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hehetmongi · 3 months ago

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fever pitch - (kang yeosang/reader)

summary: you're on your period; yeosang comes home early to help you out. also cross posted to ao3

pairing: kang yeosang x reader

tags: alternate universe - modern setting, established relationship, domestic fluff, fluff and smut, menstrual sex, vaginal fingering, shower sex, hurt/comfort, reader uses she/her pronouns, 18+ mdni

word count: 4.1k

note: cis woman reader. centers heavily on menstruation and there's a bit of unsanitary-ness (reader bleeds on the sheets accidentally) so please don't read if it makes you uncomfortable!

due to tumblr's formatting, yeosang's texts are in bold and reader's texts are italicized. if this is difficult for you to read, i highly encourage checking out the ao3 link instead!

You wake to an ache between your legs, and not in a fun way.

You groan as you sit up, the sensations coming in faster and sharper than you anticipate. Your head pounds, your feet feel numb, but the worst of it is your abdomen. The cramping, the exhaustion, the vague feeling like you’ve wet yourself, or something — yeah, you’ve been through this enough times to know this is your period hitting you like a truck.

You can already tell it’ll be a painful one. You’re not exactly regular, and when your period does come in, you’re usually out of it for a few days due to the pain. It’s always been this way, and you can manage fine on your own, but you have to admit that you’d really like Yeosang’s company.

With a glance at the alarm clock — reading 8:42am, from where you can see it over Yeosang’s empty side of the bed — you trudge out of Yeosang’s room. You brace an arm against the wall as you make your way to the bathroom, narrowly dodging Wooyoung’s hip-check as he passes you in the hallway.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!”

You glare daggers at him. When he catches your eyes, he staggers a few exaggerated steps back.

“Geez, you look pissed. ”

You ignore him, deciding he’s not even worth the energy. It takes considerable effort to clean yourself up and into a fresh new pad, but thankfully you didn’t get any blood on your shorts. You take a quick painkiller before heading straight back to bed. You have the day off, but it’s not as though you’re going to spend it relaxing.

You clutch a plushie — a Doberman toy Yeosang gifted you on your third date — toward your abdomen. It’s nice to have something to grasp onto and that reminds you of him, you think, as you roll over to the nightstand by Yeosang’s side of the bed. You grab your phone, quickly glancing at the notifications you haven’t read. You gloss over the emails (mostly ads and a couple of work emails you won’t actually open until you’re on the clock) and smile at your iMessages.

MESSAGES - 45m

yeosang <3

Miss you so much 🥺

MESSAGES - 2h

yeosang <3

Let me know when you wake up!

MESSAGES - 2h

yeosang <3

Good morning 🥰

Your heart swells with warmth. Your relationship with Yeosang is still somewhat new, but every day he reminds you that this is real, and you are incredibly lucky to have someone as kind and loving as him as a partner. So far, your lives seem to slot together perfectly — cute dates, spending the night at each other's apartments, soft touches and meaningful conversations — he was everything you dreamed of, and more. It almost seems too good to be true.

(Admittedly, part of you is waiting for the ball to drop. A relationship this happy has to change eventually. And since Yeosang is such a perfect partner, you suspect you’ll probably be the cause.)

You roll onto your back, tapping a quick message in response. You don’t want him to get too worried, but you figure you should say something so he knows you won’t be responding to any future messages right away.

good morning! 💛💖 sorry i’m late baby!

just got my period :( i feel gross and really tired

You blush a little at your use of a pet name. You know he likes it, but you’re still not sure if it sounds right. You want him to feel as endeared as you do when he uses pet names for you.

His reply comes less than a minute later.

There you are!! Good morning, my dear 🥰

No worries. Please take it easy today. I’ll be thinking of you~

Something in your stomach flips, but you’re not sure if it’s from your period or if that’s the effect Yeosang has on you. You settle on it being a little bit of both as you start to type your reply.

i love you 🫶

wish you were here!

Ah, do you want me to come home early and take care of you?

I’d be happy to do that ^_^

nono i’ll be fine!! promise!!

please don’t worry about me i swear i’m fine :’)

I’ll come home in a heartbeat. Just say the word

You clutch your plushie close to your chest. Having Yeosang take care of you would be a really lovely way to spend the day. Much better than staying holed up in Yeosang’s room, clutching your stomach as you hear Wooyoung fumbling around in the kitchen, at least. But you know Yeosang is working hard, and you really don’t want to take him from that.

I have to go :( send me updates? I want to hear how your day is going

You can let Wooyoung know if you need help too. He’s good with this type of thing.

You scrunch your nose. While you like Wooyoung fine, and he’s pretty good at giving you and Yeosang privacy when you need it, you’re not exactly comfortable asking him for help with something like cramps. It feels… personal, and incredibly burdensome. And if you’re already hesitating to ask Yeosang for that kind of help, what business do you have asking his roommate?

Just then, a knock sounds at the door. It opens a crack before you hear Wooyoung call your name aloud, and you grunt in response. Wooyoung must take it as an affirmative, because he opens it wide.

“Yeosang said you’re not feeling well,” he announces, glancing down at his phone, “and that I should keep an eye on you until he’s home.”

You frown. “Um, thank you, but I don’t really need help.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow.

You try to step out of bed, but a knife twists in your gut and pins and needles twist all along your legs. The sensation makes you wince, sucking in a large gulp of air.

