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It wasn't unusual for Jaehyun to go a day or two without texting. You both had busy lives, you with band rehearsals and him with football practice, so you understood. Whenever he had time, he always came back to you. That was how your relationship worked: comfortable, intact, and especially intimate when you finally got to be alone together.

You never doubted him. He always reassured you so well.

Until now.

It had been a full week since the last time you actually spoke to him in person. No late-night visits to your dorm, no sneaking in through your window with that boyish grin. Just short, dry texts. And every time you tried calling him, he would pick up only to say he was "too busy with practice" and hang up after a minute.

Something felt... off.

You tried to shrug it off at first. Jaehyun was probably just exhausted from practice. You told yourself he'd text soon, that he just needed some time to himself. Three days ago, he had sent a short message saying he was going back to his father's house for a while and wouldn't be around campus. You understand.

But that was three days ago.

Now it had been two full weeks since you last saw him in person. Two weeks of dry, replies and calls that ended within a minute. The uneasy feeling in your chest grew heavier, tightening around your throat like a chokehold.

You weren't used to this. You weren't used to doubting him.

Lucky for you, you actually knew his father—Kim Hongjoong.

He was a genuine, warm man. A single father of three who somehow still looked like he belonged on a magazine cover. At 42, Hongjoong could easily pass for someone in his early thirties. Tall, muscular, with sharp, refined features and that same devastating smile Jaehyun inherited. He was kind, attentive, and had a quiet confidence that always made the air feel a little thicker whenever he was around.

If he wasn't your boyfriend's father... well, you wouldn't have let yourself think about it.

But right now, worry was winning over everything else.

You pulled out your phone and quickly typed a message to him.

You: Hi, Mr. Kim. Sorry to bother you. I haven't heard from Jaehyun properly in almost two weeks. He mentioned he was going home a few days ago. Is everything okay? Do you know where he is?

You hit send and stared at the screen, nerves twisting in your stomach. The party noise faded into the background as you waited.

Not even a minute later, your phone vibrated.

Hongjoong: Hey sweetheart. Jaehyun isn't home right now. He said he'll be coming next week. I'm not sure why he told you he was already here...

Your stomach dropped.

He lied.

Jaehyun lied to you.

He never lied to you. Does he?

But now the doubt was creeping in, loud and ugly. Jaehyun had lied. He told you he was going home when he clearly wasn't. Why? The question twisted uncomfortably in your chest, and the fact that you couldn't even confront him made it worse. He was completely missing in action. You typed back with slightly shaky fingers.

You: Oh. I see. Thank you, Mr. Kim. If he comes home, please tell him to message me. Thank you. Hongjoong: Of course, darling. Take care of yourself, yeah? And visit here sometimes, whenever you can.

You couldn't help but smile softly at his reply. Even through text, Hongjoong's warmth came through so easily. He really was such a sweet man, a genuinely good father. The kind of man who made you feel cared for with just a few words. For a moment, the heavy weight in your chest felt a little lighter.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket and let out a long breath, trying to push the uncomfortable thoughts about Jaehyun to the back of your mind.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the uneasy feeling twisting in your chest.

If Jaehyun wasn't at his father's house like he claimed, then he was probably just hiding in his dorm. That had to be it. Tomorrow, you decided, you would go see him. You'd look him in the eyes and ask what the fuck was actually going on.

The next day came by so quickly.

You baked his favorite cake. Chocolate with extra frosting, hoping it would soften whatever conversation was about to happen. With the cake box in one hand and your spare key in the other, you stood in front of Jaehyun's dorm door, heart beating heavily.

You took a deep breath and unlocked the door quietly.

The moment you stepped inside, your stomach dropped. Loud, breathy female moans filled the entire dorm. The sound was unmistakable. High-pitched, needy, and very real.

He's probably just watching porn, you told yourself, trying to stay calm. He does that sometimes when he's stressed...

But something felt wrong. You walked down the short hallway, cake still in your hands, and slowly pushed open the door to his bedroom.

The sight hit you like a truck.

Jaehyun was lying on his back in the middle of the bed, completely naked. A girl you didn't recognize was on top of him, riding him hard, her head thrown back in pleasure as she moaned loudly. His hands were gripping her ass, guiding her movements while he groaned beneath her.

For a few painful seconds, you just stood there frozen, cake box trembling slightly in your hands.

Jaehyun's eyes suddenly snapped open and locked onto yours. His face went pale.

"Baby—?!" he choked out, voice hoarse. The girl on top of him let out a startled yelp and quickly tried to cover herself, but it was too late. You had already seen everything.

The cake suddenly felt heavy in your arms. The sweet smell that used to comfort you now turned your stomach. All the late replies. All the sudden "practices." All the lies about going home.

This is why.

"Kim Jaehyun! What the fuck!?"

The cake box slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud. For a split second, everything was silent except for the girl's heavy breathing. Then your blood boils.

You didn't scream. You didn't cry. Instead, you strode forward with long, confident steps, that signature domineering aura radiating off you like ice.

The girl barely had time to react before your hand shot out. You grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her off Jaehyun with one powerful pull. She screamed as she tumbled sideways onto the mattress.

"Get the fuck off him," you said coldly, voice low but sharp enough to cut glass. She scrambled away from you, eyes wide with shock, trying to cover her naked body with her hands. Jaehyun sat up quickly, face pale and panicked.

"Babe— wait, it's not— I can explain—"

"Explain?" You let out a bitter laugh, still holding the girl's hair tightly in your grip as you glared down at him. "You lied to me for two weeks just so you could fuck someone behind my back?"

The girl whimpered as you finally released her hair with a rough shove. She quickly grabbed her clothes and ran out of the room like her life depended on it, slamming the door behind her.

Now it was just you and Jaehyun. He looked pathetic, naked, flushed, dick still hard and glistening from another girl's pussy. The sight made your stomach turn.

You stood tall at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, looking down at him like he was nothing more than a disappointing subordinate who just ruined the entire performance.

"Two weeks, Jaehyun," you said, voice dangerously calm. "Two fucking weeks of 'I'm busy' and 'I'm at my dad's'. And this is what you were doing?"

Jaehyun's eyes widened in panic. He scrambled off the bed, still naked, and lunged forward, grabbing your wrist tightly.

"Babe, wait— please, just listen to me! It's not what it looks like, I swear! She doesn't mean anything, it was just— fuck, it was a mistake—"

You felt his grip on your wrist like fire.

With a sharp, powerful yank, you shoved him off you. Jaehyun stumbled back, nearly losing his balance.

"Don't you fucking lay your filthy hands on me!" you hissed, voice dripping with venom. "A mistake? You lied to me for two whole weeks so you could fuck some random bitch behind my back and you call that a mistake?!"

Your chest heaved with rage. Your eyes blurred as tears pooled on your eyelids, making Jaehyun shrink under your glare.

"We're done," you said coldly, staring straight into his eyes. "Don't ever call me. Don't text me. Don't even look at me. Fuck off, Jaehyun."

You turned on your heels, not even sparing the fallen chocolate cake on the floor a second glance, and walked out of his room. The sound of your footsteps echoed down the hallway as you slammed the dorm door behind you with a loud bang.

Tears burned in your eyes the moment you stepped outside, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not for him. You were done.

For the next week, Jaehyun wouldn't leave you alone.

He texted and called nonstop, even after you blocked him on everything. He showed up outside your classes, your band practice, and your dorm. Every time he tried to approach you, your friends were right there, ready to throw punches and shield you like bodyguards. They cursed him out and dragged you away before he could get close.

You stayed strong on the outside, but the betrayal still stung.

By the start of the second week, you thought it was finally dying down. Until one afternoon.

You had just finished band practice and were walking out of the campus gate when a girl stepped in front of you. It was her. The girl you had pulled off Jaehyun that day. She looked nervous, eyes red like she'd been crying.

"Can we talk?" she asked quietly. "Please... just for a minute."

You almost walked past her, but something in her expression made you stop. You crossed your arms, staring her down.

"Fine. Talk."

She took a shaky breath.

"I'm so sorry... I had no idea you existed. Jaehyun told me he was single the entire time. We'd been seeing each other for almost a month. He said he didn't have a girlfriend, that he was too focused on football to date anyone seriously." Her voice cracked. "If I had known about you... I would never have touched him. I swear."

She looked genuinely devastated.

"I feel sick knowing I was the other woman. I'm really, really sorry. You didn't deserve any of this."

For a moment, you didn't know what to say. The anger you'd been carrying suddenly felt heavier. Jaehyun didn't just cheat on you. He had played both of you.

You let out a bitter laugh and ran a hand through your hair.

"...Thanks for telling me," you said coldly. "At least now I know how much of a lying piece of shit he really is."

The girl nodded, looking ashamed, before quietly walking away. You stood there at the gate for a long time, the evening sun casting long shadows on the pavement. The betrayal felt even deeper now.

For the next month, you drowned yourself in studies and band practice.

You threw everything you had into rehearsals, perfecting every count, every movement, every command on the field. At night, you buried yourself in books and assignments until your eyes burned. You barely slept, barely ate, and barely gave yourself time to think.

The whole campus knew what happened. The cheating scandal spread like wildfire. People whispered when you walked by, gave you pitiful looks in the hallways, and sent sympathetic messages. But you kept your chin up high, shoulders back, and that signature domineering aura firmly in place. You refuse to let anyone see you break. You were the drum major. You didn't fall apart in public.

Two months had passed since that awful day. You were in your dorm, surrounded by notes and textbooks, when your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen.

Hongjoong: Hey sweetheart. It's been a while. How have you been? It's already been two months since I last heard from you. I didn't even know you and Jaehyun broke up until recently... Are you okay?

Your chest tightened. You stared at the message for a long time before replying.

You: Oh. Hello, Mr. Kim. Yeah, we broke up. I'm fine though, thank you for checking me up. Hongjoong: I'm really sorry to hear that. If you're free this weekend, why don't you come over for dinner? I'll cook. You can talk about what happened if you want to... or we can just eat and you can forget everything for a while. No pressure. I just hate the thought of you dealing with this alone, besides I know for sure whatever the reason is, it could have been my stupid son's fault.

You bit your lip, fingers hovering over the screen. Part of you wanted to say no and keep burying yourself in work. But another part, the tired, angry, emotionally drained part, desperately needed to let it all out.

You: Okay. I'll come. Thank you, Mr. Kim. Hongjoong: Great. Come by Saturday at 6? Can't wait to see you, sweetheart.

Saturday came faster than you expected. By 6:30 PM, you were standing in front of Hongjoong's house, heart beating a little faster than usual. You had chosen one of your favorite Sunday dresses. A soft, off-shoulder cream-colored dress that hugged your figure nicely but still looked modest enough. You tugged at the hem nervously, suddenly wondering if it was too much. Too pretty. Too revealing for a dinner with your ex-boyfriend's father.

You took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

A few seconds later, the door opened. Kim Hongjoong stood there, looking unfairly good in a simple black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing toned muscles. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and when he saw you, his face lit up with a warm, genuine smile.

"You're here," he said softly, voice rich and comforting. His eyes quickly scanned you from head to toe before he caught himself and looked back at your face.

"You look great. Come in, sweetheart."

He stepped aside, letting you enter. The house smelled amazing, Garlic, herbs, and something savory that made your stomach rumble.

"I'm sorry I'm a little late," you murmured.

"Don't apologize. I'm just glad you came." He closed the door behind you, then gently placed a hand on your lower back to guide you towards the dining area. The light touch sent a small, unexpected shiver up your spine. "I made carbonara and grilled steak. Hope you're hungry."

As you followed him, the reality of the situation settled in. This was the first time you'd been here since the breakup. No Jaehyun. Just you and Hongjoong.

He pulled out a chair for you like a gentleman, then disappeared into the kitchen for a moment before returning with two glasses of wine. Hongjoong sat across from you, his warm gaze never leaving your face.

"So..." he started gently, voice low and careful. "Do you want to eat first and relax... or do you want to tell me what really happened between you and my son?"

He leaned forward slightly, eyes full of quiet concern and something deeper you couldn't quite name.

"I'm here to listen to everything. No judgment."

You sat quietly for a moment, staring at the glass of wine in your hands. The warmth of Hongjoong's home and his gentle presence made the walls you'd built over the past two months feel dangerously thin.

"I... I'll tell you," you whispered. Hongjoong nodded, giving you his full attention. He stayed silent, patient, as you started talking.

You told him everything.

How Jaehyun had been distant for weeks. The constant excuses. The lies about being at his house. How you baked his favorite cake and went to his dorm with a spare key, hoping to fix things. How you walked in on him fucking another girl. How he had the audacity to lie and say it was a mistake.

The more you spoke, the more your voice shook.

"I kept myself busy for two months straight," you continued, tears already blurring your vision. "Studies, practice, rehearsals... anything just to stop thinking about it. The whole campus knew. Everyone was looking at me with pity and I hated it. I'm supposed to be strong, supposed to be in control... but he made me feel so stupid."

