svthub is right here

"Darling? Where are you? Sweetheart please!" Jun whines, tugging at your heartstrings as his hands are at work tugging on his silk ties which keep him bound to your headboard. Frustratedly and anxiously whipping his head around, he tries to locate you. His nails leave crescent shaped marks on his palms the more he thrashes around.

How your night came to this is quite a series of events. Jun had returned home from practice that day incessantly needy. The aesthetic pictures of your lingerie clad figure displaying some of the new pieces you had purchased — that which you had so sweetly shared with your boyfriend via text during his break period — fueling and being the catalyst that sent him into that incessant state of need.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your boyfriend had already made you cum twice with his fingers and mouth. He ran his tip up and down your slit a few times collecting your arousal as lubricant for his length, preferring to fuck you raw. Your legs wrapped around his hips as you tried to push his dick inside your cunt. Jun had finally pushed the head in, passionately kissing your lips and kneading your breasts. You took a few minutes to control your breathing while he slowly bottomed out, filling you to the brim with his cock.

But as soon as he went to pull out and thrust back in, both of your cell phones rang as a slew of texts from your friend group — Jun's members — came thru. With the promise of making it up to you later, your boyfriend softly pulled out and that was it.

You and Jun got ready, then headed out to meet up with your friend group for a night of dinner and some drinks. But as is the case with the 13 men you've come to be close with and their partners, a simple night of fun and drinks, turns out to be anything but. You and Minghao's girlfriend take to the dance floor to vibe with the music, dancing together like you usually do when you hang out. Which in turn led to both men coming to take you girls for themselves. Jun sliding up behind you, pressing his half erect cock against your ass and wrapping one arm around your waist. His other hand hovering dangerously close to your inner thighs and core.

"You look so sexy when you dance like that, I wanna take you home and do everything I want with you." Jun whispers, a sultry moan like tone to his voice. The two of you soon say your goodbyes to your friends before departing from the bar, and driving home.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Baby, please. Please don't leave me all alone like this! I-I, pl-pp-please! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I teased you earlier and at the bar. Just let me go and I'll make it up to you, okay my love?" He begs, a pout forming on his lips. The blindfold restricts his line of sight, so he tries to turn to the direction he hopes you're in, if you're even still in the bedroom.

"Hmm… No. I don't wanna let you go just yet, hui. Sit back and relax, let me have some fun with you for once, daddy." You lightly giggle. Jun's eyes scrunch up in disbelief, his mouth following. "Fun? You think blindfolding and tying me to our bed is fun? Torturing daddy is fun to you, really darling?" Jun barks, utter disbelief so strongly present in his voice.

"Well, I. Y-yy-you're always exploring kinks with me. And torturing me sometimes. So, why… why can't i torture you a bit and explore some of m-mm-my kinks with you? Come on daddy, it's only fair." You stammer, a bit of sarcasm laced in your tone. He thrashes around in response and wildly shakes his head, before ultimately giving in… to you, his lover.

"Touché. Okay, fine. You can take the lead with me this time, but… don't think there won't be any consequences to your actions. I'm getting you back for this, sweetheart." Your boyfriend growls.

Gleefully you skip over to your shared bed. Another little giggle falls from your lips, as you bring along the items you had retrieved earlier. You set the tray from the kitchen down on your nightstand, and place your vibrating wand on the bed. The exceeding giddiness you exude is just slightly off putting to Junhui.

"Darling, tone it down a bit. Is the blindfold really necessary? I wanna see you, wanna be able to look at you as you play with me, sweetheart." Jun softly rasps, pleading with you to remove the silky fabric which is preventing him from seeing you. "Do you want it off, huihui? How badly do you want to see me, daddy? Tell me how bad you want the blindfold off." You whisper right in his ear, a hint of innocence lingering in your tone.

"Please! pl-pp-please, ff-f-fuckkkk baby. I wanna see you. I want to see my beautiful girl. Fuck, I want to see how you touch me and play with my cock. I want it sweetheart, I really really want it." He groans, eyes rolling back and head raising up towards the ceiling. Despite being the one that's in charge this time, your submissiveness causes you to give in to your boyfriend's request.

Your petite hands reach up, clutching around the soft silky piece of fabric draped across Junhui's eyes. Your smaller fingers make quick work of undoing the knot you tied. You loosen the fabric from his face and lightly toss it over your shoulder. Junhui's eyes blink rapidly as they work to adjust to the change in light.

"Hi." Jun softly rasps, as he stares deeply into your eyes. "Hi." You reply, right hand coming to run through his hair and caress his cheek, as you too stare deeply enthralled by his natural beauty. For a few minutes you two simply stare fondly at one another, appreciating each other's features.

As he leans forward in an attempt to connect your lips, the silk ties serve as a strong reminder of the predicament Jun got himself into. The way your hands faintly ghost over him, the way you let them hover over the areas he desperately needs you to touch causes his breath to hitch and his hands to continue tugging at the knots around his wrists.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And Junhui begins babbling. Babbling… an act that you have yet to witness from your lover in the entire 18 months you have been together. "Ohhh, darling. Please darling, please. Ohhh fuck nghh ff-f-fuckkkk. Sweetheart please, please touch me, blow me, fuck me. I need you. I need you baby." He groans, low and sultry.

Your ego receives a big stroke at how you managed to reduce the man who usually is the dominant one down to a babbling puddle of need. "Shh, I'll touch you babe. I'll touch you and blow you, but you gotta be a good boy and stay still for me, can you do that?" You whisper right in his ear. His body violently shudders at the dark, sultry way you speak. Junhui gulps before he stares into your eyes and vigorously nods, silently agreeing.

You give him a peck before your hand reaches towards the bowl you brought from your kitchen. Your hand lowers into the bowl gripping an ice cube. Jun's half naked figure is jolted to a full state of awareness thanks to the unexpected, overwhelmingly cold sensation. "Ahhh. Shit. Fuck… please, it's so cold. Sweetheart please!" He shrieks, writhing from the feeling of the ice running along his nipples. The coldness quickly being replaced and contrasted by the warmth coming from your mouth. The cube of ice melts in your mouth.

You leave kisses all along his pecs, sucking hickeys here and there. Jun is already too fucked out to stop you, not that he would anyway. Even though he knows that his stylist and his members will scold and tease him for the marks he doesn't care. Junhui loves you so he'll gladly accept your love bites on him. You do the same whenever he marks you up so why wouldn't he.

Feet digging into the mattress, an impatient Junhui thrusts his hips upwards. To which, your hands press back down to the bed. "Unh-uh, is that what a good boy does? I told you to stay still, didn't I?" You warned. "I, I- I'm sorry. Darling, please. I'll be your good boy. I, I just need you. Please sweetheart, I just want to feel your pretty lips wrapped around my cock. You always look so so pretty taking my dick deep down your little throat." Jun groans, throwing his head back.

Your tough fem dom persona cracks at the pleas from your boyfriend. "Okay, fine. I'm gonna blow you. And I'll untie one of your hands cause I know how you like to grip my hair and guide me down your pretty cock. But you better not try to get out, okay babe?" You sigh, sitting on Junhui's lap so you can reach the ties on the headboard.

You quickly untie his right hand and remove the silk tie from the headboard. Then you start to trail kisses from Jun's pecs down to his abs, his happy trail and just above the waistband of his briefs. "Huihui, can I take it off now, daddy?" You ask, batting your eyelashes innocently. "Ohhh, take it off me darling. Take it off, I need to shove my cock deep inside your little mouth. Don't worry if you gag. You'll get all of my dick inside your mouth soon, sweetheart." Jun grunts, trying his hardest to not just shove your head down on him.

You pull his briefs off and toss them somewhere in the room. You lower yourself to be closer to his hardening length, innocently looking up at your boyfriend. "Ohh shit. Huihui, you're so hard. Ahh, babe you're leaking. Did being blindfolded and tied up turn you on that much?" You giggle, mischievously. "Sweetheart, i've been turned on and ready to fuck you ever since you sent me those little pictures earlier. By the way, I think this light blue little set is my favorite." He explains, not-so subtly looking you up and down.

"Ohh? I'd hope you'd like it. I felt so pretty and girly when I put it on. I think it's my favorite set too." You giggle, biting your lip and hiding behind your hair. Jun brings his right hand towards your face, and brushes through the loose strands of hair, "Pretty. My love, you look absolutely stunning and sexy in this little number. Fuckkk, remind me to buy you even more of these."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You softly smile as your hand slowly rubs up and down, spreading Jun's leaking precum along his thick shaft. You spit into your hand and run that along his shaft too. Jun's face scrunches up in pleasure, eyes rolling back and mouth falling open into a silent moan. You kiss the tip, free hand reaching out towards the vibrator you had placed on the bed earlier. One hand jerks his cock while the other turns on the power and places the wand against his head. Eyes opening wide, Jun thrashes around, almost violently convulsing.

"Ahh… Ohhh. Shit. Shit shit shit. Fuckkk if you keep doing that, I'm gonna cum too soon." He cries, feet digging into the mattress again. His hips thrusting upwards, trying to get more friction. "Daddy, you can cum as many times you like. I'm not stopping you. Maybe I like making you cum so hard. Don't you like it when I make you cum over and over?" You softly whisper, doe eyes fluttering.

You keep pressing the vibrator to his head while increasing the speed of the hand jerking his dick. Junhui bites down on his lip hard, drawing up a bit of blood. The bitter taste of iron filling his mouth. The more you build up speed, the more Junhui's moans and groans grow in volume.

"Ohhh, I'm cumming. I'm gonna cum darling. Fuckkk. Yes yes yes." Jun growls, low and deep. You take his length inside your mouth, hollowing your cheeks. A minute later, he cums, and he cums hard. Jun's seed floods your mouth and spills from the sides of your mouth. He settles back against the mattress, trying to regain his breath.

You pull off his cock with a loud pop, and swallow the cum. Wiping away at the liquid running from your mouth, you take those cum covered fingers and suck them clean. Then you open your mouth wide to show Jun how well you swallowed all his fluids. "Mhmm. Shittt…" He moans, breathing deep.

He doesn't get much time to compose him before you're taking his length back inside your mouth. You hollow your cheeks again, hand pumping and jerking off what can't fit. You quickly pull off and spit on his cock again, using your saliva as lube. Jun's free hand comes down into your hair, he brushes it back into a makeshift ponytail. As you try to take more of his length, Junhui guides his cock down your throat.

"Just like that, sweetheart. Yeah. Fuckkk that's good." You suck harder, trying to take in as much of him as you can. The sound of your throat as it constricts around him resonates through the silent room. He pulls harder on your hair, but the ache on your scalp is welcomed. "Shit. You take me so well, darling. So well, so so well. God baby, you're so good to me."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Soon you feel two hands on your head. Two? But you only loosened one of Junhui's hands. Two hands wrap around your hair and pull you up off his dick. You look at Jun in pure shock. How did he get his other hand loose? Disbelief crosses your face, eyes widening like a cartoon character.

"Hehe… you made the mistake of untying my right hand and using my ties. I'm gonna get you back for this little stunt, but not right now. Right now, what I want to do most is bury my cock deep inside of your tight little pussy. You ready to take all of my cum deep inside your cunt?" Jun darkly laughs. You bite down on your lips hard, also drawing up a bit of blood. 

"I, I… I'm sorry I tried to tie you up and dominate you. I'm sorry I b-b-blindfolded you. I just. I just wanted to try one of my kinks with you, daddy." You whine, a pout forming on your lips as your eyes go doe eyed. Junhui just chuckles, pulling you up into his lap, before flipping the two of you over.

"It's okay, sweetheart. It was pretty sexy watching you try to dominate me. But, daddy's gotta put his beautiful girl in her place. Maybe we'll try that kink again, but with me tying you up and blindfolding you. Would you like that, darling? I think you'd look so gorgeous splayed out on our silk sheets all at my mercy." He rasps, looking at you for your reaction.

You bite down on your lip and clench around nothing, which is all Junhui needs to know that you're just as turned on by the idea as he is. Jun leans in close, passionately kissing you, just as he had during your escapade in the early evening. "Huihui, please I...I know I shouldn't have teased you like that. I need you so bad, so so bad. Ohhh please." You cry, legs wrapping around his hips, as you try to push his cock inside your pussy.

"You want it? You want me to fuck your warm, tight little pussy? Should daddy fill your cunt with his cum, make you his cumdump and give you a baby? Do you want that? Tell me how bad you want it." Jun growls, mimicking your earlier sentiment. Your eyes roll back in your skull, head tilting towards the ceiling.

"Huihui, please. Daddy, I want it! Fuck me, fuck me daddy, please please please! I… I want you to use me. Cum deep inside of me, make me your little cumdump. Fuck a baby into me, make me a mommy." You mindlessly babble, focus zoning out. Jun's heart swells with adoration and pride. No matter how many times the two of you have sex, only Jun will be the one to have you like this. Only he can get you pregnant. It's only him you want to have children with.

"I'm gonna cum inside you so much. By the time I'm done with you, there's no way you wouldn't be pregnant, sweetheart. Shit, you're gonna look so pretty carrying my kids, all nice and full of me, round and glowing. I can't wait to make you a mommy finally. You're going to be the sexiest, prettiest, smartest, kindest, most beautiful mom ever." Junhui rambles, mind already overcome with what you'd look like pregnant.

"Hui, just shut up and fuck me already! Please, I need you inside of me right now! Ohhh shit, yes! Yes yes yes. Fuckkk yes, daddy." Your babbling turns into a drawn out moan, as Jun pushes his cock inside you. Junhui groans into your ear as he bottoms out inside you, "Damn baby, so warm and tight for me. So good, my pretty girl."

Your nails rake down his back as Jun begins to pull out and thrust back in, "Mhmm… ohhh. Ohhh yes, yes! Fuck. Keep fucking me like that. U-use me. Put me in my place daddy! Make me your lil cumdump, hui." His thrusts begin to get more powerful and pick up in speed. "Ohhh shit, yes. Yes sweetheart, you're doing so good. You're taking my cock in so well, so deep."

"Hui, you're so fucking big and deep. Shit babe. My pussy feels so full, so fucking full of you. Ohhh god, I think I'm gonna cum soon. Please! Can I? Let me cum, daddy. Junhui I need to cum!!" You whine, voice echoing. Your hips lift off the bed, cunt thrusting up to meet Jun's downward thrusts. Your legs wrap even tighter around his torso, effectively trapping him in you.

"Darling, you're clenching. You're clenching around my dick so hard. Are you close, baby?" Jun asks, kissing alongside your temple, one hand kneading your breast while the other takes your vibrator and holds it against your clit. "Oh my god. Hui, Hui! Please babe, please please please. I'm gonna cum, please let me cum! Can i cum, I wanna cum, daddy?"

Junhui pushes a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. He smiles at you fondly, with all the love in the world. "Go ahead, darling. But I want you to look at me when you do. Cum. Cum for me. Cream all over my cock, sweetheart." He answers. Seconds later, you feel that coil finally snap. Your fight the urge to let your eyes roll, keeping contact with Jun as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your nails dig into his upper arms.

"I'm cumming, sweetheart. I'm gonna fill you up with my cum. You're gonna take it all, right? My pretty girl, you're gonna take every last drop I have to give you? I'm gonna get you round and full, make you a mommy right?" Jun groans, as he presses your foreheads together giving you another long passionate kiss.

"Cum inside of me. Cum so deep inside of me, Hui. Give me everything you have, make sure I carry your babies. Go ahead babe, fill me up." You whine, encouraging your lover to release inside of your cunt. With your permission, he does just that. Seconds later, you feel the warmth of Junhui's cum painting your walls. And it doesn't stop. He just keeps pumping his cum inside you. "Ohhh… oh god, yes. Yes darling, uhh my love. Fuck. I love you so much, sweetheart. Thank you for being mine. Thank you for staying with me. Our future children will be the luckiest kids in this world because they'll have you as a mom. And I'll be the luckiest man because I'll have you as a lover, as my wife."

After the two of you regain your strength and breath, Junhui goes to softly pull out and get you both cleaned up. But you seem to have another plan. You continue to wrap your legs around his waist. "Baby? Is everything okay? We need to get cleaned up so we can go to sleep, darling." Jun questions, confusion crossing over his face. You just blissfully smile at him. "Everything's perfectly fine, Huihui. I just. I kinda wanna cockwarm with you. You know, make sure no drop of your cum goes to waste." You shyly mumble. "W-Wh What? Are you.. you're not joking? Sweetheart, do you actually want to get pregnant?" Your boyfriend stammers, struggling to process the info he's now been presented.

"I mean, you're sexy as hell. I'm pretty hot. Why not? Our future children would be some pretty fine ass people." You laugh, kissing your lover.

You shake off the what-ifs and type out a quick note in the booking form: Booking Note: Heart tattoo, maybe? Nervous but excited.

The reply is almost instant: a confirmation, and a subtle hint of Minghao’s style in the words. Simple, polite, efficient.

—

The day arrives, and the tattoo studio smells faintly of antiseptic and cedar wood—calm and grounding. You sit awkwardly in the chair, glancing around the room. The walls are lined with Minghao’s designs—delicate lines, natural elements, subtle shades. Nothing flashy, but captivating.

Then, he steps forward—quiet, composed, with eyes that seem to see right through you but never pry. His hands are steady as he pulls out a sketchpad, flipping to a fresh page. You notice how he works: careful, deliberate, a silent conversation between him and the paper.

Instead of a heart, he draws a chrysanthemum. It’s intricate without being overdone—each petal unfolding softly. You blink, surprised.

“It’s a chrysanthemum,” he says softly, finally meeting your eyes. “Symbolizes resilience. Growth. Quiet strength.”

Your heartbeat skips. You hadn’t thought about meaning beyond the shape. Somehow, the idea feels right—like it’s speaking for the part of you that’s been too scared to say anything.

—

The needle buzzes softly. You flinch the first time, but then relax into the rhythm—Minghao’s presence steady and reassuring. You focus on the growing image on your skin, petals unfolding just like the sketch.

By the time the session ends, the chrysanthemum is real—soft black lines and shading, blooming on your forearm. You trace it lightly, surprised at how much it already feels like a part of you.

Before leaving, you scribble another booking note in your phone: Booking Note: Unexpected, but perfect.

The chrysanthemum isn’t the heart you’d imagined—but maybe it’s better. It’s the start of something new, something quiet but undeniable.

You don’t know yet that this small bloom is the first of many. Not just on your skin, but in your life.

—

The second time you step into the studio, the room feels less intimidating. The faint smell of cedar and ink greets you like an old friend, and Minghao is already there, setting up his tools with that calm, deliberate focus you’ve come to appreciate.

You settle into the chair without the nervous flutter that marked your first visit. Minghao looks up, a small smile tugging at his lips—subtle, almost shy, but real. You return the smile, feeling the quiet ease between you both begin to grow.

This time, you brought a book—something to distract you during the longer session. But Minghao’s presence and the soft hum of the needle soon draw your attention away.

As he works on the touch-ups to your chrysanthemum, your conversation unfolds slowly, like petals opening in the morning light.

“I like minimal designs,” Minghao says, eyes on his work. “Simple, but with meaning beneath.”

You nod, your fingers tracing the delicate lines on your forearm. “That’s how I want my tattoos, too. More than just art—like… a part of me.”

He glances up, meeting your eyes. “What does your chrysanthemum mean to you?”

You hesitate, then say, “Strength. Growth. Something I’m still figuring out.”

Minghao’s smile deepens. “Sounds like the perfect tattoo, then.”

Between silences filled with the buzzing needle, you talk more—about your favorite books, quiet places, and little dreams you rarely share. Minghao listens, rarely interrupting, but when he does, his words feel thoughtful and genuine.

At one point, he pulls out his sketchpad again, doodling quietly. You glance over, surprised to see another chrysanthemum—this time entwined with soft geometric shapes, like a balance between natural and structured.

“Thought you might like this,” he says, eyes flicking to yours. “For next time.”

You tuck the sketch carefully into your bag, heart fluttering at the unspoken invitation.

—

Later that night, you write in your booking notes again, fingers trembling slightly: Booking Note: Two visits in, and it’s less about the tattoo now, more about… him.

A simple statement, but it carries the weight of everything you’re beginning to feel.

—

Your third visit to Minghao’s studio feels less like an appointment and more like returning to a quiet sanctuary. You settle into the chair with a familiar comfort, the studio’s warm light casting soft shadows on the walls lined with delicate artwork.

This time, Minghao presents you with a new design—a pattern inspired by chrysanthemum petals, woven carefully with subtle geometric shapes. It’s intricate, yet still simple, and when he explains the symbolism, you find yourself mesmerized. It’s about balance, about finding order in chaos—much like your own tangled thoughts lately.

As the needle hums to life, you focus on the gentle sting, the way the ink seeps into your skin. Minghao’s hand is steady, confident, his quiet presence grounding you more than you expect.

Throughout the session, the silence between you isn’t awkward anymore. It’s comfortable—a space where words aren’t always necessary. Yet when Minghao does speak, it’s with a soft warmth that makes your heart flutter.

At one point, your hands brush—accidental, fleeting, but it lingers longer than it should. You glance up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, everything feels suspended in a delicate balance.

You find yourself thinking about Minghao long after you leave—in quiet moments, when you catch your reflection and trace the growing petals on your forearm, and in the little daydreams where maybe, just maybe, this quiet connection could become something more.

—

That night, you write another booking note: Booking Note: Petals, geometry, quiet afternoons with him. Feeling more than just ink.

—

You come back to the studio with a nervous flutter in your chest you can’t quite place. The usual calm warmth feels different now—charged, almost fragile. Minghao greets you with a quiet smile, but you catch the subtle shift in his eyes, like he’s sensing what you haven’t said.

The session begins as usual, the familiar buzz of the needle filling the space. You’re more aware of every brush of his hand, the way his fingers linger just a little longer when adjusting your sleeve or steadying your arm.

Afterwards, as you gather your things, you realize you’ve left behind a booking note—longer than usual, almost like a letter:

Booking Note: Every line on my skin tells a story… and you’re becoming the best part of mine.

You don’t remember writing it, but you do remember the feeling—a mix of hope and fear, that fragile hope of something more.

Later, Minghao finds it tucked beneath his appointment book. You imagine him reading your words in the quiet of the studio, maybe surprised, maybe moved.

When you return for your next session, the tension between you is different—softer, more honest. Minghao doesn’t push, but when your eyes meet, there’s an unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

For the first time, you let the conversation drift beyond tattoos—to the possibility of more, to the slow, delicate unfolding of feelings you’d both kept carefully inked beneath the surface.

—

You return to the studio with a mixture of anticipation and calm you’ve never felt before. It’s not just another appointment—it feels like a milestone. Minghao meets you with his quiet smile, but there’s a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, like he’s been waiting for this moment as much as you have.

This time, the design he’s prepared is something more intricate—a chrysanthemum in full bloom, its petals curling gently around your forearm, wrapping like a quiet promise. Minghao explains it symbolizes a new chapter, growth that’s no longer tentative but fully embraced. You smile, knowing the meaning is something you’ve both come to understand.

As the needle buzzes softly, Minghao’s hand is steady, but there’s a tenderness in every stroke. You find yourself relaxing completely in his presence, the usual nervousness replaced by a feeling of belonging. The studio’s quiet hum feels like a heartbeat syncing with your own.

During the session, you catch his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary, and you meet it with a shy but genuine smile. It’s a silent conversation, a thread weaving between you that says everything you both feel but haven’t yet spoken aloud.

When the session ends, you trace the fresh ink, warm and alive on your skin. Minghao’s hand brushes yours lightly as he packs up his tools, and the touch sends a small shock of electricity up your arm.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Minghao’s voice breaks the silence, low and steady: “I look forward to your visits. Not just for the tattoos.”

You laugh softly, heart swelling, and reply, “Me too.”

There’s a pause, then he adds, “Maybe... we can make this more than appointments.”

Your smile deepens, and you nod, feeling the weight of all the unspoken feelings finally finding a way to bloom.

—

Later, you write your final booking note for now—one full of hope and promise: Booking Note: From a heart to a chrysanthemum—here’s to many more stories, many more visits, and maybe something more than ink.

The chrysanthemum on your skin isn’t just a tattoo anymore. It’s a symbol of growth, resilience, and the quiet, beautiful unfolding of something neither of you expected but both cherish deeply.

The bass was already thumping before the cameras even started rolling. Neon lights pulsed in time with the music, bathing the set in flashes of electric pink and gold. It was chaos disguised as art — a blur of stylists shouting over the beat, camera operators weaving through bodies, and extras finding their marks under the strobe haze.

You stood near the bar, watching the crew scramble to set up the first shot. The club smelled faintly of smoke and expensive perfume, the kind that clings to your skin long after the night ends. The director was pacing, headset in hand, muttering about continuity and lighting angles. And beside him — leaning casually against the counter like he had all the time in the world — was Choi Seungcheol.

He wasn’t supposed to look this good off-camera. white sleeveless top, likely a tank top or muscle tee, a chain glinting against his throat. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you — and stayed there. He smiled, slow and deliberate, like he already knew you’d be fun to work with for their music video.

“Dancer?” His voice cut through the music, low and smooth. You nodded, trying to keep it professional. “Yeah. Just waiting for direction.” He hummed, gaze flicking to the stage being prepped. “You’ll do fine. Just have fun with it. Cameras love that.”

There was a warmth in his tone that made it sound more like a promise than advice. The director clapped his hands, calling everyone to positions, and Seungcheol pushed off the counter to take his mark. But before he left, he leaned closer — close enough that you could smell his perfume, something woody and intoxicating.

“Try not to outshine us,” he teased, eyes glinting. “I know you can anytime.” You almost replied, but the music kicked in, lights flaring as the director yelled, “Action!”

Suddenly, everything was movement — hips swaying, lights spinning, cameras gliding past the dance floor. The rhythm took over, and soon you forgot where the script ended and instinct began. Somewhere between the beats, you caught Seungcheol’s eyes again. He was watching you, even when he wasn’t supposed to.

The camera cut. The music stopped. And Seungcheol smiled like the scene had gone exactly the way he wanted. That’s a good first scene to be honest.

The club lights dimmed as the crew reset the cameras. You stepped off the floor, skin still buzzing from the adrenaline, heart pounding in rhythm with the bass that hadn’t quite died down. A staff member handed you a bottle of water, and you murmured a quick thanks, taking a long sip before scanning the room again.

Seungcheol was still there — leaning against the bar like he owned it, grin still infuriatingly confident. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a magazine, not a sweat-drenched rehearsal. “Not bad,” he said as you approached. “Didn’t even look nervous.”

You shrugged, pretending the heat in your chest was from dancing. “Maybe I just take directions well.” He chuckled, low and rough, before leaning closer. “Or maybe you just know how to steal focus.”

Before you could come up with a reply, a new voice broke in — deep, playful, and instantly familiar to anyone who’d ever heard a Seventeen song. Fortunately I do.. “Hyung, if you’re done flirting with the extras, we’ve got a scene to film.”

You turned. Kim Mingyu stood a few feet away, hair styled to messy perfection, wearing a light blue button-up shirt, casually styled with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark framed glasses, that looked too good to be part of a casual concept. He was grinning — that easy, sunshine smile that disarmed anyone it hit. Seungcheol scoffed. “Flirting? I was giving notes.”

“Sure,” Mingyu said, stepping closer, his gaze flicking toward you. “You give notes to everyone who dances better than you?” You bit back a laugh, hiding it behind your water bottle. “Be careful, Gyu,” Seungcheol drawled. “You’re next.” “Good.” Mingyu’s grin widened, boyish but sharp. “Maybe I’ll have better chemistry with my partner.”

You didn’t miss the way Seungcheol’s jaw tensed slightly — subtle, but there. He turned to you, still smiling, though now it looked a bit tighter. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s only charming when he’s nervous.” “Then he must be nervous all the time,” you replied, and Mingyu’s laugh filled the room.

Before Seungcheol could answer, the director called out, “Mingyu, on set! Let’s prep the next scene, the street sequence!” Mingyu gave a playful salute and turned to you one last time. “Guess that’s me. Try not to miss me too much.” “Yeah, I’ll try my best,” you said dryly, and Seungcheol snorted.

As Mingyu disappeared through the crowd, Seungcheol leaned a little closer, voice dropping. “You’re in for a long shoot if you keep answering him like that.” You raised a brow. “Why? Think he’ll get attached?”

He grinned. “No. I think I might.”

You didn’t have time to respond — the director’s call for the next setup echoed across the room. But even as Seungcheol walked off to join the others, your pulse refused to calm down.

—

The air outside smelled faintly of asphalt and ocean breeze, the hum of the city wrapping around the film set like a lazy background score. From where you stood, the crew moved in fast, well-rehearsed rhythms.

You were supposed to be resting between takes. Instead, you were watching Mingyu’s scene from behind the monitors.

He was standing in the middle of the street, the California sun glinting off his hair as a girl would pull him to the sides, continuously repeating the shot. The director shouted “Cut!” and the crew applauded as Mingyu broke into a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Good take!” someone called. “Too good,” Seungcheol muttered beside you. You hadn’t realised he was standing there until you felt the brush of his arm when he crossed them. His tone was casual, but his eyes were locked on the monitor like he wanted to burn a hole through it.

You tried not to smile. “Jealous, Seungcheol?” He smirked without looking at you. “Just saying. Some people get all the easy scenes.” You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “And some people just have to wait their turn.”

That made him glance at you finally — that sharp, unreadable look that always made you feel like he was not the S.Coups that everybody loves and thirst for. Before you could look away, a familiar deep voice called, “Noona!”

You turned to find Mingyu jogging over, a towel slung around his neck, cheeks flushed from the sun and exertion. He flashed you that grin — bright, effortless, magnetic. “You saw that, right? Think I pulled it off?” You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re asking for compliments now?”

“Not from anyone. From you,” he said, tone light but with a flicker of sincerity behind it. “Cocky,” you teased. He shrugged, grin widening. “Confident.”

Seungcheol cleared his throat, the sound low but pointed. “You’re dripping sweat on her shoes, Gyu.” Mingyu looked down — a bead of sweat had, in fact, landed dangerously close to your ankle. “Oh, my bad,” he said with a laugh, reaching for the towel. Without thinking, he bent slightly, pretending to wipe it. “There. All clean.”

You burst out laughing, swatting at his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.” “Yeah, but I made you laugh,” Mingyu said, standing back up — and he didn’t move away right away. His height and warmth crowded your space, the smell of sun and sweat mixing with his perfume.

For a second, you forgot how to breathe. Seungcheol’s voice broke the moment. “Break’s over, Gyu. Director wants you to prep for the next shot tomorrow.”

Mingyu sighed dramatically. “Yes, hyung.” But before he left, his gaze met yours again, softer this time. “See you tom, noona.” When he walked away, you felt Seungcheol’s stare still lingering — steady, unreadable.

“You attract chaos,” he murmured finally. You smiled, not looking at him. “Funny. I was about to say the same about you two.”

Los Angeles looked like a postcard that day — blue sky stretched wide, waves catching sunlight like shattered glass, and wind that kept messing up everyone’s hair right before “Action” was called.

The beach was alive with color — umbrellas, cameras, dancers, props. Music blared through the speakers as crew members adjusted angles for the wide shots. You were standing with your feet buried in the sand, waiting for your cue. The stylist fixed a loose strand behind your ear, then gave you a thumbs-up before walking off.

“Okay, scene 4! Chorus!” the director yelled. Mingyu was already on set, fitted white tank top, layered under a black blazer-style jacket, grin bright as he waved you over. Seungcheol was beside him, wearing a black oversized blazer layered over a graphic black shirt, lounging on a beach chair like the sun itself worked for him.

You approached — trying to look natural. “Finally,” Mingyu said, brushing imaginary sand off your shoulder. “Was starting to think you were avoiding me.” “Maybe I was.” He chuckled, eyes glinting. “Then I must be doing something right.”

“Positions, everyone!” the choreographer shouted. The music started — upbeat, sultry, the kind that made movement feel like flirting. The cameras rolled as you swayed to the rhythm, Mingyu joining you easily, matching your every turn and twirl. His hand slid down to your waist in perfect sync with the beat.

On cue, Seungcheol joined from behind, the camera catching the three of you moving together with the other dancers — a triangle of motion and heat. To anyone watching, it was just choreography. But you could feel it. The way Seungcheol’s hand lingered a beat longer than it needed to, the way Mingyu’s laugh came out breathless, the way both of them seemed to orbit closer and closer.

The director yelled, “Cut! Beautiful. Keep that energy for the next take.” Everyone clapped. The music faded, but your pulse didn’t. You stepped aside for a sip of water, trying to cool down, but Seungcheol was already walking over — towel around his neck, grin lazy and dangerous. “You’re stealing the spotlight,” he said.

You smirked. “Then stop giving it to me.” He leaned closer, voice a low murmur. “Not sure I want to.”

Before you could answer, Mingyu appeared again, sliding between the two of you like sunlight breaking tension. “Director said five-minute break,” he announced cheerfully — but his eyes flicked between you and Seungcheol like he’d felt that invisible pull too.

“Good,” Seungcheol said smoothly. “You need to cool off. You look like you’re overheating.” Mingyu laughed under his breath. “Says the one who’s been staring at her like a camera lens.” You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Seungcheol tilted his head, pretending to think. “Means he’s projecting.”

Mingyu grinned, but there was something sharper in it now. “Maybe I am. But at least I don’t hide it.” You glanced between the two of them — Seungcheol calm, composed; Mingyu bold, teasing — and for the first time, you realised the tension wasn’t just playful. It was personal.