Wooyoung rushes to your side, taking your arm to steady you. When he hears your stuttering breath, he shakes his head. “Don’t… do that. Just stay in bed. I’ll cook you something.”

You blanch. “You really don’t have—”

“Shut up,” he says, eyes softening when he meets your gaze. You wonder what you must look like, to him. “Er… just, sit and relax for a sec. I insist.”

You really do try to relax, once he leaves. You scroll through social media as Wooyoung whips up something simple. You shoot Yeosang a quick Wooyoung’s making me breakfast! ❣️ as you wait, to which you receive a bunch of silly looking stickers in return.

“It’s not contagious, is it?” Wooyoung asks a few moments later, carrying a delicious-smelling tray toward your bed.

You realize, then, that Yeosang must have been pretty discreet about what was ailing you in his conversation with Wooyoung. The thought of period cramps being contagious makes you suck in a giggle.

“I really hope not,” you scoff, and when Wooyoung furrows his brow, you explain, “it’s just cramps. I get them really bad.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widen a little. He sets the tray down next to you, and you take it in earnest. It’s a simple meal, just soup and rice and eggs, but somehow it smells amazing. “They’re bad enough that you can’t walk ?”

“It’s like that for a lot of people,” you explain.

Wooyoung only hums, taking a seat in Yeosang’s desk chair and swiveling it around and around. Apparently he's here to stay.

You take a few bites of your meal, letting your mind wander a little. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve spent the night at Yeosang’s place, but you still feel kind of awkward here when it’s just you and Wooyoung. You know they’ve known each other for years — much longer than you’ve known Yeosang — and the thought intimidates you. How many of Yeosang’s partners has Wooyoung known? How many crushes and hookups? Does Yeosang tell Wooyoung things about your relationship that you’re not privy to?

“He’s blowing up my phone, you know,” Wooyoung says suddenly. He turns his phone screen around, and sure enough, you see at least half a dozen messages from Yeosang loaded on his lockscreen. You can’t read them from here, but you can guess that they're about you.

“He doesn’t want me to show you,” Wooyoung continues, “but he’s really concerned. He cares about you a lot.”

You feel yourself flush. This shouldn’t surprise you, not when you’ve been seeing each other for three months already, but something about the earnestness of it all still makes you feel weak in the knees.

You opt not to respond to Wooyoung, focusing on your plate instead. You finish it dutifully, and Wooyoung is by your side in an instant, taking the tray in his hands before moving to leave Yeosang’s room.

“Thank you so much for cooking,” you tell him as he starts to walk away. "You really didn't have to."

“Mmhmm. You’re someone special to him, so,” Wooyoung mutters, just before he exits. You’re left wondering what he could possibly mean by that until sleep finds you again.

When you wake, it’s still morning. Abdominal pain slices you deeper, twisting into an amorphous form, vicious and unrelenting.

You shift, letting out an involuntary whine when you feel something damp pooling beneath you. Sure enough, there is a dark red puddle between your legs, staining Yeosang’s bed sheets. All at once, your body begins to shut down as the pain coils tighter and tighter, leaving you little room to breathe.

You let out a sob. It’s been a long, long time since your cramps have given you this much trouble. Of course it had to happen while you were alone at Yeosang’s apartment. You can already feel the shame and disgust twisting alongside the horrible feeling in your gut.

In a flash, Wooyoung is at the door, footsteps thundering down the hallway. His eyes are wide as saucers as he takes in your slumped form. He rushes to you, and you feel his hands on your shoulders, but your perception of things fades in and out. All you can think of is the sheets, the pool of blood still under your body, how fucking ashamed you are to make a mess of things, that you couldn’t take care of yourself better on your own—

Wooyoung shakes your arm hard, cutting through your panic like a blade.

“Do you need to go to the hospital!?” he shouts, crisp alertness palpable in his bright eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat. “I, um, I don’t think—?”

“Like hell you don’t,” he scowls, grabbing his phone and starting to type out a text. You grab at his wrist, and he gives you a sharp, incredulous look.

“I’m fine, really,” you promise, doing your best to suppress your wince. “But…”

“But what, you’re clearly in pain!”

You let out a shaky breath. The words are tumbling out of your mouth before you can really think them over.

“Could you, maybe, ask for Yeosang to come home?” You suck in a breath, knowing that it’ll be hard to be so vulnerable in front of him but you don’t care — you need his comfort. “I know he’s busy at practice but I… really need him right now. Please.”

At that, Wooyoung seems to soften, pulling his hand softly from your grip. He nods, opening his phone and pulling up Yeosang’s contact. He dials Yeosang’s number, then puts his phone between his ear and his shoulder when Yeosang picks up on the first ring.

“How soon can you be back at the apartment?” Wooyoung asks. His tone seems firm, you think, but you wonder if there’s something else in it Yeosang can hear from him that you can’t. “Yeah, she’s in a lot of pain. I think she had a panic attack, too. Keeps asking for you.”

Wooyoung’s eyes flit over to yours. “He wants to talk to you,” he says, so you nod and take the phone.

“H-hi...”

“Baby,” Yeosang gasps, tight with concern.

Instantly, your eyes well with tears. You miss him. It’s only been a few hours since you were sleeping in his arms, even sooner since you’ve exchanged texts, but you can feel the ache deep in your chest all the same.

“Shhhh,” he coos, gentle as ever. “I’ll be home in fifteen. Will you be okay?”

