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seonghwaddict · 5 months

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to taint your soul — choi san

in which apparently even the daughter of an exorcist is not safe from the corruption of an incubus.

incubus!choi san x exorcist’s daughter!fem!reader. genre. smut, angst, southern gothic vibes. warnings. barely any plot, religious themes, religious guilt, swearing, explicit sexual content mdni, corruption, loss of virginity, masturbation (f.), referenced dacryphilia, fingering, referenced oral (f.), manhandling?, multiple orgasms, rough and gentle, big dick!san, creampie, marking, nicknames (angel, pretty girl, sweet girl, sweetheart). wc. 7.3k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. i should do more mythological characters!ateez cuz i enjoyed writing this and the lamb and the wolf. the demonology book/text here is partially from The Encylopedia of Demons and Demonology by Rosemary Ellen Guiley, but i made up some parts for the sake of the story. THIS FIC DOES NOT REPRESENT ANY OF MY OPINIONS AND I DO NOT INTEND TO OFFEND ANYONE.

listening to. burning desire, lana del rey // gibson girl, ethel cain // lilies, ethel cain & mercy necromancy // ptolemaea, ethel cain // heaven, taemin

masterlist.

you were cursed from the moment you were born.

the idea of being cursed or haunted by anything isn’t one you think about often, considering yourself protected by your father’s profession. at least one dusty bible on every bookshelf in the colonial monstrosity that is your home and crucifixes hung all around, it seems to be common sense that an exorcist’s home would be the safest place to hide from the dark.

unaware of it all, you used to let yourself be tucked into your lace-trimmed bedsheets as he pulled you to sleep with stories. tales of fallen angels and possessed souls became the lullabies of your childhood. admittedly, you were quite terrified of it all, but as you grew older and wiser, you realised there was no way they could get to you. but really, it was wishful thinking.

you weren’t aware of who your father used to be, nor were you aware of the debt he owed to a particular demon.

the dreams started the night after your twentieth birthday, vivid and unsettling. a man haunted them, equally as terrifying as he was handsome. tall and clad in dark silks, his whispered words and hungry eyes intrigued you. his touch, though a figment of your imagination, sent shivers down your spine, foreign yet infinitely alluring. you’d wake up with a jolt, panting, flushed cheeks and tingling skin as the dream stuck to you like cobwebs. your father passed the repeated dreams off as nightmares and you failed to notice the flash of fear cross his features.

one night, however, you were changing in your room. dimly illuminated by multiple candles you set around since you didn’t like how bright the large chandelier was, you held a dress in each of your hands, standing in front of the mirror as you held the clothing to your body in an attempt to figure out what to wear. you didn’t notice at first, but a figure lurked in the shadows of the bedroom. you didn’t notice the shift in the atmosphere or the flicker of the candles.

but soon, a soft sigh sounded through the room, so soft it could’ve been mistake for a whistling breeze outside your window. goosebumps prickled at your skin as you tensed, refusing to move at the oddly human sound. staring at yourself in the mirror intently, you caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the reflection of your mirror. your breath hitched as you fixed your eyes on him, afraid that if you blinked, he’d disappear.

you watched him. watched him take slow steps towards you as he smirked at the sight of your wide, fearful yet infinitely pure and innocent eyes. you convinced yourself you were hallucinating, the disturbingly realistic sounds of his footsteps as much of a figment of imagination as his being. but as he stood right behind you, a coldness swept over your skin and you flinched as his breath fanned against your bare shoulder. whipping around in surprise, you yelped softly at the sensation. but he was gone, and you were alone. breath erratic and eyes stinging, you scrambled to move a wooden cross stand from the top of your dresser to your bedside table.

after that you grew paranoid, always looking over your shoulder, sleeping with at least two safe and reliable candles lit. each time you walked through the hallways of your own home, you kept your gaze fixed on the ground, refusing to look at the portraits lining the dark walls as you thought they were watching you. the tiniest of sounds made you flinch and break a sweat, squeezing your eyes shut and muttering prayers, only to find out the sound came from either of your parents.

the constant state of fear and anxiety left you tired, deciding if your father wasn’t going to do anything about it, you would. on quiet feet, you crept through the halls at noon (you were too scared to go to that room at night), a rosary wrapped around your hand with a dainty little cross hanging from your clenched palm.

you father really was a well-known exorcist, often to go on trips within and beyond the country to treat what doctors couldn’t; demonic possessions. as a symbol of his successes and a means to prevent others from coming in contact with whatever a demon may have attached itself to, he brought home trophies and locked them in a little storage room in the basement. of course, he took many precautions—crucifixes all over the inside and outside, sprinkles of holy water here and there, he’d have your local priest come over and bless the area himself. despite all this, you never once stepped in, partially because your father advised you not to, mostly because you were completely and utterly terrified.

as you descended the creaking wooden stairs, a chill ran through you, the hairs at your nape standing in alert. maybe you were scaring yourself more than the room scared you. the dust tickled your nostrils, making you force down a sneeze as you cleared your throat. the wooden floorboards extended into a narrow hallway, lined by cobblestone walls. you rarely came down, in fact, you couldn’t remember the last time you were there, the surroundings seeming so foreign. there were only two doors, one leading to a storage closet and the other to a slightly scarier storage closet.

you stared up at the ominous door, standing tall and intimidating, a golden cross embossed right in the centra, doorknob dark and rusted. with shaky hands, you fished a copper from the hidden pocket of your plaid gown. it half-hearted a few sloppy attempts until you got the key in, squeezing your eyes shut as you force yourself to finally turn it.

another chill ran through your body as you push the door open weakly, cracking an eye open to look inside. had you come at night, you wouldn’t have been able to see anything, the only source of light being an elongated shirt window lining the top of the right wall, an inch below the ceiling. three shelves. one on the right, one of the left, and one down the middle of the room. the middle and left one were lined with various objects. you walked between them, looking but not daring to touch. the objects were quite diverse, you realised. dolls, clocks, little statues.

you took your time to get to the shelf you needed. along with these objects, you father also locked away any books he had that were related to demons in any way. most of them were confiscated from cults, some of their were from his personal collection. he claimed they were to protect you, and you didn’t completely disbelieve him. taking a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh, looking at all the titles. your fingertips ran over their leather bound spines, feeling the wrinkles and grooves. you knew there would be a lot, but as you looked upon the entire shelf, you estimated a good hundred-fifty books.

he organised them by categories. summoning, excommunication, identifying. identifying. that’s what you needed. you took a closer look at the section, nervousness fading briefly to be replaced by a faint taste of hope.

the encyclopaedia of demons and demonology.

deciding there had to be something in there, you pulled it out. the book itself was simple, bound in black leather. the cover was nothing special, just the title and author. by the looks of it, you’d be here for a while, seemingly at least three hundred pages long. you looked around the dark room, a small wooden desk was tucked into the corner though not a chair in sight. with a soft sigh, you walked over on weak knees, apprehensive about what you’d find in the book.

despite your father’s profession and all the bedtime stories, you never came in contact with demons or the spirit world. setting the book on the desk, you opened it to the index, having to squint to make out the text. but the next time you lifted your eyes off the page, a brass candle holder was tucked into the corner of the table.

you blinked. there was no way that was there before, but maybe you had just missed it. the pale yellow candle stood half melted, the hardened wax forming veins that ran down the sides and pooled in the brass bowl.

you held your breath momentarily before beginning to read through the a to z list of demons and other dark entities and their descriptions. you only skimmed, lingering on any that mentioned appearing in nightmares only to dismiss them when the rest of their descriptions didn’t match with your experience. surprised by just how much there was to read, you felt just a little curious, occasionally stopping to read extracts that had piqued your interest. it wasn’t until you got all the way to section i where something actually seemed to be helpful.

‘incubus—a lewd male demon who pursues women for sex. the incubus and his female counterpart, the succubus, visit women and men in their sleep, lie and press heavily upon them, and seduce them.’

you nearly missed it, continuing your skimming until the description registered, scrambling to turn back the page and reread it.

“oh.” you breathed at the realisation. that seemed to be the most accurate thus far, your finger tracing over the name as you furrowed your eyebrows and continued reading. the next paragraphs detailed how they’re conjured and where the name came from. you read some more.

‘incubi are especially attracted to women with beautiful hair, young virgins, chaste widows, and all “devout” females. nuns are among the most vulnerable and could be molested in the confessional as well as in bed. while the majority of women are forced into sex by the incubi, some of them submit willingly and even enjoy the act. it once was a common belief that women were more likely than men to be the sexual victims of demons, because women were inferior to men and less able to resist temptation.

incubi have enormous phalluses that—’

slamming the book shut, your eyes widened and a deep blush settled over your features, just staring at the cover for a moment as you collected yourself from the sudden vulgarity of the writing. after a moment, you cleared your throat and reopened the page, strategically skipping over the next paragraphs that detailed accounts of intercourse with such a demon.

‘an incubus may form attachments to those whose minds are occupied with dark and inherently sexual desires, those that are impure. one also can be summoned for coital gratifications, or a deal in which one’s first born is ommonly offered to repay their sevices (see: dealing with the demons, page 218).’

but that couldn’t be right. you always made sure to be a good girl, always helped at home. you volunteered to read to children at a local orphanage, always helped with charities and donations, always assisted people where you knew you could, stayed soft spoken and always began your requests with please and ended them with thank you. you kept to yourself most of the time, would never dare to raise your voice at anyone, never had any romantic interest, let alone sexual ones.

admittedly, the dreams involving the man— the demon had you waking up with an uncomfortable stickiness between your thighs. but before that, you never indulged. after that, you never indulged either, instead jumping from your bed and taking an ice could bath to calm yourself from the strange feeling. the temptations were always there and were always strong, but your want to be immaculate was stronger. to be free of sin.

a deal in which one’s first born is offered.

it seemed impossible, almost. you knew your father was a righteous man and your mother a pure woman. but where your mother happily shared stories of her childhood as heart-warming anecdotes, your father only dropped tidbits of his memories despite considering you two to be extremely close. you always chalked it up to him being a little boring or generally not very open. but maybe there was more to it…

“there you go, sweetheart.”

you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice, pushing the book away from you as you turned around a little too quickly, your knee knocking against the edge of the table.

there he stood, barely illuminated by the singular window as he took slow steps towards you much like the other day.

“so, you’ve finally figured it out, huh?”

each time he took a step, his muscles visible through the loose black silk, you inched away until the top of your thigh hit the wooden table, your hands bracing themselves on it to keep you from collapsing in fear. the closer he got, the more you realised just how attractive he was. broad-shouldered and radiating confidence, his feline eyes roamed over your figure. depite wearing a white gown that reached all the way down to your ankles, you felt so exposed.

tongue swiping along his bottom lip, drawing your attention to the action. he towered over you, making you feel weak and small as he trapped you against the table. your heart pounded against your ribcage and you feared it would break free and fall into his hands, unsure if the warmth on your cheeks and ump in your throat came from how utterly petrified you were or the way his breath fanned over your face like a whisper.

“your dearest father isn’t who he says he is,” he pouted mockingly, coming to a stop inches in front of you, letting his gaze settle on your quivering lips for a moment, “and me? well, you know what i am. and you also know we can have lots of fun if you allow it.”

your lips parted to speak but no words came out, instead opting to press them into a thin line and squeezing your eyes shut as you shook your head. you weren’t completely sure why you wer shaking your head, but if it would stop the incubus from tainting you, it was worth a try.

“don’t kid yourself, princess. i can smell how wet you are.” as if to emphasise his point, he inhaled deeply, leaning forward to ghost his nose over the slope of your neck without touching you.

it wasn’t until he said it that you notice you had been squeezing your thighs together, feeling warm all over and you stomach twisted in knots at the sound of his deep voice. something ached in your lower regions, but you tried your hardest to resist the thoughts.

but a little voice in the back of your head urged you to tilt your head back, to give him permission, to let his hands explore your untouched body. maybe just this once you could allow yourself to give in, to let your knees go weak and worry about begging for forgiveness later.

“all you have to do is drop the rosary.”

you gripped it tighter at the reminder of the protective object tangled between your fingers, fighting to keep your sanity intact. your breath hitched as you felt one of his fingers run along the beads, not daring to come close to the little silver cross or your skin.

“c’mon, pretty girl. drop it,” you heard the smirk in his voice, “let it go and i’ll take good care of you, i can make you feel things you’ve never thought of… i can make you feel alive, wouldn’t you love that? don’t you want to feel the desire? taste the lust?”

“n-no,” you gasped finally, finding your words, “it’s not right.“

he laughed, a low rumble from his chest, “i promise you’ll love being ruined by me,” he said, withdrawing his hand from yours, “i swear to all your precious little holy symbols, i know i can get you to want me.”

he moved closer and for a maddening moment you thought he was going to kiss you. faintly, you wanted him to. to feel the push of his lips against yours, to let his hands snake around your waist or grip your hips to pull you closer. there’s a ring on his index finger, you noticed, silvery and sharp, a symbol you didn’t recognise yet imagine him pressing it against your throat, branding your neck anew until it’s red and faithful. and maybe you crave for him to undo all the things in you that are holy.

“just drop it, pretty,” his breath teased your lips and you almost leaned forward in curiosity, wanting to see how just one kiss would feel, “i know you’re a good girl.”

those words. they’re almost enough for you to give in. how did he know those would strike a nerve, hit you where he knew it would work? not only did all your efforts ultimately lead to the same goal—purity, goodness—but you couldn’t deny the satisfaction you felt from reassurance. if you were an animal, you’d strive to be the priest’s favourite sacrificial lamb. to hold so very still and to bleed so prettily when the knife final comes down, to be reborn and be chosen all over again.

“don’t you get it?” he whispered, “i live inside you the same way you’re bound to live inside me. we’re a moebius strip, a never ending cycle of a snake eating it’s own tail. maybe it will end in destruction, but that’s your dear father’s doing. mutually assured destruction, maybe; you say yes, i’ll ruin you for everyone else, blacken the wool of your fur coat. you say no to me, i will suffer the consequences of not fulfilling a deal. you wouldn’t want someone to suffer because of you, hm?”

your grip on the rosary loosened and let your eyes finally flutter open. from this proximity, you could see every detail of his face and the image seared into your mind.

something in his eyes darkened as his lips curled, a playful smile, a predatory grin. the way he looked at you made you want to combust into flames, to fall to your knees, you skin rubbed raw on the ground as you beg him to make you feel.

“you don’t look so innocent anymore, you know? you’re docile and sweet, yes, but you’re not as pure as you think you are, there’s a little dirt in your pristine heart, a little lustful stain you can’t erase.”

“y-you’re wrong!” you protested, trying to convince yourself he was lying, “i’m good and i’ve always been good and i always will be good and i will not for the devil’s influence.”

“oh, but i’m not,” he pouted mockingly, moving his head back just an inch, looking down at you, “you’re practically shaking, so close to giving in… you’re the most pious girl here, yet you’re so close to sin, so close to me.”

you opened your mouth to continue your protests but flinched as you heard familiar heavy footsteps, looking up at the little window to see the familiar boots of your father about to enter the house after a long day of work. he was out, casting out malicious spirits and demons, and here you were, about to let one deflower you. the realisation seemingly made you come back to your senses, clenching the roary in your hand once more and looking for a way past him.

but… what would you even do afterwards? confront your father, the town’s devout exorcist, for making deals with the incubus in front of you? would he call you crazy, deny everything and treat you like just another one of his clients?

the footsteps were now above you, you could faintly hear him saying something to your mother though you couldn’t quite make out what it was. you’d never been as afraid of anything as you were of your own father, standing right above you, acting like he hadn’t damned you from the day you were conceived.

as if he could read your thoughts, could sense your panic that was completely unrelated to him, the incubus stepped back. his face was unreadable as his glazed over eyes fixated on you.

“don’t worry, sweet girl, i can wait. the longer you resist, the better it’ll feel when you finally surrender,” he gave you a small smile, different from the previous grins and smirks, as he nodded towards the window, “go.”

you could’ve run away the moment he stepped back, yet you didn’t move until he gave you the permission. you didn’t dwell on that fact as you slipped past him and reached up, shaky hands undoing the latch and opening outwards. you attempted to climb up, your arms burning as you tried lifting yourself, only to give up, panting softly from the effort.

“let me help you.” his voice offered, prompting you to look back at him. the seductive glint in his eyes was no longer there, taking a small step forward. “just… put it down, i promise i’ll help you and leave.”

you stared at him for a long moment. there was something so different in the way he looked at you now, suddenly soft and with good intentions. the voice of your father calling your name snapped you out of your stupor, nodding hurridely as you placed the rosary on the grass outside carefully before turning to look at him.

he gestured for you to turn away, your hands finding your hips as you did. the contact made you breath hitched, despite your layers of clothing between your curves and his hands, your stomach tickled with swarming butterflies as he lifted you up. the heat of his body behind yours distracted you for a moment, taken aback at how real he felt, how human he felt, even as he lifted you with ease.

you braced your forearms on the ground, pulling yourself up the rest of the way as he spoke.

“whisper my name three times, and i’ll be summoned wherever you are, ready to fulfill your needs.”

you stayed quiet for a moment, just sitting on the ground as you looked down at him, now able to see his full face clearning from his proximity to the window. “what’s your name?”

“san,” he smiled, “choi san.”

you loked away, up at your house as your father’s concerned voice called out your name again. “i should get going, but–,” you looked down to thank him, only to find an empty room and a sealed window. your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, voiced trailing off, “thank you…”

the first time you touched yourself, it was san you were thinking about.

late at night, your parents fast asleep, a storm ragin outside, but all you could do was think about him. you tried, you really did. you tried to go back in the house and pretend everything was fine, that you had just been on a walk and your flushed face was from the excercise. secretely, all you could think about was him. how you wanted him to show up again—wanted him to make your breath hitch and your heart jump. wanted him to soothe whatever it was that ached inside you; the burn in the pit of your stomach, the spot where your waist met your hips, but most of all between your legs, were it had never ached like this before.

you excused yourself from dinner earlier, went to bed, and tried so desperately to fall asleep. whether it was to forget about it all, or to meet him in your dreams again, you couldn’t tell. you really tried, but haunting thoughts of how his hands held onto you rolled into your mind with images of all the things he could do to you. the raspy lilt of his voice, sometimes soft, sometimes commanding in a way that made your limbs feel like jello at the mere thought of it. his sharp eyes and sharp jaw and such tempting lips. he could have a kind face if he wanted to, yet his toned body, visible and obvious despite trying to hide behind his clothing, screamed sex appeal.

flashes from your previous dreams raced through your mind too. fragments of images where you could feel his hands all over you, his dark hair sticking to his sweat forehead, eyes rolled back from the pleasure he gave himself while you were forced to watch. you never quite gave in in the dreams either.

you tossed and turned in your bed, thighs pressed together so tight you worried you’d have long bruises down your inner thighs the next morning. the new feeling felt much too large for your fragile mind, overwhelming you, making your loose clothes feel suffocating. it wouldn’t leave you alone, wouldn’t let you sleep. mostly because you didn’t want to give the feeling a name, you refused to speak its name, even in your mind, even if it could identify this feeling.

pent-up and strained, coiled into yourself in a foetal position, you could only roll onto your back and let your hand trail down your body, hiking up the long skirt of your nightgown before letting your fingers dip between your thighs, spread at the knees. you let out a shaky gasp as you felt the wetness pooled beneath your undergarments, clamping your other hand over your lips. after feeling around experimentally, your fingers found a quick pace, rubbing over your clit, more desperate than they had ever been. your hand muffled your gasped out moans and whimpers, tears pricking at your eyes—partly from the guilt, mostly from the pleasure. you felt your heart beat all over your body, most of all right below your moistened fingertips.

shaky breaths and muffled needy cries were covered by both your hand and the storm outside your window. if hurts a little, your clit swelling as more and more slick coats it and the knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter. but you don’t mind the pain, you think you deserve it, because after all, it’s forbidden and it’s not supposed to feel good. san is not supposed to make you feel so good. a demon was the one thing that wasn’t supposed to be on your mind, especially not in this way.

the thought of him made your hand move faster and suddenly your breath was stuttering and your core pulse as you finish quickly, biting down on your lip, hard enough to cut through the skin, to muffle your cries. when you came down from your high, you lay there for a few moments longer, heart racing as you glance at the door to make sure it was still closed. and when you realised what you had just done, shame clouded your lungs as you slipped your fingers out of your panties and raised them to your face.

your hands came away sticky. transparents webs of your pleasure linking your index and middle fingers together as you stared in horror before finally collecting yourself and jumping from your bed to scrub the sin from your hands in your bathroom.

you scrubbed until your fingers turned red and your palms raw, losing sensation from the ice cold water, the guilt sinking deeper and deeper the longer you took to cleanse your body. you hadn’t noticed the tears running down your cheeks until you stared at yourself in the mirror, sniffling and glossy-eyed. your body might be clean, but were you? if you wanted to be immaculate, how could you let yourself do such a thing?

it was his fault, really. him and his midnight eyes and electric touches and words that would drive you to madness, damnation.

you changed your panties and nightgown, burying them in your laundry basket as if you were burying the evidence of a crime. once done, you wanted nothing more than to sink into your bed and fall asleep. but as you stared at what you once thought was comforting, you could only think about your soft whimpers and shaking thighs. so you stripped your bed naked to decorate it anew with clean sheets and blankets and pillows, shoving the previous ones under your bed before finally falling into a deep sleep.

shame followed you like a pest for the next days, unable to properly smile because all you could think about was what you had done. and what you wanted to do. a heavy melancholy washed over you in these days, confining yourself to your room when ou didn’t have to come down for meals. if your parents picked up on it, they didn’t say anything. maybe they knew. what if they know?

maybe they didn’t say anything because they knew about san. perhaps they thought it was fate, that you would give in sooner or later. despite cracking a bit, you stood by your conviction that you wouldn’t, no matter what, summon him.

but… was he really so bad? had you not seen a moment of softness when he helped you? demons were, after all, fallen angels. could it really be so impossible he still had a sprinkle of previous angeilc qualities? silently, you were thankful he hadn’t showed up on his own again. if he did, you were afraid you’d throw away all sense of faith and throw yourself into his arms, let him kiss you and lick you and suck you and bite you and everything in between.

despite all this, despite not wanting to summon him, you couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling weighing you down with each step. it had been there before—before whatever happened in the basement—dragging your seemingly heavy limbs through vacant hallways. but when he touched you, when his fingertips brushed against yours as he touched the shiny black beads of your rosary even though he didn’t mean to, when his hands lifted you into the air and helped you escape, the way he talked to you, his words and tone, that unsettling feeling had been lifted off your shoulders.

you noticed, for a brief moment, when you spent that short amount of time with him, you had no desire to think of god or rules or expectations. even if it was for a split second, it happened, and perhaps that what terrified you the most. just wanted to be, something you hadn’t been allowed for so long.

so when your parents said they’d be out late for some dinner you had no interest in attending, you paced around your room, deep in thought as your typical long nightgown tickled your ankles. millions of thoughts raced through your kind but, at the core, they were all the same. san, san, san. you felt like he had attached himself to your very soul, and you’re not quite sure how it happened.

without thinking, you stopped your pacing, glancing at the crucifix on your bedside table, a reminder. you couldn’t take it anymore, reaching out to take the wooden symbol and hide it in your closet. was it really wrong if it was still there, only trapped behind the wooden double doors, nestled between your skirts and shirts and gowns and gowns? out of sight, you felt less bad about what you were going to do.

your eyes squeezed shut and you did as he told you to, lips parting to whisper his name thrice. almost instantly, a gust of wind blew through your room and you knew there was someone else there with you. your eyes remained shut until you heard footsteps stalking towards you, his familiar voice filling the eerie silence of the room.

“hello, angel,” he grinned, borderline menacing, as he backed you up against your dresser. much like before, you were trapped, the back of your thighs pressed against the wood. only this time, you weren’t afraid, “i knew you’d give in sooner rather than later.”

you didn’t reply, didn’t know how to reply, only breathing shallowly, fingers curling into the edge of your dresser as you glanced from his eyes to his lips repeatedly.

“you need to give me permission, you know,” he chuckled, tilting his head to the side, “there are rules for deals such as these.”

“please.” you breathed, somewhere between a whisper and a needy whine as your round eyes looked up at him so desperately.

as soon as the word left you, his lips were on yours. hungry, devouring you, sucking on your bottom lip like it’s a candy as you can’t help but melt and whimper against him. his hand found your cheek, the touch surprisingly soft compared to the madness of his kisses. your heart rattled against your ribcage like a bird wanting to escape its confines. his saccharine saliva seeped into your mouth as his tongue broke past your lips, running over your teeth and the roof of your mouth as you let him do whatever he wanted.

his hands are all over you and yours are all over him, grabbing at each other because there was no way to get any closer like this. your thoughts, unlike before, are completely quiet, head empty and drunk on the sloppy kisses, mouthfuls of teeth clashing against each other. he was supposed to be gentle, he wanted to be gentle, yet now you’re pressed against the dresser and he’s kissing you hard.

it was wrong, but it felt too good. that was clear from the moment your kisses turn open-mouthed, lips clinging and tongues dancing. you shivered as both his hands held you by your hips once more, lifting you to sit on the edge of the oak furniture, caressing your hips bones through the thin fabric of your dress.

your hands rug at his shirt lightly, a silent plea for him to remove it, wanting to see and feel every inch of his divine body. he complies, separating his lips from your to reach over his shoulder and grip the silky shirt from the back, pulling it over his head, tossing it aside. your hands explore his naked torso, fingernails scratching along his skin as he loses himself in the taste of your kisses.

his hands dragged the long skirt of your gown up your legs, fingers ghosting over the supple skin of your calves and thighs before letting the cloth bunch up at your hips, winding your legs around his waist before lifting you off the dresser. you cling to him the way the thought of him cling to you for so long before this as he carries you. he lays you down gently, your head spinning as he kneeled on the edge of your bed and leaned over you, moving his lips from yours to mouth at your neck.

his hot breaths dance along your skin, across your collarbone, neck, pressing wet kisses down to the fabric covering your chest. you gasped softly as he brushed his teeth against your skin, a reminded that he could really break you if he wanted, but the feel of his lips against the curve of your neck, testing out the waters of your shoulder, made the intimidating thought vanish.

he teases the skin just above your neckline with nibbles that have you throwing your head back with soft whimpers, only encouraging him as his left hand kept one of your legs hitched up against his hips and his right undid the ribbons at the back of your dress. the fabric loosens and slips around, one sleeve falling over your shoulder slightly as he sat you up a little and pulled the dress over your head, discarding it and leaving you in your white ruffled bra and panties.

you’re dizzy, delirious with thirst—for his touch, his kisses, for everything his sharp lips could give you, for him to relieve the ache between your legs. you shiver as you’re left bare, nipples peaking through your bra, undergarments barely hiding your most precious parts. you try covering yourself with shaking arms, despite the little fabric still be there, but his hands move them aside, pulling them to rest on his bare chest. his eyelids flutter for a moment at the contact, your hands so much colder than his.

he leans back to look at your, hand at your back winding around to massage a handful of one breast, watching your breath hitch. “such a pretty girl, and all for me.”

“san…” you whimper aimlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“such an angel,” he teases again, thumb circling over your clothed nipple lightly, grinning at how helpless you looked, “supposedly protected by your father, by god, yet here you are, practically begging for a demon to fuck you.”

he presses himself closer and you can feel the thick and heavy weight of his cock smudge against your core, gasping softly as you eyes roll back, his tip prodding against the fabric covering your sensitive clit. his name falls from your lips once again, like a softly uttered prayer as you back arches. he takes the opportunity to undo the clasp of your bra, slipping the item off you before continuing to tease your perked nipples, leaning down to lick and suck at them as his hips grind against yours. you weren’t sure when he took off his pants, but you didn’t quite care, not when his impressive girth covered your core so well. sometimes the tip would dip into your entrance before leaving just as quickly, your toes curling as it stretched you and your panties.

he moans into your neck, grinding against you at just the right pace, his precum smearing all over you already-drenched panties. the feeling of his tip prodding at you clit so continuously makes you come quickly, and much harder than the other night when you touched yourself. you writhe beneath him, shaking and crying out his name as your back arches from the bed.

“hm, you’re so much prettier like this, angel, succumbing and throwing away any desire of virtue,” he mutters against your jaw, having sucked dark marks onto the skin right below it, his deep melodic voice.

angel. the way he calls you that makes you shiver. how could he do that? call you an angel while plucking out the feathers of the wings you’d once had?

when he enters you, it’s slow and deliberate, leaning down to whisper into your ear as he presses your hands into the white mattress—”heaven itself could not make you feel like this.”

“i’ve never… you know…” you had admitted shyly once you came down from the first orgasm he coaxed out of you.

he only chuckled, caressing your cheek. “i know. virgins always smell the sweetest.”

you pleaded for him to be gentle, and how could he say no when you were begging so prettily? now his length is barely halfway inside you and you’re already shaking, drenched and deprived pussy squeezing him tightly as he swallows down your broken moans, holding back him own. you feel abnormally good to him, unable to remember the last time he fucked such a perfect pussy.

as he reaches previously untouched parts of you, his tip brushes against a spongey little area that has you clenching, your breath hitching followed by a gasped moan as you come again. stars flood your vision, feeling like your body was on fire as your hands tightened under his. his tongue licks up every one of your sounds, smothering you as he pulled back a bit to press against the spot some more.

your moans soon turn into soft whines, twitching from overstimulation before he fially continues to enter you. it’s a tight fit, but he bottoms out eventually.

