michipan

[michipan]

my brain feels reprogrammed rn like oh my god. this was soooooo good it’s not even funny… the way you wrote the mc breaking was so well done and perfectly paced, and yunhos straight up EVIL oh im obsessed… im giving you a million trillion kisses rn this is a literal masterpiece!!!

STOCKHOLM ₊˚⊹♡ J.YH | 1 (m)

jeong yunho x afab reader (mingi makes 'off-camera' guest appearance)

a/n: there is a special place in hell just for me for writing this fic... holy shit. also big huge disclaimer this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how yunho is irl. i love our puppy man, please do not take this fic as fact on his personality, please and thank you.

summary: in which Yunho kidnaps you and enforces rigid, abusive rules under the guise of twisted affection and the reign of unpredictability. your life is now in his hands, and he gets to play with it however he likes. and today? he deems you as ready to take the next step with him.

word count: 13.9k

warnings: (brace yourselves) - MINORS DNI I'M SO SERIOUS, meandom!yunho, mental abuse, physical abuse, swearing, psychological torture, kidnapping, captive reader, reader forced to say "i love you", conditioning, sadistic methods, oral (m receiving), face fucking, fingering, clit stimulation, spitting, use of names (daddy, doll, baby, good girl), unprotected p->v sex (don't do that pls), creampie, overstimulation, orgasm denial / edging, brief aftercare, subspace, slight non-con, dubcon, reader has hands tied for most if not all of the fic, size difference. I'm sure there's more but holy shit this is depraved.

18+ THIS IS THE FINAL WARNING. Smut begins after third divider.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Rule Number 1: Always Be On Your Best Behaviour

Rule Number 2: Never Answer The Door For Anybody But Daddy

Rule Number 3: Always Be Ready For Daddy When He Gets Home (18:00)

Rule Number 4: Never Disobey Daddy

Rule Number 5: Never Try To Leave. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You couldn’t breathe. 

The same air you had been breathing in for the past four months choked you every day from the time you woke up to the time you went to sleep. But he had taught you well – even when he left you here by yourself, you knew to keep quiet. Being alone all day (sometimes for a week) with nothing to do drove you absolutely crazy.

By the end of the first month, you had debated jumping out the window. 

But you couldn't even do that because it was locked up tight. Yunho ‘didn’t want his princess to accidentally fall’. ‘Accidentally’ being a clever substitute word. ‘Fall’ being another.   

Now on month four, you lay on your back on the bed after finishing all of your daily chores, the ceiling slowly morphing and turning your vision white, staring at it for so long you began to go a little cross-eyed. You could watch TV. About three weeks ago, when he deemed you ‘trained enough’, he let you watch TV for the first time since being here, although you were only allowed two child-locked streaming sites. Nevertheless, it was like being given a luxury gift. The first step to leniency. 

He had been extra sweet to you recently, getting a VPN so you could watch things in English. He would switch off the child lock on the TV once he got home, and you’d often watch something together while you both ate the dinner you had prepared. You had begun to look forward to those sweeter moments. The moments you did not fear. However today, you just couldn’t make yourself get up and find the remote. You weren’t motivated to do anything but wait.   

So you would spend your days in agonising boredom, waiting to see if he would come at 6:00 like he used to every day. Recently, whenever he left you for weeks on end like this, to pass the time, you would walk right up to the hidden cameras around the apartment, imagining he was watching on the other side, and look into them with your best puppy eyes, begging him to come back. Anything to try and convince him. 

He conditioned you so well. 

Early on, everyday he used to go to work, come back at six on the dot, and walk into the apartment where you would be ready for him:

on your knees

wrists still tied

hair brushed and pushed back behind your shoulders 

makeup done

head up, looking at him

dinner made

Doing your makeup, your hair, and making dinner with tied up wrists proved to be frustrating the first few weeks. Eventually, you got used to it, working out how to make each task a bit easier. But after the first month, he began to only come every other day, and then only a couple days a week, then once a week, then nothing. 

He always came back now with groceries, enough to feed two families in case he left you alone for an extended time again. You’d quickly learned to ration food. The first couple weeks, he had threatened to weigh you every week, as he could tell you weren’t eating enough or at all. It had been one of many, pathetic last acts of rebellion in your new reality. 

The last time he had been here was about a week ago, though you couldn’t be so sure as you had no idea what day it was. He didn’t think you needed to know. It simply wasn’t important for you to know. 

It was all so psychologically tormenting that it quickly broke you down. You found yourself crying most days; not due to your situation, funnily enough, but because you wanted him here with you. You actually missed him when he wasn’t here – something you never believed you would ever feel in any capacity towards him. You could understand why you had started to, though. At least him being here gave your mind something to focus on other than how you badly wished for your freedom. Your eyes flicker to the door in the bedroom that leads out to the balcony. Maybe one day, you told yourself, just follow along. Be good. 

You wonder if you had done something wrong to make him drift away from you this time, yet recalled nothing. But if you had done something wrong, you would’ve been punished for it, and you would damn well remember a punishment from Yunho. 

“Corrections” he liked to call them. And your last correction really woke you up. Weeks later, the already trauma-tailored, kaleidoscopic memories of it would quickly flash across your mind like a hit-and-run. Psychologically, you may have already begun to black out what had happened, but the body remembers. And will always remember. 

You were retreating into a small existence, to just serve and obey and behave. To survive. Live by his rules and standards, and all will be well. Life was a small, black room with a single spotlight that kept getting smaller and smaller the more he chipped away at your mind. 

You glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 4:48PM already. 

Your heart jumps and you swing your legs off the bed, tearing your gaze from the ceiling for today, to start getting ready just in case. you started with your makeup, since that not being done would get you a harsher correction than dinner not being quite ready once he walks through the door.  

You had gotten so quick with it that it only took you about 10 minutes, leaving you an hour to prepare dinner. Should be doable. You decided on an easy meal, just in case he didn’t show up, but enough effort put into it to show him that you weren't being lazy (he hated laziness). You focus on preparing it and turn the television on in the living room to have background noise while you cook – some kids show you had no interest in but had become familiar with. At least the cartoon character’s voices in this one weren’t as annoying. 

Making dinner was therapeutic for you now, giving you something to look forward to, and something to do, though it sometimes proved difficult with tied hands. You hoped if you continued to be good and earn his trust, he’d be a bit more lenient about leaving you tied up all the time. 

You had just poured the tomato sauce in with the ground beef, and was starting to pour the pasta into the strainer when the faint sound of keys in the lock sent a chill down your spine, barely giving you any time to react as the door pushed open.  

Shit. 

You jump, startled to see Yunho so early and burn your hand with boiling hot water, causing you to yelp in pain. Biting your lip to not make any unnecessary noise, you quickly set the pot down on the kitchen counter and drop to your knees, forcing yourself to look up at him as he stalks forward towards you, taking his time to get close. 

Tears brim in your eyes from the pain in your hand and knees, blurring his face. You could only guess how he was feeling based on his voice.   

“Not quite ready for me today, are we, pet?” he smirks, but there’s not an ounce of amusement anywhere to be found in any syllable. Your body shakes from pain and fear, your lower lip trembling.  

“W-welcome home, Daddy.” you recite. He hums, letting the following silence crush you. You blink hard, attempting to clear your vision. 

It always leaves you speechless, how devastatingly beautiful Yunho is. His fluffy, thick black hair that always fell perfectly across his forehead, his large, toned body, rich brown eyes, a commandingly deep yet soft voice, and his beautifully sinful hands. In other circumstances, other situations where you were blissfully unaware of what he was capable of, it would’ve been easy for you to fall in love with him. But you knew better now. That was your mistake, for falling into the trap. A walking Venus Fly Trap, beautiful but deadly, who had made it clear more than a few times that he could and would kill you if you didn’t obey him. What was that quote? ‘They warned me the devil would be attractive’? 

Exactly. 

You snap out of your thoughts to watch him move towards you, always on alert for what he might do next. He was as unpredictable as a roulette wheel, and one day, that bullet was going to be fired. 

Once he is mere inches away from you, he stops. Forcing yourself to keep eye contact with him was always the most challenging rule for you, especially when he seemed or was definitely annoyed. You couldn’t handle the look of disappointment on his face. You knew all too well what happened when he was disappointed. 

One of his large hands suddenly pets your hair and you almost flinch, not expecting his touch to be so gentle. Cautiously, you lean into his touch, something you had been missing for days on end. Human contact. At this point, even if it was from him, you’d take it gladly. 

He sighs, tearing his gaze from you to the kitchen.

"Don't worry, baby,” he says, “Daddy came home early. It's not your fault you weren’t ready for me.” 

You don’t fully believe his words, but for now just do what has always been best for you: play along. Obey. 

You raise yourself up on your knees a little more to nuzzle your cheek against his hand, kissing the heel of it, and this earns you a quiet “good girl” from him. 

Yunho suddenly crouches down and you somehow manage to hold back a shocked gasp. 

He never gets down to your level. 

“Let me see.” He murmurs, gingerly taking your burned and stinging hand from your lap and inspecting it. The skin on the back of your hand had turned a bright, candy pink and had begun to shine a little. He could tell it was hurting you. Sighing, he bites his lip before pausing a moment. “Stay here.”

Yunho gets up, heading for the kitchen cupboard that holds the first aid kit. He grabs what he needs and then opens the freezer door, retrieving a small ice pack.  

He returns to your side, wrapping a layer of gauze around your hand and then sandwiching the ice pack and another layer of gauze over it, securing the pack to your hand. It was messily done, but you couldn’t have done much better yourself. 

“There, that’ll do for now,” he says, once secured, “all better?” 

“Yes, Daddy, thank you.” you smile, happy that he was treating you nicely so far. 

He smiles back before helping you to your feet, kissing the top of your head as you stand. You can’t hide your puzzled look, wondering what you had possibly done to make him act this nice to you today. That look intensifies when he then moves towards the food and begins to plate dinner for himself.  

“Oh—! Daddy, wait, let me do that!” You exclaim, nearly launching yourself towards the food you had prepared, frantic. 

But he just shakes his head, continuing calmly and not looking at you at all. “Sit down at the table and wait for me.” 

What? You stop in your tracks, eyes flicking between him and the food like one of them was about to bite you. But Yunho still doesn’t say anything else or make any sudden movements.  

“O-okay, Daddy…” you reply, cautiously making your way to sit at the kitchen table.  

This had to be one of his tests. A test from him could happen at any time, and from experience, if it walks, talks, and quacks like a test, it was one. A nagging suspicion clawed at your throat, your adrenaline ready to spring into action at any second. All it needed was the next fight or flight situation Yunho was going to put you through. Any second now. 

But Yunho just carries on, preparing two plates for you two and setting the table. Feeling a bit useless and unfamiliar with this change in routine, you shift your weight on the chair, nervously swinging your feet, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The notorious temper. The reveal of what you had done wrong to disappoint him, and the correction to follow, but it never comes. 

Finally, he places a bowl of pasta in front of you, and sits down across from you.  

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. He knows you know better than to eat before he does, so you wait. 

He watches you for a while, his slender fingers lazily tracing the rim of his wine glass, deep in thought. 

Something is different. You couldn't put your finger on what it was, or what it could be, but you were growing more and more nervous by the minute.  

Yunho gestures to your food. 

“Eat.” 

You balk, eyes wide in initial confusion. The only sound in the apartment is the air conditioning kicking on. 

‘Test.’ A little voice in the back of your head whispers. ‘It’s a test. Don’t move.’ 

He grins at the surprised look on your face and repeats himself, quieter this time.  

You still don’t move. You know better. 

“N-not before Daddy eats.” You say quietly, not trusting your words or your voice.  

Yunho pauses a moment before rolling his shoulders back, raising his wine glass to his plush lips before asking, “And why is that, baby?” 

“So I—“ you clear your throat, “so I remember my place.” 

He’s quiet for a moment longer as he takes a sip of wine, and then… he smiles. 

“Smart girl.” He grins, proud that you were learning so quickly. 

A rush of air leaves you as you watch him stab at the pasta with his fork, bringing it up to his mouth. He chews, he swallows, and he nods to you, signalling that you're allowed to eat now. 

Another test passed. Another reward. Like some fucked up game of Simon Says. 

He hadn’t tested you like that in a few weeks, and perhaps was being sickly sweet to you to throw you off guard. It nearly worked. But your nerves settle somewhat now that you know you didn't disobey him, yet you are still somewhat unsure as you begin to eat as well. Your eyes never leave his as you warily pick up your own fork, with some difficulty from the rope and the ice pack both restricting how well you could use your hands.  

You eat in silence, and he only breaks it to compliment the food you made, which you, of course, thank him for. He leans back in his chair once finished, scrolling through his phone, and running a hand through his fluffy hair.  you quickly place the last of your pasta in your mouth and get up to clear the table. Before you can pass him to the kitchen, Yunho stops you, grabbing your wrist, and you pray that he doesn’t notice the goosebumps that immediately rise up on your arm at his touch. 

“Show me.” he instructs, looking intently at your bowl. Obediently, you tilt the bowl down, revealing that it’s empty, and he nods approvingly, letting you go and looking back down at his phone again. The water rushing from the sink hides the sound of your shaky breaths as you force down a panic attack. Do not. Do not do not do not do not…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After washing the dishes, you quietly move to the fridge, opening it with shaking hands to retrieve a water bottle, hoping to calm your nerves a bit more. Somehow you don’t sense the looming presence right behind you until you turn back around, dropping the bottle entirely once you register he’s right there. 

A pair of scissors in hand. 

Your heart jumps to your throat and your back hits the fridge as you prepare to beg him to not hurt you again, but he ignores you as he calmly and wordlessly grabs your hands, and with a couple snips of the scissors, frees them from the thin white rope. You look up at him, utterly perplexed. Your hands twitch with increased bloodflow. His voice is quiet when he speaks, his lips right next to your ear. 

“I want you to go to the bedroom and wait for me there. Okay, baby?” 

Your heart rate spikes.

Oh.

That explains a lot. 

You lick your dry lips before nodding, shyly.  

“Am I…” you struggle to make yourself say it out loud, “Do you think I'm ready?” 

Yunho ghosts his lips against your cheekbone, his breath making you shiver. 

“Yes, baby, I do. Wanna reward my good girl…” he punctuates his words with a kiss beneath your jaw.  You whimper, frozen and nervous. He pulls back from your neck to look at you when he realizes you're not moving yet.  

“Go.” He directs, impatience creeping into his tone. Startled back into action, you quickly beeline to the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed, awaiting your next instructions. 

You were in uncharted territory with him now. 

He hadn’t given you bedroom rules or directions yet, but you knew by morning they’d be seared into your brain like a cattle brand.  

Doubt and anxiety began to overwhelm you.  

Did he want me here or in the middle of the bed? 

Standing? Kneeling? 

Kneeling, definitely kneeling, right? Like always? 

What about my clothes? The ice pack?

You weren't left alone with your anxiousness and questions for long as you hear him pour himself some more wine, and then his footsteps coming closer to the room. 

At the last second before he comes into view in the doorway, you get off the bed and drop to your knees on the plush carpet, hoping that your gut instinct would be right.  

Please be right. 

Yunho enters the room, his white button up shirt unbuttoned halfway, revealing a sliver of his broad, perfectly toned chest, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Looking sickeningly heavenly. 

His jaw twitches, an unreadable expression on his face. Your heart takes a nosedive. 

He takes a quick sip of wine before setting it down on the bedside table, along with his phone, languidly like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you’re hanging on every move he makes. He loves this: the tension, your uncertainty of what he’ll do next. Chaos theory personified. 

Yunho wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and slowly walks towards you.

“Almost,” he chuckles to himself. He then grabs your jaw, tilting your head up higher to make you look at him. Your breath hitches but you force yourself to remain quiet. Remain calm. 

“Ready for your new rules, baby?” You can only nod in response, the pressure of the heel of his hand against your jaw effectively keeping your mouth shut. “From now on, when I tell you to wait in the bedroom for me, I want you on your knees and undressed. Clear?” 

His hand relieves most of the pressure under your jaw so you can answer him properly. “Yes, Daddy.” you choke out, your breath leaving you once he had grabbed you. 

He resumes, “You will always look at me, no matter what. You will take whatever I give you and say ‘thank y–’ you will get my fucking belt if you don’t start undressing right now,” he growls the last part, interrupting himself, his eyes flashing with anger.  

Suddenly snapping into action, you quickly remove your shirt, followed by your pants and underwear and discard them next to you on the floor.  

Yunho huffs, trying to keep his temper under control. He hated having to repeat himself, especially when it was an order for you. Though irritated, he motions for you to give him your hand and gently unwraps the gauze and the ice pack, placing them both neatly on the floor next to you. Almost reluctantly, he goes to his dresser, pulls out a thin black rope, and comes back to you to tie you back up with it. Your heart sinks again, but you offer your wrists up to him so he wouldn’t have to bend down too much. 

You look up at him as he silently ties your wrists together, wanting to reach for his pant leg, in search of comfort of some kind, but you weren't allowed to touch him first. The rope bites your skin, but you know not to say anything. Nothing good would ever come out of you telling him that the rope was uncomfortable. 

Yunho runs a hand through your hair, tightly gripping a handful at the roots, keeping your head tilted back. 

“You will not run from me or what I give you.” he continues, struggling to keep his tone even, “You will not say ‘no’. Having Daddy use you like this is a privilege… isn’t that right, baby?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” Your answer comes quickly, the pain in your scalp acting as a good motivator. 

“You've been waiting so patiently for this moment haven’t you?” He hums, tilting his head like a puppy. 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“And does my baby understand that if she breaks any of my rules, she’ll be corrected?” 

You shiver. Nothing scared you more than a Yunho correction, though you knew he wasn’t talking about those kinds. The ones he actually referred to as ‘punishments’. Corrections were mere child’s play compared to punishments. 

You swallow around your fear and reply in a small voice, “Yes, Daddy. I understand. I’ll be your good girl.” 

Yunho smiles softly, letting go of your hair in favour of caressing your cheek. Always maintaining a balance, hot and cold. “You have been my good girl, haven't you?” he sighs contentedly, “that’s why you deserve this now.” 

You nod, big glassy eyes staring up at him in pure, rehearsed obedience.  

“Who knows, baby… if you do well for me tonight, I might reward you.” 

Unlikely. The promise of a reward was never as set in stone as a correction threat. you could count on one hand how many rewards you had received during your time with him so far, and you had lost count on how many corrections you had been given, especially during your first few weeks. But… maybe. Just maybe he was being sincere about it. Your eyes flickered over to the door that led out to the balcony. 

Fresh air. If he would be kind enough to let you pick a reward, that’s what you'd choose in a heartbeat. Quicker than a heartbeat. Your lungs sang at the very idea of breathing in the wind and city again. 

“Getting to… be with you is reward enough, Daddy.” you say, struggling to get the words out when you know you don’t mean them wholeheartedly.  

But he smiles warmly and he smooths your hair. “My sweet girl…” 

Yunho lets himself admire you for a few moments, his hands carefully tracing your body. You take a deep breath in, willing your body to stop shaking as he touches you. The goosebumps had returned, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up when one of his hands got dangerously close to your throat. Thankfully, if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. You were being good. Staying still, keeping quiet, your eyes never leaving his face even though he didn’t meet your gaze. 

“Can you say it for me, baby girl?” Yunho whispers, eyes downcast almost like he’s shy. Reminiscent of the same kicked puppy act that had drawn you to him in the first place. 

Say it.

It.

A slight sour taste coats the inside of your mouth at the very idea. That same small voice in the back of your mind however, cheers you on to say it. To survive. Mentally and physically pulled in different directions. 

Say it. He’s waiting. Don’t keep him waiting. It’s so easy, just say it–

“I... love you, Daddy.” You manage, your throat tight and your words somewhat flat like you were reading them off of a page. But he melted all the same. Almost like a relief had been lifted off of his shoulders, Yunho’s whole body relaxes like he needed to hear you say those words more than anything. He nods once, more to himself than to you, fighting back a smile. His eyes flicker to his hands on your waist, and he bites his lip. 

Quickly, his arousal overpowers his self-control. He’s been patient enough. 

“Get on the bed, princess.” His voice drops low. Your heart swells. He only calls you ‘princess’ when you're being really good, or if he’s feeling extra nice to you. Either one was a good sign.  Encouraged by a simple word, you quickly get up and place yourself in the middle of the bed. 

The last of your independent thoughts scream at you in shame when you feel yourself getting wet just by seeing him stand at the foot of the bed, slowly unbuttoning the last few buttons of his shirt. There was something about him being fully dressed while you were completely naked that was just… a power dynamic that turned you on so easily even before you had met him. 

Once the last button was undone, he places his knee on the bed, grabs your ankles and pulls you towards him. You gasp but quietly wait for his next move. He smirks, tracing your skin with his fingertips.  

“Nervous, baby?” 

Yes and no. Yes, because you were scared of fucking up somehow in this uncharted territory and or forgetting the new rules already.  

No, because even though Yunho ignored the truth, you weren't a virgin. 

You had told him so before you had been brought here, back when you thought he was innocently trying to get to know you. A normal question to ask during a third date, with the not quite so normal end of a chloroform rag against your face while you walked back to his car. 

While here, he had treated you like you had never been with another man other than him before in your entire life. Even going as far to cover your eyes if a sex scene came on while watching TV. Hence, the childlocks on the streaming sites when he’s not here. 

But you've gotten so used to manoeuvring life here day by day that your response comes naturally,  “A little, Daddy…” and it’s not a lie. 

“Tell me.” he instructs, carefully parting your legs by pushing your knees apart. His gaze is zeroed in on your core, and you want nothing more than to hide and or die of humiliation. 

You wet your dry bottom lip with your tongue before answering, trying to push the embarrassment down. “I… I… I’m nervous because it’s my… first time,” with him but you don’t / can’t say that detail, “but… I know Daddy will take care of me... if I’m good for him.” 

Yunho hums affirmatively, beginning to press kisses along your inner thighs. He gently pushes your legs close to your chest, essentially folding you in half. Without any further delay, or warning, he licks a stripe up your folds, making your back arch off of the bed instantly. You can feel him smile against you for a moment, no doubt smug that you were already wet for him before his mouth was on you. His lips close around your clit, sucking harshly before looking back up at you to see your reaction.  

You somehow already feel close. Sharp pangs of pleasure shudder through you in waves, and you force yourself to stifle the volume of your sounds by keeping your mouth closed, lips pressed together in a tight, thin line. 

He hums, the vibrations against your clit making you see stars.  

“Good?” 

“Y-yes, Daddy. Thank you.” 

“Hold your legs back for me,” he says, helping you hook your bound wrists around your knees, effectively blocking your view of him. You try to not let that scare you. At least previously you could always see him and what he was about to do to you. Now that one comfort was taken away for now. 

You shiver from another intense wave of pleasure as he drags his tongue through your folds again. He makes a low noise, spitting on something and then quickly thereafter, something cold and wet drags along your pussy. You whine at the feeling, but he shushes you.  

“Relax for me, baby. Need you to relax so I can prep you properly…” His voice sounds a bit strained, like he’s trying to slow down and not just take you however he wants right now. Perhaps he knows deep down you could handle it… but in this fantasy he’s created and deluded himself into believing wholeheartedly, he refuses to acknowledge that. He can’t. He won’t.  

Once he deems you relaxed and wet enough, he slowly pushes one of his long fingers into you. A breathy moan escapes you, and you dig your nails into your legs. He hums again, watching his finger slowly disappear and reappear in and out of your pussy. 

“Oh baby, you’re so tight… I don't know how I'll ever fit inside of you…” 

You whimper as he adds another finger, beginning to curl both of them upwards to find your g-spot with ease, carefully scissoring you open. You catch yourself wishing you could see him. Wanting to watch his hands. His fingers dig in deep, pressing against that spot and you shudder. 

“Fuck–!” you squeak before you can stop yourself. What you’re rewarded with for that is a harsh slap coming down on the back of your thigh. You flinch and whimper but dare not move much more.  

“Watch your mouth.” Yunho growls, halting everything. That same brief anger from earlier flashing in his eyes.  

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to swear, I'm sorry.” you try to quickly cover, launching into damage control.  

“Who the fuck are you addressing right now?” He punctuates his question with five brutal spanks to your ass. 

Realising your second mistake much too late, you all but scream your correction.  

“Daddy!! I'm sorry, Daddy, please I'll watch my mouth, Daddy, I'm so sorry.” 

Yunho only sighs, frustrated. He smooths over the spot he struck you with a more gentle hand. 

“Thought I trained you better than that,” he says dejectedly, like he was genuinely disappointed, “my doll should only say pretty words, not vulgar ones. If this is how you’re gonna act when we do this, then… maybe you’re not ready after all.”

To prove his point, he slowly begins to drag his fingers out of you.  

Frantically, you clench around them, trying to keep him in. If you displayed that you wanted him just as badly, maybe he’d spare you a harsher correction for your mistake. 

But Yunho ignores your attempt, even unhooking your hands from your legs and lowering them back down. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, and you sniffle as you watch him wipe his fingers on the bedding like they were dirty. He gives your thigh a light smack, eyes sharp. 

“Don't give me that look. I should just leave you like this for another week, shouldn't I?” 

Tears flow down your face, but you keep quiet. Yunho sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’d be reluctant to admit it at the moment, but he didn’t like to make you cry, or be the reason that you’re upset. That’s not what this is all about. You just have to learn, he knows that. He knew the first few months were going to be the most difficult, the weeks filled with the most tears. He looks away from you, wondering what to do about this as he listens to you sniffle and try to force yourself to take deeper breaths. There could always be another way to train you properly, he just had to find it. 

He weighs his options. He could be nice, actually nice, and let you have it; or he could be mean and take it all away. Leave you here with only your thoughts and scraps of food for another week. Another week with the children’s television shows and the air conditioning turning on and off on its set schedule. As impatient as Yunho is sometimes, he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he felt like you needed a reminder that you rely on him. For everything. Whether you liked it or not, whether you accepted it yet or not. Your world was his now, and the sooner you acknowledged and accepted that fact, the easier it would be for you. That was what killed him on those nights away from you: this could all be so much easier for you if you just stopped fighting it. If you just followed your rules to perfection… if you stopped saying such awful words. He had half a mind to drag you into the bathroom and wash your mouth out. 

However… he got a better idea.   

“Or,” he says quietly after a moment, “maybe I should train that mouth first…?” 

You stop breathing. 

He grins at his idea, suddenly grabbing you and manoeuvring you off the bed and onto the carpet with ease. That was another thing about Yunho: he was deceptively strong.  

“Wanna prove yourself to me, baby? Get on your knees.” 

You quickly scramble onto your knees, facing the edge of the bed, where he now sits. 

He lets you kneel between his long legs, and it takes all of your willpower to keep your eyes on his, and not the sight of the intimidatingly large bulge in his jeans.  

You keep your hands in your lap, waiting for his next directive for you. 

He doesn’t make you wait long.  

“Go ahead and take me out, baby girl.”

On autopilot, you start to take his belt off, dropping it to the side quickly as you pop open the button on his jeans. The same belt that had been the reason you couldn’t sit down properly for a week straight two months ago. The same belt he threatened you with earlier this evening. You and that damn belt were mortal enemies now, and you drop it like it bit you. 

You have half the mind to shove the damn thing under the bed just in case.  

It’s a little difficult to coax the zipper down and over his bulge, and you shiver as you struggle, but eventually, it comes down and he raises his hips slightly to help you pull his jeans off of him. With bound hands you can’t exactly fold them as properly as you would’ve wanted, so you opt for gently laying them down as flat on the floor as possible.  

You almost turn shy. Knowing you’re about to see him for the first time makes you visibly nervous. To him though, it only plays into his fantasy of you. To him, you look nervous because you’ve never seen a man like this before. He shivers at the thought, but composes himself rather quickly.  

He can tell you’re hesitating so he guides your hands to rest on top of the somehow still growing bulge underneath his boxers. 

You immediately can feel that he is as hard as a rock already and you gasp quietly, letting your hands slowly explore. You gently squeeze the thick outline of his cock through the thin layer of fabric and he hisses through his teeth. 

What he said earlier about how he’s not sure how he’s gonna fit inside of you parades around your head.  

God help me…

Impatience nearly radiates off of him before you finally hook your fingers under the waistband and finally pull downwards. 

Oh. 

Your heart drops to your stomach. Your eyes widen in slight fear. 

Yeah he wasn’t kidding around at all….

Somehow, he was even bigger than you expected, still growing hard against his stomach. He laughs under his breath at your not so subtle reaction, petting your hair.  

“Don't be scared, doll. I'll help you.”  

You whimper in response, almost in disbelief, and he smiles at your pathetic little sound. He guides your hands to wrap around his length, sighing softly as you cautiously squeeze him, your hand just barely being able to wrap around him.  

“Look who’s such a fast learner,” condescending pride and perversion dripping from every syllable, “why don’t you try putting your mouth on it, baby?” 

You swallow thickly, nodding. You experiment with gentle kitten licks, suckling on the head of it. 

He sighs, leaning back a little to watch you.  

“Squeeze it a bit tighter, baby— ah, that’s it. That's it, good girl…keep going.” 

One of his hands finds a home in your hair, and begins to push you down towards the tip. Your lips part, jaw already hurting from just that much. He lay heavy on your tongue and you close your lips around his cock, licking the underside of it and sucking it like an oversized lollipop. You release one of your hands and attempt to fit more of him in your mouth, lightly squeezing the base of his cock with your other hand. 

Yunho’s head falls back and he groans.  

“My little natural, huh?” he purrs. 

You hum around him, tightening your lips around him to make sure he could feel the vibrations.  

“Mmph— my good girl…” he chuckles under his breath, “can you take more?” 

He holds the back of your head and slowly pushes more of himself into your mouth. You make a slightly panicked noise when he touches the back of your throat, barely halfway down, and still pushes more in. Your eyes water and you struggle against his hands holding you in place.  

He shushes you when he sees you starting to get restless and panicked.  

“Just this much is good enough for now…” he hums, admiring the already-wrecked sight of your face, “it’ll get easier with practice.”

He draws back slightly before pushing in again, essentially beginning to fuck your throat.  

You can’t breathe. 

Your vision blurs with tears as you cough and splutter around him, but his iron grip on the back of your head keeps you firmly in place.  

“Lucky i’m being nice,” he groans, “I should fucking destroy your throat for what you said…” 

Hypocrite, you think bitterly as he swears too.  

You gag around him multiple times, hands desperately clawing at the hem of his open shirt as you panic. 

Your lungs scream for air and tears stream down your face as a slight nausea builds from gagging so much.  

This is him being NICE? Oh god…

“Shhh, calm down baby. Maybe this’ll make you think twice about saying such filthy, unladylike words.” 

You try to take a deep breath with what little air you can manage through your nose and relax your throat as much as you can.  

“That’s it, doll. Just be patient…gonna wash your mouth out real soon.” 

He pushes in deep, feeling your throat constrict around him, and you sob, cries muffled by his cock. He lets his head fall back again, eyes flicking up towards the ceiling before closing them completely.  

Through your panic, you manage to think of what could help him cum quicker.  

You move your hands down so they can reach his cock, squeezing it hard and stroking it in time with his thrusts into your mouth. And then, manoeuvring your right hand down to play with his balls.  

Yunho groans loudly, tightening his grip on your hair even more, pulling you back so only half of his cock is in your mouth.  

“Impatient doll… greedy thing wants my cum now?” 

You splutter something incoherent around his length, but it’s evident that you replied with the default, “yes, Daddy” 

He hums, beginning to fuck your mouth for real now. Again, you suck as hard as you can, jaw hurting so bad you almost couldn’t bear it anymore, and you use your drool as lubricant to stroke the rest of him that you couldn’t fit in your mouth.  

His thighs tense a little and a deep groan escapes him.  

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts, fucking into your mouth a bit harder, “m’gonna cum… keep your eyes on me… yes, good girl.” 

You whine as he pushes you down again, struggling to keep your eyes up. 

Finally, a strangled moan falls from his lips and you feel and taste his cum pooling in your mouth, some dripping down your chin or running down the back of your throat. He shivers, his hand in your hair flexing slightly as he lets go.  

“Don’t swallow yet. Let Daddy see.” 

With a complete 180 switch, he gently pulls out of your mouth and wipes your chin with his thumb. Your hands fall back into your lap and you’re panting, still looking up at him with your mouth open, showing him that you still haven’t swallowed yet. 

Not without permission. Never doing anything without permission. 

Yunho tilts your head up a bit more and you cough a little as some of his cum falls back into your throat. 

His thumb presses against your bottom lip. And he starts massaging his cum into your tongue. 

You fight back a grimace, the unfamiliar, slightly sour taste of it overwhelming your taste buds and your slowing brain. He replaces his thumb with the same two fingers that he had had inside you earlier and continues, absolutely and completely coating your mouth. Literally. washing it out. 

You whimper, the added layer of humiliation causing a few more tears escaping.  

He never looks away from your mouth, completely fixated on what he was doing though your jaw aches to be closed again, the pain all you can focus on. 

Eventually, he drags his fingers out, softly tracing your lips. 

“Swallow for me.” 

Immediately you close your mouth, jaw popping painfully, and swallow.  

You cough a little and clear your throat.  

“Show me.” he says, tapping your cheek expectantly. 

He hums once he sees your now empty mouth and helps pull you back up to the bed so your head is propped up by the pillows, laying down next to you on his side. 

As soon as you’re laying down, his hand finds its way between your legs again. He finds your clit immediately and you tense up at the sudden pleasure.  

“My doll's such a fast little learner, hm?” 

You whimper in response, still trying to keep your eyes on him, blinking heavily. 

He draws lazy circles and applies a good amount of pressure on your clit, making you melt easily for him. 

In desperate need of comfort, you can’t help but wish he’d kiss you. The most he’d give you is a quick kiss on your forehead before bed, only to wake up to him being gone without a trace in the morning. But after the panicked state you were in, plus the abuse to your throat, you needed some sort of reassurance that he still wanted you. As if your tied up wrists weren’t already your answer to that. Maybe if you’re good…

The most you can do is just be good and play along and hope you get rewarded for it. As usual. 

You can pretend you’re losing your virginity to him. You can make him happy. You can be good.

A good little hostage. 

You swallow your feelings down until tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you wake up to an empty bed again, then you can let it all go. Cry, pout, reflect. Stare at the balcony door until your eyes burn. All of that… but it had to wait until tomorrow. 

“Daddy…” you mumble, unsure if he would be upset if you spoke right now. 

But he meets your gaze again, a glazed over fondness in his eyes. 

“Yes, baby?” 

You bite your lip, acting shy. Submissive.  

“I-I’m… scared…” 

He pouts, but you can tell he’s just revelling in this underneath the concerned exterior. 

“Oh baby, why?” he asks, his fingers on your clit subtly speeding up.  

“I just…” you struggle to guesstimate what he’d like to hear for a second but end up settling with, “I just haven’t done anything like this before… and Daddy’s so… big…” you trail off.

And to be honest, you weren’t lying. You were very nervous to see how he’d fit into you. If he even could at all. 

Yunho shudders, dipping his fingers deep into your pussy.  

“That’s why you gotta let Daddy prep you, sweet girl,” he can’t hold back his smile, and you feel like you can breathe a bit easier knowing you said all the right things. “Just stay quiet and let Daddy take care of you, okay?” 

You nod, for once being happy to be told to just shut up.   

Nerves still wrack through your body, shivering when he curls his fingers upwards, hitting that sweet spot dead on. Without much warning, suddenly three of his fingers are inside you, stretching you out even more. You wince, legs threatening to close around his hand, knees bending slightly. Suppressing your habit of swearing proved to be monumentally difficult, but you managed to replace what you wanted to say with a choked moan and a sharp inhale. 

Eventually, you both can hear how wet you are with every pump of his fingers in and out of you, and you blush profusely. But Yunho nearly purrs, nipping at your neck and shoulder as he speeds up, feeling you clench and pulse around him as he covers your skin in possessive marks. 

Your noises increase in quantity instead of volume, difficult as it is, wanting to tell him that you’re close but knowing you have to stay quiet. You fight with yourself over what to do, hoping he can tell already.  

“A-ah–” your hands grip his shirt. His thumb joins in now, massaging your clit.  

Your nerves basically explode, making your back arch up. 

“Shhh… gotta make my pretty doll cum so she can take Daddy’s cock later. Still so tight for me…” He straightens up a bit so he can pick up the pace even more, the wet squelching sounds making your cheeks burn red. You press your lips together in a tight line, muffling your sounds as best you can.

A wave of pleasure washes over you and seizes your lungs, and you have to breathe manually.  

“Mmm, you’re close aren’t you, baby? I can tell… wanna cum for me? Hm?” 

“Yes Daddy, yes, please–” you nod, frantically, unsure you’ll be able to stop yourself from doing so, with or without permission. He chuckles under his breath.

“So cute… go ahead. Show daddy how good his hands make you feel.” 

You exhale a shaky sigh of relief and let the next wave of pleasure engulf you fully, pushing you over the edge. Your body tenses and shudders uncontrollably, coating his hand in your arousal as he continues to finger you through it. 

God damn, his hands were pure magic…

“Remember your rules…” he sighs, not giving me much time afterwards. 

“Tha- th- ah… thank you, D-Daddy”

“Mhm.” He lazily slips his fingers out to rub your sensitive clit, only to then shove them back into you. 

Still horribly sensitive from your first orgasm, the thought of another one so quickly makes your brain go haywire. You can only whimper pathetically, burying your face into his shoulder, breath uneven as the aftershocks hit you. A muffled moan escapes you as well before you’re suddenly yanked up by the hair. 

“Thought I told you to always look at me, baby.” he growls, hooking his fingers right against your g-spot in frustration, “you’ve been so good the past few weeks, why are you misbehaving now?” 

You let out a soft cry, eyes glued to his even though you feel so pathetic and self conscious about how you must look. 

His jaw sets and you know you are a hairs breadth away from setting him off. You swallow hard, already close again and barely capable of focusing on much else. 

“So lucky…” you hear him mumble under his breath, trailing off and shaking his head. Your heart twists in your chest as he lets your hair go. 

You keep fucking up.  

Mercifully, he keeps going, driving you closer to your second orgasm, and quite quickly.  

“Cum.” he says simply, his voice as flat as a board. Your eyes threaten to roll back as you cum again, but you fight against it. Yunho, however, breaks eye contact with you to look down at his hand, still working you through the high, dripping wet. 

A sob stumbles out of you when he drags his fingers out, just to rub your clit again. Luckily, he stops after a few moments, watching your body twitch and shudder from the aftershocks. He also lets you breathe for a moment, which you appreciate. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” you mumble, a strange guilt eating away at you. 

You continue looking at him as your breathing slows, watching himself trace his wet fingers along the tops of your thighs and your stomach.  

After a few silent moments, his touch disappears from your skin.  

“You get a warning this time, baby…I’m trying to be patient since this is so new for you,” he says lowly, still not meeting your gaze, “but you will not disobey me again, or I won’t be so fucking nice anymore. Do I make myself clear?” 

Finally, he looks back at you and you nod, 100% understanding that you need to be super careful from now on. A part of you wants to cry, knowing he probably won’t kiss you now. There would be no comfort after this. Nothing to help you cope. An empty bed and a locked door. 

“Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry…” 

He sighs again before softly patting my leg. “Don't be sorry, just be good.” 

You silently watch him shift, placing his large body over yours, gathering your wrists in one of his hands and holding them above your head. Your body can’t stop shaking, now moreso because of nerves. Yunho hums, taking his time to drink in the sight of you beneath him. 

Finally. 

His free hand trails down your body, leaving goosebumps in its path and he settles his hand on your waist, keeping you still. 

“Keep them here.” he instructs, pushing your wrists into the bed-frame so you understand what he’s talking about before releasing them completely.  

You almost miss the pressure once it’s gone, finding it to be oddly grounding. 

Yunho kisses you on the forehead and the small gesture makes you nearly sing. Then you feel it. 

The heavy weight of his cock resting on your lower stomach, right up to your navel. Somehow, you manage to keep somewhat calm. Even when he begins to drag his length up and down against your wet folds. He guides the head to gather your arousal that still leaks out of you and you can’t help but shudder at the thickness and length of it. 

How?

Yunho seems to have noticed the worried look on your face and grins.

“I'm gonna take my time with you, baby, don’t worry. I'll make it fit.”

And with that, he lines himself up to your entrance 

Though a little bit of your authentic self was still buried within you somewhere, screaming at you to try to escape, and that you don’t want this, in your dumbed down, two orgasm state, you couldn’t be bothered to give her any time of day. Especially when he first pushes in

You don’t even realise how tense you are until your feet start to cramp painfully. 

Everything burns. Not necessarily from pain, rather all of your nerves and senses were on full red alert. A low growl rumbles in his chest once the tip is fully in, and he slowly attempts to push more of himself into your pussy. 

“So fucking wet… such a good little virgin cunt for me, baby.” His voice is strained, his fantasy coming alive right in front of him, “always so tight at first….just relax and let me in…” 

One of his hands moves off of your hip to your clit, rubbing slow and gentle circles on your bundle of nerves. You whine, eyes tearing up quickly from the intense stretch. His cock is pressed against every single part of your walls. His other hand presses against the bed, next to your head, his gaze completely focused on watching his large cock stretch you out. He pauses for a moment, your pussy clenching around him so tight he can barely move. To you, you just think he’s finally all the way in. You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your body relaxing enough for him to push more in, much to your surprise. 

He bites his lip to hide a smirk. 

“Didn’t think that was all of me, did you?” 

Shocked, you just let a strangled whine fall from your parted lips, your nails digging into your palms, desperate to hold onto him instead. 

Maybe if you’re good maybe if you’re good—

Yunho shushes you, his grip on your hip tightening, slightly pulling you towards him, cooing praises in your ear. You register him talking to you but don’t catch all of it 

“M’starting to think you were made to take cock, doll.” 

“Good girl, almost there.” 

You also feel something dripping from your core and for a split second you wonder if he somehow broke your hymen all over again and you were bleeding.

With another few moments of him pushing in, taking small breaks to help you get used to it, you finally feel his lower body press against yours. He exhales shakily, kissing your shoulder. 

“There you go, doll. you took all of it… just like you’re supposed to.” 

If your brain was less foggy you would’ve had a bigger reaction to his words, but all you could focus on was the burning stretch. It was bordering on pain and discomfort, married somewhere in the middle. You blink away tears, but still find your vision a bit blurry.  

Quickly remembering one of your new rules, you stutter a whiny, “thank you, Daddy”. 

“Mhmm~” Yunho hums, smiling down at you, “knew you’d have a tight little pussy for me…”

He experiments rolling his hips into yours, knocking the breath out of you from how deep he was. After a couple medium thrusts, he sinks completely into you again, your hips pressed against each other’s. You can’t hold back your choked moan. 

Every nerve in your body is on fire, and to make matters worse, he presses a hand down on your lower stomach. And you scream, tears instantly flooding down your cheeks.

He smirks, tongue in cheek, and he slowly massages that area as he just barely moves inside of you. The combination nearly blinds you, your vision becoming even more spotty.  

“Feel that, doll?” he laughs to himself, “that’s every fucking inch of me inside your pussy… deeper than anyone could ever hope to be.” 

His hand lightly squeezes your waist before ever so slowly pulling out, about halfway. 

You immediately panic.

Your heart drops to your feet, and you prepare to scramble to apologise for whatever you did to make him withdraw from you. But he quickly thrusts back in, all the way, clearing up your confusion and panic.

He smirks at you, smug and aroused as all hell as he sees just how much power and control he has over you. It’s intoxicating to him. 

“Stupid little doll,” Yunho purrs like he’s complimenting you, slowly rocking in and out of you as he speaks, “you think i’d stop now? no no no…” Then he leans down until he’s right next to your ear, and you struggle to breathe, every little thing overwhelming you.  

“This is your new routine. Daddy’s gonna fuck his little doll’s wet cunt every night, and you’re gonna let me. We’re not gonna stop until I’m finished using you… and I warn you, doll: I can go for hours.” 

At the last word, he nips your ear, trailing his plush lips down your jaw, then your neck. Your head swims as you zone out, looking up at the ceiling. 

His words didn’t even hit you yet through your fog. You just nod, dumbly. Accepting.  

You clench around him again subconsciously and he shudders, taking it as a sign to go harder. And so he does.

He snaps his hips into yours and you cry out, now just gripping onto the headboard for dear life.  

He litters hickeys and bite marks all over your neck and shoulder, gradually thrusting into you faster and harder. You can barely keep your eyes open or your mouth closed, only focusing on trying to catch your breath somehow as you literally feel him in your stomach. Suddenly you know what the phrase “rearranging your guts” feels like. 

Your body starts to curl in on itself, your legs wrapping around his waist, your nose digging into his shoulder as he attacks yours. He licks over the marks he made on your skin before straightening up quickly and pushing you back down to lay flat.  

“Feel good, baby? Hmm?”

He tilts his head like a curious, innocent puppy, as if he’s not making you see God right now.   You can only nod, your voice unavailable with no air support. Then he manoeuvres your legs onto his shoulders and leans forward again, somehow getting even deeper than before, and you scream from the pleasure. 

“Yeah?” he smirks wickedly, loving this. Every moment being filed away in his memory. On the hidden cameras. 

You whine loudly, trying to stop yourself from thrashing around as the pleasure never stops building and building. 

“Please, Daddy, please… wanna cum so bad, please~” 

Yunho sighs contentedly, watching your face as he rams into you over and over again.

“I know, doll…” 

He sneaks a hand down to pinch and pull at one of your nipples. 

“Too bad you can’t cum without Daddy’s permission” 

You cry out again, looking up at him pathetically. 

He mimics the face you give him, but a smile creeps into his impression.  

“Don't forget I own you, baby. You don’t do anything without asking me first,” he makes his point by speeding up, holding you down beneath him. “You don’t speak… you don’t act… you don’t think… and you don’t cum without my permission. you’re mine. forever.” 

At this, you cry the loudest. All deep, concealed hope of ever escaping that you had left, vanishes at once. But at the same time, your dumbed down, pleasure-hazed brain can’t seem to care. A low growl rumbles through him, driving himself harder and deeper into you. He kisses your tears off your cheeks, licking them off your neck.  

“Such a good little doll.” he murmurs against your skin, his soft voice a stark contrast to the brutality of his thrusts.   

The ceiling and you stare back at each other as he uses you, moulding your pussy to fit the shape of his cock perfectly. All too attuned to your body already, he can feel you tighten up around him, your walls contracting more and more. You’re so close, but you can’t, you know you can’t.

And suddenly, it’s all gone. Again. 

In your bleary state, you just let him manhandle you into the position he wants you in. When you next open your eyes you realise what he wanted: you on all fours, facing the large bedroom mirror. 

He eases his cock back into you, and though the stretch is once again borderline painful, it’s easier to coax inside this time. It somehow feels even deeper and you shiver violently, already close again. 

Yunho kisses the back of your shoulder, watching you through the mirror.  

“Look at yourself, baby. This is exactly how you’re meant to be: just a cute, dumb doll for Daddy to fuck whenever and however he wants.” 

His words strike you like a slap in the face. You blush from embarrassment and whine as your mind reconstructs itself past the point of no return. He’s right, that pesky voice in your head chimes. It’s getting louder. 

You're so sensitive from two orgasms and one ripped away, but you know he knows that. He just doesn’t care. So you keep your mouth shut and your eyes on his through the mirror. He knocks the breath out of you and he’s barely doing anything, only moving your hips back towards his. Fucking you on his cock. You’re just praying as he edges you over and over that he doesn’t rub your clit — you can’t stop yourself from coming if he does that.  

“Such a pretty doll…” Yunho whispers, more to himself than you. You whimper quietly at his praise. He sighs, occasionally grinding up to meet your hips when you pulsed back. 

You can’t look away from the sight of the two of you in the mirror, or get the wet sounds of him fucking into you out of your head. Your muscles burn but you ignore the pain and keep yourself moving, even arching your back a little for him. It doesn’t go unnoticed. 

He grabs your hair again, pulling your head back, making you arch even more.  

“Putting on a little show for me?” he snickers, kissing your tear-stained cheek. You nod, now swivelling your hips onto his. A dull heat begins to burn again in your lower stomach, which you desperately try to ignore. He lets go of your hair, suddenly shoving you forward.  

You clumsily catch yourself with your bound hands, but struggle to get back up again, especially when he holds you down with a hand pressed between your shoulder blades. Your hips are lifted up and you swallow dryly, your lips cracked from breathing through your mouth for a while. Without much warning, he snaps his hips into yours again, nearly launching you further forward. You scream half into the bed, still trying to lift your head up to look at him through the mirror, your hands white-knuckling the crumpled duvet. He moans as you scream, obviously loving this.  Drawing back and slamming into you again, in total control of your body and mind, he moves your body back to meet his thrusts by your shoulders now. 

No escape.  

“Taking me so well…” Yunho praises, reeling back and smacking your ass at full force, “my doll loves being fucked like this, doesn’t she?” 

You nearly bite at the sheets, anything to keep yourself somewhat sane and quiet, his pace and force relentless.  

Yunho continues his assault, smacking the same spot over and over again until it turns red. You clench around him again, even tighter as he strikes you one last time. 

“Feels so fucking good, right? How much stronger I am than you? Pinning you down, forcing you to take my cock…” His body shudders suddenly and he moans. 

He’s close. 

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping you conscious at the moment. 

His pace is now erratic, less of a rhythm to it as he uses you like a toy — a doll. You sob into the sheets, making incoherent muffled sounds against the linen until a large hand wraps around your throat. This time, his hands pull you back so you're on your knees, back against his chest.  

Yunho groans in your ear at the angle change. 

“You watching, doll?” he pants, nodding at the mirror in front of you, “gonna watch Daddy fill you up for the first time? Hm?” 

He shudders, somewhat regaining a set pace again, looking down between you to watch his cock disappear into your pussy. Hand tightening around your throat again, you know how to take it this time. You know what to do now, how to get through it. 

Yunho grunts quietly, eyes flickering back up to you, tilting your head back a little more so his lips are right by your ear. 