Your throat tightened painfully.

"I trusted him. I never doubted him even once. And he played me like I was nothing. He told that girl he was single the whole time. He lied to both of us."

The dam finally broke. A sob ripped from your chest. Tears streamed down your face as all the anger, humiliation, and pain you'd been holding in came rushing out at once.

"I feel so pathetic..." you cried, covering your face with both hands. "I'm supposed to be better than this. I hate that he still has this much power over me."

You couldn't stop sobbing.

Suddenly, you felt strong, warm arms wrapped around you. Hongjoong had moved from his seat and pulled you into a tight, comforting hug. One hand gently rubbed your back while the other cradled the back of your head.

"Shhh... it's okay," he whispered softly against your hair, voice deep and soothing. "Let it all out, sweetheart. You don't have to be strong right now. Not here."

He held you closer, letting you cry into his chest as your body shook with heavy sobs.

"You're not pathetic," he murmured firmly. "You're incredible. My son is the idiot who couldn't see what he had."

Hongjoong didn't let go. He kept holding you, rocking you gently, his warmth and steady heartbeat slowly calming you down as you cried out months of pent-up pain.

"Just so you know," Hongjoong said softly, still holding you close, "I didn't raise my son to be like that. I thought I taught him well."

His voice was low and heavy with disappointment. One of his hands kept rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back while the other gently cradled the back of your head.

"I don't know where he got the idea that cheating is okay," he continued, almost to himself. "I'm really sorry, sweetheart. You didn't deserve any of this. Not a single second."

You stayed buried against his chest, your sobs slowly quieting into shaky breaths. His shirt was damp with your tears, but he didn't seem to mind. He smelled comforting, like warm cologne, fresh laundry, and something distinctly him.

Hongjoong pulled back just enough to look at your tear-streaked face. His thumb gently wiped away the tears still clinging to your cheeks, his touch incredibly tender.

"Well..." you whispered shakily against his chest, voice still thick with tears, "just by how you're treating me right now... maybe it's only the looks that Jaehyun inherited from you."

Hongjoong let out a soft, surprised chuckle, the sound vibrating warmly through his chest. He pulled back slightly so he could look at you properly, his hand still gently cupping your cheek.

"Is that so?" he murmured, a small, handsome smile tugging at his lips. His thumb brushed another stray tear from your skin. "I'll take that as a compliment then."

Hongjoong watched you with quiet intensity, his dark eyes never leaving your face as you pushed the pasta around your plate. The warm lighting in the dining room cast soft shadows across his sharp jawline and the open collar of his black shirt.

He set his wine glass down slowly, the quiet clink breaking the silence.

"What do you want to do with Jaehyun now?" he asked, voice low and velvety.You stared at your plate for a long moment, the hurt and rage you'd buried for two months rising back to the surface like poison.

"I want him to learn his lesson," you said bitterly, your voice cracking. "I want it to hurt. I want him to feel even a fraction of the humiliation and betrayal he made me feel."A heavy silence filled the room.

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, studying you carefully. Then the corner of his mouth slowly lifted into a dark, dangerous smile. He stood up and walked around the table until he was standing right beside you. His tall frame towered over you as he gently tilted your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Then let me help you teach him," he murmured, his thumb brushing slowly across your bottom lip. "We can film ourselves in bed. You and me. I'll fuck you the way you deserved. I'll make you moan my name so loudly the camera catches every desperate sound."

Your breath hitched.

Hongjoong leaned down closer, his lips hovering near your ear as his voice dropped into a husky whisper.

"Imagine it, sweetheart... My hands all over this beautiful body. My cock buried deep inside you while you're falling apart. And then we send that video straight to Jaehyun. Let him watch his own father ruining the girl he was stupid enough to cheat on." He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own burning with lust and something dangerously possessive.

"You'll be screaming for me... and he'll be forced to watch every second of it."

His fingers slid from your chin down the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat on your skin."It's your decision," he said softly, but his eyes were anything but soft. "If you want real revenge... I'll give it to you tonight. I'll make sure my son never forgets what he lost."

You stared at Hongjoong, heart hammering wildly in your chest.

He was undeniably attractive. The way his black shirt stretched across his broad chest and muscular arms, the sharp line of his jaw, and those intense eyes that seemed to see right through you. At 42, he looked better than most men half his age. But this... this was crossing a dangerous line.

"I... I don't know," you whispered, voice shaky. You looked down at your hands, fingers twisting together nervously. "Mr. Kim, he's still your son. This feels... wrong."

Hongjoong gave you a warm, understanding smile, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle gently. His hand slid from your thigh to your back, giving you a soft, comforting pat as if he could sense the storm of emotions inside you.

"It's okay," he said softly, voice gentle and reassuring. "I don't like pushing things on people, sweetheart. Especially not you."

He straightened up and moved back to his seat across from you, though his eyes never really left your face. The tension in the air slowly eased, but the heat of his earlier words still lingered.

"Go ahead and eat," he added with a small nod toward your plate. "Then you can rest if you want. No pressure at all. I'm just happy you're here."

You nodded quietly and picked up your fork again, though your appetite had mostly vanished. The carbonara tasted amazing, but your mind kept replaying his proposal, the image of you and Hongjoong in bed, filming everything, sending it to Jaehyun.

For the next few weeks, Hongjoong's offer refused to leave your mind.

It lingered like a parasite burrowing deeper every quiet moment. Late at night while you tried to study. During band practice when your mind should've been focused on counts and formations. Even in your dreams, his low voice would whisper the filthy promise again and again.

You told yourself it was wrong. Disgusting, even. He was your ex-boyfriend's father for heaven's sake. But no matter how hard you tried to push the thought away, it always crawled back, hotter and more tempting each time.You decided to ignore it. Bury it. Move on.

Until one sunny afternoon.

You were walking past the football field when you saw them.

Jaehyun was sitting on the bleachers with the same girl, the one you had dragged off his cock that day. She was laughing at something he said, leaning into his side while his arm was casually draped around her shoulders. He looked... completely unbothered. Like he hadn't shattered your trust and humiliated you in front of the entire campus.

Something ugly and sharp twisted violently in your chest.Your feet stopped moving. Your fists clenched tightly at your sides.All the pain, the anger, and the humiliation came rushing back in full force. And right behind it, Hongjoong's voice echoed clearly in your head.

"If you want real revenge... I'll give it to you."

That's when you stopped hesitating.

The sight of Jaehyun laughing with that girl on the bleachers had ignited something feral inside you. No more crying. No more burying the pain. Tonight, you were going to make him regret ever laying eyes on anyone else.

Later that evening, you stood in front of the his father's house with fire in your eyes and steel in your spine. Your fist knocked firmly on the wooden door.

The door opened, and there was Hongjoong.

He looked devastatingly attractive in a simple black button-up with the top few buttons undone, revealing a hint of his toned chest. His dark hair was slightly messy, and the moment his eyes landed on you. Standing there with flushed cheeks, furrowed brows, and clenched fists.

Before he could even speak, you looked him dead in the eyes and said with absolute conviction. "Let's do it."

The air between you instantly thickened. Hongjoong's gaze darkened with raw hunger as he stepped aside, silently inviting you in. The moment the door closed behind you with a soft click, it felt like the outside world had been shut out completely.

Your head started to spin.You didn't know if it was because of Hongjoong's strong, woody perfume, deep, masculine, and intoxicating, that kept flooding your senses with every breath, or if it was the sudden wave of nervousness crashing over you all at once.Your heart hammered violently in your chest. Your palms felt clammy. The reality of what you just agreed to hit you like a freight train.

"Come with me," he said softly.

His hand slid down to yours, at the flat as he guided you upstairs. The house was quiet except for the sound of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. Every step up the stairs made your stomach flutter harder.He led you down the hallway and pushed open the door to the master bedroom. The room was spacious and masculine, dark wood furniture, a large king-sized bed with crisp black sheets, and soft ambient lighting from the bedside lamps. The air smelled faintly of his cologne, the same intoxicating scent that had made your head spin earlier.

Hongjoong gently pulled you inside and closed the door behind you with a soft click. Without saying a word, he guided you toward the bed, his hand resting lightly on your lower back.

"Sit down, sweetheart," he murmured.You obeyed, lowering yourself to sit at the edge of the large bed. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight. Hongjoong stood in front of you, tall and commanding, looking down at you with dark, hungry eyes.He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly tender.

"Nervous?" Hongjoong asked softly, his voice low and gentle as he stayed crouched between your parted thighs.You could only nod, not trusting your voice. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you couldn't deny it. Your heart was racing so fast you felt lightheaded, and the way he was looking at you, so intense, so patient, yet so hungry, made everything feel overwhelming.

Hongjoong gave you a small, understanding smile. He rose slowly from his crouch and sat beside you on the edge of the bed, his thigh pressing warmly against yours. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his side while his other hand came up to gently cup your face.

"It's okay to be nervous, sweetheart," he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. "This is a big step. But I promise... I'll take care of you."

He leaned in and pressed a slow, tender kiss to your forehead, then another on your temple, letting his lips linger there. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you again, making your head spin in the best way.

"I'm not going to rush you," he whispered against your skin. "We can go slow."

His hand slid down from your face to your neck, then lower, tracing the line of your collarbone with feather-light fingers. He tilted your chin up so your eyes met his again.

"Tell me what you want," he said softly, eyes dark but patient. "Do you want me to kiss you? Touch you? Or do you just want me to hold you until the nerves settle down?" His thumb brushed slowly over your bottom lip as he waited, giving you full control even while his body radiated heat and barely contained desire.

The sigh that left your lips was soft and shaky the moment Hongjoong's lips met yours.It wasn't rushed or demanding. It was slow, warm, and devastatingly gentle, like he was savoring the first taste of something he had wanted for a long time. Your head instinctively leaned into him, eyes fluttering shut as a rush of heat spread through your body.

Hongjoong hummed approvingly against your mouth, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other stayed firmly on your waist, pulling you closer. His lips moved against yours with experience, deepening the kiss gradually until you parted your lips for him. When his tongue slipped inside, tasting you, a quiet whimper escaped your throat.He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, deep, sensual, and thorough. The kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your thighs press together instinctively.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to let you breathe, his forehead rested against yours. His breathing was slightly heavier, eyes half-lidded and dark with desire as he looked at you.

"Still nervous?" he whispered, voice husky. His thumb brushed tenderly over your now slightly swollen bottom lip.You barely managed a small shake of your head.

"There we go." Hongjoong smiled, slow and predatory, before capturing your lips again, this time with more hunger. His hand slid down your side, gripping your hip as he guided you further onto the bed until your back gently met the soft mattress.

He hovered over you for a moment, drinking in the sight of you lying in his bed, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and eyes hazy with nerves and arousal. Then, without breaking eye contact, he sat back on his knees and reached for the buttons of his black shirt.

One by one, he undid them slowly, deliberately, revealing his toned chest and defined abs inch by inch. The shirt slid off his broad shoulders and strong arms, exposing his muscular upper body. He was even more impressive than you had imagined, years of quiet discipline showing in every line of his torso. He tossed the shirt aside without care.

Your breath caught.

Hongjoong leaned down again, capturing your lips in another slow, heated kiss. His bare skin radiated warmth as he pressed closer, one hand sliding up your side.

His fingers found the hem of your sundress. He sat up slightly and gently tugged the fabric upward, eyes locked on yours the entire time, giving you every chance to stop him. You lifted your hips instinctively, and he pulled the dress up and over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in just your bra and panties.

Hongjoong let out a low, appreciative groan as his gaze roamed over your body.

"Fuck... look at you," he murmured, voice rough with desire. His hands traced your waist, then moved up to cup your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing over the fabric. He leaned down and pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, then lower, between the valley of your breasts. His fingers skillfully unclasped your bra and slid the straps down your shoulders, freeing your breasts.

"Perfect," he breathed, eyes dark.He tossed your bra aside and returned to kissing you — deeper this time, while his hands explored your now mostly bare body with slow, reverent touches.

Hongjoong kissed you like he was starving for you, his mouth claiming yours in deep, slow strokes while his hands explored your body with growing hunger. He trailed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and lower, until his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking gently.

A soft moan slipped from your lips.

He continued downward, pressing wet kisses along your stomach until he reached the waistband of your panties. Without hesitation, he hooked his fingers into the thin fabric and started slowly pulling them down your thighs, exposing you completely to his hungry gaze.

As the lace slid down your legs, Hongjoong looked up at you, eyes dark with lust. His voice came out low and rough, slightly breathless.

"Where's your phone, sweetheart?" His hands never stopped moving. He finished pulling your panties off and tossed them aside, then ran his palms up your bare thighs, gently spreading them wider so he could settle between them.You could barely think straight, head spinning from the sensation of being completely naked under him.

"In... in my bag," you managed to whisper, voice shaky. "By the door..."

Hongjoong hummed in acknowledgment. He leaned down and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss right above your mound, dangerously close to where you were already aching for him.

"Stay right here," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot. "Don't move."