“fuck- you take me so well, you’re so perfect.” he groans, looking down at where he can see his tip bulging through your stomach.

you never imagined just how full you would feel, the stretch burning yet somehow still pleasurable as you squirm beneath him. he doesn’t wait, retracting and fucking into you slowly, letting you feel every curve and vein of his perfect cock.

he loses track, but he thinks he’s made you finish 4 times already. he’s not surprised, virginity leaves most people sensitive, and the fact he’s been teasing you in and out of your dreams for months likely didn’t help. san revels in it though, basks in the sounds you try to hold back so desperately. he isn’t lying when he says you’re pretty, hypnotised by your face contorted in pleasure and your body, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. they somehow still have an innocent glint in them, even as he manoeuvres you into different positions before finally easing you into your back once more.

you arousal is smeared all over yourself and him and the bedsheets. clear and sticky, glistening in the candlelight. at some point he slipped out of you to lean down and have a taste, groaning as you mewed above him. when his teeth grazed your abuser clit, you finish once again and a moment later he’s back inside you.

eventually, his hips stutter and a newfound pace takes over. “shit, angel, i’m gonna fill you up so good. would you like that?”

you can only nod frantically, brain turned to mush, jaw dropped to let out your lazy whimpers. you’ve lost track of everything but him; his touch, his voice, his influence. if you parents walked in or he disappeared, you’d only be able to lay there, completely helpless.

he never really stops, taking his time to worship your tight hole, knowing he’ll only be able to stop when he comes. though, by the looks of it, it’ll be sooner rather than later.

his groans and moans sound blissful in your ears, holding your name between his teeth with a low whimper. he spills his tick warm cum into you, the new sensation making you shake and squirm as you feel your insides being filled. another orgasm washed over you, though a little weaker, drunk on his scent and his saliva and him him him.

he kisses you, bruisingly, slipping out of yoh and letting you feel his seed seep out of your hole and run down your thighs, pussy coated in milky white. he slumps against you, detaching his lips from yours to gaze down at your barely open eyes.

it’s tiring, you can’t deny that, but it just feels so good. all your disgusting, fucked up thoughts were because of him. and now your most intimate parts will always be tainted by his hands. he calls you ‘good girl,’ yet you know you’ll never be good again.

choi san: voice like silk, touch like satin, incubus, demon. you’d think demons kill people, but your purity was his only homicide. he murdered your virginity. murderer.

but you do wish for him to kiss you again.

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet @atzhouse

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

fic taglist. @ta3baee @juyofans @sourkimchi @desirehorizon @revepixy @yungilia @cntlyv @mcendpoet @kimseungminsprincess @cookiechristie @bluesunpurplestar1117 @vnessalau @k1ttym0nkey @kyeomooniee @aarzoo-2 @pinkgirly-18-blog @yourfatherlucifer @puddingjongho @futuresoffantasies @reallywingedland @spenceatiny18 @im-def-not-ok @hwapou @a1sh1teruu @lover-ofallthingspretty @arabelleum @hoshiseon @guggu6gvai @seongsbf @honggatito @deltamoon666 @yunhoszn @1-800-fuccthisshit

#cromernet #wonderlandnet #cultofdionysusnet #pirateeznet #atzhouse #ateez #ateez x reader #choi san smut #san x reader #san reactions #san imagines #san smut #san fluff #san angst #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez fluff #ateez smut

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srslyscary · 2 months

Text

the little things

the little things in your relationship with atz

including: seonghwa, hongjoong, yunho, yeosang, san, mingi, wooyoung, jongho

skz ver. / p1h ver.

seonghwa who buys you an extra lego set to build with you when you have free time.

seonghwa who runs a bath for you with an option of newly bought bath bombs when he visits you before you get home for work.

seonghwa who jumps at the thought of watching all of the star wars movies when you ask to be better educated on it.

seonghwa who casually twirls a strand of your hair in his fingers when you’re talking to someone else.

hongjoong who experiments with his tracks, almost using your own giggle as the opening to one of his raps.

hongjoong who tries very hard to learn your native language if you aren’t korean or originally from korea.

hongjoong who watches you cook and tries to ask if he can help even if he knows he can’t cook.

hongjoong who sits and listens to you talk about your latest fixations with the softest smile on his face.

yunho who shows you how to play all his favorite games, often offering to have you sit in his lap while he guides you.

yunho who buys you the biggest teddy bear every year for your birthday without fail.

yunho who keeps a rose with him every concert to give to you during his performance.

yunho who sends you random pictures of things throughout the day and says “this reminds me of you”.

yeosang who takes you stargazing only to look at you the entire time.

yeosang who pays attention to every detail about you which includes your hobbies, your personality, your likes, and your dislikes.

yeosang who subtly matches your color scheme for every date you go on.

yeosang who is fascinated with the thought of traveling to all your favorite places and exploring new areas.

san who holds your hair in his hand when you forget to tie it up before cooking.

san who buys you as many plushies as you can fit in your house, to which most of them match the ones he has.

san who leaves his hand in your back pocket in large crowds so that he won’t lose you.

san who tackles you into a hug during sleepovers before bedtime because he missed you.

mingi who stares at you with the most lovesick eyes when you’re talking because he loves how excited you are.

mingi who wraps his arms around your shoulders and leans on you when he’s tired.

mingi who never forgets to buy you your favorite drinks when he comes to visit you at work.

mingi who laughs at the smallest things you do because he adores you too much.

wooyoung who will kiss you softly while holding your face because it’s his favorite way to kiss you.

wooyoung who calls his brother to talk about you and make plans for the two of you to meet one day.

wooyoung who leaves his shirts at your place so that you can wear his clothes.

wooyoung who massages your head while you’re cuddling in hopes of relieving any stress you may have.

jongho who plants a kiss on your forehead when he walks by, and often leaving a kiss on your shoulder when he’s behind you.

jongho who reminds you every morning by text to remember certain things you may forget before going to work.

jongho who rubs small circles into your hands during movie night.

jongho who buys you matching jewelry that says “my heart” and “my soul” and buys a new piece to add to it each year for every year you’re together.

614 notes · View notes

cutieeva · 2 months

Text

God Of The Chisel

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧 Female Reader

Warnings : Manipulation. Detail Sex. Rape.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

❛ 見る人目の ❜

Sculpture. Molding soul into a form, where art meets emotions. That's the definition for (Y/N), the reason of her learning it, the motivation of her creating such art because she can release her emotions through it yet what happens if she has to create the most beautiful sculpture in the entire world, a sculpture who fell for his own sculpturor.

"So, (Y/N) senpai what sculpture are you going to do this time ?" Itadori Yūji asked clearly excited for his senior's new otherworldly addition to arrive.

"I have no idea this time". She answered, a deep sigh slip her lips as her (E/C) eyes continue to stare at the thin poster of competition.

"Why though ? You are a genius in our major or should I say in Cutieeva university". Kugisaki Nobara replied, chewing the thin end of her paintbrush. "Right Megu-chan ?" The said boy, Fushiguro Megumi nod senselessly busy creating his own carving.

"Look, the competition has clearly said the participators has to sculpture the most beautiful creation the world has yet to seen out of their perspective imaginations and the winner would only be who's sculpture is most well loved by the audience not even judges or critics !!" (Y/N) explained re-reading the poster. "If my art didn't seem beautiful enough to normal eyes than it will be pure humiliation ! Not only for me but for other participators too ! Because it indirectly suggest that us all elite students of art isn't yet good enough to be approved by daily to daily audience only capable to approve to the mediocre judges who stuck by rules and that we are worthlessly wasting money". She expressed her further worries.

"Oh ! I didn't knew it was that deep". Yuji glib laughed.

"Shut up !" Nobora nudged the boy seeing (Y/N) dug fingers on her scale as if she desire to rip hair from the roots.

"(Y/N)-san do not worry. Art is a way to release your emotions not for others to ridicule". Getō Suguru smiled, walking into the art studio earning all four student's attention. "No pressure should be felt or else the art won't be as nearly beautiful as it could be if you do it like you did in the past".

"But Suguru sensei I can't stand the humiliation of losing in front of others so bluntly". Shamefully she down her head.

"Then mold it". (Y/N) tilted her head.

"What do you mean ?" Geto smiled wider.

"Mold your frustration, anger, disappointed, fear on the clay. Use your vivid imagination of horrors and your version of beauty on the sculpture. Use this gift of sculpting to release your emotions so you can at least create something because without creating how can you refine it in the first place ?" The art teacher thoroughly described his most talented student who nod feeling a bit light yet uncertain.

"Also those monkeys are called monkeys for a reason if they don't understand your brilliant art". He added causing Yuji to chuckle.

"They are humans as you, sensei". Megumi mutter loud enough for each to hear.

"Also Fushiguro-San not forget I will be there to inspect your sculpture".

"I know".

"I am reminding it. Just in case". Geto merely smiled at the black head boy glaring at him making other three laugh.

"Ha ! Thank you Suguru sensei and megumi-Chan ! I will do my best". She raised her closed fist in the air.

"Thank us too !" Yuji yelled.

"Thank you Yuji-chan and nobara-chan too". She added giggling at their childish antics finding a new spirit to work with even though in the back of her mind she wonder what will be the result of her emotions molding the clay will be.

In a quiet, isolated white room (Y/N)'s fingers wrapped around the cool, damp clay, she felt an surge of creative energy coursing through her veins. With unwavering focus, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the depths of her imagination. In the darkness, a vision began to take shape— the most breathtakingly beautiful form her mind could conjure. With each gentle touch, the clay yielded to her will, as if alive and responding to her every thought. Her hands moved deftly, sculpting the body, hands, arms, and every delicate detail, just as she envisioned. Time stood still as she became one with the creative process, lost in the pool of her imagination.

Hours passed, or perhaps only moments – (Y/N) was oblivious to the world around her. Her entire being was consumed by the artistic expression unfolding beneath her fingers. Finally, she opened her eyes, and her gaze fell upon the emerging masterpiece. Almost half of the body had taken form, and she gasped in wonder, grasping the clay as if to ensure it was real. A soft smile spread across her face as she realized that whatever she was creating was going to be breathtakingly beautiful – a true reflection of the vision that had possessed her. The clay seemed to pulse with a life of its own, as if infused with the essence of her imagination. (Y/N)'s heart swelled with excitement, knowing that she was crafting something extraordinary, a testament to the transformative power of art.

As the day succumbed to the allure of twilight, (Y/N) remained entranced, her fingers moving with a life of their own. The setting sun cast a warm orange glow upon her workspace, but she didn't notice. The stars began to twinkle like diamonds in the night sky, and the moon rose high, bathing the world in a soft, ethereal light. Yet, she continued to create, oblivious to the passage of time. Hours melted away, and the night deepened, however (Y/N)'s focus never wavered. Her body seemed to forget its needs – hunger, fatigue, and thirst became distant memories. Her sole purpose was to bring forth the masterpiece unfolding before her. The clay appeared to respond to her every touch, as if a divine force had taken residence within her.

With each delicate stroke, the sculpture evolved, gaining refinement and nuance. (Y/N)'s hands moved with a precision that bordered on reverence, as if she were channeling the essence of the divine. The air around her seemed to vibrate with creative energy, and the clay itself appeared to pulse with an otherworldly life. In this state of flow, (Y/N) became one with her art, transcending mortality. Her soul merged with the sculpture, infusing it with a spark of the divine. The boundaries between creator and creation blurred, and she became the deity, shaping the clay with an omnipotent touch. Time lost all meaning as she worked tirelessly, sleepless and unrelenting, driven by an insatiable passion to bring forth perfection.

As the next day dawned, her fingers moved with a newfound sense of purpose, her fingers deftly shaping the final details of her masterpiece. The sculpture stood before her, a magnificent form born from her unwavering dedication. Yet, one crucial element remained— the face, the window to the soul, where expression and emotion would breathe life into her creation. Thus, she was about to move to add details when the sun's warm, golden light danced across her art, her (E/C) eyes gaze locked onto her creation, and she felt the weight of reality settle upon her. The world around her snapped into focus, and she beheld her masterpiece in awe.

Transfixed, she reached out a trembling hand to touch the sculpture, as if to ensure it was truly real. However her body finally acknowledged its limits, her legs buckled, and she sank to the ground, exhausted. A soft cry escaped her lips as she left a voice message "Nobara... food... water..." she whispered, voice barely audible.

Despite her physical collapse, an overwhelming sense of joy and pride swelled within her chest, threatening to burst forth. Tears of happiness pricked at the corners of her eyes as she gazed upon her creation, now radiant in the warm sunlight. The sculpture seemed to pulse with a life of its own, as if infused with the essence of her being. (Y/N)'s heart overflowed with a sense of accomplishment, knowing she had poured her very soul into this masterpiece that is yet to be finished.

Moments later Nobara approached Y/N with a gentle smile, carrying a tray laden with food and water, the aroma of nourishment wafted through the air, enticing Y/N's senses. Nobara's eyes sparkled with warmth as she helped Y/N sit up, cradling her head as she offered a refreshing sip of water.

Meanwhile, Yuji's excitement burst forth like a pent-up torrent, his words tumbling out in an effusive stream: "Wow, (Y/N) senpai this is... this is... incredible! The detail, the emotion, the sheer beauty of it! It's like nothing I've ever seen before!" His gaze darted between his senior and the sculpture, his eyes aglow with wonder.

Geto, beaming with pride, nodded his head in approval, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "(Y/N)-san, my student, you have truly outdone yourself. I've never seen such imagination, such skill, such... life breathed into a creation. You've surpassed even my expectations!"

Megumi, usually a silent observer, stood transfixed, his dark blue eyes fixed upon the sculpture as if mesmerized. His gaze seemed to hold a deep reverence, as if the artwork had awakened a part of him long dormant. For once, his quiet nature was not a result of reserve, but rather, utter captivation.

(Y/N) sipped the water and nibbled on the food, her strength slowly returning, she smiled weakly, basking in the praise and admiration of her friends and teacher. The warmth of their words enveloped her, filling her with a sense of pride and accomplishment.

"I know. This year's grand prize will also be rewarded to our university, won by none other than you, (Y/N) !" Geto's eyes shone with warm and paternal pride. His smile radiated deep satisfaction like his heart had been poured into the sculpture. Unspoken awe. Golden pride.

(Y/N) blush from all the showers of compliment yet she remained a little doubtful as the expression of the face is yet to be crafted dwelling whether the window of the model's will ruin her almost masterpiece.

"Hopefully I can create his expression. I still do not know how or what to shape his expression, hair". Nobora chuckle, sitting near her.

"Do not worry ! We all believe in you. Do your best !" She raised her fist in the air, trying to cheer her friend which she succeed because (Y/N)'s tension dissolved, chewing the food.

"But ! Do not forget to take food because forget award you can't even move your hands if this is how it goes on". Megumi calmly advised.

"Right ! (Y/N) senpai ! Please rest your body". Yuji cheerfully agreed, still captivated by the art with his eyes.

"Thank you. I will". And she did heed to their advise taking full three hours break while laying on her bed with jumble of confusion, thoughts tangled in a web of uncertainty inside her mind. She stared blankly at the clay, her fingers poised in mid-air, as if waiting for the familiar spark of inspiration to strike.

However it didn't come.

For the first time, her natural gift seemed to be faltering. She felt like a novice again, fumbling in the dark, unsure of how to mold his expression. The ease with which she usually shaped clay into breathtaking works of art had deserted her. Her eyes, once closed in confident intuition, now snapped open in frustration. Reaching for a sketchbook, (Y/N) began to scribble down ideas, trying to coax her elusive creativity back to the surface. The pencil scratched across the paper, a staccato rhythm that echoed her racing thoughts. She was forced to confront the possibility that her imagination, once a boundless ocean, might have limits after all.

This unfamiliar struggle was like reminiscing her beginning stage again, rediscovering the basics of her craft. The discomfort was palpable, like trying to relearn a forgotten language. Fingers moved hesitantly, as if seeking permission to create, her mind clouded by self-doubt. The sketchbook became a lifeline, a tangible connection to her artistic voice, which seemed to be whispering in a language she could no longer understand.

"I think I should sleep". Trying for hours with no avails she shut her notebook harshly, closing her eyes to drift into the land of dream in hopes of re-freshing her mind and back to her usual gifted self.

(Y/N) unusually found herself standing in a familiar sun-drenched studio, surrounded by half-finished sculptures and scattered tools. Her late mother stood before a work-in-progress, chisel in hand and for odd reasons she approached, curiosity etched on her face, and asked "Mother, what are you doing?"

"I am creating a sculpture, sweet one. I'm bringing this clay to life." A smile curve upon her frown look

(Y/N)'s gaze wandered to a nearby model, posed with elegance, yet lacking an upper torso. "Mother, why is she like that?" she asked, her voice tinged with innocence.

"Oh, my child, I couldn't complete her". Her mother burst into laughter

"Then will it always be like this?" Her younger self tilted her head.

Her mother's expression turned gentle, "No, my dear. Creating art means being patient. When I feel stuck, I pause, enjoy life, and give time for creativity to return to me. It's like a river, flowing and ebbing. I must learn to wait for the tide to come back."

And suddenly the image turn distant and faded into burl letting (Y/N) open her eyes with tears gliding her sides and reality welcome her, a world without her mother.

The memory of her mother's words lingering like a whispered secret with other bitter memories of her coffin flood too spreading a bittersweet taste on her lips. "Mother you never left me. Did you ?" Smiling to her herself she understood the truth : patience was the key. She needed to wait, to let her imagination recharge, and trust that the muse would return to her when the time was right rather than forcing the art to flow.

From the moment on she let go the weight that had been pressing upon her by abandoning the almost-finished sculpture, leaving it to stand silently, a testament to her temporary surrender.

With a newfound sense of freedom, she wandered into the garden, her fingers trailing across the soft petals of blooming flowers. The gentle rustle of leaves and sweet songs of birds enveloped her, calming her mind. Next, she found herself lounging on her bed, surrounded by pillows, lost in the world of games on her console. The vibrant colors and soothing music transported her to a realm where worries didn't exist.

As the day wore on, (Y/N) continued to indulge in the joy of doing nothing. She lazily flipped through the pages of a book, savoring the feel of the paper between her fingers. The words blurred together, but she didn't care – she was too busy basking in the serenity of the moment. Time lost all meaning as she drifted from one leisurely activity to the next. The competition, the sculpture, and her doubts all faded into the background, replaced by a sense of tranquility and release.

Until the creativity flowed back to her motivating her emotions to meet her clay giving birth to the sculpture's expression she always think is the true definition. With renewed inspiration, (Y/N) approached her sculpture, her hands moving with deliberate purpose. She carefully crafted the expression, etching a window to the soul onto the cold, clay body. The eyes, once blank, now sparkled with a deep, inner light, as if the very essence of life had been breathed into them.

The subtle curve of his lips, the gentle tilt of the head, all conspired to reveal the depths of the subject's being. The clay, once mere material, had transformed into a vessel for the human experience and the sculptor stepped back, her gaze swept across the masterpiece, drinking in the nuances of her creation. The world, with all its complexities and emotions, seemed to emanate from this single, silent form.

With a final, gentle touch, she completed the sculpture, infusing it with a sense of vulnerability and strength. The cold body now pulsed with a quiet, inner radiance, as if the very soul of the subject had been laid bare for all to see. In this moment, (Y/N) knew she had created something extraordinary—a window to the human experience, crafted with precision, passion, and patience. The world would soon behold her masterpiece and she was ready to be crowned as the winner of all, surrounded by claps of people.

"But what the name of this model will be ?" Deep in thought she grab her notebook looking at her male utter beautiful sculpture posed in the very same pose she choose before a name pop in her mind and she bestow the name sought to capture the harmony of opposing forces that her sculpture embodied. "Gojo" represented the balance of the five elements or more like five attributes of the human body such as head, body, arm, torse while "Satoru" symbolized the enlightenment and comprehend of his unworldly creation.

"Good". Smiling, she name her creation, granted him an identity, a sense of self that transcended the mere clay and stone even creating a inexplicable connection to herself with the art. "Is this how mother felt granting her pieces names ?" A chuckle escape her lips remembering how the old woman usually call her pieces her children along her own breathing child, (Y/N).

The competition host's voice boomed, "Welcome to the Grand People's Award Choice! Today, you will decide which sculpture reigns supreme!" The crowd murmured in excitement as they began their journey through the exhibition hall.

Sculptures of varying shapes, sizes, and materials dotted the landscape, each one unique and breathtaking in its own right. The host deliberately omitted the artists' names, allowing the art to speak for itself. Amidst the sea of onlookers, the creators themselves blended in, anonymous and eager.

(Y/N) fidgeted, her mind racing with doubts despite her teacher's encouraging words and her friends' reassurances and the crowd flowed around her, something remarkable happened. People would pause, glance at her sculpture, the Gojo Sataru, and then stop dead in their tracks. They couldn't help but be drawn back to the majestic male form, as if an otherworldly deity had been captured in clay.

Whispers spread like wildfire: "This one...this one is something special." Strangers would nod in agreement, their eyes locked on the sculpture's serene face. Even those who attempted to move on to other pieces found themselves inexplicably returning, transfixed by the beauty before them.

As the hours ticked by, a sense of certainty settled over the crowd. It was as if the winner had already been chosen, not by the judges, but by the people themselves. (Y/N)'s anxiety began to dissipate, replaced by a cautious optimism. She crossed her fingers, hoping against hope that the next hours would fly by, bringing the voting to a close and confirming what the crowd had already decided in their hearts.

The countdown clock struck its final moment, and the host's face ignited with a triumphant smile. "The moment of truth has arrived!" he declared, his voice electric with excitement. "The votes are in, and the winner of this Supreme competition will be revealed!"

(Y/N) held her breath, her heart racing like a wild stallion. Her friends offered reassuring pats on the shoulder, but she was too entranced by the host's dramatic pause to notice.

The room hung in suspended animation, the only sound the soft hum of bated breath. And then, a sly smile crept onto the host's lips, like a whispered secret. He parted his lips, and (Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat.

"(L/N) (Y/N) from Cutieeva University... Congratulations! You are the champion!" he announced, his voice thundering through the hall like a victorious fanfare.

Pandemonium erupted as (Y/N) stood frozen, her eyes wide with wonder. Her friends screamed with joy, hugging her tightly as tears of elation streamed down her face. The host approached her, a congratulatory envelope in hand, and (Y/N) felt like she was soaring on the wings of triumph, her dream finally within grasp. She still can't believe out of all the brilliant universities around the globe did her sculpture won, granting her the award. (Y/N) felt like she was living in a dream, where time blurred and moments merged into a kaleidoscope of emotions. One instant, she was standing frozen, her heart racing with excitement; the next, she was beside the host, basking in the glory of her triumph.

The award felt heavy in her hands, a tangible symbol of her achievement. Thunderous applause enveloped her, a deafening roar that threatened to consume her. She opened her mouth to speak the speech, but her words were lost in the chaos, barely audible even to herself.

Before she knew it, she was swept away by a tide of well-wishers —friends, classmates, teachers, and even her principal — all beaming with pride, cheering her as the pride of their school. The celebration was a whirlwind, a colorful blur of laughter, tears, and congratulations.

And then, suddenly, she found herself alone, sitting on her bed, surrounded by the quiet of the night. The moon cast an ethereal glow, illuminating her room with an otherworldly light. She breathed in deeply, the stillness a balm to her frazzled nerves and she gazed out the window, a slow smile spread across her face. It had happened. She had won. The realization dawned on her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

"Mother ! I have achieved what I wanted". She said gazing fondly at the frame of her mother, settling the golden award beside it. Everything is perfect and will be. Right ? Because little did she know, this moment of triumph was only the beginning of a dark and twisted journey.

From that moment on, (Y/N)'s sculpture became a global sensation, drawing thousands of tourists to the university gallery. At first, she was ecstatic, basking in the glory of her creation's viral fame. She had won awards before, yet never had her work resonated with so many people worldwide. With pride, she showcased her masterpiece to art enthusiasts, critics, and curious onlookers. She reveled in their admiration, laughing and joking about being a "deity" who had created such a stunning work. However as time passed, a creeping sense of unease began to shadow her joy.

The whispers started innocently enough of

"How handsome he is!"

"I wish he was real!"

"Oh god, why couldn't I meet such a man?"

"Why the god didn't create such wonderful man ?"

"Hopefully he come to life".

"If I could then I would sacrifice my everything to see this man alive".

"Ah ! Why can't he come alive".

Hoever soon, the comments took on a life of their own, echoing in her mind like a mantra. She began to feel like she was losing control, as if her own creation had taken on a persona of its own. The praise, once music to her ears, now felt like a dark omen. She started to wonder if she had unleashed something sinister into the world. The constant attention, the endless scrutiny, and the obsessive admiration began to suffocate her. The deity joke wasn't funny anymore. It felt like a haunting prophecy.

A desolate realm of darkness she could see along the suffocating void that crushed her beneath its oppressive weight. The air was heavy with the stench of malevolent presence, and she sense of eyes upon her, boring into her very soul. In mist of that a voce came, first the voice was a distant whisper, a faint rustling of dry leaves that seemed to carry on the wind however it grew louder, more urgent, until turning a maddening chant that echoed through her mind. A single, raspy voice, repeating a phrase that seemed to draw closer with each iteration, its words indistinguishable but its sinister intent clear.

The voice was a cold breeze on the back of her neck. (Y/N) tried to flee, but her legs were leaden, her body trapped in a living nightmare. And then, the voice whispered a single, chilling phrase, its tone a masterful blend of malice and seduction "Gojo Sataru."

The name exploded in her mind like a firework of terror, shattering the fragile remnants of her sanity. (Y/N) jolted awake, her eyes wide with horror, her lips frozen in a silent scream. Sweat dripped from her brow like blood from a wound, her heart racing with a fear that threatened to consume her whole. For a moment, she lay there, paralyzed with terror, the darkness of her dream still clinging to her like a shroud. Then, she sat up with a gasp, her eyes scanning the room frantically, as if searching for an escape from the terror that still lingered in her mind, waiting to pounce.

"What is going on ?" (Y/N) ask feeling alike an mad woman slowly descending into madness. In fear she didn't closed her eyes for moment, staring blankly at the ceiling or sometimes sketching a new art mindlessly to distract her disturbed mind.

In no time sun made it's presence known, offering bit of warmth to all and each even to (Y/N) who felt comfort to the golden rays before her ringtone took her attention. Answering the phone she greeted. "Good morning, Geto sensei".

"Good morning, (Y/N)-San, but could you please come to the university gallery ?" Hearing this a frown knitted her brows and she check her wrist watch. 5:00 am.

"So early if I may ask ?"

"Actually". He paused as if unsure what to speak "Please it's urgent". Understanding the hastily tone she agreed, doing a brief wash and clothes change she went to the location asked and oh dear, (Y/N) wasn't expecting the overwhelming amount of crowd standing outside her art gallery. Spotting her teacher she stood nearby.

"Sir, what's going on ?" Her (E/C) eyes dart from the crowd to her teacher.

"Well". Sheepishly the teacher tilted his head. "They came to see your sculpture". Earning a loud grasp from her.

"T-They ? You mean all ?" She stutter.

"All". Geto smiled nervously as if he finding his own words strange.

"So early in the morning and so many ?" Geto nod again.

"What in the world..." (Y/N) tailed off unable to comprehend the situation of what's going on, yes, she admits herself this particular art is special, a living masterpiece basically yet the amount of spotlight seems unnecessary, uncomfortable and— her thoughts went back to the nightmare she woke up— and strange.

"So, (Y/N) please guide the people. I have no choice but to let them in, you know". His smile strained and the girl knew there was not much say she has so she nod wordlessly standing in front of the glass door, a wall between the people and her. The glass door slid open with a soft whoosh, unleashing a torrent of humanity into the gallery. Hundreds of people poured in, their faces alight with excitement, smiles, and eagerness. The air was electric with anticipation, a palpable sense of wonder that was almost tangible.

(Y/N) stood at the forefront, a forced smile plastered on her face as she greeted the throngs of visitors. She waved her hand graciously, guiding them towards her sculpture, the centerpiece of the exhibition. Her eyes darted back and forth, her mind racing with a growing sense of unease and she stood before her creation, a strange, unsettling feeling washed over her. She couldn't bring herself to look at her own creation, her gaze skittering away like a frightened animal. The sculpture, once her pride and joy, now seemed to loom over her, its presence oppressive and menacing.

(Y/N)'s smile faltered, her lips trembling ever so slightly. She felt like a puppeteer whose strings had been cut, her control over the situation slipping away. The crowd's excitement and admiration only added to her growing sense of discomfort, their eagerness to behold her creation now feeling like a suffocating weight. With a Herculean effort, (Y/N) raised her eyes, her gaze finally meeting the sculpture's serene, enigmatic face. Rather of pride, she felt a shiver run down her spine, as if she was staring into the abyss itself despite his face turned to the other side.

"Miss (L/N), with what thought you created this masterpiece ?" A young woman asked within the mist of people.

"Masterpiece ?" (Y/N) mutter under her breath tasting a bitterness. "Well, it came naturally". She replied smiling and staring at the woman's eyes.

"Amazing !" One of them compliment.

"Then Miss (L/N), had you thought the model will be this viral ?" A young man this time asked.

"Never". She answered holding her tremble.

"Then, what motivate you to create such man ? Is he a real man or a part of your imagination ?" Another asked who's face (Y/N) unable to see.

"As the rules of competition. All of the participators had to bring their imagination out into the clay so did I". Calm her voice and confident her (E/C) eyes.

"So Miss (L/N) how long did it take to make you ?"

"Miss (L/N) were you always inspired to make someone of it ?"

"Miss (L/N) are you aware of the name we call you ? The deity ?"

"Miss (L/N), any hint of inspiration in process of making him ?"

One after another the questions jumped from one man to another to another that (Y/N) lips didn't had the time to even open eventually the cacophony of voices and laughter merging into a distant, muffled din. The room began to spin, and she felt herself becoming detached, as if floating above the chaos. The excitement and admiration of the crowd now seemed like a distant hum, a buzzing in her ears that threatened to consume her. With a sense of morbid curiosity, (Y/N) dared to glance at her sculpture, the root of all the chaos. Her heart raced and from the tail of her eyes locking onto its serene, enigmatic face.

And then, she saw it. Or thought she saw it. His eyes, once mere clay and stone, seemed to flicker with life. They moved, ever so slightly, as if connecting with hers. The room froze, time standing still as (Y/N)'s heart sank like a stone.

She felt a chill run down her spine, her mind reeling in horror. It was impossible, yet she swore she saw it. The eyes, once lifeless, now seemed to hold a spark of consciousness, a glimmer of awareness that was not of this world.

(Y/N)'s breath caught in her throat, her voice trapped in a silent scream. She stumbled backward, her eyes fixed on the sculpture, her mind racing with the implications. The crowd's din returned, but she didn't hear it. She was lost in the abyss of her own terror, staring into the eyes of her creation, which now seemed to stare back.

"Miss (L/N) ?"

"(Y/N) senpai ?" Snap ! (Y/N) looked at the familiar call of her best friend Yuji running towards her, holding her hand worried. "Are you alright ?" His voice ringed yet her care is about the sculpture, about the man !

Slowly she turn her head, finger point to his face only to blink twice and find the lifeless eyes as it belonged unlike the glimpse of terror she saw.

Confusion.

Betrayed.

Madness.

Alone.

Did no one saw that ? Did even she saw that ? But it's liveless right ? It's a mold of clay, a non-living thing yet why ? How ? What is going on ? (Y/N) mind spin threatening to burst any moment.