You take in a small, hiccupping breath. “I… think so.”

“Good girl,” he says, and your heart flutters. You can hear something clicking in the background. “Do you want me to stay on the line until I’m back?”

“Please.”

“It’ll be okay ,” he promises, then breathes out your name in a way that makes your head tingle pleasantly. “Take some deep breaths with me. Can you do that, sweetheart?"

You shake your head. “I ruined your sheets,” you tell him, your voice wobbling. “I’m so, so sorry, Yeo, but there’s so much blood, I don’t think it’ll come out—”

“Y/n,” he says, stern, halting your ramble in its tracks. "It’s fine, I promise. They can be replaced.”

“I just…” you shift, wincing again at the puddle between your thighs. “It feels so gross. I’m disgusting.”

“You’re not,” he assures you. “It’s a perfectly normal thing your body does. You just need to be taken care of.” You don’t agree with him — this is the most disgusting you’ve ever felt in ages — but your heart melts all the same.

You hadn’t noticed Wooyoung slipping out of the room, but he returns carrying a couple of towels that he puts down next to you. You scooch and roll over onto them, a little relieved to not be bleeding directly on the bed anymore. Wooyoung hovers by the door as Yeosang leads you through some deep breathing exercises over the phone. It takes a few minutes, but your heart rate is gradually slowing down.

"I’ll be right there, dear,” Yeosang tells you, your heart finally steady after what has to have been at least twenty rounds of box breathing. You hear his key twisting in the key hole a few moments later and then he’s bursting past Wooyoung and into his room, taking in the sight of you and enveloping you into his strong arms.

You think, though you’re too shy to admit it out loud, that he looks really handsome like this. Sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, dark hair swept back, his full attention on you. You feel your cheeks go pink as he tucks you into his sturdy chest.

He presses a kiss to your temple and just like that, your heart is racing again.

“My strong, beautiful girlfriend,” he murmurs. The sound of his deep voice so close to your ear makes you shudder. “So patient for me. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He sweeps one arm underneath your legs and you hesitantly circle your arms around his neck, trying your best to avoid your middle touching him too closely.

“Don’t wanna get blood on you,” you mumble into his shoulder.

“Don’t care,” he hums, kissing the tip of your nose, and you allow yourself to believe him.

In moments, Yeosang has you sitting on a stool in the shower. Your bloody shorts have been discarded into the sink, along with the tank top you slept in. Ordinarily, you might’ve felt uncomfortable being so exposed and vulnerable in front of him while you’re not feeling 100%, but now, you just feel content.

When Yeosang pulls off his shirt and pants, leaving him only in a pair of black boxer briefs, you feel something thrum beneath your fingertips. Even after a handful of intimate nights together, you’re still surprised by his boldness, the way that he holds himself so confidently behind closed doors, just for you to see. You feel shy when Yeosang steps into the shower behind you, closing the curtain.

If the dried blood between your legs bothers Yeosang, he shows no indication. He just smiles at you warmly as he gets the water running, gently massaging your upper arms to keep you comfortable. Once the water gets warm enough, he sets you under the stream. The warm water feels delightful on your back, even more so when Yeosang runs a loofa under it and washes your body.

“You really don't have to do all of this,” you tell him, but one of his hands finds your elbow and stops you in your tracks.

“Let me help you,” Yeosang whispers, “please.”

You swallow. There’s something wanting in his eyes that you can’t quite put into words.

The loofa hesitantly brushes against the top of your knee, and you let go.

His touch, solid but gentle, finds you in your most tender spots. His fingers start at your thighs, scrubbing gently at the dried blood. Each time he touches you there is a question in his eyes, an is this okay? that you meet with unhesitant permission.

When his fingers brush the top of your stomach, inching nearer and nearer to your tender breasts, you gasp.

“Sorry,” he giggles, but you hold his hand against the swell of your breast, keeping him there. His slender fingers knead at them softly, leaning down to kiss you. It’s all lips and tongue, sensual and fluid, and when he sucks on your tongue it pulls a needy, involuntary noise from the back of your throat.

Yeosang is good at kissing. It almost embarrasses you when your toes curl from just a few seconds of making out — from experience, you know he’s barely even getting started — but you know how much he likes it when you’re vocal about how much you appreciate him.

“Yeosang,” you gasp, hoping even a fraction of what you feel gets expressed through your tone.

“Sorry,” he smiles against your lips. “Looks like I got a little carried away…”

You try not to feel disappointed when his focus returns back to washing your body. His hands are careful and practiced, putting firm pressure in all of the areas you need washed most. You sigh at the intimacy of it all, but your mind is still elsewhere.

“Something on your mind?” he asks a few moments later, and you shrug.

“I’m just so happy to have a boyfriend that’ll do this for me,” you gesture vaguely at yourself, “even when I’m all disgusting like this.”

You mean it as a joke, sort of, but you can tell he notices something in your words. His hand stills from where it’s been stroking your hip.

“You think you’re disgusting?” he frowns. He searches your eyes for a moment, and then he’s dropping to his knees in between your open legs.

On impulse, you close them.

“Yeosang,” you warn, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t.”

“Why not? Because it’s dirty?” He presses a kiss to the side of your knee, sending chills down your spine. “Baby, I won’t push you, but if you’re worried about me… it’s not like I care about a little blood on my fingers.”

Your eyes widen. Your throat suddenly feels very, very dry.