“Alright, CxM, reset positions!” the director called. Mingyu winked at you before jogging off. Seungcheol stayed a moment longer, close enough that his voice came out soft, just for you. “Be careful,” he murmured. “He likes to play.” You smiled faintly. “Maybe I do too.”

This is going to be a long shoot.

—

By the last day, everyone had gotten used to the chaos. The set didn’t feel like a workplace anymore — it felt like a weird, sandy, sunburned family reunion that refused to end.

Cameras, props, laughter — everything blurred together in the warm California heat. The last scene was simple: the pool party sequence. Just music, water, smiles, and a golden hour glow that made everything look like magic. “Alright, last take! Give me energy! I want it to feel real!” the director shouted through his megaphone.

You were sitting on the pool’s edge, feet in the water, hair a little damp from all the retakes. Mingyu was floating nearby, grinning as he splashed a little water in your direction. “Don’t you dare-”

Too late. A wave hit you square in the chest. You gasped, then retaliated, kicking water back at him until both of you were laughing like kids. “Cut!” the director yelled. “Let’s redo, dry our artist then let’s do it again.”

Seungcheol, lounging on a pool chair with his sunglasses low, chuckled as he watched the chaos. “You two look like you’re auditioning for a water commercial, that’s why they’ll change it” he teased. “Jealous you’re not part of it?” Mingyu shot back, slicking his wet hair back with one hand as his stylist started to fix his clothes.

Seungcheol smirked, getting up to join you both by the poolside. “Nah. I’m more of a slow-burn scene kind of guy.” “Meaning?” you asked, tilting your head. He leaned close enough for you to catch the faint scent of sunscreen and his perfume. “Meaning I don’t rush what looks good in time.”

Before you could react, Mingyu scoffed playfully. “He’s been talking in metaphors these past few weeks,” he said, rolling his eyes as he climbed out of the pool, water dripping down his neck. “Don’t let him fool you — he’s just mad I got to shoot with you more.”

You grinned. “You both sound jealous.” “Maybe we are,” Mingyu admitted easily. “Can you blame us?” Seungcheol hummed, pretending to think. “Not really.”

—

The director clapped his hands suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention. “That’s a wrap, everyone!” he shouted, voice echoing over the pool and the cheers that followed. “The music video for 5, 4, 3, Pretty Woman is officially done!”

Everyone broke into applause — staff members high-fiving, camera operators laughing, Lay Bankz herself jumping up and down in excitement like she’d just won an award. “Let’s gooo! We killed it.” she screamed, throwing her arms around the director, who looked mildly terrified but happy.

You, Mingyu, and Seungcheol exchanged tired but warm smiles. The adrenaline for days, the endless takes, the sunburns and late-night rehearsals — all of it hit at once. Mingyu stretched, groaning. “I swear, I’m bragging this to the members,” Seungcheol chuckled. “Go on, if you want to end up getting bullied”

“I’ll miss the people,” you added, glancing between the two of them. “Not the sand stuck everywhere.” “Yeah?” Seungcheol said, teasing. “Even us?” You smirked. “Especially you.” He laughed — the kind that made you smile even when you didn’t mean to. Mingyu bumped your shoulder lightly. “You’re gonna miss me more.”

Before the playful argument could go further, the director shouted again, waving his clipboard. “Alright, team! You all deserve it — we’re celebrating tonight! Yacht party, Marina del Rey! Be there by eight and bring clothes!”

Lay Bankz gasped dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. “A yacht party? Hell yes, I’m bringing my sparkly outfit.” “Of course you are,” Mingyu muttered, teasing her. The set buzzed with excitement again as people started packing up equipment and making plans. The sun had started to dip lower, painting everything in soft gold.

You turned to Seungcheol and Mingyu, who were now both standing beside you, one on each side — the familiar, dangerous triangle all over again. “So,” Mingyu said, his tone light but his eyes sharp, “you coming tonight?” You nodded, smiling. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he said, “Good. Wouldn’t be much of a celebration without you.” And just like that, the air changed again — playful, electric, and heavy with something you still refused to name.

Somewhere behind you, Lay Bankz shouted, “YACHT PARTY, BABY!” Everyone cheered. But between the three of you, the only thing louder than the crowd was the ongoing heat spreading your body in the space you shared with both Mingyu and Seungcheol.

The ocean was ink-black under the California night sky, moonlight spilling over the waves like melted silver. The yacht floated just beyond the harbour, music echoing faintly over the water. Someone had gone all-out for this — fairy lights tangled around the railings, glasses clinking, laughter spilling over the deck. The air smelled like salt, citrus, and expensive liquor.

Lay Bankz was, unsurprisingly, the loudest person on board. “Let’s get it started, people! We wrapped a whole damn MV!” she yelled into a champagne flute like it was a mic, drawing a round of cheers.

You laughed from where you were leaning against the railing, the cool metal pressing against your back. The wind tugged at your hair, your draped halter top and skirt clinging on your body, and your eyes drifted over the crowd — the director dancing badly, stylists taking selfies, a few of the backup dancers already tipsy.

And then you saw them.

Seungcheol and Mingyu had just arrived. Of course they did. Together.

Seungcheol was in a white sleeveless top, dark jacket draped loosely over his shoulders, a drink already in his hand. Mingyu looked effortlessly undone in a white shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show a sliver of his tanned skin and the faint chain around his neck, his hair still damp from a shower.

You hated how they both looked — easy, confident, devastating. Mingyu noticed you first. His grin curved slowly and familiar as he started walking your way. “Was wondering when I’d see you alone,” he said, tilting his glass toward you before taking a sip.

You smirked. “You mean away from the cameras?” “Yeah,” he murmured, leaning a little closer, voice low enough for only you to hear. “But this feels better than any take we’ve done.” Before you could answer, Seungcheol’s voice joined in, smooth as ever.

“Flirting before drinks, Gyu? That’s new.” He was beside you now, taking the spot on your other side, hand resting casually on the railing — close enough that his fingers brushed yours. Mingyu scoffed. “Don’t pretend you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Thinking what?” Seungcheol’s lips curved slightly. “That you look even better when there’s no director shouting ‘action.’” You exhaled, pretending to laugh it off, but your chest felt too warm — like you were caught between two magnets and didn’t know which pull was stronger.

The three of you talked — easy, electrifying. About the shoot. About how Mingyu almost fell during the beach scene. About how Seungcheol tripped over a prop wire and pretended it didn’t happen. You laughed until your stomach hurt, and yet the undercurrent was there: every glance, every accidental touch, every silence that stretched a little too long.

As the night went on, people started dancing under the deck lights. You found yourself caught between Mingyu’s teasing smirk and Seungcheol’s lingering gaze — both of them getting closer and closer every time you moved.

At one point, you escaped to the quieter side of the yacht, where the music was a faint echo. The wind was softer there, the sound of the waves louder. You leaned on the railing again, watching the lights ripple across the water. A few minutes later, footsteps approached.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“You keep disappearing,” Seungcheol said quietly. His tone was gentler now — not the leader of Seventeen, not the idol, just him. You smiled faintly. “I like the quiet.” He stepped closer, the faint hum of the yacht vibrating beneath your feet. “Mingyu’s looking for you, you know.”

“Are you?” you asked before you could stop yourself. He smiled — small, knowing. “Maybe.” He joined you, holding a second glass, which he handed you. “For the star of the video,” he said softly. You took it, your fingers brushing his — his other hand rested on the railing behind you, caging you in without touching you.

For a moment, no one spoke. Just the wind, the hum of the engine, the soft sound of the sea brushing against the hull. You took a sip of your drink, watching him over the rim of your glass. He was watching you. His shoulders were loose, hair slightly messy. You saw the tattoo on his back, the one that fans screamed for.

He looked at the stars, not knowing what to say. Your eyes dropped to his tattoo again. You took another sip, slower this time. The alcohol was warming your bloodstream, making your skin flush slightly. Seungcheol noticed — his gaze flicking between your lips and your neck where your pulse was visible.

“You know,” he said casually, leaning against the railing now, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His voice was low enough that only you could hear him over the distant music and waves. “I've done a million photo shoots, music videos, interviews..”

“Hmm.. what about it?” You said, waiting for him to continue. “Never had one go this.. enjoyable," he said, a smirk playing on his lips as he remembered the scenes from the shoot. His eyes flicked down to your body briefly before meeting yours again. “All those touches, that close proximity.. it gets to you after a while.”

“This is my first music video.. so I don’t know how to respond” You said slowly smirking, half saying the truth, half teasing him. “Right,” he chuckled softly, watching your body language. He saw how you handled being touched by strangers all day — dancers throwing you around. He bit back a laugh.

He opened his mouth to tease you further, but the words died on his lips as he noticed the way you were looking at him. Your eyes were challenging, almost daring. Seungcheol found himself wanting to kiss that sass right out of your mouth. But he stopped himself and you noticed that right away.

“Shut up and kiss me,” you snapped, your voice barely audible over the music and the sound of the sea. Seungcheol stared at you for a moment. He expected you to blush, to look away, not to demand a kiss like that. Fuck, he liked it anyways.

Before you could blink, Seungcheol grabbed your hand and started pulling you towards one of the private rooms on the yacht. His hand was warm and strong in yours. He didn't give you a chance to protest, opening the door and pushing you inside before following behind, locking it, and kissing you immediately, almost rushing.

The room was dimly lit, a king-sized bed taking up most of the space. Seungcheol turned to face you, his chest heaving slightly. He reached out and grabbed your face roughly, kissing you again without warning. His hands gripped your hair tightly as he pushed you backwards onto the bed.

The kiss was brutal and beautiful — his lips crashed against yours with an intensity that stole your breath. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you firmly as his tongue demanded entry without asking permission. It was raw desire mixed with something deeper — a hunger born from days spent pretending they weren't attracted to each other on camera.

He broke the kiss briefly to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his hands roaming to grip your waist possessively. You could feel his hardness pressing against you through his clothes. He pulled back to look at you, eyes dark with lust, laced with desire but also concern. “Are you sure?” He asked. You only responded with a yes, that sounded like a plea.

He leaned in to capture your mouth again in another searing kiss. His hands began to undress you slowly, carefully — untying your top, pulling down your skirt.

Your clothes ended up in a heap on the floor and he stepped back to look at you in just your underwear. His expression was pure hunger mixed with awe — as if he couldn't believe he was about to have sex with you after days of dancing around attraction on set. “Fuck,”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, running a hand reverently over your curves. He leaned down to kiss your collarbone, his lips moving downwards. He unhooked your bra with expert ease and tossed it aside, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking hard.

You arched into his touch with a soft moan, your fingers digging into his hair. He switched to the other nipple, giving it equal attention while his hand snaked down to your underwear. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and slowly pulled them down, kissing along your hipbone as he did so.

Once your underwear was on the floor, he stood up briefly to shed his own clothes. You got a full view of his muscular body — the same one fans screamed for — and it took your breath away. He kissed you deeply one last time before breaking away and slowly kissing down your body.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide as he settled between your legs. He looked up at you with hungry eyes before diving in, his tongue immediately finding your clit and sucking gently but firmly. You gasped loudly.

“Mmm..” He hummed against your sensitive folds, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure through you. His hands gripped your thighs tightly as he ate you out eagerly, his tongue circling and sucking your clit with expert precision. “You taste so fucking good” He murmured between licks. “Ughh.. Seungcheol”

Your hips were bucking into his face desperately as he held your thighs down to keep you still. He added two fingers inside you suddenly, curling them upwards to hit that spot that made you see stars. You let out a loud moan, “Oh my god..” He growled against your pussy, “Shh”

He continued to eat you out relentlessly, his fingers pumping in and out of you while his tongue worked your clit. He looked up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

“I could eat you out all night,” he said between licks, his fingers curling deeper inside you. Your moans were getting louder and more desperate. He suddenly sucked hard on your clit while adding a third finger, stretching you open. You cried out, “Seungcheol!”

“Now would you look at this?”

Your jaws dropped when you heard Mingyu’s voice, your whole body freezing except for Seungcheol’s fingers still moving inside you. Seungcheol didn’t stop eating you out though — if anything, he seemed to double down on sucking your clit harder while Mingyu suddenly respawned in the door.

Your body convulsed as you came hard on Seungcheol’s face, your juices coating his tongue and fingers. He kept licking you through your orgasm until every last shudder left your body. Mingyu walked over slowly, already unbuckling his belt with a smirk.

Seungcheol looked up at Mingyu, his lips glistening with your juices. “You joining us?” he said, his voice low and husky. He spread your legs wider, giving Mingyu a better view of your cunt.

Mingyu chuckled darkly, his pants already pooled around his ankles revealing his hard cock. “Fuck yes I'm joining,” he said, stroking himself slowly while both he and Seungcheol stared at your sensitive, glistening folds.

“You two gonna keep staring or fuck me already?” You said breathlessly, your body still trembling from the intense orgasm Seungcheol gave you. Mingyu laughed and stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grab your thigh while Seungcheol kept his fingers inside you.

Mingyu grinned and positioned himself between your legs, pushing Seungcheol’s hand aside to replace his fingers with his thick cock. He entered you in one smooth thrust, filling you completely while Seungcheol watched with hungry eyes. He started pounding into you immediately, his hands gripping your thighs tightly.

You gasped loudly as Mingyu began to fuck you, his powerful thrusts making your breasts bounce. Seungcheol didn't take his eyes off you; instead, he started kissing along your ankle gently while watching how stretched open your folds were around Mingyu's massive length.

“Damn,” Seungcheol murmured softly, watching Mingyu’s hips snap against yours, his dick disappearing and appearing inside you. Your moans filled the room as Mingyu hit that spot deep inside you with each thrust. He was unconsciously spreading your legs wider, allowing Seungcheol a better view. “You like this?” He asked suddenly.

“Mm-hmm,” You moaned, wrapping your legs around Mingyu’s waist to pull him deeper. “He hits that spot so good..” You arched your back, pushing your breasts out. Seungcheol watched your body move under Mingyu’s rough thrusts, his pants tightening as he got harder watching you get railed by his friend.

Seungcheol couldn’t take his eyes off you anymore. He leaned forward suddenly, pressing his lips against yours in a deep kiss while Mingyu continued to pound into you. Seungcheol swallowed your moans as Mingyu’s thrusts became even more intense, hitting that spot over and over.

Mingyu’s breathing became ragged as he picked up the pace, his cock slamming into you with wet, loud sounds. Seungcheol broke the kiss and moved his lips to your neck, sucking gently on the sensitive skin.

“Fucker.. Ugh- god” Mingyu felt you clench around him as you came again, your second orgasm of the night making his cock throb. He pulls out suddenly and comes to the bed, making you whimper at the loss. He turned to Seungcheol with a mischievous grin, rubbing his wet cock against Seungcheol’s thigh.

“Are you ready for your turn, hyung?” He asked, teasingly. Seungcheol rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the flush on his cheeks. “Fuck off,”

Mingyu laughed and finally moved out of the way, letting Seungcheol position himself between your legs. Seungcheol’s eyes were dark with desire as he looked down at your wet, rosy cunt. He grabbed his cock and slowly pushed inside you, stretching you open once again.

His is definitely thicker than Gyu’s but Gyu’s longer.

Seungcheol started moving slowly, his deep thrusts making wet slapping sounds. He leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth while Mingyu watched from behind you. Seungcheol whispered dirty words in your ear when he let go — “You feel too good..”

Then suddenly you felt Mingyu’s hands on your breasts from behind, squeezing them together while Seungcheol fucked you. “She’s gripping your cock so tightly,”

Seungcheol grunted in response, his hips moving faster. “Shit,” he muttered, feeling your walls clench around him. Mingyu leaned down to whisper in your ear, “What? You like his dick more than mine..?”

Seungcheol paused mid-thrust, his annoyance clear on his face. “Shut up” he hissed at Mingyu, his hands gripping your hips tightly. Mingyu just chuckled and continued whispering nonsense in your ear, intentionally provoking Mingyu to stop, you responded. “Maybe I do,”

He resumed thrusting, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease. Mingyu pouted slightly, deciding to stop the banter and instead focused on massaging your breasts gently, making you moan softly.

As Seungcheol continued to thrust inside you, his movements were slow and deep, hitting your g-spot perfectly with each stroke. His grip on your hips was firm but gentle, pulling you onto his length as he buried himself completely before slowly withdrawing. Mingyu's pace was faster, shorter thrusts.

“Ahh- you’re stretching me!” “Mmph,” Seungcheol groaned, his hips pressing against your ass as he held himself deep inside you. His thick, long dick was completely buried, stretching your folds wide open. Mingyu watched from behind.

Seungcheol closed his eyes briefly, relishing the feeling of your tight warmth enveloping his entire length. Each slow thrust was like heaven, your inner walls hugging his cock perfectly. He could feel every ridge and wrinkle inside you, the head of his dick kissing your cervix with every deep push.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, his large hand covering your entire stomach as he pulled you back onto his cock. He loved the way your body responded to his slow fucking, your pussy dripping wet and clenching around him like a vice.

Seungcheol suddenly pulled out and flipped you onto your knees, making you gasp. Before you could catch your breath, Mingyu was in front of you, his hard cock right in front of your face. He grabbed your hair gently, guiding his length towards your mouth. “Open up,”

Seungcheol then watched with heavy lidded eyes as Mingyu pushed his dick past your lips. As soon as Mingyu’s hips touched your face, Seungcheol aligned himself behind you and thrust back in, filling your folds again. Now both of their cocks were inside you at the same time, stretching you in two different holes.

Mingyu slowly fucked your mouth while Seungcheol pounded your cunt from behind. You could feel their lengths rubbing against each other through your thin wall, creating an intense sensation. Seungcheol reached around to pinch your clit while Mingyu hit the back of your throat.

Your inner walls pulsating as you could feel another orgasm coming. “Where, darling?” The endearment made you come immediately as you’re able to scream inside. He groaned loudly, his own orgasm ripping through him as he filled your insides with his hot cum.

He held himself there, grinding against your g-spot to prolong both of your orgasms. Following a little more, Mingyu came in your mouth again as the vibration of your screams sent shivers for him.

You passed out between them, completely spent from the intense double penetration. Seungcheol and Mingyu looked at each other over your unconscious form, their chests heaving with satisfaction. Mingyu wiped his dick clean and pulled out of your mouth, adjusting his pants.

“Did you see how many times she came?” Mingyu whispered with a smirk, gesturing to your limp body sandwiched between them. Seungcheol laughed softly, careful not to disturb you. “Of course, I brought her here, young fella”

“She took both of us like a champ, to be honest.” Mingyu said. Seungcheol gently moved your legs together, closing your thighs to keep his cum inside you. He arranged your body so you were comfortable, your head resting on a pillow. “Gimme that towel,” he whispered to Mingyu, who handed him a soft washcloth.

He carefully wiped between your legs, cleaning the cum leaking out of your folds. Mingyu watched with a satisfied smile, knowing his best friend was taking care of you like a precious doll.

The room was quiet now, save for the low hum of the yacht’s engine and the muffled music still playing somewhere above deck. The air smelled faintly of salt and champagne, mixed with something heavier — warmth, skin, and exhaustion.

You were half-asleep, body still trembling in the afterglow, as Seungcheol pulled the blanket over you. His touch was unhurried, tender. Almost domestic. He brushed a damp strand of hair from your forehead, thumb tracing your temple like he was memorising you.

Mingyu stretched beside you, his arm lazily thrown over his eyes. “Think the director would still call that chemistry?” he murmured, voice rough with laughter and something else — awe, maybe. Seungcheol snorted softly. “Pretty sure that was beyond chemistry.”

You let out a weak laugh, voice hoarse. “You two talk too much.” “Because you can’t,” Mingyu teased, his hand reaching to gently squeeze your arm. The gesture was light, but grounding — a wordless you okay?

You nodded faintly, eyes fluttering open to look at him, then at Seungcheol. Both of them were already watching you. For a second, no one said anything. Just three people caught in a fragile kind of silence — one that wasn’t awkward, just.. full.

Seungcheol finally broke it, his tone quieter than before. “You should rest. We’ve got a flight tomorrow night.” “Back to Seoul,” Mingyu added, his voice softening. “Back to pretending we don’t know what just happened.”

That earned a faint smile from you. “Can you?” Mingyu met your gaze, expression unreadable for a moment — then he smiled, slow and crooked. “Probably not.”

Seungcheol exhaled a quiet laugh, the kind that reached his eyes. “Guess we’ll figure that out when the cameras roll again.” He leaned down to press a light kiss to your shoulder, not lustful — just a quiet, human gesture of something unspoken. Mingyu’s hand brushed against yours, fingers loosely intertwining.

And for the first time that night, it wasn’t about want. It was about something dangerously close to care. Outside, the yacht rocked gently under the moonlight, carrying three people who knew that whatever happened after the cut was real now.

Early morning sun streams through the yacht’s windows, illuminating the scene as Mingyu stands beside you, his fingers expertly playing between your thighs. Seungcheol is nowhere to be seen, giving Mingyu this private moment with you. “Spread your legs wider, baby,”

“Mhmm. Uh- god.. fucking hell..” You obediently spread your legs wider, trying to muffle your moans avoiding people to hear you, your hands gripping the edge of the yacht as he began to finger-fuck you.

You were on the edge of the deck of the luxurious yacht, the gentle rocking of the boat amplifying the sensations of Mingyu’s fingers inside you. The early morning air was cool against your bare skin, but Mingyu’s warm touch between your legs sent heat coursing through your veins.

Earlier that morning, Seungcheol had quietly slipped out of the bedroom to attend to some calls of the other members, leaving the two of you alone. Mingyu had woken up with a raging hard-on and found you sleeping peacefully, your legs slightly parted, revealing your pink folds. Yet he didn’t want to do anything while you’re asleep, so he waited for you to go outside.

Mingyu hooked his fingers upward, stroking your spot deliberately while his thumb circled your clit. Your moans were getting louder despite your attempts to muffle them against your arm. The boat’s gentle sway made his fingers slide in and out smoothly, hitting all the right spots inside you.

“So loud, huh?” Mingyu whispered, his fingers picking up speed as he continued to fuck you with three fingers. “You’re moaning like a slut without Seungcheol here to hear you. Does it feel good to be fucked by just my fingers instead of his big dick?”

I couldn’t respond.

Your moans grew louder despite your best efforts to stay quiet. Mingyu grinned wickedly, loving how you couldn’t control your pleasure without Seungcheol around to manage your volume. “God, I love how you fucking moan,” he whispered against your neck. “Such a shame, we can’t get caught.”

—

The sun was bright enough to make everyone squint as they gathered on deck for breakfast. The yacht swayed gently, laughter spilling from the staff as plates clinked and the remnants of the previous night’s celebration lingered in the air.

You tried to look normal — whatever normal meant after the chaos of last night and just that morning — hair damp from the quick shower you’d taken, face bare and glowing under the light. You were holding a cup of coffee when Seungcheol found you. He didn’t say a word at first, just slid a hand around your waist like it was second nature, thumb rubbing lazy circles against your hip.

“Sleep well?” he asked quietly, eyes still half-lidded from exhaustion. “Barely,” you replied, forcing a small smile. “You?” He hummed in response, leaning in just slightly, enough that his breath brushed your temple. “Could’ve been better.”

Before you could answer, Mingyu appeared — tall, smirking, sunglasses hiding whatever expression you were sure was smug. He greeted the staff cheerfully, all energy and charm, but when his eyes landed on you and Seungcheol, his grin widened just a touch too much.

“Good morning,” he said, dragging out the words as if they carried weight. “Rough morning?” You froze mid-sip, while Seungcheol’s hand on your waist settled. Mingyu’s smirk deepened; he knew exactly what he was doing. “Not really,” You replied smoothly..

Mingyu lifted his orange juice glass like a toast. “Glad to hear it. You seem very attracted to that edge of the deck” The staff around laughed at the casual banter, oblivious, but the glint in Mingyu’s eyes said otherwise. You shot him a glare that only made him chuckle harder.

A few minutes later, Lay Bankz called for everyone to take group photos. Mingyu sauntered over to the rail, calling, “Y/N, come here! Let’s take one!”

Before you could move, Seungcheol’s grip on your waist stopped you. “I’ll join,” he said, voice low but firm. He led you toward Mingyu, still calm, but you could feel the slight tension under his fingers — the kind that wasn’t meant to be seen, only felt.

You stood between them for the photo, their shoulders brushing yours on both sides. The photographer laughed, telling everyone to “look natural.” Easier said than done.

Mingyu leaned down slightly, whispering just loud enough for both of you to hear, “Don’t look so tense, hyung. You’ll ruin the picture.” Seungcheol smiled for the camera. “Don’t worry,” he murmured back, “I’ll handle her later.”

You blinked between them, sighing quietly. I’m tired already.

—

Seungcheol sets his coffee mug down on the kitchen of the yacht, his gaze sharpening as he notices your slightly flushed cheeks. Seungcheol pushed off the counter and walked over to you, tilting your chin up with his finger. “You're blushing. What did Mingyu do?” He asked directly, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

You bit your lip, trying to hide a small smile. “He fingered me on the deck,” you admitted. Seungcheol’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and amusement playing on his face. “And?” he prompted, wanting more details.

“And made me feel good..? I think that was it” You said, laughing a little already, as you sipped into your own coffee. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he stifled a laugh. “Of course he did,” shaking his head. Then his expression turned heated, his voice lowering. “Did you come on his fingers?” His hand slid down to grip your ass.

“Of course I did,” you answered honestly, your face turning an even deeper shade of red. Seungcheol’s grip on your ass tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh. He pulled you flush against him, his hard length pressing into your stomach. “Good.. that means I raised him well.”

His mind is filled with images of Mingyu fingering you on the deck. He spun you around, pushing your upper body down onto the kitchen counter. Your robe hiked up, exposing your bare bottom to him. He smacked one cheek sharply. “Ass up,”

You arched your back, lifting your bottom higher. Seungcheol spread your cheeks apart, his eyes dropping to your cunt. He saw wetness already gathered there, knowing that Mingyu’s fingers had probably done a good job. He slapped your right cheek again, then your left, making you yelp.

Without further warning, Seungcheol grabbed your hips and slammed his hard length inside you in one rough thrust. You cried out loudly, your hands gripping the counter tightly as he began to fuck you aggressively, determined to outdo whatever pleasure Mingyu had given you earlier. “Shh.. unless you want everybody to watch how you’re being a whore”

His hand covered your mouth, muffling your cries as he continued to pound into you mercilessly. His other hand reached around to pinch and twist your nipples that is slowly tracing your robe, eliciting quiet whimpers from you. “Such a fucking slut,”

As you clenched your inner muscles around his thrusting cock, Seungcheol felt the squeeze and immediately understood. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered roughly, “You love being called a whore, don't you? Fucking clench on my dick like the dirty slut you are, darling.”

You whined softly, your face buried in your arms as Seungcheol continued his degrading insults. He picked up the pace, his hips slapping against your bottom loudly. “Fucking bitch loves being treated like you’re just a hole to pleasure men. To pleasure us.”

“Aghh- Seungcheol..” He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you up slightly so he could hit that sweet spot with each thrust. His other hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back. “Look at you, getting fucked raw on the kitchen counter while everyone’s outside.”

Seungcheol is getting close, his hips slapping against your ass violently as he uses you for his pleasure. He knew exactly what you liked now — being degraded while getting roughly fucked. He panted against your neck.

With a loud grunt, he slammed into you one last time, holding deep as he came hard inside you. Your body spasmed around him, drawing out his orgasm even longer as you cried out muffled into the counter. He continued thrusting through your orgasm, “FUCK! You feel so good, darling!” “Seungcheol- Oh my.. you’re so deep!”

Still buried inside you, he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back as he caught his breath. One hand remained tangled in your hair while the other rested on your stomach. “You liked that..? You want to carry my child or what?” He didn't give you time to respond, “Look at you..”

“Look at you, taking my dick like it's the only thing keeping you alive. Fucking pathetic. Can’t even stand up right now because your legs are shaking from being fucked so good.” He pulled out slowly, his cum leaking out of your cunt as he carried you and sat you on the counter he just bent you over.

He pulled you into a kiss. The heat that had burned both of you earlier had faded into something quieter. He brushed his thumb gently across your cheek, wiping a faint trace of tears. “Sorry,” he said softly, voice hoarse. You looked up, searching his face, and saw the smallest, most unguarded smile tug at his lips.

The hum of engines beneath the yacht mixed with the sound of laughter. You were sitting on the pool lounged chairs now, sunglasses hiding your sleepy eyes, a light towel draped over your shoulders. Seungcheol stood behind you, watching everyone in their swim wear already.

Mingyu is already in the pool, hair messy from the breeze, topless. He looked entirely too smug for someone who’d barely slept. Every now and then, his gaze flicked to you, and the corner of his mouth would lift — not enough for anyone else to notice, but you did.

Lay Bankz squealed from the poolside, already kicking water at the staff who were setting up speakers. “This is so fun,” she laughed, diving straight into the water, splashing everyone nearby. The energy shifted instantly — laughter echoing, people clinking glasses.

Seungcheol’s smirk even grew wider when Mingyu approached. “You joining?” Mingyu asked, his grin all teeth and trouble. “Maybe later,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Mingyu only hummed, eyes trailing over your damp hair and the hickey’s you’d failed to cover fully with makeup. “You should. The water’s warm,” he teased, meeting Seungcheol’s gaze, wiggling his eyebrows before turning away.

The leader didn’t respond, but only laughed at his best friend’s actions. That silly boy, he’s luring her in. Somewhere behind you, someone turned up CxM’s song again — bright, upbeat. The ocean glittered like glass under the sun, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world existed only on that yacht.

The music softened into something lazy and slow. Most of the crew were already in the water, splashing and laughing, drinks floating in little plastic trays. You hesitated at the chair, fingers clutching your towel covering your well fitted bikini, while the breeze danced across your skin.

In front, Seungcheol and Mingyu were already waist-deep in the clear blue water. They looked like they belonged there — two halves of the same frame. Seungcheol, with his hair slicked back, water running down his shoulders; Mingyu, grinning, sunlight cutting across his face like a highlight reel.

“Finally!” Mingyu called when you’re walking towards the pool, shading his eyes with one hand. “Thought you were gonna make us wait all day.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. “I was waiting for the right moment.”

“This is the right moment,” Seungcheol said, his voice calm but low, that familiar weight in it that always made your chest tighten. He tilted his head slightly, gesturing for you to join them. “Come on.”

The towel slipped from your hands as you stepped to the ladder, the heat of the deck giving way to the shock of cool metal under your feet. You dipped a toe in first, hissing at the temperature. Mingyu laughed.

“It’s not even cold,” he teased. “You’re just dramatic.” “Then why don’t you come help her in?” Seungcheol said, and something about his tone made Mingyu pause — a playful challenge laced with something unspoken.

Mingyu didn’t back down. He waded closer, his hand reaching up toward you. “Here,” he said simply.

You took his hand, letting him steady you as you stepped into the water. The chill made you gasp, but the warmth of Mingyu’s palm anchored you. When you were finally submerged, Seungcheol was already beside you, his hand brushing your arm beneath the surface — brief but deliberate.

“You okay?” he asked softly. You nodded, blinking against the sunlight reflecting off the sea. Around you, the others were laughing, someone tossing a beach ball, another singing off-key to the music. But in that small circle of water, it felt like the world had narrowed again — just the three of you, pretending this was normal.

Mingyu swam behind you, voice low enough only you and Seungcheol could hear. “You look better in a bikini,” he murmured, and Seungcheol’s jaw ticked in quiet amusement. “Careful,” Seungcheol said, tone half-warning, half-smile. “She might believe you.”

You laughed, splashing both of them. “You two never stop, do you?” “Not when it comes to you,” Mingyu said before diving under, leaving a trail of bubbles between you and Seungcheol.

The leader’s eyes followed him briefly, then returned to you — steady, unreadable, but softer than before. “Let him have his fun,” he murmured. “For now.” You smiled, unsure if he meant the words as a joke or a promise.

—

You were just laughing with some crew members about a silly story Mingyu had told earlier when suddenly you felt familiar hands sliding around your waist under the water. Seungcheol pressed against your back, his hard length nudging against your bottom through your bikini.

Thank god people are starting to be distracted. Lay Bankz started to mix some drinks on the bar counter that slowly made the crew go a little away from the pool, leaving the three of them in their own space once again.

Mingyu was still laughing and chatting with the crew, oblivious to Seungcheol’s hands slowly inching down to grab your ass cheeks underwater. Seungcheol bit your earlobe softly then whispered, “Come to think of it, I want to experience water sex.” His fingers hooked in your bikini bottoms.

You hesitantly parted your legs, your back still pressed against Seungcheol’s chest as he slowly pulled your bikini bottoms down underwater. Mingyu was too distracted to notice as Seungcheol’s fingers instantly found their way between your thighs, his hand covering your mouth to muffle any sounds “Mhmm-mm”

His fingers slid through your smooth folds, then he pushed two inside you without warning, fully scissoring you. You gasped quietly, your eyes flicking to everyone, making sure no one is looking at the both of you.

“How come you’re still tight after getting thoroughly opened by two men?” He whispered in your ears, making all your body hair stand up, and not because of the pool water’s coldness.

“Mingyu,” Seungcheol called softly. Mingyu looked over, his eyes meeting his hyung’s. He saw your back pressed against Seungcheol’s chest, his hand hidden underwater. He faced him, looking like a puppy, completely confused. Seungcheol then added another finger, and let you moan near Mingyu’s face.

