping at you with frantic, desperate strokes that make you gasp while your back arches off the mattress. one of his tattooed arms hooks under your thigh, holding you open, while the other hand slides up your body to pinch your nipple through your shirt, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers.

"oh god—"

"taste so fucking good." he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your wetness. "sweetest pussy i've ever had. all mine."

his tongue dips lower, circling your entrance, then plunges inside, and you cry out, hands fisting in his hair as he groans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core. "fuck, you're so tight. so wet for me." he looks up, eyes dark and hungry. "you love this, don't you? love your man eating you out."

"yes—yes—"

"say it." he flicks your clit with his tongue, the tip tracing quick patterns. "tell me you love it."

"i love it! i love—ah!—your mouth on me!"

that's all the encouragement he needs. he latches onto your clit, sucking hard while his finger circles your entrance, then pushes in—one finger, then two, crooking them just right, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

"sunghoon—i'm—fuck—!"

"cum for me, princess." his fingers pump faster, curling with each stroke, while his mouth doesn't let up, his tongue flicking and sucking in rhythm. "cum all over my face. let me taste you."

and you do—you shatter, back bowing off the mattress as a gush of liquid floods his face, squirting against his tongue while he moans like it's the best thing he's ever tasted, drinking you down, not stopping until you're twitching and oversensitive beneath him.

"that's it." he crawls up your body, kissing a wet path up your stomach, your chest, your neck—his lips finally finding yours, and you taste yourself on him. "good girl. my good fucking girl."

but he's not done.

he pulls your shirt up and over your head, then unclasps your bra, tossing it aside without ceremony before his mouth finds your nipple immediately, suckling hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak until you gasp and arch into him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"your tits are perfect." he switches to the other, giving it the same attention—tongue circling, teeth nipping, his hand groping the soft flesh. "everything about you is perfect."

his hand slides down between your legs again, fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make your hips buck against his touch. "i wanna make you cum again. and again. i wanna feel you fall apart on my cock."

"then fuck me." you're already putty and sensitive for him, already desperate, the fight draining out of you and leaving only raw need. "sunghoon, please—i need you inside me."

he grins, that cocky, dangerous grin that makes your thighs clench instinctively. "that's my girl." he sits back on his heels, pulling his tank top over his head, and the sight of him—muscles rippling, abs tight, tattoos covering his skin, your initials inked over his heart—makes your mouth water. "you want my cock, baby? want me to fill you up?"

"yes—please—"

"then get on your knees and show me how much you want it."

you don't hesitate—you scramble off the bed, dropping to your knees in front of him, your hands already fumbling with his button and zipper while he watches you with hooded, hungry eyes. "so eager." his voice is rough, strained. "touch it."

you wrap your hand around his length, stroking slowly, feeling the weight and thickness of him, the tip already slick with pre-cum, and when you lean forward and take him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, he groans deep in his chest.

"fuck—" his head falls back, his hand gripping your hair, guiding you. "yeah, just like that. take it deep."

you relax your throat, letting him slide deeper, and he groans again, hips twitching as you hollow your cheeks around him. "such a good slut for me. only for me." he starts thrusting into your mouth, gentle at first, then harder, his rhythm building. "look at you. choking on my cock because you love it."

tears stream down your cheeks, but you don't stop—you want this, you want him, and you take him deeper until your nose brushes the base of his cock, your throat convulsing around him. he pulls out with a wet pop, then pulls you up, guiding your legs around his waist as he lays you back on the bed.

"now i'm gonna fuck you." he positions himself at your entrance, rubbing the tip against your slick folds, teasing you. "and i'm gonna cum so deep inside you. gonna breed this pussy. fill you up with my cum so everyone knows who you belong to."

"yes—yes—"

he slams into you in one thrust, both of you moaning as the sound fills the room—he's so deep, stretching you perfectly, and he pauses, letting you adjust with his forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and ragged. "you feel that, baby?" his voice is wrecked, raw. "feel how good we fit together?"

"sunghoon—move—please—"

he starts fucking you slow at first, deep, deliberate strokes that hit your cervix with every thrust, and then he picks up speed, slamming into you hard enough to make the bed frame hit the wall, each impact driving a cry from your lips.

"whose pussy is this?"

"yours!"

"say my name."

"sunghoon—sunghoon—!"

"that's right." his hand wraps around your throat, not choking, just holding, his thumb pressing against your pulse. "i'm the only one who gets to fuck you. the only one who gets to make you cum. say it."

"only you—only you, sunghoon!"

he flips you over in one smooth motion, pulling out and pushing you onto your stomach before grabbing your hips and pulling you up onto your knees. he enters you from behind, doggy style—his favorite—and you feel every inch of him as he fills you again.

"gonna fuck you so good you forget about leaving." he slaps your ass, hard, the sound sharp in the room. "gonna fuck you until you can't walk."

his pace is punishing now—deep, fast, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust while you both sweat and moan, the sound of wet skin echoing around you. "touch yourself." his command is rough, breathless. "rub that clit while i fuck you."

your hand moves between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing in frantic circles while he pounds into you, the angle perfect, each thrust hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

"close—i'm close—"

"cum with me." he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him to change the angle even deeper. "cum all over my cock. now."

you shatter, your walls clenching around him as you cry out, and he follows with a guttural roar, pumping his hot cum deep inside you, filling you up while he keeps thrusting, riding out both your orgasms until you're both trembling and spent. he pulls out slowly, and you feel his cum leaking down your thighs, warm and wet.

but he's not done.

he flips you onto your back again, spreading your legs wide as he positions himself at your entrance, already hard again—and this time he's gentle, slow, sliding in with a tenderness that makes you gasp at the sensation of your mixed slickness coating him, the way he fills you completely.

"i love you." his voice is soft now, his eyes locked on yours, dark and sincere. "i love you so fucking much."

he makes love to you like that—slow, deep, romantic, missionary with your legs wrapped around his waist as he kisses you, soft and tender, while his hips rock against yours in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. "stay with me," he whispers against your lips, his breath warm and heat mingling. "please. i'll be better. i'll do anything."

"sunghoon..." you're crying now, tears slipping down your cheeks, and you don't know if it's from the emotion or the pleasure or the overwhelming mix of both.

"i know i'm crazy." he thrusts deeper, hitting that spot that makes you gasp, “i’m your crazy. and you're my everything."

his hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again and rubbing in time with his thrusts, building you up once more.

"one more, baby. one more for me."

you cum again, harder than before, your body convulsing around him as he follows, spilling his seed inside you once more, filling you so full it's almost too much. he collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, and you feel his tears on your skin, warm and honest.

"i'm sorry." his voice breaks, muffled against your throat. "i'm so sorry. i'll never hit anyone again. i'll control myself. just—don't leave. don't ever leave."

you wrap your arms around him, holding him close as his weight presses you into the mattress, comfort and exhaustion settling over both of you.

"i'm not going anywhere."

and in that moment, tangled in sheets and sweat and cum, you know it's the truth. for better or worse, this toxic, obsessive, all-consuming love is yours.

a good solid five minutes passed by. you're tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, his cum still warm and sticky between your thighs, leaking onto the mattress as he holds you, tracing lazy patterns on your hip. but the air shifts. his fingers, still slick with your mixed release, slide down your stomach, dipping between your legs before you can even react.

"sunghoon..."

"shh." his voice is a low rumble against your ear. "i wanna feel it."

his fingers push into your spent, sensitive pussy, gathering the thick cream that's dripping out—his cum, your cum, everything mingled together—and he presses it back inside, deeper, his thumb circling your clit as he works the mixture into you like he's claiming every last drop.