“Gonna fill this tight little pussy every day. Make sure you’re dripping with my cum every fucking day.” 

You whimper, resigning yourself to your fate completely.  

“God…fuck, doll. I’m gonna cum. You want it?” 

You nod, choking out the default response again, and he squeezes your throat even tighter.  

“Yeah?” his jaw tenses, a growl emanating from his chest, “ahhh fuck… take all of it… be a good doll for me— mmf— that’s it..” 

A couple more brutal thrusts into you and he pulls you all the way down, effectively locking the two of you together as he comes inside of you. You can feel it all, coating your walls white, and some of it dripping out due to the tight lack of room. He bites your shoulder hard, and you weakly try to move your shoulder away, but he keeps you locked in an iron grip as he slowly comes down from his high. Your body shakes as he slowly rolls his hips in and out again.

“Did my doll cum?” he asks huskily.  

You quickly shake your head ‘no’, “N-no Daddy, n-not without permission.” 

Yunho hums, kissing your cheek. Slowly, he pulls out of you, letting you collapse onto the bed again, burying your face in the sheets, your hips still raised up by your knees. He taps and runs the head of his cock along your sore pussy, and you jolt.  

How in the hell is he still hard? You wonder, bewildered. 

Unexpectedly, another smack lands on your ass, and then a lighter one directly on your pussy, making you cry out again.  

“Still so wet for me,” he admires, “means you still want me to play with you, right?” 

You groan. With one more hard smack to your pussy, he stuffs two fingers into you, and your whole body tenses. 

“Relax.” 

Then a third. 

The embarrassing sound of your juices and his cum being pushed further into you make you blush, almost humiliated, but the intense pleasure overrides any embarrassment.  

You whine, shaking your head, you were still way too close to the edge and his long, almost dainty fingers were gonna be the death of you.  

Eventually, his fingers slow down, and he removes them one by one. You shudder, feeling empty then stuffed over and over again making you just about lose your mind – and speaking of, with a little sigh, Yunho presses the velvet head of his cock against your entrance again, pushing in halfway in one go.  

You yelp, still not used to the stretch of him whatsoever, your hands clawing at the bedding as an intense, pleasurable pain ripples through your body.  

He shushes you, playing with your clit again as he waits for you to calm down, slowly and shallowly thrusting in and out to help you get used to him again. You can barely hold yourself up, soon just laying flat on your stomach, Yunho follows you down, lifting your hips up again. You trap his hand against your clit, much to your dismay, but you cannot find the energy to move. Yunho grunts as he pushes more of his length into you, eventually bottoming out. He wraps a strong, toned arm around your neck and holds you like that, in a fucking headlock, limiting your air intake. Instinctually, your hands fly to your neck to pull his arm away, but instead just grip onto it for dear life as he gradually speeds up his pace again.  

This angle is almost worse. Completely trapped beneath him, the only thing you can physically do is breathe (barely), and take it. The sound of his hips colliding with your ass fills your ears, overwhelming your senses, drowning out your incoherent whines and sounds. 

“Can you take a bit more, doll?” Yunho asks, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice. 

More?!

You don’t respond besides a nervous whimper, but he doesn’t really care.  

His hand on your clit migrates down and he slows his thrusts, sitting inside only about halfway again. Yunho kisses your cheek, letting his lips linger there as he moves again. His fingers slowly start pushing in next to his cock, stretching you out that much more. Your breath all but leaves you in one fell swoop. Thankfully, his hand doesn’t really move after that, just keeping his fingers hooked inside of you to keep you stretched. Eventually, it does start feeling less uncomfortable and you quiet down a little. Yunho’s a lot gentler and controlled this round, knowing how sore you must be already. You learned your lesson. The first time with him could’ve been like this from the start if you had just… been good. 

“Feel okay?” he whispers. 

“Yes, Daddy…” you manage to croak out, “Daddy.. makes me feel.. so good… w-wanna make Daddy cum again.” 

Yunho hums, grinding into you deeply. “Maybe I'll let you cum too…” he thinks aloud, “if you keep being good for me.” 

“I will~ I’ll be good, wanna be good for you!” 

He shushes you again to stop your childish rambling, kissing your cheek and continuing his pace.  It only serves to stoke the dull fire in your lower stomach, the same one you’ve been desperately ignoring. 

‘Good’ wouldn’t cut it for you if you wanted to survive, you knew that. In fact it dawned on you like an awakening. You had to be perfect. That’s it. No more room for error, you had to lock in now. You clear your throat, internally hyping yourself up to speak. 

“W-wanna be perfect for Daddy…” you whimper. Yunho chuckles, raising his head up to look at you again through the mirror. 

“Perfect, huh?” he snaps his hips forward, his cock pressing right up against your cervix. 

You cry out, willing yourself to not cum yet, but you're nearly there.  

“Can you handle what being my perfect doll entails? Following my rules perfectly? Taking whatever I give you perfectly? Right now, you’re a long way from perfect, baby.” 

He laughs to himself, shaking his head. Shame burned rampant through your chest. One of Yunho’s hands comes up to grab you by the throat, squeezing the sides of your neck hard, making your peripheral vision go black and keeping your head up so he could watch clearly. 

“Wanna be perfect? Show me you trust me.” His voice is stern. 

You watch him with wide, frightened eyes, body initially struggling against his. His gaze is almost dead in the mirror.

It scares you half to death yourself — he wouldn’t… kill you, would he? Only if you tried to leave, he had said. 

It’s a slow, monumental effort to force yourself to stay calm and trust him. But you soften your gaze, relax your body, and refocus on the feeling of the soft bed beneath you, and his cock still nestled inside of you. Instinct kicks in quickly, your lungs begging for oxygen, clawing painfully at your throat, but you trust him. 

Just wait. 

Your vision is vignetted like old film, black spots dotting what was left visible. 

Wait. 

He watches you closely, eyes lingering on how his hand looks around your neck (no doubt saving that image for later). 

And then… he removes it. 

You frantically gasp for air and push your hips back into his as you flop back down, the head rush making you feel light and dizzy. His gaze had returned to the more warm but sharp one you were used to as you coughed and spluttered. 

“Maybe there’s hope for you, yet,” he smirks, and resumes rolling his hips into yours, “think you deserve to cum now?” 

You weren't expecting that question, but luckily even in your fogged up brain, you answered well within his rules. “I-it doesn’t m-matter w-what I think… dolls need Daddy t-to think f-for them.” 

Yunho twitches inside of you, and quickly resumes his pace, and he knows. 

He knows now he finally got you. 

“Good girl.” he whispers, kissing your neck like it was a reward.  

Once again, the pace begins to build up. Every thrust punches air out of your lungs and an involuntary whimper from your mouth. His fingers slip out of you to rub your clit, and you grab at the sheets in panic. He holds you steady as he fucks into you faster, driving his hips down with a pointed snap on every downward thrust. A strangled moan escapes your lips as you writhe beneath him, pressing your hips farther into the bed to try to stop his hand to no avail. And when you push back, that only serves to push his cock deeper, hitting your cervix again and again. 

So much for being gentler and more controlled. 

Your pussy contracts and flutters around his cock, silently telling him that you're close, but he doesn’t relent.  

“Don’t fucking cum.” he growls, “prove to me that you can be a good doll.” 

And you're right on the edge, just that close to being pushed over when— his phone rings.  

You both look at it for a moment, resting on the nightstand. Yunho slows down again, pausing his assault on your clit, effectively saving you from a correction. You can feel the terrifying anger and frustration emanating from him before he checks the caller ID. Any fury immediately dissipates once he sees who it is. 

“Be quiet, baby” he hisses to you, pressing the green ‘answer’ button on his phone. “Hey Min,” he says, his tone bright and casual even though he’s not even trying to hide that he’s out of breath. 

You can kinda hear a deeper voice coming from the phone’s speakers, no doubt asking why he sounds so out of breath. “Just working out,” Yunho smirks, pulling your hips up and continuing his assault on your clit, “what’s up?”  

You bite down on your hand. He then slams into you, covering the sound by clearing his throat and slowly resuming a slow pace. He leans down closer to you again, watching you struggle to stay quiet, take him, and not cum all at the same time. He hums into the phone, whether he’s actually listening or not you have no idea.  

“Min,” Yunho clears his throat, hiding a groan, “are you doing anything for your birthday?” 

A small squeak escapes you, but luckily it’s quiet enough for Yunho not to hear while he’s on the phone.

“Well,” he chuckles at the thought, "I have an idea of what we could do.” 

His hand moves away from your clit, up to your face, tilting it back so you’re looking up at him. 

“No, I’m not sick, I feel great” he smirks, moving the phone away from his ear and holding it to his shoulder. “Open your mouth.” 

You obey quickly. And as soon as your mouth opens, he spits into it, manually shutting your mouth again with his hand. 

“Yeah, sounds perfect. Listen, Min, I gotta go, but I'll text you later, okay?” Yunho’s cover is slowly cracking the closer he gets to coming again. “Okay. See you later, bye.” he hangs up and unceremoniously throws his phone back over towards the pillows.  

He all but slams his cock into you over and over, hissing praises in your ear.  

“Ah fuck, I’m gonna fill you up again.” He angles upwards, hitting your g-spot. You sob loudly, unable to hold yourself back from coming for much longer. “Beg for my cum.” 

A never ending babble of pleas and cries tumble from your drooling mouth, desperate to hold off from coming just a bit longer. He grabs your hair, yanking your head back painfully.  

“Louder.” 

“PLEASE,” you screech, “Daddy please give me your cum, please f-fill me up, please, please—“ 

A choked gasp cuts your voice off as he growls, once again ramming his whole length into you. 

Your vision swims like you just dove underwater, dizzying you. All you can feel is a warmth spreading from deep within your lower stomach and you just pray that you didn’t cum too. You stay pressed against each other for a while, his cock twitching inside you every so often as it empties out completely.  

Your head doesn’t clear until he pulls out again. You're breathing audibly and almost manually, your throat so dry all you can think of is how much you need a glass of water. Yunho once again moves you around, on your back now.  

Your old friend, the ceiling, comes back into view.  

You know you must look like a mess, and you suddenly get very self-conscious when you see Yunho looking at you. You press the back of one of your hands against your mouth, crying uncontrollably. You’ve been dangling off the edge for so long, and have resigned yourself to the fact that you probably won’t be coming tonight at all.  

Yunho watches you cry for a moment, gently rubbing your sides with his hands, occasionally wiping away your tears. The silence just makes you more upset, overthinking and working yourself up into an emotional mess. But Yunho keeps trying to soothe you, now trailing soft kisses up your stomach, chest, and eventually your battered neck.  

“My poor doll…” he murmurs, kissing away another tear. “My good little girl.” 

You sob, a million thoughts hitting you at once. 

Maybe he’ll get rid of you, find someone better 

He’s so pretty 

You want to go home

You want to stay with him 

Who is Min?

He’s so beautiful 

He treats you so well

He protects you.  He keeps you safe. He wants you… 

He loves you.  

Deep down in subspace, you relinquish everything to him. The very last shred of independence you had evaporates seamlessly, and suddenly, all you know is him. And this apartment. All the good he does to and for you. 

With glassy eyes, you meet his dark, sharp gaze.  

“Yours, Daddy. forever.” 

Yunho slightly falters, but quickly regains his composure. He sighs happily, noticing how glassy your eyes had become, pathetically looking up at him through your tears. So instead of trying to calm you down with words, he takes matters into his own hands. 

Literally. 

Through your panic, your sadness, your heart pounding in your ears, and the lack of oxygen, you feel a familiar pressure on your clit again. You try to sit up immediately, only to be pushed back down onto the pillows. You protest as coherently as you can, brokenly rambling about how you want to be good for him and not cum, but he has to stop or you will. 

“You can cum now, baby.” he says, simply, lacing love and saccharine into every word.  

“I c-can’t… not w-without Daddy’s p-permission.” Test, that voice screams at you. Test, don’t do it. 

“I am giving you permission, sweet girl,” 

You cry uncontrollably, unable to believe him. This was another test, you just knew it.  Conditioning at its finest. 

But Yunho is adamant. “You’re my good doll, right?” he pauses, waiting to hear you whimper in the affirmative, “made Daddy feel so good…let Daddy fill you up…” a quiet groan escapes him at the memory of only a few minutes ago.  

He sinks two fingers into your heat, pressing his thumb against your clit. You gasp and shiver, still trying to push the feeling of overwhelming pleasure down, and losing miserably. Borderline panicking, you cry out, “Don’t w-wanna be p-punished.” 

Yunho softens, lacing his words with kindness and sympathy in every syllable, “You won’t be, baby. Daddy wants to reward you now.” 

He lightly slaps your clit a couple times, and you scream as the pleasure uncontrollably builds and builds. You’re way past the point of no return. 

“Cum,” he instructs, tone dead serious, leaving no room to argue. “now.”

And it’s like he flicked a switch. A powerful, almost painful surge of pleasure courses through you, completely wrecking you on its way around your body. Your back arches, and he leans down to press his chest against yours, grounding you against him. The noises coming out of you are ones you’ve never made before in your life, desperate, pathetic, shocked. Your eyes roll back (which, thankfully, he allows) and your body twitches underneath his large frame, which keeps you stable.  

Yunho presses soft, soothing kisses along your shoulder, and whispers sickly sweet praises into your ear as you drift, completely spent and in bliss like you’ve never experienced before. 

You're not sure how long you stay floating, twitching occasionally, but you're sure it’s a while.  

Little by little, your muscles relax and your breathing slows. The idea of a correction occurring seemed less and less, your anxiety returning to somewhat normal levels. He kept his word. There was no test. 

Yunho kisses your forehead. 

“My good girl.” His voice is almost sickly sweet, seeping into your brain like melting chocolate. He gets up off the bed after a few more silent moments and… walks out of the bedroom. 

Left alone with only your thoughts again, you find you barely have any. Or any that are clear or make sense. Your mind was almost completely wiped from exhaustion, but you do wonder where he went. You hear the fridge open and close, followed by some shuffling from the kitchen before the familiar sound of his footsteps start back towards you again. With barely enough energy to lift your head, you look up at him to find that he had brought you a glass of water.  

You immediately soften, and let him help you drink it all. When it’s empty, he sets the glass on the nightstand, and pets your hair, laying his large frame down next to you, holding you close to his chest. 

“Did so well for me, baby girl. You're such a keeper.” 

You glow at his praise, managing a weak smile, which makes him laugh lightly. Hoping he won’t be mad that you reach out and touch him without permission, you cautiously hold his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. You hear his breath catch in his chest, and he doesn’t move an inch, like he’s afraid you’ll let go if he did. After a few moments, when he was sure you wouldn’t let go, he gently squeezes your non-injured hand. You squeeze back. 

“Can you say it again…?” Rare vulnerability saturates his every word. You have to clear your throat and move your face slightly away from his chest to speak the words he’s so desperate to hear. 

“I love you, Daddy.” your voice burns and cracks in your throat. He kisses your cheek again like an apology – and maybe it was. And maybe you did. This time, it didn’t feel like such a chore or a lie to say it. He scared the hell out of you, but only if you disobeyed or broke a rule. There were rewards for good behaviour and corrections for bad behaviour, just like the seasons tend the earth; coaxing it back to life with spring, purging it with winter. It was purely balance and order. Rules that prevented society from descending into chaos. A newly recovered fractured bone, stronger than before. That’s all. You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing it to them and breathing in his natural scent as deep as you could.  

Yunho presses his body closer against yours, holding you tight to him, protecting you. From what exactly if not him, you weren’t sure, but in your hazy, newly reprogrammed brain, you trusted that he knew best. He always had good reasons for everything he did, and it wasn’t up to you to figure out whatever was behind his intentions. It was almost freeing. 

His hand splays out against your stomach as he watches you sleep peacefully, his mind reeling with perverse, obsessive, and possessive thoughts. 

Now that you were officially his, officially broken down… 

Oh he was going to have so much fun with you.  

[end of part 1]

[michipan]

THIS IS SO FICKING GOOD i think im tweaking like genuinely. im shaking trembling dizzy disoriented throwing up all over the place uggshhdhdhd the buildup was so fawking good i gasped so hard at that ENDING CAUSE ??/&?:2&: DAMN HES GOOD…..

you write dom/sub dynamics so well urgh i can’t. yunho is so delicious in this fic I NEED HIM NOWWWWWWWW PLEASEEEEEEEE

three’s company — smg & yjh ⭑.ᐟ

⭑ bf!mingi x gf!reader x bestie!yunho ⭑ planning to buy a house, get married and start a family within the next few years, you and mingi are the blueprint for the perfect relationship— until one of yunho’s infamous stories about his intriguing sex life gets stuck in your head for a little too long, and has you curious about spicing up your own sex life. ⭑ smut minors dni, praise, oral/both ways, p in v, degradation, choking, mention of toys, overstim, voyeurism? heavy on dom/sub dynamics, reader is a switch and so is mingi, yunho is a dom, very experimental/educational vibe, mxm ⭑ part one of ? / wc 21.4k ⭑ — this idea came to me late at night and plagued me until i finished writing it. i am obsessed with this trio, this dynamic. i love them so and i hope you do too <3

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Yunho faced the two of you from the twin blue upholstered couch across your living room, his brows slanted, upper lip raised in clear disgust. “Iron Man 2 clears the entire verse, best MCU movie to date.” 

You faced your boyfriend with a smile, eyebrows raised, expression saying ‘Are you really gonna take that?’

Lopsided front teeth poked out from his pink, plump lips, a smile that was fighting to keep itself hidden. Mingi shook his head and leaned back, his heavy palm sliding over your knee, “Can’t argue with that, excuse me for wanting to watch Endgame.” 

“Psychotic suggestion for movie night,” Yunho says and a disbelieving huff of a laugh falls from his lips right after, “Excuse me for not being in the mood to cry.”

“What if we watch a romcom?” You look between the two who give you wary glances, but don’t respond. “If we’re going to watch a Marvel movie, we’re starting from the beginning and not watching anything else until we finish all of them. Is that something either of you want to commit to?” 

They both shrug as if you have all the time in the world, because you do. Every Friday night Yunho came over with snacks and soda in tow, sometimes beer if he had a particularly shitty week, and the three of you sat around your living room shooting the shit until you decided on a movie. It was an unspoken thing, your movie nights, your weekly hangouts, they’d started almost immediately upon moving into your shared apartment with your boyfriend, Mingi, and simply never stopped. Rarely did a week go missed. 

You huffed a heavy breath, sinking back into your couch, snuggling up to Mingi. You slid your gaze over to Yunho who held the remote, “What are you waiting for? Everyone knows the first watch is The First Avenger.” 

Yunho didn’t respond, but instead pointed the remote toward the TV, his hand completely swallowing the device beneath his palm as he searched the movie and put it on. You tugged the blanket that laid over the back of the couch over yourself and Mingi, laying your head over his shoulder, letting your arms wrap around one of his, letting his warmth seep into you. It’s been years since you’ve seen this movie, since any of you have seen this movie probably, yet your brain wanted to do anything else but pay attention. 

With it being days after your period ended you were now nearing dangerous territory, ovulation week, a week your boyfriend adored yet had to physically prepare himself for. You resembled a fucking hormone monster for a long five days, needing your boyfriend at all hours of the day to tame the fire that would not die down inside you. Before Yunho came over Mingi had already taken you six ways to Sunday, you only stopped because Yunho trudged inside your apartment with a six pack and a face contorted with grief. 

Another situationship over, he’d said. Not amicably, either. 

You didn’t see the big deal, she wasn’t anything special, the girl he was hooking up with six months ago that he ended things with was better for him than this one. But Yunho is Yunho, somehow still a glutton for punishment as if it didn’t completely offset how he was with women, how he fucked. Not that you knew from experience, but from the stories he’s told while five beers deep, lounged out in your living room, complaining to you and your boyfriend, you’ve learned some things. 

Things you could not think about right now. Not while your body was begging you to make a baby, not while you were literally laying on your boyfriend, not while Yunho was sitting just across the living room.

Right now was not the time. 

But would it ever be the time to think about your boyfriend’s best friend’s sex life?

It’s not that you inherently wanted Yunho. You couldn’t possibly deny a gorgeous man’s beauty, but it wasn’t about wanting Yunho. It was the stories, he never should have opened his fucking mouth– how he naturally slips into dominance with every woman he sleeps with, no, he doesn’t slip, it’s intentional. 

Yunho is a Dom. How he instructs, how he expects submission, how he corrects, how he tames. 

Your sex life with Mingi was far from dull, Yunho and his stupid stories should be miles from your mind, but you can’t control the thoughts, especially not right now. You untwist your arms from around Mingi’s bicep, letting your palm fall to his thigh, his bare skin feeling like velvet. So soft despite the hair that grew sparsely in that area, you’d give anything to let your tongue lick up the skin, to watch his eyes roll back, to hear his deep groan as you suck a mark into him.

Your thighs tightened at the thought, eyebrows twisting because you know Mingi could feel it, and how he shifted beneath you confirmed it. You tilted your head, peeking up at him with a sheepish look through your lashes, just to be met with a disapproving crinkle between his brows. 

You could basically hear his thoughts, Don’t even think about it. You almost pouted. I need you. Now. He shook his head once. Not here.  You looked toward the hallway where your bathroom was, that led to your bedroom. We have plenty of options.  He glanced at Yunho, then back at you. When he leaves, I’ll take care of you.  You held his gaze, I can’t wait that long.  He didn’t back down. You can, and you will. 

You huffed, shuffling to the side, putting inches of space between yourself and your boyfriend. You caught the sideways glance from Yunho which lasted all of a millisecond before his eyes were back on the screen, watching the movie again. You pouted, arms crossing over your stomach, legs propped up on the coffee table in front of you that was littered with empty bottles of beer and half-filled chip bowls. 

Mingi clearly wasn’t going to crack, and you could hold onto your anger until it killed you, so you leaned onto the armrest of the opposite side of the couch, the pillow shoved beneath you not giving a shred of the comfort your boyfriend’s body did. You kept your eyes trained on the screen, brain whirling in frustration and arousal, letting yourself daydream about Yunho’s debauched sex life until your eyes inevitably closed. 

You woke to fingers hooking into your waistband, sliding it down your thighs with careful precision, like he didn’t want to wake you. You lifted your hips anyhow, welcoming the head of black hair between your legs, eyes still heavy and low-lidded with sleep. Mingi looked up at you through thick lashes, gaze heavy, his lips slightly parted, as if he’s been waiting for this. 

“He just left,” he said like an excuse as your sweatpants hit the floor, black panties folded into the gray fabric, a contrast to your deep hardwood floors. Your back arched on command as he bent down, laying on his stomach, strong arms hooking under your thighs. 

“Mm, needed this pussy just as much as she needed me,” he didn’t dare glance back up at you, eyes zeroed in on your center, leaning in just as your legs parted. He started slowly, tongue slipping through your folds, his eyes softly shut, ripping mewls from the back of your throat, low and grumbled, muddled with sleep. 

Your hand flew to his hair as your chin tipped back, your neck digging into the uncomfortable armrest, the pillow beneath you doing nothing to soothe the ache. You didn’t care, you barely noticed, not with your boyfriend’s head between your legs, lips wrapped around your clit, sucking just the way you liked. He groaned as you pulled on his roots, tongue flattening against your folds, sliding upward to draw circles into your clit. 

You sighed, staring at him through heavy lids, watching as his face contorted in pleasure, how his hips rutted into the cushions at the end of the couch. He pulled a hand from beneath your thigh, ripping his mouth away to spread your folds with his fingers, finally glancing up at you. Noticing your expression, he let out a huff of amusement, lips tilted in a smirk, “Have a good nap?”

Eyebrows knitted in pleasure and anticipation, you nodded, lips parted, fingers that fell to the couch gripping at the fabric. He chuckled as he inserted the tip of his middle finger into your center, earning a gasp from you. With his focus back at your core, he asked, “What had you so worked up?” 

You were thankful he kept his eyes down, you couldn’t control the way your eyes widened ever so slightly, couldn’t hide your reaction to the last question you’d expect him to ask. You wished you could avoid the question, you couldn’t answer honestly and say that you were daydreaming about his best friend’s sex life.

You stuttered, “S-Steve Rogers was on the screen.”

He paused, looking back up at you with his eyebrows raised, “Steve Rogers had you ready to fuck me in the bathroom with Yunho, of all people, here?”

You cracked a smile, it was kind of funny, even funnier that it was believable. “Can you blame me?” 

“No,” he bid you one more amused glance before he slipped his middle finger inside you, “I can’t.”

You gasped a moan, back arching again, hips bucking up to meet the length of his finger. He pumped it inside of you once, twice before he was curling it, the pad of his finger rubbing up against that spot inside you that made your bones feel like jelly. You were loud now, moans slipping from your lips one after another as he built up a rhythm, his finger curling into you with each thrust, putting pressure where you needed it. When he brought his lips back down to suck on your clit your hands flew to his roots again, holding him there, broken cries leaving your lips, he was so fucking good at this. 

He knew how to coax you to orgasm better than you did by now. You supposed after being together for years, he should. You gasped when his teeth grazed your clit, hips bucking into him, curses flying from your lips. “F-fuck,” you hissed, “Yes, Mingi, just like that.” 

He grunted in response, feeling your walls tightening around his finger, quickening his pace, the rhythm you needed to push you over the edge. Your legs shook around his head, your breath catching in your throat, shakily inhaling with each wave of pleasure as he brought you to orgasm with ease, movements he’s been perfecting for years now. 

“Please tell me you’re planning on fucking me again,” you gave yourself no rest, staring at him through glassy eyes, your body heavy and slightly spent, you didn’t even know what number orgasm you were on today. 

“I don’t know if my dick still works,” he sat back on his calves, pulling your body towards him with your hips. One fluid movement, so easy, he was so strong, he could throw you around if he wanted to, god, you wish he wanted to. 

You rolled your eyes, arms reaching in front of you to wrap around his biceps, letting your fingers slip beneath the sleeves of his tee shirt as he bent down, bringing his face to yours. “I watched you hump the couch two minutes ago, Mingi.”

“Hey,” he pulled back before you could attach your lips to his, “Don’t make fun of me for that.”

“What?” You smiled, head tilting to the side, “I would never.”

He pouted, bottom lip jutting out, wet and plump and soft, your arms slid up to flatten your hands around his shoulders, pulling him back down. “I think it’s sexy that eating me out makes you desperate.” 

He finally kissed you, tongue slipping into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. You hummed, stretching your legs to lay them over his thighs, pulling him into you, where he rutted his hips into yours the second you made contact. You kissed for a while, letting your tongues sloppily lick into each other’s mouths, your hands flying into his hair again, his hands sliding down your torso. You let your mind drift as you kissed, thinking about how he pulled you into him so easily, how much he could rough you up if he wanted to, if he had a dominant bone in his body. 

Mingi is a lot of things, but you would never say dominant is one of them. Over six feet tall and so fucking strong, Mingi seemed intimidating until the moment he opened his mouth. Sweet, caring, eager to please, Mingi would do anything for you. He’d fight wars for you, swim across the ocean, you shouldn’t want anything more. You shouldn’t want anything different. 

And you don’t. Not really. 

Mingi is perfect how he is, you wouldn’t want him any other way. But curious you are, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like if he treated you like a pet rather than his girlfriend. Would he be anything like how Yunho describes his encounters? Would he be strict, would he control when you came, how you came? Would he choke you, slap you, take you in any way he wanted, instead of what you wanted?

What you wanted was to be fucked, and as Mingi slipped his sweatpants halfway down his flexed thighs and lined himself up with your center, you knew what you wanted would always be his top priority. Song Mingi didn’t know what the word selfish meant.

You didn’t deserve it, you acted like a brat earlier, huffing out of annoyance and putting physical space between you because you didn’t get what you wanted. But instead of punishing you, instead of fucking you only to get himself off, of denying you the pleasure of another orgasm, Mingi woke you up with his face between your legs. Because he knew you, what you wanted, what you needed, and Mingi’s life’s pleasure is making you happy.

You cried out as he sheathed himself inside you, nails painting crescents into his biceps, your eyes flying to the back of your head, flushing out your entire thought process. No, Mingi is perfect, the way he carves himself space inside you as if it’s the first time, every time, is more than you could ever ask for. He leaned back down, barely attaching his lips to yours, only the sounds of your breath and skin slapping against skin to be heard in your living room. 

With his hands still wrapped around your hips he tilted them upward, fucking into you harshly, angled to hit that same spot inside you, he wasn’t in the mood to draw this out and you couldn’t blame him. You’ve been insatiable all day, when you woke up, in the car earlier, against the kitchen counter before Yunho came over, you wondered if he had anything left to give you. You slid your hand down between your legs, drawing quick circles over your clit, your jaw falling slack, lips unresponsive against Mingi’s. 

“Gonna cum for me already, hmm?” He tried his best to sound like he wasn’t completely losing it, voice strained yet still teasing. His hips stuttering told the truth he tried to hide, he was just as close as you were. 

“Yes,” you whispered into his mouth, voice high pitched, on the cusp of orgasm, your hips meeting his thrusts like you couldn’t get him deep enough. 

He let his forehead press against yours, both surfaces coated in sweat, mixing together in their meeting, getting a glimpse of his fucked out face was enough to send you over the edge. Your knees tightened around his torso as you came, moans guttural and unabashed, embarrassment might’ve crossed your mind two years ago. But now he’s seen everything, he’s heard everything, he aches for it, if you aren’t cross-eyed and crying into his ear, he knows he isn’t hitting it right. 

“Yes, baby, that’s it, so fucking good,” he praises, hands gripping under your thighs, pressing them back, bending you in half. “Gonna fill this pussy up.”

Chest heaving, mouth ajar and unable to close, you could have finished again at the sight of him. Sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, the muscles surrounding his hips peeking out from beneath the hem of his tee, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, Mingi was a vision, a sight to be seen. 

“Please,” you begged, voice whiney and desperate,  “Wanna feel you cum inside, I need it.”

His thrusts turned erratic, smacking into you harshly, a deep groan leaving his lips as he emptied himself inside you, fingers holding onto your legs tight as he came. Where you wouldn’t usually notice the sharp pain of his grip, your senses were on high alert, the feeling making you moan with him, the pain mixing with the comforting warmth of his cum filling you up. Hypnotizing, addicting, for a moment you thought maybe this wasn’t ovulation brain– maybe this was something you were really curious about.

Maybe something you really wanted to try. 

He keeled over, lips finding yours again, palms softly running over where he’d just gripped onto you, soothing the area. Your skin burned under his touch, you wanted him to do it again, harder this time, maybe wrap one of his pretty hands around your throat– 

“You’re cut off for the night,” he said into your lips, then pressed a kiss to your cheek. “No more sex.”

“Boo,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, crossing your ankles over his back, “If I keep you here maybe you’ll get hard again.” 

He laughed into your cheek, heavy and genuine, “You’re terrifying when you’re ovulating.”

“Says the man who just came inside me,” you pressed a kiss to his hair, then loosened your grip on him. “You want a baby more than I do at this point.”

He shrugs as he sits up, pulling out of you, “Sue me.” 

“We have a timeline, Song Mingi.” 

Sundresses, swim trunks and margaritas surrounded you, all of your friends bouncing around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s massive backyard, a ridiculously sized plot of land behind a farm-style rancher that they bought just last year. 

Don’t mind the setup, Seonghwa said, We’re still renovating!

Meanwhile an inground pool enclosed by several feet of perfectly laid concrete took over the space just outside the back door, a tiki bar, a patio with a full grill, a table and chairs, couches, a fucking fire pit… We’re still renovating, your ass. It was both perfect and absolutely ridiculous how much they have it together in contrast to yours and Mingi’s one bedroom apartment two towns over. 

They wanted to be the house, the place where all your friends and families gathered, the permanent hosts, and damn, did they succeed. They’ve been planning Wooyoung’s going away party ever since he broke the news of his job offer three states away, a bittersweet gathering, both in congratulations for Wooyoung’s raise and sadness that such an important voice in your friend group would be so far away. You hoped it wasn’t permanent, the selfish part of you hoped he hated it and came back to you guys immediately, he was the biggest light amongst you, one of your favorite people to be around, but you were also proud of him for his success, his hard work paying off. 

You could hear him laughing now from across the lawn, chatting with his girlfriend, Sana, Jongho and his girlfriend Jihyo, about god knows what, the sound warming your heart while breaking it simultaneously. You’d miss him more than he knew. 

“Want another, my love?” Mingi came up behind you where you sat, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek, stealing your glass out of your hand. 

You nodded, “Yes, please,” and watched him scurry off toward the tiki bar, Yunho and his date sitting at the teal colored stools lined up on the outside. You watched Yunho’s head turn toward Mingi, how he got off his stool to follow Mingi behind the bar, no doubt to help him make you another margarita. 

You turned your head back to the group lounging on the couches, Yeosang and his girlfriend Tzuyu, Hongjoong and Seonghwa, San and his boyfriend Jongin, everyone in the middle of a conversation you had accidentally clocked out of. You crossed your leg over your other one, fixing how your sundress laid over them, trying to ignore the sweaty stick of the summer heat on your skin, the alcohol that warmed your blood doing nothing to cool you down. 

Past seven, the sun was still annoyingly bright and agonizing, your hair tied up atop your head, probably matted at this point from the time you spent in the pool earlier. 

“...I keep telling you that you need to fire him,” San says to Hongjoong, his top lip bent in irritation, “He’s nothing but a lazy nuisance. If he messes up one more deal, I’m gonna talk to him myself.”

“He just started, San,” Hongjoong shook his head, “Cut the man a break.” 

San sips his whiskey instead of responding, his hand laying over Jongin’s knee, and it’s the reminder you needed as to why you initially clocked out of the conversation. You hated when they started talking business– even if that’s how all of them remain close, minus Wooyoung and Jongho, who are old college friends of Mingi and the others. They were all college friends, the group of them in the same fraternity, still close as ever post-grad, even now that so many of them work at the same firm. 

You loved when your parties and hangouts stayed free-spirited, light hearted, less talk about work and more stories from their college party days. Those stories you loved, especially the ones that included your boyfriend, the ones that told you exactly who he was before he met you. Not one story was surprising, though, he’s the same lover boy he’s always been, back then just included a lot more keg stands.

You let your eyes drift again, moving back to the tiki bar, where you caught Mingi, Yunho and his date walking towards where you sat around the fire pit. You shot them a tight lipped smile, grateful they were coming to join in on the conversation, hopefully derailing it to something more enjoyable. 

“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa called across the lawn, “Why don’t you guys come join us?”

You grabbed your glass from Mingi as he sat down next to you, thanking him before you took a sip. Cold and refreshing, just what you needed to cool you off, tequila and summer was your favorite combination. Yunho sat down beside Mingi, and you watched as his date propped herself on his knee, her hands folded in her lap, crinkling the fabric of her pretty sundress. Yunho sat back, one hand holding his beer, the other haphazardly laid on her thigh as if it was nothing.

You wondered if that’s something he told her to do, or if she chose to sit there herself. There was space next to him, even more space on the couches across from you, surrounding the fire pit. Was that a part of it? Yunho’s game? Maybe it’s not a game, a lifestyle rather than some joke, a clear show of possession so everyone in the circle knew she belonged to Yunho. 

Your tongue poked out to swipe over your bottom lip, ripping your eyes away from the pair, shoving the curiosity down. You turned into Mingi, crossing your other leg instead, your entire body leaning into him. You wondered if Mingi would ever ask something like that of you, maybe he would if he ever got jealous enough. 

Mingi isn’t the jealous type, though. He never has been. He has full trust in you, and that trust outweighs everything, lingering eyes of others, shameless flirting that you never caught on to. Even that one time where Yeosang’s hand lingered on your forearm for a little too long after too many drinks, telling you how gorgeous you looked in blue, Mingi still didn’t care. He nodded his head with an excited smile and said, I know, right?

You wondered what Yunho would do in that situation. Would he rip your arm away, take you into an unused bedroom, a storage closet even, and remind you who you belonged to? Would he leave marks, trailing from your jaw to your chest, to show who owned you if they stepped too close? 

Mingi nudged you with his shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to his concerned expression, giving him a small smile. He quietly asked, “You okay? Tired?”

You shrugged, “Was just thinking.”

He leaned over, kissing the top of your head, “Don’t think too hard, I’m starting to see steam coming out of your ears.”

You smiled, a huff of amusement leaving your lips. You don’t even know where you had been staring, if it was at anyone, you needed to control your thoughts, but they were starting to plague you. Especially when you caught Yunho holding up his beer bottle an inch above where it rested on his thigh, how his date immediately caught on, taking the empty glass and standing up to get him another. She was his date, it’s not like she was his girlfriend, someone who knows him well enough to understand his body language without a word being spoken.

The more you saw, the more you understood, the more it made sense. They were playing, even now, in front of everyone. You didn’t like the burning in your gut, the sting of jealousy, the interest it brought you, how a part of you wanted to try being in her situation. If you could be good, if you could pick up on cues so easily, so fast, if you could please. Will she be rewarded for it later? What does that look like? 

You ripped your attention away again, blinking, staring down at your margarita held between your fingers. You could be completely wrong, all of this could be innocent, she could be sitting on his lap because she wanted to be there. Maybe she got him another beer because she was being a good date, doting on him. You could be sexualizing it for no reason, which changes the burning in your gut to a burn of shame, embarrassment that you’re sitting with your entire group of friends, once again pondering over Yunho’s sex life. 

“What do you say we play beer pong, for old time’s sake?” Wooyoung’s loud voice washed over you like a bucket of cold water, grabbing your attention. Groans and laughter were mixed among the group, and Wooyoung tilted his head, his smile growing larger. 

“How old are we?” Jongho smacked his arm, sitting on the side of the chair Jihyo was sitting in, one thigh on either side of the armrest, “Twenty?” 

“Come on,” Wooyoung begged, his lips bending to a pout, “When’s the next time you guys are going to see me?” 

“Guilt tripping us into playing beer pong,” San shakes his head, a smile on his cheeks, dimples out on display, “Very you– And it worked.” 

Wooyoung cheered and Sana turned her gaze your way, meeting your eye, shaking her head with an amused smile on her face. You mirrored her expression, letting your eyes slide to Jihyo and Tzuyu, all four of you mentally preparing to sit on the sidelines while your boyfriends got trashed. All of you would have to deal with their hangovers in the morning. 

An hour later, you and the three girls plus Jongin were all seated just off to the side of the beer pong table, where all eight boys were loudly playing, laughing, or taunting the ones currently in the middle of a game. You listened to the commentary just as much as you were watching the game unfold, your ear catching every other sentence, laughing when one of them made a remark that was out of pocket, but the five of you currently in the midst of conversation didn’t have much attention left to give the game behind you. 

“...And she said she was not giving him the ring. It’s fucked up,” Sana sat back in her seat, her arms crossed over her bikini top, in the middle of telling a story. “She said she’d rethink it if I stayed with him for over a year after we move away, but I don’t believe her one bit.”

“Maybe she’s telling the truth, she’s probably just watching out for her son,” Tzuyu smiled at Sana, ever so optimistic, always looking at the bright side. Her brown hair laid in long braids down her shoulders, far past her bikini top, the tips just caressing the hem of her denim shorts. You tightened your lips, that was not what Sana wanted to hear right now. Wooyoung’s mom has never liked Sana, and you’re starting to think she never will. 

“It’s crazy how she thinks she can control your relationship, I mean, Wooyoung is twenty seven. He’s far past the age of her coddling him,” Jihyo added with her face twisted in disgust, that was what Sana wanted to hear, Jihyo was always good at fulfilling whatever idea Sana came up with. The two of them were a pair, the moon and the sun, where Jihyo appeared harsh and was sweet as candy, Sana was bright and colorful until she bared her teeth. 

“I know!” Sana said, a little too loudly, nervously glancing at the table behind you to check that none of the guys heard her, blonde hair moving with her. You’ve always been on Woo’s mom’s side, you always expected him to end up with someone… Nicer. He deserved someone who would treat him like a king, but in a way, you supposed Sana did treat him like one. Anyone else who wasn’t Wooyoung, though? That was a different story.

“I’m sure she’ll give in,” Jongin added, an encouraging smile on his face, he knows Sana just as well as you do by now. A linen button up laid loosely over his shoulders, the white a contrast to his golden, sunkissed skin. Him and San must have spent a lot of time at San’s beach house this summer. 

This was always the dynamic between you, the partners. Jihyo genuinely believed what she said to Sana, Tzuyu was supportive, and Jongin tried to keep the peace. You kept quiet, you weren’t much of a liar, and your brain couldn’t be farther from Sana’s impertinence.

Your knee bounced, margarita watered down and loosely held between your fingers, Yunho’s date was glued to his side at the table behind you. She didn’t leave him once, not when Tzuyu invited her to sit with you, not when Yunho was actually playing the game. She respectfully declined with a bashful smile, cheeks rosy and chest gleaming with a sheen of sweat, then she stayed hung off of Yunho’s arm like an accessory.

It was beginning to fucking consume you. Was that one of his rules? Was she not allowed to leave his side, stuck there to be his personal waitress? Was she getting off on it, too?

Was the reward really worth it? 

“Hello?” Jihyo tapped your knee, pulling your attention again, her smile amused as if catching you off guard was the funniest thing in the world. 

“Sorry,” you tried to smile, tucking your hair behind your ear, “Did I miss something?” 

“I asked how Mingi is, how you guys are,” Sana smiled the same way Jihyo did, “What’s got you so out of it today?”

You forced a chuckle, “My bad, I didn’t get good sleep last night, the margaritas are making me sleepy.” A lie so easily told, white lies you could handle. “We’re good, thinking about moving into something bigger soon.”

“Oh?” Tzuyu asked excitedly, “You guys have been in that apartment for years, are you thinking about renting or buying?” 

A two-story, white house, with three bedrooms and an open floor plan, yes, you were thinking about buying. You fought to not glance behind you, keeping your eyes trained on Tzuyu, “If we can get a good loan for a mortgage, we’ll own.”

Tzuyu cheered, her grin bright and wide, “I’m so happy for you, me and Yeosang always talk about how perfect you guys are together. Do you think he’s planning on proposing this year?” 

You smiled, a shy giggle escaping you as you stared down at your margarita again, “I think so.”

“Your wedding is going to be gorgeous,” Sana adds from across the small table between your chairs, “If it’s anything like how you decorate your apartment– and the bridesmaid dresses, don’t even get me started.”

You waved a hand, ignoring the bridesmaid comment, “I won’t, I’m not jinxing it. Who knows what might happen?”

You catch Jihyo as she rolls her eyes, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he proposed tomorrow, you’ve been together longer than any of us. You’re the OG girlfriend.” 

That ripped a laugh from your chest, it’s true, you’ve been with Mingi long before any of the other guys’ partners entered the picture. Jongin interrupted, “I could help you with a mortgage loan, you know, my dad’s a banker.” 

“When the time comes,” you nodded toward the brown haired man with kind eyes, then finally let your eyes fall to the table behind you, seeing who was playing now. 

Who might still be glued to their date. 

Mingi and Yunho were playing Yeosang and Wooyoung, a cocky smile on your boyfriend’s cheeks, a lazy smirk on Yunho’s. They must be winning. 

And his date, her dark hair up now, in a claw clip behind her head, two pieces fallen out and framing her face perfectly. She stood just beside Yunho, her drink clasped in her hands, barely a sip drank from the clear glass. You wondered if she was allowed to drink, or if that was one of his rules, too. 

Your lips pursed and you stood up, legs bringing you to your boyfriend before you could think about it. You slid in between him and San, the dimpled man throwing an arm over your shoulders, “You come to play?”

You smiled up at him, shaking your head, “Just wanted to watch.” 

“Wanna watch me win,” Mingi added, shooting you a wink, then tossed the ball across the table, sinking it into one of the red solo cups filled with water. 

You clapped with the rest of the boys, your grin wide as a low whistle left your lips, staring down the table at Yeosang and Wooyoung who wore red cheeks and sour faces. The difference in the amount of cups left standing made it clear who was winning, not that it surprised you, Mingi was always more competitive when he had Yunho by his side. 

You watched as Yunho’s date tugged on his wrist, whispering something into his ear, and he nodded down at her. She silently excused herself, dress flowing in the breeze as she walked across the patio, inside the back door. 

You watched, and then your legs were moving before you could stop yourself. You followed her in, just as she was draining her glass into the kitchen sink, one of her hands on her hip. 

She turned to you as the backdoor snapped shut, surprise on her face, eyebrows raised and lips parted. “Oh! Sorry, I would have left the door open for you.”

Ah, fuck, she’s nice. You smiled, walking across the hardwood floor, your sandals smacking with every step, “No biggie, I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, I wanted to say hello.” You introduced yourself, a smile on your cheeks, “Not in the mood to drink?”

She glanced down at the empty glass in her hands, then at the sink, then up to you. She laughed nervously, “I'm a slow drinker, it got watered down, not all that tasty anymore.”

You slowly nodded your head, “Totally get that. Did you need help finding the bathroom?” 

She looked around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s kitchen as if you reminded her why she walked in here, the bathroom nowhere to be found. She smiled again, her cheeks rosy and squishable, face completely bare beside mascara, she’s adorable. A perfect, submissive girl. “Yes, please, that’d be great.” 

“Down that hallway and to the right,” you pointed to the dark hallway and she thanked you, setting her glass down in the sink and scurrying off in the direction of the bathroom. When she was out of eyesight, you pouted, you don’t know what you expected from coming in here, but you definitely didn’t learn anything new. You took a sip of your margarita, setting a hand on the kitchen island for purchase, your mind whirling. You wanted to know. You wished you could just ask. 

The door opened and closed behind you and you turned to find Jihyo walking in, her own cheeks red from the seltzers she’d been sipping on, the summer heat she’s been basking in all day. She smiled at you, eyebrows popping up in surprise and confusion, “Girl, what are you doing in here? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Your lips pulled to one side, you wondered if Jihyo had any experience in this area, if she and Jongho ever explored in the way you’re curious about. If anyone in your group has done some experimental shit, it’s Jihyo. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Her face turned serious, quickly walking closer to where you stood, gathering her dark hair behind her head to pull up into a bun. “Of course, is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, shaking your head, loosing a quick, heavy breath. “Is Jongho ever… Rough with you?” 

Jihyo paused in the middle of tying her hair, cocking her head to the side. “What do you mean ‘rough’?” 

You scrunch your lips, trying to reword the question properly in your mind. “Have you ever experienced… Like, a dominant guy? That kind of role, in a relationship?”

Jihyo’s lips curved upward, a devious smile on her cheeks, eyebrows wiggling. “You thinking about spicing things up with Mingi?” 

Your cheeks warmed, you looked down at the hardwood floor in embarrassment, then back up to her. “Possibly. I’m just curious, I guess.”

“Then yes, Jongho can be rough sometimes, but only when I purposely pissed him off or made him jealous or something. The relationship I was in before I started dating Jongho, though…”

Your entire face lit up, she giggled as she noticed. 

“He was a very strict man, but not in a gross way, more so in a… Domineering way, I guess, everything I consented to. He thought it was sexy to control unsexy aspects of my life, what I wore, how I acted, what I did, who I talked to. In bed, he was a fucking freak.”

Your eyes filled with stars, you asked, “In a good way?”

“Oh, absolutely. He’d tie my hands behind my back, attach a spreader bar between my knees, or put a vibrator on me and leave the room until he was satisfied with how long I’d been in there by myself. Then he’d come back in and fuck me like I hadn’t already came a gazillion times.”

You released a shaky breath, toes digging into the soles of your sandals. It sounded so… appetizing. 

“He was fun, that whole relationship was fun,” she smiled brightly, you almost felt bad about making her reminisce on something she loved so much, but clearly didn’t have anymore. 

You couldn’t stop yourself, asking, “Why’d you break up?”

“He cheated on me,” she rolled her eyes, “Ruined a good thing. Fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” you nodded your agreement, cheeks warm, your whole body warm… You imagined Mingi tying your hands behind your back, attaching something between your legs to keep you from closing them, fully in control of your body and your pleasure. The thought was so hot, you could see it in your mind, you licked your lips as if it was happening now. 

“I gotta pee, I’ll be right back,” Jihyo’s eyes flew back to the hallway, in the direction of the bathroom. Just as you started to warn her about Yunho’s date being in there, she bounced back out, apologies on her lips about being in there for so long. She was barely in there for five minutes. 

You followed her back into the backyard, not stopping by the table again, but sitting yourself back in your cushioned chair, legs crossed, slowly sipping your margarita. You didn’t want to see her fall back to Yunho’s side like a lost puppy dog. 

God, you needed to get a grip. The girl didn’t do anything to you. Jihyo’s story filled your head again, but instead of imagining Jihyo and the mystery man, it was you and Mingi, a vibrator strapped to you while he sat back, watching, analyzing, telling you no when you begged him to cum. 

When Jongin pulled you back into the conversation you were barely paying attention to again, your body physically shook off the thoughts, a chill cooling off your very blood. 

You really needed to get it together. 

“I have something I need to tell you.” 

Almost a full week after Wooyoung’s going away party, another movie night with Yunho under your belt, you couldn’t let these feelings fester for any longer, you were losing your fucking mind. Night after night, your boyfriend has rocked into you, sweet words on his tongue, soft caresses to your face. As much as you enjoyed it, you felt guilty for your feelings, for wanting more, something different. Admitting it was a start.

Day after day you’ve done little things, almost unnoticeable things trying to get his attention, trying to spark an ounce of jealousy. You made a comment about how good San looked at Wooyoung’s party, how he looked like he’d been hitting the gym– Mingi had given you puppy eyes, asking, “Should I start going to the gym more?”

You felt so guilty you dropped to your knees then and there, feeding praises into his ears, worshipping his body, vowing to yourself to never make him ask you a question like that ever again, to never make him feel self conscious or worth any less. The whole encounter left you feeling icky. 

But maybe another route would work. 

Just yesterday you asked him, What would you do if someone hit on me at the bar?

He furrowed his brows and said, Tell them not to do that, I guess?