“I want you to feel cherished,” he whispers into a stretch mark on your thigh, gentle fingers inching closer to your core. “But only if you’ll let me.”

Somewhere in you, the tide shifts. You feel so, so stupid for not remembering it sooner. The love he feels for you is real , even if it’s incomprehensible to you. The realization churns something deep in your gut, stoking the flames from a few moments ago.

“So,” he whispers, soft lips into your wet skin, “what will it be?”

You want him bad, period cramps be damned.

“Please,” you whine, and then he’s surging forward in another kiss.

The kiss is softer this time, almost chaste, making good on his promise to cherish you. His hands, though, are roaming your body in earnest, settling to draw comforting circles against your waist.

He pulls away from the kiss. “Tell me how you want me, baby.”

You shudder at the loss of contact. As much as you want all of him, having sex on your period is new territory for you. And he mentioned not minding blood on his fingers, so…

“Just your fingers,” you tell him. Then, sheepishly, you add: “I love your hands…”

Pleased with your directness, Yeosang kisses the tip of your nose, soft and innocent, before moving his lips down the expanse of your body. You grip lightly at the base of his head when his tongue twists around your nipple. He replaces it with his fingers as he dips deeper, pressing heated kisses down your tummy, to your pubic bone, until finally he’s at the apex of your thighs.

“Love this pussy so much,” he murmurs into the plush of your thigh. When his fingers find your clit, rubbing against it gently, your eyes roll back. “So beautiful, so perfect. Made for me.”

“Yeosang,” you gasp, but it quickly turns into a moan as his fingers find a quicker, pulsing rhythm.

Your body contorts to meet his fingers, but he moves a steadying hand to your hip. His strength, his unabashed adoration of your body, the practiced ministrations against your core — it’s all so incredibly hot that your brain simply can’t keep up.

“Mmm?” he intones, pressing a light kiss dangerously close to your slit that has you keening. “Did you need something, baby?”

“Close,” you admit, too engulfed in the pleasure to be embarrassed at how quickly you’ve begun to feel that tight, coiling feeling in your gut.

Your admission has Yeosang incredibly pleased, a grin stretching across his handsome face.

“Already, baby?” he asks, and you feel yourself burn up at how unbelievably attracted to him you feel right now. “You poor thing, all pent up like that. Must’ve needed me so badly.”

You let out a little whine at Yeosang’s words. You really did need him, didn’t you? All of today, it was him you craved. He knows you so well, so intimately…

“It was a good thing I could come home early, hmm? Take care of you just the way you like.”

You whine louder when he draws tight, concentrated circles against your clit, his other hand holding you still even as you try to meet his thrusts.

“Can you come for me, sweetheart? Want to hear your pretty little voice moaning my name.”

The tension snaps all at once, your orgasm crashing into you with reckless abandon as your body folds into itself. But Yeosang doesn’t stop, just pumps you gently through it as you dutifully let out a cry of his name.

Moments pass, and you’re still twitching from the aftershocks when Yeosang gets up to turn the water off. He’s covering you with a towel before you can process how cold you are. Once you’re dry and warm, he presses a single kiss on your forehead softly before helping you back onto your feet.

“That was really nice,” you tell him, a little shy despite yourself.

He smiles warmly. “I’m glad, baby. I hope you feel a little better.”

“A lot better,” you agree.

He helps you into a new set of clothes, and you smile as he squeezes lightly at your curves.

Just as you’re both about to exit, he hums exaggeratedly. “Though you did cum kind of fast, didn’t you?”

You swat at his shoulder, his laughter ringing in the open air.

That night finds you in Yeosang’s bed again, this time with fresh sheets. You sit snugly with your back against his chest, his arms enveloping you as you watch a movie on his laptop.

Every few minutes, he’ll whisper something in your ear. Sometimes it’s affectionate, about how strong he knows you are for him, how proud he is of you. Sometimes it’s a little snide comment about the characters in the film. The intimacy leaves you with a warm, light feeling in your stomach, as if you’re getting butterflies for him all over again.

At some point, though, the tide shifts back. Your insecurities won’t leave you forever, even with the most loving boyfriend in the world. Your period isn’t making it any easier, either; you’ve always been a hell of a lot more emotional on your heaviest days.

At the first sign of tears, Yeosang spins you around and embraces you against his soft chest.

“I stay the night,” you choke out between sobs, “and I ruin your bedsheets. I basically make a murder scene in your bathroom. Your roommate cooks for me and all I do is freak him out and beg him not to take me to the hospital. I made you leave your class early , Yeosang, all I do is—”

“Make my life better,” he finishes, halting your words. You meet his eyes, and they’re brimming with nothing but earnest adoration. “All you’ve done is make my life better, ever since we met.”

You sniffle. “Even when I’m like this?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to remind you, as often as you need.”

And with a look into his deep, earnest eyes, you decide you can believe him.

#kang yeosang x reader #ateez x reader #yeosang fic #yeosang smut #hehetmongi writes

77 notes · View notes

hehetmongi · 3 months ago

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🏖️🐚🌊 waves along the shore | chapter one | (ateez ot8/reader) 🏖️🐚🌊

chapter one: fateful encounter at illusion bay

series summary: you just broke things off with your fiancé. out of options, you go to your family’s beach house across the country to clear your mind. you're not expecting to see familiar faces in the house next door...

chapter word count: 4.6k

pairings: ateez ot8 x reader

tags: alternate universe - modern setting, beaches, beach house, emotional hurt/comfort, healing, polyamory, fluff and smut, unconventional romance, 18+ mdni

ao3 chapter link | masterpost link

warnings: reader was involved in a past toxic/controlling relationship; this does not involve any members of ateez. alcohol consumption in this chapter.

notes: reader plays the piano and has a backstory that is significant to the plot. more notes in masterpost.