He stood up for a moment, giving you a full view of his sculpted torso and the obvious bulge straining against his pants. He walked over to your bag, retrieved your phone, and returned to the bed.

Hongjoong gave you one last deep kiss before pulling back, then handed you your phone with a dark, heated look in his eyes.

"Here, sweetheart," he said, voice low and commanding. "You're going to record this."

He helped you sit up and lean back against the plush headboard, propping pillows behind you so you were comfortable. Then he moved down the bed, settling his broad shoulders between your spread thighs. His large hands gripped the back of your knees and pushed your legs wider apart, fully exposing your glistening pussy to him.

Your hands trembled slightly as you opened the camera app on of your phone and switched it to video mode. You hit record.

Hongjoong looked straight into the lens for a moment, a wicked smirk on his lips, before his gaze dropped back to your dripping core. Without another word, he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly up your slit in one long, filthy stroke. A broken moan immediately spilled from your lips.

"Oh my god..." you whimpered, hips twitching.

Hongjoong groaned at your taste, the vibration sending sparks through your body. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every drop before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit and sucking gently.

"Fuck—!" you cried out, your free hand flying down to grip his hair.

He ate you out like a man possessed, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, more hungry. His tongue circled your clit, flicked it, then dipped down to push inside you. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on your pussy filled the room, clearly captured by the camera.

You struggled to keep the phone steady, your hand shaking as pleasure coursed through you. "Joong— ahh!" you moaned loudly, eyes rolling back. "It feels so good..."

He looked up at the camera again, eyes almost rolling at the back of his head, while you watched his face contort through the screen of your phone. He then slid two thick fingers deep inside you, curling them perfectly against that sensitive spot. Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as you tried your best to keep recording, legs trembling around his head, hips grinding against his talented tongue.

His tongue worked your swollen clit with expert precision, licking, sucking, and flicking in perfect rhythm while two thick fingers pumped deep inside your soaked pussy. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the room, all of it being captured clearly on the phone you were desperately trying to hold steady.

"Ahh—! Hongjoong... fuck!" you moaned loudly, your voice cracking.

Your head fell back against the headboard, but you forced your eyes to stay on the camera. Your thighs trembled violently around his shoulders. The pleasure was building fast, coiling tight and hot in your lower belly.

Hongjoong groaned against your pussy, the vibration making your back arch sharply.

"You taste so fucking good, baby," he growled, lips shiny with your juices. He curled his fingers harder, stroking that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. "So wet for me already."

"I— I can't—" you whimpered, hips grinding desperately against his face. "It's too good... I'm— I'm so close!"

He sucked harder on your clit, flicking his tongue rapidly while his fingers fucked you faster, deeper. Your whole body started shaking uncontrollably. Hongjoong pulled back just enough to look up at you, eyes dark and commanding.

"Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum on my tongue." He dove back in, sucking your clit into his mouth with intense pressure while his fingers curled relentlessly against your g-spot. The coil inside you snapped.

"Oh my god— Hongjoong!" you screamed, your back arching violently off the bed. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your thighs clamped around his head as you came hard, pussy pulsing and gushing around his fingers. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through your body, making your vision blur and your legs shake uncontrollably. You kept moaning his name brokenly, loud and shameless, as the orgasm went on and on. You didn't even know if you properly recorded the way he made you cum. It was too much for you to think about it.

Hongjoong didn't stop. He kept licking and fingering you through every pulse, milking every last drop of pleasure until you were a trembling, whimpering mess against the headboard. Only when your moans turned into weak, oversensitive whimpers did he finally slow down. He pressed one last gentle kiss to your throbbing clit before pulling his fingers out and looking up at you with a satisfied, predatory smirk.

Hongjoong huffed a heavy, shaky breath against your soaked pussy, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady himself. Your orgasm had clearly affected him just as much. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust, and his lips glistened with your release.

He slowly crawled up your body like a predator, hovering over you on his forearms. His muscular frame caged you in completely, his hard cock pressing hot and heavy against your inner thigh through his pants.

Without a word, he snatched the phone from your trembling hands. He quickly tapped the screen a few times, saving the video with a satisfied hum, then tossed the phone onto the far side of the bed where it landed safely on the pillows.

Now there was nothing between you two. Hongjoong looked down at you with pure hunger, his dark hair falling slightly over his eyes. His bare chest brushed against your breasts with every breath he took.

"Enough recording for now," he rasped, voice thick and rough. "I want to feel you properly."

He leaned down and captured your lips in a deep, messy kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. One of his hands gripped your thigh, pulling it up around his waist as he ground his clothed erection against your bare, sensitive pussy. You moaned into his mouth, still twitching from your orgasm. Hongjoong broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

"Are you ready for me, sweetheart?" he asked, voice low and husky, barely holding back his hunger. You didn't answer with words. Instead, you looked straight up into his eyes, fiery, determined, and needy all at once, and slowly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Your fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck as you gave him the clearest answer you could.

Hongjoong's eyes darkened even more. A low, pleased groan rumbled from deep in his chest.

"That's my good girl." He reached down between your bodies and quickly freed himself from his pants. His hard cock sprang out, thick, heavy, and flushed. He wrapped a hand around the base and rubbed the swollen head up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your wetness.

You gasped softly at the feeling, your arms tightening around his neck.

Hongjoong pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily as he lined himself up with your entrance.

"Eyes on me, baby," he whispered roughly. Then, with one slow but firm thrust, he pushed the thick head of his cock inside you.

A broken moan escaped your lips as he stretched you open. Inch by inch, he sank deeper, groaning at how tightly your walls gripped him.

"Fuck... so tight," he hissed through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to slam all the way in. "You feel even better than I imagined." He buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking on your skin as he gave you time to adjust to his size, his hips twitching with the effort of holding back.

The moment you wrapped your arms around his neck and looked him in the eyes, something in Hongjoong snapped.

He didn't hold back anymore.

With a deep, guttural groan, he thrust forward hard, burying his thick cock deep inside you in one powerful stroke. A loud, broken cry tore from your throat as he stretched you wide open, filling you completely.

"Fuck—!" Hongjoong growled, voice raw with years of pent-up desire. "Finally..."

He didn't give you time to adjust. He pulled back almost all the way and slammed back in, setting a brutal, desperate pace right away. The bed creaked loudly beneath you as he fucked you like a man who had been starving for this moment for years.

"Been waiting so fucking long for this," he rasped against your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he pounded into you. "You have no idea how many nights I imagined fucking you raw in my bed."

Every thrust was deep and punishing, his hips snapping against yours with raw power. The sound of skin slapping skin mixed with your loud moans and his heavy grunts filled the room.

Hongjoong grabbed one of your legs and hooked it over his waist, driving even deeper. His rhythm was relentless, almost animalistic, like he was claiming you completely.

"Mine now," he groaned, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks while the other braced beside your head. "This pussy is mine."

He kissed you messily, all tongue and teeth, swallowing your moans as he fucked you harder. His hips rolled with every thrust, making sure you felt every inch of him dragging against your walls.You could barely think, only feel the way he was ruining you so perfectly. Hongjoong buried his face in your neck again, sucking hard on your skin as he growled.

He fucked you like a man possessed, hips slamming against yours with raw, years-long hunger.

He suddenly shifted his angle, hooking your leg higher around his waist and driving deeper. He thrust hard a few times, searching, adjusting, until he found it. Your whole body jerked violently.

"Ahh—! There—!" you screamed, nails digging into his shoulders.

Hongjoong's lips curled into a feral smirk against your neck.

"Right here?" he growled, voice dark and satisfied. He immediately started targeting that sweet spot mercilessly. Every thrust was precise, deep, and devastatingly fast, slamming directly into the spot that made stars explode behind your eyes. The wet, filthy sound of his cock pounding into your soaked pussy echoed loudly in the room.

"Fuck yes— take it, baby," he groaned, eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he railed you without mercy. "This is what you needed, isn't it? A real man who knows how to fuck you properly."

His pace was brutal now, deep, fast, and relentless. The headboard banged loudly against the wall with every powerful thrust. Your breasts bounced wildly between your bodies as he drove into you again and again, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

You were moaning shamelessly, almost sobbing with pleasure, your arms locked tight around his neck.

Hongjoong buried his face in your neck, biting and sucking on your skin while he fucked you even harder, hips snapping with pure desperation.

"That's it," he panted, voice rough. He angled his hips again, making sure every thrust dragged perfectly against your g-spot, pushing you closer and closer to the edge at an overwhelming speed.

"You're getting so fucking tight again," he groaned, almost snarling. "Gonna cum for me already, sweetheart? Cum all over my cock like the good girl you are."

Hongjoong kept slamming into that perfect spot with ruthless precision, his hips moving in a fast, deep rhythm that left you completely undone. Your eyes suddenly rolled to the back of your head, mouth hanging open in a silent cry as the overwhelming pleasure reached its peak. Your entire body tensed violently beneath him.

"I'm— I'm cumming—!" you sobbed brokenly, voice cracking.

Your walls clamped down around his thick cock like a vice, pulsing and fluttering wildly as your second orgasm crashed through you even harder than the first. A loud, shameless moan tore from your throat, your back arching sharply off the bed while your legs shook uncontrollably around his waist.

The way your pussy squeezed him so tightly, almost begging him to cum with you, finally pushed Hongjoong over the edge.

"Fuck— baby!" he growled loudly, his thrusts turning erratic and desperate. With a deep, guttural moan, he buried himself as deep as possible inside you and came hard. Thick, hot spurts of cum flooded your spasming pussy, filling you up completely as he kept grinding into you, riding out both of your orgasms.

His body trembled above yours, hips twitching with every pulse as he emptied himself inside you, groaning your name against your neck like a prayer. For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing and the faint creak of the bed. Hongjoong stayed buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you panting and covered in sweat.

"Shit..." he whispered hoarsely, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips. "You feel so fucking good milking my cock like that." He gave one last slow thrust, pushing his cum deeper into you, then stayed there, savoring the warmth of your body wrapped around him.

Both of you stayed locked together, breathing heavily in the quiet aftermath.

He let out a long, satisfied sigh and gently collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight. His face nestled into the crook of your neck, lips brushing softly against your damp skin as he tried to catch his breath.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were your mingled breathing and the faint beating of his heart against your chest.

Hongjoong was the first to move. He pressed slow, lazy kisses along your neck and jawline, then finally lifted his head to look at you. His hair was messy, cheeks flushed, and his eyes were softer now, warm, almost tender.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he whispered, voice hoarse from exertion. One of his hands came up to gently brush strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead.

You could only nod weakly, still dazed and trembling from the intensity of your orgasms. Your arms remained loosely wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at his nape.

Hongjoong smiled softly, a small, genuine smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He leaned down and kissed you, slow, deep, and full of affection this time, completely different from the raw hunger earlier.

Hongjoong stayed buried inside you for a few more moments, savoring the warmth and the way your walls still fluttered around him. He pressed one last lingering kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out with a low groan.

A thick trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your swollen pussy onto the sheets. He watched it for a second with dark satisfaction before looking back at your face.

"Stay still, sweetheart," he murmured softly, brushing a kiss on your forehead. "Don't move. I'll get you a glass of water."

You nodded hazily, still floating in a blissful, post-orgasm daze. Your body felt heavy and boneless against the mattress.

As Hongjoong got up and walked out of the room, completely naked, you reached over to the other side of the bed where he had thrown your phone. Your fingers trembled slightly as you picked it up.

The video was still there.

Without giving yourself time to overthink, you opened your messaging app, found Jaehyun's contact, and attached the video. Your thumb hovered for only a second before you hit send.The message delivered.

You stared at the screen, heart pounding. A few seconds later, the typing bubble appeared... then stopped. Then appeared again.

Finally, a message came through.

Jaehyun: What the fuck is this?

Another message followed almost immediately, his panic clear even through text.

Jaehyun: Is that... my fucking dad?! Jaehyun: Are you seriously fucking my DAD?!

You didn't reply. You smiled .A slow, satisfied, almost wicked smile spread across your lips as you scrolled through the flood of texts Jaehyun had sent in the last few minutes.

Jaehyun: What the actual fuck is wrong with you?! Jaehyun: You're seriously fucking my DAD just because I made one mistake?! Jaehyun: This is so fucked up. You're disgusting. Jaehyun: Delete that shit right now. I can't believe you'd stoop this low. Jaehyun: Answer me you fucking bitch.

Every angry, desperate message made the smile on your face grow wider. You could practically hear him shouting through the screen, the panic, the rage, the disbelief.

You were still smiling when Hongjoong returned with a glass of cold water in his hand. He paused at the doorway for a second, taking in the sight of you, naked, flushed, and glowing, sitting up in his bed while scrolling through your phone with a satisfied little smirk on your face.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Did you already send it?" he asked, walking over to the bed. You looked up at him and nodded slowly, biting your lip to suppress the grin threatening to spread across your face.

Hongjoong let out a low, rich chuckle, clearly pleased. He sat on the edge of the bed beside you and handed you the glass.

