#but i dont think he would accept this kind of thought | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elikajinnie · 1 month ago

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hii! hope ur doing good I have some ideas in mind hear me out demon sunghoon where he fell in love with reader and tries to protect and keep an eye on her and sunghoon tries to disguise himself as a human to get closer to her will do anything to protect her and love her, buttt what if reader discover’s his true identity. It could be incubus sunghoon BUT ITS UR CHOICE, Hope ur doing good :333

The Incubus's Touch - P.S

a/n: i hope you like it <33

P: Incubus!Sunghoon X Fem!Reader (Recommended age 18+)

Warnings: Murder, Violence, Obsession, Teasing, Possession, Seduction, Hurt/Comfort, Temptation, Stalking, Suggestive Content, Mature Content.

Wordcount: 10.2k

Synopsis: Working at the old campus library was fun—except for one rule: never enter the basement. Yet, one day, you found yourself there, holding an ancient book. You read a few words, and now strange things are happening, and a mysterious new student won’t leave you alone. Who—or what—did you awaken?

a/n: i got some inspiration from a new book im reading called The Devil Makes Three by Tori Bovalino - i would recommend it if you can handle slowburn.

now playing: woo by rihanna | sins (let me in) by kanii | temptation by ashley sienna | dont mess with my mind by emo

reblogs and commentary are welcomed <3

When you first decided to get a job close to campus, you weren’t expecting much. In fact, you didn’t have many choices at all. Most of the cafes and shops near the university had already filled their rosters for the semester, and every rejection you received only added to the growing knot of anxiety in your chest. As the weeks passed, you found yourself growing desperate, spending late nights scrolling through job postings that seemed to disappear before you could even send in an application.

It wasn’t until one quiet afternoon in the campus library that your salvation arrived.

The campus library had always been your sanctuary—quiet, calm, and filled with the smell of old books. It wasn’t unusual for you to spend hours tucked into one of the corners, surrounded by towering shelves of books and the gentle hum of the air conditioning. The librarian, Mrs. Choi, had gotten used to seeing you there almost every day, to the point where she’d started greeting you by name when you walked through the doors.

That day, she had approached your table while you were hunched over your laptop, your screen open to yet another fruitless job search.

“Still looking?” she’d asked, her voice soft but knowing.

You’d sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah. It’s been… rough.”

She’d nodded thoughtfully, her gaze drifting toward the stacks of books waiting to be shelved. Then, after a moment, she’d said, “How would you feel about working here? As my assistant?”

You’d blinked, thinking you must have misheard her. “Wait, really?”

“Really,” she’d said, smiling faintly. “It’s nothing glamorous, but we could use an extra set of hands. And you seem like the kind of person who’d do well here.”

You didn’t need to think twice. You’d eagerly accepted the offer on the spot.

The job, as it turned out, was exactly what you’d needed. Sorting out books, erasing stray pencil marks and doodles from pages, sitting behind the counter to check books in and out, cleaning shelves, making sure the computers were turned off at the end of the day—it was simple work.

You quickly fell into a routine. Most days, you worked quietly alongside Mrs. Choi, who was as patient and kind. Other times, you found yourself alone.

There were small challenges, of course— like figuring out the library catalog system, dealing with students who were less than gentle with the books, chasing down overdue returns—but they were minor in the grand scheme of things.

It wasn’t the job you’d imagined yourself doing, but it turned out to be exactly what you needed.

But there was one simple rule she had given you: never enter the basement alone.

At first, you thought it was strange. The basement was just a storage space, wasn’t it? A place to keep old supplies, forgotten books, and maybe some outdated equipment. Why would it matter if you were alone or not?

You got your answer the first time Mrs. Choi took you down there.

It had been a quiet afternoon, with only a few students milling around the library. Mrs. Choi had handed you a list of supplies needed to repair a torn book—a delicate process that required some old tools and adhesives she kept locked away downstairs. She led you to a small, unassuming door at the far corner of the library, almost hidden behind one of the towering shelves.

The moment the door creaked open, the atmosphere changed.

The air was heavier, colder. A faint smell of mold hit your nose immediately, mixed with something metallic that made you wrinkle your nose. The single light bulb at the top of the stairs flickered, casting shadows that danced along the narrow stairwell. You hesitated, but Mrs. Choi gave you a reassuring look and motioned for you to follow.

“I know it’s not exactly inviting,” she said with a small smile, descending the stairs, “but the supplies we need are down here. Just stick close to me.”

You nodded and followed her, but the deeper you went, the more uneasy you felt. The basement wasn’t just dark—it was suffocatingly so. The walls were lined with shelves cluttered with dust-covered boxes, forgotten stacks of books, and unidentifiable objects. The floor beneath your feet was uneven, cracked concrete, and your steps echoed in the silence.

And then there were the hallways.

You hadn’t expected the basement to be so sprawling. Hallways branched off in seemingly every direction, twisting and turning into darkness. Some of them were so narrow you’d have to walk sideways to squeeze through. Others disappeared entirely into shadows, the overhead lights either burned out or nonexistent.

“This library is older than the campus itself,” Mrs. Choi explained as she rummaged through a shelf near the end of one of the hallways. “The basement used to be part of an old archive building before the university bought the property. They’ve renovated the library a dozen times over the years, but the basement? Well…” She trailed off, gesturing to the decaying walls around you.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” you muttered, wrinkling your nose at the sight of a particularly large spiderweb on the wall.

Mrs. Choi chuckled softly. “Exactly. What the students can’t see won’t hurt them—or so the administration likes to think. Just be glad you don’t have to come down here often.”

You nodded, but your eyes kept drifting to the dark hallways. There was something… off about them.

“Mrs. Choi?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Hmm?” she replied without looking up.

“Why don’t you want me coming down here alone?”

She paused, her hands stilling on the box she’d been searching through. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything, and you felt a chill crawl up your spine. When she finally spoke, her tone was casual—too casual.

“It’s easy to get lost,” she said, turning to you with a faint smile. “The layout down here doesn’t make much sense, and it’s not exactly safe to wander around in the dark. The last thing I want is for you to trip and hurt yourself.”

Her explanation made sense, but the way she avoided your gaze left you unconvinced. Still, you didn’t press the issue. You helped her carry the supplies back upstairs, relieved to step back into the library.

After that, you made a point to follow her rule. The basement was creepy enough with someone else—there was no way you were going down there alone.

At least, not until the night you had no choice.

It happened a few weeks later, after a long shift that had stretched past closing time. Mrs. Choi had gone home early, trusting you to lock up on your own. Most of the evening had just been returning books to their shelves, tidying up the counter, shutting down the computers—but just as you were about to leave, you noticed a small stack of books on the repair desk.

You froze, staring at them. Mrs. Choi had asked you to fix those earlier in the week, but you’d completely forgotten. The supplies you needed were downstairs—in the basement.

You hesitated, debating whether you could just leave it for tomorrow, but you knew Mrs. Choi was counting on you. Sighing, you grabbed a flashlight from the front desk and made your way to the basement door.

You hesitated at the door, keys in hand, as a quiet, uneasy thought crossed your mind: Just leave it for tomorrow. But Mrs. Choi... She was counting on you. The supplies were just downstairs. It’d take five minutes at most.

With a resigned sigh, you unlocked the door.

The heavy, creaking groan of the hinges sent a shiver down your spine as the door swung open. The familiar smell hit you immediately: damp, mold, and that faint metallic. You reached for the light switch, flipping it on without much thought.

Nothing happened.

You froze, your hand still on the switch. You flicked it again. And again. Still nothing.

You swallowed hard, telling yourself the bulb had probably just burned out—though you couldn’t remember a time the light had ever failed before.

“It’s fine,” you muttered under your breath, bringing the flashlight you’d brought along up. The bright beam cut through the darkness as you clicked it on, illuminating the narrow staircase in front of you. You took a shaky breath and began your descent.

The further down you went, the colder it became.

The air felt heavier here, pressing against your skin like a warning. You tried to focus on the flashlight’s beam, watching it bounce against the cracked walls and uneven steps. It helped, a little. But not enough to shake the growing knot of unease curling in your stomach.

When you finally reached the bottom of the staircase, you paused to look around. The beam of your flashlight swept across the basement, revealing the same maze of shelves, forgotten boxes, and darkened hallways you’d seen before. But tonight, it felt different—almost unfamiliar.

A shiver ran up your spine. You adjusted your grip on the flashlight, forcing yourself to move.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Get the supplies and leave.”

You turned toward the shelf where Mrs. Choi always kept the repair tools. They were usually right there—neatly stored in a small wooden crate on the middle shelf. But as you shone the flashlight over it, you froze.

The shelf was empty.

Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly scanned the area. No crate. No tools. Nothing. You crouched down, checking the lower shelves, even though you knew they’d never been there before. Still nothing.

“Where…?” you muttered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own breathing.

Maybe Mrs. Choi had moved them? That was possible, right? She was always reorganizing things. You straightened up, your flashlight flicking from shelf to shelf, moving to step back, you were about tt turn to check the other shelves nearby. That’s when you heard it.

A faint sound, just on the edge of your hearing. A soft creak, like the sound of a door easing open—or maybe a floorboard shifting underfoot.

You froze, your flashlight trembling slightly in your hand.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice louder than you intended. It echoed through the basement, bouncing off the walls and disappearing into the dark hallways. No response.

You told yourself it was nothing. Maybe just the old pipes settling, or your own footsteps disturbing something. But as you turned back to the shelf, another sound reached you.

This time, it was softer—quieter. Like the faint rustle of fabric.

Your stomach dropped.

You swung the flashlight toward the nearest hallway, its beam cutting through the dark. Nothing. Just more shelves, more shadows. But your instincts were screaming at you now, telling you to leave. To get out of there.

"Okay, nope," you whispered to yourself, backing away from the hallway, your flashlight trembling slightly in your hands.

That’s when you heard it.

A hum.

Soft, almost melodic, like someone humming a lullaby just out of earshot. It floated through the air, carried on a breeze that shouldn’t have existed down here. The sound wrapped around you, tender and strangely inviting, tugging at something deep inside your chest.

You froze, the flashlight beam flickering as your grip loosened. The hum grew louder—not in an overwhelming way, but in a way that seemed to sink into your bones. It felt… warm.

Where were you again?

You frowned, the thought slipping through your mind like water through your fingers. You couldn’t remember. The dim basement around you blurred at the edges, the walls dissolving into a hazy glow. The tight knot of fear in your stomach melted away, replaced by a slow, pleasant warmth that spread through your body.

The hum wrapped around you like a blanket, comforting and wonderful, coaxing you to close your eyes and just… relax. The cold, damp smell of the basement faded, replaced by something sweeter. Flowers? No… vanilla, maybe. Something that reminded you of home.

You let out a soft sigh, your muscles relaxing, the tension in your shoulders fading. Your flashlight slipped from your fingers and clattered to the ground, but you barely noticed.

Everything felt so perfect.

You wanted to stay here forever.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, the hum stopped.

And everything crashed back into focus.

The warmth in your chest was gone, replaced by a sharp chill that clawed at your skin. The sweetness in the air vanished, leaving behind the bitter stench of mold and metal. Your surroundings solidified, and you realized you were no longer standing where you’d been before.

You were in a different room.

The walls were smooth and gray, completely different from the crumbling concrete of the basement hallways. The shelves were gone, replaced by nothing but cold, empty space. The air felt heavier, colder, and every breath you took made your chest ache.

Your flashlight was nowhere to be seen, but a dim, pale light seemed to seep into the room from nowhere and everywhere at once.

The hum was gone, but the silence it left behind was worse.

You turned in slow circles, your heart hammering in your chest. The room was small, with smooth, gray walls that loomed over you, stretching upward into darkness.

“Hello?” you called, your voice trembling.

It echoed back to you, warped and distant, as if the room was far larger than it seemed.

The warped echoes of your voice faded into the suffocating silence of the room, leaving only the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

How did you even get here?

You couldn't remember. Your mind was still foggy, fragments of warmth and that eerie hum lingering in the back of your thoughts like an unfinished dream.

Did you walk here?

You felt like you were missing pieces of yourself, as if part of your memory had been swallowed whole.

You were about to take a tentative step forward when something deep inside you shifted—a strange, unnatural pull. It wasn't a sensation you could describe easily. It was as though a string deep within your chest was being tugged, pulling you toward something.

You froze, your breath catching as your eyes followed the invisible tether.

In the center of the room, sitting on a low, ornate stand, was a book.

Your heart stuttered. Had that been there before? You were sure it wasn’t. You would have noticed it immediately, wouldn’t you?

The book seemed to glow faintly, its crimson-red cover almost pulsating, like it was alive. There were no words or symbols on the front, just smooth, worn leather that seemed impossibly pristine for something that felt so… ancient.

You swallowed hard, your feet moving toward it as if on their own. Each step felt heavier, your instincts screaming at you to turn around, to run, but you couldn’t stop.

When you finally reached it, you hesitated.

It was smaller than you expected, almost delicate, as though it shouldn’t have belonged in a place like this. Despite its vivid crimson color, the book radiated a strange sense of calm—like it wanted to be touched.

Before you realized it, your fingers were brushing against the cover.

It felt smooth, almost unnaturally so, and surprisingly light when you picked it up. You turned it over in your hands, the edges soft and perfectly bound, as if the book had been untouched for centuries. But on the back, something caught your attention.

A pink heart.

It was imprinted into the leather, subtle, making it look almost playful.

You huffed, confused and almost annoyed by how strange it all felt. Turning the book back over, you slowly opened it.

The pages inside were blank.

Every single one, clean and untouched, as though the book had never been written in. But when you turned to the first page, something stopped you in your tracks.

There was writing.

It was delicate, inked in looping, elegant script that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. The letters were strange, unfamiliar, but they seemed alive, as though they were moving ever so slightly, shifting and breathing on the page.

Latin, your mind supplied, though you couldn’t remember ever studying the language.

You tilted your head, curiosity overriding your fear as your eyes traced the unfamiliar words. They beckoned to you, pulling you in deeper. Before you even realized what you were doing, your lips parted, and you read them aloud:

"Qui me legit, fiat noster ligamen aeternum."

Nothing happened.

You stared at the book, waiting for some dramatic effect—a rumble, a flash of light, maybe a ghostly apparition—but there was nothing. Just silence.

You let out an annoyed huff, rolling your eyes. “Great. Real spooky,” you muttered under your breath. Closing the book with a snap, you placed it back on the stand, wiping your hands on your jeans as if to rid yourself of its texture. “What a waste of time.”

Turning around, you glanced around the room again, your frustration growing. It wasn’t like you had time to deal with creepy books in creepy basements. You still needed to get out of here and figure out why the supplies weren’t where they were supposed to be.

Then, you saw it.

A door.

It was open, just wide enough for you to slip through. You frowned. Had it been there before? It must’ve been—how else would you have gotten in here? Still, something about it didn’t sit right with you.

Was that where you came from?

You shrugged. Probably.

With no other options, you headed toward it, slipping through the opening, the faint creak of the hinges echoing unnervingly.

And then you were swallowed by darkness.

“Of course,” you muttered, groaning. Without the flashlight from earlier, the darkness was thick and impenetrable. You could barely see an inch in front of your face, and the faint light from the room behind you did nothing to help.

Fishing your phone from your pocket, you switched on its flashlight. The beam wasn’t as strong as the flashlight you’d been carrying before, but it was enough to see the area around you.

The floor beneath your feet was uneven and cold, a mixture of dirt and cracked stone. You shone the light around, trying to get your bearings. The walls were damp and covered in spiderwebs, and the faint scent of mold and rust lingered in the air.

Where even am I?

You took a tentative step forward, the beam of light from your phone trembling as you moved.

The hallway kept stretching forward, narrow and seemingly endless. The farther you walked, the more the walls seemed to close in around you, the air growing colder with each step. Your phone’s light flickered once, then again, making your pulse spike.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” you whispered, gripping the device tighter.

The light steadied, and you exhaled a shaky breath, your footsteps faltering slightly.

Something felt off.

The air was too still, the silence too absolute. It was the kind of quiet that made you feel like you were being watched, like something was lurking just beyond the reach of your light.

You shook your head, trying to focus. “Get it together,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just find the exit.”

But as you took another step, something caught your attention.

A sound.

It was faint at first, almost imperceptible, but it grew louder the more you listened. A soft, rhythmic tapping, like footsteps… or fingers drumming against a surface.

You froze, the beam of your phone’s light shaking as your hands trembled. The sound echoed faintly through the corridor, coming from somewhere ahead of you.

“Hello?” you called, your voice cracking slightly.

No response.

The tapping stopped.

You waited, holding your breath, your ears straining for any hint of movement.

Then, suddenly, the tapping started again—this time behind you.

Your stomach dropped, and you whipped around, the flashlight from your phone sweeping over the hallway you’d just walked through. It was empty.

Completely, utterly empty.

You took a shaky step backward, your heart hammering in your chest. The tapping grew louder, faster, coming from all around you now, echoing off the walls in a maddening cacophony.

“Stop it,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Just stop!”

And then it did.

The silence that followed was deafening, almost worse than the sound itself. You took another step back, your pulse racing, and suddenly the floor beneath you gave way.

With a startled cry, you fell, the phone slipping from your hand as you tumbled into darkness.

You hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Dazed and disoriented, you lay there for a moment, your head spinning and your body aching.

When you finally managed to sit up, you realized you were no longer in the narrow hallway.

You were back in the room.

The light was gone, replaced by an suffocating darkness that seemed to stretch endlessly around you.

And in the center of the room, sitting on the stand where you’d left it, was the book.

But this time, it wasn`t red.

It was black.

And it was beating.

You screamed, the sound raw and terrified as it echoed around the room. Your knees buckled, and you collapsed to the ground, trembling uncontrollably. Your body felt impossibly heavy, as though some unseen force was pressing down on you, rooting you in place.

Frantic, your eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out, for anything to explain what was happening. But the darkness seemed alive now, shifting and writhing just beyond your vision.

And then, you felt it.

Hot breath, impossibly close, brushing against your ear.

Your breath hitched as warmth spread through you, pooling low in your stomach, and you hated how your body betrayed you, reacting to something you couldn’t even see.

Then came the lips.

Soft, feather-light, trailing along the curve of your neck. The sensation was so vivid, so real, that a groan escaped your lips before you could stop it. Your body arched instinctively, leaning into the phantom touch, even as your mind screamed at you to fight it, to run, to do something.

“Shh,” a voice purred, its tone soothing. “There’s no need to be afraid, my sweet. You called me, remember?”

Your heart raced, and your hands clenched into fists as you tried to regain control of your body. “What… what are you?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

The presence behind you chuckled, the sound low and intimate, like a lover’s laugh shared in the dark.

“I’m yours,” it said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You read the words. You invited me in. And now… we’re bound.”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “No, no, this isn’t real. This can’t be real.”

“Oh, but it is,” the voice replied, amusement lacing its tone. “You wanted something, didn’t you? Why else would you open that book? Why else would you speak those words?”

The weight on your body eased slightly, enough for you to shift and try to crawl away, but the darkness coiled around you like a living thing, keeping you in place.

“You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you?” the voice murmured, almost pitying. “Poor thing. You were so eager, so curious. And now…”

A hand—cold yet burning—brushed against your cheek, tilting your head up toward the stand where the book still rested.

“…you’re mine.”

The room seemed to pulse with those final words, the darkness tightening around you like a vice. Your vision blurred as panic clawed at your throat, and the last thing you saw before everything went black was the book—its pages flipping wildly on their own—glowing faintly with a sinister crimson light.

You woke up with a sharp gasp, your body jolting upright like you’d been shocked awake. But as you looked around, you realized you were lying in the middle of the hallway.

Your phone was on the floor beside you, its flashlight pointed up at the cracked ceiling.

It was a dream?

You laughed, breathless and shaky, running a hand through your hair as you tried to calm yourself. “This is insane,” you muttered, your voice trembling. The laughter didn’t last long—it felt hollow, a desperate attempt to convince yourself that what you’d experienced wasn’t real.

You snatched up your phone, and scrambled to your feet. Without wasting another second, you sprinted down the hallway, the weak beam of your phone’s flashlight bouncing with every step. You didn’t care where you were going anymore; you just needed to get out.

The hallways twisted and turned, stretching endlessly, and every shadow seemed to claw at you as you ran. It felt like hours—like the labyrinth was mocking you, refusing to let you leave.

But finally, somehow, you found your way back.

The dim light of the main basement room greeted you, and your breath hitched as your eyes landed on something you hadn’t expected to see.

The box of supplies.

It was sitting on the shelf, exactly where it was supposed to be.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at it. The same box you’d been searching for, on the same shelf you’d checked before.

How had it gotten here?

You didn’t dare question it. Not now. Not after everything that had just happened.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the box, clutching it tightly in one hand while you snatched the flashlight off the ground with the other.

Then you bolted.

Your feet thundered up the stairs, your pulse roaring in your ears as you raced for the exit. When you reached the top, you slammed the basement door shut and locked it, your hands shaking so badly it took you a couple of tries to get the key to turn.

The moment it was locked, you pressed your back against the door, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

You glanced down at the supplies in your arms, the mundane, ordinary contents almost laughable now after everything you’d been through.

But as you stood there, something cold prickled at the back of your neck.

You turned slowly, your eyes drifting toward the library’s main floor.

Everything was still. Silent.

And yet, for a brief moment, you could’ve sworn you saw a figure standing in the shadows between the shelves.

Watching you.

You blinked, and it was gone.

This was crazy. Absolutely crazy.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, shaking your head as you clutched the box tighter. You were just tired, that was all. You hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in days, and the stress of balancing school and work was clearly catching up to you. Yeah, tired. That’s all this is, you thought, repeating it like a mantra.

Ignoring the lingering unease prickling at the back of your neck, you made your way to the counter. The two ripped books Mrs. Choi had left were still there, waiting for you. You dropped the box down with a thud, grabbed the tools you needed, and got to work.

Your hands trembled at first as you smoothed out the torn pages, applying the adhesive carefully. You focused on the process—cutting, pressing, and smoothing out the repair strips—letting the repetitive actions calm your frayed nerves.

This was normal. Fixing books. Doing your job. Nothing weird about that.

Minutes passed. Then longer. The books were almost done, and for a moment, you felt like you could breathe again.

But then, just as you reached for the last tool in the box, a soft tap echoed through the library.

Your hand froze mid-reach, your eyes darting toward the source of the sound.

Tap… tap… tap.

It came from the direction of the shelves, slow and deliberate, like someone tapping their nails against wood.

Your chest tightened as you stared into the rows of books, the library was dark now—darker than it should’ve been. The overhead lights seemed dimmer, casting distorted shadows across the shelves.

You swallowed hard, trying to convince yourself it was nothing. Maybe it was the building settling, or the heating system kicking on. Don’t be stupid. You’re just scaring yourself.

Still, you couldn’t help but call out, your voice wavering. “Hello?”

No response.

The tapping stopped.

You stared into the darkness for what felt like an eternity, your heart hammering in your chest.

Then, just as you were about to turn back to the books, a book fell from one of the shelves.

The sound was deafening, the thud reverberating through the library like a gunshot.

You jumped, your breath hitching, and spun toward the source. The book lay open on the floor, its pages splayed out like wings.

You didn’t want to go over there. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to stay behind the counter, to leave it alone.

But your feet moved on their own, taking slow, hesitant steps toward the fallen book.

When you finally reached the book, you crouched down, your hand trembling as you picked it up.

Your fingers brushed over the embossed title, and your stomach dropped.

It was the same book you’d seen in the basement.