You were getting nowhere like this, and it was frustrating. Granted, you probably should have just opened up and told him your feelings the moment these thoughts started crossing your mind. 

Mingi turned over in your bed to face you, eyes sparkling, staring at you like you were his whole world. You needed to bring this up delicately, propose it in a way that wouldn’t leave him feeling like he wasn’t doing enough, that he wasn’t enough. You didn’t want to pressure him into anything, either. Asking him to slap you around was strangely feeling meticulous, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyebrows furrowed in focus and fear. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, eyes glossed over with worry, he shuffled a bit closer to you in your shared bed, needing your warmth to soothe his own nerves. 

“Yes, baby, everything’s fine,” you smiled weakly, your arm stretching across the sheets to lay your palm over his cheek. “I’m just nervous to say what I need to, or ask my question, I guess. I don’t want you to feel like I’m unhappy, or that you aren’t doing enough, but… I’ve been thinking.”

He mirrored your smile, teasing, “You know what I say about you and thinking.”

A huff of a laugh left your lips, smile growing stronger, “I’m serious, Min.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” his smile grew too, genuine and light, he’s always been good at diffusing situations, easing your stress. “Hit me.”

“Funny choice of words, actually,” you start, and the crease between his brows shows itself. “Do you ever think about… Being a little rough with me?”

He lifts his head up off the pillow ever so slightly, surprise flashing in his big brown eyes, “Like, when I’m fucking you?”

“Yeah,” you watched his face morph into confusion, “Throwing me around, saying mean stuff, choking me a little, maybe even slapping me–”

“Slapping you?!”

“I don’t know!” You shuffle in your bed, sitting up straight, tucking the baby pink comforter in your lap, hands mindlessly playing with the fabric. Staring down at him, voice coated in shame, you asked, “Do you?”

He blinked a few times, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he says, “I don’t think I have ever, once in my life, thought about hurting you.”

“Does it freak you out if I say it’s something I might be curious about?” You lay a hand behind your back, using your arm to support your weight. Mingi shifts too, sitting up beside you, still staring at you like you’re a math equation he can’t calculate. 

“It doesn’t freak me out, I–” He shakes his head once, as if he’s trying to figure out his own feelings, what to say. “When did you start thinking about… this?” 

“The night we watched that Captain America movie with Yunho,” you answer honestly, staring into his eyes, trying to get a read on him. He looks down at his lap, thinking, counting, before he looks back at you. 

“Dude, that was like two weeks ago,” he says, horror in his voice, “You’ve been sitting on this for that long?”

“It’s not a big deal if it’s something you aren’t interested in,” you wave a hand in front of you, trying to fake nonchalance, but there was no way to prove to Mingi this isn’t important to you if it took you this long to say something. He knows you far too well. 

He glances up at your ceiling, moving his lips, scrunching them to either side of his mouth, thinking. He finally looks at you, a gleam in his eye that you couldn’t place, “You really want me to be mean?”

“I–” Now it was your turn to look like a fish out of water, and then you realized this was the time to admit it, to tell him what you want. With defeat heavy in your voice, you said, “Yes, I do.”

“Okay,” he breathed, nodding slowly, “I can try.”

“Really?” you raised your brows, staring at him in surprise as if you expected him to say no. But this was Mingi after all, always eager to please, the man who would walk through fire for you. 

“You’ll have to, like… Tell me what you want in more detail, what to do, I mean.”

Your entire face lit up, eyes wide, grin bright, you jumped over the mattress to swing your arms around his neck and your thighs around his hips. You kissed his entire face, perched in his lap, mumbling thank you thank you thank you and he giggled beneath your assault, wrapping his arms around your back, holding you close. 

“Do you wanna do this, like… Now?” He asked when you stopped peppering smooches to the tip of his nose, his voice not quite uneasy, nervously curious. 

“We could,” you shrug, arms still hung over his bare shoulders, “We haven’t fucked since last night.”

“God forbid a day goes by where we don’t have sex,” he teases, his hands sliding down to your ass, squeezing lightly. 

You gasp, dropping your hips to drag against his barely clothed crotch, smirking when you feel him half-hard beneath you. “There should never be a day that goes by where we don’t have sex.”

“As long as you’re still you, there won’t be,” he says, still teasing as he presses his lips to yours, soft and sweet, normal. You sink into him, letting your hips drag over him in a slow but intentional rhythm, allowing your mind to ease, releasing soft gasps as his hands slide up your body, under your shirt. 

No, you didn’t need to do this right now. You didn’t want to. You wanted him, close to you, feeling his warmth and his weight anchoring you, to set the thoughts you’d finally gotten off your chest free. You told him, you’d talk about it, you’d plan, you’d do it. He said yes. God, you love him. You let your hands slide up his biceps, fingers dancing over the sides of his neck, cupping his cheeks to hold your world in your hands. 

“Not tonight,” you whisper into his lips, forgoing an explanation he didn’t need, “I changed my mind. Tonight, I just want you.” 

He smiles, bared teeth pressing against your lips, soft and comforting, home. “Yeah? You sure?” 

“We have time,” you pull him closer, chest to chest, elbows hooked over his shoulders and hips still rocking as if he’d feel the truth laid bare, in your skin, in your breath, in your bones. He didn’t need to change, you didn’t want him to change, if things stayed like this you’d still spend forever by his side. “We have forever.” 

He kissed you again, only breaking it to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you, hands gliding up your skin with precision, feeling every dip and curve of your body. As if to burn it to memory, as if he didn’t know it already, as if he hasn’t worshiped every inch of your skin before. “I love you,” he murmured into your mouth, bodies still too close to be considered separate. 

“I love you,” you whispered, barely breaking the kiss, eyes closed and heart aching with how much love for him it contained. 

Another Friday, another movie night, another story told by Jeong Yunho. 

Except this time, you and Mingi were more versed in his area of expertise, your listening was active, asking questions, looking deeper. Where you once sat nodding, periodically saying mhm and no way, you were now asking him to explain, asking why. And because Yunho is Yunho, he answered every question with honesty, even over-explaining when your brow quirked too high for his liking. When he read the question on your tongue. 

For the past several days, you and Mingi have been doing research. Articles from legitimate blogs on the internet, books from the library, romance novels pulled from your bookshelf, Mingi had said, “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.”

You hadn’t quite explored yet together– meaning he hasn’t necessarily slapped you around just yet. He’s taken it slow, tugged on your roots during a blowjob, extended your orgasm by ripping his fingers away at the last second, he even called you a slut once. Just once, though. And he apologized after. 

You didn’t think you could possibly be any more in love with him, but seeing him learn for you, express genuine interest in something you asked for, you couldn’t wait for the wedding  Sana was running her mouth about. But that could wait. For now, you were still exploring, experimenting, basking in the relief of getting this off your chest and doing something about it. You never want to withhold information from your boyfriend again, and Mingi might go into cardiac arrest if he finds out you’ve been sitting on your feelings ever again. 

Mingi’s been honest with you. He’s told you his doubts, his fears, that he’s petrified of doing something wrong, not knowing his own strength and hurting you, saying something vile that he can’t take back. You’ve taken them all in, easing his worries by offering him solutions, reminding him why you’re taking it slow. To set boundaries, to plan, to play, to find out if this is something he’d even enjoy. If either of you would enjoy it. 

Because in theory it sounds wonderful, a wet dream coming from the pits of your ovulation, but to put it into practice… What if either of you hate it? What if your sex life is forever tainted because you’re trying to fix something that isn’t broken? 

Clearly, you’re both overthinkers. But luckily, you’re both good at soothing each other, and Mingi has reminded you the two times that you’ve brought this up that nothing could destroy your sex life, the two of you were made for each other. There wasn’t much room for stress after that. 

Yunho came over with a smile on his face this week, a telltale sign that things were going well with his newest partner. Walking inside empty-handed and talkative, he cracked a can of beer from your refrigerator, starting his story from the beginning as his long legs brought him to your living room. He was playing with her at Wooyoung’s going away party, a detail he left out when he was over last week, when he was too engrossed in the freshness of dating her to get down to the nitty gritty. 

This week he was exploding with things to tell you both, his mouth running a mile a minute, sharing things you nor Mingi asked him to, but didn’t mind hearing. Especially not now. 

“The rules I made with her are different than the ones I’ve made with others,” splayed across the couch he always sat on, Yunho’s Spot you and Mingi call it, a leg hung over the armrest with the other stretched in front of him, he sat lazily, relaxed. Yours and Mingi’s apartment was always a comfort to him. 

“Like how?” You had your head laying on the godforsaken armrest, pillow beneath your head actually providing solace for once, your legs stretched over Mingi’s lap at the other end of the couch. He studied Yunho as he listened, hands on your bare legs, eyebrows bent only enough to imply focus. You knew it was more than just listening to his words, he was memorizing them, saving them for later. The sight made a soft smile live on your cheeks. 

Yunho sucks a breath through his teeth, brows rising as his head tips back in thought, silver hair a contrast to the deep charcoal of the cushion behind him. “She can only wear dresses around me, when we’re in public she has to ask permission to leave my side, she can’t drink unless I allow it, hmm… Oh, I banned bras. And panties.” 

You crane your head to see him over the armrest, mouth gaping and teeth poking out in a smile, a giggle leaving your lips. You fought the urge to say I knew it, instead reiterating, “Bras and panties?!” 

“What’s the point of it, though?” Mingi asked, and Yunho directed his gaze to his best friend, his eyes smiling just as brightly as his lips. Mingi glances between you and Yunho, “All the rules, they just seem… Inconvenient.” 

“Inconvenient for who?” Yunho raises his eyebrows, “Would it be inconvenient for you if your girlfriend walked around without a bra, without panties, in a dress?” 

“Not inconvenient for me, inconvenient for her,” Mingi should have just added duh at the end of his sentence. Yunho knew what he meant, but Mingi couldn’t read between the lines of his answer. Your tongue poked your cheek as your eyes danced between the two men. 

“Then you know the point of it already,” Yunho’s grin was sly, his head tilting ever so slightly, as if he knew why Mingi was questioning him. He never has before. 

Mingi’s lips fell into an O shape, you watched him put the pieces together in real time, another laugh leaving your lips. Mingi glanced at you for a second before his eyebrows knitted again, turning his head to look back at Yunho, “Why couldn’t she drink?” 

“Because it’d make her have to pee, and she has a piss kink,” you knew he was answering honestly by the look on his face, the ease of the words leaving his mouth. “It denied her of having the fun of toying with me and saved me the punishment of fucking her in Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s bathroom.” 

Your jaw dropped as your head whipped around the armrest, gaping at Yunho, “You’d really do that?” 

“If she disobeyed me?” He raised his brows, “In a heartbeat.” 

“In their bathroom?” Mingi’s eyes were as wide as yours, the corner of his upper lip bent upward in disbelief. 

“I would have done it in front of all of you if I had the consent of everyone in the room.” He said it so casually, too casually, as if this was normal, common. It could be these days, for all you know. 

Yours and Mingi’s eyes meet as surprise and intrigue cross his features, as if he was picturing himself doing it. As if he was curating a list of rules for you, too. You assumed you wouldn’t have to wash as many pairs of panties from now on. 

Mingi’s eyes trailed back to Yunho, you watched him swallow, the gulp of spit passing down his throat. “And when you say punishment…” 

Yunho smiles, daring and wicked, his eyes flaring with amusement. He sits up straighter, white tee pressed against the back of the couch, ankle crossed over his knee, he wouldn’t let your rare curiosity go to waste.  

You change spots, too, laying your head on Mingi’s lap instead of your legs, propping them up on the criminally uncomfortable armrest. You made a mental note to start looking for a new couch. Mingi lays a hand in your hair, not moving, just resting, as if he needed to touch you to feel grounded. 

“The humiliation,” Yunho released a dragged out breath, as if he loved the word, loved its meaning, the action. “I would have put her over my knee, made her tell everyone watching what she did, why it was wrong.”

Mingi blinked, his lips parted, as if he couldn’t fathom why in the world Yunho would do that. “You’d let everyone see that? See her?” 

Yunho shrugs, “If everyone was into it.” 

“She obeyed you though, right?” You ask, and he raises his eyebrows in your direction, acknowledging you, “Does she get, like… Rewarded for that?” 

Yunho smiled, a proud look sitting on his face, a soft nod of his head. “Of course she does, well, she did.” 

You raised a brow, imploring him, and his smile grew as if he could read every thought in your mind. “You two are curious tonight.” 

You can feel the embarrassment in your cheeks, and as you look up to Mingi, you see a faint blush spread over his nose. If you could see his ears from where you laid, you’d bet they tipped red, too. Neither of you are being shy with your curiosity, and it was clear. 

Yunho didn’t wait for either of you to answer, “I’ll bite. We didn’t even get back to my place, to be honest. She got to finish twice in the car, another three times when we got back for good behavior.” 

A huh? ripped from your chest, a disbelieving sound, just as Mingi screeched, “Five?!” 

You thought back to when she went to the bathroom at the party, how she tugged on Yunho’s wrist before she went inside, how he nodded toward her in allowance. You wonder if you’d be willing to let it be taken so far, or if you truly just wanted to be slapped around. You supposed you would if five orgasms were waiting for you afterward. 

“They weren’t easy, don’t say it like that,” Yunho waved a hand, long fingers bending the air around him, “I was forcing them out of her by the end of it. She likes overstimulation.” 

You peeked up at Mingi again, whose lips you think were going to stay permanently parted for the duration of the conversation, with his thick, deep eyebrows touching his hairline. He was shocked— so were you, even if neither of you should be, you’re no strangers to multiple orgasms in a session. But five, for good behavior, a reward like that, it almost made you hand your boyfriend a notepad and a pen and say Yes, I want that. 

Yunho’s laugh sends a shiver down your spine, your body involuntarily jerking at the noise, head shifting in your boyfriend’s lap. It sounded borderline condescending, which you weren’t sure if you were making up, or if it was on purpose. Your eyes widened as you felt it, the fucking boner Mingi was sporting beneath your head. He knew you felt it, you could see it all over his face, the blush you thought was from the nature of the conversation, no, he was horny, and Yunho didn’t seem like he was anywhere near done with the conversation. 

Realization hits that Mingi must be thinking about doing that to you, and he’s hard. You might have started jumping for joy if you didn’t have to explain to both men why. 

“You guys look like you’ve never heard anything like this in your life,” Yunho’s laugh is still showing on his cheeks, the way his head is tilted, his eyebrows slightly raised, smugness oozing off of him. “I’ve told you stories before.” 

“Yeah, but…” You cut yourself off, swallowing down the answer you were about to give. He didn’t need to know you were experimenting, or attempting to. No one needed to know. “It’s just crazy.” 

“Yeah, you’re crazy,” Mingi adds from above you, the both of you nodding your agreement, hiding why you’re both so god damn affected. His clothed cock pressing against your head, having to pretend like it isn’t there, Yunho so easily talking about how he punishes and rewards his partners, how arrogance seemed to be possessing him, it was all too much. 

Yunho raises his brows, his smile still present on closed lips, as if the two of you were transparent. Completely see through, thoughts and feelings laid bare for him to see. If you could peer into Yunho’s mind you might see that he’s enjoying this, that he knows exactly what he's doing, toying with the two of you might be the most fun he’s had in months. 

He can see how pathetic the two of you are, you’re wearing it. Too many ideas are brewing in his mind, ones he’s positive he can never verbalize, but if the two of you kept looking at him like that…

“I’ve told you worse, remember when that one girl thought it’d be funny to flirt with that random guy, when we all went out to the club? It was back in February I think,” Yunho’s glancing between you both now, like he doesn’t want to miss a single reaction painted on your faces. “I tied her up and left her alone in the bedroom, in the dark, for an hour?” 

You gulped. You remembered this story. Mingi was only growing beneath you, he remembered this story, too. 

“She was a crying fucking mess by the time I went back in, so wet, didn’t take any prep at all for me to fuck her. She didn’t cum once that night. Never did that shit again, though.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You think of a few weeks ago, when Yunho was once again across from the two of you, when you put space between yourself and Mingi, a part of you hoping he’d fuck the brat out of you. You couldn’t even imagine Mingi tying you up and leaving you alone, he’d probably be crying before you would, or he wouldn’t even leave the room. But the thought of it… If he could… You crossed an ankle over the other, trying to create some kind of pressure between your thighs, friction to alleviate your core that was beginning to throb. 

Mingi’s grip tightened ever so slightly in your hair and you knew he was showing you the restraint he was quickly losing, that he needed you. Your eyelids fluttered at the feeling. 

“How did you get into this? This, uh, lifestyle,” Mingi’s voice was shallow, his mouth drying, he was feeling it just as much as you were. You don’t even know if you heard his question let alone the answer, not when you could feel his cock under you, begging to be touched, probably leaking, the tip red and aching…

Mingi pressed a finger to your cheek and your lips fucking parted. He was only trying to get your attention. “You okay?” Mingi asked, need flashing in his eyes, an unspoken question, a statement. Oh, Yunho has done it now. 

I need you.  You blinked. Now? A small nod. Now. Get him out. 

“Not feeling too good, honestly,” you pouted, letting a hand fall across your forehead, “Do I feel warm to you?” 

Mingi’s lips scrunched trying to hide his smile, you were the better liar out of the two of you. His palm hit your forehead, “Hm, you do feel warm.” 

“Let me feel,” Yunho crossed the living room in a quick stride, his hand falling to your forehead fast, before you or Mingi could think up a silly excuse. His hand damn near laid from ear to ear, sending a spark of something through your entire body. “Damn, you are warm.”

He needed to get out, now. You give him a weak smile, “Must be coming down with something, I’m sorry to cut the movie night short.” 

He shakes his head, then clasps Mingi’s hand, and goes to grab his keys off the coffee table, “Don’t worry about it, there’s always next week, Iron Man can wait. Feel better.” 

“Thanks, Yun,” you call after him, tucking your smile away until you hear the front door close— 

Mingi pounces. Strong arms tugging you onto his lap, assaulting your lips with his own, rough palms slipping under your shirt, thumbs hooking into your waistband. There was no time to waste. 

“Fuck,” he cursed into your mouth as you rolled your hips against him, shorts dragging against his sweatpants, and you smiled at his sensitivity. “Fuck, I need you.” 

“Yeah?” You rolled your hips again, harder this time, “That bad?” 

His fingers tighten on your hips, digging into your skin, his jaw going slack, mouth unresponsive against yours. You let your hands feel up his chest, his shoulders, his neck, lips ghosting his jawline as he guides your hips against his. 

His head tilts back as your lips attack a sensitive part of his neck, right below his ear. His voice comes out deep but breathy as he says, “Wanna make you cum five times, too.” 

Excitement shoots up your spine. You sit back, hands resting on his shoulders, a grin on your cheeks, “Do it, then.” 

He scoops you off his lap and falls to his knees, a muted thump was heard as cotton covered skin hit the hardwood of your floor, he laid you on your back as if you were fragile, made of glass. Your legs parted after he slipped your shorts off anyway. 

You kept your hands in his hair as his tongue worked you open, your first orgasm coming quickly, easily, praises falling off your lips, skull digging into the floor beneath you. Mingi didn’t stop, though, not as his black locks ran taut between your fingers as you pulled in an attempt to get him away, when the pleasure became too much. 

It was on purpose, the pleasure was fucking blinding, pleasure and pain, the sting of your orgasm that never fully finished turning into another, a pit in your stomach that ached with every swipe of his tongue. Your hips bucked, trying to chase him away, attempting to overpower strong arms holding you down by the bone. 

“Mingi— holy shit,” you cried, eyes wide and staring down at him where he was doing anything but looking up at you. Focused, tongue moving in perfect circles, flicking at your clit with enough precision to tell you he wasn’t letting up. Your movements seized, joints locking up, breath getting caught in your throat as he pulled you under, forcing another orgasm to wash over you. 

He ate you through it again before you were keeling, abdomen clenching, body jerking enough to where it was annoying for him to keep holding you down. His lips let go with a pop, sucking in a deep gust of air as your bones went fluid, body sinking into the hardwood floor. 

Mingi smacked his teeth with plump, swollen lips. He lifted himself up by his arms, saying with a steady voice, “Turn over.” 

You opened your eyes again, staring at hunger incarnate, “On my knees?” 

He lifted himself farther, sitting on his calves, wrapping his fingers loosely around your ankles where they sat planted on the floor. Again, he said, “Turn over.” 

You blinked, “I can’t if you’re holding my ankles like that.”

In a quick motion, he pulled you toward him, forearm scooping under your back, and your palms were pressed to the hardwood floor in a second’s time, knees stinging as the deep swirls of oak stared back at you. You hissed, “Fuck, that hurt.” 

Hands that were already sliding up the backs of your thighs paused, “You okay?” 

You smiled, thinking of all the limits you’ve discussed in the past weeks, your safe word, what to do in case you couldn’t say it. “I know what to say if I’m not.” 

“Good.” 

Your elbows hit the floor as his fingers slipped inside, his other hand holding onto your ass, squeezing your skin. “O-Oh my God, Min,” you cried, letting your forehead drop to your open palms, your back arched up into him as his fingers hooked into you, hitting that spongy spot inside, your toes curling, shins lifting off the floor. 

It was overwhelming. Yunho had left barely ten minutes ago and you’d already came twice, Mingi working you up to a third without any reprieve. You could hear the smile on his face as he asked, “You gonna cum again? Gonna be good for me?” 

You wailed as his fingers assaulted the spot, slipping in and out of you, curling, massaging, your body jerking at every movement he made. He sucked in a breath before he pulled his hand off your ass, letting it fall back down with a heavy smack, “Answer me.” 

Your moan was treacherous, loud, somewhere between a score of pleasure and a cry of pain as you came again. Weaker this time but still as blinding as the first, you shook, he hit you. Not as hard and not as confident as he could be, it was still pain mixing with the pleasure, a cocktail of endurance and emotion, a step forward. 

“Baby,” you could barely hear as both hands soothed your ass cheeks, rubbing circles into the skin. “Answer me, my love, need you to say something.” 

You weren’t sure if your consciousness was still inside your skin, or if you were floating somewhere beyond. 

His hands hooked into the crevice where your hips met your thighs, pulling you backward into his lap, moving and dropping you as if you were light as a feather. He was moving too fast, your brain could barely keep up, overwhelmed and overstimulated. You sunk into him, the smell of him pulling you back down to earth, the heat of his cheek pressed against your head warming you. “I’m okay,” your voice came out weak, lagged, tired. Your knees burned, but the fire he had lit inside your belly blazed. 

“You swear?” He took your chin in his hand with care, forcing you to look up at him, concern bubbling wildly in his eyes. 

You nodded, “I swear. You can keep going.” 

He kept you in his lap, his hands moving slower now, uneasy. Fear bled into you with every touch, under your tee, as he unclipped your bra, even fumbling with the clasp. You could taste his nerves. 

But his cock still stayed hard beneath you, pressed up against your back. After he tugged off your shirt and bra you faced him, bare legs wrapping around his hips, your boyfriend fully clothed where you sat naked, but not uncomfortable at the difference. You let your lips crash into his again, picking up speed, trying to show him your hunger when his had gotten foggy, masked with fear and concern. 

He let you lead him, tongue dancing with yours, his hands sliding over your skin with more confidence now, more pressure. You smiled into him, “You still owe me two more.” 

He matched your smile, “And here I thought we were past your insatiability.” 

You let your bare center drag over his clothed length, gasping when it brushed against your clit just right. “I want you inside me.” 

“I’m supposed to be telling you what to do,” his hands fell to your hips, grinding you against him harder, grinning when your head fell to his shoulder. 

“Then tell me how you want me to ride you,” you mumbled into covered skin, your hands sneaking beneath the hem of his tee, fingers tracing his toned abdomen. 

“Why do you get all the power?” He placed his hands under your ass, lifting you to shift onto his knees, you yelped when he stood up, easily holding you steady through the movement. A show of strength, a display of dominance, one that sent all the blood on your body straight to your still pulsing clit. 

You clung to him on the walk to the bedroom, your arms hooked around his neck, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin. All the daydreams you’ve had and research you’ve done was paying off now. This was better than anything you could’ve imagined. 

He threw you onto the bed before he tugged his shirt over his head by the collar, pulling his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring out. Standing before you in all his glory, Mingi’s cheeks were pink, eyes glossed over and hazy, hair shooting out in four different directions atop his head thanks to your incessant pulling. God, he was fucking beautiful, you sat up on your knees and crawled towards him, wanting to taste—

He stepped back so you couldn’t reach, his right hand wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing when it was already red and leaking, just as you imagined. You pouted. He raised his eyebrows. “You want my cock, don’t you?” 

You met his eyes to find arrogance, something you’ve only seen on your boyfriend a handful of times. You swallowed down the thrill, nodding your head, “Yes, I want it.” 

He pumped the length of his cock, a groan sneaking out of his lips, his head falling to the side, eyes fluttering shut. You gasped at the view, your eyes trying to catch the full length of him, not knowing where to look, not wanting to miss anything. Slowly, he built up a rhythm, and you whimpered from your spot on the baby pink comforter. 

“Please, let me,” your eyes stayed glued to the way his hand dragged down the length of his cock, how his tip leaked beads of precum, lubing up his hand. He ignored you. “Mingi, please. I need it.” 

He groaned instead, his hand pumping faster, until he finally opened his eyes. In a low, lazy voice, he moaned, “Fuck, feels so fuckin’ good.” 

Your mouth hung open at the sight, he really wasn’t going to let you touch him. Was it because you told him to fuck you? He really thought you were taking the power from him? 

“Please, Mingi,” you were whining now, fists balling at the comforter beneath you, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip jutted outward. 

He tsked. “Get down here. On your knees.” 

You’ve never moved faster in your life. Sitting on your calves before him, knees burning again, hands in your lap, staring up at him with every hope in the world, you waited for instruction. He wasn’t fucking around. 

He pumped his cock faster, palm circling the tip, squeezing his hand as stuttered moans poured from his lips. He wasn’t even looking at you, eyes focused on his cock, “Open your mouth.” 

With your tongue out you sat up on your knees, eyes glued to his cock, waiting for his cum. Your cunt throbbed between your thighs, three orgasms weren’t enough, you needed more, you needed him, his cock filling you up, to cum around it. His moans grew in pitch as his wrist jerked faster, stuttering, his hips bucking forward into his hand, his eyebrows knitted together. It took everything you had not to slip a hand between your legs. At least you were a quick learner. 

He came with a loud groan, ropes of white hitting your tongue, your nose, your cheeks, your eyebrows. You moaned with him as you felt the warmth on your skin, swallowing him down, licking your lips to catch what you could. 

“Good girl,” his voice had dropped another octave, as if he was getting comfortable in his rank now, dominance surrounding him like an aura. You smiled up at him, stars in your eyes as he took his thumb to your face, scooping his cum off of your cheeks, nose, eyebrows, then promptly shoved it past your lips. 

You gagged at the sudden intrusion, but swallowed him down anyway, lips wrapping around his thumb to suck it clean, tongue sliding against the underside. He patted your head with his other hand, a small smile sitting pretty on his cheeks, “So good for me, baby. Kiss me.” 

You stood up on wobbly legs and kissed him, he could probably taste the gratitude on your tongue, how much you fucking loved this, loved him. He moved to sit back on the edge of the bed, never breaking the kiss, hands on your waist, tongue licking into your mouth to taste the leftover remnants of his release. Your knees planted into the mattress as you climbed on top of him again, a hand between your bodies, slipping his cock between your folds, spreading the wetness where it gathered. 

“Holy shit,” he gasped out, breaking away from your lips to glance down between you, “You’re so fucking wet.” 

“That was so fucking hot,” you said in the same tone he used as he looked back up to meet your eyes, “You’ve never done anything like that before. I’m dying.” 

He huffs a laugh into your lips, “Dying is dramatic.” 

You kissed him again, “And I meant it.” 

You dragged your core along his shaft, sliding over his length, and he hisses into your mouth in overstimulation. You smile, “Now you know how it feels.” 

“Sit on it,” he grabs his cock with one hand, your hip in the other, completely ignoring your remark, “Now.” 

You cursed under your breath at the tone of his voice, at the desperation and order mixing together, how badly he wanted you, needed to feel you, yet overstimulating himself to do it. His cock was already hard again in his hand as you lined yourself up on top of him, hands bracing yourself on his shoulders as you started to sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch with ease. 

The sound was deafening, how pathetic the two of you sounded, the whine-coated moans cracking from your gut. Your nails clawed into his shoulders, eyes screwed shut at the stretch, at how easily he slipped inside. His voice was strained, “Too fucking tight, gotta open up for me, relax.” 

You were too excited, your joints locked up from adrenaline and anticipation. You took a deep breath, letting your body relax, unlocking your limbs, forehead falling forward to rest against his. His hands come up to your waist, rubbing circles into your back, “There you go, my love, you feel so fucking good.” 

You whimpered at the praise, hips bucking forward involuntarily, “Can I move?” 

“Go ahead, baby,” he said, letting go of your waist, leaning back against the mattress on his elbows, “Show me how badly you wanted to ride my cock.” 

Your jaw went slack at the words, hips immediately picking up and dropping back down on him, your hands sliding up your stomach to pinch at your nipples. You bounced on him slowly at first, watching his face contort in pleasure, letting the sound of him guide you, encourage you. Eyebrows slanted and lips parted he moaned and moaned, hips jerking into you every few thrusts, silently telling you to pick up the pace. 

“Mingi,” you breathed, a hand on his abdomen, using it to balance your pace, “Choke me?” 

His eyes widened, “I— I don’t—”

You reached an arm forward, this was one of his unsure areas, where he was scared of his own strength, of hurting you seriously. You wrapped a hand around his throat, fingers pressing into the sides, “Like this.” 

The moan he released stopped you completely. It happened in slow motion, the squeeze of your fingers, how his lips parted, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, how you pulsed around his cock at the sight, at the sound. 

Now it was your turn to widen your eyes in surprise, “Oh.” 

He brought his hand up to wrap around yours, his hips fucking up into you harshly, overwhelming your nervous system, shattering your god damn mind. Oh, he really liked that. You couldn’t fight the smile breaking across your cheeks, your words coming out jagged through his thrusts, “You liked that?” 

He whimpered, broken through the pressure of your fingertips, and a small, shy nod of his head. You just wanted to show him how. Encourage him to do it himself. This opened another door completely. 

You released him after a moment and he took a deep breath, eyes wild, gasping out, “Holy shit.” 

You nodded with a wicked smile, your hips picking up the pace, “You really liked it?” 

“Do it again,” he whispered, pushing himself up by his forearms, pressing his chest against yours as you changed your speed, rocking against him, a dirty grind against his cock as your fingertips danced over his throat. 

You leaned in, whispering, “Kiss me,” against his lips, and he did, his mouth following your lead, up until you tightened your grip around his throat and pressed into the sides with light pressure. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered against your lips, the sound broken and raw, and his jaw went slack again, his eyelids fluttering, his cock throbbing inside you. You could have fun with this. 

You dropped your hips against him harshly, making him jolt into you, not a thought behind his fucking eyes as they widened, “So desperate, I told you to kiss me, didn’t I?” 

“I can’t,” he cried, eyes closed, chin tipped back, “Feels so fucking good. Harder, please.” 

You laughed in disbelief as you picked up your pace, the begging felt good, great even, your body consumed by another pleasure entirely. This was incredible. Maybe you could understand why Yunho does what he does, the sheer pleasure he must feel from breaking his partners down, having them at their wits end beneath him.

Having Mingi like this was unexpected but so fucking hot, even under a spell his cock was still hitting that perfect spot inside you, making you moan in tandem with him, a song of pleasure and worship filling the room, masking the noise of skin slapping against skin. 

You let him go to brace your hands on his shoulders and his head fell against your chest, lazily kissing at your skin, his hands coming behind you to graze his fingernails down your back, making you hiss out at the sting. “Shit, Min.” 

He whimpered again, making your hips stutter as you tried to ride him harder, faster, clenching around his length, and his fingers clawed at you deeper. Your back arched, “Yes, feels so good inside me, you’re so fucking perfect.” 

“Need you to cum,” he said against your chest, a mumble of words, barely comprehensible. He glances up at you through his lashes, eyes sparkling and vulnerable, “Need to feel you cum, need it. Wanna fill you up.” 

Your face twisted in pleasure, at the look on his fucking face, “Oh— Oh my God.” 

You clenched again and he whined, “Fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.” 

“Wait,” you barked out, rushing a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, “Hold it.” 

His head tipped back, his features scrunching together, hands slipping down to your hips to squeeze, to guide you into fucking him harder. Deeper. 

You gasped out a cry as you drew quick circles on your clit, still bouncing on him with the same rhythm, “F-Fuck, I’m so close, fuck, Min.” 

“Yes,” he encouraged, “Cum for me, wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum around me, please baby, give it to me.” 

Your hips stuttered as you felt your high hit its peak, Mingi whining at the loss of rhythm, leaning back on his elbows to fuck up into you, his legs pushing against the bed frame surrounding your mattress. Your orgasm crashed over you, sending you forward, body folding in on itself as your vision went white, ears ringing as your body collided into his. 

Mingi cried out, hips bucking and jerking into you to get himself off until he filled you up with his second load of the night, a sigh full of pleasure and contentment escaping him as he finished, his joints finally unlocking, laying flat against the bed. 

After a moment his arms curled around you, pulling you up, laying your head on his chest from where you landed awkwardly over him. His hand went into your hair, rubbing lazy circles into your scalp, pressing his lips to the top of your head. 

“Did I kill you?” He asked, voice teasing, and you grumbled a noise in response. “We can talk about it tomorrow if you want, but we still have to get you all cleaned up. Don’t fall asleep yet.” 

You stuck your tongue out, licking the patch of his skin that was just beside your mouth to show him you were awake, making him shuffle in discomfort. He let out a small, disgruntled sound of surprise, “Eugh, don’t lick me.” 

“Are you serious?” You picked your head up ever so slightly to see his face, which didn’t look disgusted at all. 

A sweet smile sat on his cheeks, one not embarrassed, not shy, not regretful, but happy. You could have sighed in relief if you weren’t absolutely exhausted. He faked a pout, “You look so tired, and I still have one more orgasm to give you.” 

He laughed when your face twisted in surprise and fear, you don’t think you even have the strength for a shower. 

But because Mingi is perfect and knows you better than you know yourself, he ran the two of you a bath. 

And you talked. A little. 

But he definitely ripped that fifth one out of you. 

You did end up talking about it the next day. 

And the day after that, and the day after that, for two weeks. It seemed you and Mingi couldn’t stop talking about it, that night, his words, his assertiveness, how he jerked himself off onto your face, how your hands wrapped around his throat. It quickly snowballed into more, the two of you turning into monsters, it was as if your insatiability had grown a twin and possessed your boyfriend. 

“I don’t know what happened,” at your favorite coffee shop in town the next day, the two of you sat cozied up in a booth, laptops out, but the last thing you were doing was working. “Something inside me, like, opened I guess. You put your hand around my neck and I thought I was gonna cum on the spot.” 

With your cheek in your palm, you swirled your straw in your coffee cup, the doc you had open on your laptop screen long forgotten. “You really never thought you’d be into anything like that?” 

Mingi shrugged, bringing his attention back to his screen, he drew mindless circles on his keypad with his finger. With his eyes on his laptop, big navy frames sitting on his nose, he admitted, “I don’t know, I never really thought about it.” 

“Funny how I was trying to show you how to choke me,” you teased, lifting your head from your hand, straightening in the booth. “And here we found out something new about you.” 

He rolled his eyes, a shy smile growing on his cheeks, still not looking at you, “Yeah, yeah, I owe you one.” 

“No, not at all,” you shake your head, “We should just see what happens. What the vibe is when we’re in it, you know?” 

He meets your eyes, cheeks dusted pink, “You’re okay with it? Like… If I asked you to do that to me again, you’re okay with it?” 

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head, was he embarrassed? You leaned forward, keeping your expression serious, “Song Mingi, that was one of the hottest things I have ever seen you do. One of the hottest things I’ve ever seen, actually.” 

His eyebrows raised in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting that answer. You smiled, hoping it came off as reassuring as you needed it to, “You’re not the only person that learned something about themself last night.” 

His lips curled up at the edges, lopsided smile crawling across his cheeks, “I still wanna try doing it to you.” 

“Good, because so do I,” you leaned back in the booth, still smiling, and you hoped his chest felt lighter, because yours definitely did. 

The next morning, he beckoned you awake by peppering kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, but his hand sliding between your legs is what had your eyes finally opening. 

You hummed in delight, sleepy mind curating nonsense to mumble as you stretched your arms over your head, spreading your knees to welcome to intrusion, the skilled fingers that knew exactly what they were doing. 

Silently he worked you open, pressing kisses to your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth to really get you there— he forced the taste of an orgasm on your tongue before he ripped it away, popping his fingers into his mouth instead. 

You almost cursed him out for it, eyes wide, jaw dropped and pissed, but he just smiled.

“Be good for me today and you can have the rest later.” 

You wore a scowl the entire day, even if thrill was coursing through your blood, excitement for what awaited you at home. He texted you mid-day while you were hard at work at your desk, asking for a present, a sexy picture in your job’s bathroom mirror. 

You swallowed down your embarrassment, ears burning as you sped to the bathroom, eyes darting all around your office to make sure no one noticed, that no one saw you. An absurd fear. 

Relief washed over you when the bathroom was empty and you quickly pulled your skirt down to your thighs, your ass laying right over the hem, plump and picturesque. You took a few, sending them all to him immediately, feeling scandalous and prideful that you’d done something so sexual in your job’s bathroom, and didn’t get caught. 

He sent back a picture of the print of his cock through his slacks, his hand squeezing the base, his veins popping through his pearly skin, the watch sitting on his wrist making it so much hotter. With a caption just as incriminating as the photo, you salivated, tongue swimming in saliva as your thighs squeezed together beneath your desk, lip caught between your teeth. 

Your body burned as you set your phone down, barely able to concentrate on your work as you completed your day, fighting with your mind to keep focus. By the time you got home he was waiting for you, already hard, stripping the skirt off your hips before you’d fully made it through the threshold of your apartment. 

Five seemed like a lucky number for you two now, how many times you’d finished on various places of his body, on his fingers, his tongue, his cock, his thigh. The fifth came to you with his palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing harder than you ever thought he would, confidence oozing off of him as he drilled into you with your back against his chest. 

The next day you seemed to switch places. You tapped into that side of yourself you just met, making Mingi a mess beneath you, tears and sweat and saliva, you took it all in stride with a smile on your face, eyes blazing with a wickedness Mingi’s never seen on you before. It was experimental and fun, fumbling hands and stuttered words, Mingi submitted to you even if you weren’t fully confident in your dominance. 

You’d never degraded anyone before, much less your angelic boyfriend, it was a true fight to come up with nasty things to say, but that’s where your research had come into play. If either of you had an ounce of consciousness inside of the bubble you’d created together, you could probably pick apart where each and every piece of your words, actions, where everything had come from. 

You two had become obsessed, every waking moment had turned sexual, doing and talking, talking and doing, you couldn’t get enough of each other. You started to feel silly for thinking your sex life would be ruined when, if anything, it had gotten better, somehow more active, because you both had turned insatiable. Mingi couldn’t make fun of you anymore, not when he was just as fucking horny as you were. 

As deep as you were in it, the learning, the experimenting, something tugged at you. Maybe it was how you couldn’t grow fully confident in the weeks you’ve played, how you fumbled your words still, or when your hands didn’t quite know where to go, what to say, when to pull away. You knew learning never truly stopped, especially with something as severe as tapping into BDSM dynamics, but you found yourself stumped more than once, and that was enough to consider researching more. 

Especially the night when you and Mingi had fallen into your sheets, a mess of lips and tongues and nails, waiting for the other to take the lead. Fighting for dominance but never winning, leaving room for the other to take charge, to set the tone for how the session would go. Ten minutes of kissing and muttering filthy words in each other’s ears, you knew he was feeling it, too. 

Above you, he paused, lips parted and hands planted beside your head, chest heaving with adrenaline and slight confusion. You stared at each other for a moment, reading the feelings in each other’s eyes, before a laugh erupted from Mingi’s chest and had you giggling along with him. 

“Shit, are we plateauing?” He flopped down next to you on his back, amusement laced in every word, eyes never leaving you once. 

You giggled more, letting your head fall to the side to look at him, tilted smile on his lips and deep, hooded eyes. “I’m not gonna lie, I was kinda hoping you were gonna toss me around tonight.” 

“That’s funny, I was kinda hoping you were gonna edge me until I cried,” he responded plainly, as if the words spilling from his lips weren’t completely filthy. You both laughed before you let out verbal breaths, a sound to fill the comfortable silence, then met each other’s eyes again. 

“Well?” You asked, raising your brows at him, “What the hell do we do now?”

Neither of you knew, and you didn’t have an outlet to turn to. Instead you fucked slow, back to your roots, praises and kisses and soothing touches that felt incredible but still didn’t scratch the itch. The two of you needed more, something to help when you were both feeling submissive, looking for the same type of pleasure. 

It wasn’t something you needed. No, you think it might be… Someone. Another person to help. The thought left you feeling uneasy. 

You and Mingi have never once talked about opening up your relationship to anyone. Not once in your years together have you discussed a threesome, it’s been years since you’ve experienced a shred of jealousy, never once an inkling of disloyalty. Yours and Mingi’s relationship was the poster for perfection, and opening the door to someone else, even if it was all purely sexual, for education purposes, felt… Weird. Strange. Unwelcome. 

Even if you were to say yes, who the hell would you ask? You only know one Dom, one person with enough experience in this area to help you. You forbade the thought for days to come. 

Until it happened again. 

The two of you weren’t as rough this time, kisses pressed to skin and hands slipping between legs, but it was still there. Mingi was whimpering into your mouth, a sound you’ve learned came from a very specific mindset, when he needed to be taken care of, when he was feeling needy. 

And you had a long fucking day. 

Your boss had assigned your team with a project that wasn’t anywhere near your area of expertise, accompanied by a deadline that didn’t seem humanly possible. When you had brought it up to him, he was not nice, stern and angry with you for not ‘doing what you get paid to do’ when this particular assignment was under his job criteria. It wasn’t fair, you had stress bottled up inside you from your head to your toes, you hadn’t even had sex on your mind today let alone coming home to dominate your boyfriend. 

Your skin burned with every touch Mingi gave, you so badly wanted him to flip you around, take you with no prep, laying harsh slaps against your skin with a hand wrapped around your throat, you wanted these feelings fucked out of you. If you were going to fuck, you wanted to be fucked. There was so much negativity built up inside you from the day you yearned for your mind to go blank, to fall into that corner of consciousness where you didn’t have to be. Where Mingi made decisions for you, where he decided what was best. 

“What’s wrong?” With his eyebrows furrowed in concern he pulled you into his chest, hands cradling your cheeks with soft palms, as if you would break in his grasp. 

Fuck. Your throat tightened, your bottom lip jutted outward, your eyes closing to try and force the tears ripping their way through your ducts down. Mingi held you closer, threading a hand through your hair, scratching his nails into your scalp to soothe you, “Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?” 

You sobbed into his chest, guilt racking through you with every breath, you didn’t know what to do. So consumed with the stress of your day and now Mingi wanted you to perform for him, you couldn’t do it. You didn’t answer at first, and he didn’t pry, he laid you down with him instead, letting you cry into his chest while rubbing circles into your back, kissing your head every few minutes, holding you close. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally choked out, eyes opening only to see his tear-soaked tee before you. 

He moved his hands to cup your cheeks again, holding your head up to look at him, thumbs swiping under your eyes to paint your tears onto your skin. “What’s wrong, my love? Did I do something?” 

You shook your head in his hold, “No, no, it’s not you. I just had a really long, fucked up day, and I can’t…” Another sob ripped from your chest, “…I can’t do this tonight.” 

“Baby,” the word laced with the ache from his own chest, he continued, “You don’t need to, you never need to, we don’t have to do anything.” 

You sniffed, you couldn’t imagine what you looked like right now. Mingi’s seen worse, though, he’s seen everything. You pouted, involuntarily sniffing up the last of your cries, voice still broken and uneasy, “That’s the thing. I want to, I just don’t want to think, I want you to take my mind off of it. But I think you want the same from me.” 

He blinked at you, concern and thought drinking up every inch of his face, he didn’t know what to say, either. It was a crossroads. He couldn’t just say Okay, I’ll dominate you tonight— it wouldn’t feel right. You wouldn’t want him to, either, you only want it if he wants it. Just like he only wants it if you want it. 

He looses a breath, running a hand through your hair again, thumb swiping under your eye with his other hand, “Why don’t I run us a bath, order some takeout, and we can sit and watch a movie? Then tomorrow when we’re clear-headed and you’re feeling better, we can talk about this. What to do when it happens.” 

You nodded into his hands, bottom lip quivering, because God, you were so fucking lucky. He washed every inch of your body in the steaming hot water, massaging into your shoulders, your scalp as he washed your hair. He had you smiling and giggling by the time you got dressed, after he ordered takeout, and then the two of you talked about your day. He listened actively, he hated your boss already, now that dislike just ran deeper. You watched a comedy, both laughing and talking through the whole thing, cuddled up next to each other before you fell asleep on the couch with every limb on your bodies intertwined. 

“Wait, so you’re both switches?” Yunho faces the two of you in his spot, feet planted on the floor, elbows resting on his thighs with his fingers interlocked. His eyebrows laced together in focus as he listened to your story from the beginning, ready to guide you, to give the advice you asked him for. 

You and Mingi knew you weren’t going to get anywhere from websites, informational books or romance novels, this was a problem you needed to speak to someone about. A real life human with knowledge, experience, the one person you both know and trust to help you with your little problem. The decision to ask him didn’t come easy, days were spent talking it out, the pros and the cons of opening up your sex life enough to let someone peer inside. None of your friends knew a single detail about yours and Mingi’s sex life, it wasn’t information you gave away easily. 

But this? This felt necessary. 

You sat with your legs crossed on your couch in your comfiest clothes, and Mingi sat stretched out beside you in an outfit that nearly matched yours. Yunho had walked inside complaining about his latest conquest, a six pack in his hand, ready to drink and forget all about it, maybe pass out on your couch. He was even dressed for the date he was supposed to go on, slacks and a long linen shirt, the top three buttons unbuttoned. Clearly, coming here was a last resort, or an answer to his own problems. 

Until you and Mingi bombarded him with your own. 

Yunho seemed excited to dive into your sex life, though. From all the stories he’s told, he’s barely ever gotten a detail out of one of you, one sided experiences shared without ever getting a glimpse inside of what you two do when you’re alone. He set the six pack down on the second shelf of your refrigerator and sat down in his spot across your living room, urging you two to spill. 

“I guess so?” You look at Mingi and then back to Yunho, “I don’t know how else I’d describe it. It depends on the night.” 

Yunho smiles in disbelief, “I would have never expected that. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re the dom, and Mingi’s your sub.” 

“He’d love it that way,” you joked, nudging Mingi with your elbow, the six foot man beside you who wore the gentlest smile. “All of this started because I wanted him to throw me around a bit.”  

“Hm,” Yunho sits back on his couch, crossing a leg over the other, his arm stretching across the back. “That’s a lot to discover, you haven’t been doing it for long, then?” 

“A month and some change, I believe,” your boyfriend nods in Yunho’s direction. “At this point I think we’re just confused. We’re extremely similar and our feelings line up more often than they don’t, it’s hard to differentiate when one of us wants to be the one in control. Or doesn’t want to be, in our case.” 

“Wait, wait,” Yunho raises a hand, “Let me see if I’m getting this right. The issue at hand is that neither of you want to be in control?” 

“Sometimes,” you add, “Not all the time. The issue is what to do when that happens.” 

Yunho laughs, and it’s a shrill sound that slithers down your spine, ringing in your ears like a wake up call. You think you can read the words in his mind, on his tongue, the easiest solution here, and it terrifies you when he actually says it. 

“Why don’t you just call up a third when it happens?” 

So simple. So easy. Like you and Mingi haven’t been together for years, like your sex life was some measly thing you could invite others into, as if it meant nothing. That was dangerous territory. 

But you suppose you’ve been in dangerous territory for over a month anyhow. 

You glance at Mingi who seemed to be thinking the same thing as you. He’s the one who turns to Yunho and says, “I don’t know if that’s something we’d be comfortable with.” 

“Including someone else… Opens doors,” you add, fingers fidgeting where they say in your lap, uneasiness oozing off of you. 

“Doors that we haven’t even knocked on, let alone opened,” Mingi nods, and the comfort of his thigh pressed to your knee feels necessary. 

Yunho tilts his head, “It doesn’t need to be some big thing. You guys are exploring, figuring shit out, it doesn’t hurt to have someone else to guide you. And scratch the itch.” 

You pull your lip between your teeth. That wording, how casual he’s treating the sentiment… You and Mingi were planners, since the beginning of starting this adventure, you’ve talked everything out from day one. Yet as you glanced at your boyfriend, the transparency in his eyes, how he seemed to be contemplating it, too. 

Something was nagging at you, saying maybe inviting someone else in is the right option. Yunho was the one with experience, he’s guided people before. 

He’s guided people before. 

“Do you know anyone who would?” Mingi asked as your eyes skimmed over Yunho. Broad chest, long legs, strong thighs, you’ve never really looked at him. You know he’s gorgeous, but you’re too in love with Mingi to notice when someone looks like that. This could work. Your head tilted, the pearly chest peeking out of the white linen shirt lined with a silver chain, eyes dropping to his slacks clung to every muscle in his thighs. This could definitely work. 

Yunho smacked his teeth. “Are you kidding me?” 

A smile played at your lips as a bubble of excitement erupted in your gut. Every single story he’s ever told comes rushing back to you, every minuscule detail— Is he thinking what you’re thinking?

“You two have zero structure. As much as it doesn’t need to be a big deal, you should still invite someone that you trust.” Yunho meets your eye as he finishes his sentence, and you watch as he realizes, catching a glimpse of the amusement on your features, he knows. 

“I trust whoever you trust, Yun,” Mingi says plainly. “I trust you the most.” 