"Here, drink up," he said softly.

You took the glass and drank the rest of the water slowly while he watched you with dark, affectionate eyes. When you finished, he took the empty glass from your hand and set it on the nightstand.

He leaned in, cupping your jaw gently as he pressed a slow kiss to your lips.

"Good girl," he whispered against your mouth, voice laced with satisfaction. "Now come here."

Hongjoong pulled you back down onto the bed, wrapping his strong arms around your body and tucking you against his chest. He kissed the top of your head, one hand lazily stroking your back.

"Rest now, sweetheart," he murmured, holding you close. As you drifted off in his warm embrace, your phone buzzed one last time on the nightstand. You smiled against Hongjoong's chest and closed your eyes. Revenge had never felt so good.

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when your boyfriend decided to head to his studio for a late night session, you decided to tag along to keep him company.

for most of the time that you’re there, you leave jihoon alone to focus on his work while you laid on the couch, scrolling through your phone and occasionally speaking up to comment on whatever he had worked on.

but after an hour, you were starting to get bored. and needy. you pad over to where he’s sitting, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind and leaning against him while he played a piano piece.

“tired, baby? take a quick nap, I’ll be done soon,” jihoon tells you softly. “not tired,” you hum, kissing his jaw. “yeah? needy then?” he teases, turning his head to face you as you climb onto his lap.

“not my fault you look so good when you’re all focused,” you say, brushing his hair out of his face. “think you can help me focus a bit more, honey?” he hums, his hands squeezing your hips softly.

“how?” you ask, shifting a little against his lap, feeling him growing harder. “it’s bit chilly in here. i think you can keep me warm while i work, hm?” he whispers, kissing your jaw.

“if it’ll help my talented boyfriend focus,” you tease. “oh it definitely will, honey,” jihoon smirks.

you pull your sweats off, tossing them to the ground before pulling your panties to the side while jihoon pulled his pants down just enough to free his cock.

“that’s it, good girl,” he whispers as you sink down onto his cock. he lets you shift a little to adjust before holding you still.

“now stay still while i finish working, then I’ll take care of you,” he says, giving you a quick kiss.

you do manage to stay still for awhile. but now that his cock was filling you up, stretching you out, you just got even needier.

you squirm a little and he squeezes your hips in warning. “stay still honey. just a little longer,” he tells you.

you try to focus on his music but it doesn’t last long until you’re squirming again. you start kissing his neck, your pussy squeezing around him.

“you’re such a fucking tease,” he groans, pushing his chair back away from the keyboard. “i just think you should take a little break. you’ve been working so hard,” you say, squeezing around him again as he groans.

“go on then,” he hums, leaning back against his chair, making you whimper a little as his cock shifts inside you.

jihoon let’s out a low chuckle when he sees the slight confusion on your face. “go on baby, you’re the one who’s needy. you can do all the work,” he says.

you lift your hips, bouncing on his cock slowly, trying to find a good rhythm but you can’t seem to.

you’re whining, pouting in frustration and jihoon chuckles before taking pity on you. “need my help, honey?” he asks and you nod as he grips your hips, guiding you up and down.

“that’s it, feels good doesn’t it?” he grunts, his own hips bucking up to push his cock further into you.

he holds you still, thrusting up into you as your face falls into the crook of his neck. “fuck, you’re so good for me, honey. feels so good around me, pussy was made for me,” he groans, feeling you whimper and moan against his neck.

it doesn’t take long before you both reach your orgasms, your boyfriend filling you up with his cum as you ride out your orgasm.

he pulls out of you, quickly moving your panties back in place to keep his cum from dripping down your thighs.

“satisfied now?” he teases, brushing your hair out of your sweaty face. “very,” you hum, kissing him softly.

The Universe Factory smelled faintly of sandalwood and mahogany teakwood, it was the scent of the candle you’d gifted Jihoon months ago, now a quiet fixture in his studio. The soft, red glow of the LED lights cast a gentle warmth over the room, dim enough so his eyes wouldn’t tire as he worked into the night.

You’d come straight from the research building, still in your loose white button-down—now untucked—and black slacks. Your black So Kate's kicked off to the side, laptop on your thighs, legs stretched out on his sofa. Tonight’s focus: your research on antiparticles, a world of unseen forces that fascinated you as much as Jihoon’s music fascinated him.

The steady click of your keyboard mingled with the gentle hum of his monitors, the quiet tick of the metronome, and the faint threads of melody that spilled from his speakers. These were your ideal Friday nights. Two introverts, side by side, sharing space in silence that felt anything but empty.

Jihoon cherished this quiet togetherness. No pressure to speak, no need to fill the room with words. Just the rhythm of your breaths, the comfort of knowing you were there. You smiled faintly as you glanced up, watching the way he leaned into his work, brow furrowed, lips parted in concentration. It still amazed you, how you’d found your way here, into his world, and he into yours.

It all began a year and a half ago, when Vernon first introduced you to each other. He’d come across you during one of your guest lectures at KAIST, where you spoke on Time and Its Correlation to Antiparticles. You remembered seeing him in the back row, head tilted thoughtfully, eyes sharp with curiosity. After the talk, he’d lingered, asking questions that led to an exchange of emails.

What followed were coffee meetups filled with science talks that somehow always stretched until the café closed. Phone numbers exchanged and memes traded at odd hours. Late-night rants about research and life. Vernon became a very close friend, a bridge between two worlds you hadn’t expected to meet.

And then came that small dinner with the SEVENTEEN members. It was a night you hadn’t thought much of at first. You sat beside Vernon, Jihoon on your other side. You were quiet, as usual, only speaking when you had something to say. But every time you did, Jihoon turned toward you, giving you his full attention. His questions were thoughtful, shy but genuine. And in the glow of that restaurant, something soft began to form between you.

It was Jihoon, who asked for your number. And it was Jihoon who, a few weeks later, after long walks at night and shared playlists and lingering glances, simply asked if you’d be his girlfriend. No grand gestures. No elaborate speeches. Just a simple question, as honest and steady as the boy who asked it.

And you couldn’t have been happier.

Now, as you sat together in his studio, you felt that same quiet joy. The kind that didn’t need to shout to be heard. Your gaze drifted to the small succulent on the coffee table—once again gifted by you—and you lifted it in your hands.

Jihoon’s back is to you, hunched over his keyboard, headphones askew. His fingers dance over the keys, pausing, replaying, layering harmonies.

You tilt your head, watching him; admiring the way the soft black of his hair catches the light, how his shoulders tense with concentration. A smile tugs at your lips, and a playful question plants itself in your thoughts.

“Tell me, Jihoon,” you call softly, voice threaded with mischief. You raise the little plant pot closer to your eyes like it’s some ancient artefact. “If I were to disappear into this soil... become a worm, perchance... would you still find me, would you still love me?”

The music stops.

He doesn’t turn right away. For a heartbeat, all you hear is the soft crackle of a paused track. Then, slowly, he swivels in his chair. His face is unreadable. His dark eyes are calm, but deep, like the sea before a storm. There’s a small crease between his brows and he pushes his glasses up, he is weighing in your question.

“Even if you became a grain of salt in the ocean,” he says quietly, the corners of his mouth tilting up just so, “I would find you.”

The weight of his promise settles over you like a blanket. You blink, heart stammering beneath the warmth of his gaze. You chuckle, trying to shake off the sudden tenderness filling the room.

“You always speak in riddles,” you say, setting the plant down gently on the coffee table. You meet his eyes again, searching. “Tell me, do you really see me? Beyond the scientist....beyond everything?”

Jihoon leans back in his chair, his dark eyes never leave yours. The hush of the room deepens, the Universe Factory itself is listening to its master speak to his beloved.

“I see you,” he murmurs, voice softer now, stripped of riddles. “In the silence between my breaths. In the blink that hides my tears. In the shimmer of Busan’s waves before they break. In the hush my clarinet leaves behind... and in the music my hands orchestrate.”

The words fall between you like a melody you hadn’t known you were longing to hear.

Warmth blooms in your cheeks. You have no words left to give him. Instead, you close the small distance between you, your steps slow, calculated, until you’re standing in front of his chair, between his spread legs. Jihoon gazes up at you, something tender, something mischevious dancing in his eyes.

And then he giggles; that soft, infectious sound that always makes your heart skip. He catches your hand, pulling you gently onto his lap. His arms circle your waist, snug..

“You have absolutely no idea,” he teases, brushing his nose against yours, “how cute you look when you blush for me.”

His soft, pillowy lips connect with yours and the gentle embrace of his warmth seeps deep into your bones, ridding your body of fatigue. The gentle graze of his tongue across your lips as he pulls back settles in your stomach making you turn even redder.

Jihoon's eyes glint, dark and playful beneath the soft haze of the red lights. You feel the heat creep higher, your pulse thrumming at the base of your throat, his words wrapping around you like silk.

Your breath stutters as his fingers trail slowly up your spine, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of your blouse. His grip firms at your waist, keeping you close, and his lips brush your ear. It was a whisper of contact, but enough to send a shiver down your body.

“I wonder how red I can turn you tonight when we get home…” he murmurs, voice low, rough at the edges.

You let out a soft, nervous laugh, trying to steady yourself, but his mouth is already at your jaw, his breath hot against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The warmth of his tongue licking at your skin, lips wrapping, sucking and leaving behind dark marks did not help your situation. His ring adorned thumb grazes your lower lip, eyes locked on yours, and for a moment you forget where you are—forget everything but him.

“Jihoon…” you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He smirks, that dark, boyish glint still dancing in his gaze. “Mmm. I love when you say my name like that.”

Then his lips are on yours again, savouring, like he has all the time in the world. Jihoon’s hand drifts towards your neck, softly wrapping around it and pulling you in even closer. The chill of his rings give a kind, cold touch to the warmth of your skin.

When he pulls back, he grins, and pushes your glasses back up. His cat-like eyes crinkle at the corners, and he presses a lingering kiss to your temple.

“Let’s go home,” he murmurs, his voice low, promising.

You barely remember how you both gather your things. The Universe Factory fades behind you, door locking with a soft click, the night air cool against your flushed skin.

The drive is quiet, but electric. Jihoon’s free right hand rests on your thigh, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles that leave you squirming in your seat. His gaze stays on the road, but that smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you.

Fuckkk he looked so hot like this. With his glasses on, his adorned left hand wrapped around the steering wheel of his maroon Bugatti Chiron. You truly wished you were the steering wheel at that moment.

When you finally reach home, he barely gives you a chance to step inside before he’s got you against the door, his mouth finding yours again. Hungry. His kiss steals the air from your lungs, his hands greedy now, sliding beneath your shirt, warm palms mapping every inch of skin they can find. His touch isn’t rushed — it’s devoted.

His lips leave yours only to trail down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His tongue flicks over your pulse point before his teeth graze lightly, drawing a soft gasp from you. Your fingers twist into his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

“Still blushing?” he teases, his voice a soft growl against your skin. "I can feel you soaking my thigh, you know?"

You grind against him at the mention. His name escapes in a breathless whisper that makes his eyes darken further.

“God, angel…” His voice is low, wrecked with want. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Before you can reply, he grips your waist and lifts you, pressing you against him, your legs wrapping around him instinctively. His hands slide up the back of your thighs, squeezing and kneading the plush of your ass, and the friction of his body against yours makes your head spin.

He carries you through the apartment like you weigh nothing, his mouth finding yours again. This kiss is deeper, messier, nothing like his previous ones. The world blurs outside the cocoon of heat and breath you share.

By the time he lays you down, the bedroom light soft and golden, his shirt is half unbuttoned, yours already discarded somewhere along the way. His and your glasses are thrown to the side of the bed without care. He licks his lips at the sight of your lacy burgundy bralette. His gaze rakes over you, slow and lingering, and when his eyes meet yours again, they’re molten, full of heat and something deeper.

“I'm going to ruin you,” he murmurs, hand finally wrapped around your throat, lightly squeezing — never to hurt you. His smirk is wicked. “But only in the best ways.”

His mouth is back on yours before you can answer, his hands exploring boldly now. He's teasing, tasting, learning what makes you shiver, what makes you moan. His kisses are everywhere: your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your chest. His tongue flicks against your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as he works his way down, driving you mad with anticipation.

When he finally looks up at you, his breath ragged, his hair a mess from your fingers, there’s nothing but pure want in his gaze.

“Tonight,” he promises, voice low and dangerous as he pulls off your slacks, “I’m going to make you forget everything but me.”

Jihoon’s lips trace along your thighs, his teeth grazing, sucking marks into your skin like he wants to brand you as his.

The sounds you make, the soft, breathless whimpers, tears a low groan from his throat. His hands slide beneath the band of your matching panties, snapping them against your skin.

“Jihoon…” your voice breaks on his name, but it only fuels him further.

“Again,” he pants against your clothed cunt, kissing you lightly His pierced tongue licks, slow at first, a maddening tease, before swiping harder, deeper, drawing another gasp from you. You can feel the bell of his jewellery graze your clit and you jolt at the immense pleasure. “Let me hear you, baby.”