He understood immediately the situation. He walked to the pool edge, facing you, holding your waist, while you’re facing him, still has your back on Seungcheol’s chest.

Seungcheol added a fourth finger, pumping them in and out while Mingyu rubbed your clit with his fingers. You moaned quietly, the sound muffled by Seungcheol’s hand still but loud enough for Mingyu to hear. “There, there. You have both of us again..” Seungcheol whispered.

Mingyu leaned down, his ear right next to your mouth as Seungcheol increased the pace of his fingers, fucking you hard underwater. You let out a long, low moan right against Mingyu’s ear, making him shiver and harden instantly. “Heavens..” Mingyu muttered under his breath. “Keep going, hyung.”

The sensation of being fingered underwater was entirely different — the water created a unique pressure and friction that made every movement intensely pleasurable. Their fingers moved with skilled precision. Your legs trembled visibly underwater. The water is going inside.

Feeling your walls clench, Seungcheol curled them sharply, hitting that perfect spot as Mingyu pressed on your clit furiously. The water swirled around you as you came hard, accidentally biting hard on Mingyu’s shoulders. Mingyu groaned in pain and pleasure.

As soon as your orgasm subsided and Seungcheol removed his fingers, Mingyu didn’t waste any time. He grabbed your hips roughly underwater and pushed his cock into your sensitive folds without warning. The sudden action makes you arch your back, fully resting on Seungcheol’s front.

Mingyu started thrusting into you hard and fast underwater, you were completely focused on his cock when suddenly.. You felt a different intrusion. Seungcheol had moved behind you and was slowly pushing a finger into your tight anal hole, making you gasp. “Don’t be too loud, or else I’ll stop and make Gyu stop as well.”

You bite on your lips to avoid any sounds coming out of your mouth. Mingyu was long gone, he loves the feeling of having to be inside you underwater.

Seungcheol added a second finger to your back hole, scissoring them to stretch you out. You could feel the pressure building in both holes, the water amplifying every sensation. “It hurts, Cheol..” “Shh.. you’ll feel good anytime soon.” He whispered, slowly giving you feather kisses to distract you from the pain.

Seungcheol’s fingers in your ass and Mingyu’s cock in your cunt created an overwhelming fullness. The water pressure added a unique intensity to each thrust and movement.

Suddenly, Seungcheol replaced his fingers with the head of his dick pressing against your tight hole. He pushed past the initial resistance and lodged himself halfway into your small hole. “UGH! Stop- wait.. it hurts!”

Both of them stopped their actions as they saw how you really are in pain. Mingyu gave you a quick peck to soothe her, cautious of other people to see them. Seungcheol started shaping circles on her hips as he held her.

He was incredibly careful, knowing how tight and sensitive you were. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, giving your body time to adjust. “It’s okay darling, it’s okay..” He kissed your back gently, one hand supporting your stomach while the other held your hip.

As the pain slowly subsided and your body relaxed around both cocks, both men started moving in sync. Mingyu’s thrusts into your folds became more rhythmic and forceful while Seungcheol carefully pushed deeper into your ass.

The sensation was overwhelming and unlike anything you had ever experienced. Having two cocks inside you at the same time underwater created an intense pleasure that bordered on painful pleasure. Every thrust from Mingyu pushed Seungcheol deeper into your ass, and vice versa. Your holes were stretched wide, accommodating both their lengths simultaneously.

Both of them found their pace, your moans filled the water, muffled but audible. “Mmmph.. Nnn- Ahh Fuck!” Your hands gripped the sides of the pool as they pounded into you, the water splashing around you with each thrust.

Please don’t let the crew look our way.

Mingyu reached around to play with your clit while Seungcheol grabbed your hair gently, pulling your head back against his chest. The combination of being stretched in both holes and having your sensitive spot stimulated was too much. “I'm gonna come” you gasped out between moans. “Please..”

“Begging huh?” Hearing your plea, they quickened their pace. Mingyu’s fingers worked furiously while Seungcheol’s thrusts became deeper. Suddenly, you felt both cocks swell inside you, nearing to reach their high as well. “Cum with us..”

Your body suddenly tensed up, your cunt tightening around their cock as your orgasm hit. But it wasn’t just an ordinary orgasm — the intense stimulation caused your body to contract violently and release a powerful squirt of fluid into the water. “Fuck! Fuck! Ahh!”

As your body convulsed with pleasure, both men groaned deeply, their cocks pulsing as they released their hot loads inside you. Mingyu’s moans were deep and guttural, cupping your breast, inflicting pain. “Ungh..” Seungcheol’s moans were more like a whisper as he closed his eyes and let his face be buried on your neck.

The yacht drifted lazily as the sun began to set, painting the horizon in strokes of gold and soft pink. The once-loud music had quieted, the laughter now reduced to mellow chatter from the remaining crew lounging at the bar. The yacht party is about to end.

You stood by the railing, wrapped in a towel, the ocean breeze cooling your still-heated skin. The salt air felt grounding, a quiet contrast to everything that had just happened hours before — a blur of warmth, water, and too much honesty that didn’t need words.

Footsteps approached from behind. You didn’t turn; you already knew who it was. Seungcheol leaned on the railing beside you, silent for a while before he said softly, “You okay?”

You nodded, eyes still fixed on the horizon. “Just thinking.” He hummed, his gaze following yours. “About what?” “About how weird this feels,” you said, letting out a breath that was half-laugh, half-exhale. “Everything started because of a music video. Cameras. Scripts. Pretending. Then suddenly-” You trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“Then suddenly, it wasn’t acting anymore,” Seungcheol finished for you. You turned to look at him. He wasn’t smiling — not teasing, not trying to charm you like he usually did. Just honest, open, like the man beneath the stage lights. The leader.

Mingyu appeared a moment later, hair still damp from the pool, holding three bottles of water. “You two look like you’re filming another scene,” he teased, handing one to you. You chuckled, taking it. “Don’t start.”

He leaned on the other side of you, crowding your space the way only Mingyu could — effortlessly close, but not suffocating. “It’s funny,” he said, watching the sun sink lower. “The director said we had the best chemistry on set. Guess he was right.”

Seungcheol snorted, amused. “He has no idea how right.” Mingyu grinned. “Should we tell him how we fucked?” You rolled your eyes, unable to help the laugh that escaped. “Yeah, right. Let’s not get blacklisted from the industry.”

For a moment, the three of you stood in silence — the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward but comfortable, the kind that came only after something irreversible had already happened.

As the sky deepened into twilight, Seungcheol reached for your hand. Mingyu noticed, his lips twitching into a small smile. The boat rocked gently, waves catching the dying light. Whatever this was — confusing, complicated, impossible — it felt real. Maybe that was enough for now.

Seungcheol glanced at you, eyes soft. “You know what they say after the cut?” You raised a brow. “What?” He smiled faintly. “That’s when the real story begins.”

# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

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You reached the room earlier by a margin of a whole minute—too long to sanitize your palms properly, too short for you to properly stabilize your shivering fingers. 

The trembling wasn’t from incompetence induced nervousness. No, you know exactly what you’re doing. 

But with your registered nurse certification still wet with ink, you’re too inexperienced to be taking a job this big. Being hired to look after the health a chunk of a thirteen membered boyband was no joke. 

It seemed like you were always on your feet—checking the hydration, sleep, and stress level of five men of the vocal unit, ensuring there was no major damage to their chords, doing it all over again after the concert and even on the days off all while traveling around the country in muggy buses and packed flights. 

You were still adjusting to sleeping with a neck pillow tied around you like a noose and eating your lunch straight out of plastic.

It was a new city and you were unpacking in a stuffy room you were supposed to share with another nurse when Talia—the nurse assigned to the Hiphop unit of the group, called in sick earlier this morning. 

The additional responsibility naturally shifted on the already crumbling shoulders of the youngest nurse around, you. 

Vernon staggered in, with whitened fingertips and eyelids drooping like someone had tied weights on his lashes.

His arms were slinked lifelessly around the shoulders of the two men who helped him in. 

You motioned the staff to have him sit on the flimsy mattress because there was no way he could hold his weight on a chair. You knelt before him, your fingers immediately finding his pulse. 

“Vernon, deep breaths.” Your voice was raised because at this point, you didn’t know how loud the ringing in his ears was.

His breathing was still shallow, but he groaned, like he was trying his best to follow your command. 

“Can you lift your arm for me?” You asked.

His fingers twitched and there was some movement in his forearm, but not enough. His body wasn’t cooperating with him.

You had already clipped a pulse oximeter to one of his fingers. 

“Pulse is 120, erratic. Temp is up. I’m going to check your BP, okay?”

Even though he wasn’t responding, you kept on speaking out loud to keep his brain engaged and running. The last thing you wanted was for him to faint or lose consciousness completely.

The EMT passed you the portable cuff which you wrapped around his bicep. Inflating it, you glanced at the number. “BP’s low.” 

The digital forehead thermometer read a temperature of 100.4°F.

“That’s a mild fever. Could be dehydration and heat stress.”

Outside, the thumping bass had begun dying down and there were no loud screeches amplified by mics and speakers echoing around anymore. The concert had come to an end.

The EMT remarked, “He hasn’t had water in two hours.”

“Give him IV saline—500 ml, slowly. Add electrolyte mix. O₂ here.”

She fitted a nasal cannula on Vernon who tilted his head in another direction. 

Your voice was gentle, assisting him through it, “Take deep breaths, Vernon. I know it’s hot and you pushed through, but you overheated. I’m starting an IV…it’s just saline to rehydrate.”

Vernon closed his eyes at your words and you notice the slight movement of his head. Oxygen hissed softly as you flushed an IV line.

Behind you, at the door of the medical room, there was already a crowd of his manager and unit members who had arrived straight off the stage, observing you coordinate your execution with swift precision along with the EMT. 

Only one of them noticed the clench of your jaw or how your thumb shivered, ever so slightly, before you applied pressure to the nasal cannula on Vernon’s face…like you were gathering all the strength you could muster for the simple task. 

When Vernon began to stabilize, you glanced at them with a tight small smile over your shoulder, signalling them that all was well. 

The boys hesitated to enter, Talia never allowed them to. But you scooted over on your knees on the ground to make space, eyes still vigilant on Vernon who was now slumped against the wall.

You were watching him fold and unfold his limbs, slowly, on your command when someone crouched down next to you in front of him. 

“You okay, buddy?” Wonwoo asked Vernon with a voice too quiet that even the rustling of the oxygen mask and the faint hum of the machines seemed louder. 

Vernon shifted against the wall, his eyes struggling to focus. He fought to regain control over his heavy limbs, tried to nod, but his head—swirling with dizzying exhaustion—only lolled back with a soft thud on the wall. 

The slow, steady rise and fall of his chest was the only thing grounding his members as the seconds ticked by. 

The others were too tired themselves, yet looking out for him. Their bodies dripped sweat on the ground, their breaths ragged and legs surely cramping after hours of jumping around on the stage.

It made you want to do everything to assure them, especially the one crouching by your side with concern lacing his mellow breath. 

“He’ll be alright…just needs to rest and rehydrate. He'll bounce back.” You announced, peeling your eyes away from Vernon’s vitals monitor, your voice clipped with the same professionalism as Talia, but it was much softer. Gentler. And not at all detached…like you understood where their distress sprouted from. 

Your affirmations triggered a slew of sighs and chatters from the group who began relaxing on the ground with Vernon, occasionally patting his thigh.

All except for one.

Wonwoo was still taut next to you, crouching on one knee. You could feel the pressure of his gaze hovering above your form as you began arranging your med-kit. 

You still weren’t as efficient as you had wanted to be, though, because an EpiPen slipped out of your grasp and landed on the ground.

You reached for it at the same time as the wary guy to your left who had been eyeing all your movements with utter curiosity, like he was watching a little cat carrying the weight of mount vesuvius on its shoulders. 

Your wrists brushed against each other, briefly. But the impact of it would have made you flinch had you not applied unimaginable strain over your muscles in time to prevent it. 

He handed it over to you with a smile that had exhaustion etched over every inch of it. “Thanks for the assist.” 

“It’s my job…” you mumbled, allowing yourself to finally meet his eyes. 

“A noble one.” He added. Like making sure you knew just how important and respected you were, was the most natural thing for him. 

You didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had said something like that before. It flustered you. 

“Uh…thanks?” you answered, flicking the moisture off the top of your brow which wasn’t even there before. 

Why did it feel like your body was melting? His smile was so sweet, but his eyes were so smoldering. You attributed it to the post concert adrenaline when you couldn’t find a sensible answer to his darkened gaze. 

You cleared your throat, the other members had started leaving to get some rest and dinner before their vital check-ins at their hotel. 

You got up on shaky legs to assist with the check-ins, leaving Vernon under the care of the staff and the EMT. 

Each unsure click of your kitten heels against the tiled floor thrummed in Wonwoo’s veins as he watched you leave, the heat from when your wrists had touched still lingering on his skin. 

As if it had grown a mind of its own, his palm reached out to the place you were kneeling on. He pressed it to the ground, like just touching the ground that had touched you once would satiate every sinister thought he has had of you ever since his eyes fell on you.

“How would you rate your energy today from 1 to 10?” you turned to Vernon, your eyes firm on the digital thermometer which had just taken his temperature.

“8, I’d say.” came his reply. 

“Good, an 8 is good.” you nodded, lightly tugging at his cheeks to check for any visible signs of dehydration or distress in his eyes. “Just remember not to jump around too much. And keep sipping on water, I have alerted the staff to be around you with a water bottle all the time today.”

After a full day of rest and minimal travel, you were feeling much better, helping the boys be in the best of health for their soundcheck out in the afternoon sun. 

There were no visible bags under your eyes, and you had managed to sneak an omelete before the hiphop unit members could follow the vocal unit members for their checkups with you. 

Vernon nodded, mumbled a small thanks and trailed behind Mingyu and Seungcheol towards their dressing room.

You glanced at the clock decked tilted on the wall to see how much time you had on hand with your last member for the day—Wonwoo. 

Now you weren’t the most coordinated person you’ve known. Quite contrarily, you were the kid in your ballet troupe who would singlehandedly bring the entire group average down.

So it only made sense that your misplaced trust on your attentiveness caused you to trip over your heels. 

Your hands flailed in the air, grabbing on to the first thing they could—Wonwoo. And if your nails digging on his neck didn’t anchor you back on your feet, his iron grip on your waist surely did. 

“Careful…” he whispered, making you realize that with his arms around your waist and yours looped across his shoulders, just how compromisingly close the two of you were now. 

Thanks to your hyperawareness about your own body, you quickly recovered, jerking your hands off of him like he was made of blistering metal. 

The color of your cheeks ebbed close to a very deep shade of scarlet, traveling down your neck and finally settling in your chest. The cheeks that could feel his breath because he still hadn’t let you go. 

“I…uh…” you began but whatever lame protest was in your mind just dissolved in thin air when he spoke. 

“You’re so small.” he jerked you closer, leaving not even a single atom’s space between your bodies, “isn’t it better if I hold you like this while you check my eyes?”

The words hung there a moment too long while you took your time to process what just happened.

You didn’t know what was worse—the fact that you didn’t even try to make some space between you two or the fact that he was still smiling so sweetly down at you. Like he was serious about holding you like this only so that it was easier for you to look into his eyes.

God…that was so wrong. So immoral and absolutely unprofessional. And yet, you considered reaching for his face and continuing the check up like that. 

And you would have done so, had it not been for…

“Hyung?” Mingyu’s eyes scanned the room until they landed on you.

The unnecessary proximity of your bodies dawned on him making his eyes go wide, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something a little more concerned. 

You didn’t even have to look up to know he was sizing up the situation—Mingyu, ever the observant one. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the unspoken expectation of modest boundaries being shattered.

Wonwoo’s grip on you loosened in an instant. 

“It’s not what it looks like.” You blabbered, all flushed and flustered. “Just…just needed a closer look.”

You clear the web of lies in your throat before it could blurt out something even more embarrassing. 

Mingyu just stood there, clutching the door frame like that was the only thing keeping him up on his feet. Then his eyes flickered to Wonwoo behind you. You could sense some secretive glances and gestures exchanged between the two boys behind your back as you arranged and rearranged your equipment.

But whatever it was, didn’t really matter because it entailed Mingyu, who was now almost fully stage ready, giving you a sheepish smile. 

“Didn’t even see a thing.” He shrugged, jerking his head towards Wonwoo who followed him out with a regretful glint in his eyes.

“The crush hasn’t waned yet?” Mingyu asked him with all the carefreeness in the world.

Like they were discussing weather on the side of the stage as the performance unit did their soundchecks. 

“Worse…” Wonwoo groaned, rubbing his callous palm against his face. “Now that I have touched her, it's like I don’t wanna stop doing that anytime soon.”

Mingyu barked out a laugh, “What the hell even was that? ‘Taking a closer look’, did she really think I’d fall for it?”

Though it was a lighthearted joke, it didn’t land well on Wonwoo who just sighed. “Cut her some slack, okay? It was me who caught her off guard.”

“You know you shouldn’t have done that, right?” Mingyu seemed more sincere now, “Staff, including the temporary medical aid on tour, are all off limits?”

“I know…I know I crossed a line today.” Wonwoo refused to meet his friend’s eyes.

But Mingyu kept on prodding. “What made you cross it? I mean, you’ve been crushing on her for like three weeks, now? You never acted on such an impulse before.”

“I dunno…I guess when I saw her with Vernon yesterday…it triggered something.”

Mingyu’s smile turned into a lopsided smirk again, “So you were jealous that she was trying to save your dehydrated friend? Man, that’s low—” 

“Shut up, no!” Wonwoo quickly cut him off, “I wasn’t jealous of her helping him. But I also wanted to know what being touched by her would feel like.”

It seemed like what he was about to say next was causing Mingyu some discomfort. Or maybe it was the afternoon sun glaring overhead. He clucked his tongue and moved towards the shade, putting his sunglasses back on. 

“Hyung, I hate to be that person, but you need to stop thinking about her like that. It just can’t happen, it's too risky. She’s only here for what...a month? You don’t even know much about her and what happens when we go back to South Korea?”

“Do you think I haven’t thought about it?” Wonwoo sighed, his face almost pensive, “I have…I’ve tried not to think about her but I just can’t. Even when I do…even when I keep myself distracted all day, she creeps up in my dream with her calm voice and those sunshine eyes.”

Mingyu didn’t expect any of that. Naturally, he stood there for several minutes. Dumbfounded. 

“Mingyu, I just get this itch in my chest whenever I see her like she’s the only one who exists in my universe. Just the other day, I was as worried for her as I was for Vernon because I saw her trembling…I wanted to ask her if she was tired or nervous or hungry…if I could help. It's never like that with anyone.”

Mingyu looked at him, really looked at him. And then, removing his glasses he deadpanned. “I think you should go for her.”

It was Wonwoo’s chance to be astonished. “You just lectured me about the risks of—”

“Because I didn’t know she meant that much to you already. But if she does, then you should try giving it a shot. Worrying about what lies ahead is as vain as cribbing about the past.” Mingyu shrugged like he hadn’t just dropped a wisdom nuke on his friend which exploded on him with newfound clarity. 

Wonwoo gulped dryly, then his eyes found solace in his fingernails. “I’ll give it a thought.” He murmured. 

On the other side of the stage, your conversation with your friend about the same topic was heading in the opposite direction. 

“No seriously, y/n, what’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you stop him?” Talia’s voice boomed from the other side of the phone. 

After Wonwoo had left, leaving you high, dry and confused, you panicked and called the first person you could think about. Your first greeting to your sick friend should have been ‘how are you feeling now, Tal?’ but instead it was, “has Wonwoo ever held your waist during check-ups?” 

And here you were, getting reprimanded by her after giving your delirious friend a rundown of what happened. 

“I dunno…I didn’t want him to stop.” You mumbled, sucking on your bottom lip.

“Didn’t want him–..., Y/N, this never ends well, okay? You’re just jeopardizing your career and for what? He’s gonna leave eventually. We’re not their permanent assists. Even if you follow your desires for a month, this isn’t gonna end well—professionally or personally.”

Talia sighed before breaking into fits of cough. 

“Yeah, you’re right…I guess I just got carried away in a heated moment.” You whispered, suddenly overcome by shame. “God, what was I thinking?”

More coughs echoed from the other side followed by the queasy sound of her blowing her nose. “Look, I gotta go now. Take care and don’t let that happen again. Push him away if he comes on to you...'mkay?”

“Yeah…I'll do that...” you exhaled, still unsure if you would ever be able to do that. 

The mutual attraction was so palpable, that even the walls of your hotel room heated up knowing that he was on the floor right above yours and that he had asked for you to come tend to him for an issue he refused to convey to his tired manager. 

You wrapped the cardigan around yourself even tighter as you chose to take the stairs thinking it might give you more time to think this through. 

As much of a blur as this day was, you had dutifully followed the protocol, done all the required check ups with the boys after dinner and had made sure there was no weird signals thrown at Wonwoo from you. 

Well, other than the time when you were checking his blood pressure and lost yourself for a moment when his arm flexed under your fingers to allow you access.

Just that little movement undid you right then and there.

You had to place your palm flat on his bicep, feel it twitch under your touch and take a deep breath to even recall what you were supposed to do next, all while his vigil eyes kept on gliding all over you. 

You thought you had recovered quite quickly after that, seamlessly concluding his checkup to move on to the next one.

Or at least you thought you did.

But then, just ten minutes ago, Wonwoo’s manager knocked at your door to inform you that he wanted to see you for reasons he refused to share. 

“Might be a headache or a stomach bug or something.” His manager yawned, “Just please listen to him, take a look and let me know if there’s anything wrong.”

The man looked so beaten and desperate that you couldn’t help but comply, sending him off to get his measly five hours of sleep after ensuring him you would go take a look. 

And now, here you were with your fist clenched mid way up in the air in front of Wonwoo’s room. 

Faint commotion of the boys drinking and talking in one of the rooms in the lobby could be heard coming from a creaked door. It relieved you, for some reason, knowing that these walls weren’t soundproof and with the rest of the members being here, you wouldn’t lose your mind that easily and do something stupid. 

You took a sharp breath and knocked.

And as if he was already waiting inches behind the door with his fingers wrapped around the doorknob, he opened with a faint smile.

The smile that knocked all the wind and your words out of you. 

“Hi…” you spoke low, like that was a secret. “Um, you wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, why don’t you come in?” He tilted his head to the side, widening the door for you. 

“Thanks.” you muttered as he shut the door behind you.

He didn’t lock it though, and asked you to take a seat on one of the chairs by a small coffee table littered with wet wipes and half a bottle of bourbon. 

“So about what happened earlier today.” He didn't even wait for you to get used to the idea of being in his bedroom with him, alone, afterhours, before he pulled the metaphorical rug from under your feet. 

You began coughing loudly, as if just speaking to Talia had gotten you sick.

Wonwoo immediately paused, crossing the room to pour some water and offered it to you. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a cough.” Lie. You were choking on the memory of those beefy arms wrapped around you. The beefy arms which were hidden under that stupid long sleeved hoodie he had on right now. 

He waited for you to sip as much as you could without spilling. And then, “Y/N, I just wanted you to know that today—”

“Nice room, man.” You squeaked in that annoyingly high pitched voice that only came out when you were skittish.

Your eyes bounced around at every corner of his room, but him, under the pretense of checking it out. 

“Dont you have the exact same room, just a floor below?” He asked, blinking in confusion. 

“The view, oh my god.” you pointed towards the window which were half covered with curtains. 

“Y/N it's dark outside, you can’t even see anything.”

“What?” you snorted, “you can totally see the deep blue…ebony…raven…”

“Cut it Y/N. As much as you’re cute like this, I think its important that we talk about today.” Wonwoo was standing right in front of you now, hands pocketed deep in his sweatpants. 

You had no choice but to shut it and stare at his face because if you lowered your gaze, it was his crotch that you would be looking at. And with the nerves in your belly flaring up, that was a risk you couldn’t take. 

“Look, I want you to know that I am not someone who randomly grabs girls around while working.”

“I never thought about you like that.” Your eagerness to correct his misconception softened him even more. 

“Thanks…” He murmured, “but, I am also not someone who would go above and beyond to clarify my intentions to some random girl.”

You blinked, unable to discern where this was headed to. But in your gut, you had this slight hitch, and it was knotting your breath. 

“I guess what I wanna say is…I don’t want you to think that you’re just some other girl around here Y/N. I really care about what you think of me…and that all these lingering touches, these longing gazes, this raging urge that I have to kiss you, it isn’t just lust. But something deep, pure…”

He seemed like he was at loss of words because you were staring at him with your lips parted, small gasps escaping through your rosy buds fervently. 

He instantly took a step back, ever so carefully, to allow you space to think. “I don’t wanna put any pressure on you. Just wanted to let you know that…I am not toying with you.”

“I…I appreciate that, Wonwoo.” your voice sounded impossibly small and that scared him for a minute. “But this is a lot to digest right now.”

Wonwoo took a seat on the edge of his bed and stared at the coffee table for a moment. Then, he licked his lips and shifted his eyes back to you. 

“Take all your time.” He smiled. 

Another pre concert checkup. Thermometer, eyes, blood pressure, pulse.

You moved around with much ease today, letting each member off with a joke or a pat on their cheek with a “just checking your reflexes” joke. 

You smiled more today, looser and lighter like finally, you were enjoying what you were doing. Not just following commands or stressing over protocols. 

Wonwoo was last, because of course he was, having pushed Mingyu and Vernon before himself. He was fidgeting with the ring on his finger, making it painstakingly obvious just how agitated he was about this sudden change in your behavior, this never seen before openness, and if your last night conversation had anything to do with it.

Did you even remember last night? Or were you drunk? Or was this all a facade to push him away?

When it was finally his turn, and Mingyu had very non-nonchalantly closed the door before he left, you wrung the thermometer in the air once. 

“You seem too calm today, should I spike up your pulse?” You asked, candidly.

Wonwoo, poor sweet Wonu, just blinked at you like you were speaking some foreign language. Wasn’t a calm pulse a good thing—

All his thoughts melted into a puddle when you leaned down, cupping his cheek in one palm while resting the other on his broad shoulder and pecked him on the corner of his lips. Then you took a moment to smile and pecked him again, this time on the lips. 

It was supposed to be a quick peck, cute and flirty, but his lips began working against yours just when you were about to pull away. It was so soft and earnest, like he would be disappointed if you abandoned him.

So you gave in, kissing him back. 

Slow. Breathy. Dreamy. 

You both were aware that he had to get his outfits and makeup done after this so none of you increased the fervour. No one bit or left any marks. It was just a delicate affirmation—you like me and I like you. 

When you finally pulled away, you immediately sucked on your bottom lip, tasting him…reveling in him. He was beaming too, like he was the first man tasting elixir. 

And when you giggled, it was like little fireworks went off in beautiful patterns all around him. 

“Now that I’ve taken care of your pulse…how about I help you with that adrenaline rush after the concert, too?” You blinked up so bashfully at him, as if that would take away the crassness of what you were implying. 

Wonwoo couldn’t move after it. Mingyu had to drag him up to the stage. 

It wasn’t until you walked down the lonesome hall, away from the drowsiness of the work day, when a hand gripped your arm and yanked you sideways into what looked like a narrow store room turned into a changing closet.

You screeched because you didn’t get the chance to see who it was before the door was closed shut and you were slammed up against it.

Your eyes focused on the dimly lit claustrophobic room, that’s when you saw him. 

“Wonwoo…what the hell?!”

He answered you by bunching up the hair at the base of your neck in his fist and using it as an anchor to keep you still while he claimed your lips. 

You gasped, gripping onto his forearms, biceps, or shoulders—whatever your fingers could find—as his contagious heat surged through you as well. 

His hand moved from your hair to the column of your throat, feeling your pulse rapidly beat under his thumb. It only made him smile smug as he directed his other hand under your dress to squeeze your ass.

The action caused you to press closer against his rock hard front. You could feel him getting harder under the rugged leather pants he wore for the last set on stage. 

Your mouth watered when you saw his bulging biceps flex as he held you and squeezed your curves with all the pressure he could apply.

Fuck, this was about to get wild. 

Your fingers slid down, trailing along the sweat slicked arms until they reached his forearms to trace the bulge of his strained veins. You moaned in his mouth when you felt them. 

As much as he enjoyed the gush of drool that filled your mouth when your fingers felt his arms, Wonwoo had some other plans.

He threw your hands up against the wall, pinning them on either side of your head and began moving down to your throat—biting, sucking, nibbling, ripping moan after moan out of you. 

You shivered under each savored brush of his tongue and wrapped a leg around his waist. It took your mind a lot of convincing and ration to disentangle your lips from his hungry ones.

“Wonwoo…we really shouldn’t be doing this here.” You panted, “what if someone walks in?”

Even you yourself seemed so unconvinced by your voice. 

“Then I will shut you down.” Wonwoo’s thumb flicked against your bitten bottom lip. “And judging by the way you’re rubbing yourself off on me, I don’t think you’re entirely against the idea of letting everyone in here know that you’re getting fucked by me.”

Oh screw it. 

You frantically began pulling at his drenched tanktop, clawing it off him. He let you admire the solid curve of his chest for a whole minute before he yanked your skirt up to rip your panties down. 

You stepped out of them and before you could move, he lifted you up off the floor, making your legs cinch around him on their own.

He dominated your lips again while his cock prodded against your lower belly, hardening by each of your moans that vibrated on his tongue. 

“I know I should prepare you first.” he huffed, his fingers digging red marks on the plumpness of your ass. “But I know you’ve been sitting around getting wet all day for me…so let’s speed this up, hm? You promised to help me with this after all.”

Your forehead fell on to his shoulder as you held on to his strong arms. “Please…” you whispered, “don’t make me wait.”

And then, in a wild thrust, he penetrated you making your back hit the door behind with a violent thud. 

Your lips parted with a hitched breath and you would have cried out so loud that it could have alerted anyone within a twenty meter radius. But Wonwoo’s quick thinking saved you when you immediately latched onto your mouth.

You mewled, helpless and destroyed. 

The post concert adrenaline pumping through his veins had transformed him into someone so unrecognizable—or maybe, that was the extent of his lust for you.

He didn’t seem to care about your trembling thighs (which were already beginning to give up) or the deep scratches on his arms left by your short sharp nails which stung just the right amount when his sweat seeped on them.

All he wanted to do was to ram up in your heat until you got used to the feeling of his cock. A little clawing and clamping aside, you were coordinating well with him so far. 

“Taking it without any complaints…that’s my good girl.” he rewarded you with a complacent grin. 

The moment his lips got off yours, you hollered, throwing your head back and knocking it up against the wooden door. You couldn’t control your movements, or the way your hips had begun grinding to the best of their abilities on him. 

He used his palm to muffle your sounds, but you just couldn’t stop rendering your throat raw.

His sole arm was carrying most of your weight now, bouncing you up and down on his length like you weighed nothing. The desperation on his creased brows, his hooded eyes and the lips that he was grinding his teeth upon was absolutely vile and shameless. 

You unwrapped one of your legs from around him, placing it back on the ground to allow him more leverage. He was already spent after a three hour long concert and you didn’t want him to tire out just yet…eager to prolong this night as much as he wanted to. 

This new position allowed him to brush against your most sensitive parts—ones that blinded you with exploding stars. When you clenched around him, he dragged himself out with an approving grunt before shoving it back in with more force than before. 

This aggressiveness, a blaring contrast to his usual sweetness, had you pining for more. 

Your mouths found each other again and he savored every bite of you, the furious strokes of his cock getting quicker and rawer than the one before. 

“Wonwoo…fuck almost there.” you keened. 

He kept on pounding inside of you, increasing the ferocity of it when he found an angle that had your cunt squelching with even more wetness. His fingers were still drilling in your ass and the pliability of your flesh made him lose his mind.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.” he grumbled. “This soft ass, this tight little cunt, those breathy moans…you’re a fucking nymph.”

Hearing him praise you like that stirred greed within you. You wanted him to say that again, to fill you up more because you were his perfect little nymph. It made you clench him with all your might until his head tipped forward.

“Give it to me Wonu…” you begged, tapping him on his cheek to look into your glassy eyes—brimming pools of desire. “I want you to fill me up with your cum.”

“Yeah?” He panted, still drilling into you with all his might. “You’re a cum hungry whore?”

His hips snapped with a lewd intensity against your pelvis, yanking out abominable sounds from your cunt as you nodded. 

You let him do most of the work, just kissing him up and down on his biceps here and there when you weren’t trying to swallow back your thirsty moans. 

He came with a loud grunt.

He was practically mashing you up against his hard body, almost lifting you up on your feet while shoving his tongue so deep down in your mouth that it was impossible to discern whose sweat or saliva was it that just dribbled down your throat.

And if his bodily reaction to this orgasm—clingy and inseparable—didn’t make you come, then it was certainly the hot jets shooting up in your cunt which did. 

You joined him in this moment of bliss with a garbled mewl as he spilled in you. His body went rigid before he relaxed again, pulling himself out and making your dripping, abused hole leak onto the ground underneath the two of you. 

It made you feel so lost for some reason, like you were meant to be wrapped around him all the time. 

You nearly collapsed when your knees refused to support you and you had to throw your arms around him again to prevent hitting the floor. He caught you, circling his arms around your waist. 

“Shit, are you alright?” he asked, voice raw and drained. 

You nodded, stabilizing yourself back on your feet, not wanting to drain him further. 