Your mother picks up the phone on the third ring. You ignore the way your stomach twists when she greets you cheerily, unaware of the storm that’s coming ahead.

“I need you to know I’m alive and okay,” you hear yourself say. Your voice is firm and unyielding despite your nerves. “You’re the only one I’m going to tell this to, so I need you to keep this a secret.”

The rest of your story tumbles out of your mouth without restraint. Enough was enough — after eleven months of an unhappy engagement to your fiancé, you needed to leave your life behind.

He made it difficult to break things off. Every time you tried to initiate a breakup conversation, he’d divert somehow. Eventually, he sprung a proposal on you, and you felt you were in too deep to turn him down. Everything that followed, from the joint engagement announcements on your Instagram accounts to the wedding cake and venue planning, felt like a knife twisting in your gut.

And then… something happened two nights ago. He hadn’t struck you, but the look in his eyes made you think he was about to: pure anger and malice, all directed at you for the first time in your relationship.

So, fearing for your safety, you decided to run away. You’re on the road now, driving a rental car down an empty highway toward the coastline. You didn’t think you were headed anywhere specific, but you found yourself gravitating toward familiar streets and roads from distant childhood memories.

“I left my ring on the nightstand and turned off my location,” you tell her. “He’s still at work now and doesn’t know that I left, but he’s going to be suspicious soon.”

Your mother hums on the other line. You can tell that she’s thinking, trying to give you enough time to explain yourself as she processes such difficult information.

“I just… I know it’s a lot to process. But I really, really needed to take my life back before things got worse,” you finish.

Distantly, a part of you wonders if you made a mistake by telling her. You hope you’ve done enough to convince her to be on your side with this. If not, you fear you might really be alone.

“I’m just so sad,” your mom finally says, and you brace yourself for the worst. Until she continues, “that you thought you couldn’t come to me with this earlier. That you’ve been feeling this way about him for so long.”

Your eyes well with tears. You do your best to blink them away, not wanting them to get in the way of your driving.

“I’m with you in this,” she tells you. “And I always will be. But we need to find a place for you to hide, and fast.”

You suck in a long, deep breath. This was your one and only plan, the only hope you really had to get away from your fiancé once and for all. If it didn’t work, then you might be stuck hotel-hopping for the foreseeable future until you can discreetly get an apartment, which would be far from ideal.

“The beach house,” you offer, “the one I ran away to just before college. I could stay there, if it’s unoccupied.”

Something in your stomach flutters at the memory. You’d felt lost then, too, and time at the beach was exactly what you needed to get your head on straight. Well, that and the two boys next door, all shy smiles and bumping elbows and needy kisses that still haunt your dreams, sometimes.

Your mother scoffs. “You scared your father and me half to death back then.”

“But this time, I’m telling you in advance.”

“You are,” your mother intones, then pauses for a moment to think. You hold your breath as you hear the gears turning in her head. “It’s not that it’s occupied, sweetie, but no one’s been there in years. I think… no one’s been there since you. It’s probably all old, musty, and dirty.”

“I’m not hearing a no,” you reply.

“I’m not telling you no,” she agrees. “And I agree with you, it’s a good place for you to hide from him for now. But I’m also saying that it’ll be difficult work to upkeep. It won’t feel like a vacation home.”

You nod. “That’s fine with me, as long as it gives me some time.”

Your mother agrees to let you stay there, and relief instantly floods your veins. It’s a good, temporary solution for now, and you have fond memories there, both from your childhood and the time shortly after high school. Even if the house is in bad condition, all you need is to breathe some ocean air and a warm bed to sleep in at night. You can make do.

“Another thing,” you add, merging onto the exit you need to get to the beach. You still have a long way to go. “I think… I think he might try to use you to get to me. And if he does, you should have a plan. I don’t want you getting caught up in this mess.”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” your mother chides. “I’m tough. I know how to keep manipulative men away from my business.”

You smile. “Teach me how to do that, next time I’m dating someone.”

“I ought to teach you before then. It’s a shame that I hadn’t already,” she says, and you can tell she’s smiling fondly just from her voice. “Take care, sweetie.”

You bid your mother goodbye, thanking her profusely for her help, and you continue on your way.

It’s a solid three more hours of driving until you arrive at Illusion Bay, where your family’s abandoned beach house is. It’s dark by the time you arrive, and you blink away your bleary exhaustion with tired eyes as you pull in front of the house.

There are only a handful of buildings along the coastline. The first is your family’s house, which is tiny and quaint, with small windows and a little rocky pathway that leads to the wilderness. The next is a house next door, where two boys around your age used to stay. It’s much bigger and more modern than your own, with sleek floor-to-ceiling windows and a volleyball net, among other things — you remember thinking that it could probably house around ten people, if not more, back when you visited years ago.

There are a couple of other houses about a mile away, as well as a grocery store, a bar, and a couple of restaurants, but other than that, Illusion Beach is mostly empty. You open your car door gently, basking in the sounds of the tide hitting the sand and breathing in the salty air.