Your fingers claw at his hair, his shoulders, his shirt, pulling at the fabric until it’s gone, tossed somewhere, your nails raking down his shoulder blades as his tongue keeps pleasing you but he denies you the release. He denies you the true feeling of his tongue on your warmth. His mouth finds your chest instead, he admires the sight of your decorated chest before ripping your bra off.

"Lee Jihoon! That was expensive!" You cry out.

"Didn't have to be, you have my card do you not? I'll get you a prettier one." He ignores your pleading. Mouth back on your bare tits.

“You’re mine,” he growls softly, pulling back and taking in the entirety of your flushed face. Voice dark and rough with need. “Stop being shy, angel. I want it all.”

His hand slips lower, fingers dipping beneath the last barrier between you, finding exactly where you need him most. He thrusts two of his fingers into you, again, the chill of his rings bringing you utmost satisfaction.

Jihoon’s lips are on yours again, swallowing your sounds, his tongue sliding against yours with the same rhythm as his fingers thrusting in you. His control is fraying. You can feel it in the tremor of his breath, in the way his hips roll against the bed, seeking more, needing more.

“Y/N,” he groans, voice wrecked, eyes dark and wild as he looks down at you, “I’m not stopping until you’re shaking for me.”

And with every kiss, every thrust of his hips later in the night, he keeps that promise. He gets drunk off of the music of your moans and his name on your lips, over and over, as he drives you over the edge, again and again. He’s even thinking of sampling your cute little moans for a personal project of his.

And with the final snap of his cock you bury your face in his shoulder, biting at his skin at the feeling of his cum painting your walls. Jihoon slowly, agonisingly pulls out. Smirking at your fucked out, blushing face, happy that he was able to turn you red.

You don’t know when the frenzy ebbed into something slower, softer it was probably after he had cleaned you up—but now Jihoon holds you like you’re something fragile and precious, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your damp skin. The room is filled with the quiet hum of your mingled breathing, the air heavy with the scent of sweat, sex and warmth and him.

His lips brush your forehead, lingering there as if he never wants to let go, and his heart beats beneath your cheek, fast at first, but slowly steadying. You can feel it, the way it matches your own, a secret rhythm only the two of you know.

Jihoon shifts, pulling you closer, if that’s even possible. His hand slides up your back, settling at the nape of your neck, his thumb stroking there absentmindedly, grounding you.

“You okay?” he whispers, voice hoarse from everything he’s given you tonight. His eyes, dark and soft now, search yours, drinking in the sight of you beneath him, with him.

You nod, unable to find words, so you answer him with a kiss, filled with everything your voice can’t say. He smiles against your lips, and the sight of that grin—the one that melts you every time—makes your chest ache in the sweetest way.

Jihoon presses his forehead to yours, noses brushing. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” His breath is warm, his laugh low and breathless.

You laugh too, the sound muffled by his skin as you bury your face in his neck, breathing him in, memorising this closeness, this peace. The night hums on around you, but here, in his arms, you’re untouchable, safe.

And as sleep threatens to pull you under, you feel him whisper:

“You’re everything. You always were. My precious ruby.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: chat. this was supposed to be only fluff but my freak got turned on accidentally so here we are.

inspired by laxmi and vishnu

hehe guess who is rewatching the entirety of Going SVT? ME HOE! + Nana Tour + Nana Bnb + SVT in the soop

It starts off promising—low synths, sparse percussion, a hint of melancholy. But then the chorus kicks in, and it’s like someone ran it through a blender of 2010s ringtone samples and gave up halfway through. There’s potential, sure. There’s also the distinct sound of a man overproducing his own pain.

You hover over the comment box, half-smirking.

user: justneededtoeject brave of you to post this. was the chorus meant to sound like a ringtone having a crisis?

You don’t expect a reply. That’s the beauty of anonymous snark: it’s disposable.

What you don’t expect, exactly thirty-eight minutes later, is a DM.

user: j.lee_sound You talk big for someone hiding behind a cartoon pfp. Let’s hear you fix it.

You blink.

Bold. Defensive. Mildly aggressive.

You like him already.

You check his profile again—minimal. Username vague. No socials linked. The track you commented on, “Nightscape.mp3,” has only 72 plays and a title so vague it could mean anything. He’s clearly not a rookie, though. You can hear the muscle memory in his chords. Whoever this guy is, he knows his way around a piano—and ego.

Fine.

You open Voice Memos. Record a quick verse. It’s not your best. But it’s clean, catchy, and in key. You attach it to the reply with a note:

consider this charity.

Two hours later, he sends back a file. The same verse. New chords. Harmonies tucked in like secrets. The synths are tighter, warmer—your voice has never sounded better, and that’s infuriating.

You hate that he’s good. You hate that he’s better.

You reply with a time-stamped critique:

1:08 — drop the filter, it muddies the vocal. also the bridge is begging for a key change. if you’re going to be dramatic, be bold about it.

He replies within minutes.

you’re bossy. but not wrong.

A few beats pass. Then:

what’s your actual name? or are we sticking with ‘justneededtoeject’?

You stare at the message.

It should feel like nothing—strangers trading jabs through a faceless platform. But somehow, it doesn’t. There’s weight to it. Like the start of a track you’re not sure you’re ready to finish.

You type, then delete, then type again.

names ruin the mystery. let’s just keep making music.

He doesn’t argue.

Instead, another file appears twenty minutes later.

“demo02_youagain.wav”

And despite yourself, you press play.

You don’t usually waste your time leaving comments. But this time, you might stay.

—

The third song is about falling in love.

You don’t need to be a genius to notice. It's all minor seventh chords and poetic restraint, the kind of melody that feels like a confession said into someone’s shoulder. He never says who it’s for. He never uses names. But you catch it—the breath between verses, the half-step hesitation in the refrain.

You play it four times before sending your reply.

this sounds like the part in a movie where the main character watches someone else get the happy ending. were you okay when you wrote this or did someone ghost you mid-bridge?

He replies in three dots and a timestamp.

0:52 — that harmony was new. what do you think?

it’s good. but don’t think i didn’t notice you layered my voice in there. again.

This time he takes longer to answer. Long enough for you to wonder if you pushed too far.

yours fits. i tried others, didn’t work. stop being weird about being good at this.

You roll your eyes, but your ears are warm. You’re not weird about it. He’s the one being weird—stealing your clips like he’s soundtracking a secret.

You pull up your notes app, start typing without thinking.

—

[working doc: demo03_mixfixes]

– @0:11: pad’s a little too thick, trim EQ, it swallows the melody – @0:27: second line needs more air, if you’re gonna ache, ache – @0:52: yes, okay, the harmony works, I’m not made of stone – @1:35: this is where you put the real emotion, I know it, I hear it – @2:10: sounds like falling in love. if that was the assignment, you win.

—

You don’t send the doc. Not yet. Instead, you reply:

i’ll add a proper verse. stop stealing scraps from my demos like a raccoon in a bin.

Ten minutes later:

you love it here.you ever gonna tell me your name or do i keep labeling you ‘folder_goblin.wav’?

You’re halfway through crafting a devastating reply when something finally clicks. His writing style. The way he builds his intros. The offhanded use of folder_goblin.wav — only one person you know throws nicknames around like file names.

You backtrack through his uploads. Scan for credits. And then you find it.

Buried in the metadata of the first song — "Produced by L.W. / WZ."

WZ.

As in... Woozi?

You blink, horrified. And then laugh. And then promptly slam your head against your desk.

You’ve been critiquing Lee Jihoon for three weeks straight. SEVENTEEN’s genius producer. That Jihoon.

You send a single message.

so you’re woozi.

He replies immediately.

so you’re annoying. why didn’t you say anything? why didn’t you google me before trying to rearrange my chorus like a crime scene? because it sounded like a crime scene.

There’s a long pause.

And then a new file: “demo04_youstartedit.wav”

The title alone should make you suspicious. But you press play anyway.

It starts with your voice.

Just your voice.

No filters. No instruments. Nothing but the raw, reluctant hum you’d sent two nights ago—unpolished and sharp with feeling.

You don’t remember sounding like that. You didn’t know he was listening that closely.

And right before the track ends, you hear him—quiet, layered behind you, singing the harmony like a secret.

You hit pause.

Then you text:

fine. i’m in. we make the next one together. properly.

He doesn’t send a file this time.

Just one message.

finally.

—

The studio smells like burnt coffee and faint embarrassment.

You’re the one who brought the coffee. He’s the one who pretended he didn’t care when you walked in.

“This is just temporary,” you say, pointing at your laptop. “Until I know you won’t delete my stems out of pride.”

Jihoon doesn’t even glance up. “If they’re bad, I will.”

You scoff. “If they’re bad, I’d have already deleted them myself.”

You get to work sitting opposite him—not beside him. That feels important.

You open a shared file, set the tempo, and take a sip of your now-disgusting iced americano.

“You didn’t bring sugar,” he mutters.

You raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me you were Woozi when I called your second chorus derivative.”

“Fair.”

You don’t talk for an hour after that. It’s not uncomfortable. Just... loaded. He’s sketching ideas on his MIDI keyboard while you try to make the verse sound less like he’s crying into his synth.

note to self: jihoon only writes romantic despair in C major

You scribble that into the margins of your session log.

And then—out of nowhere—he plays something different. Brighter. Bouncier. A riff with hope in it.

You look up, confused. “Is this a... major key?”

He shrugs without looking at you. “Don’t get used to it.”

He adds a drum loop. You hum an idea. He hits record.

Neither of you say it out loud, but you both know—this one’s good.

Halfway through building the bridge, you glance at his notes. There’s a lyric draft open. You expect his usual detached imagery—moons, shadows, metaphors that sound like they were pulled from sad indie films.

But this one’s... different.

it started with static / your voice in the wires / and now it’s all harmony / now i can’t stop the choir.

You stare at it for a beat too long.

Your voice. In the wires.

“You wrote about me,” you say, and hate how accusing it sounds.

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even flinch. Just says, “It fit the song.”

You read the next line.

wasn’t supposed to matter / but now i’m off-beat when you’re gone.

“Jihoon.”

“It’s not a love song.”

You snort. “You literally called it Off-Beat Without You.”

He shrugs, flicking a knob on the mixing board. “Then don’t leave. Problem solved.”

It’s a joke. It’s definitely a joke.

...Right?

You pull up your notes app again, typing without thinking.

—

[working doc: demo05_chaoscore]

 – @0:08: intro feels too clean. needs more static if it’s my voice you’re mimicking – @0:47: why does this sound like a wedding vow?? – @1:03: the line about ‘choir’ is grossly romantic. i would keep it – @2:15: okay but seriously, this is starting to feel like a mixtape you’d make for your crush in middle school. – final verdict: annoying. suspiciously perfect. hate how much i like it.

—

You airdrop it to him.

He doesn’t look up, but you hear the smallest huff of a laugh.

Then:

add your verse by tomorrow. i want to release this next week.

what are we calling the mixtape, by the way?

A pause. Then a reply.

‘behind the mixtape’

You blink. “That’s... not bad.”

Jihoon glances up, a glint in his eye. “You inspired it.”

You roll your eyes so hard it’s audible. “I inspired your emotional spiral. There’s a difference.”

But you’re smiling. You don’t say it—you won’t—but the truth is clear.

Something’s starting. And you’re both pretending not to notice.

—

Your phone starts vibrating at 6:17 a.m.

You ignore it.

It buzzes again. Then again. Then so many times that your pillow becomes a drum.

You groan, swipe blindly, and find fifty-seven unread notifications. Group chats. Mentions. Tags. Even your cousin, who thinks pop music peaked in 2009, has messaged you.

The link they’re all sending? A tweet that simply reads:

“WAIT. ‘Off-Beat Without You’ is a LOVE SONG??”

Beneath it: a compilation of fan theories, timestamps, and a particularly damning quote from Jihoon’s bridge:

i was fine in silence / then you tuned me to joy.

You sit up. “Oh my god.”

By 7:30 a.m., the TikToks are worse. There’s a girl crying in her car saying she “didn’t know Woozi could sound like he’s in love with someone he can’t have.”

You stare at that sentence like it personally punched you.

—

[group chat: y/n vs damage control] (you + your two chaos consultants)

You: do you think they’re reading too much into it?

Nina: no offense babe but it literally sounds like he’s proposing

Mia: i thought you said this wasn’t about either of you catching feelings

You: IT’S NOT

Nina: tell that to the lyric “stay in the reverb, it’s where you sound most like mine”

Mia: that line made ME blush and i’m not even in the song

—

You take the long way to the studio.

By the time you arrive, Jihoon’s already there—sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through fan edits on his phone like it’s a normal Tuesday.

You pause in the doorway. “Aren’t you freaking out?”

He looks up, grins. “They like it.”

You blink. “They think it’s a confession.”

He shrugs. “Maybe it is.”

Your brain blue-screens.

“Don’t say things like that casually.”