"look at that." he pulls his fingers out, glistening, and brings them to your lips. "taste us."

you open your mouth without hesitation, sucking his fingers clean, tasting the salt and musk of your combined arousal. his eyes darken, pupils blown wide, and you feel him hardening against your thigh—thick, heavy, already ready for more.

"you feel that, baby?" he guides your hand down to wrap around his cock, already slick with pre-cum. "feel how hard you make me? even after i just filled you up, i need more. i always need more."

"then take it." you're breathless, already aching for him again despite the soreness. "i need you inside me again."

he doesn't make you wait. he rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him, his hands gripping your hips as you straddle him, his cock sliding between your wet folds, teasing, coating itself in the cum leaking from your hole.

"ride me, pretty girl." his voice is rough, needy. "show me how much you want this."

you sink down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion, both of you moaning as he fills you again—his cum acting as lube, making every inch slide deep and slick. you pause once he's fully seated, feeling him twitch inside you, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise.

"fuck, baby... you feel that? that's my cum sloshing around inside you." he thrusts up, shallow, grinding against your cervix. "making a mess of this perfect pussy."

you start to move—slow at first, rolling your hips, finding a rhythm that makes stars dance behind your eyes. his hands find your breasts, pinching your nipples, rolling them between his fingers as you ride him.

"that's it. take what's yours." his eyes are locked on where your bodies meet, watching himself disappear into you. "look at you. taking all of me. taking my seed so deep."

the dirty talk sends a shiver through you, making you clench around him. "sunghoon..."

"i mean it, baby." he sits up, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling your chest against his, and now you're chest-to-chest, his lips brushing your ear as he fucks up into you from below. "i wanna get you pregnant. wanna watch your belly swell with my baby."

"oh god—"

"think about it." his hand slides down to your stomach, pressing flat against it. "my cum taking root in here. making a little life. a little version of us." he bites your earlobe, hard enough to make you gasp. "then you'd never leave me. you'd be tied to me forever. carrying my legacy."

your pussy clenches so tight around him he groans, his hips stuttering. "you like that idea, don't you? you like the thought of being my baby mama. my pretty little breeder."

"yes—yes—"

"i knew it." his voice is triumphant, dark and possessive. "that's why you're so wet for me. that's why you're dripping. your body knows what it wants." he thrusts deeper, harder. "it wants my seed. wants me to fill you up over and over until it takes."

"i do—i want it—"

"then i'm throwing away those pills." he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his gaze burning. "tomorrow morning. first thing. i'm flushing them down the toilet. you don't need them anymore. you're mine."

the thought should terrify you. instead, it sends a wave of heat straight to your core, and you moan, riding him faster, your hands gripping his shoulders as you bounce on his cock.

"fuck, you're so sexy when you're desperate for my cum." he grips your hips, guiding your rhythm, slamming you down onto him with each thrust. "i'm gonna breed this pussy until you're so full you can't walk straight. gonna keep you pregnant for years. give you a house full of babies so you never even think about leaving."

"yes—sunghoon—!"

"cum for me, baby." his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing harsh circles. "cum on my cock while i fill you up again. let me feel you milk me dry."

the pressure builds—too much, perfect, overwhelming—and you shatter, squirting around him, a hot gush flooding his lap as you cry out, your walls convulsing so hard he can't hold back. he roars, thrusting up into you, spilling another thick load deep inside, pumping until you're both trembling and spent, your combined fluids dripping down his thighs.

he collapses back onto the bed, pulling you with him, holding you close as you both gasp for air, his softening cock still buried inside you, plugging you up.

"i meant it." his voice is hoarse, raw, but sincere. "every word." he presses a kiss to your forehead. "you're gonna be the mother of my children. and i'm gonna spend the rest of my life proving i deserve you."

you don't answer with words. you just curl into him, your hand resting on your stomach, feeling his cum warm and deep inside you, and you let yourself imagine it—a future where you're his, completely, irrevocably, bound by more than just obsession.

tied together by life itself. and it's the most beautiful, terrifying, perfect thought in the world.

he wasn’t flirting back. you knew that. that wasn’t the issue. it was her, the way she touched him like she had any right to, the way she pressed herself against him, acting like she belonged there.

something sharp and heated twisted in your chest.

and when her hand slid over his arm again, that was it. you set your drink down and pushed your way through the crowd toward them.

"sunghoon."

he turned, and his face lit up when he saw you. "princess! there you are, i was looking—"

"who's your friend?" your voice was ice.

"oh, this is—"

"the name’s sooha," the girl cut in, smirking at you. "we were having a really interesting conversation."

"i bet you were." you looked at sunghoon, your eyes flat. "i'm going home."

"wait, what?" he grabbed your wrist, gentle but firm. "baby, what's wrong?"

"nothing. you're having fun. i don't want to interrupt."

his brow furrowed. confusion flickered in his dark eyes. "princess, come on—"

but you were already pulling away, walking toward the exit, your heels clicking against the sticky floor. he caught up to you in the parking lot, his hand on your shoulder spinning you around.

"hey. hey. talk to me."

"you're so fucking oblivious, you know that?" your voice cracked. "she was all over you. touching you. flirting. and you just stood there like an idiot."

"she was just being friendly—"

"she was touching you, sunghoon. grabbing your arm. pressing her body against you. and you didn't even push her off."

his face softened. "baby, i didn't even notice. i swear. i was talking about the music. i wasn't paying attention to her."

"maybe you should have. maybe you should go back inside and find her. since she's so interested."

that made his eyes harden.

"what the fuck are you saying?"

"i'm saying maybe i'm just in the way. maybe you'd be happier with one of those sluts who don't care—"

"stop."

he stepped forward, his body blocking yours against the hood of his car. his hand came up, cupping your jaw, tilting your face to meet his gaze.

"you think i'm gonna let you fucking leave me?"

"sunghoon—"

"no." his voice dropped, low and dangerous. "you don't get to say shit like that and walk away. you think i give a fuck about some random girl at a bar? i have your initials tattooed over my heart. i wake up every morning thinking about you. i go to sleep every night dreaming about you. and you think i'd throw that away for some stranger who touched my arm?"

your breath hitched. the anger was still there, but something else was stirring beneath it. something hot.

"then why didn't you—"

"i didn't notice because i don't give a fuck about anyone else." he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "but you know what i did notice?"

"what?"

"how good you looked tonight. that skirt. those thighs. the way your tits look in that top." his hand slid down your waist, gripping your hip. "i've been hard all night thinking about taking you home."

"liar."

"i'm not." he pressed his thigh between yours, and you felt exactly how hard he was. "feel that, princess? that's all for you."

his hand slid between your legs, pushing up your skirt. two fingers pressed against your thong, feeling the heat there.

"you're already wet. you get jealous, and you get wet, don't you, baby?"

"don't—"

"don't what?" he pushed your thong aside, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. "don't finger you right here on the hood of my car? in this parking lot where anyone could see?"

there was really no one at the parking lot thankfully and those within the vicinity were so drunk they probably would not have even noticed you two.

you gasped as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them just right. your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

"sunghoon—"

"that's right, baby. say my name." he pumped his fingers in and out, his thumb pressing against your clit. "you were so angry at me. so ready to leave. but your pussy knows who it belongs to, doesn't it?"

"yes—fuck—"

he fucked you with his fingers, fast and rough, until your legs were shaking and you were moaning loud enough for the whole parking lot to hear. your first orgasm crashed over you, soaking his hand.