You gasped, clutching the crimson book tightly as your eyes darted around the library. Maybe this was some sort of prank? Someone could have grabbed the book from the basement and planted it here to scare you.

“Hello?” you called out again, but the library was still empty, silent.

Your breathing quickened as you scanned the shelves, desperate to catch a glimpse of anyone—a student pulling some cruel joke, or maybe Mrs. Choi coming back to check on you. But there was no one.

You hurried back to the counter, your heart racing, and turned on the computer. Your fingers fumbled as you brought up the CCTV footage, the small screen flickering to life. You scrubbed through the past hour, watching yourself walking back and forth, grabbing the box, and fixing the books.

Nothing.

No one else had entered the library. The hallways and shelves were empty. It was just you, moving around, completely alone.

Well… almost.

You paused the footage, your heart sinking as your eyes locked onto a shadow. It was faint, barely distinguishable, but for one brief frame, something seemed to linger in the corner of the screen. Not a person, but… something.

It was gone in the next frame.

“Nope. Nope, nope, nope,” you muttered under your breath, slamming the monitor off.

You looked at the crimson book sitting on the counter, its cover gleaming faintly under the dim light. It felt wrong—its very presence seemed to thrum.

Without thinking, you grabbed it and tossed it into the nearest trash bin, making sure it landed deep under crumpled paper and leftover scraps.

“There,” you said to yourself, your voice shaky. “Done.”

Forcing yourself to focus, you went back to finishing the torn books, your hands working faster than ever. As soon as the repairs were complete, you shoved the box under the counter and hurried to turn off the lights.

The library plunged into darkness, the faint moonlight filtering through the windows barely enough to guide you as you locked the doors behind you.

You didn’t realize how late it had gotten until you stepped outside. The campus was quiet, the lampposts casting long shadows across the pathways.

You tightened your coat around you and began the walk home, your footsteps echoing loud. Every so often, you glanced over your shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that someone was following you.

But the path behind you was always empty.

Still, the unease stayed with you, like a cold weight settling deep in your chest.

When you finally reached your apartment, you locked the door behind you, double-checking it twice before collapsing onto the couch. You stared at the ceiling, your mind racing.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe you were just tired, your imagination running wild after a long day.

Before you knew it, sleep had overtaken you. The exhaustion from the long day weighed down on your body like a blanket, pulling you into unconsciousness almost instantly.

But the peace of sleep didn’t last long.

You found yourself in a dimly lit bedroom, one you didn’t recognize. The walls were draped with dark curtains, and the air was heavy with the faint scent of roses. You sat up slowly, blinking in confusion as you tried to make sense of where you were.

“How did I…?” you murmured, your voice trailing off.

Before you could process anything, a voice, smooth and rich like velvet, broke the silence.

“My, you’re even more beautiful up close.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, equal parts alluring and unsettling. You whipped your head around, searching for the source, but the shadows in the room seemed to shift and dance, obscuring whoever was speaking to you.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” the voice continued, closer now, almost right beside your ear. “To touch you… to feel you…”

You gasped as a pair of lips suddenly pressed against yours, soft but demanding.

Your initial instinct was to pull away, but the sensation was overwhelming. Your mind grew hazy, a strange warmth spreading through your chest as the kiss deepened. It felt so intoxicating, so magnetic, that you couldn’t help but melt into it.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. The kiss was unlike anything you’d ever experienced—it was all-consuming, as though the very act of it was pulling you further into the dream.

You felt hands brush against your skin, feather-light but firm, holding you in place.

You tried to pull back, but the hands held you steady, the kiss turning more possessive. The warmth you’d felt earlier now burned, searing through your veins as if something was being poured into you.

Panic swelled in your chest, but just as you were about to scream, the room spun violently, and everything went dark.

When your eyes shot open, you were back on your couch, drenched in sweat. Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, your fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

But the lingering warmth on your lips, the faint ache of the kiss, told you otherwise.

And as you glanced toward the door, you froze.

The crimson book was sitting there, completely untouched, resting on the floor as if it had never been buried at all.

Your blood ran cold.

You scrambled to your feet, your heart pounding as you stared at the book. How was it there again? You knew you’d buried it deep under the pile of scraps.

“Nope. Not dealing with this,” you muttered, your voice shaking but resolute.

You grabbed the book, your fingers brushing against its smooth, cold cover. A strange, pleasant warmth crawled up your arm at the contact, sending shivers through your body. For a fleeting moment, it felt good—too good. Your grip faltered as a soft sigh escaped your lips, unbidden.

No.

Shaking your head fiercely, you tightened your grip and turned toward the window. Without hesitating, you threw it open, the cool night air brushing against your flushed face.

With all the strength you could muster, you hurled the book out. It spiraled through the air before landing with a dull thud on the damp grass below.

You leaned against the windowsill, watching the book. It lay there, unmoving.

Relief coursed through you.

“That’s it,” you whispered. “Stay there. Stay gone.”

Slamming the window shut, you locked it, double-checking the latch before stepping back.

You needed to clear your head, to shake off the strange sensations still crawling under your skin. Heading to the bathroom, you stripped off your clothes.

The shower hissed to life, steam rising as the water warmed. You stepped under the stream, letting the heat cascade over you, washing away the sweat and fear clinging to your body.

You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to convince yourself it was all in your head. Just a bad day. Just a stressful, weird day.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the sound of the water beating against your skin filling your ears as you focused on your breathing. It’s fine. It’s just your imagination. Nothing weird is going on. You’re tired, just tired, you repeated in your mind.

The water seemed colder now, even though the temperature hadn't changed, and a shiver ran down your spine. You’re overthinking it. Just get out of the shower and relax, you told yourself, but your hands felt heavy as you reached for the soap.

Just as you were about to wash your face, a soft tap echoed from somewhere beyond the bathroom door.

You froze, the motion of your hands stalling in midair.

Tap... Tap...

Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes darted to the bathroom door.

It was all too familiar. You couldn’t breathe, your chest tightening as the sound echoed louder in your mind.

No. No. It’s just the house settling. Maybe it’s the pipes. Just the pipes.

But the words felt hollow in your mind, the fear building with every passing second. The taps grew louder, clearer, almost closer.

You turned off the water quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. You stood there, motionless, listening, waiting for the sound to stop.

But it didn’t.

And then a creak. Just slightly, but enough for you to hear.

You gasped, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around yourself as you backed away, your legs shaking. Your mind screamed at you to leave the bathroom, to get out of the apartment, but you couldn’t move.

Then, before you could react, the door opened, just a crack.

There was nothing on the other side.

Just the empty hallway beyond.

But you knew. You knew it wasn’t right.

You slammed the door shut and locked it immediately, your breath ragged. The air in the bathroom felt stifling now, the walls pressing in on you, the space shrinking.

Your hand trembled as you reached for your phone, desperate to call someone, anyone.

But the screen flickered as soon as you unlocked it. The text on the screen was warped, unreadable. You stared at it for a moment, your stomach dropping. Something wasn’t right with your phone either.

A sharp, guttural whisper curled through the air, a voice so low you barely caught it.

The voice was so faint at first, you thought it was just a figment of your imagination, a trick your mind had played in the silence. But then it came again, clear and sharp, wrapping around your senses like a heavy fog.

“Come closer...”

It was soft, smooth, but there was an undeniable edge to it—laced with something... something tempting.

You froze, the words swirling in your mind. It wasn’t your own voice. It was deeper, resonating through you, the very air around you thick with a strange pull. Your chest tightened, and you felt something shift within you, an involuntary tug deep inside your stomach, urging you forward.

“Just one touch... just one kiss...”

The voice slithered, curling into your ear like a lover’s whisper, and something about it stirred the air around you. Your body was heating up, your skin prickling with a strange energy you couldn't explain.

You swallowed hard, your breath quickening as you stared at the mirror, trying to make sense of what was happening.

That’s when you felt it—an undeniable heat at your back.

It burned, searing through you like something alive, something that wanted you. Your breath hitched, and you spun around in a panic, expecting to see someone behind you, but the bathroom was empty, the space cold and silent.

But the heat didn’t fade.

It lingered, crawling across your skin like a heavy presence, sending shivers up your spine. There was no one there, but the sensation of being watched was there. Your body tensed, the warmth spreading through your entire body now, suffocating you, as if someone was right there, pressed against you, whispering into your very soul.

“It’s just us now…”

You glanced into the mirror once more, and there it was again—the figure. This time, it was clearer, its shadowy outline just behind you, impossibly close. The reflection wasn’t yours—it was someone else, standing so close that the hairs on your neck stood on end.

You gasped, heart pounding, but the figure didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. It simply stood.

The heat intensified, and the whisper grew louder, more insistent, as if it had taken root in your mind.

“Come to me... you know you want to...”

Your pulse raced. The pull in your chest was growing stronger now, as if your body was no longer your own, as if it was being drawn to something that wasn’t just a dream anymore.

The room began to spin, and you had to grip the edge of the sink to steady yourself, feeling dizzy as the desire to obey, to give in, washed over you. But as you fought it, something else caught your eye in the mirror—something that made your blood run cold.

A pair of glowing eyes pierced through the shadows, locked on you. And they were hungry.

You staggered back, heart slamming against your ribcage, and in the corner of your vision, you saw a fleeting glimpse of something—something moving, shifting in the dark.

No… You wanted to scream, to run, but your body wouldn’t move. Your limbs felt like lead, and the heat had become unbearable, pressing into you, dragging you toward it.

With a strangled breath, you finally tore your gaze away from the mirror, blinking furiously to rid yourself of the image. But the voice didn’t stop. It echoed inside your mind, growing louder.

“We’re bound now... there’s no going back…”

You tried to pull away, tried to break free of the suffocating heat and the unbearable pressure, but you couldn’t move. It was as if invisible hands were holding you in place. Your body, already trembling from the overwhelming sensations, was paralyzed as the touch slowly traveled up your arms.

It was light, ghostly, like fingertips grazing over your skin—soft, but burning with a heat that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t. The sensation slid up to your shoulders, your neck, curling around you.

The moment it brushed your throat, the pressure seemed to increase, suffocating you. The touch lingered there, just under your jawline, fingers gentle yet firm. And then, before you could think, before you could react, you felt something else—lips.

A kiss.

But not from anyone you could see.

Your eyes snapped shut, your breath shallow as the kiss deepened, warm and intoxicating. It was urgent, burning, and wrong, but in a way that felt too good to resist. You tried to move, tried to pull back, but the invisible force held you in place, pushing you further into the kiss.

It was there, all around you—this overwhelming feeling of being wanted, of being pulled into something. Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, fear and desire mingling into a sickening cocktail. The sensation of lips on yours, it felt alive, like the very essence of the kiss was drawing something from you.

A low, satisfied murmur vibrated against your lips, and something deep within you shivered.

No… stop, please… You tried to scream in your mind, but your body didn’t obey. You couldn’t pull away from it.

You were being pulled into it, held captive by something invisible, something that wasn't human. But what? What was kissing you, claiming you like this?

The answer felt just out of reach, like a whisper that barely brushed against your mind, too faint to grasp, too slippery to hold onto. The sensation of lips—too warm, too alive—pressed against yours again, and your strength began to wane. It was as if every breath you took was being drained, pulled out from you with each passing second. You felt weak, too weak to move, too weak to even think.

Your body, once full of fear, had gone completely limp, like a ragdoll strung up and held in place by an invisible force. The pressure around your throat tightened, suffocating, but you could do nothing to fight it. You couldn’t scream. You couldn’t even blink—all your energy was consumed, sucked away by whatever was holding you captive, by the kiss that wasn't a kiss.

You could feel your mind slipping, like your thoughts were dissolving into the heat, into the darkness surrounding you. The invisible force—was it a presence? A shadow?—held you in place, guiding you, manipulating you, as if you were a puppet and it was pulling your strings.

But still, the sensation of being claimed lingered, you tried to focus, tried to break free, but it was no use. Every attempt only made you feel smaller, more powerless, like you were losing yourself bit by bit.

Was this what it wanted?

Your body didn’t feel like your own anymore. It felt... distant. Detached. Like you were a spectator in your own skin, watching as the thing—whatever it was—wove its tendrils around you.

Just as the world around you seemed to fade, a distant whisper echoed through the fog of your mind:

"Mine now."

The words wrapped around you like a heavy chain, pulling tighter and tighter until you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even feel the floor beneath you anymore.

You were slipping away, your body fading into nothingness, held together only by the force that had claimed you.

"Mine forever."

When you woke up, it wasn’t like any other morning. You felt... tired. Groggy, and exhausted. As you stretched, you looked around the room, everything exactly as you left it, nothing unusual. It felt normal.

When you arrived at school, you couldn’t focus. The lessons droned on, but your mind kept wandering. You couldn't shake the feeling from last night. There was a gnawing curiosity deep inside you, a need to know what had happened, to make sense of it. You couldn’t just ignore it—your body wasn’t the same.

You pulled out your laptop in the middle of class, and you typed furiously. Your fingers flew over the keys, searching for any explanation that made sense, some kind of rational answer.

You found nothing but chaos.

The results were all over the place: demons, rituals, ghosts, whispers about curses and creatures from myths, things you thought only existed in horror stories. At first, you dismissed it. This can’t be real, you told yourself. But the deeper you went, the more it all seemed... possible.

And then you found it.

Incubus demons.

Your stomach twisted as you read more. The descriptions, the encounters—everything fit too perfectly. A demon, often seductive, one that could manipulate dreams, feed off your energy, entwine itself with you in the most intimate of ways. It would drain you slowly, filling you with warmth, with need, until it had you completely. Some even said an incubus could bind you to them—forever.

You felt a shiver creep down your spine. Was this what had happened to you? Could it be real? Could the thing you felt, the presence that had been with you, be an incubus?

The deeper you read, the more it made sense. The powerlessness, the way you felt unable to stop it, to resist. The hunger, the overwhelming desire. You couldn’t imagine it. You couldn't dream it.

You were still lost in thought as the bell rang, signaling the end of class. You gathered your things mechanically, your mind still reeling from the unsettling information you had uncovered. The words about incubus demons echoed in your head, each sentence making you feel more and more trapped.

As you packed your bag, your hand brushed against something unfamiliar. A cold chill ran through you, and your stomach dropped. You froze for a second, staring at your bag with a creeping sense of dread. Slowly, you opened it, and your eyes widened.

The book.

The crimson-red book. The one you had thrown out the window, the one you’d left behind—it was here, in your bag.

Your heart hammered in your chest, your fingers trembling as you touched the book. It was impossible. How could it be here? You distinctly remembered tossing it out, watching it fall to the ground outside your window. You’d even seen it land on the grass—it couldn’t have just come back.

A deep sense of dread filled your chest as your fingers slowly curled around the cover. You could feel the pull of it again, that same suffocating desire that called to you, whispered to you.

You quickly closed the bag, as if hiding it would make it go away.

How... how was this possible?

Your mind raced, trying to piece it together, but there was no logical explanation. The book had been thrown out. It shouldn’t be here.

And yet, it was.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t in control anymore.

Something was toying with you.

You had just sat down in your next class, trying to focus, but your mind kept wandering. How was it possible? What was happening to you? You barely noticed when the seat beside you shifted, and someone sat down, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts.

You turned your head instinctively, and your breath caught in your throat.

He was... stunning.

Tall, with sharp features and thick eyebrows that gave him an almost commanding presence. A few moles dotted his face, and his eyes were dark, almost mesmerizing, in a way which made your heart race in a way that felt unnatural.

But what really made your stomach flutter was the fact that you’d never seen him before.

Was he in this class?

You racked your brain, trying to recall if you had ever noticed him in the hallways or anywhere else on campus, but nothing came to mind.

He seemed to notice you staring at him, and a sly smile tugged at his lips. He leaned a bit closer, as if he didn’t mind the attention at all, his voice smooth and confident when he spoke.

"Hey, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

You blinked, caught off guard by the casualness of his tone. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine."

He chuckled softly, and you felt a strange sensation wash over you, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. It was unsettling, but you couldn't quite pinpoint why.

"I'm Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon," he said, his smile widening slightly.

You blinked again, now fully aware of how close he was. "Oh, uh, nice to meet you."

You forced a smile, but your heart was beating too fast. There was something about him, something that felt off—but also familiar.

Why did it feel like he already knew you?

The class went by as usual, the minutes dragging on in a haze. Sunghoon didn't speak much after you introducing yourself, but every now and then, you'd catch him glancing at you, his dark eyes glimmering with something you couldn't quite place. You tried to ignore the unease creeping up your spine and focused on the lesson.

By the time class ended, you were relieved to be able to leave. You needed some time to clear your head.

When you arrived at the library, you clocked in and slid behind the counter, but quickly growing bored, you leaned forward and opened the computer, deciding to look up something to distract you. You typed in "demon books," half expecting it to pull up some weird conspiracy theory, but to your surprise, a result popped up. There was a book, right there in the archives—on demons.

Your curiosity flared. This was what you needed.

You grabbed a pen and jotted down the shelf number before heading to the stacks. When you arrived, your eyes searched the shelves, scanning for the number you’d written down. There it was—just out of reach. The book you wanted sat high on the shelf, taunting you. You stretched on your toes, reaching as far as you could, but it was no use. You could feel the frustration rising as you considered your options.

As you were about to give up and turn away, a hand shot up from behind you, effortlessly reaching the book and pulling it down.

You turned around, heart skipping a beat. There, standing just behind you, was Sunghoon. He held the book you had been struggling to get, his expression unreadable.

“Need this?” he asked, his voice casual, almost too smooth.

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. Something about the way he said that sent a strange shiver down your spine. It was as if he knew exactly what you were searching for, as if he had been waiting for you to look it up.

“Thanks,” you said, taking the book from him, but your hand brushed against his for a moment longer than necessary. A jolt of electricity shot through you, and you quickly pulled your hand away, your face flushing.

“No problem,” he replied smoothly, his eyes twinkling. “Figured you needed a little help.”

You watched him disappear into the rows of books, and the unease from earlier returned, settling deep into your bones.

You don’t even realize what you've walked into, do you? Your deliciousness is like a siren's song, luring me in, and I am a lost soul, destined to follow. I've got you now, and I won't let you go. I'll devour every last piece of you, leaving no part untouched, for you're a feast that I'll savor forever.

Your beauty, it's like a spell, casting a shadow over my heart, and I want to take and take, until you give me everything, for I crave the taste of your soul, the essence of your being.

I think of your skin, smooth as silk, and how it feels under my touch. I imagine the taste of your lips, sweet like nectar, and how they'd satisfy my every craving. I envision your body, and how it yields to my every caress.

I'll trace the map of your body with my hands, my lips, and my heart, marking every inch as my own.

I'll feast on your lips, kiss by kiss, until my soul is satiated. I'll drink from the well of your desire, quench my thirst, and be nourished by your passion. I'll explore the depths of your pleasure, discover the peaks of your ecstasy.

And when I've had my fill, my sweet, I'll still want more. For you're an endless ocean, a bottomless pit of pleasure, and I can never quench my thirst. I'll always want to dive deeper, explore further, and discover more.

You stared at the book in your hands as you made your way back to the counter. And once you sat behind the counter, you placed the book down in front of you, the sound of the pages flipping echoing softly in the quiet library.

You opened the book, the musty scent of old pages filling your nose as you began flipping through it, scanning the words and images. Each page was filled with descriptions of various demons, their powers, their origins, and their terrifying abilities. But you kept your focus, searching for the section you had come here for.

Incubus demons.

When you finally reached the right section, your heart pounded in your chest. The words jumped off the page, unsettlingly familiar. It was like the book was confirming everything you had felt and the more you read, the clearer it became that this was no coincidence.

Incubi, it said, were demons who thrived on energy—specifically life force. They were known to seduce their victims, using dreams, lust, and an overwhelming need for intimacy to drain them. They were powerful, manipulating their prey until they were completely drained, their energy absorbed by the demon.

But what caught your eye was the last part.

"Once an incubus claims someone, it forms a bond—one that cannot be easily broken. The victim becomes a vessel, their soul linked to the demon’s for eternity."

You froze, a cold shiver crawling down your spine. Eternity. Was that what had happened to you? Had you unknowingly made a pact with something otherworldly?

You could feel your pulse quicken as your mind raced. Had you been claimed by the demon? Was it already too late to turn back?

You closed the book abruptly, the sound of it thudding against the counter loudly. You couldn’t breathe. Your stomach twisted, and for a brief moment, you thought you might collapse right there.

Just then, you heard a voice, soft but clear, cutting through the storm of thoughts in your head.

"Are you okay?"

You looked up, startled, and saw Sunghoon standing there, a stack of books in his hands. His eyes were searching your face, brows furrowed in concern.

"Uh... yeah, I’m fine," you stammered, trying to act normal. But you could feel the flush creeping up your neck, the words of the book still fresh in your mind. You quickly gathered your composure and grabbed the books from him, trying to distract yourself from the overwhelming feelings swirling inside you.

You ran the books through the system, scanning the barcodes one by one, all the while acutely aware of how close Sunghoon was standing.

As you glanced down at the books, you couldn't help but notice the titles—all of them were romance novels. It felt... strange. You glanced back at Sunghoon, trying to read his expression.

"Romance, huh?" you said, attempting to make small talk as you finished scanning the last one. "Didn’t peg you for someone into these kinds of books."

He chuckled softly, a low, smooth sound that made your heart skip again. "I’m not really. But, you know, sometimes it's good to pretend."

You blinked, unsure if you were reading too much into the comment. His smile didn’t help—he always had that air of mystery, like he was saying something and nothing at the same time.

"Thanks for helping with the book earlier," you added, trying to steer the conversation back to something neutral. "I appreciate it."

He shrugged, grabbing the books from on the counter. "No problem. Just looking out for you."

The way he said it sent a chill down your spine. It felt like more than just a casual statement. Like he knew something you didn’t. Something you didn’t want to know.

You tried to push the feeling down. You had to stay focused. "Anything else you need?" you asked, attempting to keep things professional.

Sunghoon just smiled again, that strange glimmer in his eyes never fading. "For now, no," he said, his tone teasing. "But I’ll be around."

When your shift finally ended, the night had already settled in, the streets now cast in shadows. You clutched your bag tightly as you walked, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Eventually, you found yourself at the bridge, standing on the edge, the water below reflecting the lights.

You opened your bag, pulling out the crimson red book, the one you had tried so desperately to get rid of. As you held it, you could feel something radiating from it—a pull, tempting you to keep it, to keep following.

You shook, unable to tear your gaze away from the book, as if it were alive, trying to draw you into its dark power. What had happened to you? What had you gotten yourself into?

A cold sweat broke out along your spine, and for a moment, you thought you might lose control. With trembling hands, you lifted the book to toss it into the water, ready to rid yourself of it once and for all.

But just as you were about to throw it off the bridge, you heard a voice behind you, low and rough.

"Hey," the voice called out, sending a shiver down your spine.

You froze, heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you turned around.

Standing there was a man—a stranger. His features were sharp, his eyes narrowed in a way that made your stomach turn. There was something off about him, something unsettling in the way he watched you. His gaze was degrading, as if he had already sized you up.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing out here alone?" he asked, his voice slithering through the air.

You instinctively took a step back, clutching the book tighter in your hands, there was no mistaking the way his eyes lingered on you, his stare lingering a little too long.

His lips twisted into a grin, and it made your blood run cold. "You don't look like you're in a hurry to leave."

His tone, that smile—everything about him screamed danger, your heart thudded loudly in your chest as you fought the urge to run, but your feet felt rooted to the spot.