“I’m not,” he says, quiet this time. “I just didn’t think they’d see it so clearly.”

You sit beside him, legs barely touching. The studio’s suddenly too warm.

“They’ve started calling it ‘The Mixtape Arc,’” you mutter.

Jihoon hums. “I don’t hate that.”

You watch him watching you. There’s a charge in the air—static, just like the demo. He’s leaning slightly toward you now, like he might say something else. Something important.

And then he ruins it. Of course he ruins it.

“So. What’s your verse gonna say?”

You shove a pillow in his face.

He laughs. Full-bodied and free, like he hasn’t laughed that way in years.

You stare at him too long. You hope he doesn’t notice.

(He does.)

—

[working doc: demo05_chaoscore – revised]

your line: “i used to hate duets / now i hum in your key” — absolutely disgusting. keep it.

fan reaction update: we’ve been shipped. congrats. this is your fault.

also, yes, i’m writing my verse. no, i won’t let you read it yet. yes, it’s better than yours. cry about it.

final note: stop writing like you’re in love with me unless you’re going to do something about it.

You don’t send that last one. You just let it sit there. Glowing on your screen. Taunting you.

He’ll never see it.

…Right?

—

You always forget Jihoon’s a little too curious for his own good.

One minute, you’re grabbing coffee from the kitchen. The next, you return to the studio to find him hunched over your laptop, squinting at something he absolutely should not be looking at.

Your working file. The one that starts with “demo05_chaoscore – revised” and ends with a line you’d never meant to save.

final note: stop writing like you’re in love with me unless you’re going to do something about it.

Silence stretches like feedback between you.

Jihoon’s still reading.

You freeze. “You weren’t supposed to—”

He looks up. There’s something unreadable in his expression. Not embarrassment. Not smugness. Not even shock.

Just… quiet realization. And maybe—maybe something softer than that.

“I thought you hated when I looked at your edits,” he says, voice low.

“I do,” you reply, heart hammering. “Especially when they’re… personal.”

He nods slowly. “So this isn’t part of the song?”

You laugh, shaky. “Do you think that line would pass review?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to.

Instead, he turns back to the screen, rereads it, and—god—smiles.

“You write like I’ve already done something about it.”

You nearly short-circuit. “Jihoon.”

He tilts his head. “Am I wrong?”

You want to say no. Want to scream yes. Instead, you sit down beside him, close your laptop, and let the question hang there.

“I think we should scrap this version,” you say.

He raises a brow. “Why?”

“Because if we keep working on it, one of us is going to confess accidentally, and I really don’t have the emotional bandwidth for that this week.”

A pause.

Then Jihoon leans in, voice barely above a whisper: “What about on purpose?”

You swear your soul leaves your body.

Before you can answer—before you can even breathe—the door opens. Joshua pops his head in, eyes wide with innocence and exactly the wrong timing.

“Hey! Jihoon, they need you for soundcheck—wait, am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you both say. Too fast. Too in sync. Too obvious.

Joshua stares for a beat, then blinks slowly. “Riiiight. Okay. Soundcheck. Urgent. Totally not fabricated.”

Jihoon groans. “I’m going to kill him.”

You, still trying not to combust, mutter, “Get in line.”

—

Jihoon to You [text, 10:22 p.m.]

i didn’t mean to read it. but i’m glad i did.

also: i’m thinking about doing something about it.

—

[working doc: demo06_finalmaybe]

bridge idea: “you wrote it first / i just harmonized”

note to self: stop pretending this is one-sided. it’s not. you’re just scared.

title suggestion: “behind the mixtape” — because everything worth saying is already in the lyrics.

—

You save it. Close the file.

And wonder what he’s going to write next.

—

You’re not sure what you expected when Jihoon asked you to come to the studio tonight.

But it definitely wasn’t this.

There’s only one mic set up. One chair. One version of him—hoodie sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes low, nerves crawling just under his skin.

He doesn’t say hi.

Just motions to the headphones hanging off the stand and presses play.

You recognize your own voice immediately.

Your lyrics.

But his melody.

Your edits.

But his bridge.

Every choice is familiar, but together, it’s completely new—like every draft you’ve passed back and forth had been leading to this.

And then his voice cuts through the second verse, raw and clear.

You kept saying ‘fix this line’but never what it meantlike maybe if I tweaked the rhymeI could undo your intent…

He looks at you while he sings the next part.

You said:stop writing like you’re in love with meunless you’re going to do something about it—well, here’s something:I am.

You feel the floor drop out from under you.

The chorus hits.

Your pen from last week becomes his confession.

The margins become melody.

The notes become something else entirely.

By the time the song ends, neither of you moves.

Jihoon finally speaks, voice just above a whisper.

“I didn’t know how to say it without a song.”

You try to keep your heart from cracking open. “So… this is you saying it?”

He nods. Then, quieter: “Do you… want to say anything back?”

Your breath catches.

“I already did,” you say. “It’s in the second pre-chorus.”

He blinks.

“Wait—that line? That was about me?”

You laugh, stunned. “Jihoon, I rhymed ‘Boy with a DAW’ with ‘stole my flaw.’ Who else was it about?”

He groans. “God. I thought you were being poetic.”

“I was being desperate.”

He stares at you like you just changed the tempo of his entire life. Then he takes a step forward.

“You want to rewrite the ending together?”

You nod.

He closes the space between you.

And kisses you like a chorus he’s been holding in for six years.

—

Jihoon to You [text, unsent draft found weeks later]

title: “behind the mixtape” genre: confession disguised as collaboration hook: every song we made was already about you. i just needed time to catch up.

—

Final Annotation: on the hidden track

Somewhere between your sarcastic review and his last verse, something bloomed.

It wasn’t obvious. Not at first.

But it was always there, in the edits, the messages, the way you only ever fought about lyrics when they were too honest.

In the end, you didn’t just write the mixtape.

You lived it.

Together.

—

Bonus Track: “This Definitely Wasn’t About Me (Yes It Was)” Studio, 12:47 a.m.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the studio couch, a blanket half-draped over your lap, eating takeout with a chopstick in one hand and Jihoon’s lyric notebook in the other.

He’s half-asleep in the desk chair, spinning slowly, one socked foot dragging across the floor to slow himself.

You read aloud: “‘You don’t see me at all / And still I orbit / Like a satellite dumb with hope.’”

Pause.

“You’re sure this one wasn’t about me?”

Jihoon doesn’t even open his eyes. “First of all, you didn’t exist in my life yet when I wrote that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, but you’re sure it’s not prophetic?”

“I’m sure.”

You flip a few pages. “What about this one? ‘If she knew what I meant, I’d lose the right to write it.’”

Jihoon cracks one eye open. “That one might’ve been about you.”

You grin. “I knew it.”

A beat of silence. You start reading again—then pause.

“Oh my god.”

Jihoon, now suddenly alert, sits up. “What?”

You point to a verse near the bottom of the page. “This line — ‘She edits everything but never changes what I actually need her to fix’? This was from two years ago.”

“…Yeah?”

“That was the song we wrote after I told you to take out the ‘sunlight in her laugh’ line because it was ‘too Hallmark.’”

Jihoon groans and throws his head back. “You’re impossible.”

You grin. “You were so obvious and I still missed it.”

He mutters something under his breath about metaphors being useless if the muse can’t take a hint.

You crawl off the couch and sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him. “Hey.”

His gaze meets yours.

You say, gently, “You don’t have to write around the truth anymore.”

Jihoon’s voice is soft, shy. “You still gonna mark my lyrics in red pen?”

You reach up and flick his forehead. “Always. Especially if you write another sappy verse about me crying in the rain.”

“That was artistic expression—”

“You don’t even like rain.”

“…Fair.”

You lean in, forehead pressed lightly against his. “But I like you.”

And somewhere in the background, a track loops.

Soft piano. A verse half-finished.

A love song still in progress.

—

Behind the Mixtape: Fan Q&A Livestream Chaos Broadcast Transcript Excerpt — 08:03 p.m. KST

HOST: Alright, Jihoon, this question’s been trending since the teaser dropped. The fans are dying to know — was ‘Orbit’ written about someone specific?

Jihoon laughs—that nervous, I-am-sweating-but-refuse-to-show-it laugh.

JIHOON: You guys always do this. Next question.

[Live chat exploding] JUST SAY YES blink if it’s about her the way she looked at him when he played that line live HELLO not Y/N having a whole song about her and red-penning it anyway

The host grins and changes tactics.

HOST: Okay, okay. Let’s say hypothetically—hypothetically—that there’s someone who’s been helping you behind the scenes. Like, editing lyrics, suggesting changes, maybe making fun of your metaphors just a little…

Jihoon smirks. 

JIHOON: You’ve been talking to Seungkwan, haven’t you.

HOST: Hypothetically.

JIHOON: Alright, hypothetically… I trust her more than anyone else when it comes to the music. And maybe... sometimes it’s hard to separate the song from the person.

The chat explodes.

[Live chat chaos] HE SAID HER. HER?? NOT THEM?? separate the song from the person’ i’m throwing up go back to Orbit. line 3. verse 2. do NOT play with me i'm making a powerpoint presentation. give me five minutes.

The host is clearly thriving on the chaos.

HOST: Last fan question: what’s one lyric you regret putting out there?

Jihoon doesn’t hesitate.

JIHOON: ‘If she knew what I meant, I’d lose the right to write it.’

HOST: Why?

JIHOON: Because… now she knows.

And that’s the moment he ends the livestream.

No explanation. No outro.

Just a stunned host, a frozen screen, and ten million fans collectively losing their minds.

—

Behind the Mixtape: Track 11 — Draft Unsent Studio, 2:12 a.m.

You're sitting cross-legged on the floor of Jihoon’s studio, surrounded by empty takeout boxes, three uncapped pens, and a notepad scribbled over with both your handwriting and his. The new demo loops faintly in the background—one of those unfinished, vulnerable ones he only lets you hear.

You lean back against the wall and read your notes aloud.

“Okay. This bridge is gorgeous, but if you’re going to say ‘I still see her in a room she never entered,’ you need to resolve the image. It’s haunting, but it floats. You need grounding. Give it context or cut it.”

Jihoon nods slowly, like he’s listening but also spiraling. His foot taps restlessly.

“Too poetic?”

“Too evasive,” you correct, tossing the pen onto the coffee table. “What are you not saying?”

He doesn’t answer right away. You see it on his face—that flicker of something he’s been trying to write around for weeks.

“You know how I started this mixtape because I was frustrated?” he finally says.

You hum. “You’ve said that like… five times a day since February.”

He ignores the jab. “I thought I was writing it because I needed to prove something. Like—if I couldn’t say it out loud, I could at least make it rhyme, make it sound intentional. But somewhere along the way... it stopped being about proving anything.”

He shifts in his chair, spinning it lazily side to side, gaze locked on you like he’s testing how far he can go without retreating.

“I think I just wanted to keep talking to you.”

The demo keeps looping.

Your throat feels tight. “So… the mixtape is...”

“About you.” He shrugs, soft. “Every melody I couldn’t explain. Every second verse I rewrote because it sounded too much like you. Every time you left a sticky note telling me my pre-chorus was ‘trying too hard.’ You kept showing up in the lines, and I kept pretending that was just coincidence.”

You blink. Slowly. “Are you saying I’m your muse?”

He groans and flops face-down onto his desk. “God, don’t say it like that—”

You laugh. “No no, it’s too late. I’m your muse. I’m your tragic songwriting origin story.”

Jihoon lifts his head, glaring—but the glare can’t quite hide the smile in his eyes.

“You’re not tragic,” he mutters.

You lean forward, pulling the notepad back toward you, pretending to scan your earlier notes.

“Fine. Then rewrite line two of verse one. Say it like you mean it this time.”

He stares at you—and you feel the air shift.

Then, carefully, quietly, Jihoon picks up his pen and writes:

She was never meant to stay.But I wrote her into forever anyway.

You don’t say anything.

Neither of you does.

The members were all gathered for a new recording for a NA PD show. As expected, there was a section for game caterers, and everyone was hoping that this time they would all guess correctly without fail.

What Woozi and the members didn't know was that Seungkwan had a plan. He had made an arrangement with NA PD to reveal some information to the members that obviously wouldn’t be aired.

Everyone was already prepared, sitting next to each other. Woozi was seated in the sixth spot.

Of course, they failed. At first, they only managed to guess up to the fourth member, and true to form, Scoups got it wrong, and the other members verbally attacked him.

They switched spots, and now Woozi was in Scoups' seat.

Seungkwan gave a signal to NA PD with his head before starting the next round.

The members noticed how the staff was changing the images.

"Hey! That's cheating, you're definitely choosing the hardest ones!" Hoshi protested. The others followed suit.

The game started.

"Lee Jung-jae!" Mingyu quickly answered, standing up from his seat.

"Song Kang-Ho" Vernon got a point. Only one more member needed to get it right to reach Woozi, so they picked an easy one for Minghao.

"Jackson Wang!" Minghao answered happily after getting his friend’s image right.