"good girl. that's my good princess." he pulled his fingers out, licked them clean, then grabbed your hand. "now get in the car. i'm not done with you."

the moment the front door clicked shut, he was on you.

his mouth crashed against yours, hungry and demanding. his hands tore at your top, pulling it over your head, then unclasped your bra in one smooth motion. your breasts spilled free, and he groaned, dipping his head to wrap his lips around your nipple.

"so perfect. so fucking perfect."

he sucked hard, biting down just enough to make you gasp, then switched to the other. his hands pushed your skirt up, tore your thong off, and then he was lifting you, wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you to the couch.

he laid you down, spread your legs wide, and buried his face between them.

"let me taste you, princess. let me taste how jealous you got."

his tongue dove into your pussy, lapping up your juices, then moved up to circle your clit. he sucked, he licked, he flicked his tongue against the sensitive nub until you were writhing, crying out, your hands fisted in his hair.

"cum on my face, baby. let me drink it all."

you came with a scream, your back arching, and he groaned, licking every drop, pushing his tongue inside you to fuck you while you rode out the aftershocks.

then he was on top of you, his cock already lined up, pushing in with one rough thrust.

"fuck—you're so tight, princess. so fucking tight."

he fucked you hard, his hips slamming against yours, his hand gripping your thigh to spread you wider. his other hand found your clit, rubbing fast circles.

"you think i'd ever leave you? think i'd look at another girl when i've got this?"

"n-no—"

"say it. say you know i belong to you."

"you belong to me—"

"that's right." he thrust deeper, hitting that spot that made your vision white. "and you belong to me. say it."

"i belong to you—sunghoon—please—"

"please what, baby?"

"please fuck me harder."

he gave you exactly what you asked for.

he flipped you onto your stomach, pulled your hips up, and slammed into you from behind. his hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back as he fucked you, his balls slapping against your clit.

"you're mine. every inch of you. this pussy? mine. this ass? mine."

his thumb pressed against your tight hole, and you whimpered.

"please—yes—"

"you want daddy to fuck your ass, princess? want me to own you completely?"

"yes—daddy—please—"

he pushed his finger in slowly, letting you adjust, and the stretch was incredible. full. burning. perfect.

"fuck, baby, you love that don’t you? gonna train you to take my cock next time.”

he started moving his finger into your ass, and one hand reached around to rub your clit. the dual stimulation was too much. you came instantly, squirting all over his hand, your walls clenching around him.

"good girl. such a good girl, cumming for daddy."

he kept fucking you through it, pounding into your pussy until he was groaning, his hips stuttering.

"i'm gonna fill you up, princess. gonna breed this tight little pussy."

"breed me—daddy—please—"

he came with a roar, spilling deep inside you, and stayed there, grinding, making sure you felt every drop.

but he wasn't done.

he pulled out, flipped you onto your back, and pushed into your pussy again—still hard, still hungry.

"i'm not finished, baby. i'm gonna fuck you until you forget your own name."

round two. round three. you lost count.

he bent you over the arm of the couch, ate you out from behind, made you cum on his tongue. he had you ride him reverse cowgirl, your back to his chest, his fingers pinching your nipples while you bounced on his cock. he spread you out on the floor and fucked you missionary, your legs over his shoulders, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every thrust.

by the end, you were drenched in sweat and cum, your body limp, your mind hazy. he pulled you into his arms, pressing kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

"never threaten to leave me again, princess."

"only if you promise to notice when girls are hitting on you."

he laughed, low and rumbly. "deal. but you know i only have eyes for you, right?"

you traced the tattoo on his chest—your initials, right over his heart. "i know, baby."

"i'm obsessed with you. completely. i don't see anyone else."

you smiled, leaning up to kiss him. "good. because if you ever do, i'll kill you."

you barely manage a breath before he's on you, pinning you against the nearest wall. the cold drywall bites through the thin fabric of your dress, but the heat coming off his body swallows every chill. his hips grind into yours, the thick line of his cock already straining against his slacks, and he captures your mouth in a kiss that's more bite than tenderness.

"sunghoon—" you gasp, but he cuts you off with another bruising kiss, his tongue forcing past your lips, tasting you, claiming you, leaving no room for argument. his hands find your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks—no, brands. he wants them to last.

"don't," he growls against your mouth, pulling back just enough to lock his gaze onto yours. "don't tell me it was nothing baby. i saw the way you smiled at him. the way your body leaned into his touch."

"i did not fucking lean—"

"oh but you fucking did." a bitter, broken laugh escapes him, and he slams his palm against the wall beside your head. "you're mine. these curves—" he palms your ass, squeezing roughly, "—this waist—" his hand slides up, gripping your ribcage like he's measuring you, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast, "—this face—" he fisting a handful of your locks, tugging your head back to look at you, exposing your throat, "—all mine. and i'm going to remind you so fucking hard you forget that man's face, his name, his existence."

he drags you to the bedroom, not bothering with lights or ceremony. the only illumination comes from the streetlamp outside, slicing through the blinds and casting stripes of amber across the bed. he shoves you onto the mattress, and you bounce once, your dress hiking up your thighs. he stands at the foot of the bed, staring down at you like you're the last piece of salvation he'll ever have—and the only thing worth destroying.

he tugs his shirt over his head. the tattoo over his heart catches the dim light: your initials, inked in sharp black script, nestled just above his left pectoral, complementing the traces of ink all over his arms and back. he never let you forget it. every time you fight, every time he fucks you, he makes sure you see it. his mark, burned into his skin for life.

"look at it," he commands, voice thick. "read what's written on me. that's who owns this body. this heart. every fucking drop of my cum belongs to you, and every fucking inch of you belongs to me."

he unbuckles his belt with deliberate slowness, the metal clinking like a timer counting down to your undoing. his slacks drop, and his cock springs free—already hard, leaking pre-cum, the head glistening in the half-dark. thick. veined. the perfect instrument for the punishment he's about to deliver.

"on your hands and knees," he says. there's no room for negotiation. but as you start to turn, he stops you. "no. on your back. i want to see your face when i fill you. i want to watch your eyes roll back as i breed this tight little pussy."

he crawls onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs, and pushes your dress up to your ribs. he doesn't bother removing your panties—just rips them aside, the fabric tearing with a satisfying sound. his hand finds your cunt, two fingers sliding through your wet folds, gathering the slickness that's already pooled there, betraying how much you want this.

"fuck, you're soaked," he murmurs, almost reverently, but then his voice hardens. "were you this wet for him? when his hand touched you? did your little clit throb under his gaze?"

"no—only for you—"

"good answer." he leans down and takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, flicking the sensitive peak with his tongue until you arch into him, a moan tearing from your throat. as you squirm, his fingers part your lips and find your clit, already swollen and peeking from its hood, desperate for attention.

"i know how sensitive this is," he whispers, pressing the flat of his thumb against it and circling slowly, deliberately, watching your hips buck. "how much you love it when i play with your needy clit. but tonight, i'm not going to be gentle. i'm going to make you cum so hard you forget your own name and then i'm going to fill you with my cum until you can't walk."

he removes his hand and lines his cock at your entrance. no teasing. no slow push. he drives in to the hilt in one brutal thrust, and you scream—a mix of pain and pleasure that shatters the quiet. he's so thick, so hot, stretching you open around him, and he doesn't wait for you to adjust before he starts pounding into you.

each thrust is a declaration, a punishment, a promise. he fucks you with a desperate, obsessive rhythm, his hips slapping against yours, his balls slapping against your ass, the sound of wet skin filling the room. his eyes are locked on your face, drinking in every contortion of pleasure, every tear that escapes the corner of your eye.

"that's it," he grunts, his pace quickening. "take it. take all of me. this pussy was made for me. only for me. say it."