You waited for his post adrenaline rush crash to catch up with him, one where he’d just leave you be and slump down around somewhere, regretting whatever just happened.

But it never came.

One of his hands was still rubbing circles over the smooth skin of your thighs when he bent down, picking up your discarded underwear. 

You stepped into them with shaky legs, grasping on his scratched up shoulders as he tugged them up. The flimsy cotton fabric was useless, though, because it instantly got ruined the moment it came in contact with your drenched cunt which still had the both yours’ cum seeping out of it. 

He smiled watching you squirm with discomfort. 

“S’okay, pretty. We’ll shower together and put on new ones at the hotel, yeah?” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and only when he saw you smile back at him did he peel his eyes away from you. 

He checked if anyone was around before knitting his fingers with yours and pulling you with him. You still struggled to walk—legs achy and clenched because you didn’t want any visible trails of semen to drip down your thighs. 

When your bottom could finally feel the cold leather of his car seat, you sighed with relief, a calming sandalwood scent fluffing up a comfy cloud around you.

Wonwoo asked the driver to put the partition up as he pulled your droopy head to his chest. Snuggling into his warmth, you could feel your fingers not tremble for the first time in weeks as you drifted to sleep. 

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The sirens hadn’t stopped in three days. They echoed through the streets, cutting through the air unmercifully. What was likely one of the most shocking and tragic events in the city’s history was now being called The Virgin Massacre by the news. Every victim had been found the same way, same pattern, same mark carved into their skin. 

The whole city was locking doors, lighting candles, closing their curtains, praying that superstition might save their daughters. Meanwhile, you were making your way home after a 12-hour shift with the rain falling relentlessly and cold, turning the streets into a blur of reflections, red lights bleeding into puddles, the wind carrying the sound of distant sirens and the bustling city. 

You put your coat tighter around you, hurrying down the block, your shoes clicking on the wet pavement. It was late — too late — and you cursed yourself for staying behind at the café. You’d promised Vernon and your mom earlier you’d head straight home after work, but the manager had begged you to help close up. 

Now you were paying for it with every step echoing through the nearly empty street.

Your breath came out shallow bursts. The air smelled like rain and fear, one that had settled over the entire city since the murders began. Every news alert, every whisper online said the same thing: the victims were all virgins. 

At first, you’d laughed it off, thinking it was all a rumor. But tonight, when you saw the police cars two streets away and the white sheet covering another girl’s body, virgin scrawled across the wall beside her in a deep, bleeding red, the joke stopped being funny. 

You pulled your phone from your pocket and hit Hansol’s name. One ring. Two. Three. 

“Pick up, pick up, come on,” you muttered under your breath, glancing over your shoulder. The street should've been empty at these hours, but there was a tall figure walking a few steps behind, the heavy rain blurring the face of whoever it was.

“Peach?” Vernon’s voice finally came through the other line, rough, sleepy, calling you by the nickname he gave you ages ago. 

“Hansol,” you exhaled in relief, voice trembling, “I think someone’s following me.”

“What?”

Your pace quickened. You turned a corner, splashing through puddles as you increased the speed. “I just left work. There is a man and he’s been behind me since the main street. I looked back, and he–”

Another sound cut you off. This time, of a foot falling into a puddle. A loud gasp escaped you, but not loud enough to be a scream.

“Y/N, where are you right now?” Vernon’s tone was serious, more than you ever heard him sounding. You scanned your surroundings until your eyes landed on a street sign and you told him. “Run. Don’t look back. I’m coming. Keep me on the line.”

The phone slipped slightly in your shaking hand as you ran. Your breath tore at your lungs, the rain stinging your face. You could hear the rhythm of footsteps matching yours getting closer by the way they echoed through the street. You darted across the street, heart hammering against your ribs, keys already in your palm. You could see your building now, just a block away. 

“Hansol,” you whispered into your phone, “I think he’s still there.”

“I’m almost there, peach.”

Something darted behind you, a shadow slicing across the glow of the streetlamp. You screamed and bolted, fumbling with your keys. Finally, you dashed inside the building and raced up the stairs without a glance back, footsteps chasing you, hurried and heavy. Somehow, you made it to your apartment, slamming into the door. Your hands shook too violently to fit the key. 

The steps were already on your floor when you jammed the key into the lock, shoved the door open, and slammed it shut. One, two, three locks clicked into place at record speed, your chest heaving as you pressed yourself against the door, trying to get your pulse back under control.

Silence. Except for your heart roaring in your ears.

You pressed your back against the door, chest rising and falling too fast. Your hands were numb, your hair dripping down your neck, your body was shaking from head to toe. You watched through the peephole the hallway light flickered once, twice, before steadying again. 

You don't know how long you’d stayed there until a knock came through. You nearly screamed when you heard his voice. 

“Y/N?”

You yanked the door open to find Vernon there completely drenched, breathless, eyes wild. He must have ran straight over. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping inside before you could answer. His hands cupped your face checking you over for bruises, or any way you could be hurt.

“I don’t know,” you managed to say, voice shaking. “I think he followed me here.”

Hearing this, Vernon locked the door, double-checked the windows, the rooms and closets of your apartment, then turned back to you, who was sitting on the living room floor now, your knees pressed against your chest and your head buried in your arms, body still trembling, although you didn't know if it was from fear or cold anymore.

You couldn’t believe you’d almost been killed tonight. Killed because you were a virgin. A twenty-something virgin, but a virgin nonetheless. And now you were at risk of being killed because you'd never had sex. How ironic was life?

It’s not like you planned on being a virgin forever. It wasn’t even your desire, it just hadn’t happened before because you’d never felt that way with any guy. Well, there was one guy that you felt that way, but you didn't think he’d look at you that way.

You heard his footsteps echoing through the silent apartment until he knelt in front of you, trying to lift your head to look at him. “Hey. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

You nodded, though the words didn’t reach you. Your body was trembling so hard you could barely stand, your thoughts working a million miles an hour. Vernon guided you toward the couch, wrapping you in a blanket, crouching in front of you again. 

“What exactly happened?” he asked softly. 

“I saw him. Dark jacket, hood up, red mask. I thought I was being paranoid, but then he started walking faster when I did. And when I ran…” you swallowed hard, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as your brain slowly processed the seriousness of the situation, “he ran too.”

Vernon’s jaw tightened. You knew that was the way he showed he was angry. “Did you see his face?”

You shook your head. “No. But…” you hesitated, lowering your voice. “The police found another victim near the coffee house. She was my age. And–”

“And she was a virgin,” he finished grimly.

Tears were now falling down your cheeks uncontrollably without you even noticing, your lower lip trembling with the same intensity. “I’m scared.”

He reached out, taking your cold hands in his. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head and letting more tears fall down. “You can’t promise that.”

Vernon really wanted to argue, but something about the fear in your eyes stopped him. Instead, he just said, “So you’ll come stay with me at my place. We don’t know if he might still be out there.”

Outside, thunder rolled, rattling the windows so hard it made you flinch. 

“Okay.”

“Another young woman has been brutally murder tonight,” the stern-faced reporter announced into a microphone. “The killer is still at large. Citizens are urged to stay indoors and lock their doors.” 

You sat curled on Vernon’s couch, your knees pressed tightly to your chest. It was already the third night you’d spent at his apartment, too scared to be on your own, not that he’d let you go, anyway. He’d been the one to invite you to stay, and now you were practically quarantined together, hadn’t stepped outside in days, hadn’t even ordered food, terrified that the next delivery man could be him.

During this time, two more girls were murdered, and the pattern only grew clearer and clearer. Vernon had already begged you multiple times to stop watching the news, to stop feeding your fear, but you couldn’t help yourself. The anxiety would come either way, whether you knew what was happening or not.

You watched the news attentively and didn’t speak until the reporter’s voice faded completely. 

“Hansol,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around your body, “these girls were about our age.”

He looked up from where he stood by the window, watching the rain. His jaw flexed. “I know.”

You swallowed hard, twisting the string of your sweater between your fingers. “All the victims… they were all virgins. I am too.”

The living room went quiet as you turned off the TV, leaving only the low hum of the storm outside. When he didn’t say anything, you glanced away from the dark reflection on the screen to his face. His eyes were tired, red around the edges. 

Just as you, Vernon hadn’t slept either, helping you whenever you woke up in the middle of the night, shaken from another nightmare of being followed. He'd talk to you until your breathing evened out again. And knowing him the way you did, it wouldn’t surprise you to learn he stayed awake afterward, just sitting there in the dark, keeping watch until morning.

You’d been best friends since middle school, inseparable, always there for each other when things got bad. And now things were worse than they’d ever been.

“Peach–” he started, but you cut him off. 

“I don’t want to die, Hansol.”

He froze at the sound of your voice. Having known you his whole life, Vernon could always tell when fear was real, and this time, it was. The tremor in your tone said more about your vulnerability than any tears ever could.

“You’re not going to die.”

“You don’t know that.” Your voice cracked. Vernon's adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, unsure how to calm you when he was barely keeping it together himself. “Every single person who–who died was like me. I was almost one of them, and I don’t want to be next. I can’t just wait here for–” you stopped yourself, shaking your head like you could chase away the fear. You met his eyes again. “You’re the only one I trust.”

It was now or never. You’d been stewing over this idea for days, ever since you started staying here with him. Not that it was a new thought; if you were being honest, it had been simmering in the back of your mind for a while. But given the circumstances, this felt like the perfect moment to finally summon the courage to say what you’d been holding in for so long. At least now, you had an excuse.

You got up from the couch, moving slowly, and Vernon’s eyes stayed on you. “Peach, what are you saying?”

“There’s one way I won’t fit the pattern.”

“Okay, and how do you plan on—” He stopped mid-sentence, realization dawning as you bit your lip and got closer to him. “Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. You can’t possibly mean that—”

You tugged nervously at the sleeve of his Star Wars shirt. “I do. You’re the only person I trust, Hansolie.”

The way you said his name — soft, pleading — made him shut his eyes tight, as if that could block out the look he knew you were giving him. 

“Peach.” His laugh came out nervous and strangled. “That’s not exactly what they teach you in self-defense.”

“I’m not joking, Hansol.” 

“I know you’re not, that’s the worst part.” He ran a hand down his face, trying to process it, heart suddenly going a mile per minute inside his chest, and it most definitely wasn’t because of the thought and fear that there was a killer on the loose. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

“Yes,” you said quickly. “And I’ve been thinking about it since the second murder. It’s logical.”

“Y/N, it’s insane.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged helplessly. “But it might save my life. Do you really want to be without a best friend?”

His eyes searched yours, to see if this wasn't a very nasty prank you were playing on him. “So you want me to–”

“Take my virginity, yeah,” you murmured, tugging lightly at his sleeve again. Your voice held a mix of courage and certainty he was sure he’d never seen before. Still, your eyes gave away the spark of nerves beneath it.

Vernon’s brain blue-screened. Like, there’s just no way this was his real real life. Either he accidentally overdosed on coffee or he’s straight-up dreaming, because the girl he’s been low-key simping for since forever – his very own best friend, the one he never had the nerve to even flirt with — could not have just proposed that to him. Maybe he was overtired. Maybe the world glitched for a second. Vernon didn’t know. 

He opened his mouth to argue, but his heart was hammering so fast now it drowned out his thoughts. “Why me, peach?”

“Like I said, I trust you the most.” Your voice softened. “And because you won’t make it weird.” 

“Make it?” He barked out a nervous laugh. “This is already super weird.”

You gave him a look that was somehow both terrified and amused. “Would it help if I said I actually like you?”

It was always funny to hear people say your best friend was a man of few expressions. To you, he was the most expressive person you knew, people just never paid close enough attention to him like you did. Right now was one of these examples, when Vernon’s eyes looked like they might pop out of their sockets, his eyebrows threatened to touch his hairline, and his mouth hung open in shock.

“Like me? Like–like me like me?”

“Hansol, we’re not in middle school,” you said, rolling your eyes with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“I just need to confirm which level of insanity we’ve reached tonight!”

You smiled faintly despite the situation. “You’re cute when you panic.” 

He was pretty sure his soul left his body for a second. “You can’t just say stuff like that right before asking to… to...”

“To help me not get murdered?” you finished bluntly. “Not die a virgin?”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face again and crossing the living room trying to get some space so his head could finally fully function. It was funny that for someone who was usually a thinker, he was doing it very little and with very low performance right now.

“You’re actually unbelievable.”

“Am I wrong?” you challenged, crossing your arms. “If you say no, I’ll just ask someone else."

He snapped his head up. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, if it’s about our friendship, I get it. But I don’t exactly have time to be picky right now.”

“And who else would you ask such a thing?”

“I mean, there's Chan and–”

“Don’t—don’t even joke about that,” he cut you off mid-sentence, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear there was something possessive in the way he looked at you. “You’re not asking anyone else.”

You sighed. “Then say yes.”

“Peach,” he warned, voice low, but you didn’t flinch, walking towards him again.

“Hansol, I’m scared.” Your voice broke then. “And you’ve always protected me. Every single time something bad happened, you were there.”

You sounded scared, yes. But layered beneath it were a thousand other unspoken things, suggestive things, that made his chest tighten at the possibility. It was impossible to reconcile them with the fact that you were his best friend, the one person he knew wasn’t supposed to be needy for him. Except maybe you actually were.

Vernon met your eyes, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke, just stared at each other. The storm roared outside, but in that tiny apartment, the only sound was your uneven breathing, your chest rising and falling, his mind going around in circles. 

“Tell me this isn’t just fear talking,” he said finally.

“It’s not.” You took a shaky breath. “I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen, Hansol.”

His world tilted slightly. “You pick now to tell me that?”

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have a deadline.”

He laughed under his breath, but it wasn’t funny, more disbelief, panic, and affection tangled together. Vernon stepped closer, hardly believing he was really doing this, until the space between you was almost nonexistent.

You both stood there for a moment, caught in an awkward silence, hands hanging uselessly at your sides. Vernon could feel the tension buzzing in the air between you. Someone had to do something. And it had to be him. He was supposed to be the one guiding you through this, because it was your first time. If he hesitated any longer, you might rethink everything, maybe even walk over to Chan’s place instead. And that thought alone was enough to make him move.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, breathing hitting your face. “If I do this, it’s not just some survival plan. I don’t want to be something you regret.”

Your eyes softened as you shook your head. “I won’t. I could never regret you.”

Vernon exhaled shakily, unable to believe this was really happening. “You sure?” he asked, searching your face for any signs of hesitation again. There wasn’t any. 

You nodded without wavering. “Im sure. I want this, and I want it with you.”

Slowly, like he was afraid you’d change your mind, he lifted a hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your skin was soft and warm beneath his fingertips, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes flutter shut at the gentleness of the touch. 

“You’re  beautiful,” he murmured, leaning in closer until you could feel the heat of his breath on your face. “And I don’t want you to ever forget that.”

His words made your heart skip a beat, and you felt a flush spread across your cheeks. You’d never thought you’d hear those words from him, especially not in this context. But now that you were finally giving in to what you’d both been feeling for so long, it felt right. 

“Kiss me, Hansol.” Your voice came out in an almost desperate whisper.

“Now?”

You opened your eyes, finding that teasing curve already on his lips. Once a ragebaiter, always a ragebaiter. “Well, it could be tomorrow, but I kind of have a deadline here and—”

He didn’t let you finish. His hands came up, cupping your face, and then his lips were on yours. 

It was slow and explorative at first, his mouth moving against yours like he was trying to memorize the taste and feel of you. You melted into him instantly, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt just to keep yourself from turning into a puddle on the floor. His hands slid down your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, while your arms wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss until your tongues met. 

The soft sound that escaped your lips made him groan low in his throat, a sound that vibrated between you. The heat of him slipped through his clothes, too much and not enough at once, leaving you aching to close the distance that still existed between you. You wanted to feel his skin against yours, to explore every inch of him the way you’d always fantasized about.

As if sensing your need, Vernon began to guide you toward the hallway that led to his room, his lips never leaving yours while his hands traveled through your body. It wasn’t hurried, but desperate in a quieter way, exactly as you’d expected kissing Vernon to be, and somehow, even better.

Halfway there, he pressed you against the wall, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. Your head fell back, giving him freer access, while your breaths came in ragged gasps and small moans slipped from your lips. Vernon’s mouth trailed lower, past the collar of your shirt, his hands gripping your waist and fingers digging into the soft flesh as he held you against the wall. 

You could feel every inch of him pressed against you, and it made your head spin with desire, fingers clenched to his sleeve like your life depended on it. 

“Hansol,” you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair. “Please.”

He looked up at you then, eyes dark with lust. “What do you need, peach?” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Huh?”

“I need you,” you breathed, arching into him. “I need to feel you.”

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”

His hands slid lower, gripping your hips and lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his hard length pressed against your core through the thin fabric of your clothes. Another moan slipped past your lips at the sensation, your hips rolling instinctively to seek more friction. 

You had made out with other guys before, sure – some good, some forgettable — but none of them had ever felt like this. Nothing had ever felt like having Vernon pressed against you, making your pulse trip over itself. Everything outside this apartment could disappear and you didn’t even care. The fear, the sirens, the headlines, it all burned into nothing. 

Your mind erased the fact that there was a killer out there. That you’d almost been one of his victims just three nights ago. All you could think about was him: the warmth of him, the feeling of him, the way everything narrowed down to just him.

Vernon carried you to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him before lowering you onto the bed. His body followed, fitting naturally over yours as if it had always belonged there. His lips found yours again, hungry, desperate, stealing the breath from your lungs, and your hands roamed over his back, fingers digging into the firm muscles as he rocked against you. He was rock hard and the friction was a delicious torture, bulding a pressure inside you until you actually thought you might combust just from drying humping him. 

Breaking the kiss apart, Vernon sat back on his heels, reaching for the hem of your shirt at the same time as he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. Slowly he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it aside before his eyes raked over your exposed skin. Your cheeks flushed under his intense gaze, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. Not when he was looking at you like he wanted to devour every inch of you. 

“God, Y/N,” he breathed, his hands skimming up your sides, over the swell of your breasts. “You’re perfect.”

His thumbs brushed over your nipples through the thin lace of your bra, making your arch into his touch. Another whimper escaped your lips, your back bowing off the bed as he continued his teasing caresses. You ached for more, for his mouth on your skin, his hands on your body traveling to where you needed him the most.

“Please, Hansol,” you begged, not even caring how desperate you sounded. “Touch me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Vernon unhooked your bra and tossed it aside, his lips immediately latching onto the hardened peak. His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your hand fisted in his hair, holding him in place while he lavished attention on your breasts. 

Your hips rocked against his, seeking more of that delicious friction you felt before. You could feel the dampness growing between your thighs, the evidence of your desire for him, and Vernon seemed to sense it too, one hand sliding down past the waistband of your sweatpants to palm you through your panties. You immediately cried out at the contact, your hips bucking into his touch. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice showing a hint of disbelief. His thumb brushed against your clit and you squirmed. “You’re so wet for me already.”

Slowly and tortuously, Vernon started to kiss down your stomach, with you writhing in anticipation under him. Suddenly, he paused and looked up at you with a mischievous grin that you knew so well. 

“Tell me peach,” he whispered against your skin, nose hovering just below your bellybutton, “have you ever touched yourself before?”

Your cheeks flushed hot at the question, and you averted your gaze shyly. “Maybe,” you admitted after a moment. 

Vernon chuckled, low and sultry, the sound sending shivers down your body. “And what did you think about when you did?” he pressed, fingers tracing patterns on your hip while he slowly pulled your sweatpants down. 

You bit your lip, hesitation warring with arousal. But the desire won out. “You,” you confessed. “I thought about you, Hansol.”

His gaze was locked on you, dark with an intensity that seemed to consume his entire face, like his lust and desire were swallowing the rest of him whole. “Fuck, Y/N. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Rising from where he was, Vernon captured your lips again, his tongue delving into your mouth possessively. You moaned into the kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair again as he explored your mouth thoroughly. When he finally pulled away, you were both panting for breath. Still, he gazed down at you with a hunger that made your core clench with need.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, peach,” he promised, leaning down to trail another set of open mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down your breasts. “I’m going to worship every inch of you.”

“Please, Hansol.” His name came out in a moan this time, showing how desperate you were for whatever he was wheeling to give you. “I need you.”

He smiled against your skin, continuing his trail between your breasts, ignoring your pleas. You weren't surprised that Vernon was a tease; he was like that in every other aspect of his life, and now he was just making clear that he would take his sweet time with you, as if you were now his favorite pastime.

“Did you imagine my fingers doing this?” He cupped the soft mounds in his hands, squeezing gently while his thumbs massaged your nipples. “Squeezing and playing with your perfect tits?”

You gasped, arching into his touch. “Y-yes. I imagined your hands on me all the time.”

“Mmm, and what about my lips?” he continued, laving his tongue over one peaked nipple. “Did you think about my tongue circling these pretty buds?”

“Yes, yes I did.” You nodded, breathlessly, tangling your fingers in his hair again. “So many times.”

Vernon chuckled low at your desperation, moving down your body until he was nestled between your thighs. “And this pussy,” he growled, blowing a stream of cool air over your heated flesh. “Did you ever slide your fingers inside here, wishing it was my cock stretching you open?”

You cried out at his words, rocking your hips forward instinctively. “God yes,” you whimpered, letting him pull your panties down your legs at a torturously slow pace. “I imagined your cock splitting me open so many times, filling me up so good.”

At your words, he looked up at you grinning like a devil, before diving in and devouring your pussy like a man starved. You screamed in pleasure when Vernon’s tongue started to work magic on your clit, flicking, sucking and circling the sensitive nub until you were squirming beneath him.

“Fuck, you taste amazing. I could eat this sweet pussy for hours.”

You gasped, feeling his tongue delving deep inside you, lapping up your juices. Vernon feasted on your cunt like it was the first and last meal he’d ever have in his life, eating you out with a wild hunger you were sure you’ve never seen before. Then he slid a finger inside your dripping pussy, pumping it in and out while he sucked hard on your clit. 

“Did you touch yourself like this? Finger-fucking your tight little hole until you came hard?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, rolling your hips down to meet his face, thrusting on his finger. “I came so many times thinking about you doing this to me.”

“Mhmm, need to stretch you, peach,” he groaned against your slick folds, and you swore you could cum just from the deep, rumbling sound. “Gotta loosen up this tight little cunt so it can take my cock. Think you can handle another finger, baby?”

You moaned in response, feeling him slip a second finger alongside his tongue, pumping them slowly as he kept licking and sucking at your sensitive clit to ease it in. Your hands were now gripping his hair so tightly that you thought you’d tear some strands out when you had to remove them.

“That's it, nice and easy.” He worked a third finger inside you, stretching your tight walls as his tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit. “Fuck, you're so goddamn tight. Can't wait to bury my cock in this sweet cunt.”

You never would’ve imagined Vernon to be this vocal in a moment like this. But here he was, every word spilling from his lips only driving you further out of your mind. And all you could do was  moan and writhe beneath him in response, lost in the overwhelming pleasure he was giving to you.

“Tell me,” he continued, pulling back just enough to look up at you. “Tell me what you thought about me doing while you played with this pretty pussy.”

At this point you were too far gone to be ashamed. “I imagined your face between my thighs,” you admitted breathlessly. “Licking and sucking on my clit until I exploded.”

“And my cock? Did you imagine me fucking you hard and deep?” 

His fingers pumped faster, curling to rub against that secret special spot inside you as his lips closed around your clit and sucked hard. 

“God yes,” you moaned, without knowing how the words were managing to leave your lips. “I’d imagine you pounding into me, stretching me open with your cock.”

Vernon groaned loudly, doubling his efforts and fucking his fingers into you in earnest now. You hips bucked against him again and this time you didn't stop, moving uncontrollably against his face.

“I bet you thought about me painting your insides with my cum. Filling you up real nice.”

“Yes, yes!” you screamed, teetering on the edge now, your inner muscles clenching around his fingers. “I wanted it so badly! I need your cum inside me!”

“Then come for me, peach,” he ordered, pumping his fingers faster. “Come on my fingers and I’ll give you my cock.”

“Hansol,” you cried out, your orgasms building fast and hard. “I’m gonna–”

“Let go, baby. Come for me. Go on.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your body convulsed around his fingers, your vision whiting out as your orgasm crashed over you in waves of pure bliss. Your pussy spasmed violently around his plunging digits, juices gushing out to coat his fingers and tongue. You screamed his name again and again, trembling and writhing beneath him, lost in ecstasy. 

Vernon lapped at your dripping folds, determined to lick up every drop of your essence. He didn’t stop until you were completely spent and trembling beneath him, your body going limp with satisfaction. When he finally resurfaced, his chin was slick with your juices. He brought his fingers to his mouth, slowly sucking them clean while locking eyes with you. The sight made your core clench with a sense of renewed desire. 

He crawled up your body, trailing up kisses, a grin on his face. “You look so fucking sexy like this. All sated and glowing from my touch.”

You blushed at the compliment, but your only response was a small whimper, still reeling from the intensity of your climax. Vernon chuckled softly, trailing his fingers up your body to cup your face and capture your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. 

His weight settled on top of you, his hardness pressing against your still sensitive center. You could feel how much Vernon wanted you too, how much he was holding back, so you bucked your hips against his for the thousandth time tonight. 

“Please, Hansol,” you whispered against his lips, hands sliding down to palm him through his sweatpants. “I need you inside me.”

He groaned at your words, hips rocking into your touch. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

In response, you reached down and started pushing his pants down, pushing them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It sprang free, long and thick and already leaking at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, giving him a slow stroke from base to tip, making Vernon close his eyes at the feeling. 

“I’m sure,” you breathed, stroking him again. “I want all of you.”

Vernon reached between your bodies, his hand enveloped yours as he grabbed his throbbing cock, rubbing the head through your slick folds. You gasped at the sensation, desperate for him to fill you up. 

You wrapped your legs around his hips almost instinctively, rocking your hips forward and making his cock slide easily between your slippery pussy. “Please. I need your cock inside me so bad.”

He gasped at the delicious sensation, positioning himself at your entrance. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your hole and you could feel yourself throbbing with anticipation.

“Last chance to back out,” he said, voice strained with restraint. His eyes searched yours, filled with heat and desire, but also a hint of caution. He wanted you to be sure.

“Don’t you dare.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, gripping his shoulders tightly to keep him there. “I want this. I want you.”

And with that, Vernon pushed inside you with one smooth thrust, filling you slowly. You gasped and cried out at the sudden sensation of fullness, your walls stretching deliciously around his thick length. It burned slightly at first, but it quickly morphed into a deep, aching pleasure. 

His head dropped to your shoulder. “Fuck yes. You feel incredible, peach. So hot and tight.”

You nodded, too overwhelmed by sensation to form words, but sharing the same feeling as him. Vernon began to move then, slowly at first letting you adjust to the intrusion. Each thrust pushed him deeper, almost hitting that sweet spot inside you that made your toes curl just minutes ago. 

“You can go faster,” you practically begged, nails digging into his back. “Please. 

He obliged, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, snapping his hips forward with more force and setting a steady rhythm. The new angle sent shivers shooting up your spine, your pussy clenching more and more around him.

You met each thrust with eager movements of your own hips, relishing the feeling of Vernon moving inside you. His breath came in ragged pants against your neck as he drove into you like his life depended on it, chasing not only his pleasure but yours too. 

“Harder,” you panted, raking your nails down his back. “Fuck me harder, Hansol!”

Vernon complied eagerly, pounding into you with renewed vigor. 

The room soon filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls. Vernon’s hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles on the overstimulated nub. The added stimulation sent you hurtling toward another peak, your body tightening like a coiled spring. 

“Come on, baby,” he encouraged, fingers working faster. “I want to feel you come around my cock now.”

He powered into you, chasing your releases with single-minded focus. Your own pleasure coiled tight in your belly, building higher and higher with each powerful stroke of his.

“Come with me, Y/N. Come on my cock, baby!”

Just like that, your second orgasm hit you like a freight train, clamping down around him like a vice, your body trembling enough to make your feet sink into his ass searching for steadiness.

“Where—where do you want me?” Vernon asked, his voice strained, and you could feel that he was almost there. 

“Inside, please,” you replied breathlessly, aching to feel him fill you completely.  “You can cum inside.”

He needed no further encouragement.

With a final, mighty thrust, Vernon buried himself to the hilt and came with a loud groan of completion, spilling deep inside you in long thick spurts. You continued to move beneath him, working him through his release until he collapsed on top of you in a boneless heap, careful not to crush you with his weight. 

You ran your fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses to his sweat-dampened forehead. You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other as you tried to catch your breath, Vernon still buried deep inside you. After a moment, he lifted his head from the crook of your neck, his eyes shining the same way you imagined yours did.

“Hi,” he simply said, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose.

A slow smile spread across your face, and Vernon mirrored it back at you. In that moment everything else faded away; the fear, the danger lurking outside these four walls. There was just you and him. 

“Hi.”

Vernon kissed along your jaw and neck. “That was incredible. You’re incredible.”

You could only hum in agreement, still floating in the realization that the guy you’d loved for years loved you just the same. He pulled out slowly, a soft grimace crossing his face as his softening cock slipped free of your still-fluttering heat, his release spilling out of you.

“Come on,” he murmured, gathering you close and rolling to the side. “Let’s get cleaned up and then we can sleep.”

You nodded weakly, too sated to move just yet. Vernon pressed one more kiss to your forehead before untangling himself from you and sliding out of bed. You watched him walk to the bathroom, admiring the sight of his bare back. He returned a moment later with a damp towel, gently cleaning you up before tossing it aside and climbing back into bed. 

You got up to pee, and when you came back, Vernon pulled you into his arms, tucking your head beneath his chin and wrapping his legs around yours. You nestled into his embrace, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Thank you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest.

He stroked your hair gently, pressing a kiss to the top of your head in return. “For what?”

“For being here. For making me feel safe.”

His arms tighten around you. “Always, peach. I’ll always keep you safe,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sleep now. We can talk more in the morning.”

You nodded drowsily, already slipping under the covers. As you drifted off in his embrace, you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly you fit together. Being here with him felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be. And that knowledge brought a sense of profound peace and happiness to your heart.

Morning came softly, a pale, silver light slipping through the curtains of Vernon’s bedroom, like the world hadn’t almost ended in a downpour over the past three days. The storm had passed, leaving everything outside washed clean. The city felt quieter than it had in days, as if the air itself was holding its breath with fear. 

You woke first. Vernon was still asleep beside you, his arm loosely around your waist, the rise and fall of his chest slow, steady, peaceful. For the first time in weeks, you felt calm. The fear that had been gnawing at you was gone. There was no other place in the world where you felt as safe as you did with him.

You lay there for a moment, watching the soft light paint across his face, and smiled. He looked different like this, softer, younger. Beautiful. 

After a few minutes, you carefully slid out from under his arm, trying not to wake him. You wanted to make breakfast, something normal, something that didn’t smell like panic or sleepless nights. Maybe eggs, a french toast, maybe some orange juice. 

The apartment was cold under your bare feet as you padded toward the kitchen. You hummed under your breath, something small and tuneless. You opened the living room curtains, letting the sunlight you hadn’t seen in days stream into the apartment.”

“Morning,” you whispered to yourself, watching the streets below, already filled with cars and people going about their day.

You didn’t hear the creak of the other door until you turned to walk toward the kitchen again. 

Vernon’s office door,  the one he always kept closed. You’d never been inside. He’d laughed once and said it was too messy, too embarrassing, and you knew that was probably true, considering he was extremely messy and was only keeping everything in place lately because you were here to organize.

But the door was open now. Halfway open, in fact. 

You’d always been curious about what might be there, so instead of walking to the kitchen, you walked to the door. Maybe now you could help him organize whatever mess it was. 

You didn’t know why, but suddenly and somehow the air in the hallway felt heavier with each step you took. The closer you got, the stronger the faint metallic scent became, something sharp, sour, familiar in a way you didn’t want to name.

When you pushed the door open fully, your whole world tilted.

Polaroids.

Dozens of them.

Taped to the walls, hanging in uneven lines, faces of people you’d seen on the news. The victims. Some of them smiling, some of them terrified. And at the center of it all, a table. On it, a red mask. The same one the killer wore when he followed you three nights ago. 

You stumbled back, your hand flying to your mouth.

No. No, no, no.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. You turned, eyes darting to the hallway, but he was already standing there. Vernon leaned against the doorframe, barefoot, hair mussed, wearing the same shirt and boxers from last night. There was no panic on his face. No fear. Just a quiet, tired calm.

“How many times have I told you not to go into this room, peach?”

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The tap drips once, twice, then stops, as if even the house is holding its breath.

“Minghao,” you breathe out, and your voice sounds wrong even to your ears—thin and frail. 

His eyes catch the faint shimmer of the bulb above, and you almost forget what’s missing in them until he smiles.

“You’re awake,” he says, though you aren’t sure that’s true. His voice is soft, calm, like the hush that comes before a storm. He doesn’t sound much like he did the last time you saw him. 

You take another step closer. “You’re here.”

He nods once, holding up the wine glasses he was washing. His fingers look thinner than you remember, but their careful movements haven’t changed. “You called.”

You shake your head instinctively. “I didn’t.”

He hums, a sound so low it runs up and into your breastbone. “Not with words.”

He dries his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder. You notice the faint tremor in them, or maybe you imagine it. The kitchen light flickers once, and the shadow of him stretches long across the tiled floor, longer than it should be.