You and Yunho stare at each other, lost in some kind of nonverbal contemplation, who was going to tell Mingi what both of you were thinking? He jerks his chin in the direction of your boyfriend, the action so small it was almost unnoticeable, his eyes saying Go ahead. 

So you do. 

“Min,” you say quietly, turning to look at him, and Mingi meets your gaze with an absentminded look. As if Yunho couldn’t hear, you ask your boyfriend, “Why don’t we ask him?” 

Mingi’s face contorts into bewilderment. “He can hear you— I— Are you crazy?” 

You look at him, really look at him. We trust him.  Mingi’s face doesn’t change. He’s my best friend.  You pull your lips together in a line. He’s the only Dom we know. He can help us.  Mingi glances at Yunho, then back to you. Are you sure? You smile. I’m sure. 

When you both looked back at Yunho, his face had completely morphed into something different. Stronger. Thrill is racing in your blood, excitement and nerves combined encouraging the trickle of sweat beneath your clothes. You didn’t give yourself a moment to think, not about what could go wrong, not even about what would go right. Just sitting across from him had your mind floating, staring at that corner of your consciousness where you were everything and nothing all at once, waiting. 

Mingi said something. You weren’t listening. 

Yunho sat deeper into the couch, knees spread and outstretched in front of him, a smirk on his lips. “God, I thought you would never ask.” 

Amusement still rippling in your eyes, impatience sitting shallow beneath your skin, you blink, “What do you mean?” 

“The night you were ‘sick’?” He bends two long fingers on each hand around the word, “Don’t think I didn’t know why you kicked me out. What my words were doing to you both.” 

Your body flushes, he even felt your temperature that night, yet he knew the whole time? Smirk still etched into his skin, he says, “You both looked at me like you wanted to eat me alive. Like you needed me to put you in your place.” 

The breath that leaves your lungs is staggered and Mingi catches it, he could probably feel the arousal radiating off of you, smell the wetness pooling between your legs. You wanted this more than you realized, you think, and you hoped he did, too. 

“Is that what you’d do?” The words stumble out of your mouth before you can think about them, “Put us in our place?” 

Yunho meets your eye again and his gaze laid upon your body is all consuming, like being under a microscope, as if he can see the brat that laid dormant between your ribs. Voice swimming with simplicity and clean control, he says, “If you give me a reason to.” 

He shifts his focus to your boyfriend and you feel colder without it, “Do you want this, Mingi?” With eyes on him and him alone, still exuding confidence and strength, he asks, “Or is it just your pretty little girlfriend that wants me?” 

You and Mingi both gasp. Holy shit. Mingi stared, lips parted, you were sure his mind was going a mile a minute about all the things that could go wrong, how he hadn’t done any research on this. 

Hold on, Yunho thinks you’re pretty? 

“I’m nervous,” Mingi responds, his voice small, brushing his pinky finger against your thigh, but keeping his eyes trained on Yunho. Ignoring the pretty little girlfriend part doesn’t surprise you at all. With a little more confidence, he says, “We should talk about this.” 

“We will talk about it,” Yunho nods, “I wouldn’t do this without talking about it first. I need to know your limits, boundaries, what you’re comfortable with. I need to know if you want it most of all though, Min.” 

Mingi turns to you, a fire in his eyes, one that you couldn’t place specifically. Nerves or arousal, stress or excitement, they could burn either way. With an even smaller voice, low and raspy, he asks, “Are you sure about this?”

“I trust him,” you say just above a whisper, “If you don’t want it, we don’t do it. Period.” 

“Baby,” he squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head down, voice smaller than you’ve ever heard it, “I want it so fucking bad.” 

You smile, peeking to look at Yunho, giving him a quick nod. You turn back to Mingi, excitement laced in your words, “Then let’s do it.” 

“I need to hear you say it, Mingi,” Yunho cuts in, voice slicing through the room, an order. Mingi’s cheeks are bright pink as he stares at his best friend across the room, fingers fidgeting with the strings of his sweatpants, nervous. “Don’t be shy with me, I know everything about you, Min. I’ve seen your worst, and I’m still saying yes to fucking you.” 

The huff of air that leaves Mingi slices through the room like a knife. It relayed every thought he was keeping trapped inside, every feeling he wasn’t sure if he should feel, as if he released the last bit of apprehension so the truth could lie bare. He looked at Yunho as if he handed his pride over to his best friend to hold between his long fingers, as if one harsh squeeze would leave Mingi ashamed for the rest of his life, as if he’d lose Yunho if this went all wrong. 

Mingi swallowed, “I want this.” 

Yunho smiled, “Great.” And as if he could read Mingi’s thoughts, his expression just as well as you could, he added, “You won’t regret it, I promise.” 

Mingi nodded, leaving silence to lay over the room like a blanket. You steal a glance at your boyfriend, the both of you seeming to be thinking Well? What now?

Yunho answers your thoughts once more, “Tell me what you’ve done, what works, what doesn’t. Any boundaries, hard limits, things that are an immediate No.” 

You purse your lips, trying to rack your mind, because in all seriousness you really haven’t tried all that much besides choking, some light power play and orgasm denial. 

When you nor Mingi answer right away, the smile on Yunho’s face only grows, sly and knowing. “You guys are like two virgins sitting across from me. Say something.” 

As if the one sentence took the edge off completely, you smile, and the lock on your vocal chords open. “We’ve just played around with choking, denying orgasms and stuff, some degradation. Nothing crazy.” 

Yunho nods, “Okay, impact play? Spanking, slapping?” 

“I did that once,” Mingi raises a finger, a nod of his head. 

“I don’t really know what I’d be into or not into,” you shrug, “Do you have, like, a list?”

“What, like a survey? Check off the box next to each kink if you’re into it?” 

That rips a laugh from your lungs, “Fuck you, I don’t know. I don’t even know what there is to say no to.”

Yunho’s smile is somewhere between amused and plotting, eyes thinned and menacing. “Okay, then tell me what is an immediate Yes. What you do want.” 

You purse your lips again, but Mingi answers first, the confidence in his voice taking you completely by surprise. “I like being choked, and I like when she’s mean to me, but nothing too mean, more like when she calls me names. I don’t know about being spanked or slapped.” 

You nod, “Choking and names, yes. Spanked and slapped also yes.” 

“Okay, we’re getting somewhere,” Yunho nods, “When you say names, you mean slut, whore, etcetera…” 

You and Mingi nod, saying yes simultaneously. 

“And we’re both okay with orgasm denial, how about overstimulation?” 

“Yes,” you say in unison with your boyfriend once more. 

“Then let’s start there,” Yunho leans forward again, elbows on his knees, legs spread before him. “I won’t be too harsh with you. If you guys are still interested in exploring, then we’ll save it for next time.” 

He’s already thinking about next time?! 

“Have you figured out a safe word already?”

You and Mingi nod, but Mingi says, “It’s kiwi. We googled safe words and it said fruits are good words to use.” 

Yunho tries to ignore his amusement but his smile leaks through the mask, “Kiwi, okay. I can kiss you both, touch you both, there’s no limits when it comes to that, either?” 

You and Mingi both shake your head. You add, “We’re yours to do whatever you want.” 

“Good,” Yunho says, then turns to you, back to the demeanor exuding strength and power, “For starters, never say fuck you to me again, unless you want to watch me ruin your boyfriend while you sit in the corner, watching.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat, your body stilling, heat erupting beneath your skin. The thought of him touching Mingi without you, doing anything without you present, active… a shiver racks down your spine, eyes wide and alert. You nod, then squeak, “Understood.”

“So sweet,” Yunho smiles, “I’m gonna have fun with you. Come here, pretty.” 

You glance at Mingi, who looks like a deer caught in fucking headlights, eyes wide and slightly panicked, lips pulled into a line. His face seemed to say, He wants to do this now?!

You hold his stare, Should we?

His eyes fly to Yunho, then land back on you, his jaw tightening as he thinks. You can see the thoughts form, the churning of contemplation in his mind, but you watch as they soften, chocolate eyes melting under the heat of his best friend. His lips perked up at the corners, but his eyes told you he wasn’t completely sure, “Don’t keep him waiting, baby.” 

You swallow but still stand on shaky legs, sauntering across the room, around the coffee table, approaching Yunho who shifts as you come closer, body sinking into the couch and spreading his knees. His face is too calm and collected, too casual, as if he’d truly been waiting for this, as if he’d seen this picture in a dream. You stand before him, socked toes wiggling against the hardwood as he looks you up and down, eyes catching on your big tee, staring where it swallows your shorts beneath. You were not dressed for the occasion, but he didn’t seem to care. 

“Come on,” long fingers hit the top of his thighs, patting muscles and clothed skin, his slacks bunched where his thighs met his pelvis. “Sit.” 

Your heart thumps beneath your chest as you sink a knee on either side of him, your head immediately turning to look back at your boyfriend. Yunho catches your chin with his hand before you catch a glimpse, his voice stern, “Eyes on me.”

You didn’t think you’d be apprehensive– every bone in your body was screaming yes, but the thighs beneath you were so different from Mingi’s, more narrow, just as strong but more slender, a lankier build than your muscle mass of a boyfriend. The difference had your body confused, your muscle memory warped, but your muscles relaxed in his hold, submitting to his grip on you, long fingers hooked on either side of your jaw. You stared into the well of bronze below his brows, lighter than Mingi’s, but hardened with steady control. 

“Do you still want this?” His voice was low, almost a whisper on your skin, “Be honest. We can just watch a movie, try again another time, or never talk about it again.”

“I do,” It took a single hammered heartbeat to answer, “I want this.”

He smiles again, sweeter this time, “Then kiss me.”

He guided you toward him with his fingers still wrapped around your jaw, his lips softly melting with yours, and the feeling was… Strange. Smaller than Mingi’s but just as soft, you adjusted, allowing him to take the lead, following his lips as his hand traveled to your cheek, taking up every inch of space from your jawline to your ear. It was dizzying, Yunho kissed like he was already undressing you, inside you, passion and lust and conjoining, you could feel every intention behind it. It didn’t take long for your hips to rut against his. 

As good as it was, it was still weird. Being with one person for so long but enjoying another, guilt nibbled at your soul, at every ounce of blood in your body that circulated only for Mingi. His hands dropped to your hips, palms covering bone, fingertips digging into plush skin, moving you against him. Your lips still followed his, body pliant for him, your arms flying to his shoulders to keep you steady. 

Yunho pulled away after a moment, back relaxing into the cushions, hands laying softly on your hips, he averted his eyes to your boyfriend who sat across the room. 

“Min,” you turned your head as Yunho called his name, eyes widening as you took in the view of your boyfriend. Body stretched out before him, jaw locked, eyes glazed over, still somewhere between horny and hesitant. “Come here,” Yunho’s voice was softer now, control still tangled within his words but he’d mixed in something calmer, soothing. 

Mingi loosed a heavy breath as he stood, taking the seat beside Yunho, his limbs locked and rigid. You met his eyes, trying to understand what laid below the surface, and for the first time in years you couldn’t read his mind. Yunho’s head still hung lazily over the couch, his eyes raking over his best friend, his thoughts you couldn’t place either. 

Yunho’s hand reached out to touch Mingi’s face, his thumb caressing his smooth, pink cheek, a small smile sitting on Yunho’s face as he touched him. Yunho locked a laugh inside his chest as Mingi shuddered, his voice quieter now, “Wanna kiss me?” 

Mingi looked like he saw a ghost. Rapidly blinking, his lips opening and closing, yet leaning into Yunho’s palm resting on his cheek. Mingi nodded once, and that was all Yunho needed to lean in, to attach his lips to Mingi’s. 

Your lips parted as theirs met, a rush of adrenaline seeping into your bones as they kissed, softly at first, questioning and experimental. Your eyes widened as their kiss deepened, Mingi’s body turning to face Yunho, a rough palm coming up to cup Yunho’s cheek, the two of them holding each other. 

It was… Passionate. You wondered if Mingi was feeling the same things you did, the guilt, unease, the feeling of it all being foreign. It didn’t look like it, but you wondered how you looked kissing Yunho, if it appeared anything like this. The heavier it grew, the higher your temperature raised, a blazing heat consuming you as every nerve ending sparked. Watching Mingi kiss someone else— Yunho of all people— had you even more confused than you were before, horny but jealous, enjoying the show but wishing they were touching you, too. 

Yunho’s hand slid down to Mingi’s jaw, grabbing it the same way he grabbed yours, you watched as his fingertips turned white with pressure, his grip tightening to ignite jealousy in your fucking soul. You rolled your hips at the sight before you, unsure if it was to get their attention or if it was because of the bucket of arousal that had been dumped on your head.

A hand left Mingi’s jaw to slide up your thigh, to rest on your hip, urging you to continue. You leaned forward at the attention, your hand reaching under Yunho’s unbuttoned shirt by the collar, fingers caressing his collarbone to his shoulder. Your lips followed, tongue licking up his neck, tasting sweat and Yunho as you kissed his jaw, the two still making out just above your head. 

Yunho’s hand slid up to your waist beneath your tee, still keeping the other hand on your boyfriend’s jaw, somehow appeasing both of you simultaneously. You think about what he said– God, I thought you’d never ask– It finally clicks that he’s been waiting for this. He wants it just as much as you two do. The thought makes you smile into his skin, your other hand playing with the buttons of his linen shirt, wanting to feel the skin beneath it, wanting the wall between you gone. 

Yunho finally breaks away from Mingi, both hands coming to your hips to still you, and you pull away from his neck. Both you and Mingi stare at him confused, waiting for instructions or compliments or degradation, you weren’t sure.

You would have never expected what actually came out of his mouth. 

“That’s enough for tonight,” he leans back into the couch, eyeing the two of you carefully. You glance at Mingi who wore swollen lips and furrowed brows, you were sure you looked the same. 

“That’s it?” Your eyebrows knit together, “Just some kissing?” 

You were baffled. Yunho smiles, “Just some kissing. Now you’ll know if you really want it, with me.”

“I know,” Mingi counters immediately, “I know. I want it, now. With you.”

You nod your agreement, “I know, too. I want it, Yunho.”

Yunho’s smile just grows, sly and wicked as per usual, “Think on it for a few days.”

You can feel him hard beneath you– You stare at him with wide eyes, eyebrows furrowed, jaw slack. The arousal sliding through your veins was begging to be released, the arousal for him, for what comes next. You sputter, blinking rapidly, “I– We don’t need to think. Are you serious?” 

He laughs. Not condescendingly, one genuinely full of amusement, “I’m serious, baby.” His hands grab at your hips, lifting you to place you on Mingi’s lap instead, “Next time.”

You look at Mingi who shares the same expression, confusion and surprise, blue-balled. You look at Yunho who’s getting up from the couch, “You don’t want to?”

He stands before you then glances down at his clearly hard cock pressing against the material of his pants, “I clearly want it, but I know you two. You don’t do anything on a whim, everything is planned out, even sex. Think about it, talk about it, and call me.”

It was as you had jumped into the ocean, freezing water washing over you, waking you up while simultaneously putting you down. You blink at him, he was right, he knows the two of you far too well, but for once you didn’t need to think it through. You knew down to the essence of your being that you wanted this, wanted him, wanted to see what he’d do with you. Wanted to feel it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He tilted his head, pouting, “I promise I’ll come back and fuck you stupid if you want me to.” 

Oh, you burned at his words, you wondered what other filthy things could leave his pretty lips. Mingi spoke up before you got the chance to whine, “You’ll come when we call?” 

Yunho nods, “I promise. We have, like, twelve more movies to watch, anyways.”

You groan, you forgot about your Marvel Marathon. “God, this is gonna be endless.”

“You have no idea,” He winks, fucking winks, and you sink into Mingi, fighting another groan. 

He turns, grabbing his keys from the coffee table, and starts for your front door. He waves a hand as he approaches the door, calling behind him, “I’ll be waiting for your call!”

You and Mingi look at each other as he slips through the door, a thousand words going through your minds, but you speak first. “We are calling him tomorrow.”

Mingi laughs, head tipping backwards, his whole body falling into the couch. “He’s such an asshole, but he’s right. A correct asshole.”

“A correct asshole,” you huff, laying on top of your boyfriend, sinking into his warmth. “I’m horny.”

“Good thing I got a lil’ jealous seeing you kiss him,” Mingi says, his hands sliding up your waist, under your tee– His tee. “Come here.”

“You? Jealous? I’ve been waiting for this day.”

masterlist

[michipan]

sfw link ^^

(cracks knuckles) ok so lemme tell you. from the moment i saw this event's masterlist, i was HOOKED by your fic. mean slytherin kai??? YES PLEASE??? gave myself a moment to sit down and really enjoy this fic so i could give you a proper review soooo… prepare yourself, because im completely normal! ^^

starting off with the smut being in his pov… ouuuu yes i love. i can’t remember the last time i read smut in the male lead’s pov, this was so interesting and refreshing (also i couldn’t help but get stuck on the fact that you used “cloying”. such a cool word just wanted to tell you!) but christ… what an opening scene!! this was such a good choice on your part, so many things were told about his character right off the bat— his refusal for intimacy when literally having sex, the degrading way he regards this girl, his dominance… oh lord i was squealing and kicking my feet!!! the fact that he physically pushed down this girl’s hand when she tried to kiss him??? ohhohohohoho ur so good… calling it a line he never crosses… AND WHEN HE WENT “should I?” AHHHHH i can’t. he’s so cold and arrogant and i LOVE IT

“She can’t let him be the one to leave first, not tonight.” im not gonna get into it too much right now because it’s gonna come LATER, but it’s crazy how such small details like these manage to encapsulate your characters so much. it’s like you know all your characters like the back of your hand, im enamoured…

“He strides through the grand halls with the effortless poise of someone who believes the castle itself was built for him.” this sentence. DO YOU KNOW IM CRAZY??? so good so yummy i can imagine him so perfectly… you’re so good at setting the tone, you make it seem effortless; the same goes for status, i absolutely adore that you go into small details like his pristine clothes, the way people react when he passes, the way kai doesn’t regard them— it really sells the whole idea that kai is above everyone, i love it!! EVEN MORE SO when he tries to intimidate a gryffindor, just to get a reaction out of him?? it’s like he needs to prove himself every chance he gets, and the fact that he gets so disappointed when he doesn’t get the reaction he wants is soooo…. fawk… i was a little intimidated… i was a little scared…

your writing is just so??? good??? you keep pulling out imagery left and right and it stuns me because it’s all so unique and not repetitive at all, which is so difficult to do! i love the little motifs that recur throughout (blades, cracks, blood, rot, etc) and how you manage to keep it fresh every time! I read “he could see the ache written in the curve of her back” and immediately ran to my notes to be like “woah!!! me like!!” and TRUST i will be pointing out the other ones i liked!!!

oh also him pretending like he didnt gaf and didn’t want to see mc was so funny to me. he’s just going “i have no choice, i don’t want to see this, idgaf!!” over and over just to get so entranced by her is so akdhadggk okay man. keep telling yourself you don’t care. (btw that whole sequence was SOOOO good!!!)

getting introduced to jay and chaweon was so interesting… i love getting thrown in a situation and be given the context later its my favorite kind of storytelling… it makes everything feel much more intense and trust, my hatred for chaewon is indeed INTENSE!!! when she called??? mc??? DIRTY???? oh i SCREAMED CAUSE HUH!!! but god, this interaction being the way the readers get the mc’s backstory… so delicious. again, you have the ability to set up tone/mood so nicely, and your imagery just amps that up to a 100. “You were the one who showed up on the doorstep with nothing but a trunk and a name no one knew how to say.” you are just so fucking cruel, you know twisting the knife inside of someone after stabbing them is just overkill!!! the fact that her life is just so rough that she even wishes she never got the letter is just so telling…

“Not the muggle-born mistake among children who made spells sing on their tongues, while yours stuttered, cracked, and bled.” this is just perfection. such an intense contrast that shows how the mc perceives herself,,, im giving you a kiss. right now.

MEETING JAY WAS SO. im just gonna repeat myself, but i just love the deliverance in your wording when it comes to certain characters, whether it be introducing them/giving them dialogue. his dismissiveness toward the mc, him laughing at her unease, his dialogue?? oh it’s so telling and i was immediately wary of him… “I wanna be with you. Do that thing with you.”/ “If you really liked me, you’d do it too. You know?” I can just hear that stupid arrogant tone as if what he’s saying is the most obvious thing… good job! I hate him. 💗

HIS PERSISTENCE. THE REVEAL THAT IT WAS ALL A BET. OUHHHHH IM RAGING I HATE THIS GUY!!! him trying to chase after her and asking to talk is such a slap in the face (haha) like??? oh WHO IS YOU!! (also let me tell you the sentence “his form clinging to your shadow” is so fucking cool. just imagining him trying to grab her but not being close enough… your imagery breathes life into this fic)

the switch to kai…. oh 💞💞💞 i can’t i just love his character so effing much. the way he perceives the mc, the way he watches her… the way he grins 🤤 i need him soooooo bad its not even funny. the way he sees her crying and gets HORRNNNNEEEY like wtf do you mean you wanna be the one to make her cry instead($^(#^)& UNDER HIS??? HANDS???MOUTH??NAME??? EXCUSE ME!!? (yes PLEASE!)

this little opposites attract moment you have with kai and mc is just so interesting because of how intense it is, and holy fucking shit i cannot believe i just came to this realization while i typed this up im so fawking dumb: kai’s upbringing was so meticulous, crafted into the perfect leader, someone who can charm his way through anything but can still control the room with a single glance… he was given a formula, given the world, given more attention than he knows what to do with; he’s calm, collected, perfect. and then the mc… is quite literally his counterpart. no family (she’s an orphan right? or rather, adopted? did i pick that up correctly?) mistreated and ignored, forced to care after herself and figure out life, which inevitably flipped itself on its head when she was accepted into hogwarts, a complete 180 from her muggle life.. a storm of trauma and emotions she doesn’t know how to regulate, with powers that are way out of her league [or so she deems] unapologetically herself, unapologetically imperfect. it’s no wonder kai would be drawn to her, she’s everything he’s never been allowed to be!

when kai decides to chase after her, “like a shadow stretching to meet its mark.” (let me just say, the same metaphor for jay and kai, only one is clinging and the other is stretching out? come on. you’re joking.) ouuuu you. you you you you you when i get my hands on you!!! so interesting how the mc knows she’s being followed, and kai doesn’t really care about being subtle?? their dynamic is just so interesting, and kai is so forward it makes me squeal… “The wind caught your hair, brushing it across your cheek. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out and touch it, feel if it was as soft as it looked, feel if you would flinch.” TO FEEL IF YOU WOULD FLINCH YEOOOWWWW HOW INTENSE!!! this whole interaction was just perfection. crazy first (official) meeting, but hell yeah! 

people whispering how dare she? for beating the shit outta jay… grrrr we lowkey gotta kill them. mc not explaining herself bc she knew no one would care anyway… oh we gotta bomb the school! (too much? sorry.) also, i would love to learn more about mc and her powers; i know it was already pretty well established in this fic in regards of what they are and her struggles with them, but i just find it so interesting… something that has the potential to bring her to the top yet is frowned upon, alienates her, and she tries to suppress… i just find it so interesting, along with chaewon’s (ex)friendship with the mc! so much worldbuilding… me love. oh, and her snap at chaewon?? “I have power. You just have a last name.” YESSSSS QUEEN!!! oh everyone cheered. clapped. whistled. screamed, even.

AND KAIS ENTRANCE UGGGGHHHHHHH 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 YOU ARE SO CRUEL FOR MAKING HIM SO FUCKING HOT the fact the you wrote that he was STAKING HIS CLAIM MEOWWWWW im a melted puddle of kai brainrot you cannot be doing this to me its just. not fair!! also why the hell is this man saying he “didn’t do it for me”??? is there a secret third person getting bullied by chaewon in this room that we just didn’t know about?? 

but ough… mc finally breaking down after having to pretend to be strong… this poor girl.. can i just say, despite you mentioning previously that kai was taught to listen and look into someone’s eyes while thinking a million different things, this didn’t feel like that at all… it was just such a raw and intimate moment, the fact that hueningkai didn’t try to use some flowery language to comfort her, didn’t do anything unnecessary,, but just stood there… just to be there. and the kiss… and the fact that it had yet to develop any passion, bc hueningkai is just so confused on why he’s so drawn to her,, “He tasted like someone who hadn’t felt anything in years and hated that you made him want to” god its like you want me to kill myself i hate you. him also being shaken by the kiss… just to tell her to stop crying bc it ruins her face 😭😭😭 god i love him. I LOVE HIM!!!

my goodness, you really did your big one with this fucking character. i love when kai is written in a more cold manner, it’s such a weakness for me; i love that you made him soooo forward, it’s so ridiculously hot. he knows what he wants and doesn’t care that they have different statuses, which is sooo incredibly HOT?? i wondered if it would be a dilemma between the two (as if he’d be repulsed by her or reluctant to chase after her) but the fact that it’s not is SO REFRESHING you have no idea!! him just following her around like a guard dog…. dude my knees are weak. i need to shake you by the shoulders and scream at you so you can realize what this man is doing to me. 

the scene where the mc was having a panic attack was so !!! important to me !!! kai doing something as simple as feeling her pulse and telling her to continue walking with him…. then holding her hand… oh em gee… need that… also yunjin coming up to her after and asking if she was kai’s gf.. and not being super mean and jealous ?! again,,, this is like a breath of fresh air.. it’s not like i hate cliches (love them) but i also find it interesting when you’re just met with the unexpected… like. yunjin’s chill as fuck! okay queen! saying he’s obsessed with the mc… 😖 and calling him unwell LMFAO she’s so chill i wasn’t familiar with her game…

“I’m ambitious,” she said. “And if being ambitious makes me a bad person… then I guess I’m a Slytherin.” this line is so crazy good i ate that shit UPPPP i always think abt that trope where it’s like. idk how to explain it… people that know they’re bitches are more real/better than a person who hides behind a fake persona and tries to convince themselves they’re not rotted… idk. yunjin reminds me of that. 

now lets get to this final scene shall we… everything about this was genuinely perfect. i loved hearing kai talk about his upbringing, talk about how cruel it was but not seeing it that way bc yk… it’s what he grew up with. “He sounded like someone explaining the weather. Like grief was just another season he’d already lived through.” you and that fucking figurative language i cannot believe you just write this shit down like nothing i cant STAND YOU (marry me? ^^)

“I look for you when you’re not around.” DO YOU KNOW IM CRAZY??? IM HUNTING YOU DOWN!!!!

the smut…. im speechless…. kai constantly asking for consent FAWWKKKKK GRRRRRRR I CANT DEAL WITH THIS. YOU CAN TELL ME TO STOP ANYTIME>????A{OEGT&)&)U JJST FUCKING. SHOOT ME!!! “Here?” / “You want me here?” HES SOOOOO>??!>!$@$ im malfunctioning. NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED GIMME GIVE ME HIM NOW

the teasing. the dirty talk. him being a fawking EATTERRRRR MEOWWWWW

HIM CONSTANTLY. FUCKING. KISSING HER. EVERYWHERE. HE JUST. CANT STOP. KISSING HER. DO YOU KNOW. IM FUCKING CRAZY. YOU HAVE THREE DAYS. 

everything about that was just so sweet… so good and charged with emotions and pining, the way they lingered around each other, meticulously cleaning up not because it needed to be perfect, but because it meant having an excuse to stay longer…

the callback to the mc fixing the bed, focused on symmetry. him not caring about it and instead being fixated solely on her. oh FUCK YOU!!!

“Why would you change for me?”

“Because you made me want to,”

oh sigh…. i need to be institutionalized after this. this was just so… soooo perfect… (but also can i say it’s interesting that kai’s first instinct is to mold himself completely around her? it really is all he knows, in a way… it’s okay to be you kai…) BUT ALSO i can recognize the sweetness and adoration that comes with wanting to be like your partner, wanting to understand them more in order to reach a better closeness. i just love overanalyzing ! 

ALRIGHT now let me move onto these following quotes that i just found so interesting and that i wanted to talk about on their own!

“you didn’t notice the silence blooming around you like mold.”  / “boys with bloodlines like poisoned roots” /  “Screw this whole bloody castle and the way it always stank of legacy and rot.” / “A boy born with a silver knife in his mouth,” /  “You felt too much. You burned too brightly. You cracked in places he didn’t understand. You cried like it meant something. You fought like the world still owed you something soft.”

i just wanted to dive a little further into the whole “you have motifs that keep appearing in your figurative language for each character” thing, because this is truly so interesting and (in my personal opinion) a huge standout in your writing! (or at least, this fic? i’ll have to read more of your works to prove this theory… hehe) like how the mc is constantly associated with rot/ruin/cracks, and how kai is always associated with silver/blades ? (THE FACT THAT YOU USED SILVER BLADE INSTEAD OF SILVER SPOON YOURE A GENIUSSS)  and how the themes of power and legacy are also associated with rot/decay… and how there’s a lot of recurring metaphors of blood… i can’t it really is just so amazing to read and pick up on. it just sets up this subconscious premise in the reader’s mind on how they should feel about certain things, gives them physical imagery/ imagery that appeals to the senses and just really elevates the feelings one gets… idk, the fact that you used blooming like mold is so crazy to me. how do you come up with this?? were you blessed by the gods? i hope you know that at some point, i just started cussing you out in my notes. 

okay! let me just say, despite my really, really aggressive review and reactions, i loved this story!! so much!!! i truly think you’re such an incredibly talented writer, you have such a good grasp on imagery and your characters that you manage to intertwine both and elevate your story so much more. the plot was absolutely perfect, im such a sucker for jaded characters like kai, your fic had me hooked from the day it was announced, and i was so excited to see that it was finally out! i’ll add a final comment on the playlist; i was so surprised to see that it went for a much softer, loving sound, but i truly think it fits. it’s so gentle and just added to that yearning that we got in the fic… 10/10, amazing. (die for you, paramore, and w2e in one playlist?? Oh, your mind…) i enjoyed this fic sooooo soso much, i wish i were hit in the head and given memory loss so i could experience this for the first time again. amazing work, im in love with you!

‎₊ ˚ ⊹ ིྀ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐅𝐈𝐓

pairing: slytherin!kai x gryffindor!reader

He was supposed to look away. He was never supposed to crave the one who didn't belong.

warnings: hogwarts au, set in college age, romance redemption, strangers to lovers, pureblood/halfblood societal norms, mdni. bullying!, family!trauma.

smutwarnings: virginity-loss, missionary, oral!fem receiving.

wc: 10k — playlist

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: so happy to be part of this event! thank you to my girls, rain, ash yun and nina for being awesome ily all ^.^ see the event masterlist here.

He grips the back of her head, his fingers sinking into her hair as he thrusts into her with a steady, punishing rhythm. Skin into skin. Her soft moans turn ragged, a needy, breathless chorus in the dimly lit room. The air is thick with the cloying scent of her perfume, almost too sweet, making his head swim.

“m-more, Kai, please,” she whimpers, her nails scraping at his shoulders, her legs tightening around his hips.

He smirks. They always beg the same way.

He watches her, how her lips part with every gasp, her brows knit in desperate pleasure but as she reaches up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, he knows what she’s after.

A kiss.

He shoves her hand down, ignoring the flash of irritation in her eyes. He doesn’t want to see that. He doesn’t want to see anything but her writhing beneath him as he chases his own high.

He keeps pounding into her, the bed creaking under them, her breaths turning into sharp cries. When he feels himself tip over the edge, he holds her hips still, burying himself to the hilt as he cums hard into the condom. He stays there for a moment, head bowed, catching his breath. He pulls out and steps back, his chest heaving. She lies flushed and trembling, a sheen of sweat on her skin, her hair a tangled mess. He’s already made her release twice tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to press his lips to hers.

A line he never crosses.

She sits up, tugging down the hem of her uniform skirt, smoothing it over her thighs. She ties her hair back in a tight ponytail, her green scarf slightly wrinkled. She watches him with narrowed eyes, her lips still parted and pink. “Why don’t you ever kiss me?” Yunjin says finally, her tone somewhere between curiosity and frustration. “I used to think it was just me… but I talked to some of the other girls you’ve hooked up with. You never kiss them either.”

He shrugs, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark as he tugs on his jeans. “Should I?”

“Asshole.” Yunjin’s voice is clipped, her eyes sharp with hurt as she stands up. She can’t let him be the one to leave first, not tonight. She smooths down her skirt and grabs her bag, shoulders squared as she heads for the door.

Heuning Kai just watches her, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk. He’s known her since their first year, long enough to read every flicker of her mood, how she tries to cover her hurt with anger, how she thinks he can’t see it.

He doesn’t bother trying to stop her. He doesn’t have to.

She leaves with her head high and her footsteps light, and he doesn’t move until the door clicks shut behind her. He shakes his head, a small huff under his breath as he stands and tugs his jeans back up, his shirt still undone.

Kissing. It’s always been too intimate, too close; something that feels like more than he can give. He’s never been interested in playing at something deeper than what they already have. He’s never found the will to do it.

He glances at the rumpled sheets. He will need to have them smoothed out, made right again. Things should be neat, aligned.

He has always hated disorder, the way it jars the symmetry he craves.

He strides through the grand halls with the effortless poise of someone who believes the castle itself was built for him. Every step is confident, his polished shoes clicking softly on the stone floor. When someone calls his name, he turns enough to flash them a half-look. His name is on everyone’s lips. His robes are cut to perfection, dark green and silver threads woven just so, a mark of being a pureblood heir and wealth. He sees the girls watching from the corners, cheeks flushed. Some whisper to each other, others just stare in open admiration. The boys in his own house, look at him with a mix of camaraderie and begrudging deference. They share the same colors and the same crest, but not the same steep.

He doesn’t slow down for them. The air around him seems to shimmer with an arrogance that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.

Everyone knows who he is and what he represents.

He’s about to turn the corner when someone barrels into his shoulder. He glances up, finding himself face-to-face with a student dressed in vivid red.

A Gryffindor.

“Honestly, must you always be this clumsy?” Kai sneers, his voice dripping with scorn as he glares at the boy. There’s no kindness in his eyes, just the sharp gleam of someone who delights in cutting others down. He’s never had patience for Gryffindors, the way they strut around, so certain of their own virtue, as if bravery alone could make them special.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” he adds with a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Or did you leave that famous Gryffindor courage somewhere behind you?”

He hates their pride, their blind sense of righteousness. It’s always been a sore spot for him — the ones in this house always seem so sure of their own moral, so quick to wear it like a crown. They don’t understand real power. They don’t understand how quickly their loud ideals can be torn apart.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Not everyone here is as forgiving as I am.”

The Gryffindor boy shoves his hands down into his pockets and walks off without a word. Kai’s smirk falters, turning into a disappointed scowl when he realizes he won’t get the reaction he was hoping for.

He turns back to his locker, swinging the door open and rifling through his books. His fingers move. A sudden burst of laughter echoes from the other side of the hallway, loud and grating. He can’t see them, but the harsh, triumphant cackle is enough. Another group of Gryffindors, undoubtedly.

He hates how their lockers are practically pressed up against his own. How he has to see them every day, laughing like the world is theirs for the taking. It makes his skin prickle with annoyance.

He heard them leave.

With a grunt, he shut his own locker and started toward his first class, but not without catching a faint, choked sound from the direction of the lockers he hated so much.

It’s not that he’s curious. It’s not that he wants to see it.

It’s just that it’s on his way, like a grain of sand stuck in his shoe, like a pedestrian standing in the road he needs to cross. A path he has to take, whether he likes it or not.

At the end of the row, a girl is crumpled in defense, her face hidden in her hands. Her shoulders are trembling, the soft, broken sounds slipping past her lips even as she tries to swallow them down. Even from here, he could see the ache written in the curve of her back, in the way her breath hitched and faltered. The world feels too bright around, the hallway too bright and uncaring.

He breathes.

How hurt must she be to let someone else see her so wrecked, so undone?

"I am not the Darkling" he said softly, his eyes searching mine. "I am not the monster you think I am."

You echo the words under your breath, the pages of your battered book trembling slightly in your hands. You feel your eyes burn, but you don't dare blink. The darkling tried dragged her into the dark, but it was her light, Alina, that ended up swallowing him whole.

Fairy tales for the lonely. Lies stitched into paper and ink. Because in the real world, no one survives being consumed by someone else.

And no one asks to be.

“Hey.” You hear your name. When you glance up, Chae Won is standing over you, eyes sharp with contempt.

She’s supposed to be your friend. A fellow Gryffindor.

Without warning, she snatches the book from your hands and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from where you’d been sitting quietly on the floor. “Can we just stop this, please? I—”

“Stop what?” she snaps, already stepping closer. “Crying to Jay? Playing the victim again?” His name stops you cold.

She doesn’t let up. Her hand fists your hair, enough to hurt. “Do you forget you’re a Muggle-born?” she hisses. “And him? He’s everything people want. We were fine before you. You just had to show up, cry to him like some helpless little thing, and now he thinks you're this princess he has to save.”

Chae Won shoves you hard against the lockers. The metal slams cold into your back, the sound echoing down the empty hallway. She leans in, eyes burning, and says the one thing that never stops hurting, no matter how many times you've heard it. “You’re dirty.”

And just like that, you’re six again.

Not here. Not now. But back in that cold, too-quiet house where no one looked like you. Where you sat at the dinner table and watched mouths move around you like you weren’t even there. Where you learned, early and without being told, how to be invisible.

Where no one taught you how to belong.

You don’t say anything. The words are there, caught in your throat, but they taste like shame. They always have.

The afterthought. The charity case. Strange eyes. Odd temper.

You were the one who showed up on the doorstep with nothing but a trunk and a name no one knew how to say. You tried your best to earn your place, to blend in, to make yourself useful, but they still looked at you like you were something foreign. Something misplaced.

In the darkest corners of the night, you wished you’d never gotten the letter. That magic had skipped over you. That your name had never burned through that parchment. Never touched a wand. Maybe then, you could’ve had a normal life. One where you didn’t have to watch your adopted siblings shine in a world that only ever dimmed you.

Because then maybe, just maybe, you’d get to be normal.

Not this. Not the ghost haunting a place that was never yours. Not the muggle-born mistake among children who made spells sing on their tongues, while yours stuttered, cracked, and bled.

You didn’t even feel that you were crying.

Chaewon stares down at you with a cruel smirk, almost entertained by your tears. You’re frozen, your chest tightening, looking like a ghost of yourself. Pathetic. That’s probably what she’s thinking. Then she shoves you again hard. Your body hits the cold locker room tiles with a sickening thud, pain through your spine. You flinch, but you don’t even try to get up.

“Tell anyone,” she sneers, leaning down. “and you’ll regret it.”

They left you right after that.

No one would believe it anyway. You’ve spent your whole life fighting, pretending you're fine, building yourself up just to keep surviving. You wear strength like armor. But now?

Now you’re nothing but shattered pieces on the floor. No one saw you break. No one knows how hard you cried.

No one fucking knows.

"What?" Your voice comes out sharper than you meant, caught off guard.

It was the morning after — after everything and Jay had found you outside like he always does. The golden boy of Gryffindor, the one everyone seemed to adore without question. For months, he'd been chasing you. Sweet smiles, thoughtful words, persistent in his way. He asked you out more times than you could count and a month ago, you said yes.

That was why Chaewon hated you more now than ever.

Jay leans in across the picnic table, casual and unbothered like nothing had shifted in your world. Like you hadn’t spent the night before crumpled on a locker room floor, swallowing sobs and blood.

"I said you should sneak into my dorm later," he repeats. You blink at him. You had planned this picnic, thought maybe today would give you a moment of peace. A needed softness, but now his words float in the air like smoke, invasive and unexpected. He doesn’t notice the way your hands tremble slightly. Or if he does, he says nothing.

You swallow hard.

"Why would I do that? I could get caught," you say, your voice uneasy, the words tumbling out. Jay laughs, it was as if your nerves are a joke to him.

"Come on," he says, grinning. "It’s been a month now. I wanna be with you. Do that thing with you."

Your stomach turns. You might be naive but you’re not stupid. You open your mouth to say something, to maybe ask what he really means, to question the way he’s looking at you like he’s owed something, but he cuts you off. "If you really liked me, you’d do it too. You know?"

You look at him, stunned, like a deer caught in headlights. The boy you thought wanted you for you is now dangling your feelings like bait on a hook. "That... that won’t prove if I like you or not,"

"What do you mean?" he asks, brows furrowing. "So you don’t wanna do it?"

"Of course I would," you say quickly, your throat tightening. "But not right—"

"Not right now?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "That’s always your excuse."

"Excuse?"

He leans back, annoyed. "You know, if you don’t want me, just say it."

You freeze. His next words come out in a bitter, quiet mumble, like he doesn’t even realize he’s saying them aloud. "If this wasn’t for a stupid bet, I wouldn’t—"

"What?" Your voice is almost breathless. Cold rushes through your chest like someone ripped the air straight from your lungs. He doesn’t answer. His eyes widen, just for a second — just long enough to tell you everything you needed to know.

Your mind races. You remember the guilt that bloomed in your chest every time you turned him down, thinking you were the one being difficult. You remember how sad he looked when you said no, how it made you feel like you were failing him. How you apologized for it, over and over, thinking you were the one ruining things.

You remember trying, really trying to open up. The effort it took to prioritize someone else's wants over your own. The nights you rehearsed words in your head, how to say things gently, carefully, so he wouldn't feel rejected. You remember the ache of being left out, how his friends would talk around you like you were invisible. The silence when you spoke. The forced smiles when they laughed at jokes you didn’t understand because they were never meant for you.

You remember Chaewon's cruelty and you remember convincing yourself it was all worth it because he chose you.

"I was a fucking bet?" Your voice comes out hoarse. You stare at him, this boy who once looked like something good. Something kind. All that softness you thought you saw in him feels like a lie now.

You can feel the fire start to rise in your blood. You wore the same house colors.

"I—It was from the start, but then—"

“We’re done.” A blade slipped between the ribs.

You stand, your eyes focused on anything but him. You don’t look at the people beginning to notice, don’t care about the whispers. Your chest is hollow and screaming, but your face doesn’t show it. You walk the grounds like your heart isn’t shattering with every step.

You feel him behind you, his frantic footsteps, his form clinging to your shadow. You feel the stares, the weight of every eye on you.

"Can we please talk?" he pleads, his hand wraps around your wrist.

You turn your head and slap his face so hard it echoes. He doesn’t even get to process it before your foot collides with his, a sharp kick that throws him off balance. Pain, humiliation — all of it written across his face now for everyone to see.

“I said we’re done.” Your voice cracks but not out of weakness. It cracks from the sheer force of holding back everything you could’ve screamed. "You're evil."

He’s looking at you now like he’s the one broken. You turn, this time for good. Your body is trembling, anxiety crawling beneath your skin like a thousand needles, but your steps are steady. You're done.

Kai lounged on the stairway, tuning out the crude, drunken laughter of his housemates as they bragged about the girls they’d had the night before. Their voices blurred into nothing. His eyes scanned the grounds lazily, flashes of yellow, green, blue, red, the usual mess of students he barely cared to notice.

He saw you.

He saw you and remember how you cried that night.

He leaned forward without thinking, resting his chin on his hand, the world narrowing to just you. Everything else fell away against the blinding, face of yours. You moved with a kind of arrogance he recognized instantly: head high, steps sharp, like the world didn’t deserve you. The fire in your eyes. Typical of your house — spoiled, untouchable. He should’ve been bored.

He couldn’t look away. He couldn't stop hearing remembering your soft whimpers the night before.

A boy in red caught up to you, fumbling for your attention, desperate to be seen. Kai watched, as you turned to him with a look of pure disdain. The boy stammered something, like he was apologizing. You slapped him. Hard.

Kai’s mouth curved into a slow, wicked grin.

You didn’t stop there. You kicked the boy’s foot out from under him, angrily spat a few words he couldn’t catch, and walked off, not even glancing back. Kai’s eyes stayed locked on you, tracking every furious step you took across the grounds. You tried to hide it; the tremble in your hands, the way you blinked too fast but he caught it.

You're crying.

His chest tightened, something crawled under his skin. How much sweeter would it be if he were the one to do it? He could already picture it: your pride, your voice breaking, your pretty face crumpling; under his hands, under his mouth, under his name. Not for some sniveling boy, but for him.

Only him.

You didn’t even know his name. He stayed where he was, eyes following your broken form.

Kai had grown up as the only son of a pureblood family, where reputation bled deeper than blood, and control was not a suggestion but a rule etched into the spine of every morning. He was taught to be composed, restrained, untouchable — never too loud, never too soft. Smile, but not too often. Speak, but only when it matters. Feel, but never let it show.

He’d been raised that way.

His life was built on legacy. Emotions were weakness. Kindness was liability. He was not held, not comforted, not loved — only shaped.

They carved obedience into him like marble.

He watched his father hold entire rooms in silence with nothing but a stare. Watched him speak to people as if their existence was a favor, an inconvenience he barely tolerated and everyone listened. Everyone bowed. He learned early that power wasn’t just about magic.

He wore it well. Better than most.

He learned how to mimic empathy without feeling it. He learned how to laugh on cue, how to listen without caring, how to look someone in the eye while thinking of a thousand other things.

He drifted through life half-asleep, wearing the world like an ill-fitting coat. Friends, lovers, enemies; it was all noise. Meaningless. Predictable.

You were raw, undone, human. Everything he wasn’t. Everything he had been taught to crush.

What would it take to ruin you completely?

With every difiance in his body he stood up. He found himself taking step forward. Kai moved before he realized he was moving.

The sound of his housemates' laughter faded behind him, smothered under the pounding in his ears. He descended the steps with the same cold precision he was raised with, but something feral stirred beneath his ribs. His strides were steady, calculated, like a shadow stretching to meet its mark.

You were walking fast, too fast, your back stiff and your steps clipped. Anger clung to you like perfume, sharp and choking. He trailed you from a safe distance, ignoring the students who brushed past, oblivious. All he saw was the set of your shoulders, the shake in your hands. He could practically taste the heat radiating off you.

You turned a corner. So did he.

You passed the greenhouses, cut through the arch, your pace stuttering as if your own breath was betraying you. You didn’t notice him. Or maybe you did. Maybe you felt it — that feeling like you're being watched, hunted. The air changed around you.

Kai waited until you slowed near the old stone path that led toward the empty wing of the castle. Then he spoke.

His voice didn’t waver. “Why did you hit him?”

You stopped walking.He watched your back rise with a breath, then you turned.

Your eyes met. For the first time.

Up close, you looked even more dangerous. Even more breakable. Fire and ruin, cloaked in pride. Your lips were trembling, but your jaw was clenched. He took a slow step closer, tilting his head slightly, studying your face like it was a spell he hadn’t learned yet. Something unreadable flickered in your eyes — recognition? fear? anger?

He spoke again. “Is he the one who made you cry?”

Your fingers curled at your sides. You narrowed your eyes, not answering, as if silence could keep you safe.

Kai smiled, cruel. “You're not very good at hiding it.”

“I heard you last night,” he said, voice so calm it almost sounded kind. “In the hallway. You were crying.”

Your expression twisted. “Were you spying on me?”

“Observing,” he corrected, as if it mattered. “You’re... difficult to ignore.”

You scowled and turned to walk away, but this time he moved,faster than you expected, cutting into your path. “Your name,” he said. “Tell me.”

You stared at him like he was insane. Like something in him wasn't right and you were right. Something wasn't right. “What, so you can tell your little pureblood friends? Have a laugh?”

“So I'll know what to call you.”

Your breath hitched. He didn’t smile this time. His eyes dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes. He could see it, the flicker of panic behind your bravado, the instinct to run, the ache in your throat from holding everything in. And yet, you didn’t move. You stayed rooted.

Still burning. Still human.

Still too much for someone like him.

“You're insane,” you said.

“I've been told.” Kai murmured. The wind caught your hair, brushing it across your cheek. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out and touch it, feel if it was as soft as it looked, feel if you would flinch. “Tell me your name,” he said again.

You stared at him for a long time. Seconds stretched like hours. A war in your eyes, as you spoke your name. Maybe if you gave him your name, he would leave you alone.

“Wasn’t hard,” he said softly, almost mockingly. “Was it?”

He stared at you for a second longer, and when you didnt answer him he turned and walked away; no grand gestures, no parting words. A slow retreat, like he’d taken exactly what he came for. You stayed frozen in place, blinking hard, as if shaking off some invisible fog. The anger you felt with Jay minutes ago completely erased in your mind.

You told yourself he was just another entitled, pureblood brat playing mind games. But somehow… you knew he wasn’t done with you.

It was a surprise that you didn't cry a tear when you returned to your dorms that night.

The sun filtered through the high windows in thin, silver lines, catching on the dust that hovered in the still morning air. Breakfast chatter filled the Great Hall.

You walked in alone. As usual.

Your boots echoed softly against the stone as you passed through the threshold, robes hanging heavy off one shoulder, the collar of your uniform just slightly wrinkled. Your hair was pulled back, but loose strands clung to your cheeks from where you’d barely bothered to dry it. There were shadows under your eyes. A bruise of exhaustion, of restraint.

People noticed. They always did.

You could feel it, the way heads tilted toward each other when they thought you weren’t looking, how eyes followed you just long enough to make your skin crawl. It wasn’t new.

That’s her, they’d whisper. Muggleborn. Dangerous. Did you hear what she did to that Golden boy? How dare she?

You could’ve explained. You could’ve said he tricked you. Said he turned you into a bet, but you’d learned a long time ago, they never really wanted your side of the story.

You crossed the room, spine straight, steps controlled, passing the long tables like you didn’t notice the silence blooming around you like mold. You sat at the edge of your table. Your plate filled with food, untouched by your hand. A flick of your fingers beneath the table, no wand. No words.

A few first-years flinched.

Your fingers hovered over the rim of your goblet, then curled back. You weren’t hungry. You hadn’t slept much. A voice still rang in your head like a spell that hadn’t worn off.

“So I'll know what to call you.”