"only for you," you gasp, your words coming in ragged breaths. "oh fuck—sunghoon—i'm yours—"

"fucking right you are." he leans forward, capturing your mouth again, kissing you with a possessive fervor that leaves you breathless. one of his hands snakes between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing tight circles around the aching nub. the dual sensation—his cock hammering your g-spot, his fingers abusing your clit—drives you toward the edge faster than you can control.

"please—please i'm gonna cum—"

"not yet," he growls, slowing his thrusts to a maddening pace, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in with agonizing slowness. "beg better. tell me what you want."

"i want your cum—inside me—fill me up—breed me—please sunghoon—"

his eyes flash with something primal. "that's my good girl."

he starts fucking you again, faster, harder, his breathing ragged, his grip on your hip so tight you feel the bruises blossoming. the head of his cock slams against your cervix with every thrust, sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core, and you feel your walls starting to flutter around him.

"cum for me," he commands. "cum on my cock while i paint your insides white. i'm going to make you mine in the deepest way possible."

his thumb presses down on your clit—rubbing, pressing, circling—and the orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave. your back arches, your mouth opens in a silent scream, and your cunt milks his cock as he buries himself to the hilt, his own release surging hot and thick inside you. he stays there, grinding against you, pumping more and more into your depths, groaning your name like a prayer.

"fuck—take it—take every drop—"

when he finally stills, he remains inside you, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing heavily. he nuzzles your cheek, pressing soft kisses to your jaw, your lips, your eyelids.

"mine," he whispers, barely audible, his voice raw. "i'm sorry i lost my temper princess. but you drive me crazy, you know that?"

he softens inside you, but he doesn't pull out. he wraps his arms around you, rolling to the side, keeping your bodies connected, his cum already starting to leak around his cock. he pulls the blanket over you both, his hand splaying over your belly, possessive and gentle all at once.

you hadn’t meant to make a whole thing out of tonight. you just… felt like dressing up. lately, you’d been taking better care of yourself—eating properly, keeping up with it, squeezing in a pilates session or two—and for once, you felt more like yourself again. and because of that, you didn’t reach for one of his hoodies or shirts to throw over it.

there were no oversized sleeves hiding your hands, no soft fabric swallowing your shape, no easy way to disappear into something familiar.

the dress was simple.

but it fit.

it fit in a way that didn’t ask for attention, and yet drew it anyway—the fabric settling cleanly at your waist before gliding over your hips, following every line without effort. there was nothing exaggerated about it, nothing forced. it simply revealed what was already there, and somehow that made it feel more exposing.

and with the way other women always seemed to look at your boyfriend when you were out, you decided—quietly—to turn that unease into something else. something steadier. something stronger.

you gave yourself one last glance, refusing to linger.

then you stepped out.

eunseok looked up at the sound, and for a moment, he stilled.

not dramatically—no double take, no obvious reaction—but his thumb paused mid-scroll, his attention sharpening as his gaze landed on you and stayed there.

you felt it immediately.

his eyes moved slowly, deliberately, taking you in without the slightest attempt to hide it. from your shoulders, down to the way the dress framed your waist—your actual waist, no longer hidden beneath his clothes—the way it curved into your hips and settled there like it belonged.

there was recognition in his expression.

but there was something else, too.

something quieter. heavier.

like he was seeing all of it at once.

he exhales softly, the sound low and almost involuntary, before slipping his phone into his pocket without breaking eye contact.

“…fuck.”

you blink. “why? what’s wrong?”

his gaze doesn’t lift from you.

“you look…” he starts, voice lower now, rougher around the edges than usual. “so fucking good, baby.”

the words settle between you, heavier than they should.

he walks toward you then, slow and unhurried, like he’s not done with this yet. when he stops in front of you, his hand finds your waist automatically—but this time it settles firmer, his fingers pressing in slightly, like he needs the contact, like he’s grounding himself in it.

his thumb drags once along the fabric.

“you like it baby?” you ask as you smoothen the creases on you dress. 

“this, i like it a little too much but—”

his hand tightens slightly, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

“now everyone else will get to see it too.”

a quiet beat settles between you.

his eyes lift back to yours, heavier now, more certain.

“…and i don’t think i like that part as much.”

it doesn’t come out sharp. not jealous in any obvious way. it settles low instead—controlled, grounded, something territorial that he isn’t fighting, just acknowledging.

you feel your stomach flip. he doesn’t look away.

if anything, his gaze holds steadier, like he’s not backing off now that it’s there.

“come here, baby,” he murmurs, even though you already are.

his hand shifts slightly along your waist, holding you there with quiet certainty, like letting go isn’t something he’s considering.

for a moment, he says nothing. the pause lingers, just long enough to feel.

“i’m not letting you out of my sight tonight,” he says eventually, his voice softer now, but no less firm.

you swallow lightly, warmth creeping up your neck. “you don’t usually.” 

that earns the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“yeah,” he murmurs.

his thumb brushes along your waist again, slower this time.

“just means i’m staying closer.”

it’s said like it’s obvious.

and the way he holds you—steady, certain—makes it feel less like a decision and more like something that’s already happened.

the music hits you before you even step inside—low, steady bass settling into your chest, lights spilling across the entrance in blurred flashes, the kind of place that feels loud before you even process the sound.

eunseok’s hand is still at your waist as you walk in, steady and unthinking, like it never occurred to him to move it. the pressure is familiar, grounding—but there’s something firmer in it now, something that hasn’t quite eased since earlier.

the place is packed, bodies moving in loose rhythm, conversations blending into the music until everything becomes one continuous hum—and almost immediately, you feel it.

the shift. the attention. it lands before you even consciously notice it.

the dress does that.

it draws the eye without trying—the way it fits, the way it moves, the way it reveals just enough without ever feeling forced. you catch it in passing glances, in the way people look a second too long before looking away, in how space opens just slightly as you move through.

and before that awareness can settle—

eunseok’s hand tightens. not abruptly. not enough to startle.

just enough for you to feel the difference. his fingers press into your waist as he pulls you a fraction closer to his side, like instinct, like it happens before he even thinks about it. 

he leans in, close enough that his voice doesn’t have to compete with the music.

“told you, baby,” he murmurs.

“what about?” you question.

“guys are staring at you like a sweet treat and i don’t like that.”

it lands simply. no tension. no argument. just truth.

before you can say anything else, you hear your name from somewhere ahead, your friends already gathered and waving you over, drinks in hand, clearly settled in for the night. you instinctively step forward, but eunseok moves with you without hesitation, his hand shifting at your waist in a way that guides rather than restrains, though it never quite allows you to drift out of reach.

you glance back at him, faintly amused. “i can walk, you know.”

“i know,” he replies easily, his tone calm, almost absent-minded, but his hand stays exactly where it is, firm and unyielding in a way that doesn’t need explanation.

you make your way through the crowd together, his presence constant at your side, close enough that you feel him without looking, the steady weight of his hand grounding you as the noise and movement of the room begin to close in. by the time you reach your friends, they’ve already noticed—first the delay, then you, and then the way eunseok hasn’t let go.

“finally,” one of them says, half-laughing, though the reaction shifts mid-sentence as their attention settles properly, eyes flicking over you with something closer to surprise.

“…okay, wait.”

another leans in, eyebrows lifting slightly. “you look so fucking hot.”

you laugh, shaking your head, warmth creeping in despite yourself. “really?”