“Sit,” he says, nodding toward the table. His tone carries the same easy authority it always had, the kind that made you obey before you could think.

Minghao pours the wine. The sound of it is low and steady, a dark stream filling the glass until the surface trembles. You think of your blood—how it used to rush in your ears, how it’s been so faint lately you sometimes press a hand to your own wrist just to find proof.

He sets your glass down and sits across from you. The chair doesn’t make a sound.

“You always liked red,” he says. “Said it looked like blood.”

You glance at the glass. The shadows make it look much darker, more black than fresh blood. 

For a while neither of you speak. The clock in the corner ticks without rhythm, the faintest scraping sound behind its ticks, like something small trying to get out. His hand rests near the bottle. You notice how still he is, how his chest doesn’t rise when he breathes.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you whisper. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Neither should you,” he points out, sipping from his glass. “You don’t look well.”

You want to argue but your throat closes. There’s truth in what he says. Something inside you must have wanted this, must have opened the door, must have whispered into the dark.

He leans forward, and that’s when you see it—the skin along his wrist, thin and gray where the light hits it, like paper soaked through. A crack runs up the bone beneath, like dry bark struck by lightning. You blink, and it’s gone.

“Death suits you,” you murmur, because it does. The dim light gathers around his face like it’s been waiting there, tracing the hollow under his cheekbone, the cut of his jaw, the faint bruised tint beneath his eyes. His mouth, once flushed and warm, now looks cold, the color of dried petals. Even the small crease that used to form between his brows when he thought too hard is softened now, almost peaceful.

He looks like someone carved from the memory of a face, not the face itself—familiar, but a step removed from life. And still, somehow, unbearably beautiful.

Minghao smiles again, slow and amused, as if you’ve said something flattering. “I wear it like a coat, huh?”

You nod, swallowing another gulp of wine. “But without the fur.”

You can’t tell if you’re shivering because of the wing or the man next to you. Minghao reaches out to clasp your palm, and it takes everything in you to not flinch away from his ice cold hands. They’re still. So still, without anything beating inside them. The smell of damp earth clings faintly to his skin. 

You don’t pull away. “Do you think it would suit me?”

He tilts his head, considering, and for a moment his neck seems too long, tendons standing out in thin, pale cords beneath skin that doesn’t quite hold together. His thumb moves absently over the back of your hand and you watch as a flake of ash loosens from his nail and drifts down onto the tablecloth.

“If you wanted it to,” he admits finally. 

The light above you flickers again. When it steadies, you see the bruise on his throat has spread—an ink stain blooming downward across his chest. His shirt sticks to it like damp gauze.

You stare, unable to help yourself. “You’re falling apart,” you whisper.

He hums, unbothered. “Everyone is. Do you still have those cigarettes lying around?”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or if he’s speaking a truth you’ve been too afraid to name. He asks with something that sounds more like hunger than habit, and you don’t have it in you to deny him that. So you nod wordlessly, and gesture toward the counter.

He moves slowly when he rises, the smell of dirt rising with every step.

He finds the pack where you left it months ago, by the window. His fingers shake faintly as he draws one out, and when he reaches for the lighter, you see it clearly—the skin at his abdomen has caved in, deep enough that something dark has begun to seep through. Not blood—something thicker, slower, as though the color itself were draining from him.

You don’t say anything. He lights the cigarette, the flame trembling between his hands. The first inhale is long and deep. When he exhales, smoke leaks out from more than just his lips—it curls faintly through the seams of him, from the corner of his eye, from the hollow of his throat.

He looks out the window. “I used to stand here,” he murmurs, “every night you fell asleep before me.” His reflection catches in the glass—blurred, flickering, one eye too dark, the other socket empty. “You never liked me smoking inside.”

The glass trembles in your hand again. You look down and realize your knuckles have gone pale, the skin tight over bone. “I don’t mind now.”

He turns, smiling around the cigarette, and the ember paints his face in brief, living color. For a moment, he almost looks whole again—until the smoke parts and the illusion breaks. The side of his jaw is wrong now, slack where flesh has begun to give way, shadow sinking into the curve of his cheek. The skin there glistens faintly, like wet clay left to dry.

“I didn’t like how you disappeared,” you admit. 

He looks down at his cigarette, exhales again. The smoke pours out from him like uncontrolled breaths. “Maybe I was only practicing.”

He crosses back to the table. The smell follows him—sharp and chemical, seeping into the air until it catches in your throat. It’s acrid, almost rotten, the kind of smoke that clings to fabric and memory alike. You want to open a window, but you don’t move. You can’t. 

He leans down, resting his elbows on the table’s edge. The ash at the tip trembles, then drops, scattering across the wood like gray snow.

“Minghao,” you plead, “you really shouldn’t be here. You should’ve gone.”

“I did,” he answers simply, as if explaining to a child. “But you called. And you keep calling.”

You think you see the faint shimmer of bone at his collar, where his shirt has slipped open—a quiet gleam that should frighten you, but doesn’t.

Minghao studies you for a long moment. His left eye flickers in his pocket, opaque, but so close to disappearing. “You’re fading,” he says finally. “You know that.”

“I’m fine,” you manage.

He tilts his head, and you can hear something creak faintly inside him, like a hinge giving way. “No,” he says, affectionately. “You’re not.”

He reaches out again, brushing his fingers just below your jaw. The touch is featherlight, but when he draws his hand back, his arms have become more bone than flesh.

Your vision wavers. All you can see is the pale arc of his face across from you, its shape still beautiful, still terrible in its ruin. The skin near his temple has thinned completely now, and beneath it the skull gleams faintly, yellowed like old ivory.

He doesn’t try to hide it anymore.

“Does it frighten you?” he asks.

You shake your head, though your hands are trembling. “No,” you whisper. “It’s—” You search for the word. Sacred. Final. Real.

“You aren’t dreaming.” Minghao reminds you, but his voice is coming back to the one you knew—gravelly, like a cough resting at the base of his throat all the time. 

He lifts the cigarette again, the smoke curling around his jaw in slow, silvery threads. 

Your stomach twists. “You shouldn’t—” you start, the words stumbling over themselves. “You shouldn’t smoke. Stop it.”

He laughs, a sound that seems to echo from deeper inside him than before. “Darling, I can’t anymore. Not unless I visit you. Let me feel alive for a while.”

“Still—”

“I can’t die twice, can I?” 

The ember flares when he smiles, catching on what’s left of his cheek. You watch as the light slips into the hollows, into the fine fractures near his temple. His skin gives way quietly, peeling back like wet paper. 

You want to look away, but you don’t. You can’t. The ruin is mesmerizing—its own kind of grace. The cigarette burns down between his fingers, the ash trembling, until it meets the bone.

Minghao watches you through the veil of smoke. “You don’t have to stay,” he says finally. “You don’t have to go, either.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means there’s no right side.”

He leans forward. The sockets of his eyes seem deeper and empty now. “You can join me,” he says quietly. “Or you can wake up from me. You’ve been standing in the doorway too long.”

You stare at him, at the ghost of his mouth still trying to smile even as it falls apart. You look down at your own hands.  The wine glass trembles, the reflection of the room warped against its surface. For a moment, you think you can see through your own skin—the faint shimmer of something beneath it, the pale blur of a vein that doesn’t pulse anymore.

“I don’t want to wake up,” you say, barely moving your lips.

Minghao’s face tilts toward you, and the light catches on the ridge of his skull, the hollow where his cheek used to be. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.

The silence stretches thin between you. The house groans softly, as if shifting under its own weight. Somewhere deep in the walls, a clock ticks once, then stops entirely.

The smoke has filled everything now. It hangs low over the table, gliding through the air like water, blurring the edges of him, the edges of you. It stings your throat, but you breathe it in anyway, like it’s the only thing left to keep you tethered.

Minghao’s hand rests on the table. Bone, tendon, the faintest shadow of what used to be flesh. You reach for it, and the thought forms in your chest like prayer. If death wears a face, let it be his.

There is a chill in the air you don’t welcome. It’s eerie; it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and brings a sinister shiver through your body that makes you want to jump out of your skin.

Returning to your hometown after years of being away feels like stepping back in time. The buildings and roads look mostly the same, with only a few new shops and budding stonecrop flowers blooming in the flower beds. As the sun dips below the horizon, it casts a soft glow of deep blues and purples across the sky, a sight that usually brings you ease and comfort.

Instead, you feel pain, a grief that gnaws at you deeply, threatening to turn you inside out.

You come here with your aunt and cousin, who were also excommunicated, not because you want them to, but because they do not want to leave you alone. Jeonghan also wanted to come, but you told him to stay behind. The last thing you want is for him to see you like this— broken, drowning in your own despair. You feel empty inside, like you can never experience joy again. Rain was the purest form of good you had in your life, and she was taken away from you, violently and cruelly. You will never be able to get her screams in the dream out of your head; it will haunt you for the rest of your days. You can’t escape the darkness you feel— it’s embedded in your heart.

“Are you going to be able to get through this?” Your cousin, Geneva, nudges your shoulder with hers, taking you out of your thoughts.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult for you to speak. “I have to,” you say, trying to hold back tears. “She would want me to do this.”

She places a supportive arm around you, allowing you to rest your head on her shoulder. “I know you wanted to do this alone, but you are stuck with us. We’re family.”

Family. That word feels like a twisting knife in your gut. You know she means well, and you love Geneva and your aunt, Lena, but the notion of family is so tainted in your mind. The family you had with your mother and father was shattered when they threw you out in the streets for righting a wrong, and Rain… that is a wound that will never heal.

You walk down the narrow road until the ruins of the community center come into focus, the strong, suffocating smell of charred wood and burned plastic following shortly after. It was exactly how you imagined it in your dream, down to the broken stone that surrounded the site. You didn’t inform anyone that you are coming to her funeral, as you have a strong feeling they would be on the lookout and bar you from entering. You find your former coven gathered together by the beach behind the building, your parents standing next to the High Priestess and other grieving people, their heads bowed in sorrow.

Your mother clings to your father, weeping with a cry that comes from the pit of her stomach, the heavy weight of loss killing her softly. Your father tries to remain strong, shaking everyone’s hand with trembling hands who offer their condolences, holding back tears. Shocked and worried expressions appear on the members' faces when you approach the beach, your heart beating violently as you are face-to-face with your parents, a mix of grief and anger igniting in your veins.

“What are you doing here?” Your father’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and laced with bitterness, stepping protectively in front of your mother as if warding you off. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No, I shouldn’t be,” you retort, each word dripping with venom, the raw anger seeping from your very core. “My sister should still be alive.”

You stand your ground, your eyes piercing his soul until he sighs heavily, stepping back as the High Priestess moves forward. No one knows her real name, an enigma that once plagued you during your time here. She is a beautiful older woman with silver hair who moves gracefully and has an air about her that seems sweet, like a grandmother who bakes apple pies.

But you aren’t a fool. You know exactly who she is.

“You are more than welcome to stay,” she says with an authority that irritates you to your core. “Rain was loved by everyone and should be celebrated before her ascension into the afterlife.”

She motions for you to sit front and center, directly in front of the wooden boat that cradles the lifeless form of your sister. You give a nod to Aunt Lena and Geneva before walking over to the boat slowly, your heels crunching on the small rocks and pebbles in your way. Your heart tightens as she comes into view, her lifeless, burned body surrounded by sea lavender, her favorite flowers. The Rain that you knew, the sweet girl who loved her flowers, her family, her community and especially you—is gone. 

A fresh wave of devastation washes over you as your knees shake, and you force yourself to step away before you break down in tears. You make eye contact with your mother, who, for a second, you think might give you a shred of comfort, but then your father pulls her way, ending that fantasy. Even in mourning, the man never fails to be cruel.

You take a seat next to Lena, who holds your hand warmly as you take deep breaths.

“Before we began,” the High Priestess speaks, silencing everyone in an instant. “Is there anyone who would like to say a few words about our departed, Rain?”

There is shuffling behind you, and you turn around, watching a young boy no more than eighteen or nineteen walk to the front. His hair touches his shoulders, wavy and black and shiny, in all its glory. He is lean and athletic with a striking look that should be on runways and magazines, not in this forsaken town. But his eyes tell a different story; they are bloodshot red, swollen, and full of sadness, like he hasn’t stopped crying since she’s left this world— just like you.

You recognize him as Chan, Rain’s boyfriend that she emailed you about. She sent pictures of them together, and the way he looked at her, like she was his sun, made you feel good about him. But you catch him staring at her in the boat, and he has a look of despair that breaks your heart. The weight of his grief feels like a storm cloud, and you feel those same swirling emotions in your chest. Feeling devastated is an understatement.

“Rain was everything to me,” his mouth quivers as he tries to hold back his emotions. “I loved her. Still love her.” He looks up at the sky, his eyes blinking furiously as he tries to hold back tears. “Why did it have to be her?”

It’s like a levee broke— everything that he was oppressing and holding back until this very moment surges through him like an unforgiving flood. He lets out a wail that penetrates your heart and seeps into your bones. There wasn’t anyone within a 50-mile radius who didn’t feel what he put out.

Chan calms himself, turns around, and looks at her one last time, blowing her a kiss and muttering an affirmation that you couldn't barely hear: "I love you."

Before anyone can approach him, he storms off, leaving a sand trail in his wake that carries in the air. You understand exactly how he feels, having someone you love ripped away in one of the worst ways imaginable.

Other people stand and say nice things about her, but it didn’t lessen any of the pain that you feel. All it told you was that Rain’s presence was a positive force in everyone’s life, and she deserved better. You contemplate getting up and saying a few words, but at the last minute, you hold yourself back. These people are the same people who cast you out and pretend you don’t exist. Your father regards you with disgust, and your mother can barely look you in the eye. The High Priestess walks around like she is Jesus Christ personified; her self-righteousness makes you want to claw her eyes out.

They don’t deserve to see your tears.

You remain silent, your rage boiling under the surface as everyone walks up to the boat, saying their final goodbyes. You purposely stay behind, wanting to have your final moments with her alone and uninterrupted. The sun has officially disappeared, replaced by the waning crescent moon that illuminates the darkness. You can’t help but chuckle at the irony— Rain was born on the same type of moon. The wind picks up as you draw closer, and it suddenly smells like mandarins and honey. It’s like she is here with you.

“Rain, Rain, Rain,” you chuckle lightly, but the sound feels hollow in your chest. “I said I would never come back here. You’ve made a liar out of me.” You gently grasp her hand, fresh tears forming in your eyes as you touch her cold and distant hand. “It should have been me. I would trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

You hear footsteps approaching, and you quickly wipe away your tears, leaving a gentle kiss on her forehead before walking away. You stand between Aunt Lena and Geneva while the other members of the coven form a circle and join hands.

“It is now time for Rain to ascend into the afterlife,” the High Priestess announces, closing her eyes as she begins to recite the spell.

Ashes of our ashes

Blood of our blood

Circe, watch over Rain’s soul

May she be with you in peace

She offers a basket of cheeses and various herbs into the air, the wind picking up more than it did earlier. Everyone else joins in and recites the spell, with you reciting it louder than others, eager for Circe to hear you loud and clear. You say every word with conviction, determined to get Rain to ascend in peace by any means. The flames on the torch burn more brightly, a sign that you and the coven have been heard, and a loud whistle is heard in the wind, followed by quiet. Your heart feels the lightest it has in days, with a sure feeling that Rain has officially ascended. Your little sister is gone.

Your mother wails in your father’s arms, letting out a scream that feels like a Banshee. You can’t stand it anymore.

“I’ll be back,” you say to Lena and Geneva. “This is just.. too much.”

You walk away as fast as you can, the voices of conversation fading behind you as the sight of the burned building comes into view. You stare at it in incredulity, almost in disbelief that you dreamt this. You’ve never had premonitions before. The acrid scent of smoke infiltrates your nose, mixing with a deep sense of dread. This feels like a walking nightmare.

Stepping closer to the building, you inspect the burnt wood, desks, dressers, and anything that was within your view. You notice the dismantled baskets and remaining wrappers of food and debris that surround you. What was Rain doing?

“She was making baskets of free food and clothes to pass out at the shelter in the city.”

Your head snaps to your left, finding yourself staring at Chan. You hear the sadness in his voice, the pain in his chest that is akin to what you felt. He bends down slowly, picking up a burnt piece of cloth, clutching it in his fists.

“Rain came to the community center often to practice her magic,” Chan discloses, walking around the debris. “She used to tell me that sometimes she would have premonitions and see things before they started to happen. Kind of like a deja vu.”

You nod silently, the wheels in your head turning as you notice the irony in all of this. “She never told me that.”

“I know,” he sighs heavily. “She was still trying to understand it herself. She tried to talk to your parents about it, but they never took her seriously. A witch, imagining things. You see how crazy that sounds?”

You let out a short snort of disbelief, shaking your head. “Yeah, it sounds like nothing has changed around here.”

He nods in agreement, a deafening silence falling between you two. The moon rises through the trees, followed by another chilling wind. You shuffle around the debris, looking for more clues that could tell you what happened. To make sense of what you saw. You scan the lock that is still attached to what remains of the door, still locked in place.

“How did they say the fire happened?” You turn to Chan, holding up the lock.

“The police are saying there was a gas leak and it caused the blowup,” Chan discloses, his voice trembling slightly as he steps closer. “But I don’t think it was that simple.”

“What do you mean?” you probe, folding your arms tightly across your chest.

“Rain and the others couldn’t leave the center as hard as they tried,” Chan clarifies, pointing at the lock. “Both doors were bolted shut, and the knobs wouldn’t budge. Magic in all. I tried the doors myself because I heard her scream. I ran for help and was on my way back before it happened.”

Your heart hammers against your ribs as you meet his haunted gaze, and an icy dread settles in your bones. “What are you saying, Chan?”

He takes a deep breath, fighting back tears as he reveals the truth. “This was intentional. The fire was started from inside.” His voice quivers, and a single tear falls down his cheek. “I thought I could save her. I failed her.”

You swallow hard, your throat feeling like sandpaper, the implications of his words hitting you like a vicious punch in the gut.

“Do they know?” you murmur, trying to stay calm and keep your emotions in check. “Do my parents and the High Priestess know this, Chan?”

Chan looks away in shame, hesitating before he finally answers. “Yes.”

“Hmm.” You purse your lips, trying to keep calm. “And let me guess, they said to let the police and nature handle it right?”

“…Yeah.”

The anger you have been desperately trying to hold back, the years of being excommunicated and not being able to see your family or sister, and the victim-blaming— you’ve had enough.

“Fuck that.”

You walk furiously back toward the rest of the congregation, your rage compounds with every step. Faces turn as you walk by, whispers surrounding you as you press on, determination set in your jaw as you set your sights on your parents. Why they choose not to take action now really blows your mind. A member of the community, your sister, is dead, possibly murdered, and they don’t want to do anything? They want to let “nature” take its course? Absolutely not.

“How long have you known?” you demand, raising your voice. “How long have you fucking known she might have been murdered?”

A hush fell over the group as your words hung heavy in the air. The High Priestess, standing in front, shifts uncomfortably. “Let’s talk about this privately—”

“NO!” you roar, taking a few steps back. “You knew this whole time that this might have been an attack on the coven, my sister by extension, and you are going to do NOTHING?”

“The Coven is NONE of your concern,” she spits out, the nice facade gone. “You are only here because I allowed you to be here. You have no right to question what goes on here anymore—”

“Oh shut up!” you retort, fire running in your veins. “Fuck you and the coven. All of you are cowards, and I would burn all of you at the stake if it meant Rain could still be here.”

Before you even register it, dark clouds swarm over the town, the wind picking up violently, a perfect, chaotic mirror to the storm raging inside you. The thunder roars and cackles, and a single stroke of lightning strikes the nearest tree, causing a large branch to fall at the feet of your parents. You turn to face them, fear-stricken in their faces, and all you can do is shake your head.

“I don’t know if this is your doing,” your Aunt Lena’s calm voice cut through the chaos as she appeared, seemingly from nowhere, beside you. Her hand, calm and steady, rested on your arm. “But it’ll be best to table your emotions before anyone else gets hurt.”

You know she is right, and as much as it pisses you off, you must conserve your energy to find out who is responsible for the travesty. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and counting until you shove your rage back in its cage. You don’t truly know if this is your doing or if it’s the gathering of spirits telling you to pull back, but the wind dies completely, and the clouds disperse. Maybe there is more to your magic than you are aware of.

“You’re all pathetic,” you say, each word hitting like a dagger as you point at everyone. “You preach about community and working together, but when a member of the coven is dead, you don’t do shit. You failed me first, and now you failed Rain. This coven is a disgrace.”

Taking one last contemptuous look, you turn on your heel and walk away from the coven, determined to make this the very last time you come to this town. If they don’t want to do anything and hide behind their cowardice, that’s fine. But by the powers that are invested in you by your ancestors, by the very blood that runs through your veins, you will avenge Rain.

And it will be glorious.

It’s been a couple of months since the funeral, but everything still hurts the same.

You move on autopilot most days, doing your day-to-day things and trying to be present for the world, as you know Rain would want that. Jeonghan has been there for you every step of the way, taking off work and doting on you to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Aunt Lena and Geneva have stopped by, cooked for you, and helped you with some things at the lounges while you try to heal.

It’s extremely hard to be happy and move on, as if everything is fine. Your grief is tumultuous like the sea; sometimes it's calm, and you can breathe, and other days your emotions are crashing over you all at once, threatening to wash away the remaining sanity you have left. You hear her screams, and they keep you up at night. Your heart has been torn to shreds, and you don’t know how you will be able to recover.

The only thing that keeps you going is doing your own investigation of the fire. Police have been no help, and your parents are not going to do more than the bare minimum. How did it happen? Who would want to attack the coven? What was the purpose? All these thoughts plague your mind as your resources are limited. The town’s security cameras were conveniently out at the time of the attack, and there is still the question of why no one was able to use their powers to free everyone in the community center. The coven is one of the best-kept secrets in the nation. Who found out who they really were?

You’ve heard of religious organizations that are aware of the presence of witches who think they shouldn’t exist, but no one has dared attack a coven in half a century. The most you have seen are protests and Bible scriptures from the book of Revelation thrown around, but not at your former coven specifically. The salvage you saw was a declaration of war, and unfortunately for the perpetrator, you are not afraid to fight back—anything for Rain.

You sit on your couch, rummaging through any and all new sources about that night on your laptop, for any clues, a sign that would point you in the right direction. All of the articles reveal the same recycled words:” gas leak”, “accident”, and “unexplained.” Shutting your laptop in frustration, you let out an exasperated sigh, laying your head on the armrest.

“Are you alright?”

You lift your head slightly, gazing at Jeonghan as he leaves the bedroom. He is dressed in a dark suit, accompanied by a dark grey suitcase and other travel gear. He looks at you tenderly, but there is a sadness in his eyes that you can’t bear to acknowledge. You know it’s because of you, and you wish you could fix it and be the partner you want to be, the partner he deserves. But you can’t help it, you feel dead inside.

“Yeah, I was just looking into some things about the lounge,” you fib, scratching the palm of your hand. “I thought I noticed something that was off.”

He studies you, his expression shifting from concern to mild surprise. “Oh. Is everything okay?”

“Mmhmm.” You nod, sitting up fully to face him. “I just have a lot of things swirling in my head, I guess.”

Jeonghan pauses a moment longer, letting out a quiet sigh. “I have to go on another business trip. I’ll be gone for a week at the most.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” you assure him, slowly standing up. “You’ve been here as much as you can, I appreciate it. I will not break while you’re gone, okay?”

You give him a small smile, the best that you can muster up while you feel like crap. You know you lied to him about what you were really looking at on your computer, but you know he will disapprove. The last thing you need is him telling you to “relax” or to “let things be what it is”. This is the only thing keeping you going, and you have to see this through.

Jeonghan steps closer, his eyes searching yours. “I love you, you know that, right?”

You throw him a concerned look, sauntering to him and grabbing his hand. “I know. I would never question that.”

He leans in and kisses you, with purpose and the intent to make you feel better. To make you feel something. Any other time, this would have worked. His touch, his love, would have made everything okay and put you at ease. But you feel numb inside— an empty shell of who you used to be.

“I want you to focus on work and have a safe trip, okay?” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I do love you, Yoon Jeonghan. I just need some time.”

Understanding sets into his beautiful brown eyes as he leaves a lasting kiss on your lips before grabbing his suitcase and checking his watch. “I have to go, but I’ll call you when I land, okay?”

You nod silently as he walks out the door, waiting for the lock to click before you exhale the breath you had been holding in. You want to be the person you used to be, the lover he needs. He’s been so understanding, and you couldn’t love him more than you do now. But you have to uncover the truth about Rain, and nothing else can supersede that.

You close the curtains in your living room, moving the coffee table to clear space for what you need to do. It’s been a while since you have cast any spells, but you are tired of searching for answers, and nothing is coming to fruition. When all else fails, magic will lead the way.

Grabbing a white candle, a lapis lazuli stone, and frankincense incense, you set them quietly on your living room floor. You hear the wind chimes outside on your balcony, the melancholic melody settling the unrest you have been feeling inside. You set your intentions, the image of your sister in the forefront of your mind, happily sprinting in the sunflower fields that she wrote to you about and sent pictures of. She should still be able to do that— this isn’t fair. You need to reveal the truth.

You light your white candle and burn the incense, allowing the aroma to fill the air and bring clarity to the moment. Clearing your throat, you chant the spell with a focused mind:

By the flame’s glow, let truth be known, reveal what’s hidden, let deceit be shown.

You repeated it until your throat was dry, allowing the energy to flow through you until you felt content. You know this spell will not reveal the truth instantly, and you have to be patient, but you have all the time in the world. Extinguishing the candle, you hold the stone close to your heart as the incense burns until it runs out. For the first time in months, your brain isn’t in a fog, and you feel relieved.

Thank you, ancestors.

As the days pass, your resolve only strengthens. Jeonghan’s work trip has been extended by another week, and secretly, you are relieved. He’d been dotting over you, calling and texting you almost every hour, and it’s making you crawl out of your skin. You love him with every fiber of your being, and you appreciate him more than he knows, but you welcome the reprieve. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to lose someone like this, and you don’t have the strength to help him try.

You’ve been spending more time with your Aunt Lena and Geneva, secretly corresponding with Chan to see if there was any new information about the attack that would give you a lead. So far, everything remains the same, and it makes you frustrated. It seems like everyone in the coven is moving on from this tragedy, but you are still there, reliving it every day for the first time.

You are most disappointed in your parents. This was their daughter, your sister, a person— and they are just standing by and doing nothing. You want to give them the benefit of the doubt and blame this on the High Priestess, as she is more concerned with maintaining her control over the coven and keeping outsiders out of their business. But you know your parents, they aren’t mindless sheep. They chose this.

“Don’t worry,” Geneva rubs your shoulder softly. “Something will come up, okay? What’s done in the dark is always brought to light.”

You sit with her and Aunt Lena in your kitchen, sitting at your island bar as she finishes making a pot of gumbo that you have been craving for a long time. Aunt Lena makes the best gumbo you have ever had, and though you have tried to replicate it so many times, it just doesn’t come close. She hands you a bowl filled to the brim with mixed rice to your liking.

“Eat up,” she says, leaving a kiss on the top of your head. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t been eating much the past couple of days.”

“Aunt Lena, I am fine,” you say, spooning a mouthful of gumbo and rice in your mouth. “I’m even better now that I have this.”

“Mmhmm,” she purses her lips. “Eat.”

You do as you’re told as she puts the remainder in containers for you to have for the next couple of days, though it won't last long. If there is one thing you do miss about the coven, it’s the home-cooked meals and the bakery. You are a good cook and can navigate your way around the kitchen, but you have never been particularly skilled at mastering the art of baking. Your mother was always by your side when you made desserts, whether it was cherry scones, banana bread, or anything sweet that needed to be made. It was one of the ways that you bonded, and she would tell you stories about the coven or other witches and how things came to be. Maybe if you had more time, you could have been a better baker, your magic would have been more potent, and you would still have a family.

You still don’t know if you were responsible for the sudden weather change that night of the funeral. It’s commonly known that when witches are in the presence of other witches, their magic intensifies due to the different energies, and if not controlled, it can be catastrophic. But the way the lightning struck the tree and the branch landing in front of your parents, it felt personal, and it hasn’t happened since. The only witches that have been able to do that were deemed too powerful for this world and were burned for it by religious psychocants. You don’t want that to be you, but eventually you have to know.

You finish your food, your stomach full with richness and a warmth that spreads throughout your body. You watch as they clean up the dishes, your muscles slowly relaxing, with an incessant need to lie down. Your relentless investigation has been wearing you thin with little to eat or drink, and you feel it catching up to you now. With a final glance at the kitchen, you get up slowly, sauntering to your couch and collapsing onto it heavily.

“Looks like you need a nap,” Geneva comments as she wipes her hands on a hand towel. “Do you want a blanket?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, rolling your eyes playfully. “You can grab the blue one from the closet.”

Geneva retrieves a plush blanket that’s as soft as clouds, gently pulling it over you as you lie your head on a couch pillow, fighting to keep your eyes open. The blanket carries the soothing scent of lavender and chamomile, further putting you at ease as you finally manage to close your eyes.

“We’ll let ourselves out when we’re done, so don’t worry about a thing,” Aunt Lena calls from across the room.

“Sure,” you murmur, nodding slightly before you fall into the deepest of sleeps.

You don’t dream at all. You have a deep, dark sleep that pulls you into the deepest part of your subconscious, holding you close like a warm hug—similar to Jeonghan’s. You even felt light snores vibrating against your back. You wake up slowly, the sun long gone and replaced by the glowing super moon shining softly in the night sky. Your living room resembles your bedroom, and your usual smooth, plush blanket has been replaced with a thick, white one filled with goose feathers. As you look around carefully, you notice an arm around you that holds you tight when you move, and everything begins to make sense. Jeonghan must have come home early and moved you to bed.

Your heart softens, appreciating his effort to carry you into bed and to lie next to you. You know you haven’t been fair to him, rejecting his advances of affection and keeping your distance. Despite this, he never wavered; he understood you were grieving, and still stayed. You feel terrible for being relieved he was gone and enjoying the peace from not having him shower you with affection every moment of the day. Maybe what you needed was space to miss him, and you should have communicated that somehow. But at times, you don’t want to talk, or think, or sometimes breathe. You just want to exist and that be enough.

“Hey.”

Jeonghan’s sleepy voice startles you as it breaks through your thoughts, his thumb caressing your stomach.

“Hey, yourself,” you reply softly, shifting to touch his hand. “How did you know I was awake?”

“You didn’t move the whole time I put you in bed. It was like you were comatose,” Jeonghan explains. “But you do this thing where you wiggle your toe before you fully wake up, and I felt it.”

“Ah,” you nod, looking away bashfully. As long as you have been together, you always feel shy when he points out your little quirks. “I forget how observant you are.”

“Well, I think everyone should know the person they love,” he stifles a yawn, stretching his leg to cover yours. “How are you feeling, baby?”

You hesitate before responding, collecting your thoughts and thinking of your answer carefully. “I guess I’m okay?”

You sit up slowly, the straps of your tank top sliding down your shoulder. You move to adjust it, but Jeonghan beats you to it, his soft fingers gracing your skin like velvet as he slips it back up. “I got you, princess.”

You smile softly, stepping out of bed and stretching in the direction of the open window. You glance at the time display on your clock, making you jump at the amount of time you've been sleeping. A sharp cramp grips your bladder, urgency propelling you forward. You dash to the bathroom, barely managing to slam the door behind you. With a sigh of relief, you settle onto the toilet seat just in time. Your body relaxes as you lean back on the toilet seat cover, feeling at ease.

“Are you okay?” Jeonghan’s sleepy voice calls from the other side of the door.

“Y-yeah,” you respond, rubbing your eyes. “I didn’t realize I had been sleeping for that long, and my bladder is just responding to it, I guess.”

You finish your business, you wash your hands, and take a good look at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are red and your hair is disheveled as if you have been hibernating through a very long winter. Your head is buzzing, and despite the many hours of sleep, you are still exhausted. You yearn for a shower that will wake you up and rejuvenate your spirit.

You quickly discard your clothes and turn on the shower, letting the water get to the hottest you can handle before stepping in and letting it cascade over your body. You need time for yourself, to unwind and get your head together before you go out there and face Jeonghan. You know he is going to want to talk about what is going on in your head, what you’re feeling, and you want to be prepared for that.

You take your time, scrubbing yourself from head to toe, letting the pressure from the shower head release the tension in your shoulders, and the fog in your head starts to clear. It’s not enough to distract you from the heaviness you feel in your heart for Rain, but it’s enough to get through now and try to get back to normal, whatever that is. You hear the bathroom door open, and you let out a soft groan in annoyance—the small window you had to yourself and your thoughts are interrupted. You quickly shut off the water, push the curtains open, and face Jeonghan, your body dripping with water.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to shower,” Jeonghan remarks, handing you a large towel to wrap your body in. “I would have joined you.”

Your eyes shift to the floor, avoiding his all-knowing expression. “I just needed some time to myself,” you say honestly. “My head is buzzing and I just need it to stop, you know?”

You hate the tug and pull of your emotions lately. One moment you want to be in his arms and let him love you, and the next you want to be left alone to wallow in your turmoil. It’s confusing you, and as much as he says he understands, it has to confuse Jeonghan, too. He doesn’t deserve this— he deserves a partner that is loving, attentive, and not out of their mind with grief. You love him, but you aren’t okay, and you don’t know when you will get back to that person again.