Your breath caught in your throat as the man took a step toward you, his hand reaching out with an unsettling determination. This was it. He was going to—

Suddenly, there was a sharp thud, and the man was thrown backward, crashing to the ground with a pained grunt.

You gasped, startled, and watched in disbelief as a familiar figure stepped besides you.

Sunghoon.

Without hesitation, he lunged at the man, throwing a fist that landed with a sickening crack against the stranger’s face. The man tried to scramble to his feet, but Sunghoon was relentless, his fists moving with precision, each punch landing harder than the last. You could hear the force of each strike, the sound of flesh hitting bone. The man barely had a chance to defend himself, crumpling beneath the force of Sunghoon’s blows.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, transfixed by the brutal scene before you. There was something terrifyingly powerful about Sunghoon right now, his movements were swift and calculated, as if he were punishing the man for something more than just the assault on you.

Your hands shook as you held the book tighter to your chest, you didn’t know why, but it felt like it was alive, pulsing in your grip.

The book was vibrating, faintly at first, but then stronger, almost as though it was purring, responding to the violence — to you.

You ignored it, trying to focus on what was happening in front of you. Sunghoon wasn’t stopping, his anger mounting with each punch.

The man on the ground groaned, clearly dazed, unable to defend himself. Finally, Sunghoon stopped, standing over the man, his breath coming in heavy, measured gasps.

"You shouldn’t have done that," Sunghoon said, his voice low and dangerous, his gaze unwavering. He turned to look at you, eyes locking with yours.

You were still frozen, your heart pounding in your chest, and you couldn’t make sense of it all. The way Sunghoon was acting, the way he looked at you—it was like he wasn’t the same person you’d met in the library. This was someone else.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice softer now, though there was still a sharpness to it.

You nodded, though your voice felt stuck in your throat. You couldn’t even find the words to thank him, or to ask why he’d come out of nowhere to help you. Why was he here?

Sunghoon glanced down at the man on the ground, his expression unreadable, before he turned to you again, taking a step closer.

"You’re safe now," he said, his voice more comforting this time, though the intensity never fully left his gaze.

Your hands trembled as you clutched the book tighter, trying to shake off the strange feeling it was giving you.

Sunghoon’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning you before he helped you steady yourself.

“You’re okay,” he repeated, his tone lighter, he glanced at the book in your hands, and that smile of his grew, just slightly, as if pleased.

He led you away from the bridge, the cool night air now feeling heavy around you. His presence beside you was comforting, but at the same time, you couldn’t ignore the sense that he was guiding you in more ways than one.

You looked up at him, and he caught your gaze, his smile widening ever so slightly. "Seems like you’ve taken quite the interest in that," he said, his voice soft but with an edge you couldn’t quite place. "You’re holding it tightly."

Your fingers ached as you continued to clutch the book to your chest, your heart still hammering from the encounter. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, too overwhelmed by everything that had happened.

"You shouldn’t have to worry anymore," he said, his voice lowering. “You’re safe now.”

Then why did something not feel right? Sunghoon was far too calm, too understanding. As if he already knew everything—everything that had been happening to you.

The way he looked at you, like he was watching, waiting for something.

And for the first time, you realized something that made your stomach twist in unease.

He wasn’t just helping you.

He was guiding you.

The moment you stepped through the door of your apartment, you immediately noticed it. The book was still pressed against your chest, and for the first time, it felt almost suffocating. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you had been holding onto it the entire time—your knuckles white. It was like it had become a part of you, and that realization twisted something deep within your gut.

You couldn't stand it anymore.

Without even thinking, you hurled the book against the wall, your heart racing as the impact caused it to thud loudly, the book sliding to the floor. The sound echoed in the quiet apartment, and you could feel your breath catch in your throat, as if your body had finally caught up to the chaos inside your mind.

For a moment, there was silence. The book lay on the floor, the cover staring up at you, as if mocking your decision. But you were too exhausted to care anymore. Too worn out by everything that had happened.

You stumbled fowards, your legs giving way, and before you knew it, you were sinking onto the couch. Your mind was foggy, too tired to think. Your body ached, your head pounded, but the exhaustion was overpowering. The last thing you saw before your eyes fluttered shut was the book, sitting on the floor.

And the only thing you could think of as you drifted off was how you felt that it wasn’t done with you yet.

You felt so... relaxed? It was like your body was weightless, wrapped in warmth and comfort. The air was thick, almost too hot, and the bed beneath you felt too soft, like sinking into a cloud. You opened your eyes slowly, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling above you. A grand queen-sized bed stretched out beneath you, luxurious sheets tangled around your legs.

Your head was still foggy, like you were waking from a deep, dreamless sleep. But the discomfort of the heat around you was immediate, and you instinctively pushed the covers away, trying to breathe through the thick air.

That’s when you felt it.

A weight on your body, pressing down, holding you where you lay. Your breath hitched as the sensation of someone’s lips—warm, urgent—pressed against yours. The shock of it made your chest tighten, and you gasped, eyes wide as you tried to push the figure off of you, only to find you couldn’t move.

A voice, soft but laced with something darker, echoed in your mind, almost like a whisper, “Give in.”

Your body stiffened, the words familiar yet chilling. The lips on yours were insistent, coaxing you into submission. You couldn't understand—how did you get here? Why was everything so warm? And why did you feel this strange pull?

The kiss deepened as your breath quickened, and the moment your hands tried to reach above you, they tightened their grip. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t think.

You wanted to push away. You wanted to scream. But you couldn’t. You were trapped in this sensation, helpless.

You felt so good. So pleasant. Every part of you hummed with a warmth, an overwhelming comfort, like sinking into the softest dream. But with it came an exhaustion, a draining weariness you couldn't fight.

As the lips moved from your mouth down to your jaw, trailing soft, slow kisses, you felt your body go limp beneath them. You tried to stay alert, to keep your mind sharp, but the sensation was too much. The warmth, the pleasure, it was like it was melting you from the inside out. Your energy, your strength, seemed to vanish with every kiss, every press of lips against your sensitive skin. You couldn't fight it. It felt too good.

A small gasp escaped your lips as they moved lower, their touch leaving a trail of warmth on your neck, then your collarbone. The sensation was both soothing and dizzying, like you were drifting between wakefulness and sleep. You felt so tired, but the pleasure pulling you under kept you from fully giving in.

Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, quickening with each new kiss, each lingering touch. The sound of your breath was louder than the rest of the world, but even that was fading. You could barely hold onto your thoughts, the desire to move, to push, slipped further and further away.

And then you realized—there was nothing you could do. You didn’t want to.

You felt something deep inside you stir, a craving, a hunger that matched the pull of the lips against your skin. You were being drained, yes, but it also felt like it was what you needed.

You closed your eyes, surrendering to it. You let your body go, let the exhaustion wash over you, let yourself fall into the warmth of the kiss. You didn’t even care where it was leading anymore.

You felt your body give in completely as the lips on your neck paused, lingering there, and you could hear the soft hum of approval, a low sound of satisfaction. And just like that, it was too late to resist.

As you surrendered to the moment, the hands, ever so gently, pushed your shirt up, exposing more of your skin, as the heat in the room seemed to rise.

The lips, now free to explore, trailed kisses down your stomach, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin there. His hands slid down to your waist, he squeezed gently, pulling you closer, and you felt his body press against yours.

You didn’t want to fight it anymore. Your body was giving in, responding to him, reacting in ways you couldn't fully comprehend. It was as though you were caught in a web, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

His lips moved from your neck, tracing the sensitive line of your jaw before they found your lips again, kissing you. The kiss was hungry now, deeper. You felt his hands tighten around you, as though he couldn’t get close enough, as though you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

And somehow, it felt... right.

You felt so hazy, your mind clouded by a warm, soothing fog that made it impossible to think clearly. Everything was blurred, all thoughts slipping through your fingers like sand. The weight of your body felt distant, like you were floating. You couldn’t move your limbs, couldn’t even feel them anymore.

The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of the lips that pressed gently against yours, warm and insistent. Every time they left, it felt like you were waiting, craving the return of that contact. And when they did, you kissed them back instinctively, your lips parting slightly to welcome them.

"Let go," it murmured softly, the sound of it like silk against your mind. "Enjoy this. Let the pleasure take over. You deserve it."

You shivered, feeling the warmth of the words settle deep inside you, pushing aside any lingering doubts, any hesitation. The voice continued, coaxing you, convincing you that this feeling, this moment, was all that mattered. That you didn’t need to resist, that you could simply surrender and feel everything without fear.

There was no fight left in you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt completely at peace. You didn’t have to think, you didn’t have to worry— just the feeling of being taken care of, loved, and wanted.

You closed your eyes, lost in the comfort, the warmth, and the voice that guided you deeper into the haze.

You woke up suddenly, your mind heavy, still clouded in a haze, and found yourself lying on the couch. You blinked, trying to shake off the fog, and as you looked around, everything seemed perfectly normal.

One thing wasn't normal, though. It was the warmth, the sticky, almost suffocating heat clinging to your skin, like honey trapping you in its sweetness. The sensation was odd, and it was paired with an exhaustion that weighed you down, a tiredness so deep you could barely keep your eyes open.

You managed to sit up and push yourself to your feet, dragging yourself to the bathroom, needing to see your reflection, needing to understand what was happening. The mirror greeted you with an unexpected shock.

Your neck and collarbone were covered in marks—deep, almost bruised-looking impressions, some faint, others dark, like someone had pressed their lips into your skin too hard, leaving their mark. You barely recognized the face staring back at you. Your cheeks were flushed, the kind of flush you’d never get from just a long day, and your eyes looked distant.

You kept staring at your reflection, eyes wide in disbelief, and slowly pulled your shirt off, but what greeted you beneath your clothes made your breath catch in your throat.

Handprints. Dark, unmistakable imprints stretched across your waist, your hips, and even down to your thighs. It was like someone had gripped you there with force, leaving their mark on your skin, as if they couldn’t resist claiming every part of you.

You stood there, frozen, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. The more you looked, the more it seemed to confirm your theory.

An incubus had done this.

But the memories were murky, like a dream fading in the light of day. You couldn't remember the specifics, but the evidence was undeniable.

You were cursed.

The thought sent a shiver through your body. There was no other explanation. It was all pointing to something beyond your control, something that wanted you, that had claimed you.

But what did it want from you? Why you?

The mirror reflected your confusion, your unease, and your disbelief. Your hand instinctively reached up to touch the marks, your fingers brushing lightly over your skin. Each touch sent a wave of heat through you, a reminder that something was still there, still affecting you, even when you had no idea what was really going on.

Days passed in a strange blur after that. Each time you tried to focus, tried to pull yourself together, the exhaustion dragged you down further. You couldn’t remember when it had started, when your body began to feel like it was no longer your own, but it was now a part of your reality. Every night, you’d find yourself drifting off to sleep, only to wake up once again in that grand bed, under the same warmth, your body burning.

The familiar sensation of lips on yours, the heat of his hands—each kiss drained you, leaving you weak and confused. It felt as though the very life force was being sucked out of you, but you were too tired to resist. Too tired to care. The next morning, you would wake up again, just as exhausted, with the marks on your skin deepening, the imprint of his touch still there. You tried to push through the haze, but it felt like you were walking through quicksand.

And then there was Sunghoon.

He was there for you in ways you couldn’t explain. It started small—offering to walk you to class, making sure you ate something, checking in on you when you seemed too tired to function. You didn’t fight it. You were too exhausted to.

You would often find yourself slumped at the counter, fighting to keep your eyes open, and there he was, showing up with something to drink or a comforting word, offering you a brief respite from the overwhelming fatigue that seemed to cling to your every movement. You didn’t realize at first that you were relying on him, leaning on him without question.

But Sunghoon didn’t mind. In fact, he thrived in this new dynamic, in your dependence on him. He reveled in the way you’d look to him for comfort, for answers, for protection. You didn’t know how much it fed into his desires, how much he enjoyed being the one to offer you care, to have you rely on him completely.

And you? You were too tired to notice. Too lost in the fog of exhaustion, the haze of what was happening to you.

But.. the more time you spent with Sunghoon, the more you began to notice the oddities that you’d once brushed off. He was always there, always watching, always making sure you were okay. But something about him felt... off. It wasn’t just his constant attention—it was the way he seemed to know exactly what you needed, before you even asked for it. It was the way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long, his smile a little too knowing, like he was seeing something in you that no one else did.

Then, there was the issue with his past. Sunghoon never spoke about it. When you asked about his family or where he grew up, his answers were vague, brushing off the topic with a quick change of subject. No traces of a life outside of the moments he spent with you.

It didn’t make sense. You had seen him around campus, so you knew he wasn’t a complete ghost. But there were no photos, no friends tagging him on social media, no history to trace. He was just... there. As if he had stepped out of nowhere and appeared in your life, and now he was all you could focus on.

Something about him felt wrong, and the pieces were starting to fall into place. But you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning on him, allowing him to take care of you. You didn’t know what to think anymore, especially since you were so tired, so lost in the fog of exhaustion that you couldn’t tell if your thoughts were your own or if they were being influenced by something else.

So, you decided to test your theory—to see what would happen if you suddenly started ignoring him. It wasn’t easy. Sunghoon always seemed to find a way to be around you, whether it was sitting next to you in class or showing up at the library while you worked. But you were determined. You stopped texting him back, avoided his gaze, and made excuses to leave whenever he tried to engage you in conversation.

At first, he didn’t seem bothered by it. He would simply smile when you dodged him, as if he already knew why you were doing it. That unnerved you more than anything else. It was like he could see right through you, like he knew your thoughts before you did.

But as the days went on, his demeanor started to shift. His smiles became tighter, his gaze colder, and the once-comforting presence he exuded started to feel suffocating. He wasn’t following you outright, but every time you turned a corner, you’d catch him in your peripheral vision—leaning against a wall, walking just a few steps behind you, always near enough to remind you that he was there.

One night, after a particularly long shift at the library, you came home and collapsed onto your couch, exhaustion washing over you. The moment you closed your eyes, you found yourself back in that bed again.

But this time, there was a whisper. A deep, seductive voice you hadn’t heard before.

"You can’t ignore me forever."

Your eyes snapped open, your heart pounding. You were back on your couch, drenched in sweat, and your hands were trembling. You instinctively gripped the edge of the couch as you tried to ground yourself, but the tremor in your fingers betrayed how shaken you really were. The room was quiet—too quiet. It felt as though something was watching you, just out of sight.

Your gaze darted toward the windows, scanning for any sign of movement, but the curtains were still drawn shut. Slowly, you reached for your phone on the coffee table, wanting the comfort of a light, a distraction—anything. As the screen lit up, you noticed the time. 3:03 a.m.

And then you saw it.

A single notification. It wasn’t from anyone in your contacts, just an unknown number. You hesitated before opening it, dread settling in your stomach like a lead weight. The message read:

"Stop running."

You dropped the phone as though it had burned you, the clatter breaking the suffocating silence. Your breaths came shallow and quick as you stared at the device, afraid it would light up again.

No. This had to stop.

You pushed yourself off the couch and stumbled to the bathroom, your legs weak beneath you. Splashing cold water on your face, you tried to steady your breathing.

You gripped the edge of the sink, your knuckles turning white as you leaned forward, staring at your pale reflection in the mirror. Your breaths came shallow and uneven as you tried to process everything.

It didn’t make sense—none of it did. But your thoughts kept circling back to Sunghoon. His perfect timing, his uncanny presence, the way he seemed to know more than he let on.

Your throat felt dry as you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to say it.

“Sunghoon?”

The sound of his name echoed faintly in the small bathroom. You waited, holding your breath, your heart pounding louder and louder in your chest. Nothing happened.

For a moment, you felt ridiculous, like you were spiraling into paranoia. You let out a shaky exhale and closed your eyes, trying to collect yourself. But then, just as you started to relax, you felt it.

A heat began to radiate behind you, warm and heavy, pressing against your back like a presence. The air shifted, and before you could react, a soft whisper brushed against your ear.

“Did you miss me?”

Your eyes snapped open, wide with terror, as you froze in place. The mirror reflected nothing behind you, but the heat remained, and the voice lingered, teasingly low and intimate.

“Y-you’re not real,” you stammered, gripping the sink tighter, refusing to turn around.

The voice chuckled, soft and amused. “Oh, but I am. You called me, didn’t you? Thinking of me? Dreaming of me?”

A shiver ran down your spine as the warmth seemed to creep closer, pressing against you like an invisible embrace. You gasped, your knees threatening to buckle under the weight of whatever was behind you.

“I-I wasn’t—”

“Liar,” the voice interrupted, a trace of playfulness in its tone. “You’ve been looking for answers, haven’t you?”

You felt something brush against your shoulder, light as a feather but enough to make your skin tingle. Your breathing quickened as the sensation spread, leaving you dizzy and disoriented.

“Stop,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

But the voice only hummed in response, low and pleased. “You can’t run from me. You’ve known that all along.”

“I never wanted this!” you shouted, your voice trembling but firm, defiance breaking through your fear. “I didn’t ask for any of this!”

The air around you grew colder, and suddenly a hand—a firm, invisible grip—wrapped around your throat. You gasped, your hands flying up instinctively to claw at nothing.

“Oh, but you did,” the voice purred, smooth and dark, vibrating through the room. The grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your pulse race, but not enough to harm you. It was a warning.

“You put this on yourself the moment you read the words in that book,” the voice hissed, hot breath fanning over your ear. “Qui me legit, fiat noster ligamen aeternum. Do you even know what that means?”

You shook your head frantically, tears pricking at your eyes as you struggled against the phantom hand holding you in place. The voice chuckled, low and condescending.

“It means, ‘Who reads me, let our bond be eternal.’ You invited me in.”

Your breath hitched as the words hit you like a punch to the gut. The book. The book in the basement. The words you read aloud.

“That’s not possible,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “It’s just a stupid book. It—it can’t be real!”

The laughter that followed was sharp, almost mocking. “Oh, it’s very real. And now, so am I.”

In the mirror, the reflection began to change. The shadow behind you shifted, growing more defined, more solid. Your eyes widened in horror as the silhouette morphed, taking shape, and then—

There he was.

Sunghoon.

Your heart stopped. You couldn’t believe it, but there was no mistaking him. The sharp jawline, the intense gaze, the faint smirk curling his lips. It was him.

Sunghoon stood behind you, his hand still firmly around your throat, his touch searing and impossible to ignore. His other hand came to rest lightly on your waist, and you shivered under the weight.

“Surprise,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement as his eyes locked with yours in the mirror.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, panic rising in your chest. “This— you’re not—”

“Not what?” Sunghoon interrupted, tilting his head as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Not human? Not the man who’s been taking care of you? Or not the one who’s been in your dreams, night after night?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. The pieces were falling into place, but they painted a picture you didn’t want to see.

“You were so lonely,” Sunghoon continued, his voice softer now, almost tender. “So desperate for someone to understand you. And I came to you, didn’t I? Gave you exactly what you needed.”

His hand on your waist tightened slightly, his grip on your throat loosening just enough for you to take a shaky breath.

“But you’re scared now. Why?” he asked, his tone almost teasing, as if he already knew the answer. “You’ve enjoyed this, haven’t you? The attention, the way I’ve made you feel.”

“No,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “You tricked me. This isn’t what I wanted.”

Sunghoon’s smirk widened, his reflection in the mirror impossibly calm, his eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.

“You can lie to yourself all you want,” he said, his tone almost pitying. “But you can’t lie to me.”

“We’re bound now, you and I,” he whispered, his voice soft but laced with finality. “You can’t run from me. You can’t hide. And deep down, you don’t want to.”

You stared at him in the mirror, your chest heaving, your mind screaming for you to fight back, to do something, anything. But your body betrayed you, frozen in place as Sunghoon’s reflection smiled, dark and triumphant.

His grip tightened around your arms as he suddenly spun you around effortlessly, your back slamming against the cold countertop. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as the impact sent a jolt through your body, and you found yourself face to face with him.

Only... it wasn’t entirely him.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening as you took in his appearance. Sunghoon was still the same—his sharp features, his impossibly handsome face—but now, his true form was on full display.

Two curved, jet-black horns protruded from his head, his ears were pointed, inhumanly sharp, twitching slightly as though attuned to every sound you made. A pair of massive, leathery wings stretched out behind him. His skin held a faint reddish tint now, and his eyes...

They weren’t what you’d grown accustomed to.

They were blood-red, burning with an intensity that made your knees weak.

As your gaze traveled lower, you caught sight of a sleek black tail swishing behind him, the pointed tip moving back and forth like a serpent poised to strike.

“Like what you see?” Sunghoon asked, his voice low and smooth, laced with amusement.

You couldn’t answer. Your lips parted, but no sound came out as you stared up at him, utterly frozen. He leaned in closer, the heat radiating from him making it even harder to think, to breathe.

“You should’ve known,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You should’ve felt it. I’ve been hiding in plain sight this whole time, waiting for you to figure it out.”

“Sunghoon...” you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling as you tried to push him away, but your arms felt like they were moving through water—slow, weak, powerless.

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that sent heat flooding through your chest. “Still clinging to the illusion, huh? Poor thing.”

His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek with an almost tender touch.

“This is the real me,” he said softly, his voice dripping with dangerous charm. “And now that you’ve seen it, there’s no going back.” His wings shifted slightly behind him, the sound making your stomach twist in unease. His tail flicked once, curling against your leg in a way that made your skin crawl—and, to your shame, sent a strange warmth pooling in your chest.

“You’re lying,” you said weakly, your voice barely audible. “This isn’t happening...”

Sunghoon tilted his head, his expression softening just enough to make it even more unsettling. “Lying?” he repeated, his voice almost offended. “Sweet thing, everything I’ve done has been the truth. You just didn’t want to see it.”

He leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, his red eyes locking onto yours with a hypnotic intensity. “But now you can’t ignore it, can you? You can’t ignore me.”

You gasped, your body trembling as his tail coiled tighter around your leg, holding you in place. “You belong to me now,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice final. “And nothing will change that.”

You clenched your eyes shut, your entire body trembling as you willed it all to disappear. You thought maybe—just maybe—if you denied it long enough, it would go away. That he would go away.

But it didn’t work.

Instead, you heard his low, amused chuckle. The sound was rich and dark, crawling into your ears and embedding itself into your mind.

“You can’t escape me,” he murmured. And before you could protest, his lips crashed against yours, stealing your breath and overwhelming your senses.

The kiss was searing, a fire that burned its way through your body and left you paralyzed. It wasn’t soft or careful—it was commanding, leaving no room for resistance.

Sunghoon...

Sunghoon was an incubus.

Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to fight, but your body wouldn’t listen. The warmth from his lips spread through you like molten lava, making you weak, making you feel... good. Too good.

You tried to turn your head, to break the connection, but his hand gripped your jaw firmly, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against yours with a skill that made your knees feel like jelly, and the heat radiating off him felt almost suffocating.

When he finally pulled back, your head spun, your breaths shallow and uneven. His glowing red eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the satisfaction etched across his face.

“See?” he purred, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’re not resisting me.”

You shook your head weakly, trying to deny it. “You’re not... I won’t...” you stammered, but even as the words left your lips, they sounded hollow.

Sunghoon leaned down again, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You already gave yourself to me the moment you opened that book.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you struggled to comprehend his words. You’d read the words without understanding what they meant, unknowingly binding yourself to him.

“You belong to me now,” he said, his voice soft but firm, his hand trailing down to rest on your waist. “No running. No escaping.”

His tail flicked lazily at his side, as if he were toying with you, enjoying your fear and confusion.

“I’ll take care of you,” Sunghoon continued, his tone shifting to something almost... tender. “You won’t need anyone else. You won’t want anyone else.”