“don’t act like you don’t know,” they reply, gesturing loosely toward you, toward the dress, toward the obvious.

you start to respond, but the moment stretches instead, interrupted by something quieter, closer—eunseok’s thumb brushing once along your waist, slow and deliberate, like he’s reminding himself you’re there, like he hasn’t quite adjusted to this version of you existing out here where everyone else can see.

you glance at him, but he isn’t looking at your friends. his gaze is still on you, steadier now, less surprised but no less focused, like the noise around you hasn’t quite reached him yet.

“drink, princess?” he asks, his voice slipping back into that familiar calm.

you nod.

“stay here,” he murmurs, his thumb pressing lightly into your side before he finally pulls away.

you huff a quiet laugh. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“mm,” he hums, like he hears you but doesn’t entirely believe it. “still.”

you don’t argue. you just watch him go for a second longer than you mean to, the leather of his jacket catching the light before the crowd folds in around him and he disappears into it, swallowed by movement and shadows until he’s just another figure at the bar.

the space he leaves behind isn’t empty, not really, but it feels different—lighter, less anchored, like something steady has been removed and your body notices before your mind does. you turn back to your friends, slipping into conversation easily enough, laughter coming without effort, but there’s still a trace of him lingering, the ghost of his hand at your waist, the memory of how close he stood, how certain it felt.

it’s enough of a distraction that you don’t notice the shift right away, just another presence stepping closer than it should, another voice slipping into your space like it belongs there.

“hey.”

you turn, expecting one of your friends, but it isn’t. a guy you don’t recognise is already standing a little too close, his attention fixed on you in a way that doesn’t bother to hide itself.

“you just got here?” he asks, leaning in slightly.

you blink, caught off guard more than anything, defaulting to politeness. “uh—yeah, we just—”

“figured,” he cuts in, smiling like he’s already decided the conversation is his to take. his eyes flick over you again, slower this time. “kinda hard not to notice you.”

this was new. normally, it was other girls approaching your boyfriend, offering compliments wrapped in easy smiles, their attention lingering just a little too long.

but this time—it was you.

you let out a small, awkward laugh, shifting your weight, angling your body just enough to create space without making a scene. “thank you, uhh."

"you alone sweetheart?" the guy continues.

"i’m here with my—”

“friends?” he says, glancing past you briefly before stepping closer again, like that settles it. “yeah, i saw. but you weren’t talking to anyone just now.”

you shake your head lightly, trying to keep it polite without encouraging him. “no, i am. my boyfriend just—”

“boyfriend?” he repeats, like the word doesn’t quite register as a boundary. “where is he then?”

the answer never leaves your mouth, because something changes behind him, something you feel before you see.

“right here.”

eunseok’s voice comes from just behind the guy, low and even, close enough that it cuts cleanly through the noise without ever needing to rise.

everything shifts.

eunseok doesn’t look at him immediately. instead, he steps in behind you, his hand finding your waist again with quiet certainty, drawing you back just enough that your body aligns with his, your back brushing lightly against him as though you’d always been meant to stand there.

“are you okay?” he asks, his voice lowered for you alone.

you nod, softer than you expect. “yeah, babe.”

“good,” he murmurs, the word settling in a way that feels final rather than reassuring.

only then does his gaze lift.

it lands on the guy, calm and unreadable, but steady enough that the air between them shifts without anything else being said.

the guy hesitates, trying to recover. “hey, man, i was just—”

“yeah,” eunseok replies, easy, like he already knows and doesn’t particularly care for the explanation.

his hand remains at your waist, if anything settling more firmly, his thumb brushing once along the fabric in a quiet, grounding motion.

“she’s with me.”

he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t step forward, doesn’t need to. the certainty in it leaves no room to misunderstand.

the guy nods quickly, the confidence slipping just enough to make the decision for him. “i didn’t know,” he mutters, already backing away.

eunseok hums faintly. “you do now.”

that’s enough.

the moment dissolves as quickly as it formed, the guy disappearing back into the crowd, but eunseok doesn’t move. his hand remains where it is, his presence still close behind you, like he hasn’t fully stepped out of that space yet.

his hand stays on your waist, fingers pressing just a little deeper into the fabric of your dress, grounding you in place even as the crowd buzzes around you. you feel the heat of his body against your back, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and for a moment, the party fades into meaningless noise.

then he leans down, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

“come.”

it’s not a request.

his hand slides from your waist to your wrist, fingers closing around it with deliberate firmness, and he pulls you through the crowd without a word. you stumble slightly in your heels, but his grip doesn’t loosen—he doesn’t slow down. people part instinctively, the weight of his presence clearing a path as effectively as any gesture.

you barely have time to grab your purse from the table before he’s steering you past the door, past the valet stand, straight into the parking lot. your heart hammers in your chest, anticipation curling low in your belly.

“eunseok—”

he doesn’t answer. he just keeps pulling you, his pace unrelenting until he reaches the car. the sleek black sedan gleams under the parking lot lights. he opens the back door, not the passenger side.

“get in.”

you hesitate for half a second—long enough for his eyes to snap to yours, dark and patient and warning all at once.

“now, princess.” his voice drops an octave. “don’t make me tell you twice.”

you slide into the backseat. the leather is cool against your thighs, the dress riding up as you shift. before you can settle, he’s in after you, pulling the door shut with a solid thud that seals out the rest of the world.

the interior light dims. the windows are tinted. no one can see in.

he turns to face you, one hand bracing against the seat beside your hip, the other reaching for your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. his thumb traces the line of your jaw, slow and possessive.

“i can’t believe losers like that think they can just approach you like that.” his tone is low, controlled, but there’s an edge beneath it—something hungry and territorial. “and you let him”

“i didn’t let him,” you murmur, but your voice comes out breathless, because you love when he gets like this. love the way his jaw tightens, the way his pupils dilate, the way he looks at you like you belong to him and him alone.

his thumb moves to your lower lip, pressing just slightly. “you were polite. smiling. letting him think he had a chance.”

“i wasn’t—”

“shh.” he silences you with that one sound, his thumb pressing deeper, parting your lips. “my beautiful girl, always being so nice to people… but you really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

his eyes drop to your body. the dress is a bodycon, hugging every curve from your chest to your hips, the fabric clinging like a second skin. the neckline plunges just enough to tease, and the slit runs high up your thigh, revealing most of your leg when you move. you’d worn it for him—for this exact reaction.

his hand leaves your chin and drifts down, fingers tracing the neckline, following the edge of the fabric where it cups your breasts.

“you knew exactly what you were doing when you put this on,” he says, his voice rough now. “you wanted people to look baby?” 

“i wanted you to look,” you correct, your chest rising as his fingers dip into the hollow between your breasts.

a low, dark chuckle escapes him. “oh, i’m looking, baby. and now i’m going to remind everyone—starting with you—exactly who you belong to.”

his hand grips the fabric at your shoulder and pulls. the sound of tearing stitches fills the car. you gasp, but the thrill that shoots through you is unmistakable.

“eunseok, my dress—”

“i’ll buy you another one.” he’s already working the torn fabric down, pulling it past your shoulders, baring your chest to the cool air. his hands cup your breasts roughly, thumbs circling your nipples until they harden under his touch. “a prettier one. a more expensive one. whatever you like princess.”

you arch into his hands, a soft moan escaping your lips. he pinches both nipples simultaneously, hard enough to make you gasp, and you grab his shoulders for support.

“you like that, don’t you?” he watches your face, his gaze predatory. “like when i get like this. when i’m so fucking possessive i can’t think straight.”

“yes,” you breathe. “god, yes.”

he pulls you closer, his mouth crashing into yours. it’s not gentle—it’s claiming, his tongue sliding against yours, tasting, dominating. one hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back, while the other continues its assault on your breasts, squeezing and kneading, pinching and rolling.

you’re already wet, the heat pooling between your legs, soaking through the thin lace of your panties. you shift, pressing your thighs together, trying to create friction, but he notices.