You skirt out of the bathroom to your walk-in closet, grabbing the nearest underwear you could find and slipping them on eagerly. You quickly apply lotion and throw an oversized t-shirt over your head, stumbling slightly before walking back into your bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed, patiently waiting for you, a determination in his eyes that makes your heart race.

“Come sit with me?” Jeonghan suggests, pointing to your side of the bed.

Sighing softly, you climb onto the bed and position yourself comfortably while gazing at him. His hands grace your hips, pulling you close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him. “Jeonghan…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says with absolute certainty. “You can push me away, not talk to me, sleep on the couch as many nights as you want. I love you, and I’m not leaving you because you aren’t yourself right now.”

Not yourself right now. Those words slice through you, leaving a piercing ache that settles deep in your chest. “Jeonghan, you don’t get it.” Your voice trembles with each thought coming through your head. “What if I am like this forever?”

You move out of his embrace and put distance between you two. “My sister, the one person I loved more than anything on this planet, is dead. Do you know what that’s like? To lose someone close like that?”

Your bottom lip trembles, and the buzzing in your head grows louder, but you try with all your might to stay focused. “I can’t email her anymore, receive new photos or updates about her life. She is six feet in the ground under a bed of flowers, and I can’t even go and visit her if I wanted to. She was pure light—my baby sister. How can I go back to who I was before? What if who I am now is who I will be forever? Would you still love this version of me?”

Tears blur your vision, droplets falling on your face that are too fast to contain. Your heart is fractured, and more than anything, you feel impossible to be loved.

“You know I would,” he avows, his voice carrying a tinge of hurt as he grasps your hand tightly. “Why would you question that?”

He closes in on the space between you, holding you close as you cry heavily in his arms. You breathe him in, smelling his distinct body wash along with his own scent. Everything you felt comes out in jagged sobs, and he holds you through it all, threading his fingers through your hair, and occasionally his lips would brush against your forehead. Jeonghan didn’t say much, but you feel safe and comfortable all the same. As time goes on, you feel calmer, able to breathe a bit easier, and rein in the turbulent emotions that have been plaguing you for months. He leaves the room momentarily, comes back with a damp face towel, and kisses you softly.

“I know you don’t want puffy eyes when you wake up,” he says, wiping the tears off your face slowly.

You let out a dry laugh, watching him wipe away each tear with care until none are left. “You’re too good for me.”

“No, lover, I am perfect for you,” he corrects you.

He pulls out another towel from his pocket, wiping your face dry and removing the slight tresses of hair that covered your face. He gazes into your eyes with a look of reassurance, and without any words, you know what he is saying: you’re stuck with him.

“I do know what it’s like, to lose someone, you know,” Jeonghan says in a matter-of-fact tone. “I know the pain that you feel.”

Your eyebrows furrow at his statement, wondering where he was going with this. “What do you mean?”

Jeonghan lets out a small breath before he sits down next to you, raking his fingers through his hair. “I know you know that I grew up in the foster care system for a bit, but I have never explained why.” You adjust the hem of your shirt, smoothing out the slight wrinkles. Jeonghan sits back against the headboard, his eyes closed as he recounts the memories of his past before you.

“It was New Year's Eve, and I was eleven,” he began. “My parents were coming home from the grocery store to buy a few things for dinner. In our household, we had a tradition of making pizzas every New Year's Eve, and my father would light the fireworks in the street when the clock hit midnight.” He pauses for a moment, his hand clutching the sheets. “That day, it was snowing and the temperatures dropped below the average, but my dad forgot to buy sparklers, and my mother needed marinara sauce and mozzarella for the pizza. So they went out and told me to get ready to cook, and they would ‘be right back.’ They never came back— the ice on the road was too dangerous to drive on, and they hit a tree. Died instantly.”

You shudder at the revelation, your heart sinking deep into your stomach. Jeonghan has never talked about his parents or his time in foster care. He always says it’s the “past” and he would rather not dredge it up again. It wasn’t lost on you that he had a look of sadness every time they were brought up, and you never pressed more than he wanted you to.

“I miss them every day, and it took me years to get over their death,” Jeonghan reveals, blowing a small raspberry. “I was sent from foster home to home until I was eighteen and kicked out. However, that’s another conversation for another day.”

He grabs your hand tenderly, pulling you close to him, and you naturally lay your head on his chest. You feel like crap, dismissing his feelings and not considering that he may have lost people in his life. Maybe you are more alike than you realize.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I feel like an idiot for even asking that earlier.”

“Well, you didn’t know, baby,” Jeonghan says pensively, lifting your chin and kissing you earnestly. You feel warmth throughout your body, a sparkling feeling that makes your heart beat faster. Gods, you love him.

“I love you, Hannie,” you say, locking in with his gaze. “There isn’t anyone else in this life I trust more than you.”

He looks at you tenderly, with a look of love that makes your heart swell. Leaning in closely, you kiss him, slow and deliberate, hoping that what you feel for him could be said without words, and that would be enough. Jeonghan’s hand cradles your jaw, deepening the kiss as he lays you down on the bed, his hair falling from behind his ears and covering his face.

He stills for a moment, lowering himself until his forehead is pressed against yours. You can almost feel his heartbeat going pit pat against his chest, and there’s no question he wants the same thing you do.

“I need you,” you whisper, your fingers curling into his shirt. “I want you.”

“Then I’m yours,” he murmurs, his voice full of yearning and promise.

You kiss him like you're afraid he’ll disappear, clinging onto him tightly as you two get lost in each other. His hands grope your breasts, squeezing them tightly as he mouths along your throat, worshipping you like you were a goddess. You let out a deep moan, your eyes fluttering as his tongue tastes your sweet skin. His scent, clean skin, faint cologne, something purely him—fills your lungs until you’re dizzy.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice rough with passion.

You feel on fire, alive for the first time in a while, and you want more.

“Don’t stop.”

Jeonghan takes a deep breath, lifting up to gaze into your eyes, with a haze of lust that sets you ablaze. His hands find your waist, slowly sliding your panties down until they disappear entirely. His touch feels electric, your legs slowly spreading apart while his fingers find a way in between them, softly rubbing your clit. Your breath hitches as you sigh in relief at his warm touch.

“Hannie…” you moan, touching his hand that is pleasing you. “Please, I need this.”

He chuckles, not saying a word, but lifting your shirt and exposing your breasts. He sucks on your nipples with intent, a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through you as he teases you the way he likes, and all you can do is submit to his control.

“You’re so wet,” he moans, his fingers slipping inside your hole. “And normally I would drag this out, but I really need you too.”

He removes his fingers quickly, shoving down his sweats and boxers until his dick is exposed, hard and dripping with precum. He rubs it along his shaft and lines himself up against your entrance, entering you inch by inch. You let out a deep moan from the pit of your soul, missing the way his cock fills you up every single time. Him being inside of you satisfies a repressed craving you have been ignoring deep inside, and you are ready to relish in it.

“Jeonghan,” your voice is shallow and breathy, watching him thrust into you slowly. “Please.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he utters, his eyes rolling backwards in pleasure. “You just feel too good.”

His hips snap into you suddenly, a sharp cry escaping you as his thrusts into you with a ravenous intent. The bed creaks as he fucks you harder, deeper, with his hands around your throat and saying sweet, nasty things in your ear. You love all of it, you welcome what he gives you with joy, and you return his enthusiasm, digging your nails into his back.

The squelching sounds of your cunt being onslaughted by Jeonghan sends you over the edge, your fingers rubbing your clit with an insatiable need to cum hard on his cock, to release the pent-up emotions of what you have felt for the past months. As if he read your mind, he kisses you deeply, moaning into your mouth as you are finally taken over the edge, shaking uncontrollably underneath as you fall into a deep, unfiltered bliss of ecstasy.

“Fuck!” you cry out, pleasure washing over you with a smile on your face.

Jeonghan’s thrusts become sloppy, his breathing shallow and breathy, before arching and crying your name, flooding into you until he has nothing left. He consumes you with a kiss, trembling, forehead to forehead, as your breath mingles together. You love him, and he loves you as much, and tonight has never made it clearer.

Time slips away, the ache of your grief twisting into something softer— not necessarily peace, but something close to it. The silence that follows isn’t empty; it’s complete, alive, and full of matrimony.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I haven’t been the best person lately.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” he says softly. “Like I said, you aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

You mull over his words, knowing that he is right. “Okay.”

“Let’s get you tucked in bed, yeah?” Jeonghan suggests as he reaches over you to move the blanket back from your side of the bed. “I bet all this rigorous activity took a lot out of you.”

You let out a low chortle, scooting over to the right without any complaint, fluffing your pillows before lying on them flatly. He is right; you feel fatigued, tired, and unable to open your eyes. Your mind is filled with a low static, making it impossible to form a coherent thought. Jeonghan wraps his warm hands around your waist and kisses the back of your neck, causing your body to relax instinctively at his touch. The noise in your head gradually fades away, and all that’s heard is the low hum of the humidifier in the room before you drift into another deep slumber.

Maybe this is what you needed— to sleep, cry, and be held and loved.

You don’t wake up until after ten. The sun’s harsh daylight shines through the part of your windows that aren’t covered by curtains, strategically placed over your eyes. Your bed feels lighter, and the arm that held you throughout the early morning is no longer draped around your waist. Gingerly, you cover your eyes with your hand, blocking the light as you turn around slowly to see that you are alone in bed.

With a soft groan, you sit up, letting out a quiet yawn as you slip out of bed and head into the bathroom. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you look well rested, and the redness in your eyes has disappeared, and your skin has a healthy glow. Maybe sleep and a little sex were what you needed.

You shower, brush your teeth and finish your morning routine, busy yourself with making the bed and changing into something more comfortable, and recall what the last 24 hours have been like. You still don’t know more about the fire than what Chan told you, and you are running out of resources and leads that could possibly give another explanation. The truth-revealing spell hasn’t provided any results, and it makes you wonder, are you looking in the right direction?

You also think about Jeonghan, who finally opened up and talked about his parents. He has, for the most part, told you everything you wanted to know, but when it came to his parents or his past, he always skirted around it. He always says the past is behind us for a reason, and he wants to live in the now and move forward. You get that, but deep in the pit of your heart, it bothered you that you shared your whole life with him, and he could not give you that in return.

But after last night, hearing what happened to his parents, you get it. Losing someone close to you like that changes you, and you are sure being in the foster system is no walk in the park either. He kept that part of him guarded for so long, and it feels like you are closer than ever.

It’s unusually quiet. You didn’t wake up with Jeonghan leaving the bedroom, and he didn’t say anything about running errands. Technically, he was still supposed to be out of town for his work trip, yet he was holding you in your sleep. You grab your phone from the nightstand, checking your messages for any recent calls or texts from him.

Nothing.

You leave your bedroom and walk down the hall to the living room, which looks the same as before you fell asleep. The only difference is that Jeonghan’s office door is slightly open, with a soft creak from a chair and a hushed voice coming from behind it. You creep toward it slowly, not wanting to interrupt his call.

“He really screwed this up. Fuck!” You hear him curse, followed by the sound of shuffling papers.

“Don’t let this distract you from our goal,” a deeper voice says, making the hairs on your neck stand up. You realize Jeonghan isn’t on a call; someone else is in the office with him. “We are almost complete, and his will be served.” 

His will? You think. What are they talking about? 

“I know, but—”

You step closer to hear more of their conversation, not noticing how close you are to the bookshelf until you accidentally bump into it, making one of the vases shake at the top. You move quickly from the door and place yourself on the other side, acting as if you were grabbing a book while the door swings wide open. You gaze at the man who steps out of the office, a tall man with thick muscle build and short black hair cut just below his ears. You have never seen him before, but the way he looks at you and then smiles, unnerves you— the alarms are going off in your head.

“Ah, you must be the pretty lady Jeonghan keeps mentioning at the office,” the man says smoothly, extending his hand. “I’m Cedric.”

“H-hi,” you reply nervously, shaking his hand. “I’m—”

“Oh, I already know your name,” Cedric interrupts. “Trust me, you’re all he talks about.”

“And here I thought you could keep my secrets,” Jeonghan quips as he follows behind him, shutting the office door. He walks around to you and plants a kiss on your lips. “Good morning, beautiful.”

You smile softly, the chill settling in your bones as you feel the man staring at you. “Good morning yourself, handsome. Is everything alright?”

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Jeonghan replies, with a faint hint of panic in his tone.

“Well, it sounded like someone screwed up,” you say, gazing into his eyes. “You sounded worried.”

“Oh no, everything is good,” Cedric cuts in, taking a step into your personal space. “We were just discussing some catering stuff for the big party at the boss’s next week. I expect you’ll be there?”

“A party?” You look at Jeonghan, confused.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal,” Jeonghan replies, interlocking your pinky with his and pulling you behind him. “I mentioned it to you in passing, I think, but I didn’t think you wanted to go, considering everything.”

“You think?” you say, squinting your eyes at him.

Cedric raises a brow and shakes his head, scoffing lightly as he slaps a hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Don’t you know not to keep things from the missus?” He lets out a cocky laugh. “I’m going to head out and finish some work at the office.” He looks you up and down, an expression on his face like he wants to eat you alive. “Hopefully, I’ll see you next week?”

“We’ll see,” Jeonghan interjects before you can respond. “I’ll walk you out.”

You hear the men walk down the hall, and you are planted in place, unable to get rid of this dreaded feeling in your stomach. You have met some of his coworkers in passing, but they have never come into your home. Jeonghan always made a point of separating business from home, except for the few times he had to work from home. But a party? Jeonghan definitely never mentioned it before. You feel uneasy… is he hiding something?

No… no.. Jeonghan would never hide anything from you.

You shake off those thoughts, chucking them off as paranoia, and walk into the kitchen for a glass of water. You drink slowly, savoring the cold liquid and clearing your mind. Leaning over the counter, you take a deep breath and set your glass on the counter with an unexpected loud clink. Suddenly, you feel cold arms wrapping around you, making you yelp.

“Jesus, Jeonghan,” you exhale sharply, swatting his hand. “My heart almost fell to my ass.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeonghan says, leaning in and kissing your neck. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”

“I’m sure there are a lot of things you didn’t mean,” you mutter under your breath, barely able to contain your frustration.

“Hm?”

You reluctantly turn around and face him, trying not to crumble under those beautiful brown eyes. “You definitely did not tell me about the party,” you say, gently poking his chest with your finger. “Do you not want your sad, grieving girlfriend messing up the vibe?”

“What? No.” He looks at you, wide-eyed and taken aback. “I just thought the last thing you wanted was to be around a bunch of people. You haven’t exactly been yourself…”

“Well, no shit,” you retort, untangling yourself from him. “My sister is dead, but I’m still functioning and capable of doing things.”

He takes a step back, ruffling his fingers through his hair as he searches for the right words. “I’m not saying you aren’t capable of things. I know you are. But you haven’t shown any interest in doing anything outside the house. You barely want to be around me.”

“Are you serious?” Your voice rises in shock, in disbelief that he would say that. “What was this morning then? Was I just a good fuck?”

“You know it’s not like—”

“Then what was it, Hannie?!”

You feel the tension crackling in the air between you two. He’s right—you didn’t want to be around him before. But it wasn’t because you didn’t love him.

“Jeonghan, it’s no secret I haven’t been my usual perky self,” you say with a heavy sigh. “But how do you expect me to act? My sister is gone, I saw my parents in god knows how long, and they acted like I was the one who shouldn’t be there. I am tired, frustrated, and above all, sad.” You ball your hands hard enough to feel your nails piercing the palm of your hands. “But it does not change the fact that you still lied to me.”

Your stomach tightens, a familiar ache in your heart, making you take a deep sigh. Jeonghan lied to you, and regardless of his reasons, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re hurt.

“You’re right,” Jeonghan admits. “I didn’t tell you about the party, and it’s not because I didn’t want you to go. I was just looking out for you and your well-being. I thought you wanted time and space.”

“Well, lying to me doesn’t help my well-being, does it?” you retort.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, the familiar two-sequence pattern taking you out of your head for the moment. Looking at the screen, your eyebrows knit together as you answer the call. “Aunt Lena? Is everything alright?”

“We finally have a lead,” Aunt Lena discloses, her tone clipped and absolute. “I need you to get down here today. You are going to want to see this.”

Your heart skips a few beats, feeling a slight relief finally. The spell finally came through. Jeonghan watches you with curious eyes, and you keep your poker face on, your tone neutral. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

You hang up the phone quickly, shoving it in your pocket as you eye your keys hanging on the hook by the door.

“I uh, got a call about the Lounge near Aunt Lena,” you clear your throat. “Apparently, a delivery arrived, and I need to sort it out.”

“Lena can’t do that?” Jeonghan asks, folding his arms as he leans against the counter.

“No, she can’t make it there today,” you shout, running into your room and grabbing your purse and a pair of sneakers.

You leave as quickly as you came, putting on your shoes quickly and grabbing your keys off the hook. You feel his eyes bore into you, watching your every movement. You know you’re a hypocrite, getting on to him for lying when you are doing the same thing. But your reasons are more important, and you don’t need him talking you out of it— not when you are so close.

“We’ll talk when I come back, alright?” You glance at him quickly before rushing out the door.

“I love you,” you heard him call out just as the door shut.

Lena sent you the location shortly after you made your trip up north. The second location of Enigma was situated near the bay, with its crystal-clear waters, the big city behind it, and a sense of good vibes all around. There was also a warehouse behind your lounge, and you used it to store extra items that would later go into the club. It was once an old paper-printing facility, beautifully constructed in the 1920s and still standing strong today, although the exterior has seen better days.

You pull into the back lot, the late afternoon sun shifting into the golden hour. The air feels cold and daunting, as if you are about to walk into something sinister. Exiting your car, you walk into the spacious warehouse, meeting the eyes of Lena, Geneva, and, surprisingly, Chan, whom you did not expect to see. Behind them is a man tied to a chair, wearing a mask that obscures his vision. You notice his face and arms are bruised, and he faintly smells of smoke.

“There was another attack on the coven last night,” Lena reveals, her eyes low. “The High Priestess is dead, and some members are seriously injured.”

Your breath catches, your feet planted on the ground in shock. The High Priestess is dead? You thought you would never see the day so soon. Not that there is any love lost between the two of you.

“Yeah, like my mother,” Chan spits angrily. “I caught him right as he was about to stab my mother with a knife. I knocked him out with some crushed-up valerian root, chamomile, lavender, and passionflower, and then dragged him into the woods and called your Aunt.”

“Huh. Knock out powder,” you nod, thinking of the shimmery light purple powder. Chan is too young to experience death, especially with people close to him. You feel for him. “Your mom… will she be okay?” You ask gently, feeling sorry for him.

He hesitates before responding, his eyes shifting to sadness, like a small child. “Yeah,” he confirms. “He stabbed her hand and would have gotten her for good if I had not gotten there.”

You let out a small sigh of relief and give him a comforting hug. You don’t know him that well, aside from what Rain has told you about him, but he made her so happy, and he is going to all of these lengths to reveal the truth about her death. You feel as if you could trust him, and he has earned your respect.

“Good, I’m glad it wasn’t anything worse,” you nod. “But you need to go home and support your mother.”

Chan looks at you, his expression one of confusion. “Go back home? And be reminded of everything I have lost because of this guy?” He points angrily at him, his chest heaving heavily.

“Yes,” you respond, standing firm. “You still have your mom, who was stabbed and needs you. Go be with her, okay?” You place a supportive hand on his shoulder. “We got it from here.”

He hesitates before reluctantly leaving, pausing at the door and looking back. “Please keep me updated. I love Rain too.”

You nod in agreement, trying not to think too deeply about his words. You hear Rain’s screams in the back of your mind, and you shake your head, ridding them away. You glance at the man tied to the chair, his head bowed as if he were asleep. But the one thing about the human body is that, when you study it enough, you can tell the difference.

“Wake up,” you command, handing your purse to Lena.

“What are you going to do…” Lena’s voice trails off.

You gaze at her, displaying a sinister smile as the rage bubbles inside of you like a volcano. “I’m going to ‘wake’ him up.”

You walk over to him, your fingernails digging in your palms as your fist lands on his face, earning a grunt from his bruised lips.

“Ow, what the fuck was that for?” the man yells, his strong accent echoing throughout the warehouse.

“You weren’t sleeping anyway,” you shrug, rubbing your knuckles. “But I still had to make sure.”

You could have used your magic, mumbled a spell or two that would have made his blood boil, or mimicked a brain aneurysm. But in this moment, you want to get your hands dirty.

“Why did you attack the coven?” you demand, folding your arms tightly across your chest. “Where are you from?”

He scoffs and tilts his head to the side, spitting a mix of blood and saliva on the ground. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah, I would actually,” you retort, frustration bubbling up at his evasiveness.

The masked man bows his head, as if savoring the moment. You shoot a quick glance at your aunt and Geneva; their worried expressions confirm that they know exactly what you’re planning.

“You two need to leave,” you say firmly, removing the bracelet from your wrist. “It looks like I have my work cut out for me.”

“Wait—” Lena steps in front of you, her voice cautious. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

You look at her incredulously, surprised that she would question you. “Aunt Lena, I am more than sure that I am going to kill this man slowly if he does not give me the answers that I want.”

You turn your attention to him, who is now sitting up straight with a smirk on his smug face. You want nothing more than to wipe it off with another punch.

“I don’t want you to lose control,” Lena says slowly, taking your hand. “We need the information has, and then we can figure out what to do with him after that. Think about this.”

“Yeah, YN, think about it,” the man mocks Lena, a wide grin spreading across his face.

You feel the blood run cold in your veins, bewilderment hitting you narrowly in your chest. How the hell does he know your name?

“How do you know who I am?” you question him, exchanging shocked looks with Lena and Geneva. “Who are you?”

The man lets out a low rumble of a chuckle, cocking his head back against the chair. “My name is Puriel, and I am your reckoning.”

It is your turn to scoff, observing the man with a swollen lip, bruised up, and tied to the chair. The cockiness of the man exudes from him, making you sick.

“Is that your real name, or are you a huge fan of the Testament of Abraham?” You taunt him, removing the mask from his face. “You already know my name. No need to hide from each other now.”

In another life, you would have found Puriel handsome, with his tanned skin, striking almond colored eyes, and chiseled jaw covered by a light beard. You can tell he works out; his biceps bulge as he tries to free himself from the restraints that are placed on him.

“I’ve known a lot about you, love,” Puriel says with a twinkle in his eyes. “I know about your lounges, your coven, the burning fire we rained on that putrid town that killed your poor, innocent sister.”

You turn away for a brief moment, taking a deep breath as your hands balled together tightly. He is trying to get in your head, saying things that would have you in a fury of rage and want to make you snap his neck without revealing a single drop of information. As tempting as it is, you are smarter than that.

“That accent,” you say, locking your gaze into his. “Are you French?”

“Yes,” he confirms, the corners of his mouth lifting in amusement. “How did you know?”

“Well, your name is French, and your accent has a little oui oui to it,” you reply, your tone matter-of-fact. “It was easy to put two and two together.”

He nods, looking impressed. “I gotta say, I didn’t think someone from a backwater trash kind of town would know anything about anything worldly.”

“Backwater trash, huh?” You chuckle. “What do you baguettes know about that?”

You suppose his words were supposed to sting, making you cry, or you fly into anger. But you feel nothing, if anything, annoyed that he has not told you what you want to know. You run your fingers through your hair, tension coiling in your muscles, glancing at Lena and Geneva as their feet are planted to the ground, watching the interaction.

“You said we,” you start, walking in a circle around him. “Who were the others with you?”

Puriel studies you, his left eye squinting as he debates whether to tell you anything. “We are the Iustum Currum, warriors of the Lord Almighty, to rid the world of witches and the supernatural. You’re an abomination of God.”

His words don’t surprise you— there are religious fanatics all over the world who preach about the Book of Revelations, Judgment Day, and the like, but still commit the ultimate sin of murder and other heinous crimes in the name of their “Father”. These people preach about Christianity but truly do not read their Bibles past the Old Testament. Your former coven isn’t the first one to be attacked in history, but you want to know why you? Why the coven?

“I bet you’re probably wondering why you and your coven?”

You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “Former coven.”

“Former, current, it doesn’t matter,” Puriel snorted, shifting up in his seat. “You are still a witch, and you will burn in the lake of fire under his will— like your High Priestess.”

You feel the irritation creeping up on you, painfully aware of the obvious dodging he is doing with your questions. “Again,” you snap, your eyes narrowing as you lean forward, unwilling to let him evade the topic any longer. “Why the coven?”

The silence stretches between you, and you have half a mind to end all of this and his life right here. You can almost see the gears turning in his mind, the rehearsed lines of evasion ready to tumble from his lips, but you won’t let him get away this time.

“Because you're witches, whores, and you need to be rid of the world, to make it fitting for a righteous paradise,” Puriel smirks. “We have eyes and ears everywhere and have been around for a very long time, sweetheart. We’re closer than you think.”

He winks at you, and you feel disgust in the pit of your stomach. The tension is thick in the air, and you have to walk away, nothing but visions in your wake as you think of the many ways you want to hurt him. This was obviously a planned attack, and they had an insider working with them. But who?

“Are you okay?”

You turn to face Geneva, her eyes full of concern. “He’s an asshole,” you spit out, shaking your head. “He’s just another religious fanatic who thinks all witches are bad and we deserve to be burned at the stake. Nothing new under the sun.”

You see car lights flash through the warehouse windows, and you exchange quick glances with Geneca and Lena.

“We will go check it out,” Lena announces, with Geneva following her.

You are left alone with Puriel. Your anger rises through your skin; the thought of your sister dying because of their agenda, because of “God’s will,” makes you shake uncontrollably. Rain was innocent, and she did not deserve to die the way she did.

“Yeah, fuck this.”

You stomp towards Puriel, pulling out your keys, fiddling with the chain until the small pocket holster attached to it opens, revealing a small knife. “See, unfortunately for you, I am having a bad day, and instead of ending your life quickly, I am going to drag this out as long as I can.” You press your blade against his neck, pressing on it deeply until it indents a small cut. “Who was all there the day of the fire? Give me names.”

You feel his Adam’s apple shift against your blade as he lets out a silverly laugh. “Now, why would I tell you that?”

You study him, noting how calm he is despite his life being in danger. “You don’t want to live?”

His laugh becomes louder, sending chills down your spine. “I would be more worried about your life, sweetheart.”

“What do you mean—”

You are met with a headbutt to your forehead, catching you off guard as you realize his hands are no longer restrained by the ropes. You are fast, but he is quicker, tripping you with your foot and making you fall on your back. You feel a boot to your back, and you howl as the pain sears in your back, your nimbleness gone as you try to recover. Puriel cackles from his ugly soul, picking up the knife that flew out of your hand in the scuffle. It feels like everything is happening in slow motion, watching him step over you and crouch down, flipping her over while twiddling the knife in his hands.

“Quelle belle vue,” he murmurs, brushing strands of hair off your face. “Too bad you’re a supernatural whore.”

He licks his lips, and you feel bile rise in your throat, his touch making you feel dirty and violated. You feel tears build up in your eyes, the rage you’ve worked so hard to hold being unleashed as you lie there helpless.

“Any last words, belle?” He asks, raising the knife across your heart.

You nod slowly with tears streaming down your face. You think quickly, knowing what you have to do— it’s either him or you. The intention is set in your mind, digging your nails into his shirt and placing them over his heart as you mutter these fatal words:

“Nunc Mori.”

It happened quickly. Puriel’s eyes widen in shock as he clutches his heart, gasping for air as the veins on his neck bulge and turn an ungodly green. You take a deep breath and scramble away from him as you watch him cling to the last bit of essence he has left, his eyes turning bloodshot red and his face purple as if he’s suffocating. You watch the life leave his eyes, collapsing on the cold, hard floor in front of you. You’re frozen in shock, as you have never used that spell before. You’ve heard and read the stories over the years, but to see it in front of you fills you with a chill that is embedded in your spine that you don’t think you can ever get rid of.

“What happened?!”

You hear footsteps rushing behind you, followed by soft hands raising you from the ground. Lena wraps you in her arms, and you involuntarily let out a sob, the shock of everything leaving you and instead filling you with hurt.

“I can’t go home,” you say frantically, panic taking over. “Jeonghan will know something is up, and I just can’t.”

“I know, I know,” Lena says warmly, rubbing your back as you sob. “You’ll stay with us for a couple of days, and we’ll work out what to say to Jeonghan, okay? I’ll get some people to dispose of the body.”

In the far distance, you hear Geneva mutter an incantation, waving her hands over Puriel’s lifeless body until it disappears from view. You understand it’s to keep the body invisible until it can be taken out, but you are shaken nevertheless. You almost died today, and thanks to your quick thinking, you made it out alive, but it’s not enough.

Lena walks you to the car, making sure you are settled in before coming in from the driver’s side, pulls out of the parking lot, and heads east towards the bridge that separates your lounge from the city. You close your eyes, fatigued, and so many thoughts are swirling through your head that it makes your head buzz. But one thing is clear: the Lustum Currum has made an enemy out of you.

AN2: Part 3/4 will be coming soon! This went way longer than I anctipated (but I enjoyed adding to it). Let me know what you think in the comments, reblogs and/or DMs :)

"I'm alright," Seungcheol mumbles as you clean his forehead. "it was a small scuffle."

"Small, my ass," You retort firmly. "Look at you."

Look at him, indeed. His forehead sported a bleeding cut, and his forearms and hands, callused and rough, were covered in scrapes and wounds. Not serious enough to warrant a doctor's visit, but what could you do? As his soulmate, you were always going to worry.

"I don't get why you had to fight," You sigh, reaching for another gauze. "There were so many opportunities to settle it in peace."

"Not a chance," Seungcheol hisses when you carefully dab at the next cut with antiseptic solution. "They were pushing my limits. I told them not to intrude and bother my side. They had to be taught a lesson."

"What lesson could possibly be worth a turf war with a whole other territory?"

"If it serves as a good enough reminder never to go near my men again, I'll do it all over. My men are hardcore, but they didn't sign up to be attacked or killed in the middle of the night. Some of them are husbands and fathers. It's not those bastards who need to explain to their wives and children that Papa isn't coming home."

You sigh. "I know that. But isn't fighting an even worse alternative? Isn't that just opening up another opportunity for even more lives to be lost?"

"It's not that simple," Seungcheol counters as you finally start to clean up your little work area. "It's about respecting one another's territory. That's probably the number one rule, if there ever was one in my work. If you don't do that, then there will be consequences. That's how it's always been."

You shake your head as you gather the items and stand up. "Then you'll have to figure out for yourself whether fighting to make up for lost lives is counterproductive or not. For all I know, you'll end up missing, hurt, or even worse because of your need for 'respect'."

Seungcheol seems to shoot you glances as you finish up. He finally catches your arm as you start to exit the room. "I'm sorry. I know I always make you worry when I work."

You frown at him. "I was beginning to think you either didn't know or didn't care. I don't really enjoy sending you out of the front door, wondering if you're going to come home at night. I said I'd stand by you, and I always will, but... well, you're the one who tells your men's family about them should something go wrong, but who tells me about you?"

Seungcheol sighs. "I know. This job isn't your usual 9 to 5. I know that." He bows his head and kisses your hand. "I won't die. I can promise you that. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not someone who goes back on his promises."

You shrug. "No one can promise that. We literally got together while you were bleeding out in that building."

"...Yeah," Seungcheol admits. After a brief pause, he continues. "Then I promise I'll always try my best to come home to you. That sounds a bit more realistic to you, my dear poet?"

You survey him, then sigh. "I guess I'll have to settle with that for now."

--------------------------------

Life could really be a bitch.

Who knew that coming home with takeout was a one-way street to getting a gun pointed to your head?

Your belongings now lie on the ground, and you crouch over it with both hands above your head.

Funny how you'd never actually learnt what to do in these circumstances, given that your partner was... well, in the thick of the industry. Perhaps another lesson Seungcheol had not taught you, maybe due to the fear that you would actually need it someday, or perhaps just pure avoidance. Either way, if you made it out, you were going to have a very long conversation with him.

"Get her up," Someone barks an order, followed by a couple of hands hauling you unceremoniously to your feet.

"Where are you -- get your hands off me!"

"Pipe down, Miss Mafia," One muffled voice replies. "No one's gonna hear you. Your little lover boy isn't around. You can save your breath."

And suddenly the world is thrown upside down as you feel yourself leave solid ground, undoubtedly from a rough shove, and land with a painful thud on what seems like wood. A sliding door slams shut, and after about twenty tense seconds, the vehicle starts to move.

Well, fuck.

For them to be able to plan this, mastermind this whole capture when they knew Seungcheol wouldn't be around, all while being in security's blind spot... You know they were no amateurs. They'd taken your device, of course, and no doubt shattered it to leave no trace of your location. If Seungcheol were to even mysteriously know to look for you, he wouldn't even know where to begin.

But what you didn't know, as the van sped through the city, was that actions ultimately always leave traces. Traces would always bring consequences. And they would be terrible to behold, your captors would only realise later, when Seungcheol finally found out.

-------------------------

"I do not," Seungcheol snaps, "fucking understand why I am still hanging around here when my person, my fucking soulmate, is gone." His tattoo is burning, not unlike the very first time he met you. But now the burning feels... more urgent. Like it's urging him to do something, go somewhere.

Lee is barely restraining him in the maximum security room, his body already straining with effort. "We need to do this strategically, sir, not burst in like complete newbies --"

"Every second I spend here is another second I don't know where she is," Seungcheol growls. "And you'll realise that makes me pissed. Fucking pissed. And if you don't let go of me right now, Lee, I will blow your fucking brains out."