It was Woozi's turn, and they showed the image. Woozi answered without thinking twice as soon as he saw the photo.

"Yeobo."

All the members turned to Woozi, wide-eyed, while he shrank back in his chair. Meanwhile, Seungkwan was already standing, laughing with the staff members.

Woozi stood up nervously, trying to avoid his teammates who were swarming him with questions.

He walked toward NA PD and took their phone into his hands.

"You had this all planned, didn’t you?" he asked with a smile.

"Now I get why t/n went to your studio so often!" DK said, putting his hands on his head, still shocked.

"You kept this quiet, Hyung" Dino said to him.

Meanwhile, Seungkwan was already on the phone.

"Noona, they all know now!" he said, laughing.

Seungkwan started running as soon as he saw Woozi heading toward him.

"Noona, I think your boyfriend’s gonna hit me. Tell him not to!"

"Give me the phone" Woozi said seriously as he reached him.

Seungkwan didn’t hesitate to hand it over. His hyung was terrifying when he was mad.

"Did you know anything?" Woozi's first words when he got on the phone.

You told him no, you had no idea, but now you understood Seungkwan’s strange behavior these past few days.

Woozi said goodbye and hung up, handing the phone back to Seungkwan.

"Congrats, you should’ve told us. You know we like t/n" Scoups said to his teammate.

"Yeah hyung, we’re all happy for you" Mingyu added.

Woozi scratched the back of his neck, closing his eyes and making a complaining noise.

"Ugh, I just didn’t know how to tell you, and keeping quiet was the easiest thing."

Typical Woozi, he didn’t like anyone knowing about his private life, because he knew how the celebrity world worked in Korea. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his members, they were his family.. It’s just that he wasn’t good at expressing himself.

The other members came up to him and patted him on the back, congratulating him.

"You should invite her to the next team dinner. Let’s make her an official member of the family" Jeonghan suggested, smiling at him.

"Yeah yeah! I’m sure Noona would be so happy!" Seungkwan said, jumping for joy.

Woozi turned to him with a cold stare. Seungkwan froze in place and looked down.

"You’re gonna be left out of the next songs I write" Woozi said.

"Hyuuuuung forgive meee!" Seungkwan begged on his knees, pulling at Woozi's arm. "I just wanted to share the news with the members because I found out a while ago, and I couldn’t keep it in anymore!"

Woozi’s eyes widened.

"You knew all this time?"

"Yeah, well... maybe one day I went to t/n’s house to say hi, and I just saw you two saying goodbye at the door... I was gonna greet you until I saw you kiss, and well... I ran away" Seungkwan confessed with a tight smile, looking at Woozi with a pleading expression.

Woozi turned red and covered his face with both hands. He could hear his members laughing and teasing him, and he just wanted the ground to swallow him up.

"Okay okay, enough, we need to continue recording," NA PD announced to bring some order and help Woozi. He silently thanked him with his eyes.

The rest of the show was recorded without problems until it ended. Woozi quickly gathered his things and headed to his manager's car, trying to avoid the members who were still teasing him.

"Say hi to Noona from me!" Seungkwan shouted, giving Woozi a mischievous grin. When he saw Woozi turn and shoot him a glare, he hid behind Mingyu.

As soon as Woozi got into the car, he collapsed into the seat, letting out a big sigh. He sent you a message to let you know he was on his way to your house. He needed to vent and tell you everything that happened today. He couldn’t help but smile during the drive, thinking that he would finally get to see you.

Across the room, Woozi sits hunched over his desk, headphones loosely hanging around his neck, a pencil tapping lightly against a notebook filled with scribbles only he can decipher. A soft glow from his desk lamp paints the slope of his nose and the curve of his cheek in gold. His laptop screen illuminates bars of audio waves, tiny dots on a timeline, the heartbeat of whatever melody he’s birthing tonight.

He doesn’t look tired.

You don’t say anything, and neither does he. You don’t need to.

It’s been this way for the past few hours — maybe longer. You’d both drifted into your respective work zones sometime after midnight, playlists overlapping, snacks forgotten on the table between you, the room growing still as the rest of the world fell asleep without either of you noticing.

Now, at 3:41 A.M., it’s just you two and your projects and the quiet hum of comfort that lingers between people who don’t need to fill the silence to feel close.

Woozi shifts in his seat, stretching one arm overhead with a little groan. The chair creaks. You glance over your shoulder at him.

He meets your eyes for a second. No smile, no words. Just the soft recognition that you’re still here. He nods once. You nod back.

He goes back to his melody.

You go back to your code.

The lamp beside your desk flickers for a second. You tap it gently, and the light steadies. Woozi notices but doesn’t comment — just quietly pulls the blanket draped over the couch and tosses it toward you without looking away from his screen. It lands half on your head, half on your laptop. You blink at it, then tug it down and wrap it around your shoulders with a huff that makes him smirk faintly.

It smells like him. Soft detergent and a little like coffee.

Another hour passes. Maybe more.

At some point, Woozi gets up, walking barefoot and quiet toward the kitchen. The fridge hums. He returns a moment later with two cold water bottles, one of which he places silently next to your elbow. You murmur a soft “Thanks,” not bothering to look up from the lines of code you’re debugging. He doesn’t respond, just rustles back into his chair with the kind of peace that says he didn’t do it for praise.

Outside, the sky is still dark, but it’s the kind of dark that’s about to be broken — a soft hint of something bluish grey at the edge of the window. Dawn is flirting with the horizon.

You finally push back from your desk and stretch, groaning with a satisfying crack of your spine. Woozi’s pencil has been replaced by a midi controller. His headphones are on now, bobbing slightly to a beat you can’t hear, fingers tapping keys, head tilted. You could watch him like this forever — so quietly brilliant, so wrapped up in his own world, but still so tethered to yours.

Your chair rolls slightly as you stand up and pad over to him. You don’t say anything. You just lean down and rest your chin on the top of his head. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pause — just reaches up absently and laces his fingers through yours where your hand drapes down.

A few seconds pass. Then a quiet, raspy whisper:

“Almost done.”

You nod against his hair, then yawn.

“You should sleep,” he adds gently.

“I will,” you mumble. “You too.”

He doesn’t argue. Just squeezes your fingers once and keeps working.

Eventually, you crawl onto the couch, blanket and all, and lie facing his direction. You leave the lamp on — he doesn’t like working in the dark.

Somewhere around 4:20 A.M., you fall asleep to the soft clicks of his keyboard and the muffled melody of a song only he knows the ending to.

He’ll join you later. Maybe in ten minutes, maybe in two hours.

But it doesn’t matter.

You were together. Working. Dreaming. Existing.

In the same space. In the same silence.

And that was enough.

joshua: 

❥ if the two of you are talking on a couch he's resting the arm closer to you on the top of the sofa. not necessarily to put an arm around you but to have easy access to play with your hair.

❥ whether it's tucking a stray hair behind your ear or just to casually run a hand through your hair to soothe you, he likes doing both.

❥ sometimes his hand will linger too, "your hair is getting longer now, huh?" he observes (not as a hint for what you should do with it, he's just pointing it out)

jun: 

❥ leans into you to hear you better, supposedly.

❥ "what was that?"

❥ really, it's just a method to get up close to you. he'll lean in a little closer just to talk to you too.

❥ as he's telling you something close to your ear, you can feel him looking at you, taking in all of your features.

hoshi: 

❥ always makes his presence known to you physically.

❥ it could be a hand on the small of your back, a light grip on your arm as you walk through a crowd, or his arm just around your shoulder.

❥ what really got your heart fluttering was his hand on your thigh though. it's so subtle but it immediately grabs your attention.

❥ during a group dinner, it's a hidden gesture under the table. it's nice to have a physical reminder of him even if you're each having your own separate conversations.

wonwoo: 

❥ the kind to tower over you by leaning on a table, i just know it.

❥ something about him just casually making his presence known has your heart picking up a little.

❥ maybe you're laying out a project you're working on and you're asking him for his opinion.

❥ "wonu, come look at this" "hm?"

❥ he makes his way to genuinely check out what you're preparing, fixing his glasses to rest on his face better too. but as he's observing and resting his hand on the table, his body is still more so facing you, opened to you.

❥ so of course, when he turns his full attention to you, you're already invading each other's personal space.

woozi:

❥ he likes to take care of you in any way that he can and sometimes it comes through in buying something for you.

❥ "you like that sweater? go get it" he'll tell you casually when he notices you lingering on it at the store. "it'll look nice on you."

❥ "let me just try it on first" you reply, him nodding along. when you're checking how it fits in the mirror, he's coming behind you to just lightly smooth out the sweater on your shoulders, hands resting on your biceps.

❥ "see it looks good."

dokyeom: 

❥ definitely not brain rotting from his recent photoshoot

❥ of course you think your boyfriend is attractive, but you also know that he isn't quite the type to wear things that are too revealing or even fitted.

❥ but one chilly day he comes over and your house is warmer than expected. so naturally, he has to take off his sweater and he's wearing one of those fitted thermal shirts underneath.

❥ as he's taking off his sweater his shirt lifts upwards, exposing a toned stomach. But even when he adjusts his shirt back to normal, it still hugs his chest leaving very little to the imagination.

❥ "baby, what're you looking at?" he asks innocently when he catches you staring (maybe you fall in love a little more because he's like this).

mingyu:

❥ had to put in his strength in here sorry not sorry.

❥ when your seat is feeling a little too far from him he'll just change that.

❥ he'll grab the underside of your seat and just pull you closer to him using one arm

minghao:

❥ the eye contact with hao must be insane.

❥ he's a very big believer in listening to you thoroughly.

❥ he's always nodding along as you're talking or humming in agreement, so you know he's actively paying attention. you deserve it.

❥ his gaze is so strong it could almost be intimidating if the way he looked at you wasn't so filled with adoration.

seungkwan:

❥ you know he's a gorgeous singer and how he can belt his heart out.

❥ but in those moments you're just home alone together, you'll catch him humming the sweetest little melody when he thinks no one can hear him.

❥ maybe you wait a second to enter the kitchen and you just take in this little secret performance.

vernon: 

❥ you're both stealing glances at each other while you watch a movie and of course you notice that he's so pretty.

❥ what gets your heart racing every time though, is when he leans in to your ear to tell you something.

❥ he'll lean back away just to see your reaction but you really don't miss how his eyes glance at your lips for a fleeting second.

dino:

❥ something about hearing his full belly laugh for the first time made your heart flutter.

❥ maybe it was the way he was letting loose in front of you. you knew it meant he was comfortable. maybe it's the way you could see his genuine joy so plastered on his face.

Your curiosity won. You gave in, making sure you looked presentable before setting off for the hybe building.

You expect it to be the normal: laughing, hoshi being an idiot and lots of sweat. What you didn't expect was to walk into an unfamiliar practice room. The lights dimmed and the music low. You couldn't even recognise the song but you could recognise it was woozi's voice, however the track was more sultry— sensual, a tone you hadn't heard this intense from him before.

It took your eyes a moment to adjust to the low lights, but once they had, the view was worth the wait.

Hoshi stood in front of the mirror, his eyes not on you. Yet it was obvious he had acknowledged your presence. His eyes stayed focused on himself and his moves as he looked forward fiercly, his beanie pulled down low and crucially, his shirt discarded. His muscles were defined as if they had been carved over hundreds of years, the low lighting emphasising each vein that ran down his arms. And beneath that work of art was a pair of grey sweatpants hanging low around his waist. yes. grey sweatpants. He moved to the rhythm of the song effortlessly, each move further defining the perfect lines of his body.

You scanned the room before noticing woozi. He stood further back, with his arms crossed near the computer, yet still somehow looking as if he was controlling the entire room. Woozi's eyes meet yours briefly as a small smirk plays on his lips before he nods in your direction. He's wearing a black cap with a simple black t-shirt and black shorts, still showing his defined legs and muscly thighs.

They notice you— but don't stop.

You catch Hoshi's demanding gaze in the mirror and he begins to direct his movements towards you before gesturing to a chair set up suspiciously in the middle of the room. Everything about this setup seems far too calculated.

You’re not a guest. You’re prey.

There are no greetings, no explanations, every word is unspoken. Yet, you obey, sitting in the chair as you gulp with anticipation.

Hoshi's steps are controlled as he makes his way closer to you. He's not asking for permission because he knows you've already given into him— both of them.

He takes your thighs into his hands, holding them with a firm grasp before spreading them slightly and sitting himself on your lap. He settles on your lap as if he already owns it. His eyes never leave yours.

"Let him play with you. I want to see what you're worth." You hear the words slowly spill out the mouth of the man behind you two, still standing in the corner with his arms crossed but finally breaking the perfectly suffocating silence.

You feel the flex of Hoshi's muscles through those fucking sweatpants—thick, solid, unyielding. His hips roll once. Slow. Precise. Just the pure pressure of his weight on your body grounds you into the chair. Every sense of yours becomes enraptured with his presence, his scent filling your nose. You can feel the sweat on the surface on his skin, making his bare skin glow in the dim lighting.