It’s beautiful enough of a night that you’re completely unsurprised to see that the lights are on next door. You figure that whoever owns the place now must be able to make a fortune through airbnb or a similar service. It doesn’t matter much to you, though — it’s not like the people staying here will get in the way of your hiding and relaxation time if you keep to yourself.

You pull out the spare key from its hiding spot. When you haul your suitcase inside, you’re met with the same four wooden walls you remember so clearly from your youth. Your eyes scan the perimeter of the room, zeroing in on the grand piano in the corner.

Your heart squeezes in your chest. So much has happened to you since you were last here — college, relationships, piano competitions, moving in with your fiancé, your broken engagement — but somehow, this house has stayed the same.

Your eyes find the piano again. Your limbs seem to move on their own, gliding toward the bench, dusting off the surface of the keys, and opening the window before you sit down.

There’s something you’ve been itching to do.

A beautiful sound soars through the air, reaching the ears of the eight men staying in the beach house next door.

Well, the person playing the piano is clearly talented, at least. They pluck away at a lyrical melody with grace and poise, as if music lives and breathes underneath their fingertips. But the instrument itself needs some serious work. It sounds like it hasn’t been tuned in years, certain notes wobbling in and out of stability.

“I must be hallucinating,” Yeosang murmurs to no one in particular. He’s staring out the window at the shore. He has a hazy, distant look in his eyes, as though he’s reliving a memory.

He can’t quite bring himself to remember it fully, but his mind conjures the memory of a girl he and Wooyoung met years ago at this very same beach. She’d played the piano for them once, getting all flustered when the two of them complimented her. All three of them had been devastatingly awkward back then, but he thinks of that time, of those memories so fondly.

A childish part of him refuses to let go of those times. Hopes that he might be able to pick up the pieces of what they left behind, before they parted ways.

A few moments pass. The waves creep up and back on the shore, and the piano strikes an elegant chord.

“No,” Wooyoung disagrees from the spot next to Yeosang on the couch, just a moment later. “No, I hear it, too. The piano, right?”

Yeosang blinks at him a couple of times, then scoffs. “A shared hallucination, then.”

Wooyoung hits him gently on the shoulder. “Don’t be stupid. We can check it out in the morning.”

“Mmm, alright,” Yeosang says, and leaves it at that.

Later, about an hour after the piano music has stopped and Wooyoung has curled up in Yeosang’s lap, one of their other friends, San, appears in the doorway. Yeosang raises an eyebrow at his outfit, a tight black tank top that leaves little to the imagination and acid wash jeans that do little to conceal anything in his pants.

“I’m gonna head out to the bar,” he announces. “Either of you wanna come with?”

Yeosang shakes his head. From his lap, Wooyoung sighs.

“Don’t do anything too crazy or Hongjoong’ll kill you,” Wooyoung warns. There’s a clear sense of concern in his eyes, which San seems to dismiss.

“I never do,” San declares simply, and then he’s out the door.

You don’t know what compelled you to come here, but you’re glad you came.

Your family’s beach house, while a welcome reprieve from the apartment you lived in with your fiancé, was still stifling in its own ways. The dust on every surface made you sneeze. The piano didn’t sound right, years of neglect without maintenance making your favorite pieces sound tacky. Worst of all was the feeling like you were being watched by your younger self, like you’d let the little girl inside of you down by existing in an area meant only for memories.

You decided that you didn’t want to get through the night alone. In a burst of confidence, you decided to go to the bar. You’re only wearing comfortable clothes, so you’re not really dressed for the occasion, but you don’t feel too out of place considering the atmosphere.

The bar is quieter than you expect — it is a weeknight, but it’s also the middle of the summer, so you’d expected to see more than a handful of people here. Most of the people here are older than you, maybe in their fifties or sixties, and keep to the groups they arrived with. Even still, it’s nice to be around their lively conversations. It sucks you away from your own life and into another world, putting things into a new perspective.

Everything shifts when a man sculpted from marble walks through the door.

He is tall and broad, with big, bulky shoulders and a narrow waist that has your eyes bugging out from their sockets like a cartoon character. He is brimming with confidence and bravado, smirking at the bartender as they fire quips back and forth at each other.

Your pulse quickens under your fingertips when he slides into the stool just a few seats away from you. You feel your heart jackhammering in your chest when his gaze drags up and down your body, taking in your old t-shirt and jean shorts that you’ve been driving in all day and smiling invitingly.

“Hey,” he flirts, voice as smooth as silk, “can I buy you a drink?”

You’re nodding eagerly before your mind catches up to your body, desperate for some liquid courage in your system. It’s been a while since you’ve been so openly flirted with, openly desired by anyone, your ex fiancé included, and a part of you worries you might be coming across as desperate but most you simply doesn’t care.

He laughs at your response and it sounds silly (dorky, even), but that only endears you to this stranger more.

The two of you get to talking over drinks — his name is San, he’s a performer staying in the area with some friends, and he really wanted to meet someone new tonight — and the conversation flows easily at first. You get the sense that he’s charming, but you don’t feel like he’s trying too hard to charm you. It’s easier for you to feel comfortable when it’s clear to you he’s being genuine, so gradually, you feel your nerves ebb away.

But when the conversation turns to you, you clam up.

“Your name, at least?” he smiles, revealing a little dimple on the side of his cheek. “And maybe how you ended up here, of all places? It’s not exactly a popular location.”