Kai sat three tables over, surrounded by his housemates; all perfectly-groomed pureblood sons and daughters of old families, boys with bloodlines like poisoned roots. He wasn’t speaking. He rarely did, but his gaze was fixed on you like a blade laid flat across your skin. He didn’t look smug. He didn’t smirk. He just watched. As if you were something worth waiting for.

You held his gaze. Steadily.

He didn’t look away. The last time you locked eyes with someone like that, they ended up on the floor, clutching their ribs, coughing blood, but Kai didn’t flinch.

He simply raised a single brow, like he was inviting you to do it. Daring you. Testing the temperature of your fury. You clenched your jaw and shoved your chair back, the scrape echoing louder than it should’ve.

Screw the eggs. Screw the toast. Screw this whole bloody castle and the way it always stank of legacy and rot.

And just as you stood, “Filthy little freak. Thinks she’s special.”

Your fingers twitched. You didn’t need a wand. The goblet in front of the boy crushed. Water soaked his robes. Gasps echoed. You didn’t look back. You kept walking.

You weren’t afraid of what you could do. You were afraid of how easy it was now.

The doors slammed behind you as you left the Great Hall, but you didn’t get far. You’d barely made it into the courtyard, “Well, if it isn’t our little wandless wonder.” The steps behind you were deliberate. Stiletto-sharp. The sound of privilege. You turned around.

Chae-won stood there, arms folded, robes pristine, her platinum hair twisted in a perfect knot that screamed power. Her prefect badge gleamed on her chest like it mattered. And behind her, always behind her. trailed two other girls.

“Chae-won,” you said flatly.

Her smile was razor-thin. “Did you think we wouldn’t hear? Poor Jay.”

“What?”

“You slapped him. Humiliated him. In front of everyone,” she hissed. “He was apologizing, you freak.”

“You know nothing.”

Chae-won’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, please. He did something, or what? That gives you the right to act like some dark creature in the middle of the grounds?”

You didn’t flinch. “I said you know nothing.”

Chae-won blinked, her voice lowered to something crueler. “So? Do we care about a mudblood like you?”

You looked at her. Really looked. And wondered how many people had handed her the world and called it earned. You remember the first year you were friends, the first year she knew all of you, and the once smile on your face whenever you see her. It all became a blur when people looked at you as a misfit.

Your hands twitched again.

“You planning to explode something else?” Chae-won taunted. “Go on. Show us what you can do. Everyone’s already terrified. Might as well give them a real show.”

You stepped forward. “You want to know the difference between you and me?” Chae-won raised a brow.

“I have power. You just have a last name.”

Her jaw tightened, but before she could respond, before she could reach for her wand or hurl another insult, a voice broke through from behind: “Chae-won.” She froze.

Kai stood a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes locked not on her but on you.

“I’d stop if I were you,” he said, calm, lazy, terrifying.

Chae-won blinked like she hadn’t heard him right. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not repeating myself,” His shoulder brushed yours, intentional as he passed and stood between you and her. Not defending you, but as if staking a claim.

Chae-won’s face burned. “This has nothing to do with you, Kai.”

“It does.”

She stood there for a second, jaw clenched, then scoffed. “Figures. Your house never know where to keep your standards.” Then with one last look at you, all venom and fury, she turned and stormed off, her little shadows flurrying after her.

You looked at Kai. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He didn’t look at you. “I didn’t do it for you.” And yet, he was still standing there. Still between you and the world.

You hated how you lived your years.

You hated the way your life had built itself around survival; around silence, around swallowing things that no one else ever seemed to choke on. You hated that you were born like this, like a wrong answer in a question nobody asked.

You hated that once, long ago, you’d called Chae-won your friend. That you’d laughed with her, studied with her, braided her hair in the dormitory mirror. You hated that she knew all the parts of you worth breaking and now she used them like blades.

You hated that even now being Muggleborn wasn’t enough. Wasn’t already a mark on your back. No, you had to be different, too. You had to wield wandless, wordless magic, the kind they couldn’t control, couldn’t track, couldn’t replicate and that made them stare, like you were unnatural.

You hated that, out of all the people in this castle, the one who wouldn’t look away was him.

Kai. A stranger. A Slytherin. A boy born with a silver knife in his mouth, and the gall to look at you like he saw past your fury, like he saw you about to break.

You walked away; fast, sharp steps that echoed off the stone corridor — hoping he wouldn’t follow.

He did.

You didn’t stop him. You hated that, too.

You didn’t speak, didn’t glance back, you kept walking until the hallway emptied behind you. Until there were no portraits, no prefects, no Chae-won, no whispering mouths. A stone and silence and the feeling of someone watching you like a match watches a flame.

When you reached the end of the corridor, where the light didn’t quite reach and the air felt still and forgotten, you stopped. Your shoulders rose once, then fell. The first sob cracked out of your chest so violently it startled even you.

You tried to cover it, your hand flying up to your mouth, like that would make it less pathetic, but it didn’t matter. You were already shaking, already crying, already too human to stop it now.

Behind you, he didn’t say anything.

You sank down against the wall slowly, like your legs had given out — not from fear, not from pain but from carrying it all too long. The silence between you pulsed, thick and unkind, and still he stayed. No comfort. No lies.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” you whispered, not even knowing if you meant your life, or this day, or this moment. Maybe all of it. You could feel his eyes on you. You could feel the way he was listening.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, voice raw.

You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying like this in front of him of all people. Your lips trembled, and your vision blurred, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

And Kai just sat there.

Watching. Unmoving. Unbothered.

Or so you thought.

Kai exhaled slowly, like a man tired of waiting, because watching you; ruined, furious, crying and still managing to burn like a goddamn wildfire — it made something unravel inside him. Something unholy. Something that clawed its way up from beneath all the manners and legacy and careful obedience.

You, with your defiance. You, with your trembling hands and splintering voice. You, who didn’t even look his way.

You felt too much. You burned too brightly. You cracked in places he didn’t understand. You cried like it meant something. You fought like the world still owed you something soft.

A single, smooth motion and before you could ask what he was doing, before you could read the shift in his expression, he was standing over you. Looking down at you like you were a problem he couldn’t solve, like you were noise in his carefully constructed world of silence.

His jaw twitched. “I don’t like messy things,”

You opened your mouth, to apologize, to yell, to tell him to leave but your voice didn’t come.

Instead, he crouched down. Slowly. His hand reached out, not toward your face, but beside it, bracing against the wall near your shoulder, boxing you in. His other hand hovered near your chin, pausing midair. A breath. A hesitation. Something nearly human.

He kissed you.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of your robes. Your chest ached from the sobs you hadn’t finished, from the weight of the day, from the way his mouth pressed against yours like it was the only language he knew.

It wasn’t sweet. It was hungry.

He tasted like someone who hadn’t felt anything in years and hated that you made him want to. His hand moved to your jaw, holding it, not harsh but unrelenting.

His breath was unsteady when he pulled back. So was yours.

Your tear-slick lashes fluttered as you stared at him, chest rising and falling with everything you hadn’t said, everything you didn’t understand.

Kai didn’t blink. You didn't too.

You weren’t sure who looked more shaken.

“Stop crying,” he said. “It ruins your face.”

It was past curfew when the door creaked open.

A soft, deliberate sound, barely loud enough to disturb the quiet hum of sleeping breaths in the girls' dorm. The enchanted lanterns were low, casting dull golden shadows across the hardwood floor.

You were curled on your side, blanket kicked off, facing the wall like it might protect you from the dreams that had been growing more vivid lately — filled with brown eyes, the weight of a stare, the press of a mouth that never should have touched yours.

It has been a week since he kissed you, and all he did now was consume you.

You heard a slow footstep across the floorboards that didn’t belong. You sat up in an instant. Your hand instinctively curled, breath caught in your throat.

It was him.

Kai stood there leaning just inside the doorway like he owned the place. His eyes flicked over the room, over the slumbering forms of your roommates, and then back to you.

You were too stunned to speak. He shut the door behind him with a careful click.

“You can’t be here,” you whispered.

“Then tell me to leave.” He said it like he already knew you wouldn’t.

He didn’t move toward you. “I won’t skulk around and pretend I don’t know what I want.”

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how your heart was hammering. Of the ache in your hands from clenching them too tight under the blanket. Of the way you hadn’t breathed properly in hours.

His voice lowered. “I wanted to see you.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. His hair was messy from wind or sleep, his collar half-open. His expression, unreadable as ever, but void of any smug.

His look scared you more than any smirk ever had.

You were walking to your next class, trying to keep your head down, your thoughts together, your breathing even.

Kai walked beside you. Beside you. Shoulder to shoulder, step for step, like he belonged there and he wasn’t hiding it, either. He was adamant in the way he moved.

You rounded the corner and saw them.

Jay was seated on the ledge just outside the main stairwell, one arm slung lazily around Chae-won’s waist as she perched in his lap. They looked like a painting, like every pureblood fantasy the school worshiped. Perfect posture, perfect hair, perfect detachment. Chae-won was smiling; a perfect, cold little curve of her mouth that never quite reached her eyes while Jay just stared.

He saw you before you saw him. His gaze locked with yours, cold and pointed, like you’d wronged him. As if he were the victim. Chae-won didn’t even glance your way, but she leaned in just enough to whisper something in his ear, and though he didn’t smile, something in his jaw flexed. His hand tightened on her hip and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

Your vision went blurry. Your throat tightened. The corridor felt too bright, too narrow, the sounds too loud, too far away. Your breath stuttered; shallow, clipped, your heart racing like you’d been running.

Kai's gaze move from your face to your hands, where they clenched and twitched at your sides. You tried to blink it all away, tried to keep walking like nothing was happening, but your body had betrayed you.

“Has this happened before?” His voice came low.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your limbs felt heavy and useless, and the corridor seemed to stretch further with every step. You were floating and falling all at once. You barely noticed when his hand reached for you, until you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist — not tightly, not to restrain, but to feel.

He pressed his thumb lightly over the spot just above your pulse. He didn’t need words to know. The panic was there, thundering under your skin, alive and frantic and loud enough to silence everything else. His brow furrowed. “You’re panicking.”

The words landed heavy, simple and precise. You flinched like he’d struck a nerve, tried to pull your arm back, but he didn’t let go.

“You don’t get to worry about me,” you snapped, voice sharp and broken at the edges, as if saying it out loud could make it true.

Kai tilted his head, expression unreadable. He didn’t react to your words. He didn’t need to. He just looked at you like you were the one thing in this corridor that mattered. And then he said, calm and quiet, “Continue walking with me.”

It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t even a request and you hated that your legs obeyed before your mind could fight it. Hated that some fragile part of you wanted to keep walking, if only he stayed beside you.

You closed your eyes for half a second, just enough for the tears to sting. You wouldn’t let them fall, not here, not with them still behind you but your chest ached, and the shame pressed hot against your throat.

His hand found yours again.

His fingers slipped through yours like it was instinct, and then he held on careful, steady, like he was holding something breakable. You kept walking. One step after the other.

He walked with you ike the entire castle wasn’t watching, but even if they were, he didn’t let go.

“So, you’re Kai’s girlfriend?”

You looked up from the ancient, half-crumbling book in your hand and blinked at the girl now standing beside you in the dim library aisle. She was dressed in green and silver and wore the kind of smile that had probably gotten her everything she ever wanted.

“Pretty,” she added, tilting her head slightly, eyes raking over you not with curiosity.

“I’m not,” you replied evenly, turning back to the shelf, hoping she’d take the hint but her presence didn’t waver. You could feel her shadow shift with yours. She followed as you stepped further down the aisle, her footsteps light but intentional.

“I’m Yunjin, by the way,” she said. Her voice had that lilting quality warm, but not soft. “I always see him around you. I mean, everyone’s noticed. It’s kind of hard to miss, the whole... obsession he has with you.”

Your fingers paused mid-reach. Obsession?

“And I guess,” she continued casually, “that must be the reason he stopped seeing me.”

“…What?” The word left your mouth before you could hold it in, too stunned to coat it in disinterest.

“Oh, don’t worry.” She gave a light, musical laugh. “It wasn’t serious. Kai doesn’t do serious. He’s unwell. Emotionally, I mean. Brilliant, but broken. The type of boy you keep behind glass until he cuts you with it.” She said it like she knew. Like she’d bled.

You stared at her. Her smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened. “But I do see something different now,” she added, “He looks at you… differently.”

You expected cruelty to follow. A sharp comment tucked behind a smile. A passive-aggressive jab meant to draw blood beneath the surface because that’s how it usually came, wasn’t it? From the people who knew how to dress poison up in perfume.

You thought of Chae-won. A girl from your own house. People from your own house who doesn't even dare to smile at you. It was strange, wasn’t it? That someone from your own house had been so much crueler than the students from the house everyone warned you about.

So much crueller than Kai. Than Yunjin.

“Why are you being kind to me?” you asked, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Yunjin tilted her head like she was trying to decide whether to laugh again. Then, with a small shrug, she said, “What?”

You held her gaze, unflinching.

She exhaled through her nose, almost amused. “Oh. Yeah.” There was a flicker of something beneath her expression then something real. “I’m ambitious,” she said. “And if being ambitious makes me a bad person… then I guess I’m a Slytherin.”

You were sitting in your bed, knees tucked loosely to your chest, the blankets crumpled around you like a forgotten thought. The castle was quieter than usual. Music pulsed faintly from somewhere down the hall. There was a party for your batch tonight; a celebration, one you were meant to attend, smile through, pretend for.

Instead, you were here. Alone.

You were counting the minutes.

The door opened without urgency, a soft sound not trying to sneak, not trying to impress. You didn’t turn your head. You didn’t need to. You already knew who it was.

Kai stood in the doorway like the rest of the room didn’t matter. His eyes swept across the space, landed on you, on your still form in the sheets, on the way your gaze had already been waiting for him.

“You knew I would come,” he said.

“Yes,”

He strode toward you with his usual measured grace, never rushed, never nervous and you moved slightly on the bed. “You never told me anything about you,” you said, and your voice didn’t accuse, “You’re always around. You help me. You... show up but you never talk.”

Kai looked at you, and there was something different in his eyes tonight. “What do you want to know?” he asked.

You didn’t blink. “You.”

There was a long pause.

Long enough that you thought he wouldn’t answer. Long enough to feel the ache of expectation rise in your chest, but then Kai huffed, soft through his nose, and there was a shape to it that almost — almost — sounded like a laugh. Not the full thing, but the ghost of it.

You wondered, not for the first time, what he sounded like when he really laughed.

Your eyes flicked to the empty space beside you, and you shifted further inward on the bed, a small movement, but clear.

He caught it.

He sat on the edge of your bed, hands resting on his thighs, the weight of him sinking into the mattress beside you. His posture was still too careful, still too contained, but he was there.

“I don’t talk about myself,” he said suddenly.

You didn’t answer. You knew better than to fill silence that didn’t ask to be filled. Kai exhaled softly, the sound shallow. Measured. Then he looked up, his eyes distant but focused on you, like he was reading from a page only he could see. “I was raised to be an heir. Not a person.”

You didn’t flinch. He noticed that. It made him keep going.

“My father were strict. He didn’t believe in wasting time on things like comfort, or affection. If I cried, he said it was noise. If I asked questions, he told me to read faster. If I smiled too easily, he asked if I was bored, or foolish.” He paused. Not for effect. To breathe.

“He had this saying. You were not born to be loved. You were born to lead. And I repeated it to myself every morning. For years. Until it didn’t sound like cruelty anymore.” he shakes his head, “When I was five, I learned how to duel with a real wand. When I was seven, he started leaving me alone in the manor for days. Said it would teach me independence. I didn’t speak to anyone for weeks.”

His voice didn’t shake. Not once. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t even sound sad. He sounded like someone explaining the weather. Like grief was just another season he’d already lived through.

“I don’t know how to talk about feelings,” he admitted. “I know how to talk around them. How to look someone in the eye and not let them touch a single part of me.”

He looked at you again. “But then I saw you.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t dramatic. “I didn’t mean to care. I don’t know how to. But I do. I hear your voice in my head even when I try to ignore it. I look for you when you’re not around.”

“And when you’re upset, I want to fix it.” His hands unclasped slowly, then gripped the edge of the bed. “I want to fix it because it’s you.”

You moved closer. He didn’t stop you. He just looked at you like you were the first warmth in a life made of glass and granite and rules. “I hate how much I feel now,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to go back.”

His words made you reach out the back of his neck and pull him to you. You hugged him and you let out a shaky breath. "I'm here. I'm here Kai."

Two strong arms snaked around your waist as soon as you said those words, and Kai's lips were against your nape. He left trails of kisses on your neck up to the back of your ears, his body pressed on yours. "Good."

He presses a few more soft kisses to the back of your head, then his voice drops to a whisper against your ear. “Can I touch you?” Your breath hitches, but you nod. His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers brushing lightly across your stomach. “Can I touch you here?” he asks, voice gentle.

You nod again, barely able to get the word out. “Yeah.”

His hand travels higher, fingertips gliding up until they meet the bare curve of your chest. He pauses, just long enough to make your heart race. His lips are at your neck now, breath hot. “Here too?”

When he feels you nod, his hand moves with more purpose, fingertips gliding over the curve of your breast. He cups you fully, palm warm, thumb brushing the softness, squeezing just enough to make you arch subtly into his touch. He teases, exploring everywhere except where you need him most, drawing out the ache with every careful touch. When his fingers finally graze your nipple, a quiet moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. He pauses, his breath brushing against your neck. “You can tell me to stop anytime.”

Then he pulls his hand away from under your shirt, and the sudden absence makes you whine, your body instinctively chasing after his warmth. Before you can speak, he cups your face gently, tilting your head until your eyes meet. It’s dark but he's close, so close — you can make out the shape of his face, the softness in his gaze.

He leans in, brushing a featherlight kiss over your lips. Then another. You smile softly, breath mingling, and when your lips part, he takes it as invitation. This time the kiss is deep — hungry. His mouth moves against yours with desperation, like he’s been craving your taste for far too long. His hand finds your waist, tugging you closer, bodies aligning in all the right ways as the heat between you builds.

“I want you,” you whisper, voice barely there, lost in the way his lips trail along your neck, warm and wet. “Please.”

He pauses just enough to meet your gaze, then his hand slips between your thighs, cupping you through the fabric. The pressure makes your hips jerk, breath hitching.

“Here?” he murmurs, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “You want me here?”

It’s too much, and not enough. Heat pools low in your belly, a need that feels raw and overwhelming. You nod, biting your lip, your voice trembling. “Yes. There. Please.”

He groans, low and deep, and that’s when clothes start disappearing—slowly, messily. Every layer peeled off is interrupted by his mouth; on your lips, your jaw, your collarbones. His hands, greedy and gentle all at once, explore you like he’s memorizing every inch. The room is filled with nothing but breath, the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional hitch of a moan.

When he finally sinks lower, eyes locked on yours as his lips trace a burning path down your body, you don’t stop him.

“Kai…” You moaned as you clenched your fist on his dark locks. His tongue was doing to your buds as his fingers part your wet folds. You don't know what it is, but it makes your legs quivered as his tongue lapped at your entrance.

Kai grunts as he hears your soft moans, sucking on your clit to hear more. Your taste in his mouth got him drunk as he shook his head from side to side, making your moans go higher as you moved your hips to grind your wetness on his tongue. "Hmm?"

He pulled back, replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing her wet clit as he kissed and sucked your inner thighs. Your eyes rolled back as your chest rose up and down, glistening with sweat.

You're fucking beautiful. Kai thought as he looked up at you with hooded eyes. The sight of your blushing cheeks, eyes asking for more with your lips between your teeth made Kai slightly rut his hips on the bed.

"Do you know how long have I imagined this?" He pumped a finger inside your pussy, curling it to hit your spot as he put his mouth back to work again, flattening his tongue over your swollen pearl before flicking it with the tip. You cried out in pleasure, throwing your head back.

“I couldn't help myself but think of you.” He begged as he doubled the finger inside your soaking cunt, making you cry out in pleasure as your hands grabbed the pillow under your head.

“I can't resist having all of you.” He kissed your clit, making you whimper at the brief contact. He took off his shirt and pants before pulling you by your arm, sitting you on his lap as he took off your blouse and bra. He kissed around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

He moved your position to grind on his bulge, letting out quiet moans as he desperately kissed you. He stopped your hips as he moved to your other nipple, lightly biting it while staring at your glossy eyes, making your breath hitch. He hummed as he sucked the pebbled flesh into his mouth, nibbling on it. He laid your back down, admiring your body as you panted. Your eyes are glistening, and so is your cunt. He groaned at the sight, pushing his hair back and taking his erected cock out of its confinement. He pumped it a few times before you sat up and took it into your hand.

“Let me make you feel good.” Kai stopped your hand, giving a kiss on your forehead. “Fuck.” He murmured as he moved to your lips, sucking on them, making you whimper as you laid back down again.

“Kai, please…” You cried when Kai started to rub his shaft on your slit. Every time his head hits your bud, you let out a whimper, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide as you look up at him.

Kai took his time, grunting before pushing the tip inside. You gasped, grabbing the sheets under, feeling the pain as his length invade you. Your walls fluttered around his cock, making him let out low growls. You felt tears in your eyes as you watched half of his length disappear inside you. Kai took your hand, intertwining your fingers. He kissed your tears.

“Am I hurting you?” Kai shushed when you hissed, feeling a hint of pain as he filled you. His other hand began rubbing circles on your clit to ease the burn from the stretch.

"No,"

Kai kissed your hand when he was entirely in, giving you time to adjust. You look gorgeous underneath him. Legs wide open,mouth slightly parted, and body glistening under the dim lights of his room.

Kai started moving slowly when you nod your head, until your whimpers turned into moans. His name echoed in whispers, as you clawed on the skin of his back, leaving red marks. He was cradling your head, and his lips pressed on your ear. He was whispering the sweetest things to you.

“The things you do to me,” Kai whispers, kissing your ear lobes. "I can't even look at anyone else now."

“Yes, yes, Kai, please…” You begged as his hips started to thrust harder into you.

“Fuck.” He groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. He could tell that you were both close. Your walls spasmed around him, and his thrust started to stutter.

“Look at me.” He stared into your eyes, feeling your orgasm take over your body. His mouth reaches for your sweet lips, your toes curling as your legs wrap around his waist. Kai thrustied into you a few more times before pulling out to spill his thick load on your thighs.

It was slow, and it was soft, the way he helped you clean up. No magic. Just his hands and yours, sleeves rolled up, fingers brushing as you folded the same blanket twice just to have an excuse to linger near each other. The silence between you wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t awkward. It was full.

Your scent clung to the air; a little floral, a little tangy, something warm and alive, like late spring clinging to skin. It was in the sheets, in the corners of the room, in him. He’d never been the type to notice things like that, but here he was, trying to memorize how the air felt with you in it.

You were fussing with the pillows now, distracted, focused on symmetry but he was just watching you.

“I’m going to work every day,” His voice was low, almost rough with restraint. “I’ll work every fucking day, just to follow you.”

You feel your eyes burn.

“I’ll learn how to move the way you do. I’ll learn how to speak the way you understand. I’ll change the way I live if that’s what it takes. Every single day, I’ll do it, just to fit you.”

“Why?” you asked, voice almost a whisper. “Why would you change for me?”

Kai’s eyes found yours. “Because you made me want to,”

It's the truest thing he’d ever said in his life.

taglist: @heesmiles , @lovingbeomgyudayone , @virtaideen , @hyukascampfire , @fancypeacepersona , @bamgeutori , @lilbrorufr , @beomieeeeeeeeeeees , @xylatox , @yunverie , @imlonelydontsendhelp , @moagyuu , @immelissaaa , @readinmidnight , @pagelets , @wonderstrucktae , @boba-beom , @seodami , @izzyy-stuff , @gyudollies , @i-am-not-dal , @page-isa , @tyunarisu , @s0urcherry , @lostgirlysstuff , @tinycatharsis , @randomheyl @txtsoobean , @bweargyuu ,

@reep04 , @lovesickchoi , @xylatox , @soobinieswife , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @saejinniestar , @bunniwords , @starrynightgyu , @cardiaccannibalism , @stormy1408 , @fancypeacepersona ,, @angelz-howl , @gyudollies , @i-am-not-dal , @yeonjunnnielover , @yystarz , @boba-beom , @bbyzzn , @darkethes , @taehyunluvrs , @prettypeachprincesz , @beomgyusluver , @thetxtdevil , @demidelulu , @bamgeutori , @soobundle1009 , @luumiinaa , @akitfffr , @babigriin , @seokqt , @soohashits , @i4tzy , @pengningie , @prettypeachprincesz , @cjrnctzenforlife , @taehyunluvrs @lostgirlysstuff , @beomgyusluver @i-am-not-dal , @bakugosbottombitch , @sanscupid , @idknunsadly , @mixxie2203

[michipan]

hi guys! it’s currently still in the works, but if i were to open up personal multifandom commissions (txt, enhypen, seventeen, ateez, nct [certain members], bts, and possibly girl groups!) as a charity fundraiser, would you participate ? this is currently just an interest check and nothing is set in stone, but i’d love to hear from you all !

+ if you could reblog so i can reach a wider audience, it’d be much appreciated !! ^^

[michipan]

god rj, you did it again.

i LOVEEEEE this trope so much you have no idea, i love the way you set it up and just UGH the mc seeing how sunghoon changed, the immediate attraction and the way he was the one who made the first move ?? my knees are weak !!!! the whole smut had me soooo dizzy !!! the little bits of perv hoon we got was life changing…. this ate so bad, thank you for this gift 🙇🙇🙇

Reunited

AN: The hold Enhypen has had on me lately...I'm just glad my first fic about them is about my man lol (Yang Jungwon and Jay Park when I fucking catch you two-).

Synopsis: The last time you saw Park Sunghoon, he was an awkward teenager, just barely taller than you and snivelling in your shoulder about you leaving for university. Bumping into him several years later, he's decided different from the Sunghoon you remember.

General tags and warnings: Park Sunghoon x Fem! Reader, Reader is 2 years older than Sunghoon, alcohol and alcohol consumption and Reader goes through a bit of a moral panic because she knew Sunghoon as a teenager and is now attracted to him as an adult.

Smut tags and warnings: No explicit power dynamics but, Sunghoon is definitely soft domming in this and Reader is subbing, size kink if you squint, not exactly a hand kink but, Reader is VERY into Sunghoon's hands, sex while under the influence of alcohol, sex without explicit verbal consent, Sunghoon kisses Reader without her explicit consent initially, past mentions of masturbation on Sunghoon's part, perv! Sunghoon if you squint very hard, dirty talk, praise, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), overstimulation, petnames, piv sex without a condom, biting, Reader kinda claws at Sunghoon, one section that is pretty dub-con, mentions of future bruising and creampie (which Reader and Sunghoon are both very into).

Word count: 4.4k.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

The last time you saw Park Sunghoon, he was 16 and clutching at you far too hard as you were preparing to leave for university. 

Even then he towered over you and you felt like absolute shit watching tears fill his eyes as you tried to assure him you were only a couple of hours away and the two of you would still talk all the time. 

A pipe dream, in hindsight. 

But, you were freshly 18 then and incredibly naïve about the reality of maintaining relationships in adulthood. 

It wasn't either of your faults, really. He had to put his energy into graduating (and from the times the two of you would talk and worried messages Jake would send you from time to time, you knew that wasn't easy for him) and, you had to deal with living by yourself for the first time, starting university and trying to make friends in a totally new city. 

The distance just started one day until it was too wide for either of you to bridge. Regular calls and texts turned into occasional calls and texts that eventually dwindled into happy birthday messages and happy new year messages. It just got too awkward and you didn't know how to tell him you missed him. An experience you never thought you'd have with the boy you've been glued to since 10th grade. 

And now that same boy (man, your brain whispers in a way that sounds jarring to associate with Park Sunghoon) is looking at you from across Jay's poorly lit apartment with a red cup in his hand. 

The years have been exceedingly kind to him. Sunghoon has always been handsome. It's a truth as universal as the sky is blue and grass is green. But now? He's somehow found a way to transcend that. You'd, frankly, be a little mad if you didn't feel so utterly discombobulated. 

Said discombobulation only worsens when he excuses himself from the woman who was practically wrapping herself around him and makes his way over to you. The look she shoots you is designed to kill and, honestly, you can't blame her. If that walked away from you, you'd be seething on a good day. 

However, now all you can do is grip your drink tightly and try to remember how to breathe as Sunghoon walks over to you like it hasn't been years. The confidence radiating from him sends your nerves into overdrive. God. You need to pull yourself together. It's just Sunghoon. 

“Hey,” he says with a small uptick of his lips and he has a look in his eyes that you don't have the nerve to read into. 

Okay. Yeah no, your overreaction was valid actually. Very much so. 

“Hi,” you squeak out, cringing internally at yourself. What are you? 13 talking to a boy for the first time? “I didn't expect to see you here.” 

“I wasn't planning to be here but, other plans fell through and Jay's been pestering me to swing by forever now so, I thought why not,” he says with a shrug, “I didn't expect to see you here either. It's been a while,” he says so softly that you almost miss it over whatever mediocre EDM mix Jay has going. 

Affection and guilt bubble up inside of you simultaneously and you resist the urge to melt into the wall that's holding you up at this point, “Yeah, I'm sorry life just got…busy,” you trail off lamely, resisting the urge to chug the poison Heeseung shoved in your hand probably an hour ago now. 

Your breath stills when he takes a couple of steps closer to you, becoming very comfortable in your personal space like it's nothing. His lips are by your ear before your tipsy brain can register anything besides delicious cologne and warmth and Sunghoon, “Hey, it's okay,” he mutters and you would have thought he bit your ear with the shiver that forces from your body, “Life happens. I'm just happy to see you again after all this time,” the tentative hand he places on your hip burns and you suddenly feel violently unequipped to handle this version of Sunghoon. 

“It's pretty noisy out here. Jay's letting me crash in one of his guestrooms. We can catch up there if you want to.” 

You may not fully grasp this Sunghoon but, you're not an idiot. At least, you'd like to think you aren't. You know what that is. An invitation. An invitation that will involve next to zero “catching up.” 

Sunghoon has no clue the internal turmoil you're experiencing as he happily keeps you pressed against the wall of Jay's living room. He doesn't get any handsier with you. Doesn't step any further into your space. Doesn't use that stupidly hot voice of his to lull you into his bed. He simply waits but, a part of you can't help but, feel like he already knows he has you in the palm of his hand. 

“Okay.” 

The smile that blooms across his handsome face sends a flurry of butterflies roaring in your stomach. You'd think you told him you'd pluck one of the stars out of the sky for him based on his reaction.

Sunghoon grabs your hand wordlessly and tugs you to one of Jay's million guestrooms. A small flicker settles itself in the pit of your stomach when through the haze you register how much bigger his hand is than yours. Oh. 

Far too happy to stare at his back (how dare he make a simple white shirt look so fucking good?), you're a little startled when he pulls you into a room and shuts the door behind him seamlessly. You barely set your drink down on the vanity before you feel hands cupping your face and a warm mouth pressed against your own. 

The shock makes it easier for Sunghoon to press himself against you, the hold on your face firm but, not too strong that you can't free yourself if you don't want to. Kissing him back is surprisingly easy. Your previous moral dilemma thrown out the window as hands move on their own. You'll have time to freak out over this in the morning. 

He's walking you towards the bed until your knees hit the back of it and you're separated from his pretty mouth. Fuck. You hope your brain can commit the image of Sunghoon down at you, eyes heavy with intent, to memory. He looks like he has so much he wants to say but, his mouth is back on yours within an instant and he's making himself comfortable over you. 

“You have no idea how much I thought about this,” he mutters against your mouth. Not allowing you a second to process that revelation before he has you flat on your back, his hand pawing at your exposed waist. Maybe Sunoo pestering you to wear this ridiculously skimpy top was for the better, actually. 

“Wait–Sunghoon–” you try to get enough oxygen to your brain but, he simply uses the opportunity to become intimately familiar with your neck. Pressing open mouthed kisses to it that leave you lightheaded and your clit pulsing with every brush of his tongue and teeth on the sensitive skin. 

“Why? You obviously want me just as badly as I want you,” he says into a patch of freshly nipped skin, his hand further proving his point as he moves to tug your shirt off of you. 

Well, he's not wrong. 

Your shirt is the first article of clothing to join the floor and Sunghoon regards you for a long moment. So long that you almost let insecurity creep in but, his next, bruising kiss is enough to shoo those feelings away. That and the way his stupidly big hands palm your tits. 

“You know,” he starts, kissing his way along your jaw while his expert fingers unhook your bra and toss it aside, “It took a lot for me not to press you up against Jay's ugly ass livingroom wall and take you right then and there,” you'd laugh at his jab at Jay if you weren't seconds away from melting into the mattress. The gravelly quality to his voice certainly isn't helping either. 

“Why didn't y–ah!” Your prodding is interrupted by a startled gasp as he's taken to toying with your hardened nipples. You can feel him smirk against your skin, far too happy with himself as his thumbs brush against you until you're whimpering and your nails are digging into his broad shoulders. 

It's scarily easy to lose yourself in Sunghoon. His tongue and teeth keep you occupied while his fingers continue to toy with your nipples until you're panting and your panties start to stick to you in a way that is quickly becoming uncomfortable. Blind desire guides you as you grind against him, heat scorching your insides at the quiet groan he presses into your collarbone. 

“I didn't take you to be the impatient type,” he says with that frustratingly hot uptick of his lips. You bite down the whine that threatens to leave your mouth when he pulls away from you, leaving you half-naked and missing him viscerally. 

Sunghoon doesn't go far. The legion of butterflies in your stomach start up anew when he moves to tug off your shorts in record time, leaving you almost naked save for the plain, black panties you threw on. You're just grateful they're not the obnoxiously bright pink ones you almost grabbed earlier. You're not sure you could deal with him seeing you in those. 

Warmth rushes through your entire body and you throb watching him make himself at home on his stomach, nestling himself between your thighs. Goosebumps rising where his hands grip your thighs. Sunghoon watches you the entire time. Eyes dark with so much want that you're lightheaded just looking into them. The first press of his lips to your panties is experimental but, it's still more than enough to leave you gasping and arching into him. 

His next kisses are firmer, much more assured. When he finds your clit, it takes everything in you not to claw at Jay's poor sheets. Your eyes flutter shut and stuttered moans fill the room while he keeps mouthing at you until your panties are ruined by his spit and your wetness. 

“Sunghoon,” you whine when he licks at you harshly, gripping your thighs harder, “Sunghoon, please.” 

A guttural sound leaves him and before you can register anything, he moves your panties to the side and laps at you directly. His pleased hum only fuels the inferno you can feel building underneath your skin. Your eyes shutting as one of your hands winds its way into his dark locks. 

Sunghoon, you discover, learns scarily quickly. Observing and testing what makes you tug on his hair harder and press yourself against his mouth more desperately. Learning what makes you gasp and choke on your moans. You know you're truly a goner when he focuses in on your clit and sucks on it until tears pool in the corners of your eyes and your thighs start to quiver around his head. 

It's a particularly hard lick of your clit that sends you teetering off the edge. Your grip in his hair growing harsher while shudders wreck your body. You're too far gone to register the babbles that leave your mouth but, they're apparently enough to motivate Sunghoon to keep eating you out even as the edges of your consciousness blur for a second. 

“Sung–Hoonie, too much,” you eventually manage to pant out, weakly attempting to pull him away from your still spasming pussy. 

He lets you go with one final kiss and it's oddly romantic given the circumstance. 

Despite still reeling from your oragsm, your stomach swoops dangerously when you drink in your wetness smeared across the bottom part of his face, his lips swollen and flushed while his tongue chases the taste of you. 

Oh.

Desire continues to claw at you as you watch him take off his shirt. Suddenly you're met with what feels like endless expenses of his skin and you feel your fingers twitch with desperate need to touch and trace and claw–

“You're staring,” you'd typically find his level of smugness deeply unattractive but, you did just cum on his face and you were staring at him like you wanted to climb him like a tree so, you can't say it isn't earned. 

Plus, maybe it's hotter than you care to admit. 

“Can you blame me?” You retort, eyeing him as he hovers over you for a moment before pecking you lightly. Easily the most playful kiss he's given you between licks into your mouth and nips of your lips. The hand crawling up your thigh is decidedly less playful however, stilling your breath in your throat while Sunghoon shifts his focus to kissing your neck, “Guess I can't,” he says but, you barely hear him over the way your blood rushes in your ears as his fingers map your inner thigh. 

You're still a touch sensitive so the first brush of his fingers along your sticky folds sends sparks of electricity flying down your spine, a choked out keen of his name leaving your bruised lips. “I can't believe I get to finally touch you like this,” he mutters into your sweaty skin, long fingers giving you one last drag before they focus on drawing circles into your swollen clit, “You have no idea how long I've fantasised about this,” he practically moans and you think it's a little unfair that he's spilling all of this out to you while he's toying with your pussy and you're a little too fucked out given, you know, everything to really focus on what he's saying and the weight of it all. 

“Maybe this is a little pathetic to admit,” he says with a humourless chuckle pressed into your collarbone. Your breaths coming out in stutters as he toys with your entrance, “But, when I left for uni I'd look up pictures of you all the time. I missed you so much it hurt,” he continues, pushing a long, long finger into you, “And you know what I'd do with those pictures?” He asks like you have any capacity to answer while he curls his finger inside of you and sparks dance behind your lidded eyes. 

“I'd jerk off to them.” 

You're not sure if the gasp that's ripped from you is because of his confession or because he managed to find a spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Sunghoon seems to at least have the wherewithal to know you're in no position to offer much beyond pitchy sounds of pleasure and babbles of incoherent sentences. 

“Having you here, like this,” he whispers, easing a second finger into you and turning the stars into an entire galaxy, “Is way better than anything my imagination could come up with.”

And that's all the warning you get before he tries his best to devour you whole. His fingers never stopping their brutal assault along every sensitive part of you they can reach. Sunghoon chases every reaction like it's water and he's been in the desert for eons. Kissing you harder when you whimper into his mouth, dragging his thumb along your clit in the circles he knows you like when your pussy grips his fingers like a vice. 

You can maybe think of three other times in your life a man has had you this tightly wound but, they barely hold a candle to the way Sunghoon has you wrapped around his pinky. 

“I'm so hard for you, it's fucking insane,” he pants against your bruised lips, curling his fingers extra hard just so he can hear you keen freely, “You're so fucking hot. Can you feel what you fucking do to me?”

And just like that he's pressing himself against your hip and the outline he presents even through his jeans scorches you. You're not exactly in the ideal situation to feel him properly but, he's long and burning from what you can feel and the desperation peppering his voice throws you into your next climax faster than you're ready for. 

Beyond the haziness your brain is submerged in, you can distantly hear Sunghoon's voice. You can't quite make out what he's saying but, it can't be all that important since he's still, albeit far more gently now, fingering you while spasm around his fingers and drench Jay's poor blanket. Dotting kisses along your shoulder while he shallowly grinds against your hip. 

It's through this haze you blearily watch him shift around you, the cold feeling biting when he leaves your side. You hear him chuckle softly when a displeased whine leaves your tender lips and the sound warms you to the very tips of your fingers. 

Anticipation and desire turn your blood molten when you finally register him taking off his belt, his jeans low on his hips and his boxers peeking out. It's a simple action. One you've seen countless times before barely memorable hookups but, something about the way his nimble fingers, still coated in you, make quick work of his boxers and jeans has your pussy throbbing. The dull ache sharpening when he makes quick work of your more than likely ruined panties too. 

If he notices the way you fidget, he doesn't comment on it. Opting to drop his clothing onto the floor and leave your jaw dropped in complete and total awe. You didn't think he could look anymore beautiful but, the moonlight hitting his bare body reminds you of a Greek statue. 

Sunghoon would have had museums filled with art of him if he was born just a few centuries earlier, you think. 

You never figured him for a gymrat but, the seemingly endless span of muscles that pull you in like a siren song teach you another lesson about assumptions. Your blood burns hotter when your eyes land on his cock, curved and long in a way that sends a shudder down your spine. You think if he doesn't fuck you soon you might cry actually. 

“You're so cute,” he says with an amused edge in his voice that makes your skin warm considerably. Any potential embarrassment melts away when he leans down to kiss you, his lips moving slowly against yours. His tongue darting out to savour your taste on it like he hasn't explored you thoroughly since you two slunk your way up here. The tenderness causes your heart to leap to your throat and your own fingers to feel along the skin you've been given access too. The urge to kiss all of his moles is all-encompassing for a moment. 

The first nudge of his cock sends your head spinning and a surprised gasp to leave your mouth that Sunghoon happily devours. “You're so responsive,” he groans, his hand gripping your hip like a lifeline, “It's driving me fucking crazy.” 

Any response your muddled mind could conjure up is immediately erased as he grinds himself against you. Every brush of his cock on your clit sending you into a frenzy. Every tease of his head at your entrance prompting your nails to bite into his shoulder and a shaky whimper to leave your mouth. 

“Sunghoo–Sunghoon, please please–I can't–I need,” you stammer out, meeting his eyes with your lidded ones. 

The emotions that swirl in them leave you breathless. You wouldn't call yourself exactly great at reading people and you're still desperately trying to catch up with this new Sunghoon that has you firmly pressed into Jay's mattress but, the emotions you're too much of a coward to name leave you a little more thrown off kilter. 

“I need you to say it. Tell me you want it.” Tell me you want me. 

And he keeps rutting against you, his eyes catching every shift in your expression as he pushes you closer to insanity. Not giving you a second to think, let alone string together a reply that feels adequate to the confessions he's branded into your skin and lips tonight.

“Please, I–fuck I want–I want it, Hoonie. I need yo–” Whatever else you were about to ramble gets cut off by a strangled gasp as Sunghoon finally pushes into you. Your thighs shake with every inch he sinks into you and the edges of your vision blur dangerously. The string of curses he grits by your ear just worsen the way your pussy clenches around him and the knot you can feel already beginning to grow taut in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuck,” he groans and, the sound shoots straight to your clit, “You're so tight,” he says the last word like a prayer and oh, you think you may cum in record time. 

“Hoon–Hoonie,” you whimper pathetically, palming his strong back and desperately mouthing at every bit of his skin you're about to reach. 

“Using that nickname just isn't fair,” he grits out, snapping his hips into and sending you into another stratosphere briefly. His cock drags along your walls deliciously. The curve of him making sparks fly behind your eyelids and pull jumbled messes of his name and pleas from you. 

It doesn't take long for Sunghoon to find a pace he's satisfied with. His hips snap into yours with a precision you're overwhelmed by. His keen eye for observation leaving you little better than a crumpled heap underneath him. Every drag of his cock leaves you whimpering and biting his shoulder. You know you're done for when he uses his thumb to draw patterns into your throbbing clit the way he knows you like. 

“Sunghoon–I can't–Not anymore–Too much,” you choke out, unable to escape the array of ways he's assaulting your senses and leading you to insanity.

“Yes, you can,” he coos into your ear, his tone a far cry from the harsh thrust he gives you, “I know you can,” he soothes and the allure in his voice is what tips you over into oblivion. 

You feel like you're set alight from the inside out, burned to the very fibre of your being. Sunghoon acts as both a balm and accelerant for the flames that are flickering underneath your skin. Gripping your hips so hard that you wouldn't be surprised to see bruises in the shape of his fingers there tomorrow morning. To remind you of tonight and how you lost yourself in him.

“–so fucking good and you–shit look so fucking pretty cumming all over me like that,” are the first words he moans into the skin of your neck that you hear when you come back from whatever universe he fucked you into. His relentless thrusting leaves you overwhelmed, you weakly groan into the void of Jay's guestroom while the obscene sounds of skin slapping skin and Sunghoon's hushed noises accompany your own.

Blinking your dazed eyes open, the sight of a fucked out, sweaty, blushing Sunghoon greets you and causes your walls you clamp down around him hard without any input from you. Desire and affection claw up your throat when his glassy eyes meet yours and you use what little strength you have left to pull him into a kiss. Well, calling the licking and biting the two of you do kissing is generous but, from the way he twitches inside of you, you're sure he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. 

He swiftly hikes your thigh higher, angling himself deeper inside of you and making your vision swim with every erratic snap of his hips. He's rambling too quickly for your murky brain to catch anything but, you do hear rushed moans of your name in the mix along with variations of “so good” and “gonna cum,” the last one making you whimper into his mouth and cling even harder to him. 

The stuttering of his hips gives him away before anything else. His pace growing sloppy until he's moaning brokenly into your mouth while rope after rope of warmth fills you. You've never let someone cum inside you before but, as Sunghoon's cock keeps pulsing while he fills you with his cum and his body shudders above yours, you very quickly understand the appeal. 

The coals of arousal simmer low in your core. Not quite heated enough to cum despite the pleasant feeling of being filled and the little noises Sunghoon let's out that tickle your ears (and pussy, if you're being honest) but, still there as you let Sunghoon ride out his high. 

Considering how hard he's cum based on how sticky your thighs are, you're surprised he has the energy to pull out of you and roll onto his side. He tugs you to him before you can react and you're pressed into his very bare and very sweaty chest. You'd never taken Sunghoon for a cuddler but, the way he presses himself against you lets you know that he doesn't have any plans to release you any time soon. 

“Sunghoon, I need to clean up and pee,” you say, slightly muffled, into his chest. Your voice a touch hoarse and your throat a little sore. As nice as it felt to have him cum inside of you, you can already feel it start to trickle out and your upper thighs and the sheets are already enough of a mess as it is. 

“Give me 5 more minutes then you can get up,” he mutters into your hair, tightening his grip on you. 

“Sunghoon,” you whine, “It's already starting to leak out and I feel gross.” 

He pauses for a second before responding but, not without sighing in a way that's far more dramatic than you're used to from him first, “Okay.” 

It takes you a second to stabilise yourself once you're on solid ground but, thankfully, you make your way to the bathroom without much issue. You can feel Sunghoon watching you with every step and your face warms in record time when you feel his gaze focus downwards to the apex of your thighs. 

You just let the man cum inside of you. It's a little late to be embarrassed now. 

Well, considering the way your clit thrums to life and your walls flutter with the memory of feeling him, maybe it's less embarrassment and something else. 

You know the two of you are overdue for a very long, probably very difficult conversation. Maybe you'll have it in the morning after a few more rounds. 

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

Ko-Fi

[michipan]

SOOBIN :: LOVE LANGUAGE FACECAM @ 2025 KOREA UNIV. FESTIVAL

[michipan]

"Tea-tea-teach me. All about your love language."

[michipan]

(250502) beomgyu showing off kai's stomach

[michipan]

BEOMGYU || 'LOVE LANGUAGE' OFFICIAL TEASER

[michipan]

oh my GOOOOOOAAAAAUUUUHHHHJDDDDDDDDJJJAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHGGGGGHHHHHHHHHFUCKKKKKKKJSNSAQAQWWWAMDMWKSOSJEKDJAHHHHH !!!! AHHHHH !!! AAAAAAA !!!!!!

i’m getting heart palpitations. i can’t breathe. i’m freaking the fuck OUT ARRGGHB i can’t i need him so bad. this is crazy. i want him. someone hold me down.

just…. the whole idea of the mc pining hopelessly after him but thinking he doesn’t see her like that when it’s just him restraining himself ??!/&:! 😭😭 him trying to play off his reactions to the nudes ???! dude you are not nonchalant. back seat. NEOW!!!!

— nudes?! (k.th) ♡

pairing: kang taehyun x fem!reader genre: best friends to ?, non-idol au, suggestive rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1.4k warnings: mention/description of reader's nudes, mention of reader in lingerie, implication of sexy time at the end, tyun gets hard and is v clear abt what he wants, they’re both horny asf synopsis: what happens when your best friend who secretly has the hots for you accidentally sees your nudes?

requested forever ago by @mapofthemazeinthemirror <3 [blog status: semi-hiatus, requests closed]

| yeonjun ver. | soobin ver. | beomgyu ver. | kai ver. |

masterlist

──────────────────────

taehyun considers you one of the bros.

right up there along with his 4 other crazy best friends, you fit right in, no sideways feelings to worry about and endless wingman opportunities to gain — hell, he even forgets sometimes that you've got a pair of boobs under there somewhere.

and all of this, of course, is completely and absolutely:

not true.

it's exactly what you seem to think in that pretty little head of yours, though, as taehyun often observes; it's quite cute actually, he thinks.

"out of all the guys i could like, why does it have to be the one guy in my life who would draft me onto his football team if he had one?" he'd overheard you complaining to yeonjun one day.

(sorry, but trust me, sweetheart - you wouldn't even make it past tryouts, he'd thought afterwards upon fighting back a laugh and an endeared little grin.)

oh, if only you knew.

if only you knew the steady breaths he has to take whenever you stand so temptingly close to him; or how many filthy images he has to shake out of his mind when he's helping you with your workouts; or that annoying little shadow called jealousy that he has to push down when you smile so sweetly at a man that isn't him.

taehyun is a man of self control, and a man who would do anything for the people that he loves — which means that no matter how much he'd enjoy changing your mind about what exactly you assume he perceives you as, he knows for the sake of your friendship that he can't.

and so he doesn't.

but oh, you wish that he would.

taehyun is quite good at keeping his feelings in check, to the point where you're convinced at this point that if you were to strut naked across the room in front of him, he wouldn't even pay you any mind;

pft, you scoff at your own silly thought, as if something so ridiculous would ever happen. (…well....)

today you've decided that you're getting real tired of your own pining and yearning and eyes that shoot hearts like confetti every time your best friend walks into the room —

you pout at the sight of yourself reflected on the open camera screen of your phone as the self-timer counts down yet again. this has become quite the routine of yours.

body bare save for the lacy lingerie that doesn’t cover much of anything as you perch at the edge of your bed, posing so prettily, so sensually, just the way you imagine taehyun would like; just more photos to add to the naughty little album in your camera roll that you wish you could send to him but know that you never will.

there was a time where you used to try testing the waters a bit, some flirting here, a fleeting touch or two there. but you'd quickly learned how pointless it was. after all, a brick wall is never gonna flirt back.

you sigh. it's time to get going anyway; speak of the devil, he'll be here to pick you up in 20 minutes.