You clenched your fists, trying to fight against the pull he had on you, the way his words seemed to seep into your mind like poison.

“What do you want from me?” you finally managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I already have what I want,” he said simply, his hand tilting your chin up so you couldn’t look away. “You.”

His hand slid up to your throat again, his grip firm but not enough to hurt—just enough to remind you who was in control. You gasped, your heart pounding in your chest as he leaned in, and before you could think or protest, his lips captured yours again.

This time, the kiss was more intense. It was intoxicating, a dizzying, heady sensation that left you feeling drunk and high at the same time, though there wasn’t a hint of nausea.

Instead, you felt consumed, like your body and mind were being submerged in a warm ocean. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

Your hands gripped the edge of the bathroom counter behind you, trying to ground yourself, but the heat only grew. It curled in your stomach, spread up your spine, and flooded every corner of your being.

Sunghoon’s lips left yours only briefly, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed down your jaw, tracing a path to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You couldn’t respond, your head spinning, your body trembling. Every word he spoke seemed to sink into your skin, fusing with your very being.

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing over your ear. “No one else can make you feel like this. No one else can take care of you like I can.”

When he finally pulled back, his red eyes burned into yours, glowing with satisfaction.

“Say it,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your pulse. “Say you’re mine.”

You hesitated, your lips parting, but no words came out. Your mind was a swirling mess of emotions, torn between the primal pull he had over you and the small flicker of defiance still burning in your chest.

Sunghoon leaned closer, his smirk returning as he tilted your chin up slightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’ll say it soon enough.”

With that, he released you, stepping back just enough to let you breathe, though the heat still clung to your skin like a second layer. Your knees felt weak, your body trembling, and you gripped the counter to keep from collapsing.

“Rest for now,” he said, his tone almost affectionate. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

And with a flick of his tail and a low hum of satisfaction, he vanished, leaving you alone in the dimly lit bathroom, your body still warm and your mind reeling from what had just happened.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that Sunghoon’s persistence wasn’t just some fleeting infatuation—it was something far deeper. When an incubus claimed a human, it seemed, their desire turned into a relentless obsession. Sunghoon took every opportunity to have you, to pull you into the haze of his presence, leaving you breathless and weak in his wake.

In the library, you were shelving books in the far corner, but then, you felt it—the familiar warmth crawling up your spine. Before you could turn, his hands were on your waist, spinning you around and pressing you against the shelf.

“Sunghoon—” you started, but your words were cut off as his lips crashed against yours, desperate and hungry.

The books nearly toppled from the shelf as his body pinned you in place. His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them tightly before lifting you up effortlessly, your back pressed to the shelf. His kisses left you dizzy, your hands clinging to his shoulders for balance as his lips trailed down your jaw, his voice low murmurs.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your body trembling. He smiled, his red eyes glowing faintly. “Couldn’t help myself,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

In the kitchen, you thought you’d have a moment of peace as you cooked dinner, but of course, he appeared again.

You didn’t even hear him approach before his hands were on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter.

“Sunghoon!” you protested, but your voice wavered as his lips found yours, silencing any resistance.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them slightly as he stood between them, his kisses consuming. The heat of the stove was nothing compared to the fire he ignited in you with every touch.

“You taste better than anything you’re cooking,” he teased against your lips, as you shivered under his touch.

Even in class, he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you. At first, it was subtle—a hand resting on your thigh under the desk. But his touch was anything but innocent. His fingers pressed into your skin, his grip firm enough to leave an imprint through the fabric of your jeans.

One day, you made the mistake of wearing a skirt to class. His reaction was immediate.

His eyes darkened the moment he saw you, his gaze lingering on your legs with a hunger. The skirt seemed to drive him wild, and he didn’t bother to hide the want in his eyes as he took the seat beside you.

During the lecture, his hand found its way to your thigh again, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on your bare skin. Every touch sent shivers up your spine, your pulse quickening as his grip tightened slightly, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

“You wore this for me, didn’t you?” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

You didn’t answer, your face burning as you tried to focus on the professor’s voice. But Sunghoon wasn’t letting you off so easily. His hand slid higher, just enough to make you squirm in your seat.

By the end of class, you were a mess, your legs trembling as you tried to stand. Sunghoon, of course, looked perfectly composed.

But one event made you realize just how far Sunghoon's obsession had gone happened unexpectedly.

You had just finished getting ready, dressed to go out to the club, your outfit on point, and your makeup perfectly done. You were about to put on some music for the drive when suddenly, you heard a soft hum from behind you.

The sound was so familiar, so calming that you couldn’t help but pause. The familiar haze crept in, clouding your thoughts. Before you could even process what was happening, you felt a shift in your surroundings. The next thing you knew, you were no longer sitting in the front seat of your car but instead found yourself in the backseat, sitting on Sunghoon's lap.

“You going somewhere?” he asked, his voice smooth, leaning back, his eyes filled with contentment. He seemed to be enjoying the view of you on his lap, your body pressed against his, all dressed up.

You were about to move off, muttering to yourself about how utterly stupid this situation was.

However, before you could push him away, Sunghoon's hands went around your hips. He pulled you closer, his body pressing into yours, and then, with a sudden thrust, he lifted you off his lap.

The movement was unexpected, and it caught you off guard. You let out a surprised squeal as you found yourself being moved to lay down on the backseat. Sunghoon hovered over you, his body pressing down on yours, his eyes filled with a fiery passion.

You were on the brink of speaking, your mind filled with thoughts you wanted to express, when suddenly, Sunghoon's lips crashed down on yours, silencing your words in an instant.

His lips, soft yet demanding, devoured yours, a perfect blend of tenderness and dominance. Sunghoon groaned into the kiss, a deep, raw sound that reverberated through your core. His hands found their way to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin. And as his kiss deepened, you felt him wrap your legs around his hips. You could feel the heat of his body, the solidness of his muscles, and the intensity.

You felt a sudden urge to pull away, to regain some sense of control and composure. With a gentle push, you tried to create some distance between you and Sunghoon. But Sunghoon, ever attuned to your every move, wasn’t about to let you escape so easily. As you tried to shift, reaching for the car door, his hands swiftly grabbed your waist, his strong arms pulling you closer. His chest pressed against your back, and you turned your head, your breath quickening as Sunghoon leaned over, his face now inches from yours.

His voice, soft and teasing, broke through your thoughts. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his tone low, almost playful.

You couldn’t find the words to answer, but you could feel the heat rising between you.

Sunghoon, sensing your hesitation, nuzzled his face against your neck, his breath warm against your skin. The soft touch of his lips traced a path along your neck, sending a jolt of warmth through you. You shivered at the sensation, unable to stop the flutter in your chest.

"Sunghoon..." you breathed, trying to push him away again, but his hands tightened around your waist. He didn’t let you move, holding you there.

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “You want me to slow down?” he teased, his voice amused.

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat between you both. The car, once cool, now felt stifling, the air thick. You glanced over at the windows, noticing that the glass had fogged up, the condensation creeping in.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you tried to focus, but it was hard with him so near, his breath warm against your neck. You could feel him pressed against your back, his hands still holding you close.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered again, your voice barely a breath, caught between uncertainty and desire. You shifted slightly, trying to pull away, but he gently tugged you back, his lips hovering just above your ear.

“Why resist?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but there was an edge to it, a quiet demand. His lips brushed against your earlobe, sending another shiver down your spine. “We both know you don’t want to.”

The fog on the windows seemed to grow thicker, the air growing warmer with every passing second, as if the space between you was becoming smaller.

You didn’t answer him right away, just closing your eyes for a brief moment, trying to clear your mind.

But Sunghoon's voice broke the silence as he gazed at you. "You look perfect," he said, his eyes roving over your body, taking in every detail. "So delectable, it's as if you're offering yourself on a silver platter."

His hands, which had been resting on your waist, slowly slid downwards, tracing the curves of your hips with a gentle touch.

"I want to ruin your makeup," he said, his voice low. "I want to mark you as mine, to leave my touch on you."

His hands, which had been gently caressing your body, suddenly tightened around your hips. With a swift movement, he flipped you over, and you found yourself lying on your back, staring up at him with surprise.

"I want to look at you," he said, his voice low and intense. "I want to see your beautiful face, your eyes, your lips, as I kiss you."

His lips, soft yet demanding, pressed against yours, a perfect show of passion. His hands roamed freely, tracing the curves of your body. He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks, a gentle caress that sent a rush of pleasure through your body.

Guess this is what happens when you get claimed by an incubus in love.

a/n: well.. i have no other words. this had been sitting in my drafts for awhile so, yeah :)

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venomhoundfanworks · 5 months ago

Text

Hazbin Hotel - Vox Kink Headcanons

Personal kink headcanons for my beloved tv man Vox. Not doing the more obvious/universally accepted kinks. Instead I'm writing about some of my more... niche takes.

WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader, but is AFAB for the last section; all the kinky shit obviously; Valentino mention (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Domestic Kink ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

For those who don't know, a domestic kink is being turned on by doing everyday couple things. Things like cooking, cleaning, that type of thing. Vox basically gets turned on by you two being a couple and taking care of each other. The man is so love starved he just gets sent to another planet by those simple everyday shows of affection.

If you start helping Vox get dressed in the mornings, he will melt into a puddle. Every. Time.

It started simple enough, Vox was in a rush so you thought to help him put on his coat. Sliding it onto him, adjusting the collar, straightening his bowtie... You didn't notice how still he went until you went to fix his sleeves and you looked up into his wide, almost feral eyes.

Vox desperately crashed his lips against yours as he pulled your bodies flush together causing you to squeak. Only then did you feel how hard you had made him as he grinded into you... Needless to say, Vox had to reschedule his entire morning.

Vox will come home to you cooking dinner and just bend you over the counter. Whispering in your ear, 'Your so sweet doing this for me, Sugar. Now let me take care of you."

I have had the scenario floating around of you making Vox breakfast in bed one morning just as something nice to do for him. You dont think too much of it, he has been so tired and overworked lately so you figure any extra sleep he can get would do wonders for him

Vox however, absolutely fucking loses it. When you wake him up with tray in hand, he... just kind of stares at you. What do you mean you already made breakfast? Wait you have breakfast? For him? For him in bed?

You actually thought the man might have bluescreened. It takes you setting the tray down and grabbing his hand before he starts moving again.

Vox pulls you into his lap and starts peppering kisses all over you. He just cant believe that this is actually happening; that your here with him, that you did such a sweet thing, and oh god does he love you so much.

He actually is daydreaming about it the rest of the day and bragging about it whenever he can.

Comes home early that evening just to surprise you and spend a romantic evening together (totally not because he accidentally pent himself up gushing over you all day ABSOLUTELY NOT).

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Recording/Being Recorded ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

(This one might not be a niche take but I'm putting it here anyway cause I want to yap about it)

I wasn't quite sure if there was a specific name for this kink. But what I mean by this is Vox loves to specifically record you two having sex. Like an amateur porn thing. However. These videos are meant for his eyes only.

Vox would murder anyone who so much as tried to get their hands on these videos. God help them if they actually saw one. Its not even a matter of honor or anything, its a matter of only Vox is allowed to see you come apart like that. Vox is the only one allowed to hear you make those sounds.

Vox honestly isnt going to even bring this whole 'recording you two' thing up unless he trusts you completely. Even then he is super sheepish the first time he asks about it. Vox knows your going to be suspicious and, yeah, you rightfully are due to his association with the porn moth.

It takes a bit of prodding for you to get out of Vox that he sees it as a different way to enjoy you. To experience you. He will get to see your beautiful body at angles he never could while he plows into you. He can finally see the look of pure ecstasy on your face as he eats you out, diving his tongue as far into you as it can go.

Vox is over the moon when you finally agree to let him place a camcorder in your shared bedroom.

You viscerally notice how much more relaxed and strangely content Vox seems to be next time you two have sex. Vox always had this certain tension to him and its just... gone now.

What you don't realize is that 'tension' was Vox's underlying fear of how transient you were. He was always trying to absorb as much of you as he could, to memorize every part of you. But now he felt like he could truly let himself enjoy the moment knowing that he will be able to listen to your heavenly sounds on repeat, analyze every little twitch he causes, and fully see every expression you make.

A deep, deep, dark part of Vox want to tell Valentino to cancel every shoot he has for a day. To reserve the studio just for you two. To spend an entire day taking you in every way imaginable. Bringing you to bliss in every messy way he possibly can. Getting you to make every obscene noise that beautiful voice of yours can make.

But Vox knows that he could never trust Valentino to not make a copy of you two for himself. So he will stick to his amateur recordings. Anything to keep you safe and to himself.

Whenever Vox is missing you at work (or whenever he gets a free moment honestly), he starts watching back one of your now countless sex tapes. He will let the odd feeling of comfort wash over him as he sees the adoring looks you give him and hears you two exchange words of love. God, he can't wait to get back home to you.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Cock Warming ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

OKAY. I think I've gotten the point across that Vox is a certified lover boy™ who basically wants to imbibe your very being. Whelp. This is just more of that.

Don't get me wrong, Vox loves sex. Sex is great. But having you on his lap, his cock inside you, the two of you as close as two beings can physically get, and just- enjoying that... It hits differently you know?

Say its due to his mechanical nature all you want, (insert joke about 'plugging in' here) but Vox loves to feel like you two are truly connected. When your bodies actually become one like this, he is just that much closer to perfect.

As stated previously, will let you sit on his lap and cockwarm him anytime you please. Vox's absolute favorite times are when he has to do work ironically. He can never stop the blissful smile he makes as he has you in his lap. Vox will gently hold you with one arm while the other tries to get work done. You always end up giggling whenever you kiss up the side of his neck or monitor and Vox lets out the most contented sighs.

Honestly, just start going to work with him, becoming his personal cocksleeve whenever he is in his monitor room. A blanket draped over the two of you to hide what's actually going on.

Since the poor guy has no choice but to sleep on his back; you can easily do the same thing for bedtime. Climb on top of him and delicately slide him inside of you. Vox will just look up at you with the most lovedrunk expression as you bend over him and nuzzle into his neck, your body draping over his, and Vox pulling you impossibly close as you both fall asleep.

Its times like this that Vox questions why anyone would even need heaven.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

LINKS AND FURTHER READING ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

My Masterlist for my Other Work: >>HERE<<

AO3 Archive Link: >>HERE<<

One of my favorite posts that just goes over a evening being Vox's s/o can be found >>HERE<<, its by the talented @/lqveharrington

Another really good post by @/liveontelevision where Vox gets jealous of your work with Valentino and decides to start recording you can be found >>HERE<<

Then lastly, quick headcanons by @/voxsremotec0ck where Vox is spying on the reader then catches you masturbating can be found >>HERE<<

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esotericbluntbaby · 18 days ago

Note

hear me out. . . high sex with hamzah😍.

he’s so hot.

sneak

hamzahthefantastic x reader

description: a rough date causes bad decisions to be made. upset, you decided to call your ex, who also so happens to be one of your closest friends, to smoke with you.

mentions: smoking, drug use, angst, smut, happy ending, nsfw!

woahhh first smut fic.. don't worry for those who are getting tired of smut fics! i will continue to balance out of fics with a mixture of sfw and nsfw, with the sfw most likely being angst!

the dating scene simply wasn't for you.

sure, you've dated people in the past, though, you knew always that they were supposed to be temporary in your life. you had the mindset of acceptance when it came to temporary and permanent; the concept of allowing things to happen and allowing everything to fall into place as if a higher being would spin a wheel for each and every outcome of your life was common for you to think about.

however, the date you went on made you wonder about how thin the line is between permanence and temporariness is.

you thought the date went well. you both arrived at the purring lady on time; the bar's ambient lighting amplified the romantic tension between you and him. in fact, the night flew past without much awkward silence. you thought you knew him quite well by the end of the date, wishing him a safe ride home and kissing his cheek.

about to text him about a second date, which you urgently hoped for, you realized the texts were green; he had blocked you without a single explanation.

so, you were currently sat in your apartment windowsill eating ice cream and gazing out the window at the city's skyline. the sense of comfort from both your home and the area around you allowed you to heal from the night a bit faster; almost as if the sole action was the tylenol to your dating scene headache.

being honest with yourself, you were hoping to bring him home. you found him attractive, almost as if he was on the cover of some obscure magazine. your date was the kind of person that you'd see once and the sheer image and thought of them would wrap around your head like the bandaid to the loneliness that overtakes you. you wouldn't mind being touched by him. however, he's gone now, so the bandaid was ripped off.

scrolling through your text messages, you realize hamzah texted you. the relationship that you and hamzah had used to be romantic. in fact, he was one of the people who taught you that some people are permanent; though you aren't together anymore, you still remained close. you would be lying if you said you didn't really feel anything for him anymore. no matter what, you think you'd always be a simple text or phone call away from him. no matter what, you think you'll always have some level of feeling towards him. though, some resentment will always be there; he was still the reason you tried to find love in dating apps instead of that whole friends-to-lovers deal.

hamzah

10:43 pm | yo

10:43 pm | how'd it go?

you

11:24 pm | ehhh

11:25 pm | i thought it went well

11:24 pm | i guess he didn't bc im blocked now lol

11:24 pm | fuck me for trying to get back into dating again

hamzah

11:26 pm | r u okay?

11:26pm | im like here if u need to talk abt it

11:26 pm | or i can js come over

11:28 pm | we can smoke it out

11:29 pm | i got the mango wraps that u like

you

11:29 pm | i thought u didn't like the mango ones

hamzah

11:30 pm | i dont

11:30 pm | but u do

you

11:30 pm | doors open for whenever

hamzah

11:31 pm | dont leave ur door open wtf lock it n js unlock it when im there

11:32 pm | what if theres a murderer on the loose

you

11:33 pm | holy shit hamzah

hamzah

11:34 pm | sorry coming

thankfully, you didn't get murdered by a man in a mask wielding an axe.

hamzah and you were currently on your couch, eyes ruby and lidded with the weed in front of you guys glistening in your lines of sight. hamzah began to roll you a blunt using the mango wraps you enjoyed; he never, ever allowed you to roll on your own. he always preferred doing it for you ever since you both found out that each of you use weed as a pastime for boredom. however, for you, it started to morph into a way to stop hurting. the date from tonight wasn't the first date to have gone "horribly," in fact, it was a sequence of many. you started to feel better now that you aren't using on your own; hamzah was there now. maybe the pain from your heart justifies the pain you're risking towards your body. more importantly, hamzah gives an extra buzz; it was both the blunt in between his fingertips and himself that was helping you feel less lonely.

you reached for the blunt in his hand, itching to take a hit. however, he moved it slightly away from you. confused, you looked up at him, gazing at him. the black beanie, hiding most of his curls besides the ones at the nape of his neck, surprisingly complimented the redness of his scelera. gazing at him, your eyes twinkled as if the fire from the lighter appeared in them. this was the feeling you felt like you'd always achieve from the mere sight of him; a feeling of companionship.

"what's up?" he asked, not allowing you to take the blunt from his hand.

you snapped out of the gaze he intertwined you with, "huh?"

"you seem more out of it than usual," he took a puff from the blunt between his fingers, "i swear you never smoked this much."

"i don't- i haven't smoked a lot."

"you just took like 15 drags from it."

"i did?"

"yeah, you did. so, what's up?"

you slowly blinked, "i don't know."

"you do. tell me, talk about it- maybe it'll help."

you steal the blunt from his hand, taking a long hit as he stares are you with an unfamiliar emotion in his eyes. possibly it was worry, or pity, or a cross mix between the two. maybe, he realized how much you changed since the two of you ended things.

"i guess i just feel lonely."

"how so?"

"i've been on 5 dates in the past 5 months, once every 4 weeks- and i guess like, i dunno, the more i go on these dates the more i realize how, like, shitty everyone is. this last guy i went on a date with, noah, i thought it went well. kissed his cheek and everything- the full 9 yards for a first date. then i realized he blocked me as soon as he left. it's like somethings driving people away."

"i'm sorry."

"for what?"

he takes a long drag out of cylinder, "that people don't see you the way that i do."

"what do you mean?"

"you know what i mean, like-" he hesitated.

"don't think about it too much. just say it as it is."

he started, "when we were dating, i saw you as human."

"i mean- obviously."

"no, you don't get it," he softly assured, " i think before you, or like, dating you, i worshipped all the people i was with like they were some god. i got on my knees and saw them as this higher being to praise, to the point where my relationships constantly belittled me. i was just some guy and they had the fate of everything in their hands. why would someone with all that power love someone like me?"

"sorry, i'm lost-"

"then, i got to the point of my life where i dated you and, for the first time, i was with someone who was equal. i didn't have to work my ass off to keep you in my life; in fact, the time where i was so upset that i wasn't working my ass off, you took, like, 80% of that relationship for a full week and carried it on your back. i thought you'd just leave. when i was struggling, i thought you wouldn't want some burden for you to carry on your shoulders, weighing you down like you were walking up hills with rocks taped to 'em. no, instead you picked me up. i was crashing and breaking, constantly, and somehow, you taped all the cracks together and now i'm alright again. yeah, a higher being plays with fate and lives and chance and all of that, but there's so much in the world that they leave broken and unattached. only a human would take the time and effort to mend me back together."

you looked at him with furrowed brows and a pit in your heart, "hamzah, i don't get it. if you felt this way towards me, why'd you leave?"

"feel."

"what?"

"i still feel this way about you. i never stopped."

your eyes began to water and you couldn't tell if it was from the weed or from the secrets being let out of the closet, "you're fucking with me. what the fuck?"

he watched as your eyes glistened and began to rub your thigh comfortingly. you two sat on the couch in silence as thoughts ran through both of your heads; it was now up to the both of you if voicing the voices in your head was a good idea or not. simultaneously, you both decided to take the leap, with hamzah breaking the quietude of the room.

"i was scared."

"of?"

"if things didn't work out- if we kept going in the relationship and somehow we started arguing more or ignoring- i don't think i would've been able to handle it."

"i wanted to handle it."

"well-"

your voice cracked in the middle of your sentences, "no, hamzah, i could've handled it because i was with you. you left me! you left me when i needed you. i keep on trying to fill the space you just left in my heart and my apartment with random guys off of any dating app available and it just doesn't fucking work. why would you leave me like that? i mended your cracks and then you suddenly decided to give them back to me, and now i'm trying to fix it but i just can't. why would you do that, you fucking ass? and why would you tell me about it right now?"

"i'm sorry-"

"no, this should've never happened, i should've never invited you over. what the fuck?"

"kick me out, then."

"what?"

he stood up, with you standing up right after, "you regret this. it's fine. kick me out. tell me to leave."

"fuck you, hamzah, you know that i can't just do that."

"i'm telling you, kick me out."

you pushed him, "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"keep doing that. push me as much as you want, i deserve it."

your hands found its way to his chest, pushing as if you didn't beg for him to pull. he stared at you with a certain glint in his eyes; a certain neediness you haven't seen in him in a while. to say this was only a reaction of frustration towards him and his actions towards you would be a lie. it was everything all at once; the frustration from all the dates, the frustration from all hamzah put you through, and the frustration of not being touched ever since being with him. you were sexually pent up. you pushing him was actually the only form of physical touch you've had in ages. he took it. he simply took all the pushes you threw at him.

over time, the pushes got less and less aggressive, resulting in him being able to wrap his arms around you as you softly cried. you weren't fully sobbing, but it was still enough tears to the point where his shirt was slightly soaked. he didn't care; he never cared that his shirt was wet from you crying. he continued to hold you as he sat both of you down, back onto your couch.