"Yuji, I-I am not okay". Her words stutter and she lean on his strength.

"Understood". Yuji sprang into action, bellowing at the crowd to part and make way unlike (Y/N) who couldn't process the commotion, her mind reeling like a maelstrom. She felt her grip on reality begin to slip, her thoughts spiraling into a vortex of doubt and terror. Was she truly seeing things, or was her own sanity unraveling? The world around her became a blur, as if she was trapped in a never-ending nightmare. Yuji's voice grew distant, a fading echo as (Y/N)'s consciousness teetered on the edge of collapse.

"High blood pressure, high stress level and sleep deprivation". Ieiri Shōko said, with a sigh looking at the chat. "It's a dangerous combination, (Y/N)-san that's why rest your body". Before glaring at her teacher Geto. "And you ! who even gave you the permission to be a teacher huh ? If you can't act like one ?" Her raspy voice and judgmental eyes send daggers in his way.

"I am sorry, (Y/N)-San, I didn't know I was creating pressure for you". Guilty written over his face as he ease his frown.

Megumi commented "Well, you as a teacher should know yourself". Right away avert his gaze to not meet his glare.

"It's alright. My fault. I should have voiced out my problem but I really think I need rest". Indeed (Y/N) felt the need to relax after seeing the movement never will she ever recover the horror her heart felt.

Nothingness. No hint of light, nothing at all. A silent void of nullity only suddenly, two glints of light materialized, like sapphires bursting forth from the shadows. The brightest blue she had ever seen, piercing and vivid, locked onto her. Eyes, hidden until now, stared directly into her soul. A whisper, a murmur, a voice she couldn't decipher, grew in intensity, swelling to a deafening crescendo. The words remained elusive, but the urgency was unmistakable. She strained to comprehend, her heart racing, until the sound shattered the darkness, jolting her awake with a silent scream, as if her own soul was being torn from her throat, leaving her gasping in terror, her breaths coming in ragged, desperate gulps, like a dying thing clawing its way back from the abyss.

"What was that ? I never saw those eyes—" She pause recalling the vivid eyes. "I didn't or did I ?" Oddly enough her mind went to her own sculpture. "His eyes, his lifeless eyes". Repeating the thought in her mind, She threw off the covers and got out of bed, her bare feet making barely a sound on the cold floor.

"It can't be". She hoped. "It shouldn't be, it must not be". Like a protection mantra she chanted it sprinting to the exhibition where her once masterpiece to nightmare stand on and she somehow unlock the door and run to stand in front of her model, Gojo Sataru in the darkness she was begin to spiral and to her denial the moon cast an eerie glow through the window, illuminating the sculpture's face. (Y/N) felt a shiver run down her spine as her (E/C) eyes bore into its eyes and saw nothing. No color, no sparkle, just emptiness like it should be. "Ha ! I knew it. It was another my imagination working too much". With a scoff she breath properly ignoring her intitution of feeling not being alone in this room so she walk away quietly yet quickly escaping from the burning empty eyes of the sculptures.

The night wore on, a sleepless vigil, as her fingers held the pencil scratched across the paper, trying to capture the haunting blue eyes that lingered in her mind. The memory of their piercing gaze refused to fade, fueling her creativity as she sketched into the wee hours. Just as the first light of dawn crept in, her friend arrived, bearing the missed class lessons and a gentle smile.

"Here, I am giving you all you need". Nobara pat her head, able to point out dark circles in her friend's eyes.

"Thank you a lot". Gratitude mingled with exhaustion and her hands accepted the offering, placing it in the wooden desk where her eyes caught the shining golden award she forget to keep somewhere else due to the chaos happening.

"By the way (Y/N) I also wanted you to know today your sculpture would be the model for beginner students to learn how to create the perfect body, arms and you know basics". Her hands move with the notion earning a smile over (Y/N)'s lips.

"Understood". She didn't, she didn't understood the meaning behind seeing the same art so many times anymore. Why can't people move on, go, see some other new, fresh and normal art unlike her strange, hauntingly beautiful one. That's when the curiosity to see the art awaken, for unknown reason she desperately wants to see or perhaps it was the promise of safety in numbers she asked to go along with her.

(Y/N) strolled hand in hand with Nobara towards the exhibition, the warm light danced across her skin, a comforting sensation she savored. "Let's go in". Reached the glass door Nobara said touch the doorhandle and about to open breaking the space between them when her (E/C) eyes dare peek through her lashes to the glass exterior and her her serenity, sanity shattered because for a fleeting instant, the hands of the stone seemed to twitch, fingers trembling, arms stiffening, like a macabre puppet springing to life. The horror of her nightmare resurfaced, threatening to consume her. Madness lurked, its dark tendrils creeping closer.

Averting her gaze, she felt her grip on reality falter once again. With shaking hands and a voice barely above a whisper, she stammered "I am sorry...I suddenly feel sick. I need to rest".

Without awaiting Nobara's response, she turned and fled, leaving the girl worried and tense, her eyes wide with concern as she called out however (Y/N) was already gone, vanished into the crowd, pursued by the demons of her own mind.

"This is happening again. It moved right in front of my eyes, in front of Nabora and others too !" Claps her palm to her mouth she tightly close her eyes, sitting on her bed and without a second thought opened the wooden drawer taking few pills of sleeping pills and drank in rapid speed.

"I need a dreamless sleep, I need a dreamless sleep". Repeating she lay on the cold fabric of bed and close her eyes.

Darkness enveloped her sight, a suffocating shroud that obscured all else And then, like specters emerging from the void, a pair of pale hands materialized before her. They glowed with an ethereal light, as if the darkness itself had taken on a life of its own. The hands, unmistakably male, reached out with an unsettling gentleness, his fingers tracing the contours of her body. (Y/N) felt a shiver run down her spine as the hands caressed her, his touch leaving her skin crawling with unease. She tried to recoil yet the palm tightly held her waist in it's root however she tried to move again that's when a low, velvety voice unfolded like a dark flower, its laughter echoing through the shadows like a predator's taunt along the blue eyes snapped open, blazing with an otherworldly intensity. Those cerulean orbs incinerated her defenses, laying bare her soul like a ravaged landscape despite clothes attached to her body.

"How cute you are trying to run away ?" His sinister voice carried like wind coming from behind to front or from nothing to assume.

Slowly his hands caress her visible neck, lacing with curiosity and desire. Tracing the curve of her side to the front from her chin to pausing at the collarbone unleashing a chill that seeped into her bones. Disgust and fear entwined, a toxic embrace that left her paralyzed, her heart a wild animal racing against her ribs and almost as if he could smell the fear those gleaming eyes smile into crescent moon and frosty fingers unbutton her night shirt one by one swelling tears in her eyes.

"No. Please. No. Please". She preyed to each and every god she knew the existence of, hoping to be saved by the creation she created by her own hands. Spared by the humiliation she might face by the monster and—Snap ! Her eyes jolt open to a world that is too bright, too loud. The screeching alarm pierced her eardrums, a forgotten relic of a previous night's routine. As she struggled to sit up, the harsh light overhead stabbed at her eyes, making her squint and shield her face with a groggy hand.

Tear drops silently land on her lap, soaking the fabric with her sorrows she experienced and unconsciously her hand went to her chest making her breath hitched because the two first buttons of her shirt is separated leaving her to wonder the line between her reality and nightmare erasing. "What is happening ? Why is this happening ?" Fingers dug inside her hair to the roots, only helpless questions is jumbled on her mind with unanswered and those question will remain more unanswered when increasingly she unmistakenly gets glimpse of the model and her blood run cold witnessing the torso seemed to twist, ever so slightly, like a snake slithering through grass and that very same night she is laying on her bed, inside her nothing of dream joined by the pair of hands, alive eyes, cold hard torse crawling above her warmth of skin exporling her body as if she belonged to him, violently the privacy (Y/N) wants to keep and when she teetered on the brink of death. The alarm clock screamed, shattering the spell, saving her at the same time lingering the terror.

The next time she didn't gave the chance her eyes could to see her sculpture anywhere from her phone, to her poster, she even avoiding going out frighten by the fact to see him coming alive however fate speaks otherwise accidentally letting her eyes meet the flicker of the monster named Gojo Sataru and finally along his legs twitched, its entire body began to stir, like a creature awakening from a centuries-long slumber. (Y/N) watched in pure horror, her mind reeling, as the once-inanimate object now moved with a sinister purpose. Feeling her own life force ebbing away, as if the sculpture's newfound vitality was draining her very existence and known echoed in her mind "This is the end. I'm staring death in the face."

Desperate to escape the terror from going to sleep, (Y/N) tried to distract herself. Fingers grabbed her sketchbook, but her pencils trembled in her hand, unable to capture the beauty of art amidst such evil however eyes moved to watched entertainment shows only to feel the laughter and music seemed hollow, a cruel mockery of her fear. Even old videos of her parents, once a source of comfort, now seemed distant, unable to shield her from the encroaching darkness waiting to pounch.

No matter what she did, her eyelids grew heavy, threatening to surrender to sleep despite the knowledge that if she succumbed to sleep, the sculpture would claim her. So she fought, hard and limit past her strength. She'd rather die awake, than let the darkness consume her.

Despite her valiant efforts, (Y/N)'s eyelids finally betrayed her, succumbing to the relentless pull of exhaustion and the last thing she saw was her mother smiling face holding her younger self's hand in the video.

This time when she faced the void of nothingness, she has complex layers of emotions piling one after another. Fear of what might bound to happen, confusion of why or how's this situation is even occurring to her so many times, regret of creating a monster she mistakenly did and little calm of at least knowing what's about to come in front yet she wasn't ready to face the tide like all ship captains are no matter how much they nagivate above the ocean, they fear bear fear and the darkness coalesced, swirling around itself like a vortex of ink, deepening into an abyssal void. It churned and eddied, alike creating a pathway for the entity that lurked beyond the shadows. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with anticipation, as the darkness parted like a curtain, revealing a glimpse of what lay beyond. Slowly, the entity began to take form, its presence unfolding, no longer just fragments of limbs or eyes, but its entire self, a being of unutterable horror, emerged from the shadows. The darkness swirled around it, a mad dance of tendrils, as if worshiping the monstrosity that now stood before (Y/N).

Gojo Saturu, her sculpture moving in flesh and form of an living human. A vision of devastating beauty that the viewers oh so desired. His lips in a perpetual smirk while his sapphire eyes look straight into his creator's soul.

"Hello, my creator". He mockingly greet, voice smooth flowing to (Y/N)'s ears. "Nice to meet ya". He giggle at the end as his own comment was funny. "I was oh so waiting to meet. Took so long". His long legs march forward to (Y/N) who is frozen, breathing hard to have her creation talk to her.

His face lean forward inching almost few inches apart to where her (E/C) could see his unblemished and smooth skin like she curved out of her fingers, well she bestowed him everything but flaw, a mistake on her part and a power to his. Deliberately his slender pale finger tips touch her cheek—her imperfect skin. She fully embraced to shiver by his coldness yet it was oddly warm causing her eyes wide filling questions in them.

He wordlessly smiled further, cupping her entire face on his both palm like one would to their deity. Thumps ever so slightly stroke her skin. "You must be dying to know the truth ? How I created ? Breath to live ?" His eyes flicker to hers. She choose to not say.

"Well, it's cause you, all because of you and those humans. Their hopes, admiration, wishes and your believe of me springing to live manifest into a unseen force, a force of blending your believes turning and fueling my life from mere stones. The moment you believed my eyes moved, my eyes spring into live, you believed my hands twitch it gave me life and slowly little by little you were all along bringing me life. My creator, my love. My eve of life". Stretching his lips ear to ear he close their distance, enveloping her lips.

Astonishing her and letting her limbs finally protest against the unwanted touch yet his hands larger, faster, stronger that held her both wrist in one palm, focusing solely on devouring her lips and wrapping tongue above one another, swirling like the taste of saliva and sucking breath out of her leaving her utterly surrender and vulnerable. (Y/N) suffocated by the soul draining kiss she kicked his any part only for him to remain unyielding and finally when he deem to be satisfied he seprated their lips with a glistening string of saliva linked and heavy breathing followed.

"Is this how it feels to need air ?" A husky laugh bubble out of his throat. "Then it's addicting". The sly smile stayed as he branded her skin with tender kisses, tracing a path of desire. The soft curve of her cheek, the tantalizing corner of her lips, the delicate slope of her chin, the whisper-soft lids of her eyes, and the gentle expanse of her forehead like marking her his.

"Stop. Stop all of this madness. Why are you doing this ? If you want to kill me then kill me already why torture me ?" Desperate her breath brush aganist his skin, fearful written on her eyes.

"Aww, there is a misunderstanding between us love, a grave one". He dramatically chuckle. "Why would I want to kill my own creator when you are the reason I even form an shape ? And torture ? Is this torture when I am soaking you in love. This is my passion for you. My burning desire for you". Yearning his brightest shade of eyes hold and rather of feeling moved all she felt was forced.

"But I do not want". Tears prickly down her eyes, watering her vision. "I really do not want this". She threw her head back, moving as her physical self can.

"It's okay. You do love me because if you don't then you wouldn't have created me so love me. Like you are suppose to. Bear the consequences of your actions, darling". Shushing her lips with his finger, he gently kiss the vulnerable curve of her neck and descend in downwards ignoring all of her pleads, protest and fight. Eventually his lips brush against her collarbone and ever so gently he suck the skin purple and red moving to the valley of her chest.

His free hand cup the breast through her dress ignited an fire and blood rush to his pants. Tearing her shirt scattering her buttons he came to face with her lovely bra, the only shield protecting against being bare yet he with ease snatch that away. Laying her upper body to feast by those eyes.

"Hmm" A groan slip past his lips from merely stare at those breast and the outline of her body with the way her blush expression, tears streaming, hands tied by his palm, hair spread beneath her was a divine sight than himself. Oh how he recall watching her from his stone form and yearn to touch those skin which he is now relishing.

Shamelessly his large palm cup her breast earning a sweet whimper and dive to taste if it's sweet as her lips and he was beyond ecstatic, twisting the bud as he please and sucking whole even biting with his canines enjoying the melody of her sobbing and her warmth skin. Before jumping to the another untouched one claiming his like it belonged and butterflies kisses on the entire breasts.

To lacing his tongue on her center of skin, tailing down and stopping at her stomach pecking each imperfect and perfect spots covering her whole. How couldn't he ? If he was served with a human like her, (Y/N) who is in his eyes the prettiest girl to even laid eyes on.

While she is on other end of hell, despising the kisses like an lava drops, burning with a fiery hatred that left her scarred. Every touch was a toxic assault, poisoning her senses and corroding her soul. His lips were venomous serpents, injecting deadly venom into her veins with each caress. His hands are acid, dripping with malice as they crawled across her skin. She couldn't and didn't felt a loving sense from him let alone love he was confessing about. Nightmare his life is.

And he knew about. Knew perfectly of her hatred, pain and still choose to love her because she does love him. She just doesn't know herself or he will make her. That's why he is mastering the very skill to pleasure her in ways a woman could be by ripping her only thread of cloth wrapped around her hip and fully nude her.

Viewing her lay bare, all nude couldn't conceal the heart crafting on Gojo's eyes and the madness smile heating his pale skin. Swiftly he dug his head in between of her legs, inside the clit his cum will enter. Well, for later because now his mouth was engulfed inside, tongue forcefully rip inside to taste the creamy fluids his love made of making her grasp and thrash around more harder than she could.

Even squirming underneath him only to prove fruitless while he continue to taste her juices, eating as if it's a delicacy itself, swallowing down and circling his tongue inside her tight walls, loving every bit of it however his patience comes to end making him pull out his flesh with dripping saliva and ran his fingers past his hair.

"P-Please. Please spare me. Please..." Her voices somewhere blended with her sobbed sorrows and her grasp when he impatiently without preparation unbuckle his restrictions, pulling out his shaft and pierce straight inside her walls.

Arching her back and cry out a scream she felt utter hopeless and pain coursing through her limbs. "It hurts ! I-it hurts". Dragging her air she wail. "It hurts please Gojo. It hurts". pricked at his name Gojo shush her more, whispering sweet nothings like an lover not a rapist he is and claim her lips once more. Even stealing her right to speak.

Heartlessly he slam his throbbing shaft again and again, groaning within the kiss and savouring the feeling. "Ah ! Is this what feels to have sex ? Because if it is then I would do it again and again". Tilting his head, Gojo separated his lips and eventually his hips came to stuttering as he cum inside without a care of world unlike (Y/N) who's heart rattled under her ribcage.

"No ! No ! No ! No ! No ! You monster ! What did you do ?" In disbelief she kicked her tireless legs and dug her nails on his soft skin. Anger filling her mind. "I can be pregnant !" She cried out.

"Really ?" Honestly he asked, laughing. "Then I should do it properly". With that the horrors repeated with his hips penetrate her clit deeper.

Her lips parted echoing her scream along her eyes snap open. Her body jolt up from her bed and gasping for air as if she'd been underwater for too long. Her chest heaved, and her eyes frantically scanned the familiar surroundings of her room. Her clothes clung to her damp skin, a testament to the terror she had endured. "Wai—I am wearing my clothes. Does that mean ?" As reality set in, a wave of relief washed over her—it was just a nightmare, a twisted episode of her own madness, nothing more. Smiling to herself she craved the comfort of her friends so with a sense of urgency, she rushed to their room, catching a glimpse of them at the exhibition hall. She burst in, smiling wider and navigated through the crowd. Her eyes locked onto Nabora, and she grasped her best friend's hand like a lifeline.

"Good morning (Y/N)". Cheerfully she greeted.

"Good morning to you too". She breathed. "I had a nightmare". Her voice confessed. "Believe me or not the worst one".

"What do you mean". Concern fill the girl's face and (Y/N)'s lips about to elaborate when a pair of hands— disgustingly familiar and unsettling— wrapped around her shoulders from behind. A low, husky voice whispered in her ear.

"A nightmare huh ?" Gojo's words dripped with an unsettling intimacy, his tone implying secrets shared and terrors unspoken washing cold bucket of water over her head.

How ?

What ?

Impossible ?

"Right ! Gojo senpai, help your girlfriend ! She is in need of your help". Nobara spoke in an familiar tone to which he replied "of course".

"B-Boyfriend ?" Her words stutter.

"Oh ! Sorry not boyfriend. Fiancé !" She facepalmed herself laughing. Alone. Not with (Y/N) who's questions and terrors trapped in the vice of his embrace.

Leaning closely Gojo tucked her shirt a little making her aware of the intimacy marks she was blind to miss and whispered the bitter truth. "I have become the god of the chisel".

FIN

529 notes · View notes

bombuni · 6 months

Text

a wild ride

summary: It’s Halloween night. Your friends have decided to take you out and get you drunk, but it’s kind of hard to focus on forgetting when the man you want to forget is standing across the room and flirting with another girl. genre/pairing: kim hongjoong x reader, slight yunho x reader, smut, jealous f2l wc: 4.4k warnings: SMUT, 18+ MDNI!, mentions of weed and drinking, cursing, drunk sex but they’re tipsy at the worst, mean!dom!hongjoong, but he's soft for reader, fem!sub!reader, bratty reader but she gets tamed quick, one instance of edging, finger sucking, name calling (just the use of ‘slut’) they’re both so possessive of each other and jealous it’s crazy bom note: this is my love letter to hongjoong’s bouncy outfit bc we moved on too fast</3 anywhooo THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 1K!!! we hit it like a couple weeks ago but. it’s here now guys. I thank you for liking my works enough to follow and support and nothing will prove my gratitude but I just hope this comes close enough :) please enjoy and thanks once again everyone!!<3 also, here’s a playlist i made and listened to a lot while writing this!

You’re not really sure how your friends managed to talk you into coming out tonight. Much less, how you let Wooyoung drag you into matching costumes with him and San. Now you feel like an idiot standing in a fairly inaccurate rendition of a cat next to a pirate version of Seonghwa and Spider-man Yunho. Wooyoung seems to enjoy matching with you, although, letting everyone in the cramped house know that you three ‘have the best couples costume’ in the party. It’s embarrassing having to pull Wooyoung away from annoyed partygoers every 5 seconds, but he’s already halfway drunk and it’s sort of endearing how he boasts about you.

The night has barely started and whatever poor soul lives here should already be regretting hosting a Halloween party. There’s 4 couples making out in your line of sight, the smell of weed permeates your clothes, and the drunk-off-their-ass people in the middle of the room dancing to a poor remix of Monster Mash are sure to break something. There’s a rank scent that emanates from the wall on which you’re leaning against which makes you think someone’s already thrown up right where your shoulder is touching. Or it could just be Seonghwa’s breath, you’re not really sure.

The overwhelming heat from the bodies stuffed in the room is no comparison to the heat boiling inside of you. The humidity in the air and cacophony of noises do nothing to help your rising irritation. You try to cool it down with the iced drink in your hand, but the only way the warmth will go away is by looking away from Hongjoong-who’s in such a clear view from across the room you’d consider it God’s punishment for your selfish desire-and that’s never really going to happen. Not if he keeps looking at her while he’s dressed like that. That being in an intolerably well-fitting cowboy outfit. It’s obvious he knows he looks good, his forearm resting on the wall above the girl’s head as he leans down to hear her better. To get more intimate, to give her the same enticingly inviting smirk he gives you. Your cup crinlinking harshly in your fist snaps you out of the rage-induced trance. Seonghwa’s knowing smirk is haunting you from the corner of your eye, Yunho on your other side trying and failing to hide the same impish smile.

“You know you can’t actually blow people’s heads off if you stare hard enough, right?” Yunho chuckles, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

“Ha, ha,” the sarcasm flows right off of Yunho.

“Someone’s jealous,” Seonghwa’s voice is tinged with a taunt, the smell of alcohol absolutely dripping off of him as he leans into you. You’re fully aware of his drunken intentions to piss you off, but you try your best to be mature and ignore the teasing finger he’s pointing in your face.

“Jesus, are you 12?” Smacking the finger out of your face, he stumbles back in mild surprise.

Yunho’s at least somewhat sober, laughing at the ‘pirate’s’ drunk theatrics, “I have an idea for you-”

Seonghwa lifts his red solo cup in the air and his mouth moves faster than either you or Yunho can process, “You kiss Hongjoong!”

It’s simply impossible for Hongjoong to have heard him from across the room and over the various conversations and the loud music playing, but you still shush and shove Seonghwa in a panic as if he’ll come over and shoot you down right in front of everybody. He pulls the ridiculously fake eyepatch up over his eye to stare at you incredulously, “That was rude,”

Yunho pulls Seonghwa into him, a protective arm landing over him so you won’t slap the alcohol out of his system, “Why don’t you go and, I don’t know, tell Hongjoong you’re in love with him?” He says with a mocking voice, shrugging as if it’s a simple solution.

You scoff at the tall man, “First of all, I am not in love wi-“

All of a sudden, Wooyoung pops up between you and Yunho’s bodies with his drawn-on whiskers completely smudged and cat ears gone, “Hongjoong! You looovveee Hongjoong,” he’s swaying and already moved on to telling you how much he loves you instead when you try to respond. Yunho only smirks at you, I told you so clearly evident on his pale face.

You grumble embarrassedly and glance towards Hongjoong again to make sure he hasn’t heard any of your guys’ conversation , “I don’t.”

Wooyoung hums to the song playing, balance completely lost as he drops all of his body weight onto you and tunes out of the conversation. Seonghwa’s not fairing any better against Yunho, but he’s still trying to tell you what a match you and Hongjoong are.

“All we’re trying to say is that,” Yunho pauses to move Seonghwa’s fingers from his lips, “Hongjoong’s been in a bad mood all night watching you, and now he’s chatting up another girl? I-”

Wooyoung mumbles from where he’s resting on your shoulder, “Something’s fishy,”

Yunho nods, “What he said,”

You roll your eyes for the millionth time that night. A small, naive part of you really, really wants to believe your friends. But they’re drunk, and you’ll admit you’re slightly tipsy. You’ve accepted the fact that Hongjoong will never see you as more than a good friend. You look over to Hongjoong one more time in hopes that this time you won’t feel anything, but when you turn your head you find him already looking in your direction. You can’t really tell what his expression means, but his jaw is clenched and his scrutinizing eyes remain on Wooyoung’s arms around you. It’s no coincidence or trick of the light, you’re sure, but a poorly crafted Batman passes in front of you and Hongjoong’s back to being entranced by the girl next to him.

For a second, you’re lost in space and time. You should be embarrassed and ashamed that one glance from him is enough to send you careening back into fantasies of him, but the alcohol in your system and Yunho’s encouragement makes for a deadly combination. There’s a plan forming in your head. The sober half of you is rationalizing Hongjoong’s glance and telling you it was nothing more than that; a glance. But the tipsy half tells you that you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

As Yunho sips his drink idly, you decide to take your chance, “Wanna dance, Yunho?”

He exhales sharply through his nostrils, smiling smugly because he knows exactly what your intentions are, “Sure, kitty,”

He takes your hand gently and pulls you towards the makeshift dance floor. He bows elegantly as if this is a ballroom, but he looks ridiculous doing it in a Spider-Man costume amidst people of varying states of sobriety. While you’re busy doubled over laughing at him, he sneaks his arms around you. It’s sudden when he pulls you flush against his body, brown eyes searching yours for any uncertainty before pulling your arms around his neck. For some reason, touching the nape of his neck makes you feel a certain closeness to him. Yunho leans his forehead on yours and the intimacy he’s allowing you makes you regret inviting him to dance. He really shouldn’t be pulling out all the stops for a girl who’s thinking of someone else.

Yunho takes your silence as embarrassment from his showiness, “I gotta make it believable, right?” You’ve never really thought about how tall he is until now, head tilted to only focus on you. His big hands wrap around your waist and burn where they touch.

“R-right,” you mumble, still dizzy from Yunho’s closeness.

Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong’s fuming behind the sea of people. Your back is to him so you can’t see the pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows painted on his face. Yunho, on the other hand, gladly takes notice when he finally looks over to him. Hongjoong’s s gone to completely ignoring the girl he was talking to, only humming ‘yeah’s’ and ‘totally’s’ when he’s prompted. He’s burning holes into your back, as if glaring will suddenly remove you from Yunho. The fuse in him blows when you laugh at something Yunho said. The sound is barely heard over the music and myriad of voices, but it still reverberates through Hongjoong like it’s a call to him. Only meant for him.

“It worked,” Yunho whispers into your ear and sends chills down your spine, “Your cowboy’s stomping over.” You look at your Spiderman smiling down at you one last time when you feel a gloved hand on your shoulder. You can’t really see under the strobe lights, but there’s surely no smile on Hongjoong’s face. He’s glaring at Yunho like you’re his property that he’s touched without permission. Yunho’s hands slide slowly off of you compared to the quick removal of yours, just to piss Hongjoong off even more. You’re sure Yunho has another sort of personal vendetta against Hongjoong now.

“Hey, cowpoke,” there’s a lazy drawl in Yunho’s voice, bordering on venomous, “wanna join us?” Yunho’s hands move to wrap around you again, but Hongjoong quickly pulls you back into his side. He’s surprised by how easily you meld into his movements, but he doesn’t know how far you’d really let him go.

“You’re both drunk,” you follow like a lost puppy as he pulls you off the makeshift dance floor, “and need to be separated.”

Yunho hums behind you, “I’m perfectly sober,”

Hongjoong scoffs and as he opens his mouth to retort, you pull away from him, “I wanna keep dancing, Joong,”

Yunho shrugs as if the issue is completely out of his hands-again, what did Hongjoong do to him?-and smiles, “You heard the lady,” Hongjoong’s eyes fixate on the taller man, fists clenching at his side. If looks could kill, Yunho would have been 6 feet under ten minutes ago. His mind races with thoughts of how to get rid of Yunho, how to keep you for himself, and how his hand is still pulsing from when he felt yours, fearing he’s become addicted to your touch already.

His tone is final, “No.”

Before you can even say anything, Hongjoong drags you through the overflow of bodies towards the upstairs of the house. You can certainly hear Seonghwa and Wooyoung hollering obscenities at you-even over the party noise-before Hongjoong leads you deeper and deeper into the surprisingly large house. The hallways grow quieter and less crowded before he finds an empty room, letting you in first. It’s quaint and sparsely decorated, the soft environment settling your nerves. As you sit on the white bedsheets, Hongjoong watches you like you’re his next meal.

He finally speaks, arms crossed and a questioning look on his face, “You good?’

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Yes. Are you?”

He doesn’t answer you because he’s not really sure if he is. In truth, Hongjoong can’t stop looking at you. He’s sure your look tonight is imprinted in his brain all the way from the short, short skirt to the ridiculously low cut top you’re wearing. He’s frustrated with himself that he feels so possessive over you, as if you’re already his. He’s frustrated with you for simply letting Wooyoung and Yunho do as they please.

You watch as he sits on the bed next to you, fiddling with the cuffs of his gloves. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but you can tell he’s holding back from scolding you with the way he’s biting his cheek. He’s good at hiding it from others, but not from you.

His words are short and sharp, “Were you having fun with Yunho?”

The question catches you off guard. You mirror him, playing with your fishnet leggings and watching him out of the corner of your eye. You’re scared he’ll say yes, but you ask anyway, “Were you?”

Hongjoong turns to you, “I asked first,”

You roll your eyes at him, “Whatever. You seemed pretty happy talking to Ms. Boobs-in-your-face,”

You’re being petty and insulting a girl you don’t even know, but the irritation from earlier is returning with a fiery revenge. It keeps building the more you think about the way her hands would continuously run down the textured white lines on his shirt. Or how he’d smile at her like she was the only person in the room. You can feel his eyes on you again and you’re too embarrassed to meet them. You’re sure he’s sporting a cocky smile now that he’s heard the jealousy dripping in your voice.

“You didn’t seem to mind Yunho grinding on you,” he spits out before he can stop himself.

That finally makes you look at him, “He was not-”

“And Wooyoung’s hands all over you,”

You gawk at him, surprised to know that he had been watching you too. Now the pettiness you’re both showing is obvious. The air is tense before you speak, Hongjoong’s intent glare making you feel small, “You know how Wooyoung is, especially when he’s drunk,”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes at you, “Doesn’t explain Yunho crawling all over you,”

You cross your arms, inadvertently pushing your tits together and Hongjoong has to hold back a groan, “Why are you so concerned with what Yunho and I do?”