~

taehyun can see in his peripheral the way you keep glancing at him from the passenger seat of his car.

as usual, he maintains an even expression. "excited to see me or something?"

his lips quirk as you jump in your seat a little, quickly looking forwards and crossing your arms as you grumble, "you wish. i just saw you like two days ago."

he merely hums in acknowledgment, which gets you even more grumbly — ("no fair that i can never get a reaction out of you! why is it always me?!" you'd wailed in defeat one time after a failed attempt to get him back, your cheeks flushed pink and pretty).

taehyun smiles.

when he soon pulls up outside your friend's apartment building that you’d needed to drop something off at first on the way to yeonjun’s, he decides to be nice as he asks,

"where was that new cat café you wanted to go to? we can stop there before meeting the guys."

bingo. the smile that lights up your face is exactly what he was looking for as your previous pout melts away and you gasp, "really?! okay wait, i took a screenshot of their instagram page the other day, you can check and put the address in! i'll be super super quick!"

he bites back a laugh as you shove your phone into his hands and excitedly rush out of the car.

"5 minutes tops or i'm going without you!" he calls out the window, to which you shriek and scurry away even faster.

he grins to himself, shaking his head as you disappear into the building and he turns to click open your camera roll.

"alright, cat café, where are............ you."

taehyun feels as if a lightning rod has just shot straight through his entire body.

his muscles tense. all his breath escapes him in a rush.

you...

the sight of you is what greets him through the screen...

you,

completely naked.

it's like his skin is consumed by fire as his eyes roam across the rows of pictures in the album you'd left open; most taken on your bed, some in the shower at the gym that you both go to together, some where you’re donned in sets of delicious lingerie — his eyes widening and pants tightening when he even spots one from his own room, your skirt hiked up in the reflection of his full-length mirror as your panties dangle cheekily from one finger, leaving the delicious curve of your ass on full display.

when did she even take that??

he scrolls, and he's barely hanging on by a thread as his best friend who's supposed to stay his best friend poses so irresistibly pretty from the screen; his cock is so hard that it's painful as your big innocent eyes look up at him in complete contrast to the lewd position that you'd put yourself in.

god, the positions he wants to put you in...

alright, reel it in, kang taehyun. this can't go anywhere. you have to take it to the grave. you’ve gotta think about the friendship. you’ll just pretend you didn't see it. you’ll act aloof like you always do.

but every single ounce of self control that taehyun has spent so long holding together finally crashes down around him like a breaking dam when his gaze lands on the name of the album at the top of the screen.

— t ♡

his cock jumps.

fucking hell, these are for me.

when you skip your way back to the car minutes later, you don't notice at first how firmly he's gripping the steering wheel or the fact that he isn’t even looking at you, remaining staring straight ahead as you climb back into the passenger side.

you don't notice — that is, until your phone catches your eye, set neatly on the middle console with your worst nightmare staring right back up at you from the screen.

it feels as though a bucket of ice water has crash landed down on your head (both the water and the bucket) as you realize what happened.

but you barely even have the time to panic or react or beg for mercy, or perhaps for a lobotomy on you both, before taehyun is asking you:

"back seat or my place?"

his voice is so calm that you almost don't process his words. your thoughts buffer as you pause.

"wh... what?" you breathe.

that's when he finally turns his head to look at you, and the intensity of the hunger swimming in his stare is enough to leave you even more winded than you already were before as a familiar feeling stirs between your legs and your thighs clamp together of their own accord.

"back seat," he repeats slowly, "or my place?"

you swallow hard.

this.. t-this is... he means.…

your head is reeling, and dumbly you stammer back, "w-what about the guys..?" as if the plans with your friends really matter anymore in a moment like this.

fuck the guys. fuck the cat café. taehyun has already decided: he’s done holding back from what he wants, and what he wants is to make you his.

you blink at him wide-eyed as he leans towards you slightly in his seat, his voice low and assertive as he replies,

"we're not going."

he taps your phone as if to draw your attention back to it. as if it should be obvious.

"so, you choose." your eyes fly back up to his —

"where do you want me to fuck you?"

your lower belly explodes with heat as an electric shiver rolls down your spine, and you swear that this is the best day of your entire fucking life as you see the promise that flickers in his eyes.

maybe you won't be finding yourself on the football team after all.

──────────────────────

— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @kejingken, @hyukascampfire, @cherr4es, @stawmerry, @choikanghuening, @dawngyu, @soo-blue, @paradigms13

if you want to be added to my taglist and get notified whenever i post any writing, drop a comment or an ask and let me know! ♡

[michipan]

𝓟𝑳𝑨𝑻𝓕𝓞𝑹𝑴 ９¾ এ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗈𝗀𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌' 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖼 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 9 ¾. 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺 𝗌𝗉𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾.  

◞🛎️ coming 𝑗𝑢𝑛𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 ... props & credits to all authors!

ׄ 　۪ ravenclaw soobin & slytherin reader ╱ @yunverie  𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗅𝗒𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗏𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗒 — 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗏𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗅. 𝖲𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇, 𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗐’𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗒, 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗂𝗍𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽: 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆. 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖺 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅. 𝖨𝗇 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗈-𝗈𝗐𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇’𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗂𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗏𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁.

ׄ 　۪ slytherin yeonjun & slytherin reader ╱ @apeachty 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝗎𝗉 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗂𝗍. 𝖺 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁, 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿-𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾—𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁, 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗑 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇—𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝗒.

ׄ 　۪ hufflepuff beomgyu & gryffindor reader ╱ @hyukascampfire 𝖻𝖾𝗈𝗆𝗀𝗒𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌. 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇: 𝖻𝖾𝗈𝗆𝗀𝗒𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝖻𝖾𝗈𝗆𝗀𝗒𝗎 𝗂𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗂𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽. 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗈𝗈.

ׄ 　۪ ravenclaw taehyun & hufflepuff reader ╱ @heesmiles 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀…𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍. 𝖨𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗏𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗉𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗀𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗈𝗀𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗌. 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗍…𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗉.

ׄ 　۪ slytherin kai & gryffindor reader ╱ @dawngyu 𝗄𝖺𝗂’𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗍; 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗍. 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇. 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗍? 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍: 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁, 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾. 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗈𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍.

(🛎️) how's this for a cute little event? we're super excited even just to post this event masterlist, which means that the fics are gonna be magical. with this line up, how couldn't they be? hehe. love you guys!

think you'll be taking the train at platform 9 ¾? ⤷ comment to be added to the taglist, or send an ask. this taglist goes for each fic, not just any specific one. we hope that you enjoy your time at hogwarts! @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @filmnings , @hearteyes4hobi , @hyunj00 , @taebatu , @caratcakemoa , @biteyoubiteme , @dawngyu , @hyunruhi , @heesmiles ,

[michipan]

thinking abt this fic rn. oh ticket to nowhere you’ll always have my heart…. everyone go say thank you for this masterpiece rn

ticket to nowhere (but your heart) (m) — cyj

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers au, photographer!yeonjun, artist!reader, fluff, angst, smսt

wc: 22.3k

synopsis: twelve days. twelve days is all you have on this godforsaken train to find the spark that will save your dying art career — but you never thought that you would find it in the enigmatic stranger that you can’t seem to stop running into.

warnings: mdni!! ageless + blank blogs dni!!!, mc is bad with feelings, is alluded to have anxiety, and is written as shorter than jjun (i'm sorry to my taller friends, i love you) + the same age as him (24), this takes place in various places across the u.s. (sorry in advance), mentions of food + alcohol, vvvvv brief depiction of potential self-injury when describing a painting, beomgyu + le sserafim's sakura, chaewon, and yunjin (called jennifer here just bc i felt like it) are featured, dom!jjun, sub!mc, soft sex, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), light begging, multiple orgasms, protected sex (hooray!), missionary, praise

note: part of @majestyjun's yeonjun bday event!! REPOSTED bc tumblr decided to not let this show up in the tags (edit: it's now showing up!!) </3 also my longest fic to date, so that's something

*:･playlist･:*

(cross-posted to ao3 here!)

masterlist

everything in your life is bland. gray.

the food that you eat, the people that you become acquainted with, the skyscrapers above you that grasp for the sky and fail to reach it — they have all become so monotone and somber and utterly lifeless. something within you gnaws at itself, aching with pain — though the sharpness of the feeling has been blunted by the passing of time — because you used to adore the city that you call home. you used to find unrivaled beauty in the skyscrapers that spread across manhattan, in the lush green parks scattered amongst the urban landscape that would turn warm and golden as summer metamorphosed into autumn, in the people that would walk by you with their unapologetic, unique fashion and confidence. the very things you used to love have dulled in hue, washes of the vibrancy you once appreciated and took significant inspiration from. 

throughout your apartment lay half-baked paintings and charcoal drawings and pieces with odd compositions from that one month where you went through a mixed media phase, staring at you with their paint-streaked eyes, mocking you. finish us, their fragmentary faces scream. they beg for you to provide them with souls, to be their maker, their creator — but not quite their god. you are not pretentious enough to go that far, to paint yourself as that self-important, that narcissistic. you are far from a god. if you were, you would be in a larger apartment, a penthouse worth millions of dollars in soho or maybe the upper east side. if you were a god, you would purchase the finest art supplies in the world, have your pieces be displayed in major galleries to be auctioned off for hundreds of thousands — no, millions of dollars by pretentious art collectors to be hung up in their gaudy mansions, their own slices of heaven. however, in reality, you fall exceptionally short of a higher being; in truth, you are a rather simple woman who had transplanted herself from her suffocating hometown to brooklyn as soon as you completed your undergraduate degree. a tiny little apartment in brooklyn, new york city, new york — an adumbration of purgatory, floating somewhere between heaven and hell. trapped, trapped, trapped. nowhere to go. 

sitting on your bed, the balls of your feet pressed against the cool wooden floor, you ponder if these thoughts, this density of emotions burrowing into your stomach, are a symptom of burnout. maybe even artist’s block, though in the past you’ve often remarked that the concept doesn’t exist. you had never experienced it, so in your sorely narrow-minded view, it simply couldn’t be possible, and other artists were simply blaming their laziness on this elusive concept. what a fool you were for ever thinking that. shame hangs like a heavy weight within your chest; who are you to criticize the experiences of other artists when you know how difficult a creative’s life can be? how could you be so insolent? 

a raging hypocrite, really, is what you think you must be. a blank, blurry stare scans over your space, the coolness of the floor spreading up into your toes. an easel in the corner, near one of the small windows that allows for a view of mostly red brick, a sliver of blue-brown water where the hudson and east rivers meet, and a few lower manhattan skyscrapers that tower high in the air across the watery expanse. it’s not that far from your bed, which sits on the wall opposite below a second window, the slightest bit larger than the other one. most of your apartment is taken up by supplies rather than actual decor, a jar of paintbrushes on your small, round dining table in the corner near your kitchen instead of a vase of flowers, works-in-progress on the walls rather than posters, pictures. 

you live and breathe art, and your entire apartment reflects that, but the oxygen is getting thinner and thinner.

even then, you’re not quite sure how long you have felt this way — it’s not as if you woke up one day and noticed the change. it wasn’t sudden like a car accident, slamming into you one second and leaving you to cope with the aftermath the next. quite the opposite, really, more akin to the tide slowly coming to shore, washing over more of your body with each incoming wave. soothing, flowing along with each ebb and flow, pulling you further and further away from the beach until you have nowhere else to go but down. 

weak fingers dig into the white comforter below you, curling into the fabric with a surging desperation — for what, you are unsure. comfort? someone to hold you? you haven’t felt the embrace of another, the warm sensation of lips pressed against your own, in an embarrassingly long time. the dating world had slipped from your hands long ago, shattering on the floor like a snow globe, your wants and hopes and desires to love and be loved soaking your lacerated feet and stinging as it enters your wounds. your mind trails to beomgyu, a fellow artist who you had met when you could afford a private studio in a warehouse one burrow over. he was fun, a sappy romantic, and he made you laugh to no end — but he ruined you. he moved across the country without warning and you’d never heard from him again, leaving you heartbroken and with questions you’d never get answers to. you wonder how he’s doing now, if san francisco is treating him well. his number is still in your phone. you should delete it. you need to delete it. you need to make dinner. you need to finish that commission. you need to do a lot of things.

you need to get out of here. 

fuck, you do. the desperation surging within your veins takes the new form of a beast, clawing its way up your throat. you need to leave the city and experience new places and see new things and—

finally, you wrench yourself off of your bed after hours of sitting there. snatching your laptop from the floor, you search. you search and search and search for something that will get you out of this city, albeit temporarily. several different trips to italy — too expensive, and too far away from here. an airbnb in florida — you’ve never been a fan of humidity, and you don’t think only seeing one city will be enough to sate you. come on, come on, there has to be something. 

and then you find it: twelve days on a train, across the country. stops in chicago, denver, san francisco, seattle, and even a national park for half a day before looping back through chicago and back to new york. this sounds…perfect. your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the price as you scroll down. for you, it’s expensive, so fucking expensive, but…

“you need to let go and enjoy life for once,” one of your friends told you at a party a few months ago, when you were experiencing a less incapacitating version of the burnout you currently face, when you had thought it was a mere blip in your unending motivation. of course, you hadn’t listened to jennifer and her sound (and moscato-induced) advice, opting to throw yourself further into your art and ultimately fail at creating anything worthwhile. you regret it now, because you feel stuck. terribly, utterly stuck — but this is your chance to change that. 

you need this; you can make the sacrifice to your already thinning bank account, you think. let go, enjoy life. let go, enjoy life — you repeat those four words over and over again as you type in your card information, as you click the button to book the trip, as you read over the confirmation email that outlines the steps you need to take before you leave. let go, enjoy life, and you will. you will, and you will relight that dimming, nearly extinguished fire within you while you’re at it. you’ll make damn sure of it. 

day one. 

your heart is pounding. the rapid ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump roars in your ears like thunder as people upon people walk past, shoving against both of your shoulders as you stand in front of a board full of green and yellow and red. the sounds of voices and rolling luggage echo across the high, transparent ceilings of the station which allow for a view of the sky above. early mornings and you do not agree with each other, and today is no exception; poorly-veiled dark circles sit beneath your eyes, illuminated by the soft, warm light streaming in from above. looking down at your phone and back up at the screen again, you find that your train is thankfully on time, the bright green letters helping loosen the tightness gathered in your shoulders as you roll them back once, twice. your teeth skirt your bottom lip while you nod to yourself, then scan the spacious building for the escalator that will take you down to the correct platform. 

you hate that you’re nervous. the feeling twists your stomach into knots and flushes your face, cheeks hot as you stand there and wait out the remaining minutes before you can board. it doesn’t even make sense — you should be happy to get out of town, to go places you’ve never been to before, but all you can focus on is the unease creeping up your throat and blooming sour on your tongue. perhaps this is actually excitement that you are feeling. maybe you’re reading it all wrong — jennifer was more than ecstatic when you told her of your impromptu trip, saying “this is what you need! this might be your breakthrough!” 

ever since you met the her, she was always a degree more optimistic than you. looking on the bright side of things, no matter what dire circumstances lay splayed out across the dealer’s table. what’s stopping you from being the same way? several things, but at the same time, jennifer is right: you need this. your hands jitter with an odd combination of excitement and fear — maybe it’s simply the thought of solo travel that is so intimidating. yeah, it has to be. it will pass soon enough — hopefully. you roughly shove your set of headphones onto your head, slipping them over your ears. music will have to do for now, if only to prevent thoughts from racing through your head. 

once you board, you learn that your quarters are…small, though that was expected. it reminds you of your studio apartment, almost; cramped, but lacking the scattered paint tubes and canvases and miscellaneous mediums that you have not laid a single finger upon in months now. the small, travel-size tubes of paint sitting in your backpack weigh your shoulders down, begging to be taken out and spread across the small, flat canvases that are tucked snugly beside them. you muffle their pleas by turning up the music streaming through your headphones. closing the door behind you, you softly hum to the current song in your ears, shoving your suitcase in the corner of the room. 

once the attendant checks your ticket, you decide to take a nap — who cares if it’s early? you barely got enough sleep last night in the first place, too nervous to allow your eyes to shut. collapsing onto your bed, you pull the curtains next to it shut and allow yourself to drift off into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

*:･

you awake around noon with a growling stomach. with a sigh, you rub your tired eyes and sit up, smoothing out your rumpled shirt. after a quick look on your camera to make sure none of your mascara has transferred below your eyes, you make your way to the dining car that’s not too far from your own.

it’s nice, quaint; simply decorated like the rest, with large, square windows divided by thin pieces of wood lining each side. smaller tables line the wall to your right, two seats at each, while larger, four-person tables sit to your left. you opt for a two-seater towards the middle, tunnel vision blocking out the rest of the people present. you stare out at the greenery that blurs outside the window, listening to the low rumble of the train, mindlessly thumbing the laminated menu laying on the table. while you wait for the waitress to get to your table, a light, feminine voice knocks you from your own little world.

“excuse me?” the voice asks. you flinch in response, blinking hard as you look to your left and find two women sitting at the four-seater next to you. they’re both pretty, brown-eyed with full lips curved into twin smiles. they don’t look like sisters, though — more so friends. 

“yes?” you politely say, wondering what they could want with you. the shorter-haired one’s smile grows wider once you speak. she has a rounder face than the other girl, her black bangs ending above her eyes that are currently crinkled at the corners. 

“are you waiting for anyone?” the other girl asks, the one with a long wolfcut and wide, hypnotizing eyes. definitely not sisters, you think, they look nothing alike. 

shaking your head, you softly murmur, “i’m not.”

“would you like to join us, then?” the wide-eyed one asks, a hopeful glint shining in her eyes. 

“i...i wouldn’t want to intrude,” you reply. your mouth curls into something apologetic, as if you’re the one burdening them despite them being the ones to ask you. this interaction feels weird, awkward, and a very large part of you wishes you could melt through the floor and disappear forever. 

“you wouldn’t!” straight black bob chimes in, hands clasped together on top of the table as she leans towards you. cheery, excitable. “we wouldn’t mind at all, really.”

you nod with a tiny, somewhat nervous grin as you take the seat closest to you, right next to wide-eyed wolfcut. you offer them your name, unsure what else to give them. your age? your profession? your deep-seated trauma? okay, definitely not that last one. 

“it’s nice to meet you,” straight black bob says, while the other chimes in with a soft hum of affirmation. “i’m chaewon.”

“and i’m sakura,” wolfcut adds with a dip of her chin.

hands placed snugly in your lap, you pick at your thumb nail. your back is stiff in the chair, and you hope they won’t notice. “it’s nice to meet you guys too. are you traveling together?” 

both of them giggle, glancing at each other for a moment before swiveling their eyes back to you. for a moment, you’re confused. why was that so funny? they look to be decent friends, at least from your limited interactions with them thus far.

“we actually just met a few minutes ago,” wolfcut — no, sakura claims. oh, so they’re not friends, then. “we ran into each other— like, quite literally ran into each other.”

“it was…kinda bad,” chaewon laughs before she takes a sip of water. “my ass is still sore.”

you huff a laugh at that, all air and no sound, and the conversation continues with a light-hearted air to it. as the minutes tick by, you learn that chaewon is a graduate student taking a gap semester, while sakura owns her own makeup line, a small business that is beginning to pick up speed thanks to social media. one lives in brooklyn—

“no way,” you gasp at chaewon. “where at?” 

sakura, meanwhile, resides in upper manhattan. even more information about them bombards your brain as all of you begin to eat, but you doubt you’ll remember most of it by tomorrow, even later today — it’s alright, though. the three of you have exchanged numbers (to create a group chat) and have basically promised to be travel buddies for the coming days. your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, grateful to find kind, welcoming people on this train — you’d think that jennifer would like them. the way they interact with each other is somewhat reminiscent of your and jennifer’s friendship. friends…yeah, you can see the three of you becoming good friends. 

“can we see some of your art?” chaewon asks, bob shifting like a wave around her head as she shakes it. oh, yeah. you had briefly mentioned your profession, though shame barred you from sharing your reasons that led you to this train in the first place. 

you cringe. “oh, well—”

“i’m sure it’s great!” she continues. “c’mon, pleaseee?”

with sparkling doe eyes and hands clasped tightly together, it’s difficult to say no — and you don’t, shaking your head a little as you pull up your instagram account. while you’re proud of the pieces you’ve posted on there, they aren’t your most emotional. those ones are saved in your camera roll, and that is where they will stay, only for your eyes (and a very few select others) to see. they coo and aw as they swipe through, your phone placed on the table between them. heat rushes to your cheeks as you begin to pick at the remnants of your lunch sitting on your plate. deep down, their kind comments cause an unusual sense of guilt to invade your heart. why couldn’t you produce shit like that now? what the hell is wrong with you?

with a polite smile, you thank them and move to excuse yourself before your pathetic sense of self-pity can consume you. they seem a bit surprised by your abrupt exit, but they also take it in stride, offering to text you later for dinner. slipping from your seat, you send them a wave before setting off towards the door from which you initially came. 

*:･

you don’t know what spurred you to make a stop at your room and snatch your sketchbook from your backpack before heading to the observation car, but after a whole lot of sitting and not one speck of sketching, you kind of, sort of have started to hate yourself for that decision. 

the open page in your lap is abysmally blank. no marks, no little trees or lush fields or flowers or anything that you see speeding by outside the window. your pencil has been poised against the page for the longest time, dark gray dots scattered across the page where you would press the point of the pencil to start making a mark and subsequently give up. another hour with no progress ticks by, but you still can’t make it move. move, why won’t your hand just move? 

flipping it shut, you lean back in your seat with a deep sigh. you can’t force these things, you know that much, but that won’t stop you from trying — and failing — to produce something. you’d rather not dwell on that for too long, though. those thoughts are what got you here in the first place. instead, you allow your tense muscles to relax, your eyes to lose focus and blur, blobs of green and blue passing by your vision. soft murmurs from other passengers meld together into a wall of droning noise, soft and soothing. 

that is, until the sound of someone settling into a seat a couple away from your own pops your little bubble like a sharp, pointed pin pressing into the skin of a balloon. blinking your vision back into focus, you take a quick glance to your right and—

holy shit, he’s beautiful. a sloping nose and pink, plush lips, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was a model of some sort with a face like that. his dark, slightly outgrown hair frames his side profile perfectly, sweeping back towards the back of his head where it begins to curl down the back of his neck. there’s this sort of dreamy, ethereal quality to his looks, like the universe took it’s sweet time creating him, lovingly placed tiny little stars in his sable, fox-like eyes and kissed his skin with the sun’s gentle rays, a light pink dusted across his cheeks — or, at least, the one cheek that you can see. bulky headphones sit snugly over his ears as he simply watches the landscapes pass by, one long leg crossed over the other. before you register the movement of your hands, your sketchbook is flipped back open to that very same blank page you’d given up on mere moments ago, fingers gripping your pencil once more. fluid like water is how your hand moves across the page, capturing the unique shape of his eyes, his soft yet defined jawline, the slope of his neck…

for the first time in months, you lose yourself in your work, yet you don’t even register this small breakthrough. peeking back up at the beautiful stranger every once in a while, you slowly carve out his likeness on the page in front of you, begin to add his surroundings and even a background, shading with light, circular strokes as you go, building up the deposit of graphite where it is needed most, defining the shape of his pouty lips and the strong cupid’s bow that connects his top lip to his nose, mapping out the flow and shape of locks of hair with dark, daring strokes, graphite pressing hard into the page. you even add some flyways for good measure. in your frenzied bout of drawing, you have hunched over in your chair, an old habit that is rearing its ugly head now that you don’t have a standing easel to work with. straightening your aching spine, you sit back and observe your sketch, wondering if you have missed any defining details—

and when you move to look up and take in his features again, he is staring right back at you. 

oh.

oh, fuck. 

frozen in your seat, you can’t tear your gaze away from his own, a hint of concern swirling in his irises. his eyebrows raise, eyes slightly wide as he tilts his head. the corners of his pretty lips raise, parting as if about to speak — and he does.

“are you okay?”

his deep voice snaps you out of your stupor, flinching before you quickly flip your notebook shut and sent him a tight smile paired with a nod, eyes darting around to look everywhere but him. your heart just might leap out of your chest at this rate, tear open your sternum and collide with the floor. you almost wish it would. 

he’s frowning now, a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “uh, are you sure—”

without another glance at him, you stand, clutch your notebook and pencil tight enough that it presses marks into your skin, and book it straight out of there with swift and featherlight steps. you don’t look back, far too embarrassed to even consider it, not stopping until you reach your room. the door is slammed shut behind you, but the nerves-induced ache in your chest won’t fade. pressing the cool backs of your hands against your fiery cheeks, you resist the urge to slap yourself. what the fuck is wrong with you? you should’ve just answered him and apologized for staring. he probably thinks you’re some creep now, with your weird little notebook and lack of verbal response — and the way you left. god, if a hole opened up and swallowed you whole, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“you are so fucking embarrassing,” you hiss, venemous words aimed straight at yourself, your head buried in your hands as you curl up on the bed. day one, day fucking one, and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of someone.

maybe you should stay in here for the rest of your trip.

day two.

“...why is it so big?”

chaewon is referring to cloud gate — or, rather, what is more popularly known as the bean — a terribly ugly, silver, oversized, bean-shaped art installation that sits in chicago’s millennium park. an art installation that you, quite frankly, despise mostly due to the artist behind the work. given that anish kapoor is an elitist prick who has shit on the art world with his wealth and hates when people call his piece the bean, you take great, overwhelming satisfaction in calling it that. 

her question — paired with her furrowed eyebrows — causes you and sakura to snicker to yourselves. you’re grateful that they texted you this morning, had forced you out of your room because you actually were going to go through with your staying-in-your-room-forever plan (for today, at least). this park is your first stop of many, but you really want to get this part over with so that you don’t have to see this gargantuan, chrome bean ever again. despite its ugliness, you can admit that the slightly warped, mirrored reflection of the city that it provides is kind of interesting to look at, and it makes for some cool pictures. 

(still, fuck anish kapoor. you refuse to give that man any credit.)

you end up taking a photo of you flipping it off from afar, sending it to jennifer with a smirk before helping the other two girls with some of their own photos. here, there’s no pressure to create, only to enjoy and experience what surrounds you, no matter how tourist-y it may be. 

sakura slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer to her, arm extended out to take a selfie. your hand raises in a peace sign at the camera, smile bright and wide like the sun above. there’s not an inkling of worry in your expression — until you see him. 

the guy from yesterday, standing maybe ten feet away. he dons an unbuttoned striped shirt layered over a tank top which is tucked into baggy, dark wash jeans. a thin, black belt wraps around his waist, a small camera hanging from his neck, and his hair looks as perfect as yesterday, shiny and smooth under the unobstructed sunlight. thankfully, he hasn’t noticed you, but that doesn’t stop your smile from fading, your heart from hammering within your chest as your brain cruelly replays the events of yesterday afternoon in slow motion. you can’t face him right now. what if he comes up to you? what if he confronts you for your odd behavior in front of this crowd? these are worst case scenarios, sure, but they are potential outcomes nonetheless. as he begins to turn in your direction, you whip around, slipping from under sakura’s arm as you face the two girls. 

“you guys ready to go?” you ask, masking your worry with a tight grin. don’t ask why, don’t ask why, please don’t ask why.

“yeah, sure,” chaewon nods. “i think i’ve had enough of the bean.”

“same,” sakura laughs.

“we could grab lunch, then go to the aquarium and planetarium?” you suggest, one foot beginning to tap against the concrete as you look back and forth between them. are there eyes burning into the back of your head right now? you can’t tell, but the prickling on the back of your neck is not a promising sign. they look at each other, then back to you — a phenomenon that has rapidly become a habit for them — and agree. surging forward, your hands loop around their wrists closest to you, and begin to speed walk away. far away.

“uh, girl? this is the wrong way, we’re going deeper into the park,” sakura notes, heels digging into the concrete to slow you down. she’s right, you know she’s right, but you’re not particularly keen on turning around. 

with a sheepish grin, you say, “maybe we could take a walk through the park first?”

as if on cue, chaewon’s stomach emits an audible growl. 

“nevermind, then.”

turning around, you find the stranger facing your way, and for some reason, he’s already looking at you. his eyebrows raise in recognition the moment you make eye contact. all of a sudden, you wish that you could shrivel up and die. despite this, you rip your gaze from his and push forward, turning to speak to sakura so that you aren’t forced to glance in his direction. mission: avoid the stranger who now haunts your life — success!

goodbye, the bean and the guy who you embarrassed yourself in front of. hello, chicago-style pizza. 

*:･

you’re tired.

you’re tired and slightly more broke and your legs and feet ache to hell after the copious amount of walking you’ve done, but your day still isn’t over. no, despite the setting sun and rising moon, you still have one more activity on your itinerary — clubbing, by request of your newfound friends, though even they claim that they don’t often partake in the activity. similar to them, you’re more inclined to small get-togethers with wine, food from that thai place down the street from your apartment, and a good movie, but hey, this trip is all about experiencing new things. hell, maybe you’ll even enjoy it, who knows? at least, you’re going to try to, but the pain radiating in the soles of your feet and calves has worsened due to your high heels. the dress wrapped around your body is tight and flattering in all the right places, yet the hem rides up every few minutes as you walk. 

“the pessimism isn’t cute. quit it,” you hear jennifer’s voice echo inside your head, yet another phrase she’s uttered to you in the past. fine — on the bright side, you haven’t seen that good-looking stranger since the park. bam, positivity, go you.

sakura’s arm loops around yours as you reach the club that you collectively decided on earlier. her excited squeals at the prospect of alcohol (or, rather, more alcohol, since she pregramed a bit prior to leaving the station) and dancing are enough to bring on a weak headache that spreads across your temples. ibuprofen. you desperately need ibuprofen, but vodka will do just fine too — it’s the first thing you order at the bar, a straight shot with no chaser because at this point, you don’t care. let go, enjoy life, you internalize as you toss the sharp liquor down your throat, fatigue melting away as the alcohol enters your veins. 

cheers, jennifer. you still need to text her back.

one more downed shot later, and chaewon is dragging you to the dance floor. the bass pounds in your ears and vibrates the floor as the three of you sway to the upbeat songs. droplets of sweat begin to bead along your hairline, bodies packed so close together that it’s virtually impossible not to be jostled by a stray elbow or shoulder as you dance. if you were completely sober, it would be uncomfortable, but your hazy senses allow for you to overlook the sardine can that is called a club. it’s easy to lose yourself in the warm, heady air, in the way your hips bump between chaewon’s and sakura’s. inhibitions melt away — you’re free; no expectations weighing you down, nowhere to be, no one to be. only music, flashing lights, and the new, fruity drink in your hand, courtesy of sakura. 

“gonna take a breather!” you yell into chaewon’s ear, the alcohol finally catching up to you. she nods, yells words you can’t make out into sakura’s ear, and both of them begin to follow you out of the crowd. you sip at your drink as you push your way through, ducking under swinging arms and avoiding splashing drinks. the crowd thins as you grow closer to the edge of the dance floor until only scattered groups of friends remain.

“you didn’t have to come with me, y’know,” you say as soon as you reach a slightly quieter part of the club, taking a seat in an empty booth. “i can handle myself.”

“it’s better to stick together. less dangerous,” sakura refutes. some of the glitter that sits above her eyes had drafted down to her cheeks, glinting as a beam of bright light travels over the lower half of her face. “you never know what could happen in a club.”

chewing at the neon pink straw in your drink, you nod, “that’s true.” 

as chaewon and sakura fall into conversation, their words not quite reaching your ears, you silently scan the club. the darkness is cut by wild lasers and spotlights that whirl around and catch on the faces of countless strangers, their pearly, grinning teeth glinting and disappearing back into obscurity in a flash. you continue to nibble at your straw, vision hazy around the edges and an airy sensation in your limbs, as if you could float up to the ceiling. you look up at the multicolored lights, flashes of red and green and blue bombarding your vision, then back down towards the crowd.

and yet again, you find him in your sights. 

suddenly, your vision has a crystal clear clarity to it. button-down shirt wide open to reveal his toned torso, he smoothly moves to the beat with an intoxicated smirk painted on his lips, a small glass of amber liquor in his left hand. dark, outgrown hair, plush lips, those dark, dreamy eyes — that’s him. shit, that’s definitely him. 

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you murmur, head collapsing into your arms on top of the cool wooden table. sakura jumps in her seat next to you, before scrambling to place a hand on your shoulder.

“are you okay?” she squeals near your ear, tacking on a worried call of your name when you don’t respond right away. honestly? you’re kind of not okay. you’re tired of encountering him at every turn and being reminded of your humiliating escape from him yesterday. you’re tired of him spotting you and sending you odd looks as if you’re the weirdest person he’s ever crossed paths with. you’re tired, you’re tired, you’re just so tired. 

you decided to go on this trip to get away from the mundanity of your day-to-day routine, to get over your spell of artist’s block and see new things, but maybe you bit off more than you can chew if you were going to allow one random person to ruin that goal for you. a random stranger shouldn’t have this much power over you. 

raising your head, you send them a half-hearted nod. “i’m fine. sorry.”

chaewon frowns, “are you about to throw up? ‘cause you look like you are.”

“you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” sakura chimes in.

sighing, you shake your head. “i think— i think i need to use the bathroom.”

as you move to get up, they do as well — though you decide not to protest this time. there’s no point, really. your legs wobble a bit as you walk, face dropping once you notice that he is near the men’s restroom now, waiting outside right across from where you aim to go. head down, you scurry past him, ignoring how his eyes widen and his knuckles pale as he grips his drink tighter. chaewon and sakura are hot on your heels as you slip into the quiet bathroom. with the music from outside now muffled, you realize your ears are ringing. reaching a sink, you turn on the faucet and splash some water onto your face. hunched over the sink, your fingers grip the edge of the counter. deep breaths, now. deep breaths. this is likely the quickest you have ever sobered up, and the sensation is rendering you dizzy.

behind you, your friends exchange concerned looks through the mirror. sakura jumps into action first, coming up behind you and placing her hands onto your shoulders. with a gentle squeeze, she murmurs, “let’s get you back to the station.”

day three.

today, the observation car is devoid of life — and so is your body after yesterday. can you overdose by taking too much ibuprofen? you’re pretty sure that you can. 

last night is but a blur in your memory with few spots of clarity, but you do vividly remember panicking in the dimly lit bathroom as the girls fretted over whether you were going to vomit all over the floor or not. you hadn’t slept much once you returned to your room after exchanging drunken hugs with your friends, assuring them that you were, indeed, not going to throw up. after a few hours of restless sleep, you’d completely given up on proper rest — you have never slept all that well with alcohol in your system, so you’re not sure why you thought this time would be any different. 

you take a seat far away from the one you took last time. clad in your pajama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt, you’re grateful that no one else is here to see you at your worst: slightly hungover with dark circles the size of dinner plates. your legs fold up onto the chair so that your knees sit near your chest, your arms looping around your shins, fingers laced together. a deep sigh. a long blink. though the rest of the sky remains an inky black, the horizon morphs into a deep purple, the color of eggplant, almost. perhaps a smidge lighter. 

a door opens, its hinges faintly squeaking, before subsequently clicking shut. figuring it must be someone older, you do not bother with checking who entered; most people your age aren’t up this early, especially not willingly. instead, you keep your eyes trained on the ever-changing sky, chin resting upon your knees.

footsteps near you, and you assume that they will pass, but then they don’t. rather, they stand right in front of you.

“may i sit here?”

you have heard this voice before, just two days ago. unsurprisingly, he stands a mere few feet away, clad in a black tank top and gray sweatpants, a long finger pointed towards a seat. similar to you, small dark circles sit beneath his eyes, but he somehow makes them work. once you nod, one corner of his lips twitches upward before he sits down, a singular seat separating your bodies. his gaze burns the side of your face; your arms wrap around your legs tighter, your unwavering stare pointed out the window. silence envelopes the train car, tense and suffocating. your lungs tighten, prickly thorns sprouting within the thin membranes. your bottom lip may begin to bleed if you keep chewing at it so carelessly.

he breaks it first, shatters it like glass colliding with the floor, with five words:

“i’m really hungover right now.”

your brows furrow. why is he trying to strike up a conversation with you? why do you want to answer him? 

he continues before you can formulate a response, “i saw you at that club last night — you looked a little sick. are you okay?”

“peachy,” you curtly mumble, lips pursing. of course he remembers you; you did pass by him, after all, basically sprinted into the bathroom with the grace of a bull in a china shop. he hasn’t mentioned the park, but you know damn well he remembers that too.

you can sense the frown from his tone, confusion lacing the edges like delicate lace. his question is careful, slowly intonated as if he’s scared of pissing you off. “uh, did i do something wrong?”

you shake your head, not a single glance spared in his direction thus far. he hasn’t. your attitude is a direct result of your own actions, your own rampant anxieties. a pang of guilt punches you in the gut — he does not deserve your bitchiness when he, quite frankly, has done nothing but exist in relative proximity to you. 

“you haven’t,” you reply, voice meek. your eyes trace over the short fibers of the plain carpet below your seat. “i’m just— i’m sorry.”

the low rumble of the train fills the air again, no further words spoken between the two of you. there’s no clear way to explain yourself further, but your apology is sincere; with a brief peek, you find him staring out the window.

“can i ask why you keep running away whenever you see me?” the query lacks an accusatory edge. rather, curiosity and interest cushion his voice. maybe…maybe he doesn’t find you that strange, after all.

and finally, after two days of avoiding his gaze, you swivel your head to face him. you find a tilted head, a single humorous, raised eyebrow. despite yourself, you begin to smile. “honestly?”

“i’d prefer honesty, yes,” he grins.

“i—” you hesitate for a moment, then continue, “i was embarrassed.” a grimace paints your face, dragging your brows down and twisting your lips. “after, y’know…”

“running away the first time?” he supplies.

your mouth flattens into a thin line, a hand moving up to scratch your cheek. “yeah, that.”

laughter reaches your ears, partially nasally. rolling your eyes, your mouth splits into a grin. 

“i get it. i feel like i definitely startled you, so no hard feelings.” he pauses, starry eyes widening in what you believe is realization, “i never got your name.”

easily, you supply it, cheeks flushing with heat when he offhandedly comments that it’s pretty. if he notices your sudden flustered state, he doesn’t comment on it, and despite the warmth now slithering down your neck, you feel yourself relax back into your seat, legs leaving their curled up position to cross at the ankle in front of you. then, he offers his own. yeonjun — at long last, you have put a name to his handsome face. 

out of nowhere, he asks, “have you had breakfast?” 

shaking your head, you gesture to your pajama bottoms. “not yet, i was going to grab some after i changed.”

“i don’t know, i think the plaid pants are pretty fashionable,” he chuckles. you join him. “c’mon, i saw an old guy wearing boxers and a shirt in there yesterday. i’m pretty sure it’ll be fine.”

you giggle, “that’s kinda gross, but alright. let’s go.”

peering out the window again, you find that the sun has just peeked above the horizon, a wash of orange fading into blue, melting together like watercolor. smiling to yourself, you stand and begin to follow yeonjun towards the dining car.

*:･

you and yeonjun had gone your separate ways hours ago, but not without exchanging contact information. since then, he hasn’t stopped texting you, his talent at keeping any conversation going shining in direct contrast to your, well, lack of said talent. however, you do find yourself replying to him with ease — he makes it so easy to do so, mostly due to the fairly unorthodox topics he likes to bring up. currently, you’re talking about the animals that scare you the most. why? because that’s the nature of yeonjun’s conversation skills, you suppose.

another voice message pops up in your chat, about ten seconds long — one of his more obvious quirks. most of his messages are sent in this form, not that you mind. his voice is as pretty as the rest of him. heart-fluttering. okay, stop. you just met this guy. 

(jennifer always does say that you fall too easily. maybe she’s right.)

pressing play, his voice enters your left ear via your single earbud. “no because hear me out: dolphins have fooled you into thinking they’re nice. manipulated you. they literally torture their prey— and they use puffer fishes to get high! i can’t make this shit up. my fear is justified, i swear.”

under your breath, you chuckle, an elbow leaned against the dining table. after a long nap, you had texted the girls to see if they’d like to get dinner with you. of course, they said yes, but you decided to get here a bit early to grab an open table. the car is already packed as it is.

“what’re you laughing at?” unexpectedly, sakura’s head appears over your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your phone. out of habit, you lock it, your reflections staring back at you through the black screen. as she sits next to you, chaewon, takes the seat across from you, elbows placed on the table and her hands supporting her chin. she sends you a knowing smile.

“is that your boyfriend?” she prods. the question causes your mouth to fall open for a moment before you snap it shut. 

“no!” you exclaim. “it’s just a friend.”

“sounds like a boyfriend,” sakura surmises, exchanging a conspiratory nod with the other girl. you release a groan, hands shielding your fiery hot face before you drag them up over your hair. 

“he’s not my boyfriend,” you shoot back. “we just met today.” two days ago, actually. if you can count that.

their mouths open in tandem, shock coloring their features. is this a big deal, or something? you aren’t even dating the guy. 

“you met a guy and didn’t tell us?” sakura grasps your arm with both hands, shaking the limb with a strength that shouldn’t be possible to come from her thin body. “you should’ve told us! we can be your wingwomen!”

“wingwomen?” you echo dumbly as you stare at her. wingwomen, as in, like, jennifer-style wingwomen? as in trying too hard to set you up with someone and ultimately embarrassing you in the end wingwomen? your love for jennifer knows no bounds, but she’s ruined the term for you long ago with her terrible luck. a shudder runs down your spine, and you grin nervously. “i don’t think that’s necessary.”

“of course it is! i’ve always wanted to do that for one of my friends, but they’re all taken already,” chaewon pouts, irresistible puppy dog eyes appearing. “c’mon, please?

“i doubt he’d want to date me, though? we’ve literally only talked once, so really, it’s okay.”

“once is enough,” sakura declares, suddenly tilting her body closer to yours. “tell us, is he cute? what’s his name?”

they’re obviously not going to let this go, and you have no power to really stop them. 

sighing, you officially give up, “yeonjun, and yes, i do.” unfortunately. 

chaewon claps her hands together, an audible smack! echoing from her palms. her smile is blinding, a supernova of pearly white teeth and pink, upturned lips. “perfect! we can work with that.” 

“i already have an idea: ask him to hang out tomorrow,” sakura says, and you send her an incredulous look, glancing at chaewon for a moment to find that she’s excitedly nodding along to the idea like an excitable puppy. her round eyes sure make her resemble one.

you shake your head. “i can’t do that, it’s too forward.”

rolling her eyes, sakura tosses her hands up in the air. “too forward my ass! how do you expect to bag him?”

“i don’t!”

chaewon chimes in, an open hand reaching towards you, “alright, give us your phone. we’ll text him for you.”

“absolutely not!”

ding!

it’s comical, how all three of you pivot your wide-eyed gazes to the phone clenched in your fingers. the flash of yeonjun’s name across the screen is enough to send your table into chaos. 

“open it!”

“what did he say—”

“calm down, oh my god!” you shriek, sending an apologetic look to the couple next to you when they look over. fingers fly over your keyboard until you’ve reached his contact. words, this time, no voice message. butterflies burst into your chest.

yeonjun: do you have anything planned for tmrw? 

after scanning over the message herself, sakura pokes at your shoulder. “tell him you don’t.” 

with a deep, heavy sigh, you do as she says.

[6:37 p.m.]: not yet, why?

“that’s too dry,” chaewon comments.

“shut up, i’m trying,” you hiss. it takes him a few minutes to respond, minutes in which you internally panic. was your text really too dry? in the meantime, you place your dinner order with a kind waiter that stops by, a hearty dish that you can drown your sorrows in the not-so-off chance that this goes terribly, terribly wrong. another ping sounds from your phone’s speakers, and time stops once you read what he sent. clocks stop ticking, you stop breathing, everything around you freezes.

yeonjun: do you wanna grab coffee in the morning then? :)

sakura sends you a sharp look. “i doubt he’d want to date me — are you seeing this right now? or do you need me to spell it out for you? this is a date, babe.”

“it’s not,” you counter weakly. you only (officially) met him today, so, “it’s really not.”

day four.

contrary to what sakura claimed, this is very much not a date — but you’re happy about it. 

he keeps a respectful distance between your bodies as you walk, you pay for your own coffee, and you pull your own chair out when you go to sit down. it’s simple, it’s friendly, it’s a bit awkward, but there’s some things you have to sacrifice when making new friends. the croissant you’ve decided on is on the drier side, a little too flaky. you nibble on it anyway in a poor attempt to ignore the silence that has fallen between you once again. this is why you try to meet people through other friends; at least in those situations, you have a buffer, someone who knows you and the other person well enough that they can find connections between you without having to dig. you hate digging — you’re the worst at it, hence the stifling quiet that permeates the air now.

the café is quaint, if a bit moody thanks to the lighting. outside the window, the denver street teems with people, and you decide to survey the passing strangers rather than look at the man sitting across from you. wisps of fluffy white clouds float high above, sometimes passing over the sun. you wish you had your supplies with you — this would make for a wonderful painting. 

click!

turning your head, you find yeonjun holding a camera, the lens pointed at…you? you hadn’t noticed it prior, so you are unsure where he got it from. it looks like the same one he had at the park. a bashful smile appears as soon as he places it on the table. “sorry, the lighting was perfect. can’t ever pass up a nice shot.” you study the camera for a moment, and he takes your lack of response as a sign to continue, “once i edit it, i can definitely send you a copy. do you wanna see it?”

a photographer. yeonjun is a photographer. you’re not sure why it’s taken you this long to realize. maybe because you’ve been avoiding him up until now? you think. shaking the thought away, you smile. “i’d love to see it.”

he presses a few buttons, a focused twist to his plush lips, before he’s sliding it over to your side of the table. he’s right: it was a nice shot, and while you don’t often enjoy how you look in photographs, he’s found an angle that highlights your best features as you gaze outside, a slight part to your lips and your eyes wide open, shining. the sheer amount of contrast between the dark café and your warm-lit face scratches an itch in your brain. you can see it now — the golden pigment wetting your brush before being placed on the canvas, being blended into an umber, almost black, but not quite. a splash of umber here, a hint of red there…

“is this your job?” you decide to ask. 

the sheepish expression returns in full force, but there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. he’s proud of his work. “yeah. i’m not, like, famous or anything, but i enjoy it. my mom said that when i was a baby, they put a stethoscope, a gavel, a camera, a microphone, and a test tube in front of me, and i chose the camera, so it was basically meant to be,” he chuckles, but, realizing that you’re staring at him, he pauses for moment. crimson paints the tips of his ears; it’s a color that you’re pretty sure sits in your travel set. “sorry, was that too much?”

“not at all,” you reply softly. “that’s a lovely story, yeonjun.” 

“thanks.” shyly, he bites down on his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before releasing it. a beat of quiet passes, then he’s asking, “how about you? what do you do for work?”

for some reason, the question looms over your head like a storm cloud. it’s unavoidable and dark and heavy. a bitter taste fills your mouth, different from the aftertaste of your coffee, but you try not to let your sudden drop in mood show. 

“i’m an artist, though i don’t think many people would consider me one nowadays,” you snicker, but the self-deprecating edge to your words is not lost on yeonjun. 

wrinkles form in the space between his brows. “what do you mean?” 

“i…” you trail off. you should tell him. you should rip the bandaid off and quit avoiding facing it for what it is. “i haven’t finished a piece in months. i feel stuck, almost? like nothing is resonating with me, if that makes sense. it’s the whole reason i went on this trip. it’s humiliating, not being able to draw a single thing without hating it— sorry, that’s definitely too much.” 

“no, no, you’re fine,” and he’s sincere in his reassurances. he doesn’t look at you like you’re some sort of failure for how you feel. he doesn’t spew out a hollow apology to absolve him of the weight you’ve transferred to his shoulders, nor does he seem to mind that he’s helping you burden it. his hand reaches over the table, hesitant for a moment, before his fingers curl over yours, his warm skin against yours. you stare at his hand, but you don’t move away from his touch, allowing him to give your hand a delicate squeeze. looking back up, you sit frozen under his gaze. it warms your insides, melts the icy shards solidifying in your lungs that make it hard to breathe. “none of that makes you less of an artist. it’s something every artist goes through — hell, i’ve gone through it, and it’s okay to feel that way. it’s real and it sucks to feel like you can’t accomplish anything, but there’s nothing wrong with it. eventually, it will pass on its own, but until then, it’s not a sin to lean on others for support.”

tears almost, almost prick your eyes. however, you push them down; there’s no way you’re going to cry in public, in front of him. absolutely not. he squeezes your hand one more time, his thumb brushing over yours, before pulling away. “and if no one else will listen, i will.”

“thank you,” you croak out, blinking rapidly, taking a long sip of coffee in order to buy yourself a few precious seconds to cloak your emotions. a calm veil falls over your face soon enough, and while you hate to be the one to change the subject, you feel like you should. “do you want to go on a walk? it’s too nice out to stay in here all day.”

he doesn’t question the sudden change, humming in confirmation as he scoots his chair back. “it really is nice out. do you have any other plans?”

“not really,” you say, pushing the door open. the warm breeze caresses your face. “i’m trying to be spontaneous—”

“y/n!”

sakura and chaewon appear to your left, each carrying a couple bags that look to be stuffed with clothes. you vaguely remember them mentioning going thrifting, but you didn’t know that they’d be in the same part of the city as you. chaewon comes in for a hug, whispering into your ear, “he’s cute.”

glancing up at yeonjun, sakura feigns ignorance, “who’s this?” 

thus, your friends meet the one man you’d rather keep them away from, if only to prevent their wingwomen shenanigans. you have zero clue what they have planned, but you’re sure none of it can be good. 