"why would you do that to me?"

he kissed your forehead, "baby, i'm sorry. i'm so sorry."

he held you for what seemed like ages, stroking your hair and wiping your tears with his thumbs. you were confused; what do you want out of this? what does he want out of this? you wreathed out of his arms and sat beside him, both of your red tinted eyes remaining on each other's.

"i can leave now, if you want. it's two in the morning. i'm sorry."

"no."

"i'm not good for you. i leave when things get hard, baby, and i don't want you to go through that aga-"

you reached for his cheeks, thumbs in the fronts of them, and leaned towards him. your heads tilted to opposite sides, your lips connecting with bridges, mountains, and oceans of emotion between them. his hands made its way to your hips with his fingertips denting the stretchmarks, slightly tracing them as if his eyes were still opened. his tongue reached the inside of your mouth with hunger and desperation laced in his saliva. three minutes of sole kissing went by, before you pulled away.

"stay. please."

"what do you want from me, baby?"

"you know what i want from you. what do you want from me?"

"take a guess."

his hands made their ways to your thighs, pulling you over onto his lap, before connecting your lips again. he stood up, holding you with his muscular forearms, and navigated his way through the living room with his eyes still closed. the layout of your living room hasn't changed since he was last changed; hamzah was observant. he knew what he was doing.

reaching your room, he laid you onto bed with aspects of both foiling gentleness and roughness. getting on top of you, his lips made its way down your neck, making dark, blood-restricted marks down your body. it hurt; yet, you craved the pain it gave you. as he reached down to kissing your hips, you took off your shirt, leaving you in a bra. he stopped kissing you to hover over you, instead taking his beanie and hoodie off of himself in swift motions.

"do this often?" you teased.

he kissed you on the lips, "only with you."

he took off your shorts, revealing a black, lace thong underneath.

"you really just wear this shit around your house?"

"you were coming over," you started to take off his sweatpants, "i needed to prepare for the unexpected."

"god, you're so fucking hot."

the two of you laid in bed, him hovering over you and placing kisses and marks all over your body. he had always been a tease; you knew that hamzah liked to take his time with it. he said it feels better for the both of you if he does. however, currently, you weren't having it.

"hamzah, please."

"hm? what's the matter baby?"

"i need more, baby, please."

"are you still on birth control?"

"yeah, i am."

he took off his boxers, revealing the same 6 inches that you craved at night; actually, touched yourself to the thought of at night. his hand made its way to his dick, stroking it before moving your underwear to the side. as it slid inside of you for the first time, a burning sensation overtook the pleasure the entrance made you feel. your eyes teared up once more, followed by hamzah using his hand to wipe it off.

"hurts- fuck- it hurts-"

he kissed you lovingly, "it's okay; there's no rush. i'll start when you're ready."

you adjusted to his size as you made out with him, pulling away to tell him that he could move now. the pleasure he gave you couldn't even be measured; his movements made you forget all about the emotional pain that consumed you. there was comfortable eye contact, both of you looking at each other with the same eyes that started off high about 2 hours ago. your mouths remained slack jawed and wide open, occasionally kissing each other on the lips or mouth. suddenly, it felt as if a rope was about to snap inside of you.

"i'm close. fuck- i'm close."

he moved your leg up, resting it on his shoulder as his pace sped up. your eyes rolled back as ripples of pleasure echoed throughout your whole body. hamzah was good at this; he knew what he was doing and how to make you feel as good as you possibly can. with a few more strokes, you felt him release inside of you. he soon collapsed beside you, as you both caught your breaths.

hamzah turned to you and kissed you on the forehead, "i missed you."

"i missed you, too."

"what does this mean for us, now?" he hesitated, "i mean, am i gonna leave tomorrow and suddenly it's just like none of this happened, or-

"do you regret it?" you asked him, slightly scared of the answer.

"hey," he put his hand on your cheek, "i just spent the damn near the entire night telling you about how i could never regret you. fuck, i literally bought the wraps you like just for you. not to mention, i fucking hate the way they taste and they're a pain in the ass to roll and yet i did both smoke and roll them this entire night. i don't do that shit for just anyone. you tell me, do you think you regret it?"

"no. i don't. i can't regret you either, even if i tried."

"we'll start over. i'll do things right, this time, i promise."

you realized the line between temporariness and permanence wasn't as thin as you thought it would be, as now a temporary lover finally realized his permanence in your life.

authors note!

i am honestly not that experienced with smut, so i hope u guys still mess with it >_<

#hamzah fic #hamzah imagines #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah fluff #hamzah x y/n #hamzahthefanatasticxreader

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hotteokyu · 9 days ago

Text

wooyoung's sister

Synopsis ~ Your brother's career would be over if not for his pretty substitute. You can sing, dance, and make a perfect impression of Wooyoung, so you accept his plea. You have your own reasons, of course. It's about time you meet the man thirsting for your innocent brother and put him in his place. You hate people like him. Choi San.

So you become Wooyoung for a while.

Pairing ~ san x reader (wooyoung's twin sister)

Word count ~ 14.8k

Genre / warnings ~ romance, enemies to lovers, smut, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MDNI, gender-swap, reader has anger issues (plot point), mention of cult, binder, reader is protective of brother, hates skinship, hates affection, hates everything, san is made fun of a lot, pls dont take it to heart i love him, many thoughts of violence, cursing, trust issues, passing out, some angst, clingy san, lego live ft. Hwa, Hwa is done with their cat fights, slumber party, strawberry cake drama, description of period cramps, drunk confession, angry tension, hongjoong forces them to make up, angry sex, frustrated sex, dom!reader, sub-ish San, oral sex (female receiving), teasing, biting, marking, edging, rough sex

a/n ~ I had a lot of fun writing this :p plz tell me what you think!

It’s not like you didn’t expect it to happen. You knew there’d be a day your brother would come knocking on your door, begging for your help. And you would do anything for your baby brother.

But this is crazy.

There’s an entire team of staff in your bedroom. One is cutting your precious, nurtured hair. One is wrapping a binder around your chest. One is measuring your feet. Another is wiping the pretty glitter from your eyes. Two ladies are packing your bags. And the final one is giving you small sips of water to calm your nerves.

Three bodyguards are shivering outside in the cold rain, refusing to come in to keep dry. A personal driver is waiting in the car out in the parking lot.

In the living room, your brother, his manager, and the CEO of KQ Entertainment are sitting comfortably on your couch.

There must be a weight limit for the apartment.

And there must be a capacity for the absolute rage that can fill your body. Your hair is gone, your features masculinized. You have no tits. They’re gone.

But you take a deep breath. There’s an audience. A big one. You can act like a crazy bitch once you’re alone. Act sane. Calm… down…

Wooyoung’s jaw drops when he sees you, and there’s a single twitch in your left eye.

Calm.

With a huff, you sit on the floor facing the couch everyone else is occupying. Wooyoung is looking away, puckering his lips guiltily.

“I heard you can dance,” the man beside your brother says.

“Yeah, I can dance. I was a trainee at Big Hit for, like, four years,” you scoff, receiving a snicker from your brother.

“I heard you know almost every ATEEZ choreography,” he says, leaning back with a satisfactory smile as you nod.

“He comes home after every comeback and teaches me his parts.” You point at Wooyoung with a deep frown. “He makes us perform it for our grandma for cookies.”

“I heard you can sing, too,” he says eagerly grinning as you nod again. “You don’t sound much like your brother, though. I heard you can do a good impression of him, though.”

Yup. You can sing too. Sing like Wooyoung, dance like Wooyoung, laugh like Wooyoung. For years you’d pretended to be him in different situations. Who knew it would be so helpful in the long run?

But that’s how your night starts. A long boring conversation. Basically… Wooyoung was in Paris for fashion week and befriended a kind lady. He gave her an autograph, as one of her friends was a huge fan. Turns out she was a sex worker and actually signed him up for her cult. It’s a group for worshiping some sex god. KQ needs to get your brother out of trouble in a Paris court. And, obviously, his career is basically over, if not for you, his beautiful stand-in. As long as no one finds out about it, Wooyoung should be fine. It’s an opportunity no one else could have. It’s perfect.

You aren’t even mad.

Which is a first.

You’re just so confused as to how your brother can be so stupid.

A sex cult? That’s crazy??

But you’re already dressed and ready to go. You’d already agreed. So, sure, whatever.

Of course, you have your own reasons.

You were a trainee at BigHit with Wooyoung and Yeosang, but the only reason you trained there was to keep an eye on your brother. He has this thing about him. People find him cute, small, intimidating, sure, but they like a challenge. Everyone falls in love with him. Everyone wants to touch him and love him forever. Absolutely not.

When he and Yeosang moved to KQ, you tried to follow them, but the company wasn’t looking for girls. You got angry and lashed out in the practice room. Got kicked out. Never danced again.

Anyway, you like this idea of being Wooyoung for a few weeks. Because now you can see just how his members act. And you can set them straight.

“Ah, there’s one thing I forgot to mention,” Wooyoung mumbles, eyeing the CEO warily. “She has, like, crazy anger issues.”

Your brother keeps his room plain, black and gray, with zero posters, and zero personality. That’s weird for a guy with a sparkling, outgoing persona. You expected him to have a little bit of something showing in here. Maybe he just doesn’t have the time to decorate. Maybe he’s busy playing games when he does have the time.

You sit down on his bed and pucker your lips as you test its cushion. It’s stiff, your booty sinking just slightly into the memory foam. This will be nice to snuggle up on once you clean all of the sheets.

You take out your phone and go through the notes Wooyoung sent you. Routines, outfits, locations of items and places, dishes, info about the members, dances to le- Your eyes backtrack and a sinister grin grows on your pretty little face.

There’s a lot of useless information, like birthdays and representative animals. But he also wrote exactly what you needed to know to get started on your affection purge.

Your temporary roommates, Choi Jongho and Kim Hongjoong, are both reserved to their areas apparently. You like that. They know their places. They won’t be much of a problem. Yeosang, you know. He won’t be a problem. Song Mingi, you read, is big and awkward. He doesn’t initiate much affection, but he can be a bit freaky at times. Park Seonghwa is silly and affectionate but in a motherly way. How cute. Jeong Yunho is just a big puppy. He’ll come play with you on his own or whenever you want. He’ll like what you like, but he doesn’t pester at all.

Now… you don’t know this Choi San, but you know you hate him and his kind. Affectionate, kisses, skinship, clingy, likes Wooyoung very much. You were expecting to find someone like him here, but seeing it now in front of you, you’re fuming.

How unprofessional. How ignorant.

You’ll fix it, though. You gotta brush off your dusty skills, but you can fix it.

For two days, you have private singing, dance, and performance lessons. You don’t meet any of the members except for Jongho eating breakfast while playing a game on his phone. He hardly says hi as you walk out the door.

For those days, you’re content. You’re a natural, and you’ve already been trained and taught everything throughout your life. Each night, you run everything anyway. Wooyoung keeps his room cold as hell, so dancing doesn’t even make you hot.

The first day at dance practice with the rest of the members, however… You don’t think you’ve gone from completely fine to fucking steaming with anger in such a short amount of time before.

A man dares to put his grimy hands on you?? AND he thinks you’re Wooyoung?!

You memorized Choi San’s face because you were gonna steer clear, but this bitch pulls you into a hug as soon as you walk through the door. You step away immediately, staring in disbelief at the man.

So this is Choi San. He’s taller than you but not by too much. He’s big, wide, and strong. He’s got dimples as he cracks a cheeky grin, raising his groomed brow. His black hair is brushed nicely, clean, and soft on his head. He looks fluffy and innocent, much like a kitten. Cats are brutal and disloyal. How could Wooyoung let this man with obvious ulterior motives get anywhere near him?

He grabs your arm, and you let out a noise of confusion as he pulls you to his chest. “I missed you, Youngie~” he mumbles, squishing his cheek against your head as he holds you tight to him.

You squirm ‘cause, fuck, it’s awful, but it doesn’t seem like he even notices your struggle. He just holds you there effortlessly until he’s content. Then, with a gentle kiss to the side of your head, he walks away as if he hadn’t just fucking assaulted you.

You shook your head, wiping away the kiss he’d left against your hair. Ew. Ewewewew. A hug? A KISS?!?!?! Fuck, you’re going to throw up. Your cheeks are so hot, you literally are going to end it all right here. This is it. You’ve had enough, and it’s been, like, twenty seconds.

You take a deep, mind-cleansing breath. “Ya-!”

“Wooyoung~!” There’s Yeosang blocking your raging view of Choi San in an instant, and you shut your mouth.

“Yeosang!” you exclaim, reaching out and grabbing his hands excitedly. You bring them up to your chest and grin, gazing at his beautiful features. He’s grown so much. He’s still so handsome.

Yeosang is like a little brother to you despite being older. He’s a sweet angel who could do no wrong. You trust this boy with your life, and if anything happens to him, you’ll literally kill the man who hurt him. Is it wrong that you imagine it to be Choi San in your recent scenarios?

“Yeosang~ Yeosang~” you sing, wiggling your hands back and forth as he just stares at you with a happy smile. “Did you eat today? Did you eat yesterday?” You reach up and poke his cheek, your eyes shining happily as your finger sinks nicely into his soft skin. He shies away, scrunching his cheek to his shoulder, blushing lightly. What a cutie.

“What about you,” he mumbles, eying your interlocked fingers. “Your fingers are so thin.” He squeezes your hand gently, and you grin.

“Of course,” you say, though you in fact did not eat this morning or last night. You’ll probably be hungry by lunchtime, so you’ll eat then.

“That’s enough, Yeosangie…” Yeosang is pulled away by the waist, two thick arms wrapping around him and taking him from you. You drop your hands to your sides, feeling agitation build as you already know who it is. You glance up to see a pouting Choi San resting his chin on Yeosang’s shoulder, holding him hostage a few feet away.

“Hey, Choi San,” you say through gritted teeth. “We were talking.”

He shakes his head. “No. You were flirting with each other. I know it.” Why does this man talk in pout? Open your fucking lips and speak. “Yeosang is mine. You can’t have him.”

You feel a thick vein on your neck bulge as you restrain your lips from opening in a round of profanities. So he wants Wooyoung and Yeosang? He wants them both?

“San-ah,” Yeosang giggles shyly, trying to pry open San’s arms without any success. “We have to go practice.”

San sighs, slowly letting a fleeing Yeosang slip from his grip. As everyone gathers by the mirror, San offers you a soft, cat-like smile, but you turn away. He will get zero engagement from you. For your own sake, honestly. He makes you want to rip your shirt open and reveal your secret and shove this fucking binder in his mouth until he talks like a normal fucking human.

You take a deep breath. That was uncalled for. Violence is not okay… Violence is not the answer…

“Young-ah~” You’ve gotten used to his voice by the end of practice. He always has something to say, whether it’s a useless compliment or hyping up the room like you’re all some crazy fangirls and not the performers. He’s always gotta do something so fucking extra.

He leans his arm around your shoulder, and you shrug it off, walking just a bit faster to Wooyoung’s car.

“Youngie, I went to the plushie shop down the street from that one ramen place with the nice old lady, and they had one of those…” You had to master the art of giving so few fucks to the point of being deaf as you grew up alongside Wooyoung. His voice was fading into the abyss within seconds.

By the time you reach your car, you try to go inside quickly, but he tugs on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and holds you just a foot away from your exit. “What’s wrong, Wooyoung?” he asks softly. You turn around, liking how he’s finally noticing your attitude. Maybe he’ll be a quick learner. “Are you hungry?” As he’s met with your bratty glare, he pokes your stomach but pulls away before you can push him. “Do you want me to buy you mint choco ice cream?” He smirks as if the offer would be enticing in the slightest. Fuck, does Wooyoung like that toothpaste shit?

Before he pries any further, you get in the car and lock the door. He steps away pretty easily with a defeated sigh. You drive off with a small huff as you feel your cheeks simmer down from their red, heated boil. Choi San. Choi San. Fuck, you’re going insane.

“You can’t be mean to him,” Wooyoung says plainly. “He’s a soft, delicate romantic. You’ll break his heart.”

“I could not care less,” you say, collapsing on the depression-colored bed, with a long, dramatic sigh.

“Trust meeee,” he whines. “You’re gonna love him. He’s my best friend.”

“Yeosang is your best friend,” you correct. “There’s no way you’re friends with that.”

“That?” he scoffs. “He’s my second best friend, and so what? He’s sexy and kind!”

“He’s lewd, Wooyoung. He’s out to exploit you, I’m telling you!” You’re taking slow breaths before you lose your shit on your pathetic brother. He already has too much going on. You should save his ears for now.

Wooyoung’s quiet on the other end for a long moment. “Good luck at the performance tomorrow,” he says with a huff. “I heard you’re better at dancing than me.”

“Who said that?” you chuckle.

“Sannie.”

You know the poor maknae is trying to sleep next door, but as soon as you jam your finger into your phone to end the call, you throw it across the room and slam your head into your pillow, and you let out a fuming, long, guttural, muffled scream.

You’ve never performed for an actual audience before. Sure you did your evaluations back in your trainee days, but this is so different. You’ve never dolled up so much in your life. You’ll have to dance and sing like a professional for, like, almost an hour under the watch of thousands of crazy fans.

You’re standing completely still on the second step of the stairs leading to the stage. Your heart is beating like crazy, and you don’t know how to calm it down. You’re Wooyoung. You’re cool and awesome and everyone loves you. It doesn’t help much.

Fuck, when are you going out? You’ve been standing here forever. You don’t want to go out. I mean, you do, obviously. You’re kind of curious why your brother is so addicted to this life. You want to feel the thrill he always talks about.

Two thick hands are gently placed on your hips, but you push them away immediately, swerving around to come face-to-face with Choi. San.

“Don’t be nervous, Young-ah,” he says with a wide smile. “You’re so sexy.”

Your face contorts in disgust. “Don’t say that,” you scoff, eyeing his arrogant dimples as they crease further.

“You like it, though,” he says slyly, his eyes squinting as his lips pucker into a small, scrunched smile. “It’s your favorite compliment.”

“I don’t like compliments,” you deny, popping your brows as he gives a satisfying, confused little expression.

“You’re blushing, though,” he says, reaching slowly to poke your pink cheek. You smack his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” you say strictly, your eyes boring into his as he holds his hand to his chest, clearly offended.

“Why?” he says, turning away as he huffs. “Are you too hot? Will I get burnt?”

“Yes!” you nearly shout, sticking your face closer to his as you scowl. “So don’t touch me. Don’t even think about it!”

He blows you a sweet kiss as you turn around with deeply furrowed brows.

“Ya…” Seonghwa whispers from above you. You look up slowly, your ears ringing in the sudden silence. “They’ll hear you, Wooyoung,” he mumbles, placing a finger to his lips. “Be quiet.”

“Yeah, be quiet, Wooyoung,” San whispers, and you nearly sock him in the face.

Violence is the answer after the performance. Deep breaths. Calm… down…

Performing is oddly comforting. A place where you can jump and run and dance and sing and shout and everyone fucking loves it. Fuck, it feels so nice. You get it within the first few songs – why Wooyoung is addicted to this life. It’s fucking awesome.

Standing there, dancing with a grin from ear to ear, an arm drapes over your shoulders and pulls you close. You don’t even care. The fans eat it up. They scream and squeal and call out your names.

Your eyes meet Choi San’s, the two of you swaying and vibing with the music. He grins, his brows softly scrunched as he shouts out the lyrics of someone else’s part. No one can hear him, but he shouts it anyway, and he’s banging his head, messing up the beautiful work the stylists had done to his black hair. He’s so stupid, is all you can think at all. How can someone be so fucking stupid?

He brings the mic to his lips, and his head stills, his eyes locked in yours. You can hear him now, and, wow, his voice is really pretty. Of course, someone stupid can have a pretty voice. It’s not unheard of. Whatever.

You shrug his arm off and hop to the other side of the stage.

“Fuck yeahhh!!!!!” you exclaim as you leap down the stairs backstage. Your fists are jumping the air as you squeal, punching and swinging until you’re panting by yourself against the wall, leaning back against it with a wide grin.

You’re breathing so fast, your heart racing, and your chest hurts like crazy, but you’re still so fired up, too happy and excited to care. That was so fun. You miss it already. You want to go back up on stage. You want to sing more songs. You want…

Fuck, it’s really hard to breathe when you do so much without any breaks. Your smile is slowly fading as you try to concentrate on your breath. You bring your hands to your chest in confusion, feeling the tight binder under your grasp. It hasn’t caused problems before. It shouldn’t fucking start causing problems now.

But you feel your face turning red, and you aren’t angry at all. You can’t fucking breathe.

You choke on your next inhale, bending over as you break out in breathless coughs and gasps. Fuck, fuck! Your eyes are gonna pop the fuck out. You’re grabbing at your shirt, inhaling desperately, but nothing fucking comes in! The ground is getting too close…

Your forehead slams against the ground before the rest of your body follows. You can’t even shout or cry, your body curling in on itself as your vision turns to static, your hearing gone, your sense tingling.

You’re lifted delicately and slowly from the ground, your eyes closed with hot tears streaming down your cheeks. You wish that hit was enough to knock you out, but here you are in agonizing pain.

“Young-ah!” San must be here. You’re sitting now… on the floor. You can hardly open your eyes, but you feel his hands rushing to carefully remove your stage top. You’re wearing several layers on top of the binder, but alarm shoots through you when you see him taking them off one by one. Your eyes open wide, and you push him away with a gasp. He falls back, his brows furrowed in confusion. You clutch what’s left of your top, breathing heavily as you grit your teeth, your jaw trembling.

“Get out,” you say, hardly able to say it loud enough for his stupid fucking ears to hear. “Get out!” He doesn’t want to go. It’s clear, but you don’t need his help. “I’m fine,” you mutter. “I just need some time alone. I got dizzy.”

He slowly gets up, feeling a little speechless, a little betrayed. But he leaves finally, and you rush into a stall, lock the door, and tear the binder from your chest. You can breathe, and you collapse onto the toilet, gulping the air down as you lean your head against the wall beside you. Your heart can finally calm down, your breaths steadying nicely. But your chest pulls tight quickly as you start to regain some sense in your spinning mind.

This is so humiliating.

How could you almost let yourself get caught like that? How could you let yourself succumb to the weak efforts of the traitor wrapped around your chest? You grip the binder with a newfound hatred, glaring at it as your ears turn a deep shade of red.

No, it isn’t even your fault. It’s this fucking thing’s fault! And once everything’s over, you’re gonna make Choi San wear it for twice the time you will. He needs it more than you anyway with his massive… You glance away from your hands when you witness your fingers scrunch like a pervert in your lap.

Whatever. It’s not a big deal anyway.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, entering the code to your room with tired, hooded eyes. San is wearing pajamas, and he’s showered and squeaky clean, but his presence alone stinks like a possessive stalker cat. That’s a real thing. “It’s been a long day. Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?” Don’t cats sleep more than this? Why is he suddenly acting like he could be human?

“You owe me,” he mumbles, and you eye him, pausing as you open the door. He’s pouting, looking away stubbornly. “For making me worry.”

“Are you serious?”

He turns defensively, pointing at your chest but not daring to touch you. “How am I supposed to sleep if I don’t see you’re okay, first?” he argues, his brows raised as he looks at you expectantly. You say nothing.

So he just goes inside. You don’t stop him. You’re too tired to stop him. You just want to shower and go to sleep. The stage was fun, but you’ve never been more exhausted in your entire life. You’ve never been tired enough to not get angry. It’s a first.