There’s a mutual understanding of the jealousy coursing through the room, though it’s unspoken. In your anger, however, you can’t really process the fact that he’s possessive over you. That he’s outright admitting he thinks of you as his, and vice versa. Instead of simply kissing and making up, you keep pissing each other off. Why you keep pressing his buttons you’re not sure, but you can’t deny how hot Hongjoong looks with the black cowboy hat tilted over his face, muscular arms tensing under the dim light.

He stands to his full height again-too frustrated to stay still-moving so that he’s right in front of you, “What, so you’re into Yunho all of a sudden?”

“Did you just bring me up here so you can interrogate me on my love life?” you mumble.

His jaw clenches again, “You’re so mouthy tonight, you know that? I’m getting sick of it,”

He’s invading your space now, lips so close you could just reach up and touch them with yours, “What are you going to do about it, Hongjoong?”

The words seem to set something off in him, his lips on you so fast it’s dizzying. His warm hands automatically find their way to your hips as he pushes you backwards onto the bed. He’s finally figured out how to silence you, muffling any sounds you make with his mouth. Anything that comes from you, he wants for himself. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, both too focused on getting out all the built up feelings and frustration. Neither of you care about anything but getting more and more of each other. You feel his tongue finding its way into your mouth and you don’t put up much of a fight anymore.

He doesn’t pause his attack on your lips, panting while he speaks, “You gonna keep mouthing off, baby?”

Your mind short-circuits at the nickname. Although a large part of your annoyance has now dissipated, his lips like water to soothe the burn of your desire, you still want to see how far you can push him,

“Dunno,” you pant out.

His right hand slides up from your hip bone to your jawline as goosebumps follow the trail of his touch. A whine slips out of you when Hongjoong’s hand contracts, squishing your cheeks and forcing your lips into a pout so your focus is on his words. He can’t help the prideful smirk when he hears the noise you make, happy to know he has such an effect on you.

“I know,” a kiss to your jawline, “I’m going to show you who you belong to,”

You wiggle in his grasp, but he’s holding you tight, “And exactly who do I belong to?”

He smirks down at you, thoughts running through all the ways he’s going to break you, “Oh, you’re funny,” he leans threateningly over you, “You’re very funny,”

Just because you enjoy the game of stirring him on you continue, “Yunho said the same thing,”

He smiles dangerously at you. Not dangerous in the sense of attractiveness, but more in the sense that it’s a warning to the vicious, envious territory you’re entering. You feel your resolve melting against him, the air suffocating you with the thick, heavy feeling of pent-up desire. However, he doesn’t even let you get the right words out before he sticks his thumb into your mouth. It’s surprisingly appetizing, and you don’t wait for his sign to go before wrapping your lips around it. It’s your silent apology for what you said.

Now, his smile is gentler. But it’s Hongjoong, and Hongjoong doesn’t let things go so easy.

“Sluts needs to be quiet,” he whispers softly, but it’s who it’s coming from that makes it so you hear it loud and clear. You nod in obedience, still lapping as he adds more fingers into your mouth, exploring this part of your body.

“You know what else sluts need to do?” You shake your head and open your eyes up at him, “They need to fucking behave.”

He growls, “You’re gonna take what I give you until I’ve had enough. Then I’ll give you what you want,”

You want to whine and protest, but he’s looking at you like that’s not even an option. He stares down at you, taunting and challenging you. Hongjoong knows you’re not happy about his rules, but he doesn’t care. You need to learn to forget about anyone other than him. He won’t stop until you do. Your mouth pulls off of his fingers with a pop and you realize all too quickly what a mistake you’ve made.

His eyes squint at you, “Did I tell you to stop?”

You peer up at him with a guilty look, pout heavy on your lips hoping he’ll show just the slightest bit of mercy. But once again, it’s Hongjoong. He manhandles you towards him, back to his chest and for some reason it feels like you’re a complete puzzle.

He gropes your sides, pulling you close so you can feel how hard he is for you. The feeling of him rubbing against you makes you moan, the sheer satisfaction of finally getting what you want making you high on the pleasure. You know you’re supposed to be quiet, but the excitement of going against Hongjoong just ‘cause makes you want to do it more.

You spot his blue hair out of the corner of your eye as he leans down to your ear, “You’re gonna be quiet and take it like a good slut,” His right arm comes up and around your neck, pulling you in as if you aren’t already close enough, “Unless you want Yunho to hear?”

His clothed dick is making you weak. It’s the only friction he’s given you so far and it’s already breaking and tearing you apart. You shake your head vigorously, spouting nonsense babbles as if you’re appalled Hongjoong would even suggest that. However, Hongjoong seems all too enticed by the idea of everyone hearing how loud he can make you. You try to get more from him by rutting back into him, hoping he liked your answer, but he stops your hips.

“Sluts don’t get what they want, baby,” He pants into your ear and you realize he’s just as torn as you are, he’s just better at hiding it. His hand finds its way under your skirt, fumbling to pull your panties down. The sound of your wet pussy fills the room as Hongjoong plays with your folds, agonizingly slow to make you shake with anticipation.

He smiles down at you, “You’re so fucking wet,”

Before you can say anything snappy, he slides in you. He fills you just right, and you don’t want to sound crazy, but you feel like your pussy was sculpted just for him. His cock drives in you and hits right where you need it to. It makes you want to fall over, too weak to hold yourself up, but Hongjoong stops that from even happening.

You’re whining for more, “Keep being loud and Wooyoung will hear you,”

You gasp as he thrusts in you, but it just spurs him on. Being buried in you feels right, like it’s where he was made to be. He chalks up his intensified feelings to the alcohol flowing in his system.

Your moans mix together, “Seonghwa too? Want me to make everyone in this house know who’s fucking you?”

You can barely keep your head up, much less respond to him. The bed squeaks as he thrusts in you over and over again, limbs entangled. You start to think Hongjoong may have some jealousy issues, but you don’t mind.

His hand snakes around you again, this time reaching to play with your clit. His fingers make your knees buckle, the rhythm between his hips and his hand sending a new wave of pleasure through you. You don’t have the energy to process it, but all the while he’s telling you how he’s the only one who can touch you like this.

Your lower half is on fire, white hot sparks of pleasure flowing all the way from your abdomen to your toes. All of your senses are heightened because of Hongjoong’s touch and you feel the pleasure reaching its tipping point, right before Hongjoong rips his hand away and stops his hips.

Your complaint is right on the tip of your tongue, but Hongjoong drags you like a ragdoll over him before you can get the words out. Your senses haven’t even come back to you yet, but Hongjoong looks up at you with the cockiest smile and you feel that same bliss again.

His hands on your hips turns your nervous system on again, “You wanna cum, baby?”

Your voice comes out hoarse, “Yes. Yes, please, Joongie,”

He looks up at you contemplatively, as if deciding whether you deserve to finish or not. It makes a defiant whine build up in your throat the longer he takes.

He shushes you with a nudge, “Then work for it.”

Hongjoong’s tone is final and even though you’re on top of him, there’s no room for control or for arguing. He looks up at you expectantly, simply waiting for you to obey. You want to grab his collar, make him regret talking to you like he owns you, but unfortunately he in fact does.

The cowboy hat is befitting now, so you take it for yourself. His blue hair is disheveled and tangled underneath it, but he still looks celestial. A laugh rips out of him as the hat tips over your head when you look down. You pout at him, but the giggles slip into groans when you slide down him again.

It’s entirely too distracting for Hongjoong, and he has to bite his lip to hold back from cumming on the spot. You’re too tight and wet, too perfect for him. He almost regrets putting you in this position now.

But you look too good all sweaty on top of him, mouth parted open in satisfaction, with the sound of skin against skin accompanying you. Watching you bounce with his hat on makes him feel a little crazy.

His hand reaches for your clit again, finding that spot that he’s learned your body really likes. Your back arches against his fingers, shuddering at the feeling of him. His fingers follow a pattern against you, persistent in their goal to make you cum. It’s too good, too fast. You can’t help it as your body falls over him, pleasure overriding your ability to function.

Hongjoong laughs at you, “Can't do anything on your own, huh? Dumb slut needs me to help,” You nod against his neck, hiding your embarrassed blush.

He, uncharacteristically, kisses the crown of your head. You suppose it’s an apology for the way he hauls your thighs over him, then slams you back down on his cock again. Once again, the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. You feel the heat rising in you again, your body tightening up against Hongjoong.

This time there’s no signs of him stopping, his forearms keeping a tight hold of your thighs as he spears you on his cock over and over again, his desperate pants right by your ear.

He senses you’re near your tipping point, “See? All you needed was a good fucking for you to behave,”

You nod brainlessly, simply following whatever he says with only one thing on your mind.

“You can cum, baby. Want you to be loud so even fucking Yunho knows,”

You feel it coursing through you. It’s been a slow build up waves caused by Hongjoong, but now with his permission it turns into a full-on tsunami hitting you. The pleasure shoots through you, your entire body seizing up as it takes over you. Hongjoong fucks you through it with slow, shallow thrusts. Or at least he tries to, before the feeling of your tightening pussy finally pulls the orgasm out of him. He’s quick to pull out, his cum splattering all over his lower abdomen.

When you’re done, you’re left panting and sweaty on his still shirt-clad chest. You feel his racing heartbeat against your hands, heavy breaths beating against you. You look up and Hongjoong has the softest, tranquil smile for you.

“I only danced with Yunho to make you jealous,” you mumble amidst the silence.

His hand runs through your hair under his hat, “I only flirted with that girl to make you jealous,”

You’re scared by how soft and intimate it’s suddenly turned. You’re scared Hongjoong only thinks of you as a fuck buddy now, nothing more nothing less. So, You don’t say anything else.

He knows you by now, knows where every cog in your brain goes and how it works. Hongjoong pokes your cheek gently, “That means I like you a lot,”

“Oh,” you feel your heartbeat pick up speed, “me too.”

“Good,” he smiles at you again, that charming and sugary sweet smile he only gives you, “then we’ll go on a date.” You nod into him, blissful peace finally settling over you.

You’re halfway to sleep when Hongjoong speaks up again, “Can I have my hat back?”

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez oneshot #ateez fanfic #kim hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong smut #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong imagines

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teamatsumu · 11 months

Text

kinktober 2023 -> day 20

scratching - bokuto koutaro x reader

word count: 750

kinktober masterlist

In his first week of joining MSBY, Hinata received the shock of his life when he first saw Bokuto shirtless in the locker room.

“Bokuto-san!” He had gasped, eyes widening when they fell on his senpai’s back. Red scratches lined the wide expanse of skin, some long and thin, some short and choppy, scattered between them were small, crescent shaped markings that looked an awful lot like nails digging into skin. Bokuto had turned around at the sound of his name, staring curiously at Hinata until the boy had gestured to Bokuto’s marred back questioningly. He laughed.

Bokuto was a beast on the court. So he didn’t understand why people were surprised that he was a beast in bed too. Nothing about him was subtle, so of course, the remnants of his sex life lived on his skin proudly, and he had no desire to hide them. After Hinata got over his initial shock, he realized how on-brand this actually was. Bokuto was an intense person, loud and proud, and he met the same standards in all areas of his life. All of them.

So when Bokuto fucked you into the mattress, pounded his cock into your little hole, he didn’t protest against your body’s reactions, didn’t mind when you screamed and arched, arms wrapping around him and nails digging deep into his skin. He welcomed it, reveled in the pricking and burning on his back when you dragged your fingers over it, crying into his ear about how good it felt, how you had missed his cock filling you up the way it was right now. He would watch your teary eyes and flushed face, feeling the last vestiges of his control slip away at how pathetic and whiny you looked, reduced into a mess because of him.

Your feet would kick out, twitching and trembling when he found that one glorious spot deep inside you, the tip of his dick hitting it again and again, hips smacking into you with purpose. One of his hands would reach for the headboard, holding himself steady as he lost himself to the feeling of your tight, fluttering walls, squeezing so gloriously around his shaft that it only made him go faster, thrust harder, hearing you squeal and arch until your breasts pressed to his bare torso, and your nails dug deep, likely drawing blood, little swipes of your hands as you came around his dick, crying at how good he made you feel.

There was a sharp, sharp sting that came with your nails. When you would first dig them into Bokuto’s back, he didn’t feel much, but as time passed and Bokuto kept thrusting into you, he would feel a thin burn, tracks of it shooting their way down his back until they made him tense up, and all the blood rushed to his cock. The pain would muddle his brain so gloriously it made him feral. And all he could think of was filling your begging, weeping cunt full of his cum.

The snug, wet warmth of your pussy, combined with the tingling fire on his back, was what made him empty his load into you, eyes rolling up as his hips stuttered, smacking his hips into you one last time before he came deep inside, feeling as if his very soul was being sucked out of him and into the welcoming embrace of your greedy cunt. It was enough to make Bokuto black out for a moment, so lightheaded that, for a split second, he would forget his own name.

He wouldn’t even register the aftereffects of your passionate activities until he heard your horrified gasp behind him in the shower.

“Kou, your back!” Your eyes wide with guilt, one hand covering your mouth in shock. Bokuto would blink in confusion as you fussed over him, not understanding what the big deal was. So you had scratched him up while having sex, what was the problem here? It felt good when you did it, and it still felt good afterward. He could feel the sting whenever he moved, a reminder of his bedroom activities, a huge boost to his ever-hungry ego. And when he would try to explain it to you, proudly yet childishly calling them ‘battle scars’, you would huff out a worried laugh, only backing down when he reassured you over and over again that he liked it, loved it, in fact. Would proudly carry the signs of your pleasure on his back. Would be willing to show everyone how good he made his girl feel.

The entire volleyball team already knew, and if some paparazzi were to conveniently catch him shirtless at any time, the whole world would know too. And Bokuto had no problem with that.

Taglist:

@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles @argwein

A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!

#bokuto koutarou #bokuto koutaro x reader #bokuto kotaro smut #bokuto koutaro x y/n #bokuto kotaro x you #bokuto koutaro smut #bokuto imagine #bokuto fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu imagines #bokuto x reader

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doritochoi · 2 months

Text

Ex-Husband Encounter | C.S

pairing: fem!reader x ex-husband!san

genre: smut

warning: public sex, unprotected sex, sexual tension, blowjob, hard fuck, eating cum? ( kinda idk)

word count: 3,7k

tags: @roguehongsami ( you can message me if you want to me tagged in my post!)

You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you walk into his office and see the shocking scene before you. "S-san?" you manage to stutter, feeling a sharp pain shoot through your chest. Your husband, with whom you dreamed of spending the rest of your life in happiness, is sitting on a chair, and one of his employees is sitting on his lap, kissing him with a passion that takes your breath away. You are destroyed. You just wanted to be a good wife, bring him lunch like every day, and now you feel like everything is falling apart around you. Your lunch tray dropped on the floor, the plates are broken into a thousand pieces, the crumbs are scattered on the floor, but to you it is only a mute decoration in front of your pain. Inside, a storm of feelings floods your mind and soul - sadness, anger, helplessness. You can't take your eyes off them, the image that tears your heart to pieces. You feel betrayed, abandoned, and at the same time you are tormented by questions that hurt more than anything else. Why? How could you not see? You try to keep your composure, not to collapse in front of them, but you feel tears fill your eyes and your voice is choked with pain. You immediately walk out the door, heartbroken, getting into the car not caring if he calls you. You need distance, space, time to collect your thoughts and understand what you are going to do. You're too hurt to go back, too confused to listen to excuses or explanations. All you want now is to run away from the unbearable pain.

You arrived home sad and angry. Even if you didn't want to do that, you couldn't stay with San anymore. You wanted to wait for him to come home, to discuss, to solve what happened, but your mind stopped thinking. So you went to your shared bedroom. When you got there, you sat on the bed and started to cry, not knowing what to do. The tears flowed even more, making your eyes red and swollen. Looking up, you saw on a small table next to the bed a picture of you and San from the wedding. Looking at the photo, you felt memories begin to flood your mind. The moment was captured into your memory, and every detail came alive again in front of your eyes. You saw San's smile again, the tenderness in his gestures, and you went back in time, reliving the moments of happiness you spent together. The picture was one of your favorites, San holding you by your tiny waist, giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek. While you stared at the photo, a surge of rage and betrayal washed over you. In a fit of anger, you grabbed it and threw it to the ground, listening to the sound of it shattering into pieces. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the broken fragments, feeling a bitter satisfaction in the act. It was a release, a way to express the pain and anger consuming you. You packed your bags, not caring whether San would see all your belongings gathered when he came. You blocked him everywhere so he couldn't find you, and you left, tears streaming down your face as you looked back at the house where you two had shared happy moments.

It has been four years since that incident, and you haven't heard from San since. In truth, you hear about him almost every day, as he is now the richest man around with countless business ventures. He's everywhere, but you’ve tried to ignore everything that happened to avoid feeling lonely. Your best friend, Nayeon, has been a rock, helping you get through it all. She has always been by your side, and with her support, you have become a fairly popular model after a long period of healing and rebuilding your life. You’ve graced the covers of several fashion magazines, walked on runways in major fashion capitals like Paris and Milan, and built a strong social media presence. Your style is admired, your confidence radiates through every photoshoot, and your fanbase grows daily. Today was an important day. You were walking the runway in Sardinia, Italy for the Dolce & Gabbana fashion show. It was a beautiful, long-awaited dream come true. Nayeon was there beside you, helping you into your dress. It was a stunning black gown with a daring cutout at the back, accentuating your figure perfectly. The dress was exquisite, made of the finest silk that flowed gracefully with every movement. The cutout at the back revealed just enough skin to be alluring without being too revealing, perfectly balancing between chic and sensual. As Nayeon adjusted the final touches, she smiled at you, her eyes filled with pride and excitement. "You look breathtaking," she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. You turned to look at her, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. "I couldn't have done any of this without you, Nayeon. Thank you for always being there.", she squeezed your hand gently. "That's what best friends are for. Now go out there and show them what you're made of."

As you stepped onto the runway, the lights blazed down, illuminating the room and the captivated audience. The black gown flowed elegantly with every step you took, the back cutout adding a touch of allure that drew gasps of admiration from the crowd. While you walked, a figure in the audience caught your eye. Instantly, the smile on your face vanished as you saw your ex-husband San in the crowd. He wore an exceptional white suit, making him easy to recognize, almost glowing amidst the sea of spectators. His hair was perfectly styled, and his piercing gaze, those fox-like eyes, made you freeze. He looked directly at you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. You tried to maintain your composure, reminding yourself to focus on the walk. Every step felt heavier, the weight of his presence pressing down on you. "Keep it together," you whispered to yourself. "Just a few more steps." San's gaze never wavered, his expression unreadable, and it took all your strength to pretend you hadn't noticed him. You felt a swirl of emotions—anger, hurt, confusion—threatening to break through your composed exterior. But this was your moment, and you were determined not to let his presence overshadow it.

Finally reaching the end of the runway, you posed, turning with practiced grace, and began your walk back. You kept your chin up, eyes forward, channeling every ounce of professionalism. Nayeon's encouraging smile flashed in your mind, giving you the final push you needed to finish the show with the same elegance and confidence with which you had started. Backstage, as the applause echoed from the runway, you took a deep breath, your heart still racing from the unexpected encounter. Nayeon rushed to your side, sensing something was off. "Are you okay?" she asked, concern etched in her features. "I... I saw San," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? Where?" "In the audience," you said, glancing back towards the runway. "He was watching me the whole time." You tried to discreetly wipe away your tears, not wanting everyone to see you cry. After a while, when everything had finally wrapped up, you and the team started preparing for the after-party to celebrate the successful show. Your mind wasn't fully present; you were acutely aware that San would be there. You all headed to the most luxurious and opulent restaurant nearby, a sight of pure elegance and sophistication. The exterior was adorned with intricate architecture, lit by soft, ambient lighting that gave it a warm, inviting glow. As you stepped inside, a gracious hostess greeted you, leading your group to a large, round table elegantly set for the occasion. The table was adorned with elegant place settings, sparkling crystal glasses, and a centerpiece of fresh flowers that added a touch of natural beauty to the luxurious setting. Despite the stunning surroundings, your thoughts remained clouded. You tried to engage in the celebration, but the anticipation of seeing San again kept you on edge. The laughter and conversations of your colleagues seemed distant, almost as if they were happening in another world. You noticed that right next to you was the only empty seat at the table, and your eyes were immediately drawn to a prominent name card that read "Choi San". Your heart skipped a beat, realizing the possibility of sitting right next to him. Taking a deep breath, a mix of anticipation washed over you. Was it mere coincidence or a subtle intention from the hosts? As you carefully placed your clutch on the seat, you felt the curious glances from other guests intensify, adding to the pressure of the moment. You took another deep breath, the air thick with anticipation, and when you opened your eyes, there it was—a hand you recognized instantly by its touch, its grip, adorned with rings that spoke of refinement. San had just settled into the seat next to you. He exuded an intoxicating scent, and as he leaned in slightly, you noticed the impeccable tailoring of his suit, revealing a hint of his well-toned chest underneath. "Apologies for being late," he murmured with a respectful nod, his smile bringing back every memory you had of him.

Throughout the dinner, tension built between you and San. You felt his gaze on you constantly, and every accidental touch sent a shiver down your spine. It became overwhelming, and you knew you needed a moment to collect yourself. "Excuse me," you said, standing abruptly. All eyes turned to you as you walked away from the table, your cheeks burning. You hurried to the bathroom, closing the door behind you and taking a deep breath. You splashed water on your face, trying to calm your racing heart. After a few moments, you felt composed enough to return to the table. Just as you opened the door, you walked straight into a solid chest. You looked up, knowing instantly who it was. San. You froze, your eyes meeting his stunning gaze. You wanted to move, to walk away, but his hand caught yours, pulling you back. "San, I need to go," you whispered, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he gently pushed you against the wall, his body close to yours, creating an electrifying closeness. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice low and filled with need. His eyes burned into yours, and you felt the tension between you. Your breath hitched as you felt the warmth of his body against yours. His hand moved to your waist, holding you firmly in place. You could feel the heat radiating from him, making your pulse quicken. Your gaze remains fixed downward, avoiding his mesmerizing eyes, But San cups your chin with his hand, gently lifting your face to meet his intense stare. "What do you want?" you ask, your voice trembling. His eyes burn into yours, filled with a mix of desire and determination. As you try to pull away, his grip tightens, holding you in place. "Stop struggling. I'm not letting you go," he says, his voice low and husky, filled with a dangerous edge that sends a shiver down your spine. "What do you want from me?" you ask, your voice a whisper, laden with both fear and excitement.

Without another word, San pushes you back into the bathroom, the door closing with a decisive click behind you. Your back hits the cool tile wall, the contrast with his heated body making you gasp. His hands are on you again, sliding down your arms, gripping your waist, pressing you firmly against the wall. "I want you," he growls, his voice rough with need. "Every inch of you." San's lips crash against yours with a hunger that takes your breath away. He kisses you fiercely, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roam your body. His touch is demanding, possessive, and it ignites a fire inside you that you've tried to suppress for so long. He moves his mouth to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin, leaving visible marks. His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts through the fabric of your dress. "God, I've missed these," he growls, his voice thick with desire. You can feel his cock pressing against you, hard and insistent. He pulls the dress down, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. His mouth descends, sucking on your nipple while his hand kneads the other, making you moan with pleasure. "San," you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devours you. "Don't stop." He bites down gently on your nipple, making you cry out. "I won't," he promises, his voice a low growl. He switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak before sucking it into his mouth. His free hand moves down, lifting your dress higher until it's bunched around your waist. He slips his fingers under your panties, finding you wet and ready for him. "Fuck, you're so wet for me," he groans, sliding a finger inside you and making you arch against him. "Please," you beg, needing more. San grins against your skin, adding another finger and thrusting them in and out of you. His thumb circles your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. "You like that, baby?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Yes," you moan, your hips moving against his hand. "More, San, please." He withdraws his fingers, leaving you aching and desperate for him. He grabs your hips, lifting you up and pressing you against the wall. "I need to be inside you," he says, his voice rough with need.

You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the tip of his cock at your entrance. He pushes inside you in one hard thrust, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, clutching at his shoulders as he begins to move. San fucks you with a desperate intensity, each thrust harder than the last. His hands grip your ass, pulling you closer as he drives into you. "God, you feel so good," he groans, his pace relentless. You can barely breathe, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. "San, I'm gonna—" , "Come for me," he demands, his voice harsh and urgent. The words push you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that leaves you trembling. San follows moments later, his release spilling inside you as he groans your name.

For a moment, the world stops, the only sound your ragged breaths mingling together. San lowers you back to the ground, his arms still wrapped around you as you both come down from the high. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are filled with a mixture of satisfaction and something deeper. "This isn't over," he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I meant what I said. I want you. Every inch of you." You nod, your heart still racing. "We'll see," you whisper, knowing that despite everything, a part of you wants him just as much. San’s eyes darken with a renewed hunger, and he gives you a wicked grin. “On your knees, now,” he commands, his voice low and authoritative. A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine as you drop to your knees in front of him. His erection is right in front of your face, and you can see the desire in his eyes as he looks down at you. You wrap your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling its heat and hardness. You begin by kissing the tip, your tongue darting out to taste him. San inhales sharply, his hands tangling in your hair as you take him into your mouth. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, his grip tightening as you start to move. You take him deeper, your lips and tongue working in tandem to pleasure him. You hollow your cheeks, creating a suction that makes him curse under his breath. Your other hand moves to cup his balls, gently massaging them as you bob your head up and down his length. San’s breathing becomes ragged, his hips thrusting slightly as he struggles to control himself. “You’re so good at this,” he growls, his voice strained with pleasure. You look up at him through your lashes, meeting his intense gaze as you take him even deeper, pushing yourself to your limits. The sounds he makes, the way he tenses under your touch, spur you on. You increase your pace, taking him in as far as you can before pulling back and swirling your tongue around the head. “Just like that,” he moans, his eyes closing briefly as he loses himself in the sensation. You can feel him getting closer, his body tensing, his grip on your hair almost painful. With one last, deep thrust, he comes, his release filling your mouth. You swallow it all, not letting a drop escape, your eyes locked on his as he rides out his orgasm. When he finally opens his eyes, there’s a look of deep satisfaction mixed with something more. He pulls you up to your feet, kissing you hard, tasting himself on your lips. “Love, I missed you,” he whispers against your mouth, his hands still holding you close. You can’t deny the electric connection between you, the intense chemistry that still burns so bright. “I missed you too,”.

You both quickly dress, but as you look at your reflection in the mirror, you realize just how disheveled you are. Your hair is a mess, your clothes are wrinkled, and your makeup is smudged. San doesn't look much better; his suit is rumpled, and his hair is tousled in a way that screams what you've just done. As you step out of the bathroom, the hallway feels like it's a mile long. Just as you turn the corner, you run straight into Nayeon. Her eyes widen as she takes in your appearance, then flicks over to San. The realization dawns on her face, and she crosses her arms, looking between the two of you with an incredulous expression. “Really? Here? Now?” Nayeon exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. You blush furiously, trying to smooth down your dress. “It just… happened,” you mumble, avoiding her piercing gaze. San, trying to regain his composure, clears his throat. “Nayeon, it’s not what it looks like,” he starts, but Nayeon cuts him off with a sharp look. “Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like,” she snaps, her eyes narrowing at San before turning back to you. “And you? After everything, you just let this happen?” You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of her disappointment. “It’s complicated, Nayeon. We were just talking and then…” Nayeon throws her hands up in the air, clearly frustrated. “Talking? Really? Because it sure doesn’t look like you two were just talking.” San steps forward, his expression earnest. “Look, I know it looks bad, but this is between me and her. We need to figure this out ourselves.” Nayeon’s eyes soften slightly, but she still looks skeptical. “Fine. But you,” she points at you, “better think long and hard about what you’re doing. And you,” she turns to San, “don’t you dare hurt her again.” San nods solemnly. “I won’t,” he promises, his voice firm. Nayeon shakes her head, sighing deeply. “I hope not, for both your sakes.” She turns on her heel and walks away, leaving you standing there with San, the weight of the situation settling heavily on your shoulders. You know Nayeon is right; there are a lot of things to consider, and this isn’t something that can be resolved easily. San looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and determination. “We’ll figure this out,” he says softly. You nod, but inside, you’re not so sure. There’s a lot to unpack, a lot to discuss, and it’s going to take time. But for now, all you can do is take it one step at a time.

#ateez scenarios #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagine #ateez smut #san ateez #san x reader #san ff #san smut #ateez san

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sleeping-sirens · 2 months

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morning with san ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

pairing : choi san x f reader.

genre : non idol au, established relationship, newlyweds au, mature, fluff, the morning after. (minors dni pls, or it’ll make me feel uncomfortable)

word count : 1k words.

note : this is my first work for ateez, pls be nice 🥹 and this is pretty much VERY self indulgent lol

masterlist

when he is asked about love, there are a plenty of things that san can think of. his family, his hometown, his hobbies, his friends and everything that contributed and still contributes in making him the person he is today.

but when his mind is stirred awake from his sleep and the rays of sunshine dimmed by the dark beige curtains penetrate his eyelids, his mind is blank.

it’s empty, almost numb. he’s at peace. and he’s happy.

all he can hear is silence, except for his heartbeat resonating deep inside his ears. a deep breath is taken all the way in and he’s feeling liberated, stripped from any heaviness that comes with life.

no thoughts weigh on his mind, or his heart or his entire body that feels like a heap of feathers on top of the softness of the bed.

it takes him a moment to open his eyes, even if he is eager to explore his surroundings, discover new feelings and create new habits now that his life has changed. for the better, he claims. with you.

he doesn’t rush because he feels like something deep inside his chest would burst once he lays his eyes on you. and he wishes he was exaggerating.

he wants to slowly savor the feeling of sleeping with remnants of you, of waking up next you, of seeing you curled up next to him, body still, calm, glowing, beautiful.

when he finally opens his eyes, what he sees exceeds his expectations by a thousand of deep breaths, a million of shooting stars and a billion of blazing fireworks. you’re there, he still can’t believe it but you’re there. on his bed, beside him and his. for life.

san presses his lips together, tongue swiping against his lower lip and he’s reminded of what happened the night before. when he showed you his love in more ways than one. when he painted your body with promises of care and devotion. when he tainted your soul with everything that is him.

you’re there, your bare back is facing him and traces of love are littering your skin. he smiles, eyes crinkling and dimples popping, a sigh leaving his lips and a hand placed on his raging heart that he thinks might turn to liquid from how much he loves you.

his eyes trail on your figure, the light blanket sitting dangerously low on your body, leaving nothing to his imagination. the valley of your hips sitting high and dipping into your inviting thighs, eyes staring a bit too long at your ass.

san stifles a little moan, dying it down with a deep breath that ends with a small hint of a groggy purr. it’s early in the morning and he can’t seem to calm down himself, his own body aching to hold you, be close to you, to own you.

without thinking—he always seems to never think when he’s around you—he stretches his arm out and let his fingers gently graze against your skin. you’re cold under his warm touch, goosebumps instantly forming. hot blood races through his veins and down his already loaded morning wood. puffs of breath escape his lips as he draws a pattern with his fingertips from the middle of your back, and down, down, down. until his entire hand is covering your ass cheek.