“needy girl,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you. his hand slides down your stomach, past the torn fabric, until his fingers find the hem of your dress—or what’s left of it. he pushes it up, bunching it around your waist, exposing your soaked panties.

he lets out a low growl. “already this wet? from what? from me dragging you out here? from the way i talked to that guy?”

“all of it,” you admit, your voice shaking. “from you.”

“good girl.” he hooks a finger under the edge of your panties, pulling them aside. the cool air hits your exposed pussy, and you shiver. “because i’m going to fuck you so hard you forget every other man exists. you’ll only remember my name. only remember my cock.”

he pushes a finger inside you without warning. you cry out, your head falling back against the seat. he’s thick, his finger filling you as he pumps slowly, deliberately, watching your face contort with pleasure.

“look at me, princess.”

you force your eyes open, meeting his dark gaze.

“that’s it. i want to see your face when you come. i want to see the exact moment you remember who you belong to.”

he adds a second finger, stretching you, curling them just right, hitting that spot deep inside that makes your vision blur. you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand.

“eunseok please—”

“please what?” he doesn’t slow down, his thumb finding your clit and pressing in tight circles.

“please fuck me. i need you inside me. now.”

a dark smile curves his lips. “such a good girl, asking so nicely.”

he pulls his fingers out—you whimper at the loss—and reaches down to unzip his pants. his cock springs free, already hard, the tip glistening. he strokes himself once, twice, then positions himself at your entrance, the head pressing against your slick folds.

“you’re going to come on my cock,” he says, his voice rough and low. “and then you’re going to come again. and again. until you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t remember a single moment before i owned you.”

he thrusts in, deep and hard, filling you completely in one movement. you scream—a high, keening sound—as your body stretches to accommodate him. he’s thick, and he knows it, and he doesn’t give you a second to adjust before he starts moving.

his hips slam into yours, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the car. the seat creaks beneath you, the windows fog from your breath, and he grips your hips so tightly you know there will be bruises tomorrow. you don’t care. you want his marks. want his claim.

“fuck—fuck—you feel so good, baby,” he grunts, his rhythm punishing, relentless. “this tight little pussy… all mine. say it.”

“yours,” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“louder.”

“yours!” you’re crying out now, pleasure building, coiling tight in your belly. “all yours, eunseok—only yours—”

“that’s right.” he angles his hips, hitting deeper, and you feel yourself tightening around him, the first orgasm crashing through you like a wave. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, just keeps fucking you through it, your walls convulsing around his cock as he growls your name.

“one down,” he says, his breathing harsh. “two more to go.”

he pulls out, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness, but he’s already turning you around, pressing your chest against the cool leather of the seat, lifting your ass in the air. the torn dress bunches around your waist, your panties still pulled aside, your pussy dripping and ready.

he slaps your ass—hard—the sting making you gasp. “look at you. so perfect. so fucking desperate.”

he lines himself up again and thrusts back in, this angle even deeper, hitting places that make stars burst behind your eyes. his hand wraps around your hair, pulling your head back, arching your spine.

“you love this, don’t you?” his voice is strained, raw with need. “love being my little slut. love when i take what’s mine.”

“yes, yes—i love it—please, eunseok, please don’t stop—”

“never, princess. never stopping. never letting you go.”

he pounds into you, each stroke driving you higher, your second orgasm building fast. you’re babbling now, words tumbling out—his name, pleas, promises—you don’t even know what you’re saying. all you know is his cock, his hands, his voice filling every sense.

“come for me again,” he commands, his hand moving from your hair to your clit, rubbing tight circles. “come on my cock. let me feel you.”

you shatter. this orgasm is stronger, deeper, your body trembling uncontrollably as you cry out into the leather seats. he keeps fucking you, keeps driving you through it, growling with each thrust.

“that’s it. fucking perfect. one more, baby. one more for me.”

“i can’t,” you gasp, oversensitive, trembling.

“you can. you will.” he shifts, slowing his pace, changing to deep, deliberate strokes that hit your g-spot every time. his thumb works your clit with practiced precision, coaxing. “give me one more. i know you have it. my good girl. my perfect girl.”

the praise mixed with the pleasure undoes you. you sob against the seat as a third orgasm rips through you, this one so intense you feel like you’re floating, your body no longer your own. he follows right after, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, hot and thick, his groan muffled against your back.

for a moment, there’s only the sound of ragged breathing, the scent of sex and sweat filling the car. he stays buried inside you, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.

he presses a kiss to your shoulder, then another to your neck, his lips lingering against your skin.

“that dress,” he murmurs, his voice soft now, satisfied, “is going straight in the trash.”

you laugh weakly, still shaking. “you tore it.”

“worth it.” he nuzzles into your hair. “but next time, can you wear something with a zipper, so i can take it off slow before i ruin you.”

you smile, your body humming with spent pleasure. “and if i don’t want slow?”

his arms tighten around you, possessive even in aftercare. “then i’ll ruin you anyway, princess. in or out of a dress. you’re mine.”

then yerin came along and gave all of it a name. she was his childhood friend whom according to him, was one of the most important people in his life. 

she was not loud about it. that almost made it worse. she smiled sweetly when you were around, spoke to you like you were someone she was trying to tolerate, and acted like her closeness with heeseung was too natural to question. she knew old jokes you had never heard before. she touched his arm when she laughed. she called him when she needed something and he picked up even when he had ignored your messages for hours.

the first time you told him it made you uncomfortable, he did not even look guilty.

he laughed.

“yerin? seriously?”

you remembered staring at him from across the table, your fingers tightening around your glass. “why is that funny?”

“because it’s yerin,” he said, like her name alone should have explained everything. “she’s harmless.”

“she’s not harmless if she keeps crossing boundaries.”

“she doesn’t know she’s crossing boundaries.”

“then you should.”

that had made him lean back, his expression already shifting into that familiar irritation, the one that made you feel like you had walked into a conversation you were not allowed to win.

“you make everything sound worse than it is,” he said.

and maybe that should have been enough. maybe that should have been the moment you believed what he was showing you. but love had a terrible way of making you patient with things that were slowly destroying you, and heeseung had always been good at giving you just enough softness after the damage.

a hand on your waist after a fight. a kiss to your temple when you stopped talking. a quiet “you know i love you, right?” only after he had made you feel impossible to love.

so you stayed.

until that friday.

you were supposed to meet him after work, you’ve been looking forward to this date night for weeks. nothing dramatic, just dinner at the place you both used to like, the kind of plan that had once felt effortless between you. you had even left work on time, ignoring the pile of things still waiting on your desk because you wanted, stupidly, to believe that maybe the two of you could have one normal night.

then you saw his story.

a dimly lit bar. four drinks on the table. yerin’s hand half in the frame, her bracelet unmistakable and judging by the angle, she was way too close to him. the other two drinks probably belonged to sunghoon and his girlfriend.

the caption was simple.

finally needed this.

you stood in the lobby of your office with your bag on your shoulder and your phone in your hand, staring at the picture until the brightness of the screen began to hurt your eyes.

he had not cancelled.

he had not texted.

he had simply gone somewhere else and expected you to find out quietly.

“y/n?”

jay’s voice came from behind you, pulling you back into the room before you could sink too far into your own head.

you turned slightly. he was standing near the lift, one hand in his pocket, his laptop bag hanging from his shoulder. he looked like he had been about to leave, but something in your face had stopped him.