But when you’re done showering, changing, skincaring, and refreshing, and you finally have a soft, natural smile on your face, you’re met with a cat lying on your bed, fast asleep. He’s curled up in your blankets, his face buried in your pillow, his chest enveloping YOUR plushie.

Absolutely not.

He groans at the disturbance as you grab his hair. He isn’t in pain as you pull his head up, glaring at his half-asleep features, and you know because he doesn’t even bother opening his eyes to wake up.

“Get out of my bed,” you say. He smiles a small little devilish smile.

“But it’s a sleepover,” he grumbles, and you drop his head to the pillow with an exasperated scoff.

“Are you a child?” you ask in disbelief.

“Yes, now, go to sleep,” he mumbles, drifting away again.

“No,” you say sternly. “I want to sleep alone. Leave.”

He looks up at you then, a shimmer in his pleading eyes, but you don’t let up. You keep your glare sharp and persistent until he sighs and starts to drag himself up, his body rolling to sitting dramatically. He gets up with a loud huff and stares at you as if giving you a final chance to change your mind.

“Get out,” you say, pushing him lightly. He hardly budges. “Get out, get out, get out… I’m so tiiired.” You push him again and again with each huff until he’s at the door, and you close it in his stupid face. And, finally, you’re alone.

You throw the covers back and shove your legs under them, ignoring how warm he made the bed as you roughly snuggle into your favorite spot. Your phone vibrates just as you let out a content, sleepy sigh. You open your eyes with an irritated stare at the bright light on your bedside table. Your face is shown on the screen, an old photo from your trainee days. You know the photo. Yeosang is on your right and Wooyoung is on your left, but he cropped both of them out. He said it’s the only picture he has of you where you’re genuinely smiling and really, truly happy. For that, he loves it. Sometimes your brother can be sweet.

You put the phone next to your ear so no one can hear him from another room.

“Ya, are you being mean to him?”

Your eyes roll to the back of your brain, trembling and hurting before you let them back down. “No,” you answer.

“You’re a liar,” he scoffs. “There’s a clip going viral of you and San, you know.”

You raise a brow. “A clip?”

“Atiny love Woosan interactions,” he sighs. “They eat it up.”

“Uh huh,” you breathe, more interested in the shadows on the ceiling than this fucking lecture.

“You two were giving the audience what they really wanted to see,” he sighs, “but then you rolled your eyes at him and scurried away like a cat!” He’s laughing at you, wheezing like an idiot as you feel your face grow hot.

“Cats are evil,” you mutter. “I’m not a fucking cat.”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” he laughs. “You’re the definition of a cattitude.”

“What the fuck is that?” you huff, two seconds away from hanging up the phone. Why did he even call you anyway? To nag you about playing with this manipulative evil Choi San? He can talk your ear off all he wants, but no one gets to act in such a way around you or your brother, and he’ll learn that soon.

“Listen, listen…” He’s trying to calm his breath as he settles his laughter. “I know you hate that kind of fanservice, but you really should put in some effort, Y/n,” he sighs. “If you, or, me and San are visibly separated like that, people are gonna ask questions. Including the members.”

“Maybe it’s about time you change things up anyway,” you huff.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m tired. Good night.”

You don’t let him finish before you hang up the phone and turn over to shut your eyes. You start to calm down a little as you let the warmth of the bed sink into your skin. It’s never been this warm this quick before, and it’s making you so drowsy, even after a rise in your heart rate. You fall asleep in no time.

And good sleep brings good attitude, so the morning is bright and nice for your mind. You wake up feeling refreshed and leave bed not dreading the day. Until you open your door, and all of that disappears quickly when you take a step out and find your foot squishing into a giant man’s chest.

You scurry away, almost screaming, cause what the fuck?

Choi San has set up camp outside your bedroom door, snoozing away with pillows and blankets lining the hall in a fluffy makeshift bed. His hair is a mess as he lifts his head in confusion, and his sleepy eyes meet yours in thin, happy slits.

“Good morning, Youngie,” he mumbles. You immediately scratch the little skip your heart did at the sound of his morning voice.

You’re starting to grow hot with anger as you look at the mess, think about everything, and think about everything once more. How could he sleep there?! You told him to go away! How could he just ignore that boundary and sleep outside your room?! Your cheeks are growing pink, but you shake your thoughts away. You must not engage. You should just go. Then, you won't see him anymore, and you can't possibly be mad anymore.

You step with huffing breaths past his limbs under the blankets and stomp away to the kitchen. Maybe some food will make you happy again.

You’ve found that Wooyoung has made a lot of promises before leaving them for you to go through with.

You’ve had to make Jongho dinner at least three times so far, always being met with puppy eyes and pouty lips saying, “You promised.” Fuck that! You can’t even fucking cook. You’re ruining your brother’s reputation, and, you know what, you can’t even find yourself to care with how hard he’s making you work.

Yunho was promised a whole night of gaming. You haven’t played a video game since you were a trainee. You can hear his disappointment each time you die immediately, but he’s too nice to yell at you.

You have to go out to eat with Yeosang, but you don’t mind that actually.

San claims to be promised many things, but you break those without a second thought.

And Seonghwa was promised a lego live and slumber party in his room.

You’ve gotten to know Seonghwa well over the past few weeks, and you like him. He’s cute and takes good care of the members, but he has this elegance to him that makes interacting with him so pleasant. So you agree to do the live, and you agree to sleep over, even if he’s Choi San’s roommate.

Immediately this seems like something you won’t be good at. The lights are dim, the camera is pointed at your face, and the pieces are so tiny, scrambled in little bags over the table. The space is small. His room is small, to begin with, but he invited you here because you would be working on the same set, so it’s okay if the pieces get scrambled a bit.

Seonghwa is the cleanest person you’ve ever met, which comforts you to some extent. Everything about this room is calming. It’s all neat and organized, and your eyes have no reason to find anything about it annoying. You love it. But you know this little craft will make you go insane. You already know, and you haven’t touched a single piece.

“Hi, everyone,” he says softly to the camera. His voice is so gentle, much like his movement as he waves. “Wooyoung finally is joining me to build legos with Atiny.”

“Hi, hi,” you say with a wide smile to showcase Wooyoung’s playful dimples.

“I’m excited for today, maybe more than Tiny is,” he mumbles, smiling to himself as he plays with his computer to make sure everything’s looking nice. “Wooyoung promised a slumber party today.” He covers his mouth as he huffs a shy laugh. “So he has to spend a lot of time with his hyung.”

You huff a laugh too, nodding. “Honestly, this week’s been a little stressful for me, but I think I’ll be able to relax well thanks to him.”

Honestly, you’re so fucking nervous. So many things could go wrong. So many things could set you off. There are so many things to be worried about, and… You won’t be able to take off the binder until you go back home… and who knows if you’ll be able to until tomorrow night…

You swallow your thoughts to the pit of your fluttering stomach as you try to bring your focus back to the soft aroma around you.

Seonghwa’s telling the fans about his day and the set as he starts to open the first bag. You take a subtly deep breath.

The live goes relatively well. You have to excuse yourself to the restroom only once from frustration, running cold water over your flushed cheeks to drain out the color a little. Other than that, assembling legos is nice, and Seonghwa is a relaxing yet engaging person to interact with. It… makes you forget… everything. It’s like you’re truly meant to be there. It feels natural. It makes your mind fade gently into this little life, even if just for an hour or so. It makes you forget your anger.

Until you’re alone again, and this feeling is even more familiar. This is how it usually is. You’ve grown accustomed to being delighted by some peoples’ presence or angered by others, but your roots are truly engraved in you. It’s a bit empty… staring at yourself in the mirror on Seonghwa’s wall and realizing you don’t actually belong here. The illusion that you’re meant here or suddenly not lonely… is being written into your head too deep. It should stop before you get attached.

The binder wrapped around your chest is so uncomfortable, especially since you’ve been wearing it for the entire day. You should take it off, even if it’s just for a few minutes. It feels wrong taking it off in a stranger’s room, but-!

Your head whips around as the door opens, and Choi San walks inside. You cover your chest with the shirt in your hand immediately, your eyes bulging and heart stopped, but he doesn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling by and collapsing on Seonghwa’s bed. His eyes are closed, his body limp and tired. You throw the shirt over your head and take a deep breath.

“I was changing,” you mutter, your body practically shaking as you try not to scream at him. “You couldn’t knock?”

“Hm…?” he grumbles, lifting his head sleepily. “Hi, Young-ah.”

“Choi San!” you shout, covering your mouth quickly to pinch your fucking lips shut. You’re turning red. This is so humiliating. He obviously doesn’t care. Wooyoung probably wouldn’t care. But you fucking care, and you can’t even tell him why. “Knock next time,” you force out quietly. He hums in acknowledgment, but you hardly hear it as you leave the room.

You can’t do this. You’ll tell Seonghwa you don’t feel good, and he’ll let you go. He’ll be sad, but whatever. You can’t deal with that bastard. You can’t fucking do it.

But Seonghwa looks so excited when you come out in the matching pajamas he got for the slumber party. He’s gasping and fangirling over you as you stomp over to him. Each step seems to become just a little softer as his smile numbs your tantrum.

“Ya~!” He takes you in as you stand a few feet away. “Jung Wooyoung? Who are you? You’re too pretty to be Wooyoung,” he compliments. You might’ve frozen up at something like that, but, for some reason, you take it without a second thought, smiling proudly like a cute kitten, folding your arms at your sides as you pose for him.

No. You can’t stay. You need to leave.

“H..yung,” you mumble, the word a little unfamiliar to your lips. “Actually, I…”

“Seriously,” he huffs, coming closer, and you shut your mouth. He leans down and stares intently at your features. You can’t help but look away, your cheeks growing red as he examines you. “Your face has been so cute lately,” he mumbles. “Are you in love?”

“No,” you scoff.

“Are you lying?”

“I’m not!” you mumble, backing away slightly. He looks at you in disbelief. “I’m really not!”

“You’ve gotten a little shorter too.. ya… Do you wear high platforms to seem taller?”

Three centimeters isn’t even that much shorter… How could he notice something like that..? You nod, rolling your eyes. “So what?”

“It’s not good to wear them too much,” he sighs as he walks by.

“Whatever,” you huff, patting your cheeks as you let your quiet panic settle down. He doesn’t actually suspect anything. He’s just calling Wooyoung cute, which is a very valid observation.

“No,” Seonghwa says sternly when he walks into his room to see a snoozing cat on his bed. “No, get out.”

He grabs San’s ankles and pulls him up the bed. San just groans and lets himself get dragged, his shirt riding up his torso until he’s at the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor, his toned stomach on full display, and you… You look away, letting Seonghwa take care of the hindrance.

“Hyung,” San whines. “No one will play with me!”

Seonghwa scoffs. “San, what’s with you these days? Everyone hangs out with you all the time, but you keep complaining 'cause you don’t want to.”

“I want to play with Wooyoungie,” he says, smiling as his eyes meet yours for less than a second. “He’s so cute lately, but he won’t play with me anymore.” He frowns, looking frustratingly at the ceiling. “I don’t know if I should like it or hate it.”

“You should hate it,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “And you should get out. The room isn’t big enough for your broad shoulders.”

He glares at you, but you don’t care. That’s what you want. But when Seonghwa tries to drag him out again, he refuses.

“Hyung, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for saying I didn’t want to play with you. Please let me stay. I’m so bored. Please?”

There is NOT enough room for you, Hyung, and Choi San’s huge ass shoulders, and you’re so fucking close to chopping them off and shoving them through his pouty lips as he eats YOUR cake. The movie isn’t entertaining, despite your attempts to understand it for Seonghwa’s sake, so you're left with your mind focused on every little hindrance he brings to this otherwise nice night.

“You know, Choi San, there’s a lot of room on the floor for people with wide shoulders,” you huff.

He gives you a wide smile, shoving his dimples into your hooded eyes. “There’s room on my lap for little brats.”

You scoff, glaring at his brows as they raise. He pats his lap expectedly, but you look away with a huff.

“You could at least let us eat the cake we bought for us,” you grumble. “Instead of gobbling it up yourself.”

“No,” he says. “Seonghwa stole and ate my cake, so he doesn’t deserve any of his.” You eye him in disbelief. Is he a child? “But Wooyoungie can have as much as he wants.” He holds up a big bite, smiling big as he waits for you to chomp it off the fork.

“No thanks,” you decline. “You ate from that fo-”

He pinches your puffed-out cheeks together and opens your mouth, the cake pushed inside and smooshed against your teeth as he feeds you the bite. Your brows knit together as he pulls his hand away.

“Isn’t it tasty?” he asks, and you shake your head out of spite. “You’re so cute,” he laughs, his thumb wiping away some cream from your bottom lip. He brings it to his own and licks it off without a second thought.

Your eye twitches as you force your head to turn back to the TV. You should calm down. If your tight fists happened to collide with his face, Seonghwa wouldn’t like it very much. For Seonghwa’s sake, you should just ignore him.

But San’s shoulders are just so wide. Every time he tries to move, he bumps into you, and you can’t stop yourself from bumping back. He glares at you, and you glare back, shoulder to shoulder. It’s a war. You use your hands this time, moving his arm further from your body, but he moves it back.

“Are you serious?” you whisper harshly.

“Shh, I’m trying to watch the movie.”

“Bullshit.”

His eyes go wide. “Language!” he whispers, and you bump his shoulder in annoyance.

He doesn’t just do it back, though, he leans over and grabs your waist, and you jump. His fingers jab into your flesh, and the most uncomfortable sensation fills you. You’re helpless to his attack, pressed against the wall as he evades every defensive grab of your hands.

“Choi San,” you scold, but the jabs turn to tickles quickly, and an involuntary grin spreads across your gasping lips. “San, stop!” you laugh, pushing against his hands but failing as he keeps moving them to new places. You push against his chest hard, and he falls back a little, freezing when he bumps into the other man in the bed.

He turns his head around slowly, met with a blank expression from Seonghwa, simply trying to watch the movie.

“We’re sorry, Hyung,” San mumbles, his head low. The floor is hard against your knees, but you honestly deserve it after ruining the night Seonghwa planned. “We got carried away.”

“What’s up with you two?” he sighs, standing in disappointment above the both of you. “Why are you at each other’s throats every two seconds these days?”

“He started it,” you mumble.

“I’m sorry, Hyung,” San says, trying not to laugh, and you glare at him. “He’s just so cute when he’s mad.”

“Seriously, San?” Seonghwa sighs.

“It’s not my fault he looks extra… adorable lately! Like-!” He turns to you with great determination, motioning toward your features one by one. “His eyes are bigger, his lashes are longer, his nose is prettier, his lips are plumper, his mole…” He squints his eyes, but you cover your cheek quickly.

“I’m wearing makeup,” you mumble.

He moves your hand without much effort. “No, you’re not… Where’s your mole…” he mumbles.

“I…” Your eyes shoot from San to Seonghwa. “It..”

“You see what I mean?” he huffs, resting his case. “How do I put it… He’s so… different these days. I feel my heart flutter when he looks at me.”

“Please,” you scoff.

“Really!” he defends, backing away a little as you feel your anger rise. He can probably sense the shift in the atmosphere by now. “I don’t know what to do with myself, Hyung.” He turns back to Seonghwa. “So… it’s not really my fault.”

So San is kicked out to his own room to sleep. You argued his shoulders are far too wide for the room. Seonghwa agreed, and now it’s finally just the two of you in your matching pajamas.

“We’re so cute.” He smiles, happily biting into the strawberry cream cake sitting between you two. “We should have slumber parties more often.”

You nod, melting as you take another bite. “And I understand why you love building legos now,” you mumble. “It was very comforting.”

There’s a nice, long moment of silent cake-eating as you both delight in its taste without a greedy cat eating it all.

“Wooyoung,” he says. “You know… if you keep acting so obvious about it, people will realize…”

You shoot your eyes up from the cake, your heart stopping for a moment. “What?”

He reaches out and taps just below your eye. “That you removed your mole.”

Your brows lift as relief fills you. “Oh! My mole!” you laugh, and he laughs too, nodding.

“I know you don’t really want to bring attention to it, but you’re so bad at keeping secrets.”

You nod, taking another stressful bite. “Thank you, Hyung. I’ll work on it.”

You both finish the cake and giggle and talk all night until you glance at the clock and gasp because it’s almost two in the morning. You rush to wash up and get into bed, still giggling over stupid things. But as soon as the light is off and the room goes silent, you feel yourself dying down and drifting off quickly, like some teenagers after a long day.

Seonghwa’s bed is small, but there’s enough room for the two of you to drift off in your own areas. Seonghwa falls asleep first, making small sighs and mumbles as he snoozes away. It’s so cute. You listen to him for a while before you finally let your mind rest.

Wooyoung messages you every morning, telling you to eat and to be kind and shit, but this morning is different. It’s been a few days since your slumber party with Seonghwa, and everything has fallen into place. It all really feels like routine by now, like this is natural for you. Until you’re hit with a fucking brick, remembering the reality of the situation once again.

Y/n-nie: you got a notification..what does two days left mean??

Y/n-nie: ??

Y/n-nie: are you going to kill someone? are you counting down… IS IT CHOI SAN?!?

Y/n-nie: DONT FUCKING TOUCH HIM!

You put the phone down and stare at the wall. Your period. You’d completely forgotten about the monthly punishment for being female.

You have no pads… You have no comfort items. Do they keep pain medicine in the dorms? How the fuck will you gather supplies without anyone knowing? Especially considering that leech, Choi San.

Fuck, now that you’re awake, there’s definitely an ache forming. That useless app never guesses right. It always comes a day or so early. You groan as you force yourself out of bed.

The convenience store down the street has everything you need. You’re biting your lip to wait until you have some water to ease the pain with a pill, so you rush back to the dorm.

Jongho is eating breakfast when you trudge back inside. He looks over curiously at the sound of the plastic bag.

“What did you buy so early in the morning?” he asks. “Did you sneak out so you could get a sweet treat for yourself?” he accuses.

“No,” you grumble, pulling the bag a little behind your back so he can’t see. “It’s nothing.”

He immediately gets up, and you back away. “Why are you hiding it then?” he asks, raising a brow. He reaches behind you, but you pull it away.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, your cramps worsening as you stand still. “Go eat your breakfast. I have to go get ready.”

“Hyung, you’re the worst liar,” he chuckles, and his hand snags the bag. You grab it back, pulling and keeping it closed as he tries to peek inside. You rip the bag in half as you try to get it back, but you snatch the pads midair and run to your room.

You really can’t do this right now. You’re bent over, leaned against the locked door as you try to ground yourself. It takes slow steps to make it to the bathroom. There are just a few small drops of blood on your panties, so you ignore them and stick a pad over. But you can’t get up. The pain has tripled since you walked through your bedroom door. There’s a growing buzz vibrating in your head as you lean it against the cold tile of the wall. Fuck, you hope you don’t pass out here. You’re sweating, hot and limp yet tense in your core, or else you think your guts might fall out. You feel like you might throw up, but that should pass quickly if you wait patiently. You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut as the pain only gets worse. And the binder around your chest… fuck, you can’t breathe. You take it off and leave it on the floor as you stumble to wash your hands and make it to the bed.

You search for the medicine you bought, but it’s not on the counter or floor or anything. You take a deep breath to hold in your frustration and just make it your goal to curl up in bed.

It feels a little better, no binder, soft surface, fluffy blankets draped over you, your legs pulled loosely to your chest as you lay limply on your side. You have a schedule today, but it’s not too important. You should tell your manager you’re sick, but you don’t have your phone near you. You can’t even begin to think of where that might be.

There’s a soft knock at your door, and it takes a second for you to call out for them to just come in.

“Sorry, Young-ah,” San says softly as he peeks inside. “You must’ve been sleeping.”

“No, it's okay,” you mumble, honestly just a little relieved to have something for your mind to be focused on that isn’t the knives stabbing into you.

He steps inside and closes the door. “Are you okay?” he asks as he takes in the view of you. You’re sweating and breathing heavily, curled into yourself. “Do you have a fever?”

“I…It hurts all over,” you mumble, and his expression changes from worry to pain as he watches you shift and whimper softly.

He leans down, his face just inches from yours as he gazes at your features, gently tucking away the hair in front of your eyes. “Close your eyes, baby, I’ll make you feel better.”

If you could move at all, you’d punch yourself at the way your heart flutters just slightly. Instead, you listen and close your eyes, gazing just a second longer at his gentle features.

“Youngie~” It’s such a gentle voice, a sweet hum to your pounding ears. A soft hand is placed against your cheek, your head lifted slowly, as if not to disturb your sleep, as if you’re the most delicate thing to ever touch his skin. As if it’s actually carefilled, loving.

San’s face is clear even before his features straighten in your hazy gaze. His eyes are trained on your lips, careful fingers softly pushing two pills between them. A glass taps them then, and warm tea meets your tongue at a slow, patient pace. You swallow, a shiver gliding down your chest to your aching stomach as the delightful warmth of the tea touches your swollen insides.

“Did you eat yet today, Youngie?” he asks, placing your head back on the fluffy pillow.

“No,” you mumble. “I’m not hungry.”

“You should eat something,” he says, and he starts to get up, but your eyes widen a little. If he leaves, your mind will focus on the pain, and it hurts so much. You reach out before you can even think and grab his sleeve. “I’ll be right back,” he says, gently clasping your hand as he tries to leave. “It’ll make you feel-”

“Please stay,” you mumble. “Just for a little… It still hurts so much.” You pull a little, and he steps closer. “L-lay with me for a bit?” What are you even saying? You just… know he can make you feel better. You don’t care about anything except making the cramps disappear quickly.

The bed sinks softly as he lays behind you. Under the covers, a new warmth meets your back, a soft breath against your neck. You relax against him, feeling the subconscious tension in your limbs fall into his calming aroma. His body curls into yours, matching your form, bigger and warmer, keeping you perfectly content aside from the dulling ache.

“What’s wrong, Youngie?” he mumbles, his warm breath puffing gently across your skin. “Did you overwork yourself again?”

You lower your gaze to the movement of the blanket as he wraps his arm around your waist, his hand meeting your stomach. His fingers dip under your shirt, spreading across the width of your body, and you shudder at the feeling. You should probably move away. He could find out your secret. You wouldn’t mind. He could make you forget all about the pain and make you drift asleep with his touch.

“We love you, Wooyoung.” His thumb caresses your skin in slow rubs. “You can take your time, and we’ll always be here to listen to your troubles. You don’t have to keep them all to yourself.”

You don’t say anything. It’s not really your place to say anything anyway. Even if… some people should know their place, it’s good to know Wooyoung has a family he can count on.

You’ve mastered the art of Wooyoung. It’s been five weeks since you took your brother’s place, and you feel very immersed in the role. You’ve learned all of the inside jokes by now, figured out each of the members, and perfected almost all of their choreographies. You could become Wooyoung at this point, and no one would ever know. You survived your period without anyone knowing. Sure, everyone knew there was something wrong, pitying you the whole week while you wobbled around, but no one suspected a thing. You’re just too good at this.

“Sangie,” you mumble, chewing happily on the freshly grilled meat. “Should we visit my sister next time we have a break?”

Yeosang smiles at the sudden suggestion. “Sure. I haven’t seen her in years.” Oh, he’s so cute.

If Yeosang comes to visit you once you’re back in your old life, you’ll be able to get a glimpse of the little chapter in your boring life you actually enjoyed. So you’ll set up lots of dates and promises before you leave. Serves Wooyoung right anyway.

“Another bottle of soju, please!” Seonghwa calls out, sitting across from you at the table. He smiles when he catches your eye. “You’ve worked so hard, Wooyoung. Let it out tonight.”