“it tickles,” you say, a breathy chuckle airing from your chest.

“did i wake you?” san asks softly. he comes closer to you and nuzzles his nose deep into your neck. the hand that was pressed on your bottom slithers up and around and settles in the soft crevice of your lower stomach, fingers brazenly reaching lower.

you shake your head. your breath stuck in your chest, sending you into a dizzy state. “no, i was awake.”

he hums softly into your skin, before pressing your lower body closer against him. his lips place feverish kisses on your neck, arriving at the slope of your shoulders and down your arms.

you instinctively lean into him, ass molding gently against his hard dick.

“babyyy,” he whimpers, his brain already turning into mush.

you giggle at him. “hm?” you jokingly answer. and san is incapable of forming one coherent sentence. all he can think about is you, mind clouded with you, your skin, you warmth, your body, your smell, his smell on your body and your ass pressing into him.

“can i?” a pause, then a sigh, then a whine. “can we…?”

you turn to him smiling when you see his face crumpling into the most defeated expression ever. cheeks flushed, eyes glossy.

you wrap your hand around his face and place gentle kisses on his lips. one after the other, softly. calming the ripples of chaos in his mind, or so you thought. he only grows eager, needy, demanding.

his hands caress all over your body, fingers curling into the inside of your knee and hooking your leg around him, his dick pushing into your pussy in a hurried action. his hips start bucking into you with every push of his lips on you, swallowing your hisses and breaths, inhaling your moans, intoxicating himself with you.

but he’s soft. despite all his fierce emotions, he’s gentle with you, so gentle he makes you melt. he makes your soul turn into liquid gold. you’re his prized possession. his treasure.

when you try to pull away to catch your breaths, san’s head duck lower down your chest and between your breasts. he’s heaving, mind racing and heart beating so fast. he holds you close, telling himself to slow down, reminding himself that he doesn’t want to rush with you now that you’re his.

he vowed to keep you by his side, to love you and protect you and he will do just that.

and without him asking twice, or even once, you give him everything and he takes it. he takes, doubles it and gives it to you. without a doubt.

but when it comes to you, his mind is blank. a white canvas, ready to be painted by you.

note : i originally had this idea for mingi but san is clouding my mind rn so i couldn’t help it 😭😵‍💫this was so difficult for me to write because my mind and thoughts are full of him rn oof🥲 pls like and reblog if you enjoyed reading <33

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wonryllis · 6 months

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★ ᵎᵎ ENHYPEN AS KDRAMA LEADS AND THEIR LOVES.

╰ 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒.

𝒏o𝓉ℯs. enhypen on the screen with you 𖥔 ݁ fluff, suggestive LIB? fem!reader requested word count `1715 PLS REBLOG!!!

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 ❝ they tried to take what was mine, so i will show them what i have. ❞ jang uk, alchemy of souls.

the forlorn hero cursed by fate to bear the weight of being the most powerful person in the world. and for one that withstands death and destiny; you are the light that embraces his shadows of darkness when he embarks on the path to save the world.

"you look pretty," heeseung eyes glance over your dolled up figure as he enters the room. "well no one's going to notice me anyway, they're all interested in your past lover," you scowl in an adorable pout that tingles heeseung's inner desires to eat you up. "that's why sit where everyone can see you, show them who my actual bride is," his fingers reach out to hold the side of your face in a gentle caress, gaze locked with yours, the atmosphere heaving with tension. "then i'm going to wear the family ornament," he hums inching closer,"then i'm going to tell them we get get along very well," he hums again, nose brushing against yours,"then i'm going to brag that you light up the path for me at nigh-" this time heeseung's lips find yours in a tender kiss, sucking softly almost in a nibble as he pulls away in a moment,"show me off however you want, i'm all yours," because he's sure you are his light in the dark.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 ❝ even if other people say it is not, if you say it is love, then it is love. ❞ lee jun ho, extraordinary attorney woo young woo.

the secure and dependable soul who is left navigating through a love that confronts the pitifully vile sides of society. and for who wishes to be the one for you; you help his muddled worries come to the ultimate realization, to love and to fight for it till the end.

"jay, can i.. touch you?" jay is dumbfounded at your words, frozen at his spot for a momentary instance," he looks at you trying to avoid to his gaze,"i want to check whether i like you in that way," you clarify and jay curses his tainted mind for going places they absolutely should not be going. "oh, i see," it takes a few seconds for it all to sink in, and as soon as he does he's approaching you in a confident stride. "can you only check by touching me?" one step forward, one step back. "i need to see if my heart races—" caging you with your back against the couch, hands on each side,"so your heart doesn't race if we're not touching?" jay whispers, grinning at your eyes looking everywhere but him. "even when you're with me, doesn't your heart race?" his own heart pounds hard in his chest, just being with you has him weak,"that's disappointing," breathing fast as he leans in. you test him against all that he has ever known.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐔𝐍 ❝ does my dream have to be success? can't it be a person? ❞ nam do san, start up.

the ridiculously gifted and capable protagonist on his journey of growth, struggling between reality and dreams. and for one whom love, self worth and truth is conflicting; you provide an elysian abode of validation and acceptance of who he can be despite everything.

"a rainbow doesn't make your wish come true," jake smiles to himself, fiddling around with the pebbles at his feet,"it's just light reflecting and refracting," looking up he finds you staring at him in a sulk. "so you're not going to pray? because you don't believe in it?" your words are one of sorrow albeit you hardly sound upset and more in spirit of challenge. "there's no objective evidence," though he'll admit he'd take every chance he could to make a wish about you, even if it's superstitious. "let me show you then, evidence," you pull him by his collar into a messy, sloppy kiss, one that takes his breath away,"see, i prayed i'd kiss you and i did," his cheeks warm up at your bluntness,"you're the one who kissed me, the rainbow has nothing to do with it," "just the way liking you has nothing to do with reasons to like you, i like you because you're you, you're my reason" you make it so easy to fall in love.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 ❝ even if my feelings for you make me insignificant and weak, you are my fate that i cannot defy. ❞ jung gu won, my demon.

the immortal infernal superbeing caught in a web of events that go against his very existence, piercing through the root of his beliefs. and for one whose emotions have been shut for the longest time; you open the doors of his hell, where his throne shines for you.

"is this what you're trying to get?" sunghoon's figure presses into your back as he reaches above you to bring down the book from the shelf,"my demon guide, really?" moving to the side he leans against the tall furniture, waving the heavy book in your face. your eyes fall to the exposed skin of his torso, toned chest and glistening abs, staying there a second too long,"ay ay ay, you pervert!" sunghoon immediately pulls his loose dress shirt together buttoning it up in a hurry as you look away. "why are you here anyway?" for once you have been the first to come to him. he feels something is wrong with him to be so elated over a mere thing like this,"i was just worried," you make him feel human, you make him feel vulnerable, you make him want to rewrite the stars with you. "about you," it is scary yet it feels like a kind of freedom that relieves him of a load he never knew he carried.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎 ❝ if you really want to express something you will find a way. ❞ ha yi chan, twinkling watermelon.

the ever merry fellow, overflowing with a shinning soul and a sparkling heart, choosing to see only the bright side of everything. and for whom shortfalls have been a sign of misery; you show him a new world where flaws exist to give meaning to what you have.

"here, i got you a cat," sunoo gestures to the cat snuggling in his arms, getting closer to let you pet it. "i was worried you'd be bored alone," he speaks slow, moving his fingers just the way he practiced as you take the little fluffball from him,"i made sure to pick out a kitty that looked like me," he points and when your eyes crinkling into an adorable smile, sunoo feels all his efforts of learning to communicate with you to be fruitful. "a name based on your face?" he questions when you talk about naming the cat,"do you have a name like that too?" he never thought there'd be a time when he'd sit with you in the woods like this, talking in a language of your own as you taught him how to call out to you in a way only you two would understand. there was so much beauty in silence and he only realized it now,"that's a pretty name, i will call you by that from now," the simplicity of life he forget, you remind him.

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 ❝ i'm a terrible liar and i don't have the ability to fool the one i love. ❞ kim do ha, my lovely liar.

the honest yet constantly condemned guy doing his best to fall back into the rhythm of life, having lost the last hopes of happiness. and for one who has always been doubted and criticised; you bring reason, to survive the dark into victory.

"lie to me," jungwon looks up from his bowl of soup, bewildered at what you ask of him,"what?" he mumbles slowly, trying to make sure he heard you right."just once please? try telling me i'm pretty," the insistent tone of your voice persuades docile jungwon to give in, brown eyes gazing at you in a dazed stare. one that lasts a little longer than a moment necessary,"you're pretty," and it's not a lie, you are so much more than just pretty in his eyes, it could never be a lie,"of course, i would say you're pretty," when jungwon looks at you he sees love in a new light, he sees all these positive emotions in a new light. in a light that gives him hope of escaping the hideous cage his mind has him trapped in. "because you really are pretty," he returns back to eating, trying to avoid the flush of butterflies he feels in just that one acknowledgement. it had been years since he felt them, such a normal emotion of love.

𝐍��𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 ❝ when you miss me, you can go to a bookstore and see me in a comic book. ❞ kang chul, w two worlds.

the tragic struck, defined by his past character thriving into a position of power and influence to uncover the truths of his comical life. and for one that battles against injustice, fictional between dimensions; you are the key to his long awaited peace.

"this one looks good on you, you should get it—" your hand slaps across riki's cheek in a snap making everyone in the room gasp in horror. to be hit like that out of the blue, riki should have been outraged, instead all he felt was confusion but not so much as to end the chapter. "what, is it?" he asks, his brows raised in question. "why am i getting slapped for buying you clothes?" stepping closer to you,"t-that, i'm sorry—"your lips crash against his for a fleeting moment before you rush off into the fitting rooms leaving everyone in shock. riki's fingers linger over the spot you kissed, feeling his heart skip multiple beats for some reason. you are pretty for sure, but you're also idiotic in way that attracts him out of pure amusement. he knows you don't belong here, and he knows it'll be reckless to try and find your world, but you make him feel there is a way out despite all obstacles and absurdities.

taglist ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz

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lilacmingi · 1 month

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HADES (DISNEY VILLAINS AU)

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. And please don’t spam-like!

Pairing: Hades!Hongjoong x fem!reader

Word count: 2,830

Note: This imagine is part of my Disney Villains series from 2022 on Wattpad! 😈 Also!! I have a new rule in place. No spam-liking please! Reading through a series and liking the post when you’re done is fine, but don’t go through and like multiple imagines one after the next consecutively please! I don’t wanna get shadowbanned </3 if you wanna save multiple imagines to read later, like my masterlist instead!

It was a boring day in the Underworld. The flow of souls coming in was lower than usual, which meant Hongjoong didn't have much to do. His poilished, black nails tapped against the arm of his throne as he stared blankly into the flames before him.

He was bored to death.

He snapped his fingers, his two lackeys appearing in a puff of black smoke.

"You called?" Wooyoung asked, brushing his hair away from his face.

"It's a slow day." Hongjoong responded.

"We noticed." San added, suppressing a yawn.

"I was thinking we could have some fun in the mortal realm today. What do you think, boys?"

The duo shared a look, mischievous smirks tugging at their lips.

Hongjoong took that as a yes.

The three disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, appearing in the mortal realm somewhere away from the crowds. Hongjoong was quick to disguise himself in his human form. His extravagant, black attire was replaced with cream-colored robes to blend in. He looked at the two stood across from him.

"What have you got?" He asked, indicating for the two to show him their disguises.

In an instant, the pair turned into two children.

A wicked smile spread across Hongjoong's features.

"Perfect. No one ever suspects children."

"What do you want us to do, boss?" San inquired.

"Go wreak havoc. Steal something, harass the elderly, let the livestock loose in the streets." He ordered, listing off things that would cause disturbances.

"You got it." The two saluted Hongjoong before scurrying off into town leaving their boss to watch the chaos ensue.

You strode through town, perusing the different carts lined up along the dusty streets. You didn't need anything in particular, you just wanted to get out, stretch your legs, and get some fresh air.

Suddenly, you heard a commotion from somewhere behind you. You turned around to see what was going on, and when you did, two little boys ran by nearly knocking you off your feet as they did so. You stumbled a bit but was quick to regain your balance as you saw the two kids run over to a nearby fruit cart. You couldn't help but notice one of them going to steal an apple. Just when you were about to speak up, the lady running the small business began shouting at them, shooing them away. You frowned, feeling sorry for the two boys.

"Excuse me." You called out, stepping towards the fruit cart. "What's going on?"

"These two ruffians tried to steal my goods!" She spoke harshly, her voice a bit gravelly.

"They were just hungry, I'm sure."

"Lady, do you see the chaos these two have caused?" She pointed to the other vendors' carts lining the street. Some appeared to have things knocked off, the sellers trying to gather their goods out of the streets.

"I'm sure they didn't mean to. They were probably just having fun and weren't paying attention. Right?" You asked, turning to the children.

They both nodded.

You then bent down to their level, looking at the two of them. One had short, choppily cut black hair, the other longer brown hair with subtle waves. They both looked to be around the same age, maybe seven years old. You weren't too sure. Either way, you weren't going to leave them without making sure they were alright and out of trouble.

"Where are your parents?" You asked.

Neither said a word.

"Do you have parents?"

The one with brown hair nodded while the one with choppy black hair shook his head. You weren't sure what to think of that, so you chose to overlook it.

"Are you guys hungry? I'll get you something."

The two shared a glance before nodding.

You stood up to face the lady running the fruit stand.

"I'd like two apples, please."

"For these two delinquents?" She asked, harshly.

"I'm giving you business, so why does it matter who I give them to?"

The vendor pressed her lips together, knowing she couldn't possibly refuse a paying customer.

"Alright." She huffed, taking the money from me.

"Thank you." You gave her a friendly smile, picking two apples from the woven baskets on the cart and handing them to the boys.

"Thank you, Miss." The brown-haired boy smiled, his cheeks round like bread.

Hongjoong, who was watching from a distance witnessed the whole thing. He felt something in his chest when he saw how kind you were towards San and Wooyoung. It was an odd feeling he hadn't felt before—ever. He wanted to talk to you right that instant. He then stepped out of his hiding spot and began walking over.

"San! Wooyoung!" He called.

You lifted your gaze at the unfamiliar voice, your eyes landing on a man with straight, black hair. He had a prominent nose that came to a point; it was dainty and reminded you of a fairy. He hurried over to the two children, crouching down to their height.

"There you two are." He spoke.

His voice was unique. It was a bit higher than you expected, but so light and airy. You could listen to him talk all day.

"Oh. Do you know them?" You inquired.

"Yes. I'm their... older brother, actually."

"Ah. I thought they were lost so I bought them apples. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. That was very kind of you." He went quiet for a moment before piping up. "I'm Hongjoong. That's San and that's Wooyoung."

"I'm Y/n." You introduced yourself.

"Nice to meet you." Hongjoong smiled warmly.

"Thank you, Miss Y/n." The boy with the choppy hair, who you now know as San, thanked you.

"Yeah. You're really nice." Wooyoung spoke up.

"Thank you, boys. You're awfully kind."

"You were so nice to my brothers, I feel like I should do something for you in return. You know, as a way to say thank you." Hongjoong spoke.

"That's alright. You don't have to do anything for me."

"I insist."

"Well, if you must."

"Would you be interested in a visit to the theater?"

"The theater?"

He nodded with a smile.

"That's a very nice offer."

"Is it something you'd be interested in?"

"I would."

"Wonderful." He beamed.

His smile was incredible. His teeth were stunning and so white. You'd never seen anyone with a smile as perfect as his.

"We could meet by the colosseum tomorrow when the sun reaches the top of that mountain." He pointed.

"That works." You nodded.

"Are you going on a date with my brother?" Wooyoung asked.

"Date?" You parroted.

You and Hongjoong both started denying it.

"No, no, no." You shook your head.

"I'm just thanking her for being nice to you two." Hongjoong clarified.

The two boys gave both of you skeptical looks.

"Alright, well we should be going." Hongjoong spoke up, pushing his brothers forward. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The next day, you met Hongjoong outside the colosseum as promised. You put on your best robes, wanting to impress the handsome man. It seemed he was thinking the same as you, because he showed up wearing nice robes as well.

"You look wonderful." He complimented.

"So do you."

"Ah. Really?" He asked, pushing his hair back.

"Yes. Very handsome." You told him.

"Shall we head inside?" He nodded towards the colosseum entrance.

"Of course."

He offered you his hand, which you gratefully took and allowed him to lead you inside.

The both of you got seated and waited for the chairs around you to fill up.

"I love coming to the theater." Hongjoong commented. "It's a nice break from work."

"What do you do?" You asked.

"Oh." He seemed caught off guard by the question. "I'm a... supervisor."

"A supervisor? What do you supervise?"

"The dead."

"Oh. So you're a coroner?"

"Yes, exactly! That's what it's called." He nodded.

"Don't you get creeped out being so close to dead bodies?"

"Well, I don't really deal with the bodies."

You gave him an odd look. "Isn't that what a coroner does?"

"Oh, um, I mean, it's not so bad. I just look at the body and document the person's time of death, so I'm not around them for too long."

"Hm." You hummed in response.

"The show's starting." Hongjoong pointed.

The two of you continued to spend time together for the next few weeks. Hongjoong took you to incredible places and did many fun and exciting things with you. It was never boring when you were with him. Always something new.

The both of you walked hand in hand as Hongjoong took you home. Your hair was adorned with flowers Hongjoong had placed in there. You had even placed a few in his locks as well. You had just gotten back from watching the sun set on a hill overlooking the city. It was the most perfect evening ever.

"Thank you for today." You told him, leaning your head over on his shoulder.

"You're welcome. I'm glad you had a good time."

"It was wonderful, as usual. You always seem to find a way to one-up the previous date."

"Oh, so these are dates now?" He asked with a smirk.

"Of course they are. That visit to the theater was a date too."

"How so?" Hongjoong inquired.

"I know you didn't just invite me to the theater to thank me for being nice to your brothers."

"Alright, you got me." He chuckled. "I needed an excuse to see you again."

"So you admit you were smitten from the start?"

"You could call it that." He smiled, fondly. "What about you?"

"I was quite taken with you too." You admitted.

"I knew it." He grinned.

"Liar." You laughed, shoving him playfully.

Your heart sank just slightly when you saw your home come into view. You always hated saying goodbye to Hongjoong, but you knew you'd be see each other again soon—you always did.

The two of you came to a stop at your front entrance.

"I don't want to leave." You told him.

He smiled a bit as he brought his hand up to cup your cheek.

"I know."

"Thank you again for the wonderful afternoon."

"Of course, darling." He smiled warmly, his thumb caressing your cheek, sending a rush of tingles throughout your body. "Now go get some rest."

You nodded as Hongjoong's hand fell from your face.

"Oh. There's something that I want to tell you. It's pretty important. Can you meet me at the building overlooking the botanical garden tomorrow after sunset?"

"Why can't you tell me now?"

"It's not the right time."

"And tomorrow is?" You inquired.

"Yes. So, will you meet me there?"

"Of course, Hongjoong."

"Thank you."

You stepped inside, glancing back at the charming man.

"Sweet dreams." He whispered.

You gave him a small wave before closing the door.

It took you a while to get to sleep that night, as all you could think of was what Hongjoong might want to say to you. He could want to officially ask you to be his girlfriend, that would make you really happy. Or it could be something else. You tried not to think of anything negative as you finally forced yourself to go to sleep.

You approached the building Hongjoong asked you to meet him at. Your hands were slightly clammy as you headed to the balcony in the back. The sun had gone down, bathing the scenery in its cloak of darkness. You had wondered why Hongjoong wanted to meet at night, but chose not to question it.

You admired the beautiful nighttime scene and the way the bright moon cast shadows over the trees and sculptures in the garden sitting below. It was somewhat eerie but beautiful at the same time.

"You showed." A voice spoke up.

You turned to see Hongjoong approaching.

"Of course I showed." You smiled. "I told you I would."

"Thank you."

"You said you wanted to tell me something?"

"I do." He confirmed. "Well, I also want to show you something."

You stood and waited, watching as he took in a deep breath.

"Watch this." He instructed with a smile.

He held his hand out, a rose engulfed in blue flames appearing out of thin air.

You stared at it in awe, unable to comprehend how he conjured the flower out of nothing and also why it wasn't wilting under the flames.

"How did you do—" You were cut off when you looked up to see Hongjoong standing in front of you, but he looked different—very different.

His normal black hair was now blue, matching flames of the same hue were coming off the ends of his locks. His outfit had changed as well. Instead of his usual cream-colored robes was now an odd-looking black outfit made of some sort of leather. He donned a large feathery coat on top with a black skull on his shoulder. It was nothing like you had ever seen before. The outfit wasn't the only thing that changed. His brown eyes were now covered in heavy eye makeup, black shadows smudged around his intense eyes.

His entire look was, in a word, otherworldly.

"Hongjoong?" You asked, shocked by his new appearance, unconsciously taking a step back as the rose fell from your hand.

"Y/n, just let me explain before you freak out, okay?"

You took in a deep breath, staying silent and allowing him to continue.

"I'm not actually human. I'm god of the underworld."

Your eyes widened in shock and mild horror.

I've been going on dates with the god of death? You thought in disbelief.

"I couldn't come right out and tell you because I didn't want you to run away. I wanted you to get to know me for me."

Hearing him say that made you pause for a moment. He's right. You probably would have ran away if he came out looking like he did.

"I'm still the same Hongjoong, I just look a little different is all."

He had a point. It's not like he's some monster. He's still Hongjoong.

"So, San and Wooyoung aren't your brothers?" You asked.

"No." He shook his head. "They're my henchman."

"And you're not a coroner." You said it like a statement.

"No."

You let out a short sigh. "I can't be mad at you. You had good intentions. Also, you did kinda tell the truth about your profession. You do supervise the dead."

"That I do." He chuckled. "So, does this change the way you feel about me?"

You smiled softly. "No."

Hongjoong took a few steps forward, reaching his hand out. His jewelry-clad fingers glimmered under the moonlight as he waited for you grab hold of his hand.

"Your nails." You commented, glancing at his black colored fingernails.

"You like them?"

You nodded. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Well, sweetheart, things in the Underworld are a bit different than they are here."

"I imagine so." You said, glancing at Hongjoong's outfit.

"Maybe I can show you one day."

"You can take me there?" You asked.

"Of course. I'm king, so I make the rules."

You chuckled.

Hongjoong pulled you close, his arms wrapping securely around your waist. Your breathing quickened as you realized how close your faces were.

"Will you be my queen, Y/n?"

"What?" You choked out.

"Not now, but someday. Will you be my queen and rule the Underworld by my side?"

"That's a difficult question to answer at the moment."

"Then let's start with girlfriend first. How's that?"

"Good. That I can handle." You nodded with a light chuckle.

Hongjoong smiled, his thumb gently ghosting over your bottom lip.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, his voice so gentle it made your heart flip.

All you could do was nod your head.

The gap between your mouths was closed instantly as Hongjoong's lips met yours, nearly taking your breath away. His hands briefly squeezed your sides as his lips pressed harder against your own.

"You're so beautiful, darling." He murmured before diving back in for another kiss, his hands roaming your waist as yours stayed firmly planted on his shoulders.

You pulled away, gazing into his eyes.

"I don't want this night to end." You admitted, your fingers playing with the black feathers of Hongjoong's coat.

"It doesn't have to. We can always take a walk through the garden or gaze at the stars."

"That sounds romantic... but first I'd like to try that kiss again." You grinned.

"As you wish, my dear."

When Hongjoong asked you about ruling the Underworld with him, it caught you off guard. However, the idea of being by his side made you happy and the thought of it was rather appealing. Maybe one day you would accept his offer. As of right now, you'd like to take things slow and just have a normal relationship—well, as normal as a relationship with the god of the Underworld could be.

Seonghwa: Maleficent ⟡ Yunho: Captain Hook ⟡ Yeosang: Evil Queen ⟡ San: Cruella de Vil ⟡ Mingi: Dr. Facilier ⟡ Wooyoung: ⟡ Jongho:

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

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the-midnight-blooms · 13 days

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ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ'ꜱ ꜱᴛᴜᴅɪᴏ

pairing: painter!choi san x painter!reader

AU: historical au, joseon dynasty

word count: 10.5k

masterlist

I reach out to my lover, he’s trapped within a painting. The muse of a Renaissance artist- he’s so divine he may have even started the movement.

Her feet pattered down the cold floorboards, pushing through the salmun doors-the fabric of her purple hanbok bunched up in her palms. The midnight bloomed in the depth of the spring, where the cherry blossom trees roared with the wind. A captivating beam from the candle paved the way to the front doors, her heart lurching in her chest as she felt an enchanted soul beckoning her name; her vessel bowed in his essence as if the rapping of the door knocker was to the beat of her name, echoing every syllable. With her hand outstretched for the doors, she hauled it open finding a man whose eyes were squinting as the the coarse rain battered against his supple skin; his teeth chattering with the cold. With a brown leather bag sloped over the shoulder of his light yellow hanbok; hands gripped steely over the handle of his heavy cases. He was tall, with broad shoulders, she quickly discerned but his face almost seemed obscured by the dark clouds and the night slowly filtering into the star studded sky.

"Please, Miss, I'm here to see Mr Yim. I'm a new apprentice at the local government office." His voice was almost mellowed by the crash of thunder against the sky, which had them both flinching at its mercilessness. A surge of relief rested upon him as a slender arm in purple outstretched towards him; the warmth easing the shattering goosebumps bestowed upon his delicate skin. With a contented sigh, the figure in front raised the candle to his face; the soft glow illuminated his crescent eyes which bored into another's burgeoning with curiosity.

"Your name, Sir?" Her honey like voice, slid into his ears; lashes gently fluttering as he breathed in the sight before him the beaming light from the candle forging a halo around this angel. Her tight jaw and deadpan expression was immediately dissolved between the influx of enigma that flooded into her eyes.

"Choi San." Nodding diligently, she gesticulated for him to follow her to her father's study. The hallways of the Yim estate were particularly large, a few candelabras were perched on top of the drawers plastered across the panelled walls-the smoke infiltrating into the empty space. They graced the floor with minimal sound, as if there were ghosts traipsing the corridors rather than real people.

Stood outside the large door, she dipped her head in politeness as he gently caressed the lumber; soft knocks restituting off the walls. With the candle perched within a hand of his own, yet another door opened; the esteemed artist tumbled through the doorway into another life.

Just over two decades ago, on a winter night, where the trees were bare of crisp leaves and the ground was brazen with purest of snow; a couple sat by the fire in their bedroom: a new-born cherub encapsulated within her mother's arms. Mr Yim, the father of the child, was a member of a group of scholars who advocated the need for the government to foster commerce, industry, and technology. He was a part of one of the four schools of thought in Joseon that shifted from speculative theory to attending to more taxing socio-political issues. Therefore, despite being renown for his hard work, and steadfast nature, he was also known for being quite reserved- to put it nicely. There were no 'good mornings' or 'good afternoons' from Mr Yim. Nor were there dirty looks and unwelcoming mannerisms bestowed upon his acquaintances. He liked to keep to himself, Mrs Yim being the only woman in the world capable of seeing that man smile.

"Would you like to hold her, dear?" His wife called, the gentle babbling of his child sending a jolt of fear rushing through him. Eagerly, he dismissed the opportunity, to which Mrs Yim had sighed staring down at her beautiful daughter. "She is your daughter, too. You're going to have to hold her at one point."

"I'll hold her when she is a little older than what she is now."

"Before you know it, she will become a woman and you will reminisce all the opportunities you had to cuddle her when you could." Truthfully, Mr Yim was afraid of fatherhood; he never really understood the notion of it but if having a child would make his darling, Mrs Yim, happy then Mr Yim would give her all the children in the world. How could he raise a child when he was left to raise himself? What could he even teach except say to his daughter after every stumble, every mistake, every stutter, every cry for help but: 'find your way'?

Thus, his aloof nature extended to his daughter, who having been pinned by her mother's side until her unfortunate death, became wholly estranged from her father. He was no longer her mother's husband, but rather just a kind stranger who fed her, clothed her, kept her under his roof and gave her almost anything she wanted.

Miss Yim was rather bizarre.

Or at least, that's what the townspeople thought through her poignant introvertedness; maintaining scant friendships, rejecting all marriage prospects almost immediately preferring the confines of her large quarters-which in themselves were situated in the segregated division of the family home. Her rooms were not bright, but panelled with a dark wood that foremost created a dull atmosphere, there was minimal light other than what streamed in through the open doors and windows that overlooked the vast lawn. A porch ran around the whole building, where Miss Yim frequented, all year round, as she drew.

Oh! The most compelling thing about Miss Yim was that in contrast to her academic father, she had particularly excelled in the arts, often taking on commissions from local noblemen requesting venerated portraits of their wives. As well as the opportunity to put her skills to practise, she saw it as a way of putting a few extra pennies in her pocket. In alignment with her reserved nature, Miss Yim found that she preferred to draw using defined, darker mediums such as charcoal, ink and graphite pencils. There was something so true about the loneliness that could be felt from the intricate brushstrokes as the ink spilled across the page. As if the figurines were her, simply founded to be a mere prop in a large frame.

Smoothing down the hairs on her head, she snapped away her gaze from the mirror to the window overlooking the side of the garden, the silhouette of the hanok roofs, carving elegantly into the sky. The trees rocked and the grass rippled with the pending ferocity of the wind. Indeed, the storm would not subside within the next few days. The door to her bedroom slid open, the older maid stumbled in settling the tray upon her bench.

"Will I not be eating with my father today?" Ina looked up from where she was kneeled on the floor, settling the bowls onto the bench.

"Mr Yim is currently accompanied with Mr Choi. Your father requested that you eat by yourself for the duration of his stay, you know how it is." Nodding, she took her seat opposite Ina patiently awaiting for the maid to stop assembling her dishes in a neat line in front of her. Whilst women typically dined by themselves, her father had allowed her to eat with him almost daily; except when there were guests. Despite his neglect towards his daughter, he still valued her feminine dignity and did not trust the vulturous eyes of men that rested their predatory gaze upon her.