“we were just on our way to the botanical gardens,” chaewon sings. “if you’d like to join usss.”

wordlessly, you and yeonjun communicate, only raised eyebrows and tilted chins. somehow, you understand exactly what he’s trying to convey. do you want to? do you? i don’t mind if you don’t. alright, let’s do it.

when you do arrive at the gardens, yeonjun’s fingers find your wrist, holding you back for a moment. his free hand gestures to the camera hanging around his neck. “mind being my model for the day?”

you blink. you, his model? “oh, um. i think chae and kkura are a bit more qualified—”

“no way,” he laughs. “i’m the professional here, and i want you. no one else will do.”

i want you — god, those three, simple words send a visceral shiver down your spine. a want, a need, an overwhelming desire for…you’re not even sure, but something all-consuming blooms behind your sternum like a moonflower in the night. with a coy dip of your head, you smile to yourself, allowing the feeling to surge through your veins, consume every fiber of your being.

“alright, mr. professional. lead the way.”

*:･

it’s early in the evening when you return to the station in a giddy haze, arm looped around yeonjun’s. the photo session had been a success; by the end, you were drunk on the compliments he aimed your way, on the way he treated you like glass as he directed you into a specific pose, the fleeting sensation of his fingertips pressing into your skin burned into your memory. 

closing the door to your room, you press your back into it, squeal into your palms like you did when you were sixteen and harboring a silly little crush. because that’s all it is right now, really: a foolish crush on a man that you probably won’t see again after this trip. you can fantasize all you want, but in the end, that’s what it is. those invading negative thoughts get drowned out by the movie playing behind your eyelids — a replay of the day. you swear you can feel every touch of his skin against yours, every ray of sunshine that kissed your skin and gifted you its warmth. scurrying over to your bag, you locate your supplies. 

and you begin to paint. 

a flurry of lilacs, a blurry figure among them all, defined only by a flowing white button up and brown, wide leg trousers, black streaks of hair and nothing more. yellow daffodils and vibrant emerald sweetgrass take shape, a cerulean sky, fluffy clouds. it’s messy and you kind of hate it, but it’s something. something is on the canvas, it’s dynamic, it has character.

“okay,” you mumble, staring at the brushstrokes, going over them again and again. “okay.”

day five.

“can i draw you?” 

a spur of the moment question, borne from the golden sunset gracing his cheeks, highlighting strands of his hair. the day has passed quietly today, mostly spent in your room sketching to your heart’s content. though mostly inconsequential doodles paired with terribly cheesy words of prose that even your most romantic friends would scrunch their noses at, these exercises in creating without a specific goal in mind seem to be helping. a part of that gray fog over your world has been wafted away by an invisible hand, and everything is a bit more vibrant, closer to its true hue; while nothing about your creations are particularly special or groundbreaking, going on this trip is now beginning to prove its worth. 

yeonjun’s head tilts, and you shrug. “what? i need practice.”

“okay, as long as you promise to show me afterward,” he challenges, and you immediately shake your head. 

“i’m only going to show it to you if it turns out well,” you decide. you think back to the painting sitting in your room, still a bit wet, the paint overworked to hell. that one is staying a secret. it’s not good enough to be known by anyone else — and certainly not by him.

“then no deal.” when you give him a pleading look, he raises his hands. “i show you my pictures, you show me what’s going on in that sketchbook, it’s only fair.”

“fine,” you hiss, fishing your sketchbook from your bag. “get comfortable, and don’t even think about moving.”

“harsh.”

with a suppressed grin, you take in the planes of his face. he’s shifted to face you, intent eyes trained on you, which makes your job harder. gulping, you raise an arm, mapping out his proportions with a thumb. the process of pressing intentional marks into the page is a slow one, exacerbated by his unwavering stare. you have to look out at the mountains every once in a while to allow oxygen back into your lungs, and even then, the action proves difficult. graphite scratching paper is backed by the low murmur of other passengers in the observation car as you work, capturing the fading light that casts shadows across his face. however, your creative juices quickly run out, likely sapped by your painting escapade that extended far into the night. the shape of his eyes isn’t quite right, and no matter how much you erase and try again, there’s always a slight detail off about it. too narrow, too round, too—

the tip of the pencil snaps, the point rolling across the page and falling onto the floor. you curse under your breath. 

“is it done?” yeonjun asks, leaning forward. his hands gently take your sketchbook from your lap before you can protest, and you watch as his expression shifts from neutral to slack-jawed. 

“that’s…you’re…wow,” he starts, then never finishes. he still hasn’t torn his wide eyes away from the page, flitting around as he drinks in every miniscule detail, while you pinpoint every single thing wrong with the drawing.

“it’s bad,” you deadpan. “give it back, i need to fix it.”

he frowns. you seem to make him do that a lot. “there’s nothing to fix.”

“there’s everything to fix.”

“it’s literally a carbon copy of me,” he counters. “you’re crazy.”

“says the one who can’t see the shape of his eyes right now. the lash line isn’t straight enough at the top, the nose isn’t quite right, the hair lacks form. it’s terrible.”

for the first time since you met him, yeonjun is annoyed. eyes narrowed and dark, he locks his gaze into yours, throws away the key. you can’t move while he tosses the worn sketchbook back into your lap, a hand running through his hair, locks raising with his fingers and flopping back down into his face.

“i know what it’s like to be your own worst critic,” he says, voice soft like a lullaby, standing in direct contrast to his firm expression. “but it’s one thing to be critical of your art, and another to resent it. you’re a wonderful artist, y/n. talented isn’t enough to describe you, but negativity is going to get you nowhere. it holds you back.”

he’s right — you loathe that he is, and you more so hate how he sounds just like jennifer. your nails skirts the fraying edge of the leather cover in your laps, picking at it like you would with skin, peeling cracked flakes off to reveal a soft underbelly of lighter-colored suede. wine red versus warm tan. you feel like you’re being admonished, a child who’s misbehaved. you feel small, but at the same time, you need to hear it. you’ve been coddled enough. 

“i used to hate my stuff too, y’know. never thought it was ever that special, but that’s what made me underestimate myself. that’s what made me settle for less, that’s what made me lock my camera away in my closet for the longest time until i felt i was ‘ready’ to use it — but who was i to say i was ready? how do you know when you are? honestly, you don’t. you won’t ever know. all you can do is create and create and hope that you eventually make something that you’re proud of. until then, you keep trying, you figure out what’s working, what isn’t, and go from there. in the end, everything you create is a reflection of you, and that’s the beautiful thing about art. it bares your soul, it strips you down to the rawest parts of yourself that you may despise right now — but it’s still you. and don’t you think you deserve to give yourself some grace?”

his words strike a place deep within you, an ache beginning in the center of your chest and snaking out like the roots of a tree into your stomach and throat. you do deserve some grace, don’t you? you don’t spew venomous words towards your friends or strangers every day, yet you do it to yourself without a second thought. why? you bring yourself and your skills down any chance that you get. why? your art is merely an extension of yourself — is this how you forever want to feel whenever you are drawing? whenever you’re sculpting a piece? no, not at all. your head raises. 

“have you ever thought about becoming a public speaker?”

he lets out an incredulous scoff, but there’s still an inkling of teasing in his tone, “is that all you got from my mini speech? i thought it was amazing. life-changing, even.”

“no,” you deny with a tight-chested laugh. “but there’s not much more to add. you’ve said it all for me.”

the passing mountains are purple now, the greenery a muted magenta. in this moment, you decide the yeonjun is an enigma; untouchable, unreachable — standing too close to his bright, technicolor world would burn your muted one to the ground. if you are icarus, then he is the sun sending you plummeting down into oblivion.

but you want to touch him, you want to burn.

you want to feel alive again.

“let me draw you again,” and maybe it won’t be your best. maybe the slope of his chin will be crooked, maybe the intrinsic sparkle in his eyes won’t be quite right, but there’s a conviction present in your tone that causes him to smile.

day six.

“are you really trying to have a dick measuring contest with the seals right now?”

san francisco’s iconic pier 39 is abustle with tourists, but you and yeonjun are currently at the very back of the pier, where seals soak in the sun on little wooden docks constructed just for them. at the moment, yeonjun is trying to out-seal the seals with loud barks and hoots, mimicking their distinctive sounds. yeonjun is still making noises, people are starting to stare, and you are beginning to want to climb over the wooden fence and jump straight into the ocean. 

“yeonjun, please stop,” you plead, hands gripping the sleeve of his t-shirt, yet he doesn’t stop, honking back at the seals once they respond. you tug a bit harder. “c’mon, people are staring. the seals don’t care how loud you are, you’re not proving anything.”

“i’m proving a lot of things right now, actually,” he quips before he’s going back to making noises that are unbecoming of a human being. this feels like a cruel form of exposure therapy.

you try pulling at his sleeve again. “c’mon, yeonjun.” and again. “yeonjun!”

“okay, okay, i’ll stop,” he cackles, turning to face you. he’s close — too close to be considered platonic. his hands could come up and hold your waist right now, pull you closer into his chest. it causes you to take a step back, and it’s as if he can sense the heat radiating from your cheeks, leaning down towards you with a smirk. “you embarrassed?”

“of course i’m embarrassed,” you hiss. “how are you not?”

shaking his head, his grin grows impossibly wider. “if i buy you lunch, will you forgive me?” 

pretending to think, you look off to the side, then back to him. of course you will. “maybe.”

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs as he falls into step next to you. the air is much cooler here than at your other stops, a gray blanket of fog rolling in on the horizon that cuts into the clear blue sky. he sends you a hopeful look as he asks, “y’feeling clam chowder?”

with a tiny shrug, you confess that you’ve never had it before. with a dramatic hand placed against his chest, he gasps, “you live in the northeast, and you’ve never tried it? that has to be some sort of crime.”

chowder hut is his restaurant of choice, a circular, well, hut that sits by its lonesome across from the infamous pier. it’s a place he used to go when he lived in san jose and took day trips here with his cousins, he claims. the restaurant holds a lot of fond memories for him, this whole city does. you wonder what those memories entail.

“i got you a small one in case you don’t like it,” yeonjun says as soon as he returns with your food. a tray is placed in front of you: a round sourdough loaf carved into to create a bowl, filled with cream-colored, steaming-hot chowder thick with chunks of potatoes, pieces of bacon, and, of course, clams. digging a spoon in, you take your first bite — clean, briny, slightly sweet, bursting across your taste buds like tiny little firecrackers. your eyes widen at the taste, buzzing in delight against the spoon poised to your lips. he grins. “it’s good, right?” 

you hum in agreement, swallowing another spoonful. you’re crazy for never having tried this before. twenty-four years of living, and you had no idea what you were missing out on. you’ve missed out on a long of things, it seems, but you’re beginning to catch up on them with the help of yeonjun — as well as sakura and chaewon, of course. you could never forget about them.

“you’re forever going to be connected to clam chowder in my mind now, i hope you know that,” you say, tearing into the walls of the bread bowl. the remnants of the salty chowder have soaked into the bowl, mixing perfectly with the tanginess of the bread. yeah, you wouldn’t forget this in a million years; it’s too delicious to forget. 

“you do that too?” he asks. you send him a questioning glance. “like, connect people to food.”

“yeah, i guess i do,” you ponder. “my mom reminds me of this one dish she always made me as a kid. my best friend reminds me of wine, since that’s what we drank when we first met. it’s also her favorite. and now you…remind me of clam chowder.”

he chuckles, “great, i’ll always be the clam chowder guy to you.”

you giggle back. “it’s not a bad title to hold. you could be, i don’t know, the terrible clam chowder guy.”

“fair enough. i’ll take it,” he declares before he shoves the last piece of his bread bowl into his mouth. his cheeks puff out, similar to a chipmunk, and you resist the urge to chuckle at the image in your head. “now that i think about it, i don’t do it with just people — a lot of my fondest memories are connected to food, too. something human about it, y’know? food is its own form of love. or, at least, i think it is.”

“no, i completely agree. there’s something special about sharing food with others — it’s kinda intimate, i guess? especially if you’re cooking for someone, those are some of the most vivid memories for me.” 

nodding along with you, he’s leaning forward, elbows resting against the table. the corners of his lips quirk up. “you get it. the intimacy of it, i mean. my mom has always said that food is the best way to a person’s heart — food brings people together. it’s amazing.”

“yeah,” you beam. “it really is.”

for a moment, conversation ceases, the two of you smiling at each other, leaning forward over the table. your mouth opens to speak, but a loud caw draws your attention away from his hypnotizing eyes. you watch a seagull swoop in to harass a man that sits two tables over, his glasses skewed on his face as he tries to keep the bird from stealing his food. arms wave everywhere while the seagull screeches at him, flapping its wings on top of the man’s head. after a brief second of shock, the sight has you nearly doubling over with laughter, unflattering shrieks sounding from your throat. it takes a minute for your giggles to subside. while you wipe a tear from your lash line, you look back at him — and freeze.

he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, chin supported by his palm. his mouth curves into something serene and fond, hooded eyes scanning your face as you stare back. you’re no longer smiling, mouth parted as you wait for him to say something, anything. he doesn’t, so you move to break the intense air brewing between you.

“is…is something wrong?” with a flinch, his eyes blink rapidly for a second, coming back into focus. he sits up straighter, leaning into the back of his chair.

“i just— nevermind. sorry, spaced out there for a second,” his chin dips towards his chest before rising again, the tips of his ears flushing cherry. he looks nervous, almost. “um, if you’re up for it later, we could grab dinner at this korean restaurant i used to go to? it reminds me a lot of my parents. i think you’d like it.” 

while you’d rather ask where his head is at right now, what he was going to say before he stopped himself so abruptly, you say, “i’d love that.”

*:･

he was right, you do like it. 

the restaurant is cozy, a little hole-in-the-wall in the heart of the city where less tourists roam. the food is delicious, flavorful meats and fluffy rice and various veggie side dishes that you can’t stop eating. as he snaps some photos of the place, he tells you the decor reminds him of restaurants in seoul, of the mom-and-pop shops he’d frequent there. that at some point or other, some of the owners would start recognizing him when he came in and gave him extra food free of charge. 

“so you lived there for a while? in korea?” you ask as you watch him some meat for the two of you to share. the action is second nature to him, each piece staying on the grill for the same amount of time, flipped only once. you bring a piece to your mouth — it’s perfectly cooked.

“i was born there, in a town near seoul,” he says through a mouthful of rice. “moved around a bit, but i lived in seoul for most of it ‘til i was eighteen. then i moved to new york for college, but dropped out after two semesters to pursue photography. it’s been six years since i moved to the states.”

“you said you lived in san jose for a while earlier.” you tilt your head at him. “when was that?”

“ah,” he starts. “i studied abroad when i was in elementary school and stayed with some family there— do you want some more meat? i can order more.”

your meat supply has dwindled down to two pieces. there’s still room in your stomach, so you nod. “sure.”

he calls over the sole server on shift, speaking to him rapidly in his native tongue. the server glances over at you for a brief second before focusing back on yeonjun. out of their entire conversation, you recognize one word: friend. it’s a term that jennifer taught you a while ago, one that has stuck with you because she now likes to jokingly call you that every now and then. an inside joke between the two of you.

when the server leaves, yeonjun is left a flustered mess. your eyebrows raise. “why’s your face so red? what’d he say?”

“nothing! it’s just from the kimchi! it’s really spicy here,” he quickly claims before he’s gulping down half a glass of water. you, quite frankly, don’t buy it for a second, but choose not to pry. 

day seven.

of course, at least one thing has to go wrong on a trip like this. mechanical problems with the train has rendered everyone stuck in the golden city until tomorrow morning, at which another train will take over the rest of the trip. the station is across the bay, so amtrak has given every passenger a voucher to pay for a night’s stay at various hotels across the city — customer’s choice, no less. to be safe, you choose the one closest to the bar chaewon and sakura want to check out tonight. once you told yeonjun where you decided to stay, he used his voucher there as well. he wants to stay near you, he says, to make it easy to find each other.

today, the girls join you and yeonjun at pier 39. they partake in bread bowls, they watch yeonjun embarrass himself at the seal docks, they send you knowing looks when he pays for your food. when yeonjun finds a street performer with a dance mat and wastes no time in starting a battle against the guy, they tell you that he’s trying to impress you.

“he’s not,” you whisper to them. “that’s just how he is. i promise.”

night begins to fall, and they suggest going to a bar for dinner, more for the drinks and not the food. you accept, and in turn, so does yeonjun — though you immediately regret not thinking the decision through more. the bar is dangerous. not in an external hazard sense, but in more of a you’re scared of getting drunk and vomiting your blossoming feelings onto his shoes type of sense. you keep your drinking to a minimum, still on your first drink an hour in. next to you, however, yeonjun is starting to collapse in on himself, hunched over the counter of the bar as his third drink kicks in. a giggle bubbles up from your throat. you never pegged him to be a lightweight. 

“let’s get you some water,” you gently suggest, a comforting hand on his shoulder. waving the bartender over, you ask for a glass, helping him sit up and take a sip. his chin falls onto your shoulder this time, eyes hazy as he looks up at you with a dopey smile. 

“you’re really pretty, did y‘know that?” he slurs, leaning further into you as an arm wraps around your waist. his barstool screeches across the floor, shifting closer to yours. you freeze as shock fills your veins, nerve endings beneath his touch on fire. he pokes your warm cheek. “s’pretty.”

you blink. hard. “yeonjun, you’re drunk—”

“no ‘m not. ’m perfectly— ‘m perfectly fine,” the words stumble out of his pouty lips drenched in fatigue, his tone whiny and petulant, as he turns in his seat to wrap his other arm around your waist, forehead now sagging against your shoulder. your body stiffens up, tense muscles frozen in place as he continues his delirious ramblings. 

“i need to go to the bathroom!” you all of sudden exclaim, attempting to pry his arms off of you. he only squeezes you tighter, whining how you can’t leave here alone. you sigh, patting his hair, “you could wait outside?”

he accepts the offer, but doesn’t remove his arm from your waist as both of you stand. despite his almost six foot tall frame, you are forced to support him as he stumbles along towards the bathrooms and pray that you don’t twist an ankle in the process. when you reach the women’s bathroom, he still doesn’t let go. 

“nooo, don’t leave meeee,” he whines, pulling you back into his chest while your hand grips the door handle. calling his name, you slip your hands beneath his and grab them to pull them off of you.

“i’ll be right back, i promise,” you say once you situate him against the wall, his shoulder hunched and his head hanging down towards his chest. you give him a worried pat on his head before disappearing into the bathroom. in reality, you do not have to go. instead, you stand in front of the mirror, taking in your blown out eyes, feeling a scorching heat encase your face and spread down towards your chest. he’s drunk, you remind yourself. he doesn’t know what he’s saying. 

you wash your hands once. twice. three times, allowing the cool water to run over your heated skin. you splash some on the back of your neck. calm down. calm the fuck down. 

you are, indeed, not able to calm the fuck down before a flurry of knocks reverbates against the door. yeonjun’s voice follows soon after, asking if he can come in, if you’re okay. “why have you been gone for so longggg? i miss you!”

“no! don’t come in!” you yell, glad that all of the stalls are vacant. making your way back over to the exit, you wrench open the door and find him standing there, fist raised in the air as if he was going to knock again. 

he blinks once. then, an impossibly wide grin splits his face. “you’re back!”

stepping forward, you allow the door to swing shut behind you. arms wrap around you once again, but this time, you stumble backwards into the wall. when you look up, his face is just above yours. 

oh.

oh, fuck. 

this feels like a repeat of day one all over again, you trapped under his gaze, but this lacks the distance of that day. the unfamiliarity with each other. his hands haven’t left your waist, fingers pressing into your flesh over your thin dress, while the wall presses into your back. you have nowhere to go, but maybe you’re more drunk than you initially thought, because his lips look very inviting right now. you watch his eyes trail down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip. his eyelids hood his dark, hazy pupils. the muscles in his neck contract, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leans closer, an electric attraction between your lips. you tilt your head, eye fluttering shut, moving closer, closer…

“y/n! there you are!” 

yeonjun jumps away from you as chaewon rushes up to you. her hands find your shoulders as she cries, “kkura twisted her ankle really bad! can you help me?”

you turn your head towards yeonjun, then back to chaewon, whose wide, rounded eyes plead you to come with her. “okay,” you say softly. “let’s go.”

yeonjun follows close behind, and all you can think of is what would have happened if chaewon didn’t show up. sakura’s ankle ends up being fine, and getting her back to her hotel room isn’t too difficult given the close proximity of the hotel. 

*:･

four days. four days you have known yeonjun, but it feels like it’s been years since you met each other. that fact strikes fear into your heart, remembering that the last time that this fast burn of feelings in your heart occurred, you ended up a brokenhearted mess for months. if yeonjun is the sun, his overwhelming heat melting you down into a puddle, then beomgyu was a black hole, all-consuming and ripping pieces of you away when he abruptly up and left. you’re unsure if you can go through that again, but at the same time, yeonjun doesn’t give off the impression of a drifter who wouldn’t tell you he’s leaving until after the fact. he’s a constant, a steady fortress. reliable, enduring. 

“good night,” yeonjun murmurs, both of you standing in front of your door. 

“good night,” you parrot back, rocking back on your heels, but you don’t really want him to go. knowing that isn’t realistic, you settle for opening your arms up towards him. for the first time, he hugs you good night, his lithe arms wrapping around your waist while he presses a drunken kiss into the crown of your head, and a feeling of being home washes over you. 

day eight.

he sits closer to you now. no longer is there a gap that separates your bodies, a full chair between the two of you. now, he sits right next to you, thigh brushing against your own. his hand sometimes finds your knee, never too high on your leg, never uncomfortable. just…there, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin. neither of you mention what transpired between you last night, his affectionate words, the mere centimeters that separated your lips before chaewon interrupted. nevertheless, an unspoken barrier between you has broken, its bricks torn down by the hands of intoxication — due to alcohol, but also because of each other.

the almost-kiss replays in your mind in a constant loop; the woody citrus of his cologne is still strong in your nose, the warmth radiating from his flushed cheeks a phantom against your skin. you want to talk about it. you want to rip open the memory like a pomegranate for the two of you to share, but you don’t. you don’t know what you would do if you ruined…whatever this is that you and him have going on. he’s become a sort of constant in your life that you don’t think you can live without. you like him; you can admit it now. what you feel is not just a mere attraction anymore, an artistic appreciation for his unique features. he brings out a brighter part of you, a part that has been buried deep into your soul over the years, beneath layers of grime and dirt and negative experiences that you won’t let go of. the gray film over your eyes has been wiped clean by him, him and his beautiful heart he so easily bares to others. his heart that is so full of love — love for being alive, love for others — you wonder if any of that love could ever be for you one day.

he watches you sketch, you let him snap photos of you doing so. you share a small bag of chips, greasy fingers brushing against each other during those times in which you both reach in tandem. for hours, you sit together in a silence that is no longer awkward, but soft and tender. shoulder against shoulder, skin against skin. words aren’t required, your actions speaking for themselves. you bask in it all.

day nine.

the space needle isn’t that impressive.

you’re sure it’s a much better experience when you’re at the top, but yeonjun shares a fear of heights with you, so there’s no way in hell either of you are going up there. instead, you stand beneath it, amongst an ever-moving sea of seattleites and tourists, and wait for chaewon and sakura to come back down from the tall building. 

at the beginning of this trip, you’d allow for a few feet of space between your bodies, but slowly, it’s diminished to a scant few inches. you don’t really register this gradual change, as natural as it was. every once in a while, his pinky brushes against yours. neither you nor yeonjun move to do anything about it, either by pulling away or linking them together — a state of limbo that is befitting for a pair of strangers falling for each other. to make the dive into the unknown or to stay on the surface where it’s safe, that is the question.

“how much longer do you think they’ll be?” you ask, staring up at the pointed top of the tower. the sky is gray today, a bit chilly, but it’s an expected sight in washington during this time of year. “i’m getting hungry.”

yeonjun huffs a laugh, lightly elbowing your bicep. “maybe we could grab something real quick. i saw this taco truck nearby—”

“y/n? is that you?”

you’d recognize that deep timbre anywhere. the man that dropped your heart on the floor and vanished from the earth before he could watch the aftermath, the man that you never wished to see ever again.

turning around, you find beomgyu.

your phone slips from your hand, clattering against the concrete — but you can’t bring yourself to check if the screen has shattered. instead, yeonjun grabs it for you, rising with it as he anxiously asks if you’re okay. you don’t answer, too busy staring at the man now standing before you. he’s changed; his shorter hair has grown out past his ears, dyed a warm brown, though his black roots are apparent; soft pastel pullovers and light jeans have been swapped out for black slacks and a dark brown leather jacket, clothing choices more mature than when you last saw him. why is he here? you thought he lived in san francisco — you would’ve been less shocked to run into him there, but in seattle? 

“i moved here a few months ago.” shit, did you say that out loud? “i could ask you the same thing.”

“i’m on a trip,” you quickly answer, no further explanation leaving your mouth. 

he nods nonchalantly. you think you see his eyes flit to yeonjun for a second. “cool, cool.” 

“yeah.” why won’t he walk away already? your feet are glued to the cement, jaw tense as you try not to cry. the memory of him texting you that he had left the city and things between you won’t work out come rushing back. why now? how can he show his face to you after all he’s done?

he nods again. “are you here for long?”

“just— just for today.”

“well, i’d love to catch up with you before you leave. i’ve missed you a lot. maybe we could grab dinner tonight?” his smile is soft, hopeful — manipulative, in a way.

“i’m actually pretty busy today,” you begin, but of course, you have no idea how to tell him no. “but maybe if i’m free later.”

“great!” he exclaims, hands now in his trouser pockets. he looks over at yeonjun again, the upward curve of his lips flattening. “i need to get going, but i’ll text you later. you still have my number, right?”

“i think so.”

“cool.” his smile grows excited. “see you later, then.” beomgyu turns to walk away with a confidence in his strut that he didn't have when he lived in new york. when he was dating you. how shameless can he be? soon enough, he disappears into the crowd. blinking, you wonder if that really just happened, turning back toward yeonjun. his jaw is set, eyes still staring at the point where beomgyu vanished. the gray clouds feel suffocating now. the cool air constricts your lungs. you want the cement to open up and swallow you when his hardened eyes turn to you.

“who was that?” yeonjun asks, tone casual, but there’s a…jealous? edge to his question. you’re looking into things too much — there’s no way he’s jealous right now. 

“...my ex,” and it hurts you to admit it. his eyes darken as he utters a soft “oh.” you sigh, “yeah.”

he won’t look at you anymore. why won’t he? you didn’t do anything wrong. you had no control over beomgyu showing up. he purses his lips. “are you gonna meet up with him?”

your head shakes on its own, words escaping before you can think about them. “i don’t know, yeonjun.” 

“okay.” biting his lip, he turns so that he faces the space needle again, stepping away from you. you feel like strangers again, an ocean of distance between you bodies. “yeah, okay.”

*:･

you don’t meet up with beomgyu.

meanwhile, yeonjun is nowhere to be found. after the beomgyu incident, the two of you waited in tense silence for your other friends to return. he then made up some lame excuse to leave, and didn’t turn back when you called his name. you haven’t seen him for the rest of the day, even when you return to the train. he won’t respond to your texts. eventually, you stop sending them; he obviously needs space for whatever reason, so you will give him it. 

the terrible, painful thought of ruining everything you had with him sits in the forefront of your mind, taunting you. the girls try to distract you, showing you silly tiktoks and youtube videos and the like, but you simply offer them a half-hearted huff each time. once you explain what transpired while they were gone, however, their tune changes a bit. 

“y/n, i’m going to be very honest, and i need you not to take it personally,” sakura replies. though your head lays on top of your folded arms, you signal that you are listening with a bob of your head. she continues, “your response wasn’t the best. it probably confused him, and now he doesn’t know if you’re still hung up on this guy or not. if one of his exes came up to him while with you, and he told you he didn’t know if he was going to meet up with them later or not, how would you feel?”

“shitty,” you mumble into your forearm. 

“exactly. so give him space for now, and when he reaches out, explain and apologize. you owe him that much.” sakura sounds just like jennifer — they’d definitely get along. 

“i know. i will.”

the waiter comes around with water, and you order a strong cocktail to go along with your dinner.

day ten.

“has he texted you back yet?” sakura asks for the thousandth time today.

when you shoot her a defeated glare, she gets her answer. no, of course he hasn’t. he hasn’t responded to you since he left. “you said to give him space.”

“yeah, but i didn’t know he’d fall off the face of the earth,” she shoots back. sighing, you tip your head back against the wall next to her bed. a lake passes outside, surrounded by tall grass and trees. small hills rise behind the blue expanse, but you don’t feel the same urge to grab your sketchbook and translate the view onto the page anymore. it’s funny, how easily one person can affect your mood, turn everything upside down with the mere lack of his presence in your life. 

“he just needs time.” chaewon opens a can of soda with a pop! and takes a sip. “maybe it affected him more than we realize.”

“‘cause that makes me feel sooo much better.” sarcasm drips from your voice. “i’m such a fucking idiot.”

there’s a half-day stop in glacier national park tomorrow. will you see him, or is he going to avoid you for the rest of this trip? will you ever see him again? the emotions that swirl within you are reminiscent of how you felt before you met him. that grayness. that sinking sensation festering in your chest that claws it’s way down into your stomach and shreds it apart. you said that you wanted to burn, you wanted it to hurt, but this feels all too fast. too much.

sakura makes a noise in disagreement. “no, it shows that he cares about you. you just have to make sure you clear things up with him, and tell him that you like—”

“if you’re going to tell me that i need to confess my feelings to him, i really don’t think i can do that.”

“why?” chaewon prods. “what’s stopping you? he obviously likes you too.”

beomgyu. beomgyu is the fucking reason why. you can’t bare your heart to someone again, lest you get hurt all over again. after all that has happened, if yeonjun doesn’t reciprocate, it will confirm your worst fears — that you aren’t built to receive love, no matter how hard you try to mold yourself into a person that is deserving. dread churns in your stomach, rises into your throat like bile, acidic and fervid, as thoughts of worst case scenarios where you pour your heart only to hear “sorry, i don’t feel the same way.” you can’t do it. you can’t allow yourself to spiral again. however, you don’t divulge your reasons for holding back, remaining silent as you trace the patterns on the ceiling. 

after a deep, shuddering sigh, you give them a three word explanation: “i don’t know.”

day eleven.

stepping off of the train into fresh air sharpens your dulled senses. the national park is beautiful, for lack of better words; thickets of trees spreading out in all directions as far as the see. the sun is rising over the mountains that stretch high above your head — you’re starting to enjoy this view more than the lifeless skyscrapers that await you back home. the train station looks more like a little lodge than an actual station, but you appreciate its quaint character. reddish-brown wood makes up the majority of the small-scale building. it looks like a place where people would spend the night in, with a warm, cozy fireplace in the wintertime, and wide open windows in the summer to allow the refreshing breeze to waft in.

meandering down the path behind the station into a field of tall grass littered with bunches of tiny, white flowers, you begin to reflect on everything that has happened on this trip. originally, you went on this stupid trip with the goal to find inspiration, and last night you had a very important realization: yeonjun is that something — you started drawing again because of him, you started looking on the bright side of things because of him, and most important of all, you fell for him. you didn’t just fall for him in the way an artist falls for their muse, no. you fell for him as a person. getting to know him has been one of the best parts of your trip, but now all of that has gone down the drain because yeonjun hasn’t responded to you in over twenty-four hours and you have not a clue what to do to try to make things right. if he doesn’t wish to speak to you, then that’s that. it’s over. whatever momentum this fleeting relationship had has been effectively pummeled into the dust that would blow away with even the gentlest of breezes. 

you wish you could appreciate this view more. your paints sit in your backpack back in your room, out of sight so that you don’t have to think about them, nor hear their pleas to be used. although you now know why you lack the drive to paint and draw and generally create once again, no clear-cut solution to your problem comes to mind. instead, you wander through the grass towards a large, squatty boulder, climb on top of it, and plop down. your knees curl up towards your chest while your arms wrap around them, fingers tracing random patterns against your shins. fatigue solidifies in your bones, but the tranquility of the early morning the quiet tucks a blanket of peace over your body, swaddling the edges around you, cocooning you in.

you sit there, taking in the sounds and sights of nature, for hours. the chirping of birds sings a melody over the whisper of trees in the breeze. a deer leaps across the open field, disappearing into the trees, her fawn following close behind. bighorn sheep graze in the distance, their circular horns reminding you of cornucopias. 

the rustle of trees and grass obscure the sound of approaching footsteps from your ears. it’s not until yeonjun begins to climb onto the boulder that you notice him. you hug your legs tighter to your body as he sits next to you, but not too close. an invisible wall separates you. he does not look remotely near your direction, his focus far out in the trees. staring at him, you wonder what to say. i’m sorry? i have feelings for you?

“i never met up with him.”

he still doesn’t spare you a glance. assuming he wants you to continue, you do. “i don’t know why i said what i said, but it was shitty of me to put you in that position, and i wanted to say that i’m sorry. i was just shocked, i guess. to see him. he ruined my perception of a lot of things, jjun.” jjun. that’s a new one. you are quite unsure where it came from, it slipped out before you could think. no matter, he’s looking at you now, and it’s your turn to look out towards the horizon. “trust, commitment, love…”

his gaze burns into your temple. you take a deep breath, fingers clenching the fabric of your jeans. “they’ve all been ruined for me. it’s hard for me to trust anyone after what he did. i’m terrified that the people i grow close to will wake up one day and leave me without a word. i’m scared that i’ll never get the closure i deserve when they do. worst of all, i’ve stopped believing that love is in the cards for me, like there has to be something wrong with me for him to have left me like that—”

“don’t. don’t you dare say that about yourself.” whipping your head around, you finally meet eyes for the first time in nearly two days. they aren't soft like they usually are when they look at you, but hardened, guarded. “there’s nothing wrong with you. you have every right to be hurt, and he’s honestly a piece of shit for doing that to you, but it’s unfair to assume that everyone that comes after him will be just like him.”

“i know, and i’m sorry. i know you’re not like him.” he doesn’t respond, and you begin to chew at the inside of your cheek. you watch an ant crawl its way across the rock beneath you. the small insect disappears over the edge. 

silence. you begin to count the seconds. one, two, three, four—

“i’m sorry for not texting you back. i just needed time to think about things. a lot of things,” he starts. “i felt weird, for some reason. didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

you offer him a tight-lipped smile. “no, i understand. i forgive you.”

important words remain unspoken, but both of you refuse to address them. instead, his hand finds yours, he links your fingers with his, and both of you peacefully watch the sheep graze across the field.

day twelve.

not everything is fixed yet. 

despite being on speaking terms again, strain pulls your relationship taut. the unspoken words from yesterday hang heavy in the air, but you can’t bring yourself to give them a voice. you want to. your voice won’t work every time you try.

sitting next to yeonjun on his bed, you scroll through various forms of social media, bookmarking work that you find particularly interesting in between catching up on your friends’ posts. jennifer has been thoroughly caught up on what’s been going on after a long overdue apology for not responding to her texts. she understood, of course she did. she’s known you long enough to know how you can shut down whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed. 

“i’m proud of you for telling him. i know it’s hard for you to share, honey,” she cooed to you over the phone last night. “but you need to tell him how you feel before it’s too late.”

you know that. you know damn well that once you get off this train, it may all fall apart, a budding romance distinguished by reality. there’s no security, no safety net for you to fall into if you take the leap, and while he showed you an inkling of how he felt yesterday, who’s to say he’ll feel that way tomorrow? the next day? are you willing to tear your heart open for him to consume if there’s still a chance of him throwing it away when all is said and done? 

you don’t know the answer to that question. honestly, you don’t know the answer to a lot of those questions, stuck in this state of self-imposed purgatory. to rise or fall, what is the best choice? you don’t fucking know.

“is that yours?” he asks from over your shoulder, at a ceramic piece in your feed made by one of jennifer’s acquaintances. his breath snakes warmly over the expanse of your neck due to his proximity, his head so close you could turn and just kiss him— 

stop it. 

“oh, no. um.” you shift away from him slightly. distance. some distance feels more comfortable right now. “i don’t sculpt. i just paint, and draw.”

he makes an ahhh of understanding, leaning back onto his palms, the mattress sinking down with his weight. he’s staring at you like he expects something from you. what shall you give him? when you don’t say anything further, he does. 

“can i see some of yours, then?” it’s an innocent enough request. rather than simply press on your account, your fingers move on their own until you reach your gallery. why? are you really about to bare your soul to him? you guess so, because he’s gently taking your phone from your fingers after gaining quiet permission from you. 

he asks you questions as he pulls up certain pieces. the thought process behind each one, what made you do this, place that color there, how you came up with the composition, what the meaning of it all is. you try your best to explain each one. sometimes, your choices were the product of spontaneity. you thought yellow would look nice at that spot, so you put some there. her nose is crooked because it gives the piece more character. the color of the drapes in the background are blue for no particular reason other than the fact that your reference photo had blue drapes. you continue in a cycle of question, answer, question, answer, and some of your answers are more emotional than others. you remember where you were, both physically and mentally, when making all of these. you remember the ones you made when you were having a bad day, the ones where you felt like you were on the top of the world. 

then, he pulls up one that you wish he didn’t. it was buried so deep into your gallery that you have no idea how he found it — your most dreaded hyperrealism piece: a woman lays on her back, hair fading into the foreboding, void-like background. her face is twisted up into an abject sadness, a deep-seated pain that even now, you have no idea how you captured so vividly. her veiny left hand is splayed next to her head, thin crimson threads tied to each finger so tight that she has begun to bleed. the strings fall limp beside her, severed from their counterparts that meander off of the canvas. more red threads loop their way around her neck, pulled taut as if to choke her — and to her throat, she holds a pair of sharp-pointed scissors, hand gripping the metal tight enough to pale her knuckles. 

it’s dark. it’s terribly dark and you wish he never saw it. why did he have to see it? why did he have to choose that one? the world tilts on its axis as he stares down at the picture of your most soul-baring work, though you think it would be worse if he saw the actual painting in person.

“what’s the story behind this one?” he asks quietly. your lungs expel all air, and you’re left gaping for more. breathe, come on, you have to breathe. your inhale is shaky, shuddered. breathe. say something.

“that one…” your voice trails off into something quiet. scared. “i made it when i was in a really— really dark place mentally, um. i made it mostly because—”

he’s looking at you now, concern shining in his irises, but you push on. 

“because i stopped believing in fate.”

while you could say more, you stop yourself there. you hate digging — digging into your deepest fears and emotions that you keep locked behind a wall so that you never have to feel them. a pandora’s box sits in the center of your heart, wrapped with chains to keep them imprisoned. somehow, though, you think yeonjun knows what you really want to say: you meeting each other wasn’t fate to you, but a gross series of coincidences, and when he asks if you think so, you simply nod.

“but out of everyone on this train, i met you. i got to know you — shouldn’t that mean something? can’t that be considered fate?” he presses. something akin to desperation laces his words, an urgency you’ve never heard from him. 

it sure feels like fate, doesn’t it? after all of those times that you ran into him, how he found you in the observation car when it was just you in there, how your feelings have unfolded like taking apart a paper crane in the short nine days you have known each other — it feels like it should be fate, you want to admit that all of it does seem like the universe’s divine intervention. maybe you running away was really just you trying to deny your fate to meet yeonjun while on this train. maybe him finding you was fate, an apology from whatever is above for what they put you through a year and a half ago.

“i think—” you hesitate. “i think so. it’s hard for it not to when i feel like i’ve known you my entire life.”

and you sit there and he’s smiling at you like you just created the earth with your bare hands. chicago passes outside the window. the sun shines high in the sky over the high rises, glints across glass panes and into his room. all you have is one more day on this train, and most of it will be spent sleeping tonight. he’ll wait for you tomorrow, right? would he wait for you forever?

“you know, i tell most people that my name is daniel.”

tilting your head, you echo, “daniel?” 

he hums as he scoots a bit closer, planting his feet on the floor next to yours and leaning forward. his knees support his elbows as he stares down at the floor. “it’s my english name. i used it when i was in college, i use it for my work, but for some reason, when i met you, my actual name, my given name, came out instead. call me silly, but i think my heart knew you’d become someone special to me. i wanted you to use my actual name — the one my parents call me. the one my closest friends call me.”

“oh.” why does your chest feel so tight right now? 

he sucks his lips behind his teeth for a moment. “yeah.”

sitting there, you wonder how you should respond to that. words expelled like an exhale of air, colliding with each other in front of your eyes, unable to be unscrambled by your mind. this time, it’s you who reaches over, closing the distance between you with a hand over his. his palm flips open to meet your own, your fingers linking together like matching puzzle pieces. you take a deep breath, and squeeze. 

“thank you,” you whisper. thank you for being here. thank you for helping me find myself again.

day twelve (point five). 

“i’m gonna miss you guys so much!” 

chaewon is basically on the verge of tears at this point, constantly blubbering how she is going to miss hanging out with you every day as she pulls you and sakura in for a hug over and over again. sakura laughs as she pulls away for the thousandth time this afternoon. “girl, it’s gonna be okay. we’re gonna meet up for coffee soon, right?”

she looks towards you, and you give an enthusiastic nod. “right. i’ll invite my friend too. she said she’d love to meet you guys.” 

chaewon’s pout doesn’t vanish, but she looks a little less emotional after all of your reassurances. blinking back the remnants of her tears, she nods with a watery “okay.”

you bring her in for one more hug while sakura asks, “have you seen him yet?” 

“no, i haven’t heard from him since last night.” your teeth worry your bottom lip, peeling a piece of raised skin off. the sensation stings. 

her lips purse sympathetically, a hand being placed on your shoulder. “i doubt he’d leave without saying something to you, don’t worry. he has to be around here somewhere.”

“yeah, you’re probably right.” as chaewon pulls away, you check your phone again. no texts or calls yet. doubt ricochets around in your brain, but you know yeonjun; he wouldn’t do that to you. 

“i’d love to wait with you, but my manufacturer is pissed i didn’t call them back yesterday, so i should get going,” sakura admits with an apologetic smile. her fingers squeeze your shoulder one time before her arm drops back to her side. 

“i should go too,” chaewon sadly adds, kicked puppy eyes in full effect. “my cat is waiting for me. my friend said she was a little demon the whole time i was gone.”

“it’s okay,” you laugh, shooing them away jokingly. “you guys can go. i’ll be fine.” 

with a last group hug, they grab their suitcases and head towards the hallway that connects the train station to the subway lines. sakura twirls around, walking backwards as she calls, “keep us updated! we need to know everything,”

“of course!” you yell back, grin widening. chaewon turns back too to wave, and you wave back. eventually, the crowd swallows them up, and you are left alone to wait. a few minutes pass, and you realize that this sea of people will likely make it impossible for either of you to find each other. his contact is pulled up on your phone, your thumb hovering the call button. you look around one more time—

and he’s standing right there, mere feet in front of you, in all of his glory, long hair still flopping into his face, eyes still dreamy and all-consuming. you stand there for a moment, simply staring at each other with stupid, goofy grins overtaking your faces. long legs carry him over to you, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in his arms and pulled into his strong chest. you bury your head into the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne.

“thank god,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. “i thought you might have left already.”

pulling back, you fix him with an incredulous stare. “what in the world made you think that? i was waiting for you.”

his ears tint an opaque red, the raised apples of his cheeks flushed a similar hue. he’s bewitching, and despite knowing that since the very first day — the day that you drew him for the first time — there’s so much more to him than looks to you now. he’s beautiful in both body and soul, in heart and head. one hand removes itself from your middle to cup your jaw, steadying your gaze with yours. your heart pounds, knees weak like a newborn doe’s as he stares deep into your eyes. blinding are the emotions swirling in his dark irises, but it doesn’t burn anymore. it’s more like the caress of the sun in the springtime, bright yet gentle in its own right. 

“this feels long overdue for me to say,” he begins, eyes closing as if to steel himself. when he opens them again, resolve has been added to the mix. “but i have feelings for you. i’ve never fallen for someone so quickly. i’ve never met someone like you, and i just— i knew, from the very day that i saw you, that we’d have something to do with each other. and then we kept running into each other, and i just thought wow, this has to be—”

“yeonjun,” you call, interrupting his ramblings. he pauses, eyes wide and anticipatory, as your hand moves up to cover his on your jaw. you can’t help the tremble in your lips as you speak. “i feel the same way.”

his lips purse, hiding a smile, before he surges forward and embraces you for a second time. the pure, unadulterated joy that the action brings you is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and you’re almost…sad, when he pulls away.

“can i take you out on a date?”

the question throws you off kilter, and you have to catch yourself before you fall face first into his chest. “like, right now? with our suitcases and everything?”

“i’ve done much worse,” he chuckles, ruffling his hair, only for the locks to fall back down into his eyes. “but i meant later today, maybe? around six? i have to go take care of some things i neglected before i left.” 

“that sounds wonderful,” you gush. despite your best efforts in keeping your excitement to a minimum, you bounce up onto your toes for second, heels sinking back onto the floor. you swear he mumbles a quiet “cute” under his breath before he’s slipping his hand into yours.

“perfect,” he beams, before he playfully continues. “shall we be off to the subway then, my lady?”

giggling, you fall into step next to him, your arm swinging with his between you. “we shall.”

*:･

he’s right on time to pick you up, dressed casually but not too casually. a cool beige, short-sleeved button-up is tucked into a pair of straight-legged black jeans that stop at his waist. the chunky converse on his feet cause him to be a bit taller than usual. evidently, he is distracted by his phone, head ducked down as he waits for you to show up.

“yeonjun!” you call out, causing his head to snap up. once he does, you find that he’s somewhat styled his hair back — most of it has been swooped back towards his ears. a few strands fall into his face, but his forehead is fully exposed, and he looks…amazing. sometimes, you wish you were a poet instead, because then you’d have the words describe what you were feeling, what you were seeing. his jaw drops at the sight of you, dolled up in a jean skirt and frilly tank top over a thin long sleeve, your makeup soft and flattering to your features. 

“hi,” he breathes, and you repeat the greeting back to him. “you look…wow.”

“thanks,” you, biting your glossy lip. as his focus flits down to where your teeth dig into the soft flesh, you shyly smile, releasing it. a shock runs through you, new and carnal and it warms your stomach when he bites down on his own lip for a split second. “um, i know we didn’t really talk about where we were going to go, but there’s a thai place down the street from here, if you wanna go there? it’s my favorite.”

“of course,” he accepts, offering his arm to you. you loop your own through, standing close to him with your fingers pressing into the crook of his elbow. “lead the way.”

now that neither of you feel the need to skirt around your feelings, silence no longer lingers between pauses in conversation — both of you are able to pick it back up with ease. you meant it when you said that you feel like you’ve known him your whole life, and it reflects in the way you banter with him without worry or care. it’s…nice, freeing, not having to think too hard about what you’re about to say. natural. everything with him feels so natural. 

when both of you are sated, in both terms of food and conversation, he offers to walk you back to your apartment. the sun is beginning to set, and the sky has faded into a wash of rosy pink. the hue reflects the giddy feeling churning in your chest, rendering you light-headed and dizzy and fuck you just want to kiss him—

and he does. standing in front of your apartment building, he swoops down and captures your lips with his. slow, unhurried, his lips taste sweet like thai tea and are as soft as clouds. no one leads the other, no one moves to deepen the kiss. no, instead, you and yeonjun savor the taste of each other, the syrupy, vertiginous feeling of your first kiss together. when he pulls away, his lips have a slightly swollen quality to them, though you’re sure own look the same. you don’t want him to leave yet. you want more, you want something carnal and irrepressible that, by the way he’s looking at you, he wants too. playing with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck, you pant against his lips. “come inside with me, please?”

soft eyes darken, and he takes your breath away once more with another kiss, hands squeezing your waist. once he separates your lips from his, he rests his forehead against yours. nerves flutter in your stomach. “okay.” 

you find it terribly difficult to keep your hands off of him as you unlock your door, as it shuts behind you. for a minute, you stand there, waiting for something, anything to happen — then he’s crowding you in against your door and his lips are on your again. although there remains an air of softness, urgency fills the gaps where your lips don’t quite meet as they meld together, his tongue slipping into your mouth to curl with your own. your shoulder blades press into the cool wood of your door, the warmth of his body against your front a dizzying contrast to your scattered mind — but you want more. you want him.

when he slips a knee between your legs and knocks them apart, you let him. when he presses that knee into your core, encourages you to grind against it, you let him, you listen. whining into his mouth, you tug at his shirt, at his belt loops, his hair — anything you can get your hands on, you’re pulling at it, grinding down harder as his jeans rub your soaked panties against your aching pearl. a cry rips itself from your throat, mouth leaving as your head is thrown back against the door. “y-yeonjun—”

“patience, love. i’m gonna make you feel good,” he mumbles as he ravages your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. his hands have snuck beneath your shirt and smooth over your stomach up to the cups of your bra, squeezing the flesh over the fabric. as you raise you arms, he helps you pull your top off, the article thrown onto the floor without ceremony or care. his hands loop behind your back, fiddling with your bra clasp. “can i?”

“please,” you keen, and he wastes no time in doing so, expert fingers sliding the straps down your arms until your bra, too, lays on the floor. lips find your right nipple, enveloping the pebbled flesh in a warm wetness that causes your back to arch into him. one hand pulls you into him, while the other tweaks your other tit. his teeth graze it, and the stinging edge of painful pleasure causes you to shiver. he hums, vibrations causing you to moan his name louder, plead for him to do more. leaving your breast, his mouth kisses and laps at the skin of your stomach. down, down, down, until he drops to his knees in front of you, swiftly unzipping your skirt and pulling it off of you. lips find your thighs, biting down lightly, and you squeak, hand finding his hair and pulling. he looks up at your through his lashes, absolutely depraved and almost drooling for more. you gulp, legs almost giving out under you as you smooth your hand over his hair, pushing the strands that have fallen into his face back. “can we— can we move to the bed?”

immediately, he stands, pulling you behind him before he’s placing you onto the edge of your bed with great care. before he can fall to his knees again, you curl your shaking fingers into his shirt. “take this off? i wanna see you.”

with a huff of a chuckle, he does as you ask, revealing a toned stomach, broad shoulders, muscled arms. your tongue darts across your lips as you drink him in, causing him to smirk. “like what you see, pretty?”

“y-yes,” you stutter out, quiet and wanting and full of lecherous need. your thighs attempt to squeeze together in order to provide some relief to your pulsating core, but his legs stop them from fully closing. his fingers find your jaw, squeezing the flesh. your cheeks heat up. 