You decide something at that moment — you feel safe with him, safe enough to let him in a little bit. He doesn’t need to know all of the details, but at the end of the day, maybe a stranger’s comfort is exactly what you need.

“Y/n,” you concede.

San’s eyes sparkle a little. “Pretty.”

“Thank you,” you twist at the hem of your shirt. “I, um, I don’t really know how else to say this, but I think you should know something.”

You glance up at him. You have his attention now, his eyes brimming with quiet curiosity.

“I’m here because I ran away from my fiancé,” you admit, lowering your voice to a whisper. You feel your gaze flutter away towards the door. It’s more difficult to say it out loud than you anticipated. “Things were bad for a while and it got… really, really messy. I needed to get away from him, from my whole life back home. So I’m kinda in hiding.”

You feel a light touch, just a brush of fingertips against the back of your hand. When you look back up, San’s eyes are on you, eyebrows drawn low.

“That must have been a really hard decision to make,” he says. “To just leave everything behind like that.”

You sigh. “I don’t think it’s fully hit me yet. I’m just worried he might try to find me to take me back, or worse.”

A beat of silence passes, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Eventually, San strokes lightly at your hand again, just another graze.

“Y/n,” he asks, his voice softer around your name. “Is this okay?”

You nod quietly as he encases your hand in his own. Your breath hitches a little at the warmth, how kind and gentle his calluses feel as he rubs back and forth between your knuckles.

“I know this is going to sound forward. But as long as we’re both here together, I’m here for you,” he comforts, keeping his voice low and intimate. “If you want a shoulder to cry on, someone to kick your ex’s ass, someone to spend the night with,” he winks at you, and you giggle, “anything.”

A little fire kicks up in your gut at that last option. The drinks are working their magic inside your belly, you think, because suddenly you don’t feel all that shy anymore.

“Why don’t we have another drink and see where it takes us?” you offer.

The smile San gives you in return sends a delicious shiver down your spine.

Another hour or so of conversation with San brings you outside with him. He leads you out of the bar with his arm loosely wrapped around your waist, holding you steady as you walk down the beach.

You’re not drunk, just a little wobbly, but the alcohol has eased your nerves a considerable amount. You’d even go so far as to say you’re comfortable with him now, which feels like a complete 180 from where you were when he first walked into the bar.

You blanch, though, when you realize what house he’s directing you towards. Without realizing it, you stop in your tracks, gaping a little at the house next door to your own.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” San asks, tapping your shoulder gently. He’s been all smiles and flirty whispers in your ear since you left the bar, but he seems to take your reaction as a point of concern. “I can just take you home, if you changed your mind.”

You shake your head. “That’s not it, I just…”

Memories come back to you in flashes, striking somewhere deep in your gut. You, sitting at the piano, putting on a little performance for two boys your age when you ran away before college. Your shy blushes as they praised you, their kind touches against your skin, what happened afterwards…

It’s the most erotic memory of your life.

Just as soon as the memories surface, though, you swallow them down. That’s not important now, not tonight.

“I’m actually staying in the house next door, and I’ve been in this house before,” you explain to San. You try to force your voice to sound chipper. “So you kinda surprised me! That’s all.”

“What a coincidence,” San says, relief in his tone. He squeezes your shoulder. “I think all of us thought that house was abandoned, though.”

“No one’s been there in a while,” you admit, then ask, “wait, what do you mean, all of us? ”

“I’m staying with some friends right now,” he tells you sheepishly, “but don’t worry, they’re chill, and I know a place that’s pretty private inside where they won’t hear us. C’mon.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “A private place, huh? I bet you I’m not the first person you’ve taken up there.”

“You are the first, actually,” he smirks, before you can needle him on that, he leads you in.

You don’t see a single glimpse of San’s friends inside the house, but the space is definitely lived-in. There are plates in the dishwasher, duffel bags on the floor, and, to your delight, music theory textbooks strewn across the coffee tables. You’ve been inside this house before, but it looks markedly different than when you were just out of high school, as if it were remodeled in the time you’ve spent away.

Before you can see much else, San takes your hand and leads you up a winding staircase. You feel your knees wobble, but he’s there to guide you every step of the way, lifting you in his arms the second you reach the top of the stairs.

He presses a hungry, needy kiss to your lips as he carries you through the threshold of what you presume is his room, closing the door with his hips. His lips are slick against your own, teasing a quiet, breathy moan out of your mouth as he sucks delicately on your tongue.

“Such a pretty voice,” he marvels, which has you crumpling against him.

Then he’s laying you down gently onto the mattress, slotting a knee in between your legs to part them. You’re embarrassed at how wet you already are, hours of flirty conversation winding you up more than you thought. Your fingers twitch along the hem of your own shirt, wanting to get a move on but not knowing how fast San wants to take things.

“Feeling shy?” he asks, pulling away from you a little to take in the sight of you on his mattress. His hands dance at your clothed sides, sending more delicious shivers in their wake. “There’s no need to be, baby, but if you’re more comfortable, we can do this in the dark.”

You shake your head. “No, that’s not it. I just… didn’t know how fast you wanted to take things tonight.”

San huffs out a laugh. “Trust me, I’m okay with anything you’re okay with,” he says. His hand finds your hip, just under the hem of your shirt, and starts drawing little comforting circles against the side of your stomach. “You can take the reins. How do you want me?”