"Who is this, Mr Choi, and how is it that I wasn't aware of his arrival until he was knocking on our door?" She questioned, Ina's careful gaze flickered to her before staring out into the open space in contemplation.

"A new apprentice. He’s appointed here, on request of his father." Leaning forward, Ina's voice dropped an octave. "Apparently his father says he's been 'engaging in sin' so he's been estranged from his parents until he gets his act together." Raising a questioning brow, she looked down at her bowl.

"Is he a homosexual?" Immediately, she was wacked on the back of her head by the older maid who didn't miss a single second in scolding her. Her hand sped to the back, rubbing the jolt of pain that seared through her, a temporary look of irritation glazed over her eyes.

"You insolent girl! How could you say such thing, you know how disgraced that is!"

"You said ‘engaging in sin'. I can't think of anything more sinful other than fraternising with men or women." Ina's dirty look penetrated through her bones, provoking a sense of humiliation that would rattle through her in the depth of the night. Scowling at her mistress, she rolled her eyes before getting up from the floorboard.

“Hurry up and eat your food. You need to go to Mrs Kang’s today." Following Ina's orders she gulfed down her food, drowning out the maid's muttering about her being crude and dishonourable.

The light chatter from the front room fell deaf at her ears as she sauntered to the entrance, which the two kitchen maids scuttled in through. Bowing at their mistress, they made a fowl attempt at suppressing a fit of giggles as they subtly snuck a glance into the room. Following their gazes, she warily traipsed in, catching her father converse with their new guest.

"Ah, speak of the devil! Mr Choi, this is my daughter." He teared his gaze away from his mentor to draw his eyes across the room and find the infamous Miss Yim perched by the doorway, gripping onto her onto the full skirts of her dark blue hanbok.

It was hard to deny that Mr Choi was amiable. He was tall, well-built with a toned torso that was still perceptible through his uncreased peach coloured hanbok, dimples adorned his perfectly structured cheeks. He nodded with such elegant eagerness, at her father's command harbouring the position of an obedient son, almost leaving her wondering what was so 'sinful' about that man in the first place? What could he have possibly done so wrong that he had practically been disowned by his family?

"Miss Yim, it's nice to formally meet you." She gave him a polite nod, choosing to stay silent than say something and be met with her father's harsh stare.

"Mr Kang told me you've been over at his home, a few times." Her father spoke breaking the awkward meeting. A breath became lodged in her throat as she anticipated some sort of wrath, after all Mr Yim was supposed to be oblivious to her going out and painting other women for a light commission. She didn't exactly know how he would react to that. "He appreciates your help with Mrs Kang's pregnancy." Mrs Kang is pregnant? That would explain the engorging belly, the mood swings and the other number of odd behaviours that she was listing off in the past few weeks she had been challenged with drawing the difficult woman. At times, Miss Yim thought she ought to have more empathy, it wasn't that she lacked it, it was that she tended to not gift her empathetic abilities to the prejudiced. It was women like Ina, and the cooks that worked in the kitchen that deserved her compassion. Women who strived to be breadwinners, even if it was due to poor socio-economic circumstances. Because women like Mrs Kang were hypocrites to be preaching the old values, pre-Confucianism, when they neglected their own sex.

"Yes, she's been enjoying my company. I intend to go again to deliver herbs she’s asked from Ina’s garden.” She recalled glancing down the extensively large page, as Mrs Kang moaned and groaned when the servants were too late to serve her namul and kimchi.

"Red raspberry leaf, dandelions, echinacea." Grimacing, she looked over her sheet to give the woman a look. "You can just get this from the market, why do you need this from Ina's garden?" Mrs Kang simply pouted rubbing her belly. Now that she thought about it, how did it not occur to her that she was pregnant? Perhaps it was because they begged to slim down her figure in the painting.

"Fresh herbs are good for babies." Were the herbs from the market not fresh enough for her? “I need them picked before they’re here.”

"Perhaps I should add lemon balm to burn that fat." A discourse of exasperated gasps rippled over the room, Mrs Kang waddled out of the room wailing for her husband. It was ruthless and unkind, keeping the unsympathetic Miss Yim awake at night before she travelled back to the Kang estate to see a very unhappy couple.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Kang. You’re beautiful just the way you are, even more with the little belly.” The pregnant woman’s tight grip around her neck, as they hugged, almost choked her to death.

Mr Yim's eyes outcasted through the doorway, there was a light patter of rain yet the howl of the wind had subsided significantly. He let out a small hum before returning back to the young pair staring, ardently, back at him.

"I say Mr Choi, should be your chaperone. It's a little unsafe to be going out by yourself." Before she could open her mouth and argue, her father held out a hand to silence her thoughts. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she nodded once more, before dashing from the room to have a flustered Mr Choi following her.

Hitching up her skirts, she trudged through the field, the sun had filtered into the sky radiating its essence onto the young souls as they surpassed the reams of houses. Had it not been for the joyous discord of infantile laughter, it would have been quiet; San mustering the courage to initiate a conversation. He cleared his throat, she merely blinked at his futile attempt at grabbing her attention.

"Miss Yim, you must slow down I can't keep up with your pace." He declared, striding faster towards her, the tall grass brushing against his knees.

"I think you can cope, Sir. Your legs are longer than mine." Walking through the grass wasn't difficult but when her hanbok was floor length, lifting up the heavy fabric proved tiresome and not to mention her shoes were sinking into the muddy fields, squelching miserably under her heavy steps. Eventually, San matched her pace as they made their way up the steps to the Kang estate.

A shrill voice eructed into the airs, the domestic staff worked at a proficient speed as they amended the damages inflicted from the storm. As a group of servants raised the logs from the path, San ran to their aid significantly lightening their work load. His charity had left her silent contemplating her initial thoughts on his persona. There must be something impure under all that. Surely? There had to be some reason why his father practically disowned him.

Kang Yeosang stood by his front doors, watching as his staff worked the lawn and through the large home. He sought the enigmatic painter launch up the steps, with an unreadable look painted on her face.

“Good Morning, Miss Yim.”

“Morning, Yeosang.” She greeted, he laughed a little at her dull tone.

“I take it, there’s nothing particularly good about this morning.” He jeered, she huffed at his characteristically exuberant manner.

“Not when my father’s spy is here to be my chaperone.” She turned around on the steps, the pair looking down at San moving the heavy logs from the path, dirtying his robes at that. “He’s the new apprentice at the local office, Choi San, I think he said his name was.”

"Oh, the country boy." Country boy? "He's from Yangdong, have you not heard? His family is amongst the richest, they're both scholars and farmers, now." Across the country, Joseon farming techniques had taken a turn within the last few decades, especially with the establishment of irrigation and rice transplantation methods- bringing Joseon to a state of flourishment. It was safe to say, which farmer wasn't rich now? The admirable farm boy was pushed away by the servants, making his way up the steps. Leaving him with Yeosang, she made her way in the direction of the couples' shared quarters, Mrs Kang draped over her bed, her wrist dramatically resting on her forehead.

"Hello, Mrs Kang." The woman jolted up from her seat, an obnoxious groan emitted from her as she propped her back up against the wall. "I brought you your herbs."

"Thank you, my love. You left your paints, they're just on my dressing table." The herbs were exchanged from her paints, digging into the pockets of her hanbok. The older woman began to natter, the discordant tonality rattling in her ears. Mrs Kang loved to talk. Even if it was about absolutely nothing, that woman talked for the whole of Joseon.

I'm leaving this place with a headache.

She often wondered how it was that Yeosang put up with his insufferable wife. Was it love, or a promise that he had made to Mrs Kang's parents that he would never leave her? The thought made her sigh in pity- to be permanently bound to someone in matrimony seemed like too much effort at times. Perhaps the effort itself is what subdued her mother to misery, the poor Mrs Yim eagerly handing her soul to the Angel of Death. Or maybe Miss Yim had possessed a stone-cold heart frozen over by the neglect of life's intimate essence; overpowered by a sense of maturity held over by her mother's early death. She took it upon herself to make it clear that by the time she was thirty, if there was no proposal that had come around she was going to wholly abandon the idea of marriage and work herself to death.

"That man is so pretty." She spoke, dreamily, Miss Yim's eyes lazily fled in the direction of Mrs Kang's. Her head poked through the doorway where both Yeosang and San were travelling down, engaging in intelligent discourse. "Not Yeo, the other one." The pregnant woman clarified.

"He's ok, I suppose. Not bewitching enough to tempt me."

"That has to be the biggest lie I have ever heard."

"What is Miss Yim lying about now?" Yeosang provoked as both men entered the room. Both women shared a look before the painter slumped onto the dressing table chair. "I suppose you're awaiting your payment."

"Well, my services aren't free." She declared, pompously. Yeosang rolled his eyes before he moved to the opposite end of the room, San had almost drawn his body out of the bedroom, a little embarrassed as the pregnant Mrs Kang ogled her eyes at him. Stretching her limbs, she got up taking the velvet bag. "Thank you, Mr Kang. I'll visit when the baby arrives."

His perfection had her repleted with such distaste for him. Simply put, Miss Yim hated Choi San because he was loved by all. Her father loved him, Ina adored him, the maids were constantly drooling over him it shot her with a sense of annoyance. He quickly became a household name, spoken of when he was at the office with her father and even when he was at home. Everywhere she went it was just him, him and him. The worst thing was, was that he was even trying to be nice to her prevailing through her grim looks and hard words.

“San this, San that. Honestly, he’s not even as esteemed as everyone claims, Ina. He’s just a man, like every other man. And all men are the same. So what if he's good looking, does that suddenly make him god’s greatest gift?” Burying her face into the pillow, an exasperated huff escaped her lips. Ina fell onto her bed, reaching her arms out to stroke her mistress’ back. With a contented sigh, she felt her eyes drooping a little as the maid's soft caresses were gently lulling her to sleep. Her touch felt like that of her mother's, soothing the aches of her heart whilst simultaneously provoking the nostalgia of a mother's love. To have her mother again, to have that woman encircle her into her arms. Rock her back and forth. She longed for her mother's scent again, often chasing the whiff of her familiar saccharine redolence as one chased butterflies in an open field.

“Yet you think of him often. He occupies your thoughts as much as he occupies ours.”

“Hardly, I-,” She stammered in a desperate attempt to recollect her thoughts into a single ambience. “I envy him. How is that he steps into this home for a second and I see my father smile?” Ina’s face dropped, a breath caught in her throat as her mistress spoke aloud the forbidden words she denied her staff to even breathe. The older maid had been rendered silent for too long, giving Miss Yim all of the answers she needed to press forward with her wistful assumptions.

"Perhaps if you grew to understand him, you would know why your father has inhabited such emotions for him. Think of him like a son-in-law. He will love him but not as much as he loves you." The maid reasoned.

"Then that makes him my husband." She grumbled, pulling the duvet over her shoulders.

"Now is that so bad?” Ina teased, before pulling her weight off the bed. With no strength to argue, her eyes fluttered to a close; her soul being dissolved by the night.

The following morning, it was too cold to be even sitting on her porch and with eyes tired of the same dreary scene, she ventured out of her quarters, delving into parts of the home she had missed. By the kitchens, the late Mrs Yim had reserved herself a small room decorated with the tools of all her hobbies in order to enact time alone for herself, away from motherhood and social responsibility. The room was consistently cleaned but usually left empty having it being full of painful memories of the beloved mistress of the household. For the first time in a long time, Miss Yim had felt the drive to find the room again and read her mother's poetry she had spent hours pouring over in the rooms.

Yet it had been almost shot stone-cold dead when the door opened to find San sat by the window hands raised towards the canvas. The anger within her refused to simmer or boil, it was rather the smooth swaying of the soft waves lapping the crust of sand. Her hands feebly reached for the poetry book on the table.

"I didn't know you were a painter, Mr Choi." She proclaimed, her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes sought the intricate details on the canvas. Her eyes glossed over the colours, the succinct shapes, drawing on the brushstrokes herself with the sharp movements of her eyes. It moved her. When was the last time she had been left this breathless?

"You never asked, Miss Yim." Immediately she felt intimidated by his artwork, her own revered drawings felt meek in comparison to his. A mere apprentice in an important official’s presence. To even be this close to him was considered a blessing. "You can sit next to me. I don't bite." Tentatively, she drew closer seating herself on the floorboards next to him; the brush of their fabrics sending a tidal wave of timidness over her. Where was the bold, steadfast Mrs Yim? Long gone, lost to the large expanse of the sea. Drowning under the ocean of his perfection. She didn't even want call for help, allowing herself to be enveloped by his allure. You draw so beautifully, she wanted to say. It's perfect, like something-someone even.

"You should have been a royal painter." The remark was swallowed into a melancholic void within his heart. Sparing a glance, he dipped the tip of the paintbrush into the crevice of the cerulean blue paint before raising to illustrate the canvas.

"Don't say that to my father." She sought the gloom glossed over his brown eyes. Was he, too, held down by social responsibility and expectations? She didn't think it was possible for a man's dreams to be mauled over by society; for she saw it with her father who had the whole world at his feet-picking dreams as if he was picking daisies from a meadow. Dropping her book onto the floor, she rested her head on her knee, solicitude fulfilled the serene atmosphere. Her eyes fell over the fancy metallic pots situated around the easel, which she knew to be various colours of paint pigments. Resting her head on her knee, she tenderly rocked her body from side to side as she watched his hands elegantly work through the canvases.

"Did you ever consider pottery? That's supposed to be quite popular now." Her question breaking through the quiet airs, the delicacy of her voice startling San. It was devoid of boredom, or disinterest like he had always perceived. No lace of judgement like he was silently praying to be diminished from her soul.

"It'll grow out of popularity soon." He stated, resting the paintbrush down to exercise the tense muscles in his hands. "I heard this was the late Mrs Yim's room, I hope you don't mind me being here." It, too, came as a shock to her when she shook her head-with no care in the world that he had colonised the room that she was once sure was hers.

It was sunny for once, which was odd for this time of year-she thought throwing open the door to the porch finding San surrounded by a large number of logs and an axe.

"What's he doing outside?" She pondered, Ina folding up the washed bedsheets before tucking them away into the drawers.

"They stopped properly chopping up the logs so we can use them for the fire, so Mr Choi offered to help." Wandering out through the doors, a smooth current of air tousled her hair, a book held tightly against her chest.

God, he really was toned. Rolling up the sleeves of his hanbok all the way to his bulging biceps, the maids all stopped in their path to rest their elbows on the low garden wall overseeing the vast expanse of grass. Effortlessly he picked up the axe, raising it over his head to slice down the log of wood. She rolled her eyes at her maids, as they watched him with dreamy faces. They nattered in hushed tones, giggling amongst themselves unbeknownst that their mistress was stood behind them. Leaning down to where they were sat on the garden wall, she poked her head in between the sea of charmed maidens.

“What are we looking at?” They squeaked, jumping up from their seats upon sight of their mistress- flapping their hands as some rushed back into the kitchen and others tended to garden duties. “Well? I would like to know too.”

“You wouldn’t understand Miss Yim.” Yes, yes she was the narcissistic Miss Yim who harboured no feelings for men and couldn’t deduce their charming airs. She was the Miss Yim who rejected countless marriage proposals, not based on looks but merely because she found that no man possessed the kind quality in a man that she was seeking. No patience, no loyalty. They were not even ruled by a sense of ambition. So how could she be hypnotised by the sacred beauty of a man, specifically, Choi San.

“Yes, I don’t understand why you’re not doing the job that we’re paying for you to do. All of you, out of the garden, it’s already been tended to!” She shouted, in an instant all of the maids dispersed back into the home. Huffing, she slumped onto the garden wall, glazing her ink pen over the defined lines on the page. Occasionally, she’d peer her eyes over the pages at San, tending to the curve of his body, and the horrific cinching of his waist. When he looked to his side, she hastily returned back to her sketchbook, feeling a blush decorate her cheeks as his steady gaze burned into her skin.

“Very accurate, Miss Yim.” Jumping up from her seat, she screeched the pot of ink spilling onto his face and neck. Whoops.

“Oh goodness, I am so sorry. Ah.” She let out a pained sound, battling with her internal conflict as she grabbed his hand rushing them into the direction of the porch that led to her quarters. Powerfully, she slid the door open darting inside and towards the washroom. Hauling him down to his knees in front of the washing basin, with a soaked rag in hand, she scraped away the ink splashed across his face. “Take this off.” She ordered, signalling to his hanbok.

“W-what?” He stammered, his face heating red.

“Well you’ve got ink and dirt all over it. I can get a new one for you.”

“I can’t just return back to my quarters and change?”

“Well no because then my father will see you and he’ll know I stole his ink again.” An annoyed huff escaped from his lips as she handed him the rag to clean himself. “Here, I’ll go get you a spare set of clothes.” Jumping up from where she was kneeled, her foot slipped over a puddle of water his arms snapped out towards her waist. Gripping his shoulders for stability, a faint blush trickled over her face, their noses barely an inches distance.

"Be careful." Quickly unravelling her hands from his shoulders, Miss Yim ran out of the room towards his quarters. Slipping past the double doors, she rummaged through the drawers for his clothes-picking up a light green set.

"Mr Choi?" A maid's voice called out from behind the closed door. Discerning their shadow moving closer, she made a beeline through the open doors leading into the garden. Scuttling into her washroom, she practically launched the hanbok at him before hiding in her room.

A breath of relief had finally escaped from her when he left from her room, both of their faces burning red in the midst of this shameful meeting. Yet San seemed persistent to know her, feeling that there was still something beneath the stone-cold façade she had constructed; something emotional and raw that he had felt he had to know. And Miss Yim was too becoming more curious, by the day, as to what Choi San’s secret was and why his father perpetually hated him.

Ina had forced them to go on a walk together, she groaned, silently, as they left the home behind making their way down to the meadow. At first an odd tranquillity permeated the air, eventually she grew tired of the jarring dissonance of absolutely nothing.

“A penny for your thoughts?” She inquired.

“I’ll keep the penny. I almost feel you’d judge me for having thoughts.” San bemused, she rolled her eyes, a faint of a smile on her lips. Just the tiniest, but it was practically gone within the same second.

“I don’t judge you, Mr Choi. I do, however, envy you. You’ve taken the place I wanted in my father’s heart.” She confessed, he looked towards her sympathetically, with knowingness that she was indeed right and the Mr Yim, famous for being just as aloof as his daughter, had somehow softened a little upon his arrival. Perhaps it was a son that he had always wanted, not a daughter but the scholar was reserved; San being too terrified to pry.

“Your place is best occupied elsewhere. Somebody else has it, I’m sure. He keeps it safe with love that is too potent that even dreamers can’t feign.” Of course was reading her mother's poetry, she didn't think many could understand the abstract nature of her words; of course it was him out of all who admired her poetry as it was his own.

"I am not pretty enough for that." Miss Yim argued, looking down at her feet. After all, the marriage proposals were not because of her vague good looks, but mainly because Mr Yim claimed an abundance of wealth.

"I disagree with you on that." Her face heated with his affirmation.

"Well, I am no Jang Ok-Jeong."

"There are many beautiful women in Joseon, not all of them have ever been recorded."

"She caught the eye of the King, a man who has a kingdom at his feet, he is supposed to be too superior to even look at his subjects. And he looks at her? Is that not a beautiful woman?" They were both fuelled by this argument, the debate igniting a set of powerful emotions that roared within them. This, was what they both deeply felt conversations were supposed to be. Potent discourse about society, literature and art. Not idle chatter on the weather, marriage and the social laws that subdued them.

"A man is supposed to be ruled by his head, not emotions. I say if any man bestowed more than a single glance, on a woman, and his breath was taken away, then she is more gorgeous than Venus herself."

"Not that wretched painting. It's so...vulgar." San snickered, squeezing his eyes as he let out a melodious laughter. "It says so much about the male gaze." She spat out as they trudged through the fields back in the direction of her home.

“I wonder if you like any art, at all? Other than your own?” He questioned.

“Owon is good. Apart from the vulgarity of Renaissance paintings-,”

“Which I must say is the majority of the whole movement, pray, continue.” He teased, his pestering smirk seemed to stitch wings on her heart, for it fluttered at his amiability, his devoutness to mankind and all of its endearing qualities and his perseverance. Despite her uncompromising attitudes and distasteful demeanour, he seemed compliant with listening to her, talking to her, truly trying to understand her and not just turning a blind eye. Choi San truly wanted to know her, for her; and not follow some false allegation that she was devoid of a heart or soul. He commended she had both and they were wrought with an existentialist quality that he wanted nothing but to huddle in the corner of a library and read away his life until it dissolved under the cover of her persona.

"What about you?" She questioned, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her own ear. At once, San was drawn into the world of virtuosity describing each of his favourite pieces as if it could be encapsulated into a single globe. The sweet dissonance of his voice lugging her into a dreamscape as they gently glissaded through the empty hallways of the Yim estate. They sought their eyes over the panelled wall, following the intricate lines of carved wood. They could almost be called mad people loose from the dreaded ward. For their eyes did not see the same way a normal persons did. He saw the shimmer in the air, the light poring through the crevices, the faint blemishes on a skin unseen with a naked eye-too vague to be called a taint, a mark, a scar. And she would see what he saw, whether it was not there she could reach to the depths of her sanity and pour out the image before her eyes to satisfy him.

It became a wonder to her how they spent several nights, the light patter of her feet as she rushed to his quarters with fulfilling arguments over art pieces, sharing techniques, rifling through each other's sketchbooks. His style was a stark contrast to her own: luminous watercolours, velvety acrylic paints, oily crayons. His muses were full of life and wonder, the strokes brimming with fruition. It was if a single segment of his painting held more hope than what could exist in her whole being.

There was something about him, too. She could see it now, his compassion, his adoration. As the weeks spun by, she became less repulsed by his sincerity and opened up to it more, almost finding herself craving his attention. His affection was much welcomed; she often wondered what it would be like to be so loved by him.

In her mother's old drawing room, she found him again, his large hands drifting over the pages again. Peering over his shoulder, she softly blew into his ear; the warmth tickling him.

"What are you drawing?" Her eyes scanned over the cartridge sheet, its intimacy striking her. It looked like her. Every sketch line, every shade, every little detail, every little blemish on her face.

"You." He answered, he didn't dare tear his eyes away from her for her hair was falling down her face in perfect waves that lured him into uncharted depths.

"You drew me so pretty."

"I only drew what I saw." Her heart wavered in piety, his devotion provoking an arrangement of madness. He was going to drive her insane and she was content with it.

"I wonder, what was it that you were excommunicated for?" Her silence broke through the passionate airs, culminating the objectivity that fulfilled among them as his sins held heavy on his tongue.

"I am not a scholar, a farmer or a devout son. I am an artist, a man who sees the world despite all of its maliciousness. I see the world so raw, it almost disgusts me but I am not terrified by its honesty. I find it so beautiful, it belongs on a page: drawn." Her body swayed towards him, hypnotised by his delicate words drawn his intoxicating tenacity, filling her with such immitigable rage that within that severe moment all she wanted was him. "I was 'excommunicated' because I am not the man my father wants me to be. I return as soon as I am devoid of all the emotions he renders vile." Tentatively, her fingers curled through his hair his eyes fluttering shut under her gentle touch.

"What about you Miss Yim? Why are you so solitary?" He murmured, their quiet voices serenaded the room.

"I am not solitary by choice. It's been enforced upon me and I know nothing and no one else but myself." Her whispers, though full of hurt and pain, were seldom dulcet. He thrived himself upon her words alone, it was enough to send him into delirium but her whole unmatched beauty with her words? He was sure to be sent to the wretched institute.

With an envelope gripped in her hands, she made her way over to his quarters slipping into the warmth, his smile greeting her as she slumped onto the chair in front of him.

"Mrs Choi? Your mother?" She inquired, handing over the envelope. San snickered at her nosiness, rolling her eyes as he took the sheet from her grasp, ripping open the seal to reel his eyes down the page.

"Actually, it's my wife." He announced, sparing her a single glance as he continued to read the words sprawled across the page. A sharp pang penetrated through the barriers in her heart, she felt her feet slipping under the ground, the walls pulverising as they caved in on her. For some reason, the room felt much more smaller than it was. Her heart was beating faster than any poetic declaration he had bestowed upon her, any time he had made her feel as if she was truly a worthy soul of being loved. Her heart palpitated faster than when he made her feel she would not die from a cataclysmic loneliness.

"I didn't know you were married." She breathed out, gripping the sage green silk in hand; feeling almost disgusted with herself for fixating her whole being on a man who never belonged to her in the beginning.

"We'll be officially married when I return back home." With a teasing smile on his lips, he grabbed a clean sheet from his desk and began elegantly carving the characters onto the page. "I'll be sure to send you an invite, if you'll come?"

“Of course, I’ll come. You know, for the food.” She quipped, his dimpled smile shattering the months of pining she had set for this revered soul. “I’ll take your leave, San.”

She fled from the room her bare feet blessing the sweet earth, the velvety wisps of the wind taunting her as tears welled up in her eyes. With a breath hitched in her throat, she fell onto her bed; bottom lip quivering as pearl tears escaped from her eyes dribbling down her cheeks before splattering onto the bedsheets. Her painful howl terrorised the desolate quarters as she had done on several dispassionate nights, the skies mimicked her torment, the light patter of rain hit against the window as if it understood all her wretched emotions. As if it understood her anger, hatred and hurt. As if it understood how disgusting it felt be left vulnerable by a man who could never be hers.

Was it some false delusion that she had been seduced by? That he, who was carved from a sculpturers most wild emotions, by all of his tenacity and his violent rage that he wished to create a being made of light: could truly be hers? By his yearning and pent up sentiment, by his dying wish that this world was not at peace until some divine figure from a concealed land would touch her world? Her hands shook as she sought to remove the tears streaming endlessly down her face. After all it had now made sense to all of the sympathetic souls that had heard her be plunged through such pain, to read her tale and understand the reason for her aloof nature.

Up the walls went back up. Brick by brick.

Curse you, Choi San, for breaking them down in the first place.

San had not seen Miss Yim for the remainder of the week or the subsequent. Granted, he had been flooded with an overwhelming amount of work but such was to be expected with the incredible staff shortage and Mr Yim’s high expectations. Regardless, he missed the snarky comments and unrelenting stares from across the room. He missed her moodiness, how ever infuriating it was at times; he missed the sense of quietude she presented at his feet and its ability to render his mind numb. Overall, he missed her. Yet, she seemed to be nowhere in sight and in fact missing even under the cover of the night.

“Ina, do you know where I can find Miss Yim?” He questioned, the agony rupturing the sutures of his weak heart apart.

"In her room, Mr Choi. She's, specifically, requested not see anyone." Oh. His mood deflated after that concession, wracking his mind for all the things he had said in their last engagement; anything potentially hurtful or offensive but he didn’t recall anything particularly endangering. His quest to venture into her quarters, despite her ruthless commands which had the servants petrified over her uncharacteristic (but not abnormal) behaviour, had been cut short by Mr Yim’s desire to keep a tightened hold on the apprentice. He thought about bringing it up as he ate dinner with his mentor.

“How is Miss Yim? I heard she’s isolated herself in her quarters?” He raised, tentatively, as Mr Yim’s eyes scoured down the reports. Her father was a little too quick to dismiss her actions.

“Never mind her, that’s not something new. I was surprised she was even roaming around the house when you arrived…” Mr Yim trailed off as a thought infiltrated his mind, shutting the book close, his furrowed brows silenced the questions in San’s mind.

The moonlight spilt in through the window, the luminous shadows dancing with the light breeze. With dried tear tracks staining her puffy cheeks, she circulated her finger around the cotton sheets pulling up the heavy duvet over her shoulders, a trail of heat comforted her. The door to her room, silently, slid open; oblivious to the soft bustling of footsteps she stretched her limbs sitting up in her bed.

“Miss Yim?” Her head snapped up at the deep voice, its familiarity sending an agonising wave of heartache through her being. There he was, the perpetrator himself, settling in front of her with a teacup in his palms as if nothing had happened in the first place. “Are you ok? I know you don’t like echinacea, so I got you lemon and ginger tea.” Placing the tea cup on her night stand, he rested his palm against her forehead.

“What are you doing here, San?” Huffing, she fisted up the hair in her palms before sticking a dry paint brush through it to create a tight knot.

“You’re burning u- were you crying?” His finger lightly smoothed her damp skin, shaking her head she pushed his hand away from her face. God, she felt awful for his wife who had to endure his infidelity. “What’s wrong, jagiya, speak to me?” Biting down on her lower lip, Miss Yim threw her gaze out of her window, she sought the light shimmering as her vision blurred.

“Just leave, please.” There was no more hostility left in her tone, a coarse throat lacerated with the phlegm that built up from endless nights of sobbing herself to sleep. Tiredness gnawed at her, she just wanted to dissolve back into the covers. Pleading, begging she’d do whatever she could to force him to leave because if he didn’t then she would tear down the path to the Angel of Death and beg him to take her dwindling heart. On her knees she would go, for the mere sight of her lover crumbled the steadfast walls she had tried so hard to rebuild.

“Are you upset because I’m going home next week? If that’s the case-,”

“San, are you dense?” She interrupted. He was subjugated to silence, a look of hurt flashing over his face. “Leave means leave.” Adjusting her body so she could slide under the covers, she stridently hauled the fabric over her head, gripping her lips tight shut, so no more pitiful sobs escaped her and she was no more a servant to his cruel love.

The Yim estate was left with a melancholic air as the venerated bachelor made his preparations to leave the home. The maids were forlorn as they’d no longer have the privilege of seeing his striking face to bless their monotone days. Miss Yim had finally mustered the courage to take a stroll through the garden, avoiding San's quarters at that. Lingering by the flowers, she wrapped her arms around herself to manifest a sense of warmth that failed to prevail with the awful weather. She didn't notice her lover tear down the garden to her, his heart leaping within his own chest.

"Miss Yim?" Her body whipped around upon his words, her hands balled up into fists the anger displaced by fear. "Do you know how painful it has been for me to go days without seeing you? I am leaving for Yangdong, today, and god knows if I didn't even so much as see your face I would have gone feral."

"I- why?" She stuttered, at a desperate attempt to collect together her words and form a sentence. How and when did he culminate such passionate feelings for her?

"Why? Isn't it obvious? I am in love with you." He declared, she shook her head, profusely, at him.

"How can you say that?" Her voice raised an octave, parrying against the harsh winds that blew at them.