“you okay?” he asked.

the question was simple, but not careless. jay never asked things like he was trying to collect information. he asked like he was giving you somewhere to put down whatever you were holding.

you locked your phone quickly. “yeah. i’m fine.”

his eyes dropped briefly to your hand, then back to your face. he did not push.

“you heading off?”

you nodded. “supposed to.”

“supposed to?”

you tried to smile, but it barely formed. “plans changed, i guess.”

jay watched you for a moment. not too long. not in a way that made you feel exposed. just enough to make you feel seen, which was somehow worse and better at the same time.

then his phone buzzed. he glanced at it, typed something quickly, and looked back at you.

“i was going to grab dinner nearby,” he said. “you can come if you don’t feel like going home yet.”

you blinked. “jay.”

“what?”

“that sounds like pity.”

“it’s not pity,” he said easily. “it’s food.”

for some reason, that almost made you laugh.

almost.

“i don’t want to talk about it,” you said.

“then don’t.”

“you’re not going to ask?”

“if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

the simplicity of it made your throat tighten. heeseung would have asked until your answer became something he could use. jay just stood there, calm and steady, offering company without trying to make himself necessary.

so you went.

dinner with jay was not exciting, and maybe that was exactly why it helped. he talked about normal things. work. a client who kept sending emails with no subject line. the office printer that had jammed three times in one day and somehow made everyone act like they were in a survival documentary. he made you smile without trying too hard, and when silence came, he let it sit between you like it had every right to be there.

jay took a sip of water, then nudged the small plate of fries closer to you.

“you’ve eaten three bites.”

“i’m not hungry.”

“you said that before ordering pasta.”

you glance up at jay, unimpressed. “i was optimistic.”

“be optimistic with fries,” he replies, nudging the plate slightly closer to you like it’s a perfectly reasonable solution.

this time, you do laugh—small, tired, but real enough that it catches you off guard. it lingers just a second longer than you expect, and when you look up, you catch the way jay’s expression softens before he looks away, like he didn’t mean to react to it at all.

somewhere between that and the next conversation, the fries turn into an actual meal. you don’t really remember deciding to order more, just that the table slowly fills—pasta, drinks, eventually dessert—and neither of you rush to leave.

the conversation stretches easily, drifting from work stories to small, random things that don’t matter but somehow feel grounding. a client that made no sense. a mistake someone in the office is still pretending didn’t happen. useless facts that neither of you needed to know but shared anyway.

jay talks just enough. you talk more than you realise.

and for the first time in a while, it doesn’t feel like you’re being interrupted, corrected, or dismissed halfway through a sentence.

time slips.

quietly.

unnoticed.

until you glance at your phone.

your eyes widen.

“oh my god, it's like 1.30am?”

“oh shit you’re right,” he says, standing as you do. “i’ll send you home.”

you hesitate for a second. “you don’t have to.”

“i know, but i don’t mind. ”

that’s all he says.

and somehow that makes it easier to accept.

“…okay.”

the drive is quieter than dinner, but not awkward. the kind of quiet that settles naturally after too much conversation, both of you still a little caught in the after-effect of it.

by the time he pulls into your apartment, the night has gone still, the parking lot dim and mostly empty.

“thanks,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt. “for… dinner.”

jay nods once. “anytime.”

you step out, closing the door gently behind you, the cool air hitting your skin as you walk toward the entrance.

and then you see him.

heeseung.

he’s just outside the lobby, leaning slightly against the wall like he’s been there a while, but the second he spots you, he pushes himself upright. his movements aren’t steady—just enough of a stagger to make it obvious he’s been drinking.

your steps slow.

his eyes move past you briefly—toward jay’s car still idling behind—and something in his expression shifts immediately.

sharp. ugly.

“...babe?” he mutters as he straightens from where he’d been leaning near the lobby entrance, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s been waiting long enough to work himself into a mood. the second his eyes land on you, the irritation is immediate, sharp enough to cut through whatever quiet the night had left.

you don’t respond right away. you already know the tone, the direction, the way this is going to unfold if you let it.

he closes the distance anyway, stopping just close enough to make it uncomfortable, his gaze dragging over you slowly before flicking past your shoulder toward jay’s car still idling nearby.

“why are you out this late?” he asks, voice rough, edged with something meaner than concern. “and who the hell is that?”

you tighten your grip on your bag, keeping your tone even. “he’s my co-worker.”

he lets out a short laugh under his breath, shaking his head like you’ve just said something ridiculous. “you’re out with a male co-worker at two in the morning,” he repeats, louder now, stressing every word like he wants someone else to hear it. “do you hear yourself?”

you glance briefly toward the entrance, already aware of how sound carries this late, then back at him. “lower your voice.”

“don’t tell me what to do,” he snaps immediately, stepping closer. “answer the question properly.”

“i just did.”

“no, you didn’t,” he shoots back. “because ‘co-worker’ doesn’t explain why you’re out like this.”

“like what?” you ask, quieter now, trying to keep this from turning into something worse.

“like you don’t care,” he says, gesturing at you, frustrated. “like you think this is normal.”

you take a slow breath. “we can talk about this upstairs.”

“no,” he says instantly. “we’re talking about it now.”

“this isn’t the place.”

“oh, now you care about that?” he scoffs. “you didn’t care about that when you were out—”

“i said we can talk upstairs,” you repeat, firmer this time.

he stares at you for a second, jaw tight, like he’s deciding whether to push it further here or drag it somewhere more contained.

before he can answer, a car door closes behind you.

jay.

you don’t turn fully, but you feel it—the shift, the way heeseung’s attention sharpens again.

“everything okay?” jay asks, voice calm, measured.

you step in immediately, cutting it off before it can become something else. “yeah, it’s fine.”

heeseung turns his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at jay, irritation flaring all over again. “who asked you?” he says, tone sharp.

jay doesn’t move closer, doesn’t step into it, just stands where he is. “i asked her.”

“i wasn’t talking to you,” heeseung shoots back.

“and i wasn’t talking to you either,” jay replies evenly. “i was talking to her.”

you feel the tension spike immediately and step in before it can tip over.

“jay, it’s fine,” you say again, more firmly now. “i’ve got it.”

there’s a brief pause. jay looks at you, like he’s checking if you actually mean that, then nods once.

“alright.”

he doesn’t leave immediately, but he doesn’t interfere either.

you turn back to heeseung. “let’s go upstairs.”

he exhales sharply through his nose, clearly not satisfied, but after a second he turns toward the lift, pressing the button harder than necessary.

the ride up is silent. not calm. not neutral. just tight.

you stand on one side, him on the other, the reflection in the mirror catching the way his jaw keeps flexing, the way he’s replaying it already, building it into something worse.

the moment the doors open, he steps out first.

you follow.

the walk to the apartment is short, but it feels longer with the way the silence stretches between you, heavy with everything unsaid and everything waiting to be said the second the door closes.

you unlock it, step inside, and barely get the door shut before he turns on you.

“what the hell was that?” he demands.

you drop your bag onto the chair, forcing your voice to stay level. “we went to dinner. that’s it.”

“at two in the morning.”

“it ran late.”

“stop saying that like it explains anything,” he snaps. “you don’t just ‘run late’ with some guy.”

“he’s my co-worker.”

“i heard you the first time,” he says sharply. “that doesn’t make it better.”

“well i wouldn’t have had dinner with him if you remembered we were supposed to go out on a date today,” you hissed. “but i guess yerin and your friends are much more important.” you feel your patience thinning, but you keep your tone controlled. 

“oh my god those are my friends and like you said, it’s not like i ditched you to go on a date, i just forgot and went out with my friends,” he scoffs, running a hand through his hair again. “here we go y/n. you’re twisting things again.”