“Kay,” you mumble happily through your food.

The company dinner is a nice reward after your endless effort to keep up with the schedule that comes with Wooyoung’s life. The food is delicious, the atmosphere is bustling and joyful, and you get to drink for the first time in fucking forever.

Every shot makes you melt into your seat, a content, relaxing sigh leaving your lips. Except…

“Youngie, plea~se!” There’s been a child whining in your ear the whole night. “Please do it with me?”

San’s face is bright red, his eyes glazed over as he rocks back and forth with a strong pout. You’re ignoring him, enjoying your food without even listening to his request.

“I’ll do anything,” he mumbles, feeling a little defeated. Your brow quirks at that.

“Anything?” His posture fixes itself as soon as your eyes land on him, and he nods eagerly.

He’s so fucking drunk. He said he was a good drinker but got quiet after two shots. Then he started begging to have a competition. You might indulge… if it means you can get something from him. Amusement at watching him humiliate himself. You giggle to yourself before turning to him with a newfound encouragement.

“Pour the shots.”

His hand is trembling as he clanks the bottle against your glass, nearly spilling the whole thing as he pulls away. You bring the glass to your lips when he does, and you catch his eye, a determined look in him.

One shot, and he’s breathing heavily, but he won’t give in. You’re a pretty good drinker, but you’ve already had a lot, and you’re getting pretty hazy yourself.

Two shots. Three shots. Seven shots. You’ve finished two bottles, one each, and you can hardly keep your vision straight. He’s swaying back and forth, arms limp in his lap as he stares blankly at you. You both lost, but you probably won’t remember the whole event by morning, so you forget it, slamming your head to the table with a huff.

San mumbles something, as he gets up. Maybe he’s going to the bathroom. It would be so funny if he drops outside the toilet and everyone would see him. You snort to yourself. You wanna see it happen.

You stumble to your feet, following him through the tables to the bathrooms. It’s empty inside, quiet and dim. He goes in and stands by the mirror. He runs his fingers through his hair, groaning against his cool hands.

“Wooyoung… what are you doing to me…” His voice is so low and slurred, but you make out every word, and it fills you with rage. This again?! You thought by now he’d have learned his lesson and kept away, but he’s still going after you? No, after your brother?! You guess he’s so fucking slow, he needs it shoved in his face.

“Choi San!” you shout, and he looks up, shocked. “Shut the fuck up!” He frowns as you stomp over to him, looking guilty but not sure why. You grab his wrist and unhook that fucking binder. As it falls to the floor, you shove his hand under your shirt and onto your chest. His eyes widen like crazy as you scowl at him, his hand trembling. “I’m not fucking Wooyoung! And you need to learn your fucking place!” you shout, panting. “You don’t get to-!”

“So that’s why…” he mumbles, his fingers twitching around your flesh. “I’ve wanted to fuck you lately…”

Your face drops, your brows knitting together. “What?”

“Fuck…” he groans, squeezing your breast as he takes in your flushed form against his. “That’s why your face is so pretty. I’ve wanted to kiss you so bad. Every time you yell at me, I’ve wanted to push you so far, so you just shove me to the ground and have your way with me.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. “Because you’re not Wooyoung. I probably knew the whole time… you just can’t guess something like that.”

“Yeah?” you scoff, and he nods, bringing his hands to your hips as he pulls you flush against him. “You’re a fucking liar. I know you just want to take advantage of Wooyoung.”

“I’ve never thought of him like that until recently. Until it wasn’t him.”

Fuck. Fuck! He’d practically known the whole time?! If he knew the differences right away, who knows if you even got away with any of it at all? You bite your lip, trembling with frustration and anger.

“You weren’t very good at hiding it… now that I think about it.”

You shove him against the wall, a deep scowl on your features. His grin as you shove your finger into his chest just fuels you even more. “Bastard,” you bite. “I worked day and night for fucking weeks, and you aren’t even surprised?! It wasn’t worth it at all?!”

“Don’t be mad,” he coos, leaning forward again.

Your restraints are snapping one by one as you glare from his cat-like smile to his squinted eyes. He’s having the time of his life. You don’t even try to stop your hand from wrapping around his throat as he leans closer and closer. You close your fingers, tightening just as his lips meet yours with a low groan.

The movement is intense as soon as the flame is lit. His lips don’t fight for the dominance you place over his, your hand around his neck bringing him lower, closer to your dangerous taste. Your breaths are tangled, vocal, and quick as you kiss over and over in a maddening dance.

“Don’t fuck with me,” you growl, but his only response is to cup your face and bring you closer, biting your bottom lip gently before kissing it better.

You glare at him as you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling lightly and fuming at the way he groans against your lips. What does this fucker not like? You really want to test his boundaries, make him regret playing with you. You want to push him to the ground and fucking destroy him just to watch him finally understand the authority you have over him. You-

The door opens, and you’re both immediately separated, facing away from each other, pretending like nothing was happening. Jongho walks in, pausing when he sees the view. San’s messy hair, sticking up like it was clearly grabbed, your flushed faces, the piece of clothing at San’s feet. San kicks it behind him quickly.

Jongho gives a blank look. “Did you two fight again?” he asks, used to the cat fights by now. “Anyway, we’re going home. Come on, Hyung.” He motions for you to come, and you almost hesitate. If not for the much-needed clarity Jongho’s interruption brought, you would’ve done so much more damage. You would have ruined everything. You rush out of the room behind him.

“You can’t yet. We’re almost done here. Hold out for a little longer.”

“No. Fuck this! I can’t do this, Wooyoung! I’m going crazy!” you shout into your phone. “I…” You can’t fucking tell him. You’re being swayed by the members. Changed and warped into something you’re not. You’re starting to like it here, and you need to go back to your life… where no one else will ever bother you, and you can live alone again. Forever. “I need to get out of here,” you say.

“Just one more week,” he says. “Please…”

One more week. “Fine.”

But you’re not going to be nice about it.

San doesn’t talk to you, and you don’t talk to him, but you feel his eyes on you while you’re all practicing for an upcoming festival performance. He’s looking blankly. Maybe he doesn’t even remember what happened. But it doesn’t matter. You’ll never see him again after this performance. And you’re so fucking glad.

“Hyung, come on! Get into it!” Jongho shouts, his eyes meeting yours through the mirror.

You give him an annoyed look, your head hurting too much to care much for the dance. The music is pounding in your ears, but you move anyway. They’re lucky they get that from you after a late night of drinking.

“Hyung,” Jongho chuckles. “Why are you so down?” He leans in, giving you a suddenly serious expression. You lean away. “Is it ‘cause you and Sannie are fighting again?”

You eye him. “Yeah,” you mumble. “He’s a fucking jerk.”

He laughs, smacking your chest, and you flinch. He keeps his hand there, though, raising a brow. You step away. “Hyung, are you working out more? Is Sannie forcing you to go to the gym with him? Is that why you’re always mad at him?” He goes to feel your chest again, but a veiny, furious hand grabs his wrist.

“Don’t touch people like that, Jongho,” a tight-voiced San spits bitterly. Jongho’s eyes grow a little wide as he tries to retract his hand.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, finally snatching his arms back, rubbing his wrist. “Sorry.” You’ve never seen the maknae so quick to listen, giving an annoyed look before walking away.

You don’t even bother with San, just walk away. Your head is fucking throbbing.

“Get it together,” is all Hongjoong has to say to you and San when he pulls you aside the night before the performance in Japan. It’s obvious the chemistry and friendship Woosan have that the fans love is missing. It’s obvious to everyone that something is going on, and you’re just being petty, but you don’t fucking care.

After ignoring him for a week, though, you think you can get away with it. Until those bastards fucking lock you into a closet. They lure you in, and, suddenly, it’s just you, San, and a room hardly big enough for one person.

Your chest to his, feet staggered, breath against breath, and the need to fucking kill someone are all resting in this dimly lit closet.

“You two can come out when you’ve made up,” Hongjoong sighs. “If you miss the performance, so be it. You have thirty minutes.”

“This is your fucking fault,” you scoff as soon as you hear him walk away.

“My fault? As if you didn’t lie to everybody and then make everything complicated by kissing me,” he argues.

“Me? You literally said you’d been thinking about fucking me!” you whisper aggressively.

“I was drunk!”

“So was I!”

Your faces are hardly separated at all, your words and breaths mixing as the closet grows hotter and hotter.

“You! You lust after my brother! You’re a bastard!”

His brows twist in confusion. “I do not. He’s my best friend… I don’t like him like that!”

“Liar! We look exactly the same!”

He shakes his head quickly. “You have prettier eyes! They’re bigger, and the color is different!” He points to each feature, gazing at them with determination. “You have a cuter nose than him! Your lips are softer than his! Your hair is softer than his! Your jawline isn’t so defined! You have the cutest features that obviously aren’t his! Your body is smaller and the perfect shape! Your expressions are cuter! You get mad all the time, but you make the cutest face! You don’t even understand how unlike him you are! You’re so obviously Y/n! So maybe I did fall for you a bit when I thought you were your brother, but it’s because of those changes that make you so different from him! Because you’re fucking adorable!”

He’s panting, scowling even, as you just stare at him. Honestly, you blanked out. You didn’t even hear the end. Your name rolled from his lips without a second thought. You can’t decide if it hurts your heart or fumes it with rage, or even if it makes you happy. You’re so conflicted, just staring in silence.

When the door opens again twenty minutes later, you’re both still staring in silence. Despite the threat, you both have to perform without giving evidence of reconciliation.

And, being on stage again, you’ve decided that you’re fucking pissed. Your mind goes a little blank as you perform the choreo you’ve recited for hours on end, day after day, just for your brother. You’re fuming, glaring at the crowd, the fans of your brother. The members who laugh and dance with your brother. Each move that adds to that fucking reputation you’re here to protect. For your brother. And the man who you came here to put in his place so that your brother is never hurt. The man who you refuse to accept you want just because he’s your brother’s best friend, and you need to protect your brother’s image and do every fucking thing for HIM.

You’re standing here at the edge of the stage, the instruments ringing in your ears. You’re red. You’re dancing in circles as you let the energy of the music take hold of your mind. You need to release everything, or you might just fall into the crowd. Your chest is so tight. You need something to get rid of this feeling. You’re so fucking sick of it. You want it gone.

The music? The fans? The dance? The members? The performance? Choi San? His hooded eyes meet yours as he leans closer. The cameras are on you, yet he moves closer and closer. You’re in a heated daze, meeting him closer. Your foreheads collide, your breaths dancing as he whispers to you.

“Use me.”

“Get this off right now,” you demand, gripping his shirt as you stumble into your hotel room. You strip off your pants, backing him to the bed just as his shirt gets over his head. His breath hitches as he watches you toss your panties off to the side, gazing at your bare legs. You quickly throw your shirt over your head, and his eyes follow your fingers as they unzip the binder. Within a minute, your entire body is bare to him, and he’s so fucking hard.

You admire his chest, biting your lip as you run your fingertips over his beautiful features. It’s not like you aren’t used to it by now. The man lives without his shirt, but seeing it here, just for your eyes, makes you so excited.

You push him to the bed, climbing on top of him. As soon as his head hits the mattress, two hands are grabbing his hair and shoving his mouth against your leaking cunt. You watch his eyes roll as he licks against your sweet core, his tongue grinding against your clit before he kisses it prettily. You sigh, grinding down against his tongue and pulling him closer by his messy locks.

“That’s it, Sannie,” you groan. “Use your lips for something good for once.”

His hands grab your thighs to pull you lower, putting your weight on his face until all he can feel or breathe is your pussy. His tongue is messy and quick, diving into your hole as he groans against you.

“You like that?” you scoff, biting your lip as he hums. “You liked being choked in the bathroom too, didn’t you? You wanna drown in my pussy?” You feel the bed shift as his hips buck slightly into the air. You know he’s rock hard, but he’s being good and not touching himself like you know he so desperately wants to. “Fuck,” you whimper as he sucks on your throbbing clit. “Only you can make me this wet anyway. You deserve it.”

The sight is making you dizzy, his brows furrowed, eyes hazy as they gaze at your figure above him. His lips are pressing and pleasuring just the right spots, his tongue fucking your tight hole and drinking your arousal over and over again. You can’t help but let your voice escape in your breaths as you roll your hips along with his movements.

If you’d known he could do this, you might’ve told him earlier. No, that’s not true. Because you can’t have Choi San. You’ll fucking take him anyway.

You push his face away, scowling as his warm breath fans your dripping folds. You move to sit on his lap, and he jolts when you grind your hips down on his erection. His mouth is messy with your arousal, his lips plump from their desperate work.

He wants you so fucking bad, but you can’t have him?!

You press your lips to his neck, noticing the way he bares the skin for you to taste. Your teeth graze his soft, unmarked skin, and you want to sink into him so fucking bad. You want to mark him and show everyone he belongs to you, even if you’re not allowed to have him.

You press your teeth into his throat lightly, and his breath hitches, his hips pressing up against you. His breath against your ear is heavy as his fingers entwine with your hair, pulling you closer to his neck, teeth deeper into his skin. That’s right. He wants to be used. He wants to be owned.

You bite his neck, a moan escaping his lips as he trembles beneath you. You lick at the indents, nibbling and sucking all over his neck to leave your trace. Every part of him should be marked. You’re fuming, latching onto his collarbone, his chest, nibbling on his nipple just to watch him get more and more worked up beneath you.

“Y/n,” he whimpers. It must have been ten minutes of this. He’s enjoying every little mark, every little sensation, panting and whimpering as you have your way with him.

“What’s wrong, Sannie?” you ask, sitting between his legs, cheek resting on his inner thigh as he begs you with his gaze for more. “Does it hurt?” You gently poke his erection, straining painfully against his pants.

He nods. “You’re so mean,” he whines.

“Don’t you know that’s what you signed up for?” you chuckle. “Don’t you know how fucking furious I am right now?!” He nods, biting his lip as he watches you eye the twitch in his bulge. “Playing with you is helping me, Sannie. I’m sorry if I’m being mean,” you coo. You tilt your head as an idea meets your mind. “Do you want to show me? How should I make it up to you?”

“C-can I touch you?” he asks, his expression falling when you shake your head.

“No, Sannie. How do you want me to touch you?” His eyes go a little wide in embarrassment. “Show me.”

“I… I don’t know,” he mumbles, looking away as his face flushes a deep pink.

“Come on, Sannie,” you mumble, stretching the waistband teasingly. “Don’t be shy. Show me how you want me to touch you.”

His hands tremble as they hesitate with each motion toward his erection. He palms himself over his sweats first, gazing at your features as you watch his hand. He’s so embarrassed, but the eager, aroused expression on your face is spurring him on. He wants to give you everything you want.

His hand slides into his pants, and he takes his cock out, groaning at the way you lick your lips. He strokes himself slowly, tightly. He doesn’t want to cum. Not by himself. But the sight of you on top of him has him so fucking sensitive. Each slow stroke has an airy moan leaving his lips. He tries to keep them in because he’s so embarrassed to be feeling this good all on his own, but it’s useless.

His thumb swipes across the tip every few strokes, his body jolting each time. Precum is leaking more and more, and the sounds are getting so lewd, so wet.

“Do you like it there?” you ask, running the palm of your hand over the head. He moans, grabbing your wrist without even thinking.

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah, it feels g-good there.”

You sigh, sitting back and watching his thick fingers slide against himself. He’s big and thick, just like the rest of him. It’s veiny too, feeling far too explicit for the cute man Choi San is. Watching this innocent man stroke himself just the way he likes it just makes you so fucking desperate to get your hands back on him.

You bite your lip as you move off of him.

“Come here, Sannie.”

He’s quick to shove his pants off and move to between your legs, his hands finding your waist without a second thought, rubbing your soft skin as he catches his breath.

“I’m so frustrated,” you sigh. “But if we feel good together, I might feel better. Hmm?” You reach down and spread your slicked folds for him to see, inviting him inside, but he doesn’t move, his eyes trained on the sight. “Come on, San, fuck me.”

He groans, grabbing his cock and lining it up with your hole. Just as he’s about to push inside, you can’t help but crack a knowing smile.

“Since the head feels so good for you, only put that in,” you say, and his head shoots up so fast, his brows twisted in confusion.

“Y/n,” he mumbles. “I wanna feel you, though.”

“You showed me how you wanted to be touched, Sannie. I’ll make you feel good. With just the tip.”

He looks devastated, and you almost laugh at how adorable it is. But he pushes inside anyway, jaw-dropping at how warm you are inside.

“Fuck,” you groan, your back arching as your mind goes blank for a moment, the pleasure of being stretched on his cock better than anything else. But he keeps going. “Sannie,” you warn, and he stops quickly, looking away guiltily. “Does it feel good?” You press yourself just a bit deeper, and he nods quickly, biting his lip as he glares at the connection between you two.

He doesn’t start moving until it becomes unbearable just sitting in your warmth. There’s hardly any way to move, but he grinds the tip in and out of your pussy, frustration and pleasure pulling at his mind. It’s so tight and wet, but he can hardly feel it. He wants to feel it all. He wants to fuck you hard and deep. This isn’t enough at all.

But you look like you could cum any second, his tip pressing against your g-spot, stretching you enough to grind just softly against your clit. It feels fucking amazing. And better yet, you know he’s getting pent up with every second he’s left with just an inch of your pussy to enjoy.

“Y/n,” he huffs, gazing at you desperately, feeling dizzy with how you’re grinding against him, moaning and whimpering softly. “C-can I go deeper please?” he mumbles.

You shake your head. “I’m so close. Keep going,” you say breathlessly.

He gazes at how you’re dripping, soaking his length and the sheets. He watches you clench around what little your desperate pussy can find. He can’t help but want to feel you convulse around him. He needs something. Anything. So he rubs his fingers over your clit, watching your eyes roll back as you grind faster and harder, going just a bit deeper. Maybe you’d suck him in. He could go deeper without you even realizing it. He could feel your cream on his cock. He rubs faster, hearing the growing squelch of your overflowing slick as the length grinding inside becomes longer and longer. He holds his moans at the overwhelming pleasure slowly being revealed to him. Until you drop your hips, his cock pulling out completely. He glances at you in confusion.

“Are you being bad, Sannie?” you ask, panting and fuming at your orgasm being delayed simply because he couldn’t do what he was fucking told. “Were you being greedy? Gonna fuck me even though I said no?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No!” he insists. “I was just trying to help you cum,” he mumbles.

“And you lie to me?” you scoff. “Bad boys don’t get rewards, Sannie. Sit there and be good for once, fuck.” You bring your fingers to your clit, and he stays still between your legs, cock hanging uselessly. You rub hard and fast, biting your lip as you rebuild the tension you’ve lost.

“You- You’re gonna cum on your own?” he mumbles, distressed as your soft moans get louder, and your movements get faster. “I- I can help,” he panics, but you push him away with your free hand with a grunt. He falls back onto the bed, eyes frantically switching from your throbbing pussy to your blissed-out expression as you get closer and closer. His chest is so tight. He wants to feel you cum around him so fucking bad, but you’re being so mean. Why the fuck are you messing with him so much?! He feels like a spoiled brat, but he’s so angry, so frustrated. He just wants to make you feel good, pound into your pussy, but you’re making everything so difficult!

“F-Fuck me,” you moan out as you’re right on the edge. Your eyes meet his in a hazy glare, but he’s frozen. Did he hear you right? Your jaw is clenched as you hold in your orgasm for him. “Fuck. Me.”

His cock slams into you, and you rub your clit fast and hard, your walls clenching around him as he thrusts quick and deep into you. Your eyes roll back as you let out your pent-up moans, your climax taking over your entire being, your limbs trembling as you cream around his cock.

His head falls to your shoulder as he whimpers with each hard, desperate thrust. His hips slam against yours, the slick between you making a mess on your skin. It’s loud and sloppy, no one caring much for decency anymore as you chase the pleasure you’d been building up for. His hands are on your hips, pulling you to meet each thrust impatiently. And his cock is so fucking thick, running along your walls and hitting every desperate spot within you.

“San! Ngh~! San!” you moan, your voice being knocked out of you with each thrust. He’s panting against your skin as he bites and kisses your shoulder and neck. “K-kiss me,” you breathe, hardly able to get out a word that isn’t his name as his relentless pace drowns your thoughts.

His lips smash against yours, his hips rolling as he focuses on your tongue against his, the taste of you clouding his frustration for a long moment.

“Y/n,” he groans as your fingers run through his hair. “S-So pretty,” he mumbles, kissing you again and again. “So tight, just for me.” His hips pick up their pace again, and your lips can’t keep up with his, pleasure with each slam hitting your entire body.

He rests his forehead against yours, gazing into your teary eyes as your puffy lips fall apart into unsuppressable moans. He wraps his arms under your thighs and raises them higher, pressing deeper into you with each thrust.

“S-San,” you whimper, watching his hungry eyes move from your pussy to the tears dripping down your cheeks. “C-can you say my name?”

He pecks your lips, panting as he chokes out, “Y/n.” You nod, your pussy fluttering around him as his low voice meets your ears.

“San, fuck~” you shout as his fingers find your clit and rub fast. “Again, baby, please say it again.” Tears are streaming down your face as your clit and your hole are pleasured thoroughly, mind going blank as he growls your name again and again.

“San,” you pant. “S-San~ Ah.. ngh I’m so close,” you cry, grabbing onto his shoulders as the pleasure moves faster and harder through your body. Your eyes are rolled back, your head dipped into the pillow as you thrust your pussy against his sloppy movements, his voice getting higher and more desperate with yours.

“Y/n, Y/n, fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls, slamming your hips against his cock as he buries himself deeper and deeper, losing his rhythm. “Cum with me, baby- ngh~” he moans, and you pull him as close as possible, your arms wrapped around his head as your body convulses with immense pleasure, his thrusts riding your high and fingers keeping it going for so fucking long, your lips trembling and voice breaking as you let go. He buries himself deep, his cock twitching as he meets you there, his voice high and unsuppressed right beside your ear. You’re filled with his warmth, spasming as you feel him fill you. You’re so full, so warm, so satisfied, panting as you hold him close.

Your legs slowly slide to the bed as he lets himself lean his weight on you, just slightly. You don’t mind. It’s warm and comforting, being so close, being so vulnerable. His head slowly rises, and you let him, your arms falling to the bed. His eyes are still hazy, meeting yours with soft trembles. He gives you a soft, lazy kiss before slowly pulling out and collapsing beside you.

You don’t say a word as you curl into his chest, letting him hold you there, breath against breath, no worries nor thoughts, just comfort.

“A sex cult?” His jaw drops, and you nod, cracking up. “How do you even…” He sighs. “He’s so odd.”

“But we used to do this all the time as kids. You know, I trained with Yeosang and Wooyoung at BigHit.”

San raises a brow. “Sangie didn’t recognize you?”

“Well, it’s been a while, and… you know,” you giggle. “He never really knows what’s going on.”

He laughs, nodding as he holds you close to his chest. “You’d think he’d remember such a feisty personality.”

You pucker your lips. “I’d say it’s more passionate than feisty,” you mumble. “I can’t help but get angry… I’m sorry for being so rude.”

He pauses for a second, then pushes you away so he can really look at your face. “No, I don’t accept your apology. Why did you tease me so much?”

You blush, looking away shyly. “I didn’t really…”

“I was dying, Y/n,” he says, completely serious. “You enjoyed my struggle.”

“Well,” you huff. “I was so angry at everything. I just needed you to fuck it out of me, you know?” He raises his brows. “You wouldn’t have if I asked. You’d be too careful about it,” you argue. “So I just worked you up to it. I’m sorry, Sannie.”