Your eyes widen at his words. You can’t remember the last time you had even some semblance of control over the pace of sex. Maybe with previous partners, but not with your fiancé.

In terms of a choice, you can imagine enjoying San doing any number of unspeakable things to you. His hands, from where they graze against your skin, seem practiced and deliberate. You remember the press of his cock against your shorts, too, which makes you feel a little weak in the knees, but most of all…

Arousal floods inside of you at the idea of coming apart on his tongue. You haven’t been eaten out in ages — your fiancé always insisted on not doing it, which you agreed could be a boundary for you at the time — and you had to admit, you missed it. With San’s confidence, you thought he might be open to eating you out, so…

“You look like you want something,” San notices, diving in to press a gentle, heated kiss at the corner of your mouth. His thumb rubs a little farther up your body this time, closer to the cup of your bra. “C’mon, tell me baby…”

“Your tongue,” you whisper, scarcely audible.

You can tell San hears it by the way his eyes light up, but his smirk is still teasing.

“You’ve gotta ask me louder, I can’t hear you when you whisper like that.”

You feel your cheeks go pink. How far was this teasing going to go? Did he want you to beg for it? Did… you like the idea of begging for it, for him?

“Your tongue, please,” you say, a little louder this time, and then he’s surging back into you, crashing his lips into yours.

He gets into position, then, between the apex of your thighs, and makes quick work of his shirt and pants. You can see his cock straining against his black boxer briefs, and you allow yourself a little pride in knowing that you did that to him.

Before you can bask in that feeling, though, he’s dipping his hands under your shirt.

“Only if you want,” he urges, but you’re pulling it off your body before he can finish.

After, San unclips your bra, kneading your breasts softly in his hands before kissing at them. You feel yourself grow wetter as he swirls one nipple around his tongue, and then the other, letting you squirm into his touch until your hands find his bare shoulder, squeezing at them in warning.

“I need you,” you tell him, all breath and want.

He chuckles a little, lifting your ass gently to put a pillow underneath it, then helps you shimmy out of your jean shorts and underwear. He discards them with a careless fling across the room, his attention taken by your naked form.

He traces the shape of your curves with his eyes and smiles appreciatively. You swat at his shoulder, feeling a little over exposed but not uncomfortable with it, and then you feel the laugh in your diaphragm melt into dripping desire.

Then San attaches his lips to your cunt.

You moan immediately at the contact — actually, it’s more of a low pitched scream, which embarrasses you to no end. San, however, just makes a pleased, intrigued noise against your slit.

“My ex, ah, he never…” you start, by way of explanation.

“Bullshit,” San groans into your pussy before you can explain. His tongue traces a titillating pattern up your slit, sending waves of pleasure down the length of your spine. “Fucker had such a pretty, sensitive pussy all to himself and did nothing about it.”

You moan into the back of your hand, unable to stifle all of the ways he’s making you feel. The dirty talk, his tongue, his unabashed appreciation for your body, it’s almost too much. Your brain is swimming in pleasure, in San, and it strikes you just how lucky you are, that you ended up in bed with him tonight. He was the perfect person to distract you from the hell your life has turned into, and you can’t imagine getting any luckier than this.

“Baby,” San whispers, his tongue zigzagging against your most sensitive spot. You’re squirming, now, writhing into his touch. “I’m going to put my fingers inside, is that okay?”

“ Please,” you say, a little louder than you intend.

You’re rewarded with two slick fingers at your opening, pressing into your heat in a slow, gradual rhythm. You groan at the pressure, eyes rolling back as he takes his time with you, working you up to your peak.

As soon as you spread your legs apart further, his tongue is back on your clit, sucking obscenely between praises of good girl and you take me so well against your most sensitive parts. You feel your orgasm nearing, your back arching to press your heat farther into his mouth.

“I’m coming,” you cry out, unable to stop the wobble from your lips. “San, I’m coming, I’m—”

“That’s right,” he tells you, spitting onto your clit and rubbing hard and fast with another finger. The stimulation is so much, so good, and suddenly you’re coming with a cry of his name.

You twitch in his bedsheets as he coaxes you through it, whispering little praises into your cunt. Eventually, when your aftershocks seem to end, he pulls his cock out of his boxers, pumping himself quickly and firmly.

“San,” you plead, with big, watery eyes. He turns to you and you grab your tits with both hands, putting yourself on display for him.

“On my chest, please,” you beg, and with a groan he’s shifting, fisting his cock over your breasts.

He comes in seconds, spurting all over your chest, and you feel yourself flush at the speed of it all — between meeting him, talking and drinking with him, coming back to this house, and ending up on his mattress, you’ve kind of sped through the steps to getting to know each other. But everything feels so good, so right, so different from what you had with your ex. In just a few short hours, San valued you more than your ex fiancé had shown you in years.

The thought brings a complicated feeling to your gut. But more than anything, you feel spent. You know it’s risky, but you decide to take the chance. You just feel so safe with San, unquestionably so.

So you fall into a blissful, dreamless sleep in San’s bed. You’re sleeping when he leaves for the bathroom, coming back moments later with a warm washcloth that he washes your chest and intimate parts off with.

He envelops you in his arms, both of you snoring softly, unaware of what surprises you’d both be met with when you wake up the next morning.

#waves along the shore series #ateez x reader #ot8 x reader #ateez fic #hehetmongi writes

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