And his hips— Hoshi's hips. Each roll of his hips are deliberate and dangerous. They roll slow and deep, like he's fucking the air between you two. It’s not dancing anymore—it’s pornographic, and he knows it.

He holds your chin, directing your face, ordering constant eye contact.

“You breathing okay?” he teases, voice low, chest heaving. Another grind, harder, direct. You jolt. “Thought so.”

You suddenly feel a hand tangle into your hair, yanking it backwards, leaving your neck exposed as Hoshi takes the opportunity to sink his lips onto the delicate skin and suck, leaving determined markings, coaxing out soft moans as his hips continue their plan.

Woozi stands behind you two, watching the scene unfold. His shorts noticeably tighter, and a mic in his hand.

“Start from the top.” “Say your name. Tell me what you’re doing.”

Your mind can't fully comprehend Woozi's words as you let out a stuttered mess.

"Say it. Or I'll stop this entire fucking game and leave you soaked with nothing." Woozi's breath is hot in your ear as he speaks.

Hoshi keeps grinding down onto you, but now its slower, meaner. His hands slides down from holding the back of your neck to slowly reach your inner thighs as you attempt to answer Woozi's request.

"H-Hoshi's on my lap.. Kissing me.. Touching me. And i'm letting you watch." You whisper into the mic, your voice shaking.

You feel Hoshi smirk against your neck as he lets out a low growl and bites down onto your neck lightly, earning a soft whimper to escape you.

"She's twitching. Think she can take both of us?" Hoshi speaks out, his voice still a growl as he breaks away from your neck to look at Woozi, behind you.

"She will. When I say." Woozi replies, his presence a stark contrast to Hoshi. Hoshi is warm— overpoweringly hot and physical. Woozi stays back. Colder, calculated and all control.

The thought of what Woozi proposed plays in your mind without authorisation, the image haunting your mind as your hips subconsciously roll up to meet Hoshi's as if its instinctive.

Hoshi's slender fingers make their way closer to your heat, his fingertips teasing the hem of your underwear under your skirt. The pads of his two fingers slowly reach under the barrier of clothing, brushing against you as you desperately roll your hips in need of friction.

Hoshi continues biting and marking your neck as his two fingers enter you at an agonizingly slow pace.

“That’s it. Let him finger you like a toy—but don’t forget who’s really listening.” Woozi says into your ear, his voice as smooth as velvet but his hot breath prickling your skin and sending shivers down you.

Hoshi pushes his fingers in deeper before angling them upwards and curling them into your most sensitive spot, watching you unravel before them both, curses spilling out your mouth.

“Don’t bite your lip now. Cry for me. Give me something worth keeping.” You can't tell if you are becoming close from Hoshi's skilled fingers or the filth that woozi is swarming your ears with. Everything becomes blurred as you surrender yourself to the moment.

Woozi lowers the mic, past your chest to rest above your lower stomach. "Let's get a better sample." He insists as you can only reply through shaky moans and gasps.

"Fuck she's gonna cum like this?" Hoshi speaks in a low rumble, directed to Woozi. Something about the way they casually discuss you as if you weren't there made you somehow even wetter.

Hoshi's fingering becomes harder, punctuating your stammers as you begin to reach your high. Your gasps become whimpers which become shrieks as you get closer.

"Stop." Woozi suddenly speaks out at a louder volume for Hoshi to hear and he instantly obeys, leaving you on edge.

Woozi steps back to the computer and presses a few keys. You are left breathless, your chest heaving as you recover, feeling slightly betrayed by the two men around you.

Until, the speakers start to play a sound that sounds far too familiar, the moan which had just previously left your lips now resounded through the hollow walls of the practice room as you watched Hoshi's adams apple bob in his throat in front of your face.

"Thats what I want to remember." Woozi growls out.

"Fuck, you like putting on a show.” Hoshi says shakily, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Enough warming up. Face the mirror." Woozi demands, his voice starting to sound less cold and detached, now fueled by a new sense of passion— urgency.

Hoshi instantly gets off you, them working together in synchronisation as Woozi pulls you off the chair and directs you against the mirror, your hands stopping yourself from slamming into the hard material. Hoshi replaces your place as he sits down on the chair, his member standing proud in his grey sweats, creating a tent shape for you both to see.

Woozi's condition isn’t far better in his black shorts as he works your clothes off your body in a desperate manner.

“Look at yourself. See what he did to you?” “You're a fucking mess. And you still want more.”

Your chest was bare now as he shamelessly kneads your breasts in the mirror whilst winking at Hoshi, knowing his preferences and profiting off them to give him the show he deserves.

His hands then slide to take off your remaining clothing, leaving you revealed in front of both the men, completely obedient, completely surrendered.

Woozi then works his hands into your hair again, yanking it back before spitting in your mouth and forcing you to watch yourself.

“Eyes open. I want you to watch every second of what I take from you.”

Behind you, your eyes meet Hoshi, who is now slowly palming himself, clearly fighting the urge to roll his head back in pleasure but not wanting to miss the view.

You're gone. Overwhelmed. Dripping. You've completely melted into Woozi's grasp, completely unbothered by any shame and fully focused on the pleasure which is filling your entire body.

Your eyes close as you become more desperate, until you feel the feeling of something hard poking at your ass from behind. Something bare.

Your eyebrows knit together when you open your eyes to see his size. His eyes stay locked on yours, laced with confidence as his mouth cocks into that stupid smirk again whilst he revels in your reaction.

His cock stands up, the size bigger than any you have ever encountered before, his precum glistening in the practice room lights on his flushed pink tip. He slowly strokes it, teasing you as you study each vein curving round his shaft.

“You don’t even realise how much he’s gonna stretch you, do you?” You hear Hoshi's voice say, his tone is too calm to be innocent— there’s memory in it. Experience. And now it’s your turn.

The implications behind his words leave you speechless as you look in the mirror to see him. He's sitting in the chair, his abs still shining overbearingly as his hand is grasping his shaft. His dick also being an impressive size but having slightly less girth than woozi. Its clear he has been touching himself for a while due to the amount of precum he is spreading across his shaft as he shakes it slightly in your direction as you make eye contact.

“Keep your eyes on me in the mirror. Watch what I do to you.” Woozi whispers in your ear as he delicately nibbles at your earlobe, teasingly.

His rough hands slide up to hold your waist before pushing it forward, causing you to arch and for your hands to land on the mirror, leaving you bent over in front of them both. His hands trail the curve of your ass before he holds his dick, lining it up with your enterance. He slides his tip across your folds, teasing you as subtle moans and shakes leave your throat. He lets his tip glide past your clit which is still sensitive from Hoshi, causing you to jerk forward further.

He takes that oppurtunity of a better angle to slide his dick inside you in one mean thrust. It feels like you are being broken from the inside, every part of you. The stretch being overwhelming causing you no longer to be able to think— only feel. Every thought stuttering with every inch Woozi sinks into you.

Feeling his size so bare, so raw. It's as if you can feel every one of his veins trace through your walls and leave their mark. He finally bottoms out inside of you, and you can feel him pulse deep inside of you.

It's not long before he pulls back again, that feeling immediately hitting you again as his cock scrapes against your walls, splitting you open. Without preparation he slams back inside of you as if he's trying to carve himself in you. Woozi doesn't just fuck you— he erases you.

“Quit watching the show and join in. Touch her. Make her feel both of us.” Woozi demands Hoshi as he drives another harsh thrust into you.

You feel Hoshi take your hand off the mirror and move you back slightly, Woozi already following suit. Woozi's thrusts halt whilst Hoshi repositions you. Hoshi now stands with his back against the mirror whilst taking your chin in his hand directing your mouth to his intimidatingly sized cock.

“Open up. I need you on me now.” Hoshi pleas as he strokes your hair back, away from your face whilst you lick a line up his shaft, teasing him before letting your lips part around his tip.

As soon as your lips part, Woozi's hips pound into you with such force that it knocks the air from your lungs, forcing you to deepthroat Hoshi's dick in one go.

Both the men groan in sync, however your cries get silenced by Hoshi. Yet, each snap of Woozi's hips comes with sound— wet, flithy, sloppy and constant.

Hoshi looks up to see Woozi with his grip bruising your hips with his jaw clenched tight, his veins in his neck standing out and shimmering in a light layer of sweat. His eyes are focused on you, dark, fucking furious with pleasure. His chest is rising rapidly, his muscles tight and twitching with force.

This sight, along with the sight of you, dribbling dumb on his cock, sends him utterly insane.

“You’re just a toy for us to share—don’t forget your place.” Woozi snarled as his sweat drips down from his chest onto you.

His hips snap up again, somehow deeper as he fucks you harder, driving you further on Hoshi's dick whilst you become a mess of moans and gags.

You aren't sure whether you're moaning, gagging or sobbing anymore but that is the last thing that matters to you. Your legs have been trembling for so long yet the utter force being driven into you as you are fucked back and forth by both men is what’s keeping you upright.

Their groans are loud and rough, the lewd sounds echoeing off the mirror as they quicken their pace, somehow in sync again. Your vision is blurry, brain-fogged, body destroyed— yet they are still going.

You feel Hoshi twitch in your mouth as Woozi's pace falters, a gentle signal to you despite their harsh fucks. You don't have to change anything though, they are the ones using you. Woozi slams his dick reaching every sensitive spot as Hoshi bites his lip, almost drawing blood.

When you cum, it's not gentle— it rips through your body. It's wet, ugly, broken. Your eyes roll back, you clench around them both as your body shakes even more.

But they fuck you through your orgasm like it was just a warm-up.

“Look at you—shaking like a desperate mess." Woozi teases as Hoshi scoffs in response.

They don't go easier. They go harder. They go further.

Woozi angles your hips and holds up one of your legs, pushing his pulsating cock back into your sopping pussy as saliva runs down your face from Hoshi who is carving out your throat.

Finally, they can't hold back anymore as they snap together.

Hoshi holds your head down on his dick as he empties out his contents in your throat, urging you to swallow. As this is happening, Woozi gives you one final, brutal thrust before his seed fills you up entirely before he fucks it back into you, your cum mixing and spilling down your thighs.

They both slowly pull out before placing you onto the sofa in the corner, stroking your foreahead softly as they both admire your fucked-out state.

Being with Woozi wasn’t always easy his schedule was packed, days bleeding into nights, the studio lights always glowing, and music always looping. But somehow, despite all the chaos, he still made time for you.

You weren’t loud about your love. You didn’t need constant texts or fancy gifts. All you ever needed was him and Woozi understood that better than anyone else.

He’d show up at your door at midnight with a bag of tteokbokki and your favorite banana milk, hair messy and eyes tired, but still smiling.

“Did you eat?” “You didn’t have to—” “I wanted to.”

He always wanted to. Even when he was exhausted, even when he was drowning in deadlines. You were the pause in his music, the breath between beats.

Sometimes, when you’d wait for him in the studio, curled up on the couch under his hoodie, he'd glance over at you mid-mixing and just stop.

Just watch.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he murmured once, turning his chair toward you. “You make everything feel worth it.”

You laughed softly. “I’m literally doing nothing right now.”

“That’s the thing. You being here? That’s everything.”

He wrote songs about you.

You’d find them tucked between other demos unnamed tracks, rough vocals, soft guitar or piano melodies. But the lyrics always gave it away.

“The way she smiles when she thinks no one’s watching...”“Even silence sounds sweeter when she’s around.”“If love had a soundtrack, it’d sound like her laugh.”

When you teased him about it, he'd get all flustered. “They're not ready! Don’t go snooping!” But you’d catch him smiling anyway, proud in that subtle Woozi way.

And the dates? Unpredictable but perfect.

A night drive with him singing quietly to the radio. Rainy evenings spent under one shared umbrella. A rooftop picnic with instant noodles and a single candle lit between you two.

He wasn't big on words, but his actions always screamed love.

Like how he kept a spare phone charger for you in his bag. Or how he memorized your coffee order. Or how he'd silently pull you into a hug whenever you looked tired.

Once, when you were feeling down after a tough rehearsal, he showed up outside your dance studio with a soft smile and headphones in hand.

“Come with me.”

He took you to the studio, sat you on the couch, and played a new song.

It didn’t have a name. It didn’t need one.

Because every lyric felt like a love letter to you.

“No matter how loud the world gets, I only want to hear your voice. No matter how far I go, I’ll always come home to your eyes.”

And then he turned around, nervous for once. “Do you like it?”

You didn’t say anything. Just hugged him, tight.

“I love it. I love you.”

He chuckled against your hair. “Good. ‘Cause I wrote that instead of sleeping for three days.”

You hit his arm, but kissed his cheek right after.

Even when the world didn’t slow down for either of you, even when days were long and moments short Woozi always made sure you never had to doubt how much you meant to him.

He didn’t need to say “I love you” all the time. He said it with his music. With his late-night visits. With the way his eyes softened every time they found you in a room.

And maybe that’s what love was.