“i’m not twisting anything.”

“you always do,” he says, talking over you. “you take something small and turn it into a problem.”

the apartment feels too small for the noise between you, the air thick and unmoving, like even the walls are holding their breath.

“it wasn’t small to me.”

your voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through everything, steady in a way that makes him pause for half a second before his expression hardens again.

“that’s because you overthink everything,” he snaps, pacing once before turning back to you, already worked up again. “you take something normal and twist it until it turns into a problem, and then you expect me to—what—apologise for nothing?”

“it’s not nothing if it affects me.”

“it shouldn’t affect you this much,” he fires back immediately, not even letting the words settle. “that’s the prob—”

“i want to break up.”

the words drop into the room like something solid, heavy enough to silence everything else.

for a second, all you hear is the faint hum of the air conditioning, the distant noise of the city filtering through the windows.

“excuse me?”

he doesn’t sound confused.

he sounds offended.

“you heard me the first time,” you say, your voice sharper now, the control in it cracking just enough to show through. “so get the fuck out of my house right now.”

something in his face shifts.

not softer.

not calmer.

worse.

“what the fuck did you just say to me?”

his voice is louder now, bouncing off the walls, echoing through the dim apartment like it has nowhere else to go. he turns fully toward you, eyes burning, chest rising and falling too fast, like the anger has been building long before this moment and finally found somewhere to land.

“you think you can just dump me and then run off with that asshole?” he roars, the words coming out rough and jagged. “is this what this is? you go out for one night and suddenly you’ve got the confidence to pull this shit?”

you don’t step back.

even when he closes the distance between you in two quick strides, even when the heat of him is right there, overwhelming, even when his hand shoots out and clamps around your arm hard enough to make your breath hitch.

“answer me,” he demands, his grip tightening, fingers digging in like he’s trying to force something out of you. “you think you can just walk away and make me look like a fucking idiot?”

and for the first time since the fight started—

you realise this isn’t just anger anymore.

it’s control, slipping.

“just shut up, heeseung. i’m sick and tired of you pinning everything on me!” you snap, your voice cracking through the apartment, louder than you meant it to be, louder than anything you’ve said to him in a long time. “you’re the one who disappeared, you’re the one who forgot you even had a girlfriend, and you’ve never—never—treated me with any respect the entire time we’ve been together!”

the words hang there, sharp and ugly, cutting through the stale air.

you shove at his chest, needing space, needing him away from you, but he doesn’t move. not even a step. it’s like pushing against something immovable, something that refuses to give.

your heart is pounding now, too fast, too loud, adrenaline flooding your system in a way that makes everything feel too close, too intense, your anger mixing with that sick, familiar pull he always has on you.

his expression shifts. not softer.

worse.

he grabs you.

not gently.

his hand clamps around your arm and yanks you back toward him, the force of it knocking the breath out of you for a second, his grip iron-tight, unrelenting.

“respect?” he echoes, his voice dropping into something darker, something that makes your stomach twist. there’s a smile tugging at his mouth, but it’s wrong, sharp at the edges, like he’s enjoying this. “oh, baby… but you love it when i disrespect you, don’t you?”

you freeze for half a second.

“you love it when i’m mean to you,” he continues, his voice low, taunting, leaning in just enough that you can feel his breath against your skin. a quiet, almost amused laugh slips out of him. “don’t act like you don’t.”

something in you snaps.

“don’t,” you say, your voice shaking now—not weak, but furious, disgusted. “don’t do that.”

he tilts his head, like he’s studying you, like this is interesting to him.

“oh my god,” you breathe out, trying to pull your arm free, your chest tightening with something that feels dangerously close to panic and rage at the same time. “heeseung, i’ve had enough of you.”

your voice steadies on the last part, even as your pulse races.

“get. out.”

the words land harder this time.

he towers over you. “you're mine, you hear me? no one else gets to look at you like that." his free hand grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his glare. "say it. say you're fucking mine."

"fuck you, heeseung! you don't own me!" the words explode out, but your body betrays you, heat pooling low as his possessiveness ignites something feral.

he shoves you back against the wall, the impact jarring. his mouth crashes onto yours, teeth clashing in a brutal kiss that tastes like whiskey and anger. you bite his lip hard, drawing blood, and he growls, retaliating by slapping your thigh sharply through your skirt.

"that's right, fight me," he snarls, ripping your top open, buttons scattering across the floor. his hands maul your breasts, pinching nipples until you gasp in pain-laced pleasure. "you love this shit baby. you always come crawling back."

"shut up!" you claw at his shirt, tearing it off him, nails raking red lines down his chest. he hisses, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back, exposing your throat. his teeth sink in, sucking a mark that'll last for days.

"who's marking you up baby? me. always me." he grinds his hard cock against your thigh, the bulge straining his jeans. "no one else gets this pussy."

you slap his face, the crack echoing, but he just laughs darkly, spinning you around and pinning your front to the wall. his hand hikes up your skirt, fingers shoving your panties aside to plunge two digits into your soaked pussy.

"so fucking wet for me already," he mocks, pumping roughly, thumb grinding your clit. "lying bitch. you want this cock punishing you."

"asshole," you spit, but your hips buck back, chasing the burn. he pulls his fingers out, smearing your juices across your ass before unzipping. his thick cock springs free, slapping against your skin.

he doesn't warn—thrusts in balls-deep in one savage stroke, stretching your pussy wide. you cry out, the mix of pain and fullness making stars burst behind your eyes. heeseung grips your hips bruisingly, pounding into you with punishing force, the wall shaking.

"take it. take every fucking inch," he grunts, one hand wrapping around your throat from behind, squeezing just enough to make you dizzy. "you're not leaving me. ever. i'd burn the world down first."

your hands scrabble at the wall, moans tearing from your throat as he rails you, cock dragging over that spot inside that makes you shatter. "i hate you," you gasp, but it comes out wrecked, needy.

"no, you don't baby, you fucking love me." he pulls out suddenly, spinning you again, lifting you like you weigh nothing and slamming you down onto his cock as he drops onto the couch. you straddle him, but he controls the pace, bouncing you hard, his hands slapping your ass red.

"ride me, slut. show me how much you need this dick." his eyes lock on yours, wild and obsessive. sweat slicks your bodies, the room filled with wet slaps and your shared curses.

you grind down, circling your hips, clit rubbing his pelvis. he reaches up, choking you lightly again, pulling you into another vicious kiss. tongues battle as he thrusts up brutally, hitting your cervix.

"cum on my cock baby girl," he demands, fingers digging into your ass, spreading you. "milk me dry. prove you're mine."

the orgasm rips through you, pussy clenching vise-tight around him, gushing as you scream his name. he doesn't stop, fucking you through it, overstimulating until tears stream down your face.

"that's it, baby," he croons suddenly, voice shifting to that honeyed tone he uses to reel you in. his thrusts slow but deepen, one hand stroking your back almost tenderly. "fuck, you're perfect. i can't lose you. i love you so much it hurts."

the lovebomb hits like a drug, melting your resistance even as you know it's poison. you kiss him desperately, riding faster. he groans, hips snapping up.

"gonna fill this pussy up. breed you so you can't ever leave, making you a fucking mommy, you want that don't you baby?." with a roar, he buries deep, cock pulsing as hot cum floods you, spilling out around him.

you collapse onto his chest, both panting. he holds you tight, lips brushing your ear. "don't ever scare me like that again. you're my everything. i'll do better, i swear. just stay."

you nod weakly, knowing it'll cycle again, but trapped in his web. his arms lock around you possessively, cock still twitching inside as he murmurs sweet lies into your hair.