He grins, shaking his head in disbelief before pulling your head back to his chest. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Wooyoung, when will you be here?” you whine into the phone, lying lazily on your couch.

Wooyoung promised to bring Yeosang and San to your hometown during their next break. It’s been a month since you returned home. Your hair has grown to your shoulders, and you’re so excited to see them again. Wooyoung was hesitant when you mentioned bringing San. He thought you might try to kill him since you didn’t succeed in your time as Wooyoung.

But you just want to see him again.

You’ve been texting and calling every day since you left, but a long-distance relationship is so frustrating. And you’re hiding it from Wooyoung nonetheless. Maybe one day you’ll tell him, but you don’t want him to freak out about it.

When the front door opens, you shoot to your feet. Wooyoung strides inside and gives you a big hug, but you don’t even bother with him, moving past him to greet the important guests. Yeosang is smiling brightly, handing you a little gift, and San… San is as dangerously perfect as you remember.

You bow politely. As your head lowers, you let a blush spread across your cheeks. Is it wrong… in front of everyone… that you want to take him away and feel him again? You’ve been talking for a month, but you haven’t been able to have a deep connection. The temptation to take him away right now is so strong.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n,” he says.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I’ll… show you around.” You turn to Wooyoung and Yeosang quickly. “‘Cause you guys have been here.”

You start walking before anyone can even say anything. San follows, and, as soon as you enter your bathroom, you pin him against the wall and melt against him as his arms wrap around your waist. Your lips meet hard and fast.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper, hardly any sound at all as your lips are too busy memorizing the feel of his. You cup his face in your hands as you pull him closer to your movement. “San…” you sigh.

You both freeze when a figure walks into view and stops beside you. You both glance over, eyes wide in shock as Yeosang’s horrified expression meets you.

“You- We- S-” He’s looking from you to him, covering his mouth, speechless.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung calls out. “Are they fighting?!” Wooyoung runs down the hall, but you push away from San immediately, standing beside the sink with a composed expression masking your panic.

Yeosang is still looking from you to San, unsure of what to do, but a single twitch of your head tells him not to say a word.

“Young-ah, that’s not nice,” San jokes. “Why would we be fighting?”

He eyes you skeptically.

“Did she threaten you?”

“Ya,” you grumble. “I was just showing him the rooms. I wouldn’t pick a fight with someone I just met.”

“Uh huh,” he mumbles before turning to go back to the living room.

“Since when are you guys…” Yeosang mumbles. “I mean, you’ve never met.”

“We’ll tell you everything,” you sigh. “But later. We don’t want Wooyoung to know. He’d go crazy.”

Yeosang looks conflicted. You know he can’t lie. You know he can’t keep a secret. Especially from Wooyoung, who presters him until he tells him everything he knows. But you’re really counting on him. Wooyoung definitely can not know.

“I’ll buy you chicken,” you offer, and he’s immediately made up his mind.

You return to your brother, the other two going to the kitchen to prepare the food they brought for lunch. Wooyoung looks lost in thought when you sit next to him on the couch.

“What’s wrong, Youngie?” you ask, looking toward the kitchen cautiously.

He sighs. “Actually, Y/n, I didn’t just come here to visit.” He bites his lip. “I sort of got into some trouble… again…”

You look at him in disbelief. “Again? What happened this time?”

“Well… that lady from Paris… the one that got me into this mess. I didn’t want to tell the company. Like, we won the case. I’m not in that cult anymore.” He lowers his voice. “But I really wanted to settle it quickly, so I went to visit her personally.” Your jaw drops just a bit. “And she gave me a contract that would settle everything. I didn’t…”

“Fuck, Wooyoung,” you laugh in disbelief.

“She tricked me!” he argues. “She’s a master manipulator!”

“So what now? Did you sell your soul to the devil? Did you… I don’t know… become her slave or something?”

“Marriage.”

“No fucking way,” you scoff. “What didn’t you read to sign a fucking marriage contract? Are you actually slow?”

“I know, I fucked up,” he whispers. “But please help me out one more time. I… I’ll figure it out.”

“Does-”

“Young-ah, I thought we got two orders of the spicy chicken,” San mumbles as he walks into the living room. Your conversation stops with a long sigh from your lips.

“I’ll do it,” you tell your brother, reaching for the chicken box in San’s hands. “It’s fine. We can share.”

It’s not like you don’t have your own reasons anyway.

taglist ~

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hxnbi · 1 month ago

Note

hi!! I love your writing :). I wanted to request an angst to fluff scenario where reader likes the boy and confesses to him but he turns her down, but then he later regrets it and comes back?? and they live happily ever after??? i don’t really have any specific preferences other than that but im such a sucker for rejecting and regretting/she falls first he falls harder scenarios!! im using her/she to refer to the reader rn but i dont have any preference, just not sure how else to write it haha id love if you could include suo, togame, and umemiya but totally up to you :).

hey so thanks sm for your request! i loved writing this and with these boys, tho umemiya's does end on a pretty angsty note with how i was initially drafting it. i hope thats okay ♡

confessions, rejections, and regrets

⸻ °♡⃘ . you confess to the boy you liked, only to be rejected. or so you think, as, unbeknownst to you, the next time, it would be him begging for your heart

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Suo Hayato

Tears. All you could feel dripping from your face and down your cheeks was the salty aftermath of your own tears. And standing before you, the boy who had just rejected you.

"I'm sorry, I just don't see you in that light," Suo, with his hands firmly placed in front of the other, repeated, further breaking your heart into a million pieces.

Pitifully, you laughed—but little humour was found in the dreary quiet of your heart. "I know," you whispered, choking down the ache that was your confession to the person you'd grown to admire and love.

The pain lingered with every thought—that Suo was simply just too good for you, but so did your respect for him. Even if you tried your hardest to do so, you just couldn't find it in yourself to dislike him.

Suo had always been kind, even as he rejected you.

That was part of why you liked him so much in the first place. Even if it hurt, you couldn't blame him for having such feelings about you that just weren't the same. You couldn't continue to be selfish.

"I know. Just, thank you, for hearing me out," you said, your voice becoming surprisingly steady, slowly accepting what you heard. "That's just the kind of person you are."

And then you walked away. You refused to let him see the fresh tears welling up in your eyes. You respected his choice. If he didn't reciprocate your feelings, you couldn't force it. It had to be mutual—or nothing at all.

Days turned into weeks, and though you still felt the ache of his rejection, like with most things, you had to move on and push forward. You treated Suo the same way you treated everyone else. Although, you couldn't deny that it was rather awkward after Suo saw you well up with tears dripping down your face like a waterfall. And it didn't help that you both were friends with the Furin first years, like Kiryu and Nirei, whom you were very close to.

So, time and time again, you would avoid Suo like the plague; all the while, he seemed to watch from afar, unsure of how to bridge the gap. You were always respectful, never bitter, never clinging. It was difficult, but you refused to let your emotions tarnish your friendship or make things awkward.

Suo, however, found himself unable to stay away. He'd initially assumed your feelings for him were just surface-level, a kind of shallow attraction to his looks, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. He only realized this when he peeled back the layers of who you were—a kind, genuine individual so far removed from the superficial affection he had imagined. And as time passed, he began to notice more—the way you treated everyone around you with the same kindness and consideration.

But over time, Suo would see you purposely trying to hide from him, all the while pretending everything was okay and nothing changed. It was saddening, in a way, how your laughter grew quieter, your gaze avoiding his, and the fun and games you two once shared together seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

But you couldn't hide from Suo forever.

"He just doesn't like me, Nirei.”

Taking a walk around the neighbourhood that evening, following his typical routine, Suo had unknowingly overheard you talking to Nirei. And unlike his straightforward character, he continued to hide behind the wall and listen, his heart aching with every word he caught from your lips.

"It’s not that I don’t care…" you said softly to Nirei, who had asked about what had happened between you and Suo. "He rejected me, and I have to respect that. You can't have a relationship if both sides don't feel the same."

"I see... B-But do you still like him?" Nirei finally asked, twiddling his own thumbs.

You hesitated for a moment before answering, "I do."

That conversation was what really hit him hard. That you still liked him. That maybe... he wasn't too late to come around.

"Nirei, not knowing what to say to a person who seemingly still had feelings for one of his closest friends, winced, "He'll... he'll come around," not necessarily finding the right words, but you didn't appear to mind it. Rather, you were too distracted with your own feelings.

And Suo, hidden from view, felt his chest tighten. He wasn't sure why he'd been hiding in the first place, but suddenly, he couldn't bear to listen any longer. He shouldn't even be here, listening to your conversation and very obviously intruding on your privacy.

But just before he could slip away, though, very conveniently, Sakura popped out from behind the corner. "The hell are you doing back here?" loud enough for both you and Nirei to hear and turn your heads to meet the noise—and Suo, right before your very eyes.

Your eyes went wide in shock as you spotted Suo standing right there, seemingly who had heard everything.

"S-Suo, what are you—"

Back-and-forth looks were exchanged, and so too was the silence. Nirei and Sakura gave brief, knowing glances, and with a single look, Nirei left you two alone, much to your dismay and humiliation.

You stood frozen, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of which managed to form coherent words to say to the boy who had basically just heard you confess your feelings to him once again. Nervous and fidgeting, you finally let out a sigh. "Hayat– Suo, I'm really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I promise that I'm not going to bother you anymore. I really—"

But your words and apologies were left on deaf ears—cut off mid-sentence before Suo suddenly reached for you, his hand gently pulling you toward him. Before you could even process what was happening, you found yourself wrapped in his arms, your head resting against his chest.

"I was wrong."

"…H-Huh?"

"I was so, so wrong," he muttered, grasping at the edge of your sleeve even tighter than just a second ago. "I thought you only liked me for shallow reasons, but... I've realized that I like you too. More than I ever let myself admit. And I apologize for making you wait."

You blinked, your brain going haywire, trying to comprehend every word that left his lips, but Suo only held you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head. When you didn't answer, he went on—whether that was for your or his own reassurance that you wouldn't be the one rejecting him this time was unclear.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to see it, but I don't want to let this go," he murmured. "I don't want to lose you." He regretted every moment of him rejecting you since that day. And if you were to be the one rejecting him this time…

Your breath hitched at the base of your throat, disbelief seeping into your every thought. Was he serious…? The boy who had rejected you, who had caused you so much heartache, was now confessing to the very feelings you had once longed to hear.

'You make it so unfair…' you muttered.

Part of you wanted to reject him, to make him feel how you felt after he rejected you. But deep down, you knew you couldn't find it in yourself to throw away this chance. And neither could Suo.

"I… I still like you, too."

Your voice was hardly audible, but Suo heard it loud and clear. He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, his expression soft and vulnerable. "Then let's start over."

Your lips trembled into a small smile. "Alright."

Suo leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, until Suo suddenly grabbed your hand, making you jump slightly. "Come on," he said, tugging you gently. "Let's go grab something to eat. I know of a good spot that just opened that serves your favourite food."

"W-Wait, Hayato, I thought you were on a diet?" you stammered, completely caught off guard by his change in behaviour. He had always been strict about his routine—always so disciplined, so focused. But now, he seemed different. Lighter, somehow. But that was Suo for you.

He smiled, softer this time, his eyes lovingly meeting yours. "I can't miss this opportunity to spend time with a special someone. You can't keep avoiding me forever," making your face flush crimson as his words sunk in.

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Togame Jo

Shit… he shouldn't have said that.

Togame's words had slipped out before he could stop them, and the second he did, he knew he had fucked up. He cursed from under his breath, his hands already reaching out toward you as your face crumpled with hurt.

You stood there, staring at him—processing every snide word that left Togame's mouth—your chest rising and falling as if you were struggling even to breathe. He didn't mean it. He knew he didn't mean it, and he was pretty sure you knew that, too. But the damage was done, and he could see it in your eyes, the way he could see the shimmering of unshed tears ready to drip down your flushed cheeks..

"I'm sorry," Togame said immediately, his voice softening as he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you like a protective barrier. He could feel you stiffen in his hold, your hands pushing weakly against his chest, but he wasn't about to let go, not on that horrible note.

"Let go, Jo," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "You made your decision. You've... I've already said enough."

But Togame wasn't listening. Not with what he just had done and said that only left him with regrets. He couldn't take it anymore. Not the sadness in your voice, not the way you tried to pull away from him like he was a stranger. No, he wasn't letting you walk away like this, not after everything you had shared. And certainly not after everything he just spat at you.

"I didn't mean it, okay?" His words were rushed, almost desperate. Togame's grip on you only tightened with time, refusing to let go even an inch. "I was stupid. I-I'm sorry, I didn't know what I was saying, but I promise you, I'll fix this. I can't stand seeing you like this."

Your heart hurt at his words. You were utterly torn between wanting to believe him and protecting yourself from further hurt. After all, he had already said plenty… "You don't get just to say something like that and then take it back, Jo. It doesn't work like that..."

Togame's breath hitched as your words sliced the air and, in turn, his heart. His mind and body froze

That wasn't it. Not at all. He liked you. He loved you.

His rejection was but a projection of his own insecurities—that he wouldn’t be the right person for you.

But never did he think that he too didn’t want anyone else in your life, that it made his heart ache just thinking about it, the idea of someone else seeing your smile, hearing your laugh and holding the piece of your heart he so desperately longed for—that he previously had thrown away.

He hated himself for it—hated that he’d let his fears dictate his actions, that he’d hurt the one person who made his world feel less empty.

But he couldn’t let this end here. Not like this.

"I know. But— fuck…" he said quietly, his voice breaking, cracking into incomprehensible pieces of a heartbroken sentence. His shoulders trembled as he finally loosened his rough grip on you. Although his hands still rested hesitantly on your shoulders. “I know I can’t undo what I said, but I need you to know... I was wrong. I’m so damn wrong, and I’m so sorry.”

Scrunching your face, you shook your head, gaze fixed on the ground as you tried to will away the tears that had long streamed down your face. “Why, Jo?”

Why. A simple explanation as to his stupid, idiotic, impulsive mistake was all that you wanted from him.

His heart clenched at your words. Pure guilt tore him apart. He wished he could go back and rewind time to the moment before his insecurities took over. But he couldn’t. All he had now was this moment to make things right.

“Because I’m a coward!”

His confession all tumbled out in a rush, unfiltered. “I’m a fucking coward.” Every word was a weight being lifted from his chest, all in hopes that you might understand might hear him out, even if it wouldn’t completely change things. “I thought... I thought you deserved someone better. Someone who wouldn’t screw things up like I always do. Someone who could make you happy without dragging you into all my mess.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, for once, the honesty in his voice catching you heavily off guard. He appeared to be so unusually vulnerable, completely stripped of the bravado he usually wore like armour on his fists.

“But I can’t stop thinking about you,” he continued, his hands sliding down your arms as if needing a sense of reassurance that you were still with him and by his side and not a figment of his imagination. Hesitant but hopeful. “Every time I tried to push you away, it just made me want you more. And I was a complete idiot for thinking I could ever be okay without you.”

“Togame...”

“And I get it if you hate me for this,” he interrupted, all the words tumbling out of his mouth before he lost his nerve. “But I need you to know... I’m not asking for a second chanc—” he paused his sentence, before he could lose his resolve completely. “I love you. I’ve loved you all along, even when I was too scared to admit it.”

Your chest tightened. You oh-so-wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the pain, but his confession was undoing every wall you had tried to build.

“I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. Just... don't walk away from me. Please. Not like this."

“.....”

“...Do you mean that?”

Your voice was hardly audible as you looked up at him.

“More than anything.”

Togame cupped your smaller face in his callous hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped down your cheek, kissing the pain away. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if that’s what it takes.”

For the slightest moment, neither of you spoke. You could hardly hear a thing other than the sound of your breathing and the beat of his heart pressed tightly against yours. You felt his arms around you, warm and safe, and despite everything, a part of you wanted to stay right there, to believe that things could be okay.

Then, slowly, you nodded, the smallest of smiles breaking through your tears. “I hate that you’re so good at making me believe you,” you said softly, for the first time all day, a small laugh escaped your lips. And it was heavenly. It was what he loved so much about you.

Togame’s lips quirked up in a tentative grimace. “Does that mean… I get another shot?”

“Don’t make me regret it,” you murmured, but your voice was warm, filled with the hope that maybe—just maybe—this time things could be different. "I'm not going anywhere," you finally said. "But you have to mean it this time, Jo."

He nodded, his forehead resting against yours. "I do. I promise."

So, just like that, you let it go. Slowly, you relaxed in his arms, letting the weight of your sadness slip away, if only for a moment. Togame didn't let go, and neither did you.

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, you allowed yourself to believe him. For now, that was enough.

⸝⸝ 𑅛𑅫 Umemiya Hajime

"But we can still be friends!" Umemiya's voice rang out, almost too cheerful for the conversation you'd just had. He flashed you that familiar smile, oblivious to how his words felt like a punch to your chest.

"Oh! There's actually an event at Furin soon. I know you like a good barbecue. You should join us! It'll be fun!"

You stared at him, nonblinking, and for a brief second, you couldn't believe he was serious. How could he be so, casual? He must be playing you, right...? But no, that was just how Umemiya was, as you've found him for years.

You had just poured your entire heart into him, and in return, he offered you friendship—a friendship that you already had with him for years—as if it were a consolation prize.

But your heart ached so much, desperate for any kind of connection to him, that even the slightest bit of attention, however hollow, felt like a lifeline. So you nodded, forcing a polite smile across your face. "Yeah... sure, I'll come."

And just like that, you became that of a shadow, a close friend who laughed at his jokes, stayed by his side when he needed someone, and cheered for him during the times when you both would play video games. You were nothing more than a mere member of his Furin family. All the times you would talk and laugh together with them were great, and even the occasional late-night hangouts. But it wasn't enough. It was never fully enough.

Staying close to Umemyia only made you want him more, and that fact haunted you. Being so close to him yet knowing you couldn't have him the way you wanted was agony. The more time you spent around him, the more you craved his attention, but not as a friend, no, but as something more. It gnawed at you, that longing, and with each passing day, it became harder and harder to pretend.

It wasn't just unfair to you—it was unfair to him, too. He deserved someone who wouldn't secretly hope for something more, who wouldn't keep pushing the boundary between friendship and something deeper. You knew this arrangement couldn't go on, not without tearing you apart.

So, one night, after finally gathering the courage, you decided to put an end to it. But unbeknownst to you, Umemiya wasn't doing any better either.

Before, he never considered you more than a friend—someone who'd been there through all the ups and downs, always supportive, always kind, always you.

He never questioned the ease with which he could talk to you or the way your laughter seemed to brighten the atmosphere of any room you were in.

So when you finally confessed to him that very day—that your feelings toward him were more than what he thought—he hadn't thought much of it beyond friendship. He didn't think it was deeper than that… not until after he turned you down.

At first, Umemiya was convinced it was the right thing to do. He told himself he didn't feel the same way. But as the days passed, those same thoughts weighed differently on him. The way you still smiled at him, still treated him the same even after his rejection—it gnawed at him.

He started seeing the little things he hadn't noticed before. The way you always knew exactly what to say to cheer him up after a bad day, the way your eyes lingered on him for just a second too long, the way your laugh sounded like it was just for him.

And suddenly, it wasn't just about friendship anymore.

At night, alone with his thoughts, he realized he had been wrong. So, so wrong. The feelings he'd dismissed as just a fleeting affection had grown—almost insidiously—into something he couldn't ignore. It became a constant. An ache of longing to be near you, but this time, not just as a friend, but as someone who could hold you, kiss you, call you his own.

So when you suddenly asked for him to, and you meet up together alone after the barbeque, Umemiya's heart jumped in his chest. This was it. This was his chance to fix everything and correct his mistake, to tell you the truth, to apologize for being so dense. He was ignorant, blatant even, to one of the dearest people in the world to him.

Tonight, he was going to do it. He was going to make it up to you by apologizing and asking for forgiveness. He was excited, hopeful even, imagining the moment when he'd pour out his heart and beg for your forgiveness. You were kind, after all. You'd understand. You had to.

He could barely contain his nerves as he waited for you, replaying his apology speech over and over in his mind.

But when you arrived, something felt off. But Umemyia merely brushed it off as mere nerves. But then you spoke.

"I can't do this anymore."

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, Umemiya's heart stopped. He forced a laugh, trying to shake off the unease creeping into his chest. "What do you mean? O-Oh! If you're talking about how Sakura was acting earlier, hah, he doesn't mean it! You know how he is, just messing around."

But you didn't smile. You didn't laugh. Your expression remained serious, and it made his stomach drop. No, it couldn't be, right?

"Umemiya, I can't do this anymore," you repeated once again, your voice breaking, trembling in a way he had never heard before. "I can't just act like nothing happened anymore. I thought that I could continue being your friend. I really tried. But... it hurts too much. Please, I—"

His heart clenched. No, no, no—this wasn't right. This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go. He was supposed to apologize, to tell you how he felt, to fix things. But now, seeing you like this, so hurt, it paralyzed him.

"Don't say it."

"Hajime, please. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

No, he couldn't let you walk away. Not like this. Not when everything had finally clicked for him. Before he could stop himself, the words spilled out, desperate and unplanned.

"—BUT I LOVE YOU!!"

And he said it.

The moment those words escaped his lips, everything seemed to freeze, and the silence that followed was unbearable. He watched you, waiting for some sign, some reaction that would let him know he wasn't too late. But your eyes... they were filled with so much pain, it made his heart ache even more.

You didn't speak right away, and the longer the silence stretched, the more regret began to claw at him. Why hadn't he seen it sooner? Why did he wait until now, when you were standing here, on the verge of walking away, to realize how much you meant to him? His own foolishness, his blindness—it was too much to bear.

"Why now?" you finally asked. Your voice was soft, barely audible, as if you were afraid of the answer he was giving. It wasn't angry, but it wasn't hopeful either. It was aching, that desperate part of you. "Why... after everything?"

Umemiya couldn’t answer. He didn't have a good reason. He just knew that he loved you now, that he couldn't imagine his life without you in it. But he also knew that might not be enough.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his hands trembling at his sides. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize... I didn't know until it was too late."

The tears in your eyes broke him. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He thought he'd be able to fix things, to make everything right, but now it felt like everything was slipping through his fingers.

And much to his horror, you shook your head slowly, stepping back, the distance between you growing—both physically and emotionally. "It's not fair, Hajime. You can't just say that now... not after everything."

For the first time in his life, Umemiya Hajime didn’t know what to say. He stood there, stunned, the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat because, deep down, he already knew.

He didn’t have the right to ask for more when he had rejected the very thing he now realized he couldn’t live without. He had turned you away, convinced it was for the best, only to understand far too late just how much he had thrown away. His indecision—his cowardice—had led to this moment. And now, it wasn’t just his heart breaking; it was yours, too.

He opened his mouth, tried to reach for you, but his arms fell back to his sides. He couldn’t keep making excuses. He couldn’t selfishly try to pull you back, not when his own fickleness had caused you so much pain.

So he let it happen. Right before his very eyes, he watched you take another step back, your face etched with a hurt he knew he had no way of easing. And when you turned, it felt as though the entire world had slipped out of his grasp.

The streets around him blurred as he stared at the spot where you had just stood, his mind and body going through the realization that he might just never get the chance to fix this.

“Wait...” he whispered hoarsely, hand unconsciously reaching forward, but the word fell into the silence, unheard and unanswered.

And with that, you were gone, leaving him behind—alone, with but the cold remnants of his mistakes.

lol i also noticed how each just gets slowly more bittersweet to straight up angsty in umemiya's

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