“so fucking cute.” the praise sends a white hot streak through your stomach and into your center. your face is on absolute fire now, vision growing hazy around the edges as you watch him sink down between your thighs, your panties quickly discarded to reveal your center to his eyes. two fingers trace your folds before dipping beneath them to find your entrance. his eyes widen at what he finds, fingers coming back up coated in your wetness, glinting against his fingertips and knuckles in the light streaming in through your windows. “you’re so wet, baby. this all for me? a little kissing got you this needy?”

“mhm— oh,” you gasp when he brings the fingers to his mouth, sucking on them lewdly as he refuses to tear his gaze from yours. he moans at your taste, hot tongue swiping up the remnants that accidentally smeared onto the corner of his lips once he removes his fingers. his smirk returns, hands sliding under your ass to pull you closer to the edge of the bed, closer to his mouth. you sit up on your elbows to watch him kiss his way up your inner thigh, hands holding you open for him. there’s nowhere for you to hide, as he traces your folds with his tongue, dipping into your entrance and swiping up to your clit. crying out, your fingers find his hair in an ironclad grip. he groans against your pearl, your hips bucking up into his face before his arms snake around each thigh and hold you still. he alternates between circling the bud with his tongue and sucking it between his plush lips, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth as he loses himself in your taste. meanwhile, you’re already so close to the edge, you can feel your walls begin to clench around nothing, your hips jumping up as far as he allows. as he dips down to your entrance, his nose bumps against your clit, but his tongue is back in no time to continue its assault on your poor little clit. “jjun, ‘m gonna, please, ‘m gonna—”

“cum,” he mumbles against you. “cum f’me, pretty girl.”

with his permission, your head falls onto your sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your vision spots white. cries pour from your lips like honey for him to drink, but you never quite come down fully. rather, he keeps circling his tongue against your clit through your high, and as your orgasm subsides, another one already begins to build. tears prick your eyes as you plead, “jjun, no, can’t, i can’t, nonono— i can’t!”

“yes, you can,” he murmurs, removing his arm from your right thigh. his lips don’t leave your clit as you feel two fingers slip into your soaked entrance, smoothly thrusting in and out and curling up into your upper wall until he finds that soft spot inside you that has your voice shattering into shards of moans and staccato wails. he groans against you as he feels your walls clench, the pace of his fingers unforgiving as he coaxes another mind-shattering orgasm from your body. your fingers flutter around his walls, watery hiccups torn from your throat. this time, he slows down, helps you ride out your high, before he removes his fingers, licking his lips of your essence as he does. climbing onto the bed, he hovers over you, taking in your spit-slick lips and tear-lined eyes. he wipes the tears away with gentle motions, cooing when you whine. he sits there until you come back to him, lucidity shining in your eyes as you blink them open. smiling, you pull him in for a languid kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue before he pulls away. 

when he caresses your cheek with his thumb, asking you if you’re okay, you lean into his touch, “mhm, want you to fuck me.”

“i can do that,” he laughs, causing you to reciprocate. standing, he slips his jeans and boxers down his thighs until he’s left in nothing, hardened cock veiny and flushed an angry red. you think it’s an average length, on the thicker side, the girth causing your mouth to water. as he runs his hands up your thighs, he asks, “d’you have any condoms, love?”

while you’d rather him fuck you raw, you know it’s safer this way. you point towards your nightstand. “there.”

as he fetches one, you scoot into the middle of the bed, watching him roll it on before he returns between your thighs, pumping his cock once, twice, lining it up with your entrance. his free hand grips your waist, watching as you move your hips to try to slide him into you. smirking, he presses his hips forward, cockhead dipping past your entrance. both of you moan at the sensation. slowly, he works his cock into you, little rolls of his hips until he’s seated fully within you, hips flush against your pelvis. 

“move,” you whine. “please move.” and that’s all it takes for him to swiftly pull out and slide back in again. as he thrusts into you again and again, his movements grow rougher, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot each time. moaning, you reach up towards him, forcing him to lean over you so you can kiss him again, swallowing each other’s sounds. he’s just as loud as you, praises falling naturally between his breathy moans. 

“feel s’good, baby. so fuckin’ tight and wet f’me. so unreal. d’you feel good, too?” he coos against the shell of your ear, warm breath curling against your necks. your walls clench around him at his desperate sounds.

“s-so good, jjunie,” you hum, feeling your third high of the night approaching. the knot in your stomach grows tighter as his thrusts grow sloppy, chasing his high as much as you are. a thumb moves down to rub your sensitive clit, quick little circles against the bud until your limbs are locking up, quaking as you finally cum around him. a few seconds later, his high hits him as well, his hips quivering as he spills into the rubber with a loud groan. 

slowly, he pulls out, ridding himself of the condom and soon returning to the bed to plop down next to you. arms pull you in close as you both pant and grin tiredly at each other, basking in the quiet that permeates the air, and he stares at you, dulcet eyes boring into yours. 

“what’re you thinking about?” you decide to ask, poking the center of his sweat-beaded forehead. taking a moment to respond, he pulls you even closer so that your noses almost touch. 

“it’s just— there’s this concept in korean — inyeon,” the timbre of his voice raises slightly as he switches to his native tongue, and lowers again when he switches back to english. “that, um, it means…”

his cheeks are growing the slightest bit pink, a shade that reflects the cotton candy clouds that float past your windows. squeezing his hand, you silently urge him to continue, soft gaze finding his own. a gentle kiss pressed to his cheek, his jaw, naked skin pressed against naked skin. together, whole, one.

he starts again, “there’s no direct translation, but it basically is fate. strings of fate. i truly believe the universe has connected us in some way, whether it be through some invisible red string or another force. and i know, i know what you said about fate, but i can’t stop thinking about how we found each other. there’s something beautiful about starting off as strangers and getting here. i don’t know, i’m just rambling at this point,” he chuckles, burying his nose into the pillow under his head. “i’ve just never felt this way about someone before. i’m sorry.”

with a gentle hand, you cup the side of his face, forcing him to look back at you. “don’t be sorry, that’s beautiful, and i think—” you sigh, blinking back tears that threaten to fall. “i think you’ve changed my mind about fate. i’ve also never felt this way about someone before. i feel like you know me on some level that no one else does. you just. you just get it, and i—” 

you don’t think this is quite love yet, but you believe what you’re feeling within your chest, tingling all over your body, is as close as you’ve ever gotten to it. he smiles, whispers a small, soft, “i know,” and lips find lips once more. hands find hands, and you feel alive. you feel like everything that you see is now in vivid technicolor, no longer masked by a veil of gray.

and when you wake up tomorrow, you think that you’re going to start a new painting.

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[michipan]

TOMORROW X TOGETHER in the 'forty one winks' special performance video (2024)

[michipan]

TAEHYUN'S SOLO @ ACT PROMISE EP 2 IN INCHEON DAY 3

[michipan]

most prettiest for anon

[michipan]

Finally…. i FINALLY got my hands on you !!! you’ve been on my radar for so long and i’ve been saving this for when i had free time to properly bother you… and god, i wasn’t disappointed. 

Dude… where have you been all my life. i’m not kidding when i say this is some of the best writing i’ve ever read … ur so amazing im gonna follow you home (joking. or… am i…?) anyways, lets move onto this really unhinged review bc girl i was taking NOTES. wrote this with three tabs and two devices because im odd and i take reviews unnecessarily serious. Forgive me for how incoherent this is gonna sound. 

First of all, your writing is insane. Have i mentioned that?? are you aware of this ??? you have such a unique diction/syntax that i just find so alluring… you’ve managed to set the premise and the tone so well in just a paragraph, im floored ??? it’s so crazy how something so simple as a description of tyun’s eyes and his emotions is able to convey so much, but also it’s so genius… i guess the eyes really are the window to the soul ! your writing is just so wonderfully vivid and in-scene, it’s capturing….  i kid you not i literally wrote down “oh wow that first paragraph is no joke” bc one thing about me. i WILL obsess over a strong hook !!!

i truly could go paragraph by paragraph, sentence by sentence, and tell you every little thing i loved abt it but that would just make this 6k words in itself. and ykw im gonna do it anyway! i love the little details you add to every scenes, especially in the beginning— small things like the groceries mc chose to anecdotes about the customers around the two is just so brilliant, it’s so immersive and im obsessed. the dialogue is just… yum… it’s so formal, surface level, and kinda awkward at times— you just encapsulated that feeling of small talk and that surprise of seeing an old classmate so well… 

And holy shit. the way you describe taehyun is so…. ouuuu… i need to sit down. take a breather. all these little things like “strong brows”, his glasses (tyun + glasses… smths purring) to that paragraph where you talked abt how much he’s changed ??? jesus… you describe him so well it’s actually making me tweak having to put that image together, because its so accurate,, i could kiss you. but all that to end it with “He wasn’t ugly by any means, back then. You just… had an eye out for other things. Your palate was different.” is just. idk it’s just the way you set up that foreshadowing is so perfect… you immediately feel the differences in how they perceive each other, and i’m truly obsessed. It’s like every detail is incredibly important here, and that attention/deliberation is something i dont see often !!!

“Something that makes you feel weird—one of those hair-rising feelings that you cannot explain, but feel innately to your core. A primal hunger being fed, a twitching of his lips, as though vindicated.” this part right here… i cant even begin to explain how much i love it. just that instinctive feeling of something’s wrong, but being unable to put your finger on it ??? it’s such a nice detail to add, especially when it’s followed with the mc brushing it off, blaming it on their tired mind— just perfectly capturing that doubt and skepticism that comes with, well… a stranger! 

the revelation that the friend’s tires were slashed and the mc was gonna be staying alone is genuinely so criminal. i was cussing taehyun tf OUT in my head bc bro wtf !!! tires are so expensive… but also. great job ! however at a first read i did try to give him the benefit of the doubt bc idk,,, you never know ! the shift of perspective of the cabin is just delicoussss urgggghhh like omfg. The mc being so excited for this trip only for it to be flipped in the blink of an eye, and now the place feels haunting, the wind and snow is howling and whipping ?? god you’re so good. 

AND THEN THE MOVEMENT THE MC CATCHES. oh my god that had me going !!! because in my mind i was kinda wondering is this it?! Just like that?!! But nooo… the tension and suspense here is pure art… along with the glasses in the snow. My jaw was on the floor i just can’t get enough of how well executed and smooth your writing is. lets make out pls (consensually ^^)

all that scary tense shit that’s been building up just being continued in the next scene… i love it. the way you casually write “Could you even drive away in this, if you needed to?” only to switch it over to cute christmas music and cooking ????!! like hello…. Lets go back to that!!! (i love that you don’t obv. the switch in tone is pure whiplash and really cements how helpless the mc is here.) but at this point, oh… im getting nervous…! 

when taehyun texted the mc my first thought was what the hell. How the fuck does he have her number. bc if the lack of contact name is any sign, she did not give it to him !! and you know what… i love that you don’t explain this. it really says a lot about mc’s character, because hello!U%#%) you’re not freaked out or suspicious ?? then again, if tyun was knocking on my door, helpless and stranded…. #letsnotsay again, those physical descriptions of tyun are pure perfection. drooled a bit.  (plus the description of how he smells?? i love a good scent description, i think it can say a lot about a character— and you killed this. “haunting in the way that the wilder edges of a forest could be” ???  i gasped…) (also also, you describing his dimple as a “delicious contrast” against his face…. oh, you get it.)

you know,,, as i started analyzing this a bit more, i realized something; i think it’s so interesting seeing the different ways tyun/the mc perceive taehyun ??? does that make sense?? Reading it back and watching taehyun be like “you never paid attention to me… why did you never look at me?” vs the contrast of the mc being like “he’s no longer lanky… or shy and hesitant like back then. and also his face has changed and his dimple is still there and—” seeing that warped perception just really shows how demented taehyun is… the details here, oh em gee…

the fact that taehyun glosses over his lack of glasses. i am so in love. Just the way he bulldozes past that question and turns it back to her, the way you describe his reaction !!(%97n how many times can i say that im in love with you before it starts to feel creepy…. It’s just small characterizations like these that really breathe in life to stories, especially in darker ones like these— it’s something i personally love to add in, so seeing it in someone else’s writing just makes me go !!! omg !!!

but mc. girl. I dont care how hot tyun is— i get it, i do— but. Never tell a man you’re alone !!>?????? IN THIS RANDOM ASS CABIN????!! but also, it’s just so telling of how aloof mc is, and how much she doesn’t see tyun as a threat. genius :3 i also thought it was interesting to see how the two talked abt the tire-slashing incident; taehyun making a joke vs the mc being so disturbed by the situation??? that contrast is just sososososo YUMMY!!! ARRRGHHH!!!! (ran out of compliments. ill just start screaming now sorry) also calling the sight of his back mouth-watering is genuinely the funniest thing ever LMFAO #real #NEED (oh and. the fact that the mc is like “at least it’s taehyun here, and not some creep” :D is just. tew good.)

that little tense moment where he’s too close to his face… the detail, the look in his eyes… the way you characterize him is so vague and ominous, i love that we get absolutely no look into his mind, even as the readers. the only revelations of how he feels/what he’s thinking only come from what he tells us. i’d kill to know what’s going on in his mind through these scenes… 

i was still stuck on that opening paragraph abt his writing after reading it, so i went to see feedback responses to others— just to find out that it was from letters he’s written to her before?? holy shit, this is such a cool development to add, and i honestly enjoyed the vagueness of it— it’s fitting, considering the mc herself doesn’t remember either. and jesus… the awkwardness of tyun’s serious ass “lets cuddle or we’ll die” followed by mc basically going “hmm… i guess…?” is just too good. you’re so good at writing tension,, that little anticipation of what the fuck is tyun gonna do next ? followed by the mc’s dilemma on how to sleep next to taehyun… “Both are strange, but which is stranger?” this sentence was just ugh. such a nice little ribbon to tie how confused the mc is 

…. all for them to end up cuddled up in a few hours >__< god. i love this trope. I LOVE THIS TROPE !!! had me twirling my hair a bit hehehe… 

“Don’t move.” when i tell you i just. i screamed a little. listen to me…. i don’t know what kinda magic spell you put in this that made taehyun’s characterization so good. the way his words are so curt and simple… the descriptions you use for his voice, the “firm command” feel his voice has— he’s just so domineering that i’m genuinely giggling rn, blushing thinking abt it… he’s just so calculating and powerful and it drives me insane ???? and the fact that the mc apologizes, and all tyun says is “That didn’t take very long.” …. oh my god. meow . meowmeowmeowmeowmeow MEEEEOWWWW!!!!! 

holy shit this shift and reveal,,, im so in love. the continuous buildup and unease that comes in the beginning, just for it to all crash down as his true character is revealed,,, he’s so degrading, objectifying, jealous, possessive, straight up twisted. “It never did take much for you to give those men your body. Give them what was mine. Don’t worry, I’ll make it right. I’ll make you right.” MAKE YOU RIGHT. this dialogue is pure perfection and such a shocker to read, he’s such a degenerate !!! and ykw… meow. 

“It’s how you like it, isn’t it?” the. the the the the the uhm uhm uhm. the IMPLICATIONS HERE !!!!!????? i gasped. i screamed. i squealed. taehyun….. pray tell, how do you know all this… ^^

Man. i think i genuinely blacked out during the smut. This had to be the most intense, hottest, terrifying smut i’ve ever read. It felt like straight up predator/prey dynamics up in this bitch, i’m stunned. He’s so rough,,, he’s so mean, and the shit he’s saying is straight up fawking deranged!!!! saying the mc needs him??? the biting, manhandling, breeding, confessions of how he masturbated to the thought of this. it’s just so overwhelming and intense, JUST FOR HIM TO SWITCH UP RIGHT AFTER??? “Take my load baby. Stay still.” “It’s okay. Just let it happen.” “I need you to take it. Can you do that for me?”  my jaw is on the floor and those words have been burned into my mind for eternity. you’ve caused permanent psychological damage please take responsibility. 

the immediate sobering up and realization that the mc just let tyun do that afterwards is so,,, dreadful,, you captured it so well, especially when you wrote “So, you’re just letting men cum inside while you’re not on birth control, now? Ones that you haven’t seen since school? Ones that talk like… that?” i could feel the regret and discomfort in those words, jesus. 

and my god… that ending. i stood up, applauded, cheered, whistled, screamed for an encore. just pure perfection. having it all crash down on the mc at once, making both her and the readers realize the gravity of the situation, the fact that its so over, i loved it. it’s just pure defeat, especially when it’s said that there’s truly no escape— you were already in his web. Beautifully open-ended, you can’t help but just sit there and think,,, well, fuck. 

oh, and don’t get me started on this playlist; first of all, the titled being a hozier song?? Specifically it will come back??? All of these songs are so fitting, the playlist could get a review of it’s own; i’m sorry, but i’m gonna have to steal some of these songs. 

im so incredibly shocked with the fact that i just read this… for free. your writing is so charming and beautiful, you’re so talented and smart and i seriously am in so much awe at how amazing this fic is !! this characterization will be on my mind forever, as will this fic— i think it’s one of my favorites i’ve ever read on this silly app. simply unreal… 

IT WIŁŁ COME BAC₭ ⠀,, k.th

it’s a small world. you knew this, but you came to really believe it when you ran into an old classmate at the grocery store on a snowy vacation. how strange is that? even more so when he shows up once more at the door of your cabin, frozen from the cold and needing your help. ִֶָ. ´-

⸺ listen to the playlist

ㅤㅤ៶ㅤ ( 🗝️ ) ･ 6.9k

𝖕airings ˒ yandere!taehyun 𝑥 reader

ℊ ; smut ˒ thriller ˒ yandere

𝖜arnings ˒ dubcon!!, baby trapping, dark & yandere themes, taehyun has a warped view of the world, doggy, rough sex, mentions of breeding, stalking, he’s slightly off putting, possessiveness & jealousy… duh!, hard dom!taehyun, nasty freaky stuff, corruption but like not conventionally?, unprotected sex, mentions of not taking birth control, creampie, biting and hickeys, obsession, DDNE please read these and decide for yourself if you’re comfortable reading! let me know if i’ve missed any tags.

✎୭ ashlynn's note this one is a delicious gift from 🍵 anon!!! i’ve never gone this dark. IM KINDA NERVOUS. i really hope you like it!! please let me know if i miss any tags!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

“Taehyun?”

The man turns around, brow pinched and eyes searching for who’d said his name. When those sharp, intelligent eyes land on you, familiarity passes over them. In the black, there’s a shine, and the shape of them softens into something else; something you’re more used to, on him.

“Hey,” he says. His arms are full of supplies and groceries. Knitting his strong brows together, he says, “What are you doing out here?”

You toss the chips you’d been grabbing before you noticed him into your cart. It falls with a crinkle down onto the mountain of other snacks just like it. You should probably pick up some real food, too. The others shouldn’t have made food your job. If it was up to you, the cabinets would be stuffed with an array of quick snacks. Cooking isn’t really your strong suit. 

“I’m gonna spend a few nights at a cabin here with some friends. We wanted to find some snow, since it never snows back home,” you say, and then you laugh at the absurdity of finding someone from your hometown all the way out here. What are the odds of that? Especially since everybody graduated and scattered out into their own moving lives. “What are you doing out here?”

He reaches up to push his glasses up his nose, an easy smile on his lips. The sight of it brings back memories.

Taehyun and you had not been the closest in high school. You were in different crowds, and he kept to his own anyway. But the few times you two did interact, by some assigned group project or an incidental brief exchanging of words, he was nice enough. 

He changed a lot, though. If someone were to ask you yesterday if you remember him from school, the image you would’ve imagined is at stark odds with the man standing  in front of you now. Where the long, lanky limbs and unsure demeanor of a boy once was, there is now all the confidence of a man. The angles of him are sharper, more defined and chiseled. And, his shoulders… He’s gotten broader, too. The butterflies in your belly are strange; It’s strange feeling like this over a man you might not have looked twice at years ago. He wasn’t ugly by any means, back then. You just… had an eye out for other things. Your palate was different.

He answers, “Touché.” Stepping back, he lets another customer push their cart through the gap between you. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. What have you been up to? Back home for break? It seems like everybody from school moved on. It’s nice seeing someone from our class.”

It’s not an answer to your question, but the snow gear and thick jackets in his arms tell you enough. He’s seeking snow, too. Snow birding is really the only way that you might see snow, here. Snow really only ever comes to the mountain peaks. Speaking up over some storewide announcement that makes the bustle around you impossibly louder, you say, “Oh my god, right? That’s what I was just thinking.” You make your tone light—the kind of saturated sweetness that comes with small talk, all manufactured and stilted. It’s not necessarily awkward; you just are clumsy with this kind of conversation. You just ramble to fill the space. “I… Just have been working. Never went to school. Did I tell you that you look good? What have you been up to?”

For a moment, you think you see a glimpse of something… strange pass over his eyes. Something that makes you feel weird—one of those hair-rising feelings that you cannot explain, but feel innately to your core. A primal hunger being fed, a twitching of his lips, as though vindicated. It’s gone in nothing more than a blink of an eye, and barely even was there in the first place. You’ve got a mushy brain from driving all day, anyway. What a strange thing for your mind to make up, though.

“Nothing much. Work for me, too,” he says, shrugging. “Finally got the chance to get away from it, and decided to come out here.”

Another shopper comes shoving themselves between you. Clearly, your catching up is an obstruction on their very important, very urgent shopping trip. Taking the hint, you tell Taehyun, “I get it, believe me. But…” You gesture at your groceries. “I’ve gotta finish up shopping before everybody gets here. It was nice seeing you! I wish I could linger, really.”

He offers you an easy smile, letting his crossed arms fall away from his chest and shaking his head. “No big deal. I’ve got some stuff to pick up, too. Have a nice one, yeah? Don’t get caught in the blizzard, or anything.”

Snorting, you dip your head  goodbye and say, “I’ll try not to.”

❅

The hardwood floors creak beneath your flustered pacing. “Are you serious? How long is it gonna be?”

“I’m sorry? I didn’t expect someone to slash our fucking tires?” Your friend’s voice cuts in and out through the speakers, one of the few hollow sounds in the cabin. Aside from you and the decor, it’s empty. “I’m sorry that you’re stuck out there, but there’s nothing we can do. You’re going to have to wait it out for a few days. At least until we can get there.”

Gritting your teeth, you give her a tactful Okay, bye, and thumb the big red button. The sound of the call ending echoes, too. Curling your arms around yourself, the whole place feels big and haunting. The howling of whipping wind and snow against the windows doesn’t help.

Someone had slashed their tires, and now you’re going to be here alone. For days. If being alone wasn’t already making knots of your belly, that was. It’s startling: going out of your way to slash someone's tires, but making no attempts at stealing the car or anything in it. Either it’s personal, or somebody just wanted to ruin somebody else’s day. Both leave a sour taste in your mouth.

Your every limb goes rigid at a thump, and in the corner of your eye, there’s movement. When you whip your head to look fully in that direction, all that moves in the window is snow like haze and the trees bending in the same violent wind. Nothing but night and the storm.

Beside yourself, you inch toward the window to look closer. Tugging a thick, willowy curtain to one side, you do a scan.

Sat in the snow, dusting over with heavy white flakes as you look, are a pair of glasses. You are not stupid enough to go out and get a closer look. 

❅

With the fireplace roaring, the place doesn’t feel so empty. 

You waited all day for the snow to stop coming down so hard. If you’re going to be alone here for days, you want to go out and spend the daylight away around other people.

Really, you just don’t want to be in this cabin all by yourself. You have a bad feeling. It;s unfounded, maybe. But you do.

The snow does not stop falling, and the wind does not stop blowing it into thick piles. It’s everywhere: the whole entire yard is coating thick with it, and so is your car. Could you even drive away in this, if you needed to? Maybe after thirty minutes of plowing snow. You’ve at least kicked enough of it away from the porch to open the door.

At some point, hope for doing anything but toiling around in here dwindled away. With what embers of excitement for vacation you have left, you tugged on some knitted socks and played Christmas classics off your phone.

You’re still playing them as you decide to cook something up. You’re not the best cook, but what do you have to lose? It’ll only be you eating it. If it goes awry, you’ve still got snacks to make into a meal. 

The kitchen comes alive while you work. You tug out all the pots and pans that the cabin owners provide, clicking the stove on while you dance and hum along to the songs that you’d seemingly come out of the womb knowing. Pulling the fridge open to the song of Silver Bells, you decide on something ambitious and set ingredients out over the counters. 

You don’t even get to slicing before there’s a knock at the door. Three very solid, very resounding knocks. The knife makes a clattering sound as you let it drop to the cutting board.

There shouldn’t be anybody out here. Maybe your friends got the car up and running, and forgot to let you know. Your heart thrums a wild, crashing beat, as you swipe your phone up to shoot a quick text.

At the top of a screen, a text comes in from an unknown number. Your belly does a frantic swoop, a thousand different thoughts swarming and shoving to be the one at the forefront of your mind. 

+1 [678-999-8212]

Hey, it’s Taehyun.

+1 [678-999-8212]

I’m sorry if this is weird, but I’m the one who just knocked at your door. I wanted to hike up to my cabin but I’m lost as hell right now, and recognized your car outside

+1 [678-999-8212]

Thought it would be better to ask you for help instead of a random.

You take a moment to blink at the glow of the screen. Taehyun was the one knocking on your door? That both settles you and kicks up more questions. What are the odds that you both rented out cabins from the same people? The world is small; you’re reminded that a lot, these days. 

Sliding your phone into your back pocket, you head for the door. He’s got to be freezing. It’s coming down hard out there.

The door swings open to Taehyun’s face just as frost-glazed as you expected. His jaw chatters and his nose and cheeks are a deep, winter-pink. Despite it, his mouth pulls into a friendly smile—the kind that illustrates in the humorous corners that he is aware of the absurdity of his situation, as well. He keeps his hands tucked into his pockets, a thick winter jacket zipped up to the top dusted at the shoulders with fat snowflakes just the same as on top of his coal-black hair.

“Oh my god,” you say. A laugh seeps through the cracks. “I’ve got the fireplace going hot. Do you wanna come in? How long have you been out there?” Stepping to one side, you offer him entry into your home. Temporary home, that is. 

He tries to rein in the shivers, you can see it in the smile he’s got plastered on his face and the way he buzzes and trembles around the edges like the bitter cold is trying to push against his skin and escape him. “If it doesn’t bother you,” he says, stepping in past you. When he passes, thick in the air, he smells like smoke and the dark woods—it’s musky and familiar, but also haunting in the way that the wilder edges of a forest could be. 

He smells nice. Really nice. The kind of blend of manly musk and cologne that makes a woman look twice. It makes you look twice as he passes, at least.

Him standing there now, eyes roving over the cabin’s wood walls and the knitted blankets and the fire whispering from the living room, you realize how strange it is to be here with an old classmate that you haven’t seen for at least three years. How awkward it is. 

“It doesn’t bother me at all. You did scare me a bit, though,” you say, shooing the wispy chill away with a close of the door. “I’d rather you not freeze to death out there. It’s, like, ten degrees.” You tuck your arms across your chest. “What made you go hiking in this? It’s been nasty today. I haven’t even been able to leave.”

His cheek twitches with a dimple. Even back in school, you noticed that. Then, it’d fit right into his face. Now, it’s a delicious contrast against his angled face. “Sorry I scared you. I knew it’d be weird, but… Yeah, I was freezing out there. I seriously thought I was going to die.” Hair brushes over his eyes, their cunning and sharpness something that draws you in. Like two swirling, black pools of swirling water, they beckon you in a way that you can’t quite digest. “It wasn’t too bad down by the car, and I didn’t know there was a whole damn trail up here, so I… yeah. It got bad.”

Snorting, you nod. “I bet.” You’re not sure what else to say; your mind freezes over in an impermeable frost. You tap around with a pick to try and find words, but there’s no getting through it. You hardly know him. What do you talk about? What are you going to talk about, considering the fact that he’s no doubt going to be here for some time? Until it stops blizzarding so hard outside, at least. 

Charging through the tense moment with a brassiness that you do not remember him carrying back then, Taehyun nods a gesture toward the kitchen and the dinner you’d been in the middle of making. “Making something?” he says. The low, warm light of the cabin washes over him and make his face something cozier than it’d been standing frozen at your front door. It also makes a show of the angles of his cheek as it turns, and the tall line of his nose. Something on him is missing. You can’t capture the notion or put your finger on it, but somewhere in the depths of memory, you feel like there was something there that isn’t here with him now. Maybe it’s a different styling of his hair from the last time you saw him, wind-swept as it is now. Or maybe you’re just stir-crazy. 

“Yeah.” You nod, watching in place as he ventures into the kitchen. Narrowing your eyes down, you try to pinpoint the thought. Is it something small? A pair of earrings? “I was gonna cook up something warm for dinner, but I’m not the best cook. I don’t burn anything, but… it’s never great, you know?”

Taehyun tugs his jacket off his arms, and you confirm that it’s not a certain jacket or something. “I’ll help,” he says, discarding the heavy thing. “Make myself useful.”

“Oh!” you say, bringing your hands together in realization. “Are you not wearing your glasses? Holy shit, I’ve been staring at you thinking something was wrong, but I couldn’t tell what it was.” 

He furrows his brows, corners of his mouth twitching. The look passes over his face in nothing more than a split-second, before something else plasters over it. He crinkles his nose and says, “Huh. I didn’t even notice…” The knife you’d left to let him in glints as he picks it up to assume where you’d left off. “Didn’t you say that you were here with some friends? Is everybody asleep already?”

You trace the lines of his face where those brown glasses had rested the last time you’d seen him. He must’ve forgotten them in his cabin this morning, or something, before he went out. You grab a pot and fill it over the sink for noodles. “Actually, they all got caught up back home. It’s literally just me here for days. I’ve been so bored.” Over your shoulder, you add, “I’m just making some fettuccine and chicken.”

“Caught up?” he says, voice casual and occupied. The sound of the knife against the cutting board as he slices follow his words.

“Yeah. Someone messed their car up bad… Like, knife to the tires and the windows were smashed in all over the seats. It was fucking terrifying.” Clicking the stove on, you set the pot to boil. 

Taehyun doesn’t answer for a few minutes. You look over your shoulder and find him working in the chicken still. He answers, his eyes dragging up to you for a quick moment before making sure he doesn’t cut a finger off, “Did they steal anything?”

Turning to him fully as you wait for the water to bubble and turn over, you say, “That’s the weird thing. They didn’t steal or anything, they just fucked it up and… left.”

“Huh,” he says, furrowing his strong brow down at his working hands. “Yeah, that’s weird. That’s some personal shit. Maybe someone had a shit day.” The end comes out around a breathy laugh.

“Yeah, maybe.” You crack open the cardboard flaps and pour the noodles into the pot. “Still… scary.”

Taehyun takes over the cooking, and you’re happy to entrust dinner to him. He works diligently, and the sight of his back as he stirs and chops and seasons—it’s mouth-watering. This way, you can fully admire him as he does. You’re not much help, anyway. Instead, you just start the gentle hum of Christmas music once more and stay out of his way.

It’s nice to have somebody here. The howling of the wind and the echoing of your own movements back to you has started to become haunting. Maybe having Taehyun here is a bit unconventional, and it really should be your friends here with you, but having him here is the better outcome than some creep being the one knocking at your door. It’s nice to have him here in case that does happen, too.

It’s not like he’s bad company, or anything, either.

When the entirety of the cabin is full with the smell of warm dinner and your conversation, you swoop back in to offer help with something you can manage. Stepping beside him, indulging in his rich scent once more, you plate the dinner he’d made for you. Steam dances up from it and beckons your tastebuds. “You’re, like, a Michelin chef. What the hell? Thank you.”

He doesn’t answer, and in the corner of your eye, you catch his knuckles going white around the counter’s edge where he leans his weight into the arm. Frowning, you go to look up at him.

It leaves his face when you catch it, but you find him looking down at you… different again. Darker, as though the pupils at the center have grown hungry and eaten up the chocolate there. You think you see his jaw tightening and a hard swallow bobbing in his throat, too. His face is so close like this, you can see the plush turn to his lips and the darkness beneath his eyes, and even the chap of his lips.

Flustering, you take a step back and do your work there. You’d stepped way too close to him. Does he think you’re weird? You’ve always been the type with a scarce personal bubble; you forget that others don’t work the same.

“It’s nothing much,” he finally says. It’s cool and collected once more. “I make this all the time. It’s one of my favorites.”

Handing him his plateful, the chicken glistening with glaze and the noodles a swirl of cream and garnish, you say, “You’ll have to write down the recipe for me, or something. I totally want to make it for myself.”

Accepting it with another easy grin, he says, “Yeah, sure.” He forks a bit of chicken off the plate.

The smile does not reach his eyes.

❅

The longer you look at it, the worse the feeling gets.  Black and scrawled in wobbling lines, jagged and dark in places where he’d gone over a line a few times, you just… feel like you’ve seen it all before. It’s a smokey, tainted memory, far-off and obscured no matter how you squint your eyes.

Why do you remember it? Why does the sight of it crawl like dread under your skin and wilt? Sure, you went to school with Taehyun, but you don’t really think recognizing his handwriting should feel like this. Who even pays attention to the handwriting of somebody you interacted with once or twice, anyway?

God. You are dramatic. You kick your legs out of the comforter, swelteringly thick and quilted with a gaudy winter pattern of reds and browns and whites, and fold up the paper to place it on the darkwood bedside table.

The click of you flicking the white switch on echoes off the bathroom’s tiled walls. You reach for your toothbrush on the counter, and then the world goes dark around you.

You freeze, eyes frantically blinking and straining against the blackness to adjust. The power had gone out. There’s a few beats of you stricken in place, toothbrush in hand, thrown for a loop.

Then, the whole cabin goes out as the power to the heater dies, too. You swear. 

Your journey down the hallway is a stumbling of legs and the grooves of the wood-paneled walls against your fingertips. It’s the pitch black of night out here, too. The only thing you can see is the static that fills up the gaps when it’s dark. “Taehyun?” you say. Is he asleep already? You don’t even know where the room he’d taken for the night is, relative to where you are now.

Nothing answers you for a few moments, and then from an opening door, light floods like a miracle. The shape of him, the light from his phone’s flashlight just enough to dimly illuminate his features, comforts you. His hair is ruffled, like he’d just drug himself from bed.

“Power went out,” he says. It’s awfully loud, now that you two are the only sounds in here. 

“Yeah, I think I just had a little heart attack. I was up brushing my teeth.” Why hadn’t you thought to use your phone’s light? “The heater… We’re gonna freeze to death. Do you think they have a generator, or something? The fireplace doesn’t really do much…”

He features glow in as he moves the phone. “Mine didn’t. It’s fine, my room’s got a fireplace in it. We can close the door and get it warm in there.”

“Better than nothing,” you say, shrugging and following him in.

You plop on his bed, the surface of it cold and plush, while he works on kindling a fire. “This is, like, nowhere near where I thought I’d be for vacation.”

He readjusts the logs, dry and perfect for burning, into a point. Poking and prodding, Taehyun says, “Not having fun?”

You snort at the dry and flat delivery. “Friends haven’t even gotten back to me, I’m snowed in, and I’m locked in here with a total stranger.” You draw out the last word as a joke, your smile painting the tone playful, but it’s the truth. You don’t know Taehyun one bit. It’s just as strange and unpredictable as the other things on the list of things that have gone awry. “I guess I had a good dinner, so I can’t be complaining too much.”

Curling up to his full height, he takes a knee and settles into the bed beside you. “Make some room for this stranger, won’t you? We should probably try to use our body heat.”

Laughing, you go to say something to rift off his joke. It dies in your throat when he doesn’t join you. In an awkward sort of panic, you wince and say, “Yeah, it’s cold as hell. We’re gonna freeze to death in our sleep.”

And, ridiculously, you crawl under the covers. You don’t know why you do it; maybe it’s because he’s completely serious and watching you, or maybe because it’s true that you might actually get so cold in your sleep that you die if you don’t. Either way, you do. You don’t know which way to settle: facing him or with your back turned to him. Both are strange, but which is stranger?

Facing him, you decide that turning your back to him just doesn’t settle in your soul right.

“Weird night,” he says, sliding himself under the blanket’s covering. The same blanket that you lay in. “But…” he says, eyes flickering over you laid there. He looks as though he’s going to say something else, but he decides against it. “Good night.”

He does you a favor and turns his back to you.

❅

Night still holds the world in its claws when your eyes flutter open.

You shift to try and find that perfect position that’ll lull you back into sleep, slipping your legs over the sheets and shifting your cheek against your arm and wiggling your hips against the solid pressure behind you.

The pressure behind you. Stilling, your eyes fly open.

The weight of Taehyun behind you, his chest rising and falling, and the warmth of him, pierce through sleep’s haze like a white-hot knife. You’re all the way on his side of the bed, pressing your bottom into him. Shame creeps its wicked way from your chest and then out through your skin, blazing the skin of your cheeks. You push up on an elbow to scoot back to your side of the bed as slow and covertly as you can manage.

Fingers like teeth, biting the skin of your waist, stop you. Your heart jumps.

“Don’t move.” Taehyun’s breath and words curl out over the juncture of your neck like a chill. He lets you sit in that for a moment, your heart thumping like a frightened bird in a cage, before he says, “It’s weird. Weird that when I suggested you sleep in my bed, you looked so nervous. But, look where you are now.”

Your voice comes out strangled. “I’m sorry.”

When his palm slides down from your waist to brush over your belly, you begin to think that it’s not an apology that he wants. Your stomach does untamed dips and rolls. It’d been the cold that you were afraid of, but now it’s the blistering heat that blooms where his touch goes that grips you. 

“That didn’t take very long.”  Like a trail of growing, raging fire, he takes that hand and brings it down the lengths of your body. Over your hip, and then down the supple curve of your ass, and then down the back of your thighs, where he toys with the notion of slipping it between the seam there. “It never did take much for you to give those men your body. Give them what was mine. Don’t worry, I’ll make it right. I’ll make you right.”

Your mind turns over itself, a thousand stray, blinding thoughts bursting at the seams and all asking for your attention. You don’t know which to start with; you don’t have the slightest clue what he means. Asking any of them out loud seems absurd, and the notion crumbles to dust when he brings his arm down your front to cup your heat.

“Face in the bed, ass up.” He commands it in your ear like ice: absolute and biting. “It’s how you like it, isn’t it?”

Doggy is how you like it. You don’t know how Taehyun would know that. What you do know, though, is the way the simple words kindle hungry fire in your cunt. Dragging yourself from the heat of the mattress in a bleary, glazed-over mess of limbs, you paint yourself into an obscene picture: your cheek presses into the mattress, blazing with disbelief, your eyes wide and gone and the mess of your hair obscuring them, and your back the delicate arch of sex and sinfulness as you display your ass high in the air for him.

When you look at him to see how he likes it, you don’t find the man that you saw in the grocery store, nor the man that you let into your cabin. The look you find, vacant and overflowing with an untamed hunger, raises the hair on your skin. It’s off. 

“Taehyun,” you say. It’s really just to speak—you don’t have words. 

He runs a hand down the curve of your back. His voice comes from behind you, now. “This should’ve been just mine. But you never did look my way, did you?” Your body jumps when his hands find your hips and the fabric in the way of your skin there. Hooking his thumbs under both the waistband of your bottoms and your panties, he drags them down your thighs in a slow crawl. Each inch of blazing skin bared to the air tingles against the cold and under his gaze as you feel his eyes eat it up. 

That’s what his eyes do: they eat and they eat, taking up the space around them like ever-hungry blackholes until there is nothing but their absence of light and their heaviness. That was the pull you remember in the store—a force like gravity beckoning a perverse finger at you and leaving you nowhere to go but toward him.

He pulls the fabric until it’s bunched at your knees. Prodding a finger, just the very end of it, at your hole. You flutter around it, belly turning. “Why didn’t you look my way?” he asks. The rustling of him working on his pants has you twitching and shifting hot against the covers. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” You’re only able to choke out the words, heart jumping up into your throat as he takes his hand up your back, pins and needles following his path and pushes your head into the mattress by the back of the neck.

Breath hot over your cheek, he says, “Is this what you want? To be fucked like an animal?” You know he means the position. Your mouth goes dry. “You’re better than that. But, if it’s what you like, I’ll fuck you like it.”

You have a thought. It’s fleeting and fuzzy like the rest of your mind, but you catch it just long enough to turn it over once. When you’d seen Taehyun, you were struck by how he looked more like the kind of guy you might go after than the lanky, off-putting one you remember. And, now he’s set on how you like to get fucked.

The tip of his cock at your entrance sends the thought to smoke and the aftermath clogs your cognitive function. Your mouth falls open as he presses some inches in, slow and enriching. But then he pulls the slight length out to collect some slick and tap his cockhead to your clit. You jolt against the sheets.

When he slides back in this time, he makes sure to brush your hair out of your face to watch every last inch of you taking him reflected in the furrowing of your brows and the glassiness of your eyes and the pink of your cheeks.

He stills when he reaches the hilt, his hips flush to your ass, his shadow falling over you as he leans to bring his ear to your mouth. “You should’ve looked my way. Things could’ve been so different. It’s okay—I’ll make you realize. I know who you really are. I’ll wash this all away and clean you up and make you good again.”

He doesn’t leave space for words or thought. Not enough for you to taste the rust like rot over his iron words. Planting his heels on the bed and shoving your face further into the bed, he starts his hips in a rhythm that has your breaths stuttering and achy wines clawing out from the prison of your chest. He does not move precisely, nor is the bucking of his hips pointed, but it’s a crashing sort of ruin. It doesn’t matter if he finds that spot inside of you. He’s going to consume your every sense: he steals the taste in your mouth and replaces it with himself, steals your hearing with his pants and grunts, steals your sight as his cock twists your insides up, and steals your ability to feel anything but him. He steals your breath, too. Just as a wicked little souvenir. 

“Hhh—fuck, Taehyun, holy shit,” you say. A procession of crude and mewled cries come tumbling out your mouth after your words. No matter now you filter your sounds to try and maintain your decency, he just drags them from you anyway. 

Bringing his hand up to splay his hand over the entirety of the back of your head rather than the delicate back of your neck, he grits out, “Filthy-fucking-mouth.” He punctuates the words with a hollow smack of his skin against your ass. It’s the sound of sex incarnate—your skin burns hearing it clashing against the rest of your debased sounds. “And it’s just for me, now. Isn’t that fucking great? None of those vile pigs are gonna touch what’s mine again. Not after this. You—” His voice tightens when a certain spot he nudges in your cunt sends it clinging to him and sucking him back in at every return. “You were really testing the limits to my patience. Do you know that?” He drags his hand over your face, smearing obscenity over you with just his tainted touch. “Of course you fucking don’t. You don’t notice shit. It’s why you let this world walk all over you. It’s why you need me.”

As hard and fast as he fucks you, he doesn’t exchange full strokes for it. He pulls completely out of you each time he snaps his hips back, and then meets your ass in burning collisions when he slips his cock right back into you. You struggle for breath, trying to feed your oxygen-starved brain to contend with his snarled preaching. Never once do you catch a full chest of air, though. It turns your thoughts liquid, stupid and simple. “Taehyun—Taehyun,” you say, throat tight. The sheets are stifling against your clammy skin, and the hair around your neck is damp. You take fistfuls of the bunches fabric and his other hand on your hip to ground yourself. 

You are beyond grounding. All that floats in your head, one bare thought, is the beginnings of terrifying tightness in your lower belly. Only the sharpest things shove through the shadow permeating your mind. Nip. Bite. He drags his teeth over the soft curves of your shoulders and the expanse of your back. Anywhere he can reach, really. His mouth paints you in aching splotches—the kind that will speak of him should anybody other see your body. The kind that speaks already of who they belong to. You eyes and throat burn.

Taehyun brings that hand he’d been molding into the fat of your hip and curls the muscle-corder forearm across both of your hip bones. A bar. A cage. His solid chest works similarly as he blankets himself over you, speaking into your wild tousle of hair. “Fuck–Gonna cum now.” The friction of his cock against your walls becomes something more unpredictable. The tightening of that knot, just on the verge of a snap that might reverberate through you and crush you into nothing more than bitten flesh and eroded virtue, sits on the horizon. It’s a terrifying thing to be rushing toward. “A—and then they’ll realize that you’re mine. They’ll never put their goddamn hands on you again. Not when your body will have me written all over it.” You can hear the tightness of his gritted jaw, the words seething like black, festering corruption. They fall over your skin and taint you, too. No longer do you shake and tremble against him with innocent little squeaks. Gilt with his words as he speaks them, your body stiffens and your cries go hoarse and pitiful. You try not to think about how you sound. “Isn’t it so good? We’re perfect together. You’re perfect underneath me. Do you know how many—how many times I fucked my fist thinking about you like this? All I ever wanted was for you to realize that we are so much better than the rest of them. It’s always meant to be us. Why did you let them touch you? Dirty your skin?”

All you manage is a heaved cry. He pins you to the mattress and begins fucking you into it. In the black of your eyelids, you watch purity go to dust.

“Take my load, baby. Stay still,” he says. His voice goes soft, like whispers. Like he’s gotten everything he’s wanted, now. 

You squirm beneath the weight of him, hips reining against the arm he holds you there by the hips with. Alarm bells ring, booming and thunderous, but in this state of mind, they sound like the music of climax. To the beat of the bells and his hips, blazing through your reddened bottom and your utter inability to breathe, you go tumbling toward that terrifying release. 

Taehyun’s steadfast pace stutters. “It’s okay,” he tells you, clearing your clammy face of hair once more. His face is right in yours, his eyes heavy and consumptive. “Just let it happen. I’m gonna breed you up, and then it’ll be forever. We’ll be forever. Can’t let you get away again. Not when I’ve got you now. I need you to take it. Can you do that for me?”

Managing one last mhm, all your sounds catch in your throat. You stop meeting halfway, muscles twisting and turning and raging against the profound, terrible wash of it. Eyes flying open, your cunt clings to him, insides fluttering and rippling in a way that begins delightfully, but toes the line of dreadful as his cock continues to tighten them further. Lightning strikes from your core, crawling and crackling from it. It moves your thighs, convulsing them in tandem with the same release wreaking havoc in your stomach.

Cursing low in your ear, he fucks you frantically, fingers planted on your hips. His cock twitches against you a few times, and then the arm he’s supporting himself on collapses down to the elbow and he’s pinning you and shooting white-hot cum right into you. Your shoulder takes the imprint of his cheek as he nips the shoulder he hangs over. His hips twitch, rolling to ride out his high with deep, chesty groans, and then jumping up to spurt a little bit more into you. His panted breaths fall against your skin like fire. 

You blink bleariness away from your eyes. For a few long minutes, that’s all you do. Your chest races so much so that you feel the pulse in your neck and the thumping of it where it rests. Your insides are liquid and intangible, blood slow just as slow as your thoughts.

When reality seeps back through your veins, though, Taehyun’s tugging his chest from your sweaty meeting of bodies. His fingers dig right into the reddened skin where his hips had abused your bottom to hold you open. To view you, and the slow oozing of his seed from your hole. The weight of his gaze sends you fluttering. With the movement of your hole, more of the hot and thickness comes seeping out, slow like molten passion down the shape of your slit and then over your clit and then dripping down onto the bed from you.

The feel of it has you swallowing hard. Holy shit, you are stupid. So painfully stupid. So, you’re just letting men cum inside while you’re not on birth control, now? Ones that you haven’t seen since school? Ones that talk like… that?

Tapping your thigh and pressing a hot kiss to your outer hip, Taehyun says, “I’m gonna go check the breakers. You take it easy here for a second.”

Whiplashed, you nod. There goes that pristine, normal mask again. You watch him go, heaving yourself up from the nasty bedding to be greeted by the musk of sex humid in the air. You think a thousand little thoughts, watching the wall as you go far away in your mind.

Everything that he said… That was not just a little weird, or a little kinky. It was bone-chilling. The taste in your mouth, still tainted by him, sours.

You pull out your phone. Pressing it to your ear, your blood runs sluggish still. 

The cabin owner’s voice comes staticky through the speakers, asking you what you need help with. You ask about the power outage and where the breaker might be, debriefing him on Taehyun ending up here because he wasn’t able to make it to his own cabin, and how you think that the storm outside might be why the power’s gone out.

The cabin owner’s answer makes you pale.

It’s not a crashing realization. Not a thundering storm reaching its climax, nor a firework plasma and explosive at its center but flashy as it sparkles, nor a searing knife to the gut. It’s a slow, dreadful feeling, sinking to the depths of the ocean with a weight around your ankle and the realization that there is no getting back to the surface. It is drowning with water in your lungs, knowing that you swallowed that water down. 

You know why you recognize that hand writing, and you know why Taehyun was missing his glasses, and you know why he had your number even though you have no connections, and you know why he was able to find your cabin by your car despite never having seen it, and you know why your friends never made it here. He, long and spindly legged, the spider, did not even panic when you grazed by the hints toward what he really was. You were all ready in his web, anyway. All he had to do was wait it out and watch you, caught, oblivious, squirm. And, squirm you did.

“What other cabin?” 

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! i’m sorry this one came out later, i had to make that ending tie up well.

﹙📋﹚ @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae , @bakugosbottombitch , @304files , @cherricola-star , @lickingan0rchid , @ashistrashhhhhh , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[michipan]

thank you for the tag cici !! ^^ 💗

this crazy ass combo wtf. i barely save pictures of idols so imagine my surprise when he showed up ??! (stream tens new album it’s so yum 🙂‍↕️)

no pressure tag :P // @agustdiv1ne

you’re starring in a movie with the last person saved in your camera roll and the last song you listened to is the title…who/what is it?

thank you so much for the tag @starry-eyed-wild-child @vi0l3tluvsu @strawb3rrystar love y’all !!

no pressure tags: @lisboncy @chaimilkshake @loveofcherry @lostreverb @taintandviolent @gingerteafairy @ticifics @merrydoe @r0rysreid + anyone who wants to join !!