The threat doesn't faze Lee. He already knows by now Seungcheol would willingly set the world at your feet, and the rage, the sheer shock at the turn of events, is rendering him completely emotional and utterly illogical. Ironically, the thing Seungcheol used to hate the most.

"Blow my brains out later. You're going to thank me for this." Lee grunts, before finally shoving Seungcheol away and pulling out his earpiece.

"All units to the front gate. Mobilise D-22, all arms."

"Roger that."

"You want to save her?" Lee asks, advancing upon Seungcheol. "Then we do it right. We only have one shot. If we fuck this up, I don't know what they will do to her--"

Seungcheol slams his fist on the table.

"They know she can be used," Lee warns. "They already know she can be held as leverage over you. If we burst in there like children and try to snatch her, our chances are going to plummet even more."

Seungcheol glares at him. "And if by the time I get there, and she's not there anymore?"

"She will be," Lee promises, while hoping to high heavens that he's right. "They want you there to negotiate. Classic game."

------------------------

Seungcheol's about 30% relieved that Lee is actually right.

He is, however, 200% furious when he spots you with the barrel of a gun pressed into your head, absolutely too close for his liking. Weapons near you seem to drive his head into a blur of red. His own is instantaneously pulled out, aiming at the gunman. "What do you want?"

The gunman shrugs. "I don't answer to you. My boss will address you directly."

The jab, the subtle dig that he wouldn't even deign to answer his question, does little to quell Seungcheol's anger. It wouldn't make a difference, anyway. He barely registers it.

There's a tense few minutes, both sides holding up their weapons, until the door finally bursts open, and a familiar figure enters. His severe limp and horribly scarred face are reminiscent of a fight that happened not so long ago, and when he smiles, Seungcheol is reminded of the same way he did when he gunned down some of Seungcheol's most loyal men in the middle of the night.

"Long time no see," The man greets cordially, as if they were meeting over coffee. When he turns to look at you, Seungcheol immediately swings his gun toward him instead.

The man grins wider. "Struck a nerve, child?"

Seungcheol doesn't reply.

The man looks at you. "Look at him," He jests. "All prickly and whiny because of you. How does it feel to have one of the most powerful men on his knees for you?"

"Don't answer him," Seungcheol warns you, then addresses the scarred man. "You don't touch her, or speak to her. You wanted me here. Now talk."

"Skipping the formalities? She and I haven't even been properly introduced."

His men laugh, pure disdain on their faces, and Seungcheol finally makes up his mind: None of them would die painlessly. He wasn't planning to allow them to live anyway, but this further proved it. He might personally strap bombs to them, or he'd sink his knife into their skin, inch by inch. The possibilities were endless. But it's okay, because once he secured them, he'd have all the time in the world to make his decision.

He releases the safety. The man turns around.

"You fire, and all of them," He gestures to the men surrounding him, "will fire back, Choi. Don't think I don't know how sneaky you can be. I arranged so many people for this."

He approaches you and tilts your head. Seungcheol scans the room quickly. Lee promised an intervention, so where the hell is he?

"So nice of your little boyfriend to come alone like we instructed," The man sighs. "Clearly didn't want to mobilise people to save you. He wanted to be your knight in shining armour, didn't he, sweet one?"

As he continues circling you, Seungcheol quickly realises he has an advantage. They don't know that he isn't alone. He almost chuckles at the utter naivety. Why would he, someone with a constant target on his back, ever, ever walk into a hostage situation alone, especially to save someone this important? And how stupid could they be, Seungcheol wonders incredulously, to think that he wouldn't pull out all the big stops he had for you?

As if on cue, Lee's quiet voice plays into his concealed earpiece. "We're ready. All eyes secured on the target building. On your signal."

Seungcheol's finger slowly moves to the trigger. One shot is all he needs. Lee's been by his side long enough to know his signals without even speaking.

But no, he wouldn't be shooting anyone. He plans to keep everyone alive. Take it slow, a sadistic voice in his head croons. They have so many debts that haven't been paid.

But first, you need to be safe. He can't forget himself entirely before that happens. As a hand, littered with past scars and calluses long earned, reaches towards your waist, Seungcheol finally snaps. Fuck twenty guns to his head. He'll accept a hundred, even an entire war -- as long as nobody ever touches you like that again.

He aims too fast for anyone to react. The shot rings out as the bullet flies -- towards the opposite wall.

And then all hell breaks loose.

-----------------------

Lee can be many things, but he's a damn good fighter. He's smart, calm, and strategic. Some of the various reasons why he stuck by Seungcheol for years.

Today, he doesn't disappoint. The doors burst open, men filing in and shooting, and he knows that they'll make it out.

"Keep them alive," His brusque order, while rushing to your side, rings out clearly in the space. "Keep all of them alive for me."

He's reaching out for you immediately, sinking onto his knees to meet you and pulling your shuddering form into his. You're terrified and awed in equal measure. You've never seen him in action before.

"I'm here now," He vows, voice low and resolute. "We're going home. Just give me a moment, and I'll bring you home. Don't look at whatever's happening around you. Just look at me."

The sound of shouts rings out as men fall and people scuffle furiously for control, but his voice remains constant, as he repeats again and again for you to look at him. Finally, when it really all seems too much, he covers your ears tightly and simply holds you close.

At some point, the noise dies out, and Lee approaches him cautiously. "Sir," He begins. "We've secured the hostiles. All alive and accounted for. They're immobilised, but... all yours."

Seungcheol turns behind. "Alright," He says, then reluctantly lets go and stands up, but not before addressing you, voice starkly tender. "Stay by Lee. I'll be back, alright?"

At your shaky nod, he leans back down and presses his mouth firmly to your forehead. "You were very brave, my love," He tells you quietly, voice resolute and firm. "The bravest person in the world. Just give me a little while."

He nods to Lee, who stands guard by you immediately, gun in hand and expression alert. He strides towards the group, tied up in the centre of the room, and quickly, his tenderness shrivels.

He pulls out his knife, carefully wiping it on his shirt before sinking down to meet the ringleader.

"Mr. Wang," He greets, just as cordially as the other did when he first approached. "How does it feel to be here like this?"

To his credit, the man isn't fazed. Instead, he smiles, mouth bloody and bruised. "How arrogant," He says softly. "You can kill me, but what about every other threat in the world? This sends a sign, Choi. From now on, your little girl will be the target. Not you. You might kill me and walk out alive with her today, but from now on, everyone else who wants to get to you..." He laughs, seemingly unfazed in the face of death. "They don't even need to track you down. They just need to catch her," His eyes linger on you. "At a very inconvenient moment."

Seungcheol chuckles. "And I appreciate you looking out for my family affairs."

He turns to the first man. "But you know me. I don't give in on anything I think is important. Very irritating, I know."

He turns to the first man. "Your motto was always to die in action, no? Die along with your men. I fulfil a lot of last wishes. And so I'm equally willing to fulfil yours."

The back of his knife strokes the face of the first man next to him. He recognises him as the one who held the gun to your head. Then, ever so slowly, the knife slides in. Just a little into his left chest, enough to make the man buck up and groan in pain.

Then he stops.

"You owe me a lot, Wang," He says quietly. "You killed my men and invaded areas that belong to me. A life for a life. I like to do things quick, but for your debts... it'll be a little different today. I suggest you close your eyes if you can't handle it."

Wang chuckles. "You and your little knife don't scare me, young man."

Seungcheol merely smiles.

He examines the knife, then, as easily as breathing, pushes it in a little more. The man wheezes, blood now beginning to ooze from his mouth.

"I will bleed you dry," Seungcheol now murmurs to the man, who's looking at him, wide-eyed in terror. "I will scare you as much as you scared her today. I'll let you die out here slowly, wondering if maybe, just maybe...." He smiles, then slides the knife in even further. "Oops, sorry. You shouldn't have done that."

He doesn't need to swear or raise his voice to make his point. He only does that when he's threatened, but he isn't now. He's still furious, but calmer than he's ever been in the past hour, and he knows he's in the lead here.

The young man is trembling now, trying not to yell in pain. The blood is running from his mouth and nose. Seungcheol is an honest man. He holds himself true to his words. He will bleed out dry, a living example of what happens when people push past his limits.

Wang laughs, a razor-sharp sound. "So you're just going to press a blade into my heart and watch me die? How anticlimactic."

"Oh, no," Seungcheol laughs, just as amused. "I will personally arrange something special, just for you. After all, you're the leader, no?" He looks to Lee.

Lee seems to catch on, with a flicker of shock. Seungcheol has only given him this look twice over the past 5 years. "Sir..."

"You know what to do."

Lee looks rather alarmed at the finality in Seungcheol's voice, but he nods anyway. "Yes, sir."

He strides away, and another of Seungcheol's men automatically takes his place next to you. You're still seated on the ground, trying not to gape too much at the man currently slumped down, breathing shallowly and shuddering weakly.

"I'll give him five more minutes," Seungcheol says to no one in particular, conversational as though he were talking about today's weather. "Amazing what the human body can do to last you through, no?"

Amidst terrified looks from the other fighters tied up on the floor, he paces back and forth, as if waiting for something -- Lee, presumably. The man in question only returns minutes later, nodding tersely at Seungcheol. Seungcheol then claps once. "Get him up."

Five burly men haul Wang up to his feet. Seungcheol cocks his head dismissively. "Follow Lee. I'll be there shortly."

He heads towards you once more. "I'll give you a choice now, darling."

You look up at him. His eyes are more tender than you've ever seen them, but you know that behind them is a sheer fixation: He won't leave this place today without settling every score he has with Wang, once and for all.

"W-What choice?"

"You can watch what happens to him."

Your breath catches in your throat.

"You don't need to," Seungcheol tells you gently. "Your choice. I'm just saying that you can. If you think... it's all a little too much... then you tell me, and you don't watch."

You're warring with yourself. You want to see it. But the implication of it makes you nervous. After all, you've never seen him do anything like.. this in front of you before. He's done too good a job masking both sides of his life, making sure they never clash.

But you realise... your view of him can't really be changed. He came for you. And no matter what happened in the future, he always would. He could never stray far from you, like a moth could from the light. And luckily for you, he's someone who wouldn't be afraid to do anything.

So you nod. "Okay."

"Okay," Seungcheol reaches out his hand. "Hold on tight."

He pulls you up as you take his hand, then to no one in particular, he speaks again. "Kill the rest."

And then, he leads you out of the place.

-----------------------

He doesn't bring you far. He takes you to an adjoining storage area, where Lee has wrangled Wang into a chair and tied him up securely.

Lee now hands Seungcheol a metal device. It looks odd, with some kind of screw attached to the back. But Wang seems to recognise it, and his eyes widen a fraction. "What--"

"Darling, look at this," Seungcheol shows it to you. "Back in the days, people used this as a punishment method. They called it the pear of anguish, if my memory serves me right."

You look at the structure. "What... where is that supposed to go?"

Seungcheol shrugs, then nods to Lee. "Open wide, Wang."

Lee turns to Wang and pushes his mouth open.

No. It can't be.

"That's... going into his mouth?"

"Yup."

There are also four funnel-like shapes at the end. You think you might gag.

Seungcheol notices, and asks you. "Do you want to wait outside instead?"

You nod slightly. "I don't think I can..."

No questions asked, Seungcheol promises. He'd never make you watch or do anything in his work that you didn't want to. He orders Lee to bring you out.

He turns to Wang. Smiles at him for the last time.

Then he gets to work.

Screams come out from the room. Lee covers your ears. But all you can think about is the grim, almost-manic smile Seungcheol might have on his face as he watches Wang die out beneath him.

-------------------

It's about half an hour before Seungcheol finally walks out, squinting in the sudden sunshine.

He spots you waiting next to Lee, and without another word, despite having literal blood on his hands, strides right to you and picks you up.

"Let's go home," He tells you. "No more shit. You're safe now."

And so he does. At home, you carefully wash the blood off him (most of it not belonging to him, thank goodness), and as you're drying his hands off with a warm cloth, he cups your face with his free hand.

"I'm sorry," He begins, sounding absolutely ashamed. "I... I should never have let you get involved. Should've protected you better."

"It's okay," You mumble. "It's not your fault. You wouldn't have known."

"I'm thankful for this," He gestures to the snapdragon tattoo, now reverted to its original colour. It no longer burns. "It brought me to you earlier. I don't..."

He stares at his hands, as if memorising the grooves of it, how crimson had just earlier traced them. "I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't find you. If we had reached a second later..."

"You'd still have found a way to find me."

"I'd kill anyone that stopped me."

You look up at him. "I believe you."

"Don't act strong, my love," He murmurs. "Not in front of me. You were terrified. I know you were."

You nod, vision blurring with tears. He tugs you into his embrace, hands coming up to carefully cradle your head, as if impossibly terrified that you're going to break.

"Don't hide from me, darling," He murmurs.

"I thought I was going to die," You whisper quietly. "I thought that was it for me."

His response is an angry sound. "Never. I'll never let that happen. I'll find you. I always will."

And fortunately for both of you, you believe him. You knew that he wouldn't hold back when it came to you. You would always trust that in peace, in war, or even if the world itself was coming to an end...he'd be there.

Choi Seungcheol would always find you.

-------------

You've always assumed it's because of the added height, and he's never really given you, or anyone else, reason to think otherwise. When the guys have teased him about it in the past, Jihoon had never corrected them and just made vague sounds in response, if he even responded, because he often ignored the jabs.

So, it makes logical sense that his aversion to you in high heels is because he's sensitive about his height, and heels always make you much taller than him. Being a good friend, you take that at face value and refrain from wearing any heels around him, not wanting to make your precious friend feel insecure in any way.

The plan on this day isn't to make him insecure either; you'd genuinely never want that. But you know that even though you two have plans, he'll still be working for quite some time once you arrive at his studio, because he always fucking does that. Which means he'll be busy, and you'll both be seated in different places, so taking the chance to break in the heels you just bought won't cause any problems, right?

“What are you doing?” Jihoon asks as soon as you sit on the couch in his studio and open the shoe box, revealing the brand new, sleek, black stilettos inside. He isn't even back in his chair from letting you into the studio yet, just standing and staring at you a little dumbly, eyebrows furrowed. “You know I don't like you wearing heels.”

“I've got to break them in, and it's not like I've got anything else to do while you spend the next hour telling me you'll be done in a minute,” you point out. “And we're both going to be sitting down the whole time, you won't even notice the height.”

“The height doesn't bother me,” he informs, making you look up at him questioningly.

“It doesn't?”

Jihoon scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “No. I've told you assholes; I'm not insecure about my height.”

“Then why are you against heels?” You raise an eyebrow in intrigue, trying to figure it out yourself. But Jihoon gives you no assistance in any way and simply sits down and turns back to his desk with clearly zero intention of answering.

You stare at the back of his head for a second, then give in trying to magically understand, and instead go back to taking your brand-new shoes out of the box and slipping them onto your feet. Of course, you already tried them on in the store, so you know you like them quite a lot; they're simple but elegant, with a little dainty silver chain around your ankle.

“Will you take a picture for me?” you ask as you take your phone from your pocket and extend your legs out, already pretty sure he will refuse.

As expected, Jihoon's response is a simple and firm, “No.”

“Fine.”

You try to get a good picture of your new shoes to send to your friend, but the angles are quite frankly put, shit. So, you get up and move aside, to prop your phone up on the floor on selfie mode and set a timer. You quickly shuffle back just enough to get a decent view of the lower half of your legs.

You don't notice, because you're busy trying to take a photo that really shows off the shoes, but Jihoon looks over the second he hears you move. Though he's not really paying attention to you but your feet. He keeps trying to look away and finish his work, but he's too distracted.

You're driving him insane and you don't even notice.

“Okay, I can't decide which one is better,” your sudden voice jolts Jihoon back to reality, and he looks up at you to see that you're now just standing there with your phone in your hands, flicking between two photos. “Will you pick for me?” He doesn't have the chance to respond before you turn and approach him. Jihoon's gaze drops back to your shoes, and he swallows hard.

That you notice.

“Ji?” you wonder, stopping at his side and offering your phone. He makes a vague grunt of a sound in response. “Will you pick for me?”

It takes a few seconds for Jihoon to force his eyes to focus on the little screen held out to him. He just stares as you flick between the two photos slow enough that he can get a good view of them both and compare them mentally. At least that's what you hope he's doing. Really, he's just dumbly staring with slightly widened eyes, no thoughts in his head.

“Which one?” you prompt when he remains silent for too long.

“Ei-” he starts but his voice cracks, so he quickly clears his throat. “Either.”

“Either?”

“Either.”

“Right,” you mutter while looking at him suspiciously and locking your phone blindly while lowering it. Jihoon lets out a relieved little exhale. “What's going on with you?”

His head darts up to look at you. He looks very caught out; eyes big and cheeks tinted a soft pink. “What? Me? Nothing.” He tries to turn back to his computer, but you grab the back of his chair and pull it away from the desk. Jihoon yelps and tries to catch the edge of the desk, though he doesn't react fast enough, giving you space to nudge him further back and move over to stand right in the way of his computer. “I need to-”

“What's going on?” you demand, crossing your arms over your chest.

It feels oddly reminiscent of the very first time your relationship turned from platonic to sexual those months back. You've had a lot of sexual encounters since watching him jerk off in that very chair, but you can never forget that first one.

Your eyes drop down to his crotch inquisitively. You're pretty sure he'd be honest if you had disturbed him when he was in the middle of masturbating, in fact, he's told you as much multiple times before and it always ended with you both getting off in some way together. And there's no bulge in his sweatpants, so clearly, that's not the issue here anyway.

“Nothing, let me-” He tries to scoot forward with one hand reaching forward to urge you aside, but you lift your foot to put it on the edge of the chair between his thighs to stop it moving. Jihoon immediately freezes, eyes blown wide and glued to your foot a handful of inches away from his crotch. “Fuck,” he whispers, slowly leaning back in his seat until his back is pressed against the backrest while his hands grip the armrests.

You stare at him consideringly for a moment, trying to decipher what the fuck is going on here, and the whole time, Jihoon's wide eyes remain on your heeled foot. You adjust it a little as you lean back against the desk for balance. You don't intentionally move your foot closer to his crotch, the flat of your shoe more firmly pressed to the seat between his thighs, yet it happens and Jihoon swallows thickly. It's now that you notice the subtle change in his sweatpants; a sign that Lee Jihoon is getting hard. And suddenly, it all makes an awful lot of sense.

Why Jihoon doesn't like it when you wear high heels.

Why he's been looking at your feet darkly in what you had initially assumed was hatred.

Why he can't seem to remove his gaze from your heeled foot now that it's so close to his hardening dick.

Lee Jihoon has a high heel kink.

An amused smirk tilts your lips up as you unfold your arms and rest your palms on the desk either side of your ass. “Oh, I see what this is,” you muse, tone a little teasing.

You know from experience that Jihoon can handle a little teasing where his kinks are concerned, he does the same to you too. But you both never push too far, still walk carefully along that edge ready to pull back in a second if you notice the other getting uncomfortable.

Without hesitation, you lift your foot and lightly press it against that rapidly swelling bulge. Jihoon's head immediately tips back and he lets out a broken little moan.

“You've got a high heel kink, don't you, babyboy?” you coo while applying a little more pressure, and grinning in satisfaction at the moan it pulls from Jihoon's chest. He doesn't even try to respond, just grips the armrests harder and subtly rolls his hips up to press his cock harder against the underside of your shoe. “Cute.”

Jihoon always looks so fucking beautiful like this; when he's focused on his pleasure and moving his hips to search for it without a care in the world, no shame in his veins just pure arousal. You truly do wish you could have him like this always; keep him to yourself selfishly and allow no one else the pleasure of this sight. But you can't, you both may only be seeing each other sexually, but you also have agreed that it doesn't have to remain that way at all.

Still, it doesn't stop you from wishing this moment could last.

Unfortunately, your legs have other thoughts, and the position soon grows uncomfortable and unsteady for you. Jihoon's head jolts up when you remove your foot. His eyes are so heavy-lidded when they land on you, and full of betrayal at you removing the source of his pleasure.

“Just give me a second.” You giggle amusedly and slide yourself up onto the desk after moving aside his keyboard to give yourself space. “Come here,” you encourage, motioning him closer with a curl of your finger.

Jihoon immediately rolls over in his chair between your spread thighs and grabs your right leg himself to lift back up and put your foot back against his aching erection. He doesn't even say anything, just holds your ankle in his left hand, and uses his right to press down on the top of your foot and keep the pressure how he wants it, while he essentially humps your sole. It's both entertaining and pretty arousing. Seeing Jihoon be so utterly shameless always does something to you; always makes you throb with need for him.

You can't help but wonder how far this kink of his goes; if he just wants to rub against the flat of your shoe, or whether the heel itself plays a part. Though you can't imagine it would do much but hurt in a non-pleasurable kind of way if he rutted against the thin stiletto heel. Still, he has a high heel kink, not a regular shoe kink, so the heel has to be important, right?

Curiously, you lift your left foot and place it flat on his right thigh. Jihoon's closed eyes snap open and look at your left foot, his hips slowing down a little now that you have pulled his attention elsewhere.

You're very aware of the fact that Jihoon does like some pain during sex; you're not sure of the extent, but you're confident enough to not worry here, knowing that he can handle it.

You adjust your footing a little then tilt your foot back, digging the thin heel into his thick thigh. Instantly, Jihoon moans, thick and needy, as his head tilts back and he goes back to rutting up desperately against your shoe.

“Oh, baby.” You hum appreciatively. “Gonna make yourself cum like this, hm?”

“C-can't,” it's the first thing he's said in a little while; the first attempt he's even made to utter a single syllable. His voice is deep in the way it gets when he's so full of arousal that he can't think straight. It's truly one of your favourite sounds and always sends a shiver down your spine.

“Can't?” you repeat, adjusting your left foot so it's higher up and angled, so that when you press your heel back down against him, it's on his inner thigh. His back arches as he gasps and moans, much higher in pitch than his speaking voice in a contradiction that would make you giggle if you weren't too focused on the arousal simmering in your stomach.

“Can't,” he confirms, then grips both of your ankles hard to still your feet and give him enough mental clarity to open his eyes and land his dangerously dark gaze on you. You're pretty sure you know what this means, and feel yourself clench on nothing in anticipation.

Jihoon's jaw flexes a little as he clenches it, and then he's up, kicking his chair away carelessly to grip your thighs and pull you right to the edge of the desk while his lips crash onto yours with burning desperation, tongue quickly darting into your mouth to find your own.

“Need you,” he informs breathlessly when he pulls back; far too quickly for your liking, but his hands are working on the fastening of your jeans so you really don't have it in you to complain. Jihoon is about to fuck you and based on how he's acting, and the pure need in his eyes, he's going to fuck you so good.

“You need to move so I can take these off,” you remind, nudging at his firm stomach to try and get him to back up, but Jihoon refuses. “Ji-”

“No,” he answers, moving just enough to pull open the top drawer of his desk on his right and grab a condom; one of many he keeps in the drawer so that he can fuck you whenever the mood strikes you both. Admittedly, it's a lot.

“What? How else-” You yelp when he wraps an arm around your waist to lift you enough that he can roughly try to tug your jeans and underwear down.

He only manhandles you when he's turned on so much that he can't even think rationally and the only thought on his mind is burying his cock as deep into you as humanly possible. And knowing that, being manhandled by Jihoon only turns you on more than the show of strength itself.

You brace yourself with one hand and help him with the other quickly.

Together, you work the clothing down to your mid-thigh, and then Jihoon puts you down and forces his hand into the gap between your thighs and the clothes.

“Ji,” you gasp as he plunges two fingers right into you. The jeans around your thighs make it hard to spread your legs, so you're kind of tight like this, but Jihoon knows you, knows you can take it, especially when you're wet like this. Plus, he already fucked you this morning in your bed, so he is certain you can handle this rough behaviour right now.

“Get me ready,” he grunts, tracing his lips over your jaw and bullying a third finger into you to curl and stretch them. He can't really thrust them at this angle, he's got very limited space, but he does what he can to make you gasp and get wetter by the second.

You reach aside blindly until you find the condom on the desk to grab before your hands find his waistband and yank open the tie to loosen them. You don't even push down his sweats that far, you both can't reach and don't fucking care, just want to get his cock out and in you. Quickly, you shove down his boxers a little and pull his erection out so that as soon as you've got the condom out of the wrapper, you can roll it onto him.

“Hands on the desk,” he orders, pulling his fingers from you to grab your thighs and push them up, making your body naturally lean backwards. You plant your palms on the desk behind you for support and watch as he lifts your legs to his shoulders, resting your calves there before reaching down to grab his erection and line up with you.

Jihoon only glances up at you to check in quickly and noticing that you're more than okay with all of this, he wastes no time burying his hard cock in you right to the hilt. It's another thing he doesn't do unless he's insanely turned on and desperate to cum; go fast from the get-go. He'll usually ease into you to allow you both to savour the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls. But when he's like this, he doesn't have the patience for that; he just wants to cum with your pussy hugging him tight.

You both moan at the feeling of getting what you both so desperately want.

Jihoon takes a second, then another, squeezing your thighs appreciatively like he always does when he's buried in you, and then he pulls back and starts to fuck into you in short, powerful thrusts aimed right at your most sensitive spots. Your head drops back as you moan with every thrust, little ‘ah-ah-ah’s that give him all the information he needs to know that he's fucking you right.

As much as Jihoon is desperate to cum, he will never pick his pleasure over your own. Without fail, he'll always make sure you orgasm before him, even like this. Though he doesn't have the patience for multiple when he's in this state, like he usually gives you before allowing himself to fall over the edge with you.

Today is no different; Jihoon wants you to cum first and soon, he can feel himself hurtling towards his end. You're so fucking tight like this, and he can see those fucking heels in his peripheral, and feel the blooming bruises on this thigh from you digging them into his delicate skin.

So he slides one hand down from your thigh to force its way between them and thumb at your clit harshly; it's messy and not very coordinated for a usually very coordinated man, but there's not much else he can do like this. There's not much else he needs to do. He feels you tightening up around him and groans, hand on your thigh squeezing encouragingly, and hips keeping the exact same pace and angle to not risk ruining your impending orgasm.

“Ji,” you warn, voice getting higher.

“I-I know,” he replies and squeezes again. “Cum for me baby.”

It's a few more rough presses of his thumb against your clit and then you're tensing up a split second before your back bows and you let out strings of moans and curses mixed with variations of his name in a combination that is pure music to his ears.

There's a fraction of a moment here where he regrets not pressing record on the room mic so that he can listen back on this session like he has many of them before, but he doesn't have the brain power to consider it for long.

Jihoon knows you don't need him to keep playing with your clit or fucking the same way to ride through your orgasm, so he moves both hands to press against the back of your thighs, folding you up. He hadn't intended for your heels to wind up pressed to his chest, it's just a real fucking happy accident that causes him to rapidly piston his hips, fucking his cock into you with nothing but the intention to cum.

You whine at the fast stimulation. It's teetering on the brink of making you too sensitive as the dregs of your orgasm trickle through your system, while also feeling so fucking good that you never want him to stop. It feels good, perhaps too good even, but you just take it, eyes rolled back, and head lolled back on your shoulders.

After a moment or two, you have enough presence of mind to lift your head and look at Jihoon. His eyes are closed tight, eyebrows furrowed with utter desperate concentration as he chases his high, and sweat dappling his forehead.

Without thought, you press both heels into his chest, and just like that, Jihoon's hips slap harshly against you a few times as his orgasm racks through his body while he chokes out gasping moans and digs his fingers into your thighs tightly. You don't bruise quite as easily as him, but you're pretty sure he's going to create at least a few faint ones with how hard he's holding you. Not that you mind.

Slowly, Jihoon falls still, and then loosens his hold, though he doesn't open his eyes yet as he pants and tries to suck in some air.

You know he's feeling much more like himself again when his hands slide up to lift your legs by the back of your ankles so that he can press a soft, grateful kiss to the exposed skin on the top of each foot. He carefully pulls out of you, with one hand holding the condom in place, and the other supporting your ankles in his other hand. He gently helps you lower your legs down before he moves aside to dispose of the condom and grab the wipes from the drawer.

“So,” you start, when he's back in front of you and doing his best to wipe at your sticky thighs. He looks at you and notices your grin. “High heel kink, huh?”

“Shut up.” He scoffs, though there's a twitch to his lips giving away his little smile when he turns to clean himself up too, then throws out the dirtied wipes.

“What?” You giggle and slide off of the desk carefully to pull your underwear and jeans back up and fasten them into place. “It's cute.”

“Seriously babe, shut up.”

“No.” You giggle and toddle over to throw your arms around him from behind.

He sighs and finishes tying up his sweatpants back in place before turning to face you, naturally putting his hands on your waist. “Hm, maybe you can wear heels around me more,” he muses upon realising that your modest cleavage is right in his face. He leans in and doesn't hesitate to suction onto the skin that he can access like this.

“Shall we go now?” you suggest while running your fingers through his hair. He hums against your skin, then smooths a hand down to your ass to slap it quickly. “Asshole.”

“Mm,” he agrees and steps back to eye the growing bruise, then lowers his gaze to your feet. “You need to change those though; I can't be seen with my dick hard in public.”

“Spoilsport.”

“I'm a fucking idol, I can't risk that shit,” he scoffs, then moves to save his work and turn off everything while you remove the high heels and pack them neatly back into the box they came in.

“Yeah, whatever, they're off. Now let's go get takeout and fuck in the backseat.”

“Sounds good to me, baby.”

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protective and assertive — seungcheol, mingyu, seungkwan

he sees it and his body is all warning. he steps in and positions himself slightly between you and the person making you uncomfortable, and speaks firmly to set boundaries. he apologizes if he startled you, but he’s no-nonsense in keeping you safe. your comfort is his priority. will go to the point of filing criminal charges for sexual harrasment.

calm and strategically protective — jeonghan, jun, wonwoo, woozi, vernon

he doesn’t lose his mind, but he’s calculating: shifting chairs, repositioning you, holding your hand/arm tightly. he might offer an excuse to move somewhere safer, suggesting you two leave or change spots without making a scene. he wants you to feel protected without embarrassment. you will feel a mix reassured by how he manages to protect you so thoroughly while maintaining composure and never letting the aggressors see his irritation, only your safety and comfort.

outspoken and immediately confrontational — hoshi, minghao, dino

he doesn’t hold back. if someone is making lewd comments or touching inappropriately, he calls them out directly and loudly enough to make them stop. he will even alert staff or the surrounding people if that's needed. his first priority is getting you out of the situation quickly and out of reach of anyone else who might cause discomfort. along the way, he sometimes lets a hand rest lightly on your back and reassure that anyone trying to cross the line will face him first.

supportive and attentive to your emotional state — joshua, dokyeom

prologue

AN INCONCEIVABLE AMOUNT OF TIME AGO, a grief unlike any other was borne of a mortal man. It was tremendous and ugly and relentless, touching every corner of the man's world. It warped every beautiful thing he knew into something just as ugly as itself. It lied to him like deception was art and it was the master. It told him life was no longer worth living, nothing could ever be beautiful again, no place would ever feel like home. It blended the days together until the mortal man didn't know how long it had been since his life became so silent. 

I tell you this grief was unlike any other because grief with nowhere to go… lingers. It wakes up beside you, replaces your food at every meal, walks alongside you, sings you to sleep and lies awake next to you at night, whispering horrid things in your ear. At some point, it starts to become its own being. It starts to become you.

The man's grief became hungry, feeding on his pain voraciously, the taste of it so acrid, devastating, and delicious. And it found ways to make it even more flavorful. It played with its food, wondering what the anguish would turn into if it made the man's loved ones turn their backs to him. What would the desolation become if it took away his livelihood and his prospects? What would the misery feel like if it conjured phantasms of what the man had lost to meet him around every corner, sending him chasing after illusions that dissolved behind walls and crowds?

The delicacy of his despair increased tenfold.

Then, Grief had a brilliant idea. What would that all look, smell, and taste like if one night, he came to the mortal man and offered him a small hope? Promised him his life before these misfortunes? Gave him something to hold onto? All in exchange for a tiny price?

What would hope do to a human as desperate as this one?

Grief may have been borne of the mortal man, but an inconceivable amount of time ago, the devil was borne of grief. 

dusk

FALLING ASLEEP IN THE CAR hardly ever results in a restful sleep for you. You nod off with your neck bent at an uncomfortable angle, you spend the entire time in a weird half-awake state, and when you fully come to, it's over the course of several seconds as you feel the car exiting the highway or reaching a stop sign. You fight from acknowledging that it's time for you to give up your weak grasp on sleep and just open your eyes. But something tells your body you're reaching your destination, and you slowly wake to find you're right. You're one turn away.

Waking up now isn't anything like that. You open your eyes like you simply blinked from one second to the next—not as if you've been asleep. There is no slow swaying of your body to tell you it's time to wake up, no gentle pull from a fragile dream state. Just an abrupt shove back into consciousness you don't even recall slipping out of.

You find yourself seated in the back of Maya's car, exactly where you'd been when you must have dozed off, except now, you're alone. The car is neatly parked on the side of the road, like your friends thought this was a nice place to stop for a break. You can't imagine why because there's nothing but cold, silent wood for miles along the winding highway.