“If being in love with you is a deadly sin, then I am the greatest sinner there is. I will walk up to the gates of hell and open them myself. Hand over my arms and ask them to bound me to its greatest depths.” His chest heaved up and down, tears brimming at the front of her eyes. “I cannot live without you. I would not even do so much as breathe unless you asked me to. If you asked me to stop breathing, I would!”

“You’re a married man, San. Do you know how god awful that sounds?”

“I’m barely married but engaged. When I go back home, I will once again beg to not be wed off to her. I don’t love her, how can my father expect me to marry her? How can you expect me to marry her?”

“I don’t think you understand, San. I can’t love you.” His arms outstretched for her waist, hauling her towards him, the rain beating down on them both. With the gentle flick of his finger, her head tipped up to peer into his eyes.

“Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t love me, or even feel as much as a small emotion for me. One word from you, would silence me forever.” She bit furiously down on her lip as his vehement fixation tore through the borders of her soul. When did she fall so vulnerable in his conquest for her being?

“I don’t love you the same way you love me. I am incapable of doing so.” His own brown eyes fulfilled with hot tears, pouring soundlessly down his cheeks. Her heart wavered with misery as he ripped away his grip, stumbling backwards upon her untruth.

“I understand. Thank you, Miss Yim. For the first time in my life, someone saw me for who I really am and not who I am meant to be.” Once again, the thunder cracked against the sky as San turned his back on her striding back into the home. The maids ran out to shut the doors, summoning their mistress back in but she sunk to the floor erupting into a fit of sobs; a wave of shock rattling through them. Her heart burned with such pain, even as Ina cooed lifting her up from the floor to guide her back into the home. Melting into the older woman's arms, her ears drowned out the distant sound of her lover ambling far, far away from her to a land in which even its notion would never grace the depths of her mind.

Her father's office was warm, but not the comforting kind as the biting airs of Joseon persisted. It was more suffocating as they sat across from each other in his office, discussing the state of her future now that he had managed to complete some of burdening tasks at work. He had several proposals lined in front of her, some prospects from his workplace, some from Mr Kang and even Ina had managed to find one or two seemingly agreeable men within their social class. A sigh fulfilled her, it would be a lie to say that she didn't look for the smallest hint of San within them all.

"I'm sorry Father, I don't like any of these men." He closed his eyes in indignation, rubbing his face before collecting the sheets from in front of her and throwing them into the fire. The embers cackled in a slow, seething ferocity as he leaned back in his chair.

"I honestly don't know what to do with you anymore. You won't marry, you won't leave your quarters. You've stopped helping around the house. All you want to do is sit in your room all day and stare into space." He scolded, she shook her head before raising from her seat. "You are becoming a burden to me."

"Well if I am such a burden to you, then just get rid of me." She taunted. An animosity truanted through him at her discourtesy.

“What do you think I have been trying to do since your mother left us? It should have not been your mother that had died! It should have been you! I would trade my soul to have your mother in place of you.” He blurted, before quickly slapping the palm of his hand to his mouth, cursing him for the spoiled words that left it.

“I would trade my soul too, to have my mother where you stand. You are a poor excuse of a man and to call you my father is an insult to me.” She hissed through gritted teeth, the shock reverberating at Mr Yim’s core; the severity of her words pulsating through his blood.

“You shouldn’t have been a father if all I was going to be to you was a pretty doll in a picture. The truth was she didn’t die because she was ill, it was the heartbreak of carrying a whole marriage on her back. It was the fact that you didn’t care about her wants, but your own.”

"You are in no position to say that to me. I loved your mother like it was breathing, I loved her as if she was the greatest blessing, as if God had granted me mercy for all the times I had done him wrong." His chest suspired, brittle hands shaking as a heavy tension remained suspended in the air between them; Ina loitering outside afraid to walk into the war zone.

"But you didn't love me! It was my mother who loved me, and I wasn't allowed to have her! I wasn't my mother's daughter, or my father's. I was a daughter of a servant with my name merely attached to you." At the end of the day, she was the figure in those paintings. Trapped within a frame, four equidistant lines on a piece of cartridge paper, bound by brushstrokes, sketch lines, constricted and held down by the artist. Subservient and stuck to a position in which she could not move.

Mr Yim deserved the brutal honesty of those words, no matter how harsh it was, and with a pounding headache, she ran out of his office ignoring her father’s calls for her to return to his side. This was it, there was nothing and no one by her side now and she was now the destitute figure that she had feared she would become.

“What’s wrong my dear? What’s hurt you so much?” Ina’s soft voice dilapidated at her mistress’ gloom, one she had seen prolong within her late madam too. Squeezing her eyes shut, she summoned the courage to spill her heart to her maid. She told her of how much she adored him, how deeply she wanted him and the ways in which he had made her fall in love with him. And how he had hurt her too.

“So call me heartless and apathetic all you want but I couldn’t take another woman’s man from her.”

“My love.” Ina’s weak fingers travelled through her hair. “You are far from heartless and apathetic. A man who you love is your whole life, you gave your life away to another woman.” She looked over to Ina, falling into her motherly embrace, breathing in her scent. There it was. The same scent that her mother had, the scent she was dreaming to come back to her in the midst of the night, and her a fool to dismiss that it was in front of her the whole time.

“What should I do now?” Her weak inquiry, breaking her heart, sinking deeper into the void than she already was.

“Go back to him and tell him you love him. He is a gentleman who accepts despondency like a soldier. So you, his general, must go back and tell him to return home to you.”

“Ina-,”

“Do not deny yourself of what you deserve. Your mother did, I won’t see you walk the same path.”

“I will let time run its cycle. Time will tell if he is meant to be mine.” She declared, to which the maid rested her palm on her cheek.

Mrs Kang’s baby boy, Kang Minho, was indeed a beauty. His bedazzling little eyes stared up at her in wonder, babbling as she lightly drew the tip of her finger over his chubby cheeks. It was astonishing for Mrs Kang to see that it was merely a little baby that would eruct a smile out of the secluded Miss Yim. It had been about four months since San had left the estate, and a while it took for her to leave the confines of her quarters. Once again, she took requests after requests painting and painting until her hands became stiff and sore. And so even more marriage prospects came, and her eyes lingered slightly over a potential husband. Both Ina and her father were pleased when she stayed a little longer at the doorway of their home talking to one of the young apprentice’s at the office. He was tall, handsome and kind; perhaps it was flickers of San she saw within him that had her thinking that spending the rest of her life with this man: wouldn’t be particularly gruesome. Regardless, she made no firm decision but still, for her father this was significant progress.

“He likes you.” Mrs Kang chimed, grinning down at her baby. She hummed carefully, softly tickling his smooth cheeks.

“Maybe I like him too.” Her gaze lightly flickered to the elated mother. “Where is Yeosang? I didn’t see him on my way in?”

“Oh he’s in his office with San.” Her head snapped up from the baby at the sound of his name. Goodness, how long had it been since she had heard that single syllable name, forever it seemed it would merely reverberate inside her head. “Did you not know he was in town? He came to see Minho.” Shaking her head, she got up from the bed consoling herself.

“I- I think I’ll leave now. I’ll come visit another time.” She announced, before awkwardly patting Mrs Kang’s head; a poor endeavour at affection but for Mrs Kang this affection was whole-heartedly appreciated. Her footsteps sped down the hallways, she came to an abrupt halt at the exist of the Kang estate.

There he was, stood there with Yeosang conversing if they were age-old best friends her heart palpitated with anxiety, knowing that she’d have to walk past him again. The sight of him almost triggered her, she gripped onto her deep purple skirts, his own yellow hanbok beaming like the sun.

“Miss Yim! I didn’t know you had arrived, leaving so soon?” Mr Kang chirped from the door. She shook at her head at him.

“I’ve been here for over an hour and a half. I’ll visit another time, especially since Minho is the only tolerable person in this household.”

“Just say you love him.” A grumble erupted from her lips, she rolled her eyes- with a delicate playfulness- before squeezing past the pair of men. A pounding of footsteps travelled after her as she trudged back through the fields in the direction of her home.

“Miss Yim, allow me to accompany you.” San professed, breathlessly. With a diligent nod, she transgressed forwards ignoring his burning gaze into her skin. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine. What about you?” He responded he was great all the same, reporting that the weather in Yangdong was a little warmer than in her hometown.

“When is your wedding date? I’m still awaiting on an invite.” It was a joke, nonetheless, but one that didn't hesitate to puncture holes in her heart.

“We broke off the engagement, it was mutual really. She was in love with someone else.” With a breath lodged in her throat, her stare tore away from the fields piercing straight into his eyes. It was then she had realised how burdened he truly was. Where was the San that always smiled and joked, and was so full of love it seemed inhumane to have so much of it? They didn't need to say anything to each other in that moment, they stopped walking subsided to a silent, paralysed position. "I think I'll just take your leave." His voice quivered, sending a jolt of agony through her.

Hadn't she made him suffer enough? After all he was the same man who loved her as if she was the vessel that kept the blood running through his veins, his heart beating and his feet walking.

Go back to him and tell him you love him.

Tell him to return back home to you.

His body almost disappeared behind the vast expanse of buildings, when she raced down the fields, as fast as her legs could carry her, ignoring the vicious ache gnawing at her muscles and the agitated pounding of her heart against her chest. Tearing down the path towards him, in the chance that if she didn't run any faster she was going to lose her lover to the wind.

"San!" Her shout echoed in the breeze, but reached to his ears anyway, a tug at the weak strings that had barely held down his soul. He turned, so desperate that she would come to him like she had done in the dead of the night. Feeling his lover crawl into his arms, pledging that she would never leave from his side.

"Miss Yim, what's wrong?"

“I lied to you, when I said I didn’t love you. I really, really do, I almost feel disgusted by it. I never thought, that someone as ruthless and as cold as me would be privileged enough to fall in love but when you entered my life I felt like my mother.” She sucked in a deep breath, her lover making gentle steps toward her as the wind whipped their hair. “I felt like her when she said: ‘If he was the muse in a painting, to be an object, a fleck of paint, or even dust on it would be my greatest honour.’” Warm tears forged in his eyes, biting down his bottom lip to prevent them from escaping. She wanted to outstretch her arms towards him but it was too soon.

“So, Choi San, it’s an honour to be loved by you. I came back, because I had to tell you that. I hurt you so much. I was scared that being vulnerable to love would only hurt me but the only person who gave me such torment was myself.” Her confession disturbed her, yet it was the unspoken truth that only he was entitled to. A tense silence suffused the air as she pended his response, but all he could do was try to convince himself that it was not a dream and she really had said all of the words he had spent countless nights praying that she would declare.

“I love you, Miss Yim. I loved you yesterday, I love you today and I will love you for eternity. There is simply nothing that one can do to tear my heart away from yours, not even you.”

"Do you mean that?" It was a stupid question, but she could not help the words be spilled from her mouth. He nodded violently.

"I do. With my whole entity." Choking back on her sobs, her arms reached out for him throwing them around his neck. Nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck, her grip tightened as he ensnared his hands around her waist; breathing in her scent as if it was oxygen. "Come home with me my dear, come home and be mine."

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

'Yim' meaning light

A/N: the long awaited painter!san fic (with a twist 😏) that i've been waiting too long to put out. I hope you liked this one. :))

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tags: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho

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xuchiya · 6 months

Text

streets [c.san]

₊˚.༄ || filth valentines m.list || hongjoong || seonghwa || yunho || yeosang || san || mingi || wooyoung || jongho || ₊˚.༄

₊˚.༄ We real life made for each other And it's hard to keep my cool ₊˚.༄

"it's getting late, do you have someone to pick you up?" your head turn towards san, still in his uniform. his face mask were pulled down just below his bottom lip, emphasizing his cheeks; it made you want to squish his cheeks from being so innocent.

san was one of your fellow nurses. The crisp navy-blue scrubs fit him perfectly, the name tag reading "San Choi, RN" gleaming under the fluorescent lights. you cleared your throat; your heart was beating too loud for you that it hurts to taint this uncorrupted soul. you have hint after hint of crush on this man, this huge ass man that his face does not match his enormous body that you totally found yourself completely hidden.

proved when you stood behind him once and when you say, disappeared.

abracadabra, bitch not even a strand of hair can be seen.

"ah well i actually have somewhere to be ... what about you?" san looks at his watch, sighing, brushing his hair off his eyes, "my friend said he'll pick me up but he had an emergency call from his dad's company so now I have to wait for a bus..."

you frown looking at your watch too, its 10pm. Usually buses don't take this route anymore, "buses aren't available in this hour, san."

his heart fell on his stomach, double checking his watch, "damn it!" your eyes widen at his sudden burst of profanity. his eyes widen too and apologizing to you, "i'm sorry didn't mean to."

your lips curled up in a teasing smile, "your patient would not like it if she heard that one." San shakes his head laughing lightly. the small silence engulfs you both before you had an idea which will be a torture for you.

probably a torture for him too.

San was already an intern at a prestigious hospital near his family's home; owned by his grandfather though he is expecting him that he will continue his service even after his internship.

but when San came by a hospital that one of his friends were admitted after being confined. He found himself stuck on the reception area as his eyes were glued to your figure, up on hospital trolley, shouting dose of pharmaceutical. Your determine look and perseverance on your career what intrigued him to know you more.

so he left his family hospital.

San is pediatrician and so do you, the amount of love he gives on these children what also intrigued you in getting to know the man that suddenly left the hospital that you were trying to apply.

"hey i can give you a ride?" you mention, his ear perk up and reddens. his heart thumps inside his chest all of a sudden, "i-i .."

upon realizing what you said, your eyes once again widen and stutter out excuses, "oh my gosh! i - this is embarrassing, God take me!" you groan, covering your face.

for a while San chuckles at your reaction, composing himself, "I know you don't mean any harm but if you're going to drop me off then i hope i'm not delaying any of your plans."

When San agrees about you giving him a ride, he meant to be able to relax on the passenger seat.

He stares at the glaring matte black with gold flames on the Kawasaki Ninja 400R. That is one of the motorbikes he wishes to own and drive but because of his independence, San is still saving up.

"Holy .." You look at San as you place the glove tightly on your hand, "hmm?" Clueless on his reaction, you swing your leg over the bike, reviving the engine on and tune in the smoky sound of the engine of your bike.

San stares in awe as you hand him (set of embarrassment hue on your cheeks) a customized helmet. It has kitty ear with soft peach color as parallel of the inside of the ear.

"this is so cute." when he puts in the helmet, it dawned on him. You, arch back, hunch forward and him behind you, holding on tightly. His ears were once again red, frozen in place; his mind racing the same speed as your bike with filthy thoughts.

Like how could he not? Your ass is probably close to his (now) stiffening cock in his scrubs when he jumps in. the way it would keep brushing on his cock would probably have him cumming there.

"San? you okay?" You haven't feel the pressure or the weight on your back, so you turn your attention on San; standing with an incredible thickening boner in his scrubs, if it weren't for the eye shield of your helmet, he would seen you checking him out.

Or worse, staring at his firm boner.

San snap out of his thoughts and hurriedly swing his legs over the other side of the bike, after settling down on the leather seat. "You okay? Do you need-"

"Let's just go." San spoke clearing his throat and immediatly feels bad for brushing your concerns off, you understood why.

Without speaking much, you note that San would not hold on to you because of his hard situation so you did the initiative to grab his hands, in which he was taken back, and wrap them around your waist; patting his hand, "Mind you that it's night and I'll be taking advantage of the road."

You look over at San, "don't worry, I'll slow down if its too much." So without delaying much of your guys time, you kick off the stand and off both of you on the streets. San calling whatever can answer them make this ride, a comfortable one.

to say the least, no one grant his calls.

"u-Ugh f-ufuck chakaman!" San gasp, holding on to the mop of hair on the level of his hips while gripping his scrub up on his chest in his other hand—exposing his toned stomach, his scrub pants pooled on the floor. Your tousled hair, lips wrapped around his aching cock left him gripping the leather seat of your motorbike as you continued swirling your tongue on his red tip. San cried, bucking his hips when you took all of him; fitting him in your mouth up til’ his tip hitting the back of your throat.

You hum to accumulate more of his climax, which in your satisfaction made San whimper thrusting his hips in your mouth, “f-fuck …” Shamelessly, he started fucking your throat as his climax were nearing and sooner, his cum spurted on your tongue and down your throat. You pull away from him, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out to let him see that you have collected some of his cum before swallowing them.

You gave him a smile before licking your salty lips, standing up proceeding to remove your leather pants; letting them rest on your knees along with your undies. You turn your head over to look at him with a smirk on your lips, bending moderately for him to see your puckered glistening hole with a small help of one of your hands to spread your cheek.

“I know you want to get your dick wet, come on baby.” San’s eye twitch the moment you provoke him and have to look around the cleared parking spot you parked on and had him spitting his fingers and run them up and down your puffy cunt before grabbing his semi-hard dick and tap his tip on your hole; wiggling your asscheeks for him to provoke him more which he took the cue and slam his hips on yours.

You were quite taken back, his hips pace was something you were wondering if he has his dick wet a few times or he has this speed that you were looking for; nevertheless it had you moaning his name as his tip kept nudging. You rolled your hips each time he pulls away, leaving the tip then slamming back inside, “Fu-fuck Sannie— that’s so good! Right there!”

San’s hand crept down towards your clit, circling them rapidly and increasing the pleasure and the coil on your stomach, “You like that? You dirty dirty girl.” San stops circling his fingers around your clit and let you bend over your motorcycle as his hips snaps swiftly, placing the hem of his scrubs between his teeth as his hands knead the flesh of your hips then to your plump ass, spreading them as he watch his dick disappear inside your hole; a ring of your slick making him moan in his scrubs.

“Shit shit!” You cursed, lewd noises echoing the silent parking lot increase the arousal on your stomach, the fire of desire as San rapidly ram himself until you feel your thighs shake, “I’m g-gonna cum!” San drops the cloth and bent over to your ear, “Then make yourself a mess on my dick baby.”

That it all took before you had a long string of ‘fuck’ leaving your lips as your orgasm washed over you, eyes fluterring close hips moving to chase your high. You felt San’s hand clasp around your hips and his broken moans reach your ears, “I don’t care if you’re on the pill or not but me? Get you knocked up? It’s been a fantasy of mine.”

His seeds spurted your walls, bucking a deeper part of your pussy. His hips halted as he let every drop of his cum stay inside you before pulling out, a whine left your lips but soon replaced by a yelp as San smacked your ass in his palm before placing your panties and your pants back on, “It’s cold and besides …” You turn around, he brushes hair away from your sweaty face, “I don’t want you wasting what we work hard on.”

Your cheeks flared, “You must have thought of this ‘fantasy of yours for a while now eh?” San shakes his head, a smile on his lips; securing his boxers and scrub pants back on before leaning on your motorcycle, shrugging, “Maybe but I should have taken you on a date first before I knock you up.”

You whine, smacking his arms, “Stop using that term.” San’s head threw back as he laughed at your reddened face, you groaned turning your head to the side. He stops laughing little by little before sighing, grabbing your hand; pulling you between his legs, “But it’s true. I had it all planned and there’s a step by step to it … but it looks like I skipped a step.”

You look at him, pouty lips, “a lot you mean.” He chuckles heartedly, grabbing your cheeks in his large palms, caressing them, “Okay a lot but it doesn’t mean I ain’t gonna take care of you. Let me praise you, love you, worship you and let me do those things because it is my duty to make you feel special and I want you to feel you are the only girl in this damn world. You’re my girl.”

You were left speechless and San saw in your eyes the appreciation, pulling you in his arms, “I’ll kiss you after our fourth date.”

“Why not now? You already got me knocked up and we are not even on our first date.” He chuckles and this is one of the reasons why he likes you; nonchalant or straightforward. He nodded, “Okay.” He pulls you in near his warmth, his lips landing gently on yours. He took the lead to make you feel special, make you feel the most important person to him.

#ateez #ateez choi san #choi san #choi san imagines #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #choi san smut #choi san x reader #san ateez #ateez fanfic #kpop smut

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luvt0kki · 8 months

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005 | the morning after

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ s.w.m masterlist ୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ taglist ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧

I can't stop and look the other way 'Cause I know what could be, babe And you never feel the same You'd be thinkin' 'bout it every day Don't believe in fairytales, but we got our fantasies

🎧: you right - Doja Cat

previous | 005| next

pairings: ot8 x f!reader

w.c : 8.4k ( sorry for any errors)

cw: mature, ,minors do not interact, nsfw, reader is afab, slow burn, polyamory, smut , peeping Tom! Wooyoung, masturbation, footjob, footsies, edging, some fluff ig, orgasm denial

REMINDER: my works do not represent the irl members in any way, this is purely a work of FICTION.

a/n : CHAPTER 5! I FINALLY WROTE A VERSION OF CHAPTER 5 that I LIKE!!! Sorry for the long wait. I really hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. I AWAIT YOUR REACTIONS HEHEH. make sure to leave comments about your thoughts and reactions! You can do this in my askbox too huhu!

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE, OR OTHERWISE REPURPOSE ANY OF MY WORK HERE. I DO NOT NOR WILL ALLOW IT.

Seonghwa flinched at the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen. He couldn’t even sip his morning coffee at the clamor in the kitchen, the usual cozy peace he had before everyone else woke up was disrupted. Usually, the chef was quiet, gilding around the kitchen with ease as he made breakfast for the crew.

But today, he was…off.

Seonghwa placed his coffee mug back on the dining table before turning his gaze to the kitchen, seeing the cause of the noise appearing frustrated yet spaced out at the same time. Some kind of weird autopilot.

What was up with him?

Usually, the vice-captain would ask what’s wrong but Wooyoung’s knitted brows and expression of deep yet stressful contemplation made him believe it was best to just observe him and figure it out for himself. If Wooyoung was troubled, he knew that he could always come to any of them.

When the other members gathered except for you and Yeosang, they too quickly noticed the change in mood of their playful, energetic chef.

“What’s up with him?” Jongho asked, frowning as Wooyoung hissed when he held the skillet the wrong way. He’s never this reckless in his domain, his sacred kitchen.

Seonghwa only sighed in response, crossing his legs with poise and shaking his head.

Yunho, the gentle soul that he was still decided to check on Wooyoung, hopefully, his calm gleeful energy could make the younger member feel better.

“You okay there, Woo?” He called over from the table.

Not looking up from the pans on the stove, he responded, more like muttered his response. “M’fine.”

What a lie. He wasn’t fine they all could catch the vibe from him.

They all exchanged glances and kept their mouths shut, letting Wooyoung serve this morning's breakfast while the rest of them carried on as if nothing was wrong.

“Go on,” Wooyoung huffed, taking his seat at the table and picking up a fork. “Eat up.”

Was all he said to them and nothing more. He was quiet but he listened to their conversation, Mingi stared at him long wondering what exactly it was that was bothering him.

“Morning,” Yeosang’s deep voice chimed warmly. Wooyoung didn’t raise his head at his best friend’s voice and Hongjoong narrowed his eyes a little at his lack of interaction.

Right after his arrival, Jongho let out a low whistle as the last person to arrive at the dining table finally appeared.

“You look very pretty this morning, princess.” Jongho complimented, drinking in your delightful appearance. “That’s a new number I haven’t seen before.”

San glanced at Wooyoung sat beside him who was staring really hard into his bowl of fried rice.

“She looks good enough to eat,” Mingi tilted his head, getting a good look at his baby

“Thank Yeosang for the new set.” You giggled, sauntering in with a subtle sway of your hips, knowing your lovers were enjoying your morning look.

Wooyoung, unable to hold back from looking your way, took a small peek, the promise of this ‘new set’ tempting him too easily.

The moment he did, he wished he hadn’t.

You walked to his kitchen to get yourself a cup of coffee in a new silk slip with thin straps. Different from the night before. The hem of the dress was short, way above mid-thigh, and tastefully stopping before where your thigh and ass meet. It was lined with white lace lilies that complimented the periwinkle silk. The straps were thin and he remembered the way they fell off your shoulders last night. Flowing as you stride past them was a sheer white lace robe, draped over your shoulders and floating dreamily with your movements.

Like all the men on that table, they all watched you as you poured yourself a cup of coffee, admiring the teasing view of your backside.

“Thanks, Yeosang.” Mingi bit his lip, eying the curve of your ass covered by the pretty silk.

Wooyoung immediately looked away and continued to eat blankly as you joined the table, sitting across from him.

How lucky was he?

Mingi draped his arm on the back of your chair as if to mark his territory to Wooyoung, unaware that he had seen you and Yeosang fucking last night.

“You look very beautiful, dove.” Seonghwa smiled softly and you could see how his eyes were blown with desire as he took in your lingerie-clad body.

“She looks like a bride the morning after her honeymoon,” Yunho joked, eying your exposed collarbones and the lace that lined the low neckline of the silk dress.

“Don’t give Mingi any ideas,” Jongho tutted, taking a bite of his meal and looking around the table, stopping at San who looked at you intensely. “Hey, San, snap out of it. I’m going to beat all of you to it.” He challenged them with confidence.

“Shut the f—,” Mingi was about to cuss the youngest out in banter but Hongjoong cut him off.

“When did you get her that, Yeosang?”

“When we stopped at Jupiter. It’s from a boutique that creates lingerie pieces for noblewomen, and princesses and provides the finest silk for the Queen Mother’s dresses.”

Wooyoung gripped his fork tight. The silk was from his home planet? He knows of the boutique Yeosang talked about and he knew how that expensive fabric felt in his fingers. He wondered how it would feel if he had the chance to caress your curves and feel the silk that kissed your skin.

“I told Yeosang I don’t need such things but he insists on his gift.” You leaned your head against Mingi.

“His gift to you is my gift,” The gunner grinned, placing a hand on your bare thigh and creeping it up high and so dangerously close to your heat, his smirk only grew when you didn’t stop him. Before he could feel what he hoped was a matching pair of silk underwear, you tapped his hand away, the big man pouting his full lips.

“Behave.” You told him before feeling San’s gaze on you. Your heart melted at the longing look in his eyes, round and sparkling. You smiled softly at him and let the slipper on your right foot slip off before running it along San’s calves, his ears immediately turning pink as he looked at you wide-eyed.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you turned your attention to Wooyoung, who was very quiet.

“Morning, Woo.”

Wooyoung clenched his jaw. His name sounded even sweeter on your tongue today.

“Uh, morning.” He managed to say only giving you a quick glance and a smile which made you pout a little.

He couldn’t look you in the eye. Did he feel that guilty? About last night? Maybe you should confront him… like Yeosang said.

“Yeo?”

“Yes, my love?”

You raised your cheek from the warm chest it had rested upon. You had been listening to his heartbeat while he combed his fingers through your hair and petted you gently.

“Wooyoung…” you murmured softly, completely relaxed on top of him while his other hand traced the curve of your back.

“I just made love to you and you’re thinking of Wooyoung?” He jested, pinching your side.

“It’s not that…” you softly tapped his chest at his teasing. “He saw us.”

Yeosang was silent for a bit but was quick to reply with such nonchalance. “And?”

“He saw us.” You looked him in the eyes unable to stop the urge to trace your fingers along his pretty jaw. “He was touching himself to us.” The image of Wooyoung by the door, lips parted and panting quietly, his eyes hazy as he looked at you with such want, flashed before your mind.

“Oh? He was?” His tone was straight, unbothered by the fact.

“You never mentioned that he was a little pervert.”

“I thought your interaction in the club told you that already. He was coming onto you very strong. Bill after bill to see the heaven between your thighs.”

“Fair enough.” You chuckled, kissing the tip of his gorgeous nose. “He doesn’t know…doesn’t he?”

“Apparently not.” Yeosang kept his eyes on your face as if he was looking upon you for the very first time and was marveling at the beauty before him. “But he has picked up on the way we all look at you.”

“And what way is that?” You cupped his cheek, your thumb caressing his cheekbone while looking into his pretty bright eyes.

Yeosang sighed deeply with a smile that could win anyone's heart even the Gods perhaps. He wrapped his arms around you and you melted against him, your cheek pressed once more to his chest as he kissed your forehead. He didn’t have to say it for you to know.

“What do we do about Woo?” You murmured after a comfy pause.

“He’s very much attracted to you, my love. Wooyoung, despite his playful flirtatious nature and his very…colorful sexual escapades. He never ever pursues nor beds a woman who is taken. It’s a rule of his.” Yeosang explained, cuddling you, the soft sheets kissing your naked skin. “But if the woman lies that she isn’t taken, that’s not on him.”

You only hummed at the piece of information about his best friend. Wooyoung’s rule was fair enough.

“Since he was the son of a Duke, he had more freedom than I had. Whenever I’d visit, the young maids in the Jung manor changed with each return.”

You made a face, one that made the former Prince smile fondly. “It’s because he was…”

“Messing around with them, yes.” Yeosang chuckled at the memory. “One time, I had caught him in our palace grounds stables getting head from one of my mother’s handmaidens.”

“And were you some Casanova back in the day too?” You traced the line between his pecs.

“I’ve had my fair share of experiences in masquerades or in empty rooms at official balls. Nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious,” you rolled your eyes a little. “You’re only saying that because it’s what you think I might want to hear.”

“Oh darling,” he pouted his lips in jest before kissing your forehead, his hand never ceasing its caress on your naked back. “Are you jealous?”

Yeosang watched as your brows furrowed and your lips pursed. It was cute and he knew you were just going to try to deny it.

“Maybe….just a little.”

“I was jealous of you and San once.” He confessed, wanting to wipe away your anxiety masked by jealousy.

“W-what why?” You blinked up at him.

“Because you were each other’s firsts. Even though San confessed after you and Mingi got together. He was still your first. First hug. First kiss. Oh, and you’re very first.”

Your eyes widened and you immediately felt heat bloom in your cheeks. “San told you?” You murmured shyly, remembering that time. Both of you only had each other at that time and in that mission, you both believed you were going to die. Consumed with unspoken desire and love that was hidden from each other verbally, you two had gotten intimate, letting actions and your bodies express what you both felt.

“San has loved you the longest, my darling. It just took him a while and you and Mingi being together to finally get him to say it.”

Your heart felt full. It felt as if it was going to explode with all the emotions and love you had for them. “I love you, Yeosang.” You said softly, looking him in his angelic eyes. “I love all of you so very much.”

“Though all of us have our own ways of showing it, we love you too. I love you.”

You kissed his soft lips and he kissed you back, sealing the romantic moment you two shared. You giggled as you pulled away.

“Now back to our Wooyoung,” Yeosang thought of his best friend.

“Our?” You raised a brow.