You should be sandwiched between Jackson and Chris, who had been passing a 40 back and forth, drunkenly spilling malt liquor on you on more than one occasion. Wendy should be in the front passenger seat, laughing at whatever Maya was saying as she drove—something about who was going to be at the party. The party you weren't at right now.

“Come.”

You look to your right, where you swear you heard a man speak to you. All you're met with is a quickly darkening wood and the barely-there reflection of yourself in the window. You pause, brows furrowing a little the longer you look at yourself. Has the look in your eyes always been so… distant? Have you always looked this tired? So pale? Your classes this quarter had been taking a toll on you, but you didn't realize how… haggard you looked.

“It's time.” 

“What?” you find yourself asking before you can register it's the voice again—muffled, far away, and belonging to someone who isn't in the car with you. You think you should be scared. You think you should feel anything other than placated. You aren't and you don't. “Time for what?” You wait a beat and when you don't hear it again, you hesitantly call out, “Jackson?”

Of course, with all the windows up, you don't hear anything else. You don't know what to do with yourself, sitting here alone. Did your friends stop to pee in the woods? Did the car break down, forcing them to find help? You should probably just wait for them to return.

As soon as the thought enters your head and you start to slouch against the seat in preparation to wait, a horrible feeling seizes your chest, squeezing tight and robbing you of your breath. All the air in Maya’s car suddenly feels like it's been sucked out by a vacuum, and in a panic, you flinch away from your seat, hands fumbling against the door to your right as you struggle to unlock it and throw it open.

When you finally do, you fall right out of the backseat and onto the side of the road, dead leaves crunching under your weight as you gasp for lungfulls of crisp, cold air—so clean and icy, it stings your chest in a very different way than being in the car did.

Through the ragged sounds of your wheezing, you think there are words dancing through the trees to get to you, but you’re not sure this time. After a few moments, you finally catch your breath. Maybe I’ll go look for them, you think instead. The storm in your chest turns into a soothing calm at the thought.

You press your palms against the asphalt and brace, pushing yourself up to your knees and looking up at the seemingly never-ending woods before you. Dusk is stealing whatever remaining light the day lent quickly. The trees are growing darker by the second, tall and ominous and daunting as they tower over you. Fog rolls in, curling just inches above the floor like it's reaching for you. Beckoning to you.

You recall the words you've used to describe these same woods your entire life: creepy, terrifying, dark, nightmare fuel. You've been warned again and again never to enter them—alone or accompanied. You've heard rumors about cults that thrive in these woods, away from prying eyes. Feral people who choose to stay in the safety of this wilderness rather than join society. Right now, though, the only word you can really come up with to describe it is… peaceful. In some twisted way, maybe even beautiful.

“I can show you something beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” you repeat pathetically, frowning as you stare into the increasing blackness. You think you can see someone walking between the trees if you stare hard enough. You think it could also be a trick of the darkness. 

“Yes,” the voice answers this time. “Beautiful. Grand. Magnificent.”

“What… what is it?” 

You shiver as what feels like lips, ice cold and rigid, graze your ear and the voice whispers: "You'll have to follow me.” 

Don't.

It's a new voice, and its rage-laced authority snaps you out of your daze. You gasp at the ice-cold sensation on your ear as you frantically scramble away before turning to find nothing but the same car you exited. No one there, no space for anyone to even crouch behind you and touch their lips to your ear.

Leave. RU—

“YOUR FRIENDS CAME TO HAVE FUN!” The voice suddenly bellows, becoming so loud, you instinctively shove the heels of your hands into your ears and cringe into the cold metal of the car. The fear lasts only half a moment more before your body settles back into the calmness you felt upon escaping the car, the faint sound of music drifting over your cupped hands. You let them fall back down to your lap. “Don't you want to join them? I know where they are.”

“Where are they?” you ask, slowly pushing yourself off the car. You stare into the darkness like that's who you're talking to. 

“I'll show you.”

You squint, straining your eyes to see past the first few dozen feet into the woods. You think you can see the shape of someone moving through the trees like they’re almost dancing amongst them. The shadows swallow the image up before you can say for sure. 

When you were seven, Maya dared you to run into the woods as far as you could for one minute before turning around and coming back. When you were 16, a boy at school asked you to hook up with him in the privacy of these trees. And when you were 20, you decided you'd never go anywhere near them again after they found the body of a girl who'd been missing for six months. Every time you so much as glanced in the direction of these woods, you felt your heart drop into your stomach, gut twisting almost painfully as it told you to run far away and to stay away.

Right now, though, you don't feel scared. You don't feel apprehensive. You just feel… nothing, really. And wouldn't you have alarm bells ringing in your head if this wasn't safe to do?

“You know where all of them are?” you ask, slowly rising to your feet and craning your neck to see if you’ll catch a glimpse of the shadowy figure again. 

“I do.” 

You take a hesitant step forward off the asphalt, even more dead leaves crunching under your foot. You look down at the sound. The ground is so littered with leaves, you can’t see the dirt beneath your foot. You frown a little seeing how dirty your sneakers look, though, caked in mud that looks like it dried hours ago. A spot of red at the end of the toe box. 

“Come on,” he says again. You take a few more slow steps, and when you breach the treeline, you feel an overwhelming sense of relief. “That’s a good girl.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking. It could be five minutes; it could be five hours. All you know is that the longer you walk, the lighter you feel—physically and in every other way. You start to feel like you can float, like you’ve never felt a bad feeling in your life, like everything is beautiful. The darkness of the trees towering over you is more and more breathtaking in beauty than it is in uneasiness. Every noise, near or far, seems to harmonize with the distant music you can still hear. The fog growing thicker and thicker feels like a blanket weighing down and suffocating your anxieties, your skin immune to the cold of the autumn night. 

You don’t see anyone or anything else as you walk, but you don’t have to question if you’re going in the right direction. You just know you are. And when you start to see lights in the distance—seemingly appearing out of nowhere one at a time, softly bouncing like buoys bobbing in the ocean—you know you’ve arrived. The music, pleasant and mollifying, begins to grow louder as you approach the warm glow surrounding the tents in the middle of the clearing up ahead.

When you get close enough to see through the fog clearly, you realize it’s a circus of sorts, not quite like the ones you grew accustomed to traveling through town—the ones with the rickety fair rides outside, the sad, dirty tents still wrinkled from where they were unfolded from the moving truck… so few people roaming around, the employees were all just lounging about in their ridiculous costumes, sharing cigarettes. 

No, this circus looks like a small, glamorous city teeming with joy and liveliness. Crowds of elegant, gorgeous people wander, laughing, smiling, and enjoying various attractions; the only one you can make out from where you stand involves a ball of fire bursting into the air above a wall covering its source. You can hear the delighted cheers every time another plume of smoke dissipates into the air.

Several pristine, velvety tents of a deep, rich purple are scattered among the grounds, all facing one, grand, glittering tent with three peaks, small black flags gently flapping in the breeze atop them. You can't tell if it's black or purple, but it almost reflects the still-darkening sky. You think it might be the most stunning thing you've ever seen, and you watch with envy as several people disappear into it, positive that whatever is inside is all the more impressive than the outside.

“Why is this here…?” you ask, either to yourself or your new friend.

“It's been waiting for you.”

“Me?” A hum of affirmation. “What has…?”

“The Midnight Menagerie.” It's a whisper that passes over you like wind, gone before you can register its sensation on your skin.

The voice doesn't bid you farewell, but somehow, you know you're alone now that he's delivered you to your destination. Before you can question it, you continue walking the last few dozen yards to the circus, your steps quickening with excitement the closer you get.

You stop just short of the grounds, which are closed in by a white brick wall a couple of feet taller than you are. The gates of the entrance are wide open, the name of the circus displayed in an iron arch above it, the letters curling and curving just as prettily as the shadows you thought you saw earlier. The circus had been calling you, you realize. Overcome with the immense desire to lose yourself in the crowds within, you eagerly take a step across the threshold of the gate. 

You feel the heat before you see the fire. It's toasty on your face and it steals the air from around you for the second time tonight. The bright orange glow of the flame follows, striking the ground where your foot landed, and drawing a line across the gateway just as you jump away.

You gasp and move back, eyes widening at the line of fire now licking a burnt scar into the path where your foot had just been. The music stutters a little as you look up and meet the gaze of who you can only assume is a fire breather. He's stood on top of a circular pedestal, no doubt his makeshift stage to entertain guests as they walk by. Curiously, despite the earlier cheers, though, no one pays him any mind now. 

The man is tall—even moreso with the stage—looking down at you with a carefully blank expression. He has a faint scar running through his right eye, a different color than the natural brown of his left: a blue so icy, it's almost white.

“Why did you do that?” you ask dumbly. You're not sure that's the question you wanted to ask, but your disappointment at being barred entry smothers you.

“You're not wel—” He chokes on his own words, eyes narrowing like he knew this was coming. You frown at him as he purses his lips tightly, every muscle in his body tightening like he's bracing himself against something you can't see. 

A wave of black suddenly blankets the fire, wrestling with it in a way you know should startle you. Instead, you're fascinated by the shadows, watching as they push and writhe and move with wild, unnatural motions that make it look like they're attempting to mimic human movement. They smother the line until the flames are just embers in the charred earth, disappearing along with it. In their place, you find another man standing in the middle of the gateway. Long, lithe, and exuding grace even as he just stands there.

“Don't mind him,” he says, not bothering to spare the fire breather a glance. “Soonyoung is our feistiest performer.”

The fire breather stumbles off the platform suddenly, staggering away like he's in pain, shadow nowhere to be found. Your eyes follow him, something akin to concern bubbling in your gut as the music stutters a few more times.

The new stranger cuts your line of sight, his lips turning up in a gentle smile as he draws your gaze to his eyes. 

“I'm Minghao,” he says softly. “Welcome to The Midnight Menagerie.” He steps aside and extends his arm to show off the circus. The music swells, and you feel your excitement return as you finally step over the threshold and into the glow, the scorched ground long forgotten to you.

“Thank you,” you say, looking around in wonder. “It's been such a long time.” You're not sure why you say that, but it feels right. After all, who knows how long you've been walking.

“Or not long at all,” Minghao says cryptically, eyes twinkling under the string lights. “Come. Let's show you around, hm?”

You follow obediently, taking the arm he offers you and looping yours around it. You walk the grounds like you've known each other forever, chatting and giggling as he points out games, snacks that fill the air with the most delicious aromas, and performers on pedestals, much like Soonyoung. You frown a little at the thought of the stranger. What was it he was going to say to you? Was it that you weren't welcome? Did he—

“Ah! Looks like I'm running out of time,” Minghao exclaims just as you two stop in front of the glittering big top you saw from afar. It's even more magnificent up close.

You think the circus was probably named after the tent. Or maybe the tent was fashioned to match its namesake. Either way, it looks like someone found the darkest place on Earth, plucked the midnight right out of the sky—stars and all—and wove it into the fabric that would house this circus and its performers. Your awe must show on your face because Minghao grins.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?”

You nod. “Like the stars themselves are sewn right into the tent.” He hums in agreement, though you can tell the wonder has long worn for him.

“Are you ready to go in?”

“In?”

He nods excitedly. “It's almost time for my performance.”

Your eyes widen and your arm falls away from him. “You're a performer!”

“I am,” he says, lips pressing together like he's hiding his amusement at your surprise. 

“What do you do?”

“I'll show you.”

He reaches forward and lifts the flap, and you swear the stars on the fabric dance away to accommodate the movement. It's dark inside—so dark, you're not even sure anyone else is in there. You look back at Minghao, a little hesitant. He encourages you with a single nod and a smile so friendly, it expels any doubt you have. You duck into the tent, your guide right behind you.

You walk in the dark—unnervingly cold and silent—for only a brief moment before the shadows give way to a ring full of spectators, all eagerly awaiting the next act. The circle encasing the stage itself is empty, but it's clear everyone is anticipating Minghao to take it because they all begin to cheer upon his entrance. You startle at the sound, booming and excited and more… uniform than you expected it to sound. 

“Take a seat,” Minghao says, gently pushing the small of your back toward an empty spot on the bench nearest to you. You turn back to him just before you take it. Shadows lick at his feet before snaking up his calves, knees, thighs and cradling his waist. “And enjoy the show…”

With that, the shadows swallow him up whole just as they did the flames, disappearing into thin air. You flinch down into your seat. You force yourself to look away from the space Minghao was just standing in and focus on the spectators around you. They make no noise and show no reaction now, sitting with rigid postures, hands in their laps as they stare blankly straight ahead at the still-empty stage. 

“Did you… did you see that?” you ask, leaning toward the woman next to you. 

The music stutters to a complete stop as she jerks her head toward you in a series of short, stilted, and labored motions—like her neck hasn't been oiled in decades and has grown rusty. When her eyes meet yours, they're wide open and uncomfortably red, and her smile looks like it's held up by fish hooks tucked into each corner of her mouth. You're filled with inexplicable sadness, and you flinch a second time.

“See what?” she asks, voice saccharine.

Before you can decide whether or not to answer, the lights go out and a voice announces over the speakers: “Put your hands together for our next act!” The woman's neck snaps back forward in one go, her eyes on the stage once more. “An enigma cloaked and dripping in black, he rules the dark—commands the source of all your fears… feeds off the light of life. Beware of being pulled too close to his orbit… I bring you: THE PRINCE OF SHADOWS!”

If you thought the ring without lights was dark, you were mistaken. As soon as Minghao's stage name is announced, shadows erupt from the center of the ring in billows of black, stealing any remnants of light in the room until you can't see your hand in front of your face. Along with it comes silence so loud, you feel your eardrums vibrating.

“Yes. I see now,” the saccharine voice whispers into the void next to you.

Like he's taking a breath and inhaling what was always his, the shadows come hurdling back to the stage, disappearing where Minghao now stands. His gaze goes from the floor directly to you, and the music that plays then is slow to start, the sound of strings being plucked delicately as the man starts to move—just as slowly, one limb, one joint, one finger moving to each note. You realize his act is a dance when the music picks up, beautiful and eerie voices somehow harmonizing perfectly with Minghao's body. He moves his body like he has no bones, bending and swooping every which way and you think he looks a lot like the shadows he calls on. 

The music swells, transitioning from a peaceful, almost melancholy tune to one that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as shadows start to leak out of Minghao's arms—viscous, lazy, and leaden, almost like it's just waking up from a deep sleep.

Then, as the music begins to feel what you can only describe as violent, the shadow takes the form of a human being itself. Minghao turns to it, unperturbed by the shadow that begins to mirror his every move. Like they're tethered together, they dance facing one another, the intensity and desperation in Minghao's eyes growing. 

“The Prince of Shadows…” a voice whispers, much too soft to be the announcer over the speaker. “So elegant. Graceful. Lovely. So…” The voice warps slightly, sounding a bit like several voices, most of them deep and disjointed. “Lonely.”

The shadow being stands still now even as Minghao continues to dance. It has no discernible features—no eyes, no nose, no mouth—yet you can tell it watches him closely with little regard for his growing despair. Loneliness blooms in your own chest, its shadows spreading inside you until you want to run onto the stage to embrace Minghao.

As soon as you have the thought, the sound of two hands clapping together twice echoes through the tent, producing wind strong enough to chase away the shadows—Minghao along with them. It isn't until the dancer is gone that you realize you had been holding your breath. You gasp and inhale your first breath of air in… you're not sure how long. You press a hand to your chest to keep it from heaving, looking around to find the other spectators unaffected. They continue to stare forward just as they did when they were awaiting Minghao.

“A little too… macabre for my taste,” a soft, velvety voice says. It brushes up against a long-slumbering memory in the corners of your mind.

You turn over your shoulder to find the outline of a man—tall, broad, and backlit by the blinding stage lights behind him as he descends the stairs down to your seat. You bring a hand up to shade your eyes, narrowing them and straining to see the man's face between your fingers. The lights sweep to the other side of the tent, granting you reprieve. You let your hand fall and find yourself face-to-face with a man who looks so achingly familiar, nostalgia and devastation fill your mouth—so thick and heavy, it threatens to choke you. 

You know his hair like your hand already made a home in it once before, fingers carding through the long black strands lazily, nails scratching his scalp as he began to doze off. You can mix paints to match the exact shade of his skin on the very first try. You look at him now and know you've looked into those dark eyes your whole life—enough to be aware they're a lot more expressive than this. They're guarded. He's guarded.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat and fail, coughing around it instead.

It isn't until he comes to a stop on the step next to your seat that you realize he's flanked by a massive tiger. It sticks close to him, muscular and majestic, its white fur shiny and smooth like it’s combed through every hour. Your eyes widen and you freeze, but your body doesn't allow you to react the way you think you normally would. The man tilts his head at you before following your gaze down to the animal, which stares at you with piercing eyes—one blue, one brown. The tiger seems familiar in a different way—like someone you may have passed walking down the street once.

How absurd. I've never met a tiger. You actually giggle at the thought before frowning again.

“You have a tiger.”

“I do,” he says. It pays him no mind as it continues to stare at you. “I have many… animals. I'm the keeper here.”

“The… animal keeper…?” He nods. “Oh” is all you can say. He sits comfortably in the silence that follows, but you rush to fill it. “Is it… nice?” You nod at the tiger.

He laughs a little. “‘It'? The tiger is male. You can say ‘he.’” You flush at the correction. “He's very nice. One of the kindest souls I've ever met.”

The tiger's eyes finally leave you, turning up to look at his owner. When he does, the light floods his face more clearly, and you can see the large feline has a scar running through his right eye. 

“Are you enjoying the show?”

“I…” your voice gets stuck in the lump and nothing else comes out.

His smile quirks up a little higher. “Mind if I sit?” 

“Um,” you glance back at the odd woman next to you to find she left in the time you've been staring at this man. 

You immediately scoot over, and he thanks you as he sits down, one foot going up to rest against the back of the seat in front of him. You realize the people in front of you are gone too. When you take a look around… you find that everyone is gone. It's quiet now. The air feels a little colder, the lights a little more clinical, and your joy a little less potent.

“If you're not enjoying the show, you can always l—” he clears his throat like he just saved himself from choking on his own words. He gives you a slightly pained smile before saying, “You shouldn't spend time doing things you don't enjoy.”

“I'm enjoying…” Even you hear the uncertainty in your voice. “I think.”

“You think,” he repeats. His expression suggests he's amused but his eyes are devoid of any feeling. Any depth. Any life. He watches you with a soft, barely-there smile on his lips. “Well, maybe you need to see more to make up your mind.”

“Maybe.” You pause, remembering your manners. “How about you? Are you enjoying the show? Even though, y’know… you’re kind of part of it.”

He laughs a little at that. “I shouldn’t say no since, y’know… I’m kind of part of it,” he borrows your own words, making you laugh along. As soon as you do, his posture loosens a bit and he becomes more generous with his smile, though it still stays close-lipped. He’s handsome—remarkably so, actually. Handsome to the point that he doesn’t seem quite real. But the smile isn’t right. “But… no. I’m tired of it.”

The atmosphere grows increasingly lackluster by the second, Mingyu’s very presence seeming to wipe it away before your very eyes. You nod. “Night after night… that would be tiring.” He nods but offers nothing else. “When is your performance?”

“Ah, well, I’ve already gone,” he responds, your disappointment fast-acting as it blankets you.

“That’s a shame. I missed you.” 

You meant you missed his performance, and you’re sure that he understands that. Still, his face falls a little—enough that his smile no longer feels as genuine, just something to make himself approachable. 

“You did,” he says regretfully. “But my act isn’t all that anyway. All I do is throw a few treats at this big cat.” He nods at the tiger, which is still sitting next to him, clearly at attention and scanning the environment for dangers. That “big cat” glances at him like he’s peeved, and it erases how intimidating the animal is. 

“I think it’s amazing you can even get a wild animal to trust you enough to throw treats at it,” you say. “I’m sure a tiger like that wouldn’t really tolerate anything being thrown at it. Treats or not.”

The tiger huffs and finally relaxes, laying down at Mingyu’s feet. The handler grins—a full one with his teeth showing now—and your breath catches. You get an overwhelming sense of deja vu so strong that you’re convinced you know exactly what is going to happen next. You frown.

“What's your name?” you ask. He raises his eyebrows at the abrupt question. You think he’ll ask you what’s yours first.

“What's yours?” He proves you right. For some reason, you acquiesce and give it to him. His smile slowly fades and he nods once as he repeats it. There’s familiarity in it. If you think an echo could be a feeling, that’s what you feel stirring in your chest now. “That's a beautiful name.”

“And yours? It's only fair you give it to me now.”

He stares at you hard before he tells you: “Kim Mingyu.” He bows his head. “At your service.”

For a reason you don't care all that much to delve into, the words make you smile. The music drifts back into the tent from outside, and Mingyu, seemingly noticing the slight change in both you and your surroundings, clears his throat loud enough that he drowns out the music.

“The next act is ready.”

“Hm? How do—”

The cheers startle you, and you look around to find the crowd back in their seats like they never even left. The woman next to you shouts and claps in perfect unison with everyone else, ignoring the way you're staring at them all. When they continue to cheer for an uncomfortably long time, you start to feel your uneasiness seeping back into your system.

“Are you alright?”

You turn back to Mingyu to find him looking at you almost indifferently. But you know his face. You can't tell how or why but you do, and you see hope in his eyes. He brings a single finger up to gently rest between your brows, and you inhale sharply at the contact, the sensation feeling like a truck hitting you. You think you fall backwards as you're engulfed in black, the ominous sounds of applause fading, replaced by only a feeling. Peace.

“Do you believe in heaven?” You recognize Mingyu's voice.

“I think so,” you feel your lips form the words.

“So you must believe in hell.”

“Why must I believe in such a thing simply because I believe in heaven?” this version of you asks, amused.

“That line of thinking is so like you.” He says it with adoration. 

“And what do you mean by that?”

“It is simply impossible for you to believe the worst in anything or anyone… yet you jump at the opportunity to believe something beautiful lies ahead.”

“Well… what if something does?”

“I already have you. What could possibly be more beautiful ahead of us?”

You open your eyes to find that you haven't moved. If Mingyu notices the way your breathing changed or the blood that rushed to your cheeks, he doesn't say. He simply presses his finger softly against you to smoothen the crease of your confused frown.

“You seem like you have a question,” he observes, mouth staying just slightly ajar as his finger slowly traces the bridge of your nose down to the tip and down to your philtrum, where he rests in the tiny divot for only a moment. He takes his hand back before he can decide whether or not he's going to trace the outline of your lips too, and the thought alone has your heart pounding. “You can ask me anything.”

“I…” Without his finger there, your brows furrow once more. The too-perfect applause around you still doesn't stop. “I think I… I do have questions…” He leans in, the hope in his eyes growing. It makes you want to remember what you're so curious about. “Did… do you believe—”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer bellows into the speaker twice as loudly as before. Mingyu's face stays stoic, but you see the hope die right before your eyes. Still, he smiles at you and nods at the stage, motioning for you to redirect your attention. You do, finding the stage lights wildly sweeping across the tent as the announcer continues. “Prepare yourselves for a dance of devotion: two souls so inseparable, they've forgotten where one ends and the other beginssss…” The voice comes down to a whisper. “The Sonsssss of Lamia.”

The lights all come together to the center of the ring, where two people stand turned to one another, their heads resting on each other's shoulders. You can only see the face of one of them, and his eyes are closed, everything about him so relaxed, he could be asleep. When their act doesn't begin immediately, you look at Mingyu, whose eyes are so distant, you doubt he's watching the performers. They slide to you when he notices you watching him.

“Who is Lamia?” you ask softly.

“A mythological queen,” he says, not bothering to whisper. “A god fell in love with her, and driven by jealousy, his wife cursed her, forcing her to eat her own children. She went mad with grief and became a monster.”

“A monster?”

He nods solemnly. “A snake.”

What sounds like the strings of a violin fill the tent, the stage demanding your attention once more. The men are still in the same position except now, the one facing your side of the audience has opened his eyes, and he's staring right at you. He's stunning, the corner of his lips curled up into a soft, natural smile even though his face remains expressionless. 

Both of them slowly lift their cheeks off their partner's shoulder, their movements in perfect sync. They turn their heads so they're facing one another, but only for a moment before they begin to circle the stage until the one whose eyes you met has his back to you. He slowly bends backwards with unfathomable control until his palms are flat against the floor, his gaze on you upside down. His partner, now with a clear path to you, stares just as openly. You realize the two look enough alike that they could maybe be twins. But this one, although just as breathtakingly beautiful, has a glint of mischief in his eyes whereas the other… you look down at him. His eyes are empty.

The corner of the mischievous one's mouth turns up into a smirk before he reaches forward to rest his hands on his partner's hips. He shifts his weight onto him, and with the same amount of control as the man in the backbend, he arches his back and begins lifting his legs up behind him until he's in a perfect C-shape. 

“They're contortionists.”

Mingyu hums. “They're a lot of things.”

You think you'd find the statement amusing if you didn't feel a growing discomfort in your gut.

The two dive deep into their routine, bending and stretching and flexing every which way, never not touching each other. Every time you're sure they're too tangled up in each other to possibly continue, they prove you wrong. And it's almost disturbing… how intertwined the two become without having to think twice about it—like their bodies know where the other's is at all times. They wrap around each other so gracefully so easily, and you understand why their act is named after a woman who became a snake. Slithering is the best word you can use to describe what they do with one another.

The violin turns a touch sweeter, and the two men easily fall into a dance, the mischievous one holding his partner's hip with one hand and cradling his hand in the other. They waltz around the ring, one of them spinning or being lifted every so often. It feels like hypnosis, your gaze being forcefully dragged across the stage after them. Then, as one spins into a turn, you notice the hand that remains connected to his partner's doesn't quite follow his movement, almost like it's stuck in mud. You tilt your head curiously but neither of the performers pay it any mind.

The spin ends with his back pressed against his partner's chest. He leans his head back onto his shoulder, exposing the smooth expanse of his neck. His partner wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him to his body tightly, and he smiles at the sensation, head lolling a bit in pleasure on his shoulder.

“Are they… lovers?” you whisper, perplexed because you thought they had been twins this entire time. The position feels too intimate for twins.

“Would it comfort you to think of them that way?” It's a question you don't expect and it stumps you.

“I don't know,” you admit.

Whatever Mingyu says next is lost to you because the mischievous one leans forward and affectionately caresses his partner's bare skin with the tip of his nose. And as he begins to drag it across the vein running down his neck, your stomach plummets. You watch in horror as the skin on the tip of his nose sticks to his partner's, clinging to it, pulling taut, ripping away when he gets too far down. And when it meets his neck in an otherwise gentle kiss, the man's mouth does the same, the pink of his lips bonding to the tan of his partner’s skin.  

A dance of devotion, the announcer had called this. Two souls so inseparable… they’ve forgotten where one ends and the other begins. 

The mischievous one’s fingers press hard into his partner’s arms. It would be bruising for anyone else. For them, it’s gruesome. His fingers disappear into his flesh, the skin growing over the appendage with enough give that you can see it wiggle underneath. And all his partner does is sigh deeply and sink further into his chest. It’s clear the feeling elicits pleasure for him. 

Your discomfort is no longer growing. It's exploded into its own monster inside you, taking root in every corner of your body until you're completely rigid, afraid that any movement will attract the contortionists’ attention. Afraid that they'll come for you next, their skin sticking to and reaching for yours. Hungrily clawing at you and claiming you for itself. Devouring you whole until you’re no longer you.

The feeling in your stomach turns from nausea to an ugly, stinging ache. You rest your hand against it, wincing when you think of your skin touching your own skin.

“Contortionists… gymnasts… dancers…” Mingyu lists in boredom as you watch the mischievous one most literally tear his hands and arms from his partner's where their skin had melded together, and spin him around to face him again. You yank your own hand away from your body. You have never wanted anything as badly as you want to be able to look away right now, but you can't. It wasn’t so far off to think of their performance as hypnosis. You’re entranced, if not completely under the control of the two. “They also do trapeze.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak without throwing up as soon as you open your mouth, so you don’t. The two men face each other once again, standing incredibly still as the violin screeches to an ugly, squeaky stop. You try to swallow your anxiety away—try to find the delight and bliss you had mere minutes ago. You fail as you anticipate the moment they inevitably touch again. 

They take a step closer and when they're toe-to-toe, their heads tilt slightly in opposite directions and the terror paralyzes when you realize they're about to kiss. 

You watch, holding your breath because if you release it right now, you're convinced something terrible will happen to you. Just before their lips touch, they pause, the same pair of eyes you met at the very beginning of the act flickering over to you. And they aren't empty the way you first mistook them for. It feels a lot worse than nothing. It feels like staring into a pool of cruelty.

As if he can hear you coming to your epiphany, his already naturally smiling lips quirk up even higher, and his tongue runs across them so fast, you're not sure you even saw it. Then, he blinks, and his eyes turn a rich shade of gold, his pupils becoming narrow vertical slits of black. 

The ache in your stomach turns so sharp, it becomes near-unbearable, and when you finally release your breath to gasp at the pain, the two drive your misery home and finally kiss, the skin of their lips immediately fusing together, strings of tan and pink stretching and grasping and clinging. You feel tears springing to your eyes when you see glimpses of their tongues intertwining in places where their skin parts for brief moments. Your hand cradles your abdomen despite your fear that you'll get stuck to yourself. The pain is too great.

“Their trapeze act is really something to see,” the animal handler tells you like this is all normal. “They fly through the air…” A cold breeze passes over you. “Catapult from swing to swing… even launch themselves through hoops.”

The words make you even sicker than you already are, but they mercifully snap you out of your daze and your eyes finally squeeze shut, forcing tears to slip out the inner corners of your eyes. You tremble as you start to feel unbearably cold. You think you feel wind on your face—biting and frigid the way only the middle of the night can be. Your breathing shallows as the fingers pressed to your stomach become coated with something thick and warm. 

You tilt your head down and open your eyes slowly. Your hand shakes as you separate it from yourself just enough to see both your skin and your shirt drenched with blood.

“Oh,” you whisper.

“A lot of people think flight feels like freedom,” Mingyu continues, either ignorant or uncaring to how badly you're losing your mind right now. “I think it’s just another kind of surrender. Falling.”

You’re on your feet and gasping for air before you can process what’s happening, leaping over Mingyu and falling out into the aisle. Panic forces you up off the ground, and everything from there is a blur—Mingyu’s tiger, the atrocious faces of the audience, the shadows that seem to follow you, the dazzling starry tent. You squeeze your eyes shut again as you stumble aimlessly. 

“Vernon? Vernon Chwe?” Wendy shrieks, giggling through her words. “He’s going to be there?”

“Yup!” Maya affirms as Jackson snorts and grins against the mouth of the 40oz bottle. “And I hear he’s freshly single!” She sings the word. “It’s your time, girl.”

“Look at these two,” Chris mutters to you and the other man in the backseat. He smiles affectionately as he accepts the bottle from Jackson. “On the hunt. Terrifying.”

“What about you, huh?” Jackson digs his elbow into your rib. You look over at him and raise your eyebrows. “You gonna be finding a man to take home tonight too?” 

You can’t explain why the thought alone fills you with dread. Dating has never interested you, and neither has sleeping around. Maya has slipped you enough articles about aromantic or asexual people, but that’s never resonated with you either. You crave the same love and attraction your friends have all experienced and continue to. It’s just that no one has ever felt right.

But rather than drag the mood down with your honesty, you smile and roll your eyes. “And where are they supposed to sit if I want to bring them home? Should we lay them across our laps at the end of the night? Real romantic.”

The boys cackle as the girls do the same for a very different reason—this Vernon Chwe.

You sob as you’re brought to all fours, the feeling of dewy grass under your hand, soaking the knees of your jeans. You think the groans you hear are your own, but the world is spinning and you’re not sure. 

“Help,” you breathe, knowing there's no way anyone heard you. You remove your bloodied hand from your abdomen, pressing it into the grass next to your other one. “Oh god,” you cry when you feel blood gushing out of you.

Leaning forward, you rest your forehead on your hands, trying to inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth.

You stifle the feeling that you may never find someone that feels right to you. 

The bile is up your throat and out of your mouth without warning, relentless and forceful, making your entire frame jerk and shake. Your throat burns as you expel the acid from your stomach, becoming raw in the process. When you feel completely empty, you find that your pain has subsided. You exhale in short puffs and finally open your eyes. 

You sit back on your heels and away from your own vomit. In a daze, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before quickly lifting the hem of your shirt just to find the skin unblemished, not a drop of blood in sight. You pull your shirt back down, frowning as you blink several times to clear your vision. When it finally does, you find a woman not much older than you watching from a few yards away.

Her inky black hair is slicked down, a large feather tucked behind her ear and two tight braids with purple ribbons woven into them hanging down her shoulders and to her waist. She stands before you in a black dress that looks like it's missing a petticoat, laying limp and loose against her body, the shawl once wrapped around her shoulders doing the same. 

The stranger's eyes flicker between you and the mess you made on the ground. She doesn't ask if you're okay or what you're doing on the ground at the circus. Instead, she jerks her head, motioning for you to follow her as she turns and walks away, farther from the big tent and the crowd inside it. 

You glance back and for a moment, you feel a modicum of that same joy you did at the beginning of your time at The Midnight Menagerie again. The music reaches you once more, and the sound of people laughing and children squealing off in the distance makes you want to join them.

Listen to your gut, a familiar voice whispers.

The ghost of your pain reverberates in your abdomen, snapping you out of your reverie. You're starting to learn to associate the Menagerie's bliss with danger. You turn forward again to find the woman a good distance from you now. 

Be safe.

You scramble to your feet and run after her.

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