“He wants you, darling.”

“Sure he wants me but he’s not mine nor am I his like I’m yours and you’re mine. He probably only wants to fuck.”

“And you’re not opposed to the idea?”

You paused, thinking of your answer even though you immediately wanted to say no, you just didn’t want to seem too eager. But you didn’t have to hide from Yeosang. Never had to.

“No, I’m not…” you sighed, feeling a little guilty as you thought about your lovers. All of them. “It’s not that all of you aren’t enough—

“I know darling,” he stopped you before you could worry and spiral. “We all have noticed the way Wooyoung acts around you. In fact, the night you returned and you and Mingi…retired for the evening, the rest of us stayed back to discuss Wooyoung when he went to bed. Assuming he did go to bed and didn’t watch you and Mingi have sex.”

You made a mental note to ask the peeping Tom if he did see you that first night before continuing to listen to Yeosang’s pretty voice.

“Wooyoung saw us and he doesn’t know that we are all your lovers.”

“God, he must think I’m cheating on Mingi or something.” You huffed, rolling off of Yeosang to lie on your back. "Or that I'm some whor-"

Yeosang shushed you shaking his head. It would hurt him deeply if that was the way you thought of yourself.

“You could either confront him and ask him what he wants from you.”

“Very straightforward,” You narrowed your eyes at him. “But your smile is telling me there is another option.”

“Or…”Yeosang grinned, propping himself to crawl on top of you, his dark locks of hair framing his handsome face. He slotted his hips between your legs as he leaned down to kiss along your collarbones while his hands caressed your sides, the silk beneath his palms smooth against your skin.“You can have some fun keeping him on his toes."

Pausing your little innocent footsie play with San, who frowned when you stopped, you decided to turn your attention to the man sitting across from you, next to your pouting lover.

Maybe giving him a hint and teasing him a bit would reassure him that you didn’t hate him or anything…and maybe push him to finally confront you or take action with his attraction for you.

“We’ll be arriving in Gevora by the morrow. As I’ve discussed with Y/N, one of the pieces of the Cromer, we’ve found out, is going to be auctioned.” Hongjoong was speaking to you as you raise your coffee cup to your lips while gliding your foot up Wooyoung’s calf. “It’s a highly private auction with wealthy attendees which also means it’s definitely—,”

“Illegal.” Jongho finished for the Captain, clicking his tongue as all of it made sense. “So what’s the plan?”

Wooyoung tensed visibly, his other leg jumping at your sudden touch, his knee banging against the underside of the table.

“You okay, Woo?” Jongho asked, raising a brow at the wide-eyed former noble.

Wooyoung finally met your gaze as they all stared at him. He was met with such a neutral expression from you as if you weren’t running your foot up his leg in a way that made shivers run down his spine and send heat straight to his groin.

“U-uh I’m fine…” he was trying to remain composed while he screamed in his head at what on earth you were doing. “Just lost in thought.” He played it off, earning a very subtle smile of approval from you as you sipped your coffee so casually.

“So what’s your plan, Captain?” You took the boys' attention from him, Hongjoong staring at you with a subtle glint in his eyes at how you effortlessly addressed him with a sultry tone.

“The good ol’ hit ‘em before they know it.” He replied, his eyes locked with yours as he knew that look you had in them all too well. That teasing yet magnetic gaze. You must be in a playful mood today. “San and Jongho will infiltrate the storage area while Y/N and Wooyoung will attend the auction to give San and Jongho enough time to retrieve it.”

“M-me?” Wooyoung stuttered, Hongjoong unaware of how your foot now brushed Woo’s inner thigh. The man in front of you swallowed the lump in his throat. What were you doing? He panicked.

“I’d send Yeosang but the attendees would know his face easily. So you’re Y/N’s lucky partner for the heist.”

“You don’t have to worry much, Woo. San and Jongho will have most of the action if things don’t go south. I’ll lead, and you,” you pressed your foot gently against Wooyoung’s hardening cock, fighting your smile at his somewhat pained yet turned-on expression. “Just follow.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, opting to give a nod of acknowledgment because if he had opened his mouth, he’d risk a very out of place sound at the breakfast table.

“Mingi will be monitoring the perimeter from the building across the venue. Ready to snipe should anyone intercept San or Jongho.”

Hongjoong went on but Wooyoung was struggling to focus. He could hear everything he was saying and he was taking note mentally of all the important details but the way your foot palmed at his painfully hard cock through his sweats was making his head spin. “Yunho will be driving the getaway van and Yeosang will bring his gear with him to hack into the security system in the van."

“And you and Hwa?” You leaned your head on Mingi’s shoulder, pressing just a little more, the perfect amount as you glide your foot against his cock. Wooyoung gripped the fabric of his sweats to ground himself. He tried to meet your eyes but you were conversing with everyone as if you weren’t giving him a fucking footjob between Yeosang and Mingi, and with San next to him.

“Hongjoong and I will take out two guards beforehand and take their uniform so that San and Jongho can easily get in.” Seonghwa answered you. “It should go pretty smoothly but we will act quickly should there be any…unexpected surprises.”

“I just hope I get to see you two in uniform,” you chuckled playfully, thinking of how lovely the sight would be. Despite the two eldest’s left behind military past, they have shared with you the official portraits of their time there. Strikingly handsome those two were. They even gave you the photographs for you to keep after they had noticed how long you stared at them in awe.

“Maybe you will,” Hongjoong smirked, winking at you playfully making you blush and laugh.

Wooyoung wondered how you were able to act like that... all effortless and pretty while you were rubbing his cock under the table. He was fighting back the urge to buck his hips into your foot for more friction. It felt good…so good. He could feel his precum dampening his boxers.

“Baby, eat something while you drink your coffee,” Mingi chided lightly, putting sweet buttered toast on your plate, berries and some cream.

You smiled at the care he was giving you, never ceasing the languid caress you were giving Wooyoung’s hard cock, and turned to Mingi. “Thank you, baby.” You tilted your chin up a little, the bigger man grinning before leaning down to peck you on the lips.

“Get a room.” Jongho fake gagged.

“Gladly,” Mingi smirked and deepened the kiss to irk the youngest even more.

Wooyoung’s cock throbbed at the sight of your plush lips against Mingi’s and the way they moved against his. You were the first to pull away, smiling so sweetly up at Mingi and pinching his cheek.

“I’ll start packing up my gear,” Yeosang announced to the group, taking his empty plate and getting up. He patted your head before discarding his plate in the sink.

“Me too.” Yunho chirped, doing the same as Yeosang.

“You guys can go ahead,” you told Hongjoong and Seonghwa who also were done with their breakfast. “Wooyoung and I will clear up.”

“Thank you, dove.” Seonghwa smiled, stacking his and Hongjoong’s plates before going about their personal schedules and preparation.

“You okay, Woo?” San suddenly asked.

“H-huh?” The man croaked out, his fist clenched tightly out of sight.

“You’re awfully quiet.” He frowned, his cat eyes trying to read his expression. “Are you in pain?”

Mingi and Jongho looked at Wooyoung worriedly while you had the audacity to pout your lips teasingly and bat your lashes at him, still rubbing his cock with your foot making the pressure in the base of his spine tightened further.

“Leg cramp.” Wooyoung shakily replied, forcing a smile. “I-I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so. This is why you should stretch after a workout. I told you ‘cool down’ is important.” San light-heartedly reprimanded, getting up and excusing himself from the breakfast table, leaving you, Woo, Mingi, and Jongho.

“What dress do you plan to wear to the bourgeois auction?” Jongho asked, sipping his coffee.

“I haven’t thought about that yet.” You hummed crossing your arms under your chest which pushed your breasts up and together, that teasing dip of cleavage along with the strokes you gave his cock, making Wooyoung’s head spin.

“How about the navy blue one?” Mingi suggested, playing with your hair as he took the last bites of his breakfast.

“That one’s too short, baby. Not very auction-y.”

“That one’s too flashy.” Jongho agreed. “It’s more of a night out dress. How about that red one?”

You glanced at Wooyoung and noticed how he was trying hard to steady his breaths in a way it was not noticeable by the other two men and you could see a vein in his neck beginning to pop out as his cock throbbed. His brows knitted together and his head was facing his lap, almost looking like he was in deep thought or trying to relax from the pain of his ‘leg cramp’.

He was close. He was so fucking close. Wooyoung hissed as he felt his climax near. All caution was ready to be thrown out the window as he reveled at your touch and the sight of you. Maybe he didn’t fucking care if he came in his boxers. How did Jongho and Mingi not even know what you were up to?

“Ohhh, that red one.” Your touch left him, the pleasure he had been feeling, that tightening sensation at the base of his spine as he got close to release, was ripped away from him.

“Fuck!” Wooyoung exclaimed, fist banging on the table making the two men look at him questioningly at his frustrated cry.

His head was thrown back at the ache of being denied climax. To the two men, it looked as if his leg cramp had gotten worse. Wooyoung leaned his elbows on the table, his hands gripping his hair as he breathed heavily. He looked through the thin curtain of his messy locks over to eyes to look at you. Your glossy lips were upturned slightly, almost tauntingly and your eyes glimmered with mischief, finding entertainment in his predicament.

“Dude, Wooyoung.” Jongho looked at him worriedly and a little confused. “You should get that leg cramp checked with Yunho if it’s that bad.”

“Yeah, we can’t have you pulling a muscle or getting cramps on the mission,” Mingi added. “You both can’t compromise your covers.”

Your legs returned to yourself and you crossed your left over your right. Will Wooyoung finally make a move after this? How far did you need to push him to finally have him confront you? How much self-control does he even have?

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, Mingi. I know you two have some preparations to do for the mission. So go ahead, and I’ll clear up here while Wooyoung…rests.” You told the two men, smiling at them reassuringly.

“But I kinda do wanna get a room with you though,” Mingi murmured, eying you with desire. “Just a little y’know…quickie.”

“I thought you were back to baseline Mingi libido.”

“God.” Jongho groaned getting up and grabbing Mingi by the ear, completely unafraid of the much taller man. “You’re a fucking horn dog man. It may not seem like it outside but it’s 9 am in the fucking morning. Keep your wandering hands to yourself.”

Mingi’s eyes rounded in a childlike way, turning to you as Jongho was dragging him out of the kitchen.

“I’ll just clean up here and you'll have me soon enough.” You blew him a kiss, letting Jongho and his god-like strength pull him away.

You were amused they didn’t catch on…did they really buy the leg cramp?

Once they were out of earshot, you turned to Wooyoung.

He was slumped against his chair, finally letting himself breathe. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears and his whole body was hot with need. Struggling to compose himself, he looked at you.

His eyes had a hazy look in them, it was the same gaze you saw last night. His pupils were blown with lust, his cheeks were flushed and his lips parted as he softly panted.

Wooyoung stared. He blinked a couple of times to make his eyes focus on you. A part of him was annoyed that you just looked so neutral as if everything was okay. You had that small smile on your lips whenever you two spoke and that gentle captivating gaze that made one feel that what they had to say was very important to you. But right now, that gentle demure look taunted him.

“Your leg cramp must be really bad,” you finally spoke. “You should relax, Woo.” You got up and started to stack the empty plates on one another. “I’ll go put these in the sink and wash them, okay?” You smiled sweetly, reaching across the table to get his plate as well, knowing that it would the man a view of your breasts against the lace lingerie when you dipped forward. Will he finally snap?

While you walked over to the kitchen, Wooyoung glanced down at his lap, his painfully hard cock creating a tent in his cotton sweats. He was irritated. You had the fucking audacity to smile and act as if nothing happened? After whatever the fuck you just pulled?

You observed him from the kitchen, waiting for him to make his move but the man just sat there. Rolling your eyes, you made your way to him, the soft patter of your feet on the cold floor not making him look at you.

You’ll make him look at you.

“Hey.”

Wooyoung let out a shaky breath as something soft and warm pressed against his throbbing cock, ripping him from his thoughts and making him aware of the body perched on his lap. His eyes were wide as he met yours, confusion and surprise in them when you rested your hands on his shoulders.

“Look at me.” You whispered, running a gentle trail down the back of his neck.

“What are you—,” he started to say, trying to ignore the fact you were straddling his lap with your panty-clad pussy pressed against his cock.

“It hurts doesn’t it?” You took one of his hands, bringing it up to your chest and resting it atop your breast, making him cup the soft flesh.

“Why did you do that?” He asked, his other hand gripping your hip, using it to ground himself. His mind was screaming at the sudden closeness. The heat of your body beneath his palm, your sweet scent filling up his senses and the fact you were even touching him was making him want to really feel you, all of you.

“Do what?” You purred, bringing the hand that was on your breast away from your chest and letting his fingertips feel your warm lips.

“You know what I’m talking about Y/N.” He watched your every move, shamefully anticipating what you would do next.

“Do I?” You teased, bringing his thumb to brush your lips and before he could say another word, you took the digit in your mouth, sucking softly at it and swirling your tongue around slowly.

“F-fuck,” Wooyoung muttered breathily. His mind went straight to imagining what it’d be like to have your lips around his cock right now.

You released his thumb with a soft pop, his eyes on your pink lips. “Did you like it?” You asked him, running your hands up his chest.

What were you referring to? The way you were touching him under the table? Cause if he was going to be completely honest, he did like it. He was annoyed that you edged him but he fucking loved it. Or…was it about last night?

“You could’ve gotten caught.” He didn’t move his hands from your hips. A part of him was still unsure whether he should cross the line despite you having acted as if that line didn’t exist.

“Me? I hope you mean you, Woo.” You giggled, tracing his jaw. “Leg cramp? I guess that was believable. I mean the boys bought it. Want me to make it better?” You cooed, slowly rolling your hips forward, dragging your clothed pussy against the length of his cock, earning the reaction you wanted from him.

He shivered and moaned softly.

“I didn’t let you finish, did I?” You kissed his neck, the heat of your lips making his hips buck involuntarily. You clicked your tongue. “Behave, Woo.”

Wooyoung glanced at the doorway, anxious that someone might walk in on you two. Why were you doing this?

“Answer me.” You whispered, your voice sweet like honey as you stopped moving, giving him nothing once more.

“Y-you didn’t.” He breathed out, gripping your hips fighting the urge to guide them against his cock.

“Good boy,” you slowly rolled your hips again, finding yourself growing wet at the hardness of his cock. He was so stiff. Maybe you did feel just a little bit bad that you didn’t let him cum. “But you’re not that good aren’t you?”

“H-huh?” Was all he could manage to say, too distracted and drunk at the feeling of your hips grinding your core unto his cock. The friction sent swift shocks of pleasure throughout his body.

“Don’t act dumb, Woo.” Your soft warm breath was against his ear. His heart pounded strongly in his chest as it dawned on him that you were talking about how you had caught him watching you and Yeosang last night.

Fuck.

This was your way of confronting him about it? Having him wrapped around your finger by turning him on, teasing him to no end, and torturing him with the very thing he wanted most, you.

“I-I’m sorry,” he croaked out, moaning when you licked a stripe along his neck.

“Are you really?” Your voice dipped low, one hand that had been resting on his shoulder moving down to the waistband of his sweats.

“Y/N, we shouldn’t.” In his own head, you two really shouldn’t. “Y-Yeosang—fuck.” You freed his cock from his pants and boxers, his hard length slapping against his stomach.

You bit your lip as you glanced down while you had been kissing along his jaw, the sight of the pink angry and leaking tip making you grow wetter.

“Yes. Me and Yeo.” You softly placed your fingertip on the tip, mouth watering at the precum that was leaking out and spreading the slick substance all over the head of his cock. “You’re a little pervert aren’t you?” You wrapped your hand around his length to have a feel of him. He was hot and heavy within your enclosed palm, and thick. “Did you like watching Yeo fuck me, Woo?”

You squeezed his cock gently, his head following forward and leaning on your chest as he moaned. “I did. Fuck. I did. Y/N please.”

Fuck it. He swore to himself. Fuck it all. He needed to cum, he needed you to do something. Anything. His cock was painfully hard and the unmoving touch of your hand was driving him crazy.

“I like it when you’re honest.” You hummed with a smile, getting up. Wooyoung’s hands gripped your hips in protest, feeling crazed at the thought of you leaving him high and dry again.

But you didn’t leave.

You perched yourself on the edge of the table you cleared on your own. Your hands pressed against the surface behind you, leaning on them.

“If you answer me honestly, I’ll let you cum.” You told him with a smile while batting your pretty lashes at him.

God, he just wanted to fall on his knees and kiss along your leg and worship every part of you.

Wooyoung swallowed thickly as he nodded, wincing a little as the cold draft kissed his bare cock.

“Do you hear me and Mingi fuck?” The first question of your little interrogation.

Maybe if he wasn’t so on edge and horny, he would’ve held back and lied.

Shakily, he answered, “Yes.”

You hummed as you nodded at his response, his eyes widening when you pinched the skirt of your lingerie and hiked it up high, giving him a glimpse of your matching panties.

“Do you touch yourself when you hear us?” Your second question.

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

Without any shame and his eyes focused on you, your magnetic eyes drawing him in your gaze, he wrapped his hand around his cock, an action all too familiar from the fantasizing about you all this time.

You hummed seductively and with his eyes on you, you did what you had done the very first night you two met. You brought your hand to your collarbone, tracing along it, his eyes following before you led them along your shoulder, slowly and agonizingly pushing the thin strap over the edge of your shoulder. The top hem dropped slightly, showing him more of your skin beneath the lingerie, the silk clinging to the curve of your breasts.

His hand moved along his cock, slowly, doing as you said, finding no relief from it at all. Not when you had pressed your cunt against it and wrapped your own hand around him just moments ago.

You licked your lower lip, adoring the sight of Wooyoung touching himself.

“Did you ever watch Mingi and I?” You followed up your next question. “Don’t move your hand too fast. We’re not yet done.”

Wooyoung slowed his hand down, still slumped against his chair but languidly stroking his cock.

“I did.” He admitted quickly, awaiting your next move to award his honesty.

You bunched the fabric of your lingerie to your waist, slowly parting your legs to show him your matching underwear. “When?”

Wooyoung bit his lip at the sight of your clothed cunt. Was your pretty pussy really on his cock a while ago?

He breathed out shakily, the stimulation of his cock in his own hand not enough to make him cum. “The first night you returned on this ship.”

“Get up.” You instructed him. “Come to me.”

Wooyoung let go of his cock and without any thought, walked up to you, now standing between your parted thighs.

You hooked your leg around his waist as you chuckled. “Closer.”

“Y/N…I’m sorry.” He said again, letting your hands guide his in where he could touch you. Despite the situation, he didn’t feel he had the right to touch you as he wanted or as he pleased.

“You must’ve tortured yourself,” you sweetly cooed, placing one of his hands on your hip before cupping his cheek, your thumb caressing his cheekbone. “Just watching from afar. Not able to touch me. Is that what you want? Do you want to touch me too?”

Too? Did you think of him touching you? Has the idea of being with him crossed your mind like his mind did?

Your voice was void of the sternness it had when you had been interrogating him. It was now sweet and inviting, gentle even?

“I’ve been wanting to touch you since the night we first met.” He answered, the very honest reply taking you aback and making your heart skip a beat.

“Oh, Woo,” you murmured softly, bringing closer til the underside of his cock was against your clothed core again. “If you wanted me, you should’ve just said so.”

What did you mean? He couldn't have you in the first place because you were someone else's to hold.

Why was your heart melting so easily for him? You had been sure what you had felt for Wooyoung and what he felt for you was nothing but desire. Just lust. And yet, you were being as sweet as you were with all your lovers.

“Y/N…”He squeezed your hips, his forehead resting atop the crown of your own head, getting a whiff of the scent of your shampoo. He needed to fucking cum. It was taking everything in him right now to not hump his cock against your clothed heat. “Please.”

“I like it when you beg.” You softly whispered before leaning back and propping yourself on your elbows, his eyes raking you up and down your body. “Since you were so honest….” He watched as your hand guided his cock this o where you wanted him.

His breath hitched when you slipped his cock beneath your silk panties, the smooth fabric making him shiver. His cock throbbed when he realized the silk was slightly damp and slick.

“You can’t put it in though.” You told him, guiding the tip of his cock along your slit coating him with your wetness.

Wooyoung stared at where you two were touching. You were moving his cock head between your plush pussy lips and a part of him could’ve died at the way you softly moaned when you circled his tip around your clit.

Was this really happening?

He was snapped from his thoughts when your hand left his cock, your silk panties softly smacking against his length.

His cock was between your silk underwear and your bare heat. Fuck. Was he dreaming? He stared at the shape of his length beneath the fabric. Something about the sight was so sinfully pleasing to his eyes.

Placing his hands over your hips with his thumbs pressing into your inner thighs, he slowly moved his hips forward and back, his cock slotted between your lower lips.

You softly moaned as his length rubbed your clit. Languidly, taking his sweet time and drinking in the sight and feeling of his cock on your pussy, Wooyoung didn’t care that he wasn’t inside you. This was just as good. In fact, better than he could ever imagine.

With his thumb, he pressed his length against you a little bit more, applying pressure on your clit and making you whimper. Fuck. Hearing you like this was better than from afar. His eyes were glued to how his cock pushed against the fabric of your underwear, bulging against it and slowly it became more sheer as his precum and your wetness mixed together.

"Woo,” you moaned so sweetly, gentle strong shocks of pleasure rolling through your body.

He moved his hips a little faster, making your hips wriggle in his hold and moan again. Eventually, the sliding of his cock against your wet folds made soft obscene slick sounds. Only you two could hear it.

“Fuck, you feel so good against me.” Wooyoung groaned softly, his core growing hotter at the fact your cunt was drooling all over his cock. He sped up just a little bit more, making the two of you moan in bliss as your clit got stimulated by his hot and heavy length.

The sight of his pink tip faintly shown through the damp wet patch on your underwear was something he wished he could take a picture of for memory. Wooyoung panted. He wanted you so bad. Every sigh and sound of pleasure from your lips caused by him, made him fall even more for you.

“Don’t hold back, Woo.” You told him, softly yelping when his cock rubbed your clit a certain way making your thighs shake. “I-,” you began shakily, lying back down fully on the table, the delicious feeling of his cock making you fall apart so easily. “I want you to cum.”

“Fuck. Don’t say things like that,” he groaned, rutting his hips at just the right pace.

“Make a mess, Woo. I don’t care.” You bucked your hips upwards wanting to feel your own release.

“Fuck it.” He hissed, continuing to fuck against your panties and cunt surprisingly passionately.

You whimpered and slid your hands over your body, the movement making his eyes snap away briefly from where you two were touching. One of your hands softly wrapped around his wrist while the other cupped and squeezed your right breast. You were driving him crazy.

Wooyoung’s breathing grew erratic as that coil in the base of his spine tightened further and further. The slick wet sounds of your pussy along with your soft whimpers and moans egged him on, and he began to swear under his breath.

He can’t believe this was happening. Your moans grew higher in pitch and breathier.

“Oh my god, Woo, please.” Fuck. You sounded so sweet and perfect begging.

“I’ve got you—f-fuck, fuck, fuck,” he slowly began to lose himself, his hips moving on their own as he chased his release, the increasing speed bringing you close to the edge.

You moaned his name again. Something he thought he would never ever hear. Now that he has, he just knew it was going to haunt him forever til he can have you again.

You cried out as you came, covering your mouth with your hand as you whined at how he was still going, watching his groomed brows knit together and his eyes blink blearily down at you. His hair was a perfect swoop of mess on his head and as he reached his climax, his beautiful jaw tightened while a vein in his neck began to bulge.

He looked so handsome above you and something about the way he looked at you, made you feel something bloom and flutter in your belly.

“Ah!” A broken gasp and cry left his pink parted lips. His hips stilled, completely pressed against yours as he finally, finally, came. Hot spurts of his cum seeped through your underwear and dripped down and along your pussy, making you moan at the warmth of his release.

His mind was blank as he came, his eyes processed the sticky mess of his cock in your panties and the disheveled pretty undone mess you were on the dining table. You were panting softly at your own high, your chest rising up and down, making him stare at your breasts for a bit. Your nipples were perked and poking through the silk, and if the hem fell a little bit more he could’ve seen your pretty peaks. His eyes then moved to your pussy. He couldn’t help but hook his finger at the fabric and move it aside, still keeping his cock rested against your mound.

If he had asked…would you let him take a picture? Because the pornographic sight before him was something he wanted to imprint in his mind forever.

Wooyoung never thought that he would ever, ever, see this. His thick white cum dripped down your pink pussy, and some of it slipped over your entrance making it look like he had cum inside of you. Grabbing his cock, he moved his cum around your pussy with the tip making your hips shake at the added stimulation from the high you were still in.

This was dirty.

You propped yourself up on your elbows once more and reached down to your core. Your fingers dipped between your folds and you felt your walls squeeze around nothing at his sticky hot cum.

“You came so much…” you thought out loud, your voice slowly bringing Wooyoung back to earth.

You pressed the pad of your pointer finger against your thumb and rubbed it against one another, feeling the wet slippery mess of his cum, Wooyoung watching you hypnotically. Feeling his eyes follow your every move once more, you watched him as he watched you. He has always been watching you. But this time, you knew.

You brought your cum stained fingers to your lips and licked your digits, making Wooyoung’s mouth part just a little as a shaky breath left him. You hummed at the taste of him and it didn’t help that after you did that you met his eyes, and smirked.

“You’re really going to be the death of me, you know that.” He leaned his hands on the edge of the table, sighing.

You sat up, softly laughing, a sound that made his heart flutter. “Don’t say that. If you die, where’s the fun in that?”

That made him laugh with you, falling into this comforting and lighthearted fuzzy atmosphere. He barely even knew you. He didn’t know much except what you allowed him to know or what the other men could say about you.

Without thinking, he gently cupped your face, catching you off guard and staring at him with surprise. He didn’t say anything. He just…gazed at you in that way.

That same feeling that bubbled inside of you whenever San’s eyes smiled with his lips when he looked at you, or when Jongho held you with such care and protection whenever you two just lay down and talked with one another…when Yunho hugged you from behind whether when you two slept or when you’re doing work. When Seonghwa reads to you with your heart against his chest and your face buried in his neck under the fluffy blanket in the common room. When Mingi smiles and lets his goofy self out around you…or when Hongjoong shows you his poems and confides with you his innermost thoughts.

That special feeling of intimacy and love…what was that delicate beginning rush doing here too?

Wooyoung hasn’t been this close to you since the kitchen strawberry incident and every time he’s able to be this up close, he’s able to confirm that you’re real. That there’s warmth in your skin and that your gorgeous smile was something he could see every day.

“I…” he began, feeling his words get stuck in his throat. He was confused. He tucked himself back into his sweats and offered you a small smile. “I’ll clean you up, yeah?”

You nodded quickly, glancing at the doorway. The double doors were still closed. Maybe you should tell him the truth. About you and Mingi, Yeosang, and everyone else.

He returned with a soft towel. "May I?”

“Mhm.”

This was Jung Wooyoung.

Despite his burning desires, he was a caring soul and a gentleman. It’s kinda cute how slow he was to catch on but you knew the truth probably crossed his mind already and he was just in denial. It’s not everyday you meet 8 people all involved with one another intimately both physically and emotionally.

A scratching sound from the intercom interrupted the budding moment between the two of you, tearing both your attentions from each other.

“Y/N,” it was Jongho’s voice. “Hongjoong is calling you. Meet him in his office.”

You sighed softly, letting Woo clean off the cum that had landed on your lower abdomen. “Duty calls.” You hopped off the table.

“You’re a busy lady.” He chuckled, whipping his head away when he saw you shimmying your underwear down. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not going to go into Hongjoong’s office with cum stained underwear, Woo.” You huffed, stepping out of the fabric.

“Going commando is the better choice?”

“It’s not nice to keep the Captain waiting if I go get changed. I’ll just chuck it in the laundry room on the way there. My basket is already there anyway.” You shrugged and then smiled at him sweetly. “I’ll see you around, peeping Tom.”

“Hey!” Wooyoung defensively yelled.

You skipped out of the dining kitchen room.

What the fuck just happened?

“Oh, you’re all here?” All the men except Wooyoung were in the captain’s office when you arrived.

“You can brief Wooyoung for me later,” Hongjoong said as you walked into the room, standing next to Jongho who was sitting on the end of the three-seater couch facing his desk.

“Did his cramp get better?” Yeosang asked, standing next to San.

“Oh? He’s fine now. Don’t worry.” You answered, looking at Seonghwa who with his hand gestured for you to come closer to the desk where a digital map was laid out before you.

“This is the perimeter of the venue. It’s some rich Lord’s mansion. Since pretty important wealthy no good doers will be there, I’m sure the security will be tight.” Hongjoong began the briefing. Your eyes followed his pretty fingers as he pointed around the map.

You leaned forward a little to get a better look.

The sound of someone choking on their water, made yours, Hongjoong, and Seonghwa’s head snap to where it came from.

The pink-haired gunner was coughing and Yunho was giggling while rubbing comforting circles on his friend’s back. While San was staring at you adorably with wide eyes and Yeosang was pressing his lips together to stop his smile.

"Sweetheart..." San's ear turned pink.

“Y/N, you’re going to kill Mingi one day,” Jongho said, his eyes focused on you, his legs spread wide on the couch as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs.

“Huh? Why?” You blinked, tilting your head.

“Don’t you think a mission briefing is the wrong time to go commando?”

Now it was the Captain and Vice Captain’s turn to look at you with pleasant surprise. You felt the heat crawl up your neck and into your face.

“Oh, I…” For Wooyoung’s sake, you’d say a little white lie. “I must’ve forgotten…oops?”

Hongjoong shook his head fighting back a smile and grabbed his captain’s coat before going to where you were stood. From behind, he wrapped his coat sleeves around your waist securely. “Naughty little kitty.” He whispered only for you to hear, giving you a subtle quick kiss on the shoulder before returning to his spot.

“Y/N is not good for Mingbido.” Yunho chuckled.

“Mingi—what?” Seonghwa made a face.

“Mingbido,” Yunho repeated. “Mingi libido.”

“God damn it.” Jongho pinched the bridge of his nose. “You guys are so lame.”

“Hey! Speak kindly to your elders!” Yunho tutted, pursing his lips cutely.

“Elders? Okay, old man.” Jongho retorted.

“Hey!”

Hongjoong sighed before calling his members to his attention while you smiled at them sweetly. As much as he loved the way you looked so pretty and lovingly at them, you all have a very important agenda to attend to.

“Men. Focus!”

- feel free to scream in my askbox about the fic I will gladly fangirl

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